Angel's Embrace

by Charlotte Hubbard

  From the ground he saw those flailing hooves: his life and Solace’s would end in an instant if the terrified animal landed on top of them. Wes’s gun went off and he lurched crazily, as though unable to jump away from his hysterical horse. Billy heard two more gunshots—was too busy rolling Solace out of the line of fire to determine where they came from. But he saw with sickening certainty that his brother had let go of his gun and was being whipped around like a rag doll.

  Wesley hit the ground with a bone-shattering whump just before his horse landed on top of him.

  An eery silence filled the moonlit yard. Billy lay with Solace trembling in his arms, refusing to let her go. It was God’s grace that had saved this fearless girl—and him—yet already a keening welled up from deep down inside him. Neither Wes nor the horse was struggling. Snowy and Spot were circling them cautiously, growling low in their throats.

  Suddenly the yard was swarming with people.

  “Billy! Solace! Are you all right?” It was Mercy’s voice, and as he sat up, he saw her running toward him, with Lily and Grace close behind.

  “Right here,” he rasped. It was hard to draw air into his lungs, he was still so shocked.

  “Solace! Billy!” This time it was Michael, rushing across the yard, half crazy with fear. “Thank God you’re safe, and—but where’d you get that gun, young lady? I thought it was Carlton firing! Nearly lost my mind when I saw you—”

  Solace sighed impatiently, brushing grass from her pants. “What’s the all-fired problem? I’ve been shootin’ target practice since—”

  “She hit her mark, too.”

  It was Carlton speaking now, as he leaned over Wes’s big buckskin. “Here’s the hole where she shot the horse’s heart—and here’s where I plugged Bristol. I—I had to shoot him, Billy. Couldn’t sacrifice you and Solace to his mindless brutality.” He rose quickly when Mama dashed from the house in her nightgown, muffling her cries in a handkerchief.

  “I can’t believe you—why would Wesley charge at his own brother? My God, what do we do now? What do we doooooo?”

  Harte pulled Virgilia into a tight embrace, as much to control her raw anger as to comfort her. Ten years crept over the detective’s face as he rocked Mama in the moonlight, closing his eyes against the horror that had just happened here.

  Solace was now bawling, too, her arms around the dogs, with Lily and Grace crying behind her. Mama howled against Carlton’s shoulder. Mercy stood shaking her head, her hand to her mouth as she surveyed the damage. Just outside this immediate circle of shock, Billy saw Eve standing apart. She held Olivia to her shoulder, staring wide-eyed at Wes’s motionless form.

  Michael straightened to his full height. “It was my shot that flushed him out—and then Wes fired twice to scare the cattle through the doors,” he reasoned aloud, pointing as he spoke. “From behind him I saw Billy shoot, and then Solace. Wes’s shotgun went off when he was thrown—but where’s Asa?”

  Mercy sucked in her breath. “Don’t tell me he was out here—”

  “We couldn’t keep him away,” Michael cried over his shoulder. He was running toward the corral, where the old cook was to cover them from behind the water trough.

  Billy dashed after him, nearly blind with fear. If Wes’s stray shots had hit the beloved old man—if Asa had been hurt, or, God forbid, killed by—

  “Asa! Asa, you still duckin’ behind that trough?” he called ahead.

  The flames whispered from the stable.

  He and Malloy raced into the trampled corral, to see the collapsed form that was curled into a tight ball, so close to the trough it was barely visible in the darkness.

  “Asa! Asa, you gotta—” Billy grabbed the bony shoulders to pull the old man into the moonlight, sobbing frantically. He fell to his knees in the dust, pulling that withered body against his, uncurling it so he could look for signs of life or . . . bullet holes.

  Asa’s eyes remained closed. “Is it over yet?” he wheezed.

  “Over?” Billy gripped those spindly arms, holding onto his sanity. “Dang it all, you had me thinkin’—”

  Asa’s body felt tight and wiry like a coil, but slowly his dark eyes opened. “You can stop this foolishness any time, Mister Billy.”

