Her nightmare of fright began all over again and she held as still as she could, listening. A small animal, she tried to tell herself—maybe a coyote. They had seen coyotes near the house recently. She hoped that’s what it was. As she waited there, still on all fours, she tried not to breathe—her breathing seemed so loud over the pounding of her heart. Much to her dismay, the soft rustle of the bushes seemed to be getting closer. In the next moment, the branches parted to reveal a man, and she fell back in fright.
“Don’t be afraid, ma’am,” he said softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He recognized the woman at once, remembering her from the encounter with two of the outlaws in Hatfield’s store.
Jason Storm! So intensely terrified moments before, she now almost fainted with relief upon seeing the countenance of her guardian angel. Suddenly she felt too weak to stand. He pushed on through the bushes to help her to her feet.
“He was here!” she gasped. “One of those murderers . . . John, my husband. I think he killed him.”
“Your husband’s bad hurt,” Jason told her. “It looks like he got pistol-whipped, but he’s alive. I carried him in the house and then I came lookin’ for you.” He handed her the shoe he had found caught in the soft sand by the creek. He would not have known she had fled to the woods had he not gone to the creek for water to clean her husband’s wounds and spotted the shoe embedded in the sand. When there was no sign of her in the house, he had speculated that she had been abducted by Cantrell. He had to assume now that the outlaw was in too great a hurry to go after the woman. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go see about your husband.” He cleared a way before them through the thicket back to the creek. She followed along behind him, her mind a confusion of thoughts. Thank goodness John was not killed. She had been almost certain that he had been. She wondered then about the imposing figure leading her through the brush. Once again he had appeared when she needed him. She silently thanked God for Jason Storm.
It was not an encouraging scene she found upon returning to the house. John was alive, but he had been beaten so badly that he was left in a semiconscious state, neither awake nor asleep. Jason had laid him on their bed, and John had remained in the same position since, never moving, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. He seemed unaware of their presence even when Roseanna rushed to his bedside. “John,” she pleaded, “can you hear me?” He gave no indication that he could, though she begged over and over for him to acknowledge her.
The wounds about his face and skull had begun to bleed openly again, so she hurried to clean the blood away. One gash above his temple was so bad that she had to bandage it. Jason stood by, watching her efforts for a while, but deciding he was of no help, he went to the kitchen stove to rekindle the fire. Looking around the scattered contents of the room, he spotted a coffee mill and a sack of coffee beans that had somehow been overlooked by Cantrell. He assumed Roseanna had eaten nothing since the day before, so he rummaged around until he found an overturned bowl that had held fresh eggs. Luckily there were a half dozen eggs that had not fallen to the floor and broken. As Mace Cantrell had done before him, he then went to the smokehouse in search of salt pork. The fact that Cantrell was getting an even greater head start was on his mind, but he couldn’t leave the woman and her husband in their situation until he was sure they were all right.
Once he got a fire going in the little stove, it didn’t take long for it to heat up. Soon he had coffee boiling and bacon in the skillet. After the bacon was done, he laid it aside on a plate and dumped the grease in a jar by the stove that seemed to be there for that purpose, saving enough to scramble the eggs in.
“You should let me do that,” Roseanna said when she had done all for John that she could at the moment.
“It’s already done,” Jason replied as he slid the eggs out on the plates.
“I don’t know if I can eat anything,” she said.
“I expect you’d better,” he said. “You need to keep your strength up, and I don’t take it kindly when somebody turns down my cookin’.” He poured her a cup of coffee and placed it on the table beside the plate. “Now, sit yourself down and eat.”
She smiled obediently and sat down at the table. “You’re a kind man, Jason Storm. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t showed up.” He merely shrugged in response, finding it odd that someone had called him kind. There were a lot of outlaws, some dead, who would have certainly given her an argument.
