Who was it? Was he dead, or just hurt? Pedro, John, and Uncle Pete had been detained in Pine Grove when they’d gone to check on Widow Blanchard. The two black horses hitched to the sleigh were covered in sweat. Steam lifting from their hot bodies mixed with the snowflakes.
Luke was right behind the men as they carried the person through the door, held open by Lucky. The cook’s face was stricken with grief.
Pedro and John were fine. That meant that the person in the blanket had to be Uncle Pete.
On the way in, Luke grasped Ike’s shoulder. “Go get Pa. And Roady.”
Ike ran out the door.
Francis and Smokey crowded beside Pedro who, along with John, gently laid Uncle Pete on his cot. Lucky gimped into the group of men huddled around the bunk.
Uncle Pete. Badly injured. Luke’s chest pinched with regret. He went to the head of the bed and dropped to one knee to examine the damage. The gashes were difficult to look at. He turned and glanced over his shoulder, noticing Pedro had also sustained some wounds to his hands.
“What happened?” Luke asked again.
Hickory must have followed in Luke’s footsteps from the house to the bunkhouse, because the boy stood wide-eyed at the foot of the bed.
“Wolves.” John’s word weaved quietly through the room.
Each man stared at their wounded comrade, their mouths pulled down, their eyes dark. Every day was filled with danger and the possibility of meeting your end. But reality never ceased to shock.
“On our way back to the ranch, we decided to make one more call on Widow Blanchard, make sure she was still doing all right since the snow had begun to fall. Uncle Pete was tending her stock in the barn. When he started for the house, he was attacked.”
“Attacked? But it’s the middle of the day,” Francis said, his gaze never leaving Uncle Pete.
John rubbed a large hand over his face. “Didn’t make no difference. They were bold as brass. Pedro was restocking wood on Widow Blanchard’s front porch and didn’t see anything until he heard the noise, since the barn is shielded by the side of the house. When he pulled his gun, it was too late. They were too quick. He started for Uncle Pete, hollering at the top of his lungs. He fired and grabbed the ax on the way over. When I heard the commotion and got outside, I saw him swinging away at the snarling knot of animals, trying to get them off Pete. As soon as I seen what was happening, I emptied my gun, killing as many as I could before the others run off.”
Finished with his story, John slowly shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it before. Never.”
Luke swallowed slowly. Things didn’t look good for Uncle Pete. Skin was torn from his face, and rips through his coat and pants showed the skin of his arms and legs slashed and bloodied.
When Francis moved up and took Uncle Pete’s hand, the cowhand’s eyes opened to slits. “Pa? That you?”
Francis glanced around nervously. “No, Uncle Pete. It’s me, Francis.”
“What happened?”
“You’re hurt. You’re back in the bunkhouse.”
A low moan slipped through Uncle Pete’s lips. “That’s right. The wolves.” A shiver ran the length of him. “Where’s Pedro and John? They make it through?”
“I’m here, Pete,” John said, his voice laced with sorrow. “Pedro is too. He’s gonna be all right.”
“I appreciate—you . . . bringing me home,” he said in a raspy voice broken in pauses where none should exist. “Back to the Heart of the Mountains. Didn’t want to die nowhere else, not after all these years.” He dropped his hand to the edge of his bed and fingered the blanket, his chest lifting in a deep sigh. “Been my home a mighty long time.” He coughed and then grimaced in pain.
“Can I get ya anything, cowboy?” Lucky asked, the huskiness of his speech making Luke’s eyes sting. “Anything. You name it; I’ll cook or bake whatever you want.”
“You’re a good man, Lucky. Thanks, my old comrade, but ain’t no time for that—not now.” Uncle Pete glanced around the room. “Flood here?”
“Not yet. I am, though,” Luke said, drawing the man’s gaze.
“So you are. Right here close.” He gave a weak chuckle. “Now that I’m on the ranch, I can let go. I’m anxious ta meet my maker. I’ll put in a good word for ya’ll.”
