Mary Connealy (86 page)

Wade swung the door and went in. His father turned. His jaw set as his eyes flickered between the chair and his son. Wade couldn’t be sure which Pa hated more.

“What is that thing?”

“Gertie ordered it for you. It’s a wheelchair. She said she’s tried to get you to come downstairs and have a look at it.”

“In case you’re too stupid or blind to notice, my legs don’t work. And I’ll die before I let someone carry me down like a baby. It’s bad enough someone had to carry me up.”

“I’ve set up a bed for you downstairs. You’re moving there. For now, I get you up and into the chair every morning. But Gertie said there are ways you can learn to swing yourself into it without help. With this thing, you can sit up, move around the main floor of the house, read, and pass the time in less miserable activities than staring out at a ranch you can no longer run.”

“Get out of here.”

Wade had the urge to laugh. Since it made no sense and he’d been praying for a way to deal with his father, he trusted God and laughed in his father’s face. “You can’t stop me. You’ve been wasting away up here. I’m stronger than you and more determined than you. I’ll help you into the chair, roll you down the hall, then carry you downstairs, or I can just throw you over my shoulder right now. You decide.”

Pa started shouting, as Wade had expected. “I can still tear you apart with my bare hands, you young pup. I’m not going to be carted around like a piece of garbage you’re looking to throw in the trash.”

Wade sighed. It was a long hallway. Pa riding to the top of the steps would have been easier. “I knew you wouldn’t cooperate, but I could hope.”

“I’ll thrash you if you get near me with that thing!” Pa struggled until he sat up. “Get out! Gertie, get up here!”

“Calling on a woman for help? Never thought I’d see the day.” Wade rolled the chair aside. “Gertie is out planting a spring garden. She can’t even hear your caterwauling.”

Coming toward the bed, Wade dodged his father’s fist. The intended blow almost upended Pa. Wade grabbed him before he fell out of bed. Wade hitched his arms around the invalid, now sprawled on his stomach, and gently hoisted his pa into his arms. Grief twisted inside him as Wade realized Pa had wasted away to nearly nothing. Dragging Pa’s feet, Wade backed toward the door.

The shouting hurt his ears but nothing else, so it was easier than Wade had feared it would be. He ignored the roaring and dodged the fists flying backward impotently and soon had Pa in the study, settled in bed.

“I’ll crawl back up those steps the second you’re gone!”

“Why, Pa? Does it make you feel better to make Gertie’s job harder, running food up and down the steps? In here you’ve got a library. You could even get back to work, keeping the books for the ranch. Gertie’s been doing it and I’m surprised you trust her. With a little practice, you could get in and out of your wheelchair, come to the dining room for supper, and even go outside once I build a ramp out the back door. The ground is smooth enough I could push you to the barn and you could check the spring foals.” Wade crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder on the door frame, staring at his father’s face, red with rage.

The old man’s chest was heaving, his hands fisted.

“You can’t walk, Pa.”

“I know that!”

“But you don’t have to curl up and die.”

“What good is life if you don’t have legs?”

“You can run this ranch again, live again. Your life isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is. I’m worse than dead.”

Wade straightened. “Considering you’ve never spent one second of your life contemplating God, I’m thinking you’ll be a
lot
worse off dead, because nothing you’ve done in this life will ever get you into heaven.”

Pa responded with the kind of vile language that only proved Wade right about the state of his father’s soul. “I’m going to get your chair down here and you can practice climbing into it. Or you can just lie there like you’re dead while you’re still alive.” Wade stalked out of the room.

“You get back here, you little …” Pa continued his tirade.

Wade turned his mind from the sound of his father’s hate. He prayed all the way up and down the stairs, wondering as he balanced the heavy wheelchair why he wanted his father to have easier access to the ranch. Between his rage and filthy language—which was now easier to hear—and the shady things going on, Pa might have been better off staying secluded.

Wade’s chin came up. Would Pa want to fight for this ranch? Of course! And if Wade could turn his father’s anger to something that should’ve made him mad for
good
reason, maybe he’d let Wade be a part of fixing this place. And maybe turning the ranch around would at least give Pa something to live for.

