The Bride's Prerogative (65 page)

CHAPTER 37

H
iram and Ethan met Josiah at the ranch house steps. Hiram had just spread a blanket over Cyrus’s still body. “Is she alive?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Josiah said, his eyes glittering. “Doc and I walked out back and saw her coming out of the outhouse. Funniest thing—but she’s right pert.”

Ethan looked at Hiram. “She’ll want to see her pa.”

Hiram searched for his sister and saw her talking quietly with Libby, Bitsy, and Augie. “I’ll get Trudy.”

“Good. And Josiah …” Ethan turned back to the freighter’s son. “Can you bring your wagon down here? We’ll need to carry the bodies back to town. Tell your pa, too.”

Hiram strode quickly to Trudy’s side. “Miss Isabel might need you ladies when she finds out about her father.”

Trudy and Libby took a hasty leave of the Moores. As they walked toward the steps, Dr. Kincaid rounded the corner of the house, carrying Isabel in his arms. Her gray skirts flapped about his legs as he bore her toward them, and her head lolled against his chest.

“Is she all right?” Trudy ran forward, and Hiram followed. Ethan and a dozen others joined them as they clustered around the doctor.

“She’s had a shock. I need a place to put her down where she can rest.” Kincaid caught Trudy’s gaze. “Perhaps you could attend to her?”

“Yes, certainly. Mrs. Adams can help me.” “Should I take her inside?”

Ethan shook his head. “I don’t think so, Doc. Why don’t you lay her down here by the house? Josiah will bring a wagon down in a minute.”

Kincaid stooped and lowered Isabel gently to earth.

“Can we get a blanket?” Libby asked. “What about a pillow?”

Ethan looked uneasily toward the house. They’d moved Cyrus off the steps, but Kenton’s boots were visible through the doorway. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, ma’am.”

“I’ll get them.” Hiram ran for the steps. He hopped over Kenton’s body and looked around. On the bunk against the side wall he found one more musty wool blanket but no pillow. He carried it outside, shook it, and walked over to Libby. “This is all I could find.”

“Thank you. We’ll make do.” She squinted at his battered hat. “Are you all right?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m fine.”

She nodded soberly, and he wondered if she knew about the shooter in the barn.

“There’s a hole in your hat brim,” she said quietly.

He inhaled deeply. He’d noticed that hole when he retrieved his hat after the gunfire had ceased. Not much he could do about it. “Yes ma’am. I gave thanks to the Almighty.”

“So did I,” she said.

“Hey, Doc?” Arthur Tinen Jr. strode over to the knot of people, and Kincaid looked up at him.

“Yes?”

“That fella out back …”

Kincaid grimaced. “I confess I forgot about him. I’ll come right away.”

He started to stand, but Arthur put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “No need.”

Kincaid sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan stood. “It’s all right, Doc. You need to see to Miss Fennel now. I’ll go take a look at the cowpoke, and you can check him over later and do what you have to do.”

Hiram looked from the huddle around Isabel to Ethan’s retreating back and decided to tag after him. He followed Ethan and Art behind the house and out to the far edge of the corral, where the ground sloped up sharply into the scrub pines.

Griffin Bane stood over the body, his face set in grim lines and his right arm cradled in a sling improvised from Annie Harper’s paisley shawl.

“He’s a goner, Ethan,” Griff said as they approached. “Nothing you can do for him.”

“Would it have helped if the doctor got to him?”

“Doubt it.” Griffin looked down at the body. “I met this fella once, in the Nugget.”

“Oh?” Ethan asked. “Does he have a name?”

“Red. On account of his hair, I reckon.”

“Too bad we didn’t catch any of them alive,” Hiram said.

“Yeah.” Ethan pushed his hat back. “We might have trouble identifying some of these fellas. We don’t even know most of their names, and some of them we do know are false.”

Hiram looked down at the dead man’s face. “Guess you’ll have to write some more letters before Doc can make out all the death certificates.”

Ethan knelt and gingerly checked the man’s pockets but found only a few extra cartridges, a nickel, and a pocketknife. “Hiram, would you ask Josiah to pick this one up after he gets Kenton and

Button?”

“Sure. What about Cyrus?”

“He oughta ride in a different wagon from the others, I’d think.”

“That’s fittin’,” Griff said.

Isabel moaned and put her hand to her aching temple. “What happened?”

“You swooned, dear,” Libby said, “but you’ll be all right. Dr. Kincaid has been attending you.”

Dr. Kincaid. The privy. Papa
.

Isabel struggled to sit up, and Trudy got her arm beneath her and gave her a boost. Her head ached. Isabel looked around and spotted a form lying by the steps that was covered with a dirty woolen blanket. Her stomach clenched. “That’s Papa, isn’t it?”

“Yes dear,” Libby said. “I’m so sorry.”

The men within earshot ducked their heads and removed their hats.

Libby reached both hands toward Isabel. “Come sit in the wagon and let Dr. Kincaid examine you.”

“I want to see Papa.” Tears gushed from Isabel’s eyes, and she fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief but found only a shotgun shell she’d missed when loading the stove. She stared down at it, her innards still swirling. Had her bid for freedom sparked a fatal shootout?

Libby put her arms around her. “There, now. Maybe you’d best wait until …” She glanced up at Hiram, who stood nearby. “Until the men take him home and … and clean him up, dear.”

