Unbroken Hearts (11 page)

    
Finally the preacher finished his
lumbering rant. He approached Sarah and Emily, took their hands in each of his,
and offered a few words of sympathy and consolation. Then he shook hands with
Roy and Cal before gliding over to where Sam Owens was leaning against his
wagon.
 

    
Jake Farrel excused himself, squared his
lumberjack-sized shoulders, and strolled across the cemetery grounds. He paused
beside a stone on the east side, removed his hat, and pressed it against his
broad chest.

    
Cal's eyes followed Jake. The man was
standing at Grace's gravesite. On another day Cal might have followed, but
today he frowned, eased his hat back onto his head, and turned to face Ned.

    
"Ned, we heard you sounded the alarm.
Folks are sayin' you saved most of the girls at Lola's."

    
Ned appeared startled, as if didn't expect
such attention.
 

   
"Wasn't anything anyone else wouldn't do. I was sleepin', one eye
open in the stable back of Lola's. Can't shake the old habits ya' know, from in
the war."
 
He rubbed his thumb
across his chin. "I saw two men runnin' from Lola's. Plumb woke me up when
I heard them jawin'. An' I got a whiff of kerosene. That fire was no
accident!" Ned growled angrily.

   
"Who'd want to hurt Lola?" Cal wondered.
 

    
Ned squinted. "Plenty of folks don't
like her kind of business. But none'd do this I don't expect." He
paused.
 
"Jack Dullen came around
after you took the girls out to your place. He was plenty mad at Lola, went
stomping into the house, wanted to know which room they was in but Lola didn't
tell him nothin'."

    
He spat and shook his head. "Still,
it don't make a lick of sense. Dullen owned the place. He made good rent. Lola
told me so herself."
 

    
"Right." Cal frowned and thrust
his hands deep into his pockets. "Dullen's a bully. But not the sort to
burn his own property."

    
Sarah listened, thought it made perfect
sense to her, but she bit her tongue. This wasn't her town so it wasn't her
business.

    
Yet Dullen had groped her in the
street the day before, which meant it was something of her concern. The man was
rude and ill-bred, and he might just do something crazy like setting fire to
Miss Lola's, she thought.

     
Ned caught Cal's eyes and held them.
"Jake mentioned you've had some trouble out at your place. Did ya' know I
was a scout in the war?
 
I'm a good
lookout." He tentatively settled his hat back on his freckled head.
"I'm lookin' for a job. I got to thinkin' . . .
 
y'all could use a fella to watch the place, you see, to
protect your property when you're away."
 

    
Ned quickly glanced at Sarah and Emily to
strengthen his point. "Can't be too careful with all the strange goings
on." He held his breath and looked hopefully at Cal.

    
They were all quiet for a few moments. Cal
looked at Sarah and saw her biting her lower lip. After a minute Roy nodded and
Cal set his jaw.

    
"Cash is short right now," said
Cal, his mouth set grim. "But we could use an extra man to do some chores
around the house and watch the place. You handle a rifle?"

   
"Sure," Ned grinned. "I was the best shot in my
outfit." Ned spoke quickly, as though he thought Cal might change his
mind. "Don't worry about payin' me," he added. "Grub and a
bunk's all I need."

Chapter 10

    
Jack Dullen stormed into Sheriff Wes
Aiken's office, spitting fire.

    
"I want results! Maybe you've
forgotten, Aiken. One thin wire stands between you and "Hanging"
Judge Brown in Abilene! And I can send it off mighty quick. Yessirree. I can
tell them how their infamous Cole Ailor Wesman is on the dodge -- right here in
Wounded Colt!"

    
The threat pounded Aiken like hail
stones.
 

    
"Their most-wanted robber'd be one
extra-special stringing party guest," Dullen sputtered, as he pointed a
bony finger at the sheriff.

    
"No call to go stirrin' up trouble,
Jack." Aiken's drawl barely wavered as he leaned back in his chair. With
deliberate calm he folded his arms across his chest. "Before long them
Eastons be crawlin' to you, beggin' to sell their land. We scattered them beef
good last time. They lost more than fifty head by my estimatin'. They gotta be
hurtin' real bad."
 

    
Dullen's mouth tightened. "OK, it's a
start," he ceded.

