Montana Sky (48 page)

And bringing his fist up, he knocked her cold.

 

H
AM WOKE TO PAIN
.
FIERY
,
BLINDING PAIN
.
HE COULDN
'
T
pinpoint it, couldn't find the source, but he tasted blood in his mouth. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but couldn't move his legs. He turned his head, saw that the calf had bled out. Its eyes were dead.

Soon, he thought, he'd bleed out too.

There was something else on the ground that caught his eye. He stared at it a long time, watched it come and go as his vision cleared and blurred. Then hissing, he crawled toward it, brushed the tip with his fingers.

Willa's hat.

 

H
E HAD TO CARRY HER
.
HE SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR A
rig, knew he should have, but he'd been so shaken he hadn't been able to think clearly. Now he laid her as gently as he could on the ground near the pasture and with a trembling hand rattled a bucket of oats.

They'd go on horseback. It was probably best. He wanted to get her away, into the hills a ways so that he could explain everything to her. She'd understand once he had.

Blood was thicker than water.

He saddled the paint pony that nosed into the bucket, then the roan that tried to nuzzle through.

Oh, he hated to do it, even temporarily, but he tied Willa's hands, tied her feet, then strapped her across the saddle. She'd come to shortly, he thought, and she'd try to get away before he could explain.

She had to understand. He prayed she'd understand as he vaulted into the saddle, took both pairs of reins. If she didn't, he'd have to kill her.

Thunder stalked closer as he rode into the hills.

 

H
AM CLUTCHED THE HAT IN HIS HAND
.
STAGGERED TO
his feet. He managed two drunken steps before he went to
his knees. He called out, and though his voice boomed in his ears, it was barely a whisper.

He thought of Willa, hardly more than a baby with a milky mouth, grinning at him as he plopped her into the saddle in front of him. A little girl, all braids and eyes, begging him to let her ride out to pasture with him. An adolescent, gawky as a colt, running wire with him and chattering his ears off.

And the woman who had looked at him tonight, her heart in her eyes when she'd told him he was the one who counted.

So he bit back the pain that was eating through him like cancer and fought his way to his feet again.

He could see the main house, the lights in the windows circling in front of his eyes. Blood dripped through his fingers and onto her hat. He didn't feel the ground when it jumped up to meet him.

 

S
HE CAME TO SLOWLY
,
HER JAW THROBBING
.
HER EYES
focused on the ground bumping and falling beneath her. She tried to shift, found herself snugly secured, lying across the saddle with her head dangling. She must have moaned, or made some sound, for the horses stopped quickly.

“It's okay, Will. You're okay.” He loosed the straps, the restraints on her legs, but kept her hands secured. “Need to ride a little further. Can you handle it?”

“What?” Still groggy, she felt herself lifted, then she was sitting in the saddle, shaking her head to clear it while her hands were strapped tight to the horn.

“You just catch your breath. I'll lead your horse.”

“What are you doing?” It leaped back into her mind but refused to root there. “Ham?”

“Couldn't help it. Just couldn't help it. We'll talk this through. You just—” He broke off, dragging her down by the hair when she sucked in her breath. “Don't you scream. Nobody's going to hear you, but I don't want you screaming.” Mumbling to himself, he tugged out his bandanna, tied it quickly over her mouth. “I'm sorry I have to do it this way, but you just don't understand yet.”

Trying not to be angry with her, he strode back to his horse, swung on, and rode into the trees.

 

W
ELL
,
WILLA HAD MISSED HER SWIM
,
TESS THOUGHT AS
she tied the belt of a short terry robe. She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it back and wandered out of the pool house toward the kitchen.

Probably still sulking, she decided. Willa took everything in and worried over it. It might be a good idea to try to teach her a few relaxation techniques—though Tess couldn't quite visualize Willa meditating or experimenting with imaging.

Rain would make her happy, Tess supposed. Lord, everyone around here lived their life by the weather. Too wet, too dry. Too cold, too hot. Well, in two months, she would say farewell, scenic Montana, and hello, LA.

Lunch alfresco, she mused. Cartier's. God knew, she deserved to treat herself to some ridiculously expensive bauble after this yearlong banishment from the real world.

The theater. Palm trees. Traffic-choked highways and the familiar haze of smog.

God bless Hollywood.

Then she pouted a little because it didn't sound quite as wonderful as it had a month before. Or a month before that.

No, she'd be glad to get back. Thrilled. She was just feeling broody, that was all. Maybe she'd buy a place up in the hills rather than on the beach, though. She could have a horse up there, and the trees, the grass. That would be the best of both worlds, after all. A brisk, exciting drive from the excitement and crowds of the city home to the pleasure she'd come to enjoy of the country.

