Wayward Wind (25 page)

Lorna’s cheeks tinged with color, but she held her head erect and looked him in the eye. “Granny said hold it back till times
were real bad.”

Frank looked at her from beneath thick, bushy brows.

“Times be bad fer ye, do they, lass?” There was something agonizing in her eyes that tore at him. They were like Nora’s eyes
when she knew she was dying.

“Not for me, but they are for you. Take it and leave Light’s Mountain before you get yourself hung for cattle stealing.” Lorna
felt as though someone else was speaking the words for her. She heard them, but couldn’t feel them in her mouth. An incredible
numbness had settled on her like a dark shroud.

Frank placed the spoon carefully on the table beside his bowl. Lorna forced herself to meet his eyes levelly.

“Ye be thinkin’ yer pa’s a thief? Is that what ye be thinkin’? Or be it yer mon won’t stay if I be here?” He spoke hastily,
as if he didn’t want to say the words, but they had to be said.

“He’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t want you hung.”

“Why, lass? Then I be gone and out of me misery.”

“I don’t want you hung,” she repeated tiredly. A huge sigh shook her entire body. The last few hours had been unbearable.
The most unbearable of her life. The pain and the pressure seemed endless. Why didn’t he take the money and go? It’s what
he always wanted to do. “You’ve been talking about getting in the freighting business. You don’t have to steal cattle to get
the money. Here it is.”

“A mon’s got to have somethin’ to talk about, somethin to dream on. There be naught to dream on here.”

“Take the money—”

“Ye be throwin’ good money after bad, lass,” he said, hurt and anger in his voice.

“I don’t care about the money. I just want you away from here before a posse comes riding in.”

“If ye be wantin’ me gone, I’ll go. I have me pride, though ’tis sadly worn. But I be tellin’ ye this,” his voice rose to
a roar and he gulped down spittle and air, “I dinna measure up to the Lightbodys, but I be no thief, by Gad!” He reared up
out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor behind him. His hamlike fist came crashing down on the table with violence
that jarred the heavy crockery bowls. “By holy hell I no be havin’ me kin put the name thief to me!” His face was twisted
with bitterness and smoldering anger.

Lorna had no idea how many seconds went by while she stood and stared at him, his words echoing through her mind she was shocked
speechless. For him to deny his part in the rustling was the last thing she expected. Anger had made his face red, yet he
looked tired, old; there were deep creases on each side of his mouth and around his eyes. She’d not noticed before how gray
he was. She looked searchingly at him for a long moment. Then the shock was over. She was able to speak calmly.

“You don’t have to shout. I’m not deaf. I saw you with Hollis, Eli and Luke. You were driving old man Pichard’s cows.”

For an endless moment Frank stared dumbly at the cold-eyed girl. His face was suffused with crimson and he opened and closed
his mouth as if strangling.

“No!” he managed to say. “Ye dinna see me drivin’ the ol’ mon’s cows!’

“You were there to meet Hollis and Eli. You knew what they were doing.”

“No!” he was shouting again. Then, “Aye! I ken they be stealin’ fer weeks on end! Ye come down from the hills a ridin’ that
gray devil straight at ’em, and I ride to head ye off, afore ye get yerself killed, so foolhardy ye be!”

“That’s the only reason you were there?”

“I be sayin’ it.”

“You think they’d kill me to keep me from telling?”

“Aye. I be tellin’ ye that.”

“They’d not dare!”

“Ye think not, lassie? It’s hard mon, they be.”

“Brice has got a cruel streak in him a mile wide. He’s mean to everything he owns—horses, dogs, women. And Hollis is of the
same cut.”

“Aye. He is that. And ’tis sure I am he be killin’ to save his own neck if there be one to point the finger at him.”

Lorna was beginning to feel faintly giddy with relief, yet not daring to completely believe her father had no part in the
rustling that had been going on for months. They stared at each other across the table and finally Lorna sank down in the
chair.

“But they’re friends of yours. You’re down at Brice’s night after night.” Her eyes were sharp and penetrating, her lips were
set defensively, but she prayed he could convince her he was innocent.

Frank was still. Only his eyes were alive, and they examined every line in her face.

When he didn’t say anything Lorna continued, “Granny always said birds of a feather flock together. What was I to think when
you were gone for several days at the same time Brice and Hollis were gone, and I’d heard about the nester being killed?”

