Stone Dreaming Woman (26 page)

Eventually they broke out of the woods and into a big meadow that had been logged perhaps twenty years ago. The land there lay relatively flat and, she noticed, most of it had been recently fenced. They rode along a wagon track that paralleled the fence line. She guessed this was Thomas Wise Hand’s ranch. Eventually she saw a cabin in the distance, with a big barn behind it and a few horses in the pasture. Shane was uncharacteristically silent as they approached the house. In Indian fashion he stopped outside and simply waited to be noticed. Presently a young boy of perhaps ten years emerged from the doorway and spoke to him in Iroquois. There was a lengthy exchange, and then the boy opened the pasture gate. Jenny, uncertain what she should do, hung back until Shane motioned her to follow him. Then across a rise in the pasture she saw a man riding a red horse at a breakneck gallop, controlling the animal with a single-reined rope bridle. Shane’s palm-down gesture told her to stay where she was. When he kicked Midnight into a hard gallop, Fleur, recognizing her former home and her old herd, begged to follow, but Jenny halted her. For a minute or two the men raced, until Midnight began to pull away from the red gelding. Thomas capitulated and reined his mount in, and Jenny saw the two talking earnestly as they trotted back toward her. When they were close enough to hear, she realized they were speaking Iroquois.

As Thomas approached, his green-broke mount fidgeted. Jenny tightened her reins, touched Fleur’s flanks, and urged her back. The mare moved off several obedient steps until she was a respectful distance away from Shane and Thomas, while Jenny watched Shane and heard more of the baffling language. Whatever Thomas said caused Shane to blush furiously before the older man slapped him on the shoulder so hard it shoved him forward over Midnight’s neck. A moment later Thomas heeled his sorrel gelding, sweeping off in a thunder of beating hooves.

The boy who had initially greeted them was waiting at the gate. He gave Jenny a shy smile. Still in character, she broke eye contact and demurely looked away. Shane led out and she followed until she caught up and pulled abreast of him down the lane next to the fence. Far away in the pasture, Thomas was still galloping the half-broken gelding, ostensibly to tire him so he would be in a mood for training.

“What did he say to you, Shane?” Jenny asked at length.

“That he’d send his boys after the bear. He thanked me and said they would eat well tonight.”

“No. I mean when he slapped your shoulder.” To her vast amusement, Shane reddened again.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Well, I can guess. You look embarrassed half to death.”

“He was impressed when you backed Fleur to give his horse room. He complimented you. He said you are modest. In the eyes of the Iroquois, modesty is a great virtue.”

“Then I’m glad. I don’t want to be a discredit to you.”

They took a trail that skirted the eastern edge of North Village, obviating the necessity of stopping to visit. Then they picked up the steep, serpentine descent toward the Elk Gap Road. At the first ford of a small creek, Midnight asked for a drink, and Shane stopped to let him indulge himself. Fleur fell in beside him a moment later, gulping and swallowing noisily.

“Shane?” Jenny asked.

“Hmm?”

“How close are we to where that man with the knife attacked you last January?”

“It was right here, as a matter of fact. Why?”

“Look down there in the water and tell me if you see what I do.” She pointed at an object glinting in the declining afternoon sunlight. It was edge up between a stone and a tree root, hard to see unless one happened to be at just the right angle. He dismounted, handed her his reins, and pushed his sleeve up to just above his elbow at the beginning swell of a bulky biceps. Then he knelt and fished around in the cool water. A moment later he came up with a dripping knife even larger than the one he had used on the bear. The wicked, curving point made her stomach tighten.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured.

“I hope not.”

“Huh?”

Her reply was a giggle. “Nothing. Is that his knife, then?”

“It has to be. How on earth did you spot it?”

“The light was reflecting off the blade. I was in just the right place to pick it out.”

“No wonder Paul couldn’t find it. It went into the creek, and at the time it was mostly covered up with snow and half frozen over. Well, I’ll have to write an addendum to Paul’s report and give this to Bob Shepherd. Even though the Board of Inquiry cleared me, the Northwest Mounted doesn’t like loose ends.” He wiped the knife ineffectually on his wool breeches, then put it in his right saddlebag.

