Ridge slipped on his other moccasin and tied it before he answered. “She and her younger sister were gathering berries by where the river grows wider. Near the base of the San Bois foothills.”
Derrick knew the place. No more than an hour’s ride from here, and no more than a full day’s journey from Demon’s Drop where the Danby gang—most recently led by Clark Davis— stayed in hiding year-round.
“How did she know it was one of Danby’s men? Danby’s dead now—”
“Yes, but the ones who followed him still ride this land to commit their acts of evil. They were led by another, one with flame-colored hair.”
“Clark Davis,” Derrick said. “Dead, now, as well.”
Ridge nodded slowly. “There will be another. And another. No matter how many of them you kill, there will always be another.”
Derrick had to agree. There would never be an end to evil—but hadn’t he once been a part of it himself? As much as he’d like to deny it, war brought the evil—as well as the good—out in men. Sure seemed like he’d seen a lot more of the evil than the good.
“Why are you telling me this? Looks like the last set-to we had with Clark Davis and his men didn’t come soon enough to help Leah.”
Ridge rose from the bed. “No. But they will not defile another.”
“They?”
“There were two of them. The one with red hair and one with brown.”
Davis himself. It could only be, with that red hair of his. But the other could’ve been any number of the gang members.
Ridge stepped toward Derrick solemnly. “Leah’s sister, Rachel, gave her life that day; but she also took that of her attacker. We know the other man, the red-haired man, was killed at Demon’s Drop.” His gaze bore steadily into Derrick’s.
“My friend killed him,” Derrick said, thinking of the way Davis had screamed at Charley’s most capable hands.
Ridge’s gaze bore steadily into Derrick’s. “Your friend was right to kill Clark Davis, son. He was pure evil. Now, you should let Leah know she has nothing more to fear. You were there. You saw it. It will help her to know.”
Derrick let go a low curse. He could’ve saved Leah’s virtue and possibly Rachel’s life if the showdown at Demon’s Drop had only come about a little earlier. Though he’d only met Leah this evening, there seemed to be a kind of steel in her that, he thought, would be accepting of what had happened to her. But she would never forget it.
They were alike, in that respect. He’d learned many lessons the hard way—lessons he would never put completely behind him.
His face warmed at the thought of Leah’s questions, his answers—and what the truth was that they’d both danced around across the table from one another.
“Things have a way of resolving themselves,” Ridge said, as Derrick moved toward the door.
“Yeah. And sometimes, they need a little push.”
****
Derrick had said his goodbyes and headed back outside into the darkness. The full moon lit the dirt street. Light spilled out of the dwellings and businesses along the way back to Austen’s house.
Ahead of him, Derrick caught a flash of a bright yellow dress, the same color Leah had worn. Was it her? They were both close enough to Austen’s home that it was possible. He followed the female, and once in the bright light of the moon he could see it was, indeed, Leah.
He didn’t call out to her. She was headed for the rushing river behind the rows of homes. Her long strides were steady and certain. He waited at the corner of one of the houses, watching as she slipped into the tree line with a furtive backward glance.
After a moment, he followed.
Though she moved quietly, he was able to spot her easily, a few yards in the distance. As she veered to the left, he knew where she was headed. The same place Austen had found him earlier that evening. But why?
As Leah neared the outcropping of stone, her steps slowed.
Derrick stopped, waiting to see what she would do. She walked out onto the rock shelf and stood staring down into the rushing water.
As she turned, her body was outlined in the moonlight, and Derrick could clearly see what she’d hidden well at the dinner table beneath her shawl.
She was pregnant.
She watched the churning current, mesmerized for a moment, and Derrick read her thoughts. Desperation was written across her lovely features. She was about to do the unthinkable. The beautiful fire in her eyes guttering out forever seared him to think of—much less have on his conscience. He stepped out from the shadows, coming toward her at a leisurely pace.
Now, he understood the turn of the dinner conversation. Had he known her circumstances, perhaps he’d have been more circumspect in his comments.
