Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (47 page)

He did, finishing quietly, “I’m on way now to arrest your father and get it over with. Don’t try to stop me. I understand how terrible this is for you, but he—”

She pressed a fingertip against his lips. “No,” she whispered tremulously, “don’t tell me what he has done. I know only too well. But don’t put it into words. Do what you have to do.”

She tried to step back, but he held her firmly. “Marilee, listen to me,” he whispered huskily. “I admire what you have done. And you weren’t doing it just for your father. I admire your courage. I can imagine how all of this has hurt you. But please remember that it was all his choice and his doing. No one forced him. He has a great deal to answer for.”

She bowed her head. “I know. And I’m glad it’s over. But if only I’d gotten there in time tonight, maybe no one would be dead. It’s time all the horror ended.”

“It may end here, for now,” he told her quietly, “but the hatred will continue long after you and I are dead, Marilee. We can only do our part to make some kind of peace while we walk the earth.”

Cupping her chin in his large hand, he forced her to meet his gaze as he murmured softly, “There’s something else.”

Her smile was sad. “I think I can take anything now. Tell me.”

He took a deep, slow breath, wondering fleetingly why he felt the need to tell her just then. “I didn’t know until now just how much you mean to me. I want you to know I’ll miss you…and I’ll never forget you.”

She cocked her head to one side, forcing a smile. “Like I always try to tell you, Coltrane, no moment can last forever. This one won’t either. You’ll forget all about me. What we had together, you’ve had a hundred times before with a hundred different women. Who knows how many more the future holds for you?”

Something snapped deep within Travis Coltrane. He jerked her roughly against his chest, arms holding her tightly.

His lips crushed hers and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. He felt the shuddering sigh of her submission. Her arms entwined him, pulling him closer.

After a little while, they moved apart. This was not their time.

Travis whistled and his horse came trotting out. When he and she were mounted and riding side by side, he stole a sideways glance at her and saw the deeply thoughtful expression on her face. Funny, he thought, how people change…or maybe you really don’t see them at first. He had once thought her drab. Now he knew that, far from drab, she was surpassed by only one woman.

That woman was dead.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, lost in their separate thoughts, until at last they approached the house, ablaze with light. A groomsman standing in the driveway saw them and signaled frantically to someone standing on the porch. In a few seconds, Jordan Barbeau appeared in the doorway.

As he reined to a stop at the gate, Travis looked up and saw Barbeau’s anger. Well, he thought, the man was going to get a hell of a lot madder before the night was over.

As Marilee’s feet touched the ground, and she turned toward him, Travis gazed deeply into her mellow brown eyes. He took her arm and began to lead her up the wide marble stairs.

Travis nodded curtly. “Barbeau. Good evening.”

Jordan’s face was grim, his cheeks flecked with red. “I don’t think it’s a good evening at all, Marshal,” he snapped, then turned to Marilee. “Just where in hell have you been? How dare you ride out alone after dark? And where is Alaina? I would appreciate someone telling me what is going on in my own house!”

Travis pointed at the door and said, “Let’s step inside and get this over with.”

“Marilee, go to your room!” Jordan yelled as they entered the mansion. “I will speak to you later.”

“No.” Travis kept a firm hand on her arm. “She stays. She wants to hear everything said between us and I have agreed. Let’s go into your study.”

Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. “You dare to tell me what to do in my own home, Marshal? I think you forget your place.”

Travis sighed, his hand moving from Marilee’s arm to a ready position inches from his holster. The action was slow, deliberate. Jordan’s eyes widened. “Just what in hell is going on? What’s this all about?”

Travis responded quickly, “I haven’t forgotten my place, Barbeau. I am a U.S. marshal, and you’re under arrest.”

Jordan laughed. “What kind of prank are you playing, Coltrane? I’ve been worried to death over my daughters, and I assure you I have no time for foolishness.”

“You know it’s not foolishness. You know very well why I’m here.” He gave Jordan an impatient nudge toward the study. “Get on in there unless you want to put on a show for the servants.”

