"As soon as we're in place, I want those of you out front to draw the rustler's fire. As I recollect, Mr. Northcross, you're quite a shot. Can you break the windows and shoot some off some of the shingles off the roof?"
Baird inclined his head, wondering if he could.
"While you and Wilcox keep them busy out here, we'll come in around back." Buck looked at the ring of faces. "Everyone know what they're doing?"
The cowboys nodded.
"Boss," Buck said. "You start things off. And Miss Ardith?"
"Yes?"
"You keep your head down, all right?" Buck and his men crept away.
Once he'd made sure Ardith was tucked up tight in the crotch of the fallen log, Baird hunkered down beside her. He swiped the sweat from his eyes and tightened his grip on the rifle to keep his hands from trembling.
Some sharpshooter, he thought and blew his breath in derision.
When he caught a glimpse of the others in the rocks behind the cabin, Baird notched the rifle into his shoulder. He curled his finger around the trigger and aimed for the stovepipe protruding from the cabin roof.
It's a piece of tin, he told himself. It's not alive. It's not an animal or a person. You can hit it.
He fought to narrow his focus, get his breathing under control. Buck must be wondering why this was taking so long.
He sighted on the stovepipe and pulled the trigger. The report of the gun sent echoes chattering up the canyon, but the stovepipe didn't so much as quiver.
A head appeared and disappeared in the window of the cabin. Baird mumbled a curse.
He felt Ardith's hand press tight against his back. "Try again."
He pumped another cartridge into the chamber and tried not to hold himself so stiffly. He fired, and this time the stovepipe pinged.
Relief tumbled through him. He gave a shivery sigh and shot out several windowpanes. He drilled a line across the roof, sending the wooden shingles hopping like the keys on a piano.
The rustlers shot back. Wilcox took up firing, and Baird curled behind the fallen log to reload.
Ardith was there an arm's length away. She didn't say a word, but he caught the glow in her eyes. She knew what doing even that much shooting had cost him.
Baird turned back to the cabin, feeling as if he could breathe again. He had fired several more rounds when he heard Buck and his men burst into the cabin.
The rustlers should have surrendered. Everything should have gone still. Instead the cabin erupted with gunfire. The rustlers weren't going to let themselves be taken. They were putting up a fight.
Wilcox must have realized that, too, because he suddenly vaulted the fallen log and took off running across the open ground toward the shack.
"Goddamned bloody fool!" Baird cursed, then leaped the log himself and pelted after him.
Gunshots kept popping in the cabin as they crossed the stream. Wilcox was ahead of Baird and starting up the rise, when one of the rustlers appeared in the window. He drew a bead on the young cowboy.
Baird yelled a warning and dove at Wilcox. He caught his shoulders and yanked him to the right just as the man in the window fired.
Dirt spattered up exactly where he and Wilcox had been an instant before.
The two of them slammed to the ground, rolling a few yards from sheer momentum. The firing inside the cabin continued a minute more, then silence fell.
The last gunshots had barely echoed away when Buck burst out the cabin door.
"They're all dead," he announced, holstering his pistol.
Baird pushed up to his knees, spitting dirt. The singe of black powder hung heavy in the air. Wilcox sprawled a few feet away blinking in confusion but apparently unharmed—no thanks to his own rashness.
Baird had no sooner sat back on his heels when Ardith came racing toward him. "No heroics, I said!" she yelled at him.
"Sometimes I just can't help myself," he answered and burst out laughing.
Ardith slammed to a stop; her eyes went wide. "Are you hurt?" she demanded.
"Of course not."
"Then—then where's that blood coming from?"
Baird looked down at the bright red stain spreading down his shirtsleeve. He blinked twice, then realized it felt as if someone had laid a red-hot poker across his arm. He pushed open the rent in the fabric and looked inside.
"It's nothing, Ardith," he assured her and climbed to his feet.
"W-w-what do you mean it's n-n-nothing. You've been s-s-shot!"