    
Aiken rose from his chair to fetch a cup
of coffee. He poured and stepped back to his oak chair. "But dang,"
he feigned frustration as he sat, slapping his fist across his knee, "if I
didn't have so much investigatin' work I'd move quicker on your project. I got
that robbery and killin' that the Anders girl reported yesterday, and then
there's the fire at Lola's." He paused and cocked his head. "Wouldn't
look right to folks here in town if I weren't payin' due to such matters.
Shucks, you got other men. Put Hank and Suds on it." Aiken motioned toward
the coffee pot to offer Dullen a cup, hoping to take a bit more grease off the
man's wheels and steer him down another path.

   
But
 
Dullen wasn't taking
the bait. The two men Aiken mentioned had turned out to be as dependable as
stags during rutting season. They were always drinking, gambling or chasing
women.

    
With a broad sweep of one hand Dullen
waved off Aiken's suggestion. "You couldn't even do a proper job of
getting the girl for me," he whined. "Not that it matters now. She cashed
in her stake at Lola's fire."
 

    
Aiken's eyes collided with Dullen's over
his cup of one-grade-better-than-mud Arbuckles. He'd heard the stories down at
the saloon, and he knew it wasn't the first time Cal Easton had dared to dally
with a woman Dullen had marked for himself.

   
"You mean Sarah Anders? Shucks, she's still kickin', and the sister
too. They're cozied up at Mineral Creek. Eastons took them out to the ranch
yesterday," Aiken took a sip and grimaced. "They was just back this
afternoon for the uncle's burial," he added.

    
Dullen sputtered. His eyes bulged, and his
fist came down heavily on the heavy oak desk. "They're at Easton's place?
Well now, that's one more reason to ruin that tight-chipped clan," he
sputtered through stiff lips.

    
Suddenly Dullen quieted. A worried look
flashed across hawkish features.
 

    
"Er, that Anders skirt, she ever give
you a good description of the men that robbed her kinfolk?" The corner of
his mouth was nervously twitching.

    
Sheriff Aiken, never at the head of the class,
was just wise enough to guess the reason for Dullen's concern. He smiled and
slowly drawled, "I asked her 'bout those fellas, and she didn't remember
much of nothin'. Don't expect she saw their faces real close-like." He
tapped his fingers on the desk in a drumming motion. "But next chance I
get to Easton's I'll sure ask again."

    
Dullen's shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Excellent. Now you're thinking." He rose as if to leave, and slapped
Aiken heartily on the back. "I got a man coming from Denver. He'll need to
scout the Easton spread. You arrange it?"

    
Aiken swallowed the last from his cup. The
grounds slid down his throat, gravel riding atop sludge. He grimaced and then
smiled archly at his boss.
 

   
"Done. You give me enough warnin' and I ken run a herd of buffalo
under their noses without them takin' no heed."
 

    
Dullen tapped his knuckles on the desk.
"Tomorrow I'll be up river, at my Lazca mine." He slid on his hat to
signal the end to the meeting. Then he stepped out of the sheriff's office and
glided onto the plank sidewalk.

    
Wes Aiken heaved a sigh. He leaned back in
his chair, and stretched his legs across the top of the massive desk. Between
dodging the bounty hunters' bullets and keeping the peace with Jack Dullen he
was hip-deep in quick-muck, and a twenty-mule team couldn't pull him clear now.

    
Dullen strolled purposefully back to his
office, ruffled feathers temporarily smoothed. He smiled inwardly, suspecting
that everything was going his way.
 
Eastons be damned.
Soon he'd
own the town of Wounded Colt
and
the most profitable copper mining operation in the territory.
 

                                                                  
*
     
*
     
*

    
Late afternoon sun straddled the low
hills, blanketing the earth with gentle warmth. Braying cattle ambled along the
edge of the horizon, and trees along Mineral Creek cast soft shadows that
looked like tall ghosts climbing from the water. Sarah sat on the porch with
Mrs. Easton and Emily as she darned socks.
 
Ned came up the steps and walked past them with a load of
wood on his way to the kitchen. Emily sat quietly writing on her slate as she
worked her addition and subtraction. In these moments Sarah felt an inner peace
and contentment. She was hopeful that the fear and uncertainty she and Emily
felt might fade more with each passing day.

    
Emily suddenly jumped up from the swing,
and she ran to the edge of the porch closest to the barn. Sarah glanced up from
her sewing, and saw Roy's twinkling blue eyes. He was leading a black pony on
the path up to the house. His playful voice called out to them, a voice made
for teasing and cajoling and just plain fun.

    
"This little doe eyed lady says she
wants to make your acquaintance," he sang to Emily. "She looks a mite
lonely. Don't you think?" He softened as he closed the distance between
them, the pony trotting prettily behind. Both smiled -- Roy with eyes shining
and shoulders thrown back, and the pony saluting with a toss of her head and
waving black mane.

