by Sharon Ihle
Nathan's lip quivered, but he held his laughter. "That's very thoughtful of you, son. May I ask how you plan to make them feel at home once they're here and feel the blistering heat of Arizona in the summer, and why you even want to?"
Ignoring his father's sarcasm, Cole explained. "First, these birds come from the plains of Africa, remember? A summer in Arizona will be like a vacation in the White Mountains for them. Second?" Cole's grin returned, then doubled. "Profit, pure and simple."
"From what?Feathers? What kinda profit can you hope to gain from a few ostrich feathers?"
"A tremendous profit, Dad. One of these birds eats no more than four pounds of feed a day compared to the forty or so consumed by a single steer."
He watched Nathan calculating the figures and crushed the cigarette beneath his boot heel, before adding, "And water. I can't even guess how much less water I'll need, but the difference is appreciable."
"All right," Nathan broke in, "so it doesn't cost so much to raise these critters. I still don't see how you can make it with them alone."
"Supply and demand. That's all there is to it."
"So the feathers are kinda popular." Nathan shrugged. "How many can you sell, how many birds you got to go through just to put a couple of decorations on a lady's hat?"
"A hell of a lot more than you think, and I don't plan to go through many birds at all. I just have to strip them, and new feathers grow back. I'll have an endless supply and a very tidy profit in the bargain."
Nathan grumbled and shook his head. "I don't know, son. It still sounds crazy as hell and more than a little risky."
"It's my risk, and I've already taken it. I told you this conversation was not open for discussion, and I meant it. If you can keep your promise to listen and withhold your opinions a little longer, not to mention, a little better, there's something else I'd like to tell you about."
Nathan took a breath and opened his mouth, but something in his son's eyes changed the course of his tongue. "Sure. I'd be glad to hear what else you got to say."
"It's about Sunny."
"Aw, Cole," Nathan complained. "Please don't do this to me. My heart can't take it."
"Then I won't."
Without another word, Cole spun on his heel and started back to the ranch.
"Son?" Nathan called, trailing after him. "Wait up. Can't we talk about this? I'd be glad to hear you out."
The words halted his progress, but when Nathan reached his side, Cole was no longer certain he could keep his temper long enough to tell him what Sunflower meant to him. "Why don't we just forget I mentioned her name."
Nathan's brow smoothed, and his breathing eased. "That's what I wanted to hear. I think it's best we both just plain forget about her altogether."
"No, Dad. You misunderstood." Cole turned and faced him, determined to end the conversation. "I'll never forget her, because I don't plan to let her out of my sight again. Don’t bother---"
“Mr. Fremont?” came a frantic voice. “Oh, Mr. Fremont?"
Two heads, one thick with blond hair, one barely covered with silver strands, turned towards the voice.
"Oh, Gawd, Mr. Fremont." The ranch hand jogged up to them, his hand clutching his chest.
Cole stepped between his father and the hand. "What is it, Stormy?"
"Oh Lord, Mr. Fremont, it's Buck Wheeler." Although nearly thirty, Stormy's features and expressions were those of a young boy, and would always give him a look of youthful innocence no matter how wrinkled and grey he became. Now in his excitement, his eyes flashed round and wide, making him look younger still.
"What about, Buck, Stormy?"
"He's hurt, Mr. Fremont. He's been hurt real bad."
"How?Where?"
"Uh," Stormy rolled his eyes and screwed up his features, laboring to remember something he'd seen only moments ago. "Oh, ah, he's stretched out in the barn. How he got there, I don't know. But I think he's hurt real bad."
Cole gripped the man's elbow and dragged him alongside as he hurried toward the double doors. "How bad is he, Stormy?"
"Pretty bad, Mr. Fremont." Turning away from his employer, he looked down at the ground and muttered, "I think he's daid."
"What?" Nathan's voice boomed from behind them. "How can that be? You been drinking on the job again?"
Again Stormy's expressive brown eyes grew huge and innocent. "Oh, no sir, no, I wouldn't do that. I don't never do that no more."
