River Song

by Sharon Ihle

  Patrick cleared his throat and walked over near her bedroom. "Now see here, lad. Yer makin' some mighty personal talkin' here and I do'na care to indulge ye any longer. Be on yer way."

  But real or imagined, Sunny's scent was all around him. He hadn't come this far just to be turned away now. "Sorry, but I don't plan to leave here without seeing her. I've a lot to tell her. Where is she?"

  "I'm tellin' ye, man. I do'na know."

  Cole slammed the chair against the plank floor. "Sunny? Answer me, dammit."

  "Aw, now that's really quite enough of yer insolence, sir. I'll be askin' ye to take yer leave now." Patrick slapped his hands to his hips and spread his legs, blocking his daughter's doorway.

  More certain than ever he'd found her, Cole searched for the words that would bring her out of hiding. But to appease her father, he took a backward step.

  "All right, Mr. Callahan. I'll be leaving." He took his hat from the table and spun it in his hands. "Tell Sunny I'm not going to stop looking for her."

  He took another step, then paused a few moments. "And please be sure to tell her that I love her."

  When this drew no response from behind the closed door, Cole resumed his retreat. Just before he reached the threshold, he turned, his hat still in his hands, and tossed a final lure.

  "Oh, by the way. There is one other thing she may be interested in hearing about."

  Again he paused, then raised his voice a notch. "Sean has been arrested for the murder of Buck Wheeler."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sunny pushed her back against her bedroom wall near the door and drove her teeth into her knuckles. Had she heard Cole right? He loved her?

  But then she thought of her crimes. Remembered the proof, Dust Bucket, stood tied in the corn field. Maybe Cole was trying to use her vulnerable heart as a way to trap her, to catch her off guard.

  Torn with indecision, Sunny stood motionless and kept her silence.

  Then Cole uttered his parting words.

  Sunny gasped. Was it a trap? Or had her brother really been arrested for a murder she'd committed?

  The heavy thud of Cole's boots grew dimmer. She listened to the unnaturally slow heel-to-toe gait resounding against the wood floor. Was he giving her plenty of time in which to make the most logical decision?

  But time wouldn't help. Sunny knew what that decision had to be. She could take a chance with her own life, but not with her brother's. For Sean, if for no other reason, she would have to reveal herself.

  Sunny tore open her bedroom door.

  She expected to find her father standing in the frame, but instead, Patrick was already halfway across the room.

  "If this be dooble talk," Patrick threatened as he reached Cole. "If yer usin' me boy to get to me girl, I swear by all that's holy I'll have ye bound and roasted."

  "Pop," Sunny called. "Please, let him be. I have to talk to him. Cole? Is it true? Has Sean really been arrested?"

  Looking past the red-faced Irishman, Cole's hungry gaze feasted on the woman he loved. Her skin was flushed with sleep and her long raven-black hair hung down to her waist in stark contrast to the fresh white cotton of her nightgown.

  "Sunny," he whispered, too grateful to find her alive and unharmed to say anything else.

  "Well?" she demanded.

  "He's safe for the time being." Cole's green eyes warmed, growing moist as he softly said, "And how are you, little flower?"

  Sunny's breath caught. Her throat swelled, and her heart felt as if it had grown to twice its size. Maybe he really did love her.

  All pretenses of modesty forgotten, she hurried across the room, the hem of her long nightgown skipping along after her like a bridal train. She stopped just inches from him, her vision refusing to acknowledge her father's image at his side.

  "Cole," she whispered thickly.

  Impatient arms and eager fingers intertwined as they closed the gap and clung to one another. Cole rocked her, pressed her against his body as he filled her ear with his innermost thoughts.

  "Oh, Sunny. You don't know how worried I've been, the dreadful thoughts I had when I didn't come across you on the trail. How could you just leave like that? Why didn't you come to me and tell me how you were feeling? Don't you know how much you mean to me?"

  Pressing her mouth against his leather vest, she tried to unravel the ball of string her mind had become. "Yes, no. I do not know."

  Leaning back, Sunny looked into his eyes and tried to make him understand. "I can only be certain of how much you mean to me. The things I do, I do for you. When I heard you and your father arguing about me, I could not stay in your home any longer."