Was there anything they could do, Luke wondered. How would Doc Handerhoosen tackle all these wounds? Uncle Pete’s face was chalk white from all the blood he’d lost. He was weak. Luke couldn’t imagine he’d last more than a few minutes. His father best hurry.
Luke couldn’t remember how long the man had worked at the ranch. He’d been just a boy when Uncle Pete had signed on. From that very first day, he’d instructed all the children to call him Uncle, and the handle had stuck even as the children grew into men and women.
“Don’t be in such a hurry, Uncle Pete.” Luke took his shoulder gently and met Uncle Pete’s gaze. “You’ve been a loyal hand. Thanks for making us your family.”
Luke glanced around the faces. Hickory chewed his bottom lip. The boy would be an easy target for a wolf pack. He’d followed him across the ranch yard unattended and could have easily met the same fate. He’d have words with him later.
Roady bounded through the bunkhouse door just as Luke had without a coat or hat, his eyes frantic. He hurried to the side of the bed. “What happened? I saw the sleigh from the upstairs window and heard Ike in Flood’s office but didn’t stop to ask. Someone hurt? Whose sleigh is out . . .”
The men parted until he could see Uncle Pete laying quietly on the bed, his clothes just rags on his body. Roady’s eyes jerked wide, and he skidded to a halt.
“Widow Blanchard’s sleigh, señor,” Pedro whispered, his hands now wrapped in cloths to stop the bleeding. “She offer to help our amigo so we can get him home. He too hurt to put on horse.”
Luke’s eyes filled. He blinked and cut his gaze away from Roady. His friend knelt on the opposite side of the bed, his expression one Luke rarely saw.
“I’m dying, boys,” Uncle Pete whispered. “I don’t mind, truly. Not now that I made it home.” He stopped to take a breath, the crackling fire the only other sound in the room. His gaze slowly traced the faces of the men gathered around. “Ike here?”
Lucky touched his boot. “He’s gone for Flood. They should arrive any second.”
“If I don’t last that long, tell him I want him to have my gelding. He’s always liked Cutty. He’s strong and steady, even if he does still think of himself as a stallion. Has plenty of rides left in him, for sure. Be sure Ike lets him run from time to time, or he’ll get cranky.”
“We’ll pass on your wishes,” Lucky said. “Every word.”
Uncle Pete weakly lifted his arm and ran a trembling hand over his face. “And today I went without a shave. Don’t that just beat all. You be sure an’ take care of that for me before I’m buried, Lucky.”
“’Course I will.”
A smear of blood covered one side of Uncle Pete’s face, almost hiding the whiskers he was worried about.
“Francis, you take my saddle. It’s old, but comfortable. If you don’t want ta keep it, I won’t take offense if ya put it up for sell at Herrick’s and turn a little profit. You’ve been a good lad, assisting with our horses all these years. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“I’m honored,” Francis mumbled as he shook his head. “I won’t sell it. I’ll ride it, so all the men can think of you.”
“That’s mighty good to hear.” Uncle’s Pete’s eyes slowly closed.
All the men leaned in, and when he opened his eyes again, Luke let go his breath.
“Luke, I have a message for Flood,” Uncle Pete wheezed out. “Tell him I’m mighty grateful he gave a man with a past a chance to change his life. To make some good after bad. He gave me a go when no one else would. I ain’t never forgotten that.”
This was all news to Luke, and he was sure none of his brothers or Charity knew what Uncle Pete was referring to. Only his father. T
he truth had stayed firmly hidden, justly giving the man a new start.
“Will do, Uncle Pete. Don’t you worry about that at all.” Luke’s gaze caught Smokey’s, and he hitched his head.
Smokey made for the door to go see what was keeping Flood.
A funny little smile curled Uncle Pete’s bloodstained lips. “Where’s Hickory? I don’t see the boy.”
John nudged Hickory forward, and the boy moved close enough for Uncle Pete to see him.
The mauled cowhand held out a shaky hand. “You know where I keep my nickel-plated harmonica?”
Hickory nodded.
