As only a woman can, she channeled the rage, smiling sweetly. "Thank you for the warning, Liam. It's nice to know you're concerned." She reached down and patted the butt of her rifle tucked into the leather scabbard. "I'll be sure to keep my Browning fully loaded."
Turning Blue's head for home, she kneed the mare into a run, smiling as she leaned forward into the wind.
Chapter 14
Nightmares and Premonitions
Immersed in a freezing fog of snow that stung his ears and fingers, Jonathan strained to make out the indistinct trail ahead. The world was a colorless white, a silent blanket muffling the sound of his horse's hooves. The absence of sound accentuated the horse's labored breathing as she struggled through knee-deep drifts. His own ragged breath struggled to keep pace with his pounding heart. He was racing time itself, a cruel enemy that nipped at his horse's heels like a wolf in winter. Each step seemed to take an agonizing lifetime, a precious lifetime, her precious lifetime. Pulling at his horse's hooves, time conspired against them.
Cold grabbed at his fingers, sending needles of pain up into his arm. Although every extremity was numb, stung by the frigid winds, sweat ran in rivulets down his chest.
The world changed again, no longer white, but red. Crimson like the sun setting behind a prairie fire, scorching the sky and land. Heat, not cold, spread flames across his chest and down his arms. His flesh seemed to melt with its intensity, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. He cast his eyes down to his arm, where sweat stained his shirt crimson, like blood. As if his heart were demanding its freedom from the constraints of his chest, his pulse beat wildly in his ears, loud and insistent.
Blond mane flew up into his face, acting like a fan, relieving the burning of his skin. But Jessie is a bay. Yes, a bay with black mane and tail. The blond mane brushed silky soft against his face, smelling faintly of lavender. How odd.
The girl's head lolled to the side and fell heavily against his shoulder. He glanced down at the white bodice of her dress, stained red. His hand, holding her tight to his body, keeping her from falling, was crimson as well. Red streaks slid down his horse's leg and drops stained the snow.
In the next moment the body of the girl had slipped from his arms crumpling to the ground, enfolded by a quilt of snow. She looked as though asleep, her hair arrayed about her head like a golden halo, her skin pale as winter's moon. She was a star that had fallen, confused for a delicate flake of snow cast down to the earth.
And then he was kneeling in the snow at her side, lifting her head ever so gently so as not to disturb her slumber. Cradling her head in the crook of his arm, he brushed the fine strands of pale hair from her ashen cheek, feather soft, her icy skin biting his fingertips. With his hand lightly resting on the cords of her neck, he could feel her pulse accelerate for one moment before it ceased. Three slow beats tapped against his finger until at last the bird within broke free of its fleshly prison.
Once more the colors merged and transformed. Silky soft against his arm, her hair appeared no longer as pale strands of blond, but brown. Chestnut colored curls framed her face. As he reached to touch them, they fell away from her face and her lifeless eyes looked up unseeing, not blue but brown.
The fog that was the dream lifted like a curtain. With a sickening awareness, he saw that the girl in his arms was not the girl who had haunted his dreams this past year, but was instead, Kat Meriwether. Those steaming pools of blood swelled and grew, fed by her gaping wound.
He yelled out, "No!" The dream clung to him as he slogged back to reality, refusing to be shaken off.
"Jonathan, wake up." The voice came as though from a body buried deep within the snow. "Jonathan. It's all right." The voice was more insistent this time. The dream fought to keep him, but the voice would not be silenced.
"Jonathan, it's all right."
But it wasn't all right. She was dead. He had failed to save her. Nothing was all right. He was not all right.
With a suddenness that made his head swim, Jonathan sat up. His hands flew to his face. Pushing his fingertips into a steeple, his thumbs pressing the bridge of his nose, he rocked forward, eyes straining to focus. This was real, the rough wood planks beneath his feet, the musty smell of his blanket, daylight streaming through the dirty window. This was reality, not the dream.
