Chapter 25 #2
Rafe hadn’t allowed himself to consider what Randall’s confession would mean to Shea, the disgrace, the notoriety, the loss of a father she’d just discovered.
And what, really, would it accomplish? His conviction might be reversed in military records, but that was of precious little comfort when the brand would continue to mark him in the eyes of whoever he met, just as it had several days ago.
He had thought revenge would be sweet, that justice would be soothing, but now he was realizing that neither was true. Somehow, he would have to learn to live without them. And without Shea.
He stood. “I’ll check on Randall,” he said.
He went to a hook where his extra shirt hung, pulled it on, and then picked up his gun from the table where he had placed it last night.
He supposed his gunbelt was still in the sheriff’s office someplace.
He simply hadn’t had time to look for it.
He tucked the gun into his trousers, realizing he was still wary of Randall.
He always would be, despite what happened last night.
The man was a coward and a thief; the old anger bubbled inside him, though not to the heated degree as before.
Rafe saw Shea’s anxious expression and shrugged. “Habit,” he said, but as he went from the door, she followed as if afraid to leave him alone with Randall.
The hours of sleep had helped immensely.
The arm still hurt, but his legs didn’t fail him as they’d done earlier.
He checked the stable first and found Randall there, sitting against one of the walls.
He also looked better, as if he had been revived by sleep, and he stood as Rafe walked in followed by Shea.
His gaze went from Rafe to Shea and hesitated there, then flickered back to Rafe. There were several questions in his eyes, but Rafe ignored them. “I wasn’t sure you would be here,” Rafe said.
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Randall said haltingly. “Your arm …”
The tension filled the air like heavy fog. Anger and regret whirled like eddies between them. Randall took a step forward, then stopped. He turned to Shea, and his mouth worked slightly. “I’m so damned sorry I’m not what … you deserve,” he said finally, his voice breaking.
Rafe saw the distress on Shea’s face, the conflict, the need she always had to comfort, yet she was holding back that comfort because of him. She trembled, her eyes wide and the blue-gray of them misted with tears. He felt her uncertainty, her confused pain, as if it were his own.
He tried to make his voice matter-of-fact. “We need something to eat. Randall, you help Shea with a fire, and I’ll see if I can’t catch some trout.”
The gesture cost him. But he was promptly rewarded by the stark gratitude in Shea’s eyes. Randall simply nodded.
From the wall of the stable Rafe took the long pole he had fashioned and started out the door, heading for the stream. He knew that Randall and Shea were behind him; he felt her presence as he always did.
Rafe turned toward the stream when he heard the first shot. Automatically, he turned around toward Shea and saw Randall throw his own body over hers as a second rifle shot came, barely missing her. It would have hit her, he knew, if Randall’s movement had not thrown them both a foot to the left.
In one quick movement Rafe threw down the fishing pole and swept up the pistol from his waistband. He threw himself to the ground, rolling as the rifle turned toward him and a bullet spurted dirt, barely missing him.
Pain numbed Rafe’s arm as his shoulder struck the ground, and the gun fell from his fingers as he kept moving, hearing the bullets following him.
Did Randall have a gun now? He couldn’t remember as he slid behind some brush that gave little cover. He looked out. His gun was several feet away. He saw Randall’s back disappearing into the stable; apparently he was ushering Shea inside.
The sound of the gunfire changed, and Rafe knew whoever was shooting was now using a pistol.
He must have run out of rifle shells. The accuracy would be less.
He decided to take a chance, to go after his gun.
Just as he left the cover, the door of the stable opened, and Randall stood there in full view, aiming toward the direction from which the shots came.
He fired, and the shots turned toward him just as Rafe spurted for his gun, grabbed it, and fired rapidly.
He heard a scream, and there were no more shots.
He waited a moment, then looked toward Randall, who was in a crouch. “You all right?”
Randall nodded.
They cautiously approached the group of rocks, one from each of two directions.
Rafe saw him first, the thin, long form crumpled on the ground.
It was the first time in ten years Rafe had seen Sam McClary, but there was no mistaking him.
The same lanky blond hair, the familiar pale blue eyes staring sightlessly above.
The malice was gone from them, but not the lines of dissatisfaction that marred the thin face.