“No.” Isabel found the hankie in her other pocket and held it to her eyes. “Please. Let me see him now.”

With Dr. Kincaid on her left and Libby on her right, she tottered to the doorstep.

“Are you certain you’re ready for this?” the doctor asked.

“I’m sure.”

Kincaid looked toward Hiram. “Would you, Mr. Dooley?”

Hiram stepped forward, stooped, and grasped a corner of the blanket. He pulled it back a few inches, and Isabel could see her father’s graying hair. Hiram shot a glance at the doctor. Kincaid arched his eyebrows and nodded, though he tightened his hold on Isabel’s arm. Hiram laid the blanket back as far as her father’s waist.

Blood drenched the front of Cyrus’s clothing. His head was thrown back, his eyes shut. Isabel’s lips trembled as she viewed him, so unnaturally still.

“Papa,” she whispered. She plucked at her skirts and lifted them a few inches so she could kneel beside him. She glanced toward the open doorway of the house. A man’s feet in worn boots lay just within. “Is that … Uncle Kenton?”

“Yes ma’am,” the doctor said softly. “He’s left this world as well.”

She shivered.

Dr. Kincaid quickly wrapped his arm around her waist. A vague uneasiness swept over her. No man had ever touched her in so personal a manner … not until the vile cowboys, anyway. “Come, Miss Fennel. I think you’ve seen enough. You need to sit down and take some water. I want to check your pulse as well.”

He pulled her gently toward the nearest wagon, and she let him guide her. He kept his arm about her, and the sensation was not unpleasant, though the back of her bodice was damp with perspiration where his arm encircled her. Josiah lowered the tailgate. Isabel wobbled a bit, and Dr. Kincaid braced her with his other arm.

“All right?”

She sized up the wagon bed. It seemed impossibly high. “I don’t think I …”

“Allow me.” Dr. Kincaid bent and lifted her, depositing her on the back of the wagon.

“Thank you.” Isabel shut her eyes for a moment then opened them.

“I fear you’ve overtaxed yourself.” The doctor took out his pocket watch and reached for her wrist.

“I shall be fine.” Isabel looked over at her father as the doctor checked her pulse. Hiram had laid the blanket back over the body. She sucked in a breath and looked at the doctor instead. His blond hair gleamed in the brilliant sunlight.

Trudy moved in with an open canteen. “Here, Isabel. This is probably warm, but it will do you good.”

Her hand shook as she took it and tipped it up. How many people had drunk from it before her? As she lowered the canteen, she eyed it critically. “This is Papa’s.”

“Is it?” Trudy asked.

“Yes.” She took another swallow then handed it to her friend.

Kincaid looked around. “Where’s Runnels? We need to put this wagon in the shade.”

“I’ll get him,” Trudy said. “There’s a strip of shade yonder, by the barn.”

Libby climbed in over the wagon seat and came to sit beside Isabel. Dr. Kincaid looked into Isabel’s eyes for a moment, frowning.

“Why don’t you lie down and rest, Miss Fennel?” he asked as he put away his watch.

Isabel started to protest, but his suggestion made sense. From out of nowhere, Annie and Bitsy appeared beside the wagon and offered a shawl and a horse blanket. Libby arranged them so that Isabel could have a cushion for her head. She soaked a handkerchief in warm water from the canteen and dabbed at Isabel’s forehead. It felt good, and Isabel closed her eyes.

“That’s it,” the doctor said in his melodious voice. “Try to rest. I have some other duties I must see to, but Mrs. Adams will stay with you. I’ll come back and examine you again before you leave.”

Leave? Where would she go? She pulled in a breath, fighting panic.

“What else you want done, Sheriff?”

Isabel’s eyes flew open at the shout. That sounded like Micah Landry. When had he arrived? Was the entire town here? She must have slept, but she was roasting. The rays of sun seared through her cotton blouse. She wanted to be at home, in her cool, wallpapered bedroom, on the double feather bed. But then she’d have to listen to the empty house.

“They’re going to move the wagon,” Libby said. A few moments later, the wheels creaked, and they lurched several yards. Blessed shade crept over Isabel, and she shivered.

“Better?” asked Libby.

“Yes.” She heard Ethan say something about the livestock. She would have to think of Papa’s cattle, too. A little moan escaped her lips.

“It’s all right, dear. You’re going to be all right.” Libby leaned over her. “Papa …”

“Yes. He’s gone.”

Isabel puffed out a breath and shut her eyes again. “I’ll help you in any way I can,” Libby said softly. “It’s so hot.”

“We’ll take you back to town soon.”

“What happened?” Isabel asked. “Who killed him?”

After a short pause, Libby drew a deep breath. “Your father confronted Mr. Smith. It seems they shot each other.” She blotted Isabel’s brow again with the handkerchief.

“What will they do with him now?”

“Your father?” Libby touched her shoulder gently. “Shall we carry him into town, or do you wish to have him laid out at the ranch?” Isabel shuddered. “I … don’t know.”

“If you’d like, the men can take him to the livery stable. Mr. Bane has offered to help care for him. Mr. Dooley will build a coffin, and they’ll fix him up nicely for the funeral.”

Isabel nodded. “I suppose that’s best. Put him in here with me. I want to ride with him.”

Libby squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, dear Isabel. So very sorry.”