Broken Vows (47 page)

      
“You'll be stayin' out of it and lettin' Rebekah and Rory settle it between themselves, is what you'll be doin',” Patrick interjected.

      
“I appreciate your concern, Henry, but Patrick is right. Rory is my husband now, and we'll have to work out our differences. He has a right to know his own son.”

      
“You haven't told Michael?” Henry asked, aghast.

      
Rebekah shook her head. “He doesn't know Amos is dead or that Rory and I are married. We have to think through how to explain everything to him.” Her eyes met Henry's levelly. “You know Michael had no reason to feel close to Amos. I don't think his death will be as much a blow as...other things.”

      
“He already loves Rory. I could tell it by the way he talked about him all day yesterday,” Patrick said. “It's natural, Snead.”

      
“If he's such a loving father, then why isn't he here with his boy?” Henry asked.

      
“Rory has important business in the capital,” Patrick began cautiously.

      
“And you want to join him, I know,” Rebekah said. “Go, Patrick. Michael and I will be safe here. Henry could stay with us.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “That is, if you have time?”

      
“Of course. I came out to see if you were all right and to tell you I authorized Former’s Mortuary to prepare Amos' body. Under the circumstances, I thought a private service would be best. We can return to Carson tomorrow to take care of that. Amos has a bevy of lawyers to handle his estate. I expect that when they get it straightened out, they'll be in touch. Meanwhile, there are two new stud bulls down at the barn that I should check on and there's always plenty of paperwork for the Flying W that Amos has no doubt left in arrears,” Henry replied.

      
Patrick looked from Snead to Rebekah. Her expression was one of implicit trust, perhaps relief, that a member of her family had come to help her. He disliked Snead; but even though the man had worked for Wells, there had been nothing in the evidence to implicate him in the deadly dealings with the conspirators. In fact, when Wells and Sheffield were arranging the blast that killed Ryan, Snead had not yet met either man. Patrick was too close to Rory, and his friendship with his new sister-in-law was too fragile to presume she would prefer his company over Henry Snead's.

      
Still, he could not leave her and the boy alone with anyone who was connected with Amos Wells. The best thing would be to watch Snead while he was not suspecting. “If you're certain you don't mind, it would be wise for me to hightail it back to Carson,” he said to Rebekah.

      
She took his hand and squeezed it fondly. “I think we shall become good friends, Patrick. Be careful and watch out for Rory.”

      
“I expect everything will be in hand by the time I arrive,” he said reassuringly, “but I'll send him directly here to collect you as soon as the legalities are taken care of.” He returned her squeeze, then released her hand and nodded curtly to Snead.

      
Rebekah and Henry watched Patrick ride off. Then, Snead turned to her with a smile and said, “How about some breakfast? You could use some fattening up, and Michael is always hungry.”

      
Down the road to the south, Patrick reined in behind the cover of a stand of pines and looked down on the layout of the Flying W. He waited a few moments, then began to circle around to the west, keeping out of sight of the ranch house. When he neared the west side of the big, two-story structure, he dismounted behind an outcropping of rock and tied his horse, then climbed up to watch and wait. He was not certain for what.

      
In an hour or so, Rebekah and Michael, accompanied by Patsy Mulcahey, headed down to the corral. The maid carried a hamper filled with picnic treats. In a few moments, they rode off. Patrick debated following them, then decided they would be safe enough since two of the cowhands accompanied them. He would wait to see if Henry Snead was up to anything.

      
When Snead left the house shortly and headed toward the barn, Patrick worked his way to a side window. Snead entered to the angry bellowing of a bull, confined near several dozen cows. There was nothing unusual in the conversation between Henry and the bull's handler. Patrick crouched outside the barn until his quarry headed back to the ranch house.

      
The big gunman watched from across the corral, hidden behind the rocks where he had found Patrick's horse tethered. Kelso's yellow teeth showed as he grinned evilly. All he had to do to get this Madigan was wait until he returned to his cover. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he muttered as Patrick neared the rocks once more. He was spying on Snead. The thought made the killer laugh.