"It's nothing, Ardith. Hardly more than a scratch."
"Why are you bleeding so much if it's only a scratch?"
"All it needs is bandaging."
"I think it needs a good deal more than that!" she shrilled at him and burst into tears.
Baird stood open-mouthed, watching something he never in this world had imagined he'd see—unflappable, intrepid, clear-headed Ardith Merritt having hysterics.
* * *
Ardith was mortified. Not only had she burst into tears in front of the cowboys. Not only had she been useless when it came to helping Buck stitch up Baird's arm, but she'd had to excuse herself or faint dead away on the cabin floor. So here she sat on the steps outside, with her head tucked between her knees to keep from becoming a total disgrace.
It was an utterly ridiculous way to behave. Yet something about seeing Baird hurt left her feeling lost, naked and defenseless. He was supposed to be strong and solid. He was supposed to be impervious and indestructible. She was furious that he wasn't—so furious she was quaking inside.
She couldn't bear that he might have been killed, couldn't bear that he was in there now having Buck patch him up, and she wasn't even able to help. She needed to be doing that. She needed to be doing something so she wouldn't have to acknowledge how much this foolish, dauntless, reckless man had come to mean to her.
She sucked in a lungful of crisp morning air and hoped it would revive her. She didn't want him seeing her all gone at the knees like this. It would make him realize how much she cared for him. It could make him think she loved him. And it wouldn't do for him to realize that, especially now. Especially when she'd just promised Gavin she'd marry him.
She wasn't in much better control of herself when Baird came out of the cabin and sat down heavily beside her.
"Damn you, Baird Northcross," she said from where she was still closely inspecting the toes of her boots, "for deciding to turn heroic at this late date!"
It didn't help that he had probably saved Wilcox's life.
She could feel him looking down at her. He laid his hand on her bowed back. "I'm sorry I upset you."
She let the warmth of his palm soak into her. "It was the most asinine thing I have ever seen you do!"
"I've been thinking that myself."
She heard a lilt of humor in his voice and glanced up to see if he was smiling. She saw the blood on his sleeve instead, and gray fuzzed the edges of her vision again. She dipped her head even lower.
"It's all right, Ardith," he told her. "It's all right now."
He rubbed slow, gentle circles on her back, patting a little like he did with the children. Only he had ever touched her like this, with such warmth and simple tenderness. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the contentment of that innocuous contact.
"I used to crave stories about the West," she confessed after a bit, still not daring to raise her head. "I read stories about cavalry charges and gunfights and cowboys shooting it out with rustlers. I was reading one of those to the children on the train."
"And I suppose they liked it." His voice was so calm and deep. It made her want to lie down somewhere and let it roll over her as if it were the summer sea.
"They did," she answered. "And so did I. Everyone in those stories was so fearless and romantic. And everything always came out right."
"It's fiction, Ardith," he told her gently.
"I know. But those stories lose their appeal when you see what can really happen."
He stroked her hair, combing
his fingers through the mass straggling against her shoulders. "This turned out all right, too," he reassured her.
Tears scorched her downcast lashes.
"You're all right, Ardith. I'm all right. It's over now."
She drew a long, cool breath that tasted of sage and mountain meadows, and she knew he was right. The images of the gunfight with the rustlers had dimmed a little and with them the hard pinch of fear in her belly. She sat up slowly, shakily, and reached across to take his hand.
It was then she saw the stark disillusionment in his eyes. "Baird? What is it?"
He took a small, black leather book from his pocket. "We found this in the cabin."
She opened the pages, stared at the dates, the columns of figures. "It's a tallybook."
"Cullen's tallybook. Buck says it looks like he's been keeping track of every cow he stole from us, every one they killed."
She leafed through the book again and saw McKay's name was on the flyleaf. Though it would take comparing these entries with Cullen's handwriting to solidify the connection, Ardith didn't doubt for a moment who'd done this.
