Harris Channing (28 page)

Forever yours,

David.

She set
the note down, too enthralled with the sentiment to be too angry over his
leaving her behind. With a happy heart, she slipped the band on her finger. It
fit, a snug fit as if it were meant to be. Holding it up to the light, she
noted the gentle engraving of a single rose entwined with delicate ivy.

Her heart
stammered to a halt and her stomach ached with recognition.

Her
grandmother's wedding band. A ring that her mother had worn the day she wed, a
ring that was intended for her.

"This is to be yours, Roberta, when you marry,"
Ma said as she pulled open the small jewelry box and lifted out the ring.
"It was my mother's and she was right proud of it. She asked me to see
that my daughter received it on her wedding day." She placed a warm kiss
on her forehead. "Perhaps your daughter can wear it proudly, too."

Tears of sorrow sprang to her eyes.
David had brought her a symbol of her family…but where did he get it? Confusion
addled her thoughts and sent any residual joy scattering to the four winds.

Reg said all the belongings were
lost in the snow, buried deep in a ravine. He had looked her in the face and
reported that the accident claimed everyone and everything. So, how was it a
small gold band had found its way to her finger?

She gnawed on her lower lip as her
brain connected events. David must have gotten the gold band at the trading
post. Her hands curled into fists.

"How did it get there?"
she wondered aloud and with her suspicion rising, she knew. Reg, the
coldhearted bastard, had taken her family's things to the trading post. He was
a kidnapper, liar and thief! He had used her family's remains as leverage and
their leavings as income. If she hated him before, it was nothing like the
revulsion she felt now.

Her hands trembled with sorrowful
rage and without thought of David's request to wait for him, she sprang to her
feet. She had to get to David, to tell him about the ring. If Reg was capable
of all these lies, what else was the man capable of?

Besides, the villain knew where her
family was. He could have the family Bible, Pa's saddle, Ma's lace…Robert's
slingshot. Rage boiled in the pit of her stomach and she knew she had to get to
the bottom of this and she'd go crazy with waiting. Absolutely insane!

With her heart slamming, she paced
the room. Where to go? What was she to do? But deep in the pit of her stomach,
she knew. The first place David would go was Reg's cabin.

Leaving her skirts in a pile, she
was relieved with the ease of motion her britches allowed. As she tucked the
derringer into her coat pocket and checked Reg's pistol for bullets, she
hurried along the path and toward the barn. Wind whipped and howled as it
burned her skin. But she barely felt it, her need for satisfaction stronger
than any discomfort that the weather offered.

Once inside the stable, she tugged
tack from the tack room and set to work saddling the buckskin. As if sensing
Bobbie's ire, the mare danced about the stall, her brown eyes wide, her
breathing coming out in grain scented gusts.

Bobbie pulled a deep breath into
her lungs. Patience. She needed to exercise patience or she was going to be
trampled long before she left the barn. "There, there," she muttered,
reaching out and touching the mares cheek. "Be a good girl and let me
saddle you."

Calming the mare had the same
effect on her. She needed to slow down and think things through. Was it wise to
rush up on Reg's property? Of course not. Stealth and calm. Yes, those were two
things she needed…but mostly she needed to find David.

She set the saddle blanket on the
buckskins back and the mare stilled. "That's a girl. We'll see this
through and be home by supper."

***

With no sign of Reg at his home,
David returned to where the sledge tracks veered off the path and down the
sloping mountainside. It wasn't a dangerous curve nor was there a narrowing of
the trail. No telltale signs that the horse had been spooked or that Reg had
accidentally slipped down the slope. There was nothing to indicate anything but
a smooth, purposeful turn. But why? What was down there that couldn't wait for
better weather and an easier trek? And more importantly, why bring Bobbie's
family here? There were too many unanswered questions, and that made him
uneasy, so uneasy that he checked his belt for his pistol.

David dismounted and tied Ned to a
sapling that hugged the edge of the path, the wind whipping at his shaven
cheeks. He pulled his scarf up over his face and stepping near the brink,
looked down. Squinting, his gaze followed the trail into a lonely stand of
pines.