      
Patrick settled down in the rocks. “It's going to be a long day.” He sighed.

      
As the butt of the gunman's pistol came crashing down on Patrick's head, Kelso replied, “Longer than you'd ever imagine, Madigan.”

* * * *

      
Rebekah sat under the shade of a pine tree watching Michael skipping along the edge of the pond. The jagged mountain peaks gleamed rusty bronze in the distance, and heat shimmered across the valley floor. Her son's infectious laughter sounded like music in the peaceful afternoon air, but the rich lunch she had just eaten was not sitting well. After a sleepless night and the day's enervating heat, she had a throbbing headache as well as indigestion. Rebekah leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes, then opened them again quickly. Visions of Rory's mocking smile were always hovering.

      
If only she knew what to say to him, how to make him understand what she herself did not fully comprehend. And even if they could work out some sort of relationship, how could they help Michael accept it? It was one thing to like the charming man who brought him a pony, but quite another to have that man come into his life and in the space of a heartbeat marry his mother and become his father.

      
Rebekah did not honestly think Michael would grieve over Amos' death, but that in itself might eventually make the boy feel guilty. Imagine his added bewilderment when he learned that he was not truly Amos' son, but Rory's.

      
Patsy approached the picnic blanket and knelt down beside her mistress. “It's that tired you look, ma'am. Yer worried about the mister, I know.”

      
If Patsy had been shocked over Rebekah's unseemly haste in remarrying, she had never betrayed a hint of it, but acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Michael's parents to be reunited. Rebekah only wished things were that simple. She smiled feebly. “I didn't sleep well last night,” she replied evasively and then blushed when she realized what the remark implied.

      
Patsy clucked sympathetically. “I'm thinkin' it might be best if you went back to the ranch and rested before dinner. The mister might arrive by then.”

      
“I don't want to spoil Michael's outing,” Rebekah replied, watching her son. Randy Ziegler, one of the older men who had worked for the Flying W for years, helped Michael mount Snowball and began to walk beside them, showing the boy the finer points of how to handle his treasured pony.

      
“We'll look out for Michael. Not to worry. I'll have him home in plenty of time to wash up for supper.”

      
Her pounding head, and the thought of the powder back at the ranch house that could soothe it, decided Rebekah. “Let me tell him to mind you before I go,” she said, climbing wearily to her feet.

      
In less than an hour, Rebekah slipped quietly in the kitchen door. The old cook was taking his siesta before starting dinner. No one was about as she mixed a spoonful of headache powder in water and drank it down with a grimace.

      
A nap would give her the strength to face Rory tonight, assuming he came for them by tonight. As she started down the hall, she heard sounds of papers rustling in Amos' study. Smiling to herself, Rebekah approached. Poor loyal Henry was at work on her late husband's books. She opened the door and stood frozen in amazement at the sight that greeted her.

      
There, spread out on the desk, were dozens of bundles of paper currency in huge denominations and stacks of mining securities. Henry was facing the wall behind Amos' desk where the safe—a hidden wall safe even she had not known existed—stood open while he pulled the last documents from it.

      
Rebekah started to back out of the room, but he turned too quickly, pulling a hidden gun from inside his jacket. “Come in, Rebekah. I regret your catching me like this, but I would have had to dispose of you quite soon anyway.”

Chapter Twenty

      
Henry's tone of voice was matter-of-fact, his expression regretful. He acted solicitously toward Rebekah in spite of the unwavering gun he pointed at her. His words simply would not register at first. She stared dumbly at him as he walked over to her and gently pulled her into the room, closing the door behind her. That was when she saw Patrick's body lying slumped across the chair in the corner.

      
“You've killed Patrick!” She tried to pull away and rush to him, but Snead held her fast, shaking his head.

