Levi had quieted, but Maira knew his ears were attuned to her every word and expression. “You’ve all had a long day. Give the men some time and rest. Tanner will probably ride in soaked to the bone and wanting some coffee.”
Frank glanced at Levi and inclined his head. “I’ll tell Ana to keep the pot on for him.”
Levi snuggled close to Maira’s side. “Is it time for bed?”
Frank jabbed the boy’s shoulder. “How about we play some checkers first? Then I’ve got to help butcher those cows. Plenty of jerky in your future.”
“Yeah!”
Bless you, Frank. Maira smiled her gratitude at the man as Levi slipped from the bed and ran into the kitchen.
As the loyal cowhand turned to leave, she caught his hand. “Tell me. There’s something you’re not saying.”
He leaned forward and rubbed his leg, voice low. “It’s probably nothing. . . .”
“It is if it worries you.”
“Does it show that much?”
She grinned. “Yes.”
He sighed. “I used to hide these things so well.”
“Frank. . .”
“Tanner took everything.” He chewed his lip. “His bedding is gone. Had himself an extra pair of boots. They’re gone, too. All of it.”
“Tell me what happened out there.”
He looked at the doorway, then sank down onto the chair. “I don’t know. . . . It’s like he was driven. He insisted on being out front, being in charge.”
“Isn’t that what he was supposed to do?”
“It was different.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.” She clenched her teeth, throat suddenly raw.
Frank’s eyes narrowed at her. “Who are you trying to convince?”
“I’m just saying it’s better for him to pull up stakes now. Levi will forget him. We’ll go on as before.”
“And that will be better? For who?”
She tried to form an answer. On the tip of her tongue were the words she wanted to say, but she lost the impetus to launch them with that last stomach-clenching question.
“You can’t stop loving because it hurts.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I think we both are, though in different ways.”
It was in Frank’s face, the confusion and uncertainty. She’d never known him to be at a loss for words. Slow to speak, yes. But Frank’s wisdom went deep. Jon had depended on that wisdom. Maira turned her head to glance at the old Bible, dusty and unused.
“Jon had an interest in religion, and I was doing my best to put distance between me and God when he asked me to come on here. Mrs. Jackson made sure I met Jon. Said he was looking for religion.”
Maira ran her hand over the thick quilt covering her. The beautiful quilt she’d sewn herself with the help of Mrs. Jackson in town. She’d almost forgotten the patient owner of the lone boardinghouse in town. All those nights they’d spent together, Mrs. Jackson’s gnarled fingers working the needle with precision, working so Maira would have ample bedding for her pending marriage. She’d heard Mrs. Jackson had died a year back, but she’d not gone into town to the funeral. She couldn’t at the time, not with Levi so young and the ranch in such bad shape and her heart still breaking over the loss of Jon.
She pushed away the grief to focus on Frank. “You were a preacher.”
“People got to talking about my marriage. Married me a mulatto woman. Good woman, but they didn’t like that when they found out. So I stopped preaching. Mrs. Jackson called me a coward.” Frank’s mouth curled into a rueful grin. “Jon helped me see how close to the truth she was. I couldn’t pull away from God just because people hurt me.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“She died of fever before I ever came to town.”
“You and Jon used to talk all the time about God and the Bible.”
“And when he died, it was like another hurt on my rock pile.”
His words paralleled what was in her own heart. She stared at the Bible.
“Tanner’s hurting, too,” he continued. “That deep-down hurt that’s got us all pulling up lame.”
❧
Tanner had never been so glad to see the moon. After two nights of rain, the glowing white orb surrounded by bursts of starlight comforted him. Despite the cold, the fire had kept much of the chill of night at bay. He set his boots as close to the fire as he dared, relishing the warmth and the last of his jerky. Cue whinnied from the cover of the rocky overhang that had sheltered him after the stampede, content to be dry and fed at last, his lacerations eased with the salve. He’d made sure to pamper the horse a bit. About a mile out was the place where he’d found Jon’s body, the point where the XP and R7 range met. He would go over that area again. Try to remember. Leaning back, Tanner focused on the day ahead. He had to have a plan. He’d found Jon’s body so long ago, and yet only he knew the truth. Jon had been shot in the side, riding away from someone or something. He wasn’t simply robbed. No one had seen the gold change hands.