  "What are you talking about?" Cole furrowed his brow, adding, "And what does my dad's opinion have to do with us, anyway?"

  "A damn sight more than me own opinion, from the look of it," Patrick cut in. "In the name o' decency, man, unhand me daughter and let us adjourn to the table."

  Suddenly aware of her father, Sunny pushed away from Cole and lowered her gaze. "Pop, forgive me. I did not mean any disrespect."

  "Later, lassie. Ye run make yerself decent fer now. I'll tend to this here young man. When yer dressed proper, we'll be gettin' our answers." Patrick shifted his gaze to Cole. "Isn't that right, lad?"

  Sunny gave Cole a sideways glance, then rolled her eyes and scampered out of the room.

  His gaze still spearing his visitor, Patrick pointed at the south wall. "Grab a chair and sit. I'll be tending to me chores before I join ye." Then he limped into the kitchen, his left knee stiffer than usual, and finished lighting the stove.

  As he worked, he called to his unexpected guest, "Would ye be a drinking man?"

  Cole measured his words—and Sunny's father—before he quietly said, "Occasionally."

  A few moments later, Patrick appeared with a bottle and three glasses. "I kin see no harm in sharing a snort with ye even if y'ar the scalawag who introduced the evils of belly-wash to my innocent colleen."

  Never taking one squinty blue eye off Cole, Patrick's expression was a silent challenge as he banged the bottle on the table and dropped into a chair.

  But Cole was ready for the man, if not his puzzling accusation. "Your daughter and I have never shared any spirits. Seems to me there might be a few misunderstandings here. What say you and me clear the air before Sunny joins us?"

  Patrick pulled the cork out of the bottle with a resounding pop. "I do'na see the harm in the two of us sharin' a word s'long as me girl welcomes ye here. Just keep one thing in mind—ye can always tell an Irishman, but ye can't tell him much."

  As soon as the words were out, Patrick began to laugh at his own joke. The response came from deep within, building strength and velocity as it spilled out. Cole automatically joined in, but his chuckles were strained with tension, and stuttered rather than roared with life.

  Taking a deep breath, Cole promised, "I'll do my best to remember that, sir."

  "Name's Patrick.Yer welcome to use it." The gray-haired man poured two glasses of amber liquid and shoved one across the table. "I'd like t' say I'm offering my best, but I cain't vouch for this whiskey. Just picked it up today since me girl and I drank up the last of Moonstar's poteen this past evenin'."

  "Poteen?"

  "That'd be homemade mescal to yer way of thinkin', I s'ppose."

  "I once drank something the Apaches at Fort McDowell made by fermenting century plants. They called it mescal, and as I recall," Cole grimaced just thinking about it, "a shot of that rot gut could peel the hide off a Gila monster."

  "Or grow hair on a sidewinder."

  Patrick slapped his knees as both men burst out in laughter. This time, they were in unison and equally boisterous.

  Encouraged by Patrick's amicable nature, Cole lifted his glass. "How about a toast? To your beautiful daughter, Sunflower, and your fine son, Sean."

  Patrick raised his glass, then he groaned and set it back down on the table.

  "Sean," he murmured, his features suddenly pinched
and wrinkled. "I have to know about him, and I'll be askin' ye to spare me the blarney, sir. What're me boy's chances with the hangman?"

  Pushing out a heavy sigh, Cole shook his head then took a swallow of whiskey. After giving the spirits a moment to warm him, he looked up at Patrick. "I honestly can't answer that question until I talk with Sunny. The best I can do to ease your mind is to assure you that I've taken every precaution to make certain there won't be any hanging party or quick trial. Sheriff Brucker will take good care of him until I'm heard from."

  "Humph." Patrick downed his whiskey in one angry gulp. " 'Tis the best I kin hope for, I s'ppose."

  The bedroom door swung open and Sunny swept into the room wearing a smoke-gray wrapper with small pink flowers embroidered throughout the fabric. Her hair was brushed and tied back with a length of charcoal velvet cut from the belt she'd tied around her waist.