Leah glanced up as he came closer. “What are you doing here, Mister McCain?” She lifted her head, and Derrick could see the way she tried to push the dread of what she was about to do out of her expression. Her voice was low and almost sultry, with a forced hint of disdain.
Derrick smiled. “Carson and I used to play down here every chance we got.” He stepped up onto the outcropping of rock, and Leah moved away a step, just out of his reach.
He looked around, judging which way she’d jump, if she still was determined. The look in her eyes said she was.
“Current’s vicious tonight,” Derrick said, nodding at the water below. “Drowning wouldn’t be the way I’d choose to go. I thought you were stronger than this.”
Leah gave him a long stare. “You’ve never been in my situation, Mr. McCain, and you never will be. Sometimes, there’s …simply no choice.”
Derrick lowered himself to sit on the rock, his feet hanging over the edge well above the rushing water. “I understand about having no choice, Leah. Don’t ever think otherwise. Like I said earlier, there’s no fighting a war without doing some things you have no say in. I never set out thinking of myself as—a murderer—but, I’ve killed.”
“That’s different. If you hadn’t, your enemy would have slain you. War is ‘kill or be killed.’”
“You’re letting him take your life from beyond the grave.” He put a hand up to her, looking at her, until finally, she took it and sat beside him on the rock.
“Who?” She stared straight ahead, into the moon-dappled darkness.
“Clark Davis,” Derrick said quietly. “The man who raped you.”
She whirled quickly to face him, but the anger was only a cover for the painful humiliation. “I should slap your face for daring to—”
“To speak the truth?” Derrick asked softly. “I’m done with secrets. I’ve had enough of them to last me a lifetime.”
She took a slow, deep breath. “I am so ashamed,” she whispered.
Derrick reached out to cup her cheek in his palm. “You have no reason. This was not your fault.”
When she looked up at him, her eyes glimmered with unshed tears of gratitude. “Thank you for—for saying that, but it’s not how others see it.”
Derrick put his arm around her and after a moment, she leaned against him.
“He’s dead, Leah. He’ll never harm you again. But you can’t let him win. If you jump, it’s the same as if he killed you the day he—he took advantage—”
“Who killed him?” she asked. “You?”
Derrick smiled at her eager questions. “No. Not me. A good friend of mine, Charley Blackfeather. And he didn’t go easy, Leah.”
“What happened? All of it—” she added quickly. “I want to know.”
When Derrick had told her the entire story of Kathleen’s kidnapping, his desperate attempt to free her, and of how Charley and some of the other men of Wolf Creek had come to his aid, Leah sat silent.
“Did I put you to sleep?”
She shook her head against him, giving a light chuckle. “No. It has been a very long time since I’ve been able to converse with anyone about this. Josie is kind, but of course…she can’t understand.” She sighed. “I’ve wished him dead so often. Thought of m
y sister—and her success in killing her attacker. Why couldn’t I have been able to do the same?” She fell silent a moment before she went on. “Thank you for telling me, Derrick. Maybe there will be no more nightmares now.” She sat up straight, looking into his eyes. “Your injuries—you recovered?”
“Sure.”
“Strong medicine protected you.”
Derrick grinned. “There’s no stronger medicine than Charley Blackfeather, Leah. No better friend to have, for certain.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know this Charley Blackfeather, Derrick. But to me, you are the best friend to have. You convinced me not to—to do what I had planned. My cousin will tell you that when I decide on something, I rarely change my course. Yet, you managed to sway my decision.”
“Twice.”
“How so?”
“You’re calling me Derrick now—not ‘Mister McCain.’”
****
“Leah!” Josie called.
Derrick turned to look behind them. Josie was rushing toward them. Reluctantly, Leah rose to her feet. “Here, Josie! I’m here.”
Austen followed close behind his wife. As they neared, Josie hugged her cousin.
