Forgotten Trails (Paradise Valley Book 5)

by Vivi Holt

  6

  Something did – a loud shout across the room. Ost turned his head just in time to catch a girl slapping Trevor Hannity, the cowpuncher from the Lucky Nail, across the cheek. Trevor backed away from the girl with a grunt and caught her hand before she could strike him again, his face red with anger. “That’s the last time you hit me,” he growled.

  “Trevor,” Sheriff Stanton warned, getting ready to step in. The dance floor had stilled, the band silent. Everyone in the lodge watched to see what would happen next.

  The girl’s arms fell to her sides, her chest heaving with each angry breath. She turned on her heel and fled to a group of women who hurried to comfort her. Trevor likewise slunk away.

  Ost caught the sheriff’s eye with an arched eyebrow. Stanton shook his head, indicating they should let things lie. The band launched into a new song, this time a faster tune that soon had dancers frolicking all over the floor in an energetic two-step.

  Ost took Joan back into his arms, but his mind was otherwise occupied. What had Trevor said or done to that girl to make her slap him? He’d have to keep a closer eye on the men from the posse. They were visitors here in Whitfield, and they didn’t want to wear out their welcome before the night was through.

  As soon as the song ended, he bid Joan goodbye and headed outside to see if he could find Trevor and talk to him. The last thing they needed was more trouble, and he’d seen the look on the cowboy’s face. Trouble was on his mind. Joan looked disappointed, but he didn’t have time to deal with her now.

  Besides, if he was being completely honest, all he’d been able to think of while they were dancing was whether he’d ever get to hold Angela the way he was holding Joan. Would they share a dance? Would he press his hand to her waist and hold her close enough to smell her hair as it tickled his nose? He knew Tom wouldn’t be happy with such thoughts, and Dan likely wouldn’t favor the idea either, but he couldn’t help how he felt. If, as they suspected, she was married to Yannick Berger, then he’d deal with those feelings. But he sure hoped she wasn’t.

  He shook his head as he left the lodge and went outside into the cool night, rubbing his face as he stared up through the ring of tree branches to the clear sky overhead. Stars twinkled brightly, and a sliver of a moon hung as though suspended just above the tree line. Perhaps they were mistaken and Yannick Berger was an upstanding citizen who was out searching for his missing sweetheart. Or maybe Angela’s husband was some decent fellow down in Wyoming or Utah Territory. Maybe none of this had anything to do with the rustlers.

  But there were still too many mysteries. How had Angela ended up in Montana Territory, five miles from Berger’s hideout, alone and with no memory of who she was or where she was from? Why was the one person he knew was connected with the rustlers a known associate of Berger, and how did Berger get such an unsavory reputation? It didn’t make any sense unless all the circumstances were somehow connected.

  He set off toward the stables at a jog. He had to find Trevor and make sure the man knew what was at stake. They couldn’t go around assaulting or aggravating the people of Whitfield. They were guests, and should behave accordingly. He shouldn’t have to spell that out for a grown man, though he knew many cowpokes hadn’t been raised by a mother who taught them manners, the way his had.

  His mother’s face flashed in his mind with a pang of regret. He wished he could see her again, wished he hadn’t left home without looking back shortly before she died. How could he have known he’d never set eyes on her again in this lifetime?

  The stables were quiet, and he walked from one end to the other, finding no sign of Trevor. He glanced back at the lodge, wondering if the cowpoke had gone back in without him noticing. Still, there was no need to hurry back. It was nice outside and the noise of the party made him long for the quiet of the woods. Besides, a little distance from the too-eager Miss Hansen might be a good thing.

  Past the stables, the trees grew close together. The soughing of the branches overhead drowned out the noise of the dance – or perhaps the music had stopped. An owl hooted as it flew by, and something scurried through the undergrowth. Ost leaned against the trunk of an old hemlock to think. They’d reach Berger’s hideout the next day, but what would they find? Would Berger be there? If he’d stolen the cattle, would they be long gone?

