Now and Forever (15 page)

H
e heard horses coming and quickly ducked off the trail. Gage Coulter galloping past. Always in a hurry. He took smug pleasure in knowing that Coulter, a tough western man, hadn’t seen him.

Men made mistakes when they were in a hurry, and he’d learned long ago to be patient. So he waited, wondering about Coulter visiting the Tucker homestead. Probably trying to drive the nesters off.

The waiting proved wise, because it wasn’t long before Aaron Masterson and his wife rode past, accompanied by an Indian woman and Nev Bassett. Native folks weren’t of interest. And Bassett was a madman.

He stood in the shadows for a long time, giving anyone else who might have been at the Tuckers time to ride away. Finally satisfied, he rode on. When he was close, he concealed his horse and tied it securely. Then he began to slip through the woods.

When the Tucker homestead came into view, he straight
ened in surprise. Where did that fence come from? Pursing his lips, he stirred ideas around in his head. A smart man could accomplish more by thinking than doing. Were the Tuckers buying cattle? They showed no signs of having the money to do such a thing. If he’d judged them wrong, the plan would never work.

Sheep bleated from inside the barn. A crack against the wood told him one even kicked at the door. Wolves howled in the distance. The sheep wanted out, as if they were looking forward to being a meal.

It was a sturdy, well-built fence, but as he drew closer he realized it didn’t curve all the way around the meadow. What it did was section off a small part close to the barn and leave most of the meadow wide open all the way to the woods.

It was a fence for those sheep. That was why Coulter and Masterson were over here. They might well have just done this today.

And still the sheep were locked up. So they’d built a fence and not left the sheep outside. The fence would keep the sheep in, yet it wouldn’t stop the wolves. They’d simply jump over the fence and make a meal out of the woolly-brained animals.

He liked the idea of consigning them to their death. Much more enthralling than simple theft. Life and death—it made him feel like God.

Steeped in that power, he dismissed the fence.

Neighbors helping out an injured friend, that’s all it was. A sturdy corral for the sheep was probably all they could think of that the Tuckers needed.

The gates on that solid new fence were standing wide open. And why not, with the sheep securely locked in the barn? A bit of harm done to the Tuckers at the expense of their sheep was even better than he’d hoped, since these folks clearly set store by them.

A wolf howled again, closer this time, and it gave him an idea. Maybe no fire would be necessary. It’d be wise to try something different. It helped confuse anyone who investigated, though there was little enough law that he didn’t expect to raise suspicions.

He peered at the lantern burning in the cabin and eased back into the woods to let the Tuckers get to sleep and the wolves to come nearer.

As always, he was a patient man.

“I don’t know how you can eat that!” Shannon shuddered as she watched Tucker fork stew into his mouth.

“You say you don’t know how, but that’s not the same as not knowing I will, isn’t that right?” Tucker asked.

That was a question that made absolutely no sense. “Yes, that’s right. I know you are a meat-eating vulture.”

“I’d say you know me really well.” Tucker swiped his biscuit across his plate, soaking up gravy, and ate every last drop of it. “Is your objection to eating meat or do you also dislike cooking it? Because I’d really like a wife who could make me a steak now and then.”

Shannon couldn’t control a gag.

“Guess that answers that. I know how to fry up a steak, so it don’t matter.” He leaned back and picked up his coffee cup.

“Aren’t you going to eat your beets?” She’d served him a generous portion, and they lay there, cold, bleeding their red juice. He’d eaten the potatoes by chopping them up and throwing them in Sunrise’s stew, but the beets remained untouched—he didn’t want his stew to turn pink.

“Nope, I’m full.” Tucker drank deep and looked at her with the strangest expression.

“But the food will go to waste.”

“Maybe the sheep will eat ’em.” Tucker finished his coffee and set his cup aside.

Frustrated, unsure how she could make the man eat a beet if he didn’t want it, Shannon cleared the table, washed the dishes, and set the loathsome stew to the back of the fireplace. They let the fire go down after the meal, but the embers would keep the stew warm overnight. Tucker would want it for breakfast and dinner and again for supper, for as long as it lasted.

She came back to the table. Everyone she knew ate meat and plenty of it. The savage she’d married was more normal than she was. When she sat across from him at the small table, he smiled in a way that struck her as extremely insincere.

“Is something wrong, Tucker?”

“No!” He almost shouted the word. He cleared his throat and spoke more calmly, “No, absolutely not. Nothing’s wrong. Not at all. In fact, Shannon . . .” He cleared his throat again, then fell silent. Then cleared it again. “I think, that is . . . well, everything seems really
right
and that makes me think we . . . we . . .” He threaded his fingers together in front of him and rested his hands on the table. It almost looked like he was praying.

