Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (21 page)

      
“We ought to see a big decrease in rustling, for a while at least,” was all Hawk would say.

      
Carrie poured a cup of coffee from Feliz's big granite pot and came over to sit by Kyle. Perversely, she did not care if Hawk felt defensive about his friend or not. She liked Kyle Hunnicut and she wanted to talk to him. “You found out who's been doing the rustling, then?”

      
“Always knowed thet, ma'am. It be Karl Krueger whut's behind it. Point is, he pulled in his horns a mite when Hawk 'n' me nailed his big gun.”

      
Carrie was baffled. “But Karl Krueger is a respectable rancher, as rich as Noah!”

      
Both men laughed in spite of their aching skulls. Hawk said, “Every big rancher was once a little one, Carrie and most swung a wide loop at least a few times. Some keep to bad habits, though.”

      
“But why? Krueger's rich!” Carrie simply couldn't believe a millionaire would stoop to thievery.

      
“Rich men always want ta git richer,” Kyle said. “If’n ole Noah wuz ta lose out ‘cause o' rustlers, who'd ya think'd take over east Montana?”

      
Carrie felt a chill of premonition. “I'm certainly glad, then, that you stopped Krueger.” She looked over at Hawk, who she knew was watching her.

      
“I didn't do it for Noah. You can believe that.” He stood up and walked deliberately from the room, saying thank you to Feliz for the coffee, nothing more to Carrie.

      
You didn't do it for me, either, I know
, she said to herself.

CHAPTER TEN

      
“Goddamn Karl Krueger! I knew he was at that dance . for a reason. But how the hell did he know where those phony homesteads were set up? Who checked them to see they weren't proved out?” Although six of his cowhands , had filed and paid for homestead land, only the most superficial things had been done to make it look like any farming was going on and, of course, each man used several assumed names to file multiple claims. The railroad, like the government, usually looked the other way. “Someone put a bee in their bonnet—Krueger!” Noah ground out the name in loathing as he paced furiously back and forth in his study while Lem Parkins stood, hat in hand.

      
Parkins was one of the pseudo-homesteaders in Noah's employ, also the bearer of the bad news from town late that day. “Well, boss, it wharn't me—ner th' rest o’ th’ fellers neither. Yew know thet.” He shuffled uneasily, fondly hoping Noah believed him. Lordy, he didn't want to be on the wrong side of Noah Sinclair!

      
Suddenly, Noah stopped pacing, absently motioning for Parkins to go. There was a lot to consider. The night of the ball, after he had such friendly assurances from the two Chicago railroad men, Grossman and Rogers, he was certain the route would be near Circle S. Then Krueger arrived and everything changed. Lola was from Chicago before she moved here. Could she and her brother-in-law be in collusion? Then he remembered Hawk and Krueger leaving him to deal with two spitting women. Hawk might have found out. Noah knew his son hated him enough to betray him. But to betray Circle S!

      
Noah resumed pacing. As he thought it over, it made sense. With Carrie here, Hawk had probably concluded he would never inherit. Maybe that had driven him to an act of revenge. That and his stupid ideals about those damn Indians. He would have a showdown with Hawk at dinner tonight. And if his suspicions were justified—what? His rage was murderous enough that he would wish his son dead, no doubt there. However, Hawk took some killing, as Noah well knew. His gun was deadly, and there was also the matter of Hunnicut to consider. The little Texan was as dangerous as his companion.

      
Compounding the problem, what was he to do about the rustling? He and Krueger had walked a tightrope for several years, barely avoiding an all-out range war for control of the region. Hawk and Kyle were trump cards against Krueger's hired killers. Noah mulled and seethed simultaneously. He would see what his damn half-breed son had to say for himself tonight.

      
The minute Hawk walked into the parlor that evening, he sensed Noah's stormy attitude.
So, he's going to feel me out first,
he said to himself. Hawk knew that Noah needed him and Kyle against Krueger's gunmen. And he also had the surprise card of Squires's disappearance to deal the old man. Not that Krueger couldn't hire another leader for his band of cutthroats easily enough, but that would be all the more reason for Noah to need his own guns.
It's going to be an interesting card game tonight
, Hawk thought in grim humor.

