Raising Kane

by Long, Heather

  A hot cup pressed into his hands and he clung to warmth, almost cuddling it. It tasted peculiar, almost floral, but he drank it. Thirsty and frozen, it soothed both needs.

  “We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get ill.” The snap of disapproval hadn’t softened in the older Indian’s tone.

  “Ill is better than dead.” If Quanto’s opinion mattered to Wyatt, he didn’t show it. “Ike and Rudy are taking care of the horses. We should talk before they get back.”

  “What is there to say?” The Indian settled onto the stone and steadied Kid’s hand. Odd, he made sure to avoid skin contact and used a towel to brace his trembling arm. Kid didn’t understand it, but he was grateful and when he tried to lift the cup, Quanto helped him.

  “Nothing, apparently. But you knew Adam was involved.”

  “I suspected, nothing more.”

  “A lie.”

  “A perspective. I cannot know anything for certain where he is concerned.” A fact that troubled the old man, as Kid didn’t need his gift to hear the disturbance in his voice.

  “I don’t believe you.” Blunt almost to the point of cruel.

  “I know.” Despite the hint of an apology in the words, iron underscored Quanto’s tone. “But your belief is not what I asked you for.”

  “Shouldn’t talk to your father that way.” The stuttering words slipped out before Kid could swallow them. Wyatt shifted into Kid’s line of sight. He squatted down until their gazes locked. Amazingly enough, Kid was too tired and too damn cold to look away. “Elders deserve our respect.”

  “Respect is earned,” Wyatt’s reply held amusement amidst the calm. “And he earned mine a long time ago, whelp.” He let his gaze go and glanced at Quanto. “He’ll live and he’s too tired to do any damage right now. But after he rests…”

  “We’ll deal with it, as we always have. You should go rest, too.”

  “Later. What room do you want him in?” They weren’t paying any attention to Kid anymore, save for Quanto’s continued help with the cup, but Kid had drunk all the tea and the heat seeping into his soul began to filter through the rocks of ice blocking his veins.

  “Noah’s. Rudy brought in wood and the stove in the corner only needs to be lit.” Quanto plucked the cup from Kid’s nerveless fingers. “Carry him up. I’ll get the bricks.”

  “I can get both. You should rest. You haven’t slept since I left the ranch.” It was Wyatt’s turn to rebuke his elder. Kid opened his mouth to protest, but Wyatt picked him up as though he were one of the children and strode away from the hearth and up the stairs.

  When he set Kid down, they were in a room. Plain, simple and warm. Kid wanted to groan as he stretched out on the bed. It was softer than the ground had been for the past—his mind tried to supply the number, but he’d lost track of how long they’d been riding. It felt like forever.

  “You’re unlikely to remember this,” Wyatt loomed over him, arms folded and an odd look on his face. “But you did good. I pushed you hard and you pushed back. You have the strength to do this. You can learn. You just have to be willing to.”

  Kid frowned, but sleep dragged at his thoughts. A blanket rolled over him and warmth began to bake his frozen bones. He burrowed deeper into the blankets. But the creak of a floorboard told him the man was retreating, so Kid forced his head up. “I want to.”

  A pause. “Good. It won’t be easy.”

  “Never been easy.” His head weighed too much, so he settled back against the pillow.

  “No, I suppose it hasn’t.”

  Kid thought he might have said more, but a hand touched his forehead and he plunged so deep into sleep, the world around him snapped off.

  Quanto

  Quanto glanced from the boy on the bed to the man at the window. “You’re going to stay here while he sleeps.”

  “Yes.” No hesitation in the response. Interesting. Wyatt hadn’t taken this much of an interest in one of the children since…

  “He’s not Scarlett.” He doubted his daughter recalled the nights Wyatt sat up with her, cuddling her when she needed comfort and handling the burns she left on his skin without a whisper of complaint. As an infant, the tiny firestarter’s ability manifested in wild and unexpected ways that almost always tied to her emotions. It wasn’t until Cody took to looking after her and sleeping in her room as a wolf that she settled and Wyatt let her sleep unattended.