“Yes, what is it?” Whatever it was, he suddenly looked terribly serious. Shannon leaned forward, worried. Maybe his leg was hurting him more than he was willing to admit. Maybe one of the barely healed claw marks on his stomach was showing signs of new infection. He’d been up and about far too much. She should’ve never let him have pants.

The silence stretched. He stared at her and seemed unable to speak.

With jerky motions he pushed back from the table and stood, leaning against his chair, glaring at his crutch as if it made him mad. With all his weight on one foot, steadying himself with one hand on the table, he rubbed the back of his neck and seemed to ask the next question of the tabletop.

“How well would you say you know me, Shannon?”

“What?” She wondered if she was developing a hearing problem.

“Answer the question.”

But the question was stupid. “I’d say I know you pretty well. We’ve been living in the same house day and night for over a month now. It’s impossible not to know you.”

A smile broke out on Tucker’s face. “I completely agree. That’s good then.”

He breathed in deep and picked up his crutch, then clomped his way over to the bed and sat down. Since there’d been no point in keeping him in that nightshirt any longer once the first pair of pants was done, she’d taken to sewing at a more normal speed and had made him a second set of clothes and a less-ridiculous nightshirt. And Sunrise was working on buckskin pants and a jerkin. She
was doing beadwork, which Shannon thought was beautiful. Tucker thought it was taking too long.

“It’s bedtime,” he announced so loudly she jumped. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“It’s a little early, honestly.”

He looked up at her, and his eyes nearly burned a hole right through her. “Well, it’s been a mighty long day for me. I’m going to bed.” He tossed his shirt over the corner post of the bed and was busy disrobing further.

Shannon either chose bed or sat here in the full lantern light watching her husband undress. She didn’t see much choice there. She quickly turned the lantern off before he removed any more clothes and, using skills she’d perfected during her new marriage, pulled her nightgown on and took off her clothes from underneath it. She’d learned so many ways to be modest, it had become a source of pride.

“Are you ready?” she asked, just as she did every night before she turned around.

“Oh yes.” Tucker sounded hoarse. She hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. A summer cold could be a nuisance. No one had been around who had any illness, but Aaron was in town almost every day. Who knew what sickness he might have brought to the place?

Shannon was a little nervous for no reason she could exactly understand as she headed for bed. Tucker had scooted over and was lying on his side, his head propped up on one elbow. That wasn’t his way. He was always flat on his back. He’d pull her close, and they’d fall asleep with her head on his shoulder. It was a comfort they’d found
in each other from the first day after they’d crawled out of that river together.

Now when she lay down beside him, he loomed over her and rested one of his strong hands on her stomach. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

They’d shared many a kiss, and she’d enjoyed every one of them.

Tucker didn’t just kiss her, though, then get on with sleeping. He pulled her closer.

She figured it out. “When you asked me if I knew you well, you were talking about what I said after our wedding vows.” She remembered very clearly, and now she understood why he’d been so nervous.

His hand caressed her stomach, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark she could see his smiling face.

“Yes, I think we know each other mighty well, don’t you?” He meant he wanted to be fully and completely married. Right now.

“We do indeed.” Her arms slid around his neck.

G
et up.” He hissed the words, but Shannon responded instantly. “Your sheep are out.” He threw his blanket off, and she scrambled to get out of his way. He had his pants and shirt on fast. He jerked a moccasin on his good foot, fastened his whip at his waist, hung the Yellowboy rifle over his shoulder, and dropped the cutlass over his head so it hung across his chest. He already had the two knives up his sleeve and another in a seam in his pants.

Using a crutch, he went to the door, hitching his holster around his hips as he peeked out, ready to fight a war less than one minute after his eyes had opened.

Shannon came up beside him. Dressed in her britches, rifle in hand. A holster on. Boots on. Just as ready for trouble as he was.

What a woman!

He wished he had time to kiss her.

“Did you drop the hasp on the barn door?” The way she said it wasn’t as if she was accusing him of being careless.
Nope, just the opposite. She was reminding him that he always dropped the hasp on the barn door, and so did she, and they always double-checked it.

“Yep.”

“Then someone opened it. Probably the varmint that’s been bothering homesteaders.” She came up beside him, gun drawn. “Any sign of fire?”

“Nope.” A wolf howled, far too close. Tucker heard hooves pounding away. It told him if he went outside, he wouldn’t walk into a bullet.

“Whoever turned those sheep loose just took off.” He swung the door open. “I’m going for my horse. I can’t chase after the sheep on foot. You round up any of the critters that’ve stayed close around the place.”

He saw a few little balls of white wool grazing close by.

Shannon jerked her chin. “Fire a shot in the air if you need help. I’ll do the same.”

