by Lori Wick
Travis stared at her. It was an excellent point. She was probably right. And if that was the case, did he want his family involved at all?
“I must have gotten you to thinking.”
“Yes, you have,” Travis admitted. “But I still don’t have any solid conclusions.”
“Well, how could you? You don’t really know anything.”
Travis stared at her, a tender light in his eyes.
“You’re certainly full of answers tonight, Mrs. Buchanan.”
Rebecca smiled contentedly and snuggled a little closer to him. The conversation shifted to the day and how the boys had behaved for her. At one point Travis scolded her for not lying down to take a rest, but Rebecca continued to lay comfortably in her husband’s arms until it was time to head upstairs for the night.
On Sunday morning McKay Harrington slipped into the rear pew of the church and almost immediately spotted Travis Buchanan; he was sitting with two little boys. McKay prayed that the man would not take overdue notice of him and made himself comfortable as the service got underway. He stood for the singing and bowed his head for the prayer, but his mind was elsewhere.
McKay didn’t care for this new assignment. Tracking down criminals and bringing them to justice was nothing new to him—he’d been at it for years. He just liked knowing everything before he started out. This time it hadn’t been possible. He’d been ordered to move and move swiftly. Govern Hackett had eluded them once again, and this time McKay’s superiors were angry. They didn’t really want Govern, or his brother, Jubal, but they suspected that the Hackett brothers led to a much bigger fish, and he was the man the treasury department was after.
McKay’s eyes went to the back of Travis Buchanan’s head. What kind of help could he be? McKay knew from his report that Travis had lived here for years, but that didn’t mean he could shed any light on the Hackett brothers. Indeed, if the truth be told, the brothers lived a very secretive life somewhere in the hills around Boulder. Their files didn’t hold half as much about them as McKay’s boss, Carlyle Crawford, would have liked.
“What is on your heart today? What is it that’s weighing you down?” McKay suddenly heard the pastor ask, and realized he hadn’t been attending at all. In the next few seconds he gave his case to the Lord and turned his heart toward the sermon.
“ ‘Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you.’ Now, isn’t 1 Peter 5:7 a familiar verse? But have you looked around that verse? It’s so easy to center on just that one, but look one verse above it to verse six. ‘Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time.’
“How do we humble ourselves before God? Again I quote verse seven to you and add one word, ‘By casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you.’ Did you catch it, my friend? Is your heart humble before God? It is if you’ve given your anxiety to Him, if you’re trusting Him completely for every aspect of your life.”
McKay had to keep himself from smiling. He certainly had not been casting his cares upon the Lord. He’d been worrying over them and carrying them around with him like a burdensome satchel. The pastor continued, but McKay’s head remained bent as he studied the verses in the small Bible he’d brought with him. He had committed verse seven to memory as a child, but had not automatically put verse six with it. He worked at doing so now. In fact, he was so intent on his task that he nearly missed the end of the service. He was eager to hear the pastor’s closing remarks, but he needed to be on his way before he attracted too much attention, and that meant not milling around after the last song. When the congregation stood to sing the closing hymn, McKay slipped out the door and made his way down the street to his hotel. It would have been nice to fellowship with some of the other people in church, but having to skip that was part of his job.
The rest of the day was spent wandering around town, looking like any other person on the street, but McKay was mentally collecting information to be documented once he was back in his room. He slept well that night, with plans to check some leads on Monday, including Travis Buchanan. McKay’s family lived in nearby Longmont, and he planned to go to see them first thing Tuesday morning. However, there was a telegram for him at the hotel desk when he went downstairs on Monday. Clearly from his boss, the message was a bit hard to grasp, but McKay thought he understood. He also thought he might have to put off the trip to see his family. The telegram was the very lead for which he’d been looking.
2
Pup Jennings had been going about her business for the whole day, but her mind was only half on the work. She had a feeling that trouble was afoot. She was low on supplies and hated to leave her cabin in the hills unless she absolutely had to, but dreading the trip to Boulder was not her problem. Not normally given to flights of fancy, Pup could not shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.
The feeling lingered all day, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. She ate a solitary supper and went to bed at the usual time. However, her premonition came to light just at daybreak, as her brother burst swiftly through the front door of the cabin. He was greeted with a shotgun aimed at his face, and a sister none too happy to see he’d arrived.
“What are you doing here, Govern?” She wasted no time in pleasantries.
“I need money, and I need it fast.” His voice was a growl.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, but Pup felt no compassion.
“I don’t have any,” she told him, only now lowering the gun. The calm action infuriated him, but he was careful not to show it.
“You always have money.” He just managed to keep his voice calm. “I won’t stay if you’ll give it to me.”
Pup eyed him dispassionately. They were so different. Not in looks, for both sported full heads of crow-black curls and dark, serious eyes, but their goals and desires in life were worlds apart.
“You can stay as long as you like or leave now,” she spoke as she set the gun against the wall, “but you won’t get any money out of me.”
“You arrogant little mutt,” he gritted, his true nature coming to the fore. “Mama would be ashamed if she could see the way you treat me!”