  A woman screamed nearby.

  The hair on Ost’s neck stood on end. He ran back the way he’d come and heard another scream, this time muffled. He hurried through the open end of the barn, between the stalls, checking each one. Horses stared back at him, restless and curious. A thud resounded through the building and he stood still to listen, then continued on.

  He found a man and a woman wrestling in the darkness in an empty stall at the far end of the barn. The man’s back was to him – Ost couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt like several members of the posse, not the dull brown homespun of the Whitfield men. He grabbed the man by the back of the collar with one hand, then shoved him in the back with the other, pulling him off his victim and pushing him face-first against the wall.

  “Hey, watch it!” the man shouted. It was Trevor!

  Ost scowled and pushed Trevor harder, forcing his face into the boards. “What in tarnation are you doing, Trevor? Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one night?” Then he heard a sob, turned – and gasped. “Miss Hansen!” He let go of Trevor’s collar and rushed to her side. “Are you hurt?”

  She nodded. Her hair was askew, long red strands falling across her face. “I am now, thanks to you Deputy.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and took her hand to help her to her feet. “Here, let’s get you back to the lodge.”

  She shook her head and pulled away. “No. My cabin, please. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  Just then, Sheriff Stanton barreled through the door and stopped short when he saw Ost. “What’s goin’ on, deputy?”

  Ost nodded toward Trevor, who was still leaning against the wall. “I caught Hannity attacking this young lady. I’m taking her to her cabin – is it all right if I leave him to you, Sheriff?” He gave Joan his arm, and she held onto it.

  Stanton glared at Trevor as he stepped aside to let Ost and Joan pass. “That so? Yer comin’ with me, ya scoundrel.”

  “Sheriff, if you could send Mary Arden to see me I’d sure appreciate it,” Joan whispered.

  Stanton nodded his head and went into the stall to deal with Trevor.

  As Ost walked Joan to her cabin, she continued to lean heavily on his arm. What was she doing in the barn? Was she following him? He wouldn’t be surprised after the way she’d looked at him and held him close while they danced. And what about Trevor? He’d searched for the man in there only minutes earlier, and hadn’t found a trace of him. Had he been hiding, or had he stumbled upon Joan after Ost left? “Why were you in there?” he asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.

  “I was looking for you.”

  Suspicion confirmed. “What did you want me for?”

  “I don’t know … I just wanted to see you, talk to you. I thought you’d gone in there, but I couldn’t find you.” She fell silent.

  When they reached her cabin, he stopped short and waited. She pressed one hand against the door frame.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. “Can I get you something – a drink perhaps?”

  She shook her head. “No. Thank you.” She pushed her front door open and walked into the cabin. There was a bed in one corner of the room and a rocking chair beside a small, black pot-bellied stove. She sat in the chair and crossed her ankles.

  Ost watched her in the darkness, then searched the room and found a lantern and a match to light it. The lantern soon lit up the room, casting a cozy glow against the wooden walls. With his hands on his hips, he stared hard at Joan, anger pulsing through his veins. “Miss Hansen, I …”

  The front door swung open and Mary Arden ran to the chair, kneeling beside it. “Joan dear, wha
t happened?” Joan’s eyes welled with tears. Mary glanced over her shoulder at Ost and nodded coldly. “Thank you, deputy – that will be all for now.”

  He nodded and left with some relief, even as the ball of fire continued to roll around in his gut. That varmint. He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand as he walked back to the lodge. He wasn’t usually violent, but tonight was an exception and he had no desire to hold it at bay. Trevor Hannity deserved everything he’d get.

  Inside the lodge, the party had ground to a halt. The sheriff had Hannity over against one wall, and the dancers had shuffled from the floor. Most were making their way out of the lodge, a few others milled about putting food stuffs away. Ost marched over to join the sheriff.

  Rev. Arden faced the sheriff barely a foot away, his face thunderous. “He attacked one of our own. Here in Whitfield we have our own way of meting out justice – an eye for an eye.” His voice was quiet but steely. A few other residents nodded and murmured their agreement. The men had fists clenched at their sides, and one stepped forward as if ready to lend force to his leader’s plea for justice.