She was surprised to find herself aggressively attacking the breakfast he had prepared and she cleaned her plate before asking the question that was foremost in her mind. “Do you think he will be all right? I mean, do you think he’ll wake up and be all right?”
He put his cup down and met her gaze. “I don’t know. He’s been hurt pretty bad. I can’t say if he’s comin’ back or not.” It was his unspoken opinion that John would most likely remain in that state. Her eyes were pleading with him to tell her something that would give her hope. It grieved him that he couldn’t. He shifted his concentration from the troubled woman to the mental picture of Mace Cantrell galloping farther and farther away. He felt a heavy obligation to track the killer down before someone else in his path was gunned down, but he obviously could not abandon this woman. Resigning himself to what he perceived as his responsibility, he said, “I’ll stay with you for a few days till we see your husband get better.” He noted the instant relief in her eyes.
After breakfast, he chopped some wood for the fireplace and watered John Swain’s team of horses along with Biscuit and his packhorse. That afternoon, he helped Roseanna pick late-summer peas in the garden after cleaning up some of the mess Cantrell had left in the smokehouse. Roseanna put her kitchen back together again, stopping every quarter hour or so to check on John. It was an unpleasant chore to care for her husband, for though he showed no signs of improvement, his body’s elimination organs were still functioning well enough to periodically soil the bedclothes. Roseanna betrayed no sign of annoyance, although Jason knew that she was greatly embarrassed for her husband.
Shortly before supper, John stirred slightly, really no more than a twitch, but it was a sign that he might possibly take a turn for the better—maybe even wake up. Jason fervently hoped that was the case. But a half hour after supper, John died. Roseanna went to check on him and he was gone, his stark, staring countenance frozen forever in his death mask.
There were no tears at once as Roseanna knelt beside the bed, her mind still in a confused state as she tried to close her husband’s eyelids. It was not until later in the evening, when Jason built up the fire in the fireplace, that the magnitude of the loss of her husband came down upon her. She sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes, causing Jason to take her in his arms and hold her. With her head resting on his shoulder, she cried for John’s suffering, she cried for the abrupt end of this chapter in her life, she cried because she was now alone, and she cried because of the guilt she bore for not loving the man with all her heart.
When finally her tears were exhausted, she remained in his embrace for a few minutes longer, reluctant to leave the safe haven of Jason’s solid shoulder. He could not control the thoughts that flooded his mind as he felt her body pressed against his, even in light of the fact that he could see her late husband’s body lying on the bed. He had no improper thoughts beyond that—it was just that it had been so long since he had held Mary Ellen close in much the same way. He silently apologized to his late wife and to Roseanna as well. For her part, when Roseanna realized that she was still in his embrace after her tears had stopped, she immediately withdrew, somewhat awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” she stammered.
“No need,” he replied. “I understand.”
The next morning Jason dug a grave. They wrapped John’s body in a quilt and buried him. After Jason had filled in the grave, he went back to the house, leaving Roseanna to say her final farewell to her husband. It was time now to make decisions. Jason had to move on. Mace Cantrell already enjoyed a large hea
d start, and it was going to be difficult to track him down, much more so now that Jason would have a cold trail to follow. At this point Roseanna became a problem. He could not leave her alone, yet he could not stay with her.
“Have you thought about what you’re gonna do now?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t had time to think about it,” she replied. “I guess I can just stay here.”
“You can’t do that.” He immediately objected. “You can’t run this place by yourself. Don’t you have any neighbors that you could stay with, at least until you decide somethin’ better?” He didn’t like the idea of her alone on this remote farm.
She gave his question a moment’s thought, then answered. “No. The closest farm to ours is the Perkins’ place and we don’t see much of them.”
“Perkins? Is that the sheriff?”
“Yes,” she replied. “They keep pretty much to themselves. I guess the only person I’ve really made friends with is Lena Hatfield, but she lives in town.”
“That sounds to me like the best place for you.”
“I don’t want to impose on the Hatfields. I can stay here by myself.”
