Heartsong

by Lynn Winchester

  Beside her, Mac stood as still as a mountain, but the heat of him seemed to move out in waves, crashing into her. As the chill wind caressed her face and Mac’s presence warmed her blood, one question rose up from the whirl of thoughts.

  She took a deep breath to fortify her nerves and clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Mac…am I…your heartsong?”

  She nearly bolted when he tensed, his body going rigid when a second ago he was as relaxed as she’d ever seen him. Oh, Lord, what have I done?

  He turned his head to look at her, his face hidden completely, as his back was to the moonlight. Suddenly terrified of what he’d say, she raised her hands to silence him. “No! Don’t answer. I’m just exhausted, prattling on like a ninny. I should go. I can get to the house from here. Goodnight, Mac.” She tried to slink by him to run down the hill to the back door as fast as her legs could carry her, but Mac’s hand caught her elbow, stopping her before she took two steps.

  “You’re running again, thanáǧina. Why ask if you didn’t want to know?” He leaned in, tipping his head to the side in a way that made her heart stumble.

  She shrugged, forcing herself to stand still and not tremble like a frightened rabbit. “Like I said, I’m tired. My mouth runs away with me sometimes. Think nothing of it, Mac.” He turned them, so now they were facing the moon, his face in full view. She held her breath as the heat of her flush rambled through her, from her bare feet to the tips of her hair.

  He cocked an eyebrow and a slow, lopsided grin turned her insides into hot oatmeal. “I think you asked because you really want to know. And I can tell you…” he drawled, raising a hand to run a warm, callused finger over her cheek. She watched, her heart in her throat, as he took a step closer and leaned down. It was like the world had slowed to a crawl, allowing her to experience every thrill and tribulation of that moment…every wondrous and woeful sensation. Would he kiss her? Should she let him?

  Heavens above, yes, she should!

  The heat of his breath slid over her lips. She closed her eyes, her whole body set to go up in flames.

  Someone called her name, shattering that moment into a billion little pieces. She opened her eyes, blinked, and looked down toward the house where the shout came from. Startled when her name was called again, she stepped away from Mac and he dropped his hand, sighing heavily. She watched in fascination as he rolled his shoulders, as if trying to loosen the tension from them. Maybe he was as shaken as she was…and as frustrated about their almost kiss.

  “Sounds like you were missed,” he said, a smirk in his voice.

  It was her turn to sigh. “Apparently. I wonder what they want, why they were looking for me to find me gone?” It hit her then. “Have they found Bernie?”

  She took off at a run, not bothering to see if Mac followed behind. She tripped twice, but caught herself before she fell head first, then she continued on. She didn’t stop until she reached the back door. She pulled the back door open, tore through the house to the front door. It was wide open and Timmy was standing there, hands on his hips, his face as red as a beet, and his eyes angrier than she’d ever seen them.

  “Where have you been? I figured you’d been snatched from your bed!” he nearly roared. His arms flew up to the heavens as if begging God to rain down His fury on her head. He lowered a hand and pointed at her. “You’d best have a good reason for scaring the life out of me, Henrietta Temperance Hanlon.”

  Lord, but he used her full, hideous name. She stood there, beneath her brother’s concern and scorn, and wondered how much to tell him. It was her idea to leave the house and go into the woods, and it was her choice to stay with Mac. If Timmy discovered she’d been with Mac, would Mac bear the brunt of her brother’s wrath? Would Timmy fire Mac?

  “I wanted to go for a walk, so I did,” she said, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in defiance. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need your permission to leave my room, Timothy Glenn Hanlon.” She gave back what she got. “So don’t you go being all cussed mean and annoying. I’m here, I’m safe. There’s no need to get your knickers into a knot.”

  “No need?” be began, tossing his thumb over his shoulder out the front door. “I guess you didn’t see our guests out in front.”

  As he spoke, a tall, swarthy man, with a shiny badge, and glinting gaze sidled through the door. He looked worn to death, but he still appeared about as lethal as the guns strapped to his waist.

  “Rhetta,” Timmy said, stepping closer to plant a hand on her shoulder. His grip tightened. “We caught one of them…one of the men who took Bernie.”

