“I just quit. I’m leaving with Kevin and Win. Maybe you’d like to join us?” Her eyes met his and though they flashed with anger, a tiny flicker of humor shone. He shook his head a few times. His fist relaxed.
“Molly, who will feed me?” Mr. Hawkins acted like the slap had never happened. “And I thought, that is, I had hopes that we might . . . might be more—”
He quit talking when Wyatt slipped around Molly and clamped a hand on his throat. Wyatt had gotten away, and Molly had to admit she’d wanted someone to stop Mr. Hawkins’s horrible words.
Mr. Hawkins clawed at Wyatt’s hand. His face turned an alarming shade of red. A gurgling noise was the only sound he could make.
“Did you really just slap your daughter’s face?” Wyatt released his grip.
Wheezing, Mr. Hawkins said, “I’m her father. A father’s got a right to discipline his child.”
Wyatt’s hand clamped again.
Molly tugged on Wyatt’s arm, not the one he was choking Mr. Hawkins with. And she reckoned if she were really serious about stopping him, she’d’ve grabbed that one.
Wyatt escaped her grip and caught her by her upper arm.
She gasped and flinched.
Wyatt, still strangling Mr. Hawkins, noticed and looked away from his current victim. “Did I hurt you?”
His brow furrowed. His eyes shone with regret.
“No, it’s nothing.” She couldn’t quite control her eyes, which slipped to Mr. Hawkins, then away.
Wyatt ran a hand up her arm, gently. He felt the swelling.
“Did he hurt you?” Wyatt jerked his head at Mr. Hawkins.
“I’m not going to discuss it,” she said.
“That means yes.” Wyatt’s regret turned to fury.
“Let him go, Wyatt.” She admitted privately she wasn’t doing her best to pull him off the man.
“A father might swat a child’s backside for disobedience. But your daughter is a married woman. You lost any right to discipline her long ago. And slapping her so hard you left a mark on her face doesn’t count as discipline by anyone’s reckoning.”
Then, speaking slowly, as if addressing a very stupid, and slightly deaf, man, Wyatt said, “And as for Molly, there is no time ever when it’s right to leave bruises on your housekeeper.”
Wyatt shook him just a little. “You and Molly are not now, nor are you ever gonna be more to each other. You should abandon all your hopes, Oliver.”
Wyatt let him go with a tight shove that made him stumble back.
Mr. Hawkins coughed and covered his neck with his own hands. He backed farther away until the couch was between him and the rest of the room. He didn’t speak. Didn’t protest or try to grab anyone again.
But his eyes . . . all pretense of having hopes for something between them, all pretense of a boss treating his employee correctly, was gone, replaced by pure hatred. Molly would see his loathing for the rest of her life. The only real trouble was that he wasn’t looking at her with loathing. He was looking at Wyatt.
This man who lived near where Wyatt had been shot. Controlling a shudder, Molly tore away from watching him.
“Molly, do you have things to gather?” Wyatt asked, never looking away from Mr. Hawkins.
Molly was almost completely packed, having had plans to slip away tonight. “I won’t be but a minute.”
She rushed out of the room, partly hurrying to get her things. Partly running away from the deadly glare in Mr. Hawkins’s eyes. She grabbed her satchel, stuffed the few things in it that were still left out, and met her family in the kitchen. Her family. Kevin, yes. Win, after only a second of hesitation she thought, Yes, Win is my sister.
Wyatt?
Her heart warmed as she thought of how he’d cut off what might have been humiliating words from Mr. Hawkins.
And that’s when she realized something that made her eyes spark with pleasure.
Kevin was ahead of her ushering Win out the back door. Wyatt was behind her, but close enough he noticed the spark.
“What can you possibly find to like in this mess?”
Then they were outside. Wyatt had four horses tied at a hitching post only steps from the door. They were mounted up and moving before Molly got a chance to answer.
“Molly thinks something’s funny?” Kevin scowled at her, then looked at Win’s swollen, red cheek.
“Not funny.” She held the reins in her left hand and ran her fingers gently over the swollen spot on her arm. “Not one thing funny about that man.”