  “We thought you was shot! We thought—”

  “It was close, I’m a-tellin’ ya that,” the old man breathed. “Somethin’ tole me to duck. Hands I couldn’t see was pushing me to the ground, outta the way. I—I guess I’s all right, after all. Not tryin’ to scare anybody, you see.”

  Michael exhaled with relief. “You rest here as long as you want. Now that the commotion’s over, though, we’ve got another fire to put out.”

  Would this night—this nightmare—never end? Billy trotted toward the shed for buckets, while behind him the rest of the family rallied to the cause.

  Once again he carried water as fast as he could from those passing it hand-to-hand from the river. Exhaustion threatened to drop him on the spot, but somehow he found the strength to grab just one more bucket . . . trot toward the stable . . . throw the water onto the flames . . . dodge Michael and Carlton and go back for just one more bucket . . . .

  When the flames were doused and the burned-out buildings sent up only sad wisps of smoke in the moonlight, their task still wasn’t over. Once again they drank deeply from the rain barrel and poured cool water over their scorched clothes and sweaty heads. Then they faced the inevitable task of handling Wesley’s body.

  When she saw them approaching, Eve laid her hand on Mama’s hunched shoulder and spoke softly. The wraithlike woman in the flowing white nightgown rose slowly from beside the slain horse and rider, her head still bowed, supported by the younger woman.

  “It just can’t have happened,” she rasped. Her faraway voice told Billy she’d been repeating this litany mindlessly while they fought the fire. “My boys argued, but it was with words! They would never draw guns, or—Wesley was loud and brash and cocky, but he never would’ve—”

  “Mama, I—I’m so sorry,” Billy whispered, slipping his arms around her. She felt small and frail in his grasp. “I had to keep him from chargin’ at Solace—or snatchin’ her up—just like those Border Ruffians grabbed him after they shot Daddy,” he added as that ironic thought struck him.

  “He was riding right at you, son,” Carlton confirmed with a sigh. “We assumed a useless arm and bad leg would keep him from sitting a horse, but we were desperately wrong.”

  Billy made himself look at the part of Wes that lay visible beneath the broad body of his buckskin. He was twisted at an unnatural angle, and his bloody shirt had ridden up under his chin. His hat had flown off, and except for the beard and the unkempt hair plastered to Wes’s neck, Billy could have been looking at his own corpse. “I still don’t know how he—”

  Without a word, Malloy and Harte bent to the grizzly business of moving the man from beneath his mount. They grunted, shoving with the last of their strength, and finally freed Wes.

  “Had the reins wrapped around his bad arm so he could handle his gun,” Michael murmured.

  “Must’ve held it against himself so he could cock it and shoot,” the detective added. “Tied his bad leg to the saddle fender with a . . . a suspender, to hold himself on. So damned determined to get back at Billy—but how’d he fasten himself on that way if his hand—?”

  “Musta had help,” Billy breathed. “But if anybody could find a way, it was Wesley.”

  They looked cautiously around the yard, studying the shadows cast by the moonlit buildings. Carlton frowned at the short figure approaching them from the house. “Solace, honey, this is nothing you should be looking at.”

  “I—I came back out to hunt for Mr. Lincoln,” she stammered.

  Michael rose to slip an arm around her shoulders, as much to comfort her as to confine her. “Honey, he knows his way home. I’m sure the horses’ll be back,” he said in a choked voice. “I need to know where you learned to shoot—”

  “Been practicin�
�. Ever since we saw that sharpshooter at the circus,” she admitted in a thin voice. “Never intended to shoot a horse, but anybody could see that man was gonna kill—”

  “Don’t change the subject!” Malloy raked a grimy hand through his hair, struggling with his frustration. “How’d you practice? You were doing lessons with Temple, or helping your mother, and they certainly never knew you were shooting!”

  Her sooty face sobered; so full of love and bravado Billy hated to see her catching this lecture. But it was serious business, firing a gun—more deadly than she realized. Marksmanship was a skill she saw as a new challenge. “Slipped out at night. To that cave down by the river.”

  “By yourself? What if the gun had backfired? Or what if you’d shot yourself in the foot and—”

  “But I didn’t!” she protested, her face crumpling. “I might be a girl, but someday I wanna ride in the circus ring, just like at the—”

  “Solace, where’d you get that pistol?”

