Montana Sky (46 page)

“Just hold on, let me look.” Ignoring the teary eyes, he turned her in a circle, admiring the flow and fit of the slim blue gown. “Well, well, well. Pretty as a bluebell in a
meadow.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “With dew still on it.”

“Oh, save your fancy talk and go do what you're supposed to do with Adam. Make man noises and tell bad jokes or something.”

“That's what I'm here for.” He kissed her before she could wriggle free. “The first dance is mine. And the last,” he added, as she dashed away.

It wasn't fair, Willa told herself as she hurried toward the main house. It wasn't fair that he had her stirred up this way. She had too much on her mind, too much to do. She damn well didn't want to be in love with Ben McKinnon.

Probably wasn't, she thought, and swiped a hand under her nose.

It was just so embarrassingly female, this reaction of hers. Imagining herself in love with him just because they went to bed together, because he said those fancy words now and again or looked at her in a certain way.

She'd have to get over it, that was all. Get herself back in gear before she made herself the biggest joke in the county. Or crowded her mind with it so she started doing something stupid like pining away, or dogging his heels, or picturing herself in a wedding dress.

She stopped outside the door, pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. As composed as possible, she strode inside and was met by the sight of Adele weeping and leaning on Louella's arm as they came down the steps.

“What's wrong? Did something happen?” Willa was braced to rush to the gun rack when Louella smiled.

“Nothing's wrong. Adele's just having a mother-of-the-bride moment.”

“She looked so beautiful, didn't she, Louella? Like an angel. My baby.”

“The most beautiful bride I've ever seen. You and me, honey, we're going to open a bottle of that bubbly early and drink to her.” She patted Adele as they walked. “Will, you go on up. Lily asked if you would when you came back.”

“I should find Rob.”

“Men just don't get moments like this, Addy.” Louella
steered her toward the kitchen. “We'll hunt him up after we've toasted the bride. A time or two. Get upstairs, Will. Lily's waiting for you.”

“All right.” But she had to shake her head a moment, baffled and amused by the bond that these two very different wives of Jack Mercy had forged.

She was still shaking it when she opened the door to Lily's temporary bedroom and was struck dumb.

“Isn't it great?” Tess bubbled over as she fussed with the veil. “Isn't she fabulous?”

“Oh, my—oh, Lily. You look like a fairy tale. Like a princess.”

“I wanted the white gown.” Dazzled by herself, Lily turned in front of the cheval glass. The woman who beamed back at her was beautiful, draped in billowing skirts of white satin, nipped into a bodice romantic with lace and tiny gleaming pearls. “I know it's my second marriage, but—”

“No, it's not.” Tess brushed a hand down the long, snug sleeves of the bridal gown. “It's the only one that matters, so it's your first.”

“My first.” Lily smiled, touched her fingers to the veil that drifted over her shoulders. “I'm not even nervous. I was sure I would be, but I'm not.”

“I've got something.” Nervous enough for all of them, Willa brought out the small velvet box she'd held behind her back. “You don't have to use them. You've probably already got the old and new and all of that stuff taken care of. But when Tess told me there were pearls on your dress, I remembered these. They were my grandmother's. Our grandmother's,” she corrected, and held the box out.

Lily could only sigh as she opened the lid. The pearls were fashioned into fragile eardrops with old-fashioned and lovely filigree settings. Without hesitation she removed the earrings she'd bought to match the dress and replaced them with the gift.

“They're so beautiful. They're so perfect.”

“They look good.” Made for the delicate, like Lily, she thought with a tangle of pride and envy. Not the sturdy like herself. “I figured she'd like you to have them. I didn't
know her or anything, but . . . hell, I'm going to start leaking again.”

“We all are, but I can fix that.” Tess stuffed a tissue into Willa's hand. “I stole a bottle of champagne and hid it in the bathroom so Bess wouldn't know. I'd say we deserve a glass.”

Willa chuckled as Tess hurried into the adjoining bath. “Takes after her ma.”

“Thank you, Willa.” Lily touched the drops at her ears. “Not just for these, for everything.”

“Don't start on me, Lily. I'm running out of fingers to plug the dam. I've got a reputation around here, and it's not as a sniveler.” She heard the pop of the cork echo off the bathroom tile with great relief. “The men figure out I'm a soft touch, there'll be no living with them.”

“Here we go.” Tess brought in three flutes and a bottle foaming at the lip. “What'll we drink to?” She poured generously, passed out glasses. “To true love and connubial bliss?”

