Forever and Always (2 page)

“We've been all through that.”

“
You've
been all through it. You haven't listened to a thing I've said.”

“It's for her benefit. If she stays here, she'll be as wild as Colby's twins. Do you know Esther rides her pony
astride
?”

“Everybody knows Esther rides astride, and nobody has a problem with it. She's only nine years old.”

“I have a problem with it,” Norman declared. “I won't have Kitty behaving like that. It's unbecoming to the Spencer name.” Whatever Norman's private doubts about Kitty's parentage, he would have been horrified to know anyone else shared them. The Spencer name must always be above reproach.

“I'm perfectly capable of molding my daughter's character,” Sibyl argued. “You can't point to a single instance when her behavior has embarrassed you.” Since Norman rarely saw his daughter on any day other than Sunday, he knew very little about anything she did.

“As you pointed out, she's only six. Will you be able to say that when she's eight, twelve, or sixteen?”

“I have no objection to sending her away to school when she's fourteen. Right now, she's too young.”

“Fourteen is too late. Her character will already be formed. About all any school would be able to do that late would be teach her French and a fondness for expensive clothes. She needs to go this year.”

Trying to reason with Norman was a waste of time. Sibyl stood. “Let me make something very clear. You will
not
send Kitty to boarding school this year. There's no point in yelling at me or telling me that you control the money, therefore you'll make the decisions. This is one decision you will not make. If you try, I will stop you.”

“How? There's nothing you can do.” Norman was surprised by her defiance yet scornful of it.

“There is a great deal I
can
do, much of which you would find extremely distasteful.”

“Don't try to threaten me. You can't—”

Sibyl heard raised voices in the bank, but she had more important things to think about than what might be happening outside Norman's office. Norman, on the other hand, seemed eager for a distraction.

“Something's wrong. Stay here while I see what it is.”

Sibyl was furious he would use any excuse to avoid talking about Kitty's future, but she'd said what she'd come to say. She would deal with the future later. She was surprised when the voices became louder. Usually Norman's presence put a damper on things. Curious about what was happening, she got up and left the office. The sight that met her gaze caused her to freeze in her tracks. Cassie was struggling to escape from one man. A second man was talking to the teller. The third and fourth were confronting Norman. All four men were masked and holding guns.

They were in the process of robbing the bank.

The fourth man turned in Sibyl's direction. “Don't do anything foolish, ma'am, and you won't get hurt.”

Sibyl was too shocked to do anything, foolish or otherwise.

“You can't rob my bank,” Norman was shouting. “You won't get away with it.” He started forward, but the man pointed the gun at his forehead.

“We're not greedy,” the man said. “We'll leave you enough to buy food for your family.”

Norman started to argue, and the man's voice turned hard.

“If you play it smart and shut your mouth, I'll leave you alive to make more money.”

“We have a marshal now,” Norman said. “He'll hunt you down.”

“We'll be hundreds of miles from here by the time he gets back from Tucson.”

“Colby Blaine can follow you like a cougar follows a deer,” Norman boasted. “That man is better than an Indian.”

Sibyl couldn't believe Norman was throwing around threats, which were bound to put the robbers' nerves on edge. Why didn't he shut up?

“If Colby doesn't come after you, I will.” Cassie did her best to knee her captor in the groin, but he was too quick for her.

“How're you doing with the teller?” the man confronting Norman asked the bandit at the teller's window.

“I'm about done here. I've got all the money they keep up front. Where's the safe?” he asked the teller.

“In the office.”

Sibyl couldn't blame Horace for revealing the location of the safe—not that a short search wouldn't have located it—but she was certain Norman would fire the young man the moment the bandits were gone. Jobs weren't easy to find for a young man with a wife and a small child, but Norman wouldn't take that into consideration.

The man holding a gun on Sibyl spoke. “While everybody out here remains quiet, why don't you show me where the office is so you can open the safe.”

“I can't. I don't work in the bank. I was only here this morning to talk to my husband about a personal matter.”

The man turned to Norman. “Give her the combination.”

“I will not,” Norman said. “A safe wouldn't be a bit of use if half the people in town knew how to open it.”

The man struck Norman with his pistol. “Give her the combination.”

“No.”

The man struck Norman again before turning his gun on Horace. “You, open the safe.”

Horace stammered so badly Cassie answered for him. “He doesn't know the combination. Nobody does except Mr. Spencer.”

