Ben was on him lightning fast. He grasped a handful of Milo’s hair and held the battered head erect. Then, holding him there, he slapped him until his face streamed with blood. The first slap was a backhanded blow across his mouth that split his lips and Ben’s knuckles even more. The second blow, a hardened cupped palm, smacked him across the ear. stunning him.
“Now, you son of a bitch, you know how Dory felt when you were hitting her.”
Showing no pity, Ben delivered blow after blow. They rocked Milo’s head on his shoulders until it bobbed as loosely as a cork on a string. When his eyes glazed over, and wet began to seep through his duck britches, Ben stopped. He put his foot against Milo’s chest and shoved hard. Milo toppled face down in the dirt. For a second or two Ben stood looking at him. Milo had wet his britches and from the smell of him, his bowels had let loose too. With his foot on his head, Ben pressed his face into the dirt.
“You filthy pile of horseshit, you sorry excuse for a man, this is where you belong, in your own filth, in the dirt, like a damned belly-crawling snake.”
Ben staggered as he walked away. There was a period of taut silence while he scanned the faces of the men gathered to watch the fight. There were sly grins and furtive glances in Louis’s direction. Ben understood that. Louis had the power to send them packing, and most of them needed the money they earned to support their families.
“Get the hell off this land!” Louis charged up to him, but was smart enough to back away when Ben raised his fist. “Ya ain’t movin’ in an’ takin’ over down there even if ya are sleepin’ with that whore!”
Ben took a giant stride forward and hit him. As tired as he was, the force behind the blow sent Louis reeling back in surprise, his heels digging into the ground for purchase. When he righted himself, he put his hand to his mouth and brought away blood.
“That’s a sample. You’ll get a hell of a lot worse if I hear of you calling her that name again. And… I won’t stop until I… gouge your eyes out.”
The dead certainty in Ben’s voice hit Louis like a blow between the eyes. The threat left him standing with his mouth open. He watched as Ben took his gunbelt from Tinker and strapped it around his hips. With his vest in his hand he went to the horse tank and doused his head in the water, lifted it, and doused it again.
Ben took his time leaving, and when he did, the crowd of silent men was still watching him. He mounted his horse, turned him toward the trail, and rode back toward the house.
From where Steven Marz viewed the fight, it seemed to him that the majority of the men were rather pleased—more than pleased, even elated—that Milo was getting the beating of his life. The sight also afforded Steven a great deal of satisfaction. What the man had done to Dory was unforgivable and had been the driving force in the decision he himself had made.
By the time the fight ended, Steven realized the camp was like a powder keg ready to explode. Unless Waller could talk some sense into James, he’d kill Milo over what he’d done to Dory.
It isn’t going to work, George. Wishful thinking will not make it so.
He needed to plan a way to leave without having to explain why he was going. Louis would see to Milo, then make tracks for the high country to watch the men use the steam engine to reel logs to the flume.
He decided to make his move during the noonday meal while the men were in the cookhouse. He was leaving sooner than he had expected, but there was nothing to be gained by waiting. He was glad that he had planned ahead. Fifteen or twenty minutes was all the time he needed to get his things together.
Steven walked leisurely back to his cabin.
CHAPTER
* 18 *
The hours after Dory learned that Ben had gone to the mill were the longest, most miserable of her life.
At first she was angry that he had not mentioned that he was going. Then she feared that he would not return. She, more than anyone, knew the odds against Ben’s getting away from the mill without being hurt—possibly injured for life. Milo was not one to fight his battles alone when he could get help from his lackeys.
She had a sick, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Logging camp fights were vicious. She had seen men come away from them without teeth, an eye gouged out, ears bitten off, or an arm or leg left useless. Dory took a small measure of comfort from Wiley’s words. He ain’t no slouch at takin’ care a hisself. The words stayed with her and she clung to them for reassurance.
Dory decided that Odette should know that Ben had gone to the mill. If something should happen to him, it wouldn’t be such a shock to her. Odette read what Dory had written and stood looking at it for a moment before she lifted sorrowful eyes from the page.
“Papa will be careful. Don’t worry,” she said, although her eyes had filled with tears. “He will be careful,” she said again slowly, as if to reassure herself.
Dory moved a chair to the door so that she could see into the yard. Odette brought her cold, wet cloths to hold against her face in an effort to reduce the swelling. On the floor beside her, Jeanmarie played quietly with her doll. Odette mixed up a batch of bread and set it aside to rise. With Dory’s written instructions she made a cobbler from a can of berries and put it in the oven. When that was done, she pulled a chair close to Dory, sat down, and reached for her hand.
Dory held Odette’s hand tightly, needing physical contact with someone who loved Ben. The fragile girl with the enormous blue eyes had become very dear to her; she was like a sister, a cherished friend, and far wiser than anyone would suspect.
The morning wore on. The shadows of the trees receded as the sun rose higher in the sky. Neither Odette nor Dory wanted to talk as they watched and waited.
Dory was not sure when she first realized that Ben’s horse was in the corral and that Wiley was no longer sitting on the box beside the bunkhouse door. She got to her feet, her heart racing and making her short of breath.
