“War council?” Belinda asked, wondering where were the accusations that this had been her fault.
“Don’t let Macaria’s gentle manner fool you,” Jessie replied. “She’ll demand blood for this outrage against her son. She’d do the same for the others, for any of us that carry the Kincaid name.”
At a cry, Jessie looked up. “Rosanna, bring hot water to my room for Belinda. I know your mother will be with Conner.”
“And the boy, Marty?”
“He’s with Kenny and my sister-in-law Dixie in the garden. Children have a sixth sense when it comes to adult trouble. He’ll wait, but he is curious to meet you.”
There was that word again—curious. Belinda never wanted to hear it, ever. “I had gifts,” she murmured in a distracted manner, for they passed the open doorway to what she assumed was Conner’s room. Seeing Macaria bent over him on the bed, Belinda gripped the doorway, wanting to go in but afraid her intrusion would not be welcomed.
Next to Macaria, an older woman stood holding a basin, and behind her, a white-haired man balanced on a pair of crutches while a stream of rapid Spanish flowed back and forth between the three of them.
“That’s Santo and his wife, Sofia, with Macaria. It was their son Raphael and their daughter Rosanna’s fiancé, Enrique, who carried Conner.” Jessie took her hand to urge her to leave.
“Please wait. I must know how Conner is.”
It was Santo who heard Belinda and hobbled to the door. “Pardon, señorita, it is not wise to come in now. La patrona, she is like the mountain cat with her cub, snapping and snarling.” He saw the deep concern in her eyes. “Go with Jessie. You too are in need of care. I will come to you when there is word of Conner.”
She had to be content with his assurance. Belinda was not aware that she was crying. She felt Jessie’s arm around her shoulders leading her away, never knowing that Jessie forgot that this was the person who had come to take Marty away from her and saw only a vulnerable young woman who needed her.
“Conner will be fine. Why, when I met Logan, I thought he was going to die. I never knew anyone who healed so quickly. And Dixie will tell you the same about Ty.” As Jessie opened the door to her and Logan’s bedroom, she kept up a constant stream of stories about the three brothers. She decided there was no point in telling Belinda about her uncle’s arrival now.
Belinda would find out soon enough that her cousin was somehow involved in Charles Riverton’s shady dealings.
Chapter Eighteen
A hot bath, clean clothes and Jessie’s gentle attentions to her small cuts with a soothing ointment helped restore Belinda’s flagging spirit. She wanted to ask how long it had been since she had arrived with Conner, but Jessie had left her supposedly to rest. Instead, she nervously paced, barefoot, dressed in an assortment of Jessie’s and Macaria’s clothes.
What could delay Santo’s coming for her? Surely they all knew how Conner was by now? Back and forth over the flowered carpet she walked, and the questions became her only thoughts.
The rocking chair in the corner, near the side table stacked with books, drew her attention. Belinda smiled as she saw they were a series of boys’ adventure stories. Trailing her fingers over the gold-embossed spines of The Castaway, Lost in the Cañon, Treasure Finders and A Young Hero, she knew that Conner had not lied to her about Marty being loved. There was a Bible, a book of poetry by Tennyson and his Idylls of the King.
She could imagine Jessie seated in the rocker with Marty and…Kenny, that was the other boy’s name, the lamp glowing warmly while she read stories to them.
It was the image of a family. Could she offer the boy the same? Belinda thought of her days, from breakfast in bed with the morning’s paper, calling cards and correspondence that required her attention, to the evening social functions after a day overseeing business matters.
What would she do with a little boy who had enjoyed the freedom of land without end to ride and play in?
There were parks and riding paths, lessons from a variety of tutors in deportment, music, studies, even sailing. But they would not be things she could teach him. And their uncle—a great-uncle to Marty—had his various clubs to occupy his days. How much family life would they give him? The tiresome Sunday dinners that she remembered as a child? The birthday parties where attendance was mandatory, despite a dislike for the children who had always made her feel the odd one out.
Was she being fair to the boy to take him away from the home the Kincaids provided? And the love. She could not forget that. Rubbing her forehead, she knew the issue had somehow become confused with her own mixed-up feelings about her life and Conner. What happened to the conviction that taking Marty back to Chicago with her was the right thing, the only thing to do?
How could she force a child into a way of life that she had been only too glad to escape from?
Belinda turned away from her questions, and the corner that brought them to mind. The swirl of her skirt hem caught a basket, spilling the contents. She picked up a child-sized sock with the egg-shaped wooden darner wedged into the toe. More evidence that Jessie mothered her nephew.
The tiny neat stitches halfway through the tear served to remind her that she had never learned to sew a fine seam. Not for lack of trying on her part, or her grandmother’s who had hired a constant stream of expert needlewomen to teach her their arts.
Exhaustion and fear made her feel vulnerable, and this homey example of womanly skill mocked her. She replaced the sock and moved the basket back against the wall.
For a moment more she stood there, fighting other unhappy childhood memories from coming to the surface.
Harsh as the reminders were to her, she could not deny they served to keep her from worrying about Conner.
The soft knock brought a sense of relief. Hearing the masculine voice that called her name sent Belinda quickly to open the door. “Uncle Phillip? What are you doing here?”
