Solitary Horseman (28 page)

“No. I’m not.” He reached out, cupping her elbows in his hands because he knew her legs would give out and he wanted to be her strength, her cradle. “Banner, sweetheart, it’s bad news.”

“No.” She tried to retreat, tried to remove herself from him. He tightened his grip. “No,” she repeated, then her chin trembled. “Tell me.”

“Hollis—”

She brought a fist up to her mouth, pressing against it hard against her teeth as tears sprang into her eyes. She shook her head.

“He’s—”

“No!”

“—dead.”

“
No, no, no!”

He took her weight, his arms circling her waist. She beat against him with her small fists and he didn’t even acknowledge the knifing pain she inflicted on his tender wound. All he could feel were her tears scalding the skin of his neck and the grinding of her sobs against his heart. He held her tight, afraid she’d break apart if he let go of her. He whispered words against her hair. Nonsense words that were mostly sounds with no substance. A litany of syllables as much for him as for her.

The days that followed were lived in gauze. It covered her eyes, clung to her body like a shroud, and coated her senses. Banner went through the motions of living. She was used to this hazy feeling. It had drifted over her throughout the war and after when she’d counted all the family and acquaintances she’d lost and realized that she was alone, save for Hollis.

Hollis. Gone. Snuffed out like a candle flame. His sweet soul and boyish grin vanished.

She was truly alone now. A solitary figure, swaying in the wind as she stood by the grave of another brother and stared at the freshly disturbed earth. What was left of him was down there in a narrow coffin. What was left . . . what
was
left? she wondered. Anger. Resentment. Unbearable sorrow. Deep-down fear of being alone in this barbaric world where grown, God-fearing men and women couldn’t seem to get enough of spilled blood and the stench of death.

It had been a week since Hollis had been buried in this cemetery right next to the other Payne departed. His services had been short and to the point. Exactly what he would have wanted. Banner had read some of his favorite poetry. Callum had spoken of his heroism on the battlefield. Ben had said of him that “he was the rare individual who always knew the right and true thing to do and did it.” Rev. Saul Beauchamp led the small collection of mourners in prayer.

A gravestone had been added today with his name carved in it and dates, giving testament to a life cut short. Just like her other brothers’ had been. There were no flowers growing yet to bring and place on his grave, so she’d brought his harmonica, which she set on the earth, right up next to the marker.

Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it. She didn’t want to cry. She’d been crying for a week and her eyes were sore, her throat scratchy. She was tired of sobbing, cursing fate, begging for what happened to have not happened. She had been spending most of her time at the Latimer ranch because the Latimer men didn’t want her to be home alone. But it must come to that eventually, mustn’t it? She was alone.

Callum stepped closer to her, resting his big, gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re shivering. It’s cold. We should go.”

She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that never seemed to leave her throat anymore. “I want to go to Denton.”

His fingers twitched on her shoulder. “Banner, that’s not—”

“I want to see Eller.”

“Nothing good will come of that. When the trial starts in a month or two, then maybe—”

“No.” She pivoted and tipped up her chin to confront the worry on his handsome face. Since the day it had happened, he’d treated her as if she were fashioned from spun glass so fragile that one carelessly placed touch could ruin her. She knew why and she didn’t blame him. For the past week she’d been a bleak fountain of sobs and despair. She understood, but she didn’t like it. She felt weak and lost enough without Callum always looking at her with trepidation and pity. “I want you to take me there tomorrow.” She looked past him to where Ben and his two brothers, James and KJ, spoke softly to each other and eyed her with concern. They’d come with them to pay their respects. Hollis had saved Ben’s life and Ben and his family were grateful beyond words. They’d held a remembrance ceremony yesterday and had given Hollis an honorary Indian name that meant
Bear Heart
. Bears were sacred to them and seen as the ultimate protectors and brave beyond measure. “Ben and the others can do without you and I can prepare enough food to see them through tomorrow.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Because it’s eating at me. Like I have something inside me gnawing away. Killing me, little by little.” She shoved a fist into her stomach, although the real pain was near her heart. “I need to look him in the eyes and let him see in mine what he’s done.”

