Colorado Dawn

by Kaki Warner

  He stood numbly as she stripped off his clothes and helped him into bed. With a groan, he stretched out, praying the spinning would stop.

  “Stay,” he said, reaching blindly out, afraid to open his eyes.

  A moment later, he felt her slide in beside him. Pulling her close, he whispered into her hair. “Dinna leave me.”

  “I won’t.” She gently stroked his chest. “Sleep.”

  He put his hand over hers to anchor her to him, then let his mind go.

  Sound faded. The throbbing eased. A few bright flashes of light, then weariness pulled him down into a place as black and thick as a peat bog.

  When next he opened his eyes, sunlight lit the room. For a moment he thought he was back in the hospital in Ireland, awakening from another laudanum dream—­his mouth dry, his limbs weak, his thoughts so disoriented for a moment he dinna know where he was.

  Then it all came rushing back—­the endless ride, the pain, the fear of what might have happened if he hadna reached her in time—­and a sudden, choking panic squeezed his chest.

  A hand stroked his brow, startling him. He turned his head to see Maddie, fully dressed, stretched atop the covers, facing him. Poor lass. Purple bruises shadowed her swollen eyes. A blanket of sticking plaster covered the bridge of her nose. Yet she had never been more precious to him. Emotion constricted his throat. He felt the burn of it behind his eyes and looked away before he betrayed himself.

  What would he have done had he lost her?

  “You’re finally awake.”

  “Aye,” he said, hoarsely. “It’s morning then?”

  “Afternoon.”

  He had slept that long? In control once again, he gave her a smile. “Have you been watching over me, lass, all this time?”

  She gave him a smile he’d never seen from her before. Sweet and warm and full of knowledge. And love. He was sure of it. Yet she dinna say the words, and he wondered why. He also wondered why she was fully dressed while he was naked beneath the covers.

  She brushed the hair from his brow. “How do you feel?”

  Ready. Eager as a thirteen-­year-­old. But he could tell by the worry on her face that his wife had other things on her mind. Just as well. He was feeling a bit shaky yet. “Better. Hungry. Did Thomas come?”

  Her expression deepened into a frown. “The reverend brought him a couple of hours ago. The doctor is with him now. Even as hurt as he is, Mrs. Kemble is fearful of having an Indian in the house—­apparently an uncle of hers was killed by Cheyenne on the Overland Trail several years ago—­so Declan put him in my wagon. I think he prefers that, anyway.”

  “I should be there.” Ash started to sit up, but she put her hand on his chest and gently urged him back down.

  “Later. Eat first.” She rose and went to the bureau, returning with a plate piled high with leftovers. Only then did Ash see she wore a sling on her left arm.

  “What’s wrong with your arm?”

  “Nothing. A wrenched shoulder. The doctor thought it would heal faster if I didn’t use it for a few days.”

  “It’s sorry I am, lass, that I wasna here to protect you.”

  Setting the plate on the bedside table, she sank onto the bed, her hip next to his, her free hand fisted in her lap. He saw her throat working, and the wee wobble in her chin, and knew she was struggling not to cry. “The reverend told us what happened, and what you did for him and Thomas. He said once you were sure they were safe, you didn’t even rest or eat, but turned around and made the long ride back.”

  “I shouldn’t have left you. If Cochran had—­”

  She put a fingertip to his lips, cutting him off. “You were here when I needed you, Ash. And at great cost to yourself, I fear.” She lost the battle, and a tear began a slow descent down her pale cheek. “I need to say something to you, Ash.”

  He braced himself, not knowing what was coming or how he could defend himself against it. Doubt crystallized into a single, hard knot in the center of his chest.

  “I have been so unfair to you for so long, dearest.” Lifting trembling fingers, she brushed the tear away. Another started down. “Every time something went wrong in my life, I looked for someone to save me. And when you couldn’t come, I blamed you for letting me down.”

  “I should have tried harder.”

  “No. I should have tried harder. I realize that now.” Leaning down, she pressed a salty kiss to his lips, then straightened. “Life is full of heartache. People die, babes are lost. It isn’t always as neat as we would like it to be. You couldn’t have saved me from that, and I was wrong to expect it of you. I misjudged you. And myself, perhaps,” she added with a weak smile. “I’m stronger than I think.”

