Sins of Summer (30 page)

As Steven rode down the narrow trail he thought that George and Jean Callahan would have been sick to their very souls if
they had known what Milo had done to Dory; and if they had known the extent of Louis’s hatred for anything related to Malone,
even to despising Dory’s child. More than likely one of the brothers had killed Mick Malone. Steven had known that he was
standing at the center of a gathering storm since that day. Looking back, he knew he shouldn’t have tarried. But how was he
to know it would progress this far this fast?

The trail wound downward. These hills and the valley, Steven knew, comprised a vast listening gallery that most men never
noticed. It was a place where a man might be closely watched by a dozen pairs of eyes. A tingling feeling came over him. Unease
caused him to turn and scan his backtrail. He was unable to see very far because of the turns and twists of the trail in that
heavily wooded area. At times he passed beneath locked branches that made a canopy overhead. There was a restlessness here
in this shadowy place—an unnatural quiet that pervaded the very air.

Steven moved the horse a little faster and tried to shake off the jumpy feeling. The trail wound down for a mile or more beneath
a shelf that hung over a basin thick with wildflowers. A scattering of spruce and foxtail had crept up to line the slope and
trail.

It all happened so fast. A fox darted out from the brush and spooked his horse. As the shying animal sidestepped, Steven was
struck a wicked blow on his back, then one on his arm. Only a second passed before he realized someone was shooting at him
from the ledge above. He threw himself flat along the horse’s neck just as another shot went through his thigh and along the
shoulder of his mount. The animal squealed with fright, wheeled, almost throwing Steven off, and raced down the trail.

Searing pain tore through Steven. He grabbed wildly for the saddlehorn, clutching it with a desperate grip. As he heard the
fourth shot, his hat was torn from his head. He slumped in the saddle, knowing he had to hold on or be thrown to the ground.
The scent of blood set the roan wild. Steven twisted both hands in the horse’s mane and held on through the roaring in his
head and the threatening darkness.

There was silence except for the sound of the roan’s hooves on the pine needles and the mount’s labored breathing. He glimpsed
the river and something moving on it. His befuddled mind heard a shout that faded, or was it an echo in his head? It seemed
an eternity before the horse slowed, then stopped, its foam-covered sides heaving. Steven raised his head. He could see the
river off to his left. Fighting to stay conscious, he relaxed his death grip on the horse’s mane, kicked his feet from the
stirrups, and slid to the ground. He crawled into the underbrush and collapsed.

It was still daylight when Steven fought his way back to consciousness. He lay in a nest of dried grass and pine needles.
He was flat on his back. The sky overhead was blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. Memory returned. Someone had tried
to kill him. Four shots had been fired. Were they out there looking for him now? Afraid to move, he turned his head cautiously.
He was lying half under a bush. His horse was cropping grass nearby.

Had someone watched him leave the mill and taken the rocky, treacherous shortcut down the mountain to overtake him. someone
who had wanted to kill him? It could only be Milo. He was the more vicious of the two brothers. He might be worried that Steven
was going to Judge Kenton to inquire about dividing the property. Other than Milo, he didn’t know of anyone who disliked him
enough to kill him.

Steven drifted in and out of consciousness. When he became alert, excruciating pain knifed through him. The best he could
figure was that the bullet that had hit him in the back had gone in under his left shoulder blade. One had torn away the fleshy
part of his upper right arm, one had skidded along his thigh bone. Luck had been with him. An inch or two either way and any
one of the bullets would have killed him.

When he awoke again, it was twilight and a few stars were out. As the air cooled, he began to shiver. He rolled over carefully
and pushed himself to a sitting position. The pain in his back and thigh was agonizing. With great effort he managed to focus
his eyes. Blood soaked his clothes. His thoughts were hazy, but his mind told him that he had to leave this place or he would
die here.

Because his throat was so dry, he had to try several times before he could whistle for his horse. Sound finally came. He whistled
and waited. He whistled again. He could have cried with relief when he heard a soft nicker and the sound of the horse coming
to him.

“Good girl. Good girl. You’re the best damn horse in the world,” he muttered when the horse loomed over him.

