Jane Bonander (21 page)

“Christ, Frank, we dig until I say we stop. Why do you question my orders?”

The brief lifting of Wolf’s eyebrows was the only evidence of recognition. He wasn’t surprised to discover his half brother behind this. But he wasn’t sure if it was Serge’s plan or if Serge, too, took orders from someone else—like his mother.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier to do this in the day-time, Henley. We’d get done faster.” The man cursed. “We’ve been at this since last fall, and you ain’t paid me for none of it.”

Serge stopped working, and in the faint moonlight Wolf could see him leaning on his shovel.

“I can’t get my hands on the cash right now.”

“That’s what you said two months ago. I ain’t a patient man, Henley.”

“Well, learn some patience, damnit. And we can’t do this during the day, you fool.”

“I ain’t no fool! Don’t call me a fool!”

Serge cursed. “All right, so you aren’t a fool.”

Both men had stopped, and the night air was so quiet, Wolf could hear them breathing.

“Christ. This is damned hard work. It would’ve been easier to just marry the girl, Henley. Then the land that butted up against the river would’ve been yours for the taking and we wouldn’t have to sneak around at night, digging these damned ditches.”

Serge expelled a disparaging laugh. “Two things wrong with that, Frank. First, she up and married that half-breed crook while I was back East. It did my heart good to tell her he was trying to sell her land. Second—well, you know the second reason.”

Frank Barnes snickered. “Hell, if it were me, I would’ve married her anyway. And if that sister would’ve stayed home, I’d have screwed her on the side.”

Serge laughed again, an unpleasant sound. “You already did.”

“How’d you know that?” Frank’s voice held a threatening edge.

“Everybody knows, Frank. Everybody with any sense knows that baby belongs to you, even if the wrong woman is taking care of it.”

Barnes spat out a curse. “I tried to do ’em both, but plain old Julia caught on quicker’n I thought she would.”

Wolf tensed at the slur. He clenched his fist and dug it slowly into the ground, imagining it was Frank Barnes’s face.

“That’s the only thing I regret,” Serge said as he started to dig.

“What’s that?”

“That I had to do anything bad to Julia. But it couldn’t be helped. After all, Amos had discovered the north ditch.”

“That’s another thing. I ain’t been paid for that, either.”

“And if you don’t stop harping on it, you never will. Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to turn you in for his murder?”

“But you ordered it!”

“Who are they going to believe, Frank? You or me? After all,
you
pulled the trigger. I wasn’t even here.”

Frank Barnes grumbled something Wolf couldn’t hear, then, “I want my money, or else.”

“Don’t threaten me, Frank. You can’t outsmart me and you know it. You’ll get paid when I feel like paying you.”

Wolf had heard enough. Discovery had been easy. Proving it would be another matter, and he couldn’t do it alone.

As he rode into the yard, Crawford’s hound bayed from the porch. A fluttering light was lit inside, and soon Crawford stepped outside.

“Who’s there?”

“McCloud.”

Crawford came toward him holding a lantern. His trousers were pulled hastily over his nightshirt, held up by one suspender. “What do you want? It’s after midnight.”

Wolf had been relieved he could trust Crawford, but knew the man was only being civil because of Julia. “I need your help.”

“Couldn’t it wait until morning?” The hound lumbered over and flopped down on Crawford’s boot.

“By morning I want the trap to be set.”

Crawford leaned closer. “Trap?”

Wolf nodded. “I know who’d been diverting the water, and how they’re doing it.”

Crawford headed for the barn. “Follow me. We can talk inside.”

T
he saloon was half full of ranchers, and it wasn’t even noon. Crawford had revealed that Frank Barnes was a regular morning customer. Wolf sat with his back to the wall; Crawford faced him. There was a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey on the table, but they each drank coffee.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Crawford poured a shot of whiskey into his cup.

“It’s got to. Did you talk to the sheriff before you came?”

Crawford nodded. “He’ll wait for you to come for him.”

“Thanks. I don’t think he would have believed me.”