“You pack up your things,” Jason directed, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll hitch up your wagon and we’ll go into Paradise and find a place for you.”
“Really, I’m not worried about staying here,” she protested.
“I am,” Jason stated in no uncertain terms. “I don’t plan on ridin’ after Mace Cantrell and worrying about you the whole time.” His comment caused mild surprise in both their minds and left a rather awkward silence behind it. He hoped she didn’t think what he said was inappropriate.
After a moment she said, “I’ll get some things together.”
He left her to her task and went to hitch up the mules. After removing the pack from his other horse, he left it in the corral with grain and water, figuring to return shortly after taking Roseanna to town. He had no illusions about his ability to follow a trail as cold as the one Cantrell had left. In fact, he didn’t give himself any hope of tracking the outlaw. But he found enough of a trail to see which way Cantrell was heading when he left Swain’s farm, and he speculated that he was probably headed for one of the towns on the Yellowstone. The most direct route would be through Three Forks. It was a long shot, but it was the best he had for the time being.
He tied Biscuit’s reins to the back of the wagon and went into the house to help Roseanna carry her things. In less than a half hour, she was ready to leave. He helped her up onto the wagon seat, then climbed up beside her. She turned only once to look back at the home she and John Swain had built before facing forward again. Jason could only imagine the pain she must feel. He thought about the last time he had left Mary Ellen’s grave. It had been on a morning much like this one when he said his farewell and left to find a place to start anew.
The first person they saw when they drove the wagon past the saloon was Joe Gault. He was standing in the middle of the narrow street and when he turned to see Jason, he ran to meet them. “Did you catch him?” Joe exclaimed, before the presence of Roseanna Swain told him that something was evidently wrong.
“No,” Jason answered. “Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Hatfield?”
“They’re back,” Joe replied. “They’re in the store now, tryin’ to put things back together, and Gus is cleanin’ up the saloon.” He turned his attention toward Roseanna then. “Where’s John? Is he all right?”
“John’s dead,” Jason said quickly, sparing Roseanna the pain of explaining John’s absence.
“Mace Cantrell?” Joe asked.
“That’s right,” Jason replied. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, we wanna see Lena Hatfield.”
When Lena heard what had happened to John Swain, she immediately insisted that Roseanna should stay with Fred and her. The relief in Roseanna’s face was obvious, although she still protested that her stay would, at best, be temporary until she could gather her emotions and return to her home.
“There’s no need to be in a rush to get back to your house,” Lena said. “We’ve got plenty of room for you, and you don’t need to be by yourself out there anyway.”
Jason said nothing while the arrangements were being settled. Satisfied that Roseanna was going to be with someone he deemed responsible, he told them that he would unload her things for her, then take the wagon and mules to stable. Lena left Fred to finish cleaning up the store while she went with Jason and Roseanna.
Lena had not exaggerated when she said they had plenty of room in their home. In fact there was an extra room not in use, and Jason carried Roseanna’s belongings there. When the last bundle was in the house, Roseanna followed Jason back out to the wagon. Biscuit pawed the ground impatiently as Jason put a hand on the wagon seat, preparing to climb up. “He don’t like being tied to the wagon,” Jason said in an offer of explanation for the horse’s show of irritability. “And he don’t get along with mules very well, either. He’s just set in his ways. You just mind your manners,” he told the animal. “I’m gonna untie you directly.” He turned back to Roseanna and found the woman gazing openly at his face. She stepped quickly up to embrace him, once again kissing him lightly on the cheek.
Caught in an awkward situation, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His natural reaction was to put his arms around her and hold her close to his chest, but he hesitated to do so. “You’re gonna be all right here,” he offered, embarrassed. “Lena will take good care of you.”
“I owe you so much,” she murmured. “I owe you my life. I don’t know how I can thank you enough for always being there when I was in danger.”
Finding it difficult to think of the proper thing he should say, he simply repeated, “You’ll be all right here.”
