9781631054617HeLovesMeCole

by Christina Cole

  “I suppose so.” He dismounted and slowly ambled toward his father. He’d already noted the flask of whiskey and knew it spelled trouble—as if there weren’t enough of that to go around and then some. His father was always a dangerous man, but even more so when he’d been drinking. With the strength he possessed, he could easily crush Emily’s windpipe or break her neck. Ben needed to get her away from him before he did something crazy. His mind still reeling, he picked up the shovel, then walked to his father. He stood before him. “You know, Pa, I really do think a lot of her.” He nodded his head in Emily’s direction. “I want to take her with us.”

  “Damn it, son, why’d you get yourself all sweet on the bitch?” He snorted. “Fine. You want her, you take care of her, but if she causes any trouble, I’ll kill you both, and don’t think I won’t.” He shoved Emily forward.

  Ben let the shovel fall. He opened his arms and caught the frightened young woman in a thankful embrace. “I’ll tie her up, Pa. She won’t go anywhere.” He swept her off her feet and carried her toward the Appaloosa. His first thought was to put her in the saddle, slap the hell out of the horse’s rump, and watch as they fled to safety. But knowing Emily, she’d probably turn around and come riding straight back to him. Besides, such an obvious act of disloyalty to his father would likely result in his own death. He did not doubt his father’s drunken threats.

  He put a second plan in motion. Ben took a length of rope from the saddle. “Keep quiet,” he ordered, his voice harsh. Emily trembled in his arms. With swift steps, he carried her toward a slight rise.

  “Ben, why are you—”

  “I told you to keep quiet.” As he put her down, he glanced toward his father, thankful that the man wasn’t looking his way. Ben turned back to Emily and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t have time to explain everything. Just do what I tell you.”

  Terror shone in her eyes. He had to calm her.

  “I’m not really going to tie you.” Kneeling beside her, he coiled the rope loosely around her slender form. “Pretend that I have. Can you do that?” His gaze swept over her frightened features.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening. How could you—”

  Again he silenced her, quickly placing a finger to her lips and shaking his head.

  “Not now. Trust me, Emily. Your life depends upon it. Mine, too,” he added. Another glance over her shoulder showed his father’s attention fixated again on the flask. Would he drink enough to pass out? Ben quickly cast aside that thought. While his old man took another swig of rotgut, Ben drew out a knife and slipped it into Emily’s trembling hands.

  She gasped and looked up.

  “Listen carefully. Promise you’ll do exactly as I say.” He hesitated, remembering the oath she’d sworn earlier. She’d apparently broken it as soon as his back was turned. Yet he had no other choice. She had to trust him; he had to trust her.

  Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  “I’ll find a way to distract him.” He jerked his head in his father’s direction. “When I do, I want you to run. Do you hear me?”

  “I tried that earlier. It didn’t work.”

  “I’m here now. I can help you.”

  His father cleared his throat. “What the hell is going on, boy? You need to get your ass over here. Get me the rest of the gold, you hear?”

  “Yeah, Pa, I hear you.” Ben threw the words behind his back, then turned to Emily. “He’s drunk, and he’s dangerous. When I distract him, start running. Get as far away from here as you can.”

  “Where will I go? I have no idea where we are. I don’t want to leave you.” Emily grabbed at his sleeve and clung tightly.

  He groaned. There wasn’t time for argument. Not even time enough for discussion. “You’re a clever girl,” he reminded her. “Just run. As far as you can. As fast as you can.”

  She moved her head slightly, just enough to peer over his shoulder. “What if he catches me?”

  Ben saw the fear in her eyes. He felt it in her touch. She might seem to have her wits about her, but she didn’t. In truth, she was terrified, and rightly so.

  “If he catches you, don’t hesitate to use that knife.” He got to his feet and turned away from her.

  With long, sure strides, he returned to his father’s side, picked the shovel up from the ground, and gripped its handle. One swift blow to his father’s head, and it would all be over. Emily would be out of danger. But at the moment, his father posed no immediate threat. Killing him now would not be justifiable. It would be cold-blooded murder.