“Dory— What is it?” Odette stood, her eyes questioning.
Dory grabbed the tablet. “Ben’s horse?” she said, as she wrote the words.
Odette’s eyes followed Dory’s pointed finger. “Ranger. Papa’s horse.”
He had circled the homestead and had come in on the other side of the barn. He didn’t want us to see him!
Dory stood only a minute trying to fight the feeling of despair that threatened to swamp her. A soft sound from Odette galvanized her into action. She gave Odette a gentle push toward the door, grabbed Jeanmarie’s hand and pulled her out onto the porch. They hurried across the yard to the bunkhouse.
All of Dory’s senses willed that Ben be all right.
The instant she opened the door she saw him. He was bare to the waist and lying on the bunk with a wet towel over his face. Before the three of them could get inside, he had swung his feet over the side and was sitting on the edge of the bunk. He had been in a fight, a vicious fight. His face was bruised, swollen and cut. The stitches Odette had put in his arm had broken loose and the wound oozed blood. Ben’s knuckles and the backs of his hands were torn and bleeding.
“Papa—” Odette went to him and knelt down.
“I’m all right, honey.” He looked into her face to reassure her. “How did you know I was here?” he asked, looking up at Dory.
“Your horse… in the corral. You don’t look all right.”
“I’ve been in worse shape.”
“You fought Milo?”
“Yes.”
“And won?”
“He didn’t get up.”
“Good! I hope you knocked his teeth out.”
“I did. A front one.” He grinned in spite of his swollen lips.
“Now that we’ve seen you, you might as well come up to the house and let Odette patch you up.”
“Good idee, Dory,” Wiley said. “He’s a needin’ more stitches in that arm.”
Dory tilted her head better to see Ben’s battered, rugged, almost primitive-looking face, scarcely aware that Jeanmarie was holding tightly to her skirt, h
er big questioning eyes on Ben’s face.
“You don’t look so good.” She tried not to grin; it hurt too much.
“At least I’ve got all my teeth.” He wiggled his jaw and winced.
“You’re going to have a black eye, maybe two of them.”
“Yeah. You and I make quite a pair.” His grin was lopsided and his eyes glittered devilishly.
A pair. Oh, Hen, Ben—
Dory took a deep breath that quivered her lips; her eyes softened and caressed his battered face. She had an urge to run her fingers over his rough cheeks and into his hair and press his head to her breast. Her eyes were lost in his intent gaze.
Ben watched the expressions flit across her face. She was proud and beautiful but, oh, so vulnerable. The thought that she had felt Milo’s fist was gut-wrenching. He had an almost irresistible urge to bury his aching face in her skirt so that he could feel her all through him. He’d had the strange feeling when he’d left the mill that he was coming home, home to love and understanding and everything the word stood for. The world fell away for a moment as he and Dory looked at each other. But the moment had to end.
“Your poor hands,” Odette said, with so much emotion he thought she would cry. She held one of his swollen hands in both of hers. “Broken?”
“No.” Ben shook his head and wiggled his fingers.
“I’ll kiss ’em and make ’em well.” Jeanmarie moved between Ben’s spread knees and bent to place her lips on his hand, then looked up at him with great blue eyes shining with love. Seconds piled on top of each other to make a minute before he was able to speak.
“Thank you, little… sweetheart.” His throat was so clogged he could scarcely whisper. He put his arm around her and drew her close. Jeanmarie nestled against him, her cheek against his bare chest.
Ben could feel his heart beating against his sore ribs. He remembered the many times he had dragged himself to his bunk after a battle and had lain there without as much as a word or touch from another human being. Here, with Odette, Dory, Jeanmarie and the old man, he felt as if he were with… his family.
“Where is that bloody shirt?” Dory said briskly, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “We’ll have to soak it in cold water before we wash it.”
Ben sat quietly on a kitchen chair. Odette hovered over him and gently washed the cuts on his face and hands. After she bathed them, she dabbed them with a cloth soaked with witch hazel lotion. As soon as Odette moved away to empty the pan of bloody water, Jeanmarie went to Ben and leaned against his thigh. She reached up to touch his cheek.
“Odette make it better?”
“She sure did, curly-top.”
“She’s making berry pie.”
“For dinner?”
“Uh-huh. Want to see my dolly’s drawers?” She giggled behind her hand.
“Is she still wearing the same ones?”
“Uh-huh. Odette’s gonna make more.”
Dory wanted to cry when she realized how starved her child was for male attention and how sweet and patient Ben was with her.
Odette returned and made ready to restitch Ben’s arm. Ben took Jeanmarie’s hand and moved her to the other side of him.
“Stay by me, honey. Hold my hand. Odette’s going to sew me up again.”
Jeanmarie took Ben’s hand. “Don’t hurt him, Odette,” she said in a commanding tone.
“I’ll try not to, Baby.” Odette tried to keep from laughing. “1 think she likes you, Papa.”
Working as if this were something she did every day, Odette made neat stitches to pull the wound together. After soaking a pad in Listerine, she wrapped a bandage around Ben’s arm to hold the pad against the wound.
