Now and Forever

by Mary Connealy

“What trouble?”

  “Homesteaders have been burned out. Three that I’ve found. The places are abandoned and the fires weren’t no accidents.”

  Aaron narrowed his eyes. “All on land you want?”

  Coulter swung down off his shining brown stallion and took long strides right up to Aaron. Coulter was shorter, as everyone was shorter than Aaron, but he still was a big man, and years of brutally hard work settling a harsh, rugged land had made him a man no one wanted to tangle with if they didn’t have to.

  “If you accuse me of burning out a family, you better be ready to fight,” Coulter said.

  Aaron Masterson didn’t back up. He didn’t back up for anyone. “I asked you a question. You haven’t answered it.”

  “I had nothing to do with what happened. I rode to town to talk to Stewbold, but he wasn’t around, so I decided I’d talk to you. I stopped at your place first. The fact is, I’d as soon talk to you as him. I haven’t even met him yet.”

  “He’s not wise to western ways,” Tucker said, not wanting to turn men against the new land agent, but remembering his own suspicions and trusting his instincts.

  Coulter gave Tucker a hard look and nodded. “I rode over to talk to these folks, see what it would take to get ’em to change to another homestead, only to find them gone. The thing you’re accusing me of is being done by someone else.”

  “Were they killed?” Aaron pulled his gloves out from where he’d tucked them behind his belt buckle.

  “Nope, at least I didn’t find any bodies, nor any sign of shooting. Just the fires. I didn’t see any animals that died in the fire at one place, but I didn’t climb around in all the burned-out barns. I wouldn’t even say for sure the fire’d been set if it hadn’t happened three times.”

  “If someone’s driven off three homesteaders, he may have driven off more.” Aaron tugged his gloves on. “I hadn’t heard of any fires before I handed off the job.”

  “The fires were recent. One was still smoldering; I’d say it’s less than two days old.”

  “I’ll go with you in the morning to talk to Stewbold and see if he’s heard from these folks. It’s too late to do much about it tonight, but we need to warn all the homesteaders.” Aaron looked toward the house. “We need to warn Bailey. We’ll ride there on our way home.”

  “That’s miles out of the way,” Tucker said. “I’ll ride over.”

  “Not with that leg, you won’t,” Nev said.

  “Where exactly is Bailey’s homestead?” Coulter asked.

  The rest of them made a point of ignoring him.

  “I’ll get Kylie. Nev, we’ll ride home past Bailey’s. You stay off that leg, Tucker. I want you healed so I can get on with moving home.” Aaron strode toward the house.

  “I’ll get the horses saddled up.” Nev headed for the barn.

  Tucker watched them both go. Leaving him with a very curious Gage Coulter.

  “I’ve been trapped on this land for weeks. I can still ride, even with a broken leg.” Tucker grabbed his crutch.

  “Oh no.” Coulter caught Tucker by the shoulder, and Tucker had a sudden desire to use his crutch to club Coulter across the stomach.

  Coulter seemed to realize it, and the sidewinder stepped out of crutch-whacking range. “You know, Tucker, if someone is burning out homesteaders, a smart man like you, who’s a homesteader, oughta stay close and protect his wife.”

  Solomon would probably order his soldiers to stay to the homestead and protect his wives while he gadded about the countryside. Tucker never got to have any fun. “You can’t keep me here forever. You’re gonna need a tracker when you get to those homesteads.”

  Coulter fought it, yet he couldn’t quite stop a smile. “I’ll ask Sunrise for help.”

  Then Coulter went for his horse. He made good time getting to it, too. In fact, it could almost be said that the man was running.

  Aaron came out of the house with Kylie and Sunrise.

  Sunrise nodded to Tucker. “I left stew. I think it best I stay with Bailey until we are sure about these fires.”

  Tucker nodded.

  Aaron must have convinced them it was urgent, because they were saddled up and on the trail in no time.

  Tucker turned to the house, scowling.