  Until then, he’d always been the guard against the night and what scared her.

  “No, he’s worse.” Wyatt spared him a look. “Scarlett’s danger was obvious. He looks helpless, but he’s not. Go get some rest, I’ll take care of him for now.”

  Arms folded, Wyatt leaned against the wall. He wouldn’t be dissuaded from his course.

  “You could have killed him. You had plenty of opportunity.” His oldest friend had been forced to make such brutal choices in the past. Choices Quanto would not judge him for, not when he judged himself so harshly. The youngest Kane possessed a tempest of an ability, one he’d allowed to control him for years. “Yet you chose not to.”

  “Don’t read too much into it.” Wyatt’s gaze trained out the window. “There’s still time to deal with him.”

  “You chose not to kill Delilah before Buck took you into the dreaming.” Another facet of the puzzle, particularly given Wyatt’s determination before he left and a choice Quanto thought he would never see him make.

  “You’re pushing it old man.” A ghost of a smile, a patient look and a scold in one. “Go rest. You’re no good to any of us dead.”

  “You like him.” The discovery delighted Quanto and filled him with an equal measure of dread. Wyatt’s expression didn’t change, but he returned his attention to the window and the snowy landscape beyond. Leaving the matter at that, he checked the boy once more and then left the pair to return to his own room. Wyatt deserved another friend, more than deserved it. He’d denied himself that for decades, often deflecting any attempt by saying Quanto was the only friend he wanted.

  Kid Kane’s success had just became more important than breathing. Wyatt would need a friend more than ever and if he’d selected the boy for that job, then Quanto would make damn sure he could handle it.

  Chapter 4

  Evelyn, Lawrence, Kansas

  “Daddy, you know you can’t get involved.” Evelyn trailed after her father, wishing not for the first time she’d been able to talk him out of this over breakfast inside their very warm rooms at the Inn instead of walking through the brittle cold to the meeting hall where he would hear cases.

  “It’s a matter of principle, my darling.” My darling. Her father had called her that for as long as she could remember. A little piece of her melted every time he used it, particularly when they disagreed. Sliding her arm through his, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “It’s a matter of you being stubborn.” But she smiled through her disapproval, because her father’s deep and abiding principles were the unshakeable bedrock of her existence. “I think you’re borrowing trouble.”

  “The law doesn’t borrow trouble, it confronts it head on and adjudicates it, settling disputes with the application of disciplined, legal order.” His non-plussed response made her laugh a second time.

  “I know, Daddy.” Hugging his arm tighter, she leaned into him. “I know. It’s a matter of principle.”

  “Exactly so.” At the doors to the meeting hall, he paused to kiss her forehead and give her shoulders a squeeze. “You go on down to the tea room. I’ll join you after a while.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes twinkled with merriment. At forty-five, her father remained the handsomest man she’d ever met. She took a moment to fix his tie and smooth down his jacket. Despite the cold, he never wore more than a light overcoat. “You’re being far too agreeable, Evelyn. Don’t think you can wait a few minutes for the crowd to stack in and then sneak inside to listen.”

  She wrinkled her nose, because that had been her plan exactly. “Daddy…” />
  “No. Some things a lady does not need to be privy to and this is one of those times.” He rarely used such a stern voice with her, so she acquiesced. “This is a dirty business, you don’t need to be soiled by it. Go on. Drink some tea, work on your reading. We’ll discuss the approbation of legal theory versus application when I arrive. I expect you to cite at least two cases to support your position.”

  The face she made this time was not playful. “Really?”

  “Oh yes. Really.” He gave her a knowing look.

  “Yes, sir.” She sighed. “I will have three cases to defend my position.”

