Summer Breeze (2 page)

"You'd best watch your step with that lady, " Joseph warned. "All that special grub, and her lightin' up the way she does when we walk in?" He shook his head. "Not many restaurant owners save scraps for a dog and let him eat off a plate in front of the paying customers. Could be she's thinking the way to our hearts is through our stomachs. "

Buddy worked his jaws, making a low, growling noise that sounded a lot like talking. So far Joseph hadn't been able to make out any actual words, but he was glad of the dog's responses.

Otherwise, he might be accused of talking to himself, and only a crazy man did that.

"Mark my words, that woman has marriage on her mind. Many a confirmed bachelor has met his water-loo over a supper plate. " Joseph narrowed an eye at the shepherd. "Chances are she doesn't even like dogs. Females can be treacherous creatures, pretending to be sweet when they're actually not. If she has her way, you could end up sleeping in a drafty doghouse with naught but a bare bone for company. "

Buddy whined, dropped to his belly, and crossed his white paws over his eyes. Over the last few months, the dog had become quite a ham, somehow taking his cues from Joseph's tone of voice.

His repertoire of acts included sitting up with his front paws held together in prayer, playing dead, rolling over, and lying down with his eyes covered to convey abject misery or dread.

Joseph chuckled and turned to study his newly constructed house, which sat about a hundred yards away. Roxie would undoubtedly insist upon painting the clapboard siding, and she'd want to pretty it up on the inside as well with lacy curtains, braided rugs, knickknacks, and all manner of other nonsense.
No how, no way.
She was a pretty lady, but Joseph wanted no part of locking down with one woman for the rest of his natural life. Just the thought made the bottoms of his feet itch. He liked things fine the way they were, with only him and Buddy calling the shots.

"Maybe it's just as well that calving season has come on so hard and fast. It'll give Roxie a chance to set her sights on someone else. "

Gazing across his ranch, Joseph wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the fact that it belonged to him. He'd purchased the place only last August. Two full sections of rolling pastureland stretched out on all sides almost as far as he could see, giving him the feeling that he owned the whole world. In truth, the Bar H, better known as the Hollister ranch, lay to the north, and just south of the house was the boundary line of the Circle Star, Patrick O'Shan-nessy's place.

Still, Joseph had plenty of elbow room

with the sparsely forested foothills of the Rockies on the western horizon providing limitless open range. A man could saddle up his horse and ride for days without seeing another soul. Joseph had called the ranch Eden after his younger sister, but the name would have been fitting regardless.

Finally having his own spread was his definition of paradise.

In the beginning, Joseph hadn't been sure if he could adjust to living alone. He'd spent nearly his whole life surrounded by family, a loving mother, an infuriating and spoiled little sister, and three brothers, one his elder, the other two younger than him by a couple of years. Before settling in here, he'd never come home of an evening to an empty house, let alone passed the night without hearing another human voice.

It had been difficult at first, but with Buddy to keep him company, Joseph had grown used to the solitude after a time. When he hankered for conversation, he could always visit with his hired hands, Bart and Johnny, in the bunkhouse or ride over to his brother Ace's ranch, only a short distance away. Joseph's two younger brothers, David and Esa, still lived there with Ace and his wife, Caitlin, who always seemed pleased to see Joseph when he dropped in for a cup of coffee.

Joseph tried to go as often as possible. His nephew, Little Ace, was fourteen months old now and growing like a weed. Since Joseph had no plans to marry and have a family of his own, he wanted to enjoy his brother's children as much as possible.

In his peripheral vision, Joseph caught movement and pushed wind-tossed strands of blond hair from his eyes to get a better look. A horse and rider were slowly approaching. Tossing down the cigarette and grinding it out under the heel of his boot, he pushed away from the fence post and unfastened the holster strap of his Colt. 45. Not that he expected trouble. He'd just learned the hard way at a very young age that a smart man always made ready to defend himself when strangers approached.

Sensing Joseph's sudden wariness, Buddy bounded to his feet, sniffed the air, and let loose with a low growl.

"A fine watchdog you are, " Joseph scolded.

Concerned at the way the rider slumped forward in the saddle, Joseph struck off to meet the man halfway. When he'd walked about a hundred yards, he recognized him as being Darby McClintoch, the foreman at the Bar H. Joseph had first made the old fellow's acquaintance when they worked together to mend a section of fence that ran between the two properties. Midway through that day, they had shared a patch of shade while they ate lunch. Since then, they'd run into each other only occasionally, a couple of times at the Golden Slipper on a Friday night, other times while out riding fence line or dogging a stray cow.