“No, first . . .” Lily lifted her glass. “To the ladies of Mercy.” She touched her glass to Willa's, Tess's. “We've come a long way in a short time.”

“That I can drink to.” Tess lifted a brow. “Will?”

“So can I.” Willa bumped the rim of her flute against Tess's, grinned at the celebratory ring of crystal. Leave it to Hollywood to pick the best glasses.

Smiling, Lily touched the glass to her lips. “But I can only take a sip. Alcohol isn't good for the baby.”

“Baby?” Tess and Will choked in unison.

Savoring the moment, Lily wet just the tip of her tongue with the champagne. “I'm pregnant.”

 

L
ATER
.
WILLA WOULD THINK SHE
'
D NEVER SEEN ANYTHING
more magical than Lily gliding across the dusty ranch road in her fairy-tale dress on the arm of the man who had become her father, toward the man who became her husband.

And as the vows were said and the promises made, she let herself forget there was anything in the air but beauty. And as the first kiss was exchanged between husband and
wife and the cheers rose up, she cheered along.

She thought of the child, and the future.

“How far'd you travel this time?” Ben murmured in her ear.

Startled, she looked up and nearly stumbled over his feet. “What?”

“You keep going away.”

“Oh. You know I have to concentrate when I'm dancing. I lose the count.”

“Wouldn't if you'd let a man do the leading and just go along. Anyway, that's not it.” He eased her closer. “You worried about him being here?”

“Of course I am. I keep looking at faces that I know, people I think I know, and wondering. If it wasn't for this damn will, Adam and Lily could go off for a couple weeks on a real honeymoon. I'd have two less to worry about.”

“If it wasn't for the damn will they might not have gotten as far as postponing a honeymoon,” he reminded her. “Put it aside, Will. Nothing's going to happen here today.”

“I mostly have. They look so happy.” She turned her head so that she could see the bride and groom again, circling in each other's arms. “Funny, a year ago they'd never met. And now they're married.”

“And starting a family.”

This time she did trip. “How do you know?”

“Adam told me.” He grinned and, since he was tired of having his feet trounced on, led her over to the buffet table. “I think if he was any happier he'd have to split in two parts to hold it.”

“I want them to stay that way.” She resisted reaching down to pat the derringer she had strapped to her thigh. It was a pitiful, girlish weapon, but she felt better knowing it was there. “You'd better start spreading yourself out, Ben, dancing with some of the ladies here. People are going to talk otherwise.”

He chuckled, lifted her chin. For someone as clear-eyed as Willa, she was dead blind when it came to herself. “Darling, people already are.” He enjoyed the way she scowled at that, scanning the crowd as if she would catch someone
whispering behind a hand. “Doesn't bother me any.”

“I don't like people gossiping over their fences about me.” She jerked her chin toward Tess and Nate. “What are they saying about that?”

“That Nate's caught himself a slippery one, and he'll have to be sure-handed to hold on. Now, there's a woman who can dance.” He snagged two glasses from a passing waiter, gestured with one toward Louella.

She was poured into a hot-pink dress and kicking up her skyscraper heels with Ben's father. At least a dozen cowboys pounded their feet and waited their turn. “That's your father.”

“Yep.”

“Look at him go.”

“He'll be sore for a week, but he'll be happy.”

Laughing, Willa grabbed Ben's hand and hustled over for a better view. As they watched, a cowboy from a neighboring ranch cut in and spun Louella into a spirited two-step. Stu McKinnon took out his bandanna and mopped his flushed face.

“She'll outlast all of them,” Tess predicted.

Nate winked at Ben and watched Stu hobble off for a beer. “She teach you how to dance like that?”

“I haven't had enough to drink yet to dance like that.” Taking Willa's glass, Tess drank deep, handed back the empty. “Give me time.”

“Oh, I'm a patient man. Best wedding I've been to in my life, Will. You and the ladies have done yourselves proud.” Then he grunted when Louella slammed into him.

“Your turn, handsome.”

“Louella, I couldn't keep up with you if I had four feet. You must keep everything hopping at that restaurant of yours.”

“Restaurant, hell.” She howled and grabbed his hands. “I run a strip joint, honey. Now, let me show you some moves.”

“A strip joint?” Willa arched an eyebrow as Nate was dragged onto the dance floor.

“Oh, shit.” Tess sighed long and hard. “Get me another drink, Ben. I need it.”

“Coming up.”