When morning sun lit the sky in the east, he saddled Cupid up and dragged himself into the saddle, weary from his restless night. In fits and starts he had dreamed, vague images that made little sense but left him uneasy. More than once he’d jerked awake, thinking he heard the sound of someone crying. First a child’s cry, then a woman’s, and though the face had been nothing more than a blur with dark hair, he had known it was that moment when Maira had taken lead. He shook his head and scratched along his heavily stubbled jaw. Could be his age was factoring into his inability to sleep, or maybe it was the shattered sense of peace and place that being on the Rocking J had given him. Cue, at least, seemed reinvigorated by the night’s rest.
He breathed in the cool, fresh air and sat forward in the saddle, longing for a cup of hot coffee and a piece of sausage. At least he had left Frank, Maira, and Levi with meat. His cheeks puffed out on a heavy sigh. It didn’t feel like enough. No matter what he did, it would never be enough.
Each placement of Cue’s hooves echoed that thought back to him. Punishing. Pushing with its spectral finger against his failures.
A slow spiral of smoke writhed skyward in the distance. He guided Cupid that direction, curious. Judging by the distance, it would be property beyond the reach of the XP or R7. It was a small fire, almost imperceptible, shielded by a staggered range of rises, too little to be called hills. He rode on, Cupid’s ears alert, twitching as he drew nearer. No doubt the animal smelled the smoke, maybe even something else that his nose could not make out. He passed the place where he’d found Jon. A slope that overlooked the XP before dropping downward toward the Rocking J. On the opposite side, the smoke writhed into the air.
A sixth sense brought him up short. Cue chafed to continue the forward trek, but he held the gelding steady, eyes alert. He tried to superimpose the image of Jon’s body with the lay of the land. Jon’s body had shown marks along his lower arms. He recalled a tear in his brother’s shirt that hadn’t made sense at the time.
Not if Jon had been riding.
He traced the road that led toward the Rocking J, then the perpendicular path from the road out to the place where the smoke weaved like a beckoning finger. There was no road here, but a light trail, as if little but consistently used. More worn than he remembered. Tension snaked along his spine as he gave Cupid his heels, and the horse moved forward. He scanned the ground. A lone hoofprint and bushes with the tips of their limbs snapped off, the evidence that guided him in the direction of the rider who had built the fire. He didn’t know quite how far he had passed, a mile, two, maybe three if the windy way could be physically straightened. The sun was heating the ground and beginning to draw sweat around the brim of his hat. Cue climbed the rise in terrain, every muscle in the animal’s body tensed with effort. Tanner sat easy in the saddle, amused at the pitch of the deceptively shallow rise, even more astonished as the earth opened up below him with every step. The terrain gave way to a canyon, narrow and roug
h, but a surprise.
And not a surprise.
He realized two things at almost the same time: that the milling brown and white beasts below him were surely the yearlings missing from the Rocking J, and that he was a perfect silhouette against the sky. The unmistakable bark of a rifle brought Cue up straight before the horse willingly heeded Tanner’s heels and launched a mad gallop down the rise and out of the gunman’s sight.
Tanner’s heart staccatoed. He condemned himself for having ridden right into showing himself like some kid with no experience. He’d suspected rustlers, and now he’d found them and shown his hand; and now he had no doubt he was riding for his life. Just as Jon had probably done, except he wouldn’t get himself killed. He should have been paying attention to that telltale fire. Whoever was down there clearly had a guard. And that man had seen him long before Tanner had reached the pinnacle of the hill.
Cupid’s stride reached for more ground, and more, eating up the sloppy ground like a destructive tornado. He slowed the horse for the last three hundred feet to the base of the rise, the most treacherous footing, expecting a bullet in his back at any moment. Everything becoming crystal clear. Jon’s shot in the back. The scratches on his arms from wading through the scrub to get to that pinnacle, probably leading his horse. . .
