Finding Promise (13 page)

“No,” Cole answered.

“Well, where are you headed? If you're going in that general direction, maybe we could sign on for a while,” the man suggested.

Jake heard the question when he walked up behind the strangers. “We're headed to Wyoming, and I don't take on men once the drive starts.”

“Now that don't seem too friendly,” the man stated.

Moving to the fire, Jake poured himself a cup of coffee and squatted down with one long leg stretched out in front of him. After he took a drink of his coffee, his dark eyes pierced the man. “Who said I was friendly?”

The man doing the talking eyed Jake. “We're experienced cattle punchers.”

Cole noticed the muscle in Jake's cheek flexing and knew something about these men had set him off.

“You sure as hell don't know much about horses,” Jake stated bluntly.

The man threw his coffee cup to the ground. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jake stood and faced him. “It means your horses have been run to death, and you come in my camp to help yourselves to my coffee without taking the time to loosen their girths, much less take their saddles off and water them. And you think I'd trust you with my animals?”

Seeing the deadly glint in Jake's eyes, the man backed up a step. “We were waiting to see if this was going to be a friendly camp before we asked to stay and rest them.”

The man's excuse rang hollow in Jake's estimation, but he didn't want to see any horse run to death. “You can rest your horses for the night, but you best be gone from here at first light, or I'll kick your ass to Denver for abusing your animals.”

Cole could see in the man's eyes that he was about to go for his gun. “That would be the last mistake you ever make,” he said, his revolver pointed at the man's companions.

The man looked from Jake to Cole and threw his hands in the air. “We don't want no trouble. We appreciate the hot coffee, and we'll rest our animals and take off in the morn.” The three hurried off to unsaddle their horses.

“Did they see Promise?” Jake asked.

“No. Shorty is over there in front of her wagon and Will is at the back. The light is low, and I expect Shorty told her to stay down.”

“I sure would like to know if she recognizes these hombres,” Jake said.

“But if she came out here, they'd see for sure she's a woman even if she's wearing that holster and hat,” Cole replied.

“It would be a pleasure for me to take care of them,” Rodriguez said, making a slicing gesture with his thumb across his throat. “For mistreating their animals,” he added with a wicked smile.

Jake grinned at him. “Tempting as that is, I think we'll pass on that option.” He glanced over at their horses. “Those horses are in bad shape. I never could figure out how a man would mistreat the only thing that is between him and disaster in this country.” He found himself rethinking Rodriguez's offer. “I got a look at their hoofprints. They're not the horses I was tracking when Will was shot. In Dodge I learned there were about twelve to fifteen men who rode together. They could be part of that group, and they may be taking turns dogging us.”

“Makes sense,” Cole said. “We could follow them when they leave in the morning.”

“I plan to be right behind them,” Jake replied. “They'll make better time, but we'll make sure they are headed to Denver. After we are a few miles east of Denver, a couple of us can ride in for supplies. If by then Promise remembers where she was headed, we can take her with us.”

Once the three strangers settled around the fire for the night, Jake walked to Promise's wagon and spoke to Will and Shorty. “You two get some rest. I'll stay by Promise's wagon.”

“Will do, boss. Just holler if you need us.”

“Shorty, those three will be staying the night to rest their horses. I told them to take off at first light,” Jake said.

“I don't like the looks of them,” Shorty replied.

“If their animals didn't need some rest, I would have run them out of here tonight. Sleep with your gun at the ready.”

When Shorty walked away, Jake tapped on the wagon. “Do you have everything you need for the night?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Those men will be leaving at dawn,” he explained. “I want you to stay in the wagon until they leave.” Just then, he realized she might need to take care of her personal needs. “Ah . . . if you need to . . . take a walk . . . I can lift you out the back of the wagon so you'll be out of sight,” he offered.

She wasn't about to leave the wagon until those men were out of camp. “I will be fine until those men are gone.”

“I'll be right outside your wagon.”

 

 

In the middle of the night the canvas flap was tossed open, and Promise scooted to the rear of the wagon, scared to death. Fortunately, with the light from the moon she was able to make out Jake's large form climbing inside before she could scream.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Shhh, stay down behind me, darlin'.”

Silently, she moved behind him as he positioned himself behind the flap. He pulled his revolver and cocked the hammer. She could barely hear the footsteps nearing the wagon over the rapid beating of her own heart. When the canvas moved a few scant inches, the barrel of Jake's .45 was pointing directly at a man's forehead.

“You looking to get killed?” Jake asked in a deadly calm voice.