  “What did he do?” The man asked. “Just tell us that!”

  “The particulars of the case have yet to be determined …” Stanton began. “But just as soon as I’ve had a chance to question Hannity, here, I’ll let you know.”

  Ost walked over to Stanton. “What now, boss?”

  “Now we get this good-for-nothin’ egg-suckin’ dog outta here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ost grabbed Trevor and hauled him outside.

  Ost frowned. Things could go bad quickly in situations like this – he’d seen it happen before, though never from the lawman’s point of view. Texas before, during and after the War Between the States had a love-hate relationship with law and order, and when he was younger, his mama had taught him to stand aside and keep his head down. But he couldn’t do that this time – he was right in the middle, and that’s where he’d have to stay. So far, folks seemed to be minding their own business well enough, but that could change in the blink of an eye.

  The Reverend walked out of the lodge behind them, and jogged to catch up with Ost.

  “This man has broken the law, that’s quite clear,” Ost said. “And we’ll make sure he pays the price for that. If you take the law into your own hands, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “I have no intention of doin’ any such thing,” said Arden. “But you must know, we came all the way out here because we were fed up with the way things were handled by the authorities back east. And now this…”

  “I understand.” Ost pushed Hannity forward, he had to get the man away from the group. They’d been assigned a cabin to sleep in, and he intended to take the man there, and keep him there until it was time for them all to leave. “But I hope this won’t change your mind about helping us find Berger. Him and his gang have caused a lot of trouble for a lot of folks in the Territory.”

  Rev. Arden’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Ost exhaled. “That’s good to hear, Reverend. Since we sure could use your help. We’ve got to find him before he steals any more cattle from the hard-working ranchers in neighboring counties. And puts anyone else’s life at risk.”

  He stopped at the cabin door, opened it and motioned for Hannity to go inside. The man did, with a sullen glance back over his shoulder.

  “I apologize for our man’s bad manners, Reverend. But I assure you, I’ll be keeping an eye on him until we leave. And we appreciate your hospitality and your help with tracking down Berger.”

  Rev. Arden nodded. “I’ll hold you to your promise to make sure that scoundrel keeps his hands to himself for the rest of your visit. Tomorrow morning we’ll see if he’s managed it — then, I’ll lead you to Berger.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ost doffed his hat, and then followed Hannity inside, shutting the door behind him. As far as Ost was concerned, Trevor Hannity was getting off lightly. If he could keep the posse out of trouble overnight, they’d be on their way in the morning, and maybe they’d finally track down the Berger Gang.

  “Follow me,” shouted Rev. Arden, standing high in his stirrups. He waved his ten-gallon hat high over his head, and the posse set off after him. Ost had managed to keep Trevor Hannity out of trouble throughout the night, and they were packed up and lined up ready to pull out after a cold breakfast. The Reverend had also kept his word, and led the way out of the settlement, the posse riding behind him along the narrow trail.

  He threw one last glance at the settlement as he rode. Joan stood apart from the rest of the crowd, her hands loose at her sides. She watched him, with a look of sadness on her pale face, then raised a hand to wave goodbye. He waved back, then fixed his gaze on the trail ahead.

  “What do ya think?” asked Dan, steering Goldy alongside Auger.

  “What about?”

  “The Berger gang – do you think the reverend can take us to ‘em?”

  Ost hadn’t considered the alternative. “I don’t see why not, provided he’s talking about the same gang we’re thinking of.”

  “And what about the woman he saw ridin’ with Berger? Have you thought any more about whether or not it was Angela?”

  Ost frowned. Might as well just be honest. “Really, I’ve been trying to not think about it – thinking about it just makes it worse.” He paused before continuing. “You and Claudine know her better than any of us. Would Angela Wilcox marry an outlaw?”

