by Lori Wick
“I think I understand. Listen, if you need to see me when you get back to Boulder, don’t hesitate to stop in.”
“I’m not sure I’ll have time, but I won’t forget your offer,” McKay assured him.
“I’m going to head out and hopefully get home tonight,” Travis went on. “I’ll go for my horse and the supplies, but I’ll come back in and say goodbye.”
Travis slipped out then, returning with several food items and some wrapped bandages that he laid on the table. He then spoke to his hostess. “I’ll just leave these with you, Pup.”
“All right,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you need right now?” He was still talking to Pup.
“I’m in good shape for a few weeks. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Travis turned to the injured man, and McKay put out his hand. They shook and Travis said goodbye. He would have said the same to Pup, but she stopped him.
“Do you know the circle pines, Travis?”
“Yes.”
“If it were me, and I didn’t hit the pines by dark, I’d stay on the mountain tonight.”
“Thanks, Pup. I’ll remember that.”
“Did your wife have her baby?” she asked unexpectedly.
“Not yet. Another two months or so. She’s the reason I want to get back.”
“I can understand that,” Pup told him and watched as he looked at her. She saw the pity in his eyes but was used to either that or scorn from the people in Boulder. At least with Travis she knew he meant well. A moment later he said his final goodbyes to Pup and McKay and took his leave.
Pup, who had gone on with her work, had nothing to say when he left; McKay was quiet as well. He never dreamed that Carlyle would contact Buchanan, but right now he was very thankful for both men.
8
McKay made himself get up every morning and dress as best he could in the clean clothing Pup always had ready for him. He had yet to make it past the front porch, but he could feel the progress, the slow healing of his body. It had nearly killed him not to return to Boulder with Travis, but he’d been honest when he said he would never have made it. He was walking around the cabin more, but most of his days were spent sitting or lying on the sofa. It was during this time that some light was shed on Mud’s cryptic answer about his hostess.
There wasn’t a time when Pup came into the cabin that she didn’t trip on the threshold. She knocked pans from the stove and bowls from the table. She spilled water and food down the front of herself daily. She continued to dress his wound with tenderness and surprising skill, but when it came to the rest of the cabin, she was an accident waiting to happen. “Clumsy little pup,” must have been the phrase that started the nickname, and McKay could see why. But what most fascinated him was that Pup herself seemed completely unaware that anything was amiss.
If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the morning she set a kitchen towel on fire. It didn’t burst into immediate flames, but did smoke and flame slightly before she noticed it. At first McKay was too stunned to react, and about the time he was ready to open his mouth and warn her, she had spotted it. He was speechless as she made a face that showed the inconvenience of it all and calmly poured some water from the pitcher to douse the fire. The room was a little smoky after that, but she only opened the front door. She didn’t turn to him with any type of comment or apology but went back to the meal preparations. She wiped at the mark that it made on the stove top but never referred to it again.
It had been two weeks and four days since he’d been shot, and tonight was the first night McKay was going to join Pup at the dinner table. As he sat in his usual place on the sofa, however, the burned towel incident strongly in his mind, he wondered if this was safe.
“Are you getting hungry?” Pup interrupted his thoughts as she entered the cabin carrying a basket. She tripped but never dropped a thing.
“A little. I thought I would come to the table tonight.”
“Suit yourself,” she said mildly.
Do things really mean so little to her, Lord? Is she really so disinterested? Or is it because I’m a stranger who has moved into her home? On the heels of these questions McKay remembered the man he shot. She hadn’t had much more to say to Travis Buchanan than she did to him, but he must never forget that it was he who shot Govern Hackett. What exactly they had meant to each other McKay could only guess, but he reminded himself that she might never feel overly friendly toward him.
When he saw Pup putting plates and flatware on the table, he rose. He was acutely aware of his bare feet and uncombed hair, but his hostess took no notice. Sitting opposite of where he’d seen her sit, he saw with pleasant surprise that she’d made muffins. McKay spoke when Pup joined him at the table.
“I don’t wish to be presumptuous, but would you mind if I returned grace?”
“No.”
Her tone didn’t indicate any emotion, so taking her at her word, McKay bowed his head.
“Heavenly Father, I thank You for this day. I thank You for Callie’s hard work on the meal and for the care she has given me. I thank You for the food she prepared. I ask You to bless us this evening and protect us through the night. Amen.”
“Amen,” Pup agreed softly, and then passed the bowl of rabbit stew to her guest.
They dished up in silence, but soon McKay commented, “My mother makes rabbit stew. It’s my father’s favorite.”
“It’s tastier than squirrel.”
“I think so, too.”
“Do you want coffee or water?”
“I think water.”
Pup rose and brought him a glass.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t reply to this, and all other attempts at conversation fell flat. She would look at him when he spoke and answer if he asked a direct question, but she offered little if anything of her own. McKay resigned himself to eating in silence just as he bit into his second muffin. With the food still in his mouth, a shudder went all through his body. Pup noticed and stopped eating.
“Are you in pain?”
