Pieces of Sky (50 page)

But a part of him was gratified she still cared.

He didn’t sleep for three days after that letter, but at least he knew she was safe.

Winter was a howling sonofabitch that came too early and stayed too late. After each norther dumped its load of snow, Brady spent days patrolling the drifts, digging out what cattle he could find. There had been worse winters with higher losses, but this year they were on such a thin edge he was determined to save every cow he could.

An early thaw revealed at least a hundred dead. Then a late blizzard sent temperatures plummeting again. Desperation made him stupid, and he rode out when he shouldn’t have. If Hank and Jack hadn’t found him before the drifts filled in the ravine where he and his horse had fallen, he’d be there still, frozen stiff as a poker, waiting for spring. As it was, he was laid up for weeks with a bad knee and, for a month after, limped with a cane like a crippled old man.

Jack got a lot of enjoyment out of that.

February brought another letter from Jessica, which surprised him, since he hadn’t answered her first one. Nothing had changed the direction of his life, and he had no hope that anything would, so what could he say? He knew Elena wrote regularly. Any news he had would be the same.

But this second letter troubled him. A lot.

Apparently negotiations with the consortium had gone well. The debts had been paid and they were now mining Jessica’s land. Or rather, they were tunneling from the adjacent property to hers. She wouldn’t allow them to touch the surface, so the coal had to be carted through the tunnel to the mine entrance next door, then loaded on rail cars and hauled out from there.

Cagey of her. He admired that, too.

She also wrote that a mining engineer named Percival Frederick Bothingham III had been so helpful in the negotiations, she had hired him to oversee the mine.

Helpful. What the hell did that mean? How helpful? And what kind of weak-sister name was Percival Frederick Bothingham
the Third
, for chrissakes?

Brady didn’t answer that letter either.

He told himself life would look better come spring. As long as he didn’t think about Jessica and Ben he was all right. Like an amputee teaching himself to get by without a limb, he struggled to re-train his thoughts away from memories that festered like an unhealed wound in his mind. But the phantom pain of it never seemed to fade. He wearied of it.

Spring brought with it a blanket of wildflowers and a renewal of spirit. As Brady watched RosaRoja flourish with new life, he realized if he was ever to build a livable future he had to make some hard decisions. And he had to learn to let go.

He started with Elena.

“You still want to go to San Francisco?” he asked her one evening when he returned from Val Rosa to find her sitting in his new rocker on Buck’s porch.

She set her sewing aside and smiled up at him. “
Sí
.”

“The spur line to the Transcontinental won’t be laid until next year. You’d have to travel by stagecoach to Raton, and that’d be hard on your hip.”

She shrugged. “I will manage.”

He studied her a moment, Jessica’s bell ringing in his mind. What if something went wrong with her surgery? What if she never came back? She looked so fragile in the evening light, so full of trust and hope. Another delicate music box dancer, easily broken in the wrong hands.

He sighed, hoping he was doing the right thing.

“There’s a family leaving for San Francisco. Church people. Young, three kids. They would welcome your company.” He held out an envelope and a leather pouch. “Here’s a voucher and enough money to get you there. I’ll wire more once you arrive.”

She stared at him.

“You still want to go, don’t you?”

“
Sí.
” She nodded, her eyes brimming despite the wide smile spreading over her face. “
Otra vez
, you come to my rescue. How do I ever repay you,
querido
?”

“By packing,” he said gruffly. “The stage leaves next week.”

It was tricky because of the secrecy involved. Elena insisted he not tell Jack until after she was gone. He guessed she wasn’t sure if Jack cared enough to go with her, and wasn’t ready to find out. Brady wasn’t sure either. Even though Jack could be guileless as a kid, he was hard to read sometimes. So Brady sent him to check the water holes in the north range, then took Elena to catch the stage.

Another hard good-bye. Another woman gone from his life. He’d miss her.

