Buck’s breath was ragged. He had to do something. But only a stone’s throw away his house was on fire- with his family inside it. He had to get over that pasture fence to rescue them, Lyn Thompson be damned…
Joe Snell began hammering the door shut. Buck shuddered. He wished he were thirty years younger, but he wasn’t.
He could hear the Thompson woman screaming inside. Jesus Christ Almighty. He needed a distraction.
“Hey, you donkey-head motherfucker!” Buck bellowed.
Joe couldn’t hear him. He didn’t even turn around. Bang bang bang went the hammer.
Buck hollered and waved, but the man didn’t move. So Buck limped to the Sheriff’s car, keeping low behind the bushes. He hoped the old bastard was too distracted to turn around. The key was still in the engine; Snell had clearly organized it to make a clean escape. Buck didn’t go for the key immediately. He opened the glove compartment first. Surely a man like Joe Snell had a spare gun in his car.
Buck was disappointed; rummaging through, he found there was nothing in there but empty cigarette boxes. Then his fingertips hit something cold and metallic. Buck froze. He felt for the handle. He carefully withdrew a long Bowie knife. The engraving on the blade flashed unmistakably: John Augustus Tucker.
Sometimes, life itself could be a mirror. Things reflecting in endless sequence. It had been so many years since Buck Robinson had held the knife that had made him famous West of the Mississippi, before he’d had to run for his life and settle down in Boyd, Virginia. Some men had preferred
Joe Snell hammered the last nail in, the screams of Lyn Thompson like a whine in his ears. He climbed off the porch. The smell of gasoline was already giving him a headache. He was struggling for breath already, damn it. Joe realized that he’d wasted time going through the Robinson house- one didn’t need to be too thorough to start a fire.
The Tucker House was old and strong, and almost entirely made of wood. Over the last hundred years or so it had been remodeled but once. Since his last visit, Steel Gray had set up plants on the porch in pots and boxes, clearly striving for a cozy, welcoming feel. They did add to the appeal of the old house. Oh well. Snell splashed some gasoline on the flowers too.
He had to be quick. Once the fire department quenched the building next door, no doubt they’d come over the pasture to check on the neighbors too. Snell didn’t intend to be around when they did.
Lyn Thompson had quit her racket, finally. Perhaps the cow was trying for another escape route in the house. Joe wondered if he should have just shot her, damn the risk of being heard. The hag had caused no end of trouble for him ever since she popped up in Boyd five years ago. Always poking her nose where it didn’t belong. The only thing keeping her at bay was the threat of Joe revealing exactly who she was to the good people of Boyd; but lately she’d been getting bolder. Who cared about some crime an old lady had committed over thirty years ago? It wasn’t like she’d killed anybody. Some people probably considered shooting the knees out of brutish John Tucker heroic.
Lost in his thoughts, and fumbling for his lighter, Joe didn’t notice Buck Robinson until he felt the cold, sharp blade pressing up against his kidneys.
“Ah don’t need a reason,” whispered Robinson. Joe went perfectly still.
“I don’t believe this,” Joe whispered. “You old bastard.”
“Put ya hands behind ya head,” said the old man. There was a steel edge in his voice that Joe wasn’t expecting. “Real slow, now. Don’t try no shit with me.”
“Killing me isn’t going to- ouch!”
Joe felt a rivulet of blood running down his back, soaking into his waistband. Did he want to risk disarming the old geezer?
He did. Joe spun quickly, stepping back from the old man and John Tucker’s bowie knife. He reached for a gun at his waist that wasn’t there; with dawning horror, he remembered he’d given it up when they took his badge. And Robinson, with a tenacious instinct that he’d thought had been buried long ago by time, moved fast.
The knife sliced through Joe’s shirt in a wicked red line. The younger man hollered and jumped, his feet slipping in the slick gasoline he’d poured himself. Down he went, with Buck Robinson following. Buck remembered that this was the man that had shamed his granddaughter, that had terrorized his grandsons, that had threatened the family into silence for years. That put his grandson Travis in the hospital. And putting two and two together, he figured that Snell was likely responsible for the blaze over the pasture- the house he’d bought with Sara all those years ago. The house that she’d never got to enjoy.
Red clouded his vision. Buck roared and fell upon the younger man. Joe scrambled back away from the blade, crying out. He realized he was afraid, very desperately afraid. There was no other way this could end. He fumbled in his pocket for the lighter.
The two men rolled against each other. They were covered in gasoline and blood. It stung Joe’s wounds. Joe was sobbing for breath, holding Robinson’s arms away from him. The look in the old black man’s eyes wasn’t human. He had the knife an inch away from Joe’s eye, driving the point with all the strength left in him towards its bloody conclusion.
Joe Snell snapped the zippo lighter open, and dropped it.