He held onto the stirrup and pulled himself to his knees. Then slowly and painfully he got to his feet. Pain like white fire
shot through him; the world tilted and swayed. He hung his left arm around the horse’s neck and leaned on him while his heart
pounded and his mind accepted what he had to do. It seemed almost forever before he felt he had enough strength to try to
get into the saddle.

Having to stand on his injured leg while he put his foot in the stirrup was so painful that he cried out. Clenching his teeth
and using both hands on the saddlehorn, he pulled himself up, swung his leg over and eased himself onto the saddle. Exhausted,
sick to his stomach from the effort and the pain, he sat there with his chin on his chest. His head felt as if it weighed
a ton.

Where was he? Since instinct told him to follow the river, he urged the horse out onto an animal path that ran alongside.
Small grunting sounds came from him as he rocked with the motion of the horse. What seemed like hours later, he waded the
horse across a shallow creek that flowed into the river, and he knew he was not far from Spencer. He was shaking with pain,
no longer conscious of the cool night air because fever burned through him. He hung limply in the saddle.

I’m dying and no one knows or cares.

When next he opened his eyes, the stars overhead were dancing and swaying. A serpent of fire surrounded his back, his chest
and his arm. Blood had run down his leg and into his shoe.

His horse was walking slowly into Spencer.

Steven’s head cleared momentarily. The town was dark except for the saloon at the end of the street. He turned the horse to
walk behind the stores. Fighting to stay conscious, he pulled the horse to a stop behind the mercantile and sat there. He
tried to move, and when he did, a haunting cry of agony tore from his throat.

The door opened and McHenry, carrying a lantern, stepped outside.

“Who be ye?”

Steven looked at him with tears rolling down his cheeks. “Help me,” he whispered.

“Steve! Ah… mon. Whatever has happened to ye?” McHenry stuck his head in the door and called, “Mag, here.” He set the lantern
on the ground and was beside Steven in two strides. “Aye, ye’re bleedin’. Air ye hurt bad?”

“I may be dying.”

“Nay, nay. Can ye get off, mon?”

“I don’t know.”

“’Tis no never mind. I be strong as a ox. Lean to me, mon.”

“Wait,” Steven whispered. “Papers in my coat lining. Hide them.”

“What ye be sayin’? Ya. Sure I be doin’ that.”

“Someone wants me dead. Take them to Judge Kenton in Coeur d’Alene if I don’t make it.”

“Ye can be countin’ on it.”

Mag McHenry appeared beside them. “Who be it, McHenry?”

“It’s Steven Marz. He be hurt bad.”

Mag let out a keening cry. “Oh, poor mon. Bring him in, McHenry. Bring the poor mon in.”

Steven tilted himself toward McHenry’s waiting arms and slipped into merciful darkness.

McHenry was sitting beside him when he awakened. He was lying on a bed and he felt no pain. His eyelids seemed to weigh ten
pounds each; it was such an effort to hold them open.

“I can’t feel,” he whispered.

“It be the potion Mag give ya to ease the pain while she tended ye.”

“Am I hurt bad?”

“Aye. bad enough. Ye be most drained a blood an’ need ta be drinkin’ water, Mag say.” He held a glass of water and poked the
end of a dried reed in his mouth. “Suck it up.”

Steven drank and closed his eyes wearily, then opened them.

“The papers?”

“Hid away like ye said. Yer horse be in the barn an’ nobody know ye be here.”

“Important. Get them to Judge Kenton.”

“I be doin’ it. Who shot ye, mon?”

“Someone on the upper trail.”

“The marshal I sent for is here. He rode out, but be comin’ back. I’ll be askin’ him to see ’bout who shot ye.”

“No! God, no! Don’t tell him. Please, McHenry. Don’t tell the marshal. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.” Steven tried to rear up
in bed. McHenry, with a deep worried frown on his face, gently held him down.

“If that’s what ye want, mon.”

Steven closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.

Ben didn’t go to the house until the evening chores were done. He wanted to give James and Dory time alone together. When
he did go in, he carried a pail of fresh milk and the eggs Wiley had gathered from the hen house. Odette was in the kitchen
preparing supper, and Jeanmarie sat at the table drawing pictures on the tablet.