Cole released his grip on the frightened hand and turned to Nathan. "Come on, Dad. Let's go have a look."
They walked in silence, each mired in their own thoughts. Once they stepped inside the barn, as they discovered Buck sprawled in the stall, they spoke as one.
"Hell and damnation."
Cole dropped into a crouch and automatically reached for Buck's wrist even though he knew life no longer pulsed through the man's veins. The open eyes stared at the ceiling, but they could not see, and his features, twisted more with surprise than pain, were frozen for all eternity.
Then he noticed the small, perfectly round hole in Buck's shirt. Tearing it opened, both Nathan and Cole studied the unusual wound, noting that it was too small to have been caused by a bullet, too round for the blade of a knife to have entered. In unison, the men's gazes moved upward to Buck's surprised features, then settled on the large bruise at his temple and its squared corners. The implications added up in a flash for Cole, then Nathan understood them as well.
"God almighty, son." Nathan jumped to his feet and bellowed, "Bucky's been done in by one of those damn half-breeds you brought home. One of them musta snuck into my office and stole that war club, but why in hell would they go and kill Buck?"
Cole had been wondering that same thing himself, but he said, "Don't go jumping to conclusions, Dad. Anyone could have taken the club from your office. Stay here with Buck. I'll find Sean and see if he knows anything about this."
Leaping to his feet, Cole hurried to the ladder and scrambled up the rungs. "Sean," he called as he stepped into the loft. "Answer me! We got trouble." Please answer me, please be here, he thought.
But the loft was empty.
Frantic and angry all at once, Cole tore the room apart. He tossed bales of alfalfa across the loft as if they were cotton, kicked piles of bedding straw into the air, and sputtered his frustration.
"Dammit all, Sean, where the hell are you? What am I supposed to tell Sunny? Or Nellie?"
But his own rapid breathing was the only sound to reach his ears. All Sean's belongings were gone, vanished as if he'd never been sheltered here. What had happened up here in the loft, and down in the stall?
"Why, Sean? Why?"
Cole covered his face with his hands and blew a hot breath against his palms. His father would be livid by now, out of his mind and out for blood. Shaking his head and muttering his frustration, Cole hurried back down to the barn floor.
He was too late. Nathan was gone. Cole glanced through the doors and saw his father standing in the yard waving his arms. He was gathering the ranch hands. Building a posse. Assembling a lynching party.
When Cole stepped into his view, Nathan called him over. "What'd you find up in the loft, son? Nuthin', right?"
A rider surrounded by his own cloud of dust born down on them as they spoke. Keeping one eye on the approaching man, Cole nodded and shrugged. "I can't understand it, but Sean is gone. So are his things."
The horse slid to a halt in front of Nathan. The elder Fremont turned his attention to the rider. "Well? What'd you find out?"
"The girl's pony is still in the pasture, but the mule is gone."
Nathan turned to Cole and leveled a caustic eye. "Ask me if I'm surprised, son."
Not only could Cole see that he was not, he thought he noticed an enthusiastic gleam in his tired blue eyes. Nathan's expression suggested he was enjoying Buck's murder and the hunt for his killer immensely. Not that any of the Fremonts, save Nellie, had a soft spot in their hearts for Wheeler. As a son-in-law, he had been more tolerate
d than loved. Still, Cole would have expected a little more emotion from his father, some sense of loss over Buck's death.
Watching as Nathan divided the ranch hands into two groups, Cole guessed there could be only one reason for his father's glee. He was hunting more than his favorite quarry— Indians. He was pursuing Sunny through her brother.
Cole glanced up at the bedroom windows and picked out the room in which she slept. The curtains were still drawn. No curious dark eyes peeked through the slit between them. She had a right to know what was going on out here. He turned and had taken only one step toward the house, when his father's voice halted his progress.
"You want to join us, son?"
Looking back, Cole saw the ranch hands scatter, split up in all directions as they ran to assemble their horses for the hunt. "Sure."
"Then you'd best get moving. You've got five minutes to be armed and saddled."
With that, Nathan was off to the barn.