  Shannon stood at the door, a worried look on her face. It was a wonder she didn’t go along too and leave him home alone. Except she probably stayed to take care of him, as if he were a small boy.

  Gritting his teeth, he wondered if Shannon wanted him to help make tea or bake cookies. Or stew some beets.

  Maybe if he asked real nice, she’d stitch him up his own apron.

  He really should have taken just one good swing at Coulter. The only reason not to was because Coulter probably wouldn’t have fought back because of Tucker’s broken leg.

  Winning a fight out of pity would have been about the last straw.

  As he got close he realized Shannon stood in the door, holding a pot that smelled like stew. His stomach growled, and it helped Tucker to move faster toward the house. The look of disgust on Shannon’s face even made it fun.

  He hobbled along on his crutch toward the house, looking hard at his pretty, dark-haired wife with those sparking blue eyes.

  They didn’t have any company for once. Not even Sunrise.

  His leg was feeling mighty good.

  He was all stirred up with energy and real tired of being treated like an invalid.

  Right then and there he decided his wife knew him as good as she needed to. He planned to spend the night convincing her of just that.

  18

  He heard horses coming and quickly ducked off the trail. Gage Coulter galloping past. Always in a hurry. He took smug pleasure in knowing that Coulter, a tough western man, hadn’t seen him.

  Men made mistakes when they were in a hurry, and he’d learned long ago to be patient. So he waited, wondering about Coulter visiting the Tucker homestead. Probably trying to drive the nesters off.

  The waiting proved wise, because it wasn’t long before Aaron Masterson and his wife rode past, accompanied by an Indian woman and Nev Bassett. Native folks weren’t of interest. And Bassett was a madman.

  He stood in the shadows for a long time, giving anyone else who might have been at the Tuckers time to ride away. Finally satisfied, he rode on. When he was close, he concealed his horse and tied it securely. Then he began to slip through the woods.

  When the Tucker homestead came into view, he straightened in surprise. Where did that fence come from? Pursing his lips, he stirred ideas around in his head. A smart man could accomplish more by thinking than doing. Were the Tuckers buying cattle? They showed no signs of having the money to do such a thing. If he’d judged them wrong, the plan would never work.

  Sheep bleated from inside the barn. A crack against the wood told him one even kicked at the door. Wolves howled in the distance. The sheep wanted out, as if they were looking forward to being a meal.

  It was a sturdy, well-built fence, but as he drew closer he realized it didn’t curve all the way around the meadow. What it did was section off a small part close to the barn and leave most of the meadow wide open all the way to the woods.

  It was a fence for those sheep. That was why Coulter and Masterson were over here. They might well have just done this today.

  And still the sheep were locked up. So they’d built a fence and not left the sheep outside. The fence would keep the sheep in, yet it wouldn’t stop the wolves. They’d simply jump over the fence and make a meal out of the woolly-brained animals.

  He liked the idea of consigning them to their death. Much more enthralling than simple theft. Life and death—it made him feel like God.

  Steeped in that power, he dismissed the fence.

  Neighbors helping out an injured friend, that’s all it was. A sturdy corral for the sheep was probably all they could think of that the Tuckers needed.

  The gates on that solid new fence were standing wide open. And why not, with the sheep
securely locked in the barn? A bit of harm done to the Tuckers at the expense of their sheep was even better than he’d hoped, since these folks clearly set store by them.

  A wolf howled again, closer this time, and it gave him an idea. Maybe no fire would be necessary. It’d be wise to try something different. It helped confuse anyone who investigated, though there was little enough law that he didn’t expect to raise suspicions.

  He peered at the lantern burning in the cabin and eased back into the woods to let the Tuckers get to sleep and the wolves to come nearer.

  As always, he was a patient man.

  “I don’t know how you can eat that!” Shannon shuddered as she watched Tucker fork stew into his mouth.

  “You say you don’t know how, but that’s not the same as not knowing I will, isn’t that right?” Tucker asked.

  That was a question that made absolutely no sense. “Yes, that’s right. I know you are a meat-eating vulture.”

