Harriet had done a valiant job of letting him know
where she was being taken. And if scaring away the
horse with the rifle on it had been her doing, he probably
owed her his life. Now they were likely on foot
and she would be stalling their progress any way she
could. But if she continued her tactics, Harvey might
lose patience and turn on her.
Sheltered by a stand of young fir trees, he studied
the hillside. At the top of the slope, an escarpment
of high ledges jutted against the skyline. In such a
rock formation, there were bound to be hollows and
crevices where a man with a gun and enough
ammunition could fend off a small army. Likely as
not, Harvey had already set up a hideout, with food,
water and extra bullets. Whatever the risk, Brandon
knew he could not let Harvey drag Harriet into such
a place.
He had hoped for more time to gain the advantage
of surprise, perhaps by circling around and coming
out above them. But time, he sensed, had run out. His
only chance of freeing Harriet was to force Harvey’s
hand now.
“Harvey!” he shouted up the slope. “I know you’re
up there and I know you can hear me! Let the woman
go now! You can keep the money and nobody will
come after you!”
Harvey’s crazed laughter echoed down the canyon.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,
Banker. This hellcat chased off my horse, so I’ll take
the one you’re ridin’. And I’ll take you in the bargain.
How’s that for a deal?”
“Fine!” Brandon swallowed the taste of fear,
knowing there was no other way to save Harriet’s
life. “I’m all yours, Harvey, and so’s the horse! But
I want your word that Miss Smith goes free.”
Harvey cackled. “You got it, Banker. On my
sainted mother’s grave. Now come out in the open,
where I can see you.”
Brandon heard the sounds of a scuffle. “No!” Harriet
screamed. “Don’t do it, Brandon! It’s a trap—”
The solid crack of flesh on flesh ended her words.
Brandon’s heart sickened. He could see them now as
he moved upward through the trees. Harvey was
holding Harriet in front of him, using her as a shield.
She sagged in his arms, stunned by the blow. Brandon
kept moving up the slope, knowing he had no
choice if he was to save her.
The pistol in Harvey’s hand was Brandon’s own,
wrested from Harriet in the mine. He jammed the
barrel against Harriet’s temple. “That’s it, Banker.
Climb out of the saddle and toss that six-shooter up
here. Then lead the horse up here, nice and easy like.”
“You’re not a murderer yet, Harvey.” Brandon
spoke soothingly as he dismounted and moved up the
hill. “Your brother’s death was an accident, we all
know that. But harming a woman, that’s different.
You’d burn in hell for a crime like that. Turn her
loose now, before something goes wrong.”
Harvey spat out a vile oath. “You’ll be burnin’
right there next to me for what you done to my family,
Banker. I’m holdin’ all the cards now. I got the
schoolmarm and the money, and purty soon I’ll have
you, too. Now, throw that shooter up here and git
down on your hands and knees. I want to watch you
crawl up here and kiss my boots!”
They were less than a dozen yards apart now. Harvey
had stopped just below the rocky ledges. They
rose like a solid wall behind him. Brandon could see
Harriet clearly. Harvey had his left arm hooked
around her throat. His right hand pointed the gun at
her head. Where he had struck her, an ugly red welt
ran from her cheekbone to her jaw. But the copper-
flecked eyes that returned Brandon’s gaze held nothing
but love and absolute trust.
Brandon prayed silently that his next desperate act
would not betray that trust.
“Quit stallin’, Banker.” Harvey’s voice was an im
patient snarl. “You heard me. Toss that six-shooter
up here. Then git down on your knees.”
Brandon’s eyes took careful measure of the distance.
His thumb released the hammer on the pistol
to keep it from firing accidentally and hitting Harriet.
Then, with a lightning motion, he flung the
weapon so that it whizzed past Harvey’s ear and
bounced off the cliff face with a metallic clang.
Harvey’s reaction was automatic. He jerked his
head toward the sound, loosening his grip on Harriet.
At the same time, Brandon seized the rifle off the
saddle and jabbed the barrel into the gelding’s flank.
The big chestnut screamed, reared and plunged
straight toward Harvey.
“Run, Harriet! Get away!” Brandon shouted as he
charged up the hill. He saw her roll clear of Harvey
and scramble to her feet. An instant later she had
dived off the trail and taken shelter behind a rock.