Joseph had almost reached the oncoming horse when Darby suddenly pitched sideways and fell from the saddle, his right boot hooking dangerously in the stirrup as he hit the dirt. Fearful that the gelding might bolt if startled, Joseph motioned for Buddy to drop and stay. Then he cautiously continued forward, saying, "Whoa, boy, whoa. "

The buckskin snorted and tossed his head but didn't sidestep.

"Good boy, " Joseph crooned as he covered the last few feet to grab the horse's bridle. "Oh, yeah, you're a steady old gent, aren't you?"

Giving the gelding a soothing pat, Joseph quickly wrapped the reins over the saddle horn with just enough tension to keep the horse from moving. Then he circled around to work Darby's boot loose from the stirrup.

"Darby?" Joseph's first thought was of the old man's heart. Darby was seventy if he was a day.

"What's wrong, old friend? You feelin' poorly?" Dumb question. A wrangler by trade, Darby had spent most of his life on the back of a horse. For him to fall from the saddle, something had to be very wrong. "Can you talk to me?"

"Back shot, " Darby gasped out as Joseph touched his shoulder. Dust had collected in the countless wrinkles of the old man's face and dulled the nickel-plate shine of his thick silver hair.

"Near about—my right kidney. "

"Back shot?" The hair at the nape of Joseph's neck tingled. He cast a quick look behind him to scan the horizon. When he was satisfied that no one had followed the old foreman, he rolled Darby partway over to have a look. "Oh, sweet Christ, " he whispered when he saw the foreman's blood-soaked shirt. "Who did this to you, partner?"

"Dunno, " Darby said weakly. "I was up—at the north end of the Bar H, lookin' for a heifer—that's due to calve. " His chest jerked, and a grimace drew the skin over his cheekbones taut.

"Thought I heard her—bawlin' up in the rocks. Rode that way—to have a look. Didn't see no tracks. When I turned back toward—the crick—some bastard shot me.

"

When the older man met Joseph's gaze, his green eyes glittered with pain. He made a loose fist on the front of Joseph's shirt. "You gotta go to the Bar H, " he pushed out. "Miss Rachel—she's there all alone. "

For the moment, Joseph had far more pressing concerns. Darby had lost a lot of blood. If he didn't get attention straightaway, he'd most likely die.

"First things first, " Joseph replied. "You need patching up. "

Darby shook his head. "No, you—don't under— stand. I think it was the same fella that murdered

— Miss Rachel's folks. Now he's back to—finish the job. "

Everyone in the valley had heard stories about the Hollister massacre. It had happened almost five years ago, a few months before Joseph and his brothers had settled in the area. The Hollister family had gone for a picnic one sunny June day at the north end of their property and been slaughtered like toms at a turkey shoot. Only Rachel, the eldest child, had survived.

"Ah, now, " Joseph soothed. "You probably just caught a stray bullet, Darby. Someone out hunting, maybe. "

"No, you gotta—listen, " Darby insisted feebly. "Happened—in damned near the same spot. Too much to be—coincidence. He'll go after Miss— Rachel next. "

A chill danced up Joseph's spine. Reason chased it away. The Hollister massacre had taken place way back in '84. So far as Joseph knew, not a lick of trouble had occurred since. It made no sense that a killer would lie low for so long, then suddenly start shooting at people again.

"No need for you to worry about Miss Rachel, " Joseph said as he stripped off his shirt. "I'll ride over and make sure she's safe. "

Darby shook his grizzled head. "Someone's got to—look after her 'round the clock. She's—in danger. I feel it—in my bones. "

Joseph's bones were telling him that Darby's situation was by far the more urgent. "I'll look after her, Darby. No worries. "

Darby's face had gone grayish white, and his green eyes had taken on a vacant expression. "Do I got your—word on it?"

"Of course you have my word on it. " Joseph folded his shirt, worked it under Darby's back, and then used the sleeves to tie the makeshift bandage around the man's chest. "That's what neighbors are for, to help out in times of trouble. "

Darby nodded and closed his eyes, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Taking care to jostle the foreman as little as possible, Joseph helped him back into the saddle. A travois would have provided a smoother ride up to the house, but Joseph didn't have one and couldn't spare the time it would take to make one.