“Hello, Papa,” Odette said.

“Hello, Papa,” Jeanmarie echoed and scribbled on the paper, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.

A soft expression of warmth and gentleness came over Ben’s face. He could only marvel that he was not shocked by the child’s
greeting.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked, looking over Jeanmarie’s curly red head to the paper.

“Making a pussycat. See the whiskers?”

“Sure do. I see the ears too.”

Jeanmarie drew a long line that curled at the end. “That’s the tail.”

James came into the kitchen. “I persuaded Dory to lie down for a while. She feels pretty bad about Marie Malone. I’ve been
going through the desk in the study. Louis has taken everything out that amounts to anything.”

“What did you hope to find?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just looking for anything that will help us decide what to do.” James sat at the table and stared
at his clasped hands.

Ben sank down in a chair beside him and spoke in a low tone, not knowing how much the child would understand.

“It seems to me you have two choices. Go or stay. If you go, you’ll have to leave your shares in the company behind unless
you can get that judge to divide the property. If you stay, you’ve not only got to fight Milo and Louis, but to guard Dory
against this crazy killer until he’s caught.”

“Dory doesn’t want to go. She’s more determined than ever to hold on to what Papa left us. She feels she would be turning
her back on all that he worked for if she left it to Milo and Louis. Without Steven, they would have run it into the ground
in no time at all.”

“What do
you
want to do?”

“It isn’t what I want to do, it’s what I’ve
got
to do. I don’t give a hoot and a holler about the company. I’m not working for the Callahan Lumber Company ever again. I’ve
got to look after Dory until she’s settled with a good man who will take care of her.” James looked into Ben’s eyes. “Why
don’t you marry her, for God’s sake?”

“That wouldn’t solve the problem. Even if she would have me, she still wouldn’t want to leave here. It would be you and me
against the other two; and before a month went by, one of them or both of us would be dead. Besides that, I don’t think two
people should marry unless they want to be together and build a family.”

“Don’t you want to be with her? You’ll not find a better woman anywhere,” he said, and his eyes dared Ben to contradict him.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Maybe you’re believing what’s been said about her.” James’s eyes turned frosty.

“Climb down off your high horse. You know that isn’t so. I don’t want her to agree to take me under these circumstances. Oh,
hell. I want a woman to want
me,
love me. Can’t you understand that?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know anything about love.”

“Damnation! My personal life isn’t the problem.”

“What the hell do you think we should do?”

“I’ll tell you what works for me. In case of doubt—don’t. I wouldn’t do anything just yet. I think the two of us can find
enough to do around here to keep us busy for a while. They say possession is nine-tenths of the law. If she wants her home,
she’ll have to stay in it.”

“Louis doesn’t care about this place.”

“It’ll irk him if he’s kept out of it.”

“He’ll be as mad as a peed-on snake.”

Both men looked up as Dory came into the room.

“I went to sleep. I haven’t slept during the daytime for years.” Some of the swelling had left her battered face and the bruises
around her eyes and cheekbones had darkened. One side of her mouth was still so swollen that it looked as if she was poking
her cheek out with her tongue.

“Sit down, Dory. Supper is ready.” Odette carried a stack of plates to the table. “Papa, call Wiley.”

Ben noticed how pretty Odette looked. Her face was rosy, her eyes bright. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon. He saw James
looking at her often. The unease that skittered around in Ben’s mind intensified when he saw the way Odette looked at James.
He had never seen her gaze at anyone so openly. An expression of warmth and happiness shone on her face.
She’s smitten with him.
Good Lord! He couldn’t let much more time go by before he got the man aside and set him straight about a few things.

Jeanmarie chattered throughout the meal. Wiley, wise old man that he was and realizing the others had plenty on their minds,
filled in the voids.

James and Dory were quiet.

Ben looked up once and saw Dory’s eyes glistening with tears. She quickly batted them away.
She’s grieving for her lover’s mother.
Ben was unaware of the frown the thought provoked. He didn’t like to think of that long-ago boy being her lover.