Ride the Thunder (45 page)

“What’s wrong?” She held her breath as she asked the question.

His sideways glance was impatient and sharp. “I expected Jocko to be in this area. It looks like I guessed wrong.” As he turned to limp to where she stood, Jordanna saw the dark, wet patch staining his Levis.

“Your wound has opened up. You’re bleeding again,” she accused.

“Tell me something I don’t already know—like where your father is . . . or Jocko,” he snapped.

“If I knew where either of them were, I would tell you,” Jordanna flashed and pivoted from him.

Her shoulders were captured by his leather-gloved hands and hauled backwards to his chest. The sudden action knocked the hat from her head. The wind blew her hair free as the hat tumbled into the snow. Jordanna resisted his iron grip for an instant. Then she felt his lean jaw against her hair.

“The sunshine is in your hair again,” Brig murmured. “I wish all this was behind us and we were back in our bed at the ranch.” The apology that he couldn’t voice was in his loving words.

“So do I,” she agreed fervently. “And we’ll be laughing over this misunderstanding about Dad.”

He sighed heavily at her statement and lifted his
head. “Come on.” He pushed her forward. “It’s time we moved out again.”

“But this isn’t the way to camp,” Jordanna protested when she realized the direction they were taking.

“We can’t go that way. There isn’t any cover. We’d be too exposed to . . . We’d be too exposed.” Brig didn’t correct his sentence quickly enough to keep Jordanna from guessing how he had intended to finish it. They would be too exposed to a rifleman. He didn’t believe for a minute that there would ever come a time that they would laugh about this. His certainty frightened her. “We’ll go this way,” Brig directed.

Jordanna picked up her hat and looked in the direction he indicated. The terrain was forbidding and rough. Rocks swept clean by the wind and gleaming with icy crystals. It meant climbing higher and treacherous footing.

“You’ll never make it, Brig. Not with that wound.” It was a flat statement.

“I’ll have to make it.” There was a faint shrug of his shoulders as he took a step forward, almost dragging his left leg.

“You’re already bleeding.” Jordanna pointed out again. “How much do you think you can lose before you pass out?”

“I’ll have to find out, won’t I?” Twisted humor crooked his mouth.

“No. I can make it to camp from here and it won’t matter if I’m exposed,” she reasoned. “There will be spare horses. You can stay here and I’ll ride back for you.”

She expected Brig to argue. He studied her for a minute, then nodded, “Alright. I’ll wait here for you.”

Instead of being relieved, Jordanna was worried by his easy acceptance of her suggestion. It had to mean his leg was bothering him a great deal more than he had let her see.

“I’ll hurry,” she promised.

His gaze was suddenly very intense. “Just make it safely, Jordanna.” The cool leather of his gloved fingers caught her chin and lifted it to meet his bending head. His mouth was hard in its possession of her lips, claiming them fiercely, as if it might be the last time. Fear splintered through Jordanna, and she clung to him until he firmly set her away from him.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’ll come back,” she whispered, feeling close to tears.

Relief sighed through him as Jordanna crested the rim-rock and started down the slope. Away from him, she would be safe. Brig limped near the crest and eased himself into a sitting position that would permit him to see over the rise. He packed his left leg with snow, the white flakes turning crimson as they became stained with his blood. Within a few minutes, the cold pack began to numb his throbbing leg and, he hoped, slow the flow of blood.

The loss of blood and hunger had weakened him more than he had expected. He desperately needed these additional minutes of rest to conserve what strength remained. He watched Jordanna work her way across the barren mountain plateau until she was out of sight. He had never felt so lonely in his life. Firmly he pushed the empty ache aside and made a searching sweep of the surrounding craggy hills.

Compelled by an urgency that ran deeper than mere concern for Brig’s injury, Jordanna pushed herself onward without stopping to rest. Once a rabbit streaked madly out of her path, but it was the only living thing she saw.

The camp looked deserted when she staggered warily into it. From the picket line in the trees, a horse whickered. Gulping in a cold breath, Jordanna walked
toward the large tent where the spare tack was kept. As she lifted back the tent flap, she immediately felt the warmth from the shepherd’s stove tingle over her. In the shadowy dimness, something moved.

“Jordanna!”

The voice was instantly recognizable. “Kit!” She laughed his name with a crazy kind of relief.

