Larkspur (42 page)

Cleve had already showed Buck the papers they took from Lyster’s body—papers that said Kristin Anderson had sold the Larkspur land to Forsythe Land Company.

“They were desperate to get rid of Miss Anderson,” Stark said. “Without her alive to deny she signed the papers, they would have had no one to dispute their claim.”

“I may be indebted to Runs Fast,” Buck said, a muscle twitching in his whiskered cheek. “How did they get this close to the house?”

Gilly answered. “Luck, I guess. You and Bowlegs were gone at the same time.”

Bonnie and Kristin took the sheets from the line and remade the bed Del had died in. The bloodstain on the kitchen floor would remain there. No amount of scrubbing would remove it completely.

“Don’t fuss, Bonnie. I’ll cover it with a rag rug.”

Kristin refused to let anything put a blight on her happiness. She was back in the house she loved, with the man she loved and, miracle of miracles, he loved her. Her friends and her cousin had come through a terrible time and were unhurt. God had been good to her.

After supper, with all present including Tandy, Cleve talked of getting Buck’s letter and what he had learned about Forsythe’s affairs.

“Judge Williams of Bozeman was going to Helena to check the records of people who had signed intent to take up land, or bought it outright and later had willingly sold out to Forsythe. He had a tight grip on the town. The marshal, the banker and the only lawyer in town were in cahoots with him. He had money inherited from his wife to work with, and a sizable number of thugs working for him. That number was reduced by six last night, and the dozen we scared off are probably in Wyoming by now.”

“What scared ’em off?” Gilly asked. “Ya said ya played some tricks—”

“Pablo was able to walk right up to them because they thought he was one of them. Dillon’s brother, Colin Tallman, sent him up here to keep”—Cleve paused when he heard a low growl come from Dillon—“to help us. He threw in with Bruza’s bunch when he got to Big Timber to see what he could find out. Last night he sidled up to each one and told of the Sioux uprising. He said they were out to avenge Sand Creek—”

“But . . . that happened in ’64,” Buck said.

“The dumbheads didn’t know that. Pablo told them that Iron Jaw had two hundred warriors on the other side of the ranch and after they burned it and massacred everyone in it, they were heading for Big Timber.”

“And they believed it?” Buck chuckled.

“All but one,
Señor,”
Pablo said with a wide grin. “Big ugly one in the barn. I had to tickle his ribs a bit with my knife.”

“We’re going into town tomorrow, honey. Are you up to it?” Buck squeezed the hand he held under the table. The words of endearment dropped naturally from his lips without hesitation.

“I’m ready. I want to get this all behind us.”

“Bernie and I will go back to the café . . . if it’s still there.”

“Bowlegs’ll be back tonight to keep a eye on thin’s here, I jist might mosey on in with ya and visit Flo.” Gilly sent a teasing glance in Buck’s direction.

“I didn’t know you had a lady friend in town,” Kristin exclaimed. “You’ve not mentioned her before.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes to the ceiling and, after an awkward silence, leaned toward Kristin.

“Flo’s a whore,” she whispered.

Kristin’s face turned a fiery red. Her eyes, large and round, went to Gilly and quickly away.

“Oh! Well, my . . . goodness,” she stammered. She turned and hid her face against Buck’s shoulder. She could feel the silent laughter that shook him. When she got over her embarrassment, she began to giggle. Her hand went to Buck’s neck and she pinched him.
“You’re
not going there! I’m telling you that right now!”

*  *  *

After their guests had bedded down, Kristin and Buck sat in the big chair beside the hearth. The only light came from the fire. She rested in his arms, her head on his shoulder. His lips touched her forehead, his cheek lay against her hair.

“I don’t want to go to bed without you,” Buck whispered.

“Can we be married tomorrow as soon as we get to town?”

“It will depend on how things go, honey. We’ll visit the preacher before we leave, that’s certain.”

“Bonnie knows him.”

“Cleve’s plan is to keep Forsythe from finding out you’re there until the judge arrives from Bozeman. He sent a wire to him before he left to come to Big Timber. He’s planning on him arriving on the afternoon train.”