“How in the hell did he find us?” Rafe didn’t even realize he was speaking the thought out loud.
“He must have followed our trail,” Randall said. “We weren’t being that careful.”
Rafe nodded. “That means others can do the same.”
“He would have covered his own tracks. He always does,” Randall said bitterly.
“Shea?”
Just then the barn door opened, and Shea came running out, straight into Rafe’s arms. Her hands moved over him, as if to confirm he was all right. He winced as she touched his arm but smiled wryly. “No additional holes, Miss Randall, thanks, I think, to Mr. Randall.”
She looked down at the body. “Who is he?”
“A man named McClary,” Rafe said.
Randall looked at Rafe and then Shea, holding her gaze. “The man who helped me frame Tyler ten years ago. The one who’s been killing the miners in hopes of doing the same thing again.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because”—Randall’s body stiffened as if expecting a blow—“Captain Tyler suspected McClary and I were behind the army payroll robberies.” His face was set.
“I thought if I had enough money, your mother would come back to me.” He hesitated, then continued.
“And then I was afraid of being discovered.” He didn’t spare himself, and Rafe felt fleeting respect.
She stared at Randall as if he were a monster.
Rafe understood. She had come to believe her father had been responsible for what had happened ten years ago, had admitted as much to him, but he also realized now it must have seemed unreal to her before.
She had fought hard to find reasons, an excuse.
“You let them … brand him for something you did? Go to prison?”
Jack Randall’s face grew visibly older, but he didn’t try to avoid her gaze, or her outrage. “Yes,” he said, not trying to excuse himself in any way.
Shea’s own face seemed to break. “I kept thinking, hoping there was some mistake, that you didn’t really know he was innocent, that someone else …
” She stopped, then continued in a trembling voice, “I wish I never found that letter, that I never found you.” She turned and ran toward the woods, stumbling, then regaining her balance and continuing on.
Randall’s shoulders slumped. “You’d better go after her.”
Rafe didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy. Maybe in a few weeks, months. But not now. He turned to go.
“Tyler!” Randall’s voice stopped him.
Rafe turned back.
“I’ll take McClary down to Rushton, tell Russ that he’s the killer … and that I knew about it. And,” he added, “I’ll tell him what happened ten years ago.”
Rafe had once thought he would feel elation, relief, some kind of emotion, at such an admission, but he didn’t.
There was already too much pain. He didn’t, couldn’t, take pleasure in the agony on Randall’s face, though he couldn’t forget or forgive what had happened, either.
“I won’t hold you to your bargain,” he replied.
“When you protected Shea … you erased the debt.”
Randall shook his head. “No,” he said carefully. “I did that for her. She’s my daughter.” His mouth worked silently for a moment, then he continued. “As for telling the truth about the past and about McClary, I have to do it. For myself.”
“What about Shea? It will hurt her.”
“It will hurt her worse if I don’t. She’s too much like her mother.
It took me a long time to realize that all Sara wanted was …
what I couldn’t seem to be. She would have forgiven anything if I’d just owned up to it and tried to change.
I don’t think Shea will ever forgive me for what’s happened, but at least she’ll know that once in my life I tried to do something right. ”
Rafe was silent a moment, then simply said, “You’d better wait until tomorrow morning.
The area around Rushton will be full of riders tonight, and they probably won’t ask too many questions.
After losing their prey last night, they’ll be shooting first, asking questions later.
” He hesitated. “We still need something to eat. You any good at fishing?”
Randall looked grateful for the change of subject. “I can manage.”
Rafe looked toward McClary. “And get him out of sight.”
Randall nodded.
Rafe knew Shea would be at the pool. At their rock.
She was sitting, her knees bent and her head resting on them. He approached quietly, but she knew. She looked up at him, her eyes desperately unhappy. “How can you even bear to look at me?”
He smiled, the first real smile in a long time. “It’s easy. It always has been.”
“I don’t understand how he could have done it.”
“He just saved your life, maybe mine.”
“It’s too late,” she said. “I don’t think I can ever forgive him for what he did to you.”
“I’m finding out,” he said, “that you can’t allow the past to rule the future.”
“How can you ever look at me and not see him?”
“Because you’re not him. Because what happened years ago had nothing to do with you.”
She took his hand and held on for dear life. “Then …”