A Texas Hill Country Christmas (17 page)

Evelyn Channing had been afraid that Hudson would try to come into her blanket-partitioned area of the cave the night before, but neither he nor any of the other men had intruded upon her privacy. She couldn't have stopped him, no matter what he tried to do, but maybe there was still a spark of something decent buried deep inside him. There must have been, she tried to tell herself, or else she never would have fallen in love with him to start with.

Of course, all that was finished now. No matter how much he talked about how he was going to marry her and how she would come to accept that, she knew she never would.

After the things she had seen, there would never be anything in her heart for Oliver Hudson except hate and fear.

Once she had realized that no one was going to bother her, she had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep that left her feeling drugged this morning. When she dared to venture out, she found herself alone in the cave except for two men whose names, she recalled, were Deke and Packy.

They were sitting on crates beside the fire, drinking coffee, Evelyn saw as she tentatively pushed aside one of the blankets and looked out. Deke noticed her and immediately came to his feet, motioning for Packy to do likewise.

“Mornin', ma'am,” Deke said.

“Yeah, mornin',” Packy rumbled. He was shorter and more ruggedly built than Deke, who had a certain roughhewn handsomeness to him. Both men were outlaws, though, cold-blooded killers, and Evelyn couldn't ever allow herself to forget that.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Deke went on.

Evelyn didn't want to act the least bit pleasant or friendly to them. They had helped kidnap her, after all. But the coffee smelled so good she couldn't stop herself from saying, “Yes, please. That sounds wonderful.”

It was a little chilly in the cave, even with the fire burning. Evelyn was glad for the jacket she wore. She must look terrible, she thought, after sleeping in her clothes the way she had. Even though she didn't have a mirror, she knew her hair had to be a tangled mess.

Using a thick piece of leather to hold it, Deke took the coffee pot from the edge of the fire and filled a tin cup for her. He turned toward her and held it out. Evelyn swallowed her fear and walked out of the partitioned-off area. They were only blankets, she thought; they didn't offer her any real protection.

Her hands shook a little as she took the cup from Deke and lifted it to her mouth. She sipped the coffee, found it to be hot and bitter but very bracing.

“Sorry it's nothin' fancy,” Deke told her.

“That's all right. It's very good.”

“We saved you some bacon and a couple of biscuits from breakfast, too.”

“Thank you. That was very nice of you.” She looked at the gray daylight outside. “What time is it?”

“When it's this cloudy, it's hard to tell, ain't it? Got to be close to the middle of the mornin', though.”

“That late? I . . . I must have been really tired.”

“I expect so, if you're not used to riding a lot,” Deke said.

Packy sat back down on his crate. Evidently he wasn't interested in making small talk.

“Where are all the others?” Evelyn asked. She noticed that most of the horses were gone.

“Oh, they're around,” Deke said with a casual wave of his hand. “Some are standin' guard, others are scoutin'. The boss said he had to run an errand and rode off a while ago. He left Packy and me to look out for you.”

To keep her from escaping, that was what he meant, Evelyn thought.

It was still a little disconcerting, too, to hear Oliver Hudson being referred to by one of these hard-bitten outlaws as “the boss.” How could she have been so foolish, so blind?

Deke told her to sit down on the crate where he'd been sitting. Evelyn hesitated, but then she realized there was no reason not to. She couldn't get away, but for the moment these two men were treating her decently. They were probably too afraid of Hudson to do otherwise.

She sat down while Deke took some bacon from a skillet and put it on a tin plate along with the two biscuits he had mentioned. He gave the plate to Evelyn. Just as the smell of the coffee had made her realize how thirsty she was, the aroma and the sight of the food made her ravenously hungry. She dug in.

After several minutes she asked, “Is it still raining?” She had heard the roar of the storm for much of the night.

“No, it's stopped,” Deke told her.

“But not for good, I'll bet,” Packy put in.

“It's got to stop and dry out one of these days,” Deke said. “Otherwise this whole part of the country is gonna be underwater pretty soon.”

“Like the great flood in the Bible,” Evelyn said.

Deke frowned and said, “Uh, yeah, I reckon. To be honest, I don't remember much about that. Been a long time since I set foot in a church and heard the Scriptures read. Goin' on twenty years, I'd say.”

“That's a shame. I haven't been as diligent a church-goer myself as I should have been.”

Packy said, “No time for it when you're always on the dodge.”

“Come to think of it, though,” Deke mused, “I believe the boss mentioned somethin' about goin' to church when he left.”

That wasn't possible, Evelyn thought. If a man as evil as Oliver Hudson ever set foot in a church, hell would surely freeze over.

But it
was
Sunday, she reminded herself. Somewhere, services were going on right now. Maybe Hudson had meant what he said.