And still, she smiled. “It just made me happy to realize I’m never going to have to call that man Mr. Hawkins again.”
The four of them lined up. Win rode between Kevin and Molly with Wyatt on Molly’s right. Win looked at Molly and gave a firm nod of her chin. “And I’m never going to call him Pa, either.”
She reached out her hand, and Molly clasped it as they rode along.
“How far were we from this place when Wyatt was shot?” Trust Kevin to think of something to worry about.
“Not that far.” Wyatt rubbed his shoulder and started looking behind him. “Let’s pick up the pace.”
Twenty
The conductor called Bear Claw Pass, and Cheyenne gave Rachel, who was groggily sitting up, a worried look. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel blinked at her owlishly and didn’t answer.
“The doctor told me before I left that she needs quiet. A blow to the head like that can make the brain swell up inside her skull. She could feel poorly for a week.”
“A week?” Cheyenne gave her head a violent shake.
“I told Doc Reynolds when she came around that sounded too long. He said we have to keep an eye on her, make sure she eats and drinks if she’s too addled to do it for herself. Mostly, she needs rest.”
“Hogback at the diner has a wagon that doesn’t get much use. I’ll go ask if we can borrow it. Better yet, maybe he could drive us out to the RHR and then he could take his wagon back.”
The train slowed. Cheyenne was on her feet the second it stopped, heading for the door, Falcon right behind her with his armload of injured woman.
They descended and tried to arrange with Hogback, who had just closed the diner after the noon meal, to drive them home with Rachel tucked in blankets in the back. He refused, apparently fond of his idle time, but let Cheyenne borrow it, on the condition she bring it back tomorrow.
“I don’t need to lie down. I can sit on a horse,” Rachel said.
Cheyenne ignored the unsteady woman and got her into the back. The fact that Rachel didn’t fight over it told Cheyenne how bad the poor agent was feeling.
Cheyenne drove the wagon hitched to Hogback’s swaybacked mare. A horse by all appearances as fond of idle time as her master. Falcon rode his horse so he could keep an eye on Rachel and lead the other critters stretched out behind the wagon.
They made slow time because Cheyenne was taking great care.
She was also half expecting gunfire to ring out. She had to wonder if this was all somehow connected. They’d decided the attacks on Kevin and Falcon were related to rustling and a devious plan to kill off the heirs in the midst of the confusion over Clovis’s will. But there were too many dry-gulchings. Too many cowards involved in this mess. It seemed like they’d wandered into a gang of outlaws who’d all learned the lowest of skills from each other.
Could Hawkins have known about the thieving? Could he somehow have been involved in it? Could those rustled cattle, a mix of his own Herefords and the Angus from the RHR, have been sent to that canyon with Hawkins’s knowledge?
It was too much to get in order right now. She had to get Rachel home, set Kevin up to guard her, then ride to find Wyatt and Molly and get them out of the Hawkins Ranch before something terrible happened.
Because whatever lies Wyatt had told to get the job, it was almost certain Hawkins knew there was suspicion cast on him. The attempt on Rachel’s life by Hawkins’s old friend Randall Kingston proved that.
&n
bsp; They were a good stretch of the way home when they heard thundering hoofbeats approaching.
“That’s the direction of the Hawkins Ranch. Be alert.”
Falcon flashed her a huge smile, which was a simple reminder that her husband was always alert. Then he produced his gun with lightning speed and turned to watch who was coming up beside them.
“It’s Wyatt and Molly.” Falcon holstered his gun. “And Kevin and Win.”
Cheyenne, the reins of a plodding single horse well in hand, twisted around to look, and a huge smile broke over her face. “They’re leaving the Hawkins Ranch. They must be.”
The foursome caught up to Cheyenne.
“Rachel?” Win looked in the wagon, which never stopped its steady forward march.
Win’s brow furrowed with worry as Rachel struggled to sit up, then resigned herself to making the trip flat on her back. “What happened? Is she badly hurt?”
