Red Thunder Reckoning

by Sylvie Kurtz

  He shook his head. “Grandmother, I honor you, b—”

  “Good, I’m glad that’s settled. I didn’t want to go home until I was certain you would follow the right path.”

  “The horses—”

  “Stanley Black Bear will take care of them until you’re ready to let go. When you do, he’s promised to give you a good price for the ranch.”

  “I couldn’t sell this place.”

  “Not today, but soon.”

  He said nothing. Arguing with her was useless. She was too damn stubborn.

  “I’m not leaving you.” She placed a gnarled hand against her heart, then covered his own with it. A pulse of energy passed between them. “Soon you will be my heart. I will be with you always in your heartbeat, in your son’s heartbeat, in your daughter’s heartbeat.”

  She was wrong. For him there would be no son, no daughter. Once he’d shared dreams of a family with Ellen. They’d mapped out a whole future filled with horses and children…and love. But those dreams had died on the river sixteen years ago. The void stirred an eddy of sorrow in his heart.

  Nina dug into the worn leather pouch she carried at her waist and brought out what looked like a piece of bone. “This is for you.”

  He took the bone and saw Nina had carved and painted it into an eagle feather. On the upper right side she’d emblazoned a medicine wheel. “Protection from your demons until you can let them go.”

  “Grandmother…” He gazed at the feather-shaped stone in the palm of his hand and fought the burning itch scratching the back of his eyes. The feelings wound so tight inside him wouldn’t form into thought, into words.

  “Oh, look, Pajackok, the midnight star is here. Do you hear its song?”

  He realized then that he didn’t need to say anything. She already knew his heart better than he did. He sat by her and held her close. With her he watched the midnight star until she shed her robe.

  Then, not knowing quite where the consciousness to do so had come from, he sang her spirit home.

  THREE DAYS LATER, to honor Nina and all she’d done for him, Kevin headed south and east.

  His brother was alive. He had to find him. He had to humble himself and ask for forgiveness. Only then could he stop working so hard at trying to forget the brother he thought he’d killed and the woman he’d loved too much.

  “HE CAN’T DO THIS!” Ellen Paxton steamed her way to the sheriff’s desk and slapped the letter down on the blotter. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, colors faded, shapes blurred. She blinked madly, trying to control the body doing its damnedest to remind her of her weakened state. “There wasn’t even a hearing. I didn’t get to speak for the horses.”

  And speaking for the horses had become her obsession. She was shaking so badly that, when Chance eased her down into a chair, she couldn’t fight him.

  “Now take a deep breath,” he said, “and start from the beginning.”

  Hanging on to the collar of Chance’s tan uniform shirt she dragged in a breath and blew it out. Chance was the law in Gabenburg but he was also her friend. If he could help her, he would. “This guy shows up with a trailer and gives me this letter and insists on taking the horses back. They’re nowhere near ready to leave.”

  Mentally and physically scarred, the half-dozen horses she’d rescued from the highway wreck were in no shape to travel anywhere. She’d used up a day’s worth of energy sending Bancroft’s errand boy on his way, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that would end the situation. The weight of that exhaustion finally caught up with her. Her hands fell back onto her lap. “What was the judge thinking?”

  “Let me take a look,” Chance said. He leaned his backside against the desk and read the letter.

  A ceiling fan stirred the air-conditioned air, keeping the sheriff’s office cool in spite of the June heat blazing outside. Fluorescent light poured from an overhead fixture, drenching the room in white. The muted sounds of radio chatter crackled from a unit behind Chance’s desk. A wanted poster, along with half a dozen notices, were tacked on a corkboard above a bank of black file cabinets. Wire baskets and folders kept everything on the desk contained and neat.

  The only thing in the room that added a touch of personality was the portrait of Chance’s family. His wife, Taryn, and his daughter, Shauna, smiled at him from a quilt spread on the grass behind their home.

  A pinch of jealousy tweaked at her heart but she brushed it aside. Chance deserved his happiness.

  She’d once dreamed of raising horses and babies with her high-school sweetheart, but Kyle was dead, and she was relearning to live. Rubbing the heel of her hand on her chest, she erased the edge of sadness creeping around her heart. Her body’s betrayal made babies unlikely. Besides, the horses were almost more than she could handle.

  She glanced at her watch. She flipped her braid behind her back. She rubbed a hand on the thigh of her jeans. Chance’s care was a quality she admired but today his slow reading of the judge’s writ was driving her crazy.

  “You’re holding the man’s property,” Chance said finally, letting the letter fall to the desktop. “He wants it back.”

  “The horses are too weak to travel.” Her hackles were going up. They did so much too easily since she’d come back to herself. Impatience, not temper. So much wasted time. She couldn’t abide to squander a minute more than she had to.

  “Judge Dalton seems to think they’re strong enough.”

  Chance’s keen dark eyes were studying her. Irritation twitched her foot into a jittery dance. “But he didn’t give me a chance to show him they aren’t. How can this happen?”

  Chance gave a slow shake of his head. “Influence.”