  And Ben would be marked forever. A killer. Like father, like son. He would be no better than the man he despised.

  “All right, Pa,” Ben said. “Where am I supposed to dig?”

  “Hell, boy, use your eyesight. Can’t you see that there hole in the ground?” He waved the flask toward the spot where he’d dug earlier. “Are you blind as well as stupid?”

  Ben thrust the shovel downward, forcing it into the earth. His head came up, and he glared at his father. “I’ve had enough of your damned insults. I’m not playing your game any longer, Pa. From here on out, we’re playing my way.”

  “Start digging, damn it.”

  “I’d be wasting my time. There’s no more gold there.”

  “Hell if there’s not.” He pulled himself up and sauntered toward his son. “That treasure was in the thousands, boy. Time’s wasting. It’ll be daybreak before you know it. We’ve got to get all we can before the sun comes up.” He grunted, spat on the ground, then took another swig from the flask. “Get busy, damn it.” Unsteady on his feet now, he stumbled toward the fire, nearly falling headlong into it.

  “Pa, be careful.” The words shot out of Ben’s mouth. He nearly hated himself for uttering them, but in truth, he didn’t want to see his father die. He wanted to see justice. He wanted Emily safe from harm and his father locked behind bars forever.

  The drunken man staggered away from the blazing fire, then lurched about, heading up a slight incline.

  “Pa, no!” Ben called after him. “Get back.”

  When he’d buried the tin of gold earlier that morning, Ben had chosen the site carefully to prevent any possibility of his father’s escape. The forest clearing nestled snugly on the side of a rocky ledge. Nothing lay beyond the ridge but a sheer drop-off.

  His father stopped only a few feet from the edge of the precipice.

  “Watch your step.” Ben shouted. “You’re drunk.”

  “Don’t you tell me what to do, son.”

  Ben’s cheeks puffed up, and he blew out a breath. “Get the hell back here, Pa. We need to talk.” He threw down the shovel and started up the ridge. “The game’s over. That gold you found? I planted it. I rode out here this morning and buried that canister. The map I gave you was fake. I set you up, Pa. You walked right into the trap.”

  Nervous sweat poured from Ben’s body. He threw a furtive glance to his right. Where in God’s sweet name was Sheriff Bryant? He was supposed to ride out with a posse soon after Ben headed off to meet his father at the site, but Ben had heard nothing. He prayed the lawman was there, ready to do his job.

  At the mention of the trap—the prearranged signal—a commotion stirred. Yes, Bryant and his men were there. The sheriff, his second in command, Hank Goddard, and another deputy stepped out from the shadows of the towering pines, each with a rifle at the ready.

  But John Brooks was not about to give up. He skittered down the slope, grabbed his shotgun, and brought it up. “Damn it! All of you. Stop where you are.” He swung the shotgun around in a wide arc. “All of you, put down your guns.”

  The deputies glanced toward the sheriff.

  Brooks swung his shotgun around again, aiming the long barrel toward his son’s head.

  Sheriff Bryant nodded. “Put the rifles down, boys.”

  Brooks staggered forward. “So, this is how you treat your father, is it? All a lie, huh, boy?”

  Ben shut
his eyes. Surely Emily had slipped away by now. She should be far away. She should be safe. But then again, she should have been back at the Henderson Horse Farm in the first place.

  His heart felt as if it had stopped dead when he heard Emily scream.

  He opened his eyes, and at the same time, smoke and noise belched from his father’s shotgun. Ben flattened himself against the ground, covering his head as a hail of tiny lead pellets rained down upon him, pricking and stinging his flesh. Thank the Lord his father’s hunting extended only to birds and small game animals. The light load he carried in his shotgun had power enough to hurt like hell but not enough to penetrate far enough into the skin to do any serious damage. His vital organs were safe.