“We’ve got a lot to tell. We were going to get Rachel home, then come and get Wyatt and Molly out of Oliver’s clutches. Rachel’s been knocked unconscious, but she’s coming out of it, somewhat. We hope she’ll be all right.”
“And shot,” Falcon added.
“What?” Win shouted.
Grimly, Wyatt watched their back trail.
“Rachel had to write down the names of the missing women somewhere,” Molly said.
Falcon rode up beside her. “She didn’t carry much with her. But maybe she’s got notes tucked in her satchel.”
“We’ll look,” Wyatt said. “But unless we can find something, until we know names, and hopefully they’re the same names as what we found in Hawkins’s safe, I’m not sure what to do next.”
“You got in the safe?” Cheyenne kept driving.
Nodding, Molly said, “We’ve got a lot to tell, too. And then we’ve got a lot to sort out. We’re going to need a lot of good luck to put it all together.”
“What we need,” Wyatt said, studying Rachel, “is a Pinkerton agent.”
They all looked at Rachel for a time, but she’d settled in to sleep.
Cheyenne was relieved to have all three brothers watching all around. Three skilled men, feeling fully threatened, watching out for trouble. They eased up some when they reached a wide spot in the trail, the forests far enough back no coyote looking for an easy kill would be lying in wait for them here.
“Like I said, there’s a lot to tell.” Cheyenne set out to tell what had happened, including the connection from Kingston to Clovis to Hawkins.
Wyatt told the tale of what had gone on at the Hawkins Ranch.
Cheyenne eyed the shadow of a bruise forming on Win’s face and scowled. “Let me see your arm, Molly.”
“Not out here for heaven’s sake. I can’t pull my sleeve up far enough to show so you’re just going to have to wait.”
Cheyenne didn’t like to admit it, but Molly had a point. It stewed and boiled inside her to see how bad hurt Molly was, and Cheyenne wanted to hurt Oliver Hawkins even more.
“But you got word to the Pinkertons?” Molly picked up the story Cheyenne had spun.
“Yes, according to Rachel, what we sent will let them know she’s in trouble. So they should send help. And we’ve set in motion the investigation of Falcon’s ma.” Cheyenne looked at Falcon regretfully. The importance of knowing the date she died seemed unfeeling, all about land and money and ownership. But she thought of how young he had been, left alone in a cabin. His ma needing to be buried. It didn’t bear thinking of. She wanted to hold him and offer him comfort.
The RHR came in sight, and Cheyenne’s heart lifted. So much going on, and now she was home. Home. The law might not say so at the moment, but in her heart this would always be home.
“I think I’ve figured out what God meant when he said honor your father and mother.” Win pressed her hand over her swollen cheek.
They all turned to look at her. It was a question they’d all wrestled with.
“I think God calls us to honor them. But He’s given us the Ten Commandments all at the same time. When you consider how many of those commandments our fathers have broken. Have sneered at every day of their lives. God, well, He wants honor. He wants a soul turned to Him and a life lived faithfully and honorably. I will pray about this, and I will continue to show honor to my father, but only as an example to him. I will live with honor myself. I hope it’s with God’s understanding and support that I admit I will never trust him. I know him too well.”
Kevin reached out. He was on the same side as the bruised cheek, so she had to uncover the bruise to take his hand.
Their hands clutched each other. Their eyes met with love and trust.
It was a private moment, an intimate one. Cheyenne felt as if she was intruding by watching them.
She turned back to her driving, glad to be home.
Glad to have her family together.
Twenty-One
I want to see that arm.” Wyatt stood in front of Molly like a couple hundred pounds of stubborn.
“Wyatt, I am not going to expose—”
“Go upstairs and put something on so you’re not exposed. Cheyenne has a short-sleeved shirtwaist if you don’t. Put hers on.” Wyatt crossed his arms. “We do nothing more until I see how bad he hurt you. And you haven’t told us what he did, either.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I can see he said or did something that really frightened you. We’re trying to be honest here, to clear this up. Molly, don’t keep secrets from me.”
Molly thought of the terrible secret she was keeping from everyone, even Kevin, secrets that had nothing to do with Oliver Hawkins. A tiny niggling deep inside whispered that maybe, just maybe, this family would help her find a way past the guilt, the nightmares that still jerked her awake at night.
