Deborah Camp (43 page)

“How can you? It was awful of me. Terrible. I should be—”

“Zanna,” he said squeezing her hands. “Quit whipping yourself. What’s done is done. Stop looking back at your failings and look ahead at the new house you’ll be living in by autumn. You’ll celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas in a brand-new home.”

Zanna pulled her hands from his and turned her back to him, wondering if she’d be alone during those family holidays. “A house isn’t always a home,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

“Ours will be,” he said, gripping her shoulders from behind.

“Ours? Do you think you’ll still be here come Christmas?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

She shook her head, too full of feeling to answer.

“I’d better go back inside. The boys are ready for another game.”

“Yes. Go on,” she said past the knot of tears in her throat.

“I guess you’re right not to count your chickens until they’re hatched,” he said, moving toward the bunkhouse door. “Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Zanna closed her eyes, feeling the shadow of loneliness upon her heart.

When the last of the lumber was loaded onto the flatbed wagon, Grandy wandered over to the Scyene saloon for a shot of whiskey and a bit of good-old-boy banter.

He flung open the batwing doors and strode in with cocky confidence. No longer a hanging husband, he belonged and was welcomed by the beefy barkeep.

“Mr. Adams, isn’t it?” the saloon keeper asked, waving him over to the polished bar with its brass fittings. “What can I serve you, sir?”

“Whiskey, neat.” Grandy propped one boot on the foot
rail and watched as the bartender poured a measure of golden liquid into a shot glass. Grandy flung the liquid to the back of his throat with one decisive motion, then set the glass down for a refill. “One more, please. What do I owe you?”

“I’ll get it,” Doc Pepperidge said, stepping up to the bar beside Grandy. “How you doing, boy?”

“Fine as a frog hair,” Grandy said, slipping into the jovial talk found in saloons. “And you?”

“Don’t ask.” Doc glanced over his shoulder. “Soon as I get Theo Booker settled down, I’ll be a sight better. I swear folks seem to be going crazy lately.”

Grandy turned to squint through the dark room to the corner where a slight man slumped in a chair. “Theodore Booker!” Grandy picked up his drink and took it over to where Theo sat, looking as if he’d been run over by a wagon. “What’s wrong with you, Booker? Did you get some bad news about your sister’s husband?”

“No.”

Doc Pepperidge, sitting down beside Theo, placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. “I’ve been trying to save his life all morning.”

“Save his life?” Grandy repeated, straddling a chair. “Sounds grim. What have you been up to, Booker?”

“H’lo, sheriff!”

Grandy turned at the bartender’s greeting to confront the portly sheriff.

“I heard there was trouble brewing in here, but I don’t see any,” Sheriff Warwick said, stroking his white mustache. “You fellas doing okay this morning?”

“No problems now,” Doc said. “Right, Theo?”

“Right,” Theo grumbled, looking all hangdog.

“Someone told me Booker was looking for a shoot-out with Duncan Hathaway,” the sheriff said, coming closer to eye Theo.

“He was, but he’s changed his mind,” Doc explained.

Grandy sat up straight, his gaze locking with Theo’s. “What’s all this about? Did you see Duncan earlier?”

“No,” Theo said. “I was going to ride over to Hathaway Hill and call him out.”

“Well, that’s a dangfool idea if I ever heard one,” the sheriff grumbled. “He’d fill you full of holes before you could get your gun out of your holster.”

“That’s what I told him,” Doc said.

“And why would you want to pick a fight with Duncan anyway? What’s he ever done to you?” Sheriff Warwick asked.

Grandy turned cold eyes on the sheriff. “Well, that’s a dangfool question if
I
ever heard one.”

“Nobody’s talking to you, Adams.”

Grandy stood up, pushing the chair aside. “
I’m
talking to
you
, sheriff. You know why Booker would like to send Hathaway to hell. Same reason I’d have to send him there.”

“Better watch your mouth or I’ll throw you back in jail.”

“Try it,” Grandy said, grinning like a jack-o’-lantern.

“Stop this,” Doc said, rising up and slapping a hand on the table for attention. “I told you there’s no trouble, sheriff. Me and Adams and Booker are just having a drink. Any law against it?”

“Nope.” The sheriff frowned at Grandy. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“I’ve decided to stick around and run for the office of sheriff.” Grandy chuckled at the sheriff’s thunderous scowl. “I want to wear a star and strut around like an old peacock.”

