And before he breathed his last, he cursed the pain, cursed his wretched life, and cursed the God he'd never once acknowledged.
Dusty barked, but it wasn't an ordinary bark; this bark was tinged with fuss and fury. "He must be chasing a squirrel. He'll never get it through his head he can't catch one," Jesse said between cookie bites. He took a few sips of cocoa to wash down his cookies, but his hand slipped unexpectedly on the handle and at least half the mug's contents spilled down his shirtfront.
"Yow!" he squealed, leaping off the chair, his skin stinging from the hot liquid, but not nearly as much as his pride.
"You okay?" Billy B pinched his lips together to keep from laughing. "You made a fine mess."
Jesse looked down at himself. "Oh, man, Hannah never gets mad at me, but this might be the first time." Brown liquid soaked through his light blue, button-down shirt, running the length of his pant legs and seeping into his shoes. He pulled the cotton fabric away from his skin and made a face. "Yeeeeuck!" Now Billy B gave a full-out laugh, and Jesse couldn't help it-he followed suit.
Outside, Dusty's barking came to an abrupt stop, but neither boy seemed to notice.
"Would one of you let Dusty in?" Hannah called from the top of the stairs.
"Oh boy, wait till she finds out what I did," Jesse whispered. "It's even on the rug."
Billy B's laughter settled. "It'll be okay," he muttered between chuckles. "Go wash yourself up while I get the dog. Then we'll try to clean up the mess before she comes down."
"Deal."
Hannah worried that the boys' incessant laughter would disturb her grandmother, but when she checked in on her, she found her sleeping soundly and snoring lightly with an afghan tucked under her chin, a peaceful half-smile on her face. Well, would wonders never cease? Helena Kane was napping. Hannah smiled and closed the door as soundlessly as possible, then went back to dusting the upstairs study area. Beyond the small study, which housed a rolltop writing desk, an office chair on castors, and a tall bookcase, was a set of glass-paneled French doors leading out to a second-story terrace, which formed a roof over the rear entryway. A white balustrade encased the small balcony, making it a safe and cozy place to lounge with a good book on a warm, sunny day. She paused and glanced out the window at the backyard, where the dry autumn leaves still lay in small, half-burned piles, the family's efforts to rake them up having ended abruptly one week ago, when a rainstorm moved in.
Since Dusty's barking had ceased, she assumed the boys had brought him back inside, but why, then, did she not hear the crazy mutt running helter-skelter through the house? And what of the boys' high-spirited giggles?
An odd, clamoring sound, almost like a yelp, came from the backyard, followed by a string of muffled words: "Hey! Stop! Let go!" More tussling, more muted talk, and some kind of cracking sound had her wrinkling her brow in apprehension. Had Dusty's play gotten too rough? But then, she'd clearly instructed both boys not to play outside, so who would be yelling at Dusty? Van, perhaps?
She hurried to the glass doors and flung them wide open, then darted to the edge of the terrace to look down at the yard. Dusty, sprawled and dazed-looking, was struggling to get to his feet, but Van, not five feet away from him, lay perfectly motionless next to a two-by-four board-the kind Papa had used for a recent woodworking project. Hannah's stomach twisted with raw fear, but when she looked to her right and spotted a man dragging Billy B by the arm toward the front gate, her fear advanced to all-out hysteria. "Billy!" she screamed. Then, to the man, she shouted, "What do you think you're doing?" stomping her foot and pointing wildly. "You unhand him this instant!"
Surprised by the interruption, the man paused for a second, stared up at her, then drew something from his pocket. Billy B yowled and tried to wrestle free, kicking and squealing like a banshee, but to no avail. Frantic, Hannah turned, preparing to make a beeline for the stairs, but then it happened-a loud, splintering crack fired through the air, and, after that, a jolt to her body knocked her sideways, sending her reeling and teetering until she landed with a thud on the terrace floor. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she'd fallen-until searing pain as she'd never known it clutched her in the left side. Glancing down at the point of pain, she noted a red splotch darkening her dress.
A scream she barely recognized as her own bellowed from her throat.