The robber whipped around to face Norman. “This is your last chance. Open the safe or I'll shoot you.”

“If you kill me, you'll never learn the combination.”

“I don't plan to
kill
you, just shoot you inch by inch until you come to your senses.”

“For God's sake, Norman,” Sibyl pleaded, “open the safe. The money's not worth getting shot.”

“Listen to your wife,” the man said. “She's a sensible woman.”

“I haven't listened to a woman since my mother died,” Norman declared, “and I don't mean to start now.”

Sibyl didn't know much about holdups, but she had the feeling the robbers had been forced to spend more time inside the bank than they had planned. The longer they stayed, the more likely something would go wrong. The leader was getting angry and nervous. Still, she was shocked when he shot Norman in the leg.

“You've got five seconds to open that safe before I put a bullet in your other leg.”

Norman was never sick, and he'd never been injured. He had never shown sympathy for others, often making light of their pain or discomfort. Now that he was injured, he was seeing things in a very different light. He screamed and fell to the floor, writhing in agony.

“I'll shoot your wife!” the robber screamed. “I'll shoot your teller and that pretty blond if you don't open that safe now!”

Norman was oblivious to anything outside his pain. The robbers weren't going to get anything out of him.

“Shoot the teller,” the leader yelled at the robber holding the bag of cash.

Sibyl gasped as one robber pointed his gun at Horace, and the other turned back on Norman. The sound of pistol shots was deafening. She expect to see Horace fall, mortally wounded. Instead, the robber crumpled into a heap. A second explosion, following so close on the first that it sounded like an echo, sent the robber who'd shot Norman to the ground. In the confusion, Cassie managed to break away from her captor. A third gunshot sent him into the next world after his fellow thieves. The remaining robber grabbed Sibyl to use as a shield.

Everything had happened so fast, it took a moment for Sibyl to realize three robbers were dead, and that a stranger with a gun in his hand was standing just inside the bank door. Cassie and Horace were staring at him with riveted gazes, their eyes wide from shock.

No one had seen or heard the man enter the bank. He was tall and thin, his face so bloated his eyes seemed to stare at them out of deep wells. Sibyl was certain she'd never seen him before. It would have been impossible to forget such a face. At the moment, however, she didn't have time to wonder who he might be. She was standing between two guns, one held by the stranger and one by the outlaw. She could be the next one to die.

“Let her go,” the stranger said. “You can have the cash.”

“I'm not a fool. If I let her go, you'll shoot me.”

“I'll shoot you if you don't.”

“Don't do anything foolish,” the man growled at Sibyl.

Sibyl could tell by his shaking voice that he was as stunned by the unexpected turn of events as she was. “You'd better take your own advice,” she responded. “If you shoot me, you will die for sure.”

“We're getting out of here together. There's a back door.”

Sibyl wasn't willing to trust her safety to this man. As soon as he tried to pull her back toward the rear door, she went limp. The bank echoed with the sound of a shot, and the robber and Sibyl tumbled to the floor. It seemed the stranger was at her side the moment she hit the floor.

“Are you okay?”

Sibyl was so horrified by what she'd just witnessed—and the blood spatters covering most of her upper body—she couldn't get a word out, but she did manage to sit up.

Cassie wasn't similarly handicapped. “I'm sure glad you got here when you did,” she said to the stranger. “That son of a bitch who grabbed me smelled bad.” She looked around at the bodies and the blood. “You made a real mess. I hope nobody's expecting me to clean it up.”

Sibyl didn't know whether to laugh or take the easy way out and faint. Instead, she took the hand the stranger offered. For a moment she was afraid he didn't have the strength to help her up. Just as she was about ready to call for Horace, the stranger grimaced and pulled her to her feet. The effort so exhausted him that he staggered.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Have you been shot?”

“No. I'm just a little weak,” the man said. “I haven't been well lately.”

He looked so unwell, she looked for signs of a wound anyway—maybe he was in shock and didn't realize he'd been shot—but she saw no blood. She raised her gaze to his face. Despite the distorted features, she was stuck by the intensity of green eyes that were like fiery emeralds, backlit until they glowed even in the light of day. They gave evidence that the man inside this emaciated body still held to life with a tenacious grip, that his spirit was as vigorous as his body was frail.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Spencer?” Horace had gotten over his shock and come out from behind his teller's window.

