Forever in My Heart

by Jo Goodman

  Connor didn't answer right away as his thoughts drifted back over the conversation with Rushton. "I asked him why he left," he said finally. "He made my grandfather the scapegoat, said Old Sam thought he'd take my mother away from the ranch. Convenient, since Old Sam isn't in a position to defend himself."

  That hadn't settled well with Connor, Maggie knew that, but some sixth sense told her there was more. She waited, using silence to draw him out.

  "He told me my mother asked him to leave the Double H."

  Maggie expelled a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "You didn't believe him."

  "I called him a liar."

  "Oh, Connor," she said softly. "Can't you imagine any reason that Edie might have wanted Rushton to go?"

  He didn't hesitate. "No," he said. "No reason. She loved him. He was everything to her—more important than Old Sam, or me, or this ranch. When you love someone like that you don't think about asking them to leave."

  Her voice was gentle. "Don't you?" she asked. "Even if you thought they were miserably unhappy?"

  This time Connor didn't answer.

  * * *

  Maggie and Beryl stood on the porch at daybreak, watching the men ride out. "There's no good reason for him to go," Beryl said angrily. "He could get himself killed."

  Maggie gave her a sideways glance. Beryl's profile was stark, her skin pale. "There's every reason," she said. "It's not in him to ask others to do what he won't do himself."

  "He didn't ask anyone."

  "I suppose he didn't. But it's his land, Beryl. His responsibility."

  "Not any longer."

  Frowning, Maggie turned to face Beryl more directly. "What do you mean? Of course the ranch is his."

  The line of Beryl's dark brows made her blue eyes seem even lighter. The corners of her mouth were pulled in a frown. "What are you talking about?" she asked, clearly bewildered. "He sold the ranch."

  "Sold it?" Maggie's green eyes clouded, then cleared. "Sold it," she repeated softly. She realized then their entire conversation had been at cross-purposes. Beryl wasn't worried about Connor. Her concern—and her anger—was directed at Rushton. "Of course," she said. "I don't know what I was thinking." Maggie hurried into the house before Beryl could see the smile she couldn't quite hide.

  * * *

  Dancer glanced over his shoulder in time to see Maggie return to the house. "Well," he told the others, "they ain't killed each other yet."

  Buck laughed. Rushton and Connor made no comment.

  "Course, if we're gone more than a day," he mused, "anything's likely to happen."

  Connor shot the prospector a sour look. "You'd do better to think about what's ahead than what we left behind." It was his last word on the subject and Dancer took the hint.

  The group split at the site where the rustlers had built their makeshift camp. Patrick, Ben, and Luke found places to hide among the trees and rocks while cows grazed on the grassland below them. Theirs was a waiting game. Connor led the others farther south to Dancer's property. Theirs was a hunt.

  From time to time during the trek, Connor's eyes shifted from the trail to his father. Rushton was holding his own, even, Connor thought, looking comfortable in the saddle. As the morning passed with no sighting of the rustlers, Buck and Dancer fell back on the trail and spread out, leaving Connor and Rushton to ride in tandem.

  The sun beat down on them warmly while the breeze was cool. Connor brought the brim of his hat down to shade his eyes. "Maggie thinks I should listen to you," he said.

  "Did she say that?"

  "Not in so many words." His smile was brief and a trifle self-mocking. "Maggie never uses very many words."

  "I've noticed that."

  "She makes you think, then she makes you think it was your idea."

  "Clever woman."

  Connor shook his head. "Not clever. Wise. Maggie is wise."

  Rushton glanced at his son. "You love her."

  "You sound surprised."

  "Shouldn't I be? This marriage wasn't to your liking, and I'm not really sure it was to hers. I wasn't even certain that you and Maggie were still together. Her letters to Jay Mac didn't ring true of life here at the Double H, and she had next to nothing to say about you."

  "Is that why you came out? To see for yourself?"

  "Now you sound surprised."

  Connor shrugged. His eyes scanned the narrow pass they were about to enter.

