Here Comes the Bride (30 page)

“Stay here!” Gabe ordered, running toward the barn.

“What are you doing?” she screamed. “Don’t go in there!”

But it was too late, he was already inside throwing open all the doors, unlatching gates, and chasing the rest of the horses out. The horses, spooked by the smoke and flames, needed little encouragement and took off in the same direction Zeus had gone.

“Where is everyone?” Tess cried. “Joby! Seth!”

Even as she heard her own pleas, she knew where they were—in town. Saturday was drinking and gambling night. But where were Rosa and Miguel? They usually stayed home . . .

Tess raced toward the cottage, screaming their names. The flames licked at the front window and the door, but it had already made its way in through the roof. She pushed through the gate, racing straight for the door when Gabe grabbed her from behind.

“Get away from here!” he yelled. “I’ll go . . .”

Tess turned to follow his wide-eyed stare. Miguel. She fell to her knees beside the man, lying face down on the singed grass. A dark liquid oozed over his back and pooled beneath him. Tess took his shoulders and tried to turn him but Gabe was suddenly there, stopping her.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper now. “He’s dead.”

“No!” she sobbed. “No! Miguel . . . Rosa!”

Gabe bolted for the cabin, barreling through the door as if it weren’t even there. The heat was overwhelming; the smoke was choking him ferociously. He searched the front room on his hands and knees, reaching blindly through the fire. Nothing. With Tess’s screams echoing in his ears, he moved on instinct now, into the kitchen and then down the narrow hall to the bedroom. His eyes felt as though they were seared to his lids, his throat barely able to swallow. He’d all but given up when his fingers slid into something thick and almost gooey. Blood.

A deep sob ripped from his throat as he grasped the woman by the ankles and hauled her out from beside the bed. Boards above his head began to fall inward, the flames now eating their way through the inside walls and furniture. Gabe tried to inhale but there was simply no oxygen left. With a final tug, he lifted Rosa’s bound, lifeless body from the floor and raced blindly back to the front door.

Tess was dragging Miguel across the grass toward the gate when Gabe finally lit through the flames.

“Gabriel!” she cried. “No—she’s not—oh no!”

Gabe ran past her, lowered Rosa’s body on the dirt out of danger, and went back for Miguel.

“Come on,” he rasped, pulling her by the arm as well. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“But can’t we get some water . . .”

“We’re too far from the creek and there’s no way we could pump fast enough to keep up.”

He gently lowered Miguel beside his wife and reached for Tess, trying in vain to ease the wrenching sobs that echoed in his head. It was only later he realized they had come from within himself, not Tess.

By the time Bart made it to El Cielo, both the house and cottage had been reduced to little more than piles of ash, while the barn, smoking and smoldering in some places, had been saved by the pump Gabe had at first considered useless.

Tess was bent over a small blaze in the yard, beating it down with an old horse blanket, while Gabe continued to fill buckets at the pump and empty them against the walls. The pair of them looked as though they’d surfaced from deep within a coal mine, so covered were they in soot, dirt, and smoke.

“Ho-lee shit.” Bart clamped his jaw shut, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and dropped his horse’s reins.

Gabe straightened and watched as Bart made his way toward him.

“What the hell happened?”

Gabe shrugged. “Wasn’t an accident, that much I know.”

“Where’s Miguel and Rosa?” Bart raised his brow, a knowing dread slowly covering his face even as the words crossed his lips. With painstaking reluctance, he followed Gabe’s sober gaze to the grassless patch of earth.

“Rosa?” he whispered. “No . . .”

Gabe watched his brother hurtle toward the two lifeless figures on the ground—the only parents either one of them had ever really known. Throwing down his bucket, he trudged over to Bart, motioning for Tess to stay where she was.

Bart’s brown eyes were wild with fury, the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly.

“Someone tied her up and shot her.”

Gabe nodded grimly.

“And Miguel?” Bart asked. “The fire get him?”

“Shot in the back.”

“Holy jumpin’ . . .” Bart glanced back at Tess, still bent over the intermittent fires. “How’s she taking it?”

“Not good,” Gabe answered. “I don’t know if she realizes what happened here or not. I haven’t said anything.”

“Just as well.” He nodded. “No point in spookin’ her any more than she already is. ’Sides, it coulda been drifters or . . .”

“Drifters don’t usually bar doors and leave untended horses in the barn.”

Bart started. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Gabe sighed wearily. “The cottage door was tied shut from the outside—I tripped over the rope when I broke it down—and all the horses were still in the barn. Wasn’t drifters.”

“Any ideas?”

“You’re the sheriff, you tell me.” Gabe’s voice was brittle to the point of breaking.

“Gabe, listen,” Bart began, straightening to face his brother.

“Forget it,” he said, waving Bart off. “We’ll yell at each other later, right now you’ve got a job to do. I want whoever did this tracked down like a wild dog, and so help me if I find him before you do . . .”

