Margaret Brownley (37 page)

Logan would never forget that. Nor would he forget how he had personally failed Libby. “Take care of her,” he said.

The two men exchanged a brief look as if to confirm the meaning behind those four simple words. Logan wanted Thornton’s promise that he would care for Libby forever.

To his credit, Thornton accepted this unspoken mandate without the slightest travesty. He laid his hand briefly on Logan’s shoulder. Thus the pact between them was rendered binding.

It happened so quickly that even Libby seemed oblivious to the brief, but no less solemn exchange.

Logan squeezed her hand and turned without further word. Anger and bitterness waged inside him as he headed down the hill. He was determined to make Flint pay for what he’d done. That might not be God’s way but it was his way.

But only some of the anger and even less of the bitterness were directed toward Flint. He blamed God for bringing Libby to him. He had been content in his life before he met her; content for who and what he was. Would have been content to spend the rest of his days in blissful ignorance, not knowing how much he missed, knowing even less how very miserable and empty his life really was.

Logan caught sight of Flint first, but Flint had the advantage. Before Logan could get his leg moving, Flint was already running for his horse.

Realizing the futility of a foot chase, Logan spotted Big Sam’s bay. It took some effort to force his leg over the wood and hide saddle, but once he was mounted, the odds were even, and he was in the game.

With grim determination, he tightened his grip on the reins, dug his heels into the sides of the horse and took off after Flint.

Counting on Flint to follow the road, Logan veered through the woods and took a deer trail he knew crossed the road on the way to the river. The wind blew through his hair as he raced the horse through the heavy growth of trees. On occasion, he was forced to duck to avoid a low-growing branch. Upon reaching the road again, he slid off the horse awkwardly, waited a moment for the pain to subside and tied his bay out of sight.

Hearing Flint’s horse race toward him, Logan drew out his gun and waited.

*****

The miners crowded around when Logan returned some time later with Flint in tow. Their town in ashes about their feet the men wanted blood and they made no effort to hide it.

“String him up” came the unified voices, followed by a single cry, “Let the fool man hang for what he did to our town.”

Flint, dazed from Logan’s gazing bullet, was dragged off his horse and carried to one of the few oaks in the immediate vicinity to escape the fire.

Standing on his saddle, Benjamin tied a rope to a branch. The other end was forced over Flint’s head and drawn tight around his neck.

Libby came running down the hill. “Wait!” She handed Noel to McGrath and grabbed Logan by the arm. “Are you going to let them hang this man without a trial?”

“The lady wants a trial,” Benjamin yelled.

“I’ll be the judge,” said another. “I find this man guilty as charged.”

“Hang him!” The words grew into a chant that was taken up by the miners until it was a deafening roar.

Libby’s fingers dug deeper into Logan’s arm. “Stay out of this,” he warned.

“Logan, don’t let them do this.”

“Don’t you understand? Flint burned down their town. He robbed the men of their homes.”

She pulled her hand away. “It was my home too!” she cried. In the silver light of early morn her face was suffused with despair. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed past the men to the smoldering remains of the town.

Her words were a stunning blow to Logan. All this time, he’d thought she hated the town. But she called it home….
Home
.

Why this affected him so, he couldn’t say. It wasn’t his home. Could never be his home. His home was the wilds, the mountains, the woods and streams.

Nonetheless, he was affected by her outburst.

But it was the honest raw emotion in her face that he found so devastating. His need for revenge left him. He felt drained and spent. “Cut him down.”

Benjamin turned on him, his face twisted with anger. “Have you plumb lost your mind?’

Logan grabbed Benjamin by the collar. “I said cut him down!”

Benjamin searched the crowd for support, but all eyes were riveted upon Libby’s face and the silver streams that trailed down her cheeks. The tension left the air.

Sharkey blew his nose and sniffled. Choo-Choo wheezed. Big Sam’s eyes glistened as he began to speak for the very first time of being dragged away in his youth from his native African home.

“I never thought to have a home after that,” he said. “The tobacco plantation where I toiled beneath the hot blazing sun was not home. Deadman’s Gulch was not home.” He wiped away his tears with the palms of his hands. “But Calico Corners. Now that was home.”

Hap sat on the grass, rocking back and forth, staring into space. He clutched a can of baking powder, the only thing he managed to salvage from his beloved store. McGuire sniffled by his side, too overcome with emotion to play a tune on his mouth organ.

Even Benjamin’s eyes took on a suspicious sheen.

Libby’s tears provided the glue that bonded the residents of Calico Corners together. Honest raw grief replaced any need for revenge.

By the time the sun had cast its golden glow upon the charred remains of the town, the miners had already rounded up every possible horse and mule in preparation for their trip to Centreville, where they planned to purchase canvas tents and other supplies. McGuire had talked the men into taking Flint to the closest town and turning him over to the law.

Logan rounded up a mule for Libby and Noel. “Is this Crazy Sam?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, it’s Man Killer.”

“What?” she cried out before seeing the teasing tug at the corner of his mouth. She stared openly at the face she had come to love so dearly during the last few months. She reached up to wipe away a black smudge from his forehead.

“Are you coming?” she asked, her voice trembling with tears she was determined not to shed.

He closed his hand over hers. “I can’t.”

She bit her lip and glanced away. “But your leg…”

“Is fine!” he regretted his harsh retort even before the hurt spilled from her eyes and spread across her face. He wanted to apologize, to tell her that the pain in his leg was nothing compared to the pain in his heart at losing her.