  “That’s my darling.” With another kiss, he gave her a gentle nudge and much to her chagrin, waited at the doors for her to walk down the street and cross over to the other side. By the time she arrived at the tearoom doors, her father turned to step into the hall where he would be hearing cases. Despite the lack of full territory status, the region remained under federal jurisdiction. That meant federal marshals pursued criminals, the army dealt with the natives, and circuit judges like her father spent time in every town, settling disputes from who owned a chicken to the guilt of a man accused of murder and everything in between.

  Mrs. Johnson greeted her as soon as she stepped in from the cold. “Good morning, Miss Lang. I’ve already set your pot on the table along with the books your father left for you.”

  Evelyn paused in the midst of unbuttoning her coat. Of course her father left books for her and instructions. “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. Have a seat and I’ll have some fresh muffins in just a bit.” The tearoom was a bit of a misnomer, consisting of merely the converted front two rooms of Mrs. Johnson’s house. She liked to serve tea and to bake. The rules called for quiet conversation and she reserved the tables for ladies primarily, though the occasional gentleman was admitted if—like Evelyn’s father Judge Lang—he visited with his daughter.

  Hanging up her coat, she glanced out the window. Though deep into winter, an unusually heavy flow of foot traffic and wagons filled the prairie town. Then again, many of the new arrivals made their way straight for the meeting hall. Her father would hear a lot of cases, but she knew which one generated this much interest.

  The same one she’d wanted to be in the room to hear. Against reasonable arguments, her father would hear the case of freedman Martin Lewis. The black man had shown up at their hotel the first day they’d arrived and thrown himself on Judge Lang’s mercy. Evelyn suppressed a shiver of apprehension. He’d been so desperate, his eyes wild—well one of them anyway, the other had been swollen nearly shut after obviously having endured a violent beating.

  Judge Lang had the hotel keeper send for the doctor and another rider to fetch a marshal they’d encountered about ten miles east. They’d spent the rest of the night hiding the distraught man in their rooms as several armed men searched the town. The marshal arrived the next day and he’d settled in for the duration, taking Lewis into custody. It was the best her father could offer until the matter of his ‘ownership’ had been settled.

  The Compromise of 1850 meant that escaped slaves could be recaptured and returned to their owners and they did not have the right to a jury trial. Special commissioners often heard the cases back east, but out here…

  Evelyn sighed and poured herself a cup of tea. Out here, her father was the closest to a special commissioner they would get. He spoke to both the bounty hunters who’d tried to take Mr. Lewis, to the young man from Tennessee who swore that Lewis belonged to his father, and to Mr. Lewis himself. After deliberation, he decided that all three could settle it in court and today was the day he would hear the case.

  Her stomach knotted and she looked from the cup to the window. The debate over the admittance of new states and the laws that governed them continued to rail back east—another reason her father refused to take them home. He preferred the wilds, away from the crowded cities and long, drawn out fights over legal terms and specificity.

  Life should be simpler. It should be about helping a neighbor or protecting property. Unfortunately for the young man from Tennessee, and perhaps more fortunately for Mr. Lewis, her father didn’t believe people were property.

  Mrs. Johnson set a plate down with two fresh, piping hot muffins and a small bowl of butter. “You should read, young lady. I know the Judge plans to argue with you when he comes for lunch.”

  Grateful for the distraction, Evelyn laughed. “That he does, Mrs. Johnson. Shall I tell you a secret?”

  “Absolutely.” She puffed out a breath and pulled out a chair, her face ruddy from the heat in her kitchens and a kerchief barely keeping her hair contained.

  “My father argues along the same lines and I already know exactly which cases to debate him with. It’s merely Mr. Webster’s argument that I must prepare myself for.” She grinned. Her father used Daniel Webster’s constitutional arguments as part of her reading of the law, but in this particular instance, they’d been arguing the Compromise of 1850 as much to clarify his legal stance as to continue her education.

  Fanning herself with a napkin, Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “I’m not sure your father is doing you any favors, dear.”

  “Oh?” Evelyn sectioned a muffin in half and spread the butter on it. Despite breakfast earlier, she was already hungry.

  “Most men don’t want their wives to be so much smarter than they are, at least not in book learning.”

