Chapter 2
It took Rafe and Ben three weeks to reach Casey Springs, Colorado.
Three weeks in which Rafe tried to accustom himself to freedom.
He had thought it would be easy. It wasn’t.
His mind was still caged by the past, by feelings of anger.
He’d lost part of himself: the old confidence, the simple enjoyment of basic things.
The first night of freedom had been the best and worst. Every sensation struck him with poignancy.
They’d ridden all day before stopping, and despite Rafe’s having spent nearly twenty years on horseback, his muscles rebelled, reminding him of how long it had been since he last sat atop a horse, how much time he had lost.
Aware of how rusty he’d become with a gun, he practiced shooting. He had a long way to go to regain his former familiarity with a gun. When darkness made practice impossible, he tried to sleep and found himself unable to.
The night sounds were strange to ears used to curses and moans and restless movements, to the screeching of iron doors and the beating of guards’ batons against bars.
Serenity had become more jarring than gunshot.
Every star mocked him, instead of pleasuring, and the moon …
Hell, he’d started adding up the number of new moons he’d missed.
Nothing was satisfying, only teasing, reminding, torturing.
He thought of the nightmares that wouldn’t go away, that sensation of waking in a coffin, in that prison box, away from light and sun and everything that gave life.
Only after getting blind-drunk on the whiskey Ben had brought with him did Rafe finally drift off, and then he woke up abruptly to find Ben hovering over him.
He knew he must have been yelling. His blanket was wadded up into a tight ball, and his body was drenched in sweat.
He wondered what he’d said but didn’t ask.
He pretended, as Ben did, that nothing had happened.
Abner crept out of Rafe’s pocket, and Ben raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”
“A friend,” Rafe confirmed. In truth that mouse had been his salvation at times.
“Hell of a lot better than a rat,” Ben observed with a twist of his lips. Rafe shrugged as if indifferent, but in prison he would have welcomed even a rat.
The following morning Rafe demanded they leave at sunrise and ride until the horses were exhausted.
Ben was a good traveling companion, mainly because he didn’t talk a lot.
Rafe merely absorbed: the sun, the countryside, the feel of the wind, and the cool of the night.
He drank it all in, the way a thirsty man drinks water, not with enjoyment but with raw, aching need.
When they did speak, they spoke about Jack Randall.
“He’s been in Colorado since after the war,” Ben said, “buying up one little spread after another. Nothing dishonest, as far as we can learn. He paid good prices, and now he’s the largest landowner in the area.”
“With army gold,” Rafe said bitterly.
“Since Clint got hired on as assistant foreman two years ago, he hasn’t been able to find a damaging thing about him,” Ben continued carefully.
“Randall’s worked at respectability, but Clint got a detective to check out his past. Before he joined the army, he had to leave every job he ever had in a hurry.
He was in Kansas when the war started, manager of the store there, and he helped the town fend off an attack by Quantrill’s men.
The militia elected him major because of that.
No one apparently ever checked on his background. ”
“Nothing lately?”
“Doesn’t seem to be, but it’s a matter of time, if his past is any indication. It seems whenever he gets in financial trouble, he steals. But he usually disappears before anyone discovers something’s wrong.”
“We need to make sure he gets in financial trouble then,” Rafe said.
Ben grinned. “That’s our thought.” Then he added thoughtfully, “Randall seems to have avoided violence of any kind.”
“Men were killed when that last payroll was taken,” Rafe said, his voice harsh. He didn’t have to look at his hand to know another kind of violence had been committed because of that robbery.
Ben nodded.
“There is another man, a Sergeant McClary,” Rafe said slowly.
He would never forget McClary, whom he’d once disciplined and who had discovered part of the army payroll in Rafe’s quarters.
He had also been one of the soldiers who’d escorted him to prison.
The man had taken every chance to humiliate him during the journey.
Rafe had wondered about the man’s antipathy, but that had always been overshadowed by his hatred for Randall.
Randall had sent Rafe out the day of the payroll robbery and then denied it.
Randall had been instrumental in the court-martial and subsequent punishment.
Randall had to have been the brains behind the frame.
“How does Clint feel about Randall?”
Ben shrugged. “Clint knows he’s a thief and coward.
” He hesitated. “But people in Colorado don’t, and everyone in the territory likes Randall.