“Thought as much. If I give it to ya, you promise to practice? A little every day?”
A big lump went up and down on the boy’s throat. He nodded again.
“It’s yours, then,” he said softly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d mind it with good care. I’ve had it for more than thirty years.”
Uncle Pete’s countenance brightened as his gaze moved around the rafters, a strange expression on his face. With great effort, he lifted his arm only a few inches, but his finger was pointed.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said on a chuckle. “Look at all them purty faces . . .”
Flood barreled through the door, followed by Ike and Smokey. The men parted to allow Luke’s pa to come closer.
The man who’d raised Luke went down on one knee, taking Uncle Pete’s bloody hand in his own. “Pete,” he said in an anguished voice. “Pete, talk to me.”
But he arrived too late.
Uncle Pete’s sightless eyes gazed up at the rafters, a small smile on his lips.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thank God, the snow had finally stopped. The wind had died, and several stars could be seen in the blackness above the hotel.
Frosty puffs of crystals streamed from Shad’s mouth each time he breathed out. He glanced toward the livery, and then past Berta May’s and in the direction of Klinkner’s mill. The temperatures were still below freezing, but he’d needed some fresh air on his face. He couldn’t see very far in the darkness, but remembered the sight of the heavy snow layered on top of each building.
Somewhere, a dog barked. In response, and closer than he’d ever heard, a wolf responded, the deep howl foreboding.
They’d been hearing wolves for days now. He’d seen the tracks when he’d ridden into Y Knot with Smokey and Francis. Everyone who stepped out of the protection of walls was on high alert. Hayden Klinkner and Drit had sighted several, and many more reported tracks around their buildings. The pack, or maybe it was more than one, were larger and stronger than any they’d faced in these parts before.
Shad stuffed his gloved hands into his armpits, knowing he shouldn’t stay outside too long, but yearning for the open space of the prairie made him restless. This time of night was his only opportunity to think. Everyone was asleep.
A small smile pulled at his stiff lips. He’d cooked up a good portion of oatmeal, enough that the Sanger tykes all ate their fill after their bath.
Miss Ford swore July to secrecy, which wasn’t hard to do.
If he had to, now that the snow had stopped, Shad would head out of town, track a deer or elk, or even some ranchers’ stray beef. The folks in his care might be hungry now, but no one would starve to death.
Lifting his shoulders, Shad wondered what was troubling him. He’d been in tight spots before. They’d get through this rough patch without any casualties.
Tonight, the fate of his brothers occupied his thoughts. Had they taken shelter? Or had they been surprised somewhere along the way? They’d be riding cross-country with their mounts, not traveling any other way. But their last letter said they were anxious to get here. Surely, they’d watch the signs of the season. See the danger of the approaching storm. Hopefully, they didn’t do anything foolish.
Shaking his head, he looked back up at the sky. Tanner and Nick were unpredictable. Shad couldn’t guess, even if he tried. Best not to speculate. At least he knew they were riding together. That was a consolation, even if a small one.
Across the alley to his left, Brandon stepped from the sheriff’s office where a light burned in the window, a beacon for anyone in trouble. The place didn’t have a porch and overhang like the hotel and most of the businesses on the street. Presumably, Brandon or Justin had shoveled out the doorway.
Brandon cupped his mouth. “Everything all right over there?” he called in the white, frozen stillness.
To cross the alley from his doorway to the covered boardwalk in front of the hotel meant forging through a three-foot depth of snow. Neither of them wanted to get wet all over again.
“Things are fine over here,” Shad called back. “Just needed some air.” Even in the darkness, he caught Brandon’s nod.
After patting his arms for a moment, the lawman stepped back into the sheriff’s office and closed the door. He must have been very relieved Charity, his young wife, was safely housed at her brother’s homestead.
Intending to go back inside himself, Shad returned to the building. Reaching for the door, he caught movement as a dark shadow slunk out of the alleyway between the hotel and Lichtenstein’s mercantile.
Wolf!
