Chapter 5
“You sure you don’t want anything from your cabin?” Red asked Wade for the fourth time.
“Nothing there. Food for a few days, nothing I want.”
“We can lay up at my place overnight.” Silas pulled up as the four riders reached a trail that climbed up a treacherous, snaking path. “See what the womenfolk are up to.”
Wade looked up that narrow trail, dreading the journey home.
He’d ridden in near silence all day, switching between his imagination—dreading what his father would have to say—and prayer.
The afternoon was wearing on, and it’d be deep into the night before they got to Pa’s ranch, if Wade rode straight through.
The June days were getting longer, but in the Rockies, the sun set early if a body stood in the shade of the mountain.
And the shade of the mountain was everywhere.
Staying at the Tanner Ranch was a one-day reprieve.
It’d give him a chance to clean up, shave, wash his clothes, and work up his nerve. “Sounds good to me.”
“Agreed.” Red tugged on his hat brim. “It’s too far to travel to your ranch tonight.”
“Pa’s ranch. Not mine.”
Red gave Wade a sharp look. “Tomorrow I’ll go on with you, Wade. I told Mort I’d see you all the way home.”
Wade couldn’t hide much from Red. The Dawsons were the best friends he’d ever had in his whole miserable, friendless life. “I don’t need a babysitter, Red.” He could barely speak through a jaw that seemed permanently locked in a grim line.
“No…” Red clucked to his buckskin and headed up a trail that’d scare a mountain goat into a dead faint. “But you could use a friend.”
Wade nodded silently and veered his thoughts away from whatever ugliness his father would have waiting. Red knew him well enough that no thanks were needed.
Glowing Sun…no, Abby…sat her horse quietly while the men talked. Today her name was Abby, so he’d use it, even make himself think it. Abby had to come along to Pa’s ranch. Wade had to take care of her. She’d lost her whole life. So if she didn’t come home with him, he wasn’t going.
Silas fell in behind Red. Abby watched Silas quietly.
She had a way about her of observing everything.
No doubt the woman would be able to follow this trail back to her home without hesitation.
Did she have plans to do such the minute he wasn’t watching?
But what did home mean with her village wiped out?
She glanced at him, and he tipped his head for her to go next. She shrugged and started up. The trail was narrow enough that they rode single file, and it was easy to stay quiet.
Whom shall I fear?
It was a psalm. One of Wade’s favorites. The Twenty-seventh. The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
I’ve spent my whole life being afraid. God, I’m sorry about that man I shot. Give me peace in my soul about pulling that trigger.
The irony was, if Wade told his pa he’d shot an outlaw, Mort Sawyer would be proud. If Wade talked about how sick it made him, Mort would be ashamed.
Everything Mort stood for and respected was completely at odds with Wade’s way of thinking. And how many thousands of times had Pa made sure Wade knew what a disappointment he’d turned out to be?
Wade repeated “Whom shall I fear?” whenever he imagined conversations with his father, imagined rage, imagined blows. The worst was Wade’s imagined blows in return. He caught himself daydreaming about venting years’ worth of fury on his father.
That was the real reason it made him sick to think about putting a bullet into that brutish man. Because on a very deep level, Wade wasn’t sorry. He was glad he’d shot the man. He wished he’d have killed him. Killed them all. And that bloodlust led back to his anger with his father.
A terrible sin, to imagine hurting my father. I’m sorry, God. It’s driven by fear. All the anger and vengeance is based on fear. Because I know my father can hurt me. Not with his fists anymore, but his words feel like a beating.
Whom shall I fear? Whom shall I fear?
Pa couldn’t hit him. Wade was an adult. If his father, even when he was healthy, had attacked, Wade would have gotten away. He wasn’t a child trapped in that house with nowhere to go. But it was so hard to leave the childish fear behind.
Greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world. The Bible said so. Jesus was in Wade’s heart. Jesus was greater. Whom shall I fear?
Wade had stored up scriptures about fear and strength and courage since he’d become a believer. Red and Cassie had helped him search for verses that gave him strength against the things that tormented him, and now he clung to them.
And he clung also to the dream of being a light in his father’s life. That would be the true test of courage. Not hitting back or shooting a bad man but speaking honestly of his love for God and of how much his father needed that love too.
He’d already talked to his father about faith. It ended ugly. Maybe that was why he was going home now. To try again.
After a grueling climb and descent, they approached Silas’s house riding four abreast as the setting sun washed red and orange across the land. In the distance, dust swirled up from a corral.