McKay pulled the muffin away from his lips. Hanging from the muffin was most of an eggshell. Pup scowled at it.
“I wondered where that went,” she said blandly before passing him the basket so he could take another.
McKay shook his head no and forced himself to chew what was in his mouth. The crackle of shell was a bit hard to take, but he chased it all down with water. The drink made him feel slightly better, but another little piece in his teeth caused a second shudder.
He wondered when he would stop being surprised by Callie Jennings. While he was still laid up in bed and even resting on the sofa, she had tripped and nearly fallen on him several times. It was not at all unusual for her to stumble and empty half his water or coffee into his plate when she was bringing him a meal. She often bumped him with her arm, hitting him once in the eye and on the nose and several times on the chin: All things his mother would have begged forgiveness for. Callie Jennings never said a word.
He could honestly say he’d never met anyone like her. With this feeling came more pity. Maybe he shouldn’t pity her—after all, she did have a friend in Mud, and Govern had obviously cared enough to come back to her once in a while. But her oddities, her solitude, her silence, and the whole situation wrung his heart in pity.
“I’ve got berries again. Are you interested?”
“That sounds good, thank you.”
She brought a small bowl of blackberries to the table and set it between them. She had sweetened them with a bit of sugar, and they were very tasty. Between the two of them they finished the bowl.
“That was delicious.”
Pup only nodded and stood to work on the dishes. Having decided to help her, McKay stood as well, but things spun a little when he was on his feet. He gripped the edge of the table for a moment and then looked up to find Pup’s eyes on him.
“I can get the dishes. Do you want help t
o the sofa or bedroom?”
“The sofa.”
He tried not to lean too heavily on her as they moved, but he was feeling rather weak. It was a relief when he was able to sink down into the cushions.
“You want your Bible?” Pup surprised him by asking.
“Yes, please,” McKay said softly, his heart amazed. He thanked her when she handed it to him and then had a long, silent talk with the Lord. He wouldn’t have believed that she even noticed. He’d been looking for an opportunity to talk to her about his faith but had given up on finding one.
I didn’t ask believing, Lord. I wanted to, but didn’t think there would be a way. You love Callie Jennings as much as You love all of us. If You want me to talk to her, Lord, just open the door.
Three days later, and exactly three weeks since he’d been shot, McKay turned another corner. He could still feel that ache in his shoulder and some stiffness in his limbs, but he knew by bedtime that he was well enough to ride back to Boulder. In fact, when he finally climbed into bed, he didn’t immediately fall asleep. Darkness had descended, but he was not that tired. This, too, told him he was ready to go. He had ventured only to the porch and into the front yard on his own, but he knew it was time. He was prepared to take it easy, even sleep a few nights in the hills if need be, but tomorrow he would get a nice early start back to Boulder.
It was during all of these plans that McKay heard the noise. At first he thought it was in the cabin but then quickly realized it was outside. Immediate concern for Pup sprang into his mind and he reached for his pants. He ignored his shirt but swiftly pulled on his boots. The cabin was completely dark, but the moon shining into Pup’s bedroom illumined it enough to tell him the bed was empty. He made his way to the door. He was no more than outside when he heard a splash.
Although McKay had never been around the back of the cabin, he swiftly circled the log structure in the direction he’d heard the noise. The moon was nearing full so he was able to move through the trees with some light for his path. He came out in a clear spot that gave him a good view of the lake and stopped. Not 30 seconds later he watched someone, presumably Pup, come from the water. He stared as she reached with one hand toward her face. With the moon at her back he couldn’t make out any of her features, but the image of long limbs danced before his eyes. Just a heartbeat later he spun away.
Pup heard the popping of a twig and spoke. “Is that you, McKay?”
“Yes, it’s me!” he sounded testy. “What are you doing out here with no clothes on?” he demanded.
“Taking a bath in the lake like I do every night.”
“That’s ridiculous!” he told her bluntly, his back still turned, his heart pounding. “You don’t even know me. I might have attacked you.”
There was silence for a moment, and when Pup spoke it was clear that she’d moved closer.
“I don’t think you’re the type of man to attack a woman, McKay,” she said reasonably, and then added with maddening calm, “and if you did, I’d just shoot you.”
McKay didn’t hear anything after that but chanced a peek over his shoulder. Pup was moving away from him now toward the cabin. She had wrapped some sort of light-colored robe around her and sure enough, her rifle was held in one hand.
McKay turned and followed slowly. The last naked female he’d seen had been his sister. If memory served him correctly, they’d been taking a bath together. He’d been ten and she was five.
He walked into the cabin, moving slowly since it was darker in there. Pup’s door was shut, but there was a slight glow coming from underneath. McKay went back to his room and slipped into bed. He felt incapable of normal thought. His mind was blank as to what to think, yet it swarmed with various notions. It was a long time before he actually fell asleep.