The gelding veered off to one side. Harvey had
been knocked flat by its charge. He came up spitting
dirt and fumbling for his weapon. But by then Brandon
had reached the level ground below the ledges.
His booted foot came down on Harvey’s pistol, anchoring
it to the ground. His hands aimed the rifle at
Harvey’s chest and chambered a shell.
Harvey, on his feet now, looked down at the spot
where the rifle’s muzzle touched his chest. He raised
sheepish eyes to Brandon’s, his mouth stretching into
a little-boy grin that showed his missing tooth.
“Shucks, Mr. Calhoun, you wouldn’t shoot a man in
cold blood, would you? Hell, I didn’t do you no real
harm. You said that yourself. And you promised me
that if you got your woman back, I could go free.
C’mon, I was only funnin’ with you.”
He took a step backward, toward the rocks. “You
ain’t the sort who’d shoot an unarmed man in cold
blood, Mr. Calhoun. You know that, and so do I.” He
took another step. Brandon clenched his jaw in frustration,
knowing the pathetic little rascal was right.
He had never taken human life, and killing Harvey
wasn’t worth what it would do to his conscience.
Harvey grinned confidently. “You got everything
you want, now, Banker, so I’m just gonna walk away.
My ma always said you was a good man. You’d never
shoot one of her boys.”
“But
I
would!” Harriet stepped out from behind
the rock, her eyes blazing fire. In her hands she held
the pistol Brandon had thrown toward the cliff. Her
grip on the weapon left no doubt that she knew how
to use it.
“Go on, Harvey,” she said. “Take another step. I’d
love to blow a nice big hole through your miserable
little body!”
Harvey eyed her sourly, but he did not move. For
the space of a breath the three of them stood there,
frozen like actors in a living tableau. Then a familiar
voice rang out from the rocks above them.
“Well, one of you had better shoot the sneaky lit
tle polecat,” drawled Sheriff Matthew T. Langtry.
“Otherwise I might be tempted to do the job myself.”
Leaving the sheriff to bring in his manacled prisoner,
Brandon and Harriet started back at once. They
rode double on Brandon’s tall bay mare, which Matt
had brought with him. Harriet straddled the mare’s
rump, her arms wrapped tightly around Brandon’s ribs.
The sun had risen on a glorious spring day. The
high country aspens were swollen with buds. Chickadees
chased each other among the branches, filling
the air with their raucous calls. Snow lay rich as ermine
on the distant peaks.
Brandon took the steep, meandering game trail as
fast as he dared, pushing the mare hard. Harriet, he
knew, shared his sense of urgency. Later there would
be time to lie in each other’s arms and talk, time to
say all the things the two of them had left unsaid.
They would have days of living and nights of loving,
and every moment heaven allowed them would be a
precious gift. But right now, nothing mattered more
than getting back to Jenny and the baby.
“They’ll be all right,” Harriet said, her arms tightening
around him. “Otherwise, Matt would never
have left them. And they seemed fine to me, too. The
baby was tiny, but he cried right away. That’s a sign
of good, healthy lungs. And Jenny’s stronger than she
looks. She was so brave, Brandon. You’d have been
so proud of her!”
Brandon swallowed the lump in his throat. “I just
hope she’ll give me the chance to tell her that, if it
isn’t too late.”
“It won’t be.” Harriet pressed her face against his
back. “Jenny loves you. All she wants is for you to
be part of her family.”
“Even after what she heard at the house, that she
isn’t my natural daughter? You can’t tell me that
won’t make a difference.”
“Wait and see.” Harriet held him fiercely, her arms
offering a haven of comfort. “Everything will work
out for the best. After all this trouble, it just has to.”
Brandon yearned to believe her. But guilt and
worry gnawed at him. He had always believed that
people reaped what they’d sown. It defied reason
that a man who’d driven his wife to an early death
and banished the daughter of his heart should be
worthy of love. Even the glorious woman who rode
with him now was a gift he’d done nothing to merit.
If all the people he cared about were to turn their
backs on him, it would be an act of justice, and no
worse than he deserved.
“Down there.” Looking past his shoulder, Harriet
pointed to a hollow between two hills, less than a
mile distant. “That’s where we left them.”
Brandon nudged the mare to a canter as they came
down the long grassy slope. Now they could see the
entrance to the mine and the shelter that had been improvised
just outside with logs and blankets. Nearby
a horse was tethered and a lanky figure stood scanning
the horizon. That would be Will, Brandon
thought. His son-in-law. A good man.