  Evelyn merely smiled and nodded. It was all she could do in these situations. She didn’t agree and thankfully neither did her father, but most didn’t see the point of the argument. All she needed was to find a man, they’d counter, and then she’d see there was no sense to be found in all her ‘book’ learning. After all, what could she possibly do with it?

  Women had few rights not granted to them by their fathers or husbands. Fortunately, her father valued her mind and taught her to value it as well. Of course, considering what they could do with their minds, they needed all the training they could muster.

  Micah, Flying K Ranch

  A headache beat a cadence in his skull and added another layer to an already bad morning. Up since before dawn, grit stung his eyes and the turn in the wind promised a colder day ahead. Reins loose in his hand, Micah led the horse forward a few steps and pulled off his hat. Below him, sprawled out like broken toys were a dozen dead cattle.

  “What the hell did that?” Jimmy paralleled him on the hill, having dismounted when Micah did and followed him up.

  “I have no idea.” And it was a violent twisting in his gut. Micah knew every single animal on the ranch, he always knew the counts and he did spot checks. No new calves or foals escaped his notice, nor did the aging creatures—or the infirm. Nodding to the next rise, he pointed to a secondary path—one that would take the horses around the carcasses below. “Ride there—check the rest of the herd. If they’re down, don’t ride into it. Don’t let him graze.”

  As if to emphasize the point, Micah tightened up the slack in the reins to keep his mare’s head up. Jimmy nodded and repeated the gesture with the gelding he’d borrowed to trail after Micah. Over the last several months, the Morning Stars proved indispensible, but they also proved to be even more taciturn guardians of the Kanes than the Kanes were of their own land.

  It used to irritate him, but Micah accepted their need to protect family and after nearly losing Jo to the illness that turned all of them—he appreciated the gesture.

  “What are you going to do?” Jimmy eyed him.

  “I’m going to check the cattle.” He turned and looped the mare’s reins up over the saddle horn, tightening them enough that she wouldn’t be able to drop her head and graze. Not until he knew what felled the animals.

  “Maybe we should wait for Noah.” The Fevered man pushed his hat back and motioned to the air. “It’s getting colder. That will buy us time.”

  “And may cost us information we need.” Checking his gloves, Micah spared Jimmy a considering look. “Sic
kness on animals looks different. They start to decompose quick—especially out here, exposed. And we can’t leave them like this.” It invited too many predators—worse, it could let whatever killed them soak into the land, poisoning it. No, too many risks. “So we might need Scarlett, too—if you think she can handle it.” Burning buildings was one thing, these carcasses had been living animals once and while Micah’s sister-in-law wasn’t fragile, it was still a lot to ask of a lady.

  Jimmy grimaced. “She can. I’ll build a fire and send a smoke signal after I check the next rise.”

  “Or you could just ride back and get her.” They weren’t more than an hour out from the main house. Micah checked his gun and knife, and then pulled one of the oiled saddlebags off the horse and slung it over his shoulder.

  “No.” He mounted in a smooth gesture. “Not leaving you out here on your own.”

  Micah accepted the protectiveness, even when it irked. “We’re deep into Flying K land.”

  “And Wyatt crossed that barrier without any invitation.” Came the bland response. “We’ve not tested it to see if any one else can and that Ryan person is still out there.” The last came out a spit. Ryan was a doppelganger, a man with the ability to look like anyone and he’d used that against all of them—including Jimmy. A fact that Jimmy and his wolf-brother Cody took personally.

  Unable to argue against the point, Micah waved him off. “Go, check on them.”

  “What if their alive?” Jimmy didn’t pretend to know animals the way Micah did, another check in his favor.

  Pausing, Micah studied the downed animals. “Do a head count. We’re going to want to isolate them.”

  “Even if they’re not sick?”

  “We have no way to know they aren’t sick.” One tremendously difficult part of ranch life. “A few years back, we had some kind of disease running through the herd. Lost about fifty head in a couple of days.”

  “How did you stop it?”