Robin Lee Hatcher (32 page)

“You all right?” Rand called.

“I’m fine.” He moved toward them as fast as he could. “Lost my horse in the storm. Did you find him?”

“Not yet.”

“I’d sure hate to lose him. Not to mention my best rifle and saddle.”

Rand asked, “Where’s Rick Saunders, that new kid from the Connelly ranch?”

Hawk shook his head, trying to remember which cowboy was Saunders. He drew a blank.

“He got lost in the storm too. We thought he was with you.”

“No, he wasn’t with me. I never saw anybody after I gave chase to that wolf.” He touched the back of his head. Did Saunders have something to do with his being knocked from his horse? But that didn’t make any sense. He didn’t even know him.

Bethany slid from the saddle and hurried the last few steps to reach him. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? I was so scared when they told me you got separated from the others.”

“I’m fine, and you shouldn’t have come out here.” He lowered his voice. “You’ve got a baby to think of.”

Rand said, “I tried to stop her, but she’s stubborn.”

“Tell me about it.” He pulled her against him. “She has a mind of her own, this one.”

She held him tight. “I kept remembering what I was told about a man getting caught in a storm and freezing and not being found until spring. I was terrified that those words were coming true.”

“Who said that to you?”

She drew back and looked up at him, fear still in her eyes. After a lengthy silence, she answered, “Mr. Richards.”

Anger sparked in his chest. He would know more about what Vince said to his wife, but now was not the time to press for an explanation. “Let’s get home.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

As soon as they were alone in their cabin, Hawk asked, “When did Richards say those things to you?”

Bethany was relieved to know that her husband was safe, but she didn’t look forward to this conversation. “I’m not sure.” She walked into the kitchen. “Not long after the first big storm.”

“You mean he came here, to the Circle Blue?”

“Yes.” She reached for the bread. “Sit down, Hawk, while I fix you something to eat. You’ve got to be hungry.”

He ignored her request, instead joining her at the side table. “Where was I?”

“Checking the cattle.” She glanced at him. “He didn’t stay long. He said he came to make sure I was all right after the storm. I told him I was fine and sent him away.” It was true, what she said, only there were things she could add, things she didn’t want to add, words that might spur him to anger and recklessness.

His eyes turned stormy. “There’s nothing altruistic about Richards. He had another purpose in coming to see you. You can bet on it.”

“Let it go, Hawk.” A frisson of fear ran along her spine, a feeling she’d had all too frequently in recent weeks. “It isn’t his fault that I let his words go to my head.” Try as she might, she didn’t believe that — Vince had meant to frighten her — and she was quite sure Hawk didn’t believe it either.

He studied her a while longer, then gave a slow nod. “All right. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

Tension drained from her shoulders, and she gave him a grateful look. “Go warm yourself by the fire while I prepare your meal. It won’t take long.”

Again he nodded, then turned and left the kitchen.

Bethany let out a breath of air as she pressed her palms on the table. She really had no reason to be afraid. Vince Richards had never harmed her. She might find the things he said unpleasant or unwelcome, but could she call them threatening? Besides, he wasn’t responsible for the weather.

God had looked out for Hawk today, guiding him to a place of shelter, keeping him warm and dry. The snowstorm hadn’t lasted long. It could have gone on for days, and instead it was over in a few hours. The worst that had happened was the loss of his horse and rifle, and hopefully the animal would be found unharmed.

Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid
.

Her mother had taught her that verse when she was a little girl of six or seven. She’d suffered from nightmares then too. So each night, her mother would take Bethany onto her lap and whisper Jesus’ words in her ear until she had memorized them. And eventually the nightmares and the fear that came with them went away.

Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid
.

She promised herself that she would repeat those words every day until her current fears vanished as well.

Hawk stared into the fire. The anger in his chest felt as hot as the flames licking at the logs in the grate. He didn’t know what Vince had intended when he came to see Bethany, but he meant to make certain it never happened again. The man wasn’t welcome on the Circle Blue at any time, but especially when Hawk was away.

He looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen, wondering what else Vince had said to Bethany. There was more. He felt it in his gut.

Vince waited until he was alone before he swept the top of the table clean, his curses mingling with the sounds of breaking glass and china.

Hutchens appeared in the dining room doorway in seconds. “Sir?”