  Relief made his throat tight. “Aye, lass. You are. I’ve known it from the first, so I have.”

  “Then know this, too, Angus Wallace.” Her voice was starting to break now, and the words were hard to follow. “You have never let me down. I don’t think you’re capable of it. And even blinded by headaches and plagued by old wounds, you’re still all the man I’ll ever need.”

  He hid the joy those words gave him behind a shaky smile. “I should hope so.”

  “You nincompoop.”

  This time when she leaned down, he wrapped his arms around her so she couldn’t pull back until he’d finished kissing her. When he finally let her sit up, she was still crying. And smiling. It made no sense.

  “Je t’aime, Angus Wallace. I love you. I always have.”

  Finally. “You were supposed to show me,” he reminded her.

  “Was I?” Chuckling, she lifted her skirt to blot her wet cheeks. “Perhaps later.”

  “And let all this nakedness go to waste? You wouldn’t even have to undress, love. Just lift those petticoats—­”

  “Hush!” Chuckles gave way to laughter, even as a maidenly blush inched up her tear-­streaked cheeks. “As appealing as it would be to toss up my skirts for you like a back alley tart, I must insist you bathe first. You smell entirely too much of horse, and there’s still blood under your nails.” As she said that last part, she looked quickly away. “Besides, you need to eat to keep up your strength.”

  “My strength has been up since I awoke and saw you beside me. Would you like to see?” Seeing she was about to scold, he laughed. God, he loved this woman.

  “All right, lass. I’ll do as you ask, and hope you’ll be joining me later in the washroom to make sure I’m thoroughly scrubbed. Now pass the plate. If I canna nibble on you, I’ll try that chicken. And you can tell me all that has happened whilst I lay abed, dreaming of you.”

  He hadn’t been hungry until he took the first bite, then suddenly he felt ravenous. While he devoured cold chicken, potatoes, carrots, beets, and rolls, she related the events of the last day.

  Brodie had managed to keep the landlady from throwing them out immediately, but she expected them to be gone soon. The undertaker had removed Cochran’s body. The local marshal had come, and after talking to Declan, and Maddie, and Edwina, had decided Cochran’s death was self-­defense. “Declan thinks it was more a case of him not knowing who to charge for the actual killing—­you, me, or Tricks.”

  Seeing the worry in her eyes, Ash mentally kicked himself. “It was my blade that finished him off,” he reassured her. “Your wee gun would only have slowed him down for a while.” Until infection set in, as it always did in gut shots. But Ash dinna mention that. The lass had been through enough without piling misplaced guilt on her shoulders. “He said naught about Tricks?” There were many who thought once a dog attacked a human, he could never be trusted again.

  “He was concerned, but we assured him we would keep him secured until we leave.”

  “Secured? Where?”

  “He’s keeping Lurch and Si company in the stable. I’m more worried about Silas. Even though he feared and hated his brother, he seems quite lost without him. What will become of him, do you think?”

  “I’ll talk to Declan about it,” Ash said between bites
. “It’s clear the lad canna live on his own. He’s far too trusting and would be easy prey for unscrupulous types.”

  From there the talk moved on to when they could leave for Heartbreak Creek. “Edwina and Declan are anxious to get back to their children. Lucinda is quite excited, too.” Maddie told him about Miss Hathaway’s canceled meetings, then finding renewed interest from a new railroad. “Apparently they’re sending a representative to Heartbreak Creek in the next month or so. Lucinda is determined to do everything she can to put the town in a good light.”

  “Perhaps I can help. I’m verra handy with a hammer, so I am.”

  “I know.”

  “Saucy wench.” Leaning over, he gave her a kiss as he set his empty plate on the bedside table, then ran his hand up her thigh.

  She gently pushed it away. “Later.”

  He sat back with a sigh. “Since you willna join me for a wee bit of sport, lass, I might as well dress and go check on Thomas and Tricks.”