      
Just then Carrie entered the room, the bright yellow of her gown catching the corner of his eye. Her tall, willowy body was lushly revealed in the soft silk. Damn, what that color did for her complexion and firehair! She smiled uncertainly, not at all the jaunty, insouciant girl of the morning when they were in the kitchen with Feliz and Kyle.
Noah still has her buffaloed,
he thought angrily, despite her growing self-confidence around others on the ranch.

      
Noah poured her sherry and held the glass out to her. Hawk saw her flinch from the touch of his fingers as she accepted the drink.
God only knows what he does to her in bed at night,
he thought bitterly, more disturbed by that idea than he had ever been before.

      
Carrie could feel the tension the minute she stepped into the room. Noah's face was stamped in a taut, white-lipped manner that indicated wrath held in check. Hawk looked almost indolent, yet she sensed a coiled readiness beneath his facade as he lounged against the mantel, sipping his whiskey. What was going on? Then she remembered his and Kyle's celebration in town over the railroad route. So Noah had heard the news. Bits and pieces of conversation from Frank, Feliz, Kyle, and Hawk all began to come together now. What part had Karl Krueger and Lola Jameson played in this? Her head swam.

      
“I heard some distressing news this afternoon, Hawk,” Noah began blandly. “Seems the Northern Pacific is going to bypass Circle S land and keep north, right in Krueger's lap.” His cold blue eyes pierced his son as he waited for a reply.

      
Hawk uncoiled his long frame and stood straight, quaffing the last of his whiskey in one abrupt sip. “That so. I heard rumors about it in town last night. You always did tend to underestimate Krueger. You might take this as an object lesson, Noah.” The words and the look were measured as Hawk stared at his father. Casually he sauntered to the sideboard for another drink.

      
“No need for that,” Noah interrupted as Mathilda Thorndyke stepped in to announce dinner. A triumphant look came into her eyes when Hawk set his glass down without refilling it. He walked past the old woman as if she were invisible and entered the dining room.

      
Seating Carrie, Noah continued their conversation. “I never underestimate Krueger. I only wonder if he had some inside help this time.”

      
Hawk looked at Noah with such intensity that Carrie shivered at the coldness in his black eyes. At that moment, she could see the bond of blood between father and son. They were alike in their ruthlessness and cunning. She wondered which was the more dangerous adversary.

      
Then Hawk spoke. “If you think I helped Krueger, you might be right. Then again...you might be wrong. For now, it really doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done, and you still need me and Kyle.”

      
“The hell I do!” Noah swore, blazing mad. “You did help him! Somehow you found out about those claims and told him! Why? To get revenge on me? To spite Circle S and see it go under? I'll see you dead!”

      
“No, you won't, Noah.” Hawk's voice was ice cold and startlingly calm in the face of such open hate from his father. “As to why I might help Krueger, forget Circle S. I don't give a damn one way or the other about it or you. I want the railroad as far from the Cheyenne as I can keep it. You won't lose that much. There'll be a line into Miles City—”

      
Noah interrupted furiously. “Yes, a line three times as long for stock and supplies as I'd have had with the southern route—not to mention the side benefit of driving out the last of those nests of marauding redskins who murdered Abel!”

      
Carrie had listened to the snarling exchange and feared they might actually attack one another. Without thinking, she interjected, “But Noah, the Cheyenne didn't kill your brother, the Crow did. Starving a peaceful tribe and driving them from their rightful land just so you can get supplies and ship stock more conveniently—it isn't fair.”

      
Hawk looked at her in flat amazement. Noah whirled so abruptly he bumped the table, causing the crystal to shimmer and tinkle from the impact. “You know nothing about this, Carrie, so stay out of it! Your place as my wife is to support me.”

      
“Regardless of who's right and who's wrong!” Her eyes were ablaze as all her frustrations and anger at his bullying and brutality surfaced. She'd had enough!

