“Trader!” she gasped.
“Dirty dog took a shot at me out in the east pasture,” Trader muttered, going to the pump and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as the water began to flow from it.
Fallon rushed to him, pushed his hands from their unbuttoning, and tore the shirt open to inspect the wound. “Take it off!” she ordered as she turned him so she could better see from where the blood emanated. A heavy sigh of relief left her breathless as she looked up at him and said, “It’s just grazed.”
“I know that,” Trader said, wadding up the torn shirt and soaking it in the stream of water from the pump.
“Well, I didn’t,” Fallon said. “You scared me to death! You’re the one who shouldn’t be out there. It’s you they want.”
“No. They were just trying to scare me. They’d have killed me if they wanted to,” he said, pressing the wet cloth to the wound.
Taking hold of the hem of his hood with both her hands, she tugged at it roughly. “Be careful. You could’ve been killed! You don’t know for sure it isn’t what they want. Do you hear me? You think you’re invincible somehow. But you bleed like everyone else, and they will kill you if they can!”
“Charles Ashby doesn’t want me dead, Fallon,” he assured her. “He wants to get hold of you so he can control me. He wants my money. And he won’t kill me—at least until he has it.”
Fallon looked to Patty and Julia, who both sighed heavily with worry.
As he cleaned the wound at his side, Trader spoke to Julia. “You have one of the hands ride home with you, Julia. And don’t be riding over alone for a while.” Looking to Fallon, he pointed a stiffened index finger at her and warned, “And you stay close to the house. In it, in fact!” He rinsed the shirt under the pump water again. “Patty, keep her in here. They slaughtered some more cattle out in the east pasture.” He threw the blood-soaked shirt into the large sink and turned to leave. Pausing, he turned back to Fallon and took hold of her throat with one hand. “I don’t want to find you out somewhere with your pretty little throat cut, do you hear me?” he growled. “Stay close to the house. Please!” he added. Then he left the room.
“You keep that wound clean! Do you hear me, Trader?” Patty called after him. There came no answer.
Fallon put a hand to her throat, not because Trader had hurt her, but because she adored the feel of being held by him. She adored his touch. Something about the way he held her throat thrilled her. She wanted all the ugliness heaped upon them to vanish so she could revel in the feel of his touch always.
Just before suppertime, Julia left, and Patty and Fallon watched the sun set from the front porch.
“The men won’t sleep much tonight,” Patty commented. “Trader will have them out watching the herds all night.”
“I can’t believe that man is my relation,” Fallon sighed. “I’m ashamed of it.”
“It’s not your fault, honey. We can’t choose who’s born into our family.”
“I know it. But—”
“But nothing. I hate to tell you this, but Trader’s been threatened before. He’s a rich man, and people resent it, even though he uses his money to do so much good.” Patty sighed heavily and went on. “His appearance makes people resent him too.”
Trader and Ben rode up then and reined to a halt. “It’s dark now, Fallon. Go inside please. We’ll be in shortly for supper, Patty. Hank and Paul are going to take the first watch. Ben and I will rest for a while after we eat.” Then they rode toward the stables. Patty took Fallon’s arm and led her into the house.
“I don’t want him out there in the dark, Patty. He’s a big target,” Fallon said.
“Well then, we’ll have to keep him inside somehow, won’t we?” Patty chuckled, winking.
After supper, Ben and Trader sat in the parlor talking. Trader relaxed, stretched out on the sofa, his long legs stretched out before him as his feet rested on a stool. Clearing her throat and summoning her newfound courage, Fallon entered the room and sat down on the sofa next to him. The hood turned to face her, and she could sense he was somewhat surprised at her doing so. She had never before sat next to him quite so casually and of her own easy choice.
“You’ll…I’ll not have you out there tonight, Trader,” she stated emphatically.
“What?” he asked. Ben grinned slyly and laced his fingers over his chest as if waiting to be entertained.
