The Badger's Revenge (29 page)

“A scout worth his salt would have figured out it was a trap,” Feders said with a snarl.

“What are you saying? That Red Overmeyer was a spy for the Indians?” Josiah asked, incredulous. “That he intentionally sent innocent men to their deaths? I saw a man die in the worst way, captured and mutilated by the Kiowa like he was nothing more than a rabbit. I spent time with Overmeyer; he never gave me one reason to question his desire to be a Ranger.”

There was, though, perhaps some truth to what Feders was saying—at least enough to hear him out.

It was always obvious that Overmeyer had spent plenty of time among the Indians—mostly friendlies on the plains. But being a spy just didn't make sense—or Josiah didn't want to believe it. He had trusted Red Overmeyer.

What would there have been to gain by betraying his fellow Rangers in the Lost Valley? Nothing that Josiah could see. Still, there was no question that Overmeyer's past was dim. He could have known some of the Indians or, at the very least, known how to trade with them.

“Maybe he was a spy for the Indians,” Feders said. “Or maybe he was a spy for Liam O'Reilly. Perhaps he intended to give you up all along. Collect O'Reilly's bounty for himself. Maybe those two Comanche and him had a deal. You ever think of that?”

Josiah felt the air go out of his chest.

He had questioned how the Indians knew his name, how they knew he was going to be out along the San Sabine scouting with just Scrap and Overmeyer and no troop to back them up.

“If what you're saying is true, then the Comanches would have had a reason to see Red Overmeyer dead,” Josiah said, coming to a conclusion he didn't like, but was starting to make sense in a roundabout kind of way.

He still didn't feel absolved of Overmeyer's death. He wasn't sure he ever would.

Feders nodded. “They were going to keep the bounty on your head for themselves.”

“Which kind of explains why they left Elliot to live on the tree.”

“It could. Killing a traitor and a competitor was one thing. Killing a Ranger was totally another. Not that I believe for a second that those two Comanche didn't have it in them to slit Elliot's throat. I think they had orders not to draw any more attention to themselves than necessary, since they rode right into Comanche with no worry about riling the town. It's you that O'Reilly was after. Still is, as far as that goes.”

“My aim is to take care of that right away,” Josiah said, squaring his shoulders, preparing to head to the barn to retrieve Clipper and go home.

“We're not done yet, Wolfe,” Feders said, sternly.

“What else is there?”

“You do realize that you've been relieved from the Battalion?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you not off on a journey with Juan Carlos at the request of Captain McNelly?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“You're one of McNelly's men now, Wolfe. Our association is formally over as of this moment. You have no reason to be here or in my company ever again. Is that clear, Wolfe? We are done. Any problem you have with Liam O' Reilly is now yours and yours alone.”

Feders didn't give Josiah a second to protest, to question anything about what came next, nothing. He spun on the heel of his boot and walked straight into the Fikes mansion like he already owned the place, slamming the door solidly behind him.

Josiah stood motionless, feeling like he had just been sucker punched by an old adversary—knowing full well he should have seen
something
coming.

The lights in the mansion began to go out one by one, window by window. The glow that had been so bright and welcoming earlier was now quickly becoming cold and dark, the entrance barred, forbidden, and the night uncertain and full of unfamiliar shadows.

The orange flame was waning, but a steady stream of thin black smoke spiraled upward. Shadows played on the wall of the barn; a slow dance of unknown images since there was little breeze. A towering live oak stood near the entrance of the barn, offering a canopy of shade in the hot summers to the stable of fine horses the Fikes place continued to house.

Josiah had been in the barn before, in the spring, after returning the captain's body to the family. There was a bunkhouse attached to the back of the barn, fully equipped with an area set aside for baths and cleaning up after a long day's work. But Josiah had no desire for a bath, or a moment of ease. All he wanted was to get as far away from the estate as possible, as fast as he could. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed one more night before leaving with Juan Carlos.

He hoped to never return to the estate. Without the presence of Captain Fikes, it was a foreign country whose citizens spoke with angry and unknown tongues—with the exception of Pearl.

The light from the torch was bright enough to see clearly inside the barn, to the stall that housed Clipper.

When Josiah walked inside, the horse looked up, flipped his ears in recognition, then went back to eating a mouthful of first-class oats that half filled a narrow trough. It seemed they both were going to get their belly filled with tasty food one last time before hitting the trail again.

“Better enjoy that, old friend,” Josiah said, entering the stable. His saddle was not in sight. Surely it was in the tack room.

Clipper snorted and looked up again, but past Josiah, out into the darkness, deep into the barn. His ears pricked up, getting Josiah's immediate attention.

He'd learned to trust the horse's announcements a long time ago. They'd saved his hide more than once.

“What is it, fella?” Josiah whispered, rubbing the Appaloosa's sturdy neck with one hand, unlatching the snap on his holster with the other.

He sure did miss wearing the swivel rig that he used with the Peacemaker he'd lost to Little Shirt, but he had gotten as used to Charlie Webb's Colt Frontier and its holster as he could.

He eased the Colt out of the holster, then stepped quickly and quietly against the wall, into a deep shadow. There was no use taking any chances. Not once he heard footsteps coming his way.