She stepped back then, releasing him. “You take care of yourself, Jason Storm.”
“Yes’m, I will,” he replied as he stepped up in the saddle.
He turned Biscuit’s head, preparing to leave, when she called after him, “Are you coming back?”
He didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll be back,” he replied, “but it might take a while.” It struck him then that thoughts that had come uninvited were possibly improper. He realized that he was more than casually interested in Roseanna’s welfare. Was it wrong? After all, her husband’s body was hardly cold. Maybe I’d better get my mind straight on what I need to do, and that’s to find Mace Cantrell, he admonished himself. He nudged Biscuit with his heels in an effort to quickly remove himself from thoughts of the woman.
Roseanna stood watching him until he disappeared into the trees between Lena’s house and town. Standing in the front door, Lena Hatfield studied her friend, having witnessed the farewell. She couldn’t help but wonder if Roseanna was in a vulnerable state, being so suddenly left alone and afraid that she searched for someone to rescue her. Lena was sure that Roseanna would mourn her late husband. It was not a question of that, even though long ago she sensed that Roseanna was more a dutiful wife than a passionate one. Lena, being Lena, felt compelled to approach the subject with her friend.
“He’s a curious man, isn’t he?” Lena commented, startling Roseanna.
Roseanna turned then to reply. “I guess you could say that. I only know I might not be alive if it weren’t for him.”
Lena held the door open as Roseanna walked up the steps to the porch. “Yes, sir, he’s a curious man. Nobody really knows much about Jason Storm. He just showed up here one day, looking for a place to light where most folks wouldn’t be able to find him.” She followed Roseanna into the house. “I put some coffee on the stove. Let’s have a cup. I was going to offer Jason a cup, but he was already leaving when I walked out to the porch.” As soon as Roseanna was seated at the table, Lena returned to the subject foremost in her mind. “Jason Storm, he sure seems to be familiar with guns, doesn’t he? Nobody knows where he came from. He could be an outlaw for all anybody knows. Fred says Jason doesn’t know much about growing crops or anything like t
hat. It was sure a lucky day for Paradise when he showed up the other day, though.”
“He’s a kind and gentle man,” Roseanna said.
Worried more than ever after Roseanna’s declaration, Lena decided to stop beating around the bush. “A woman would be asking for trouble with a man like Jason Storm,” she said. “I hope you aren’t seeing too much in that man.”
Astonished by Lena’s remark, Roseanna replied, “My goodness, Lena, John’s been gone for only two days. I’m just grateful for Jason Storm.”
“Well, as long as you remember that,” Lena said. “Let’s forget about Jason Storm and have some coffee.”
Chapter 9
With Swain’s farm a good full day’s ride behind him, Cantrell eased up on the punishing pace he had demanded from his horses. He felt it safe to rest them for a couple of hours, since he reasoned that the man chasing him had probably given up the hunt by now. What incentive would the big man have to continue to track him? They won the battle; they had their town back. He figured he was in the clear. Just to be safe, he had been careful to hide his tracks as best he could when he first started out, crossing and recrossing streams, riding almost a quarter mile on a series of rocky ledges that led to a river. His pursuer would have to be damn good to follow his trail. Confident that he had covered his path sufficiently, he rode the horses hard for the rest of the afternoon, straight south toward Three Forks, until the weary animals threatened to founder.
Just to reassure himself, he spent an hour at the top of a ridge, searching his back trail. “Hell,” he blustered, “that big son of a bitch most likely quit the chase as soon as he reached that farmer’s house—if he got that far.” Summoning his old bluster, he crowed, “I wish he would show his ass on that trail down there.” The fear he had felt when he realized that he was all alone after Bob and Lacey were gunned down had faded in his mind, giving way to his prior feeling of self-assurance. I’ll be back on top again, he told himself. There’ll be plenty of men who want to ride with Mace Cantrell.
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