“He knows, but that doesn’t mean he’s suffering for it. That’s coming, though. He’ll swing for what he did. They all will.”

What she’d been about to say dried on her tongue as her gaze shifted and landed on a pale blond woman across the street. She sucked in a breath and the dull pain inside her sharpened. “There’s Lilah.”

He jerked and his hand slid off her shoulder, trailing down to her gloved hand. “She’s moved in with her parents.”

Banner tried to feel pity for the woman, but she couldn’t muster any. In a way, Lilah had put the gun in her husband’s hand and he’d killed Hollis with it. When she’d been able to hear, to see, to move again, Callum had told her about Eller chasing down Ben because he’d found out from Lilah that they’d had an affair. Then Callum had taken Banner into town because she had insisted. She had wanted to be with her brother and she’d stayed at the undertaker’s all night. Callum had sat with her. Beside her. In fact, he had hardly left her side since then. On this chilly morning he stood tall and straight like a soldier on guard.

“I wonder if she’s been to Denton to see her husband.”

“I doubt it.” Callum shrugged and looked back at Banner. “But stranger things have happened.”

“I wonder if she feels any remorse for her role in this.”

Callum’s finger curled under her chin, tipping her head up an inch more so that their gazes met. “I doubt that she has even considered she might be responsible for any of it. If I know her, she’s feeling sorry for herself. Lilah has always been a selfish person. So very much
unlike
you.”

Banner rested her hands on his chest. Her black gloves were in stark contrast to his boiled white shirt. “Callum, go with me to Denton.” Looking up at him through the sweep of her lashes, she shamelessly employed the power she knew she wielded against him. The firm set of his jaw slackened and surrender softened his green eyes.

“If it’s that important to you, I will, although I don’t believe you’ll come away with any satisfaction.”

She glanced once more at the gravestone and the harmonica. Satisfaction wasn’t what she would seek in Denton.

###

Banner smoothed her gloved hand over the bench on which she and Callum had been sitting for nearly an hour as they waited to be summoned into a section of the sheriff’s office where prisoners were held. A big door with a large ring handle and massive black hinges separated the office from the jail cells. Banner stared at the door, willing it to open. Her back ached, not to mention her rump. The ride to Denton had been long, but, nevertheless, more comfortable than sitting on the hard bench.

She shifted her gaze to the man beside her. His hat tipped down to shadow his face and she could tell that he dozed from his slack features and the rhythmic pace of his breathing. So handsome, she thought, taking in the Romanesque profile. His dark, spikey lashes dusted his tanned cheeks. He’d laced his fingers and his hands rested on his chest, moving up and down with his breathing. She loved his hands – so strong and capable with tiny scars and nicks and faint bruises now – but gentle and tender when they needed to be.

Leaning sideways a little, she took his measure. His long legs were stretched out, his ankles crossed, his black “town” boots shined to a mirror finish. He wore a black suit and blindingly white shirt with a silver vest and gray tie. Feelings for him stirred, but they were faint. She had no room in her for tender yearnings. Anger and resentment consumed her. Her insides burned with them. It took everything in her not to lash out at everyone who approached or spoke to her. Even Callum. He’d been a mountain of masculine strength for her and a courteous protector, but she had to bite her tongue time and time again to keep from striking like a copperhead whenever he asked how she was doing or if he could do anything for her.

What was she supposed to answer to such inane questions? Could he turn back time and bring Hollis back to life? Could he make it so that she and Hollis had never met Eller Hawkins? Could he make Eller and Lilah writhe with the agony of loss she endured daily? No. He couldn’t. So, he should not ask such ignorant questions!

A frown line creased the skin between Callum’s eyes and he hunched his shoulders. A sound – part grunt and part groan – slipped past his parted lips. His breathing picked up, taking on a panicky quality as his eyelids twitched.

A dream, she thought. And not a good one.

He sucked in a little breath and winced. Those faint, almost-gone feelings surged up and into her heart. She couldn’t bear seeing him in distress of any sort! Not when she could do something about it.

Banner gripped his arm and gave it a shake. He jerked awake, his eyes wide and wild as he sat bolt upright. For a few moments he stared, unblinking around him, and then he noticed her sitting beside him, and the leftover anguish from his nightmare let go of him.

