Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (39 page)

Cobb’s squinty eyes narrowed further. “Splints?”

“Tole ya, Ben broke his leg.”

“Where?” Cobb jerked his head toward the cave entrance. “There?”

“No.” Jack pointed up the valley. “Through the other one.”

Cobb’s hold on Jack loosened. The merchant stepped away from the buggy, holding Jack’s elbow with his hand. He looked at Livingston. “What are we going to do now?”

Jack jerked his arm from the man’s grasp, leaped into the buggy, and snapped the reins. The little horses took off at a gallop.

“Hey.” Cobb sprang after him, tripped on a clump of grass, and sprawled to the ground. That slowed him enough for the buggy to pull away.

As Jack gained distance from them, he could hear the men’s shouts. They’d follow, dragging Tim along. But at least Jack would get Chico to Wyatt like he’d promised. And there were enough trees by the entrance. He could grab some sticks. If he had time…

Wyatt squatted next to Ben, carefully cutting open the pants of the boy’s suit, and examining his leg. At least the bone wasn’t sticking out. But the boy’s face showed signs of strain—paper-pale cheeks, smudged and tearstained, and a hollow look in his big brown eyes. They’d tucked a faded Indian blanket around him, but occasionally he shivered.

The sensation of being underground pressed on Wyatt, and he had to restrain from pacing the cavern. The dark silence, broken only by the splash of the waterfall in the corner, weighed heavy and oppressive. Wyatt longed to be outside—to turn his face to the sky.

Samantha sat on a blanket next to Ben, Christine snuggled on her lap. The strain of the past few days reflected in her tired eyes, shadowed by tiny lines he could have sworn hadn’t been
there before. When this was over, he planned to chase her careworn look away—if she’d let him.

Christine kept one hand on Ben’s uninjured leg, occasionally patting the boy with an expression of sympathy in her big blue eyes. Quite a little Florence Nightingale, his daughter. Perhaps he shouldn’t have worried about the influence of Samantha’s boys on her. Maybe he should have trusted Christine’s innate goodness of character.

He shook his head. He hadn’t been wrong to be protective. That was a father’s job. But he’d been more than protective, he’d been prejudiced. That had been wrong. All from a shameful secret.

He’d revealed his past to Samantha and had experienced a sense of relief. But he had known he loved her and had believed that no matter how she reacted to the information, she wouldn’t reveal it to anyone else. This was different.

He made up his mind. The time had come to expose his past, to use it to save another young boy from following in the evil footsteps of Wyatt’s childhood gang. Maybe if Ben heard about that young girl’s death because of a fire set by Wyatt’s gang, he’d reform. Wyatt knew he was risking having the information become gossip or being used against him in some way. But he was no longer that lonely wayward boy. He’d built himself a good life—a life of prosperity.

He glanced at Samantha, cuddling Christine. He had a daughter he adored and had found a second chance at love. His past no longer mattered.

Wyatt took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Ben, I want to tell you a story.”

Samantha leaned back against the hard rock of the cave wall, listening to Wyatt repeat the tale he’d told to her a few days earlier. This time, his words flowed, no long pauses, no fighting against revealing a shame he’d kept hidden for so long. The story echoed around the cavern, accompanied only by the fall of the water. Even Christine sat silently on Samantha’s lap.

Ben looked enthralled, seeming to almost forget his pain. He listened with a deep absorption that Samantha had never seen in the boy before. Maybe Wyatt was getting through to him. But even if Wyatt’s revelations of his past failed to make an impact on Ben’s future behavior, it was making an impact on her.

A glow of pride warmed Samantha’s heart. She knew how difficult this must be for Wyatt—to humble himself, to share a part of his past that might change the high regard in which the townsfolk of Sweetwater Springs held him.

While he talked, his features—high cheekbones, aquiline nose, cool gray eyes—seemed to soften, as if he were removing each brick in the wall he’d built around himself.

As Wyatt became more vulnerable, Samantha’s own barriers to loving and being loved by this man melted like ice in the spring sunshine. She now understood: Wyatt was nothing like Don Ricardo. Wyatt’s controlling attitudes and behavior really stemmed from his attempts to protect himself and his daughter.

She thought of the way he’d taken charge of the search parties. Decisive. Thorough. A good man to have on your side. And in spite of his doubts about Samantha’s assumption of the ranch and adoption of the boys, he’d acted in a supportive manner toward her.

They’d exchanged kisses and confidences. What would be the next step? Would Wyatt be willing to take on the raising of those very boys who’d been the cause of so much disagreement?

A scrape of hooves against stone and the sound of a boy’s voice broke through Samantha’s ruminations.

The twins.

Patting Christine’s back, she encouraged the child to jump up, then rose to her feet, shaking her legs out to stretch them.

Wyatt strode over to the entrance, leaned over, and extended a hand to help Jack crawl out. The boy grimaced at Wyatt, reached back, and guided Chico into the room. The long buggy reins trailed behind the little stallion. Jack yanked on them and a bundle of tree branches tied to the ends of the reins slid into the cavern.

Wyatt grabbed them. “Good boy.”

