Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (21 page)

The trip to the McAllen Ranch started out pleasant. It was the best kind of spring day— the sun bright and warm, the wind nothing more than a gentle breeze rustling the grass. Simon swore he could almost hear the earth waking from its sleep.

The easy rolling gait of his horse was comfortable and familiar. Almost soothing. Tama and Frances rode ahead of him, talking. The two boys were ahead of them, happy to be trusted with their own horses. They were undoubtedly lost in some make-believe land.

Simon pushed his hat low onto his head and let himself relax completely, confident that his horse would follow the others. He began to drift into sleep, and with sleep came a dream.
It wasn’t much of a dream, really. He was still riding a horse through the Oestend prairie, following Frances, but in this dream, Lena was with him. She sat side-saddle on her own horse, trailing slowly along behind Simon. She had her parasol out, and her eyes were closed.
She was smiling.
The perfect weather didn’t last, though. The further they got from the BarChi, the worse things seemed to be. The wind picked up. Flies and mosquitoes swarmed around them, biting the men and bothering the horses. Birds swooped down to peck at them. Along the side of the road, they found animals—deer, rodents, and even one coyote—all lying dead. Tama shuddered and was silent. The boys fell back to be near their mom.
“Is this what it’s been like?” she asked Simon and Frances.
Simon shrugged uncomfortably. “Let’s just say, I won’t be surprised if it gets worse.”
The blood drained from her face, but it was too late to turn back now.
Other than the wind and the bugs, the rest of the ride passed without incident. Jay came out to greet them as they rode through the front gate of the McAllen farm. He was clearly thrilled to see his family, although worried, too. “Things have been strange,” he told her. “I hope you and the boys will be safe here.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tama assured him. “And we won’t be packed into the house like hogs in a pen.” She turned to Frances and Simon. “You two come on up to the house once the horses are put away. I’ll make sure you’re fed.”
Simon hadn’t expected that. Hands weren’t usually invited in for supper, but he figured it was her way of repaying them for bringing her and her sons from home.
They were surprised to find a wagon outside the barn. “Well, shit,” Frances mumbled. “I know that wagon.”
“You do?”
Simon understood Frances’ apparent irritation when he saw who it belonged to— Foster. The man sat near the back of the barn, leaning against the closed door to one of the stalls. Two of his men from the BarChi sat with him. If the other two were there, they weren’t visible.
Nobody bothered to utter a greeting. Foster continued to watch them as they put the horses away and brushed them down. Simon and Frances went about their work as quickly as possible.
“At least they’ve left the BarChi,” Frances said as they walked back to the house. “I know they were making Cami and Dante nervous.”
Tama had managed to throw together a quick supper for them all. Afterwards, Simon and Frances put their hats back on, ready to head back to the barn, but Tama stopped them.
“The whole house is empty. There’s no reason you can’t sleep here.”
“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Simon told her.
“I just left a house with more than a dozen women in it, including Beth. Believe me, you two are no trouble at all.”
She led them upstairs and opened the first door on the left-hand side of the hallway. “This was Alissa’s room, once upon a time. One of you can sleep here. The other one can—”
“One room’s fine,” Simon said. He noticed the way Frances’ head whipped around, his eyes wide. He looked even more surprised than Tama.
“Oh,” she said as her cheeks turned red. “I didn’t realise… Well, I mean, if you’re sure…”
“We’re sure.”
Frances seemed unable to look at him after that. They undressed in silence. Simon pulled back the sheets and climbed in. The mattress was a bit lumpy, but not overly so. The sheets were soft and worn. He lay back with a sigh. “Can’t even say the last time I slept in a real bed.”
“Me neither,” Frances said. “Not since I left Lanstead.”
He turned down the lantern. The room didn’t have a window, and with the lamp out, it was disturbingly dark. Simon listened as Frances slid into bed and nestled down into the covers. They’d never had this kind of privacy and comfort together before. He lay there, wanting to say something, but unsure what. In the end, it was Frances who broke the silence. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”
Simon laughed. “I deserved it.”
“True. But I’m sorry anyway.”
It was so much like Frances to not sugar-coat things, yet not hold a grudge, either. It made Simon smile. He reached across the bed. He found Frances’ hip. “Come here.”
Frances slid willingly into his arms, although Simon could still sense hesitance in him. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
Right or wrong, being in the dark made it easier. Simon let his lips brush over Frances’. “I’m sure.”
He’d dreamed many, many times of the ways he might have made love to Lena, if only things had been different. He’d imagined it being slow. He’d imagined stroking her arms, and her back and her sides as he kissed her. He’d imagined the way their bodies might have moved together. In the years since her death, he’d slipped up, and he’d fucked other women, but it had never been like those imagined moments with Lena. It had always been quick, and frantic, and somehow tainted. But being with Frances was different.
For the first time, Simon let himself think about Lena, and for the first time, he didn’t feel as if he was betraying her by doing so. It wasn’t that he imagined the person in his arms was his dead wife. He knew it was Frances. He was glad for it, even. It was more about finally letting himself relive what he’d felt for her, without the guilt or the remorse. It was about letting the love he’d had for her fill him up, then letting Frances be the receptacle for it all. He kissed Frances, and caressed every inch of him, and as he did, he took all of the affection he’d wanted to give Lena, all of the tenderness they’d never been able to share, all of the gentle touches she’d turned away, everything he had in his heart, and he poured it all into Frances’ willing body.
He was clumsy about it, because it was something he’d never done before, but he didn’t think Frances minded. Frances was responsive and joyously receptive. Simon found it cleansing, far more than he expected. It felt pure and peaceful. It felt right.
When they were done, he held Frances tight in his arms. He could feel him trembling. He could taste the boy’s tears on his lips.
“Holy Saints,” Frances whispered at last. “I should have kicked you ages ago.”

