Canyon Song (26 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copper Ridge

April 11,1884

Judge Cameron checked his pocket watch and took a
cuernito
from the plate Elena offered. Ignoring her, he spoke instead to his new wife. “I’m sorry I won’t be available to drive you to the station, but Elena’s cousin, Manuel, is a fine, honest young man. I’ve left him the phaeton and the team.”

Lucy could barely look him in the eye
. Once again last night, he had come upon her like an ancient plague. Once again he managed to convince himself she enjoyed his crude intrusions.

“I’m due to try a couple of cases in Broken Fork
. Nothing that should take too long — maybe four days with the travel. Roy Hadley’s riding there with me this morning. He’s wants to look at a prime bull out at the Ortiz
hacienda
— and he’s pretty handy with a rifle, in case any road agents or Indians turn up.”

Did he delude himself to think she cared
? Did he truly imagine this a marriage, or was he only goading his former mistress to remind her of her place? Lucy forced a nod to end his explanations, then flinched when he kissed her on the cheek.

Elena, who lingered in the kitchen doorway, watched intently
. She stepped forward and handed him a packet, and Lucy noticed how their gazes locked.

She didn’t give two hoots
. As far as she was concerned, Ward Cameron could take his unwanted attentions to the woman’s bedroom, as long as he left her in peace.

Cameron nodded curtly to Miss Rathbone before leaving.

The older woman checked the watch pinned to her bosom once again, as she had already a dozen times or more.“Shouldn’t we be going now?”  Miss Rathbone asked, a hint of a quaver in her voice.

She didn’t look so much like a bulldog as she fidgeted with the clasp on her reticule and smoothed her sensible brown skirt
. Lucy thought the uncharacteristic display of nervousness made Miss Rathbone seem almost likable. Too bad she’d chosen her final morning here to affect some semblance of humanity.

At first, Lucy had been just as eager to see the last of her disdainful warden as Miss Rathbone was to leave
. Yet now she felt surprising sadness at the loss of the only familiar person in her life. She imagined the woman going back to Connecticut to resume the management of the Worthington home, a home that Lucy had forever put beyond her in a few moments of pleasure. A wave of loneliness nearly swamped her.

“It’s more than two hours until the stage is due,” Lucy said
. “Have something to eat. Heaven knows the next time you’ll have decent food.”

She gestured toward the plate Elena had just set on the table
. On it, an assortment of dainties steamed enticingly. Perhaps in an effort to buy some sort of peace with Lucy, Elena had offered to try some of her American receipts. Though Lucy was grateful for the Mexican woman’s efforts, Elena’s attempts had so far proved quite wretched. Delicious as the pastries smelled, Lucy decided that for the sake of her delicate stomach, she would wait until Elena’s skills improved.

Miss Rathbone, however, sank onto a chair’s edge and murmured, “Yes, I suppose if I’ve learned anything from our adventure out here, it’s to eat food when it’s offered.”  She recovered her old form enough to smite Elena with a delightfully disdainful glare
. “Almost
any
food, prepared by any sort of person.”

Lucy smiled as Elena bit her lip and disappeared into the kitchen
. In her wake, Spanish words ricocheted like bullets.

“You don’t supposed she’s swearing, do you?” Lucy asked.

“It would be unthinkable. Those must be prayers of gratitude for the opportunity to serve a Worthington. I’ve uttered quite a few myself.”

Miss Rathbone bit into the pastry, giving Lucy no clue as to whether or not her words had been in jest
. Miss Rathbone, joking? This trip had truly brought out the most unexpected qualities.

Lucy poured the two of them a cup of tea
.

“So how was today’s experiment?” she asked, gesturing toward the plate.

Miss Rathbone took a nibble from a second pastry. “A bit better than the last. But still, there’s an off-note. Perhaps she substituted something for the baking powder. I understand it’s not always available in these wild places.”