The sound of his voice shattered Sibyl's focus on the stranger. She didn't know how to answer that question, but after having survived an Indian attack, she wasn't going to let a little blood be her undoing. “I'm fine, Horace. We'd better see to Mr. Spencer. His leg will need treatment.”

Before she could move, the bank doors were flung open, and people wanting to know what had happened began to stream in. She quickly lost sight of the stranger in the confusion.

Cassie pointed to the dead robbers. “They tried to rob the bank. Fortunately for us, that stranger showed up and shot all four of them. I've never seen anything so brave since Colby swam that swollen river three times.”

“I need to check on Norman,” Sibyl repeated.

“Norman's dead,” someone said.

They were mistaken. Norman had been shot in the leg. He had screamed a lot, but it hadn't killed him. But when she reached Norman, he wasn't moving. The reason was obvious. There was a large bloodstain on his shirt over his heart, with a small hole in the middle. She didn't know when it happened, but Norman had been shot a second time.

For a moment, she couldn't take it in. For seven years, Norman had been as constant in her life as the sun in its orbit. She and Kitty had been the satellites that revolved around him. Every thought, every deed had been in response to him and his wishes that were often delivered like commands. She had been catapulted into a vacuum without a stabilizing force.

“Are you all right?”

Sibyl managed to focus her gaze on Dr. Kessling's kind face.

“I think so. I mean, yes.”

“Of course she's not all right,” Cassie declared. “She just watched her husband get killed.”

“Did they get any money?” someone asked.

Cassie held up the bag with the cash. “Not one dollar. Your money is safe.”

“I have my money in the doctor's bank. I just wanted to know.”

“I'll take care of Norman's body,” the doctor said.

Naomi pushed her way through the crowd. Sibyl had never seen her look so frightened. “Peter said you'd been shot by robbers.”

“This isn't my blood. I'm okay, but Norman was killed.”

The crowd parted enough for Naomi to see Norman's body. “What happened?”

“I think it's better to save the questions until the marshal gets back,” the doctor said. “Right now, Sibyl needs to go home.”

Sibyl struggled to pull herself together. “I can't go. Who's going to take care of the bank now that Norman's dead?”

“You need to be thinking about yourself,” Cassie said. “The bank's not going anywhere. Horace and I can take care of things for the time being.”

She hadn't meant right now, this very minute. She meant in the future. Norman had made sure she knew nothing about running a bank. She pushed that worry aside for the moment. She needed to find the stranger and thank him. He hadn't been able to help Norman, but he'd saved Horace's life. Probably hers and Cassie's as well. She looked through the crowd but didn't see him.

“Cassie, where is the stranger?”

“I don't know. He left through the back as soon as he knew you were all right.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“I never saw him in my life.”

She had to find him. It wasn't just that she needed to thank him for what he'd done. In the brief moments when he'd faced the man holding her, she'd seen something in his eyes that startled her. At first she'd thought it was fearlessness. It certainly fitted with the way he'd waded in with no visible concern about the consequences. But now she decided it was hopelessness. He had no fear because death didn't frighten him. Maybe he welcomed it. As odd as it seemed, she had the feeling he was reaching out to her—at least reaching out to someone—in hopes of finding a reason to live. Unexpectedly, in a few moments saturated with desperate struggle and fear bordering on panic, she had been able to absorb so much about this man.

Though she knew she'd never seen him before, there was something familiar about him. She knew it wasn't possible, but she couldn't shake the feeling. What had caused his features to become so distorted? He must have had to endure public ridicule on occasion. Was that the reason he seemed unafraid of death? Who was he? Where had he come from, and what was he doing in Cactus Corner?

She had to find him.

* * *

Logan was bent double, his body racked by dry heaves. His stomach had been emptied long ago. There was nothing left to throw up, but he knew from experience it would be a long time before the abdominal pain and spasms stopped. He should have been used to this by now. One of the worst times occurred when he was on a riverboat traveling up the Missouri River from St. Louis to Independence. The boat had just pulled away from the little town of De Witt at the junction of the Missouri and Grand Rivers. Most of the passengers were on deck waving good-bye to the small group that had performed for them. Logan had been standing back from the rail when the attack hit him without warning. Rather than spatter the deck, himself, and those nearest him, he thrust aside several people who were leaning against the rail and emptied the contents of his stomach in the murky waters below. Their anger turned to sympathy when his agony seemed to have no end. If Logan had had the strength, he would have been mortified. As it was, he could summon only enough energy to be grateful when the spasms ended. After that, he kept to himself until the boat docked in Independence.