  She bit back a whimper and then sucked in a noisy breath. Her wide brown eyes suggested there was something besides a hiding place at stake. “Joel f-found it in the shed—and the bullets, too. Hadn’t ever seen anybody usin’ it, so—”

  Malloy’s gaze met Billy’s in the darkness. It was the pistol they kept out there in case snakes or coyotes got in with the livestock.

  “—he kept it in a—a shirt wadded under his mattress—’cept when Temple was cleanin’.”

  “Joel!” Malloy straightened, gazing quickly around the yard. “In all the fracas, I haven’t seen—he wouldn’t have stayed in his room once he heard—”

  “He wasn’t in his room!” Solace whimpered. “I—I couldn’t take time to look for him, once I heard Billy and his brother out here fightin’.”

  Her daddy’s head snapped back and he lifted her chin. “There’s something else you need to tell me, isn’t there?”

  The girl’s lip quivered and she let out a tearful sigh. She nodded, scrunching her eyes shut.

  “Something about Joel.” Michael’s voice had the rasp of sandpaper, and the hand holding Solace shook slightly.

  “He . . . he wadded up some clothes,” she gasped, shuddering with sobs of realization. “Stuck ’em under his covers, to make it look like he was in bed.”

  Mike scowled. “But when I looked in on him after dinner—”

  “He was real unhappy, Daddy. Mutterin’ to himself all day, like he was stewin’ over things that bothered him bad.”

  Malloy’s eyes closed. He let out an exhausted sigh. “I had to tell him some things about his mother—and myself—that weren’t very—complimentary. And—like anybody would—Joel took exception to them.”

  Billy glanced up at the window of the room he and Joel shared, recalling how his sister had pulled such a bed-stuffing stunt when she was younger. Why hadn’t he guessed the kid was hiding a pistol? Or sneaking out at night? He sighed, too, because he’d shown Solace and Joel that cave by the river years ago—the cave Emma Clark took him to the very first day they met.

  “Joel always had a knack for gettin’ away—runnin’ off at the least little problem,” he pointed out tiredly. “He could’ve slipped out while we were fightin’ that fire at Emma’s. Or even while we were takin’ Jones’s horses to town. How long do you s’pose he’s been gone, sweetie?”

  Solace’s lip quivered. Her dark eyes shone with tears she was determined not to shed. “Could’ve shinnied down a drainpipe any time. We were cleanin’ up the dishes while you were out with Mr. Jones. And then Temple had us girls play our latest piano pieces for your mama, while she and Mercy and Eve sat with the baby.”

  Billy envisioned that picture of domestic tranquility, and Joel using the piano music in the parlor to mask his escape. “With all the horses on the loose, there’s no way to tell if he rode Hickok, or walked, or—”

  “No doubt in my mind he’s getting as far away from me as he can.” Malloy looked as whipped as Billy had ever seen him. “He didn’t like hearing that I was responsible for his mother’s—”

  “But you made up for that!” Billy protested. “You’ve raised him since—”

  “When you’re a kid, you don’t see it that way. You look for somebody to blame, and then you hold those grudges until you can’t believe anything else.” Carlton clapped Malloy on the back, his face a mask of compassion. “Joel’s a smart boy, Mike. I’m betting he’ll ride out all that resentment, and when he’s out of luck and money, he’ll head back. It’s still a worry, I know, but he’s old enough to take care of himself on the road. Better than you might think.”

  “Tell that to Mercy,” Malloy mumbled. “She hasn’t noticed he’s missing, with everything else that’s happened. She’ll be upset with herself about that.”

  Billy listened intently, trying to piece together Joel’s day. “He’s never been one to miss supper, though. I seem to remember he went upstairs when we were cuttin’ the pie, after dinner.”

  Michael perked up. “Was he here then, honey? Did your mama take up a tray, or—”

  “She sent Gracie upstairs to check on him,” Solace said, thinking back as she spoke. “And about that time, you drove in, hollerin’ about that fire—and Asa told us to change into old clothes—”

  Sighing, the slender man glanced toward the house and then at the dead horse and rider, as though he didn’t have the energy to deal with either situation right now. “Billy, it might be best if you take Solace inside and talk this out with Mercy—”

  “And see how your mother’s doing,” Harte added quietly. “We’ll put your brother in the root cellar, until she decides where she wants him buried.”