“You were having a bad dream.”

“Yes.” He removed his hat and ran his hand through his midnight hair. “About Hollis.”

She went still inside, realizing that he’d been reliving her brother’s demise. She hadn’t even thought of that, assuming he was back on a battlefield in a far-off Yankee state. In that clarifying instant, all the impassioned feelings she had for him flooded back along with a good measure of shame. Like Lilah, she had been thinking only of herself and how Hollis’s death affected her, destroyed her. She hadn’t given one thought as to how it affected Callum. He’d come upon the bloody scene. His best friend bleeding to death. Hollis already dead. His own cousin responsible for the catastrophe. And then he’d had to tell her about it and catch her when she fallen, hold her up until she found the strength again to stand on her own.

He had done all that while still recovering from a gunshot wound and struggling with his own grief and misplaced feelings of guilt. Oh, yes. She knew he felt guilty, although he shouldn’t. She could see it sometimes when she caught him staring at her with heavy-lidded eyes weighted by it. He would look away quickly, as if not wanting to share those feelings with her.

She had allowed him to wallow in them. Her heart had been so numbed by the events that she hadn’t really cared that he was struggling, hurting. She’d wanted everyone to be miserable right along with her. Suddenly, excruciatingly, she was ashamed of her conduct.

“I
am
like Lilah,” she whispered, squeezed his fingers. “I’m selfish, thinking only of
my
loss,
my
pain. Forgive me, Callum?” His face blurred with her tears. “I’ve done you a disservice.”

He stroked away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. His smile was at once comforting and hard to bear. “Forgive you? Oh, no.” He adjusted the bow of her bonnet under her chin with careful fingers. “There is nothing to forgive. You’re a strong, beautiful creature, Banner Payne. Sometimes I feel that if I’d left you alone, you and Hollis would have found your way and all would be right with your world.”

“You’re wrong. We would have lost the ranch and Hollis would have lost his mind. The familiarity and security of the ranch kept him anchored to sanity. He could escape his terrible memories by sitting in his favorite tree and reading poetry or going fishing in Mossy Spring.” She managed a watery smile. “He came to think a lot of you, Callum. He respected you.”

She meant for her words to comfort him, but she saw they’d done the opposite. A grimace of remorse twisted his features and he let go of her, shifting until his back was against the wall. He swiped his hands down the front of his jacket, removing imaginary lint.

“Your brother was a good soldier and a good man.” He swallowed so hard she could hear it. “He didn’t deserve . . .” He gathered in a short, choppy breath and glared at the door. “Where the hell is the sheriff? How long does it take to—” His eyes widened as the door swung open on oiled hinges and he stood, one hand automatically reaching for Banner’s elbow to assist her to her feet.

Bart Lowry, the Denton sheriff, held up a beefy hand in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry for the wait. The Texas Rangers are here to transport these prisoners to Fort Worth for trial and we’ve been busy getting papers signed and such. I told them to load Hawkins last. He’s still in his cell and you can see him for a few minutes, then we got to get him into chains and onto the coach.”

“I understand. Thank you, Sheriff Lowry.” Banner turned to Callum. “I won’t be long.”

“You’re not going in there alone,” Callum said, grasping her hand.

She gave him a long-suffering look. “You don’t need to come with me.”

“Yes, I do.” He looked past her to the sheriff. “You don’t allow ladies back there unescorted, I take it.”

“We do not,” the sheriff assured him, raising a gray eyebrow at Banner when she huffed out a breath of exasperation. He moved away from the door, motioning them to go in. “First cell here on your left. You have five minutes. No moreʾn that.”

Laced through with tightly-strung nerves and conviction, Banner marched over the threshold, closely followed by Callum. The center aisle was wide enough so that one didn’t have to come close to the cell doors that lined either side of it. The only light came from barred windows set near the ceiling. The place stank of sweat, stale tobacco, and urine. At the far end another door hung open and Banner glimpsed a big covered coach and several men standing about, their hands resting all-too-casually on the gun butts poking up from the holsters strapped to their thighs. One of them held a long-barreled rifle in his arms as if he were cradling a baby.