The man took a step back from the wagon with his hands in the air. “I was lookin' for the chuck wagon . . . for some water,” he responded nervously.

Jake stepped from the wagon, his pistol still aimed at the man. “Does this look like the chuck wagon to you?”

“It's dark. I can't see too good in the dark.” The man gulped. “We just wanted some water before we left.”

Jake motioned with his pistol for the man to keep walking. “Before my finger gets tired, I suggest you three get out of my camp.”

The man kept backing up until he was abruptly halted by the solid barrel of Shorty's shotgun.

Jake saw the other two men waiting by their horses. He debated whether to take them to Denver himself, but he didn't want to be away from Promise that long. There was also the off chance these men could be just who they said they were, and not involved with killing those people on the wagon train. His gut told him that they were involved, but that could have more to do with the way they treated their horses. Experience told him that men who didn't value their animals were generally no-accounts. “Now get on your horses and ride out of here before I change my mind.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I'm glad those skunks are gone,” Shorty said, watching the three men ride off.

Jake agreed with Shorty, but it crossed his mind that he might see them again. At least they were headed in the right direction if Denver was their destination. Skeptical as he was, he figured they'd live a lot longer if they were telling the truth about jobs awaiting them in Denver.

“You think they're part of that group of killers?” Shorty asked.

“I couldn't prove it, but my short hairs tell me they are. I sure didn't think that cowboy was looking for water, and they could have been thinking about robbing us.”

“If they were cowpunchers, I'll eat my hat,” Shorty added. “They're saddle bums, and I'd bet they ain't never seen an honest day's work.”

Jake couldn't argue with Shorty's assessment. “I wouldn't take that wager.” He glanced back at the wagon, wondering why Promise hadn't come out now that the strangers were gone. Sensing something was wrong, he headed toward the wagon.

He tapped lightly on the wagon. “You can come out if you want, honey.” Not hearing a response, he threw the flap back and looked inside. “Promise?”

Promise was sitting in the corner of the wagon with a strange look on her pale face.

Moving inside, Jake kneeled in front of her. What he saw frightened him. Her skin was damp with perspiration and her eyes were expressionless. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

She blinked several times, trying to bring Jake's face into focus. “My name is Parker Promise Sinclair. My brother and I were headed to Denver from Charleston, South Carolina. He's the man . . . in the painting . . . the young man that you . . . buried. His name is Matthew.” By this time, tears were falling faster than she could wipe them away, but she continued as though she had to say it all at once or she might forget. “My aunt and uncle, John and Nettie Hollister, have a ranch in Denver, and we were going to stay with them for a while. Matthew and I were traveling with families from Charleston. All of those people have family living on land my uncle John gave them.” She stopped abruptly. Her thoughts were on all of the people in Denver waiting on their loved ones who would never arrive. She dropped her face in her hands. Through her sobs, she said, “Mr. Vincent said God would protect us from evil
.
”

“Aw, honey. I'm sorry.” He moved beside her and lifted her to his lap, just as he did the last time she cried. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but the front of his shirt was wet before he felt her muscles go limp. He pulled his bandanna from his pocket and dried her face, much the same way he did Preacher's. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked cautiously.

“Earlier, when you cocked your pistol, I started remembering things. It seemed like the whole journey came back to me at one time. I remembered”—her voice cracked, but she continued—“the men we saw watching us were the ones who attacked. Then . . . well, you know what happened.” She halted, and stared off into space for a few moments.

While he was happy she'd regained her memory, it was tearing his guts out to see what it was doing to her. It had to be overwhelming for her. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry about your brother.” He didn't know which was worse, to lose a husband or a brother. Either way, she was in a lot of pain.

“Matthew and I were very close.” She clutched his shirt in her fingers. “Matthew had a sweetheart in Charleston that he didn't want to leave. My parents were killed in a carriage accident a little over a year ago, and I wanted to visit my aunt and uncle.”

Jake didn't know what to say, so he kissed the top of her head, wanting so badly to take the pain from her.

“I remember I told Aunt Nettie in a letter that Matthew would probably turn right around and go back to Charleston after we arrived in Denver. I think he only agreed to go because he knew that was what I wanted. I missed my mother and father so much, and I wanted to see our family. Now I know why I wrote in the journal that I was going to tell him to go back home. It was because he couldn't hide his misery from me.”

Jake remembered reading what she wrote in her journal. At the time, he was surprised she planned to tell her husband to go back home after they arrived in Colorado. But the man wasn't her husband. Promise told him she didn't think she was married and she was right.

“I shouldn't have insisted we leave Charleston. He would be alive right now.”