Doc Pepperidge and Theo laughed behind their hands as the sheriff stomped out of the saloon.

“Boy, you sure know how to ruffle his tail feathers,” Doc said. “Sit down and finish your drink.”

Grandy straddled the chair again, draping his arms across the back. “Booker, what in hell were you thinking
about? Calling Duncan out? That’s dumber than a barrel of hair.”

Theo sighed, slumping in the chair again. “I’m going to Dallas soon.”

“I know. Zanna told me.”

“Well, I can’t leave her to Duncan! Something
must
be done about that man!” Theo rapped one fist on the table-top in frustration.

“Don’t you worry,” Grandy said. “Duncan will get his.”

“You’re not going loco on me, too, are you?” Doc asked, giving Grandy a once-over with his beady eyes.

“No, but Booker’s right. Something’s got to be done. Hathaway isn’t going to stop unless someone stops him.” Grandy drank the whiskey, then wiped his mouth with his cuff. “But you go on to Dallas and don’t worry about it,” he advised Theo. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to Zanna.”

“Will you?” Theo asked. “Can I have your word on that? I can’t bear to leave unless I know she won’t be hurt anymore by him. She’s gone through enough!”

“I agree.” Grandy stood and offered Theo his hand. “Duncan Hathaway will never hurt Zanna again. You have my word.”

Theo shook his hand and the lines on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth vanished as he visibly relaxed.

“She’s right about you,” Theo said. “You
are
a good man.”

“She told you that?” Grandy asked.

“Yes. She talks about you all the time.” Theo laughed and ducked his head. “I do believe she thinks you’ve already earned your place in heaven.”

Grandy shrugged, touched more deeply than he cared to reveal. “If so, it’s because she showed me the way.” He placed one arm around Booker’s narrow shoulders and pulled him away from the doctor. “Come over here a minute.
I want to talk private with you. Man to man.” He gave the doctor a wink.

“What’s wrong?” Theo asked when Grandy stopped near the saloon doors.

“Nothing. I just want to talk. I know you love her, Booker. I love her, too. I’ve been meaning to tell you …”He shrugged, having trouble finding the words he needed. “I’ve been meaning to
thank
you for being a good friend to her when she needed one most. I believe she wouldn’t be around now if it weren’t for you.”

Theo swallowed hard and gazed over the top of the batwing doors to the street. “I do love her,” he said softly. “But I know she loves you more than she ever could me.”

“Booker, listen to me.” Grandy rested his hands on Theo’s shoulders. “Stay out of trouble, y’hear? If anything happened to you, I don’t think Zanna could take it. She wouldn’t survive. Let me take the risks, okay? Stay alive for Zanna. You mean so much to her.”

Theo smiled and nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re right. I’m not cut out to be a hero. You, on the other hand, are already Zanna’s hero.”

“She does love you, Booker,” Grandy said. “Don’t be a stranger. Dallas isn’t so far away that you can’t come visit her. I reckon she’ll be making regular trips there, too.”

“You wouldn’t object to that?”

“Booker,” Grandy said in a scolding tone as he gave the man’s shoulders a playful shaking, “do you think I’m fool enough to try and keep Zanna away from the best friend she has in the whole world?”

Theo grinned from ear to ear and blushed bright red.

Grandy touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll be seeing you.” He stopped just short of leaving the saloon and pinned Theo with sharp eyes. “If anything happens to me, I’m counting on you to take care of her.” He pushed through the doors before Theo could stutter a reply.

“Boss lady!”

Zanna straightened from the cotton row and looked across the white field. Charlie waved at her.

“Yes?” she called, pulling the long sack that trailed from the shoulder strap to the ground behind her.

“Man’s here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

“Okay.” Zanna waved at Charlie, then slipped the strap off her shoulder and dropped the heavy sack. She felt weightless without it as she ran along the edge of the field to where Charlie stood with a man she didn’t recognize. She rubbed her hands together, making the calluses sting. Glancing down, she saw specks of blood on her fingertips where the cotton bolls had stabbed her. “What can I do for you?” she asked the stranger.

“I’ve got bad news for you, ma’am,” the man said, whipping his floppy hat off his head in an awkward gesture. “I’ve come from Hathaway Hill. There’s been a spot of trouble over there.”