Well, not exactly country, by Montana standards, but the Hollywood hills would do just fine.

She could probably persuade Nate to come out and visit. Off and on. Their relationship would fade after a while. She expected and, damn it, accepted that. So would he. This wild idea of his to have her settle down here, get married, and start breeding was ridiculous.

She had a life in LA. A career. She had plans, big, juicy
plans. She would be thirty-one years old in a matter of weeks, and she wasn't tossing those plans aside at this stage of her life to be a ranch wife.

Any kind of a wife.

She wished she had brought down a cigarette, but she swung into the kitchen in search of other stimulation.

“You've had your share of ice cream.”

Tess wrinkled her nose at Bess's back. “I didn't come in for ice cream.” Though she would have enjoyed one or two spoonfuls. She went to the refrigerator, took out a pitcher of lemonade.

“You been skinny-dipping again?”

“Yep. You ought to try it.”

Bess's mouth twitched at the idea. “You put that glass in the dishwasher when you're finished. This kitchen's clean.”

“Fine.” Tess plopped down at the table, eyed the catalogue Bess was thumbing through. “Shopping?”

“I'm thinking. Lily might like this here bassinet. The one we used for you girls wasn't kept after Willa. He got rid of it.”

“Oh.” It was an interesting thought, the idea of her and Lily and Willa sharing something as sweet as a baby bed. “Oh, it's adorable.” Delighted, Tess scraped her chair closer. “Look at the ribbons in the skirt.”

Bess slanted her eyes over. “I'm buying the bassinet.”

“All right, all right. Oh, look, a cradle. She'd love a cradle, wouldn't she? One to sit by your chair and rock.”

“I expect she would.”

“Let's make a list.”

Bess's eyes softened considerably and she pulled out a pad she'd stuck under the catalogue. “Got one started already.”

They made cooing noises over mobiles and stuffed bears, argued briefly over the right kind of stroller. Tess rose to get them both more lemonade, then glanced at the kitchen door when she heard footsteps.

“I wasn't expecting anyone,” she whispered, her nervous hand going to her throat.

“Me either.” Calm as ice, Bess pulled her pistol out of her apron pocket and, standing, faced the door. “Who's out there?” When the face pressed against the screen, she laughed at herself. “God Almighty, Ham, you nearly took a bullet. You shouldn't be sneaking around this time of night.”

He fell through the door, right at her feet.

The pistol clattered as it hit the table. Tess was on the floor with her before Bess could lift Ham's head in her lap. “He's bleeding bad here. Get some towels, press them down hard.”

“Bess . . .”

“Quiet now. Let's see what's what here.”

Tess ripped the shirt aside and pressed down hard on the wound. “Call for an ambulance, a helicopter. He needs help quickly.”

“Wait.” Ham grabbed for Bess's hand. “He's got . . .” He squeezed until he could find the breath to speak again. “He's got her, Bessie. He's got our Will.”

“What?” Straining to hear, Tess pushed her face close. “Who has Will?”

But he was unconscious. When her eyes lifted, latched onto Bess's, they were ripe with fear. “Call the police. Hurry.”

 

H
E WAS READY TO STOP NOW
.
HE
'
D CIRCLED
, backtracked, followed a stream down its center, then moved onto rock. He had no choice but to tether the horses, but he kept them close.

Willa watched his every move. She knew the hills, and he wouldn't find the hunt easy even if she had to go on foot once she got loose.

He hauled her down first, retied her ankles. After getting his rifle, he sat across from her, laid it across his lap. “I'm going to take the gag off now. I'm sorry I had to use it. You know it won't do any good to scream. They may come after us, but not for a while, and I covered the trail.”

He reached over, put his hand on the cotton. “We're just
going to talk. Once you hear me out, we'll get back to the way things were.” He tugged the gag down.

“You murdering bastard.”

“You don't mean that. You're upset.”

“Upset?” Fury carried her, had her pulling furiously to try to break her bonds. “You killed Ham. You killed all the others. You slaughtered my cattle. I'll kill you with my own hands if I get the chance.”

“Ham was an accident. I'm as fond of him as I can be, but he saw me.” Like a boy caught with the shards of a cookie jar at his feet, he lowered his head. “The cattle was a mistake. I shouldn't have done that to you. I'm sorry.”

“You're—” She shut her eyes, balled her helpless hands into fists. “Why? Why have you done these things? I thought I could trust you.”

“You can. I swear you can. We're blood, Willa. You can trust your own blood.”