Jake wouldn't allow her to think along those lines. “Your brother made his own decision. Of course he wanted you to be happy. Any man worth his salt would have taken you to Denver to be with your family.”

“But he would be with his sweetheart if I—”

Jake put his finger to her lips, stopping what she was about to say. Her dull and lifeless eyes alarmed him. “Stop that right now. You are not responsible for anything that happened. Those men are responsible. Sometimes there are just no answers for things that happen, and this is one of those times.”

She stared into his black eyes, wanting badly to believe he was right. But she knew her brother hadn't wanted to leave South Carolina, and she felt his death was her fault. What was she going to do without him? He was her best friend, and they had weathered everything together. Ten minutes earlier she hadn't even remembered she had a brother, and now she felt lost without him. “But why didn't God protect us, like Mr. Vincent said?”

He wished he had an answer for her. The leader of that wagon train should have had more sense than to travel without protection. It amazed him that the man had made that trip before with no guns and lived to do it again. “Darlin', sometimes there are no answers to those questions. But I think God wants men to protect their loved ones. That's where I would have parted company with Mr. Vincent. He should have made sure every man was armed.”

“They didn't believe in carrying weapons of any kind. Matthew and I argued over this. I told him to tell Mr. Vincent we would bring a rifle, but my brother wouldn't go against his conditions. I hid my pistol . . . I didn't even tell Matthew I had it with me. He would have been angry with me. But Father taught me to shoot, and I knew he would have wanted me to have a weapon on such a journey. Matthew would not listen to reason.” Now she wondered if Matthew had perhaps accepted Mr. Vincent's terms in the hopes that she would change her mind about leaving.

Jake wondered how her father had been able to teach her the importance of self-protection, but not her brother. “You did the right thing. I don't mean to criticize your brother, but he should have been armed too. This is wild country and everyone should be prepared to protect themselves.”

“I can't remember Matthew getting shot. I do remember I shot my pistol when I got away from that big man.” After a moment she added, “God help me, but I hope I shot whoever it was that killed Matthew.”

Jake squeezed her to him. “I hope so too. If you didn't, I promise you I will find them once I get these cattle to Wyoming.”

She looked up at him. “Will you?”

He could tell she wanted to believe him. “I give you my word. I'll find them.”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears again. “Thank you,” she whispered. She was thinking about her brother, buried out in the middle of nowhere, and she knew what her parents would want. “I will have to take Matthew back to Sinclair Hall for a proper burial. You'll have to draw a map for my uncle so we will know where to find his grave.”

“Where is Sinclair Hall?” Jake asked.

“It's our home in Charleston.”

He was curious if her uncle would want to make a trip across country to bury her brother in South Carolina.

“I guess we know where I belong now,” she said. “I'm sure it will be a relief to get me off your hands.”

He didn't feel relief, but he was glad to know where she belonged. “We will be near Denver in a couple of days. I'll ride ahead and find your aunt and uncle and come back to get you.” He wanted to make sure it was safe to take her to her uncle's ranch.

“Thank you.” She scooted off his lap and picked up her hat. “I know you need to get the cattle moving.”

“I'm in no hurry if you'd like for me to stay for a while.”

“I'll be fine,” she replied, determined that she would no longer be a burden.

He didn't want to leave her alone, but he wasn't sure what she really wanted. She might need some private time to handle her grief in her own way. “Do you want to ride in the wagon today?”

“If you don't mind, I would rather ride Prince.” Watching the cattle gave her something to do, and she hoped it would help to keep her mind off of her brother. “I wonder what happened to Hero. I remember giving him some peppermints that morning.” Her eyes widened with alarm. “You really didn't find any animals that day? They didn't kill him, did they?”

Jake gripped her shoulders and lowered his face to hers so he could look her in the eyes. “I wouldn't lie to you. I didn't find any animals. If they didn't take him, he might have run off.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn't have run off. I watched Hero foal, and we were inseparable. My father used to say he had to keep watch so I didn't let him sleep with me because he followed me around like a puppy.”

Jake smiled at that. She sounded so sure that he didn't argue with her, even though he'd seen many horses take off at the sound of gunfire. But he'd also seen firsthand she had a way with horses, and he figured she would know how her horse would respond under the circumstances. It was difficult to believe any man would kill a fine animal like that, yet there was one thing he knew for certain: Killers were unpredictable.

Jake left her to make preparations to get back on the trail. She watched him walk away from the wagon. Her time with Jake McBride would soon be coming to an end, and that saddened her even more. She reminded herself she should not be sad, she should be grateful that he had found her. She was alive because of him.