Crawford took a slurp of his coffee. “I’d wondered why the water level was so low. Hell, I’ve been through worse droughts than this, and that river has never been so dry.”

“Now you know why.” Wolf tipped his hat and sat up as Frank Barnes sauntered through the door. “He just walked in.”

He watched Barnes slide a coin across the bar and accept a drink, drawing his gaze away when Barnes scanned the room. He stopped at their table. Wolf leaned across to Crawford, pretending to listen as Crawford spoke.

“He’s on his way over.”

“Let’s do it.”

“I tell you, Crawford,” Wolf began, raising his voice, “I can get you a real sweet deal on that land.”

“Sweet deal, hell. It isn’t worth half what you’re asking for it.”

Wolf acted incredulous. “It’s on the river, you fool.” He pretended not to notice Barnes, who stood nearby.

Crawford appeared thoughtful and scratched his chin. “I don’t know. You’re sure Julia knows what you’re doing?”

Wolf slammed his fist on the table. “It’s my land now. I can do what I want with it, and to hell with her.” He scowled at Crawford and poured a shot of whiskey into his coffee. He could see Barnes out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you want, Barnes? We’re making a deal here.”

Frank Barnes snickered and took the empty chair, scooting it close. “For that piece of land by the river?”

Wolf rose halfway out of his chair. “Get the hell out of here. I’m not bargaining with you
or
your boss.”

Crawford put his hand on Wolf’s arm. “Settle down, McCloud.” He turned to Barnes. “Is there something wrong with that piece of land, Frank?”

Barnes moved his chair closer to Crawford. “You was really gonna do business with this breed?”

Crawford expelled a heavy sigh. “I need water, Frank. Amos hogged that land all his life. Wouldn’t even listen to an offer. If it’s available, I’m going to buy it.”

“Even if the old man’s will said none of his land was to be sold?” Barnes asked.

Crawford took another slurp of his coffee as Barnes eyed the bottle on the table. He shoved the shot glass to him.

“Hey,” Wolf snarled, reaching for the bottle. “I paid for that.”

Crawford caught his arm. “Let him have a drink. By the way, McCloud, did you know about this will?”

“Yeah, I know about it. So what? Listen, I’ve got that sorry woman’s bills to pay, plus a few debts of my own. If I don’t get them paid off, you might as well kiss my ass good-bye.” He sank low in the chair, crossed his arms over his chest and sulked.

Crawford tossed Barnes a private look and shrugged. “Are you sure Amos didn’t want to sell that land?”

“I heard it from a good source, Mr. Crawford.” Barnes was anxious to please the upstanding rancher, especially when it appeared Crawford was interested in what he had to say. He poured himself another shot of whiskey, downed it, then poured another, throwing that one down, too.

Wolf snorted. “From Julia’s precious friend Serge, no doubt. I don’t like him sniffing around my wife. Tell him that.”

Barnes leaned toward Wolf. “Hey, I don’t have to tell him nothin’, breed.”

Wolf rose up out of his chair again, pretending to weave. ’Is that ‘cause you and the Nancy-boy got something going?”

Barnes leaped to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind him. They were glaring at each other when Crawford stepped between them.

“Settle down. Dammit, settle down. Frank, we
were
having a private conversation.”

The men sat down again, and Barnes tossed back another whiskey. Wolf wondered how much it took to get him drunk.

“If you got money to buy land, you have money for some information, Mr. Crawford.”

“Hey!” Wolf grabbed Frank’s arm. “This is
my
deal, Barnes.”

Barnes shrugged off Wolf’s hand as if his touch were contaminated. He turned his back on him. “Well, Mr. Crawford?”

“What kind of information, Frank?”

He motioned over his shoulder. “Does he have to be here?”

“We’re negotiating. He stays.”

Frank moved close, as if doing so would shut Wolf out. “You can buy all the land along the river you want, Mr. Crawford. But you won’t get the water.”

Wolf, tensed, but kept quiet. He’d tipped his chair against the wall and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.

“No?” Crawford looked surprised. “Why not?”