“You're no blood of mine.”

“Yes, I am.” He knuckled a tear away, such was his joy in being able to tell her. “I'm your brother.”

“You're a liar and a murderer and a coward.”

His head snapped up, his hand flew out. The sting of flesh striking flesh sang up his arm, and he regretted it immediately. “Don't say things like that. I got my pride.”

He rose, paced, worked himself back under control. Things didn't go well when you lost control, he knew. But stay in charge, stay on top, and you could handle anything that came along.

“I'm as much your brother as Lily and Tess are your sisters.” He said it calmly as the sky split and fractured with swords of electric light. “I want to explain things to you. I want to make you see why I did what I did.”

“Fine.” The side of her face burned like hellfire. He'd pay for that too, she promised herself. He would pay for everything. “Okay, Jim, explain it to me.”

 

B
EN SLAMMED HIS RIFLE INTO ITS SHEATH
,
SNAGGED HIS
gunbelt, strapped it on. The .30 carbine he shot into the holster was a brute of a revolver, and he wanted a mean
gun. He wouldn't allow himself to feel, or he might sink shaking to his knees. He could only allow himself to move.

Men were saddling up fast, with Adam shouting orders. Ben wasn't giving any orders, not this time. Nor was he taking them. He took Willa's hat, gave it to Charlie to scent. “You find her,” he murmured. “You find Willa.” Stuffing the hat in his saddlebag, he swung into the saddle.

“Ben.” Tess grabbed the bridle. “Wait for the others.”

“I'm not waiting. Move aside, Tess.”

“We can't be sure where—or who.” Though there was only one man missing.

“I'll find the where. I don't have to know who.” He jerked his horse's head out of her grip. “I just have to kill him.”

Tess raced over to Adam, put both arms around Lily, and held tight. “Ben rode off. I couldn't stop him.”

Adam merely nodded, gave the signal to ride. “He knows what he's doing. Don't worry.” Turning, he embraced them both. “Go inside,” he told Lily, and laid his hand on her gently rounded belly. “Wait. And don't worry.”

“I won't worry.” She kissed him. “You found me. You'll find her. Bring her back safe.” It was a plea as much as a statement, but she stepped back to let him mount.

“Take Lily inside, Tess.” Nate reined in, steadied his eager mount. “Stay inside.”

“I will.” She laid a hand on his leg, squeezed. “Hurry” was all she could say.

The horses drove west, and she and Lily turned, started back toward the house to begin the painful process of waiting.

“M
Y MOTHER SERVED DRINKS IN A BAR DOWN IN
Bozeman.” Jim sat cross-legged as he told his tale, like a true storyteller should. “Well, maybe she served more than drinks. I expect she did, though she never said. But she was a good-looking woman, and she was alone, and that's the kind of thing that happens.”

“I thought your mother came from Missoula.”

“Did, original. Went back there, too, after I was born. Lots of women go home after something like that, but it never worked out for her. Or me. Anyhow, she served drinks and maybe more for the cowboys who passed through. Jack Mercy, he passed through plenty back in those days, looking to kick ass, get piss-faced drunk, find a woman. You ask anybody, they'll tell you.”

He picked up a stick, ran it over the rock. Behind her back Willa twisted her wrists, working them against the rope. “I've heard stories,” she said calmly. “I know what kind of man he was.”

“I know you do. You used to turn a blind eye to it. I saw that too, but you knew. He took a shine to my mother
back then. Like I said, she was a good-looking woman. You see the ones he married. They all had something. Looks, sure. Louella, she had flash. And Adele, seemed to me, seeing her, she'd have been classy and smart. And your ma, well she was something. Quietlike, and special, too. Seemed she could hear things other people couldn't. I was taken with your ma.”

It made her blood chill to hear it, to think of him anywhere near her mother. “How did you know her?”

“We paid some visits. Never stayed long in the area, never at Mercy either. I was just a kid, but I got a clear memory of your ma, big and pregnant with you, walking with Adam in the pasture. Holding his hand. It's a nice picture.” He mused on it for a while. “I was a bit younger than Adam, and I skinned my knee or some such, and your ma, she came up and got me to my feet. My mother and Jack Mercy were arguing, and your ma took me into the kitchen and put something cool on my knee and talked real nice to me.”

“Why were you at the ranch?”

“My ma wanted me to stay here. She couldn't take care of me proper. She was broke and she got sick a lot. Her family'd kicked her out. It was drugs. She had a weakness for them. It's because she was alone so much. But he wouldn't have me, even though I was his own blood.”