They sat in quiet contentment, Kristin’s head on his shoulder. Time assumed a dreamlike quality. No unnatural noise intruded on their privacy, and the moments were filled with the simple pleasure of being together. The past twenty-four hours had been bliss for them. Buck had never loved, felt or enjoyed so deeply as when he held her in his arms.

Such happiness, he mused thoughtfully, came to only a few men. He prayed to God it would last. But there were a few details that needed to be aired; he wanted no secrets between them when they wed.

“I wish I knew why Uncle Yarby named me in his will.” Kristin’s whispered words broke the silence. “There are so many others that he knew better than me.”

Buck was quiet for a long time. His hand stroked her arm, then took her hand and pressed it to his cheek, now free of whiskers.

“I’m sure it had something to do with Anna, the woman he loved. He spoke of her now and then.”

“She was my mother’s sister. I remember Mama saying that she was sick and came to live with us. She died shortly after I was born.”

“Honey, Moss had a wooden box he always kept with him. He said it was the one he brought his possessions in when he came from Sweden, as a boy. When he went out of his mind, I put it in the attic.”

“My papa had a box, too . . . with heavy iron hinges.” Kristin raised her head to look at him. “I’d love to look into Uncle Yarby’s box sometime.”

“I did . . . after Yarby was gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have done it together.”

“I thought about it. But I was afraid there might be a later will in the box. A will that left the Larkspur to me, or to a male member of his family. If that were the case, you’d have no reason to stay here . . . and I couldn’t let you go.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if he’d left it to you.” She rubbed his cheek with her palm. “I’m going to sign it all over to you anyway. It will be best all around if the land’s in my husband’s name.”

“There was no other will, honey, but there were letters from your mother.”

“I knew she kept in touch with him. She was fond of Papa’s younger brother.”

Buck took a tight hold on his resolve and doggedly continued.

“She wrote of Anna’s death. She told him that
his
daughter was the spitting image of Anna and that Anna had loved him until the end.”

The calmly spoken words dropped into the stillness. Kristin’s eyes searched his face.

“I didn’t know Uncle Yarby had a daughter,” she saidslowly. “Mama never mentioned her. Are you saying that he and Aunt Anna were . . .”

“They loved each other, but her father wanted her to wed another. Yarby came West, thinking that if he wasn’t around, Anna’s life would be easier. When she refused to wed the man her father chose for her, he turned her out. She went to her sister. Your mother and father welcomed her and cared for her until she died.”

“How sad. If the daughter lived, she would be the heir. Buck?” Her hands went to his shoulders, a puzzled frown on her face. She shook him and spoke very quietly. “I’d like to read the letters. Do you think he mistook me for his and Anna’s daughter?”

“Sweetheart, he made no mistake,” he said gently. “When we get back from town, you can read the letters. Your mother wrote to him every year or so and told him how pretty you were and how well you did in school. Then, what a lovely young woman you were. The last one was when you were fourteen.”

Kristin’s face was still. Her eyes searched his.

“Are you trying to say . . . that sweet little man was . . . really my father?”

“Honey, since I found out, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you. Your mother wrote to him as if you were his daughter. Are you disappointed?”

“Nooo . . .” she said slowly. “I don’t think so. It will take some getting used to. My mother’s sister and my father’s brother loved each other, but they couldn’t marry.” She repeated the facts slowly as if to put them in order. “Why didn’t Anna just go away with him? It’s what I would have done.”

“We’ll never know.”

“I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” she said in an awed tone of voice. “Does Gustaf know?”

“I’ve no idea. I’d not discuss this with anyone but you. Nor would I allow anyone to go into Moss’s things without your permission.”

“Of course.” She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. Still looking into his face, she said, “It’s possible that Ferd knew, or suspected. It would account for his dislike of me. He would have been fifteen when I was born. He never liked me or my mother.”

“Was he . . . mean to you?”

“Not while Papa was alive. Papa believed more in education than his brothers. Their sons worked on the farm, Papa sent Ferd to a boarding school. Ferd’s mother died and he married Mama while Ferd was away. On second thought, I don’t believe he knew or he would have thrown it up to me.” She rested her head against his shoulder again. “It doesn’t change anything. I don’t feel any different. I loved Moss, even when I believed that he was
your
father.”