“What a day,” she sighed.

“It has been pretty full, all right,” he agreed. He lifted himself slowly to his saddle, taking his time to set his right toe into the stirrup.

“Well, we’re close to home now.”

“Home for you,” he responded tiredly.

“Shane, you know you can stay with Uncle Richard any time you want to.”

“I have plenty of time to make it back to town.”

“If you stay with us tonight, we can ride into town together tomorrow morning.” He looked across at her.

“You make that sound so tempting, Jenny. But I have to clean my rifle, and I need to write that report. It should go on the train tomorrow, and I can’t do it in the morning. I have to ride patrol, and heaven only knows what else may crop up.”

“Well, then, at least stay to supper. You’ll never make it back home in time.”

The instant he opened the door they were assaulted by the rich, spicy scent of apple pie. Mavis was standing at the sink rinsing dishes.

“My! It smells like you remembered you owe me a pie!” he exclaimed.

“For all the times you’ve brought Mr. Weston’s mail, it’s probably several pies,” Mavis responded. “How was the grand affair, then?”

“Lovely!” Jenny said.

“Wonderful,” Shane replied simultaneously.

“Oh, dear, how very sad. It doesn’t sound as if you two enjoyed yourselves at all,” she said with a tongue-in-cheek grin.

“Is Uncle Richard upstairs working, then?”

“Unless he sneaked out, yes.”

“That reception must have been something,” Mavis remarked, pouring tea for them.

“It was just an average overblown Beaufort party, but Jenny nearly caused a stampede. Even the Governor himself practically tripped over his boot laces to get her to dance with him,” Shane replied. He and Jenny traded a poignant glance.

At dinner, Richard insisted on a complete chronicle of events. He seemed to enjoy it as much as they had. But, with his usual innate tact, he did not keep Shane long. It was not yet twilight when Jenny accompanied him to the barn.

“I’ll walk to the end of the lane with you,” she volunteered.

“I’d like that,” he responded. She knew their goodbye would leave her full of longing. Leading Midnight, he walked slowly out of the light from the kitchen windows. As soon as they were in the balmy dusk again, her hand found its way into his.

“Thank you for not mentioning the bear in front of Uncle Richard,” she said at length. “I’m afraid it would have upset him.”

“It upset me plenty,” he said grimly. “I don’t even want to think about it ever again.”

“Well, you saved my life. All I can do is say thank you, and that sounds so inadequate.”

“There’s a saying that all’s well that ends well. I just hope you’re not frightened of the woods now.”

She shook her head. “No. That was probably a one-time thing.”

“It was. I’ve been in the woods all my life, and that’s the first time I’ve ever had to shoot anything bigger than a snake in self-defense. Oh, we’ve all shot mad wolves from time to time, but that’s only humane. They would die in agony otherwise, and they do pose a danger of contagion. But I’m more adamant than ever that you learn to shoot. I think I’ll get you a nice tame little Model ’94 carbine. It’s almost a smaller version of my rifle. I’d feel a lot better if you’re armed when you start answering calls alone.”

“Then let’s just leave it at that. Thank you. And thank you for taking me to River Bend. These last two days have been a fairy tale for me.”

“I said before that I’m the one who should thank you. I’ve come to realize that…that dreams do come true sometimes.”

“I remember you telling me you dreamed we went to a ball. Did it live up to your dream, then?”

“That and then some,” he replied. He stopped around the curve of the lane, just shy of where it met North Village Road. She looked up into his strong face, shadowed in the light of the westering sun. “I’ll see you in town tomorrow, then, Jenny—although I don’t want to say goodbye, even for that long.” His voice sounded slightly hoarse.

“I know, Shane. I don’t either. Saying good night to you means I have to come down off the pink cloud I’ve been floating around on for the last two days.”

“Me too, though I daresay mine’s a few miles higher than yours.” He was so close, and she felt drawn to him by some power outside herself. She took a step nearer, into his arms, tacitly asking to be kissed. He held her close for a moment before they kissed, long and very tenderly. His lips touched her eyebrow, her temple, and her forehead.

“Oh, Jenny,” he whispered.

