Seventeen

Warm golden sunlight streamed across the faded rug in his office as Tom sat behind his desk. Between his fingers a long, thin pencil dangled, tapping the desktop with a rhythmic rat-a-tat. The soft sound filled the silence, each pat another notch tightening the tension. Before him, the two relief riders he’d sent to watch over Rylee cowered like children. Dusty, battered and bruised, they’d been dragged into the house by several irate cow-hands. Joe hadn’t said a word. His expression spoke in a loud, clear voice, dark and foreboding with a barely leashed hostility and desire for violence Tom could easily relate to. Neither had spoken since they’d ridden in. Behind them, the doctor and Roy had galloped up in a cloud of dust and confusion.

Sally had escorted the doctor upstairs, her face pale and worry stricken. Now, the creak of a floorboard above his head revealed Doc Barnes hadn’t left yet. Tom glanced upwards, fear still lodged within his throat. Forcing thoughts of the doctor and, more importantly Rylee, from his mind, Tom turned his attention once more to the squirming pair before him.

“Sorry, Boss, we weren’t gone that long.” Their voices tripped over one another in their haste to apologize.

“I told you not to leave her.” Tom’s voice was hard, ruthless as he glared at them. “I was explicit in my instructions. If Joe and Matthew could abide by them, why the hell didn’t you?”

“You act like we’re the ones that done hurt her.” Cocky and self-assured, the youngest of the pair shifted. “If’n she’d just taken the hint none of this would have happened. It ain’t the first warnin’ she got, sir. Any fool knows to get outta the way of such trouble. ”

Tom's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you ain’t seen it, Mr. Duncan,” the hand continued, blithely ignorant of his employer's quickly darkening demeanor. “How clear can it be? Someone ran her stock off. They near killed one of our boys.” His shoulders lifted in an unconcerned, indifferent shrug. “Why is it that we’re the ones who have to watch over a body that don’t belong?”

Tom leapt to his feet, his hands braced on his desk. “Because, I told you to!” he roared. He watched the pair step back, their eyes widen and a dart of fear race between them. “Now, since you seem to have a problem followin’ my orders, you can stow your guff and get off my land.” He glanced at the other cowboy. “What about you, Wally? What’s your stake in this?”

Wally shifted, his balding head glistening in the light. “I admit I done wrong in leavin’ the girl. Don’t mean I wished her any harm, just wanted to get me some drink is all. If’n you say so, I’ll pack up, but honestly, boss, I don’t want to. Dock me my wages, give me the drag, anything you want, but I like it here. I feel real bad about her getting hurt. I didn’t want that to happen.”

“You’re on kitchen duty for the next few weeks,” Tom bit the words off. “Not to mention every day you’ll ride over to the Parys place and check on the stock that’s there. You’re gonna tend her place before you do a lick of work here, without pay. Do I make myself clear?”

Wally exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight, both of you.”

Tom turned from them and strode to stare out the window. Instead of the rolling greenery of Colorado, he saw red-orange flames licking along dried wood, devouring the old farm house like a ravenous wolf. He could hear the roaring of the flames; feel the heat as it slithered over his flesh. The stench of smoke filled his nose again, tightening his throat until he could barely breathe.

“Tom?” Roy’s deep voice reached through the mire in his head, pulling him from the fresh memories.

“Hey, Roy, you headin’ out?”

“Just wanted to talk to you first.” Roy moved into the room, closing the door with a kick of his boot. “We still ain’t found Rylee’s herd.”

“I don’t think you will,” Tom replied. “The horses were in the way, something to be destroyed. It’s enough that you tried.”

Roy shifted uneasily, doubt in his gaze. “You have any idea on who would want to hurt her this badly? I ain’t accusing ya, just need to think of something—”

“I don’t know. Everything I thought I knew has turned out to be wrong.” Tom glanced at him. “Until I have something that screams ‘yes’ at me, I can’t go around pointing fingers at anybody.” His mind replayed the picture of the flask, and he shook his head. When had Darrell had enough money to buy such a fancy one? He’d been monitoring Darrell’s money for weeks, months. The man had hardly enough to buy a bottle of rot-gut, let alone such a fine flask. He prayed that Roy wouldn’t ask more. He needed to talk to Darrel first. The other man had answers, and by God he’d give ‘em or suffer for it.

