Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
“I raced up the ridge as fast as I could and still be quiet,” Max told the others when they’d met up again on Porter land, stopping at the creek at the foot of hill that bordered the Crown, the afternoon still hot despite the puffy white clouds between them and the sun. He’d backtracked from the castle to the big bear-like rock formation to the south, and had worked his way across the steep ridges to meet them. “By the time I’d gathered Ares and was astride, they were gone.”
“Zalgravians, you say?” Doc said.
Max nodded, water burbling along the slow-moving creek. “Two of the four henchmen Hugo is famous for traveling with. Kuthbert is another of the four. Supposedly, they’re his bodyguards, but they operate more like a violent gang when it suits their mood.” He bit off a chunk of the beef jerky in his gloved hand, its taste spicy with chili and salt. “How’d Hugo react to your accusations?”
“As you’d expect,” Bart said, chewing his own bite of jerky. “He denied everything. Sam insisted on searching the place to look for himself.’
Max grinned. “Did Hugo allow it?”
Roy gave him a wry look. “No. But talking about it raised a hell of a ruckus.”
“Hugo took you seriously, though,” Max said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent a footman to warn the men he’d tasked with kidnapping Jeremiah.”
Creede frowned. “I didn’t get my search,” he said. “But I got to see a hell of a lot of his employees and put names to them.”
“Local men, most of them.” Doc said and shook his head at the thought. “Local men desperate for money for their families. A shame Prince Hugo is a problem rather than a help to the community.”
“His employees are unhappy with him,” Max said.
“I’ve heard that in town,” Doc said.
“The impression I got, the only thing keeping them in his employ,” Max said, “is the money he’s paying them.”
Doc nodded. “I’ve heard that, too.”
Max propped a boot on a low rock along the creek’s edge, smooth pebbles showing clearly on the creek bed through the cold, glass-like water. “He’s paying a bonus to finish the dam.”
Creede bent and splashed the cold water on his tanned face, a hint of fatigue around his eyes. He must have been in the saddle all day, leaving town early that morning and not taking much of a rest since then, and Max began to realize the legend of Sheriff Sam Creede was more than just shootouts with outlaws and rounding up miscreants. “Why do you reckon he’s all fired up about that dam, Max?”
“At first, seeing that monstrosity of a house he’s built, I thought perhaps he wanted to add a moat.” Not that the Elkhorn River was within five miles of Hugo’s mini-castle.
Everyone laughed.
“And then I thought it might be a power play against his neighbors.” Max tipped up the brim of his hat and wiped his sweating brow with the back of his forearm, his shirt sleeve as hot in the sun as the rest of him. “Which it just might be. But I also think it’s because Hugo hates the idea that something on his land, or something flowing freely through it, might be used by someone else.”
“You’re saying he wants to hoard the water out of pure cussedness?” Roy said.
Max took a swig from his canteen and nodded. “I’m saying exactly that.”
The James family ranch was a bustle of activity when Max, Creede, Bart, Doc, and Roy rode up, preparations being made on the sweep of the drive for that evening’s al fresco barbecue with the suitors. The other families on the ranch were invited, too, those belonging to the foreman, assistant foreman, Mrs. Zandt, and others Max had yet to meet.
More preparations were being made over by the bunkhouse, where the ranch hands would have their share in the feast in the mess hall, Bart worried one of them might otherwise say something about Max to the suitors that might give him away.
A thin trail of white smoke rose from the deep barbecue pit over by the outbuildings. Long wood picnic tables were being set out in front of the house.
The smell of roasting beef hung on the hot air as Max and the others strode up onto the porch and into the ranch house, Max’s gaze automatically searching for Miss Calliope, first outside, then inside the house, an automatic reaction he pushed down. Bart had made it clear that his younger sister was off limits to the Prince of Partydom, especially given that the prince was from the twenty-first century.
Even so, Max was feeling exhilarated—he’d ridden in a posse with the legendary Sheriff Sam Creede. He’d put one over the Evil Prince, sneaking onto his property. He couldn’t wait to tell Miss Calliope.
Surely Bart would allow them to converse, as long as Max didn’t try to kiss her again. The thought sent another wave of exhilaration through him, this one stronger, this one more sweet, the memory of Miss Calliope’s feminine lips burned into his, the memory driving his steps faster.
But Miss Calliope was nowhere in sight. Max would have expected the inquisitive young woman to meet them at the door, calling out to the rest of her family that her brother was back. But it was Livia who met them in the great room, followed by Mrs. Zandt with the familiar trays of food and drink.