“That’s Cassie. She’s riding. Cassie doesn’t ride.” Red kicked his horse into a trot.
Wade was on Red’s right, Abby next to Wade with Silas on Abby’s right. They picked up the pace to stay even with Red.
Shaking his head, Wade found his first smile for a long time. “Belle must’ve taught her.”
“My Belle knows how to train girls to handle themselves.” Silas looked across Abby to smile at Red.
“But she…she always rode to town on my lap.” Red tilted his hat back. “I kind of liked that.” They closed the distance to the corral.
“There’s four of you now, Red.” Wade had stayed at the Dawson place for long stretches, working as a hand for Red. He well remembered carrying the baby while Red carried Cassie. The little woman was scared to death of riding. “That would’ve been a load for a single horse.”
When Wade wasn’t around, Red had carried Cassie while Cassie carried Susannah with the baby on Red’s back.
“She’s doing good, isn’t she?” Red’s voice was thick with pride.
They’d drawn near enough that Wade could see Cassie twirl a rope. “Look at her with the lasso.”
The noose shot out and snagged a yearling steer. Cassie’s pony dug in its heels and jerked the calf off its feet. Hitting the ground, Cassie fell toward the calf, straight into the thrashing hooves.
With a cry of alarm, Red lashed his reins on the horse’s shoulder, and the buckskin leapt into a flat-out run.
Wade was one second behind, goading his chestnut, charging toward the disaster.
Red pulled up at the corral and hit the ground sprinting.
Just then, Cassie stood up out of the churning dust, her hands raised high in triumph.
“I did it!” Her teeth gleamed white in her dirty face as she smiled.
“Cassie!” Red vaulted the fence.
Whirling at his voice, Cassie laughed aloud. “Did you see me hog-tie that calf? I’m going to brand him, then cut him. Emma’s going to?—”
“Belle Tanner, you get over here.” Red’s face turned the color of a beet. He was enraged.
Cassie had taken several running steps toward him, but she stumbled to a halt at his tone. Her arms lowered. The smile shrank off Cassie’s face.
Red turned toward the group of women sitting on the fence, including Belle and little Susannah. But the rest of the brood were strange to Wade—except the infant with hair the color of a carrot had to be Red’s son, and Belle had a brood of young’uns.
“It’s Harden.” Silas joined them in the pen. “Belle Harden. Try to remember that.”
Wade stood outside the fence to watch the fireworks. He and Abby dismounted and shared a look.
“Belle, you promised me you wouldn’t start spring branding until I got back.” Silas pulled his gloves off and glared at his wife as he tucked them behind his belt buckle.
Wade whispered to Abby, “I know Belle Tanner…uh…I mean Harden, a little. Silas is a brave, brave man to talk to her that way.”
Abby arched a brow at Wade.
“What’d I tell you, Cassie Dawson?” Belle climbed over the fence with economical movements, striding toward the bawling, thrashing calf. Her spurs jingled, her holstered six-gun slapped against the hip of her leather riding skirt. She released the hog-tied little guy.
Cassie nodded and marched right up to stick her nose in Red’s scowling face.
Red was an easygoing man for a fact. He didn’t get mad often. Wade had only seen it a few times. But when Red’s temper blew, it flared as hot and red as his hair. Wade resisted the urge to go put himself between Cassie and that anger.
Red took his eyes off Belle to face his wife. “What are you?—”
“Don’t you speak to me that way, Red Dawson.” She jabbed him right in the second button of his broadcloth shirt. “I am an adult woman, not a child. If I think a calf needs to be thrown and branded, then I’ll do it.”
Red’s mouth formed a hard, straight line as he glared down at his wife.
His wife glared right back.
It wasn’t much of a standoff because Red quit glaring and started grinning.
“You roped that calf like a real cowboy, honey. And you were riding to beat all too. Scared me half to death, which is why I blew my stack. I’m sorry.
I’m so proud of you.” He circled her trim waist with one arm, yanked her against him, and swooped down to fetch himself a kiss right there in front of all of them.
By the time he quit, the whole group was clapping. Cassie had her arms tight around Red’s neck and her toes dangling off the ground.
“What else did Belle teach you to do while I was gone?”
“I can’t wait to tell you. I missed you, Red. And Michael learned to clap his hands.”
“I missed you all something fierce.” He hugged her hard, then set her on the ground. With his arm around her waist, they crossed toward the children.
Silas walked over to Belle. “You promised me you wouldn’t start spring work. You just had a baby.” He sounded more resigned than mad.