R
ed fashioned a bull’s-eye using the side of his barn and a chunk of coal pulled out of the fireplace. Then he stood and watched in painful silence as Cassie missed the whole building.

She’d been at it for a week, during the young’uns’ nap time. Usually the throw was short, plowing into the ground. Red was afraid to stay too close to her, especially after the time she’d dropped it on his boot. Luckily the handle had hit, not the blade, but it had taught him not to get too close beside her. Once she’d dropped it only inches from her own foot. And she’d gotten into the habit of losing it on the backswing. So Red had to make sure he wasn’t behind her because he wasn’t safe there. He also didn’t like to get too far away in case she stabbed herself.

So he couldn’t get behind nor beside. Not close nor far. In all honesty, the safest place might be right in front of the bull’s-eye. Wherever else she’d hit since she’d started knife throwing, it had
never
been close to the place it was supposed to go.

She was getting better, though. The knife was going forward over half the time these last couple of days. It almost never went so wide it missed the barn. A couple of times, starting yesterday, she’d made contact with wood, but often the knife would hit on its side then slide to the ground.

“Maybe you should step a little closer, honey. Most knife fights are pretty close up. You don’t need to stay back this far.” They were about ten feet away, and if anyone ever got closer to Cassie than this, Red wasn’t going to wait around for her to fight. He’d take over and save the day. But since the barn was no armed killer, Red encouraged her to move up.

“But this is how far away Abby was when she killed that snake.” Cassie got a mule-stubborn look on her face. She was so cute when she scowled at him it was all Red could do not to hug her.

Red didn’t know how to break it to Cassie. “Abby is okay as an example to follow, but until you’re a whole lot better, I wouldn’t compare yourself to her. She’s about the best knife thrower I’ve ever seen. Way better than me or Silas…or even Belle.”

Cassie stayed right where she was, and this time she held the knife by its tip instead of the hilt and threw it like she was mad. There was a solid
thunk
when the knife embedded in the barn. Her eyes lit up like stars. “I did it!” She launched herself at Red.

Knowing not to make light of her accomplishment, plus always being happy to hold his pretty little wife, Red swung her around in a circle until she giggled. “You did great! Look at it. It’s almost to the outside ring of the bull’s-eye and it’s sunk deep in the wood. You are such a tough cookie.” Sweet cookie, too. He bent down and stole a kiss and, for a second, distracted her from practicing mayhem.

Deepening the kiss, Red heard her catch her breath, a sound that always sped his heart. He’d begun to consider just how long the young’uns would stay asleep when she pulled away and looked at the barn.

Red let her go, digging deep for patience as his single-minded, knife-fighting wife headed for the barn to jerk her blade free. “I think I’ve learned the secret. I’ve gotta be
mad
when I throw.”

Since Cassie didn’t have much of a temper—despite Belle’s best efforts to help her develop a killer instinct—Red figured she might as well give up now. But oh no, thanks to Belle’s bloodthirstiness and Abby’s hostile confidence, Cassie-the-marshmallow was determined to learn knife throwing.

She was pestering him to let her help with the branding, too. So far two young children and her barnyard chores and spring garden had kept her distracted while Red branded calves at top speed. He hoped to be long done before she found a spare minute.

She squared off facing the barn and raised the knife again just as Silas and Belle and their brood rode into the ranch on horseback.

Waving to draw the Hardens’ attention, Red dropped his hand when he saw a grim expression on Silas’s face and an even more serious look on Belle’s. This was no social visit.

Belle had Tanner on her back; Silas had Betsy riding in front of him. Emma and Sarah rode their own mustangs right behind their parents.

Silas swung down, handing Betsy to Emma, who’d come up to hold the horses. “I’ve got cattle missing, Red. We set out to track them and found evidence of cattle from your herd being run off, too.”

The pleasure of the day faded as Red nodded. “I’ve been keeping a close watch, but I can’t light out hunting rustlers and leave the family home.”

“We were close enough to your place we turned away from the trail.” Belle jerked her gloves off as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Silas. “It’s pretty clear they’re headed into some rugged timberland on Mort’s range. Mort isn’t up to hunting them down, and I doubt Wade is, at least not this soon after getting home.”