***
Aja held Drew for a long time, her whole body shaking. The boy kept trying to pull out of her grip- she held him fast, crying and crying, until the medics had to physically restrain her so they could take him into the Ambulance. According to the EMTs, they all needed to be treated for oxygen deprivation. Steel refused, and so did Aja, but Drew, who was the worst of them all, had no choice. Aja would have forced him to do it even if he’d refused. She seemed incapable of letting him out of her sight.
Daniel looked pale and frightened when they put the mask over his face. It wasn’t two minutes before he pulled it off, and strode over to Aja.
“I wasn’t watching him,” he said miserably. “He got out of my sight- I’m so sorry- he could have- he almost-”
Aja flung her arms around her oldest brother’s neck and cried harder. Steel hung back. He had never seen her so hysterical; he wanted to offer words of comfort, say something. Inside he just felt dead. They still didn’t know where Grandpa Buck was.
The whole story of Steel’s impossible rescue was soon revealed. Apparently, when Drew realized that Steel couldn’t fit through the window, he had doubled out back to the shed. Daniel had been busy on the phone directing the fire department. Drew had stuck Grandpa Buck’s axe through his belt and scaled the old bottle tree that scraped the side of the house. Then he’d jumped in through the small bathroom window on the second floor- which, by some miracle of chance, someone had left open.
It was a feat of astonishing bravery and nerve, one that Drew would remember- and be remembered by- for the rest of his life.
If someone had closed the window. If she had had the bottle tree’s branches cut like she’d kept wishing to these last few months. If the shed had been locked. If Drew hadn’t been strong enough to carry the axe. If the fire had been a moment quicker. If Steel had been a moment slower. All these impossible twists of fortune led to Aja’s son and lover still being alive and in front of her. She fell to her knees and thanked God.
Steel went to her at last, his arms wrapping around her. “Drew-”
“He saved your life.”
“He did. I’m so grateful. I- I don’t know what to say.”
Aja turned her face towards his and kissed him.
“Steel,” said Daniel urgently, interrupting them.
“Huh?”
The boy’s alarmed gaze was directed over the hill, towards the Tucker House. They followed it to the thin trail of gray smoke rising and disappearing in the shadow of the mountain.
“Oh,” Steel said.
“Oh, my god,” said Aja.
***
Lyn Thompson had, in fact, found an exit. Still bleary from Joe’s blow to her temple, it had taken her a few minutes to calm down and use her head, but she found it
. She’d heard the two men arguing, then watched them grapple on the porch through the window. Her only thought was to get the hell away as fast as possible and call for help.
She’d sawed off the zipties binding her hands with a knife from the kitchen. The escape she chose was through the parlor window on the other side of the house, which she smashed with the urn of John Tucker himself. Somehow she found the strength to lift that thing and fling it. It had been messy- brown dust flew everywhere- but once the pane shattered, she climbed out and was free.
The twisted screams of Buck Robinson were what pulled her back from her determined course to get as far away from the house as possible. She had heard his voice from behind the door- she’d recognize it anywhere. Buck had been a friend to Lyn for a long time, before Lynnette was Lyn Thompson, when she was young and still living in Boyd. It was she who had told Buck of Sara Smith’s existence, and it was she who had helped them escape.
To return the favor, Buck had helped her re-settle in Boyd, once the cloud surrounding her name had been lifted. He’d helped her build her house deep in the Shenandoah, where no one ever bothered her again.
She owed him.
This was what Lyn thought as she doubled around to the front of the house, as fast as her old legs could go. She realized immediately that she was too late. The sight and smoke was horrible; the two men were writhing on the porch, engulfed in a blazing inferno. One of them launched himself onto the grass, rolling, rolling, to douse the fire on his clothes. There was nothing she could do but stand, horrified, and look on. The man’s hair was a pillar of flame. His screams were not human.
The fire on the porch caught the doorframe, spreading quickly over the mantelpiece, on the windows, licking up the sides of the house. The second body was motionless, burning sluggishly. And soon the moving man fell to the ground, and was perfectly still.
Lyn heard shouts from over the hill. She froze, her old heart thumping in her chest.
If she stayed, they could accuse her. They would think she did it. She was the crazy old mountain lady, after all. The woman who had shot the knees out of John Tucker. The woman with a reputation.
If she left, no one would know what happened. She’d be free to die in peace and anonymity- like she had always wanted. But Buck Robinson’s family would want answers. Didn’t she owe them that?
Her mind made up, Lyn hobbled to the barn, ducking under the pasture fence. Dream and Wanderer, the horses Steel had bought a few days ago, were frightened by the smell of the fire; their ears flicked frantically, pawing at the hay.
She moved straight past them, to the end of the rows of mangers. Fiona Tucker had been about as sharp as a marble, but the woman had had a good heart. Lyn had been in and out of the Tucker house numerous times since Fiona’s death. The two had been good friends, ever since John Tucker died. Oh yes, Lyn Thompson knew about the journal and the scrapbook clues, and figuring out what they meant had been about as hard as spitting.