  Shocked to her toes, her first thought was “where is Bernie?” Her second thought was, “I wish Mac was here…”

  Chapter 12

  His thanáǧina ran again…but, at least this time, she was running for something, rather than away from something. He’d watched her race down the hill and into the house. He picked up and took off after her, at the last second deciding to go around to the front of house instead of through it. He wasn’t part of the family; his place wasn’t in the house. Matter of fact, he’d only ever been in the house six times in three years—the last time being when he cradled Rhetta against his chest and carried her into the building.

  Coming around the side of house, he stopped short at the sight of three men. He knew two of them. He assumed the one in irons, with a burlap bag over his head, was a stranger. The other two men were Sheriff Taylor Temogen, and Marshal Stuart Gregson. He’d seen the men in Morgan’s Crossing earlier that day, when he and Timothy went there to tell Sheriff Temogen about Bernadette’s kidnapping. Gregson, not a town regular, was there visiting regarding a cold case. Gregson didn’t tell Mac more than that, but he didn’t have to. Mac had enough of his own problems to worry about. Thankfully, though, Gregson was a skilled lawman, and he was willing to stick around and give them use of his gun hand.

  Now, guessing from the position of the moon in the sky, it was nearing midnight. What were these men doing out here so late? Whoever that man in the burlap bag was, he was important enough to merit a two-hour trip out of town in the dark.

  As he approached, Sheriff Temogen nodded in greeting and climbed the steps to the front door behind Timothy, disappearing into the house. The lanterns on either side of the door were blazing, casting a fair amount of light into the patch of yard where the other two men were standing.

  “Mac,” Gregson called out as Mac neared the group gathered in front of the house beside three winded horses. Goodness, but those men must’ve been riding for high ground in a flash flood.

  “Gregson,” he greeted, coming to stand beside him. Marshal Stuart Gregson was a tall man with broad shoulders, shoulder-length hair, and piercing gray eyes. He had the look of a haunted man, but also a man with morals, and a desire for justice. He carried his badge with pride, and he considered it his life’s mission to make Montana a safer place. It was one of the things that made Mac appreciate the man. The other was Gregson’s ability to see to a man’s heart without looking at his skin first. “What brings you out here so late? And who is this?” Mac asked, indicating the other man with a tip of his chin.

  Gregson pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “This here just might be one of the men you’re looking for.”

  Startled, Mac was about to ask him how he figured that when Sheriff Temogen exited the house with Timothy and a pale Rhetta trailing behind him. His hummingbird was terrified, he could read it in the strained lines of her face and the trembling in her shoulders. But when she caught sight of him, the lines on her face lightened, and she seemed to find the strength enough to continue forward with her shoulders back.

  “Timothy. Sheriff Temogen,” Mac acknowledged the men while also trying not to stare at Rhetta. It took all his will to keep his gaze on her brother…who looked about ready to tear through the man under the burlap. Timothy strode to the man and pulled the bag from his head. Rhetta gasped and Mac finally turned to look at her, his h
eart in his throat.

  She was paler then than he’d ever seen her. Her trembling shoulders returned, and her hand was firmly planted over her mouth, her free hand rising slowly, shaking like a leaf in the wind, to point at the man.

  “That’s…one of them,” she murmured, her voice as shaky as the rest of her. Mac took a step toward her, desperate to pull her into his arms and let her lean into his strength. But a warning look in Timothy’s eyes told him he’d best stay right where he was. It also told him he’d be having a talk with Timothy later…

  Cursing silently, he could only stare at Rhetta as Timothy went to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. She noticeably calmed—her big brother was there. She didn’t need Mac, not right then, at least. It was a prick against his pride, but he’d felt worse. And he knew Rhetta was strong enough to handle whatever happened. She wasn’t just a hummingbird, she was a tree spirit; wise, deeply rooted, and capable of standing against anything.

  Mac took a deep breath and turned away from Rhetta, finally looking at the face of the man who dared to steal Bernadette from her loving family. He was slight of build, had greasy orange hair, a wiry, filthy, ginger beard, and a mouthful of brown teeth. The man smelled of piss whiskey, smoke, and unwashed body. Mac ran a finger under his nose and moved to stand downwind of the man-sized critter.