“You won’t be out in the dark providing a perfect target for those criminals to shoot at,” she explained, looking firmly into the darkness of the hood.
“Fallon—” he began, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting erect.
“Don’t argue with me. You expect me to be careful, and I expect no less from you. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“It’s different. Those cattle must be protected. And—”
“Let the hired men protect them. They aren’t in any danger.”
“That’s not true. Any one of them could be shot as easily as I could. I didn’t hire them to lose their lives on my account.”
“Then have them be extra cautious. Or give them the choice of helping us or not. But you won’t be out there tonight, and that is final.” As Fallon stood and walked from the room, she added, “I’ll be going to bed now, Trader. I expect to see you retire soon as well. It has been a very trying day, and we all need our rest. Good night, Ben.”
“Night, ma’am,” Ben called.
Fallon walked slowly from the room. Upon exiting it, she slipped aside quietly and listened for Trader’s reaction. Her heart pounded wildly, for she anticipated a great and wrathful explosion.
To her astonishment, Ben spoke first. “Well, what do ya make a that?”
“I think…” Trader stammered. “I think…I have to go out there, Ben. Who can tell how many more cattle they’ll take during the night?”
“She’s right, you know. They want to draw you out. Maybe here so they can get at ya easy. Ya let us other boys handle watchin’ the herd, Trader. Ya need to stay here…in the house…in case they try for her,” Ben counseled, lowering his voice.
“They won’t dare try to take the house,” Trader growled.
“They might,” Ben corrected.
“No. They’ll slaughter cattle for several days and try to scare me into giving them what they want. I’ll stand watch just like the others.”
Fallon smiled, delighted at the lack of anger in Trader’s voice. Quietly she tiptoed down the hall, stopping at Patty’s room.
“He’s still planning on going out,” Fallon told her friend.
“I’ll be ready then, honey. We’ve got to keep him in tonight. I feel it in my soul,” Patty whispered.
“So do I,” Fallon agreed. A tiny voice in her mind kept screaming at her, warning that if Trader ventured into the blackness this night, he wouldn’t come back.
As the clock on the chest of drawers struck the half hour, Fallon heard the door to the bedroom open. It had been almost impossible to lie in bed and wait for him for nearly an hour. Now it appeared he had decided to rest in their bed before his watch began. Praying quietly to herself, Fallon listened as he sat down on the bed. As she heard his heavy boots hit the floor, first one and then the other, her inner prayers turned to those of thankfulness. It was a weak plan she and Patty had concocted, but it was all they could do.
She felt him stretch out on the bed next to her and exhale deeply as he relaxed. The waiting was long and anxious, but finally his breathing slowed, and she could sense he was sleeping at last. Slowly, she moved to the edge of the bed and sat up. Quietly she crept to his side of the bed. Lifting his heavy boots from the floor, she silently crept to the door. Carefully opening the door, she did indeed find Patty faithfully waiting there to receive the boots. Patty smiled reassuringly and crept quietly down the hallway.
Returning to the bed, Fallon lay down as easily as she could. Trader stirred, but only enough to turn from his back to his stoma
ch.
“Did I wake you?” Fallon whispered softly. When no response came, she sighed in relief and closed her eyes. The day had been long and fatiguing. It took only moments for her to join him in careless slumber.
“Where are they, Fallon?” His demanding voice woke her instantly.
“What?” she asked groggily.
“My boots, Fallon. There isn’t a pair to be found in this house!” he growled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, sitting up and feigning ignorance.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll go anyway,” he told her.