  Uncomfortable with the extra petticoats she'd donned, Sunny smoothed her skirt as she stepped up to the table. "Did I hear right? Have you two made your peace?"

  The men exchanged glances. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, Cole gave Patrick the floor.

  "Our peace, or lack of it, 'tisn't the trouble, lass. I b'lieve yer knowin' that."

  Her breath whooshed out in a faint "Oh," but before she had a chance to speak further, Cole pushed out of his chair and moved to her side.

  "She knows what the problems are, sir—Patrick. I'd appreciate it if you'd allow us a few minutes alone before we try to figure out what to do next." Glancing into Sunny's eyes, he offered a reassuring wink then turned back to Patrick. "Do you mind if we take a walk around the farm?"

  Looking to his daughter, the Irishman raised his bushy brows. At her short nod, he scowled, but said, "Aye, but be quick about it. If ye stumbled on her so easily, so will others."

  Clutching her skirts, Sunny started for the door, her expression grim. With Cole one step behind her, she waded through the chicken-strewn yard, but kept her stony silence until they reached the riverbank.

  Scanning the area, she made sure no late-bathing Quechan braves floated in one of the calm recesses at water's edge, then turned on Cole. "How could you let them arrest Sean for murdering Buck Wheeler? Surely he told them he was not to blame. Why would they not believe him?"

  "Sunny, we have a few other things to talk about first, matters that are extremely important."

  "Nothing is more important than my brother right now, and I will speak of nothing else until I know he is cleared."

  Cole narrowed his eyes, but held his temper in check. Trying to think rationally, calmly, he answered her questions the only way he could. With the truth.

  "Sean was arrested for Buck's murder because he didn't have an alibi."

  "But of course he did," she protested. "Why he was with Ei—he ..." Sunny bit her lip, knowing full well why her brother would never use Eileen as an excuse in such a manner. Suddenly wondering how much Cole knew, she tested him.

  "You will just have to take my word for it. He was definitely somewhere else that night, with someone, but I cannot say who that person might be."

  "Yes, you can. Sean was with Eileen Hobbs."

  "Then they were found together?" Sunny's heart raced as she thought of the consequences her brother would have to suffer for that kindness. "They will kill him for sure. We must go to him."

  "Relax, sweetheart. No one knows about Eileen but me. When I stopped by the sheriff's office, I had a long talk with Sean about you and his lady friend. He's stubborn." Cole reached over and pinched her cheek. "Just like you. I gave your brother my word I would keep my mouth shut, and assured him that Eileen's reputation will remain intact."

  "And so she has gone back to her dreadful father?"

  "No. Last time I saw her, she was going to apply for a job at Phoebe's Millinery so she could keep one eye on the jail. I don't think she plans to leave town until she can go with Sean."

  Some of her fears were eased, but it wasn't nearly enough. "I thought the Fremont name was very important in Phoenix. Could you not tell them Sean is innocent and make them believe it?"

  "I could try, but it wouldn't do any good." Taking a step closer, he peered into her eyes. "There's a very good reason your brother is still in jail, darlin'. Sean hasn't told the sheriff he didn't kill Buck, and you know what? I don't think he plans to."

  "Why? That is insane." Sunny's hand fluttered to her breast. "Sean did not kill that low-down, that, that son of a bitch. I did."

  Cole groaned and crushed her to his chest. Wishing he could absorb her pain, make her problems disappear, he whispered into her fragrant hair, "I know, sweetheart. I know."

  Swallowing a sob, Sunny pushed away from him. "Then you tell the sheriff. I cannot bear to know Sean is being punished for my crime. You must insist he be set free."

  "Oh, honey, I wish it were that easy, but it's not." He held her shoulders between his hands and drew her close. "I can't hope to have him released without providing another suspect. You don't actually think for one minute I could turn you in, do you?"

  Sunny lowered her lashes, but in the next instant, she filled her lungs and lifted her chin. "No. I would not ask such a thing of you. I shall do it myself."

  "You will not." Cole released her and turned his palms and attention to the skies. "Is this entire family loco?"