Pup laughed. “You’re something, Govern Hackett—I just don’t know what. Standing there telling me that Mama would be ashamed when you and Jubal are involved in all kinds of disgraceful trash.”
Govern glared at her, but Pup stayed calm.
“Whom are you running from this time, Govern, Colorado law or local authorities?”
It was the worst thing she could have said. With a nearly savage growl of rage, he began to prowl the cabin, searching madly for the money he knew his sister had hidden. Wishing he would leave, Pup stood still. She dreaded the mess she would have to deal with when he did. Talking would do no good, and she was content to remain silent until he opened the front door and began throwing things outside.
“Knock it off, Govern!” she bellowed at him, but was ignored.
“Hey,” she tried again when one of her few kitchen chairs sailed out the door, but again her brother took no notice.
Pup moved toward the door to close it, but he only came at her. He threw it open and tossed a few more things outside. When Pup heard a dish break on the rocks, she headed outside. Dodging another flying object as she went, she turned to look back inside and was relieved to find Govern heading into the extra bedroom and away from the glassware in the kitchen.
With a weary sigh she began to gather the mess in the clearing at the front of the cabin, stacking it against the log siding. She could hear Govern inside, loudly yelling at her as he tore things apart, but Pup stayed where she was. Govern was still crashing around inside when she heard movement in the bushes. Alarm slammed through her when a man stepped into the clearing. Pup was calling herself every kind of fool for coming out without her gun when the man spoke.
“Govern inside?” the voice asked loudly.
The sun was in her eyes, but Pup still caught sight of the rifle in his hand.
It had gotten very quiet inside.
“What did you say?” she tried to stall for time.
She was sure the man was going to answer, but he wasn’t given time. A shot rang out from inside the house, and the man dove for cover. Pup was doing a little diving of her own. She dropped to her belly, the ground hard and unforgiving as she stayed low and tried to think what to do.
“Come on out, Govern,” she heard the man shout. “I’m not leaving without you.”
Her brother’s answer was another bullet, and then things fell to pieces. Shots were being fired every few seconds when she began to crawl, inching along on her stomach, to the side of the cabin. She stayed flat until she was completely out of range, and then sprang to her feet to race around the back. Unfortunately that was all she could do. The windows were too high off the ground for her to reach, and there was no back door. Her eyes went to the lake, just 30 yards away, but she’d never hid a gun or weapon outside.
Her mind was racing when the shots stopped. Still flattened against the back of the cabin, she now inched her way toward the other end, the end where the mystery man with the gun could hide. She never arrived. More shouts sounded, accompanied by glass breaking, and then the bullets began to fly again.
I thought there might be trouble, she thought wildly, but I didn’t suspect this!
In the midst of her thoughts, the shots died out again, only to start up just a few minutes later. Pup finally sank to the ground, her legs drawn up, her back against the logs. She didn’t think this man was here to do away with her. Clearly he was after her brother. But it could be her life if she put herself in their way. Not to mention the fact that Govern was angry enough right now to try to use her as a hostage.
Once again the shots died off. Pup tried to determine how much time had passed, but she was a complete blank. She only now realized how she was trembling. Her hand went to her mouth as the silence continued, and she realized that she’d been heading the wrong direction. Moving as softly as she could, she retraced her steps to the far end of the cabin. All along the back and halfway up the side, there were still no more shots. Pup inched her way to the front, peeked her head out and quickly drew back. Nothing. No sound, no movement. She tried it again, this time withdrawing her head, but putting it right back out again. Still no sound or movement.
With a deep breath she eased around to the front of the cabin. Her eyes scanned the trees and bushes in all directions, but she saw nothing. Still keeping her back very close to the cabin wall, she made her way to the porch. She kicked a pitcher she’d set down and froze as it banged against a rock, but nothing moved. She was at the porch now.
“Govern?” she tried quietly.
No answer.
“Govern, can you hear me?” she called again, this time a bit louder.
Nothing.
She brought her voice up. “I’m coming in, Govern. Don’t shoot. If you’re hurt I’ll help you, but don’t shoot me.”
With movements just as quiet and careful as she could manage, Pup navigated the front steps and small porch. Her foot caught on the wood strip that ran across the threshold, tripping her just slightly. Again she froze, but there was still no movement or sound.
The main room in the cabin, which served as living room, dining room, and kitchen, was a shambles, but there was no sign of her brother. She had seen Govern heading into the spare room but wanted to keep her back to the wall. She moved carefully toward the kitchen and then popped her head into her own bedroom. There was no sign of him.
Going to the other bedroom meant walking in plain view of the living room windows, but she had to check. She spotted him almost immediately. The bullet had clearly caught him off-guard as it flew through a window. He was dead, a bullet hole in his temple, the gun he’d been attempting to reload, open. Pain clenched at her heart as she stared at the blood. Govern had not been a wonderful person, but he had been her brother, and she never would have wished him to die so violently.