He swore at his servant and told him to get out. Hutchens was smart enough to obey without hesitation.

Alone again, he kicked over the chair behind him. Saunders. That thieving, lying, no-good gunslinger had told him Chandler was dead. He’d even brought back the pearl-handled knife as proof the job was done. Vince had paid him well for it. Not that he’d had time to spend any of the money before McDermott killed him. Vince didn’t like loose ends, and he didn’t take chances with men he didn’t know well.

He muttered another string of curses as he paced the length of the dining room. He’d told Bethany that he wasn’t a patient man, and what little patience he had was now used up. He would get rid of Chandler once and for all, and this time he would do it himself.

He stopped pacing as a sneer crept slowly onto his face. Maybe he’d gone about the matter the wrong way. He just might know what to do. Yes, by George, he just might.

He left the dining room and went into his study, where he pulled open the top drawer of his desk. There it was: Chandler’s knife, supposed proof that he was dead. Chandler always had this knife in a sheath fastened to his belt. Even in church. He was often without his gun but never without his knife. Vince knew it, and so did everyone else in Sweetwater.

Perhaps Saunders hadn’t been a complete failure.

“Hutchens!”

His manservant was as quick to appear as he had been to disappear moments before. “Sir?”

“Tell McDermott I need to see him right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vince stroked the pearl handle of the knife, his smile growing. Then he closed the drawer and sat in his chair to await McDermott.

Hawk lay awake late into the night. The house was blanketed in silence, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him sleep. Vince was up to no good. But what? He was probably behind the cattle rustling, most likely the beating Hawk had taken last summer, perhaps the gunman too. But what did he want with Bethany?

Hawk turned his head on the pillow and looked at his wife. The moonlight coming through the window provided pale illumination. She slept on her side, her back to him, her breathing soft and steady. No nightmares tonight. No sign of unrest. He rolled onto his side, spooning his body to hers, his arm draped over her waist.

Whatever else was going on, he had to protect Bethany. He would die before he let harm come to her.

THIRTY-NINE

Men had continued to search for Rick Saunders until nightfall on the day of the hunt, and they were back at it the next morning. Hawk joined them, despite Bethany’s objections.

“You’d want others to keep looking if I hadn’t been found yet,” he’d said to her. “Don’t worry. The skies are clear. We won’t get caught by the weather a second time.”

His prediction proved correct. It didn’t cloud over or snow that day. But a storm of another kind came in its stead. Midmorning, they found Saunders’ body. Hawk’s pearl-handled knife — the one that had belonged to his father — was sticking out of the cowboy’s chest.

Hawk dismounted to get a better look. “It’s mine, all right.” He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the search party. “I lost it yesterday after I was knocked from my horse.”

He saw a couple of Connelly cowboys exchange glances. He didn’t blame them.

“Rusty, you’d better go for Sheriff Cook. Tell him we’ll take the body to the Circle Blue. It’s the closest.”

Rusty gave him a grim nod, then turned his horse and started down the mountain as fast as the snow-covered ground would allow.

Hawk turned back to the body.

Westy joined him. “Better take out the knife, boss, before we put him over a saddle.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “This doesn’t feel right, Westy.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I’m not sure.” He raised his eyes and studied the landscape.

“How did he end up here?”

“When we took after that wolf pack, you two disappeared about the same time. Hard to tell which way he went because of the storm. We figured the two of you were together.”

“If he was behind me, I didn’t know it.”

Hawk replayed the events of the previous day in his mind. He remembered following the black wolf, but he didn’t know how long the chase had lasted. He remembered the moment when he knew he wouldn’t get a shot off. He’d stopped his horse, letting the animal rest a short while, then turned him down the mountain. The snow had come harder by then. He remembered thinking he saw something from the corner of his eye. Had something moved? Could it have been another rider? He remembered being knocked from the saddle and pulling his knife. After that it was blank until the moment he came to on the ground.

Could he have stabbed a man and not remembered it?

No. He gave his head a slow shake. He would know.

Westy reached down and pulled the knife from the young cowboy’s body. He turned it in his hand and held the handle toward Hawk.

He shook his head. “You’d better keep it for now, Westy.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Bethany couldn’t believe what was happening before her eyes. Sheriff Cook was taking her husband to the jail. “Sheriff, you know Hawk. You know he wouldn’t kill a man.”