He’s a damn hard man not to like, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s a thief, or that he stole from the army during wartime while we were dodging bullets. ”
Four days after they left Cincinnati, they stopped in a town. Rafe had been wearing the leather gloves Ben brought, but he found them awkward and wanted another pair from which he could cut away the fingers and leave the rest to cover the back of his hand.
After purchasing that and a few other items, they found a whorehouse.
It was Ben’s suggestion; Rafe would have ridden on.
The coupling had been emotionally cold and unmoving, although Rafe’s body had reacted immediately.
As with all his attempts to restore normalcy into his life and rekindle feelings, he found little joy in the act.
He kept thinking about Allison, lovely Allison who had so quickly turned her back on him, and thus, his performance, while not cruel, had been rough and impersonal.
He had only taken, when once he’d been considerate.
He coolly noted that new lack in himself, only too aware it dimmed his old enthusiasm for making love.
Another goddamn mark against Randall.
They didn’t stop again at any town. A volcano was rumbling deep inside Rafe, and it was best to keep away from people.
Even now they decided to skirt around Casey Springs, instead taking a well-worn trail up a mountain pass.
Ben stopped, and Rafe looked down at the valley below.
A long, graceful log house sat in a clearing.
To its left was a large barn, and a long building was located to the right.
“That’s Randall’s place. The Circle R,” Ben said.
Rafe’s gaze moved slowly across the buildings to cattle far beyond. “Neighbors?”
“The nearest is ten miles away. And then there’s a small trading center south of here. An old trading post that’s become a town of sorts. Rushton. It’s named after a creek that runs through this area.”
“The law?”
“Rushton has a part-time sheriff appointed by the territorial governor. Man named Russ Dewayne. He’s also a rancher. Casey Springs has its own law.”
“Much mining around here?”
“Some placer claims. Most of the gold around here has played out. But Green, Smith, Ware, and Thompson have had some luck while they waited for you. Nothing big, but enough to buy supplies and then some.”
“You and Simon?”
“Some hunting. Odd jobs here and there. Gives us reason to move around.”
“Tell me more about the cabin.”
“Clint found it when trailing some rustlers. Pure luck. He heard some cattle bawling. Otherwise he never would have found the small valley. Perfect hiding place. There’s only one entrance from this side of the mountain, and it’s through what appears to be solid rock.
It was used apparently by some mountain man long gone.
We find traps occasionally. But it’s safe.
I had trouble finding it even after I’d been there a couple of times. ”
“The rustlers?”
“They won’t be back,” Ben said.
He pointed at a cluster of oddly shaped rocks. “That’s the turnoff. Try to memorize the way from here on up.” He moved quickly to the lead, and Rafe followed him into a forest of pines and aspens.
The smells were sweet here, the scent of wildflowers mingling with the tangy one of the pines. The tops of the trees nearly blocked out the sun, casting dancing shadows across the carpet of needles.
The way suddenly became very steep, and the horses struggled to keep their footing.
“There’s another route,” Ben explained, “but it comes out on the other side of the mountain. During the winter we had to use it several times. But it’s a hell of a long way.”
“I hope to be gone before winter.”
“It can snow early here,” Ben said. “Real early. We built a shelter for the horses and supplies.”
“Ben …?”
The younger man turned to him, a question in his eyes.
“I don’t want you and Clint involved any further. Or the others.”
“You need us.”
“No.”
Ben reined in his horse and stopped. “None of us would be alive if it weren’t for you.”
Rafe looked down at the horse and saddle. “That was war. We all took care of each other.”
“We’re still taking care of each other,” Ben said, his jaw setting. “When Johnny got in trouble …” He hesitated, then turned away.
Rafe frowned. “Johnny Green?”
Ben shrugged. “He got himself mixed up with a gang down in Texas, was involved in a robbery and almost hanged.” He gave a small smile. “None of us are exactly welcome down there now.”
Rafe was silent. Ten years of prison and bitterness hadn’t prepared him for the response he felt. Gratitude? He didn’t know whether he wanted to feel that. It was easier to feel nothing at all.
“Captain, they’re not going to let you do it alone,” Ben said.
“I don’t want anyone else involved now. It’s my fight.”
“We are involved, whether you like it or not. No way we’re going to back off now,” Ben said.
Rafe’s mouth thinned, but he accepted. He’d already drawn them in too deeply. But he could make sure they weren’t hurt. He nodded curtly and moved his gaze to the line of trees they were following.