Feders might have changed his mind about a last-minute fistfight . . . Or it could have been someone else, a foe set on him by Liam O'Reilly, come to collect in an unsuspected place. They'd think he'd have his guard down here, and trailing him to the big to-do at the Fikes estate wouldn't have taken much effort. He wasn't safe anywhere, not even in Austin, and he couldn't forget that. Not for one second—or he'd end up a dead man.

It was beginning to become tiring, looking over his shoulder all the time. The journey with Juan Carlos couldn't come soon enough. Being a frightened rabbit was no way to live.

Josiah put his thumb on the hammer and eased his finger onto the trigger of the Colt.

He could see a figure emerging out of the darkness, and his eyes fixed on it, just like Clipper's were.

The night was silent, cool temperatures sending every living creature searching out a bit of warmth left over from the day. A lone cricket rubbed its legs together somewhere in the barn, but nothing answered back. Rats and mice might have been watching from a distance, but Josiah doubted it. His presence had sent them scattering. Too bad that only worked on rodents.

He put as much pressure on the trigger as he could, raising the gun up from his waist. Fanning a shot was something he only did in practice. He had never faced a man, or Indian, with that kind of action, nor did he ever think he would. If he was to take a shot, he wanted it to be sure. A kill with one bullet was always his aim. He only killed if he had to . . . and always replayed the event more times than he could count afterward, his soul aching for a better solution than dealing a man sudden death. Bill Clarmont's death still played heavily on his mind.

The figure held a steady pace, entering the barn unconcerned with being seen.

It only took Josiah a second to recognize Pearl. Seeing her again made his throat dry up all over, and his chest lurched, like his body was warning him to leave as soon as he could, before it was too late, before he did or said something he might regret.

“Josiah, is that you?”

He slid the Colt back into the holster and walked out of the stall, stopping at the gate. “Yes, it's me.”

Pearl was standing just inside the open double barn doors, the torch burning behind her, silhouetting her body so that all of her features were hard to see. But it was obvious she had shed her formal dress after running out of the dining hall. Now she was wearing a simple white linen dress, her feet bare, her silky yellow hair falling over her shoulders.

“Are you alone?” Pearl whispered.

“I am,” Josiah said.

Pearl did not hesitate then, and ran to Josiah, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close without hesitation or invitation.

Josiah stiffened and held his hands at his side, for a moment. He wasn't expecting her to rush to him.

Pearl buried her face in his chest, and held him tight, like they had not seen each other in years. Her pain was obvious and disconcerting.

Josiah could tell she had been crying for a long time.

“I'm sorry,” Pearl said.

Josiah exhaled, looked up into the darkness of the rafters, then let his eyes wander all around the barn. The last thing he needed was for Feders to walk in and find Pearl Fikes wrapped around him in an embrace—even if he hadn't initiated it. He knew how it would look after what Feders had just said to him.

“Is something wrong?” Pearl angled her face up at Josiah. She looked like an angel with a broken heart. The torch made her hair look even more golden, her skin alabaster, and her blue eyes twinkled with wetness.

He had not welcomed her touch, or returned the warmth and press she offered him. It was hard not to. Her skin was soft, velvet, and made his fingers burn with the want of more of her touch . . . but he resisted.

“No,” Josiah said, stepping back away from her a couple of steps, pulling from her embrace, determined to jump on Clipper as quickly as he could and ride away as fast as he could. “I was just leaving.”

Clipper snorted, pawed at the straw, then returned to eating the oats luxuriously. Josiah stood back a foot or two from Pearl, unmoving.

Pearl wiped the tears from her eyes. For a brief second, Josiah thought he saw a flash of anger cross her face but decided it must have been a shadow when she looked at him square on.

“You're angry with me, aren't you?” Pearl asked.

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“Peter. I didn't know he was going to be here. My mother arranged for him to be at the dinner without my knowledge.”

“She was the reason I didn't want to accept your invitation in the first place,” Josiah said.

“I know. I thought I could handle her. But she is dead set on me marrying Peter Feders.”

Josiah nodded his head. “He's a fine man, Pearl. You could do worse than being courted by a man like Pete. I've seen his courage and bravery more times than I can count.”

“You surely can't mean that, Josiah.”

“I owe him my neck.”

Pearl took a step toward him then. “He'll never have my heart.”

Josiah looked away. He could see the outline of her body, the curves and the mystery of it, because of the dancing flame behind her. Heat begin to rise from his toes—the coolness of the night hardly a concern now that she was near.

“I will never, ever marry Peter Feders, Josiah. You know that as well as I do—and you know why. I don't care what trick my mother tries to play on me, what social obligation she tries to enforce, he is not the man for me.”

A flowery scent hit Josiah's nostrils—springtime perfume, but he couldn't pinpoint the fragrance, it wasn't something he had ever encountered before. It mixed with his own musky smell, and the voice in the back of his head screamed at him to get out of the barn and run away from Pearl Fikes as quick as he could—before he lost control of all of his senses, control of parts of himself that he had forced to lie dormant for a long, long time.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Pearl.”

“Don't be.” She stopped within inch of him, looked up with fully open eyes, and tilted her head toward him. “I'm not something that can be easily broken,” she said, staring into his eyes. “I've been lost before. Married before. You know that. I'm not lost now. I'm right where I want to be.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes,” Pearl whispered.

Josiah slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He couldn't resist her eyes, her acceptance and desire, any longer.