    
In a blink Emily was running down the
steps toward them.
 

    
"Oh beauty! What's her name?
 
May I ride?"
 
She rushed the words out breathlessly.

    
"Why sure . . . if'n it's OK with
your sister."
 

    
Sarah was smiling. "Yes, of
course," she laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Easton. And you behave,
Emily."
 

    
Roy Easton was the opposite of his brother
in this aspect; he knew how to have fun and it was contagious. Whenever he was
around it was hard for anyone to be completely serious, except for Cal.

    
Roy handed the bridle to Emily, and she
led the pony as they walked back around the barn. A few minutes later Sarah saw
them riding toward the north. Emily was chatting excitedly and leaning forward
to tangle her fingers in the pony's thick mane as they trotted out of
sight.
 

    
Seconds later the back door opened.
Sarah's heart quickened to the click of boots pacing across the weathered wood
porch. The rhythm had begun to match a primal urge growing inside her. Cal's
stride was an easy, confident, mature tempo that comforted and stroked her
spirit. The man had a quiet way of giving value to feelings, of making a person
feel worthwhile. Sarah watched from the corner of her eye as he walked across
the porch; his tall, lean figure brushed alongside his mother, and he arched
over and lightly stroked the woman's hair. Dusky light settled across his
sun-kissed face, and, for a moment, he looked much younger, nearly a twin to
his brother. Then he ambled, seemingly indifferent, to where Sarah was sitting.

    
"Didn't mean to startle you," he
apologized softly as slid down next to Sarah on the swing. He'd tried to get
her alone all day, but Emily or Roy or Ned were always hovering around her like
flies flocking to molasses. Finally he reminded Roy of his promise to ride with
Emily.

    
"Oh, I'm just tired is all." Her
voice quavered.

    
Her senses hummed as she breathed deeply
of the masculine smells of leather and lye soap, felt his steady deep
breathing, and the gentle touch of his hard thigh against her knee. She tried
to calm her shaking hands and act as if she sat next to handsome ranchers on
porch swings every day.

    
Cal winked at his mother and turned back
to Sarah. "Are you and Emily comfortable here? You need anything?" He
caught Sarah's eyes and held them.

    
Sarah's heart turned a cartwheel.
"We're fine, thank you. We haven't had so much to eat since we were back
in Illinois."

    
Cal's gaze dropped from her eyes and
slowly assessed her figure. Sarah felt her pulse pounding. Her face reddened.
Cal noted her embarrassment, and loosening his eyes from where they were stuck
at her bodice he spurred them up to meet hers again.

    
"You rode the horse on your uncle's
farm back in Illinois?"

    
"A few times," she replied in a
strained whisper. "Mostly I was busy taking care of Emily and Joey,
cooking, doing chores, those things."
 
She shrugged. Then she remembered to breathe and emitted a
long exhale. "M-mama died when I was n-nine, just after Emily was born. Then
my papa died a year later, and so we went to live with my uncle." She was
clutching her hands together unconsciously. She would have said more, but the
brief conversation was taxing, what with the trouble she was having breathing.

    
Cal's dark eyes focused on the horizon and
scanned until they fixed themselves on a cloud of dust marking the position of
a small herd in the distance.

  
"Sorry to hear that. My own father died about a year ago. Of course
I didn't have to leave home like you did." Cal turned his hat in his
hands, suddenly reminded of the private storm of grief that swept over them all
in the months following his father's death.

    
"Oh. Lives take different paths I
guess." She shifted on the swing.

    
"I expect so." His usual rough and
tumble cowboy expression had turned warm but hesitant, like it was trying to
shine through a curtain of rain.

    
She worked his kindness over; she decided
it was nice that a rancher took an interest in the people who came to work for
him.

    
"Who planted the garden?" She
asked in a voice so low it was barely audible.

    
"Oh. That was Mama's. Some vegetables
are growing in there, but only what took root from year." He remembered
Emily's comments about the garden back at their home in Illinois. "We
don't have the time. You're welcome to make something of it." He smiled
and drifted closer to her on the swing.

    
"Thank you. I had a garden back on
the farm. It was all mine."
 
Pride spilled from her voice.

    
He'd learned little of her past, but it
didn't take much to read between the lines. At first the sisters had been wary
and unsure around the men. They'd seemed to be walking on eggshells, as if they
expected to be rebuked at every turn. Now Cal thought they were making a good
adjustment; they showed more affection toward Roy and himself, though they'd
known each other for less than three days.