“Must have hit a pretty major vein for it to bleed that much,” he answered. “I figured the bullet went through, or I’d be in a lot worse shape. Throw some whiskey on the wounds again. The next big thing we have to worry about is infection. If I go a few days with no sign of any, I’ll probably be all right.”
Callie reached for the flask of whiskey she’d left nearby and uncorked it.
“Between your wound and mine, I won’t have any of that stuff left to drink,” he told her.
Callie looked up to see him grinning, and she smiled in return. “I’m glad to see you smile, Chris,” she told him.
“How about you? How’s that snakebite?”
She wiped her eyes. “Still sore as hell, but I’ll make it. You ready for this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Callie doused both sides of the wound, and Chris growled in pain, gritting his teeth and stiffening. Callie picked up the gauze and wrapped clean bandages around the wounds, doing a neater job this time.
“Now…help me to my feet. I’ve got personal business to take care of.”
“Chris, you can’t get up and walk.”
“Sure I can. This isn’t anything you would want to help me with, believe me.”
Feeling her face turning crimson, Callie rose and helped him to his feet. He leaned on her until they had walked far enough away for him to do what he had to do. She left him leaning against a pine tree, and she went back to rekindle the fire and start some coffee. She decided some bacon and potatoes just might help. He needed to eat and rest today, get more strength back before they went on to the ranch. Heaven only knew what they would find there. They would both need to be a lot stronger than they were at the moment.
“Help me do this, mama,” she said as she put some wood on the few embers left of the fire. “I don’t want those men to ever do to somebody else what they did to you.” She looked up. “And if you have any connections up there,” she continued in a whisper, “tell Him to watch over Chris Mercy for me. Don’t let anything happen to him. Right now I’d just die myself if he got himself killed for me.”
She stuck the wood on the fire and cautiously glanced back to see him walking toward her. Quickly she got up and hurried over to help support him as he came back to the blanket. He lowered himself with a grimace and a groan, then lay down on his right side again.
“I’ll make you something to eat, and some hot coffee will help too,” Callie told him. She let him rest while she cooked, then fixed him a tin plate full of bacon and potatoes.
“I can’t eat much,” he told her.
“Well, neither can I, so we’ll share this,” she told him with a supportive smile. “I’ll feed you if you’re not too proud.”
He grinned. “I accept your offer. Pour me some coffee. I can handle that myself.”
Callie obeyed, and he took a sip before she held up a fork with a piece of bacon and a piece of potato on it. He opened his mouth and she gave it to him, thinking how personal it seemed to feed him. There was just something special about it…and something provocative. She noticed how full and nicely etched his lips were, and even with a few days’ growth of beard, he was good-looking.
She took a bite of her own then, not even minding using the same fork as Chris. She held up another bite for him. “Thank you for being so good at what you do,” she told him. “I’d be done for if you weren’t such a good shot.”
He swallowed his food. “And we’d probably still be up there dodging bullets if you hadn’t come up with the idea to stand up and draw their attention,” he answered before accepting another bite.
Callie smiled bashfully. “Well, heck, I had to do something.” She fed him more and ate more herself. “Chris?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think that man we left there is dead by now?”
He nodded as he swallowed. “Bet on it.”
She handed out another bite, but he waved her off. “No more. I’ve got to rest.” He lay back down. “Look in my saddlebags. There’s a silver cigarette case in there with some pre-rolled cigarettes. Get one out for me, will you? And bring a match to light it for me.”
Callie obeyed, again feeling a strange sense of satisfaction as she held a match to the end of the cigarette while he drew on it. She liked waiting on him, liked pleasing him. He pulled on the cigarette, then exhaled with a deep sigh. “Her name is…was…Valerie,” he said, surprising her with the statement. “She was my wife.”
Callie could hardly believe her ears. He was finally telling her about his wife! She just sat there and listened, afraid one word out of her mouth would shut him up again. She hadn’t asked one question. This was his own offering, and she was not about to do anything to spoil it. She was too damn curious.
“We were married in Chicago as soon as I graduated from college. I was twenty-four, she was nineteen. One year later we had a little girl.” He paused, swallowing. “We named her Patricia. I always called her my Patty. She even would say that when someone asked what her name was. She would say ‘My Patty.’” He smiled, but Callie caught a quiver to his bottom lip. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “She had blond hair…a mass of curls. She had big blue eyes…and dimples that would melt Satan’s heart. She came to mean everything to us, because when Val had her, there were…problems. The doctor told us Patty most likely was the only child we would ever have.” He sniffed and cleared his throat yet again. “Not that we didn’t try for more, but I guess he was right. Over the next three years Val conceived only once, and she lost that one.”
Callie couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable at the personal connotation of the remark…a man and woman in Chicago mating…trying to have a child. The way he’d put it, the tone of his voice, made it sound beautiful, and she felt embarrassed at feeling as though she was in that bedroom with them, watching them make love.
“As much as I loved Val,” he continued, “there was nothing on this earth I loved more than that little girl.” He swallowed. “Val was only twenty-three, and Patty only three…when they both died…a very senseless death.”