“We got a deal?”

Crawford leaned closer. “How do I know you’ll tell me the truth, and not make up some cock-and-bull story?”

“Because if I tell you what I know, I’ll need to leave town. And I don’t want you sendin’ someone after me.”

Wolf listened carefully, while making occasional snoring sounds.

“How much do you want, Frank?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

Crawford whistled. “That’s a hell of a lot of money.”

“What I got to say is worth every penny, Mr. Crawford.”

“Why are you willing to sell me this information?”

“Because my current employer is an asshole. I done things for him I ain’t proud of, but I done ’em anyways, ’cause he promised to pay me. Now he’s tryin’ to wiggle out of his obligation.”

“All right, Frank. Shoot.”

Wolf listened as Barnes spilled his guts about the trenches. Once he got going, it would have been hard to shut him up even if they’d wanted to. For an extra five thousand dollars, he pinned Amos Larson’s death on Serge, not mentioning his own involvement, of course.

Wolf let the chair slam to the floor and pretended to come awake, startled. He yawned, rubbed his hands over his face and stood, weaving as he did so. “I gotta get me some fresh air.” He stumbled from the saloon and went directly to the sheriff.

Julia stood at the window, watching Serge’s men work on her barn, grateful Frank Barnes wasn’t among them. McCloud was nowhere in sight. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon, when he’d left with the fruit, but she knew he’d been there; the cows had been milked and the cream skimmed. There were also a few eggs in a small basket on the table.

She clutched her father’s letter to her chest, the letter McCloud had brought with him that night he’d returned. She’d come across it while she searched for some old clothes to cut into quilt squares.

Pressing her forehead against the windowpane, she closed her eyes and sighed. How could she have forgotten those words? Words that had angered her so then, gave her hope now, and also made her realize how much she missed the man who’d written them.

I know you think I’ve betrayed you … I know how you think you feel about him, honey, but give him a chance. Deep down, he’s a good man. I would never do anything in the world to hurt you. Please, please remember that.

The wrinkled, tearstained paper brought back memories of the morning she’d first read it. There was no way McCloud could have forced Papa to write that kind of letter.

After Meredith and Serge had continually tried to convince her that Papa had been sick in the head, she’d started to believe it herself. They were very persuasive. But Papa hadn’t gone soft in the head. She may not have wanted to see that he was dying; it was far easier to rationalize and tell herself that he would get better. Toward the end, he was distant and depressed, but never once did he appear confused. And never had he displayed any bizarre behavior, at least none that she’d seen.

She missed him. Tears threatened, but she pushed them away. She’d had the urge to cry much too often lately. It wasn’t like her at all. Scolding herself, she took a deep breath. She was being selfish. Papa was in a good place now. After so many years of separation, he was with Mama. And he wouldn’t be old, or tired or sick. He’d be young and strong, like he was the day he and Mama had married.

A quivering smile spread her lips and she felt a weight off her chest. She could let it go. “Be happy for me, Papa,” she whispered, looking at the sky. “Things are far from perfect, but I love him. And you were right; McCloud is a good man.”

She drew her gaze to the barn just as McCloud rode into the yard. Her heart raced, and she knew she had to go to him. Tell him she’d been wrong to let others influence her thinking. Beg him to forgive her for not believing in him. Not trusting him. She felt he pointed the finger of guilt at the wrong party, but the truth would come out soon, she was sure of it.

After checking on Marymae, she threw her wrapper on and went outside. Her eyes lifted to the mountain and the sloping hills that led up to it. Everything was awash with flowering mustard and orange poppies. Spring. She felt a pinch of excitement. Everything came alive in the spring, and she loved it.

As she rounded the side of the house, she noticed a buggy behind the hedgerow of fire-berry bushes that shielded the house from the north wind. She slowed her steps.

“You might just as well leave. Haven’t you done enough damage around here?”

Recognizing Meredith’s voice, Julia frowned and crept closer.

“Not half as much as you’ve done.”

Julia’s heart slid into her stomach. McCloud?