  “Yessir,” Billy replied heavily. As he walked toward the house, his legs felt like lead weights and his head pounded. His clothes were damp and clingy, and they reeked of smoke and sweat.

  “Not one of our better days,” he said sadly.

  “Nope,” Solace replied with a sigh. “And it’s not over yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ordinarily the parlor shone with a welcoming glow when the lamps were lit, but it was a somber scene in these wee hours: Mercy was on the settee beside Mama, holding her as she wept, while Lily and Grace leaned into Temple on the striped sofa across from them. Their faces looked pale with exhaustion and shock.

  Billy was glad Eve had gone upstairs with the baby, because she, too, had plenty to think about. He lingered in the doorway, hat in hand, wondering how to best comfort his stricken mother—and how to mention Joel’s escape. This hardly seemed the time to lay yet another burden on Mercy—

  “Mama, Joel’s run off!” Solace’s urgent voice drew the attention of everyone in the room.

  Mercy’s brow furrowed. “Honey, whatever can you mean? He was asleep when Gracie went upstairs.”

  “Right when Daddy was hollerin’ about the fire!” Solace explained. “He rolled his clothes in the bed so it’d look like he was asleep!”

  The alarm on her mother’s face told Solace she’d timed this topic poorly, but there was no getting away from it now. “I—I thought it was odd that he slept through supper,” she went on, ’cause Joel never gets sick. But when I was headed outside to—to challenge Wesley Bristol, I knew he’d outfoxed us. Joel wouldn’t have missed the fires—or the gunfight—for anything!

  “Sorry, Mrs. Harte,” she added in a voice that cracked. “I—I only shot his horse so he couldn’t massacre—”

  Billy grabbed the girl and pressed her face against him. At her age, she didn’t understand how such sentiments might tear out a mother’s heart. Solace didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but her earnest attempt at the truth was a little hard on him, as well.

  Mercy’s dark eyes widened further and she stood up. Her hands fisted at her sides until Billy thought she must be puncturing her palms with her fingernails.

  “Yes, young lady, you and I will have a long talk about tonight’s gunslinging episode,” she rasped. “And if you know anything you’re not telling me abou
t Joel—”

  “N-no, ma’am!”

  “—it’ll be a long, long time before you ride Mr. Lincoln—”

  “He’s gone, too, Mama!” Solace slumped against Billy then, blotting her tears as she tried to explain. “I—I feel just awful that I never even noticed Joel was gone, during all the—the fires and—”

  Mercy’s face crumpled. Although she stood tall, she balled her fist against her mouth to compose herself. “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it?” she murmured. “Nobody even noticed he was gone. I was playing with the baby, and then keeping you girls out of harm’s way and—”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Miss Mercy,” Temple put in. Her eyes looked huge in her dark face. “That boy’s my responsibility. I should’ve known he was upset enough—defiant enough—to pull a stunt like this!”

  Mercy lifted her head. “He told me his dinner wasn’t setting right—”

  “Because he was so mad at his daddy. He ran off, rather than facing the hard facts.” Temple leaned forward, clutching Lily and Grace to her sides. “That boy has always run from trouble. Turns a deaf ear during devotions, because he sees no need for religion—”

  “Wasn’t any too keen on bein’ baptized, that’s for sure,” Billy put in.

  “—so while I beg your forgiveness for my negligence, Miss Mercy, I see this as a lesson in life Mister Joel needs to learn the hard way.”

  Temple’s exasperation had forced her to face some facts herself. “He’s not stupid. That boy’s hiding somewhere, safe and sound. Proud of himself for putting us in an uproar! He won’t feel so high and mighty when he comes back to find out other matters—matters of life and death—have held our attention.”

  “He won’t feel too good when I take a switch to his backside for deceiving me, either,” Mercy muttered. But she was wiping fresh tears away. “That goes for you, too, Solace. First thing tomorrow, we’ll discuss your sneaking around and shooting at things.”