He smoked quietly for a while, and Callie just sat and waited, watching a morning breeze ruffle his hair.
He sighed again before continuing. “I’d been teaching at high-school level after we married, then decided I wanted a master’s degree so I could teach at college level. We moved to New England so I could go to Harvard. We both had plenty of money…both came from good families. We had a beautiful brick home, ran with the best of them…and I was a cocky son of a bitch, high I.Q., getting my master’s, and all that bullshit. I thought teaching at college level would make me even more accomplished and admired…thought maybe I’d even end up dean of a university someday. I probably would have, in fact, if it hadn’t been for what happened…something that made me realize that money, education, social importance, intelligence—none of those things matter. It’s only the people we love who matter.”
He swallowed, taking a last drag on the cigarette, then throwing it into the fire. Callie could feel the seething anger in his soul.
“I came home from a late-night session with one of my professors, feeling important and cocky because he was so impressed with some of my teaching theories. The door was slightly open and when I walked in the house, I saw it had been ransacked, valuable items stolen. I ran upstairs to find Val—raped and murdered.”
He stopped, and Callie knew how hard it had to be for him to go on. She remained quiet in spite of the horror of the picture he painted.
“I, uh…” His voice choked a little. “I ran to Patty’s room.” He sniffed. “That was the worst part. A grown woman is bad enough. But to kill…a helpless…beautiful little girl.”
It took him several minutes to continue. Callie heard him sniff and take several deep breaths.
So goddamn senseless,” he said in a gruff voice. “Worst of all, they never found who did it. I was so sick with grief and rage, I felt like someone had cut me open and torn my guts o
ut. I needed…wanted…some kind of revenge. But back East you go to jail if you seek your own justice.” He sniffed again and took a deep breath. “I decided that if they couldn’t find the men who committed such an unspeakable act, I would at least try to find other killers and rapists…bring them to justice or kill them myself. Out here it’s easier. Out here men understand the law of the hangman’s rope…or law at the end of a gun.”
He drank down more coffee before going on.
“So, here I am. After the funeral I never went back to that house, never finished my master’s. I was like a madman, lived in a hotel, hounded the police, did some investigating of my own, but all to no avail. Finally I took enough money out of my little fortune to live on…and I left. I had to get away from there. I bought what I would need to wander on the back of a horse…taught myself how to shoot…started collecting wanted posters…and now I’m out here on the Outlaw Trail with you…looking for men who did to your mother what they did to Val, men who would have done the same to you if they’d known you were in that wood box.”
Callie could not help the lump that rose in her throat in pity for what had happened to him. Her chest shook in a sob as she spoke. “I don’t know…what to say, Chris. I’m so…awful sorry for what happened to you. How can God let things like that happen?”
He picked up the silver case and took out yet another cigarette. “I need another light,” he told her.
Callie took a burning stick from the fire and held it to the end of the cigarette, seeing his eyes were red and watery. He took a deep drag.
“There is another force at work on this earth, Callie, a dark force that hates good people, happy people, close families. It likes to try to destroy them…and it uses men whose hearts can easily be infested with that same evil to accomplish what it wants. All I can do to stop that evil is to stop those men. The only trouble is…no matter how many men I kill or bring in, the hurt and frustration inside never go away. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to lead a normal life again. I just take a day at a time, an arrest at a time, a killing at a time…and figure I’ll know when it’s time to stop and get back to living again.”
Callie wiped her tears. “Thank you for explaining it all to me. It had to be awful hard. But maybe…maybe it’s good to talk about it sometimes. Pa once said that if a person keeps his troubles all bottled up inside, they’re bound to fester there and turn to poison that will eat him up till he’s dead. A handsome, intelligent man like you shouldn’t let that happen.”
He leaned his head back and drew on the cigarette again. “Maybe not. But watching the men who killed your mother hang will also help. I tell myself that every man I kill or bring in could be the one who…did that to my wife and daughter. I just can’t seem to stop. Not yet.”
Callie nodded. “One thing is sure, I can understand how you must feel. I’ll never forget what I saw either. At least in my case I know who did it, so if we find them all, I’ll know for sure it’s finished. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to find…a way to finish the hate.”
Their gazes held, and Callie wished she could read the look in his eyes. “I never thought of it that way, Callie, a way to finish the hate. One thing you should know is…I’ve never told another soul that story…not since I left New England. My brother knows because of the telegrams and letters I sent him, but I never even stopped off to see him on my way out here. I just got on a train and headed west. You’re the first person I’ve opened up to.”
Callie felt a warmth move through her. “That makes me feel right special. And if it helps, just a little, then I’m glad.”
“Yeah…well…I guess we’re even now. I saved you. You saved me. We saved each other back there against the renegades.” He looked at her again. “I guess that makes us pretty good friends, doesn’t it?”
Callie smiled. “I guess so. Does that mean you won’t get mad at me so easy from now on?”