Lucy saw the woman’s jaw twitch violently
. Miss Rathbone’s nerves must be more sensitive than she’d expected. Lucy was about to ask if she was quite all right when Miss Rathbone’s whole head jerked. The older woman’s hands shot toward her stomach, and they, too, appeared to spasm uncontrollably.

Alarmed, Lucy jumped to her feet
. “Miss Rathbone?”

Foam dripped from Miss Rathbone’s mouth, which opened in a silent scream
. She fell forward, sloshing steaming liquid from the teacup, then rolled out of her chair onto the floor. Her body convulsed violently, and the dining room filled with the acrid odor of her vomit.

“Elena!” Lucy screamed
. “Elena, I need help!”

Though the smell made her want to retch as well, Lucy dropped to her knees and turned Miss Rathbone’s head to one side to keep her from choking
. But Miss Rathbone continued to flail and thrash so violently that Lucy’s efforts mattered little.

“Elena
! Elena, come in here!”  Lucy’s throat strained with her shouting, but still, Elena did not come.

Leaving Miss Rathbone for the moment, Lucy went to find her
. Elena had left the kitchen, but perhaps Manuel would be outside, since he was to drive them a bit later. Lucy ran down the back steps and to the carriage house.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed on seeing the young, dark-featured man brushing the red-brown flank of one of the sorrel horses
. “We must have a doctor here at once! Miss Rathbone is having terrible fits!”

He nodded rapidly, “Sí, señora
. I will try to find him quickly.”

Without even bothering to throw a saddle on the gelding’s back, he leapt aboard and grasped the animal’s mane
. As the horse’s swift hoof beats receded quickly, Lucy rushed back into the dining room.

She found Elena stooping beside Miss Rathbone
. The older woman lay completely still. Elena turned to look up at Lucy, her expression fathomless.

“She was having fits
. I called you,” Lucy quickly explained.

“She suffers no more
. She is dead.”  Elena’s voice betrayed not a glimmer of emotion.

Lucy stared, disbelieving
. “She — she can’t be. She’s never been sick a day. We were just sitting here and talking. No, I don’t believe . . .”

Elena stood as Lucy knelt and shook Miss Rathbone
. The older woman’s eyes stared, looking as shocked as Lucy felt. Her body moved a bit as Lucy tried to rouse her, but otherwise, she lay completely still.

“No!” Lucy cried again, and she laid her head on the woman’s chest
. But nothing gave the faintest evidence of life, not a heartbeat nor a breath. At last Lucy had no choice but to admit that Elena had been right.

And then she noticed the crumbled pastry beside Miss Rathbone’s hand
. The pastry that had tasted a bit off. The pastry from a basket that Lucy had not touched.

She thought about Ward Cameron, leaving this morning, eating a
cuernito
, not one of Elena’s fresh-baked dainties. Before this morning, Elena had been eager to present to him her new creations first.

Elena
.
Lucy lifted her head and then her gaze, which she allowed to travel to Elena’s face.

The raven-haired young woman watched expectantly, and Lucy decided there would only be one way to be sure.

“Unh!”  Grabbing her midsection, Lucy bent sharply at the waist. She fell beside Miss Rathbone and struggled to imitate the woman’s jerking motions.

Looking up, she saw Elena
. The Mexican woman watched impassively, appearing not at all surprised. The next time she glanced that way, Elena had vanished.

Lucy lay still at last and silent
. From the kitchen, she heard the sounds of a woman’s singing. And though the Spanish lyrics mystified her, the melody was gay.

*     *     *

Even on Papa’s worst days, Horace Singletary hadn’t felt so low. He’d held onto his anger and his honor, even when Judge Cameron hinted that letting go of both could prove quite profitable.

Yet in the wake of the fiery attempt on his life, the illusion of honor had melted away
. With his eyebrows singed, his hands bloody, and the greater part of his shirt burned away, Horace had fled his bunkhouse home. After hiding in some bushes for an hour or two, he’d caught his mare, which had been turned loose. He saddled her using items from the unburned tack shed and rode for town. Once there, he’d taken the first steps toward  his new path.

