Holt's Gamble

by Barbara Ankrum

  "He was very angry with me when he realized I'd overheard it. He... he hit me." She focused on a button in the middle of his shirt. "It wasn't the first time, but he scared me. I guess I'd tried to put it out of my mind, but... is it possible they're the same men who were after you?"

  "It's more than possible." Clay turned away, absorbing the implications. He plunged his fingers through his long hair. "He recognized my name. I remember now... his reaction at the table when I said it. He practically choked on his cigar. Damn. How could I have missed it? It was Talbot all the time. He was trying to kill me... he wasn't after you at all..."

  "You said your wife was killed three years ago. Talbot only settled in Independence a little over two years ago."

  "It all makes sense now. It had to be him. Damn it. If I'd only known..."

  "You'd have done what?" Kierin asked. "Killed him? Is that what you planned to do?"

  With his back still to her he answered, "Yes."

  "How does that make you any different from him?" she asked.

  Clay whirled on her. "I didn't burn his goddamned house down around his wife, did I?"

  Kierin took a steadying breath. "No. And that's my point. You're not a murderer. I know this thing has eaten you up for three years, but vengeance won't take it away. It won't bring back your wife."

  Pain flitted across his expression. "I know that. But I can't risk losing you the way I did Amanda. I want us to be free to live the way we want. Without fear. Now that I know he's still alive, I have no choice but to finish it with him."

  Kierin turned away and looked out on the flat sweep of prairie outside the fort's gates. "And if he kills you?"

  He hesitated for a long moment. "Then... you'll be taken care of. I'll make sure of that." He swallowed and looked away. "At least... I won't leave you a widow."

  She shook her head in disbelief. "Is that supposed to make me feel better about all of this? Do you think I'll grieve any less without that certificate in my hand?"

  His pain-filled eyes rose to meet hers, but he couldn't answer her.

  She glared at him, knowing that to fight him was to do battle with a wall of granite. Yet, with her last available weapon, she had to try.

  "Perhaps, if I'm lucky," she said, pressing a hand to her belly, "you will leave me with something more than a piece of paper to remember you by."

  Clay didn't miss her meaning and she left him staring after her as she stalked out the fort gates toward the wagons.

  * * *

  It was decided that Clay would stay with the wagons until they neared the South Pass, for between there and Laramie was a difficult stretch of land that rose steadily upward toward the craggy peaks of the Great Divide. It took nearly three weeks of grueling travel to get there—past the Black Hills, whose starkly silhouetted buttes were often lined with Sioux keeping a keen eye on the wagoners' progress; past Poison Springs and a vast alkali flat which, despite their best efforts, claimed several head of cattle from the train. They stopped at Independence Rock, or as some called it, "The Great Register of the Desert" where they added their names to the thousands already inscribed on the great sandstone monolith.

  Farther on came Devil's Gate, a nearly perpendicular gash in a towering rock which marked the headwaters of the Sweetwater River. A few of the emigrants fell sick with mountain fever, but remarkably, they dug no new graves on its account.

  The days spun by, and she and Clay continued to share a bed, but they'd not made love since that last day at the Fort. He'd watched her carefully for signs that she was with child. Her hopes soared as first one week passed then two, with no sign of her monthly flow. Dove had counseled her about the signs of pregnancy. She waited anxiously to feel the first signs of morning sickness or dizziness that were wont to accompany it. The thought that she might bear Clay's child even took some of the sting out of Matthew's death.

  During the third week, without warning, her flow began and she knew she'd lost him. Clay's obvious relief at seeing the flutter of white rags drying in the wagon only served to darken her mood. She watched the bond of love between Dove and Jacob grow stronger with each passing day, while she and Clay grew more distant.

  Bit by bit, she'd watched him withdraw emotionally from her. And while she yearned for the closeness they'd shared in those first days together, she understood his wisdom in doing it. Leaving would be a hard thing. Letting him go, she knew, would be nearly impossible.

  Soon, the rugged terrain funneled the wagons into the welcoming valley of the Sweetwater River, making traveling considerably easier. Kierin's heart grew heavier with each passing day because Clay's certain departure loomed ever closer.

