And then a lot of things happened all at once.
“Tom!” Elizabeth tossed aside the hearthstone rock she had pried loose to use as a weapon and skidded to the door. “Are you all right?”
“Fine as frog’s hair,” he assured her. Meanwhile drinking her in, with a mixture of worry and pride and some other unidentifiable emotion, as if weeks instead of mere minutes had gone by since their last encounter. “You?”
“Me? Just as wonderful, now that you’ve gotten rid of my abductor.”
“Your what?” Travis had knelt beside the unmoving body, riddled and gory, to find no sign of life. Startled, he looked up now for an explanation.
“You heard me. He’s the one who came to the ranch that day, an eternity ago. He forced me to go with him.”
The brothers exchanged an inscrutable glance. They were good at that, at the twinship bond of communication without words.
“This feller was your kidnapper,” Travis repeated, just to ascertain he’d heard correctly.
“That’s what I said. Have you gone deaf from the noise?”
In all the aftermath of excitement, Cochinay had slumped to the floor, mainly because his heart was thumping away like a drum and bugle corps, and his legs refused to hold him upright any longer. How near had death walked this hour? “Hmmph,” he muttered now, unimpressed. Surely he had earned the right to feel a little cranky, with what he had just endured! “Thought you didn’t recognize whoever took you away.”
“Uh. Well. I thought I didn’t. But then I saw that long black hair. And I remembered, after all.”
Thomas was studying her with a whimsical—one might almost call it besotted—expression. “Yeah, memory can be a funny thing.”
“For God’s sake!” exploded an impatient and querulous Win Carpenter from his bed of pain. “Is the bastard dead, or ain’t he?”
“Oh, yeah,” answered Travis. He had risen, dusting off his hands, to consider all that was going on. “Dead, all right. As a doornail.”
“Then get his body outa my house and let’s make some plans. Bad enough I’ll haveta clean up blood all over my floor.”
Trust the old man to lay it on the line.
Later, recovered, they sat munching on last night’s leftover baking powder biscuits and swilling down another whole pot of coffee. All but Win. Still stretched out beside the fire, he was partaking steadily of Elizabeth’s willow bark tea. And a small glass bottle of whiskey. Might as well get as much benefit as he could from both.
“I’m worried about him,” Elizabeth admitted in a low tone, from her place at the table. “He needs to see a doctor, and soon. Can’t we get him down off this mountain today, and back to the Condor for help?”
“If this place is as close as he says it is…”
“Damn straight it is,” put in Carpenter, a trifle boozily. “Tryin’ t’ keep secrets from me? Figure I ain’t listenin’ from over here? Gonna drag me off and away from my home, regardless, no matter I don’t wanna go?”
“You’ll do what’s best for you, old man,” Thomas retorted. “And for all of us, b’sides. Unless you fancy the prospect of losin’ your leg.”
For a while they hashed over recent events, with the Apache killer and his plans, the near-miss of far too many bullets zinging through the air, the careful back-yard through-tree tracking initiated by the Yanceys that had circled them right back around to the front door…and a close call.
“At least everybody made it through the fracas all right,” Travis, snagging the last biscuit, commented to sum up.
“Everybody but me,” said Win testily.
“Whyncha go t’ sleep for a while, Carpenter, so’s we’ve got some quiet t’ figure out what we’re gonna be doin’ with you?” suggested Thomas, not entirely unsympathetically.
“Hey, Lizzie, I’m gettin’ hungry. Cancha fry us up some nice fillin’ potatoes? And maybe some bacon?”
She favored her wheedling brother with a disgusted look. “How can you possibly have an appetite, with all that’s been happening today?”
“Oh, I dunno. Bein’ near shot might do it. Or the fact that we none of us have had any breakfast yet, and my belly is growlin’ for somethin’ more substantial than hardtack. Pleeeeease?”
“When was I elected chief cook around here, anyway?”
He reached for her hand. “But you do it so well. And Baldy needs food, too. Doncha, Baldy?”
“Darn tootin’ I need food,” the old outlaw played along, only half in jest. “Yum. I can taste them flapjacks and molasses right now.”