“No! Wait,” she breathed, taking hold of his arm firmly. Kneeling in the bed, she held him tightly as she gazed up into the hood. “Trader, I’m…I feel…”
“I have to go, Fallon. Don’t be frightened—you’ll be fine. I’ll send Hank and Paul to sleep in the house. I can’t let those men—”
“They’ll be fine. It’s you who’s in danger tonight,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“I…I know it. I can’t explain it to you. It’s…it’s a feeling in my soul. A premonition. Please, Trader. Stay here…with me. Just for tonight. Please, I’m asking you to trust me just this once.” She waited as he stood motionless for some time. “You’ve protected me, Trader, saved me from so much pain and harm. Let me keep you safe this once. I know there’s danger for you tonight.”
Sighing heavily, Trader reached out and caressed her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. He brushed a strand of her hair from her face. “Very well,” he conceded.
Fallon took his hand from its place at her face. Clasping it tightly between both of her own, she kissed it quickly as tears of relief fell from her eyes. He pulled his hand away almost instantly, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. She realized it was the first time she had moved to touch him in such a familiar manner. It had obviously startled him, for he immediately turned from her for a moment as if confused.
“I…I think I’ll sit up awhile. Read perhaps. Will the lamp disturb your sleep?” he stammered, going to his desk and sitting in the chair before it as he lit the lamp.
“No. I’m so tired I can hardly see straight,” Fallon assured him as she lay down, comforted in the knowledge he would not be a target for her uncle tonight.
Sometime late in the darkness, Fallon was awakened by a tickling sensation on the back of her neck. Opening her eyes slowly, she lay very still as she tried to discern what might be causing the faint sensation. Her eyes widened as her first thought was that a spider had decided to investigate their bed and settled on her neck. As she lay completely still, she realized the feeling must be caused by a piece of hair, for it was a very regular, reoccurring movement. Lifting her head, she reached under it to her neck and pulled her hair forward, spreading it out on the pillow beneath her. As she relaxed again, her flesh tingled when she realized what had caused the tiny hair to tickle her neck was Trader’s breath. She could now feel the warmth of it there. Her body tensed with delirium as she thought of how close he must be lying to her in order for her to be able to feel his breath. Oddly, it wasn’t until that very moment she also realized his arm lay limply over her waist as she lay on her side, her back to him. He had stayed! He hadn’t broken his promise and gone out to patrol the pasture and look over the herd. He had stayed as she had asked him to.
Though she lay beneath the blankets and he above, she reveled in a feeling of security and warmth she had never known. Carefully she let her hand travel from the elbow of the arm resting on her, caressing his muscular forearm before laying her hand on top of his resting on the bed at her waist. No other part of his body moved, and the rhythm of his breathing remained unbroken as his hand turned over beneath hers, lacing his fingers with her own.
“Trader?” she whispered. But he did not answer, nor did he move to indicate he was even slightly aware of her.
When Fallon awoke the next morning, Trader had already gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
More cattle were mutilated over the next several days. Then the attacks ceased, and everyone in the Donavon household was more uneasy than before. Trader insisted Fallon still stay close to the house. He had gone on as if nothing had changed between them, even after he had kept his promise and stayed in that dreadful first night after the mutilations began.
Three days after the cattle mutilations stopped, Trader returned from town one evening at dusk and asked Fallon to wait for him in the parlor. Immediately Fallon was overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. She had not missed the ominous tone of his voice when he asked her to wait for him in the parlor while he spoke to Patty.
She stood before the fireplace, wringing her hands as she waited. He entered several minutes later and closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he walked to her, and she gazed up into the blackness of his hood as he stood before her.
“I’ve received a telegram,” he said. He took another deep breath and continued, “Your…your mother has…has gone.”
Fallon turned from him instantly, her mind searching for a way to accept the knowledge. She felt her lower lip begin to tremble as the tears of grievous loss filled her eyes. “I…I suppose I should feel happy for her. Her suffering is ended now. And…and she’s with my father,” she stammered as she began to wring her hands again. As the first stinging tears of sorrow trickled down her face, Fallon turned to Trader, her hands clutching her throat. “I’ve lost my mother, Trader!” she cried as horrible sobbing wracked her body. Fallon found it hard to catch her breath.