“Mind those wolves; they’re mighty close.” Too close.

They left the house in a rush.

Tucker was getting good with the crutch. He headed straight for the barn, and as soon as the sound of those running hooves faded, he lifted two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. His mustang came charging out of the barn. She stayed in a stall most nights, safe from the wolves, just like the sheep.

But his grulla was canny and not much stopped her, not even the closed door of a barn stall. The horse came straight for Tucker. He tossed the crutch aside and grabbed the flowing black mane and was on the horse while she was near a full gallop. He ignored the tearing pain in his
belly as he rushed straight for a sheep escaping to the forest. Toward certain death, the numbskull.

With no bridle and no saddle, Tucker used his knees. Even clumsy with the cast on his foot, he and his horse were a team, almost like a single animal, operating with one mind. With only pressure from his legs and hands, and coaxing with his voice, the horse went right where Tucker needed her to go.

The howl of a wolf just past the forest’s edge sent a cold chill down Tucker’s spine. It was one of the eeriest sounds in the mountains, one Tucker had heard a thousand times before, but never this close.

Grew was the finest horse Tucker had ever owned, yet was he asking too much? Running straight into the jaws of a wolf? The horse didn’t hesitate, at least it hadn’t yet.

They closed in on the sheep. A little one. Tucker wished for a rope. Cowboy skills weren’t his greatest talent, but he could probably drop a loop over the frightened baby.

Instead, clinging to the mane with one hand, he leaned most of the way to the ground at a gallop and sank one hand deep into wool. He plucked the little guy up into his lap, whirled his horse around, and charged for the barn.

The wolf howled so close, Tucker could swear he felt hot breath on his neck. Dropping the lamb to straddle the horse’s back, Tucker slung his rifle off his back, wheeled his horse around. He found a wolf not racing at him, but running toward another lamb. Tucker fired, then cocked his gun and fired again.

The wolf fell dead, a few feet from the lamb, which stumbled back on shaky legs.

Tucker hung his rifle back on his shoulder and went for the lamb before it could go hunt up another wolf to eat it. He grabbed it as he had the first one and took the two of them to the barn as fast as he could go. Shannon was coming out of the barn. He handed both of the sheep over and rushed away.

“I’ve got three penned up,” she called after him.

“Five down, seven to go,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Be careful. The wolves are right up to the clearing.”

He heard another wolf, this one not howling but instead making the ugly snarling sound of an animal ready for the kill. He swatted the grulla on the rump, aiming straight for that sound while trying to spare his broken leg.

The mustang burst through the underbrush at the edge of the forest and crashed into a pack of four of the biggest timber wolves Tucker had ever seen. He had his rifle in action instantly. He fired the Yellowboy again and again. The wolves leaped at the horse, biting at her. His grulla was a mustang, born wild, and she knew how to fight. She reared and lashed out with hooves and teeth.

It was impossible to stay seated with no saddle and both hands on his rifle. Tucker went over and landed flat on his back. The wolves closing in. Enough moonlight came through the trees that he could see to aim and fire at the wolves until one of the beasts got past his rifle barrel, sank its teeth into the iron with a growl, and ripped it out of his hands.

Tucker drew his six-gun and killed the beast that’d taken his gun. The world became a blur of yellow eyes and dark fur, the sound of snarling filling the air.

Two more wolves came at him, one from each side, and his cutlass found its way into his hand without him making a decision to reach for it. He slashed at the wolves with one hand while firing with the other. Then hooves came down just inches from his face and cleared the wolves away. Tucker paused, not wanting to cut his horse or shoot it. The horse jumped away just as another huge wolf landed hard on Tucker’s chest and arm, knocking his gun hand aside. Tucker sank the knife into the wolf’s chest and heaved the brute off, leaving his knife slippery with blood. He lost his grip on it when the wolf hit the ground.

Before he could take a breath, another wolf was on him, its snapping jaws only inches away. With his cutlass gone, he clawed for the knife up his sleeve but couldn’t get ahold of it.

Tucker was going to lose this fight. He ached with regret because, in Shannon’s arms tonight, he’d found one of the wonders of marriage. And now he was going to be torn away from her.

As his hand slipped, and with a final prayer to God, the wolf made one final lunge.

Then came deafening gunfire. The wolf on his chest yelped and flew sideways. The explosion of bullets ended as quickly as they began. Silence reigned in the nearly pitch-black woods.

Stunned, flat on his back, Tucker shook off the confusion. He blinked to bring the world into focus and realized Shannon stood there, smoke curling from her six-gun in one hand, his Yellowboy in the other.

She looked at him, her eyes barely visible in the darkness,
raking his body as if searching for every tooth and claw mark. Then she went back to surveying the woods around them.

