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With tendrils of steam puffing from its nostrils into the morning air, the calf pulled itself awkwardly onto shaky legs to stand weaving for long moments before collapsing in a heap to the ground again. He stretched his neck and bellowed to his mother who stood but a few yards away, munching on frost-crisp shoots of grass. Turning her head, she answered with a louder more resonant moo. Once more, the calf hoisted itself in one great lunge to its feet.
Jonathan slouched comfortably in the saddle, his heavy coat buttoned to his throat to keep out the last attempts of winter to hold onto its claim of the high valley. Silently watching the mother and calf, Adam stood nearby holding the reins of his horse.
He whispered to Jonathan, "Can I touch him? The calf, can I touch him?"
Jonathan straightened as his mare shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Studying the cow before giving the boy an answer, he threw the boy a half-cocked smile and nodded. "Take it easy, so as not to bother his mother. She might take exception even to a pup like you."
Adam handed his reins to Jonathan and stalked warily across the new spring grass. This was not yet the lush valley it would become in late spring when the sun would shine down benevolently upon the meadows and low foothills, bringing warmth and new growth. His footfalls made soft squelching sounds in the moist earth still saturated by melting snow. Adam stopped when he was ten feet from the calf, the two eyeing each other with curiosity.
With infinitesimal movements, Adam reached out his hand to the calf. Its tongue extended, stretching toward the boy's fingers with curiosity. Adam took another cautious step forward, slipping a bit on the wet grass. The calf took a shaky step back and gave a low moo. The boy tried again, a step forward and fingers again inviting the calf forward. With its soft wet tongue, the calf met the boy's fingers.
Adam's face cracked wide open with a smile of delight. "He sucked on my finger," he whispered, ecstatic and reverential all at once. Like he'd just had his first kiss, rather than been sampled for edibility by a calf.
Something about the moment drew out of Jonathan a distant, deeply half-hidden memory, one from when he was a boy even younger than Adam. That look of wonder on Adam's face, the slightly open mouth, body inclined toward this new living thing called up a memory, long buried. For Jonathan, it had been a colt lying next to its mother in their barn. The smell of wet straw, manure, horse sweat, and blood encased the moment forever in the boy's memory. He'd been drawn to that new life just as Adam was to the calf, drawn to the wonder of it.
When was the last time he'd experienced the wonder of anything? But here it was, a surprise as beautiful as the fresh smell of morning in the mountains.
Adam slowly moved his hand, reaching for the calf's delicate muzzle. Ever so gently, he stroked it. Jonathan observed the slight lowering of tense shoulders in both the boy and calf at that moment of contact. A fleeting moment of trust held them there. Jonathan found himself pulled into the magic of it. Years of harsh reality that had left him jaded, blinded to the simple pleasures were, for a brief time, forgotten.
Jonathan pulled his gaze from the scene to the rich pasture land that stretched a mile on either side of the river. A man could make a good home for himself in such a place as this, where grass grew plentifully and the river flowed down from high mountain springs through every season. In his mind's eye he saw a modest cabin nestled on the low rise at the far side of the valley where it would command a view of two mountain ranges, with rugged peaks snow-capped in winter and verdant green in summer.
"How old do you think he is?" Adam asked softly.
Jonathan returned his attention to the boy, not answering right away. "Looks to me, he's not more than a few hours old."
"He's a beauty, isn't he?"
Jonathan checked himself from responding with a wry remark. Seeing the boy's enraptured expression, he looked once more and saw the calf as the boy did. The perfectly formed ears, the wide nose that would function just as it should, the sturdy legs designed to carry him for miles across rocky terrain or muddy grasslands, his short brown hair, a perfect match to his mother's sleek coat, made him beautiful indeed. So, Jonathan simply nodded to the boy's question that was not a question.
But Jonathan also noted the bloodied earth where the cow's after-birth had stained it crimson. Something beautiful had come from pain. As suddenly as the moment had transported him to a state of pleasurable memories, he fell back into the vision that held him captive for these many months. Again, he was there staring down at the snow, stained red by the girl's blood. He shivered and closed his eyes tight, forcing the memory back down into the dark place that bound it. There it remained protected by a door that, against his will, swung both ways.
"What were you thinking!" Ethan, face burning with a combined fuel of frustration and anger, raged at the man who slouched sullenly against the wall.
Liam Brewster's reply powered across the room, thrown at Ethan like a rock in a school yard fight. "I did what needed being done! He pulled a gun on me! And he'd have talked as sure as anything if I hadn't killed him!"
Ethan chewed on the corner of his lip, his hands hanging stiff at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He shook his head in disgust, then turned from Liam to Noah, a stoop-shouldered giant, with downcast eyes. "And you? What have you got to say for yourself? You were supposed to keep this one under control."
"I don't need no nursemaid!" Liam shot back.
"Oh, I think this proves you do," Ethan said without turning.
"He did try to talk us into taking out a part of the silver," Noah offered.
"There are ways to deal with problems that don't end with a dead body," Ethan growled. "Bodies leave trails, gentlemen.'" He strode three steps to the window, staring out across the open space to the paddocks beyond. He shook his head and spun back to face them. "And you left one obvious trail. You could have at least disposed of it somewhere else and they might have believed he simply made off with the shipment. Did either of you think of that!"
"It just didn't seem right to leave him there. I thought his family might...you know." Noah stuttered to a halt when he saw Ethan's face.
Ethan blew in disgust. "But it was all right to shoot him." He shook his head slowly, chewing on his lower lip, then spoke his thoughts aloud. "Well, if the men who found him don't figure out that he wasn't shot where they found him, Doc Meriwether and his daughter are sure to. That will raise questions."
Ethan spun back to the window. The attractive face of Kat Meriwether materialized in Ethan's mind's eye. He had no desire to think of her as the enemy. In fact, under different circumstances, he might even convince her to yield a bit of that educated aloofness to see him in a favorable light.
More and more he felt ensnared, like a rabbit, not like the clever man he prided himself to be, one who could always out think his enemy. He knew how to use his wits to avoid using force. These brutes had no such mental acuity. But one thing was certain. He was not going to hang for murder. That was unthinkable.
More to himself than to the two men he muttered, "And somehow, I have to fix this."
Chapter 8