If he had gone to church, though, it wasn't because he cared about his immortal soul. That was already doomed.

No, he had to have more wickedness in mind . . . although what could that have to do with church services? Evelyn had no idea.

 

 

Just as Seth had thought, there were plenty of trees the right size growing on the hill he had in mind. He brought the wagon to a halt at the edge of the road, waved a hand at the juniper saplings, and said, “There you go, Charlie. You go pick out a good one.”

“All right!” Charlie said as he stood up, moved past his mother, and jumped to the ground.

As he ran up the hill, Delta called after him, “Try not to get too muddy!”

Charlie didn't seem to hear her. He was too excited.

With the boy running around in the trees on the hillside, that left Seth and Delta sitting together on the wagon. Seth smiled and said, “Maybe I shouldn't have sent him to do that. He was our chaperone.”

“I'm a grown woman who was married for a good number of years, Mr. Barrett,” Delta said with a smile of her own. “I don't exactly require a chaperone. And you're a minister, so it goes without saying that your morals are above reproach.”

Seth couldn't help it. He threw his head back and laughed.

Delta cocked her head a little to the side and asked, “Did I say something amusing?”

“No . . . No, not really. It's just that you don't know me as well as you think you do, Mrs. Kennedy.”

“I doubt that,” she said. “I regard myself as an excellent judge of character, and you strike me as a fine man, Mr. Barrett.”

“Seth,” he said. “Why don't you call me Seth?”

“Because if I did that,” she answered, “I'd have to ask you to . . . to call me by my given name, and I'm not sure . . . I'm not sure that would be a good idea.”

Seth's expression was serious now as he looked at her and said, “I don't see why not. I don't see how it would hurt a thing in the world if you and I became better friends.”

“Mr. Barrett . . .”

“Seth,” he reminded her gently.

“All right . . . Seth.” She drew in a breath. “As I just mentioned, I was married for quite a few years—”

“And it's been three years since your husband passed away,” Seth broke in. “I mean no disrespect to the late Mr. Kennedy. From everything I've heard about him, he was a very fine man, and I know that must be the case or else you never would have married him. I can see that in Charlie as well. His father raised him right.”

“He would have,” Delta said softly, “if he hadn't been taken from us so soon. Too soon.”

“I agree. But you're still a young woman, Delta.” Seth knew he was being too forward, but he charged straight ahead. That was the way he had been in the life he'd led before coming here, straight ahead no matter what the odds, and it wasn't something he could change the way he had changed his name. “You shouldn't have to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“I'm not alone. I have Charlie.”

“You know what I mean. And someday Charlie will grow up and leave to live his own life.”

“Of course he will.”

“I'm not asking you to make up your mind about anything. I'm just asking you to think about the things the future could hold . . . for both of us—”

“Hey!” Charlie's eager shout floated down the hill. “How about this one?”

Seth and Delta both looked up the slope and saw Charlie standing next to a well-formed juniper about five feet tall. Seth said, “Do you think we can get that in your house?”

“I don't see why not,” Delta said.

“All right, I'll get the ax—”

She stopped him by reaching over and resting her hand on his arm. She said, “Seth . . . I'll think about it. I promise.”

The grin came back to him as he said, “That's all I ask.” He swung down from the seat, reached into the back of the wagon, and picked up the ax. “You'd better stay here. It's too muddy for you to go clambering up that hill.”

“Can the two of you manage the tree by yourselves?”

“I reckon we can,” Seth said.

Soon the countryside rang with the sound of the ax blade biting into the juniper's trunk. Seth and Charlie traded off on the chopping, although Seth made sure he did most of the actual work. It took about half an hour to fell the tree. Once it was down, Seth handed the ax to Charlie and got hold of the trunk where they had cut it. He dragged the tree to the wagon, trying to avoid the worst of the mud as he did so.

Charlie climbed up into the back of the wagon to help as Seth lifted the tree into the bed. He arranged it so that the end of the trunk was braced against the back of the seat. The tree's conical shape angled back and rested on the tailgate. Seth didn't think it was going anywhere, but he tied it down anyway, just in case.

“You can sit on the outside this time,” Delta told the boy as she slid over to the middle of the seat. “I don't want you stomping on my feet with those muddy boots.”

“All right,” Charlie said, “as long as you don't think the preacher'll mind sittin' next to you.”

Delta glanced over at Seth as he settled himself on the seat beside her and smiled.

“I don't think he'll mind.”

No, he sure didn't, Seth thought as he picked up the reins and got the mules moving. He didn't mind one bit.

In fact, as he swung the team around and got the wagon started back toward Delta's house, he thought there was a good chance this right now, being with Delta and Charlie, smelling the scent of that fresh-cut juniper, feeling the warm pressure of her hip against his, was the happiest moment in his life so far.