  Ringing the sheltered headwaters of the Sweetwater were the towering jagged peaks of cold, blue-gray granite that reached toward the sky like ancient claws. The wagons had made camp here, among the sliver-leafed Aspen and squat stands of hearty pine. Water and grass were bountiful and the animals and the travelers took a much needed break from the grueling climb.

  On the morning Clay was to leave, dawn stole over the camp like a thief. The pink-tinged light filtered into the wagon, urging Kierin from a fitful sleep. One glance told her Clay was already up. Despair weighted her movements as she dragged herself from the comforting warmth of the blankets.

  It was cold. So cold, she guessed there would be ice on the top of the water bucket again today. The air was pungently scented with pine and she could hear the rushing sound of the Sweetwater nearby as it tripped along its banks. Outside, she found Clay, tying his saddlebags to the cantle of Taeva's saddle. A mule Dove had given him stood alongside, packed for the trip. The stallion blew out a clouded breath, announcing her, and she pulled Clay's oversized wool coat tightly around her.

  "Were you going to leave without saying good-bye?"

  Clay turned at the sound of her voice. "You know I wouldn't."

  "Maybe it would have been easier," she allowed, staring at the frost-tipped grass at her feet.

  Clay drew her against him. "There's nothing easy about this."

  She wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?"

  Clay shook his head slowly. "I've looked at it from all the angles and it always comes out the same. I have no choice. I have to go."

  "I wish..."

  Clay dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "So do I, Princess, so do I." His chest tightened with regret.

  Jacob ducked out of the tent he now shared with Dove and rubbed his hands in the morning chill. He stopped mid-yawn when he saw Clay already packed and ready to go and he crunched across the frosty grass to meet them.

  "You fixin' to light out now?" he asked, reaching his hand out to Clay.

  Clay nodded grimly. "I guess I am." He clasped Jacob's forearm in a two-handed gesture that bespoke the powerful emotion behind it.

  "You thinkin' to make the Wind River by nightfall?" Jacob asked.

  Clay looked at the jagged walls of stone behind him. Just beyond them lay the snow-capped peaks of the Wind River range. "I'm hoping to."

  The darker man nodded, scuffing the toe of his boot into the nearly frozen ground. "Good luck, then. Watch your backside, you hear?"

  "I will. Tell Dove good-bye for me and thanks for the mule. Tell her I'll be paying her back next spring."

  "I'll do that."

  Clay gave Kierin's shoulders a squeeze, and a tacit look of understanding passed between the two men. Clay was counting on his friend to make sure no harm came to her until he could clear up this mess back East.

  "Well," Jacob drawled awkwardly, wiping at his nose, "I'll be lettin' you two get your good-byes said. Take care, Clay-boy."

  "You too," he said, lifting his chin in a final salute. He didn't want to say the words that made the parting seem so final. Why did it have to be so damned hard?

  When Jacob had left them to tend to the stock, Clay looked down at Kierin again. Her nose and cheeks were rosy with cold, but her expression was grim. "I left Jacob with enough mon
ey to see you through the year."

  She pulled away, not wanting to hear the way he'd so carefully arranged her life.

  "We need to talk about this," he insisted, forcing her to look at him. "If you decide you don't want to live with Jacob and Dove, there should be enough for you to rent a little house in town until I get back. If anything should happen to me, the ranch will be in your name. Jacob has the papers on it."

  Kierin pressed her head against his chest miserably and tears wet her cheeks. "I don't want your money, or your ranch." All I want is you, she thought, but her pride kept her from saying it.

  Clay swallowed the lump at the back of his throat. "It's your security. I have to know you'll be all right, whatever happens to me. Promise me you'll do as I ask."

  Her jade eyes glittered with sudden anger. "Will you promise to come back to me?" she asked.

  He stared at her, hemmed in by his impotence. "I promise to do my damnedest," he said finally.

  Her head snapped down. "Then, so do I."

