The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  The order was unnecessary. Quanto had trouble moving from his bed to the chair. In recent months, Wyatt carried his bed down and reassembled it in the living room, shifting the layout so Quanto needed only to walk two or three steps between his chair and the bed. If the old man wanted to go outside, Wyatt assisted him.

  Once outside, he scanned the area. Goliath grazed in the open field to the south of the barn, near the path leading to the glass lake. Though autumn firmly entrenched the mountain, winter had yet to dust them with the first snow, as if the slowing land wished to hold off the full weight of winter’s rest.

  Though nothing moved, he didn’t let the lack distract him. The horse issued the warning—something was out there. Stepping off the porch, he canted his head to listen with all his senses. A bear rumbled sleepily through the woods to the east, the crunch of leaves beneath the animal’s feet betraying its position. A bird took flight from the top of the barn with a whoosh of wings. Goliath’s snorts interspersed the tearing of grass as he bent his head to eat.

  No discernible stress indicated the reason the horse warned him, meaning it hadn’t overly concerned the stallion. The faint clop of hooves striking the path had Wyatt striding from the house to the head of the trail. With an easy leap, he ascended the chalky-white boulder he’d set into place decades before and studied the trail below.

  A single rider made their way through the leaf stripped trees, following a path known only to a few. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, he considered dropping down to challenge them on the trail or waiting them out. They hadn’t spotted him and, while they seemed harmless enough, it wouldn’t be the first time someone attempted to lure him from the mountain so the attackers could make their move.

  None ever succeeded.

  The rider raised his head and recognition struck him. “Hail the mountain,” called a snow-white crowned man with a wide smile.

  “Hail the rider,” Wyatt answered automatically. John Cantrell…when was the last time the man rode these trails? Forty years? Fifty?

  “Still a testy old bastard.” Cantrell gave his horse a nudge to continue and the mare continued her plodding pace.

  Perhaps, but he trusted few and Cantrell had been gone a long time. “Why are you here?”

  “To pay my respects, one old man to another.” It took him another fifteen minutes to reach the last climb and come even with Wyatt. Fevered, Cantrell’s ability lay in truth-telling. No one could lie to him if they met his gaze. Many admired, but few understood, how unpleasant a gift it was to be told the truth about everything.

  Truth, after all, could cut more deeply than a lie.

  Leaving the rock, Wyatt blocked Cantrell’s way. Without hesitation, he met the other man’s gaze and held it. Sensation lit up his spine and tingled over him as though wings brushed his skin. The compulsion to tell the truth didn’t bother him. He could ignore it and trained himself how many years before. “Tell me the truth of why you’re really here, Cantrell, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  After halting the horse, the man sighed. “Can’t a man simply want to say goodbye in his waning years?”

  “He could,” Wyatt admitted. “But you didn’t travel a thousand miles to say goodbye…one old man to another.” Though he didn’t remove his gaze from the truth-teller, he kept his ears open and his awareness of the land around him increased. He knew every inch of the mountain, so nothing could hide from him here. To approach the plateau, one needed to come via two distinct trails and the best traveled one emptied near the boulder. The third trail had been liberally blockaded with traps. If one didn’t know the markings to follow, well, Wyatt rarely worried about anyone making the attempt.

  Cantrell shifted in the saddle, a forced smile on his face. “It takes a hard man to be suspicious of an old friend. Have I ever done anything to earn your mistrust?”

  “First time for everything, Cantrell. Why are you here or would you prefer I rip your tongue out and leave you to bleed?”

  “Could you really harm a friend? Seek to bury one?” His smile twisted and the tired mare’s ears began to flick back and forth. Animals often noticed when their riders became nervous or upset. The keen sense of empathy provided a wealth of knowledge about the people around them. Too bad most didn’t pay attention to what their eyes and ears told them.

  Could he kill a friend? “Yes.” Cantrell would know this, however, so the question served as a clarion warning more than anything else he could have done.