  Her stomach churned. Influence had kept her a prisoner in a nursing home for fifteen years. Influence had nearly cost Chance and Taryn their lives a year ago. All because of one man’s greed. Now someone else’s greed was willing to sacrifice six horses who’d gone through hell just for the sake of convenience.

  The unfairness of it all was enough to make her want to roar. She swallowed back her outrage. “How can I fight this?”

  “Let it go, Ellen.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “After all you’ve been through, I thought you’d understand. I thought I could count on you.”

  “Ellen—”

  “I can’t let it go.” Her voice cracked and her vision was blurring again. “They deserve a voice.” Just as she had.

  Chance pushed himself off the desk, scrubbed a hand through his hair, then faced her once again. “I know they mean a lot to you, but they’re not yours. I can’t do anything but follow the law.”

  “They’ve been abused.”

  “There’s no way to prove that.”

  “All it would take is one visit by the judge to see how bad off they are.”

  Like a soldier about to face a firing squad, Chance stood ramrod straight. “There’s the other side, Ellen.”

  “What other side?”

  He hesitated.

  “Just spit it out, Chance. I’ve wasted too much time already to worry about couching words because you’re afraid I’m not strong enough to handle them.”

  He nodded. “You’ve come a long way in a year—”

  “But.”

  “But you’re still weak. After fifteen years of near vegetation, you’re expecting too much of yourself. You’re still going to physical therapy. You can’t operate at one hundred percent.”

  She gaped at him. “You don’t think I can handle taking care of the horses?”

  “You’ve got three of your own, plus these six—”

  Fisting her hands by her side, she jumped up. “Wait a min—”

  “Now let me finish.” He held up a hand. “All of these horses have special needs. I think that’s a load too heavy for anybody, let alone for someone in your position.”

  Her mind reeled at the possibility of losing the horses due to her own weakness. “So what, you expect me to just let them go and say, hey, sorry I can’t ta
ke care of you, so goodbye and good luck? I’ve been taking care of them for nearly a week. I’m handling the work just fine.”

  He cocked his head, a dead-serious look on his face. “You asked me to shoot straight.”

  “And you did,” she acknowledged, bracing herself for the next attack.

  “You spend half your life in the sunshine and you look as pale as the moon. You don’t just look tired, you look downright exhausted. You’ve lost weight when you should be gaining. If you don’t start taking care of yourself, none of these horses will be able to count on you.”

  With that, he’d hit her rawest nerve. She stumbled back a step, losing all her fury. He was right. If she did run herself ragged, the horses would have no one to give them voice.

  “There’s also the question of space,” Chance said. “You’ve got eight stalls and nine horses.”

  “That’s okay, I’ve got two that won’t come inside. I’ve got enough pasture for them all. I’ve got two corrals, a ring and I’m working on a round pen—”

  “You’re not digging holes and lugging lumber on your own, are you?”

  She jutted her chin, straightened her stance. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

  “Ellen…”

  He reached for her shoulders. She shrugged off his hold.

  “So, how do I resolve this? I’m not going to let the horses go. Not while they still need care.”

  Chance blew out a long breath and squeezed the nape of his neck. “Tell you what, you hire yourself a hand and I’ll talk Judge Dalton into taking a look-see at your operation.”

  The pinprick of escalating panic stampeded through her. Shaking her head, she said, “Chance, you know how I feel about the ranch.”

  “It’s non-negotiable. You want my help, you’ve got to give me something to work with.” He offered her his hand. “Deal?”

  This wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t have anybody looking, watching…reporting. She couldn’t do it. Not after having no choice in the matter for fifteen years.

  But if you don’t, she reminded herself, you’ll lose the horses and they need you.

  “This way, you’ll at least get the chance to convince the judge you can handle the load.”

  For fifteen years she was forced into silence, drugged against her will, kept a prisoner in her own body by a man who cared nothing about her. She’d had no voice, no one to fight for her. Stuck in the prison of her mind all she’d had for company was the nightmarish image of Kent and Kyle drowning in the river, of her dreams dying with them. Only in the collection of crystal horses catching rainbows of light on the dresser had she found a ray of hope. Horses had kept her fighting for her life.

  She had to keep fighting for the horses. They were voiceless. They needed her. Not Bancroft. Not Chance. Not the judge. No one would stop her from seeing them healthy again. She couldn’t let them down.

  She took Chance’s hand and reluctantly shook it hard once. “Deal.”

  The phone rang. She spun on her heels and strode to the door. Rubbing the wrist that held her watch she cursed Garth Ramsey for marrying her when she couldn’t object, for stealing nearly half her life. She cursed Brad Bancroft for his careless disregard for his animals’ needs. She cursed her body for betraying her when she needed it most.

  But all the cursing in the world wasn’t going to change the facts. It hadn’t saved Kyle. It hadn’t brought him back to life. And over the past year if she’d learned anything, it was to face the facts before her no matter how unpleasant they were.

  “Well, shoot,” she muttered as she plowed through the sheriff’s office door.

  For the horses she was going to have to hire help. And having someone trespass on her sanctuary was going to feel like being under glass all over again.

  Chapter Two

  The hum hit him first, deep in his gut. Recognition slapped him next. Shock rooted him.

  “Ellen,” Kevin whispered.