“Aye. I took meself off when I knew they’d be gone from the mountain. But ’twas not what yer thinkin’. Ye wanted to think
me no good ’cause yer granny did think it,” he said dreally. “Aye, ’tis true. I be not a mon the likes of
Lightbody. I could’na come to this land an’ built this place wid only a wee lassie by me side. But it mattered not to yer
mother. Be yer own mon, she says, and that I try to be.” His voice rose defensively. “Weak, I be, but I no be a thievin’ mon!”

Lorna saw anger, yet pleading, in his face. Somehow he looked both vulnerable and strong. But it had been so long—so many
years had passed since they’d said this many words to each other at one time.

“If you didn’t go with them, where did you go when you were gone for a week at a time?” Lorna persisted. It had gone this
far; she had to know all of it.

“I dinna ask ye where ye go,” he snapped, and his jaw set stubbornly. “But I’ll tell ye. This be a lonely place with only
the likes of Brice an’ his kind to while away the time. Ye canna say I dinna do me work about the place, so ’tis no business
of yers, lass, if’n I take meself to town to blow the cobwebs from me brain, an’ ease me achin’ some. Me Nora knows how ’tis—”
Suddenly, huge tears filled his eyes, but he held his head erect and refused to look away from her.

Lorna looked at him as if she had never seen him before. Somehow she couldn’t equate this big, proud man with tears rolling
down his cheeks with the moody, surly man he had become the last few years. Her granny had thought him lacking, and although
she had never said as much, her attitude of cold silence toward him had spoken for her. Lorna had known from an early age
that she tolerated him because her daughter had loved him and married him.

Why, he’d been lonely, she thought. All those years when she had Granny he didn’t have anyone. He’d lived here silently and
somberly, never letting her get to know him.

“Pa… I’m sorry!” She spoke over the lump that rose in her throat. Tears blinded her, but she got to her feet and made her
way around the table to him. “I’m sorry, Pa. I’m truly sorry.” She moved into his embrace, circled him with her arms, and
put her head on his shoulder.

It had been difficult at first for Lorna to talk to her father. She carefully kept the conversation on safe topics and he
followed suit. She said nothing more about his association with Brice Fulton, and he didn’t mention Cooper or his abrupt departure.
Instead he told her about a cougar he’d shot after it had brought down one of their cows, and that he had caught the scent
of a wolverine in the shed a few days ago. He told her he planned to put a new roof on the smokehouse and that if she planned
to keep all the pumpkins from the garden they’d have to either dry some of them or dig out more space in the cellar.

Lorna asked her father if there were more green beans in the garden to string and dry, and if he’d spotted a honey tree. She
offered to help bring timber down from the hills to cut for firewood. She told him about Bonnie and how she had suffered giving
birth, and saw his eyes go dark with pain as he remembered her mother dying during childbirth. Finally Lorna told him about
the mare she had found running loose, about Cooper and Griffin coming to look for it and their part in helping Bonnie.

“Cooper has a horse ranch near Junction City and he and Griffin are thinking of filing on land down on the Blue and starting
another one.”

“’Tis for certain he be a mon who knows horse flesh, if what he be ridin’ be an example. I ne’er seen a finer animal fer strong
hindquarters.” Frank seemed younger, more relaxed, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He even
smiled occasionally.

“Have you seen anything of Volney? He said he’d find a place for Bonnie and come back for her. He didn’t come. It isn’t like
him.”

“Aye, lass. ’Tis sorry I am to be tellin’ ye, but I think the oold mon was sorely used by Brice. Mind ye, I just know what
was let slip by Billy. ’Twas said a rock fell on the oold mon, but I be thinkin’ they broke his legs when he would’na tell
where ye took the wee cripple lassie.”

“Oh! Damn that Brice! He’d better not have hurt Volney. Where is he? Did you look for him?”

“Aye. He not be on the mountain. ’Tis sure I am of that.”

“Moose or Woody might have seen him,” Lorna said hopefully.

“Aye. They be comin’ soon to make ready fer winter.” Frank filled his pipe and looked at her over the light he held to the
bowl. “Ye be watchin’ yerself, lass. Ye braced up to Hollis, and ye scored a mark agin’ Brice. They be not forgettin’.”