  "Edie wanted me to leave the Double H," Rushton said, "but she never meant for you and me to be estranged. Why do you think she sent you east for your education? Why do you think she never willed the Double H to you? She meant for this land to be our connection."

  "You were going to sell our connection," Connor said.

  "It brought you home."

  "This is my home," he said. "Your deal with Jay Mac took me to New York."

  "You wouldn't have come any other way."

  "And we both know why." There was no need to explain. Connor had invited Rushton to Denver to meet his fiancée and attend the wedding and Rushton was the one who got married.

  Rushton's dark eyes studied his son's face. "Are you really sorry you didn't marry Beryl?"

  There was no hesitation on Connor's part. "Hell, no."

  "Then put it in the past." He looked ahead again. "When I left the Double H, I didn't know I'd never live with your mother again. She gave me Old Sam's silver nuggets to start a business in the east."

  "Old Sam said he bribed you to leave with those nuggets."

  "You can call me a liar again, but that's not how it was." He waited a moment. Connor said nothing. "She was going to join me when I was settled, and I was foolish enough to believe she meant it. I suppose she knew I'd never have gone otherwise." He was quiet and thoughtful. "Edie thought I was miserable here and Old Sam made certain she kept on thinking it. I never really understood then why she was so adamant that I get out. It took me a long time to realize she meant to be noble, sacrificing her happiness for mine." He glanced in Connor's direction again. "But the hell of it is, she never asked me if that's what I wanted."

  Connor was quiet, thinking. He shook his head, his slight smile filled with self-mockery. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

  "So I've observed," Rushton said gravely.

  Appreciative of his father's dry pronouncement, Connor's glance slid sideways. He missed the flash of sunlight in the ridge of pines above them.

  Rushton didn't. He wasn't aware of any conscious thought on his part. He simply reacted, pushing Connor out of the way and shouting a warning at the same time. It was odd, he thought, how he could feel the impact of the bullet in the very moment he heard its report.

  Chapter 16

  Connor grabbed his rifle from the scabbard and fired two shots into the tree line above him. He heard a shout, but in the pass it was difficult to know its origin. Using Tempest for cover, Connor helped his father down from the saddle. Rushton was holding his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers.

  "Can you get to those rocks?" asked Connor, pointing to the boulders behind him.

  Rushton nodded. His face was ashen and he was breathing hard, but he was game.

  "All right. On my signal. I'll cover you." Connor fired into the trees again. "Now!"

  Both men scrambled up the hillside. Stones slid under their feet as they searched for purchase. There was more gunfire. A rock shattered near Connor's left hand, showering him with shrapnel and dust. He pushed his father up the incline, rolled on his back, and shot again. This time something moved in the trees. Connor made it to cover just as one of the gunmen fell from the low hanging branches of a pine.

  Rushton leaned back against the protecting rock. He pulled out his gun.

  "You need that hand to hold your wound," Connor said. "You're damn well not going to bleed to death on me."

  Rushton grinned. "Just as well. I haven't shot one of these in years." He passed his gun to Connor. "Where are Dancer and Buck?"

  "Circling '
round. They were back far enough that they probably weren't seen." He took off his hat, put it on the end of his rifle, and raised the barrel slightly above the boulder that shielded them. A bullet struck the hat, spun it on the barrel. Connor lowered the rifle, took off the hat, and showed Rushton the hole by poking his finger through it. "Looks like we're stuck until the cavalry gets here," he said philosophically.

  One corner of Rushton's mouth rose. "You sorry you let me come?"

  Connor realized that his father had overheard some part of his conversation with Maggie the night before. He answered honestly, tearing off a piece of his shirt to bind Rushton's wound. "There's no one I'd rather have with me." He handed his father the strip of material. "Here, hold this while I look at the damage." He caught and held his father's eyes for a moment. "And thank you," he said huskily. "That's the second time you've taken something I thought was intended for me."

  "The second?"

  "Beryl was first," Connor reminded him. "And I don't think I've ever thanked you properly for that."