  “Bathe first. You wouldn’t want to frighten them.” She rose and picked up the plate. “I’ve left your shaving things in the washroom. See that you use them. I don’t want Edwina commenting on my rash again.”

  Thirty minutes later, Ash arrived at the open door of Maddie’s wagon, scrubbed and shaved, his hair still damp from his bath. The doctor had left and Brodie was moving boxes around to make more room.

  “How’s the heathen?” he asked from the doorway.

  Startled, Brodie straightened, thumping the crown of his hat against the ceiling and unloosing a shower of photographs. Muttering under his breath, he bent to pick them up.

  “Hungry,” Thomas answered from the bed.

  Ash saw the footboard had been removed and the runt’s feet only stuck out a half foot beyond the mattress. The Cheyenne still wore his moccasins and breechcloth, but he’d removed his war shirt and leggings. He lay on his uninjured side, thick wrappings swathing his ribs. He looked better than when Ash had last seen him, but that wasn’t saying much. On the wee table beside the bed, he saw a familiar brown bottle, and noting the Cheyenne’s drowsiness, guessed he had been given laudanum.

  Wincing, Thomas rolled onto his back. “Declan Brodie says you killed Cletus Cochran.”

  “Aye.”

  “But you needed your woman and dog to do it.”

  Ash made a crude gesture to the smirking Indian, then turned to Brodie. “What did the doctor say?”

  “That you and the reverend probably saved his life.”

  “Did he?” Now it was Ash’s turn to smirk. “And how does it feel, heathen, to owe your life to a Scotsman?”

  “My shame is great.”

  “If you ladies are through tossing insults,” Brodie said, sitting on one of Maddie’s photography crates. “We need to figure out when to leave and what to do with Silas.”

  “White people,” Thomas mumbled. “You make such trouble for yourselves.” Closing his eyes, he sank into a deep, drugged sleep.

  Lowering his voice, Brodie gave Ash the doctor’s report. Thomas had lost a lot of blood and would be weak for a while. The wounds looked clean, but there was always risk of infection. “Mrs. Kemble wants us to leave tomorrow, but he won’t be able to ride, and I doubt we can keep him in the wagon the whole way back to Heartbreak Creek.”

  “What about the reverend?”

  The sheriff sighed and shook his head. “He’s still fixed on finding his brother. I don’t have much hope of that happening. Says he’ll go back to the cabin. He’s convinced his brother registered the claim, and plans to keep looking for Ephraim’s copy of the paperwork.”

  “When is he leaving?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s in the feed room, talking to Silas right now. The boy’s pretty upset and confused about his brother’s death.”

  “Let’s go talk to him. Maybe we can figure out what to do with the lad.”

  Tricks almost knocked him down with his enthusiastic welcome.

  “Your wife made us bathe him to get all the blood off,” Brodie murmured, eyeing the wiggling, waggling dog. “Took me and Chub and Silas to get him in the trough. When we finished, he rolled in the manure pile, so we had to do it again.”

  “He’s not too fond of his baths,” Ash said, ruffling the dog’s ears. “The Irish in him, I think.”

  Ash nodded hello to the reverend, who sat on an overturned bucket, then at Silas, who was hunched in the corner, watching the newcomers warily. Recognizing the defensive position, Ash hunkered in front of the lad and smiled in reassurance. “Good day to you, Silas. I thank you for taking care of my dog. He’s verra dear to me, so he is.”

  “I like Tricks. He likes me, too.”

  “I can see that.” Ash turned his head to pet the wolfhound.

  Silas gasped.

  Startled, Ash looked back to find the lad staring at him with an odd expression on his battered face.

  “Did God send you?” Silas asked.

  “God?” Ash glanced at Brodie and the reverend. They seemed as confused by the question as he was. “Why would you think God sent me?”

  Instead of answering, the boy dug in the lining of his coat. “I got one, too. Ma gave it to me. She said if I told the truth and didn’t hurt anybody, God would watch over me.” Papers and photographs and letters spilled out before he finally found what he sought. “She said anytime I was in trouble or afraid, all I had to do was hold it and everything would be okay. See?” He held out his hand. In his dirty palm was a pendant bearing the same five cross design that was on the back of Ash’s neck.