“My God, where have you been? We’ve been out of our minds worrying about you,” her brother accused as he hopped toward her. “Jocko went out to look for you. Did he find you? Where’s Dad and Brig?”

“I forgot about your ankle. How is it?” Considering all that had happened since his accident, it wasn’t surprising. Then the inanity of her question struck her, followed instantly by the realization of what he’d asked her. “Dad isn’t here?” Brig had been right when he’d insisted her father wouldn’t return to camp. What else was he right about?

“No.” Kit frowned. “Isn’t he with you?”

“No. We . . . We got separated,” she explained lamely.

“That snow came down pretty thick for awhile.” He looked worried. “Are you all right? There’s coffee on. You must be hungry. Jocko fixed some stew. Come on over here by the stove so you can get warm. You must be half-frozen by now.”

“No, not now.” She resisted his attempt to curve an arm around her shoulders and escort her deeper into the tent. “I have to leave. I just came in for the bridles and a saddle if there is one. Brig’s hurt. I have to go back to him.”

“He’s hurt?” Kit immediately changed his direction, hobbling over to where his coat and hat lay. “I’ll go with you. How bad is it? What happened?”

Jordanna wished he wouldn’t bombard her with questions. Exhaustion and hunger made it difficult to think clearly at the moment. Now there was the additional confusion of her father’s role in all this.

“It’s his leg.” She hurried toward the bridles lying
neatly in one corner. There was only one saddle. She picked it up, too, swinging it onto her shoulder.

“Did he break it?” Her brother came up beside her to relieve her of the bridles.

“No.” Jordanna hesitated, then admitted, “Brig was shot. He has this ridiculous notion that Dad did it.” She laughed shakily and wanted Kit to join in.

“Oh, my God!” he groaned and pain flashed across his face.

His reaction scared her. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she demanded. “It’s really so impossible that . . .”

“Why? Does Brig know why?” her brother interrupted.

“He says . . . it’s because he knows that Dad killed Max. That isn’t true, of course,” she added quickly and felt a curling nausea in her stomach at the sight of Kit’s expression. “It isn’t. You don’t believe him, do you?”

“Did Brig know
how
Max was killed?” A grim sadness pulled at his features.

“He showed me a briar that he found under the saddle.” A cold feeling of dread washed over her. It was all a nightmare and she wanted desperately to wake up. She pushed her way out of the tent into the bright sunlight. Her brother limped along side of her.

“I wondered . . . I hoped . . .” Kit shook his head, unable to finish either sentence. His shoulders drooped as he closed his eyes and compressed his lips tightly together.

“Why?” The word bubbled from her throat and Jordanna swallowed. “Why would Dad want to kill Max? What reason would he have? Brig couldn’t give me one. Can you?”

“I was afraid something like this would happen,” Kit murmured aloud. “I thought if I came along I could stop it. I wanted so much to believe it was an accident . . . mere coincidence.”

“But why?” she demanded that he answer. If her brother had come along because he suspected something
might happen, then he had to know why. As they neared the picket line, a horse turned its head to watch their approach.

“Can’t you guess, Jordanna?” The sad, cynical look was back in his dark eyes. “It was Mother.”

“Max . . . was her latest lover?” she guessed and Kit nodded. “But that doesn’t explain why,” she argued. “It certainly isn’t Livvie’s first love. And Dad hasn’t k-killed any of the others. So why single Max out from a multitude?”

“Mother was leaving him for Max . . . just as soon as Max arranged to sell Dad that stock. She couldn’t divorce Dad in New York, so she was flying to Mexico or Nevada or anywhere she could get her freedom. Dad wasn’t supposed to know. But she lost her temper one day and told him what she was going to do. Less than a week later, this business about Max going on the hunting trip came up. Mother was upset . . . crying. She swore to me that she hadn’t mentioned Max’s name, but Dad has had her followed for years. He can give you names, dates, places. There wasn’t any chance he didn’t know Max was her lover.”

“Are you trying to convince me that Dad killed Max because Livvie was going to get a divorce because of him?” Jordanna shook her head in bewilderment. “Why should Dad care? Look at what she’s done to him, how she’s treated him.”

“Look at how he’s treated her.”

“Dad has tried to give her everything she’s ever wanted.” Setting the saddle on the ground, she smoothed the blanket pad over the back of a bay horse.

