CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Kate Kerrigan welcomed her daughters Ivy and Shannon back to the ranch, and the girls were disappointed that they’d missed all the excitement. To Kate’s considerable chagrin, the fact that their mother could have been killed was news that took second place to the visit of the glamorous and deliciously wicked Doña Maria Ana.
“What was she wearing, Ma?”
“Is she still married to old Don Pedro?”
“Did she bring a new lover?”
“Is she still as complaining?”
“Did she tell you about her romantic adventures in Paris? Huh? Huh? Huh?”
“That’s young’uns for you in these modern times,” Frank said. “They love to hear about anything that has a touch of scandal.”
“Well, they each got a penance of a rosary to be said every night for a month,” Kate said. “Touch of scandal, indeed.” She drew rein, her eyes reaching out to the horizon. “The range looks good, Frank. I worry about overgrazing.”
He nodded. “There’s plenty of grass to sustain the cattle we have. We’ve enough stacked hay to see us through the winter and the wells are working fine. The cows are in good shape. I expect a record number of calves come spring.”
For a moment, the eyes Kate turned to Frank seemed troubled. “The land was worth it, wasn’t it, Frank? All that fighting and dying.”
“It was worth it and still is. The fight was brought to you by violent, vengeful men, Kate. It wasn’t of your choosing. You didn’t seek it out.”
She had a stubborn set to her chin. “I won’t be run off my range by anyone, but I pray to God we never have to fight for it again.”
“Amen to that. But there will always be a breed of men who use the power of envy to destroy or take what is not their own. They can never be underestimated, Kate, and if need be, must be fought to the death.”
“If such a time comes again, I want you here at my side, Frank. I need your strength and courage.”
“You don’t lack in those yourself, Kate, but I won’t leave you. This ranch is my home. It’s where I lay my head at night and where I wake up in the morning.”
Kate smiled. “You’ve come a long way, Frank. We’ve both come a long way. Me from the slums of New York and you—”
“From the owlhoot trail, though I never did see a bright future in the outlaw profession.”
“Your future is here, Frank.” She pointed at the ground. “Right here.”
“I know, but it’s good to hear you say it.”
Kate touched the back of Frank’s gloved hand with the tips of her fingers. “And I’ve got an exciting surprise for you.”
Frank smiled. “Well, that sounds interesting.”
“What’s your favorite food in the whole world?”
“Jeez, I’d have to think about that. Maybe—”
“You don’t have to tell me. I already know. It’s my sponge cake, and I’m baking one for tonight’s dessert just for you!”
Frank forced himself to look pleased, visions of Tom Ogilvy’s promised dried apple, raisin, and cinnamon pie popping like soap bubbles in his head. Despite hobbling around on a splinted leg, Ogilvy swore that the pie would be something special, a masterpiece. Poof! It was gone, replaced by . . . sponge cake.
“This will be the first time I’ll use Queen Victoria’s secret ingredient,” Kate said. “I know how well you love my sponge cake, Frank, but the big secret is to add rosewater to the mix. I promise it will be even better. Aren’t you excited?”
“Very,” Frank said, the polite Southern gentleman lying through his teeth.
Kate laughed. “I just knew you would be. And I’m giving you an extra-large portion since you love it so much.”
“Now I have something to look forward to.” Figuring that one lie was not enough, he added, “I can hardly wait.”
* * *
Night lay over the Kerrigan ranch like a purple fog. Here and there glowed orbs of orange light from oil lamps as a hazy moon had begun its climb into the sky. There was no sound, only the hallowed silence of the plains and the drowsy hush of sleeping people. A barn cat crossed in front of the mansion on whispering feet, then stopped as its amber eyes searched the darkness before it melted into the shadows.
The midnight hour chimed.
Did you ever hear the screech of a bobcat? If you have, then you’ve heard the closest sound there is to the ancient Pima war cry. Accompanied by the hammer of a running horse, the primitive shriek shattered the quiet and brought the Kerrigan punchers tumbling out of the newly repaired bunkhouse.
The Pima had already disappeared into the night, but he’d left behind a memento, a heavy object in a burlap sack that had thudded into the mansion door.
Frank Cobb and Trace Kerrigan, both in hat, boots, and combinations, were the first to reach the door.
“What the hell is it?” Trace said.
The door opened and Kate, maids in various stages of undress crowding behind her, stood on the step. “What happened, Frank?”
“Somebody, an Indian by the sound of his whoop, left this.” He picked up the sack. “It’s heavy.”
“Do we want to see what’s in it?” Kate said.
“The Indian, whoever he was, wants us to. I reckon he made that pretty obvious.” Trace took the sack from Frank, untied it, and dumped its contents on the ground.
The grimacing head of Seth Koenig rolled to Kate’s feet, and she stepped back in alarm. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and all the saints in heaven preserve us. It has no eyes.”
“No nose either,” Frank said. “But I recognize him. It’s Seth Koenig, or part of him.”
“Frank, are you sure?” Kate said. “It could be anybody.”
“When I shoot at a man and he shoots at me, I tend to remember his face. It’s Koenig all right.”
It took Kate a while, and then she said, “Yes, now I look closer I see that its him. The hair . . . yes, I remember . . .”
Frank’s gaze went to Kate’s pale face. “Well, I reckon it’s over now, Kate. Somebody evened the score for us.”
“Who?” Kate said. “Wait. I remember. There was an Indian with the Koenigs. He saved the Tillett baby’s life, laid the child by my side.”
Frank shook his head. “I guess we may never know if he was the one that did for Seth. Blade maybe? He’s capable of something like this, but I doubt he’d do it to his own son. Look at the burn marks on the cheeks and forehead, and right there, on his lips. Seth Koenig was tortured before he died, maybe for a long time.”
“Well, whoever it was did us a favor,” Trace said. “Now we’ve no need to go after him.”
Old Moses Rice surprised everybody. “Yes, it’s Seth Koenig, and the Indian who was here did this to him. One time I saw a man after Apache women worked on him for a few days and his face looked like that.” He looked at Frank. “It was the Indian, Mr. Cobb, not the boy’s father. If Blade Koenig couldn’t stop this, then he too is dead.”
That last was greeted by silence.
Then Kate said, “Mose, what you say is true. They’re both dead, father and son, and the Indian who saved the baby was the one who killed Seth Koenig. I know it.”
Moses smiled. “You have the gift, Miz Kerrigan.”
“Yes, I do. We both have, Mose.”
* * *
A week later Nora Andrews returned to the Kerrigan ranch. Apart from a scar on her forehead, she looked well and ready to resume her duties. When she told Kate of her adventures and her battle with the cougar, Kate pinned Queen Victoria’s medal to the bib of the girl’s pinafore and told her she could wear it for a week.
“Nora, you are the real heroine of this household.”