“Don’t make sense, attacking two women likes been done. Mrs. Longley might not be the town’s golden daughter but she’s a good woman. Does her business and stays out of trouble.” Roy nodded. “I’ll stop by in a day or so. As soon as I know something, I’ll come by. Send word to me if she wakes up. She may be able to identify the man responsible. If she does, I’ll slap him in irons and wait for the circuit judge. Real sorry ‘bout this, Tom.”

Without a word, Tom watched him leave before turning back to stare out the window. The gnawing pain in his gut told him that when the truth came out he stood to lose more than anyone. If he was right, and he prayed he wasn’t, he’d lost the one thing he needed and wanted more than anything he'd ever needed or wanted in his life. That knowledge cut like a knife, neatly slicing his soul in two.

He turned from the window to stride across the room. As he stepped through his office door, he caught Sally’s worried eyes and shook his head. Without a word, he strode up the stairs, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his failure, silent tears tracking down his face.

~ * ~

Tom sat in the hard, straight-backed chair in a corner of his bedroom and stared at the figure lying in his bed. He’d brushed aside Sally’s suggestion of putting her in a guest room. The chances of him needing his bed were slim. He wanted her closer than down the hall. A low, throbbing ache had settled in his back from hours of inactivity. He shifted, leaned forward, but didn’t rise. Stubble covered his jaw, and shadows had gathered beneath his eyes, yet he refused to rest. He took his meals in the chair, slept when exhaustion pulled him under, and suffered in stoic silence. The sound of his men talking as they worked drifted in through the partially open window, but it did little to soothe the pain in his chest.

He hadn’t moved from his vigil in three days. Not since the doctor had retreated with a pained, pinched look and a weak explanation that she needed time to heal. If she healed, if she woke up… It was all about the ‘ifs’ now.

The scuff of a boot on the wooden floor drew his attention and he glanced up to the burly figure in the doorway. Roy stood, hat crumpled in his hands, guilt making his face pale and sweaty. He’d brought in a tracker—one of the cavalry scouts—to find the men and Tom had personally put up the money. Behind Roy, two of the local men stood, discomfort on their faces as they glanced from him to the bed and back again.

“Well?”

“We found one of ‘em.” Roy shrugged and stepped further into the room. He dropped into the only unoccupied chair, his hands dangling between his legs. “Up near Harper, drunker ‘n a skunk.”

“Did he talk?” Tom’s voice broke as a wave of anger ripped through him. Please God, let me be wrong. Let it be someone else, he prayed as his eyes darted back to his bed.

“Only to say that he had nothin’ to do with hurting her.” Roy jerked his head toward Rylee’s prone form. “Took a man’s money to burn the house down. That’s all he’d say.”

“You gonna hold him?”

“Left him in the jail cell at Harper. Sheriff was only too happy to watch over him after I explained the happenin’s around here.” Roy huffed out a breath. “I’m real sorry ‘bout this, Tom.”

“Sorry don’t help.” Anger and frustration boiled within him as he rose to stalk to the window and stare out. “What about the prints my men found?”

“At least one headed up toward that box canyon. Still haven’t found the horses or the third rider. Beth was askin’ after her today.”

Tom blinked at the mention of Rylee’s only friend in town. It didn’t surprise him that the lone person who’d stood by her besides himself was as poorly thought of as Rylee herself. “Oh?”

“Wanted to know if she could stop by.”

“Rylee needs her rest.” Tom rose and shuffled tiredly across the floor. He smoothed the blanket over Rylee’s prone body and smiled at her sleeping face. “She’s going to get better. I know she will.”

“I take it she hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No.”

“Uh, Tom, we uh, we brought this.” One of the townsmen shifted, his arm outstretched and a bundle in his hand. “It ain’t nearly enough, but it’s a start. I knew her pa, and he’d be the first in line to skin my hide for how we’ve treated her. We owe you an apology, although it's not much.”

“No, it’s not.” Tom sighed, his eyes on Rylee’s still form. “But it's more than some would give. I’ll see she gets it.” He tossed the parcel onto the table next to him. It held no reward, no treasure for him—a token of another’s guilt he didn’t want or need.