"It's like he kept that as a trophy, Ardith." Baird shook his head, his voice low and deep. "Like he wanted a record of how he'd cheated me, cheated his father. It's like he savored every cow he stole from us."
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, clasping his hand, feeling his fingers tighten. "I know you didn't want to believe that Cullen was involved in rustling."
"It makes things—difficult."
Just then Buck came striding up the rise. "The boys are almost done planting the fellows we shot. Then I figure I'd have them cut the steers out of this herd. We might as well add them to the ones we're going to sell."
Baird clambered to his feet. "Whatever you think."
"And I was wondering, Miss Ardith." Buck turned to her. "If you'll be needing an escort back to the ranch?"
Knowing he'd seen her at her worst only a few minutes before, Ardith heaved to her feet and tried to look like a woman who had regained possession of her faculties. "I'll be perfectly fine riding home," she assured him. In truth, she felt a good deal steadier than she expected. "By now everyone there will be frantic wondering where I am."
"Myra would've held things together."
Ardith gave Buck a grateful smile. "Of course she would. Still, I need to get back."
"If you could send Frank and a couple other hands over to pick up Randy and the rest of the cattle, it'd save us some time," Buck suggested.
"Of course I will."
Bear Burton brought her horse to her and stood waiting to help her mount up. Still, she couldn't leave without asking one question. "What are you going to do about Cullen McKay?"
"I don't know," Baird answered on a sigh. "He's a Northcross. He's family. How can I turn him in for rustling?"
The grief on his face and the ambivalence in his eyes made her want to be there to help him decide Cullen's fate, to keep him from doing something he might always regret. But the children needed her home even more.
"McKay and the Double T drive headed out last week," Buck volunteered. "Cullen will be in Cheyenne when we get there."
In spite of Buck's words, Ardith knew this would be Baird's decision. One of the most difficult he'd ever have to make.
"Baird?" she whispered and reached out to clutch his hand one last time.
When he turned to her his eyes were vacant—the eyes of a man whose last illusions had been shattered and ground to dust. "Baird, please, don't do anything foolish in Cheyenne."
Baird nodded once, but he didn't promise her anything.
Chapter 17
They must have seen her coming. By the time Ardith had left her pony with Frank Barnes, China was racing toward her across the yard. She threw herself into Ardith's arms, while Khy, only a few steps behind, burst into tears.
Though she was tired down to the soles of her boots, Ardith scooped Khy up onto her hip and hugged him to her. At the feel of him hugging her back, her throat closed up, and tears of her own stung in her eyes. She had never in her life been so glad to be home.
"Are you all right?" China demanded, dancing a little with agitation. "Where have you been? What happened to your face? Is that blood on you?"
Khy was holding on to her so tightly Ardith could barely get her breath. "I'm fine," she assured them, though her voice wavered just a little. "I had a little adventure, but now I'm home safe."
She continued toward the porch where Meggie and Myra were waiting. "I told them you'd be fine," Myra said, though Ardith could tell by the depth of her scowl that Myra had been as concerned for her as the children.
"Was your adventure with Indians?" Khy demanded. "Were there wild animals?"
"Well, no. But guess who I found?"
"Papa?" Khy guessed.
"Well, yes. I saw your papa."
"Is Papa all right?" China demanded, paling a little.
"Your papa's fine. Who I found was Randy."
"Randy the Bull?" Khy asked, his eyes going wide.
Ardith nodded. "I found Randy and the rest of our cattle. It seems we had rustlers, after all."
"Rustlers!" Khy exclaimed. "Like in that book?"
Not exactly.
"Well, sort of," she said instead. "But you're not to worry. Your papa and Buck took care of them. Frank and some of the men are going to go out to bring Randy and the rustled cattle home. Let's go into the house, and I'll tell you the rest."
"Would you like some tea?" Myra offered.
Trust Myra to know exactly what she needed. "More than nectar and ambrosia."