  Rushton grunted softly as Connor examined the wound. "I didn't do that for you. I'm not that selfless." He tried to get a look at his shoulder while Connor probed. "And Beryl's not quite what you think she is," he said.

  "We could get nose to nose," Connor said, "and never see eye to eye on Beryl." A bullet ricocheted off the boulder. Connor and Rushton ducked instinctively. "Hold this dressing in place," Connor said, reaching for his gun. "I want to have another look." He turned and knelt, facing the boulder. Instead of looking over the top he edged around the side.

  The body that had fallen out of the trees was still lying on the hillside. The neck lolled sideways at an odd angle. Connor doubted it was a bullet that killed him. The man's hat had slipped off his head. His curly brown hair was powdered with rock dust. Even in grotesque death there was something familiar about the shape of the man's broad face and the color of his hair.

  Whistling softly as he made the connection, Connor ducked back behind the rock.

  "What is it?" asked Rushton. "More trouble?"

  "Not exactly. I think I know who the rustlers are." He gave his father a brief account of his encounter with Tuck and Freado at Dancer's cabin, raising more questions than he wanted to answer. "Let's just say one of them looks like another of them. They're all kin and it would be hard to find a good apple in the barrel. My guess is they figured what happened to Tuck and Freado and came looking for Dancer. Somehow they tracked him to the Double H."

  "Then they're not after your cattle."

  "That was to get us out, but they'll take 'em." A shot was fired from their side of the hill. "I hope that's Dancer or Buck," Connor said, "otherwise we're not safe here." Several more shots were exchanged. None of them came near the boulder.

  In spite of the pain throbbing in his shoulder, Rushton managed a dry grin. "It's the cavalry."

  "Seems that way," said Connor. "I'm going to help." Without another word Connor left the safety of the boulder and scrambled higher up the hillside. Covering fire came from above as Connor dove behind another outcropping of rocks. From his new vantage point he could see Dancer. "Where's Buck?"

  "Comin' at them from the other side," he called back. "Thought you might need some protection over here."

  Connor ducked as a bullet came overhead. "It's appreciated."

  "There sure as hell are more than two of them, and I'm not countin' the one you got already. I reckon four, maybe five."

  "They're kin to Tuck and Freado," Connor said.

  "That a fact," Dancer drawled. "Then we got the whole clan."

  * * *

  Beryl sat at the kitchen table watching Maggie peel potatoes. "Aren't you worried?" she blurted out.

  "Worried?" asked Maggie. She looked up at Beryl, her brows arched in disbelief. "That hardly describes it. I'm terrified."

  "You have an odd way of showing it." As far as Beryl could see, Maggie had let nothing interfere with her routine. She'd done housework most of the morning, fed Meredith, prepared lunch, ironed, and was now preparing dinner. For her part, Beryl had found nothing could take her mind off things. "You haven't gone to the window once today."

  "I'm letting you do that. I have to keep busy in other ways." Maggie reached behind her, opened a drawer, and pulled out a paring knife. She slid it across the table. "Try peeling some of these."

  "You don't even know if they'll be home for dinner."

  "I'm hopeful." She rolled a potato toward Beryl. "Peel."

  Beryl peeled. "How could you let Connor go this morning?"

  "How could I not?" She paused in her work, cocking her head to one side as she thought she heard Meredith. There was another whimper then blessed silence. "I can't stop him from running this ranch. It would be like asking him not to breathe."

  Beryl tossed the peeled potato into a pot of cold water and picked up another. "That's what he asked you to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I always heard you wanted to be a doctor."

  "That's true. But Connor never asked me not to do it. That was a decision I made on my own." Her smile was gentle. "Not quite on my own. Meredith was an influence."

  Beryl shook her head slowly, studying Maggie with her pale blue eyes. "You're happy here, aren't you? You actually like the Double H."

  Maggie stopped peeling. Without thinking about it, her gaze drifted to the kitchen window where she could see the tall trees and grassland, the distant peaks and azure sky. "It's different from anything I've ever known," she said almost reverently, "but I feel as if I belong here." She met Beryl's curious eyes frankly. "It's hard to know which part of it is because of Connor, which part is Meredith, and which part is just me. Perhaps there's no separating any of it. But, yes, Beryl, I'm happy here. Very happy."