      
“No, he's quite alive. Observe the rope binding him. We'd have no need to tie and gag a corpse, although I'm afraid my assistant, Mr. Kelso, did strike him harder than necessary.” He shoved her down into the chair in front of the desk, then slipped his gun back into the hidden holster under his jacket and continued going through the money and documents on the desk.

      
Rebekah's mind raced frantically, trying to make sense of the insane nightmare unfolding in front of her. “You were one of the partners in Amos' illegal stock manipulations.”

      
“Not at first. It took me a while to gain his confidence before he let me in on their really lucrative ventures. Arranging for you to marry him was a decided point in my favor. No easy feat to accomplish either,” he added with a sigh.

      
It was as if a great fist had slammed into her chest. “You sent Rory to Denver for that fight,” she choked out.

      
He shook his head. “No, that was Amos' idea, after I began feeding him snippets of information gleaned from the man I hired to follow you and your Irishman. However, Amos would’ve been content to let Madigan return, thinking your family would turn the bloody ruffian away when he tried to claim you. But I knew you a bit better than Amos ever did. I wasn't inclined to take a chance.” He fingered a bundle of thousand-dollar bills.

      
“You hired those men to kill Rory in Denver, not Amos.” She could still scarcely take it all in.

      
“Amos wanted you—and Michael.” He nodded at her gasp of shock. “Oh, yes, I knew about his impotence. You weren't the only one I set spies on. I knew the only way he could get an heir was to have Madigan do the job for him, then conveniently drop from the picture. A pity the mick had to return from the dead, as it were—he and this one here.” He nodded to the pale, unconscious form of Patrick.

      
“The Madigan brothers have caused us all no end of grief in recent years. I always planned to kill Amos one day.” He smiled sadly at her. When he resumed, there was almost an apology in his voice. “I rather thought you'd consider that a favor of sorts.”

      
“But why make it look as if I did it?”

      
His shoulders slumped as he placed the last bundle of money into a heavy leather satchel. “I regretted having to do that, Rebekah, but Amos had become a liability to the men he worked with. He'd grown careless and arrogant. But more than that—a matter they didn't know about—Amos was withholding money from them.” He patted the satchel. “As I said, I've made it my business in the past decade to learn all his secrets. After all, he was my kinsman by marriage.”

      
Rebekah's heart sped up and she curled her fingers into fists, willing herself not to panic. “And if I was out of the picture, all Amos's estate would go to Michael and you would surely be appointed his guardian.”

      
“But then you had to go and ruin everything by marrying Rory Madigan. I underestimated you, Rebekah.”

      
“You underestimated Rory,” she said flatly.

      
“Since he and Patrick began their little vendetta against Amos, I always knew that sooner or later I'd have to deal with them. Then, Amos's carelessness caused him to implicate Sheffield and Bascomb, even the high and mighty Stephan Hammer. You can bet they were glad to have me on their side against the Madigans, but I alone kept my name out of their deals.”

      
“I suppose Amos stole more than enough to compensate you for that,” she said, nodding to the securities and cash on the desk. “But you're still underestimating Rory.”

      
“I think not. My assistant, Mr. Kelso, and I have devised a plan to take care of everything. I'm only sorry you had to get in the way.”

      
Absurdly, she believed him even as the icy chill of his words sank in.

      
“As I said, Rebekah, I've grown genuinely fond of you and Michael over the years. I'll take good care of the boy. Leah can raise him right along with our sons. He'll want for nothing.”

      
He was so sincere with his monstrous promise. “Please, Henry—you can't just kill us.”

      
“Unfortunately, I have no choice. Can't say I'll feel bad about the Madigans, but you...” He studied her fondly, the corners of his mustache turning up in that sad smile he'd given her so often over the years. “I married the wrong sister, you know. Should’ve seen how much promise you had instead of being blinded by my wife's once voluptuous charms. But what's done is done,” he added with a brisk shift of mood, snapping the satchel closed.