“This isn’t the end of it, you know,” Dory said, while Odette was repacking the medical box. “Louis may bring a crew of men down here to run you off.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll go only if you and James tell me to go and not until then.”
Dory’s eyes traveled over his face and down to his bare chest, then back to lock with his. She saw tension there, but something else that she thought she had seen before. Could it possibly be that he yearned for some of the same things she yearned for? Love. Someone to call your own. Someone to share the joys and the sorrows of life.
“Why?” she asked softly. “Why are you taking this risk?”
Her words hung in the air between them. She watched the puzzled look come into his eyes. It was as if her unexpected words had thrown him off balance.
“It just seems to be the right thing to do,” he answered simply.
“I don’t want you staying here out of pity for me.” She closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side. When she opened them he had moved closer to her and was looking down into her face.
“You want me to go?”
“Heavens, no! I’m afraid for you. For Odette.”
“And I’m afraid for you. For Jeanmarie.” The very softness of his voice caused her eyes to fill with tears.
“James will be so angry when he sees me. I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“I’ll talk to him. The two of you must decide if holding onto your shares in the company is worth all this.”
They heard the sound of Wiley’s crutch on the porch, then his voice.
“Rider comin’ up from the south. I think I’ll set me down here on the porch.”
Ben went to the door. “Know him?”
“I can’t be tellin’ yet. Sits high in the saddle. I’m guessin’ he’s a stranger or he’d not be wearin’ that big-brimmed hat.”
Ben stepped out onto the porch and flexed his fingers, not sure how they would work if he had to use his gun. Behind him he could hear Dory telling Jeanmarie to be quiet.
The horse approaching was a long-legged dun moving in an easy, space-eating stride. The man riding him sat easy in the saddle as if he had spent half his life astride a horse. His hat was pulled low over his forehead, and he was wearing a canvas-colored duster. The rifle in the saddle scabbard had a shiny wooden stock and was within easy reach.
“He’s a lawman,” Ben said in a low voice.
“How ya be knowin’ that?”
Ben didn’t answer. The rider pulled the horse to a stop, tilted his hat back and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his coat.
“Howdy. It’s a mite cooler up here, but not much. Mind if I water my horse?”
“Help yourself.” Ben stepped off the porch.
The man touched a heel to the dun and moved him toward the watering trough, keeping his eyes on Ben as he dismounted and held the reins while his horse drank. He was a man with a rugged, weathered face who appeared taller when in the saddle. When the horse had had enough water, the man led him toward the porch.
“Tie him thar at the post an’ come wet yore own whistle,” Wiley called.
“Don’t mind if I do. Name’s Norm Kraus. You one of the Callahans?” He directed the question to Ben.
“Ben Waller.” The man’s eyes flicked to Ben’s cut and swollen hands and nodded. “This is Wiley Potter,” Ben said. “He can tell you what you want to know about the Callahans.”
“Howdy.” Kraus extended his hand to Wiley.
Wiley shook his hand. “Ya lookin’ fer one of the Callahans?”
“Not especially.”
Ben stepped into the kitchen and returned with the water bucket and the dipper. He held the bucket while the man drank. His eyes were sharp and assessing, and Ben had the distinct feeling that Kraus knew who he was. When Kraus finished, he dropped the dipper back into the pail.
“Much obliged.”
When Ben returned with the water bucket, Dory motioned to him from the far corner of the room.
“Who is he?” she asked when he came to her.
“Says his name is Kraus. I think he’s a lawman.”
“Ben! No.” Dory clutched his arm. “Will he arrest you?”
“He hasn’t had time to hear about Sid. He’s probably here looking for whoever is doing the kil
lings.”
“Will you tell him what happened… last night?”
“Yes. I’d rather he hear it from me. Shall I invite him to eat?”
“I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
Ben took her hand in his. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Milo is the one who should feel shame, not you.”
“You’re right.” Dory lifted her head a little.
“It might not be such a bad idea for him to see what kind of a man Milo is. Before he leaves, he’ll ask what happened to you. It’s his job to find out things.”
“You think we should ask him to eat?”
“It’s mealtime. It’s the custom. We don’t want him to think we’re hiding something.”
“All right. Ben,” she said when he dropped her hand and started to turn away. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” He brushed the curls over her ear with his fingertips. “Don’t worry. When James gets here, we’ll figure out something.” As his hand slid around and cupped her cheek, just for a moment Dory felt cherished.
“Dory?” Odette said as soon as Ben left them. “What did Papa say?”
Dory took the tablet and began to write. He thinks the man is a lawman. He wants him to eat with us.
“Papa likes you,” Odette said, looking into Dory’s face. “You like him?”
Yes, I do. Very much. Dory wrote on the tablet. Do you mind?
“No. I want us to stay with you and Baby and… James.”
I wish it were possible. Oh, I wish it. Dory put her arm around Odette and hugged her, then wrote, Let’s get the meal ready.
On the porch Wiley was talking to the stranger about the Callahan Lumber Company.
“George Callahan come to the Bitterroot more’n forty years ago. He’d lumberjacked some in Michigan an’ I guess loggin’ was in his blood. Good man, George. Give a man the shirt off’n his back if he needed it.”
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