By the time they pulled up in front of the mine,
Brandon’s heart was pounding. Harriet slid off the
horse first, giving him room to swing his leg over and
dismount. But she hung back with her brother, giving
Brandon a chance to approach the makeshift shelter
alone.
He had to crouch to see beneath the blanket where
Jenny lay. She looked pale and tired, but her smile
was radiant.
“Hello, angel,” Brandon whispered, his throat
aching.
“Hello, Papa.” Her eyes glimmered as she held out
a doll-size bundle wrapped in a flannel blanket. Brandon
glimpsed a tiny rosebud face crowned by a nimbus
of fair hair, the same shade as Jenny’s had been
when she was born.
Something inside him seemed to melt as he gathered
the baby in his arms. Harriet watched them from
a distance, her smile radiating pure love.
“I’d like you to meet your grandson, Papa,” Jenny
said softly. “His name is Brandon. Brandon William
Smith.”
Christmas Day, 1885
“C
ome back here, you little mischief!” Jenny
dashed after her son, who was reaching for a tinsel
garland on the Christmas tree.
“I’ve got him!” Brandon, who’d just come into
the parlor, scooped the child up and swung him toward
the ceiling, setting loose a torrent of happy
giggles.
Jenny collapsed into one of the leather armchairs
that faced the fireplace. “He’s all yours, Papa. I tell
you, he wears me out! Every day is like running a
race! I’m just glad I didn’t have twins!”
Brandon sank into the matching chair and settled his
grandson on his knee. “Bite your tongue, young lady,”
he said. “Harriet saw Dr. Tate yesterday. When he listened
with his stethoscope, he thought he heard two dis
tinct heartbeats. Of course, it’s too early to be certain,
but maybe…” He gave his daughter a solemn wink.
“Oh!” Jenny sprang out of the chair, wide-eyed.
“Oh, my goodness! Twins! Wait till I tell Will!” She
raced off to find her husband, who was out in the stable
readying the sleigh for their after-dinner ride.
The two youngsters were doing all right, Brandon
reflected. Will had proven to be such an adept businessman
that Hezekiah Moon, the feed-store owner,
had raised his pay and taken him on as a partner.
When the old man retired a few months later, Will,
with Harriet’s approval, had used his school savings
to buy the store from him. Business was thriving and
Will had managed to buy some land with a cozy little
house on it. Brandon had repeatedly offered to
help the young people with money, but Will and
Jenny were determined to manage on their own.
Brandon was proud of them both.
“Is this a private party or am I invited, too?”
Harriet glided in from the dining room, where the
table was laid for Christmas dinner. She looked
beautiful with the Hungarian shawl draped around
her shoulders and her golden topaz earrings, his
Christmas gift, dancing in the firelight. Her skirt
was raised in front to accommodate her rounding
belly. Brandon ached with love every time he
looked at her.
“Come here, Gypsy queen.” He lifted Jenny’s son
out of the way, leaving his lap empty. She curled
against him, settling herself like a warm cat before
he replaced the child in her arms.
“This may be our last quiet Christmas,” she said,
nuzzling his chin. “We’d best enjoy it while we can.”
He kissed her gently, stroking the bulge that
rose below her waist. “Twins. I can’t even imagine
it.”
“And no, we’re not going to name them Harvey
and Marlin. Especially if they’re girls.” She wrinkled
her nose at him.
“What a tease you are,” he murmured. “What
happened to that prim-and-proper schoolmarm I
used to know?”
“I think you were a wicked influence on her.” She
snuggled close, cradling Jenny’s son against her
shoulder. “Have you ever thought about what a
mixed-up family this little fellow will grow up in? I
started out as his aunt. Now that I’m married to you,
I’m also his grandmother. That makes you both his
grandfather and his uncle. And our children will be
his aunts and uncles, as well as his cousins. Don’t
you think he might find that confusing?”
“I’d say so. I’m already confused.” Brandon
laughed, feeling contentment radiate from his head
to his toes. Some people asked for blessings that
never came. He had been too proud to ask, but the
blessings had come anyway, flooding away the wall
of pride and bitterness he had built against the world.
Whatever happened in the years ahead, he would be
grateful for this perfect day, this perfect moment,
surrounded by the people he loved.
He would be grateful forever.
* * * * *