  He placed his hands on the ground and raised his chest upward. Everything seemed to be happening at once. Emily ran toward him, still screaming hysterically. From the corner of his eye, Ben caught sight of his father ramming another shell casing into the shotgun. Brooks brought the weapon to his shoulder, ready to fire.

  “Emily! Get down!”

  His words were lost as another shot rang out through the night. As his father yelped in pain, Ben turned to see the man drop his shotgun, clutch at his leg, and finally crumple to the ground. The sheriff and several other men raced toward him.

  “Get away from me,” Brooks warned, crawling for his shotgun again. “I won’t go back to prison.”

  “It’s over.” Sheriff Bryant took a pair of cuffs from his belt and held them out. “Do yourself a favor, Brooks. If you go willingly, it might make it easier.”

  John Brooks shook his head. “Hell, no. I’m not going back.” He scrabbled at the rocky slope, inching his way upward. But there was nowhere to go.

  “Get down from there,” Ben called out again.

  “I won’t go back. You won’t take me alive.” With a drunken shout and a maniacal laugh, he pushed himself away and plunged over the edge.

  As Ben tried to rush forward, the sheriff held him back. “Stay where you are,” Bryant said. “Let the other men handle it.”

  Ben nodded and sank down onto the ground, a swirling darkness and madness engulfing him. He didn’t know where Emily was, couldn’t tell where the frantic sounds of her sobbing were coming from. But somehow, he knew she would be all right. That was all he needed to know. His brain couldn’t handle any more. He put his head down on his knees and sucked in one deep, cleansing breath after another, willing himself to hang on, to get through each passing minute, one by one.

  “A coward to the end.”

  Ben heard the familiar voice and recognized it at once. But it made no sense. What in the hell would Willie Morse be doing there? He ignored it. At least, he tried to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him. Sure enough, when he looked up, the fat, obnoxious son of the judge stood over him, a fine-looking Winchester Model 1866 carbine clutched in his stubby hands.

  Willie snickered. “People always say like father, like son. Maybe it’s the other way around, as well. You still haven’t agreed to fight me, you know.” He lowered his bulky frame to the ground and clapped Ben on the back. “Coward,” he muttered, but nobody heard the word except Ben.

  “What are you doing here, Willie?” Ben sat up, unable to make a bit of sense out of all that was going on. Too much had happened. His brain must have given out on him, he guessed. From somewhere nearby, Emily was still sobbing. His father had just ended his own life with a desperate plunge over the side of a cliff, and now Willie Morse—of all people—was sitting beside him, clapping him on the back as though they were the very best of friends.

  And maybe, in some respects, there were friends now. Or, at least, maybe they ought to be. It was Willie, he realized, who had fired the shot that took down his father.

  “You saved Emily’s life,” Ben said, turning to hold out a hand. “Thank you.”

  “Probably saved your hide, too.”

  “Maybe so.” Maybe indirectly, Willie was also responsible for his father’s death. Ben wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it at the moment. Maybe he ought to thank the man at his side for that act, too. Or maybe that would be something he’d later regret. No matter how cruel a man might be, nobody had the right to decide whether he should live or die. That decision rested with God alone, in Ben’s opinion.

  But Willie had not shot to kill. He’d only wounded Ben’s father. All the same…

  Ben sighed. “Too much to think about,” he said under his breath. Later, once his brain started functioning again, he’d sort it all out in his head. He’d figure out whom to thank, whom to curse, and what might be best simply forgotten. He suspected most of the events of the night probably belonged to the latter category. Too much thinking could make a man go mad.

  “Guess we all need to pack up and head back to town.” Willie lumbered to his feet. He wore a somber expression. “Take care of Emily, will you?” He turned to walk away.

  “Wait!” Ben jumped up and went after him. “For God’s sake, how did you get involved in all of this?”

  Willie let out a long breath. He averted his gaze, turning away to look off toward the horizon where the first streaks of dawn were beginning to show. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you were right all along. About my father.”