They stepped inside and Travis kicked the door shut behind the three of them. “Alaina should be here soon. She stayed behind with the bodies. Stewart Mason and his sidekick are dead.”

Jordan went white. He made a croaking sound, twisting his head from side to side, staring at Travis. “Mason?”

Travis grinned humorlessly. “You thought you had everything too well planned for that, didn’t you? I guess it is hard for you to believe your right-hand man was killed after you had
me
all set up for that.” He paused, upper lip curling back in a deadly snarl. “An ambush to have me killed!”

Travis gave Jordan a rough shove toward his desk and yelled, “Get over there and sit down and don’t make any funny moves or you’ll be burning in hell with Mason.”

Jordan stumbled, righted himself, and hurried to sink down into the brown leather chair behind the desk. He wiped nervous hands across his face, body quivering.

Travis walked over to the shelf where bottles and glasses were set out and poured himself a drink. “It’s over, Barbeau. I know all about how you’ve called the shots for the Klan, how Mason carried out your orders. I know you planned for me to die tonight…me
and
Sam.” He picked up the whiskey bottle and set it down on the desk with a thud. “I think this will do you more good right now than a gentleman’s brandy.”

Jordan stared at the bottle, then lifted red-rimmed eyes to his daughter. “You
knew?”
he asked hoarsely. “You knew about…the Klan?”

She nodded wordlessly. “Meet your spy, Barbeau,” Travis said. “Meet the one who’s been masquerading as a Klansman, slipping into the meetings, and then riding out to warn victims. No telling how many Negroes are alive tonight, thanks to her.”

“You?” Jordan gasped, swaying in his chair. “You did that? You’re the spy?”

She nodded. “The night of the storm, when I told you I was thrown from my horse and got lost, I was actually discovered by one of the Klansmen. Tom Higgins hit me. They thought I was knocked out. I overheard Mason telling them they had to get rid of me, but he didn’t want me dead.” She paused. Travis gave her a sip of the sour mash as Jordan looked on in horror. Then she spoke again, telling of Mason’s plan to have another Klan group take her away, and of how that was foiled when Higgins died and Travis rescued her.

“God, no.” Jordan slammed his fist on the desk. “To think Mason was going to do that. No! Not to my daughter!”

Suddenly he stopped and looked up at her sharply. “How were you able to know about our activities?”

She lifted misty eyes to Travis, who nodded. Pointing to the bookcase, she whispered, “The secret passageway. There. Behind that wall. From there to the sewing room. I discovered it by accident one day and overheard you talking to Stewart, planning a meeting. I was shocked and hurt, but I couldn’t turn you in. I decided the best I could do was to try to thwart your plans.”

“That’s right,” Travis interrupted, sensing how close she was to a breaking point. “She’s your spy, but she never gave you away. The only way I found out about it was when some of the Negroes came to me for help. They were afraid for her, afraid the Klan was getting suspicious.”

He gave Jordan a look of contempt. “God only knows what hell this girl has been through trying to protect you.”

Jordan’s words were barely audible as he stared at her. “I would rather be in my grave than hear that my own daughter spied on me, that you denounce what I was trying to do for you, for all of Kentucky. I had to try to stop it. The white man was meant to have supremacy!”

“But you ordered
Travis
killed, Father! I could pity you for your ignorance in trying to preserve your way of life, but Travis is white! Where would you have stopped?” She took a step forward and waved her arms wildly. “That’s what you felt, wasn’t it? No one must interfere with your wishes.”

Jordan pointed a shaking finger at her. “You say you spied on me but you wouldn’t turn me in. You think that makes you loyal?” His voice rose. “You would have been loyal to warn me. But this lecherous bastard lured you to his bed and turned your head. He did it with you and your sister.”

Travis stepped forward as Marilee backed away in horror, her hands covering her face. “That’s enough, Barbeau!” he yelled.