“Oh, a pox on all of you,” she finally gave in, and rose. With not a lot of graciousness.
Cochinay sent a satisfied wink around the table.
“I saw that, you mangy coyote,” said Elizabeth from the stove.
The Yanceys wisely decided to stay out of this one. Better let the Draytons handle it on their own.
As requested, shortly a substantial breakfast was in the making, with thin slabs of bacon sputtering in the pan, replaced by potatoes peeled, sliced, and fried to delicious golden crispness, and Baldy’s flapjacks drowning in sweet sorghum.
“Oh, man,” rhapsodized Travis, after a few eager mouthfuls. “Girl, you can come cook for me anytime you want.”
“Thanks,” said Elizabeth dryly. She joined them, these ravenous males, at the table with her own plate. “The prospect sounds incredibly alluring.”
He looked up at the deliberate mockery in her voice. “Huh?”
“Never you mind, Mr. Marshal.” She patted his wrist consolingly. “I’ll keep your job offer handy, in case I ever need to take advantage of it.”
A discussion then ensued over what must be done from here on, and plans were laid. First of all, the dead Apache warrior must be wrapped in a blanket and bundled up, to be returned to his people. Baldy, too, must be bundled up, as warmly and comfortably as possible, for the afternoon’s ride down through these mountains to the ranch.
“You sendin’ me back to the gates of hell with ol’ Drayton, girl?” Carpenter demanded, in the midst of this.
Travis was not amused. “Ain’t you asleep yet, you goldarned goldbricker?”
“Oh, sure, just wantin’ t’ put me out, so’s you can divvy up what’s left o’ me and my cabin.”
Smiling, Elizabeth left her place at the table to join him on the floor. For reassurance. “We’ll do no such thing, Baldy. We’ll get you up on your horse, and Cochinay will take you on the trail home. He’ll be able to deal with our father.”
He beetled his brows at her. “Ahuh. And what’re you gonna be doin’ in the meantime, girl?”
“Well, I want to make sure that your place is snug and sound for the winter, with everything cleared up and packed up, so I’m staying behind for a while.”
Thomas’ chair grated across the wooden floor as he rose. “Stayin’ behind? What the hell you talkin’ about?”
From her kneeling position beside the old outlaw, Elizabeth looked up at him to point out with cool logic, “Look, it’s only fair. We’ve taken up this man’s space and supplies for how many days now? Winter is starting to set in, and there are things that need to be done.”
“By you and whose army?” demanded Thomas. Opposition to her proposal showed in every angle of his stance: booted feet planted firmly apart, fists wedged at waist and arms akimbo, frown lines gathering force on a belligerent if clean-shave face.
“Oh, pooh. I grew up in these mountains, and—”
“Which explains why you so easily got lost in ’em.”
“I’m used to being on my own, and—”
“With a winter snowstorm headin’ in t’ hit.”
“And I can certainly handle things by myself,” she finished up, glaring at him.
“You think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell I’d leave you here to fend for yourself, with God knows what may be happenin’?” he demanded, outraged.
“Children, peace.” Grinning, Travis waded into the fray. No matter that he was p
robably taking his life in his hands from both sides, by doing so. “Simple. Coch and I will leave in the first contingent. We’ll load up the ol’ man, here—”
“Some respect, if you would be s’ kind,” muttered Carpenter.
“—and hoist the dead body onto our pack mule, and head south and east, outa these Pinaleños. You two finish up whatever needs doin’, and follow along soon’s you can. Plan?”
Color had risen to tinge Elizabeth’s fair skin. “Plan.”
Mind-reading, mind-melding twinship connection. “Plan,” agreed Thomas.
Within an hour their plan was set in motion.
Elizabeth had stuffed clothing, books, and necessities into a gunny sack, to be tied over the saddle horn of Win’s horse and provide extra padding for his wounded leg during travel. She had included plenty of chipped white willow bark and a smaller collection of dandelion leaves.
“Don’t worry, Win,” she assured him, making a brisk business of it. “Sonsee knows all about these cures—and more that I’m probably not even aware of. She’ll take good care of you till I make it home.”