He grinned and took hold of her hand again. “I’m not guaranteeing anything.”
Callie looked down at his strong hand, thinking how small hers looked in comparison. Just the gesture of taking her hand, for the second time in the past few minutes, and telling her about his wife and daughter…that all had to mean an awful lot coming from a man like Christian Mercy. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of it, or what to think of the way her heart was pounding at the mere touch of his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. And, lordy! There he sat, half naked!
She drew her hand away, suddenly needing an excuse to distance herself from him. “I’d better tend the horses.”
“Callie,” he said as soon as she rose.
She met his eyes, and they were still misty.
“Thanks for listening,” he said in all sincerity.
She nodded. “I’m touched that you told me.” She left him to check on the horses. Lordy, I think I love you, Chris Mercy. She couldn’t even think about saying it aloud. Besides, maybe it wasn’t love at all. Maybe she just felt sorry for him.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Callie followed Chris through the ranch gates, thinking how he was now more like the Christian Mercy she’d first met. He’d gotten much stronger again over the last couple of days and also more distant. She couldn’t help wondering if he regretted sharing his personal tragedy with her. Was the softness he’d shown just due to his pain and weariness? She had a feeling this return to a cool, unattached attitude was more from fear of caring again than anything else; and maybe that was good, considering the fact that she was scared to death herself to care about a man.
And yet she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he’d held her hand, the fierce temptation she’d had to kiss him that morning she woke up to see him watching her. For that one little moment she had literally been lying in his arms. And before that, when it was she who needed help, he’d been so caring and understanding…and so concerned that she might die. Had it just brought up bad memories for him? Or did he really care for her in more than just a friendly way and would truly miss her and mourn for her if she died?
He was so hard to figure, she didn’t know what to say to him or when to say it. She refused to say anything about some of the feelings she was beginning to have for him for fear she would make a complete fool of herself. After all, the fact remained he was a lot older, a whole lot more educated, used to a far different social life than she’d ever known or could ever lead herself. Besides that, the man still mourned his wife and daughter. He likely was nowhere ready to love another woman.
Love. Lordy, was she really thinking about such a thing?
They had spent the last two days just lying around, resting themselves and the horses, both they and the animals needing to get some strength back. Callie told herself to be satisfied with the fact that they were both going to be all right. They just needed a few more days to get rid of the aching soreness of their wounds.
One good thing was she fully trusted him now. She’d bathed in the creek with no fear that he’d look or try anything inappropriate. Chris had bathed and changed out of his bloody denim pants, and Callie had scrubbed them with lye soap. It felt good to be clean. She’d even washed her hair, and today she wore it tied at the back of her neck, letting it hang down her back. She wore her split suede riding skirt, tired of wearing boys’ pants. She’d put on a clean white shirt and a suede vest, and Chris wore clean denim pants and a blue calico shirt that seemed to match his eyes. He wore a brown leather vest and was clean shaven.
Callie couldn’t help a secret satisfaction at the way he’d looked at her once she cleaned up and changed. She looked more like the woman she was now, and she had to admit, down deep inside, she didn’t mind showing that woman to Christian Mercy. She couldn’t tell just how impressed he was, since he was back to pretending he didn’t see her as anything but the woman who’d hired him to find her mother’s killers. He was bent on finishing what they’d started out to do…and so was she. There was no sense in letting other feelings get in the way.
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Their search brought them to the Double B Ranch, on a path that with any luck would lead them straight to Jim Fallon. Callie shivered at the thought of seeing the man again, especially that big, ugly mole on his right cheek. That was one man she could pick out easily, one man’s face that was hard to forget.
She began looking around the minute they spotted the main ranch house from a good mile off. “I wonder if he’ll be there,” she said to Chris, riding up beside him.
“The best thing we can do first is get to know the owner. Ranchers and their hands tend to be protective of their own. We can’t just ride in there and accuse Fallon and call him out—if he’s even there. We need to talk to Ben Bailey first.”
They rode a little farther.
“I just realized I don’t even know the date or what day of the week it is,” Callie said.
“Doesn’t matter much. I’m guessing it’s at least mid- to late June. We’ve been on the trail a good three to four weeks.”
The knowledge made Callie understand a little better how she could feel so attached to Chris. Three to four weeks was a long time to travel alone with someone, especially considering what they had already been through together. No wonder she felt so close to him.
Two men came riding out toward them then, and Chris motioned for Callie to stop as he reined up on Breeze, waiting for the men to get closer. “If you see Fallon, don’t say a word,” he warned.
“Yes, sir.” Callie actually felt relieved when neither man was the ugly Jim Fallon. Both were crusty-looking cowboys wearing worn leather chaps, dusty boots, and stained hats. And both needed a shave.
“State your business,” one of them said to Chris. He tipped his hat to Callie.
“We’re here to see the owner, Ben Bailey,” Chris answered.
“Reason?” the other asked.
“That’s between him and me.”
“This is outlaw country, mister,” the first man stated. “We can’t let you walk into Mr. Bailey’s house without knowin’ why.”
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