He’d broken into Francis Knowlton’s general store and stolen what he needed
. Even now, the thought of the theft made his blistered face burn with shame. Someday, when this was over, he swore he’d repay Knowlton. Someday, if he lived . . .

Huddled behind a clump of scraggly trees, he fumbled to load ammunition into the new rifle
. It had been years since he’d last handled a gun, but back when Papa still had the ranch, he’d insisted that both his children learn how to shoot. Horace especially had been pushed to dispatch coyotes and the occasional rattlesnake. Too bad he’d been back east in college when the real predators arrived.

Funny thing was, he’d always been so squeamish about killing
. Yet now he meant to use this stolen gun to kill a man, to lie in wait and ambush him as he left town on the way to try the cases scheduled in Broken Fork. Horace remembered hearing something about a couple of fellows accused of getting drunk and shooting up a local brothel. A soiled dove had been clipped by a bullet and later died.

Horace tied his mare behind a rock outcrop, then checked to be certain she could not be seen from the bend in the only road leading north from town
. Then he found a thick clump of undergrowth to shield himself.

If Cameron were going to keep his schedule, he ought to come by soon
. And when he did, Horace was going to stop this predator at last.

*     *     *

“Didn’t seem right, Ryan turning up alive — dragging home a woman and sayin’ that they’re hitched,” Max told the judge.

Max had ridden hard to catch Judge Cameron
. His long-legged dun horse was already sweating, despite the morning’s chilly air. Max was sweating, too. This morning, Quinn had rousted him out of bed. Quinn insisted they were going after Hamby and his boys, and that this was something Cameron didn’t need to know about.

Max had had to do some smooth talking to buy himself an hour, supposedly for breakfast
. He’d been lucky enough to catch the judge as he was riding out of town. Max didn’t want Cameron going anywhere until he shared what Quinn said, and what he’d realized, too.

“Quinn Ryan’s come back?”  Judge Cameron turned in the saddle of his elegant palomino stallion
. The horse pranced nervously, as if it scented either a rainstorm or a mare.

Max nodded, “And he’s mad as hell at Hamby
. Says he’s gonna bring those boys in, one way or the other. Tells me I got to help.”

Cameron shook his head, then shrugged
. “One can’t shoot a man like Ryan and expect him to do nothing. Ned Hamby will no doubt get what he deserves.”

The judge didn’t look too sorry, even though Max knew Ned sometimes took care of his unpleasantness.

Pulling a gold pocket watch from his coat, Cameron checked the time. “I’m late to meet Hadley. Oh, yes. What was there about a woman?”

“He brought back this pretty blonde — says he’s married her
. She looked damned familiar, though, and their story didn’t sound quite right.”

The judge flipped the watch cover closed
. He seemed to have lost interest in the time. “Blonde, you said?”

Max nodded
. “Yessir — a damn good-looking blonde. The kind of woman a man don’t forget so easy. But it was her voice that really did it. Back when I was deputy in Broken Fork, I had to ride through Mud Wasp one day, and I don’t mind tellin’ you how dry that trail was that summer—”

“— Yes, yes,” Cameron waved a hand impatiently
. “We all know how parched your throat gets.”

Max paused, seething, then decided his story was too good to withhold
. “I stopped at this saloon to have myself a drink or two, and that’s where I heard this girl. She was singin’ like a regular canary. Never heard anything so fine. I asked around, wanted to see what a little visit with a woman like that might set me back. They said Annie Faith didn’t hold truck with that sort of goings on.”

A grim smile rippled Cameron’s thick mustache.

“Yes, sir, Annie Faith,” Max repeated. “She was somethin’ special, though, so I went ahead and asked her myself while she was takin’ a break. Offered her more money than I’d pay for ten turns with one of our Blue Streak whores. She turned me down flat. Didn’t even pause to pretend like she might think it over. Sort of riled me. Later on, I remember hearing how she disappeared after a charge of robbery.”