  “Where are you riding from, John?” At the challenge, John’s expression grew relieved and his forced smile tightened.

  “A long ways…near the lake country in Ohio.” He swallowed once, then dropped his gaze to his hands. “I wish you…I wish you would…” Sweat trickled down his cheek. “Give my regards to Quanto.”

  “I can do that.” Agreeing to extend his message did not mean he would allow the man to see him. No, this was a test, a sleight of hand. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

  “Yes,” Cantrell said with a half-nod. “As am I.” He went for his gun, but Wyatt flung out a tendril of power and ripped the man from his saddle. Not wishing to prolong his suffering, he snapped his neck then set him on the ground gently. The mare side-stepped and pinned her ears back. Goliath let out another trumpet and Wyatt whistled.

  The stallion charged the first of the men rushing from the lake. They’d left their horses below to climb. Furious for their part in this, Wyatt showed no mercy. Five men tried to take the land, and four he cut down without hesitation.

  Two with his bare hands, the fifth he caught in a chokehold to lift the struggling man by his throat. The man kicked out with his legs and clawed at Wyatt’s hand, but he held him until he began to lose his battle for oxygen. Only when his captive’s eyes bulged and his mouth worked like a fish did he relax his hold and drop him. Coughing and choking, the man tried to crawl away.

  Wyatt allowed him to get a few feet, then looped power around his ankles and dragged him back. Kicking him over to his back, Wyatt studied him.

  “Don’t!” The man screamed, then went for his gun.

  Why did people have to be so stupid?

  With a flick of his fingers, the gun sailed away and landed in the lake with a plop. “How many?”

  “What?” The hoarsened word came out ragged and rough. A partially crushed windpipe made it difficult to speak.

  “How many?” Wyatt repeated the question, slowly and deliberately. Goliath stood like a silent sentinel guarding the man he’d trampled to death. His ears flicked forward, focused on Wyatt’s voice and the man at Wyatt’s feet.

  “Just the five of us and the old man.” Men in pain didn’t lie well and This Man was no exception. Wyatt closed the loop of power around his neck and snapped it, then ran for the house. The front door stood open, so he didn’t slow. Inside, a man stared at a quietly contemplative Quanto, his gun raised.

  “Adam sends his regards,” the man said. “May the Blood die with you.”

  With the application of the right amount of force, metal would bend. He twisted the gun barrel and the arm holding with the same application. The man fell to his knees, screaming. Quanto met Wyatt’s gaze, but didn’t challenge the act nor did he say anything when Wyatt picked up the screaming man and dragged him from the room.

  Outside again, he threw him down the front steps and stared at him. Impassive and unmoved by the man’s cries and agony. “How many?”

  “I—I—was—the—last.” Good. One who knew not to lie. Refreshing, almost.

  “Did Adam have a message for me?”

  Surprise skittered across the pained man’s expression, and his gaze darted to the house then back to Wyatt. Yes. Quanto’s death had been the message.

  “Don’t torture him,” Quanto said from the doorway, his tired voice a reprobation.

  Snapping the man’s neck was a mercy he didn’t deserve. “Don’t say it,” he told Quanto. Leaving the dead man, he reached for the shaman’s arm and guided him into the house. “It�
�s too cold out here for you.”

  “Wyatt…”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You have no defense for him and, even if you could offer one, I wouldn’t listen. He sent Cantrell to distract me.”

  Quanto sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his increasingly frail shoulders. Easing him into his chair, Wyatt reclaimed the blankets and settled them across his lap. He stirred up the fire and added another log. The heat struck him like a blast after the cooler air.

  “Perhaps we should not struggle against the inevitable.” The note of defeat in his voice was so unlike the man he’d known for more than six decades, Wyatt paused.

  “I am with you to the end, old friend. Your end, when it is your time. Not a moment before.”