“A strip joint?” Willa repeated.

“So what? It's a living.”

“What's it like? I mean, do they take everything off and dance around buck naked?” Her eyes popped wide, not in shock but fascination. “Does Louella—”

“No.” Tess grabbed the glass from Ben, drank again. “At least, not since she bought her own place.”

“I've never been to one.” And wouldn't it be interesting, Willa mused. “Does she have men, too? Naked dancing men?”

“Oh, good God.” Tess passed the drink to Willa. “Only on ladies' night. I'm going to rescue Nate before she puts him in traction.”

“Ladies' night.” The very idea was marvelous to Will. “I guess I'd pay to see a man dance naked.” Speculating, she turned her head, shot Ben a look.

“No, not for any amount of money.”

She thought she could come up with another kind of payment and, laughing, slid an arm around his waist and watched the show.

 

H
E WATCHED TOO
.
AND WAS HAPPY
.
THE BRIDE WAS
beautiful, glowing, just as a bride should be in her white gown and veil. The music was loud, and food and drink were plentiful.

It made him feel sentimental, heart strong and proud all at once.

The day had happened because of him, and he hugged that knowledge, and the giddy pleasure of it, to himself. There had been so much out of his control, all of his life, just beyond his reach. But he'd accomplished this.

Perhaps no one could ever know. He might have to keep the secret all of his life. Like a hero in a book—a kind of Robin Hood who took no personal credit.

They'd see about that.

Saving Lily had changed his direction, his purpose. But not his means.

It amused him that the police were wandering through the crowds of guests. Looking for him. Thinking they could spot him.

They never would.

He imagined himself going on for years, forever. Killing for pleasure. Strictly for pleasure now. Revenge, even harbored resentments, seemed very pale and weak beside pleasure.

Someone bumped into him. A pretty woman, flirting. He flirted back, making her laugh and blush, leading her into a dance.

And thinking, all the while wondering if she might be the next one.

Her pretty red hair would make a nice trophy.

H
E GOT A REDHEADED WHORE BECAUSE SHE REMINDED
him of the pretty redheaded girl he'd danced with at Lily's wedding. A whore wasn't much of a challenge, and he was disappointed in that.

But he'd waited so long.

He'd waited, considerately, until Lily's parents and Tess's mother had gone on home. It hadn't seemed right to him to cause all that excitement with company around.

Lily's folks had stayed on a week after the wedding, and Louella ten days. Everybody agreed they were going to miss Louella particularly with her big, wide laugh, her knee-slapping jokes.

And those tight skirts she liked to wear.

The woman was a caution, and he hoped she came back to visit real soon. He felt a tie to her now, to all of them. The in-laws and the outlaws, as his ma used to say. That had always made him laugh.

The in-laws and the outlaws.

But now the company had cleared out, and the ranch was back to routine. The weather was holding fine, and he was
pleased by it. The crops were coming along well, though they could use some rain. But God knew, and so did he, that rain in Montana was usually feast or famine.

There'd been some thunder headed to the west a time or two, but June had stayed bone-dry thus far. The streams were running well, and the snowmelt was plentiful, so he wasn't worried.

The cattle were fattening in pasture, with the spring calves coming along just as they should. There'd been some elk nosing around, which was always a worry. Damn varmints tore up the fences and could carry disease into the herd, but Willa stayed on top of those matters.

He'd studied on her new ideas, the reseeding of natural grass, the gradual cutting back of chemicals and growth hormones and found that he approved. He'd decided that most anything she did that the old man hadn't, he approved of.

It had taken him some time, and some hard soul-searching, but he now believed it had been right and just that she'd been given the reins of Mercy. It still burned that McKinnon and Torrence had a say in things, at least for a few more months, but Willa handled them well enough, too.

He'd come to care for Lily and Tess, but blood was thicker than water, he'd always said. He now visualized both of them settled on Mercy, all the family rooted on the ranch.

Family stuck by family. He'd been taught that from the cradle, had done his best to live by it. It had only been grief and rage that had caused him to want to bring them pain, as he had pain. But now he'd put that solidly at the old man's door, where it belonged.

He'd left a sign there too, one that had made him weep and laugh all at once.

Now it was time for bigger game, so he hunted the redheaded whore.

He picked her up in Bozeman, a twenty-dollar street hooker he didn't figure would be missed. She was bone-thin and dumb as a post, but she had a mouth like a suction cup and knew how to use it. When they were in the cab of his rig and her face was buried in his lap she worked off the first twenty, and he ran his fingers through her long red hair.