  Beryl Holiday merely shook her head.

  * * *

  "Wonder what Maggie's got cookin' tonight." Dancer said. The lull in the gunfire had already lasted more than twenty minutes. The prospector's thoughts had turned to dinner. "You think she's expectin' us?"

  "I think she'd like to see us," said Connor.

  "Reckon Buck's hungry about now." Dancer's head cocked to one side to catch the direction of the low rumble that caught his attention. "That your stomach, Rushton?" he hollered.

  "It wasn't," he called back. His wound had stopped bleeding. It ached abominably but Rushton was happy to be alive. "But it could have been."

  "Hear that, Connor?" Dancer said. "Your pa's hungry. Seems like we ought to settle this showdown by sundown." He cackled gleefully, scrambled to a kneeling position behind his rock, took aim, and ended the lull in the battle.

  * * *

  Maggie sat on the first step of the porch, teasing Meredith with a rattle. Beryl sat on the rocker behind them, pushing it back and forth with an intensity that wasn't meant to be relaxing but to use up nervous energy. Listening to the incessant creaking, Maggie thought she understood why Freado had shot the chair from under her. Suddenly that whole encounter seemed wildly funny. Maggie's smile widened, a giggle erupted, and then she was laughing deeply and heartily.

  Meredith stopped her flailing to watch the play of expression on her mother's face. Her eyes widened and rolled comically. Her chin quivered. Then her mouth opened and the beautiful sound of baby laughter—clear, honest, and purely joyful—tumbled out.

  Beryl's shoulders began to shake as she attempted to stifle her laughter. She didn't know what she thought was funny or what anyone else thought was funny—she only knew that suddenly it was impossible not to laugh. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she didn't bother to brush them away. She tried to catch her breath between waves of hard laughter, gulping the air as though she were thirsty for it.

  Maggie's lap shook, bouncing Meredith, as they laughed together. Beryl's own laughter made it difficult for them to stop. The three of them took turns instigating another round of helpless, healing laughter until they were simply unable to go on.

  Maggie reached for the hem
of her gown and drew it to her eyes. She dabbed at them, then at her wet cheeks. Then she sighed deeply, shaking her head, her smile rueful. "That felt good," she said.

  It had, Beryl thought. And she still didn't know how or why it had started. The smile she offered Maggie was tentative, as if she expected rejection.

  Maggie lifted Meredith so she could look at Beryl. "See that pretty lady there," she said softly to the child. "That's your step-grandmamma. Ooops, there went her smile." She paused, watching Beryl closely. "No, not quite. See, it's tugging at the corners of her mouth again. She's struggling, but..."

  Beryl laughed and leaned forward in the rocker. She spoke to Meredith. "That's right. I'm your step-grandmamma and this is the only time I'm saying it. I'll never answer to it, and if you call me anything but Beryl, I won't send you presents from New York."

  Meredith listened to Beryl, her small head tilted to one side. Her dark eyes were solemn and unblinking. One of her chubby hands unfolded and she made a reaching gesture in Beryl's direction.

  "Imp," Maggie said fondly. "You heard the word 'presents' and you're ready to make friends." She held her baby out to Beryl.

  "Little mercenary," said Beryl, scooping up Meredith. She tapped the infant on her button nose. "I think I like that." She glanced at Maggie through the fan of her dark lashes but continued to speak in singsong fashion to Meredith. "Your mama doesn't know whether to take me seriously. No, she doesn't. Wait. She's smiling just a little. Oooh, there it is. The whole smile. Just like yours."

  Maggie leaned back against the porch support. Her smile gradually faded from fulsome to wistful. Twilight hung like a blue-gray shroud over the ranch. "It doesn't seem as though they'll make it back tonight," she said quietly.

  Beryl's pale eyes looked toward where she expected the riders to appear. There was no sign of them. Anxiousness stirred in her again.