  Timothy and Rhetta stepped closer, and Timothy’s hand on Rhetta’s arm turned white. It was clear the man was holding himself back from thumping the fiend.

  “Who are you and where did you take my sister?” Timothy asked, his voice thrumming with threats.

  Rhetta tore out of her brother’s hold and took several strides to the man, sticking a finger into the man’s chest. “This one called himself Brandt. This is the one that held the gun to Bernie’s head.” Her voice was stronger than he expected. Then again, Rhetta was stronger than he expected. She’d walked right up the man and poked him like a momma scolding her son. A son that needed a lifetime stretch in prison.

  The man, Brandt, stared down at Rhetta’s finger and sneered, his already ugly face twisting into a mask of mocking anger. “Git yer finger off’n me, girl. I didn’t do nuthin’. Ya got the wrong guy,” he said, his words escaping on a waft of foul breath. Mac coughed but didn’t turn away. He was determined to make sure the man beside him didn’t make a move to hurt Rhetta; he’d already hurt Rhetta enough.

  “Yes, you did, you sidewinder! You took my sister! Where is she?” Rhetta’s cheeks were no longer pale, they were flushed with a deep red that made her look glorious in her fury. “And don’t you dare lie to me again. I want my sister back.”

  Brandt chuckled, a sickly rumble from his throat. “I don’t have ta tell ya nuthin’. Cassius is good at hidin’. He can hide fer months, and yer sister is gonna be quite the comfort to him on those long, cold nights.”

  Rhetta gasped, her indignant flush disappearing in a blink.

  Anger rushed through Mac and a black haze fell over his vision. He reached out and gripped the man by the neck, leaning in to speak into his ear. Clear. Loud. “You tell her what she needs to know or I will put a bullet between your eyes—and to hell to all those who try to stop me,” he growled, aware of the shocked stares from the men around him. Sheriff Temogen was the law in Morgan’s Crossing and nearby Sweetwater Springs, and Stuart Gregson was a federal marshal. Both of those men were sworn to keep the law, and that meant keeping one man from killing another, even if one of those men deserved to rot in Perdition forever.

  “Now see here, Solomon. No one’s killing anyone tonight,” Sheriff Temogen said, coming to Brandt’s other side to pry Mac’s fingers from the man’s neck. When Brandt chuckled again, Temogen took his turn to lean in. “I said ‘killing’, I didn’t say anything about wounding—so it’s best that you tell these fine people where they can find Miss Bernadette.”

  As if coming out of a self-induced, arrogant trance, Brandt’s eyes widened, realization of his situation settling over his now slackened expression. “Now see here, Sheriff. You don’t need to go woundin’ nobody. It wasn’t even my idea. It was Cassius. He was the one godawful mad about gettin’ sent up fer a three year stretch fer what we did fer Thomas Wheeler. I wanted to ferget it, to go home and see ‘bout gettin’ a job in a mine near Billin’s. But Cassius…” the man seemed to break down, right before their eyes. His shoulders trembled, his lips thinned to two threads on his face, and his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. “Cassius told me I had to come, that we were only gettin’ what was owed to us fer stealin’ those prospectin’ maps from the land office fer Wheeler. And fer takin’ the time in prison.” He swallowed, and sweat poured down his forehead. Since his hands were cuffed behind his back, he had to use his shoulder to wipe the sweat, and then the tears, from his cheeks.

  “We came to Morgan’s Crossin’ to see iffin we could get a little somethin’ from that big ol’ house right there. Maybe take a few things, sell ‘em, get somethin’ fer it. But…those girls—that one and the other one that looks juss like ‘er—came up that hill. We hid and listened to ‘em talkin’, and Cassius said they was with Wheeler. Said we should take ‘em fer ransom.”

  “Where did Cassius take Bernadette?” Timothy asked, his tone a mix of desperate pleading and frustration.

  Sheriff Temogen leaned into Brandt again. “Best answer the man’s questions. Mr. Brandt.”

  Brandt nodded, closing his eyes in a slow blink, then opened them again. They were red and wide and full of regret.