Losing Noel

Losing the part that only existed when he was with her. He tightened his finger around her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“Take care, Libby.”

“I guess this is good-bye,” she whispered.

He always knew it would be hard to say good-bye. But this was far more difficult than anything he could imagine.

The leader of the group gave a low whistle. The caravan began to move forward.

His eyes never leaving her face, he cradled Noel in his arm and held the mule steady with his free hand while Libby mounted.

“You take care, little fellow, you hear?” He squeezed his eyes tight before lifting his head to meet her gaze.

He lay Noel in her outstretched arms. “Libby…” He spoke her name as if it were ripped from some part of him that had never before been touched.

“I didn’t want to say good-bye like this,” she cried softly.

He didn’t want to say good-bye at all. “Oh, Libby, I can’t…” He stopped as Thornton rode up to take his place by Libby’s side.

Thornton greeted Logan with a grim expression, and Logan was reminded that he’d made the man promise to take care of Libby. It had been the right thing to do. He knew it was right. Thornton was the better man. He’d proven that during the fire. He would take care of Libby. Give her everything she deserved. Protect her.

Libby’s hands gripped his. “What were you going to say, Logan? What can’t you do?”

“I can’t wait to get started,” he said quietly. “I have a long journey ahead.”

She looked stricken, but said nothing as her mule moved forward in line. Her hand was pulled from his grasp, taking with it a vital part of him, taking away everything he’d ever cared about.

Logan kept Libby’s gaze in his own as the procession wound its way up the mountain toward the jagged peaks.

He watched until he could no longer see her face.

He watched until the last of the horses and mules had disappeared from sight. He watched until the watery blur of his eyes obliterated even the mountain from view.

Only then did he turn and limp pass the dying ashes, which was all that was left of the town.

He was drawn to the spot where Libby’s house once stood. The sun glinted off some metal object, catching his eye. He bent over to investigate and found a tin can filled with baking soda. The can was scorched and still warm to the touch, but otherwise intact. He gazed at the can for several long minutes before dropping it into the leather pouch at his side. It was the only thing of Libby’s that was left. Except for memories. And the scent of her that seemed to linger despite the acrid smell of fire.

Memories that he held dear would fade eventually. He would see to that.

He was a free trapper and it was time to answer the call of the wild.

Still, it was with a heavy heart that he searched for his horse. It was nearly nightfall when he found Jim Bridger in the woods nearby. The gelding gave a nervous wicker as Logan approached.

The horse had been burned slightly in the fire. Logan dug in his necessary bag for salve and applied it to the raw spot on the horse’s left flank. The horse whinnied and stomped his foot in protest. “There, there, fellow,” Logan said soothingly.

He led the horse to the stream to drink from the cool waters. After the horse had his fill, Logan mounted and with one last lingering look at the remains of Libby’s cabin, he began the long journey north.

*****

The caravan of mules and horse snaked along the narrow tail toward Centreville, carrying the grim faced travelers over the mountain pass. Libby was oblivious to her surroundings. She kept her head lowered. Once they began the ascent up the mountain, she’d not looked back. Still, the vision of Logan’s face was so fixed in her mind, she could think of nothing else.

At first, Thornton tried to make conversation, but when he received no response, he soon gave up and fell in line behind her.

It was late afternoon by the time the weary travelers reached Centreville. It was a bustling town, twice as big as Calico Corners. Libby was surprised at the number of women who strolled along the boardwalk, or could be seen riding in springboard wagons that filled the streets. Even more startling were the number of children. Libby couldn’t believe her eyes.

When had all these people arrived? All these families?

No sooner had they reached the heart of town than the majority of men—including Sharkey, Shakespeare, Big Sam, and McGuire—headed for the saloons to quench their thirst. Libby was grateful to Thornton for offering to stay with her.

She was exhausted and her body ached from the hours spent on the mule. Noel was heavy and it was such a relief when Thornton took him from her arms and escorted her to the hotel, where he booked separate rooms.

Libby’s room was at the top of the stairs and had a balcony that overlooked Mill Street. The proprietor had offered to give her one of the back rooms, away from the street, but Libby wanted the luxury of looking out her window and watching the many families that strolled up and down the boardwalk below.

Thornton placed Noel on the bed with his usual awkwardness. Despite Big Sam’s instructions and the best of intention, he never could manage the knack of holding Noel. “I think it would be wise if you stayed here and got some rest. I’ll arrange for refreshment to be brought up,” he said.

Libby sat on the bed next to Noel. His breeches were wet, but his little buckskin suit was dry and had kept him warm. “I’m really not hungry. What I need are clean clothes for Noel.” Everything but the precious few things she’d grabbed before making her escape had been lost in the fire.

Thornton nodded. “I’ll see what I can find.” He hesitated at the door as if he was afraid to leave her alone. “I won’t be long.”

He closed the door after him and his footsteps faded away.

Libby poured the tepid water from the pitcher into the porcelain basin and washed the road dust off her hands and face. She than bathed Noel. His darling smile failed for once to lift her spirits, and she felt a sense of guilt for being so despondent in his presence. Wrapping him in a large Turkish towel, she settled in a chair next to the window to nurse him. She eased a nipple into his little pink mouth. The lack of tingling made her suspect her milk supply had dropped. His frantic sucking efforts confirmed it.

Luckily, Noel was more tired than hungry, and he soon fell asleep at her breast. Placing him at the center of the bed she arranged the feathered pillows to protect him from drafts. Now that he could roll over she would have to carefully watch him.