“I’m not afraid of them. They know White Bull will kill them if they harm me.”

“Aye. ’Tis glad I am the Indian is fond of ye.”

“He and his people will be coming back through soon,” she said wistfully, suddenly longing to see her old friend.

“Aye.” Frank got to his feet. “I be taking meself down to the corn patch to see if the blasted coons have been in it again.”

Lorna watched him walk down the hill toward the low land where he had planted the corn. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d
ever heard him say where he was going or give a reason for going there. This new closeness between them was comforting and
fragile and… precious.

Evening came early. The shadow of the mountain crept down over the ranch buildings and the air became cooler. Lorna sat on
the porch working a churn dasher. The kitchen was spotlessly clean; the trestle table, workbench, and washstand had been scrubbed
vigorously with a stiff brush, dried, and oiled. The seasoned old wood gleamed after being polished with a soft cloth. The
wood ashes had been hauled out and saved for making soap, the floor scrubbed, the glass chimneys washed.

She had worked hard, hoping to keep her thoughts at bay and ease the ache in her heart, but all she could think of was Cooper
and the complete, unforgiving disgust she had seen on his face when he left her. She relived the moments they had spent together,
even the ones when she had been angry with him. Now, the thought of his arms, his kisses, the sweet smell of his breath and
his soft voice in her ear brought a wave of sickness rocking the pit of her stomach. Her heart ached for her lost love, but
her pride was wounded as well. She had been so sure her love had been returned.

Lorna was jarred from her reverie by the dogs, Ruth and Naomi. They shot out from beneath the porch and raced toward the edge
of the clearing. A rider came out of the timber and Lorna’s heart fluttered hopefully until she realized that it wasn’t Cooper
returning. Cursing the dogs, the rider bore down on the house. Lorna stepped to the edge of the porch, her whistle at once
bringing them back to her.

Dust boiled thickly beneath the horse’s hooves as Brice Fulton jerked on the reins. The horse stopped a dozen feet away, but
danced nervously as the cruel bit cut into its mouth. Below the brim of his battered hat Brice’s eyes blazed with hostility.
He studied her with a cold, impersonal intensity. Her incredible self-possession was a thing he had never before encountered
in a woman. To him she appeared to look down on everything and everyone. She had an untouchable air about her that had irritated
him since the first day he’d set eyes on her. It was as if she were a queen and he a lowly peasant. She had the power to make
him feel inferior, and when she looked at him as if he were a nothing, it was like pouring salt on an open wound. By God,
he’d shake the bitch, he vowed. Someday she’d come crawling to him and lick his hand!

Lorna said nothing. She had learned that to say nothing was more unnerving to a man like Brice than to curse him or hurl accusations.
Her intense hatred of him was like a festering boil, but the emotion rioting through her was wholly concealed behind the noncommittal
expression on her face.

“Have ya got my woman here?”

Lorna’s violet, thick-lashed eyes flicked over him contemptuously. “No.”

“No,” he mimicked. “Then where the hell’s she at?”

“Where you’ll never find her. You’re not fit to live with a hog, much less a sweet, gentle girl like Bonnie.” Her voice was
coldly wicked and cut Brice with the clean precision of a finely honed knife. She turned and walked into the house.

“Gawddamn ya for a fuckin’ bitch!” he shouted. Anger boiled up out of him causing him to lose all reason. “Don’t turn yore
back on me. I want that whore back, by Gawd, ’n I’ll get ’er if I have to tear down this gawddamn place ya set such a store
by.”

Lorna took a coiled whip from the peg just inside the door. Holding it behind her she stepped back out onto the porch.

“A whore gets money for what she does. I didn’t know you paid Bonnie.”

For an endless moment Brice stared at the cold-eyed girl, so embroiled in his anger and resentment he didn’t notice the look
of lethal hatred on her face. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Ya’d better tell me where she’s at, by Gawd, or I’ll kill ever’ blasted thing on this place that’s walkin’ on four legs.”

“You’re all talk, Brice. You won’t do anything,” she contradicated him calmly. “You’re too much of a coward, beside being
a back-shooting, cattle-rustling woman beater,” she told him with a chill smile.

“If ya was a man… I’d kill ya—”