Myra went scurrying ahead to put the kettle on, while Ardith shepherded everyone inside. She noticed how Meggie Jalbert slid her arm around China's waist, and Ardith was profoundly grateful that the older girl had been here when China needed her.
Once she had settled herself at the end of the table with Khy in her lap, Ardith began to explain. "I came upon the rustlers in a valley south of here while I was out looking for something to paint."
"Did the rustlers see you?" China asked. "Did they know you'd found where they were hiding?"
"Two of them did," she answered and fought to keep her voice from quavering. "There was a scuffle. That's how I got banged up, but Primrose and I managed to outrun them."
"Good old Primrose," Khy put in.
Ardith smiled and ruffled his hair. "Since I was pretty sure that most of the cattle were ours, I rode out after your father. Thank goodness they weren't any further south, or I never would have caught up to them."
"You were in their camp?" China questioned her.
Ardith nodded in answer. "Your papa and Buck decided that we should catch the rustlers. So this morning we rode out to where they were holding the cattle and surprised them while they were asleep."
"And you're sure Papa is all right?" China persisted.
Ardith's stomach rolled as she remembered the blood on Baird's sleeve, and how shaken he'd been by finding proof of Cullen's betrayal.
"Right as rain," she assured them without a qualm. She glanced across at Myra, who'd just brought in her tea. "Everyone's perfectly fine."
The older woman gave her an appreciative nod for the assurance that Buck was all right, too. Still, Ardith had the feeling Myra would be questioning her more closely once they were alone.
"What this means," Ardith continued, "is that we will be leaving for Cheyenne tomorrow." She'd done a good deal of thinking riding back, and decided that she wanted to be in Cheyenne when Baird and the cattle arrived.
"Why are we going earlier?" China wanted to know.
So I can try to keep your papa from doing anything foolish.
"I might need extra time in town in case there are legal things I have to attend to because I was the one who found the rustlers. And Meggie still has to be in Boston when her classes begin at the end of the month."
Seeming satisfied, China nodded her head.
"What I want you to do," Ardith went on, "is get your things tog
ether. Myra and I will be in to help you pack."
"I'll be glad to help China," Meggie offered. "Everything I have is already in my trunk."
Bless the girl. Ardith thought. The more she saw of Cass Jalbert's daughter, the better she liked her.
"Now if you'll get started, I'd like a few minutes to drink my tea and catch my breath. And Khy," Ardith said, holding him on her lap a moment longer, "we won't be packing anything alive, will we?"
Khy looked at her hopefully. "Not even the salamanders?"
"I'll help you put them back in the creek," she promised before letting him go.
As the children hurried off to do as they'd been bidden, Ardith clambered to her feet and took the tea outside.
Myra followed her, and once they were well beyond China and Khy's hearing, the older woman fixed her with those sharp, dark eyes. "Now tell me what really happened."
Ardith did, and Myra listened without interrupting. When Ardith was done, she nodded. "You were right not to tell the children all of this, but I figured things hadn't gone quite as smoothly as you said."
Ardith shivered in spite of the sunlight and the warmth of the tea. Her fear for Baird was alive inside her—a sprawling, growing, breathing thing, feeding on her impatience. She was terrified of what could happen in Cheyenne.
"You love his lordship, don't you?" Myra asked after a moment.
Ardith could do no more than nod. She wasn't sure if she'd fallen in love with Baird when he admitted the truth about Bram, or when she'd seen how he was with China the night Matt died. She wasn't sure if it was recognizing the dreams in those sky-bright eyes, or the doubts Baird still harbored about himself. It had to do with the way he'd held her when she cried, how tender he'd been with her when they made love, and that he'd come to care for the children as much as she did. However it had happened, she'd had to stop denying how she felt when Baird was wounded.
Ardith looked down at Gavin's betrothal ring and knew she could never act on what she felt. But surely it wouldn't hurt to say the words aloud just once—even if it wasn't to the man who'd earned the right to hear them.
Color of the Wind Page 33