  Of all the things he’d expected to find in Gabenburg, she had never even entered his mind. If he hadn’t been holding on to the doorknob to the sheriff’s office, the blow of seeing her standing there might have knocked him over.

  What was she doing so far from home? Her roots were planted so deeply in Ashbrook that she hadn’t understood his need to catch a ride on the wind before settling. What had caused her to leave the land where she’d seeded her dreams?

  He swallowed hard and stared at her narrow back. The hum in his gut whirred until it burned, then spread until he was wound so tight his fingers dented the wood on the doorjamb.

  She still wore her hair in a loose French braid that tickled the bottom of her shoulder blades. Light still played with the gold, making it shimmer with her every move. Errant strands still framed her face with corkscrews of curls. His index finger twitched with an ache to wrap itself around one of those golden curls.

  When she turned, her gray-green eyes reflected every emotion coursing through her. A sharp gnaw of hunger champed through him as he remembered the sizzle of energy her emotion-filled body could transmit.

  Even after all those years, she still had the power to knock him off balance just by being there.

  He’d prepared himself to handle his brother. He’d prepared himself to take whatever punishment was his due. But seeing Ellen scrambled his mind, undid his purpose.

  He needed to think. But he couldn’t drag his gaze from the woman he’d once wanted with such a fierce passion he hadn’t been able to see straight.

  A flood of regret, of need, of pain surged through him in a tidal wave. Anger and desire roiled like the Red Thunder’s water, churning forgotten silt to the surface. The part of his memory he hadn’t dared to look at in years whirled through his mind like a ruthless hurricane. Then longing settled over him and sank, drowning him in a pool of sorrow so deep he could barely breathe.

  He remembered her laughter, brook bubbly and wind-chime light. He remembered her tears, salty and warm. He remembered her love, tender and sweet. Worst of all, he remembered the way he’d refused to listen to her fears about his leaving for the summer, believing that if he did, they’d cage him.

  Through the swell of his memories, the conversation between Ellen and the sheriff floated up. What he heard made his stomach curdle.

  Before Kevin could quite recover his mental balance, Ellen spun on her heels, wobbled and strode toward the door. As he started to retreat, the door blew open. The edge caught his shoulder, loosing an oomph of discomfort from him. The Australian cattle dog at his side cowered against the outside wall. Muttering under her breath, Ellen plowed past them without a glance.

  Shifting his gaze from Ellen to his brother, Kevin was torn. Should he face Kent or go after Ellen?

  With the sheriff busy answering a call, Kevin slipped away before anyone noticed him. He needed time to think.

  Cap bill pulled down low, chin bent nearly to his chest, hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets, he started walking. The dog, Blue, slanted him a worried glance, but kept pace.

  There wasn’t much to Gabenburg. The town was neat and compact and held an old-fashioned appeal. The bakery, the general store, the feed store all bore the pride of ownership. No litter dirtied the main street. Pots of geraniums, planters of impatiens and borders of red-veined caladium splashed the storefronts with color. Judging by the friendly hellos bouncing back and forth, everyone knew everybody.

  Ellen, she was here.

  An unexpected tightness banded his chest. He shrugged it off as uneasiness. Not caused by Ellen. He’d made peace with his undying desire for her long ago. Cities, towns, even villages, had a way of making him feel hemmed in. That was it. He longed for Nina’s ranch, for the mountains of Colorado with their green pastures and crisp air.

  Spotting the river, Kevin veered toward it. He needed space, he decided, and time to revise his plan. Blue dutifully followed him.

  Far from being the gift of absolution Kevin had imagined, his visit to Gabenburg was plunging him back in the thick of hi
s nightmare. Ellen, Kent, anger, so much anger. He palmed the bone feather Nina had given him and worried the carved ridges with his thumb.

  All he’d wanted to do was fulfill his promise to Nina. A day, maybe two, then he’d get back to training the horses waiting for him. He wasn’t expecting Kent to receive him with open arms or to forgive him. More likely his brother would just send him packing—and have every right to.

  But Ellen complicated things.

  He closed his eyes against the picture forming in his mind. The last time he’d seen her, he’d hauled her out of the Red Thunder. A gash had scored her temple, winding threads of blood through her hair, leaving her rag-doll limp in his arms. More than anything, he’d wanted to stay with her. But Kent couldn’t swim. He’d had no choice. He’d had to go after his brother.

  Fifteen years of near vegetation. How could one small cut have caused so much damage?

  His thoughts jumbled into a snarl of anger so potent, he could feel his blood start to boil. He dragged in a breath and forced himself to focus on the heat of the noontime sun beating down on him.

  Summer wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, but already sweltering heat hung like a weight and seemed to suck the very breath out of him. The furious sounds of the swollen river pounded his determination as he walked along the bank. The mud beneath his boots appeared intent on keeping him from reaching his goal. Moving each foot forward required a Herculean effort.

  The memories of Ellen and Kent and that awful evening by the Red Thunder he’d tried so hard to forget leeched into him. He’d need more than a lifetime to repay his debt to both of them.

  I’ve really messed things up, Grandmother.

  Then it’s time to rewrap the prayer stick, Pajackok.