"Jonathan?" The voice attached itself to a face. Timothy sat at the foot of the bunk, his face pinched in concern. Adam stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with fear.
Jonathan ran trembling fingers through his hair. His attempt to smile came as little more than a pained thin line. "It was just a bad dream."
"Adam, go bring us a cup of coffee." Timothy shot Adam a stern look when the boy hesitated in the doorway.
The boy ran, his feet hammering a worried rhythm back to the main house.
Jonathan stood up and shuffled to the wash stand where he picked up the pitcher, pouring cold water into the bowl. After splashing a handful on his face and the back of his neck, he grabbed a towel, holding it over his face for long moments until his pulse slowed.
Timothy watched him, his hands rubbing the knees of his pants in long slow strokes. "The boy came to see what was keeping you from coming to breakfast this morning." The big man stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, as though hiding his hands might help to hide his discomfort. "You were...talking in your sleep. He was scared when he couldn't wake you, so he came to get me." His explanation seemed an attempt to excuse his intrusion on Jonathan's private agony.
"Sorry to have given him a scare," Jonathan said flatly. He reached for the razor and saw his hand shaking. Turning back to face Timothy, he managed a wry smile. "It was just a nightmare, probably something I ate. No offense to your cooking."
"I know it's not my place to meddle in a man's affairs, but it isn't just a bad dream is it? When we were driving those cattle north, the boy and I heard you cry out in your sleep many times. What happened back in Texas?"
Jonathan turned to the window, eyes focused on the paddock where he could see Jessie pacing, tossing her head, impatient for breakfast. This was something that needed to stay buried, and if it came out at night to haunt his dreams then that's where it must stay. He'd have to live with it just like he lived with his failure as one sworn to protect the innocent.
Jonathan sighed heavily. And yet, maybe he did need to trust someone. Timothy deserved some explanation. Without turning, he said softly, "I made a mistake, an error in judgment, and my mistake cost a young girl her life."
"Is that why you quit the Rangers?"
"Yes." Jonathan propped the hand mirror on the window sill. He picked up the razor again and studied his reflection. Behind him, he could see Timothy staring at his back, his face awash with questions and pity, neither of which Jonathan wanted.
Timothy stood, walking slowly to the door. He turned at the doorframe. Jonathan still held the razor tenuously against his chin.
"It's a heavy burden you're carrying on only two shoulders. I think of you as a friend, Jonathan. I'd like to help if I can." He turned without waiting for Jonathan to reply and walked from the cabin.
Jonathan stared at his reflection for a moment, putting down his razor again. Leaning on the table, he peered into the water, calm within the basin. The dream was bad enough, to come night after night. But why had it changed? Why had her face become Kat Meriwether's face? He didn't want to think about the possible explanations. He didn't want to think about any of it! He wasn't a superstitious man, one given to premonitions or signs. But his confidence in his abilities as a lawman had been shaken because he'd underestimated the capacity of evil in one man. He hadn't seen the signs then. He didn't want to miss them now. So, if there were signs, even in his dreams, he needed to understand them.
Taking on textures and scents, the metallic smell of blood, the dream seemed even more real this time. His fingers held the memory of the soft hair at the nape of her neck, and the smell of lavender seemed even now to fill the room. The chestnut curls were t
hose of the attractive young doctor. He closed his eyes, but the memory and the fragrance of her would not leave him.
"But Father, we've not stayed this long in one place before. Doesn't it make sense to pull up stakes now, before someone figures out what we're up to?" Ethan couldn't sit still any longer listening to his father discuss their next job with outrageous calm. He paced to the window and back again.
"Ethan, it's all under control." Hall sat back in his chair and pulled at the cigar clenched in his teeth. "You're worrying about a gnat. Doc Meriwether hasn't said anything and I doubt he will. And as far as that girl of his, well, all I need for you to do is apply a bit of that school-boy charm."