McKay’s plans to rise early did not go exactly as he’d hoped. The sun was well into the sky by the time he had shaved, dressed, and readied to hit the trail. He found that Pup had left breakfast for him, but she was nowhere in sight. He knew what horrible regret he would feel if he had to leave without seeing her, but he made himself stay calm. If she were gone, he could leave her a note. He wondered if it would be insulting to pay her. The thought had no more formed when he pushed it away. He filled a plate with the food she’d left on the stove and sat down to eat.
He didn’t want to gulp his food, but a certain excitement filled him. It was good to be headed out again. Never had he been out of circulation for three weeks, and it would be longer than that by the time he reached Denver, his ultimate destination.
His food gone, McKay made his bed, straightened his room, and gathered his gear. Leaving everything on the front porch, he went in search of Pup. He didn’t think she’d left, but he still couldn’t find her. His rented horse and saddle were in the small stable. He saddled his mount and led him into the morning sun. It was then that he spotted her. He tied the horse’s reins to a post in front of the stable and walked over to where she was hanging clothes.
“Headed out?” She was the first to speak.
“Yes. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and then knowing he had to say something more, McKay said, “I’m sorry about Govern, Callie. I wish it could have been different.”
“He made his choices, McKay.”
She was so matter-of-fact, so forgiving, but McKay still felt awful. He was glancing around, trying to think of what to say next, when he spotted the cross. Beyond the ropes she hung clothes on and at the base of some thick pines stood a white cross, its paint faded and chipping. Without a word to Pup, McKay walked toward it.
A scant 20 paces took him to the foot of three graves. Two of them had engraved stones: Davis J. Hackett 1826–1865. Anne M. Hackett 1829–1872. The third grave was fresh, obviously belonging to Govern.
McKay found his heart asking why it never occurred to him that Callie herself had been forced to bury this man. Why had it also never occurred to him that this was Govern’s family home? With all the risks Govern had taken, he could have been gunned down anywhere in Colorado, but he died here and was buried with his parents.
It wasn’t until that moment that McKay realized Pup had come to stand beside him. He turned and looked at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was, and she held her slim frame very straight as she looked down at the graves. As he expected, her face was unreadable.
“I am sorry that you had to go through all of this, Callie.”
“I know,” she agreed simply, her eyes still on the ground. “But it’s good that he’s buried here with Mama and Papa.”
She looked at him then, and, not surprisingly, found dozens of questions in his eyes.
“He was my brother,” she said simply, watching emotions chase across McKay’s face. He opened his mouth, but Pup cut him off.
“Take care of yourself, McKay,” she said simply, and turned and walked away. She moved past her laundry, then the stable, and disappeared into the trees. McKay could have followed her, but it was obvious that she wanted to be alone. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many more things he wanted to say, but she’d walked away.
McKay’s eyes dropped to the graves once again.
These people are dead and gone, Lord, but Callie and I are still here. We both need Your comfort and strength. Help us through this time and in the days to come.
McKay turned for his horse. He was back at the porch just a minute later and loading his gear. There was no sign of Callie, and there was nothing else to do but ride away.
9
Denver
“Mr. Crawford is here to see you, Mr. Wallace.”
“Send him in, Paine.”
“Do you want me to stay, sir?”
Nick Wallace was not put off by the question. His chief aide, Paine Whitter, often stayed to take notes and track down files, but this time Nick shook his head.
“I think we’ll be fine, Paine. Thank you.”
The heavy oak door closed, and Nick had a moment to think. He hoped that Carlyle was here about McKay. They could have sent a man to gather all the information McKay had compiled, but when he’d discussed it with Carlyle, they had decided to wait for McKay’s return. Once they’d heard from Travis Buchanan, they knew it was only a matter of time. Nick now hoped that the time was at hand.
There was a brief knock and the door opened.
“Have a seat, Carlyle,” Nick spoke as soon as his coworker was in the room, the door closed behind him. “You have news?”
“Yes. McKay is back. He should be here in about 15 minutes.”
“Good. You know that I trust you with this operation, Carlyle, but it might be helpful to me if I can hear McKay’s story personally.”
“I think that’s a good idea. I won’t question him on my own. I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives.”
“You can come in here, or we can meet in your office.”
“I think we’ll have more privacy in here, Nick.”
“Good. I’ll expect you within the half hour.”
Carlyle left Nick’s office, marveling not for the first time over what an excellent manager Nick was. Nick Wallace was Carlyle’s superior, but as long as Carlyle got the job done, he was left on his own. Only twice in the last ten years had the older man pulled rank on Carlyle. The result had been so satisfying that Carlyle had never held harsh feelings. In truth, Nick was so good that whenever he got involved, the job would be wrapped up to everyone’s satisfaction.
Now was another such case. The investigation involving the Hackett brothers and their possible lead to Duncan Phipps, a man who’d been successfully embezzling funds for years, was near and dear to Nick’s heart. He wanted to be in on this one, and the operation could only benefit from his input.
Carlyle was back in his office for just a few minutes when a shadow filled his doorway. He looked up into Harrington’s face.
“McKay.” Carlyle said the name softly as relief flooded him. He stood and moved to the door, waiting for McKay to enter so he could shut it behind him.