  Julianna, Outside of Dorado

  Racing the wind was as close to flying as she would ever come, but she leaned into the mare and held on as she achieved the gallop. The land whisked past her and the wind pulled at her hair. The smoothness of the horse’s canter didn’t quite translate to running, but she locked her legs and kept the reins in firm hands and let the mare have her head. When her brothers dragged her halfway across the country, abandoning civilization for the rugged lands of the west, she’d half-hated them. They’d taken her from everything she knew—everything they knew—and deposited her in a half-built backwater town with no culture, no theater, no music, and only a saloon for entertainment.

  Not that it allowed her any entertainment. Women weren’t welcome in the saloon unless they planned to work serving drinks and being groped by cowhands. Letting out some of her aggravation, she exulted when her mare’s muscles bunched and then they soared over a rocky dip to land on the other side and continue their race.

  Like her, the animal wanted to run. She could feel the mare’s excitement as she stretched herself and pushed her muscles. Life in captivity was not pleasant. Still one part of this backwater she had to admire was the gorgeous countryside. Open land surrounded her. Trickling streams fed pocket ponds, groves of trees from white elms to towering cypress, pines and other species she didn’t recognize.

  Even the herbs and wild flowers were different. It took her weeks to identify the properties of some and linking them to the types she knew. The mare slowed her breakneck pace and Julianna relaxed her hands, letting her drop from a gallop to a canter and finally to a trot. She matched the horse’s movements with her post and dragged in a grateful breath of air.

  Free from the town and her brothers’ vigilant guard, she could simply be. Her third escape in as many weeks and she could thank the men who ran the town for the opportunity of freedom. Jason Kane came ‘round more often than he had since they’d taken over the livery stable. His brother, the marshal, stopped in a few times, too. When she managed her escape, a third Kane, the one who ran the ranch and managed their horse stock, came to check on the animals and discuss a leasing program.

  Mitchell gave her stern orders to return to their house and lock herself in. She’d nodded obediently, murmured her farewells and slipped outside. Thankfully, she’d already hidden a saddle and reins, so once Mitchell and Royce became occupied, she stole away. The hint of rushing water attracted her attention, and she turned Sugar toward the lazy stream winding through the trees. The water demarcated open land from the Flying K border, or at least it did where it passed Dorado. Narrower here, the water moved more swiftly.

  At the water’s edge, she swung her leg over and dropped to her feet. Her muscles protested, particularly her thighs and calves. She’d locked them while racing along at speed, but it had been worth it. Breathless and alive, she grinned as she led the mare over and held the reins out of the water so she could drink.

  “You ride awfully well for a city slicker, Miss McKenna.”

  She jerked at the warm, laconic drawl of an unfamiliar man. Whirling, she found not one, but two men approached. Fear stiffened her spine and she dug in deep for the magic she’d entombed when they began this run to the west. The men halted and one of them raised his hands.

  “No need to get tetched,” he said, and the half-smile in his voice beckoned an answer. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Heart still racing, she glanced from one man to the other. The one speaking looked familiar, but she couldn’t pin down where she’d seen him before. The second man, however… “Mr. Kane.” She put a hand to her chest and tried to stuff the unfurling wave of power back into its bottle. Jason Kane, the stiff, albeit kind town manager who’d negotiated all of their leases and checked in on them periodically. “Forgive me, you startled me.”

  “No need to forgive, ma’am. We should apologize to you.” The second man spoke. “We spotted you running and worried you might have lost control of the mare.” His blue eyes sparkled when he spoke. If Jason Kane seemed cool and remote, the second man lived and breathed charm.

  “But you appear to be quite well,” Jason added smoothly, his unruffled manner so calm she couldn’t even imagine him racing his horse to keep up with her.

  “I’m not trespassing, am I?” Julianna took a moment to glance around. In town, the stream demarcated the Flying K’s border. Maybe it shifted this far upstream.

  “Not at all.” The second man shifted in the saddle, then nudged his hat back. Both men stared at her so intently; she imagined she could almost sense them inspecting her. The unsettling sensation worried her.