"But this isn't our style. We've always hit the fields where the strikes are new and the mines haven't been taken over by the big businesses. We've been in and out before they've organized. We're taking too many chances now. I've heard that the miners have hired more guards for the wagon runs." Ethan sensed he was talking to a wall, that his father had turned a deaf ear. This was different as well. Before coming here, he'd always managed to cajole his father into his way of thinking.
He glanced over to where a man sat in the shadowed corner of the room, the new man his father had bragged to Kat Meriwether would bring an end to the robberies. Ethan had experienced a growing sense of uneasiness from the first moment of their meeting, this man known only to him as Cahill.
He tried again. "Look, there's a new strike north, off the Snake River. I've heard they're pulling out a lot of color. The news is spreading and that means more mines and more ore to be packed out. Let's light out and get ourselves set up early."
Gilford Hall shook his head slowly, blowing a lazy curl of smoke from his fat lips. "That all sounds fine, but the fact is, I'm comfortable here." He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked his teeth before saying, "We've got a real sweet thing going here. I've earned some respect. I've got a fine house. I'd be a fool to give this up."
"You can do the same thing over towards Silver City. Let me take some of the men over to the new strike on the east side of the Sawtooth Range. We'll hit now before they can get organized, just like we've always done." Ethan despised himself for the pleading tone in his voice. But he couldn't shake the growing sense that their long string of luck was about to run out. It was time to fold. As surely as he knew it, he knew his father would not be persuaded to see the wisdom of moving on.
The man in the corner chuckled. "Seems your boy's backbone is turning to mush."
Ethan whirled on him, shooting him a narrowed-eyed challenge. "I've got plenty of grit, Cahill! What are you bringing to this?"
The man bored a hole through Ethan with dangerous eyes, his voice, deep and menacing. He patted the gleaming Colt strapped to his hip. "I got this."
Ethan felt his hackles rise. This was just the kind of powder keg of a man that would get them all hanged. He knew it as sure as he knew his father would not be persuaded to leave Snowberry. His father seemed deaf and dumb to the town rumblings growing against him. Either his arrogance or his ignorance had blinded him to the danger Ethan saw daily building around them.
Someone would connect the dots soon enough. When they did, he wanted to be long gone, as far from Snowberry as he could get, maybe even out of the territory. The irony was that the petite and beguiling Dr. Meriwether might be the one to fit those pieces together first. He didn't want to be around when she did. More to the point of it, he didn't want to be the one to stop her. But his father didn't need him for that anymore. He had Cahill.
Chapter 15
Pleasant Distractions
On the morning of the picnic Kat woke early to attend to her dubious duties as chairman of the food contests. The irony of that appointment was not wasted on her father, who laughed loud and long when he'd heard of it.
Before leaving the house, she checked herself in the mirror once more. One petticoat seemed quite enough for such an event, considering the small bustle she argued herself into wearing. Her figure showed off to greatest advantage by the fitted bodice of her blue silk dress. The waistline dipped to a narrow "v". It was a dress that would have been severe except for the touch of deeper blue velvet at the throat and matching velvet bows at the top of the four tailored skirt pleats. An insert of ivory lace behind each pleat made the gathered skirt appear even fuller than it was, further softening the overall effect. But Kat was particularly pleased with the slight ruching of the sleeves, just the thing to add a feminine touch to a practical tailored dress. She nodded with satisfaction to her reflection, then turned to the door where her father stood watching her.
"You don't think I'm overdressed for a picnic, do you?" She touched the back of her hair, testing the stability of the pins holding her curls in place atop her head. As usual the thickness of her hair rebelled at the forced restriction, gravity tugging at strands from the coiled coiffure.
"Little girl, don't you dare change a thing. You're perfect."
Skipping the three steps that separated them, Kat looped her arm through his. "Thank you so much for agreeing to be a judge again this year."
"Well, I've never turned down an offer of free food," he said. He opened the door and made a slight bow. "Shall we?"
Pressed on three sides by red-faced women, Kat was surrounded with no avenue of escape.