“I can’t let you go off half-cocked, Gabe, or you’ll get yerself into a heap load o’ trouble.”

“I’m not just going to sit on my ass and wait for him to come back!” Gabe fought to keep his voice down. “He’s already killed two of us.”

“I know,” Bart choked, then cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “We should get them buried.”

“Not until Boswell does his thing, and they both need proper caskets.” He inhaled deeply and pointed toward his lost friends. “We’re not burying them like that.”

“I’ll ride into town and get Nate Brolin. He can put caskets together faster ’n anyone.”

“Wait,” Gabe said. “We need to move them out of the open, it’s getting dark and . . .”

“Yeah, okay.” Bart shuddered visibly and Gabe was only too happy he didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Without another word, Gabe bent to Miguel and Bart lifted Rosa. They carried them straight to the barn and fought to make it up the ladder to the loft. With the ladder removed it would be next to impossible for wildlife to get at them. They covered them with what remained of the horse blankets and tucked extra straw around them.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Without a word to Tess, Bart leapt back on his horse and rode out, his shoulders considerably more slumped than usual.

When Gabe came out of the barn, Tess was standing in the middle of the yard, surveying the damage. There was nothing left of the house, save the brick chimney. Not a single board remained intact, not a single piece of furniture discernable among the ashes.

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. Her sooty hands caressed his arms while huge muddied tears slipped down her cheeks. Remarkably, Gabe could still smell the scent of her honey soap beneath her smoke-filled hair.

“We’ll be okay,” he murmured. “We’ve got plenty of money to rebuild and . . .”

“I don’t care about that!” she cried, turning in his arms. “Rosa and Miguel are dead—somebody killed them! Who would do such a thing? Who could be that evil?”

So she did know the truth. Gabe sighed; maybe it was for the best.

“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head. “But I’m damn well going to find out, I can tell you that much.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” she sobbed, leaning into him again. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to rebuild,” he answered, forcing conviction into his feeble voice. “We’re going to start over with a brand new house, a brand new . . .”

“What are we going to do without Rosa and Miguel?”

Gabe exhaled slowly. “I wish I knew, sweetheart, I wish I knew.”

Locked in each other’s embrace, they were vaguely aware of approaching horses. To their stunned surprise, the entire Langman family rode up, each one armed with a shotgun, including Collette.

“You all right, Calloway?” Wyatt asked, glancing around the yard.

Gabe nodded shortly.

“Met up with yer brother on his way to town, told us what happened. Any sign of the culprit?”

“Haven’t even looked,” Gabe admitted. “We had to save the barn and . . . then . . .”

“Bart told us.” Wyatt climbed down from his horse, removed his hat, and swiped at his brow. “Real sorry to hear ’bout that, Calloway. They was good people.”

“The best.”

The rest of the family, taking their cue from their father, dismounted and wandered around the yard, kicking dirt, shaking their heads, and mumbling incoherently. Collette walked straight to Tess and took her in her arms.

“We’d barely finished supper,” she said, “and Bart kept looking out the window. He knew something was wrong but he didn’t know what. It wasn’t until we went outside that he saw the smoke—I guess our kitchen faces the other way because we had no idea . . .”

Tess nodded against her friend’s shoulder, her eyes burning with smoke and tears.

“Anyway, Bart was long gone before Pa had a chance to round up the boys.”

“Guess it were lucky the wind weren’t blowin’ the other way,” Stupid Frankie said flatly, nodding toward the stand of trees behind the house. “If it’d got in there, the whole town woulda been in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Gabe snorted. “We’re real lucky.”

Stupid Frankie nodded and spat tobacco juice on the ground, Gabe’s sarcasm lost on him completely.

Wyatt clicked his tongue at his boy and spoke again.

“You got a posse together yet? ’Cuz we’re ready, willin’, an’ able to hunt this bastard down fer ya.”

“I appreciate that, Wyatt,” Gabe said. “But Bart and Fergus’ll take care of that. Right now I have other things to think about.”

His gaze fell to Tess, still clinging to Collette.

“A’ course,” Wyatt nodded. “We’ll take ’er home with us and get ’er settled for the night. Lettie can make ’er some tea or somethin’ to calm ’er down.”

“I’d be much obliged. I’ll come for her in the morning once we get this mess figured out.”

Tess’s head rose from Collette’s shoulder with a sudden jerk.

“I’m not going anywhere, Gabriel. I’m staying right here with you.”

“Now, Tess,” he began, reigning in his patience. “You need . . .”

“Don’t you tell me what I need!” she snapped. “I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“Tess . . .”

“No! You are my husband, Gabriel, and it was my vow to stand beside you in good times
and in bad.
Well, guess what? It’s time for the bad.”

“But you could get a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

Tess’s temper erupted like a volcano.