  “I’d say you know me really well.” Tucker swiped his biscuit across his plate, soaking up gravy, and ate every last drop of it. “Is your objection to eating meat or do you also dislike cooking it? Because I’d really like a wife who could make me a steak now and then.”

  Shannon couldn’t control a gag.

  “Guess that answers that. I know how to fry up a steak, so it don’t matter.” He leaned back and picked up his coffee cup.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your beets?” She’d served him a generous portion, and they lay there, cold, bleeding their red juice. He’d eaten the potatoes by chopping them up and throwing them in Sunrise’s stew, but the beets remained untouched—he didn’t want his stew to turn pink.

  “Nope, I’m full.” Tucker drank deep and looked at her with the strangest expression.

  “But the food will go to waste.”

  “Maybe the sheep will eat ’em.” Tucker finished his coffee and set his cup aside.

  Frustrated, unsure how she could make the man eat a beet if he didn’t want it, Shannon cleared the table, washed the dishes, and set the loathsome stew to the back of the fireplace. They let the fire go down after the meal, but the embers would keep the stew warm overnight. Tucker would want it for breakfast and dinner and again for supper, for as long as it lasted.

  She came back to the table. Everyone she knew ate meat and plenty of it. The savage she’d married was more normal than she was. When she sat across from him at the small table, he smiled in a way that struck her as extremely insincere.

  “Is something wrong, Tucker?”

  “No!” He almost shouted the word. He cleared his throat and spoke more calmly, “No, absolutely not. Nothing’s wrong. Not at all. In fact, Shannon . . .” He cleared his throat again, then fell silent. Then cleared it again. “I think, that is . . . well, everything seems really right and that makes me think we . . . we . . .” He threaded his fingers together in front of him and rested his hands on the table. It almost looked like he was praying.

  “Yes, what is it?” Whatever it was, he suddenly looked terribly serious. Shannon leaned forward, worried. Maybe his leg was hurting him more than he was willing to admit. Maybe one of the barely healed claw marks on his stomach was showing signs of new infection. He’d been up and about far too much. She should’ve never let him have pants.

  The silence stretched. He stared at her and seemed unable to speak.

  With jerky motions he pushed back from the table and stood, leaning against his chair, glaring at his crutch as if it made him mad. With all his weight on one foot, steadying himself with one hand on the table, he rubbed the back of his neck and seemed to ask the next question of the tabletop.

  “How well would you say you know me, Shannon?”

  “What?” She wondered if she was developing a hearing problem.

  “Answer the question.”

  But the question was stupid. “I’d say I know you pretty well. We’ve been living in the same house day and night for over a month now. It’s impossible not to know you.”

  A smile broke out on Tucker’s face. “I completely agree. That’s good then.”

  He breathed in deep and picked up his crutch, then clomped his way over to the bed and sat down. Since there’d been no point in keeping him in that nightshirt any longer once the first pair of pants was done, she’d taken to sewing at a more normal speed and had made him a second set of clothes and a less-ridiculous nightshirt. And Sunrise was working on buckskin pants and a jerkin. She was doing beadwork, which Shannon thought was beautiful. Tucker thought it was taking too long.

  “It’s bedtime,” he announced so loudly she jumped. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “It’s a little early, honestly.”

  He looked up at her, and his eyes nearly burned a hole right through her. “Well, it’s been a mighty long day for me. I’m going to bed.” He tossed his shirt over the corner post of the bed and was busy disrobing further.

  Shannon either chose bed or sat here in the full lantern light watching her husband undress. She didn’t see much choice there. She quickly turned the lantern off before he removed any more clothes and, using skills she’d perfected during her new marriage, pulled her nightgown on and took off her clothes from underneath it. She’d learned so many ways to be modest, it had become a source of pride.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, just as she did every night before she turned around.

  “Oh yes.” Tucker sounded hoarse. She hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. A summer cold could be a nuisance. No one had been around who had any illness, but Aaron was in town almost every day. Who knew what sickness he might have brought to the place?