If ever there were people who knew what it was to have trouble with a father, it was this group.
Rachel had stirred when they were lifting her out of the wagon. She insisted on walking up to bed on her own. Falcon humored her until her knees gave out, then he carried her upstairs. Cheyenne had gone up with him, and Molly followed. Cheyenne and Falcon went back down, and Win came up. She stayed with Rachel while Molly decided what needed doing and went downstairs for supplies, only to face a formidable group all lined up.
Kevin, whom she trusted completely, which made her years of lying worse because he deserved better. But honestly her deepest lie was in part to protect him.
Falcon, a wild man, the easiest going of the group, or it might be more accurate to say he was the one who didn’t let much upset him. He’d also be the first to tear someone’s throat out.
Cheyenne, a dangerous woman, and that’s what Molly liked best about her, since she seemed to be on the same side as Molly.
And Wyatt. As soon as she stepped in the kitchen, Wyatt said, “I want to see your arm and hear what Hawkins did to you. Now.”
Giving in, since she had little choice, she said, “I’ve got a dress with buttoned cuffs on the sleeves. I can push those sleeves up high enough. I feel ashamed that he hurt me, and my impulse is not to talk about it. Pretend it didn’t happen. But I will. I know this isn’t my fault. I’ll run up and change.”
She was back in a few moments, wearing her blue calico dress sprinkled with white flowers. She came into the room to find them all standing there, muttering to each other. No doubt planning to bury Mr. Hawkins—no, Hawkins, his mister days were over.
They all turned, four in a row, to face her when she came in.
Cheyenne with her arms crossed, angry on Molly’s behalf. Wyatt with his fists clenched, with only one person he wanted to punch. Falcon with both hands shoved in his front pockets. Looking mild mannered, a complete deception. Kevin, his lips moving silently, she hoped it was in prayer. This mess could use some prayer.
“It just happened this morning, and he’s never put his hands on me before,” Molly said. “I can tell you straight out, I was holding a heavy glass pitcher of water in my hands when
he grabbed my arm, and I was fully prepared to smash him over the head with it if he didn’t let go.”
She’d left the buttons of her sleeve undone. She slowly rolled it up, revealing a bruise just above her elbow. Black in the exact shape of Hawkins’s fingers. The skin so swollen it was shiny. Four curved slits had broken the skin. They oozed clear liquid. No blood but they were ugly.
Cheyenne growled. Kevin gasped. Falcon’s eyes narrowed. Wyatt took two long strides to reach her and gently cradled her arm. His hands, so much bigger than Hawkins’s, so much stronger, and yet Wyatt had never touched her except with gentleness.
“It looks awful, doesn’t it?” She’d seen it while changing, and frankly, she’d been shocked.
“I’m going to kill him.” Wyatt slid one hand gently over the ugly bruise.
“Let’s see if we can hang him instead. I’d like the law to handle this.” Molly spoke lightly, hoping to calm Wyatt’s savage anger.
“It looks worse than awful.” Cheyenne’s lips formed a grim line. “You’re the doctor. Is there anything we can do to treat this? Or at least reduce the pain?”
“I’ll put some ice on it later. I need to see to Rachel.”
“Win is with her. Let’s get that ice on it now.” Wyatt let her go. “I’ll get it.” He turned and ran outside.
Kevin was next. He slid an arm around her waist. “Molly, tell us what happened. Are there other bruises? Did you fight him? Did he try—try to—to . . .” Kevin gave her a helpless, furious look.
Molly was glad Win was out of the room. This was hard enough to talk about without her knowing her father had done it.
Wyatt came storming back in with what looked like a snowball, which was a pretty good idea.
Cheyenne got a towel. Wyatt put the snow in the towel and spread it into a flat layer. He folded the towel over the snow.
As they worked, Molly said, “He grabbed me but nothing more, which doesn’t mean I need more than this to judge him as a brute. There are no more bruises, but believe me, this one is enough.”
Love on the Range Page 15