  “What happened? How did you find out I was telling the truth?”

  “Your old man came to the house early this morning. He had a long meeting with my father. I happened to be nearby. I overhead a few things, things nobody was supposed to hear.”

  “Must have been a shock.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again.” He turned to face Ben. “I knew your father was planning to dig up the gold tonight. God help me, Ben, I thought I could fix things.” His eyes glistened, and he licked at his lips. “I thought I could make things all right. If nobody knew about the deal, my father’s reputation would be intact.”

  Ben cocked an ear, catching on to what Willie’s true intentions had been.

  “So,” he said, suddenly feeling sorry for the fellow, “you rode out tonight with Sheriff Bryant.”

  “I won’t lie, Ben. I came here tonight to kill your father. But I couldn’t do it. I guess that makes me the real coward.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Ben tried to soak up all of Willie’s words, but his brain couldn’t hold anything more. “You saved Emily. You did a good thing. As for my father, he chose to die. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Still dazed, he stepped aside while the sheriff issued instructions. After daylight came, Bryant explained, he’d send men out to recover the body and bring it back to the mortuary in Sunset. Best thing for now, he said, was for everyone to get to town, get themselves home, get a bit of rest. They’d talk it all out after the sun came up.

  “Lot easier to see the truth of things in the morning light,” he remarked.

  For some odd reason a verse of scripture slipped into Ben’s head. What I tell you in darkness, speak in the light. He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but he knew the Bible taught about the light of truth and how it shone on those who sat in darkness, those in the shadow of death.

  Tomorrow would bring light, and light would bring truth, and as so many sages had taught throughout the ages, truth would set them all free.

  He clapped Willie on the back. “Go on home. We’ll talk more later.”

  Moments after Willie left, Ben felt Emily’s hand closing around his. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Too much happening inside my head.”

  “Mine, too.”

  Ben wanted to ask her a few questions, but those, too, would have to wait for another time. He wondered where Della might be and what would happen to her now. Of course, he still wanted to know how Emily had ended up at the dig site with his father. He wanted to know—

  “Ben, you’re thinking too much.” Her sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.

  He squeezed her hand. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go home.”

  * * * *

  Over the
next few days, life moved more quickly than Ben thought possible, yet at the same time the hours crawled by so slowly, he couldn’t make sense of much around him.

  They laid his father to rest with most of the townsfolk looking on. Curiosity, that’s all. Much like people turned out for hangings, seeing a killer put into the ground provided a bit of entertainment. Or maybe some people just wanted to be sure the man was really dead. Ben went to the funeral but never could figure out whether he really felt anything or not. He remembered Emily at his side, remembered the touch of her hand on his. Everything else was still a muddle in his mind. Maybe later he’d get around to finding answers.

  Sheriff Bryant and a group of hearty fellows did their best to follow Joe Love’s treasure map, but they mostly found themselves going around in circles. Seems the directions he’d so carefully sketched out weren’t all that clear, and after a few futile attempts to find the gold, and more than a few heated discussions between the men, the sheriff decided it was time to put an end to the whole business. Maybe there never was any gold. Or maybe the outlaw never intended for anyone to find it. Maybe he went to his grave laughing at his own joke, knowing there’d likely be a lot of men looking for their own share of his ill-gotten gain.

  Ben didn’t join the treasure hunters. He’d had enough, and all he wanted now was a bit of peace. It wouldn’t come easily, though.

  Wherever he went, people milled around, most of them as unsure as he was about how to act, what to say, and whether or not condolences were in order for the death of his father. Others gathered around to wish him well, to congratulate him on his upcoming marriage, and even tease him about his wedding night.

  He hardly remembered proposing although he clearly recalled Emily throwing her arms around him and shouting “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you, Ben!” Obviously, he must have done it right and not made an awful fool of himself, he guessed. Or maybe not. Either way, come Saturday next—Valentine’s Day—he’d be standing at the altar, ready to join his life with hers in that sacred institution known as holy matrimony.