"You steady on?" he asked the older man. "Grab onto the horn if you can. "

Darby curled palsied hands over the base of the saddletree. When Joseph was satisfied that the old man could hold his seat, he loosened the reins and led the gelding forward. The house looked to be a mile away,

and Darby moaned every time the horse took a step. Finally, the old foreman muttered a curse and lost consciousness, slumping forward with his head lolling against the horse's neck. Joseph made a fist over Darby's belt to keep him from falling and kept walking.

Once at the house, he made fast work of carrying the old man inside. After depositing his burden on the dark leather sofa, he hurried to the linen closet for rags to use as bandages. Until he could fetch the doctor, he needed to get the bleeding stopped, and the only way he knew to do that was to wrap the wound as tightly as possible.

Darby, still gray faced and unconscious, didn't stir as Joseph tended to him. When at last the bleeding had been staunched, Joseph quickly donned a fresh shirt, saddled Obie, his black stallion, and rode, hell-bent for leather, to fetch Doc Halloway.

Twenty minutes later, Joseph brought Obie careening around the last curve of Wolverine Road into No Name's town proper. Main Street, the community's only thoroughfare, swarmed with people. Lying forward along his mount's sweat flecked neck, Joseph sped past the barber shop, nearly ran over a woman exiting the china shop, and brought Obie to a rearing halt in front of Doc's place. Buddy, who'd run neck to neck with the horse the entire way, barked shrilly and danced circles around Joseph as he alighted.

"Quiet!" Joseph scolded.

Tongue lolling, eyes bright with excitement, Buddy stood up on his hind legs and pawed the air.

Brushing

past the dog, Joseph looped the reins over the hitching post and cleared the boardwalk in one leap.

"Doc!" The door slapped the interior wall as Joseph spilled into the waiting room. "Doc? You here?"

Joseph had seen the waiting area only once, when Patrick O'Shannessy had been under the physician's care. A hanging shelf to the right held a clutter of thick, dusty medical books. Beneath it, four metal chairs with worn leather seats stood arm to arm along the chipped mopboard.

Joseph veered toward the battered oak door that led to the examining rooms.

"Doc!" he yelled, rapping with his fist. "You in there?"

Joseph was about to burst through when the door swung open. Stooped with age, Doc Halloway peered up at Joseph through thick, askew lenses rimmed with gold. The strong smell of disinfectant surrounded him.

"Why in tarnation are you hollering so loud? I'm not deaf, you know. "

"Sorry, Doc. I've got an emergency. "

"Hmph. " Doc pulled a white handkerchief from his pant pocket, gave it a shake, and wiped his mouth. His thinning, grizzled hair was all astir, giving Joseph cause to wonder if he'd caught the doctor napping.

"What kind of emergency?" Doc cast a disapproving look at Buddy, who'd dropped to his haunches at Joseph's heels. "I'm not a veterinarian. "

As quickly as possible, Joseph related the details of Darby's injury. "I wrapped the wound as tightly as I could to slow the bleeding, but he's in a bad way. "

Doc's kindly blue eyes darkened with concern. "Darby McClintoch, you say?" He shook his head and

scratched beside his bulbous nose. "Nice fellow, Darby, minds his own business and as loyal as they come. Who on earth would have reason to shoot him?"

"That's for the marshal to figure out. "

"True enough, I guess. " Doc jerked up one red suspender strap as he shuffled around a padded examining table. He advanced on a set of drawers along the far wall, which were capped by a crowded countertop that looked remarkably dust free compared to the surfaces in the waiting room. "Did the slug go clear through?"

"No, sir. Went in at an angle on his right flank. I'm hopeful that it missed his kidney and lung. "

"Any pink foam on his lips?"

"No, none that I saw. "

"Coughing?"

"No, sir. But he was in a lot of pain before he passed out. "

"Could be the bullet busted a rib. Damn it. " Doc opened a black bag and began collecting items from the shelving over the counter, vials, bandages, and wicked-looking steel instruments.

"Means I'll have to dig for the slug. Makes my work a lot easier when the lead goes all the way through. " He tugged up the other suspender strap. "Ah, well, I was thinking just this morning that nothing exciting has happened around here for nigh onto a week. Man should be careful what he wishes for. This is the kind of excitement none of us needs. "