“Do you honestly think I could eat a bite of food right now—or get a wink of sleep? Are you going to do either? No—probably not. So don’t you tell me where I should be. I know my place, Gabriel Calloway, and it’s right here with you!”

A flash of guilt swept across her face as she turned to face Wyatt.

“Please, Mr. Langman,” she said, much softer. She took the man’s hand in hers and looked him straight in the eye. “I mean no disrespect, and I do appreciate your offer, but you must understand . . .”

“I understand perfectly, little lady, and I couldn’t agree more. ’Course if you were
my
wife, I’d hog-tie you to the nearest saddle and get you the hell outta here. But y’ain’t my wife, now are ya?”

“No,” she smiled weakly. “I’m not. And I defy anyone here to even try hog-tying me to anything. I may be little, but I promise you you’ll live to regret it.”

Gabe sighed. “There’s nowhere for you to sleep here, Tess. And it’s going to be a long night banging caskets together and digging their graves. You don’t want to be here for that.”

“Yes, I do. They were your family, Gabriel, and as such, they were mine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her spine. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrendered, throwing up his hands. “You’ve made your point. Thank you, Wyatt, but it would appear my wife is going to be difficult about this, and I’m too beat to fight her on it. If she wants to stay, so be it.”

“Right then. C’mon boys, we’re only in the way here right now.” He helped Collette back into her saddle and turned back to Gabe. “You let me know when yer ready to git buildin’ again, Calloway. A body can always use an extra pair o’ hands.”

Gabe nodded silently, his throat too tight to speak. Tess lifted her chin and forced a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Langman. We’ll be sure to let you know.”

Wyatt tipped his hat back on his head, clicked to his old mare, and led the herd of Langmans back down the road into the looming darkness.

“Come on,” Gabe said softly. “If you’re so hell-bent on staying, we’ve got work to do.”

He reached inside the barn door and pulled out two shovels and a hoe, took Tess by the hand, and led her through the thick stand of trees behind the house. About fifty feet in, she recognized the outline of three headstones—Emma and Clayton Calloway’s and their stillborn daughter.

A small patch of trees had been cleared away from the area some time ago, leaving a large open space for the family burial. Icy shivers raced through Tess’s veins. Lord, how she prayed she wouldn’t have to make this trek very often.

“Do you think you can do this?” Gabe asked, watching her expression.

“Yes,” she answered, a little too quickly. “Of course I can. Just show me where.”

He outlined two plots with the edge of the hoe, and they set to work piling the dirt alongside the holes. It was hard, backbreaking work, but Tess didn’t utter one complaint. She put her back into it more and heaved shovel after shovel out of the hole. It wasn’t long before Bart rode back into the yard flanked by Reverend Boswell and Sheriff Nicholls. While the sheriff walked around the ruins, studying the mess, Bart led the Reverend into the barn and up the ladder to the loft.

Nate Brolin was next to arrive, looking like he’d been rousted out of a deep sleep. Gabe helped Tess out of the hole and went to speak to the man who would act as undertaker.

“Nate,” he said by way of greeting.

“Jeez Louise, Gabe, I’m sorry as hell ’bout Rosa and Miguel. Must be quite a shock.”

Gabe nodded solemnly and led the way to the barn. Bart and the Reverend met them on their way out.

“They’re in a better place,” Reverend Boswell said, his right hand resting on his well-worn black Bible. “They walk with the Lord now.”

“Thank you, Reverend,” Tess answered quickly when she felt Gabe stiffen. “I’m sure you’re right. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Brolin needs to . . . uh . . .”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The Reverend nodded. “Please.” He stepped to the side, giving them all room to pass. “May God bless you all.”

Gabe opened his mouth but clamped it shut when he felt Tess’s nails dig into the flesh of his arm.

Nate went about his work with speedy precision, mumbling softly to himself and scribbling furiously on a small tablet he clutched in his left hand.

“What about headstones?” he asked.

Gabe nodded. “They need to match Mama’s and the old man’s. I’ll show you on the way out.”

“Fine,” Nate said. “I’m done here.”

Gabe led him out to the trees where Bart had taken up his shovel and was busy throwing dirt with the speed of a man possessed. Tess regained her own shovel and jumped back down into the other hole while Gabe and Nate discussed dates for the headstones. By the time Nate left, Bart had finished the hole he was in and was now helping Tess. With two of them working together, the work was done in half the time.

Sheriff Nicholls wandered around the yard, taking mental notes and clucking sadly to himself. Several times he stopped to talk to Gabe or Bart and then returned to his work. It was a long couple of hours before he finally took his leave.

With their work done, there was nothing to do now but wait until morning, when they could begin the process of rebuilding—the house and their lives without the two most steadfast people they’d ever known.

Bart set about building a small rock pit, filled it with dry grass and twigs, and then set a match to it. The irony was not lost on any of them. They had just fought to put out the fire that had taken their home from them, and yet now they built their own fire to keep warm until morning.