Samantha gave Jack a quick hug. “Where’s Tim?” She stroked Chico’s head while awaiting the answer.

Jack slapped his fists against his hips, his green eyes sparking emerald with anger. “Livingston, Cobb, and Sloan done caught us ’uns. Said us ’uns were stealin’ the horses. Cobb said us ’uns would hang for sure. Livingston put him off, though. I got away, but they still have Tim.”

“Well.” Samantha expelled her outrage in a sharp breath. “We’ll just have to see about that.”

Wyatt reached over and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “There will be no hanging done, Jack. I promise you, soon as we get Ben out of here, we’ll set things right. But now I need your help to rig up a harness and a sling while I work on Ben’s leg.”

Jack nodded, some of the fire fading from his eyes, and he bent to his task.

Samantha helped Wyatt with Ben, but while her hands stayed gentle on the boy’s leg, her thoughts whirled, sharp and dangerous.

Jack wiggled forward on his hands and knees, thankful for the strips of blanket padding them. He hadn’t spared himself on the last trip in. Back in the cavern, he’d been careful to hide from Thompson and Mama Samantha how bruised and bloody he was. They all had more to worry about than some cut and scratches.

He pushed his lantern forward. Behind him he could hear Christine breathing hard and Mama Samantha coaxing Chico. The Falabella towed Ben, who lay on a blanket litter attached to the harness, his suit jacket tied under his head to protect it from bumping too hard through the dark tunnel.

Thompson crawled after Ben, making sure the rickety travois didn’t hit the walls. The injured boy moaned at each jolt, and Jack could even find it in his heart to feel sorry for the poor cuss. For all Ben’s better-than-you ways, he’d sure come to a bad end. Jack reckoned the other boy wouldn’t be in much of a position to plague the twins or Dan ever again.

Jack set his hand on a pebble and winced. He bounced up and hit his head on the jaggedy rock in the roof. He bit his tongue, and suppressing a string of cuss words, rocked back on his haunches, gripping the rock. “Christine, Mama Samantha, watch out for this here monster. Likes to thump ya on the head. Done got me twice.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Samantha said. “I’ll be careful.” She raised her voice. “Wyatt, did you hear? Watch out for this sharp stone sticking down in the middle of the tunnel.”

Thompson’s voice echoed up. “I hear.”

Jack leaned past Christine, flipping Mama Samantha an encouraging smile. “Our living cave is just ahead. Pass through that and we’ll be outside.”

“Thank God for that.” She lifted her chin. “Lead on, son.”

Son
. The warmth of that word made up for the last three days of cave living—days and nights of feeling like ice had settled in his innards.

It didn’t take long to reach their camp in the living cave. Jack wound around the remaining pallets to reach the other side. On the verge of slipping through the exit, he paused, thinking better about stepping through the opening. “Don’t reckon I should go out there. Those men’ll probably nab me first and talk later.”

Mama Samantha bristled like an angry porcupine. “They do and they’ll deal with me.”

Thompson touched her shoulder, then ran his hand down the back of her head like he was smoothing down her spiky quills. “I’ll go first.”

Mama Samantha’s mouth tightened.

Thompson quirked an eyebrow at her.

She half smiled at him and relaxed. “Good idea.”

With a wink, Thompson slid one leg through the opening, and ducking back, slithered the rest of his body through.

Mama Samantha clicked her tongue at Chico, her hand on the horse’s neck. She squeezed out and turned back for the stud. Chico tossed his head as if primping for a grand entrance, then, leaning into the harness, the little stallion followed her outside.

Jack grabbed the ends of the blanket and lifted, trying to spare Ben as much of the bumping as possible. The boy lay limp, his eyes closed. Perhaps he’d fainted. Just as well. This next part would be the worst.

But then a spark of worry ignited. What if Ben stayed unconscious for a long while? What if no one believed Jack’s word about Ben’s confession?

Samantha emerged from the cavern into a crowd of men and horses illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. Out of the blackness of the cave, the night glowed with brightness; stars dotted across the sky. She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air, and urged Chico forward. Searching the small crowd for Tim, she saw him held firmly by Mr. Sloan.

Her anger flared. Only the need to guide Chico restrained her from running over and tearing her boy away from the man.

At the sight of the litter, the men surged toward them. Dr. Cameron beat everyone to Ben’s side. “Back off, men. Give me some light.”

They raised every lantern. Caleb Livingston dropped down on his knees by Ben’s side. “Is he still alive?” he asked in a hushed voice.

A rise of sympathy penetrated Samantha’s anger.

Dr. Cameron touched the side of Ben’s neck, feeling for his pulse. “Yes, he’s alive, all right.” He eyed the boy’s leg, roughly splinted. Crouching, he examined the injury. Then, rising, he looked at Caleb Livingston. “He’s unconscious. Better let the laddie be ’til we get him home.” He motioned to Mr. Cobb. “Untie the blanket, Frank. Easier to have two men carry a litter until we can get him to a wagon and into town. I’ll take care of the leg there.”

He glanced over at Wyatt and Samantha. “Daniel and Little Feather are at your house.”

Samantha’s little niggling worry about the two boys’ safety subsided. “Thank you, Doctor.”