But Lyn had left it all alone- she was a curious old hag, she’d admit that any day. And she observed things most people didn’t. But she also liked people to figure things out for themselves. Buck Robinson had kept harassing her to tell him. For months, she’d evaded his questions. But he’d gotten more insistent, so finally, so he’d leave her alone, she told him about the diary’s location. Little did she know it would all go south so damn quickly!
The will was inside the manger, wrapped in three ziploc bags, and inside a wooden case. Lyn didn’t have to open it to know the contents- her signature was on it. She’d been present when it was signed, as the witness. It deeded the house and land in Boyd to Carson Tucker, but the vast majority of the Tucker Fortune- around two million in total- would be put in the hands of the eldest Robinson child, Aja.
By the time she made her way out of the barn, the Steel Gray fellow had appeared. He stood far back from the house, away from the soaring flames. Covered in soot, his face was dark and ragged. Lyn was surprised to even see him alive- but then again, she didn’t put anything past the big Texan. Steel had two fists locked in his hair; he stared at the burning old house in dismay. Lyn swallowed. Buck Robinson’s body lay a few yards away from the house. Steel hadn’t seen it yet.
“Mr. Gray,” she called, walking over.
“Lyn-?” He turned haunted eyes to her. “I don’t believe this.”
Lyn licked her lips. “It was Joe. He set the one by the Robinson place.”
“So where the hell were you? Why didn’t you call for help?”
“He had me,” she snapped. “I thought I could talk the bastard out of it. But he hogtied me and made me watch when he did it. Then he dragged me over here.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Lyn glanced around. She could see Buck’s granddaughter coming up the hill.
“God Almighty. Steel. Don’t let her over here.”
“What-why?”
Lyn pointed to the remains of poor old Buck Robinson. At first Steel didn’t understand. But Lyn pushed him towards Aja. “Don’t let her see!”
The old woman watched the rest of it unfold. The fire department only had to drive a little ways to get the second burning house under control. Steel held Aja fiercely throughout it all. Lyn watched him explain what had happened. She’d give the rest of the details later- how Buck had fought, what Joe had done. But for now Aja just had to hear the one, most important fact that brought this horrible day to its end: her grandfather was dead.
Lyn Thompson still held the box containing Fiona’s will. There would be time enough for that. With a heavy heart, she watched Aja Robinson sink to her knees, the young woman’s wails echoing above and beyond the cold blue mountains.
CHAPTER 8
Happy After All
ONE YEAR LATER
“Hey!” Steel laughed, pulling the horse Wanderer up next to Aja. She was standing outside their house, clamping a straw hat on her head against the wind. It had been sunny all morning, but on the Texas prairie the weather could turn in the blink of an eye. Dark clouds were already rolling in from the distance, pregnant with rain.
Aja looked up at him with a grin. “When you gonna stop muckin’ around out there and come inside?”
Steel dismounted. “As soon as I get Wanderer out of this. Give me a minute.”
Aja watched him ride off, feeling a pang of nostalgia. She missed riding her own horse, Dream. She was glad they’d gotten the beautiful creatures to Texas after all.
Steel jogged back to the house. Despite the incoming rain- or perhaps because of it- it was so hot his shirt was sucked against his back by the sweat. He wished it were sunnier- then he and Aja could have headed down to the watering hole with the horses and had a swim.
The first thing that greeted him when he stomped inside were Travis and Drew, locked into some sports game on the Television. School was out for summer, and Aja was hard-pressed to get the two of them focused on anything else.
Still, she admitted to herself with a smile, the boys had taken to life in Texas easier than she’d thought. Travis was involved in a local all-African American dance crew. In August he’d be traveling to a competition in Atlanta. He’d bounced back from his injury so quickly, and in the past year he’d blossomed from a surly teen into a smart and capable boy.
Drew was still bound at the hip to Steel, and when he wasn’t with Travis he was right in the middle of the cattle drivers, hooting and hollering with the best of them. Steel had to admit he’d never seen a kid so good with horses. It was no surprise that Drew had become a favorite among the local ranchers, who seemed to have collectively adopted him into the fold.
It had been a while since any of them had seen Daniel. The oldest Robinson brother was at Stanford now, heavily involved in their bioengineering program. One of the research schools had hired him as an intern for the summer.
Aja grinned when Steel came inside. He hung up his hat and peeled the damp shirt from his muscled body. He smelled musky and heavy, like a man should. He’d cut his hair b
ack to shoulder-length. The curls were cloudy and big from the humidity. His blue eyes danced, bright with happiness.
“Everything okay?” Aja asked.
“Yep. Nathaniel’s got the cattle all corralled in for the storm. Everything taken care of.”
“Then come here.”
Aja led him upstairs to their bedroom. As if reading her mind, Steel rinsed off then drew a bath for the both of them, filling it with a bottle of Aja’s delicious-smelling handmade bubble bath. Since her pregnancy Aja had looked for ways to keep herself occupied. She found a hobby in making beauty products, using some herblore Grandpa Buck had taught her and Steel’s green thumb to supply ingredients.
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