"Lord God, help me," she gasped between sobs. And then, "Billy. Jesse. God, please-send Your angels of protection."
Another scream tore out of her, and she did not stop screaming, then whimpering, until everything went black.
abe choked down fear as he kicked Slate into a full-out run down Sheldon. Only a block from Ridge, he'd heard the gunshot clear as day, and, somehow, he sensed with dread that it had come from the Kane household. "Lord, Lord, Lord," he prayed as Slate galloped up the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw folks emerging from their homes but took no time to acknowledge them, maintaining focus on his mission.
At the corner of Ridge, he reined in Slate to appraise the situation. As much as he wanted to continue barreling ahead and to insure everyone's safety, his years of training and experience warned against such action. Best to move in with a plan, he thought, ever wary of brash action on impulse.
"It came from up there, Sheriff." Gabe glanced around to find Herb Horton standing on his porch in his long underwear, pointing up the hill.
"Herb! Did you see anything suspicious beforehand? Notice anyone passing by your place?"
The man pulled at his graying beard and shook his head. "The wife and I was just sittin' in ar living room reading yesterday's paper when we heard the blast. Sounded like gunfire, if y' ask me, and this time, it ain't comin' from of Bill Elwood's place."
Slate snorted and danced, impatient to keep moving. A few other neighbors poked their heads out, some coming to stand on their porches. "What's going on, Sheriff?" someone asked.
"No time to explain, folks. Go back in your houses and out of harm's way."
Most of them heeded his words, however reluctantly, but one woman who looked to be in her thirties, supporting a toddler on her ample hip, walked out her front door and came straight down the steps in Gabe's direction. He quickly hustled Slate forward to meet her halfway.
"Ma'am, you'd better get back inside. It's bitter cold out here, not to mention dangerous."
"I saw them, Sheriff-two men," she spat out. "The younger one darted across the road and behind the Kane house." She pointed with her head. "I watched them from my front window. That young one had evil on his mind, I could tell, the way he ran across the road all hunkered down, looking every which way. The older one, he's layin' out flat behind that tree over yonder, drunk or something. See'im?"
Gabe swiveled in the saddle and strained to see where she gestured. Sure enough, several yards ahead and across the road, a body lay motionless beneath a tree. Rufus McCurdy? "I see him," he replied. "You best get back inside now. Thanks for your help, ma'am."
She gave a nod and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I hope you get those awful men, Sheriff Sandy Shores has always been a quiet place. We all want it to stay that way."
He tipped his hat at her and watched her scurry inside, her little son staring over his mother's shoulder at him, Turning Slate around, Gabe steered him in the direction of the body under the tree. To stay on the safe side, he retrieved his holstered gun and prepared to use it if necessary. "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble," he murmured, recalling the first verse of Psalm 46, which he had read in his Bible that very morning. Just repeating the verse calmed his adrenaline-surged pulse.
Up ahead, two of his deputies, Gus van der Voort and Clyde Oertmann, approached on horseback. They either heard the gunfire or somehow received word of impending trouble at the Kane household. Gabe motioned with an outstretched palm, and they nodded, pulling in their mounts and easing to the side of the road to await further instruction. He inched Slate closer to the motionless body, lying face-up
to the elements, and found it clad in dirty denims, new-looking boots, and a fine wool coat. Unblinking eyes that had glazed over stared skyward, even as snowflakes landed on the weather-worn face. Beside the body lay a Colt revolver. Gabe leaned forward and read the monogram on its handle grip-RJM. He needed no other proof. Sandy Shores had claimed the life of another McCurdy.
With no time to ponder what to do with the body, he guided Slate toward the house, ears and eyes keenly tuned to every sight and sound-each snapping twig, each rustling leaf, a darting squirrel scurrying up a tree and out on a bare branch. Even the snowflakes, which were falling more steadily now, seemed to resonate when they hit the ground. In the distance a dog barked, a horse neighed. And that's when he heard it-a verbal skirmish taking place behind the Kane house. "Let him go!" came the male voice.
Signaling at his men to move in, he advanced more quickly. Just then, Helena Kane opened the front door and waved hysterically, her face a picture of silent anguish. He and his men quickly dismounted and approached the house.