“Shane…”

“Shh. It was a beautiful two days and you gave me a beautiful memory to keep.” His finger softly against her lips silenced her.

“Good night, sweetheart,” she whispered.

“
À demain
, then,
chèrie
.” Sometimes he mixed languages when his emotions ran high; she found it totally endearing. He drew on his cavalry gauntlets, and she considerately held his reins while he mounted, though Midnight was so quiet he scarcely needed restraining. Her last glimpse of him was a wave as he trotted down North Village Road. She watched until she could no longer see him through the gathering dark, then floated back into the house, where Mavis had just finished the dishes. Illogically, she was afraid Mavis could read the last few minutes’ events as though written on her forehead in India ink. For some time the housekeeper said nothing, but after a while she broke the silence.

“He’s a good man,” she said at length.

“Yes, I know,” Jenny sighed. “Mavis, do you think I’ve been too…daring?”

“You’ve been walking around the bend in the lane and kissing him good night for months. No, that’s not daring. I was your age once myself, child. Just remember, it’s not a game anymore. Shane’s a man, and you’re playing for keeps.”

Chapter Thirteen

Shane hoped to complete his paperwork before the somewhat airless office became unbearable. In the August heat he had bent the rules and spent the last half hour in his shirtsleeves, working on Paul’s last day report. Long ago he had resigned himself to rewriting everything his partner submitted because of his atrocious spelling and indifferent punctuation. He was about halfway through when he heard the morning train whistle blow for the bridge over the Elk River. Reflexively he took out his watch and looked at it. The train, as always, was running on time. Soon it would pull up at the station. He picked up his tunic and began the long process of fastening all the buttons, buckling his crossover belt, and securing his pistol to the lanyard. Then he strolled outside to see if anyone would debark. As he stood beneath the shaded overhang of the sidewalk roof, he saw a tallish and somewhat heavy man walk around the edge of the platform. As the man paused to settle a Panama hat on his light brown hair, he was joined by a figure so familiar that it gave Shane pause.

If I didn’t know Richard was in Cambridge, I’d swear…
He remembered Jenny telling him how much her father and her uncle resembled each other. That had to be the answer. But what on earth would her father be doing here in Elk Gap?

He stood in the shade, watching the two men walk east along Main Street toward the livery stable. Their summer-weight linsey-woolsey suits stood out like beacon lights among the homespuns, bib overalls, work boots, and denims of the citizens of Elk Gap. He considered abandoning his paperwork, collecting Midnight, and making a quick run for Richard’s farm, but then decided that would be tantamount to interference, especially since Richard had left town four days ago. He would discover the reason for their visit in due course. With a resigned sigh, he went back inside to resume his paperwork, but his police officer sense of something out of place was screaming at him like a hysterical banshee. He made a side trip to Mrs. Hammill’s kitchen for a cup of tea to settle his nerves. He took it back to his desk, sat down, and stared into the cup as if he could read the future there. Then he gave himself a mental shake.
Finish your report,
he told himself;
then, if you want to, saddle up and ride out toward North Village. You can always make a stop at Richard’s just to make sure everything is open and above board.

Reluctantly he turned back to the report, but neither his heart nor his mind was in his work. He copied the word “certenty” as Paul had misspelled it. With a disgusted snort he reached for the bottle of ink remover, dispensed a measured amount on the page with the bulb-topped eyedropper in the cap, and when the ink dissolved he blotted it up with a piece of old sheet. He blew on the page until the spot dried, then deliberately wrote “certainty” before setting the pen aside and running frustrated fingers through his hair. He had almost decided to abandon his report and ride to Richard’s when he heard a discreet knock at the half-open office door.

“May I help you?” he called. The door swung open all the way, and he found himself looking at the two men from the train. Every hair on the back of his neck bristled, and he felt as edgy as a cat cornered in a room with a large dog of uncertain intent.

“Doctor John Weston, Inspector Adair.” The man who looked like Richard held out his hand, and Shane grasped it across the desk. “As I can see you surmised, I am Richard’s brother. There is more than a passing resemblance between us. And this is Mr. Phillip Hildebrand.” Another handshake, pudgy and ineffectual. Shane remained standing, every word he had ever heard about John Weston coming to the forefront of his mind.