Chapter 23
Shea dismounted gingerly. She was trembling as much as the horse, which was frothing at the mouth and sweating all over.
Shea had barely clung on during its wild dash over the ridges and gulches near the ranch, and now her body stung from a dozen scratches by scrub bush, and her thighs and posterior were sore.
Holding on to the reins, she sank onto the pine-carpeted ground. Her legs simply wouldn’t hold her up any longer.
She didn’t have the faintest idea where she was.
She held out her hand, trying to steady it, but it shook.
Her mind was still muddled with that terror she’d felt. How far had the horse run? He’d headed toward the mountains, toward the area Rafe had been hiding.
Rafe. She wanted him now. She wanted him to hold her, wanted to feel that protectiveness that had enveloped her the rare times he’d lowered that barricade between them. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his mouth against her cheek.
She heard the heavy breathing of the horse.
Its head was lowered as if it were thoroughly exhausted.
She needed to find the animal some water.
She looked around. She had no idea which direction to take.
In front were the sharply rising mountains.
The Circle R Ranch was someplace in back of her.
The Circle R and her father. His frantic yell echoed in her mind.
But all she wanted now was to see Rafe, to beg him to leave now and take her with him, to forget his quest for vengeance that would destroy him as well as her father.
Rafe was up there someplace. Up in those mountains, in a blind valley she had no way of finding.
She knew Clint wouldn’t take her, but perhaps Ben would.
She had figured out that Ben was in some way involved with the miners.
That meant he might be living somewhere along Rushton Creek.
She stood slowly, her legs still weak. She looked back from where she’d come. She looked toward the beckoning mountain. She knew its dangers now. Bears. Cougars. Snakes. She knew how easy it would be to get lost.
Behind her was safety. Her father.
Ahead was danger. And Rafe. Perhaps her last hope of seeing him again. Perhaps her last chance of keeping him from destroying himself and, as a consequence, destroying her.
She knew how slim her chances were of finding him. How foolhardy the search was. Until she’d come West, she’d never taken risks. And this was the biggest risk anyone could take.
She thought of the letter she’d found, the sincerity of her father’s denial of any involvement in framing Rafe. And she knew she couldn’t go back to his home.
The ride on Clint’s horse several days earlier hadn’t taken more than a few hours. It had all been descent, just as getting there had been nearly all climbing.
It was midday now. She had seven, eight hours left of daylight.
Why did she think she could find him if no one else could?
Because during her captivity she had studied every peak, every hill, had drawn the landscape from so many different angles. She had only to find the right juncture, the right angles.
Remember how you got lost that first day. But then she had been inexperienced, distraught, afraid of Rafe Tyler but even more afraid of herself.
And there were miners in the hills. It shouldn’t be hard to find one, to locate Ben, if she had no luck in finding the trail up to Rafe’s valley. But she had no supplies, only a box of matches she’d stuck in a dress pocket after lighting the stove this morning.
Eight hours until sundown.
Go back! The practical part of her kept ordering her to do the safe thing.
Rafe! The need to reach out to him was stronger.
Stronger even than the instinct for self-preservation.
Stronger than her instinct to protect her newfound father.
She kept seeing the concern on Rafe’s face as he’d held the small bear, as he’d watched the mother and cub play at the pool, the stunned wonder when they’d made love.
Those fleeting moments that revealed everything he tried so hard to disguise, to deny.
She started walking toward the mountain, the horse trailing wearily behind.
Sam McClary slowed his horse to a trot. He knew he’d been damned lucky to avoid the posse. The miner’s taking aim on the man above him had been pure good fortune, giving McClary a chance to escape when the posse showed up.
He wondered who that man above him was. He hadn’t been able to see the face, but something in his bones told him it was Rafe Tyler.
He didn’t hang around to see what happened, but somehow he had to find out. Everyone in Rushton knew his face, but Casey Springs might be safe; he hadn’t stopped there on his way to the Circle R weeks ago.
He could get some supplies there, too, and decide whether to go on to Denver or Mexico. Too bad about Randall. He had always been good for a stake. But he’d picked the wrong time to suddenly find a conscience.