The man twisted his hat brim in his hands and nodded awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“You let me know if you need anything.” Roy turned, the soft thud of his boots fading into the sounds of the house. Tom nodded. “You can’t help me,” he whispered and settled back into his position. Absently, he reached over and patted the rifle by his side, “God help him if I’m right,” he muttered and leaned his head back.

~ * ~

Rylee moaned softly at the pounding in her head as she struggled up through the clinging mire of the fog surrounding her. Beneath her, the softness and width of the bed confused her. It was unlikely that the hotel’s beds would be so comfortable and sturdy. She inhaled slowly and the smell of spruce and leather hit her like a punch. Instantly, her mind connected the fragrance with a memory of a man she had begun to trust. In an attempt to clear her blurry vision, Rylee blinked, aware of the pale silver light that embraced the wall. Shadows danced in the moonlight, faint and iridescent as it was.

The soft snore from the corner drew her attention. The darkness wrapped around a hulking shape in a chair. Terror flooded her and she whimpered, kicking and struggling to escape the tangled covers. The large, looming shape shifted, braced itself and rose.

Garbled and weak, her screams barely filled the room as the figure moved from the chair into the moonlight. Eyes filled with worry met hers a moment before the familiarity hit her. Relief flooded her body and she sank into the soft give of the bed, silent tears seeping from beneath her control.

“Duncan,” she croaked, inching away from him as he reached for her.

“You had me worried.” Tom’s soft tone brushed against her defenses, against the doubt and fear that clutched at her like frenzied hands. “Shhh, just relax, lay down. You’re safe here.”

Rylee shook her head. Exhaustion tugged at her as he pushed her deeper into the pillows and tugged the blanket up. Exhaustion tugged at her, pulling her into a healing sleep as she felt his hands brush her hair back from her face.

“I’m here, Rylee, and I’m going to keep you safe.”

“No,” she murmured, her words slurred with fatigue. “He’s here. He says I stole it. I didn’t do it, Tom, I didn’t.”

Tom felt the bolt of white hot rage and dismay roll through him. The desire to wake her and demand an explanation was powerful. His fists tightened on the blankets around her shoulders. He pulled in a huge gulp of air and leaned his forehead on the cool pillow next to her, despair and guilt racking him. “Why? Why couldn’t I have been wrong?” He shifted to lie on the bed, his gaze on Rylee’s peaceful face as sleep slowly took him.

~ * ~

The sun burnt low, its orange glow spread across the horizon, casting a dark veil along the ground as Tom trotted into town. Someone knew something, and by god he’d find an answer. A sizable reward sat in his pocket, money the town’s folk had pooled to ease their collective guilt. Rylee could use it to rebuild, but first they had to find her attacker.

Determination flooded him as he trotted past Elizabeth Longley’s house and saw the deputy asleep in a chair by the front door. Tom pulled up in front of the saloon and dismounted, easing his weight from the saddle. Tucking the butt of his Colt over his coat, he strode into the saloon.

The place was nearly empty. Six saloon girls huddled at one table, playing cards, and a few men sat around nursing drinks. His stare landed on the grizzled old barkeep who stood polishing a glass behind the scarred bar. Bottles lined the shelves next to the mirror. Beneath them glasses stood in a neat line, polished and ready for use.

Nearly palpable, the silence stretched as everyone turned to stare at him before returning to their own occupations. His spurs jingled loudly as he strode to the bar. The sole of his boot scuffed along the brass foot rail, and he leaned forward, bracing his frame against the battered oak bar. “Whiskey,” he grunted, ignoring the stilted conversations and whispers behind him. The amber liquid sloshed into his glass in spite of the tremble in the barkeep’s hand.

Tom lifted the glass, turning it as he studied his drink. With a quick motion, he tossed the contents down and set the glass back on the counter. The whiskey burned as it flowed down his throat to settle like a lead weight in his gut. “Another one.”

A chair scraped over the floor. The sound echoed in the strained silence. Without moving, Tom glanced into the mirror and watched the broad-shouldered figure stride toward him. Loud and outspoken, Robert Neill was first in line to speak against Rylee, and the knowledge grated along Tom’s patience.