The trip to Santa Fe had been long and increasingly arduous. He traveled as part of a wagon train, but he rode his own horse and slept apart. The nausea and spasms gradually grew worse, but it was the weakness that affected him most. Some days he felt fine. Other mornings he hardly felt able to go on. He wondered why he bothered. What was at the end of the trail for him but more sickness and a lonely death? Wouldn't it be better to stop now and get it over with?

Yet he was driven by the need to try to find at least one of his brothers before he died. The death of the adopted father he had loved left him feeling alone in the world. His uncle had disliked him, had tried to turn his father against him. He felt only a slight affection for the cousin he was supposed to marry. He believed her feelings for him were just as tepid—so lukewarm he'd preferred to die alone rather than in her arms. That's how he'd ended up camped on the edge of the Mogollon Rim waiting to die. That's how he'd ended up in the bank while it was being robbed.

He'd never thought of himself as a gunman. He'd never even carried a gun until he left Santa Fe, but he knew how to shoot. Target shooting was a hobby, but he'd never shot at anyone. He hadn't expected to shoot all the robbers before one of them shot him. In fact, he'd
expected
to be shot. What did he have to lose? In truth, he hadn't stopped to think at all. Whatever lines of reasoning had gone through his head had traveled so fast he had no conscious memory of them. All he could say for certain was he didn't intend for that woman to be taken hostage.

He could see her as clearly as if she were standing before him now. Her youth and beauty were obvious to anyone who wasn't blind, but it was what he saw in her eyes that struck him. There was no fear, only a steely determination to survive. And stunned surprise seconds later when the robbers were all dead.

He'd used people rushing in from the street as an opportunity to escape. He didn't want to be noticed nor did he want to be thanked. He'd been so weak he'd had trouble climbing into the saddle. He'd made it back to his camp before the nausea overcame him.

Finally, the worst of the nausea faded. Using what little strength he had, Logan dragged himself to the trickle of water that ran a short distance from his campsite. He always felt better after drinking as much water as he could hold, but the relief never lasted long. Nor did the third prescription Dr. Pittman prescribed work any better than the first two. Still, he continued to take it. He couldn't make himself relinquish even one minute of his life.

Dragging himself back to his tent consumed the last of his strength. He propped himself against a tree and waited for his strength to return. He was staring at the woods that surrounded him, his gaze blurry, his thoughts as clear as mist, when he noticed movement among the trees. Moments later the head of a dog emerged from a tangle of underbrush.

Logan gave a weak chuckle. “I see you came looking for me. I bet a cougar or a bear took the carcass from you.”

The dog crawled from the cover of the underbrush. He was walking a little better, but he didn't approach Logan. Instead, he crouched down to watch.

“You don't have to stare like that,” Logan said. “I haven't always looked like a puff pastry. But I don't suppose you care what I look like. I bet you're wondering if I have any of that deer left.” Logan reached for the meat he'd planned to cook for his supper. “I got plenty more hanging from that tree over there. Don't plan on letting a bear steal my supper.” He tossed a chunk of meat to the dog.

He gobbled up the meat but not with the urgency of the day before.

“A full belly feels good, doesn't it?” Logan asked. “Are you planning to hang around as long as I feed you?”

The dog answered by eating the second piece of meat Logan tossed to him.

“I'm not much company,” Logan said, “but I'm the best you're going to find around here, so you might as well hang around.”

The dog continued to watch from a safe distance. Logan figured he might never overcome his distrust of men.

“I'll make you a deal,” Logan told the dog. “I'll feed you if you'll watch my campsite. I'm not expecting you to take on any bears, wolves, or cougars, but I'd be mighty pleased if you could keep the squirrels away. One of them chewed through a practically new saddlebag. The danged fool tried to use it for a nest.”

The dog turned his head to one side as though he was really listening.

“You probably think I'm nuts talking to you like this. Maybe I am, but I don't care.” He tossed the last piece of meat to the dog. “I'm too tired to be hungry and too weak to cook anything, so I'm going to sleep. You can stay if you like. Try not to bark unless you see a bear trying to get our food. I don't feel like going hunting just yet.”

The dog responded with a low whine, but his gaze never left Logan. Logan didn't know whether the dog would go or stay, but he was too tired and too miserable to care. He'd feel better tomorrow.