“Me? I’ve only tried to prevent her from making the mistake of believing you’re here for her, instead of for yourself.”

McCloud muttered an oath. “Oh, I know what you’re trying to do. I’ve told you I’m no threat to your efforts for power. You’ve undermined yourself without any help from me.”

“My, such a cryptic statement coming from someone on whom I could so very easily pin Amos Larson’s death.”

Julia’s eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth. Her heart was beating so loudly, she was surprised they couldn’t hear it.

But her husband only chuckled. “What’s the matter, Meredith? Did I come along and pluck the spinster from your clutches, ruining all your plans?”

Julia’s heart dropped further and she felt nauseated. She ordered her feet to move, but they were rooted to the ground.

“Yes, if you must know, I had plans for her and Serge. I wanted—”

He interrupted her with a hoot of laughter. “I know what you wanted. And you would have done it, wouldn’t you? You would have forever bound Julia to a man who could never love her the way a woman should be loved.”

“And I suppose you can?”

Julia held her breath, waiting … hoping.… The

pause was her answer. And it hurt. But she wouldn’t run away. That was for a woman with far more pride than she had at this moment. She stepped around the bush to face them.

Her husband’s face showed genuine surprise. “Julia!”

“Yes, McCloud. I’d like to hear your answer, too.”

He took her arm. “Fine. But first I want you to hear something else.”

Meredith stood, tapping her foot with impatience. “He’s going to try to convince you of something that isn’t true, Julia. Remember, I’ve had your best interest at heart.”

Julia’s stomach tightened as she waited.

“I’ve been in Walnut Hill with Jake Crawford and the sheriff.” McCloud’s voice was stern.

Julia forgot about the answer she’d wanted. “The sheriff? Why?”

He put his arm around her waist and absently rubbed her hip. “Because I discovered who’s diverting the water from the river.”

She was unable to take her eyes off him. Whether he loved her or not didn’t change her love for him. He was exactly the kind of man Papa assured her he was. “Who?” She had a funny feeling that she knew the answer.

“I think Meredith knows, don’t you, Meredith?” His voice held an accusation.

Meredith appeared puzzled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t know Serge was digging trenches from the river to your orchards?”

“Serge?” Julia couldn’t believe it.

Meredith paled. “That’s utter nonsense. I don’t believe it.”

McCloud opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “I discovered him and Frank Barnes at one of the ditches last night. Quite by accident, mind you.”

Meredith frowned, obviously shaken. “I don’t believe you.”

Julia remembered what she’d seen from the window seat. “I saw two men leaving your barn last night, Meredith. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now …” she swung her gaze to McCloud. “It could have been Frank and Serge.”

“This is insane.” Meredith’s voice was soft, shaky.

Julia felt sick to her stomach. “The sedative.” Her gaze flew to Meredith. “If I’d taken it, I wouldn’t have seen them leave the barn. Was that your intention?”

The woman’s face showed true consternation. “Oh, my dear. No. No! I only had Serge prepare it for you because it seemed you needed sleep.”

Icy fingers played over Julia’s spine. “Serge prepared it?”

Meredith’s eyes filled with pain. “Yes, but he wouldn’t have—” She squared her shoulders and glared at McCloud. “I don’t believe a word of what you’re implying,” she said on a hiss of breath. “And no one else will, either. You’re just a breed.
No
one in this valley will believe you over me. I wish you had died. You were
supposed
to die!”

Confused, Julia looked at her husband, whose jaw was tight and whose eyes were hard, then at Meredith. The woman appeared old, mean, and beaten.

“McCloud,” Julia said on a whisper of breath, “what’s she talking about?”

“Julia,” he began, a small, tight smile creasing his mouth, “meet the woman who gave me life, then proceeded to try to take it from me by having me buried alive.”

In her whole life Julia had never fainted. Never swooned. That suddenly changed.

Julia came awake slowly. She opened her eyes; McCloud sat beside her on the bed.

“How are you?” His face was filled with concern as he brushed a strand off her forehead.