Dante couldn’t quite figure out why having extra ranch hands resulted in less work getting done, but somehow it did. With all the new men, and the women too, it seemed the ranch hands got distracted from their work far more often than they actually finished. For every man Deacon scolded and sent back to his chores, two more disappeared into outbuildings with bottles of whisky or willing maids.

Dante knew his own men were part of the problem, and he tried to make up for it by helping out with the chores. He was in the barn mucking stalls that were messier than he’d ever seen stalls at the BarChi get when Deacon came in.

Deacon looked around, as if trying to find anybody he could talk to other than Dante, but there was nobody else there. He sighed and pushed his hat down low onto his head. “Where the hell is everybody?” he asked. “There should be two other men in here doing this. I been looking everywhere, and considering how many ranch hands I’m paying, it’s blessed hard to actually track one of the lazy bastards down.”

Dante laughed. “I noticed. You need a hand with something?”
Deacon scowled. “Just some trouble out in the south pasture. Nothing I can’t handle.” “I can help you.”
“Forget it. Stay here and finish this. I’ll find somebody else.”
For a second Dante was speechless. Deacon was almost out the door before Dante

managed to speak. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.”
Deacon stopped, but he didn’t face him. “I’m not playing this game with you.” “Game? What game?”
Deacon turned to stare at him. “There’s nothing you can do that’ll change things with

Aren.”
“Holy Saints, Deacon! I know that! I’m only offering to help with the chores!” Deacon shook his head. He took a few steps into the barn, pointing his finger accusingly

It was understandable that he’d have his doubts about that, but just like with Tama, Dante had no desire to spill Cami’s secret just to ease Deacon’s mind. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s true. I have no reason to mess things up with you and Aren. I’m just trying to help.”