Pup was on the verge of going to him when she heard a noise outside. How could she have forgotten the other man? Nearly holding her breath, she went for the rifle that had dropped out of Govern’s hands. Loading it as swiftly and silently as she could manage, she inched her way to the doorway, giving her a full view of the living room. There was no sign of life at the windows or at the front door which still stood open, so Pup eased her way along. She shot a glance out the front door and would have withdrawn her head, but she froze. Standing in the clearing was the man with the rifle. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood, and his rifle hung limply from one hand.
Pup watched as he began to raise his free hand, but the act proved too much for him. Without a word, he crumpled into a heap. The gun still ready, Pup moved toward him. Her eyes darted to the trees yet again, but it seemed they were alone. Her hand went to the stranger’s throat. He was still alive.
It wasn’t the way Pup had planned to spend the day, but she was a woman accustomed to rising to every occasion. Her dead brother was wrapped in a sheet on the living room floor, and there was a man in the spare room who would probably die as well. The bullet had gone into his upper chest, lodging below his left shoulder. Pup knew some doctors supported the idea of leaving the bullet while others urged removing it, but the stranger had been bleeding profusely, and she had never liked the thought of a man living with lead in his body. Figuring he would die anyway, she gritted her teeth and dug the bullet out. The bleeding had slowed some, but it did not look good.
However, he was lying peacefully now, and she knew the next job had to be done today. It was unlikely that the night would be very restful for her, but she refused to go to sleep with a dead man in her living room. Her mouth set in a grim line, Pup went for the shovel and started to dig a grave, careful not to upset the two plots already in the small cemetery some yards off the lake.
Hours later, Govern Hackett lay next to his mother and father. Pup stood for a long time and stared at the fresh dirt. It wasn’t very pleasant to picture his body in the ground. He had not even had a coffin. She didn’t have the skill to make one. With a weary sigh she turned back to the cabin. She hadn’t eaten a thing all day and now felt overwhelmed with hunger, but curiosity over the man in her spare room sent her to him.
Surprisingly enough, he was still alive. She had divested him of his clothing, but only now thought about the fact that he must have come on horseback. The light was fading fast, so she grabbed the gun again and went out. From where he’d appeared in the clearing, it was not hard to know where to look. Not ten minutes later, she found his horse, half asleep, tied to a bush. Pup led the roan gelding to her own small stable and made him comfortable for the night. Her own horse, Ginny, took little notice. She gave her some extra oats, picked up the stranger’s saddlebags, and went back inside.
Again she checked on the man. She knew better than to remove his dressing, but she added to it and was thankful he seemed to be lying still. Again she found herself shaking and knew she could not wait any longer to eat. The bread and cheese, along with a tin of peaches, tasted like the best she’d ever had. She brewed a large pot of coffee, starting to drink it while it was still very hot, and tried not to dwell on the events of the day. She was contemplating a bath in the lake when she spotted the saddlebags. She had thrown them on the sofa and promptly forgotten them in her hurry to eat.
Without a twinge of conscience, she began to go through the contents. It would be nice to know why this man was hunting her brother, but since she knew he was going to die, her main concern was finding a name and possibly a lead to his family. She found both. The small card she finally discovered read:
McKay Harrington
Longmont, Colorado
Pup stared at the card for a long time, her eyes going to the doorway of the spare room and then toward the windows, looking at nothing in particular.
“McKay Harrington,” she said the name out loud, her mind moving over the possibilities. The coffee had sounded so good, but now the rest of her
cup sat ignored and growing cold. Indeed, the cabin itself grew chilly before Pup roused enough to build up the fire. Things were already growing warm when she took a kitchen chair and a lantern into the sickroom.
She made herself comfortable by the side of the bed, the lantern low as she looked into the pale face of her patient.
“Are you going to live, McKay Harrington?” Pup heard herself ask softly. She was a woman who had seen a lot of things and believed with all her heart that man made his choices. McKay Harrington had decided to come up the mountain after Govern, but now the choices had clearly been taken out of his hands.
3
Pup woke in the chair, her neck aching slightly. The lantern was turned low but still burning. She could see as well as hear that her patient was no longer lying quietly. His arm thrashed a little. Pup simply placed her hand on it, her actions calm and unhurried. McKay lay quiet for a moment, but then murmured something incoherent. Pup kept her hand on him and watched as he settled back into sleep.
She wondered absently if the mind registered pain when the body was sleeping. She didn’t have any firsthand experience on which to fall back, at least not with a gunshot wound. She thought about it for some time but didn’t come to any solid conclusions. Her patient was moving again, so she again put a hand on him and watched as his eyes opened. She could tell he wasn’t really awake, so she stayed quiet. A moment later his lids dropped. He thrashed a little more, still mumbling at someone or something, but then grew very quiet. Were it not for his even breathing, his chest rising rhythmically, Pup would have thought he was gone.
She rose slowly and stretched, her nose wrinkling over the smell of herself. The mingled odors of blood, sweat, and dirt reminded her that she’d missed her evening bath. She looked into McKay’s sleeping face and knew that sitting there was not going to keep him alive. With movements quiet and swift she went to her room, and slipped out of her filthy garments and into her pale yellow robe. When her rifle was in her hand, she headed for the door.