His immaculate boots were as dusty as his suit, and a look of fatigue crossed his features as he drew her into his arms.
“Thank God you’re safe, my dearest. When we found—”
“Wait. Wait,” she repeated, pulling back within his embrace to look up at him. “First tell me what you’re doing here? You couldn’t travel this quickly in response to my telegram.”
“I never received it. I left home a few days after you. Let me get your things. I assumed they were yours. We recovered them from the buckboard.” Phillip released her, lifting up the satchel and her reticule he had set aside. Following Belinda into the room, he placed them on the bed.
“They were—are gifts for Marty,” she said with a distracted air. “Please, I do not understand—”
“All in good time, my dearest. I want to know that you’re really all right. Those men that attacked you—”
“Truly, I am fine. A little tired and concerned about Conner’s injuries. But never mind me. I think I need to sit down. Seeing you is a bit of a shock.” Belinda suited action to words and sat on the bed.
Phillip came to sit beside her. He took her hand, noted the ragged edge of her nails, the broken blisters and cuts, but wisely kept silent.
“Belinda, I’m afraid I have another shock for you. Albert has disappeared.”
“Albert? When? Where? What happened to him?”
“Gently, my dearest,” Phillip said, easing her fierce grip from his arm. “Several weeks after you departed, I came across some correspondence between Charles and Albert. Wait, let me finish before you ask questions,” he cautioned.
“Albert had been paying off a crew at the stockyard to handle cattle that Charles shipped. None of the invoices showed on company records. Needless to say, I went to his rooms to confront Albert only to be told that he had left for an extended trip. His housekeeper was most reluctant to allow me access to his library, but you know how persuasive I can be when I set my mind to it.”
“Yes, oh, yes, I have seen your charm, Uncle.” But there was no censure from his niece.
“The colors,” Belinda interrupted to say. “I thought you were the one who told Riverton what my favorite colors were. He had his guest room redone to please me.”
“Riverton? Since when did Charles become Riverton, Belinda?”
She withdrew her hand from his. “Since his men tried to kill me and Conner.”
“You don’t know for sure—”
“Yes, I do, Uncle. You were not there. I was. Joe Dacus is the foreman for the Circle R. Rich Dillion was ordered to be my escort. He was there, too.” She could not sit still a moment longer. Pacing again, she asked, “You never explained where it was that you lost Albert.”
“As I said, I was disturbed by the tone of Charles’s letters. I left immediately when I found reference to a meeting in Tucson. He disappeared and I thought it best to find you.”
“Tucson? Riverton was summoned to Tucson on business, his housekeeper claimed. Obviously they were meeting there. Uncle Phillip, there is something else you should know.” Belinda paused with her back toward him. He was upset and she would add to it, but they had never lied to each other. To her, keeping the incident of someone shooting at her from him was the same as a lie. So she told him, in as calm a voice as she could muster.
Phillip waited until she was done. “I should have listened to you about Albert. I had no idea how desperate he’d grown to have you out of the way. I can almost understand how perfectly you fell into his schemes with this trip to find the boy. Accidents happen all the time to people traveling to the territories. Who would question your death by an unseen shooter?”
“Who indeed?”
“Belinda.”
She turned to see Jessie in the doorway. “Conner? Is he—”
“He’s asking to see you.”
Belinda ran from the room, flying down the hallway only to stop before she reached his door. She wiped damp palms down her skirt, smoothed back the drying curls of hair that had slipped free from the combs Jessie lent her and took a deep breath. She slowly released it as she stood in the doorway.
Vaguely aware of others in the room, Belinda had eyes for no one but Conner. He was swathed in a sheet, only his head visible as she approached the foot of the bed. His gray eyes appeared dark and unfocused as he whispered her name. She went around to the side of the bed, ignoring the straight chair near the bed, and fell to her knees.
“Are you…all right?”
“Fine, Conner.” She was shaking with a wealth of emotions she could not begin to name. “Please, I know it hurts you to speak. I had to see you, see for myself that—”
“I’m fine.” His attempt to smile failed. He slipped his hand from beneath the sheet to touch the curling ends of her hair. “Stay.”
“Yes. I would not wish to be anywhere else.”
His eyes closed and his hand fell back to the bed. Belinda leaned forward to rest her forehead against his hand. She could not explain to herself why his simple request meant so much, or that the promise to stay had come from her heart.
Someone cleared his throat behind her, soft whispers followed but Belinda did not acknowledge them. She heard one set of footsteps cross to the door, moments later another set followed. She sensed she was not alone with Conner, but the effort to move was more than she could make. There was comfort to be had by touching him, by listening to his even breaths as sleep claimed him.
The soothing scent of herbs rising from the heat of his body infused her senses. Her eyes grew heavy. Belinda turned, sinking to the floor, her cheek cradled by Conner’s hand, and healing sleep claimed her as well.
“She’ll have a crick in her neck by the time she wakes,” Logan said to his mother.
“Leave her. She will not thank you for disturbing her now. Go to your wife, my son. I will keep watch over your brother.”