The moon gave off just enough light that Shad could see the silver tips of his coat glisten as the tall, rangy animal lunged through the snow into the center of the street. A pack of about twelve followed in his path.
Shad sucked in a breath. They were bold, wild, and dangerous. Several smaller wolves stretched out on the snow. Another yipped when bitten from behind by one of his comrades. The first wolf that had appeared, the largest in height and weight, must be the lead male. The animal glanced his way, unconcerned that Shad was watching them. He was making a statement. Anyone who thought a wolf had no intelligence hadn’t spent any time in the high country. They were cunning and sharp.
This beast’s golden eyes glittered as he lowered his head and exposed his long, yellow teeth in a guttural growl.
A rifle report rent the still night, and a wolf on the edge of the pack dropped in the snow. The two that had laid down leaped to their feet and bounded away with the pack.
Shad cut his gaze up the street. Trent Herrick’s head and rifle stuck out of his second-story window. He cocked his weapon and fired again, but the pack had already scattered.
The door behind Shad flew open, and Miss Ford stood in the doorway.
“Mr. Petty. What’s happening? Who’s shooting out there?”
He came in, closed the door, and crossed the lobby to the woodstove, craving the heat.
“Trent Herrick, the leather worker. He killed a wolf in the street.”
She gave a small gasp. “In the street? They came that close? I know wolves are around these parts, but I was assured they avoid people and never come into town.” The bodice of her cape lifted with her frightened breaths.
With his hand, he gestured to the chair by the stove. Their nightly meetings had become a habit. If he were honest with himself, he looked forward to their talks. During the day, Oscar Scott was usually never far from her side; he took the noon meal with her, and walked her to her room at night. Even with all the easterner’s attention, Shad got the distinct impression she couldn’t stand the man.
“That’s true enough, in most cases. I’ve never seen them before in town or out at the ranch house. Could be, the leader feels empowered by the fact we’re snowed in. He has the advantage, but we have guns. As long as you stay inside, Miss Ford, you’re in no real danger.” He glanced at the darkened window. “And I don’t see that changing anytime soon, even though the snow has stopped.”
She sucked in a breath. “It’s stopped?”
“You haven’t looked outside?”
“I was so worried when I heard the rifle shot I didn’t notice.” She left the stove and went to the window. “This is good news. Soon I’ll be able to check on Kathryn.”
She turned and looked at him over her shoulder with such adoration and trust, her gaze made his stomach tig
hten into a constricted ball. He had to remember he had nothing to give her. Nothing.
He’d been rendered infertile by Redbud. The blow of the bull’s head to Shad’s midsection had crushed some reproducing things inside. The doctor had given the long, unpronounceable names of what exactly, but Shad had been so miserable, he’d put them out of his mind. At the time of the accident, the pain had been excruciating but he’d gotten through, helped away by two comrades bearing his weight. Not until he’d been examined two weeks later had the real pain started.
“Might be a while before you can get out to the farm. Don’t start planning yet,” he replied gruffly, seeing the light in her eyes dim. “Brandon and Justin will make rounds just as soon as they’re able. You leave that to them.”
Looking grumpy, she made her way slowly back to the lobby stove and lowered herself into her chair.
He chastised himself. It wasn’t her chair or his chair, as he’d begun to think of them. They were the lobby chairs, and soon life would be back to normal.
“You’re touchy tonight, Mr. Petty. Did you drop a log on your toe or something?”
Miss Ford’s voice had turned sugary sweet, like she used to speak. Perhaps he’d been a little heavy-handed.
“Just don’t get your hopes up about getting out there too soon. It’s darn cold, difficult for horses and people.” He chanced a glance in her direction and almost smiled. She was using him for imaginary target practice.
“Hildy told me the livery has a sleigh to rent. Why can’t I take that out to the farm? The distance isn’t far.”
“Who’ll drive you?”
“I’ll drive myself.”
Right. Shad tamped down his growing annoyance. “We’re in the middle of a hellacious winter storm. Just because the snow has let up for the first time in days doesn’t mean it’s cleared away.”
Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9) Page 17