Finn, Livia said, wasn’t back yet, nor was Matthew, the two still at the Fielding place, which Max and the others already knew; they’d stopped there for Creede to send the posse guarding Matthew’s ranch out onto the trail of Jeremiah’s Zalgravian kidnappers, armed with Max’s description of the two. The suitors were still up on the mountain, fishing, Kit having been told to keep them up there until suppertime, to give Miss Calliope time to regain her equilibrium.
Max doubted any equilibrium could change her mind about the three suitors she’d become disgusted with. Surely, the two—other than Finn—who were still in her good graces were rejoicing.
When he and the others who’d gone to Hugo’s had washed the trail dust off their faces, brushed it off their clothes, and had fortified themselves with lemonade and sandwiches, they adjourned with the James family to the dining room, including a subdued Miss Calliope and her mother, who closed the door behind them.
Bart shared with the ladies the crux of the meeting with the ranchers, plus the conversation with Hugo, everyone sitting where they had two nights before, Roy between Max and Livia.
Sun shone through the windows, sparkling bright on the river outside. Sun shone on Miss Calliope, her mere presence heightening Max’s senses, Max super-aware of her every movement.
Half-listening to Bart’s words, he drew a map of Hugo’s place on a large piece of butcher paper provided by Mrs. Zandt.
When Bart was done, Max turned his map around to face the others, his gaze going by instinct to Miss Calliope across the table.
Miss Calliope, however, refused to meet his eyes, the camaraderie between them the last two days seemingly gone behind a curtain of…he wasn’t sure what. Caution? Disapproval?
An awareness that he was a man, and she was a woman, and there was something physical drawing them together? Something beyond those damned jittery, skittery lightning bolt sparks?
“This is the back of Hugo’s castle,” he said of the map to the others. “Three small cabins” —he pointed at them on the map— “a big bunkhouse, an immense barn, and what I suspect is a separate stable for his prized horses. A couple more smaller buildings here” —he pointed— “that are who knows what, plus two big buildings under construction.”
He looked up from the drawing. “I counted thirty men at work, mostly on the new construction. From what I overheard, anyone without a Zalgravian accent didn’t seem particularly overjoyed being in his employ. Neither did the two Zalgravians who tried to kidnap Jeremiah.” He pointed out the pond, and the beginnings of the canal. “No sign of Kuthbert.”
“Did you see anywhere he could have been hiding?” Livia said.
“The barn loft, perhaps?” Max said. “A footman ran there the same time the one who warned the kidnappers left the house.”
“What do you reckon Prince Hugo wanted with Jeremiah?” Miss Calliope said, her pretty gaze, heretofore glued to the map, raising to meet his, sending his heart thudding.
“Perhaps,” Max said, trying to find a breath, “he wanted Jeremiah as a hostage until he’s reimbursed for the barbed wire fence that was torn down.”
“That fence was illegal,” Bart said, anger in his tone.
“Indeed,” Max said. “But you need to look at this the way Hugo does. Think of each ranch as its own fiefdom. I assure you, that’s how he looks at it. If he fences off a section of an adjacent ranch and claims it as his, who’s going to stop him?”
“I am,” Creede said, his voice like steel.
“But in his mind,” Max said, “he has the upper hand. The threat of the law won’t stop him. If he really does have some form of diplomatic immunity—and he will argue that he does—he can’t be charged with a crime here in America. And he has the power of the King of Zalgravia behind him.”
Silence dropped throughout the dining room, and Max had the uncomfortable feeling that more than one of his new friends were thinking of the one way that would assuredly stop Hugo. To injure him badly enough that he would return to Zalgravia. Or injure him badly enough that Hugo would not survive.
“Your king has no authority here,” Doc said, his voice calm, unlike the facial expressions around the table.
“Of course not,” Max said. “But we’re talking about how Hugo is looking at all of this. Now, imagine one fiefdom going to war with another, to gain its land. The fiefdom who wins becomes more powerful. It’s how he was raised to think.”
Livia leaned back in her chair, away from the map, her hands resting on her belly. “What exactly are you saying, Max?”
“I think,” Max said, “he’s trying to draw you into a war. It’s the only reason for his nonstop attacks on your neighbors. It’s the only reason to provoke you with the dam he wishes to build. A dam which he knows would thwart your water rights.”
“A war?” Bart said.
“It’s why he went after Jeremiah,” Max said. “He doesn’t dare attack the Sky Top. Matthew’s place is less defended, easier to beat—weaker, if you will. But an attack on the Fieldings—your allies—is the same as an attack on you.”
Miss Calliope exhaled with disgust. “Cowardly varmint.”
“No,” Max said. “Hugo wants you to fight him. He wants to win.” He leaned back in his chair and looked around the table, meeting each person in the eye as he did. “Ultimately,” he said with slow words, “I think he wants the Sky Top.”