“At times I’d see Moss watching you with a smile on his face. I thought it was because you’re so pretty. Now I wonder if far back in his mind he was remembering Anna.”

“He called me
Onyah
a couple of times. That’s Swedish for Anna.”

“Honey, I wanted you to know about this
before
you looked into the box. I thought it would be less of a shock to learn you had a different set of parents. Moss treasured the letters your mother wrote. They look as if they’ve been read many times.”

“I’m glad he had you, Buck.”

“He was father, mother, all my kin rolled into one. I grew to be a man with Moss. I never knew my folks.”

“Don’t you even know
of
them?”

Buck was glad of the opportunity to get her to think of something else.

“I heard that the Lennings came from New York State, a place called Middlecrossing. One of the Lennings, a bad one named Stith Lenning, came as far as the Wabash and got himself killed. His younger brother, Silas, came on west to a place on the Missouri River called Kanesville. He
could
have been my grandpa. My Pa’s name was Roy Lenning. That’s all I know about him. I know nothing of my mother.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In Wyoming with first one homesteader and then another—whoever would take me. I always knew I didn’t belong to the family I was with. My name was Buck Lenning, my pa’s name was Roy. I grew up knowing only that. I was about eleven years old when I signed on to do a man’s work with a freighter carrying supplies to a mining camp. After that, for probably five years, it was root-hog or die. Then I met Moss, or rather Moss found me. My life started that day.”

Kristin’s fingers moved up to comb through his wild, dark hair.

“Poor little boy. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll love you so much, you’ll never again think of growing up alone and unloved. We have a lot to thank Moss for.”

“Are you hurt or disappointed about him being your father?” he asked anxiously.

“No. And for some reason, I’m not as shocked as I should be. I know Mama loved me and Papa doted on me. It doesn’t seem important to me that Mama didn’t give birth to me. I’ve wondered why she never had other children because most all the Andersons had big families. There were eight children in Gustaf’s family. There may have been some physical reason Mama couldn’t have babies.”

The clock on the mantel struck midnight. It was late, but she didn’t want to leave him.

“As soon as I got the lawyer’s letter I knew I was coming here. And as soon as I saw the land, this house, I loved it. I felt that it was where I belonged. Do you think . . . what you’ve told me had anything to do with that feeling?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, sweetheart. But I do know that you’d better go to bed. We’re leaving before daylight, and you and Bonnie will have to pack some food for us to eat on the way.”

“Buck, I want lots of children,” she said suddenly. “I hope there’s nothing wrong with me like was wrong with Mama.”

“Anna had you, remember?” He kissed her forehead.

“That’s right. It’s hard to think of Mama not being Mama. I wish we could start right now.” She tilted her face to his and turned his cheek so that their lips could meet. The kiss was long and sweet, his lips soft, then firm and demanding.

He lifted his head. “Much more of that, and I’ll carry you off to bed and make a loose woman of you,” he growled.

“I’m already one, remember. Once, twice . . . three times in the tepee.” She laughed at him. “It’s grand being a loose woman.”

“The next time you’ll be Mrs. Buck Lenning, and I’ll not have to be careful of how much noise I make when I love you.”

“We’ll come right back home, won’t we?”

“Ya betcha—”

“I’m going to get curtain material while we’re in town. And—”

“Whoa, right there. You can get what you want, but now you’re going to bed.” He helped her off his lap and walked with her to the door of the room she shared with Bonnie.

“Night, sweetheart.” His kiss was gentle on her lips.

“Night. I’ll miss you. Did I tell you how wonderful it was to sleep in your arms?”

“Kristin! You’re stalling. I just might have to take Gustaf’s advice and get a willow switch.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“You’re only going to get a couple hours of sleep, sweetheart. Now scoot.” He opened the door and gently urged her inside.

Kristin undressed in the dark, so happy that she doubted she would sleep a wink. What Buck had told her about her parents was important to her, but not important enough to crowd from her mind the wonderful feeling of being loved by Buck Lenning, the dark-haired man of Larkspur. She giggled happily.