Medicine Wheel (30 page)

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Sit down with me in front of the fireplace. We need to talk.”

She did not wait for his reply but scooted the settee closer to the fire.

“We’ve been talking all afternoon,” he said.

“About business. This isn’t business.”

They sat down together, just inches apart, and took in the warmth of the fire. He decided to let her set the agenda.

“How do you feel about what happened eight months ago,” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Does it bother you that I probably killed my husband?”

“You weren’t found guilty. The county attorney dismissed the charges the Monday after the mistrial was declared.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the facts. We both know I shot him. But, for what it’s worth, I truly don’t remember it. I didn’t make that up. The terrible thing is, I don’t even feel remorse. Isn’t that sad? What does that say about me? I know Cam calls me ‘Crazy Kirsten’ sometimes. Do you think I might be insane?”

Thad laughed. “That isn’t what Cam means. It’s an affectionate label. He thinks you’re crazy like a fox. He’s never seen the likes of you.” He paused and turned to her, lifted her chin and kissed her very softly on the lips. “The truth is I’ve never seen the likes of you, either. But I sure as hell like what I see.”

She gently pushed him back. “Then all of that . . . with Max . . . it doesn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Another question.”

“I feel like I’m back on the witness stand.”

“Then tell the goddamned truth. I generally keep my distance on your personal business, but I’m breaking that rule tonight. What’s going to happen with you and Serena? She’s moving back to the Flint Hills and she’s bringing your son with her.”

He had thought a lot about that and he was prepared to respond. “I am going to become an important person in my son’s life. We’ve got a lot of time to make up for. I believe her when she says she will do everything to bring me into his life. We talked when I made follow-up visits during her malaria recurrence. We have no intentions of taking up where we left off more than a decade ago. I have forgiven her for what she did with our son, but I haven’t forgotten, and a part of me will always resent it, I suspect.”

“She and I connected during what we experienced. I think we will continue to be good friends.”

“That doesn’t concern me. I asked Serena to marry me. But we were kids. Some kids marry and grow old together, and mature love evolves. I’ve seen it happen. But Serena made a wise decision when she turned me down. People have separate dreams, and if they can meld them into a shared dream, life is good. If they collide, they turn into a nightmare, and I fear that’s how Serena and I would have ended . . . in the middle of a horrible nightmare. But who knows? And it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.”

Now Kirsten reached behind his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips hungrily against his. He responded and his body told him what he wanted more than anything at this moment.

“I think you should stay the night,” she whispered in his ear.

“Probably should,” he agreed.

She led him into the bedroom, sat down on the bed and began pulling her boots off and slipping her faded denims down long, seemingly endless, legs. “You’ll probably want to check my scars.”

Thad started shedding his own garments. “Probably time for a follow-up exam,” he said.

And when they tumbled naked onto the sheets, Thad learned that “Crazy Kirsten” was as innovative and enthusiastic in the bedroom as in the boardroom.

Spring 1886

62

T
HE
CALENDAR
TURNED
to the first of March with a strong suggestion of an early spring, although Thad well knew this could be one of Mother Nature’s false promises. The winter’s snow had thawed to mere isolated patches, and as Thad led his venerable Appaloosa into the yard, the sun warmed his back and made him drowsy. He hadn’t been getting enough sleep this winter, he chided himself—thanks to Kirsten Cavelle. He’d found too many excuses to trek over to the C Bar C on a cold night to discuss some contrived Medicine Wheel business, and if he didn’t spend the night, he stayed well past the time any company business was resolved. And if he was absent a few nights, Kirsten found her way to his place, for their lust ignored the clock. One afternoon she had even stopped by on the pretense of visiting Henry, but Henry had been left yowling outside the bedroom door.

In spite of the distractions, the Medicine Wheel project moved forward, and the critical structures would be up and in business by the time the new railroad line was constructed. The merger of their cattle operations would be accomplished after spring calving, when Thad would try to sell his Hereford cow-calf pairs to local breeders for summer pasturing.

He knew that the personal relationship with his business partner was playing with fire, but there was no use trying to shut it off at this point. There was nothing stressful about it, and somehow it all seemed perfectly natural that he and Kirsten end up in bed together after a hard day’s work. Beyond that, he had decided he was not ready to analyze it all. He had other personal challenges on the horizon.

As he neared the barn to unsaddle and tend to Cato, he heard a horse’s distant whinny from behind him, and he turned to see two riders passing through the gate. He paused and watched as they moved his way. As they drew closer, his heart raced. It was Serena, and the other rider had to be Ned. He wasn’t prepared for this, but he led an uncooperative Cato toward his visitors.

“Hi, Thad,” Serena said, as they rode up to within a half dozen paces of him. His eyes were fastened on the other rider. Tall for his age and skinny, dark but even lighter-skinned than Serena, he had flawless skin and steel-gray eyes. His face had a sober expression, just a tad short of fear.

“Thad,” Serena said, “I’ve brought somebody out to meet you.”

Thad smiled. “I see that. This is Ned, of course.” He moved closer to the boy’s Pinto gelding. “I’ve been waiting all winter to meet you . . . your lifetime, actually.”

The boy returned a weak, tentative smile.

“Ned, why don’t you get down and shake your father’s hand?”

The boy hesitated a moment and then gracefully dismounted. He stood in front of Thad, who wasn’t sure what his next move should be.

Ned solved his dilemma. “Are you really my dad?”

“I sure am, Son . . . and proud of it.”

The boy suddenly flew into his arms, locking his own arms about Thad’s waist as if he were holding on for his life. He began to sob uncontrollably.

And then Thad started to cry as he folded his arms tightly about the shoulders of Edward Thaddeus Locke. He looked up helplessly at Serena and saw that she was crying, too.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

I must first express sincerest appreciation to Leafcutter Publishing Group, Inc. for making my novels available via its Poor Coyote Press imprint. I have been well served by the quality of my publisher’s final product and the effectiveness of the company’s marketing.

My editor, Mike Schwab, who has the last word on the manuscript, started me down this road with the suggestion some folks out there might enjoy reading the stuff I was writing, and then he figured out how to make it happen.

Bev Schwab has assisted immeasurably on the early edits and is my constant sounding board and cheerleader.

I highly value Kim Schwab’s editing contributions and Cole Bauer’s manuscript assistance. Rick Leeson read the raw manuscript to see if the story line made sense, and let me know when it didn’t. Judge Linda Bauer reviewed the court scenes to help me stay within the bounds of literary license, and kept a sharp eye out for other inconsistencies.

 
Special thanks is owed to my world keeper, Diane Garland. This novel presented unusual challenges (mostly created by the author), and she sorted out the timeline problems and character inconsistencies with great skill and professionalism.

Finally, I must send my love and gratitude to my large extended family for their continuing support and encouragement—and for providing inspiration for a character or two from time to time.

A
BOUT
THE
A
UTHOR

Ron Schwab is the author of
Night of the Coyote
,
Sioux Sunrise
,
Paint the Hills Red
, and
Last Will.
He is a member of the Western Writers of America, Western Fictioneers, and Mystery Writers of America.

For more information about Ron Schwab and his books, visit the author’s website at www.RonSchwabBooks.com.