  Then, shoving his hands in his pockets, he stomped along the river's edge, kicking at the ground, cursing the pebbles. "Damn, damn, double-down dammit. There has to be a way out of this for everyone. Something that will appease the law, yet keep you safe."

  Cole let his words die out as he turned back toward Sunny and shot her a scathing look. "I might have figured something out long before now if I hadn't spent the last few days looking for you, half out of my mind with worry. It's not that I don't care about your brother, you know. It's because I haven't had a chance to think about anything but you."

  "Cole, I do not know what to say."

  "Don't say anything, especially to the law." He uttered a short laugh and added, "It wouldn't matter if you did. Sean will never let you be hauled in for Buck's murder any more than I will." He turned back to the river and scratched his head. "There has to be a way out of this."

  Sunny stood on the bank looking down on Cole as he considered the options. He shrugged one shoulder to release the tension, rotated his head, then shrugged the other. He'd ridden as hard as she, driven himself to the same exhaustion on his journey from Phoenix. But he had done it all for her. She was asking, demanding, too much of him.

  Lifting her skirts, Sunny worked her way down beside him. "Buck is the man who took my mother's life," she said, hoping to fill in the blanks.

  But he surprised her, acknowledging, "I know. I beat it out of Stormy."

  "Stormy?"

  Nodding, Cole looked back out to the river. "He was on that trip to Yuma with me and Buck. He confessed to everything."

  "He was the other? You mean he also attacked my mother?"

  Cole slipped his arm around her shoulders. "He's in jail. Don't think about him now. We've much more important people to think about."

  "But we have to think about him. If Stormy has told the sheriff what he and Buck did to my mother, I can turn myself in. They would not hang me for self-defense, would they?"

  Cole ran a finger along her hairline. "I'd like to think not, but there's no way of telling what the fine citizens of Phoenix would do with you. They're not all so forgiving when it comes to people who are different than they are."

  "I think I see." Sunny raised her chin and cocked her head. "The sheriff might just hang me anyway because I am a lowly Quechan?"

  Unable to argue the point, Cole pressed his lips together.

  "I believe that is answer enough." Disregarding her long skirts, Sunny grabbed Cole's hand and pulled. "Come. Let us return to my father's house. He has much experience with these pure-blooded idiots. He will know how to deal with them."

  Because he was so tired, because he had no other an
swers for her, Cole allowed himself to be led.

  After they returned to the house, Cole slipped back into his chair and quietly observed while Sunny and her father compared notes, worked at finding a reasonable solution, and argued over which Callahan would claim responsibility for the death in Phoenix.

  As they bantered in their unique blend of Quechan/Irish expressions, Cole sipped his whiskey and mulled over several ideas. One in particular, one that had popped into his mind several times during his long journey tracking Sunny, kept returning, blooming into something much more special than a solution to a problem. The idea, he suspected with an inward grin, had been churning in his mind for several days. Was now the time to present it?

  Patrick made the decision for him. "I kin see the smoke billowin' outta yer ears from here, lad. Out with it. Have ye an idea for helpin' me girl outta this mess?"

  "Maybe," Cole said with a short laugh.

  Patrick refilled his glass. "Let's hear it, lad. Time's awastin'."

  "All right." Cole's expression became guarded, serious. "I've been sitting here doing a little thinking, and you know, I have to admit that Sunflower Callahan stands a pretty good chance of convincing the sheriff she killed Buck in self-defense."

  "See, Pop," Sunny cut in. "I thought that would be the best thing to do."

  "Ah," Cole said, adding steam to his train of thought, "but there will be a price. I'm willing to bet the spring calving there'd be a sentence of some kind." Cole pinned Sunny with his gaze, then took a large gulp of whiskey. "You'd probably have to endure at least a short vacation in the Yuma Territorial Prison."

  Sunny and Patrick shivered in unison.

  Glancing from father to daughter, Cole leaned across the table and lifted one eyebrow. His grin crooked, boyish, he said, "But I'm also thinking I might know a way to get her off scot-free."

  At their curious expressions, he explained.

  "I'm willing to bet your farm, the sheriff would never dream of tossing Mrs. Cole Fremont into that hellhole."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sunny read the oak and brass name plate again: Judge James R. Hoy.