"What the devil are you up to,
Crocker," he mumbled, taking his first step toward the ridge below. Snow
crunched beneath his feet as he rounded the copse in an attempt to make as
furtive an appearance as possible.

Entering the grove, he stopped and
strained his ears, desperate to hear something, anything over the sound of the
wind whipping through the trees. Nothing. No call of a crow, no snap of a twig.
Quiet. The place devoid of life.

Still, he pulled off his glove and
pulled out his pistol, for often times, silence was far more dangerous than
noise. Moving deeper into the thicket, he moved from tree trunk to tree trunk
until he came to a small clearing. His heart thundered at the sight before him.
Yellowed canvas popped from beneath the snow and the sickening realization of what
he saw had his stomach roiling. A snow covered wagon...but no sign of Reg and
no sign of the Shallcross family.

"Damnation," he mumbled
and thrust his pistol back in its holster. Shoving his hand into his glove he
veered around the edge of the wagon. Just before it, the snow had been trampled
flat by foot and sledge traffic, and he knew he was on the right track.
Unfortunately, Reg was long gone, for more imprints from the sled's runners ran
parallel to the road above before gradually inclining.

"Shit," he nearly
shouted. The trail hadn't ended last night. No. It had simply been diverted.

He wanted to stomp his feet in a
rage, but instead, he turned his attention toward the overturned wagon.
Grasping hold of a wagon wheel, the rotted wood gave way in his hand. Why had
the man come here?

With an angry growl, he exerted his
ire upon the broken wagon. Lifting a heavy boot he smashed a hole in the
sideboard, the sunlight filtering in and offering him a view of what rested
beneath the decayed wreckage.

***

Bobbie led the mare out of the
stable and tied her to the hitching post. Using her hand to shield her eyes
against the bright morning sunlight, she called to Alfred in the hopes of
seeing him bound toward her, hungry for his breakfast. But there was no movement
from the thicket, no gleeful bark and no sign of his ugly, lovable face.

She scanned the yard and the trees
that lined the clearing, her stomach aching with worry. Too many things could
go wrong today. David could be hurt. Her parents never found. Her dog lost
forever. Biting her lower lip, she stared at the blood soaked fur of the wolf
she had killed the night before. Wolves were yet another reason for fear.

Squaring her shoulders, she rushed
back toward the buckskin. With a gentle stroke to the beast's neck, she took up
the reins and set her booted foot into the stirrup. The horse shifted and
tossed her head impatiently.

"Take it easy," she
whispered, hoping the mare wasn't green broke. It would be just her luck to get
in the saddle only to be bucked off. She swung her leg up and over the saddle,
the mare dancing in a circle making it difficult for Bobbie to find her seat.
Still, she held tight to the saddle horn with one hand and pulled the reins
back with the other.

"There, there girl." At
the tug on the bit, the buckskin stopped circling and instead took long smooth
steps backward before coming to a halt. Relaxing the pull on the bit, the horse
stilled, setting her feet firmly down and into a perfect square.

"You are a haughty one,"
Bobbie said, unable to keep the smile from touching her lips. "I reckon
I'm going to call you Queenie. That works, doesn't it?"

She offered the horse her heel and
they began their trek toward Reg's house. The usually short distance seemed to
take eons longer than it had before, for with each step Queenie took, her own
anxiety increased two-fold. Her heart ached with worry and bile rose in her
throat.

With her jaw bouncing from emotion,
she longed once again to turn the clock back. Why hadn't she stopped David? Why
hadn't she told him not to take on this fool's errand? She knew as sure as she
knew anything, that her Pa wouldn't want this. That Ma would want her to let
them all go. Why she was even certain that Robert would tell her it was stupid
to risk David's and her lives on a quest for their remains.

But with her realization came an
even stronger one. That if something happened to David, she wanted the same
thing to happen to her. Her life was meant to be lived at his side and no other
alternative would do. Yes, finding him and then learning what happened to her
family. That was what the situation called for.