Tanner dared to stop Cue at the base, turning the horse. The gelding fought him, terrorized by the bullet. He put a hand to the horse’s neck, feeling the hard bunch of Cue’s muscles. He turned the horse sideways and slipped to his feet, slapped Cue on the rump, then leaped and dug his shoulder into the ground. He rolled to his stomach and palmed his gun. He squinted into the brightness lining the horizon. He searched for the telltale glint of sun off a rifle even as he scooped a handful of dirt to rub along the shiny barrel of his own gun. The muddy grit against his fingers took the shine off with each swipe of his hand. He blinked then blinked again, panning the area around him.
Nothing moved.
twenty-two
The picture no longer brought a choking swell of pain. Maira marked the Bible with the worn photo and closed the pages. It was a shame to her to see the thin layer of dust surrounding the space where the Bible had lain on the dresser. She hadn’t forgotten God; she just hadn’t made time for Him. Levi kept her busy, the ranch, the worries of it all. . . .
Jon’s strength had been her crutch. The leather cover, cracked from age and wear, was from his handling of the Bible. He’d been haunted by his mother’s passing, his father’s desertion. The two events had formed the conviction that he needed to make a secure future for himself and those he loved. That she had been the recipient of his love had been her greatest blessing, with Levi a beautiful extension. She tested the weight of the volume in her hand and considered a life without God, her deep-seated distrust of others. It didn’t mean she couldn’t trust Him, did it? Jon would want Levi to know a faith in God.
Maira set the volume aside, her finger lingering over the words printed on the front cover, Holy Bible. She’d locked herself away from the world after Jon’s death, and in the process she had locked Levi away as well. Did God understand? He was merciful, yes, but she didn’t think He would abide being neglected. Crowded out. And she needed Him. It had become too easy to rely on herself for her needs. The bullet could have missed her side and entered her heart. Levi would have become an instant orphan. Frank a lost cowhand riding for a brand that would cease to exist.
A black abyss opened up in Maira’s mind. The blackness brought a chill. She closed her eyes. God wanted her to give Him her heart and for her to teach Levi of Him. But where to begin? A small smile curved her lips at the answer that whispered across her mind. She began with herself.
She read by the light of the lantern until the rising sun stretched its golden fingers through her window. She read of Christ in a garden, crying, going back to His friends only to find them asleep. He would wake them and tell them to watch and pray, asking of flesh and blood to help Him. And they failed each time.
People failed Christ.
His friends. Those closest to Him.
Maira’s hands shook at that revelation. How often had she, as a child, put her trust in others only to have them fail her? Yet she never realized God wouldn’t fail her. People would fail, again and again, but God would not.
The house stirred with wakeful sounds. Ana moved around the kitchen. Levi slept on, his cheeks flushed with deep sleep. Her heart had broken over Levi’s tears when Frank had finally suggested that Tanner might not return. It made sense that Tanner would gather all his belongings if his intention had been to give himself some space.
Disappointment flooded her, sucked the joy from the morn-ing and the long hour she’d read through the Bible. The final story flowed to the front of her mind. People failed. Tanner had left her. She would not go on in her own strength. Couldn’t. The hurt flowed too deep. God, I need You to ease this hurt and help me. Help me to help Tanner. Somehow. She sighed at the absurdity of such a prayer. He would not return, and she really needed to focus on herself, not Tanner.
Pushing herself up, she groaned at the spike of pain. She scooted to the edge of the bed and let her feet dangle, flexing the muscles in her legs and calves, rotating her feet to wake the muscles. As soon as she shifted her weight to her feet, her knees wanted to buckle. She stumbled sideways and gripped the bedpost, rattling the bed. She caught her breath, afraid to jostle Levi awake, but he only shifted and slept on. From post to post, she shuffled around the bed, careful steps marking her passage. Pleased with herself, she sat back down and reclined, amazed at the weakness that still held her in its grip.