Zanna’s heart began to pound. “What kind of trouble?”

“Theodore Booker wants you, ma’am.”

“What?” Her heart froze in her breast. “What’s this got to do with Theodore?”

“He come out there like some raving maniac and called Mr. Hathaway out. Mr. Hathaway was faster. Booker’s wounded real bad and is asking for you. Doc Pepperidge
is on his way, but I don’t know if Booker will last that long.”

“Oh, my God!” Zanna covered her face with a trembling hand and fought off a wave of dizziness. She gathered in a deep breath before letting her hand drop away. “Charlie, saddle me a horse quick!”

“Yes, boss lady.” Charlie raced toward the stables.

“No time for that,” the stranger said. “You can ride on the back of my hoss.”

“Yes, that’s better. I must see Theodore. Poor Theo.” She swallowed a sob and hitched up her chin. “Well, let’s go!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He ran to his pinto and helped Zanna up into the saddle behind him. “Hold on tight, ma’am.”

Zanna barely had time to wrap her arms around his middle before the horse bolted into an all-out run. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think positive thoughts. Theodore won’t die, she told herself. It sounds worse than it is. You’ll get there to find that he’s perfectly fine. A flesh wound, probably.

But another voice kept butting in, telling her that Duncan shot to kill. No flesh wounds for Duncan Hathaway. Oh, no! He went for the heart every time.

What had Theo been thinking? To call out Duncan was insanity. Why, Theo could barely shoot straight and he knew good and well that Duncan was a sharpshooter.

He was trying to help me, she thought with a crushing weight of responsibility. He’ll die because of me!

It seemed to take an eternity to arrive at Hathaway Hill. Zanna scanned the area for a prone body, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The man reined the horse in front of the modern, freshly painted barn.

“He’s in there,” he said, pointing to the door, which was slightly ajar. “We pulled him inside to get him out of the sun.”

She slid out of the saddle and went quickly to the door, slipping through the crack and into the musty-smelling
place with its high, rafter ceilings. The loft door had been left open to let sunshine spill down to where she stood, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the filtered light. No one lay on the hay-littered ground. Only one man stood several feet away from her.

“Duncan,” she said, finally able to see him well enough to know for sure it was her former brother-in-law. “What have you done to Theo?”

He laughed.

A scraping sound whirled Zanna around in time to see the barn door closing shut. She faced Duncan again, suddenly afraid for her life.

“Where’s Theo?”

“In town, I reckon,” Duncan said, laughing again. “I ain’t seen him in quite a spell.”

Zanna glanced back at the closed door.

“My man’s standing out there, armed and dangerous. He ain’t gonna let you outta here, Suzanna.”

She tried to fix a cool expression on her face as her insides writhed like a nest of snakes. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’re gonna sign your land over to me,” Duncan said, his smile resembling that of a skeleton’s. Macabre. Nightmarish.

“I’ll see you in hell first.”

“How you sign it is your business. Sign on the dotted line and you can leave. If not, I’ll force you to sign.” He looked up and smiled. “No cats in here, Suzanna. You won’t get away from me this time. I remember the last time I had you. It was good.” He rubbed one glove over the other, stretching out the wrinkles. “I been wanting to get another piece off you for a long time. Looks like today’s my lucky day.”

She started backing away from him. “Don’t, Duncan. I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead.” He struck like a snake, grabbing her elbows
and pulling her roughly against him. “I like it when you scream.” He covered her mouth with his.

Zanna shrieked and kicked. Her boot made contact with Duncan’s shin and he let out a howl. Anger aided and abetted him, giving him the strength of two men. He flung Zanna to the ground and planted a heavy boot in her stomach when she started to rise.

“I told you I could have you any time I wanted,” he said with a lurid grin as he whipped off his hat and sent it sailing. “And now I’m gonna prove it.”

He pulled off one glove and then the other, throwing them in Zanna’s face. She flinched from the worn rawhide and stared in morbid fascination at Duncan’s horribly scarred hands—pink and white and thin-skinned. He had no fingernails and was missing half a ring finger on his left hand. The hands in her nightmares came toward her.

Zanna screamed.

Grandy stopped the wagon near the burned house and put on the brake. He hopped down, wondering if Zanna would want to rebuild in the same spot or if she had a better place in mind. Glancing around for her, he saw Charlie leading a saddled horse from the stables.