She moistened her lips, ignored the pain as the rope bit in. “Your mother told you that?”

“She told me what was.” He pushed back his hat, and his eyes were clear. “Jack Mercy knocked her up one of the times he was down in Bozeman and looking for action. She told him as soon as she knew, but he called her a whore and left her flat.” His eyes changed, went glassy with rage. “My mother wasn't a whore. She did what she had to do, that's all. Whores are no damn good, worthless. They spread their legs for anybody. Ma only went on her back for money when she had to. And she didn't do it regular until after he'd planted me and left her without a choice.”

Hadn't she told him that, tearfully, time and time again throughout his life? “What the hell was she supposed to
do? You tell me, Will, what the hell was she supposed to do? Alone and pregnant, with that son of a bitch calling her a filthy lying whore.”

“I don't know.” Her hands were trembling now from the effort, from the fear. Because his eyes weren't clear any longer, nor were they glassy. They were mad. “It was difficult for her.”

“Damn near impossible. She told me time and time again how she begged and pleaded with him, how he turned his back on her. On me. His own son. She could've gotten rid of me. You know that? She could've had an abortion and been done with it, but she didn't. She told me she didn't because I was Jack Mercy's kid and she was going to make him do right by both of us. He had money, he had plenty, but all he did was toss a few lousy dollars at her and walk out.”

She began to see, too well, the bitterness of the woman planting the bitter seeds in the child. “I'm sorry, Jim. Maybe he didn't believe her.”

“He should've!” He slammed his fist on the rock. “He'd done it with her. He'd come to her regular, promised her he'd take care of her. She told me how he promised her, and she believed him. And even when she had me, took me to him to show him I had his eyes, and his hair, he turned her away so she had to go back to Missoula and beg her family to help her out. It's because he was married to Louella then, snazzy Louella, and he'd just got her pregnant with Tess. So he didn't want me. He figured he had a son coming. But he was wrong. I was the only son he was going to get.”

“You had a chance to hurt Lily. In the cave, when Cooke had her.” He was too good with a rope, she thought. She couldn't budge the knots. “You didn't.”

“I wouldn't hurt her. I thought about it, sure. Early on when I first found out what he'd done in his will. I thought about it, but they're kin.” He drew a deep breath, rubbed the side of his hand where he'd bruised it on the rock. “I promised my ma I'd come back to Mercy, I'd get what was mine by right of birth. She was sickly, having me made her
sickly. That's why she needed the drugs to help her get through the day. But she done her best for me. She told me all about my father, all about Mercy. She'd sit for hours and tell me about all of it, and what I'd do when I was old enough to go right up to his face and tell him I wanted what was mine.”

“Where's your mother now, Jim?”

“She died. They said the drugs killed her, or she used them to kill herself. But it was Jack Mercy who killed her, Will, when he turned her away. She was dead from then on. When I found her lying there, cold, I promised her again I'd come to Mercy and do what she wanted.”

“You found her.” There was sweat pouring down her face now. The heat had eased from the air, but sweat ran and dribbled into the raw skin of her wrists to sting. “I'm sorry. So sorry.” And she was, desperately.

“I was sixteen. We were in Billings then, and I did some work at the feedlots when I could. She was stone dead when I came home and found her, lying there in piss and vomit. She shouldn't have died that way. He killed her, Will.”

“What did you do then?”

“I figured on killing him. That was my first thought. I'd had a lot of practice killing. Stray cats and dogs mostly. I used to pretend they had his face when I carved them up. Only had a pocketknife to work with back then.”

Her stomach rolled, rose up to her throat, and was swallowed down. “Your family, your mother's family?”

“I wasn't going to go begging there, after they'd pushed her aside. Hell with them.” He picked up the stick, stabbed it at the rock. “Hell with them.”

She couldn't hold off the shudders as he stabbed the rock, over and over, repeating that phrase while his face twisted. Then he stopped, his face cleared, and he tapped the stick musically like a man keeping time.

“And I'd made a promise,” he continued. “I went to Mercy, and I faced him down. He laughed at me, called me the bastard son of a whore. I took a swing at him, and he knocked me flat. He said I wasn't no son of his, but he'd
give me a job. If I lasted a month, he'd give me a paycheck. He turned me over to Ham.”

A fist squeezed her heart. Ham. Had someone found him? Was anyone helping him? “Did Ham know?”

“I always figured he did. He never spoke of it, but I figured it. I look like the old man, don't you think?”

There was such hope, such pathetic pride in the question. Willa nodded. “I suppose you do.”