Wearing his heavy shearling coat and a blanket for added protection, he had already been helped aboard his stallion and was waiting for departure in the gathering snow. “Don’t you linger, girl,” he warned her. “This’s bound t’ get worse, b’fore it gets better. No point getting’ caught up here.”
Food supplies had been divided up, canteens had been filled, horses fed and watered for the trip. All had been done to prepare that could be. The Yancey brothers parted company with a handshake that spoke volumes.
“Doncha go gettin’ into trouble on the way down,” Thomas advised.
“Who, me? Safe as safe can be, little brother. We’re headin’ outa the storm. Load up and be right b’hind us, y’ hear? Things ain’t lookin’ so good overhead. I don’t wanna do no marshalin’ without you around.”
Woman-like, Elizabeth sent her own brother off with an extravagant hug and a few tears. “Be careful, Thunder. Be safe, and be careful.”
“Betcher boots, Lizzie. After that confab this mawnin’ with Hawk, when I came damn close t’ gettin’ killed, you think I wanna be anywhere near takin’ chances now?”
Smiling, she pulled a coat more firmly about her shoulders. “I would hope not. Tell Dad I’ll be down directly. And take care of my friend, Win, understand?”
“Oh, yeah. The man who rescued you from your kidnapper, Itza-chu. Ahuh. Sure will.”
Supplies loaded, dead body loaded—at which the poor pack mule shied—live and kicking bodies loaded, the trio set out with a final wave.
And a few prayers.
IX
Thomas glanced up at the lowering gray sky: a tin bowl upturned over the earth, sending down the kind of fluffy white crystals that drifted and blew into heavy, wet debilitating snow few could dig their way out of.
“C’mon,” he said, once the party had disappeared under the vaulting pines. “Let’s get done what needs t’ be done and head on outa here.”
“Agreed,” said Elizabeth with a decisive nod.
The falling flakes had begun to decorate her sunstreaked hair like a postulant’s veil and touch her face with fresh healthy color. She presented a pretty picture there in the deepening snow, one that Thomas might have been inclined to admire, had circumstances warranted.
“Kitchen duty for me.”
“And I’ll make sure everything is good for the hawses. Just—well, just in case. And I’ll chop up some more logs t’ have on hand, too.”
An hour later the cabin had been returned to order: dishes washed, dried, and put away; floors swept, beds straightened. Elizabeth had packed up her personal belongings, ready to leave whenever it was time. However, she kept flinging worried glances at the window, where daylight, even reflected by snow, was fading into an early dusk. From farther out, beyond vision, she could hear the ringing of the axe and the thunk of splitting timber chunks.
At last the door swung open to admit Thomas, dripping white, with an armful of wood. “Gettin’ bad out there,” he reported, stamping his feet on a rug she had placed at the threshold. He crossed the floor and began to arrange his gathering in a box next to the fire.
Finished, he rose and pulled off hat and gloves, even as she approached with towel in hand to pat dry the shoulders of his coat. A tiptoe reach, soberly, almost shyly, attending to affairs, unable to meet his regard.
“Thank you, Liz,” Thomas said quietly, when he could no longer stand the silence. And the nearness. A gentle hold of her wrist interrupted the attention, which then ceased altogether. “You maybe got any coffee settin’ around yet?”
Self-confidence returned. Any male-female interaction, having little experience therefrom, left her feeling prickly and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do or say; with physical tasks she could cope easily and competently.
“A whole pot. Sit down, Tom, and I’ll pour you a cup.”
Off came the dampened coat and the wet boots, to dry before the restocked fire, then a luxurious sprawl in Win’s rocker, with stocking feet stretched out to the warmth. Hot enamel mug in hand, he studied the girl who had taken her chair a short distance away.
“We’re not leaving anytime today, are we, Tom?”
“No, ma’am, we ain’t. It’s too late in the afternoon t’ start now, and the snow’s fallin’ too heavy and fast t’ try makin’ it out. Worst thing in the world, gettin’ caught up here in a blizzard without shelter. Best t’ stay right where we are.” Wavering light from lamps and candles played over his strong features, limning his curly hair and long lashes in gold. “But you knew all that already, didncha?”