“I was worried about you! When you didn’t come back, I—”
Leah smiled as if she thought her cousin was being silly. “You worry too much, Josie. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“I do,” Austen answered. “All the time.” The teasing note in his voice lightened the moment. He turned to Derrick. “Get everything straight with your father?”
Derrick nodded. “Yes. He seems to be feeling much better now.”
“And you?”
Derrick hesitated. A lot had changed for him, and even though he wasn’t certain as to how everything would end, no matter what, it would be good.
His mother certainly deserved the happiness that Collin Ridge offered—the thing she’d longed for all these years but had put aside because of her children and her own uncertainty. He was glad to see her happy for once—truly happy.
Now that he’d talked face-to-face with his father, he felt at peace with himself. No matter what had happened in his life, he understood now who he was. There was no more questioning. Something else had happened, too—something he’d never planned on, or considered. Leah Martin. There was something about her spirit that touched him as no other woman ever had.
He’d never been one to believe in destiny, but how else could the timing of her visit and his be explained? There was no denying the hot flare of desire that leapt between them, stronger with each moment they spent in one another’s company; but it was more than that. The unspoken words that brought healing of their wounded spirits; the gentle touch of their hands that seemed to give one another strength; the glances that passed between them that invoked a silent understanding—all these things he’d never experienced with another—only with Leah—whom he’d met but a few hours earlier.
Leah, who was pregnant by a man Derrick had hated down to his soul.
“Derrick?” Austen asked again when Derrick didn’t reply. “Everything all right?”
“Uh…yeah. I—” He broke off, shaking his head quickly. “Just…a lot of changes.”
Josie gave him a questioning look that turned into one of womanly understanding. “Let’s go back inside, Leah,” she said quickly. “It will soon be time to put the little ones to bed.” She took her cousin’s arm and started for the small house, leaving Derrick awash in a current of emotion almost as violent as the swollen river swirling behind him.
Austen chuckled as Leah cast a glance backward, then squared her shoulders and marched on toward the cabin with Josie at her side.
“She’s a wildcat, Leah is.”
Derrick slowly turned to look at his friend.
Austen regarded him in amused silence before he continued. “You wouldn’t want her, Derrick. She’s not for you.”
Anger surged hot inside him. “Why not, Austen? Am I too white for Leah’s family?”
Austen shrugged, unperturbed. “That could be an issue—since it was an Anglo who raped her…an Anglo who murdered her sister, Rachel. I assume your father told you why she’s here, with us. Maybe it would be easier to just let things lie.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Advice, that’s all.” Austen laid a hand on Derrick’s shoulder.
Derrick flung it off and moved away. “Unwanted and unasked for advice,” he answered tightly.
Austen came up close behind Derrick. “What kind of father could you be to Clark Davis’s baby?” he asked in a low voice. “A man who kidnapped your sister, rode with the likes of Jim Danby, tortured you—and attacked the townspeople of Wolf Creek?”
Derrick’s fists clenched. “Austenaco—”
“How would you feel, knowing he’d raped the woman you love? Every time you looked at the child—”
The right cross Derrick threw as he whirled took Austen by surprise, knocking him to the ground on the rock ledge. Derrick followed him down, his fist raised again, but Austen caught it and they rolled and tumbled, trading blows, until they lay near the farthest edge of the abutment.
Derrick landed on top, looking down into Austen’s dark eyes. Blood ran and dripped from his nose to the front of Austen’s shirt.
“Get off me,” Austen said, giving Derrick a push. Amusement colored his tone. “You’re bleeding on my clothes.”
The sound of the rushing water escalated with the blood pounding through Derrick’s veins. What the hell was he doing? Austen was a friend. He’d only asked the questions Derrick had asked himself earlier…it was right Austen would be interested. Leah was family.
Derrick moved slowly off of Austen, rolling onto the flat rock so that they lay side by side, both panting.
“I’m glad you didn’t make me kick the shit out of you,” Austen wheezed, levering himself upward into a sitting position. He held his ribs as he pushed himself upright.