He didn't see how anything could ruin it.

The stagecoach rolled into Mason on Sunday, two days before Christmas. Once the south fork of Cougar Creek had gone down enough for the bridge to be passable, nothing else happened to slow down the coach's journey.

Smoke, Sally, and Matt said farewell to the other travelers while the teams were being switched at the stagecoach station. Smoke shook hands with Arley Hicks and told the young cowboy, “If you ever drift up Colorado way, Arley, stop in at the Sugarloaf. There'll be a riding job waiting for you.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Jensen, I truly do,” Arley replied, “but I reckon I'm a Texan, born, bred, and forever. Don't really have much interest in leavin' the good ol' Lone Star State. But I'll sure remember your kind offer.”

The Purcells weren't nearly as effusive in their farewells. Smoke didn't expect that to be a very happy marriage from here on out, if it ever had been to start with. He didn't figure Mildred would ever get over the grudge she held against her husband for what had happened at the Cougar Creek Station.

Mrs. Carter gave Sally a hug and Smoke a peck on the cheek.

“It's been exciting traveling with you two young people,” she said. “It'll be quite a memory to hang on to. But I think I've had just about enough excitement for my age!”

Once the stagecoach had rolled on south, Smoke checked into renting a buggy for the trip the rest of the way to Chester Fielding's ranch. He asked the liveryman about it.

“Don't have a buggy, but I got a buckboard you can use, Mr. Jensen,” the man said after Smoke introduced himself. “It's in good shape, and it'll get you there if there ain't too much high water betwixt here and Chet's spread.”

“You know Fielding?”

“Sure,” the liveryman said. “He was one of the first ranchers in these parts, just like I was one of the first businessmen. Pioneers, I reckon you could call us.”

“Then you can tell me how to find his place. I've got directions in the letter he sent me, but I've found it's always good to talk to somebody who knows the ground.”

“Yes, sir, it is. Take the main road, the one that goes to Kerrville, and about ten miles south of here, after you cross the Llano River, you'll veer off to the left on another trail that'll take you to the CF Ranch. That's Chet's spread. Runs for miles along the river. Prettiest place you'll ever see.”

“I'm obliged to you,” Smoke said. “If we could get a team hitched up to that buckboard . . .”

“I'll take care of that,” the liveryman promised. “You can fetch your wife and your bags over here from the stage station, and I'll have you all fixed up by the time you get back.”

The man was true to his word. Less than half an hour later, the buckboard rolled out of Mason with Smoke at the reins and Sally beside him on the seat. Their bags were sitting on the back of the vehicle, covered with canvas in case it started to rain again . . . which, judging by the slate-gray sky overhead, seemed to be a distinct possibility.

Matt rode alongside the buckboard on his own horse. He said, “I hope that bull's as good as you think it is, Smoke, after you've gone to this much trouble to get him.”

“Well, we didn't know the weather was going to be this bad,” Smoke said. “This is Texas. I thought they were supposed to have mild winters down here.”

“I reckon it's mild compared to some places. We're not in the middle of a blizzard.”

Smoke couldn't argue with that.

Since the stage road from Mason to Kerrville was well-traveled, it had the advantage of having a bridge spanning the Llano River. That was good, Smoke thought when they came to the stream, because otherwise they couldn't have crossed the rain-swollen river. The Llano ran between sheer sandstone bluffs, and after all the downpours of the past few weeks it was a swiftly flowing torrent of muddy brown water full of driftwood and debris. The crest was still below the top of the bluffs by several feet, but Smoke eyed the river warily as he drove the buckboard across the bridge.

Matt had ridden ahead. He reined in and waited for them on the south side of the bridge, and as the buckboard came up to him, he said, “If that river ever busts out, a lot of this country's gonna be under water.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Smoke said. “But at least with all these hills, there's plenty of high ground.”

Sally asked, “Didn't the liveryman back in Mason say that Mr. Fielding's ranch is on the river?”

“He did,” Smoke said. “But the ranch house is probably set back far enough that it wouldn't be in any danger. That's the way I'd do it, anyway.”

“Not everybody is as well prepared for trouble as you are, Smoke.”

Matt chuckled and said, “He's had to be, as much as he gets into it.”

Smoke just smiled, flicked the reins, and kept the horses moving.

A short time later, they came to the road that branched off to the east, just like the liveryman had said. There was even a sign nailed to a tree with the legend CF R
ANCH
written on it, along with an arrow pointing east.

As Smoke turned the buckboard onto the smaller road, thunder rumbled in the west.

“Tater wagon rolling over,” Matt said. “Sounds like more rain coming.”

“Maybe it'll hold off until we get where we're going,” Smoke said.