Reaching out and grasping both her wrists firmly, Trader whispered, “I know,” as he pulled her against him, holding her tightly in his sheltering embrace. “I’m so sorry, Fallon,” he whispered into her hair, and she felt him kiss the top of her head.
As strength and comfort flowed from his mighty body, Fallon let her arms encircle his waist, returning his embrace as her sobbing turned to mournful weeping.
After some time, when the weeping began to subside, Trader took her face gently in his hands and directed her gaze upward. Wiping the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs, he said, “What can I do, Fallon? I’m helpless. How can I comfort you?” His voice was full of sincere compassion and true understanding. Fallon’s heart swelled once more with the boundless and absolute adoration and love she harbored for him.
“Just stay with me,” she whispered. Throwing her body against his again and resting her face on his broad chest, she pleaded, “Don’t leave me, Trader.”
He took her face in his hands once more and turned it upward toward his. Tenderly, he placed soft, comforting kisses on her wet cheeks, and immediately Fallon knew his kiss would serve to soothe and succor her. He held her tighter against his body as his lips abandoned her tear-stained cheek and played tenderly with her mouth. With each benevolent kiss, Trader bestowed on her trembling lips, Fallon drew strength from him, and soon the exchange flared into passionate, flaming offerings of immeasurable emotion. His kiss was relentless, firm, and she was lost in the pleasure of it for a time. When he held her face away once more, she only wanted to be lost in it forever.
“You need to rest,” he said, easily scooping her up in his arms.
She let him carry her to their bedroom, for she felt she hadn’t the strength to walk. The short relief she had drawn from his awesome strength had left her more weakened than before. He left her only for a moment, long enough for her to change from the dress she had worn to a comfortable nightgown.
As Trader took her hands in his own and led her gently to the bed, he said, “Rest awhile, Fallon. Loss never seems as dark in the daylight.”
She did rest through that first horrible night of loss. It was a fitful, frightening time of rest from which her body and mind received little respite. But each time Fallon woke in anguish and pain of loss, Trader was there to bestow upon her forehead, cheeks, or lips serene or sometimes impassioned kisses. He held her as she wept, soothed her with his deep voice and comforting
words, and never left her side.
When the first rays of the morning sun flooded the room, Fallon woke. The pain that had plagued her mind and body during the night had indeed been lightened, if only a little. She sat up and looked to Trader, who lay on his stomach, his face turned from her, sleeping peacefully. No doubt he had slept even less than she had.
Rising from the bed, she wandered into the kitchen and filled a glass with cool, refreshing water from the pump. It was a bright summer day, and as Fallon gazed out the kitchen window into its brilliance, she knew her mother was at peace. The beauty of the day beckoned her, and she walked out onto the front porch, inhaling deeply of the clean, warm air. Closing her eyes, she savored the fresh smell of meadow grasses and honeysuckle floating on the tranquil morning breezes and thought of her mother, wondering if Heaven welcomed her with such a lovely sight. But suddenly the air was tainted with a foul and very familiar odor.
Fallon’s eyes burst open, and she turned, dropping the glass she had been holding in her hand. Her Uncle Charles, breath putrid with the stench of liquor, leaped forward and took hold of her arm, brutally clamping a dirty, sticky hand over her mouth. Instantly, two of the men who had approached her in the store months ago proceeded to bind her hands and tie a handkerchief tightly over her mouth.
Frantically she struggled, like a rabbit whose foot had been clamped between the teeth of a deadly trap from which escape was impossible.
Laughing triumphantly, Charles Ashby picked Fallon up, throwing her over his shoulder and growling, “Settle down, girl. Just now it’s only you that’s in danger. Ya keep puttin’ up a fight, and that ol’ hag that keeps ya company won’t live to see the light of day.”
Tears of defeat began to soak the handkerchief binding her mouth as Fallon thought of Patty’s safety and ceased to attempt to free herself.
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