Suddenly a scream filled the room. “What he says is true, damn you to everlasting hell!”

All eyes went to the door. Alaina stood there, her face a grotesque mask of hatred. In her hands she held a shotgun pointed straight at Travis. “You did lure me to your bed,” she whispered quietly, ominously. “You’re evil, Travis Coltrane. You are evil, and you must die…just as Stewart died.”

“No!” Jordan screamed, throwing himself across the desk just as Travis shoved Marilee to one side and hurled himself to the floor.

The gun exploded. Alaina fell backward from the recoil, landing on the floor, screaming.

Jordan Barbeau slumped across the desk unconscious, blood gushing from what was left of his right arm.

Alaina fainted.

Marilee ran forward, crying, “Father! Father! No! No!” as Travis got to his feet and ran to lift Jordan and place him gently on the floor. “Get a blanket!” Travis cried. “Send someone for a doctor. Get me a rag. Anything. I’ve got to try to stop the bleeding or he’ll bleed to death!”

As Marilee leaped quickly across her unconscious sister, Travis marveled at her ability to function at a time when other women would have done just what Alaina had—passed out.

He placed his ear against Jordan’s chest, heard his heartbeat and knew he was still alive. A hasty examination told Travis what he had guessed. The right arm was blown away almost to his shoulder. Had Travis not leaped to the side, he would have caught the rest of the blast.

For the second time that night, Travis Coltrane wondered why he had been spared.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Travis sat behind his desk, cleaning his gun for want of anything else to do. At the sound of the office door opening, he glanced up casually. A clean-shaven young man walked in carrying a rifle. He wore a badge on his tan buckskin vest.

“Marshal Coltrane?” he asked, leaning across the desk to extend his hand, “I’m Welby Abbott. I’m to be your replacement.”

“Yeah, I know.” Travis shook his hand, then continued cleaning his gun. “Marshal Bucher should be hobbling in here any minute. He went by the doc’s to have his leg checked. Pull up a chair and sit down.”

Welby looked around and saw only one other chair in the sparsely furnished office. Dragging it across the room, he decided the place was terribly drab. He did not like the location, either, tucked back in an alley. He would investigate the possibility of relocating as soon as possible.

“You don’t like the office.”

Welby looked up in surprise. “How’d you know what I was thinking, Coltrane?”

“You better learn to look at a man and know what he’s thinking, Abbott, or you won’t live to see thirty. How old are you, anyway?”
 

“Twenty-six,” the younger man replied with a defiant lift of his chin.

Travis nodded.

Welby propped his rifle against the wall and sat down. He watched Travis for a moment, then asked, “How soon do you plan to leave? I was told you were anxious to be on your way to—where is it? Nevada?”

“I’ll get there sooner or later. The first place I’m headed is to see my son. If I had my way, I’d ride out of this place as soon as Bucher gets back, but we’ll wait till morning and get a fresh start.”

Welby laughed. “It’s that bad here, eh?”

“Not now it isn’t. I’ve just got a lot of bad memories. Besides, I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for two months since it all ended…waiting for the grand jury hearings.”

Welby snorted. “That was a farce, wasn’t it? Who would have thought Barbeau would get off?”

“I’m not surprised.” Travis shrugged. “The only man who could really testify that Barbeau did indeed run the Klan is dead. Barbeau’s daughter wouldn’t testify against him, not after his other daughter blew his arm off and nearly killed him.”

“I heard she meant to kill you.”

Travis threw him a grin. “She did.”

Welby scratched his blond head. “Well, I still don’t think he should have gone free.”

“He’s not free. He’ll be in his own prison for the rest of his life. His right arm is gone. His good name is also gone. The important thing is that the Klan is dead around here, I’m sure of that.”

Travis continued to work on his gun, and when several moments of silence had passed, Welby attempted conversation once more. “I hear you’ve got a big silver mine in Nevada. Are you going to turn in your badge? I figured a man with your reputation would never be able to give up being a lawman.”