“I worked for him. I worked hard, I learned, and I worked harder. He gave me a knife when I turned twenty-one.” He slid it out of its sheath, turned it under the moonlight. A Crocodile Bowie, with an eight-inch blade. The sawtooth top glittered like fangs.

“That means something, Willa, a man gives his son a fine knife like this.”

And the sweat on her skin turned to ice. “He gave you the knife.”

“I loved him. I'd have worked the skin off my hands for him, and the bastard knew it. I never asked him for a thing more, because in my heart I knew when the time came he'd give me what was mine by right. I was his son. His only son. But he gave me nothing but this knife. When the time came, he gave it all to you, to Lily and to Tess. And he gave me nothing.”

He inched forward, closer to her, the knife gleaming in his hand, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the pain.

 

C
HARLIE RACED THROUGH THE HILLS
,
NOSE TO THE
ground, ears at alert. Ben rode alone, grateful for the moonlight, praying that the clouds that gathered thick in the west would hold off. He couldn't afford to lose the light.

He could almost swear he smelled her himself. That scent of hers, soap and leather and something more that was only Willa. He wouldn't picture her hurt. It would cloud his mind, and he needed all his senses sharp. This time his quarry knew the land as well as he. His quarry was mounted and knew all the tricks. He couldn't depend on Willa
slowing him down or leaving signs, because he couldn't be sure she was . . .

No, he wouldn't think of that. He would only think of finding her, and what he would do to the man when he did.

Charlie splashed into a stream and whined as he lost the scent. Ben walked his horse into the water, stood for a moment listening, plotting, praying. They'd follow the water for a while, he decided.

That's what he would have done.

They walked through the stream, the water level stingy from the lack of rain. Thunder rumbled, and a bird screamed. Ben clamped down on the urge to hurry, to kick his horse into a run. He couldn't afford to rush until they'd picked up the trail again.

He saw something glint on the bank, forced himself to dismount. Water ran cold over his boots as he walked through the stream, bent, picked it up.

An earring. Plain gold hoop. The breath whooshed out of his lungs explosively as his fist clutched it. She'd taken to wearing baubles lately, he remembered. He'd found it charming and sweet, that little touch of female added to her denim and leather. He'd enjoyed telling himself it was for his benefit.

He tucked it into his front pocket, swung back on his horse. If she was clearheaded enough to leave him signs, he was clearheaded enough to follow them. He took his horse up the bank and let Charlie pick up the trail.

 

“H
E SHOULDNT HAVE DONE WHAT HE DID
.”
VOICE
shaking, Jim sawed at the rope tying her ankles. “He did it just to show me he didn't give a rat's ass about me. About you, either.”

“No.” The tears that sprang to her eyes weren't pity, but sheer relief. With her bound hands she reached forward to massage her legs. They were horribly cramped. “He didn't care about either of us.”

“It made me crazy at first. Me and Pickles were up at the cabin when I heard, and I just went crazy. That's why I killed the steer that way. I had to kill something. Then I
started thinking. I had to get back at him, Will, make him pay. I wanted you to pay too, at first. You and Tess and Lily. I didn't figure they had any right to what was mine. What he should've left to me. I thought I'd scare them off. Nobody'd get anything if I scared them off. I left the cat on the porch. I liked seeing Lily scream and cry over it. I'm sorry about that now, but I wasn't thinking of her as kin then. I just wanted her to go away, back where she'd come from. And for Mercy to go to hell.”

“Can you cut my hands loose, Jim? Please, my arms are cramped.”

“I can't. Not yet. You just don't understand it all.”

“I think I do.” The feeling was back in her legs. They were stinging as the blood surged back, but she could run if she saw an opening. “He hurt you. You wanted to hurt him back.”

“I had to. What kind of man would I be if I took that from him? But the thing is, Will, I like killing things. I figure that's from him too.” He smiled and a flash of lightning haloed him like a fallen saint. “Nothing much you can do about what comes down through the blood. He liked killing too. Remember that time he had you raise that calf, right from pulling it clear of its mother? You raised it up like a pet, even named it.”

“Blossom,” she murmured. “Stupid name for a cow.”

“You loved that dumb cow, won blue ribbons with it. I remember how he took you out that day. You were twelve, maybe thirteen, and he made you watch while he killed it for beef. Teaching you ranch life, he said, and you cried, and you went off and got sick. Ham damn near came to blows with the old man over it. You never had a pet since.”

He took out a cigarette, struck a match. “You had an old dog then, died about a year after all that. You never got another.”

“No, I never did.” She brought her knees to her chest, pressed her face to them as the memory washed over her.