The words stung. They’d known each other their whole lives. How had they come to this? “We were brothers once. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Deacon stood taller, putting his shoulders back and his head up. Dante was surprised to see not only anger on his face, but pain as well—pain Dante hadn’t ever realised Deacon had felt. “True enough. But then your granddaddy caught us together in this barn. And we might have gone on being brothers, but you turned your back on me.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Yes it was.”
“I was afraid of him!”
“So was I!
Saints, Dante, you were my best friend—my
only
friend—and for years after that, you treated me like I was nothing to you!”
It was true. Dante had been so aware of his granddad’s eyes on him, and so eager to have his approval again, and somehow, he’d never realised that Deacon was hurting as well. Even then, the man been so good at hiding his emotions. It had seemed to Dante at the time that Deacon had shaken the whole incident off and moved on without a second thought.
“I wish I hadn’t. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wished I could change that?”
“It’s too late.”
He turned his back and started to walk away again. In the past, it would have broken Dante’s heart, but this time, it made him angry. “So that’s it? Yes, we were brothers, and yet you can’t forgive for me for a mistake I made when we were kids?” Deacon stopped again. He didn’t turn around, but Dante knew from his stillness that he was listening. “Saints, Deacon, we were
fourteen
!” He felt a familiar tightness in his chest, a lump forming in his throat, but he didn’t bother to fight them. There was no point in trying to deny how much this hurt. “I’m sorry! I’ve always been sorry! How many more years will you make me pay for it?”
Deacon stood there for a moment, stock still and silent. Dante waited for an answer, but Deacon never gave one. He walked away without saying another word.
“Fuck!” Dante punched the wooden wall next to him. It hurt, but as always, the physical pain helped distract him from the emotional pain. Sorrow and grief welled up in his chest, threatening to choke him. He’d lived with it for years, but recently, it had faded. It had been replaced by something new.
He wanted Cami. The sudden realisation that she was there and real and
his
gave him the strength to stand up straight and breathe again. It was like surfacing from a deep pool of water and finally finding air. Yes, he’d lost Deacon, many years ago.
He no longer needed him.
He went first to the kitchen, where he found Alissa and Uma working. “Have you seen Cami?”
Alissa shook her head. “Not since before breakfast.”
He was a bit surprised, but not concerned. He made his way through the house, peeking into the various rooms. In each one, he found groups of women—some were sewing, a few were cleaning, a fair number seemed to be doing nothing more than sitting and gossiping—but Cami wasn’t with any of them.
Still, he wasn’t concerned. She was probably in the one place she could go and be alone, but when he went to their bedroom, he didn’t find her sitting in the rocker sewing as he’d expected. The room was empty.
He felt tightness inside his chest. A seed of doubt. A hint of worry.
He made his way back through the house, faster than before. He didn’t just look this time. He asked each person he met. “Have you seen Cami?”
No. Nobody had seen her. Not since early that morning.
Back in the kitchen, Uma and Alissa were still chopping at the counter, side by side. “I can’t find her.”
Alissa turned to look at him in surprise. “Well, she must be around somewhere.”
“Are you sure she hasn’t been here?”
Alissa looked thoughtfully at her younger sister, who stood next to her. It was Uma who answered. “She went out early to milk the cows.”
Alissa frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I remember she said, at least the cows in the barn produce milk instead of gossip.”
Alissa’s frown deepened. “But I had to milk this morning. Celia helped me.”
The seed of doubt sprouted into panic. Dante’s heart began to pound.
Something had happened to her.
His first thought was Foster, and as he raced to the barn, he swore that if he found Cami safe and sound, he’d scold her up one side and down the other for going outside when that man was around. It was nothing more than a feeble attempt to stay positive. In truth, he was horrified of what he would find. What if Foster or one of the other men had tried to rape her? What would they do when they lifted her skirt and found the sex organs of a man? The thought terrified him.
Just inside the door to the barn, almost hidden in the straw against one wall, he found something that made his blood run cold in his veins—one of her ivory combs.
“Cami?” he called, as he made his made his way through the barn. “Cami, honey, please tell me you’re here?”
Fear made his voice weak. He could barely breathe. He expected to find her in the straw, beaten. Bloody. Possibly dead. But in stall after stall, he found only horses, with no sign of Cami. The side barn, where the dairy cows were kept, held nothing but cows who glared disdainfully at him as he ran the length of the building, calling her name.
Back to the main barn, and into the back room, where he found half a dozen men lounging. He didn’t recognise any of them. Four were playing cards. Two were doing absolutely nothing.
“Have you seen Cami?”
They all stared blankly at him, as if he were speaking another language.
“Who?” one of them asked.
“A woman! She’s tall.” He held his hand up to show them. “Dark hair. Have you seen her?”
“Oh yeah,” one of them said. “She came in early to milk.”
“And then what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She went into the milk barn. That’s all I know.”
Dante was torn. He didn’t see anything in any of their faces to indicate that they were lying. Then again, he didn’t trust them. He made his way around the room, pushing loose straw out of the way, checking under blankets.
“She ain’t here, man.”
It seemed to be true. He didn’t find anything to indicate Cami had been there.
He checked the rest of the barn, including the loft. Still no Cami.
By the time he left the barn, he was in an outright panic. Somebody should have seen her. There was only one place left he could think of.
He’d never actually knocked on Aren’s door before. He’d gone into the house uninvited. He’d spied through windows. At any other time, under any other circumstances, he would have felt self-conscious and uncomfortable knocking now, but his worry was too great. He knew his knock was way too loud, too, for such a small house, but he was scared to death and shaking from adrenaline.
Aren pulled open the door, and Dante didn’t even wait for him to speak.
“Is Cami here?”
Aren blinked at him, obviously disconcerted by finding Dante at his front door.
“Is she here?”
“No. Why would she be?”
“Have you seen her?”
“Not since yesterday.”
The world seemed to spin. Dante put his head in his hands. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!” He had to lean over and grab Aren’s doorframe just to keep from falling. He had to fight to keep from vomiting on Aren’s feet.
“What’s going on?” Aren asked. Not flippantly. Real concern in his voice.
“I can’t find her. Fuck, Aren, I can’t find her!”
He felt Aren’s hand on his bicep—light and tentative, but there nonetheless. “She has to be here somewhere. Where haven’t you looked?”
Dante could have sobbed with relief. He could almost have hugged Aren, or even kissed him. This was Aren, who he’d always resented. Aren, whose house he’d broken into. Whose things he’d destroyed out of selfishness and jealousy. And yet here was Aren, not questioning him. Not doubting him.
It gave him the strength he needed to stand up again and face him. “She’s not in the house or the barn. Nobody’s seen her since this morning. She went out to milk and didn’t come back.”
“She wouldn’t go anywhere else. Not by herself. She was too afraid of the other men. Especially Foster.”
It was exactly what Dante had been thinking, and yet hearing Aren say it out loud caused the bile to rise in his throat.
“Whoever has her, they’re still here. They’re either in an outbuilding, or out in the fields, but they’re still here, Dante. They have to be.” He stepped out onto the porch and closed the door to his house. “Come on,” he said, heading down the stairs towards the ranch. “You check the buildings. The ones closest to the milk barn first.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find Deacon.”