Torn between his duty to Sunny and insuring Sean's safety, it occurred to Cole they might just be one in the same. If he took the time to wake her and tell her what had happened, the posse would ride off without him.
What would the ranch hands do when they caught up with Sean? Bind him over for trial, or visit their own brand of justice on him on the spot? With his father leading the pack, it was a question he didn't need to ask himself.
Just then, Nathan burst through the barn doors, shouting, "That son of a bitch is a horse thief, too. That murdering savage has stolen Dust Bucket."
"Now hold on a minute, Dad. Jacob said he took his mule? Why would he need a horse as well?"
"Ah, son," Nathan clucked, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "This wily savage is on the run. You have to assume he plans to run that ole mule to the ground and use Dust Bucket as his backup. Smart maybe, but not smart enough to get away from me."
This statement erased any lingering doubts Cole had. He blew out a sigh and regarded his father. "What about Nellie? Who's going to tell her?"
"Your mother. I'll run and let her know what's happened, and then we'll ride."
Cole's sad green eyes followed his father's progress to the house. Then he picked out Sunny's gabled window. "Sleep well, little flower," he whispered, blowing a kiss into the air. "Enjoy your slumber while your mind is still at peace."
His heart heavy, Cole headed to the barn, knowing he'd done the right thing. Sunny would learn soon enough of her brother's grave mistake. No need to disturb her now.
As he reached the double doors, Stormy dashed through the opening on a thick-chested buckskin gelding. Looped over the horn of his saddle was a coil of rope. It was tied in a noose.
Cole raced into the barn.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A series of small thunderings vibrated against Sean's head. Particles of red earth screamed a warning into his ear. He finally woke enough to hear what they had to say. A stampede or a large group of riders thundered across the desert. They were headed his way.
With a start, he bolted upright and tried to get his bearings. What had happened? How long had he slept?
Sean peered through the trees. His breath whooshed out at what he saw, and he sagged with the realization. The sun divided the horizon and the heavens. It was several hours past dawn.
"Oh, no." Frantic, he turned to Eileen and shook her fragile shoulders. "Wake up."
Not hearing the urgency in his voice, she inched her eyes open and slowly rubbed them. Then she stifled a yawn and stretched her arms high overhead.
"Eileen," he barked. "Wake up."
Fully conscious now, she pushed her elbows against the earth and sat up. "What's the matter with you? Why are you yelling at me like that?"
Maneuvering to his feet, Sean holstered his pistol and reached for the rifle. "We slept too long. We should have left here hours ago."
"What's the harm? We'll just get a little later start, that's all." Eileen squinted newborn eyes into the sun and continued to rub the sleep from them.
"There could be much harm in our laziness. We are risking our lives as long as we stay in the area." His well-trained ears picked up the sounds he'd heard against the earth. Careful not to frighten her too much, he casually added, "I believe a group of riders are heading this way. I'll ride back a ways and have a look while you prepare for our journey. And hurry." He wheeled around and started for Whiskey.
"Sean, wait." Eileen stumbled to her feet and lurched as she moved to his side. "What about Sunny? Is she here? Don't we have to wait for her?"
Sunny. He glanced around hopefully, but knew if she had joined them during the night, she'd have made her presence known by now. Masking his concern, he shrugged. "My sister was aware of our limited time, and understood she was to meet us before the first light of dawn. Perhaps she chose to remain. Don't worry about her. Sunflower can take care of herself." For now, he could only hope he was right.
Eileen sighed. "I wish I was more like her, stronger, somehow."
Sean smiled down at Eileen, at her fresh-scrubbed skin, the glow of sleep still coloring her freckled cheeks. Unable to resist the urge, he cupped her heart-shaped chin in his palm and softly said, "Maybe you are and you just haven't had the chance to find out before now. I think by the time our journey has ended, you will have discovered you have strength enough for ten women."
"Really? Do you really think so?"
Tickled by her enthusiasm, he laughed, then pinched her cheek. "Yes, I think so. Now go, ready yourself for the trip. I'll be right back."