  “Did God send you to make Clete stop hurting me?”

  Taken aback, Ash wasn’t sure how to answer.

  The reverend stepped in. “I think perhaps He did. I think the Lord sent this warrior to do His work.”

  “No. He dinna.” The idea was repugnant to Ash. He had never been one to cling to that pious justification for the brutal tasks he had been required to perform as a soldier. He had seen enough carnage and violence and bloodshed on the battlefield to know God had naught to do with it.

  But Silas clutched at Ash like he was his salvation. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, tears rolling down his dirty face. “But he started yelling and it scared me. Then he ran at me and hit me and the knife slipped and then he stopped moving. I didn’t mean to hurt him, I swear.”

  With a soft sound—­something between a sigh and a moan—­the reverend dropped his head into his hand.

  Ash already guessed the answer but made himself ask. “Who did you hurt, lad?”

  Silas wiped a sleeve over his runny nose. “The smiling man.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “I don’t remember. But he lives in a little cabin with trees all around and a mountain that looks like a face turned sideways. I had a picture of him, but Clete took it.”

  With a shaking hand, the reverend pulled a photograph from his pocket and held it out. “A picture like this?”

  “You found it!” Smiling broadly, his tears forgotten, Silas took the photograph and held it up to Ash and Brodie, pointing at the figure beside the cabin. “See? The smiling man and the cabin and the mountain that looks like a face turned sideways.” His grin faded. “I wanted to go there. Whenever Clete hurt me, I pretended I was safe with the smiling man by his cabin. But I never was.”

  After a long silence, the reverend cleared his throat and said, “Would you like to go there with me, Silas?”

  Si looked up, his bruised face so desperate with hope Ash had to look away.

  “Are you sure about this, Reverend?” Brodie warned softly. “By his own admission, the boy—­”

  “Didn’t know what he was doing,” Zucker cut in before the sheriff could finish the sentence. “He’s a gentle soul that has been sorely used. It’s time he had a home, I think. And I can surely use the help fixing up the cabin for when my wife comes. What can be the harm, Sheriff, if we give this poor boy a second chance?”

  Brodie dinna respond, and when Ash looked over to see why, h
e found the sheriff staring at the papers and pictures that had spilled into Silas’s lap.

  “Where did you get the pictures and those papers, Silas?”

  The fear came back in the lad’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take them. But Clete was going to throw them away, and I didn’t think the smiling man would need them anymore.”

  “Can I see?”

  “You won’t hurt the pictures, will you?”

  “No. I won’t hurt them. But if you’re worried about it, I’ll just look at the papers. All right?” Brodie held out his hand.

  Reluctantly, Silas handed them over.

  Brodie sifted through them. A letter from the reverend to his brother—­which he passed over to the reverend—­and some folded papers. He opened them to find a printed form with a seal stamped on the front. “Son of a bitch,” he said wonderingly. “They were right here in Silas’s jacket the whole time.” Laughing, he held them up for Ash and the reverend to see. “The missing claim papers. It’s all here. Take a look.”

  The reverend studied them carefully, his expresssion bouncing between wonder and joy and sadness. Everything was properly registered—­description, location, assay report. Ephraim Zucker had definitely struck gold.

  “I guess it’s settled then,” he said, tucking the papers into his jacket pocket. “I’ll go back to the claims office first thing tomorrow and have the deed registered in my name as Ephraim’s next of kin. Then I’ll pick up some supplies, and Silas and I will head to the cabin. It’s time to put all this pain and ugliness behind us. Right, Si?”

  “Okay. Can Tricks come with us?”

  The reverend must have seen Ash’s instantaneous rejection of the idea, because he smiled and shook his head. “I think Mr. Wallace needs Tricks to stay with him. But perhaps we can find a pup along the way.”

  “Okay.”

  Ash nodded his gratitude to Zucker. Odd, how things had turned out. The reverend was sitting rich, Silas had a good home, and Cletus Cochran was roasting in hell where he belonged. Maybe the long arm of Providence had had a hand in all this after all.