 

 

THAT EVENING, HE WAS STANDING IN THE SHELL OF THE OLD house, wondering why he should rebuild it if there was no one but him to live in it, when Jack rode up.

“Red said you needed me?” he said as he dismounted.

Brady pointed up at the few remaining timbers. “I was thinking two-foot beams across here. Something sturdy, like the porch.”

Jack made a sound of exasperation. “You brought me all the way from Quartz Creek to talk about beams?” Sighing, he pulled off his hat to scratch the top of his head then put it back on. “Although, I admit I’ll be glad to have a room of my own again. Red smells worse than the ass end of a dead pole cat.”

Brady studied his brother, trying not to see him as the kid he once was, but as the man he had become. Despite their differences, Jack had always been there when he was needed. Brady appreciated that. And although he would miss the little sonofabitch—the laughter, the antics, that open-eyed innocence he envied—it was time Jack moved on. Brady knew what it meant to lose a dream to duty and he was determined that didn’t happen to Jack, too.

Unless staying was what Jack wanted, of course. Brady wasn’t trying to control anything, just offer choices. There was a difference.

“So when do we start?” Jack asked.

“We don’t. I’ll start next week. You’ll go to Australia.”

So maybe he was a little controlling, but he did it for Jack’s own good.

Jack blinked at him, clearly confused. And not nearly as grateful as he should be. In fact, his entire reaction was wrong. Brady watched his brother pick up a shard of broken crockery, make a show of studying it, then toss it aside.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” Jack said.

Brady looked at him.

“Maybe I’ve decided to stay.”

“Because of Elena.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe.” Then his seeming indifference gave way to a sheepish grin. “The truth is, Big Brother, I’m smitten with the woman. The conniving wench has me wrapped around her finger.” He looked as pleased about that as a kid with new boots.

Brady stared up at the charred beams and rocked on his heels. “You’re giving up Australia for Elena?”

“Hell, yes. I’ll give up anything, do anything, so long as she’ll have me.”

Brady bit back a smile. When the men in this family fell, they fell hard. At least Jack seemed to have better luck at it than him.

“Is that okay?” Jack dug the toe of his boot into the ashes. “I mean, I know you and Elena have been, well . . . is that okay by you?”

Brady sent him a sidewise look. “Would it matter if it wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Then it’s okay.” Controlling might be bad but it sure felt good.

For a while, they stood in a companionable silence, enjoying a respite from the crowded bunkhouse and the endless chores RosaRoja demanded. Brady tried not to look too far ahead or dwell on how quiet the place would be with everyone gone. He’d made his choices. He just had to find a way to live with them.

Jack punched him in the arm. “So when you going after Jessica?” Brady resisted the urge to punch him back. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“I thought you had feelings for her.”

“I did. I do.”

Jack threw his hands up. “I don’t understand, Brady. Explain it to me. Explain how you can give up a woman like Jessica for this.”

The way he said “this” told Brady that whatever hold RosaRoja had on him, it didn’t stretch as far as Jack. That saddened him yet relieved him at the same time. A man had to follow his own dream, not someone else’s, and RosaRoja had never been Jack’s dream. There were times when Brady wondered if it had ever been his either. Then he would wake up to the smell of sage and greasewood and cattle—when dewdrops flashed like tiny diamonds on a thousand cactus spines, and the air was so crisp he could make out every dip and spike on ridges ten miles away—and he would know this was his dream after all. This was where he belonged.

He tried to explain that to his brother. “You say it like I have a choice, Jack. I don’t. For most of my life every thought, every move, every decision, has centered around RosaRoja. I don’t know anymore where it ends and I begin. I don’t know how to walk away.”

Jack studied him intently, his gaze so unwavering, it made Brady uneasy. Jack might be a pinhead sometimes, but he could also be damned perceptive. “But do you love it, Brady? Do you need it more than anything else in your life?”

Brady looked away, embarrassed by the question. “Love” was not a word he felt comfortable with. In fact, the only time he ever remembered using it was with Jessica. Did he love RosaRoja? At one time, he would have said yes. But lately what he felt was more like duty, obligation. “I don’t know, Jack.”