McClary rested his horse for an hour as he ate some jerky he’d found in the cabin of one of the miners he’d killed. Their gold dust was in his saddlebags. Enough for a good meal and fresh supplies in Casey Springs with some left over.
He wanted some distance between him and that posse before he headed east. He rested, stifling his impatience. He would stay until dark and enter Casey Springs in the early morning hours.
Jack Randall nearly fell from his horse several times before reaching the Dewayne ranch. Unable to saddle a horse with only one good arm, he had ridden bareback.
He had barely managed to get a bit in the horse’s mouth and had to mount from a stump. Though his head had stopped throbbing, his shoulder felt as if someone had stabbed a hot spear through it.
But he had to get help. He had tried to follow Shea, but she seemed to have disappeared completely, and so he had set off for Dewayne’s place.
Damn Tyler and his robberies. Because of Tyler, he was alone.
Believing that McClary was long gone, he had sent Nate and the other remaining hands off to check on cattle.
He had even sent Clint out on the range to keep any more stock from wandering into the hills.
Every last head of cattle was so damn important now.
He had to save the ranch for Shea.
Summoning every bit of strength he had, he kicked the horse into a canter. The ten miles seemed like a million, but the ranch finally came into view. Several horses were tied to the hitching post inside, with men milling at the front door.
They turned almost in unison toward him, two running over to him to grab the horse. He leaned over. “My daughter … her horse bolted with her.”
One man nodded. “A number of us just got back. We caught someone shooting at Charlie Sams up on Rushton Creek. Russ is taking him into Casey Springs.”
Jack tried to straighten. “Who?”
“Said his name was Tyler. Had a brand on his hand. Has to be the one responsible for the robberies around here … could be the one who shot you.”
Randall closed his eyes for a moment. It didn’t make sense. Tyler? Shooting at miners? Blamed for shooting him? But it had been McClary …
Had McClary stayed? Had he somehow managed to frame Tyler again?
Jack couldn’t think about it now. The most important thing was Shea.
Men were already saddling fresh horses. Michael Dewayne came over. “Which direction?”
“Toward the mountains.”
“What happened?”
Jack wished he knew why Shea had bolted the way she did. “She … wanted to see something of the ranch. No one was there to saddle a horse, and she took Hooker. I had just gotten to the porch when the horse took off. I couldn’t saddle one fast enough, and no one else was there.”
“We’ll find her. You stay here with Kate.”
Jack shook his head. “She might … come back.”
“Then Kate will take you home and wait with you.”
Jack nodded. One of the men helped him down, while Michael strode back inside the house to call Kate. He returned and told Randall, “Kate will be out in a moment.” He hesitated. “We’ll find her, Jack. At least we got the bastard behind all this trouble.”
No, Randall wanted to say. But he couldn’t delay the searchers now.
He watched the men ride off in a cloud of dust, and in just a moment Kate was beside him. “Michael will find her,” she said with confidence. “He’ll pick up the tracks at your place. Wait here, and I’ll hitch the buggy.”
But Jack couldn’t wait. He couldn’t sit and do nothing.
He walked with her to the barn, wishing the clamoring in his head would stop so he could think.
Too much was happening. Shea gone. Tyler captured.
McClary on the loose. He had hoped McClary might have left the territory, but he knew now he hadn’t.
Rafe Tyler wouldn’t go after a miner. Jack Randall was the one he wanted.
Randall didn’t know how McClary was doing it, but he was framing Tyler all over again.
And if Shea ever discovered … She would be gone just like her mother.
He helped Kate hitch the horses as best he could, and then took the reins with his good right hand. He would go crazy if he didn’t do something. He had wanted desperately to go with the men, but he would only slow them down.
When they arrived at the Circle R, Kate wanted to help him back to bed, but he refused.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey and went into his office, sitting back in his chair while Kate busied herself fixing coffee.
He opened the drawer with the tintype of Sara and took it out.
He stared at it for several minutes, seeing so many similarities between mother and daughter.
The same stubborn chin. The eyes, brown in the picture, but forever a tranquil bluish-gray in his mind.
His hand went back into the drawer, searching for the letter.
It wasn’t there. He pulled the drawer all the way out, hoping against hope that it might have been caught someplace in the back.
It was gone.