She clucked her tongue and Queenie
increased her speed to a smooth trot but as the peaked roof of the cabin came
into view, she pulled the mare to a halt. Dismounting, she tied the animal to a
low hanging tree limb. With a soft stroke to the mare's velvety nose, she left
the path and entered the heavy thicket. Dried twigs and brambles tugged at her
clothes and thorns tore through her britches, scratching her legs.

Stifling her cries of pain, she
struggled up the steep incline. Finally, reaching the narrow clearing at the
side of the house, she ducked into the shadows and peered around the corner. A
stout black horse stood tied to the hitching post. Flickers of recognition jolted
through her and she blinked her eyes to make certain she wasn't hallucinating.

He lifted his head and as if
sensing her presence, shifted toward her. The small white star on his forehead,
the nick in his nostril from a run in with a crooked nail had her pulling away
and pressing her back to the side of the house. Sorrow and anger coiled round
her heart. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the pained cry that
reverberated in her throat.

Maxwell. Papa's horse.

At the sound of the front door opening,
she closed her eyes and tried to quiet the sound of her breathing.

"I told you, Crocker. I don't
intend on doing business with you anymore." The voice she heard was
boisterous. Angry. "I'm quitting the trading post and heading west come
spring and if you were wise, you'd do the same."

"Why quit now?" Reg spat,
his voice trembling with emotion. "We've got quite a bit of cash in
Colorado Springs from our endeavors. I just need a little more money, Henry,
and then I'll be able to return home."

"It's too late."

"What do you mean?" Reg
whined in the fashion of a spoiled child being told no to a piece of candy
before dinner.

"David's not drunk anymore and
when he gives that ring to his girl…"

At the sound of boots racing across
the wooden porch, Bobbie peeked ever so slightly around the corner. Reg, sped
toward the older man, his face a red mask of crazed anger. "Why did you do
it? Why did you betray me?"

Henry shook his head and backed
away. "He told me all about her family. About how devastated the girl was
and I felt…well a twinge of guilt."

A twinge of guilt? Bobbie's mind
whirled with questions. What did he have to feel guilty about? Dear Lord, she
didn't like the direction of this argument. She curled her hands into fists,
and waited.

"Hell man, it was bad enough
when you and your men killed Sarah, but I overlooked that as more of a crime of
passion. But you crossed the line when you demolished a family."

The impact of Henry's words hit her
like an iron fist to the gut. She turned away from the pair and lifted her face
heavenward as tears cascaded from her eyes. Mother Nature hadn't claimed her
family…Reg Crocker had.

"I
 
told you before, I only did it because I had
to. That damned little boy saw me rummaging through their things. I tried to
keep the killing down to him as his ma and pa had gone searching for
Bobbie."

"It doesn't matter why you did
it." Henry shouted. "It's the fact that you did."

"They caught me silencing the
boy." His voice had gone from angry to emotionless. The calm far more
unnerving than the rage. "What was I to do?"

Henry let out an audible grunt.
"You should have let them call you thief. There's no law in these parts,
Reg. You wouldn't have been arrested."

"You're right about
that," Reg said and at the popping sound of a firing gun, Bobbie's blood
ran cold and the startled scream she tried to stifle slipped from her lips.

Chapter 22

David pulled each member of
Bobbie's family from beneath the overturned wagon. His stomach ached with a
combination of horror, pity and rage. Dark bruises coated the young boy's neck
and each of her parent's bore evidence of gunshot wounds to their hearts.

"I'm sorry folks. This
oughtn't to have happened to you."

With them lying side by side, he
marched up the slope and toward Ned. The horse pawed the ground, his hoof
raking away the snow and ice until he broke through to dirt. Eyes wide and head
held high, the beast was obviously anxious.

"It's all right, boy," he
said, stroking the animal's neck, the muscles tight beneath his touch. "I
haven't seen a sign of a wolf anywhere." Even as he said the words, he
turned his head, scanning the entire area for evidence that one of the ravenous
beasts circled them.