  Regret meant nothing without absolution.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I said don’t lie!” Rhetta cried and, this time, Mac didn’t stop himself from going to her. He took her hand in his and squeezed. She didn’t look at him, but she squeezed his hand back, acknowledging him. Warmth spread through him, starting at where their hands were linked. It was a feeling of connection, of belonging. Timothy stared down at where Mac and Rhetta were linked, but he didn’t say anything. Timothy only pierced Mac with a look he knew meant that “talk” they were going to have wouldn’t be a short one.

  “I swear, I don’t know where Cassius took that girl,” Brandt muttered.

  “That girl is my twin sister, Bernadette!” Rhetta cried, and Mac squeezed her hand again, feeling cut off at the knees. As a trained tracker and man hunter, he was used to getting what he wanted out of a man. He could do the same thing now, if not for the sheriff stalling his hand. Brandt was lucky the law had a hold of him…

  “Cassius sent me to deliver a message, told me to put the package on yer porch…”

  Gregson grunted. “So why did we find you in town, at Rigsby’s Saloon sucking down fingers of whiskey?”

  Brandt swore. “Cassius is gonna kill me…” he whined.

  Mac took that moment to remind the man he was still there. “I think you ought to worry more about me and what I’ll do to you if your friend has laid a finger on Bernadette.” He felt Rhetta’s eyes on him. When he turned to meet her gaze, he saw admiration, uncertainty, and a darker, hotter emotion. An emotion that burned him to his core.

  Sheriff Temogen coughed, tearing Mac’s attention, and sensations, from the woman beside him. Mac respected Sheriff Temogen. A tall man with pin-straight, black hair and eyes as dark as coal, Taylor Temogen could make any man swear to heaven for a bit of mercy. Just like Mac, Temogen had lived his life as something other than a “white man”, one man trying to live in two different worlds. But unlike Mac, Sheriff Temogen had found a home, a calling, and the love of a good woman. Just then, Rhetta’s hand brushed against his thigh. His body tightened at the contact, driving the blood through his veins at a gallop. His gaze dropped to Rhetta’s face, but she didn’t turn to look at him this time.

  She was flushed from neck to hair, but this flush wasn’t from anger. She felt what he was feeling, and that brought relief—he wasn’t alone in their attraction—and an even deeper sense of possessiveness.

  “I was ‘spose to come right here, drop off the package, and meet
Cassius in the mornin’. But…I was a lil’ thirsty. I didn’t think gettin’ one drink would hurt none…I was powerful thirsty,” Brandt confessed, licking his lips.

  “He quenched his thirst so well, he started talking about a girl he’d taken and how much money they’d be getting to give her back. Got one of the regulars to get a message to me. We picked him up and figured he might have something to do with your missing sister,” Sheriff Temogen shared, clearing up a lot of the questions Mac didn’t know he had.

  Mac sneered. The man was a slave to a vice that had led to his capture. Good and bad. Bad that he was a whiskey-wet fool, but good that the sheriff and Gregson were there to get him.

  “Meet him where?” Gregson asked.

  “At that place where we took the girl—I mean, Miss Bernadette,” he finished as Rhetta’s eyes bored into him. “Up there on that hill.”

  “What was in the package?” Mac asked, persistent. What was so important that it risked them getting caught to deliver it.

  “Cassius said ya’ll might need a bit of pushin’ to be sure ya delivered the money…”

  Mac watched Rhetta’s face flatten into a sheet of terror. “What…what’s in the package?”

  “See fer yerself. It’s right here in my pocket,” he answered, using his chin to point to his right pocket.

  Clearing his throat, Sheriff Temogen stepped back far enough to look down at the pocket. With a quick glance at Timothy and Rhetta, the man reached down to fish in Brandt’s pocket. Seconds later he pulled out a bit of fabric. It was wrapped around something.

  Timothy dropped his arm from Rhetta’s shoulder and walked toward Temogen. Mac and Rhetta, still connected, followed close behind.

  They stood in a circle, heads together, as Temogen raised the bundle. He hesitated, his hand poised over the bundle, and met Rhetta’s gaze. “Miss, it might be better if you don’t see.”