"They're in the backyard," she said in a frantic whisper. "Two men. One has hold of Billy B, and, oh, dear, I don't know what's going on, exactly. I told Jesse to stay put upstairs. It's awful, and, worst of all, Hannah's been shot! By the time I got to her, she'd passed out. Somehow, I managed to drag her inside when those fellows had their backs turned. Jesse's watching over her now."
"Shot?" Like an axe, the single word sliced straight through Gabe's core, making his blood run hot and cold. "Is she...?"
Helena shook her head. "I think it's just a surface wound, but only Dr. Van Huff will be able to tell us for sure. Justjust hurry!"
It was them-the bad guys. He would know their faces anywhere. Ice-cold fear ran up Jesse's spine as he watched from the back door through a slit in the curtain, knowing they'd mistaken Billy B for him. Grandmother Kane had ordered him to stay upstairs close to Hannah, who lay sprawled on the floor just inside the French doors, while she put in a call to the sheriff's office and waited for help to arrive. Jesse wanted to obey, but he also felt responsible for Billy B's predicament. With Hannah's breathing steady and her bleeding slowed, he bustled down the stairs anyway. At the ground floor, he spotted Grandmother, crouched by the front window with rifle in hand. Quiet as a mouse, he tiptoed past her to the open gun cabinet and grabbed a rifle for himself, then made a beeline to the back of the house.
Hunkering down, hand to the doorknob, he turned it slowly, pulling open the door an inch or so, waiting for the perfect time to make his move, not even sure he'd recognize it when it came.
Dear Jesus, my ma told me You'd keep watch over me, said You had a plan for my life. If that's true, would You please help me right now? Billy B's in trouble, and it's all because of me. I need to help him get out of this awful mess, so would You show me how? And while You're at it, Lord, could You make me brave?
"Let 'im go, Roy. So help me, I'll shoot you right here," yelled one of the men.
"No, you won't. You ain't got the guts, little brother."
Jesse's heart pounded through his drenched shirt, which still smelled like cocoa even though he'd cleaned it vigorously with a washcloth. He peered through the slit in the door. The bickering brothers were pointing pistols at one another. Billy B fussed and wriggled, and the one called Roy tightened his hold. Beyond the two men and Billy, Jesse spotted Dusty trying to get up, his legs wobbly and his eyes glazed over. When he plopped back down, Jesse wanted to sob in anguish. Then, there was that fellow lying a few feet away from Dusty, and poor Hannah upstairs suffering from a gunshot wound. "God, please don't let any of them die. Please."
"Stand still, you little twerp. I finally got you where I want you, and I ain't lettin' you go. He's comin' with me, Reuben. Pa's waitin' out front, and we're hittin' the road. Are you comin' or not?"
"I'm not goin' with you. I'll go to jail first," Reuben said. "It's the end of the line, and if you can't see it, well, then yer dumber than I thought. Takin' the kid is not the answer, Roy. The town's onto us."
"What you mean by that?"
"I heard talk at the city park. After we parted ways, I went and sat a spell tryin' t' decide if I should go to the cemetery. That's when I heard there's a big posse out lookin' for us. Some folks who passed by me was talkin' about it. Your brilliant idea about catchin' the town off guard, well, it didn't hold much water, Roy. You take that boy, and there'll be a lynching, fer sure. If we give arselves up, though, we at least got a chance at a fair trial. It was Pa what done the murderin', not us."
"Yeah, and me who just shot that woman up there. I ain't stickin' around."
"I am," Reuben said. "I'll testify against you-and Pa, too."
Roy sneered. "You traitorous slimebucket. I ought to do you in right here." He raised his gun.
Praying for courage, Jesse shoved open the door and stepped outside, rifle aimed at Roy-as if he had a clue how to fire it. "I'm the one you really want," he announced, surprised by his confident tone, especially with the way his heart pounded in his chest. Caught off guard, both men whipped their heads around and stared.
"Who are you?" Roy asked.
When he might have known sheer terror, a newfound sense of courage boiled up from the soles of his feet. So, this is how it feels to trust God with all my heart.