That was what happened. They passed quite a few cattle standing forlornly in soggy fields, then half an hour later came in sight of a large, two-story house set in some trees atop a knoll to the right of the road. Surrounding the knoll were barns, corrals, and half a dozen outbuildings. The road curved and climbed the slope toward the ranch house.

Someone must have noticed their approach, because three men on horseback rode out to meet them when they were still a couple of hundred yards from the house. Several big, shaggy dogs trailed the riders, barking at the visitors.

Smoke pulled back on the reins and brought the team of horses to a halt. When you were a stranger riding up to somebody's place, the polite thing to do was to stop and introduce yourself.

The three horsebackers halted about twenty feet from the buckboard. They wore range clothes and looked like typical cowhands, but they also carried Winchesters across their saddles and eyed the visitors warily. Smoke saw them relax a little and attributed that to Sally's presence. She didn't look like the sort of lady who would be consorting with troublemakers.

“Good afternoon to you,” Smoke called. “If you fellas ride for Chester Fielding, your boss is expecting us. My name's Smoke Jensen. This is my wife Sally and my brother Matt.” He inclined his head toward each of them in turn.

That information made the attitude of the three cowboys ease even more, but they still looked worried about something. One of them told the dogs to hush, then edged his horse a little in front of the others and thumbed his hat back.

“It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Jensen,” the man said. “That's right, the boss told us you were comin' down here to see about buyin' that Diablo Rojo bull from him, but we didn't know for sure when you'd show up.” More thunder boomed in the distance. “Seems like you beat the latest bout of rain. We'll take you up to the house so you can introduce yourselves to Miz Fielding.”

Something about the man's voice made Smoke frown slightly. He asked, “What about Mr. Fielding?”

“The boss ain't here,” the puncher replied, and the look on the man's face told Smoke that was what had them a little spooked.

“Where is he?”

“Best you talk to Miz Fielding about that, I reckon,” the man said as he turned his horse. The others followed suit.

Quietly, Sally said, “Smoke, something odd is going on here.”

“Yeah, I got the same feeling,” Smoke agreed as he flicked the reins against the team and got the horses moving again.

“Trouble, more than likely,” Matt put in.

Smoke had a hunch his brother was right.

As they pulled up in front of the house, the cowboy who had done the talking said, “We'll take care of your horses and the buckboard, Mr. Jensen.”

“Much obliged to you,” Smoke said.

He was helping Sally down from the buckboard when a woman came out of the house onto the verandah that ran along the front of the whitewashed dwelling. She was middle-aged but still attractive with only a touch of gray in her brown hair. The worried frown she wore matched those on the faces of the punchers.

“Hello,” she said. “I'm Louise Fielding.”

“Smoke Jensen, ma'am,” Smoke said as he pinched the brim of his Stetson. “My wife Sally and my brother Matt.”

The woman surprised him a little by exclaiming, “Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Mr. Jensen! I knew you were supposed to be on your way, but we weren't sure when you'd get here.”

Smoke took Sally's arm and helped her up the steps to the verandah. Matt followed. Both men took off their hats as Smoke said, “I get the feeling that something's wrong here, Mrs. Fielding.”

“That's right.”

“Would it have to do with your husband?”

“Yes, it . . . Oh, forgive me. I'm so flustered I've forgotten my manners. Please come in out of this cold weather.”

It was pretty raw outside, and Smoke didn't want Sally catching a chill, even though he was curious about Chester Fielding's whereabouts. He smiled and nodded, and the three of them followed Louise Fielding into the house.

A Mexican servant was waiting inside. Mrs. Fielding told her, “Bring coffee to the parlor, Mariquita.” She looked at the visitors. “You haven't had dinner?”

“No, ma'am,” Smoke said.

“Set three more places for dinner, too,” Mrs. Fielding told the woman. “Our guests will be staying with us for a while.”

The servant withdrew, and Mrs. Fielding ushered them into a comfortably furnished parlor. There was nothing fancy about the place, but it struck Smoke as a good place to live.

When they were all sitting down, Smoke and Sally on a sofa, Matt in an armchair, and Mrs. Fielding in a rocking chair near the stone fireplace, Sally said, “You have a lovely home here, Mrs. Fielding.”

“Thank you. You should call me Louise.”

“I don't want to rush you, Mrs. Fielding . . . Louise,” Smoke said. “But something's wrong, and Matt and I would sure like to help you if we can.”

“That's right,” Matt said.

“Is this about your husband not being here?” Smoke asked.

Louise Fielding took a deep breath. Smoke could tell that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check, but suddenly that control slipped.

“I don't know where Chester is,” she said in a ragged voice. “He's vanished.”

Then she put her hands over her face and started to sob.