Pushing angrily at a strand of hair that had shaken loose from her upswept hair, Mrs. Townsend leaned in, inches from Kat's ear. "Well, I think it's definitely not a legal entry! Apple strudel is simply not a pie!"
Kat threw Mrs. Forester a pleading look. Mrs. Forester smiled benevolently, but stood stoically to the side, well out of range.
No help there, she thought. What had she gotten into! This would require some diplomacy and a large dose of patience. She stared blankly at the two women waiting for her to respond. The buttons of their bodices seemed threatened by the heaving of their chests. Mrs. Victoria Townsend's face was flushed with apoplectic rage. Perhaps she'd need to administer a bit of digitalis for heart strain before this went too far. She relaxed a bit as the humor of their accusations of contest violation struck her.
"Dr. Meriwether, I hardly think this is cause for mirth." Mrs. Hermione Schuster's eyes narrowed to slits.
Kat hadn't realized that her face had betrayed her, allowing a smile to escape. She drew the corners of her mouth down, then cast her eyes to the offending strudel. "No, I suppose it isn't."
"Certainly not! So, what do you propose to do about this?" Mrs. Victoria Townsend threw back.
The 'pie' in question was undoubtedly the most visually appealing entry on the table. She looked at the number on the tag, then checked her entry list. That was interesting. Timothy Hindricks. That was the man she'd treated for the argument with the mule. She smiled at the memory of his embarrassment.
Hearing Mrs. Townsend make a distinct 'harrumph', she realized that the smile had tugged the corners of her mouth upward again. An instant later she successfully managed to lower her brow into a proper scowl.
Kat needed to take control. It was expected. So she cleared her throat and announced, "Well, it certainly doesn't fit into the cake category, or even the cookie category."
She paused, her mind racing ahead to resolve the issue with as little bloodletting as possible. As much as she recognized the inequality of the treatment of women in this the cusp of the twentieth century, she was honest enough to realize that justice must work in two directions. If women excelled in cooking, but a man was willing to challenge that superiority, who was she to stand in the way.
She took in a long inhalation of tense air. "It may not be a conventional pie but I really can't see that we can reject the entry for any sound reason. Our..." She paused here assessing her audience. "Our biases should not limit the competition."
There was a sharp intake of breath from both Mrs. Victoria Townsend and Mrs. Hermione Schuster.
Kat pulled herself to her full five feet two inches. Knowing her boots had added an inch to that, she charged ahead before either w
oman could give voice to their objections. "So, with the authority vested in me by this committee, I will accept the entry. We'll let the judges decide, and may the best man or woman win!"
The two storm clouds rained down on each other as Kat excused herself, rapidly walking away to a sunnier location, but not before Mrs. Hermione Schuster had commented quite loudly, "Next I suppose men will be allowed to enter the needlework competitions!"
Kat recalled with amusement that her dress had been designed by a man, but she held her tongue on that matter. Never again, she thought.
"Ah, come on, Mr. Winthrop, it'll be fun!"
Jonathan straightened, the pitchfork providing a support for his arm as he gave Adam a bemused expression that spread from his eyes to his lips. "Fun?"
"Yeah. There'll be games and lots of food." Adam's face screwed up as he thought of ways to entice Jonathan to join them. He tried another tack. "And I'm betting that pretty lady doctor will be there too!"
"You planning on asking her to dance, are 'ya?" Jonathan asked.
Adam scratched the back of his leg with his big toe. "Aw, she won't pay any attention to me." Then his face brightened. He added, "But she might with you."
A vision of the Dr. Meriwether out of his dream swam to the forefront of his mind, the smell of lavender and the cascading curls the color of chestnut, the softness of the skin at the nape of her neck. As quickly as the memory came warming his blood, the second part of the dream replaced the warmth with a chilling cold. He'd seen those lifeless brown eyes, her eyes staring out of an ashen face.
He shook his head as if to dislodge the dream, thrusting the pitchfork deep into the hay. "Best, you and your dad go along without me." His mouth turned into a grim line.
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