  He lifted her chin with a forefinger, tears burning at the back of his eyes. "I know what this is doing to you because, God knows, it's doing the same thing to me. Don't leave it this way. Kiss me. Just once before I go."

  His mouth hovered inches away from hers, waiting for acquiescence. It came when her tortured eyes met his in the cloud of mingled breaths that stirred the air between them. She reached up to meet his waiting lips and he pulled her into a tight embrace. His kiss, like hers, was urgent and hungry, not gentle at all. It symbolized everything they'd left unsaid over the past weeks and all the things they would never say.

  He wrenched his mouth suddenly from hers and he searched her eyes for a long, painful moment. Their breaths came in short ragged puffs and hung in the air between them like the misery they felt. "I love you, Kierin, and I'll be back for you." With those words, he turned, gathered up the reins, and mounted Taeva.

  "Clay-wait."

  From her pocket, she pulled something and pressed it into his hand. It was the gold locket she'd recovered at Henri's store. He stared at it in his open palm, knowing how precious it was to her.

  "For luck," she told him, with a tremulous smile.

  "For luck," he repeated, closing it in his fist. He picked up the mule's lead rope, nudged Taeva forward, and disappeared into the lonely vastness of the mist-shrouded mountains.

  * * *

  Fort Hall lay on the arid eastern edge of Oregon Territory, where it served as a junction between the Oregon and California trails. The wagons pulled in as the sun sank behind a bank of lead-bellied cumulus clouds on the western horizon.

  In the dying light, Kierin squinted at the wooden structure from her seat at the helm of Dove's mule-drawn cart. By anyone's standards, Fort Hall could barely be called an outpost of civilization. It had once been a minor trading post and, evidently, the presence of the military hadn't much improved its status. A simple rough-hewn stockade of timber surrounded the meager log buildings within the confines. Alongside the fort ran the swift-flowing Raft River and acres of sweet grassy meadows. At least, it would provide a good grassy place to rejuvenate the weary teams and take a much-needed rest for a day or so.

  Behind them were two weeks of grueling travel, including the sun-parched forty-five-mile stretch of desert known as Sublette's Cutoff—a hellish pull for both livestock and people. Kierin and Jacob mourned the loss of Mose, one of their favorite oxen, whose brave heart had given out halfway across. Still, they considered themselves lucky, for others had lost considerably more stock in the beastly heat.

  Past that fearsome leg of the journey were the more hospitable waters of Soda and Steamboat Springs—aptly named for the chugging sound its waters made. The respite there had been as welcome and much needed as this one.

  Jim Kelly gave the signal to circle up and Kierin flicked the reins over the backs of the mule team, clucking to them with her tongue. Jacob had taken over the full job of driving the ox-pulled wagon she and Clay had shared, while Dove and she shared the responsibilities of the mule-drawn cart.

  It had taken nearly a week to build up calluses on her palms to tolerate a full day of holding the stiff leather traces without pain. Now, as she guided the team expertly into the circle of wagons, she realized, with a certain degree of pleasure, she'd become quite adept at it.

  Beside her, Dove nursed little Ben, who cooed and smiled at his mother with sparkling obsidian eyes while his chubby fist circled her copper finger. With a grunt of satisfaction, the child returned his attention to Dove's brown-tipped nipple.

  "He doesn't look finished yet," Kierin observed wryly, tying off the reins on the hand brake.

  Dove laughed at the boy's voraciousness. "He would suck all day if I let him." She started to disengage the child, but Kierin stopped her.

  "Never mind," she told Dove. "I'll see to the team tonight. You finish up there and get the fire started for supper."

  "I have dried corn soaking for washtunkala," Dove replied with a mischievous waggle of her eyebrows.

  Kierin's eyes lit at the prospect of the savory stew. It was an old Sioux recipe Dove had taught her to make from jerked buffalo, wild onions, dried prairie potatoes, and rehydrated corn. "I want to stop in at the post and buy a few things," she said. "I'll be back in time to help you get it ready."

  After unharnessing the team, she set them loose with the other stock in the grassy pasture on the fort's west side. She watched as they dropped their shaggy heads hungrily to the rich graze, cropping at tufts of bluebunch wheatgrass with greedy tugs.