Derrick gave a reluctant grin, swiping at the blood on his face. “Me, too.”
Austen wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth with a grimace. “Why’d you get so damn mad?”
Derrick gave an incredulous snort of laughter as he sat up. “You know why. You just pushed too hard, Austen.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” Derrick rose slowly to his feet, leaning over, hands on his knees. “Leah’s not my woman. I’m not in love with her. Just met her.”
Austen watched him as the silence mounted. Derrick raised his head, shouldering away a thin line of blood from his cheek.
“I think,” Austen said slowly, “what made you the angriest was something else.”
Derrick remained quiet. His friend was about to lay open a wound he’d tried to conceal since he’d been old enough to recognize the pain. Austen meant well, because he’d found happiness of his own—but that kind of contentment wasn’t given to everyone.
“What made you angriest, Derrick, is that fact that it could all be within your reach. For once, the choice can be yours—stay here, with us, or go back to Wolf Creek.”
“Choose.” Derrick chuckled wryly. “Choose my Cherokee blood—or my white blood. Give up the place in Wolf Creek, or leave here again.” As he spoke, he felt as if the woods around him called to him to stay…stay. He had not realized how much he’d missed this place…or, maybe he had known it all along. Perhaps it was the very reason he hadn’t come back in all these years. Now that he knew who his real father was, there was even more reason for him to stay here. But he’d lived a lie his entire life. How could he change that now?
“What will happen to Leah?” Derrick asked hollowly.
As the careful wariness veiled Austen’s eyes, Derrick knew there was a secret here.
Austen picked his words carefully. “She…will stay with us. She is Josie’s blood.”
“What of her parents? Brothers and sisters?”
Austen stood up and pulled a bandana from his pocket, dabbing at the blood on h
is face. “They were not so happy with the outcome of Leah’s fate,” he said slowly. “She was the elder of the two girls. Blame was placed on her for wandering too far—”
“That’s bullshit! Everyone goes there to pick berries—it’s one of the best places.”
Austen shook his head. “Too dangerous, now, as we’ve learned—but there was no reason to believe that when Leah and Rachel went. Now, they’ve laid the blame for Rachel’s death at Leah’s doorstep.” He sighed. “And they’ve convinced her it was her fault, that she should’ve been the one murdered, rather than Rachel.”
Derrick gave a muttered curse. “No one has seen what that gang is truly capable of. If they knew, they’d never blame her for a damn thing. She’s lucky to be alive.”
Austen snorted contemptuously. “Tell her that, Derrick.” He shook his head. “I know what she was doing down here tonight,” he murmured. “I’d never tell Josie, but I know. And unless she is given a reason to keep living, she—she’ll find a way to end it all.” He blew out a long breath, meeting Derrick’s eyes. “She explained everything that happened, expecting understanding…sympathy…maybe even—vengeance for Rachel’s death and her own defilement.”
“But she got none of that from her own family?” Derrick asked. “Why not?”
A smile touched Austen’s lips. “You don’t know Leah’s family. Her father—well, with him, the blame always lies with another. Her mother has learned to—shall we say—‘acquiesce’ in all things.”
Derrick shook his head. “Something I don’t believe would come easy to Leah.” He thought of the proud way she held herself; the defiant fire in her eyes…how could such a lovely creature destroy herself? How could a family instill that kind of self-loathing in such a beautiful spirit?
Yet…his ‘father’ had done it to him in other ways. Maybe he and Leah had more in common than he’d thought.
“No.” Austen shook his head. “She is proud. But that’s why she believes death is her only escape, now that she is ruined.”
Derrick understood. What choices did Leah have? A family who had all but cast her out for something she’d had not control over, a younger sister’s death she felt responsible for; carrying the child of her rapist, a man who had been unspeakably cruel—living must not seem like much of a choice…Leah’s integrity was about to force her to do the only thing she felt left to her.
It Takes a Man Page 3