“Except himself. Do you know why they have separate bedrooms?” her brother questioned and answered it before Jordanna could. “He moved out shortly after you were born and the doctors informed her that she couldn’t have any more children. Her only function came to be an ornament to decorate his house. People
could touch and admire, but they couldn’t take her away from him. Dad crushed anyone who tried, including Max, I imagine.”

Jordanna felt herself recoiling from the picture Kit was painting. “You make Dad sound so . . . cold-blooded. He isn’t like that.” She lifted the saddle into place. All her movements were unconsciously automatic.

“I’ve tried to explain to you before,” he said patiently. “You only saw what Dad wanted you to see. Look at me. You thought you knew me, but you never really knew me at all, or you would have guessed Mike was my lover, not my roommate.”

“Poor Max. Dad never intended to buy that stock. He was just stringing him along,” Jordanna realized, speaking the thought aloud in a soft murmur. Her brother had supplied the motive. Now the evidence was too strong against her father for Jordanna to deny his guilt any longer. The disillusionment was a bitter, painful thing. “But why wasn’t he satisfied with ruining Max?”

“Max’s greed far outweighed his pride. Mother had told him about the marriage contract she had signed years ago. Dad was very generous in his provisions for her in the event of a legal separation or a divorce,” Kit explained dryly. “It was a case of loving Mother and her money. Dad couldn’t buy Max off—or financially ruin him—so he arranged the ‘accident.’ I half-believed that’s what it was—even knowing all this.”

With the cinch tightened, she unhooked the stirrup from the saddlehorn and let it hang. When she moved to the horse’s head, Kit automatically handed her a bridle. Jordanna left the halter on as she forced the metal bit between the horse’s teeth and slid the headstall over its ears. They were talking about a man she had regarded all her life as her father, yet he was suddenly a total stranger, a dangerous man who frightened her.

“Mother should have left him a long time ago.” Jordanna buckled the cheek strap. “Why didn’t she?”

“She was afraid. She knew the extent of Dad’s power. He let her see it often enough,” her brother commented and moved to the packhorse tied beside the bay. “If she’d left him, Dad would have ruined her socially. Granted, she would have had money, but he would have made sure she was shut out of the world she knew and shunned by her friends. She was frightened of being alone, knowing that Dad would use every means at his disposal to ruin any happiness she might find in another man’s arms. Then Max came along and convinced her that together they could face anything. Love gave her courage.”

Her widened gaze sought her brother’s face. “Now Max is dead.” She felt pity for her mother, compassion for the ordeal of her marriage. “You’ve always been close to her, Kit. You should have gone to New York to be with her now.”

“Probably,” he conceded. “But I didn’t trust Dad. I thought he might be coming back out here to cover up some evidence. I had to know whether he was responsible for Max’s death. I couldn’t face Mother without knowing for sure, one way or the other.” He handed her the second bridle.

An icy chill ran down Jordanna’s spine. “He did come back to cover up evidence. Brig. The only reason Brig didn’t tell anyone what he suspected was because he couldn’t find a motive. We know the motive. Dad probably thinks I told him.” Fear reduced her voice to a breathless whisper. “He is going to try to kill Brig, isn’t he?”

The line of Kit’s mouth grimmed. After an instant’s hesitation, his head moved in a short, affirmative nod. “It’s the only explanation.”

“He’s been hunting us.” Jordanna forced herself to accept the fact. “. . . Hunting Brig. Brig lost his rifle in the storm. He’s hurt. He wouldn’t stand a chance if Dad found him.”

The weakness of exhaustion and hunger left her
with a rush. All her movements became dictated by the need for haste. She fastened the bridle on the packhorse and took the last bridle from Kit’s hands.

“I’ll be right back.” Kit started to move away, then paused. “Meet me at the tent.”

Jordanna didn’t know why her brother was going back, but it was the least of her concerns at the moment. With all three horses bridled, she unsnapped the lead ropes that tied them to the picket lines and hopped bareback onto one of the packhorses. Leading the other two, she walked the horses to the tent.

When Kit came out of the tent, he had a rifle in his hand. “We might need this.”

Jordanna handed him the reins to the saddled horse and didn’t comment on his remark. Not waiting for him to mount, she nudged the horse forward. The heat coming from the shaggy-coated horse warmed her legs.