It was probably dyed, but that didn't matter. It was a fine bright color, and it was clean. Dreaming of what was to come, he laid his head back, closed his eyes, and let her earn her keep.

“You're hung like a bull, cowboy,” she said when it was done. “I shoulda charged you by the inch.” It was her standard line after a blow job and usually earned a quick grin if not a modest tip. She wasn't disappointed when he flashed his teeth and bumped his hips up to reach for his wallet.

“I got another fifty here, sweetheart. Let's take a little ride.”

She was cautious, a woman in her profession had to be. But her gaze latched greedily on the dead president he held between forefinger and thumb. “Where to?”

“I'm a country boy, towns crowd me. Let's find us a nice quiet spot and we'll set the springs in this old rig creaking.” When she hesitated, he reached out, twirled her hair around his finger. “You sure are pretty. What'd you say your name was?”

Mostly johns didn't care about names, and she liked him better for asking. “It's Suzy.”

“How about it, Suzy Q? Want to take a ride with me?”

He seemed harmless, and she did have the loaded twenty-five-caliber pistol in her bag. She smiled, her thin face going sly. “You gotta wear a slicker, cowboy.”

“Sure.” He'd no more have dipped his wick into a street whore without protection than slit his own wrists. “Can't be too careful these days.”

With a wink, he watched his fifty disappear into her shiny vinyl handbag. He started the engine and drove out of Bozeman.

It was a pretty night, and the road was clear, tempting him to push the gas pedal to the floor. But he drove moderately, humming along with Billy Ray Cyrus on the radio. And as the dark became country dark, he was a happy man.

“This is far enough for fifty.” It made her nervous, the quiet, the lack of light and people.

Not far enough, he thought, and smiled at her. “I know a little place, just a couple miles up.” Steering with one
hand, he reached under the seat, amused at the way she shrank back and reached for her bag. He pulled out a bottle of the cheap wine he'd doctored. “Drink, Suzy?”

“Well . . . maybe.” Her johns didn't usually offer her wine, or call her pretty, or use her name. “Just a couple more miles, cowboy,” she said, and tipped back the bottle. “Then we'll ride.”

“Me and my pal here are more than ready.” He patted his crotch, turned up the radio. “Know this one?”

She drank again, giggled, and sang along with him and Clint Black.

She was a little thing, barely a hundred pounds. It took less than ten minutes for the drug to work. He nipped the bottle neatly from her limp fingers before it could spill. Whistling now, he pulled to the side of the road.

She was slumped in the corner, but he lifted an eyelid to be certain, then nodded. Climbing out, he dumped the rest of the drugged wine out, then heaved the bottle, sending it in a long, flying arc into the dark.

He heard it shatter as he walked to the bed of the rig and got out the rope.

 

“Y
OU DON
'
T HAVE TO DO THIS
,
WILL
.”
ADAM STUDIED HIS
sister as they walked their horses through a narrow stream.

“I want to. For you.” She paused, let Moon drink. “For her. I know I haven't come to her grave very often. I let other things get in the way.”

“You don't have to go to our mother's grave to remember her.”

“That's the problem, isn't it? I can't remember her. Except through you.”

She tipped back her head. It was a gorgeous afternoon and she was pleasantly tired, her shoulders just a little achy from unrolling wire and hammering fence.

“I didn't come, very often, because it always seemed morbid. Standing there, looking down at a piece of earth and a carved stone, having no memories of her to pull out and hold on to.” She watched a bird flit by, chasing the breeze. “I've started thinking of it differently. It was seeing
Lily with her mother, and Tess with hers. It's thinking of the baby Lily's carrying. The continuity.”

She turned to him, and her face was relaxed. “It was always the land that was continuity to me, the seasons, the work that had to be done in each one of them. When I thought of yesterday or of tomorrow, it was always the ranch.”

“It's your heart, Willa, your home. It's you.”

“Yeah, that'll always be true. But I'm thinking of the people now. I never really did before—except for you.” She reached out, closed a hand over his. “You were always there. My memories are of you. Picking me up, me riding your hip, your voice talking to me and telling me stories.”

“You were, and always will be, a joy to me.”

“You're going to be such an amazing father.” She gave his hand a last squeeze, began to walk Moon again. “I've been thinking. It's not just the land that continues, not just the land we owe. I owe her my life, and I owe her you, and I owe her the child I'll be aunt to.”