  Dusk had deepened the sky a mauvish-gray, washing the rolling hills with color. A breeze stirred the tips of grass and she hugged her arms around her. This was the time of day she missed Clay most. She missed his careless hugs and the feel of his lips whispering in her hair and the way this kind of light turned his eyes violet. She missed having him beside her at the evening fire, and by her side at night in her cold bed. It had been two long weeks since she'd seen him last. Two miserable weeks.

  There were so many things they'd left unsaid. She wished now she'd told him she loved him that last morning. Did he know she did? Had he known what was in her heart?

  Beside her, Jacob loosed the oxen with a wave of his hat and came to stand beside her.

  "I miss him, too," he said.

  Kierin looked up at him. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

  Jacob laughed softly. "I reckon Clay got's that same look in his eye right now."

  "I should have gone with him."

  Jacob shook his head. "He be wantin' you safe, not in the line of fire. You done the right thing, lettin' him go."

  "I wish I could believe that, Jacob." She patted his arm and shook off the foreboding feeling she had. "I'm going to the sutler's to buy a new needle and some sturdy thread. Feel like coming?"

  "Ain't no need to twist my arm. I'm outta smoke and candy, too. Dove's taken a likin' to my peppermints," he returned with a grin.

  With the exception of liquor, which appeared plentifully on the shelves and on the crude bar near the front of the room, the store's supplies were low. Two gaming tables full of men were set up near the front door. One table full of scruffy-looking gamblers argued loudly about a hand of cards.

  Kierin was glad Jacob had come with her and she stayed near him until they'd found what they'd come for. Jacob paid the sutler and popped a peppermint stick in his mouth while he held the door open for Kierin.

  Once outside, they were stopped in their tracks by the crash of breaking glass. A man flew out the sutler's window beside them in a tumble of splintered glass and dirt.

  "...and stay out, you cheatin' bastard!" a voice shouted from inside the store.

  "Damn you," came another voice, which Kierin recognized as the sutler's. "It'll take me months to get new panes for that window. Why didn't you just toss him out the door?"

  The muffled reply was lost to her. The shadowed man on the ground cursed roundly and rolled to his knees with a groan, brushing the shards
of glass from his faded red hair.

  Jacob took her elbow, urging her away, but something about the man's voice stopped her.

  "Louts..." he muttered, staggering to his feet "I was'na cheating," he shouted, raising his fist to the shattered window. "Clabberheaded bast—" He blinked and did a double-take as his gaze fell upon Kierin. He staggered a step, arms swinging like clock pendulums searching for rhythm. "Well I'll be—"

  Kierin's eyes widened with disbelief. "Pa?"

  Chapter 19

  "Aye, lass, it's yer old man. Well, if this don't beat all." Asa McKendry's ruddy face broke into a smile and he wrapped his stout arms around his daughter.

  Kierin went hot, then cold, with shock. It rushed through her limbs, making her weak-kneed. He's alive. Tightening her arms around the man who'd abandoned her more than a year ago, she put all those thoughts aside and buried her face against his barrel chest.

  "Oh, Pa... But how-? I thought... they told me—"

  "Tha' I was dead?" Asa gave a scoffing laugh, and pulled her away slightly so he could see her face. "Not Asa McKendry. I've got too many fish to fry to let a few Indians be the end of me." He dabbed at the small bleeding cut on his forehead with the tip of one finger.

  His Scot's brogue always became more distinct when he'd been drinking. She could smell liquor on his breath. "But... have you been here all along?" she asked. "Why didn't you write to tell me you were safe? I never heard from you. Not once."

  He looked stricken. "You didn't get my letters?"

  "No." Her eyes were stormy and doubtful "They told me at Fort Laramie that everyone on your train had been murdered." Another thought made her pull away from Asa with a quick in-drawn breath.

  "Matthew!" Her gaze swept the small enclosure behind him. "Where is he? Is he with you? What—?"

  "Whoa, lass. One question at a time."

  "Pa!"