"I'm the one who saw you in the house the day your pa murdered those people."
Reuben actually laughed at Roy. "Oh, so now you've gone and done it, you imbecile. You don't even have the right kid."
Roy's face went as gray as a storm cloud, and his shifty eyes, narrowed in suspicion, darted from Jesse to Billy B.
"Let 'im go, Roy, 'fore you get into worse trouble," Reuben said.
Yanking Billy B closer yet, he twisted his upper lip into an ugly grimace. "He's lyin, the little fiend. This is the kid I saw that day."
"How d' you know? They look alike, same hair color, similar in size. Seem near'bout the same age."
A smidgen of doubt crept onto Roy's face. Clutching a fistful of Billy B's hair, he jerked his head backward. "You'd tell me if you wasn't, right?"
Billy B stared daggers up at Roy. "I ain't sayin' nothin' to you, dirty scoundrel."
Wow, Jesse thought. He wondered if Billy B had prayed for courage, as well.
Propelled by obvious anger, Roy suddenly poked his gun in Billy B's temple. "So, little man," he chided, staring Jesse in the face. "If I got the wrong kid here, how 'bout we make a nice little trade before I blow this one's head off?"
Jesse froze, his sense of assurance quickly draining from his veins.
"I wouldn't do that," came the clear, determined voice dripping with power. "Drop your weapons, boys-slow and easy."
Gabe emerged from the side of the house, pistol aimed, looking like a hulking giant in Jesse's opinion. "Pa!" he exclaimed, the name slipping out as natural as breathing. Two deputies came around the other side of the house, rifles directed at their targets. Reuben dropped his gun and raised his hands over his head.
"You dumb coward. What's Pa goin' to think of you now?" Roy growled, taking his sweet time about lowering his gun.
"Not much, I'm afraid," Gabe inserted. "Your pa's, hmm, shall we say, belly-up-under a tree a block or so back. My guess is, he's in a warmer place about now."
Thanks to the sudden confusion Gabe's words wrought, Roy lost his focus, allowing Billy B the opportunity to wrangle free from his grasp. Roy swore and reached out to snag him, but in that instant, Gabe hurtled his body at Roy and tackled him to the ground, knocking the gun from his hand and pinning him facedown. The tussle couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, with Roy the clear loser, Gabe wrenching the felon's hands behind him to snap a pair of handcuffs in place. Clyde kept a gun on Reuben while Gus stepped forward to lend Gabe a hand. Clutching Roy by the collar, Gabe dragged him to a standing position.
That's when Jesse and Billy B bounded off the porch and ran to Dusty. The poor pooch bore a wound to his head, but he wagged his tail and lifted himself up on his haunc
hes. A few feet away, the so-called guard moaned and opened his eyes.
"What's goin' on here?" Van stammered, giving his head a shake and raising it up to look across the yard.
Jesse heard what sounded like a stampede of horses galloping up to the house. "Must be those fellows from South Bend finally got word of our whereabouts," Gus muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Nice you could make it," Gabe said when the whole lot of them rounded the corner, guns raised. "You wanna take these good-for-nothings off my hands?"
"I think we should close the store for a few days," Jacob was saying.
"Is Hannah going to be all right?" Jesse asked in a broken whisper.
"She'll be good as new before you know it," said Ralston. "I'll keep her sedated for a few days to help ease the pain and give the wound time to heal. I had to do a bit of digging to find the bullet. Mostly we'll be watching for infection, but I've no cause to believe there'll be that complication."
"I'll keep watch over her tonight," said Grandmother Kane.
"I think it'd be better if you got a good night's rest," argued Abbie Ann.
"Oh, pooh! I'm fine as duck's down."
"I'll stay with her," Maggie Rose inserted, a determined edge to her voice.
"You worked at the store all day, and all I did was sit upstairs in the library and read. I'm probably the most rested of all, so I'll stay," Abbie countered.
"I should be the one to stay. After all, I am her father."
"It's really not necessary for any of you to stay," Ralston put in. "She's my patient, so I'll be looking in on her often throughout the night. Besides, I expect she'll sleep for the next several hours."
Hannah Grace Page 29