“I suspected. That’s why I made fresh coffee, why I didn’t put out the fire.”
“Ahuh.” He was looking at her with something that might have been tenderness, admiring her beautiful face, her can-do take-charge personality, her lush captivating figure that left his mouth dry and his pulse thrumming erratically. “You okay with that?”
“With what? Being here alone with you, is that it?”
“Well—yeah. Some women—”
“I’m not some women, Thomas Yancey. I’m me. And, yes, I’m okay with that.”
Silence for a few minutes, while he sipped at his coffee, the rising wind howled overhead, and the fire snapped and crackled cozily.
“I’m sorry, Liz.”
“Hmmm?” Stirring back to life from a semi-doze in the sweet comfort of this room, she shifted position. “For what?”
“Shoulda hurried up and left a lot sooner, then we wouldn’t be in this pickle. I misjudged the situation.”
She tipped her head to one side, surveying him with a faint smile. “That doesn’t happen very often, does it, Tom?”
“No, ma’am,” he assured her stoutly.
“And you feel upset, when it does.”
“Not used t’ makin’ a bad call. Usually I got more savvy.”
“Maybe,” she said softly, a trifle dreamily, “it was meant to be. Our getting marooned here.”
He was still worrying over his apparent lack of common sense, like a dog over a bone. “Just hope ev’ybody else is makin’ it back safe. But there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it anymore now.”
“Right. So no point in worrying about it. More coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I’ll get it. And a cup for you, too?”
“I’d like that, Tom. Thank you.”
When he returned with two full mugs, she had unfolded a blanket to wrap up in against the chill drafts twitching ugly, determined fingers around every window pane. “Gettin’ colder out there,” he noted. “Carpenter coulda done worse with buildin’ this place.”
Elizabeth sipped at her coffee, hot, reviving, and heavy-duty. “Have you led an exciting life, Tom?” she wanted to know.
“Excitin’? Dunno about that. Full, anyway. Busy.” He padded over to add several more chunks of wood to the fire. Funny thing about a hearth: most of the heat goes straight up the chimn
ey and outside. It needed to roar and blaze for warmth to actually fill a large room.
“Mine, too. Busy. But not very exciting.” She sounded wistful. “Everything on a ranch is related to cows. Too much rain? Cows will drown. Too much heat? Cows won’t have pasture. Want to get away and travel somewhere? Cows need constant care.”
His lopsided smile, as he took the rocker once again, told her he understood. “Same thing with us on the plantation. ’Cept, o’ course, we had slave labor to plant and pick and bale cotton. All we Yanceys had t’ do was oversee.”
“And did you do that well?”
Thomas rumpled and crumpled his shoulders, as if feeling itchy for some reason. “Reckon the older ones did, and Paw. Not me and Trav s’ much, we were younger when Belle Clare was sold. And then we set off t’ see the world.”
He went on to describe his Charleston upbringing, the smell of the air in spring, the music and heart and soul of the south as he remembered it, the tight family bonds that drew brothers together even while scattered all across the country.
Elizabeth was listening, enthralled. “I’d like to have seen your home, Tom. Was it hard, leaving all that behind?”
“Yes. And no. Do I miss what we had there? Yeah, sure do. But I like what I chose for a profession, and I like travelin’ around t’ different parts.”
“Wanderlust,” she murmured.
“Wanderlust,” he repeated thoughtfully, tasting the word. “Maybe. Just haven’t been ready t’ settle down yet, I reckon.”
“Maybe—someday?”
A long, considering look over a long, considering silence. “Maybe. Someday. Liz?”
“Yes, Tom?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh. Don’t s’pose you got any o’ that breakfast meal leftover, do you?”
Elizabeth laughed loud and clear and put aside her blanket to head for the kitchen area. “I should have known,” still chuckling as she lit the lantern and set a flame to the cook stove’s wood pile, “that your empty stomach would somehow enter into the conversation. Come over here, Marshal, and let’s see what grub I can rustle up for you.”
A Western Romance: Thomas Yancey Taking the High Road (Book 4) (Taking the High Road series) Page 9