      
“You are a fool!” he retorted witheringly.

      
“Is Frank Lowery a fool? Are the hands who work here fools? Most of them were born and raised in Montana or spent their lives around Indians. Lots of them think the Cheyenne have a right to breathe, too!”

      
“I might have known that bastard'd take up for the savages and fill your head with garbage as well. Your fine feelings don't mean a tinker's damn, my darling, so you can stifle them. If you ever speak up for the downtrodden red men again and humiliate me in public, I can assure you I'll make you regret it.” By this time Noah had his blinding rage under control. He needed his wits about him, and no chit of a girl was going to deter him from dealing with Hawk Sinclair. God, how he detested the fact that this traitorous savage had a legal right to his name!

      
Carrie sat rigidly, defiance still radiating from every pore and flashing from her eyes, which shone like two brilliant green flames.

      
She's as fierce as any warrior woman!
Hawk watched her confront Noah, truly taken aback by her courage. He had underestimated her. He interrupted the nasty exchange between husband and wife. “You're overlooking the main thing, Noah. Forget the railroad and the Cheyenne—and your wife.”

      
Noah's attention focused once more on Hawk. He took no notice of the continuing fury in Carrie's face. “I'll never forget that you betrayed me for your mother's people. You always were a lot more red than white, despite all the education and wealth I could offer you. You chose her and those dirty savages, ever since you were a child, running off to live with them every chance .you got. I was a fool to drag you back, keep them from disfiguring you for life with those damn Sundance scars!”

      
Hawk scoffed. “You wouldn't have given a damn if I died in the Sundance! If I'd have gotten blood poisoning, you'd have been glad. You1 just didn't want a scarred savage for a son. Well, I may not have earned the tong marks, but I'll always be a savage, Noah—just remember that! And, remember, too, you need me and Kyle and our guns.
 

      
“We caught Squires with a running iron in his hand. I took the evidence to Krueger and made a deal. He's paid Squires off and sent him packing, but he can always replace him. You can hire other guns, too, but they might not intimidate K Bar men as much as we do. You decide. Want a range war—now while Krueger's got all the trump cards with the railroad sewed up? I think you still need me, at least for a while.” He turned to his plate and attacked the steak on it with evident relish, wielding the knife with precise skill.

      
Noah grunted in bitter acknowledgment as he, too, turned his attention to the meal. “So, you and Hunnicut'll do me the great favor of staying on for now. I suppose I should be honored.” He considered a moment, then spoke with a table knife poised in midair, gesturing at his son. “Let this be a warning, Hawk. Don't ever betray me again. Your Cheyenne aren't the only ones who pay their debts.”

      
Hawk raised his wineglass in mock salute. “To understanding—the beginning of wisdom.”

      
When the meal was finished, Hawk excused himself and walked down to the bunkhouse to talk to Kyle. He had a lot to consider, especially Carrie's unexpected behavior. He knew her boldness in defying Noah would not go unpunished. He also knew just what form that punishment would take. The more he thought of Carrie in Noah's bed, suffering his attentions, the more disturbing the images became. “White women
are
poison,” he muttered to himself just before he entered the bunkhouse.

* * * *

      
By the time she had prepared for retiring that night, Carrie was regretting her spontaneous outburst at dinner. Never since she had first come to live with Aunt Patience had she let her carefully trained guard down so stupidly. Then when it meant a spanking, no dinner, or the loss of a treasured possession, Carrie had schooled herself to squelch that violent temper. How much more dearly would she pay for tonight's outburst than she had in St. Louis! Shivering, she slipped her silk robe off and slid between the covers of her bed, praying Noah would be so distraught at Hawk that he would drink himself into a stupor and be unable to come to her tonight.

      
Her wish was half granted. Noah did drink excessively, but he did not pass out. After she had fallen into a fitful sleep around midnight, the door connecting her bedroom to his opened with a loud crash. Noah stood in the door frame, his tall body filling it as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. His robe was askew, and as he shambled into the room, he pulled clumsily at the sash, loosening it. His words were slurred, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable.