Robin Lee Hatcher (31 page)

“Cows are easy pickings.” Hawk raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Spread the word that we’ll leave from here first thing in the morning.”

Rusty set his hat on his head. “I’ll do it, boss.” He glanced toward Bethany a second time. “Good day to you, Miz Chandler.”

She acknowledged him, but there was disquiet in her heart. As soon as the door closed behind the cowboy, she rose from the sofa. “What was that about?”

“Wolves. A hard winter makes wild game scarce, so they go for the cattle. We’ve got to hunt them down before they pick off too many.”

“Must you go?”

He shook his head. “It’s my ranch, Bethany. Of course I have to go.” There was a hint of frustration in his voice.

She imagined a pack of wolves circling their prey, teeth bared, growls rumbling in their throats. Only it wasn’t a cow they circled in her mind’s eye. It was Hawk. Words rose in her throat — pleading words, begging him to stay at home, imploring him to let the hired men go without him — but she swallowed them back. She couldn’t ask it of him, and he wouldn’t oblige even if she did.

“We have to kill a few wolves every winter.” He crossed the room to stand before her. “You won’t be alone. Ingrid will come down with Rand. Last time I saw him, he promised he would bring her to see you. He won’t forget.”

She struggled to appear calm. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You are.” He kissed her on the lips.

I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t mean to be a coward
. She drew a quick breath.
Please God. Keep him safe
.

The eastern sky was stained pink by the rising sun as Rand guided the sleigh along the snow-covered trail. Ingrid nestled against his side. His saddle horse brought up the rear. He looked forward to the hunt. He’d let himself get lazy this winter, and his wife’s good cooking had added pounds to his girth. If he wasn’t careful, his belly would be as round as hers.

He glanced her way. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he thought how pretty she looked, covered up to her chin with blankets. Every day he seemed to love her more. He wouldn’t ever stop thanking God for bringing her to Sweetwater. He reckoned Hawk felt the same about Bethany.

“It will be good to see them again,” Ingrid said, as if reading his thoughts. “Bethany has been on my mind often since she told us they’re having a baby too.”

He wondered if Bethany had shared about her nightmares, but he couldn’t ask. Hawk had told him only because he wanted Rand to pray for her. That was a confidence he wouldn’t break, not even to his wife.

Arriving at their destination, Rand stopped the sleigh in front of the Chandler cabin. A number of horses were tied to the corral fence, and he saw several men milling around inside the barn.

The cabin door opened and Bethany stepped outside, a shawl around her shoulders. “You came. Hawk said you would, but I wasn’t sure.”

Rand helped Ingrid from the sleigh, and the two women hugged each other.

“I’m so glad you’re here. The day won’t seem so long with your company.”

“Where’s Hawk?” Rand asked.

“He’s in the barn with the other men.” Bethany stepped toward him, touching his arm as she met his gaze. “Please keep an eye on him for me. I’ve had a terrible feeling all night that something will go wrong.”

“Nothin’ is gonna go — ”

Her fingers tightened. “Don’t try to reassure me with words. Just stay close to him. Promise me.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“And don’t tell him I said anything to you.” She offered him a wan smile. “I don’t want him knowing.”

Rand nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll stick to him like bugs to flypaper.”

The hunting party, made up of men from four different ranches, found fresh tracks by late morning. As they followed the predators, low clouds blew in from over the mountains. The temperature warmed as it began to snow.

It was then they saw the wolf pack. Westy fired the first shot. The predators took off, and men and horses gave chase. It wasn’t long before Hawk saw a large black wolf separate from the pack. He leaned low over the saddle horn and urged more speed from his gelding, his rifle in his right hand.

The wolf darted around trees and brush as it climbed the mountainside. For a while, Hawk’s horse kept an even pace with it. That soon changed. The snowfall increased, becoming a thick curtain of white, and the wolf disappeared into its midst.

He reined in, muttering, “You were lucky this time. But we’ll meet again.” He slipped the rifle into its scabbard and patted the gelding’s neck. “We’ll take it slower this time, fella.”

As the wind rose, driving the snow before it, he turned the horse around, hunching forward in the saddle, his hat deflecting the stinging flakes. He hoped the rest of the hunting party had the good sense to head for cover as well.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement. As he straightened in the saddle and turned to see what it was, he was knocked from the saddle. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for the knife in his belt, not sure what had attacked him. A cougar would have growled. The wolf would have gone for his throat. Before another thought could form, something hard slammed into the back of his head, and the world around him turned from white to black.

The first thing he noticed was the whistling wind; the next was the pain in his head. Hawk opened his eyes. Sky and earth had become a world of white with no up or down, right or left.

How long had he been out? Seconds? Minutes? He couldn’t be sure. One thing he was sure of, this being knocked unconscious was getting tiresome.

He sat up and looked around, head throbbing. He didn’t know what hit him, but whatever it was, it had left its mark. He pushed to his feet, hoping he would see his horse, but the snow was falling so hard the gelding could have been two feet away and he wouldn’t have seen him. The whiteness was almost blinding. Maybe if he closed his eyes he could feel the incline of the mountain beneath his feet. He tried it, but sensed no difference.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Anybody there?”

No answer. Only the sound of the wind. If he had his rifle, he could fire a few shots, but the Winchester was in the saddle scabbard, and he hadn’t brought along his Colt. Well, he couldn’t stay where he was. He had to find cover from the storm.

A humorless chuckle escaped him. Bethany would read him the riot act when he got home. He’d told her he would be fine, and now look at him.

He started walking. The going was hard, his feet sinking deep in the snow with each step he took. Cold seeped into his bones. He might have been walking for half an hour or more when he stumbled upon a shallow cave in a wall of rock. A smile crossed his chapped lips. He knew where he was. All he needed was a break in the storm, and he could find his way home.

He took shelter in the cave, where he scooped pine needles into a heap with chilled fingers. Then he used a match to set the needles on fire. The flame sputtered and nearly died, then caught and began to burn.

It was a meager fire by any measure but better than nothing. He glanced around for some kindling, anything that might burn a bit hotter. There were a few branches behind him, out of reach of the blowing snow. Hopefully they would last longer than the storm.

Vince stared into space as he heard the front door of the house close behind McDermott. It had taken Saunders several weeks, but at last the job was done.

He rose from the chair and crossed to the window. Gray clouds roiled across the sky. The temperature was below freezing again. Snow had stopped falling an hour ago. All he could see beyond the Bar V outbuildings was a sea of white. Fence posts rose mere inches above the blanket of snow, and trees bent beneath their heavy burden.

Men would be looking for both Chandler and Rick Saunders by now. Chandler’s body they would eventually find. The other one? Well, Saunders might not ever be found. McDermott would make sure the young gunslinger never made it out of the territory.

He frowned. He supposed McDermott would have to take care of Hutchens before too long. Too bad. He’d been a good manservant these many years. Vince would hate training someone else to fill that position, but it couldn’t be helped. Hutchens knew too much.

Vince gave his head a slow shake. He didn’t want to think about that now. He would rather savor the news that Hawk Chandler, at last, was dead. Pleasure washed over him as he wondered how much time he should let pass before he called on the grieving widow.

Hawk left the cave as soon as the storm let up, but the going was slow. He figured he’d covered about a mile when he heard someone — it sounded like Rusty — call his name.

“Here!” he hollered back.

The next voice he heard belonged to Bethany. “Hawk?”

What was she doing out here? “Over this way!”

Below him and off to his left he heard the firing of a rifle. Once, twice, three times — the signal that he’d been found, no doubt. He wondered how many men searched for him. He felt like a fool, getting knocked off his horse and lost in that storm. Especially now that he knew his pregnant wife had been searching for him too.

She rode into view, using her boot heels to drive the big dun through deep drifts. Rand and Rusty were right behind her.