  Dan sighed and shook his head. “Don’t think so. Probably the preacher’s talkin’ ‘bout someone else. I can’t imagine she’d go anywhere near a man like that – at least, not by choice.”

  “You think he could have forced her into it?” asked Ost, his blood pressure rising.

  Dan’s eyebrows arched. “Don’t seem likely. She was ridin’ west with her folks – the only way they would’ve let her out of their sight is if she fell in love with a good man along the way. It’s the only thing that makes an ounce of sense.”

  Ost nodded, mulling over Dan’s words. But there was still a niggling doubt in his mind. If she’d fallen in love and married a good man, as Dan put it, how had she ended up alone in the middle of the woods, pregnant and with no memory of who she was or where she’d come from?

  7

  Angela peeked through the draperies to the silent night beyond. The darkness pressed in on her and she took a quick breath. The rest of the house was quiet – everyone else had gone to bed hours ago – yet as usual she was still awake. She’d been pacing in the small bedroom, though her body screamed for sleep. She was exhausted, her feet ached, her head throsbbed and one of her hips had a nagging pain that shot down her right leg with every step. But she couldn’t bring herself to lie down and close her eyes.

  Her dreams were filled with nightmares. Every night, she’d awakened bathed in sweat, something dark haunting her thoughts. She never could figure out what it was, couldn’t remember the substance of her dreams, but she still felt as if something was chasing her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, kicked off her slippers and massaged her right foot. If only Ost were nearby –that would make her feel safer. She hadn’t had nightmares when he was with her, but ever since he left they’d come each time she drifted into unconsciousness. She stood with a yawn and rubbed her tired eyes. It was no use – she couldn’t bring herself to go to sleep, not when she knew what awaited her. Her slippers back on, she padded down the long hall, the staircase and through the den into the kitchen, carrying her lantern with her.

  There was already a light on in the kitchen, and she frowned with surprise. Hannah, Genny’s maid, stood at the kitchen table, pouring from a pitcher of milk into a tall glass. She turned with a start, then smiled when she saw who it was. “Oh, hello there. You scared me a wee bit. Can ye not sleep?”

  Angela nodded with another yawn. “No, I can’t. I came to fix a glass of warm milk and I see you’ve had the same idea.”

  “Oh, this is for wee Frances – she�
�s awake and asking for milk, as she often does this time of night. Genny’s feeling poorly, so I offered to get it for her.”

  “Oh, I hope Genny’s not too unwell,” replied Angela, reaching for a glass in one of the cabinets. She set it on the table and rested a hand on her burgeoning stomach.

  “No, I think she’ll be just fine. She’s caught a bug or some such. It’s the way things go when ye’ve got wee ones to care for.” Hannah glanced at her. “It’s not hurting, is it?”

  Angela shook her head. “No. It just seems to grow bigger every day. I’m the size of a horse!”

  Hannah laughed. “No, ye don’t look big at all. Truly, ye look beautiful.”

  Angela’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

  “How are ye coping with everything?”

  Angela frowned at the glass in her hands. “I don’t know, really. I just feel confused and scared all the time. Except when …”

  “Except when what?” asked Hannah, her brow furrowed.

  “Except when Hank is here.” She felt her cheeks color. She didn’t want anyone else to know how Ost made her feel. He wasn’t her husband, and everyone was certain there was a man who loved her out there somewhere searching for her. Admitting that she felt affection for another man was like being unfaithful, despite having no inkling of who her husband might be.

  Hannah closed a hand over Angela’s on the tabletop. “It’s all right to admit that, dearie. Ye don’t have a lot in yer life right now ye can rely on, but ye feel like ye can rely on him.”

  Angela nodded and blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. “That’s it exactly. It’s like he’s my safe place. I know I shouldn’t say that, and I wouldn’t say it to anyone else, but most of the time I feel so alone and afraid of … something, or someone. When Hank is close by, even in the next room, it’s as if everything’s going to work out.”

  Hannah’s smile widened and her eyes were dreamy. “That’s beautiful. I hope I find someone like that one day.”