“Not too long, Madre. We need to make plans. Conner said it was Dacus who came after him. We can’t let him think he’s getting away with this.”
Anger and pride mixed in Logan’s voice. Macaria took his hand and lifted it to her lips. “Soon. I will join you and Ty.”
He took his dismissal with good grace, knowing that his mother would leave when she was sure that Conner wasn’t going to have a fever from his wounds.
Logan went down the hall to his bedroom and found his wife talking with Phillip.
“How is your brother?”
“He’ll pull through. I can’t convince my mother yet, or your niece, but Conner’s tough, hard as ironwood.”
“Your mother said the very same thing about him.” Phillip rose. “I’ll excuse myself and give you both some privacy.” At the door, he turned. “I would like to talk to you, Logan, about what Conner told you.”
“Just let me get cleaned up and I’ll join you in the office.” Logan glanced at Jessie. “Are there any spare bedrooms left for Phillip to have?”
“I’m sure your mother or Sofia—”
“They’re both busy, honey. You’re the lady of the house for now and your guest—”
She smiled. “Of course, I’ll take care of him.”
It was almost two hours later when Logan and Phillip met again in the office. Ty had volunteered to keep the boys occupied by taking them down to the long barn where a mare was about to foal. To make up for all the attention Marty had been getting, it was decided that whether filly or colt, the mare’s offspring would be Kenny’s to name and raise as his own.
“I had Rosanna fix us something to eat,” Logan said, taking one of the large leather chairs and indicating the other for Phillip. On the table between the chairs were plates of corn bread, bolillos, crunchy hard rolls, steaks and ham slices, fried chilies, and beans.
“Beer, wine or—”
“Whiskey, bourbon if you have any,” Phillip said, heaping a plate full for himself. He had not realized how hungry he was. Phillip stopped long enough to nod his approval at the bottle Logan displayed before he broke the seal to pour them both a drink.
“No matter the crisis, I’ve never lost my appetite.” Phillip sniffed then swallowed a healthy drink from his glass. “Can’t beat Kentucky bourbon.”
“I agree. But Phillip, the crisis hasn’t passed yet. There’s still the matter of Riverton and his ramrod. They need to pay for this outrage against Belinda.”
“And your brother?”
“Conner? For what they did to Conner, they’re dead men.” Logan tossed back the half glass of bourbon he had poured for himself. “And if you don’t believe me, wait till you hear my mother say it.”
Phillip set his glass and plate aside. He studied Logan for several moments, then smiled. “I’m relieved. I thought you were going to ask me what my intentions are toward your very attractive mother.”
“Don’t think I didn’t want to do just that. My mother would have me roasted, slowly, over the spit outside if she ever found out. No, Phillip, I just wanted to warn you that she’s no docile Eastern lady. You haven’t seen mad till you’ve seen her in a temper. Conner’s got one just like it.”
Far from discouraging him, Phillip’s eyes gained a decided twinkle. “Consider me warned. Now, tell me what your brother said. Despite witnessing what I did, it’s still difficult to believe Charles sent his men after my niece. Belinda mentioned that he made overtures as if he wanted to marry her and take over her money and stock in our family businesses.”
Logan made a decision. He liked this straight-talking man, and he proceeded to tell him all of the suspicions that the Kincaids harbored about Riverton.
It was an emotional delivery, for Logan left out nothing, not even his part of riding the outlaw trail in an attempt to bring the outlaw gang to justice.
Neither man noticed that Macaria, having left a sleeping Conner and Belinda, paused at the doorway. She listened for a few moments, then continued down the hall to her room
. The candles she had lit earlier still burned and she knelt at her prayer bench. For the next hour she prayed for her son’s recovery, and the wisdom to guide her sons against the man she had believed her friend and now was defined as her enemy.
As she rose, she felt the weariness of having to make a decision to take revenge.
Revenge played upon Belinda’s mind in that vague half awake, half asleep world where she envisioned herself a stronger woman, stopping those men before they hurt Conner.
A slight noise penetrated her consciousness and she blinked sleepy eyes as she turned toward the doorway. For a few moments she simply stared at the little boy. He was her brother come to life.
Belinda had not realized she mouthed Robert’s name until the child shook his head and said, “No, I’m Marty.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she whispered. Belinda cast a fearful glance at Conner, afraid they had disturbed his much-needed sleep.
“Can I see him?” Marty crept closer to the bedside where Belinda still sat on the floor.
“We must not wake him.”
“I know how to be quiet as a ’Pache. Hazer said so. He’s been teachin’ me and Kenny how to track.”
Belinda scooted back to make room for the boy. She wanted to touch the straight corn silk blond head Marty had inherited from his father. Watching him as he looked at Conner, she noticed that he sucked noisily on his lower lip. Another of Robert’s traits. She was overcome with sadness that Robert would never see his child grow to manhood.
“Kenny says Conner’s gonna be all right.”
Belinda heard the underlying faith in Kenny’s belief and the defiance that dared her to dispute this. He shifted from one foot to the other, drawing her gaze down to the pebble-toed boots he wore. Despite the scuff marks, Belinda could see they were fairly new boots.
“You ain’t saying the same?”
Once a Lawman Page 18