Color rose in her cheeks, obscuring her freckles. Eileen pursed her lips and fluttered her lashes as she turned, skirts flouncing, and made her way through the fallen tree limbs and rocks to her bedroll.
Still chuckling to himself, Sean marveled over how much a little hope had brightened her sky-blue eyes. He heaved the saddle onto Whiskey's back, more convinced than ever he'd made the correct decision by helping Eileen, then mounted and rode back towards the Triple F ranch.
He'd traveled less than a mile when he saw plumes of dust rising in the distance and heard the unmistakable sounds of horseshoes pounding against the hard dry earth. Riders in a hurry. A posse of some kind.
To protect Eileen and himself, Sean had to believe those riders were coming for him, and assume that Daniel must have discovered he had taken his daughter with him. If that were the case, he didn't have to wonder what to do next. But he didn't have much time in which to get it done.
Giving Whiskey's reins a jerk, he wheeled the mule around and made a dash back to the tree grove. "Eileen," he shouted as he slid from the animal's back. "We're out of time, mount up."
"Mount up? Just me?"
"Listen and do as I say. There is no time for questions." Reaching for her bedroll, he hoisted it on Whiskey's back, then directed her to place her foot in the stirrup. "Riders are heading this way. They will most likely go right on by us, but just in case they get nosy and stop in to have a look, it is best you are not here with me."
"But why should I take the mule?"
"Do as I say."
The helpless orphaned calf expression that had originally convinced him to take her with him overshadowed her newfound enthusiasm. How could he explain the real danger without frightening her half out of her mind, or reducing her to the trembling mouse she'd been a few hours ago?
Moving to Whiskey's side, he rested his hand on her knee. "You have to trust me, Eileen. If these men are after me, and I'm not saying they are, they'll find me. If that happens, I want you safely out of the way. If I am alone, maybe I can talk my way out of it and convince them you've left home of your own accord."
"Oh," she said brightly. "I see now. What do you want me to do?"
Pausing, he took a deep breath and explained as quickly yet gently as possible. "Ride down this wash at least three or four miles. Pick out a good hiding place for both you and Whiskey, then wait there."
An idea occurred to him as he spoke, and he circled around behind the mule and began to gather several o
f the thickest tree limbs lying around. "Once you feel safe, just settle in for the day. I'll do the same somewhere else."
Sean took two of the longest limbs and tied them, one on each side, to the back of his saddle. As he worked, he continued his instructions. "When it gets dark—and I do mean dark, not twilight—start back up the wash. I'll meet you right here. Do you have it?"
"Yes," she nodded, curious about his project at the rear of the mule. "But I don't see why I should take Whiskey. I don't mind the walk. It would seem less suspicious if you have him with you."
"Eileen," he said, wondering if there were an easy way to explain, "if they are after me, if I can't convince them I've done no wrong, they will ... they'll want to take me in for questioning or something. I don't want to leave you out here alone without some form of transportation. If you should return here tonight and I am not to be found, Whiskey will take good care of you." As if to convince himself and the animal, he gave the mule an affectionate pat on the rump, then continued braiding the branches.
Eileen frowned and twisted the leather reins. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be captured, or that she might be left alone to fend for herself. If that happened, what would she do, where would she go? What would he expect of her?
Thinking of Sunflower's strength, of Sean's opinion of her, Eileen set her chin. "If they take you in, if I come back tonight and you're not here, I want you to know something. I won't be going back home. I'll go on ahead. By myself if I have to."
Sean glanced at her and nodded. He thought of warning her of the dangers she would face, of offering some advice, but then remembered his own words about finding her hidden strengths. She'd been resourceful enough to approach him for help. She would be all right if left to her own devices. She might not have any choice.
Sean smiled as he finished tying the smaller branches in a bundle. His grin spreading as he thought how much growing she'd already done in the last few hours, he attached the twigs crosswise to the longer limbs dragging the ground, and stood back to survey his work. "That ought to give you some privacy for awhile."
Eileen twisted around in the saddle and peered down to the ground. "What is that?"