“I’ll have one of them.” Robert nodded at the barkeep. The balding man paled and stepped back. The clunk of glass on glass echoed in the air as those nearest the bar retreated, putting a safe distance between themselves and the glowering men. A swish of the doors drew Tom’s attention and he watched the batwing doors sway. Obviously someone had felt it safer to depart. He snickered to himself. No matter. He’d find the man responsible for Rylee’s injuries, and he’d make him regret it.

“Sorry to hear ‘bout Rylee Parys.” Robert set his glass back on the bar, his gaze steady on the wall.

“Yeah?” Tom glanced at the large, brutish man out of the corner of his eyes. “Figure you’d be the first in line to celebrate. Course, I’m looking after her place to make sure nobody tries moving in.”

Robert tensed. A deep red flush climbed his cheeks and his beefy hands knotted into fists before he flattened them out on the bar. He shifted his weight and lowered his head. “It’s true I ain’t her biggest admirer, but only a coward goes after a woman. 'Sides, I hear that she’s not the only one that’s been hurt. You find the skunk, I’ll bring the rope.” Robert clapped him on the back and straightened away from the bar. “I won’t deny I wanted her land, for the water, mostly. But I don’t hold with no one burning any decent, hardworking soul outta their place. Only a dry-gulcher would go after a woman. Like I said, Duncan, you find the bastard—I’ve got a good rope.”

Tom listened to the man’s steps as he strode to the swinging doors. He glanced over his shoulder, a cold, banked rage in his belly. “You wanna help out; you help find the son-of-a-bitch. Tell the boys I’ll put up a reward. Five hundred dollars.” He ignored the startled gasps that filled the room. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money in these pressing times for anyone.

Robert paused with his hand on the carved wood and met Tom’s gaze. There was curiosity and something else in his dark eyes, something that Tom innately recognized. “I’ll be seeing you, Duncan.”

Tom turned back to stare into the whiskey before him, his emotions swinging wildly. A part of him wanted Roy to catch the bastard, but a deeper, darker part of him cried out for a different kind of justice, the kind that only came with a bullet and the absence of a tin star. He’d deal with Darrell himself, just as soon as the yellow-bellied skunk got back from whichever brothel he’d slithered into, but he wanted the third man. It irked him that it had taken three men to harm Rylee. As aggravating and headstrong as she was, she still only reached his chin and didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. No, that third man had helped to burn Rylee’s home, had driven off her stock, and he deserved to pay for it.

“Tom?” A cloud of perfume heralded the arrival of one of the saloon girls. “You okay?”

Tom glanced at her and shook his head. “I’m not interested.”

Her painted lips slid into an easy smile and she chuckled warmly. “Good, I wasn’t offering. Folks around here been acting mighty jumpy lately. Now, I know we’re not well thought of. Hell, most of the townswomen sweep their skirts aside at the sight of us, but Rylee Parys never did. You let her know we’ve been asking after her.”

Tom nodded, tossed a coin on the bar and turned to stride out the doors. His eyes slid up the street to the small, isolated little house where Rylee’s best friend lived. What could it hurt if he stopped in, if he asked after her? With a low curse he shook his head. He wouldn’t draw attention to her with his presence. Beth deserved every ounce of loyalty and protection she could get, and Tom resolved to see she got it.

~ * ~

Roy eyed the man sitting in the tiny confines of the only jail cell in town. Rough and crude, the man hadn’t said much since the deputy, followed by half the town’s men folk, had dragged his worthless carcass in. As irritating as he was, Roy had to admit that the man was too stupid to think of the attacks all by himself.

“When d’you expect the circuit judge?” Roy’s deputy shifted in his seat, his hat pulled low over his face.

“He always comes through on a Friday. I sent a letter, but he’s due this coming week.” Roy tossed the keys on his desk. “Knowing Judge Mortimer Snoose, the trial’ll follow his arrival. You and the boys finish building the gallows…”

“I ain’t dangling for nothing.”

“Burning a house and nearly killing a woman ain’t nothing. Not to mention stealing them horses from her. Why, that alone'll get you hung.”

“I didn’t steal no horses. They’re mustangs, free to anyone who catches ‘em.”