  Shannon was a little nervous for no reason she could exactly understand as she headed for bed. Tucker had scooted over and was lying on his side, his head propped up on one elbow. That wasn’t his way. He was always flat on his back. He’d pull her close, and they’d fall asleep with her head on his shoulder. It was a comfort they’d found in each other from the first day after they’d crawled out of that river together.

  Now when she lay down beside him, he loomed over her and rested one of his strong hands on her stomach. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

  They’d shared many a kiss, and she’d enjoyed every one of them.

  Tucker didn’t just kiss her, though, then get on with sleeping. He pulled her closer.

  She figured it out. “When you asked me if I knew you well, you were talking about what I said after our wedding vows.” She remembered very clearly, and now she understood why he’d been so nervous.

  His hand caressed her stomach, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark she could see his smiling face.

  “Yes, I think we know each other mighty well, don’t you?” He meant he wanted to be fully and completely married. Right now.

  “We do indeed.” Her arms slid around his neck.

  19

  Get up.” He hissed the words, but Shannon responded instantly. “Your sheep are out.” He threw his blanket off, and she scrambled to get out of his way. He had his pants and shirt on fast. He jerked a moccasin on his good foot, fastened his whip at his waist, hung the Yellowboy rifle over his shoulder, and dropped the cutlass over his head so it hung across his chest. He already had the two knives up his sleeve and another in a seam in his pants.

  Using a crutch, he went to the door, hitching his holster around his hips as he peeked out, ready to fight a war less than one minute after his eyes had opened.

  Shannon came up beside him. Dressed in her britches, rifle in hand. A holster on. Boots on. Just as ready for trouble as he was.

  What a woman!

  He wished he had time to kiss her.

  “Did you drop the hasp on the barn door?” The way she said it wasn’t as if she was accusing him of being careless. Nope, just the opposite. She was reminding him that he always dropped the hasp on the barn door, and so did she, and they always double-checked it.

  “Yep.”

  “Then someone opened it. Probably the varmi
nt that’s been bothering homesteaders.” She came up beside him, gun drawn. “Any sign of fire?”

  “Nope.” A wolf howled, far too close. Tucker heard hooves pounding away. It told him if he went outside, he wouldn’t walk into a bullet.

  “Whoever turned those sheep loose just took off.” He swung the door open. “I’m going for my horse. I can’t chase after the sheep on foot. You round up any of the critters that’ve stayed close around the place.”

  He saw a few little balls of white wool grazing close by.

  Shannon jerked her chin. “Fire a shot in the air if you need help. I’ll do the same.”

  “Mind those wolves; they’re mighty close.” Too close.

  They left the house in a rush.

  Tucker was getting good with the crutch. He headed straight for the barn, and as soon as the sound of those running hooves faded, he lifted two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. His mustang came charging out of the barn. She stayed in a stall most nights, safe from the wolves, just like the sheep.

  But his grulla was canny and not much stopped her, not even the closed door of a barn stall. The horse came straight for Tucker. He tossed the crutch aside and grabbed the flowing black mane and was on the horse while she was near a full gallop. He ignored the tearing pain in his belly as he rushed straight for a sheep escaping to the forest. Toward certain death, the numbskull.

  With no bridle and no saddle, Tucker used his knees. Even clumsy with the cast on his foot, he and his horse were a team, almost like a single animal, operating with one mind. With only pressure from his legs and hands, and coaxing with his voice, the horse went right where Tucker needed her to go.

  The howl of a wolf just past the forest’s edge sent a cold chill down Tucker’s spine. It was one of the eeriest sounds in the mountains, one Tucker had heard a thousand times before, but never this close.

  Grew was the finest horse Tucker had ever owned, yet was he asking too much? Running straight into the jaws of a wolf? The horse didn’t hesitate, at least it hadn’t yet.

  They closed in on the sheep. A little one. Tucker wished for a rope. Cowboy skills weren’t his greatest talent, but he could probably drop a loop over the frightened baby.