Red admired Belle for a lot of things, none more than the way she stood by her man.

“Didn’t you say you’d found evidence of thieves?” Cassie asked Red as she tucked her knife into a little pouch Belle had sewn to the inside of her skirt’s waistband.

Red flinched, always afraid she’d stab herself in the stomach. Belle wanted the knife concealed. Red thought a nice, sturdy leather pouch
outside
her skirt would be better. Guess who Cassie listened to?

Silas pulled off his Stetson and ran his fingers through his hair to get it to stop drooping over his eyes then settled the hat back in place. “We’ve been snowed in, so we hadn’t had any trouble until the spring thaw.”

Red looked at Sarah. “Susannah should be up pretty soon. You want to go check on her for me?”

“It’s been a long drive,” Cassie said. “Sarah, we’ve got ham in the cold room.”

“Eggs, too? I could make up some ham and eggs.” Emma slid Tanner out of the pack on Belle’s back while she balanced Betsy on her hip.

“You don’t have to cook for us.” Cassie looked embarrassed. “I’ll make the meal. I just thought if you or Betsy were hungry you could make sandwiches.”

“I’ll take care of supper for all of us.” Sarah reached to take Betsy from Emma.

“Emma, go help, will you? The grown-ups need to talk.” Silas didn’t order her. It sounded more pathetic than that. Red wondered how often Silas had any luck getting his womenfolk to mind him.

“Like any one of you is tougher’n me.” Emma rolled her eyes then headed for the house with Tanner while Sarah carried Betsy.

Red shook his head. The girls would take care of supper and watch four active babies and not turn a hair. He got annoyed with Belle for a few things, like teaching Cassie to be bloodthirsty, but he had to admit the woman raised terrific—though somewhat fierce—children.

“Red and I need to talk a minute, ladies.” Silas jerked his head to indicate Red needed to follow him. They’d gone one step before Belle fell in beside Silas. Red glanced back and saw Cassie directly behind him. “Belle, please let me talk to Red alone for a minute.”

“No.”

“Yes. This is man-to-man.”

“No.”

Silas stopped and frowned at Belle. “I distinctly remember you promising to obey me, woman.” “That was a long time ago.”

Leaning down so his nose almost touched hers, he continued, “But your promise was
forever.”

Silas was a hard man. Red had seen that on their trek to find Wade. He rode long, never asking for a rest. He read tracks like they were the written word. He packed light and could live off the land without breaking a sweat. And now, looking as fiery as a Montana sunset, he scowled at his wife.

Red was pretty sure, if it’d been him, he’d have backed down right away.

Belle took a step forward. “I’ve hardly ever obeyed you, Silas. Why would you expect me to start now when you’re going to talk about stolen Tanner cattle?”

“Harden
cattle.” Silas jabbed Belle in the chest. “And don’t you forget it.”

Red’s spine tingled with fear. Not because of the warrior’s gleam in both their eyes, or because he was afraid there was going to be a real live fight between these two, but because Cassie might be taking notes.

Belle caught Silas by the front of his shirt. “I never forget it. Even though I built the herd”—she pulled him down closer, but he didn’t move so she ended up standing on her tiptoes—“I trained the horses and—”

“You are going to mind me!” Silas grabbed Belle by her slim waist and yanked her hard against him. “You promised, and your word oughta be good. You still want to live in that pretty house I built you, right?”

“You’d never kick me out and we both know it.”

They glared at each other until Red thought the tension might snap both of them in two. Then suddenly Silas swooped down and kissed Belle. His arms slid around her waist and he lifted until her feet dangled off the ground.

Silas let up his kissing and whispered something in Belle’s ear.

She giggled.

Red shook his head in shock. He’d have never dreamed Belle Tanner—Harden—was capable of making such a feminine sound.

Silas whispered some more, and this time Red caught the word
Cassie.
It was low enough that Red wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t read Silas’s lips. Which brought to Red’s mind the possibility that he was watching these two a little more closely than he should be, but it fascinated him to see Silas work his way around stubborn Belle.

With a quick nod, Belle said, “Okay, you’ve got ten minutes. Then Cassie and I are coming.”