  “I should go,” she said. “My brothers will be expecting me.” Far away from here and at home where I wouldn’t be in a situation trapped with two strangers. Could she escape without drawing any undue attention? Or breaking another promise to her brothers?

  “Miss McKenna, you’re perfectly safe. Please continue your ride or your rest.” Jason Kane spoke in an even, almost kind tone. “We truly mean no harm.” He glanced sideways. “This is my other brother, by the way. I believe you’ve met Sam and Micah.”

  There were more of them? How many Kanes lived on the ranch?

  “William Kane, ma’am.” The charming one said, the kindness in his smile extending to his eyes. “Though most folks just call me Kid.”

  “Because they wish to insult you?” She hadn’t quite grasped the etiquette of such interactions out west. At home, men didn’t introduce themselves to ladies. They sent a card or inquired with her brothers, then gained introduction through them. Of course, my brothers aren’t here because I’m the one who ran off. Mitchell would be vexed with her.

  Vexed enough to hex…the thought was almost enough to make her smile. Almost. Mitchell would never blatantly reveal his talent, far too clever to slip. Or let himself be trapped into a situation where he had no choice.

  Mr. Charming—Kid—gave his brother an irritated look though he’d said nothing in response to her question. In fact, neither had. “No, ma’am. They call me Kid because they have since I was a baby and when you get a name, for the most part it sticks. The only folks who call me William are my wife and my father.”

  Oh, he was married. So was his brother if she recalled correctly. Relieved, though she had no idea why, she nodded. “Well it is nice to meet you, Mr. Kane.” She wouldn’t be calling him Kid or William for that matter. Sugar finished drinking, so she angled her foot for the metal stirrup and bounced up to land in the saddle. Her split riding skirt allowed her to swing her leg over and it wasn’t until she’d mounted that she considered they might think her actions outrageous.

  Manners had never been her strong suit.

  Far from looking appalled, however, Kid appeared amused. “Miss McKenna, if you would be so inclined, I’d like to invite you and your brothers to Sunday supper at the main house on the Flying K.”

  “Yes,” Jason agreed. “You could meet our wives and the rest of the family. I know the ladies would enjoy meeting you.”

  “I’m not really sure I can accept.” She hedged her answer. “The invitation should really go to Mitchell, and if you tell him…”

  Jason raised his hand. “Say no more. We’ll send the invitation properly.”<
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  “You know how to get back to Dorado from here?” Kid studied her.

  No, but she only said. “The way I came out should suffice.” Though they’d been running, they’d traveled in the same general direction.

  “We’re heading toward town ourselves,” Kid offered smoothly. “We’d be happy to escort you.”

  Oh, then she’d arrive in Dorado with two strangers escorting her? Mitchell might lock her in her room and lose the key. “No, but thank you for the kind offer,” she said, and then because it might be remiss of her to not respond to their earlier invitation, “And thank you for understanding why I can’t accept for Sunday.”

  Jason’s frowned at his brother. For one long uncertain moment, she experienced the oddest feeling, as though she only heard part of the conversation. Something about the two men—they were different. The difference itched at her skin. Stop borrowing trouble. The mental chastisement hardly made the feeling go away, but it did encourage her to ignore it.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Kane,” she said to Kid, then nodded to Jason. “Mr. Kane.”

  “When you come to the house for supper,” Kid drawled. “We’ll have to use our given names, and you can save Mr. Kane for our father.”

  Not likely, but she didn’t argue the point. “Good day to you both.” The sooner she made her escape, the better. As much as she longed for her freedom to simply be, taking risks with her brothers’ lives wasn’t worth her momentary pleasures.

  Kid touched his hand to his hat and Jason nodded to her, so she took the excuse to urge Sugar into a trot. The mare obliged her need to flee and, all the way home, Julianna promised herself it was the last time she slipped away. She managed to make it back before the afternoon was half-gone, but no sooner did she open the back gate to let herself in, than she found Royce waiting for her and, a half a step behind him, Mitchell.