“Maybe Jessica can help you figure it out. Go after her. The ranch will be here when you get back.” Hooking an arm around Brady’s shoulders, he steered him out of the rubble of the house toward the creek. “And don’t dillydally. England’s a long way and you’re not getting any younger.”

Brady scratched his chin. “Seems a lot of trouble to go to for a woman.”

Jack waved a hand. “I don’t see any others riding hell-bent through the gate, do you? Jessica may be your last shot. So unless you’re willing to start writing love letters to that gotch-eared heifer in the back paddock, you better go after her.”

“You think so?” Sometimes teasing Jack was too easy.

“I do. Luckily I don’t have your knack for running off women. But since you’re my brother, I’ll be glad to give you pointers on keeping them.”

Brady thought about Elena boarding the stage in Val Rosa and tried not to smirk. He would enjoy getting back some of his own. “I can’t believe you’re giving up chasing women.”

“Hell, I’m not giving up chasing women. I’m giving up chasing
other
women. For this woman I’d dance a jig on the courthouse steps, wearing nothing but my wooly chaps and a red bandana.” Jack stared off in thought. “Although I did that once for the judge’s wife and it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as I hoped. Probably the cold.”

There was a picture to make a man shudder. “No more whoring around?”

Jack laughed. “I prefer to think of it as practicing, honing my skills, so I can show the love of my life all the wondrous things I’ve learned just to please her.” He gave Brady a sly wink. “There’s nothing more generous than a satisfied woman.”

Brady was starting to get uncomfortable. Elena was like a sister, after all. He stopped and faced his brother. “Just so you know, Jack. If you hurt her, I’ll bullwhip you.”

Jack’s grin faded. “Just so
you
know, Brady. If I hurt her, shoot me.”

Brady nodded. They continued to the creek. When Jack bent to pick up a skimmer, Brady planted a foot on his butt and shoved him face-first into the water.

Jack came up sputtering. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“For that time you kicked my cane out from under me. And for calling me old. And because it was fun. Besides, I thought you might want to clean up before you go.”

“Go where?”

“San Francisco.”

Jack slogged onto the bank, dripping water and streamers of mossy reeds. Lowering himself onto a boulder, he tugged off his water-filled boots. “Why the hell would I go to San Francisco? I told you I’m staying here with Elena.”

“Elena’s not here.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “Where is she?”

“On her way to San Francisco. There’s a doctor there who might be able to fix her hip. She asked me not to tell you until after she left, but I said—”

“You sonofabitch!” Jack jumped up and started stomping the ground, trying to jam his wet foot back into his wet boot. “And you let her go? Alone? Christ! When did she leave?”

“She’s not alone. She’s with a missionary family. They’ll watch out for her.”

“Shit—sonofabitch—get on, you bastard!”

Brady watched in amazement as Jack, the fearless, unflappable brother who never took anything seriously and thought the world was created solely for his amusement, got himself so worked up he was hopping in circles. And all because of a woman. It was a wonderment.

Jack got his second boot on and started toward his horse. “How long has she been gone?” he shouted, charging up the slope.

“About four hours,” Brady shouted back.

Jack stumbled to a stop. Brady watched his shoulders sag in relief and wondered if there was a more gratifying sight than Andrew Jackson Wilkins at a loss for words. Probably not.

Jack’s silence didn’t last long. “You’re a bastard.”

“I know.” Grinning, Brady walked toward him.

As they headed up the path, it struck Brady that he might not see Jack for a long time, years maybe, and suddenly his head seemed filled with all the words he’d never said. For the last decade he’d been more of a parent to Jack than a brother. And even though they didn’t always see eye to eye, it was hard to let him go.

When they reached the remains of the house, Brady waved him on. “I’ll see to your horse. Tell Hank you’re leaving. And get some clean clothes. You smell like a wet goat.”