“No, sir.” Roy smirked. “Them horses belong to the Parys family, have for years. I remember when old man Parys brought Smoke back from a sale. Claimed that mustang was going to make him a lot of money, and damn if he wasn't right.”

The grizzled outlaw paled at his words as Roy sank into his chair. “Yes, sir, Miss Parys, she’s made enough off selling that stud’s colts to pay off her ranch, and she’ll be able to rebuild. Not that you’ll notice or anything. Judge Snoose, he don’t take kindly to men who—”

“What if I talk? I’ll tell you what happened as long as you put in a good word for me. He finds out I’ve talked, he’s gonna kill me.”

Roy slapped his desk. “Then start singing. 'Cause as much as the townsfolk may dislike Miss Parys, they like what you and your partners did even less.”

“This guy approached us, didn’t give me a name. He was older, ya know, and big, weighty.” The prisoner clutched at the bars so tight his fingers lost all color. “'Sides, he claimed she was a thief, stole that land from him.”

“So killing her was the only answer?” Roy snarled. “Hogwash, you best come up with an idea on that feller’s name or—” He paused at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Roy turned to the door to see Tom’s foreman, Sam, standing in the sunlight. “Morning, Sam, what brings you into town?”

“Boss said you wanted to know if there was any change in Miss Parys.” Sam nodded at the saddled horses out front. “She’s awake, although she ain’t said much. Mr. Duncan’s been with her all this time.”

“I’m on my way.” Roy glanced at his deputy. “Try and remember we have to wait for the judge. Anyone shows up wanting him, he leaves over your dead body.”

“Sure, Marshal, but ain’t nobody going to try and take him.” The deputy offered a tobacco-stained smirk. “Townsfolk want to see him dangle from the end of a hangman’s noose.”

With a glance at the prisoner, Roy tightened his gun, grabbed his hat and followed Sam out into the pale sunlight. They mounted up and turned toward the Duncan ranch, a tense silence stretching between them. Roy followed Sam for a few miles in silence, before easing his mount into a trot rather than an all-out run. “She really not said anything?”

“I haven’t talked to her,” Sam explained. “Tom has, though, and he don’t look… Well, whatever happened, whatever was said... I reckon he knows more than he’s saying.”

“Let’s hope she’ll talk to me,” Roy drawled. “Because right now I don’t have anything to go on. Nothing but what little that outlaw said.”

“With Rylee, you never know,” Sam retorted and nudged his horse into a canter.

~ * ~

The coffee in his cup had long since grown cold while Tom ignored it. Instead, his attention was focused out the window on the man currently working in the corral below. Anger and betrayal sat heavy and thick within him as he listened to the slight wheeze of Rylee’s breathing. She’d woken twice more before the dawn, crying and struggling with an unseen foe. That the man who’d attacked her was within the ranks of his men chilled him, and he wondered if he should confront him.

“Tom?” Rylee’s pitiful whisper pulled his attention to her and he turned quickly.

“I’m right here,” he soothed.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Tom wiped at the damp tendrils at her temple. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“He said I stole it.”

“Stole what?”

“I didn’t though, it’s mine. The land, the water, the horses, it’s all mine. I didn’t steal it from you.” Pain unlike any he’d ever known filled her voice.

“Shhh, of course you didn’t.” Tom felt his throat tighten, blocking off his ability to speak. “Rylee, please tell me. Who hurt you?”

“I can’t.” Rylee’s glazed eyes met his. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes burned with unshed tears as he listened to her rambling. Her skin was hot, sweaty beneath his touch. A heavy flush lay on it. Rylee might be conscious, but the fever was stealing bits and pieces from her that might never come back.

“Pa didn’t steal from your family, Tom. He didn’t have to. This was all his land at one time. Why would he steal his own land?”

Tom shook his head, tears slipping past his control. “He wouldn’t. Rest, Rylee, don’t worry about it. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

She shook her head sadly; her eyes fever bright upon him. “Yes, you will, you always have. You’re like a ghost. You just vanish when you want to.” Sluggish and drowsy, her words slid into the silence as she sank deeper into the warmth of his bed, leaving Tom alone and terrified that he’d lost any chance he’d ever had.