He was silent a moment. “It's not just her you owe.”

“No, it's not.” Adam would understand, she thought. He always did. “I owe Jack Mercy, too. The anger's gone now, and so is the grief. I owe him my life, and the lives of my sisters, and so the child I'll be aunt to. I can be grateful for that. And maybe, in some way I owe him what I am. If he'd been different, so would I.”

“And what about the tomorrows, Will? What about your tomorrows?”

She could only see the seasons, and the work that had to be done in each one of them. And the land, waiting endlessly. “I don't know.”

“Why don't you tell Ben how you feel about him?”

She sighed and wished for once there could be some corner of her heart secret from Adam. “I haven't made up my mind how I feel.”

“Your mind has nothing to do with it.” His lips curved as he kicked his horse into a trot. “Neither does his.”

And what the hell was that supposed to mean? she wondered. Her brow knit, she clicked to Moon and galloped
after him. “Don't start that cryptic business with me. I'm only half Blackfoot, remember. If you have something to say—”

She broke off as he held up a hand. Without question she pulled up and followed his gaze toward the tilting stones of the cemetery. She smelled it too. Death. But that was to be expected here; it was another of the reasons she so rarely came.

But then she knew, even before she saw, she knew. Because old death had a quiet and dusty murmur. And new death screamed.

They walked the horses slowly again, dismounted in silence with only the wind in the high grass and the haunting song of birds.

It was her father's grave that had been desecrated. What rose up in her was disgust, chased by superstition. To mock and insult the dead was a dangerous matter. She shuddered, found herself murmuring a chant in her mother's tongue to calm restless spirits.

Then to calm her own, she turned away and stared over the land that rolled and waved to forever.

Not a very subtle message, she thought, as the healing rage took over. The mutilated skunk had been spread over the grave, its blood staining the mound of new grass. The head had been removed, then placed carefully just under the headstone.

The stone itself had been smeared with blood, going brown now in the sun. And words had been printed over the deep carving:

 

Dead but not forgotten

 

She jerked when Adam laid a hand on her shoulder. “Go back to the stream, Willa. I'll take care of this.”

Her weak legs urged her to do as he asked, to crawl back onto her horse and ride. But the rage was still here, and beneath that, the debt she had come to acknowledge.

“No, he was my father, my blood. I'll do it.” Turning,
she fumbled with the clasps on her saddlebags. “I can do it, Adam. I need to do it.”

She took out an old blanket, spent some of her temper ripping it. After digging for her gloves, she tugged them on. Her eyes were bright and hard. “Whatever he was, whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve this.”

She took a piece of the blanket and, kneeling beside her father's grave, began the filthy task of removing the corpse from it. Her stomach revolted, but her hands stayed steady. Her gloves were stained with gore when she finished, so she stripped them off, tossed them into the heap. Tying the blanket securely, she set it aside.

“I'll bury it,” Adam murmured.

She nodded, rose. Using her canteen, she soaked another piece of the blanket, then knelt again to wash the stone.

She couldn't get it clean, no matter how she scrubbed. She would have to come back with something more than water and a makeshift rag. But she did her best and sat back on her heels, her hands raw and cold.

“I thought I loved you,” she murmured. “Then I thought I hated you. But nothing I ever felt for you was as deep or as deadly as this.” She closed her eyes and tried to clear her lungs of the stench. “It's been you all along, I think. Not me, but you it's been aimed at. Dear God, what did you do, and who did you do it to?”

“Here.” Adam reached down to lift her to her feet. “Drink a little,” he said, and offered her his canteen.

She drank, gulping deep to wash the nasty taste from her throat. There were flowers blooming on her mother's grave, she realized. And blood staining her father's.

“Who hated him this much, Adam? And why? Who did he hurt more than me, and you? More than Lily and Tess? Who did he hurt more than the children he ignored?”

“I don't know.” He worried only about Willa now, and gently led her back to her horse. “You've done all you can do here. We'll go home.”

“Yes.” Her legs felt brittle, like ice ready to crack. “We'll go home.”

They rode west, toward Mercy and a sky stained red as the grave.

 

T
HE FOURTH OF JULY MEANT MORE THAN FIREWORKS
.
IT
meant roping and riding, bronco busting and bull riding. For more than a decade, Mercy and Three Rocks had held a competition for cowboys on their ranches and any of the neighboring spreads who didn't choose to go farther afield for holiday entertainment.