A knock on the front door brought her alert. Tanner! But the name wilted when she realized he would never knock like that. Ana’s footsteps echoed her path to the door. A strident male voice that she didn’t recognize grated. Ana’s reply, quicker, scared, seemed out of character. Maira pushed to her feet again, moving to the door, strength drawn from a rush of curiosity and anger. Hand on the door latch, she heard Ana gasp, a scuffle. She swung the door open, and a man loomed there, as if he had just been about to kick her bedroom door in.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cullen. We’ve heard you’ve not been feeling well.”
“Where’s Frank?” was all she could think to say, afraid what the man’s presence meant. She knew him. The red hair. Timmons. Carrot Timmons from the XP.
“Frank’s out on the range with the others. We’ll take care of him later.”
Carrot was one of the men Walt had sent. Why, then, was he here and not with Frank on the range? Fresh fear set her nerves on fire. She took a step back, reached for the door to slam it. Carrot wedged his foot in the door and lunged forward. His hand clamped onto her arm. She lashed out with her other hand, her injury spitting fire and making the blow she intended nothing more than the batting of a kitten’s paw. His free hand caught her arm and spun her toward him. The long length of him became a wall of fury, his voice a snarl. “You want us to treat that boy of yours real nice, now don’t you? Just listen real close. I don’t take with the thought of hurting a woman. All we need is some time.”
Her chest rattled with the pressure of suppressed sobs. Levi sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Tell the boy to get dressed,” Carrot’s voice rasped.
“Levi.” She steadied herself. “Levi, you need to get up and get dressed.”
“Good girl, Mrs. Cullen.”
“Who’s that?”
“No matter who I am, kid. Do what your mama said.”
Levi’s dark eyes rounded. His chin trembled. “Mama?”
Carrot’s hand gripped her arm harder in silent warning. Maira looked intently at her son. “Just do what I asked you to do, Levi.”
Her son stared at her, then at the man behind her. Maira whispered a prayer and pleaded with her eyes, until, finally, Levi slid to the floor. He grasped his pants and did his best sticking one leg in, then the other, but he got the legs backward. She guided him with her voice, aware that her arm belo
w Carrot’s grip was going numb. When Levi had worked himself into his shirt, Carrot Timmons finally relinquished his grip on her arm a fraction.
“Come here, boy.”
Levi was on the verge of tears; she could see it in the way he held himself, shoulders squared, his gait slow, as if planting each foot carefully took priority. So like Jon. Even Tanner walked that way. Confident. Sure. A rolling gait that was at once limber but alert for anything.
Levi stopped in front of her. She stroked her hand down his face. All at once, Carrot shoved her forward. Her toes tangled in the hem of her gown, and she stumbled to her knees. She twisted, gasped at the stab of pain. Carrot held Levi close to him. “Mama!”
“Get dressed, Mrs. Cullen.” Carrot demanded. He yanked Levi back against him and slammed the door.
❧
Tanner waited in the dust for half an hour, afraid to move, eyes growing weary from the constant vigil. He’d discovered them. They knew it. He knew it. They must also know they had not hit him, and if they had decided not to come after him, then they had another plan in mind. But what?
He debated the question as he breathed the smell of musty wetness radiating from the ground. Sweat poured down his face and into the growth of whiskers. His disadvantage was he still had no idea who was running the group of rustlers. When he could stand the stress of inactivity no longer, he let out a low whistle and waited. He whistled again and heard a sharp whinny. Cue was near, too scared to come close. Crawling on his belly, Tanner came to his knees behind a clump of brush with the first hint of new growth. Cue stood off two hundred yards. He whistled again, and the horse crept closer, one cautious step at a time.
“Come on, boy,” he murmured. He brushed at the front of his shirt and slapped his hat against his leg. Cue picked up his pace, trotting up to him. They’d taken off then, toward the place he knew would be most vulnerable. If the band knew Jon Cullen and had been the ones to plug him, then they must know of Tanner’s presence at the Rocking J. They would go there first to look for him.
Valley of the Heart Page 13