“Are you hurt? Can you get up? I can’t see well enough in these trees to watch for another attack. We need to get out of here.”

“I . . . I can get up.” At least he hoped he could.

He tried to sound steady, but he must have failed because that earned him a sharp look from Shannon. “Two got away. Most of the sheep are back in the barn or close by it. But the ones that didn’t come back . . .” She tore her eyes away from him and went back to keeping watch, guns at the ready, her hands steady as granite. “There are five I reckon didn’t make it.”

Tucker struggled to sit up. His horse then trotted over, nudged him in the shoulder and helped him. The grulla leaned her head down far enough he could grab her mane. His hands were trembling, unlike his wife’s. He hoped Shannon kept watching for wolves because he was ashamed of how shaken he was.

His grip uncertain, he managed, with the horse’s help, to get to his feet . . . foot. For all the madness, he seemed to have not re-broken his leg. And why would he? He’d spent most of this fight either riding or knocked to the ground.

Shannon looked at him, at the woods, at the dead wolves. Tucker counted four carcasses.

“You got one out in the clearing and two more in here.” She saw his pistol on the ground, grabbed it, and handed it to him. “I got one close to the barn and two here.”

He holstered the gun, disgusted with himself for losing
both his weapons. “I think my horse gets credit for some of ’em.”

“Your horse probably didn’t do this.” She reached for the handle of his cutlass in a wolf’s chest and yanked it free with undue violence. The first outward sign he’d seen of her inward anger at this attack on her woolly friends.

She wiped the knife on the wolf’s fur, then gave it to Tucker. “Can you mount up?”

Tucker dug deep and found the gumption to swing up on his grulla’s back. He didn’t have a trace of the nimbleness from earlier. He still hadn’t given much thought to whether the wolves had done much chewing on him. He wondered how his mustang had weathered the attack.

He remembered the grizzly bear. Animal claws and teeth were filthy. Sunrise had said it, and Tucker knew it for a fact. He’d make a point to check for any wounds on himself and his horse before a lot of time passed. It was too soon after the fight. Shock could cover a lot of pain, but he didn’t feel all that wounded. He turned the horse and was out of the woods, riding for the barn. Two sheep milled around outside the door, the fool critters.

Except this once they weren’t fool critters.
They
hadn’t unlocked the barn. Tucker rode up to the door, still on his horse. He undid the hasp Shannon had fastened, swung the door open, and the sheep rushed in. He counted nine. He turned to watch Shannon backing toward the barn, still facing the woods. Maybe she was on the lookout for wolves; more likely she was very carefully not looking at her diminished herd.

As Tucker prepared to dismount, a loud bleat drew his
attention. Out of the woods, not far from where the wolves had attacked, their ram dashed into view.

“Ramual!” Shannon’s voice broke. She didn’t let up on keeping watch, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other. She didn’t even move toward the herd sire. But Tucker knew she was glad to see the old guy. He backed his horse away from the open door as the ram ran inside with a
baa
of pure relief.

“Four missing,” Tucker said. Then, feeling like the worst kind of hopeless optimist, he added, “We could scout around for a bit. Maybe we’ll find ’em alive still.”

“Or find what’s left of them,” Shannon said with grim resignation. “No, I’m lucky to have lost so few. Very lucky.” She tucked her pistol in the waistband of her britches, shouldered his Yellowboy, and turned to pick up his crutch and bring it to him. He dismounted and slapped the horse on the rump. She went inside to join Shannon’s mustang, which had wisely stayed in the barn throughout the whole mess. Shannon handed him his rifle and his crutch.

“Let’s get you inside to check for bites. We’ll have a closer look at the livestock in the morning, but they look all right. Even your horse, and she was in the thick of it.” Shannon closed the barn. “I want a padlock on that door by tomorrow night.”

As they headed for the house, Tucker said, “A padlock won’t stop a fire.”

Shannon stopped, and Tucker did too. They faced each other.

“It was him, wasn’t it? The man who burned out the
homesteaders. He’s decided we’re next. He’s trying to drive us off our claim.”

Tucker nodded, jerked his head toward the cabin, and they started walking again. “We’ll post a watch.”

“Filthy yellow-bellied coward.” Shannon got to the door and held it open. “Sneaking around in the night, starting fires, hurting people with little or no money, driving them off their land. Do you remember when someone was trying to drive Kylie off her homestead?”

“Yep, it was those kids in town.” Tucker stepped inside and made his way to the bed. They hadn’t been kids, but they’d refused to grow up, so Tucker caught himself thinking of them that way.

Shannon turned up the lantern. “They were doing it because they knew Gage Coulter wanted her claim.”

“Coulter’s the one who told us about this.” Tucker shucked his clothes, disgusted to see one of his sleeves was torn nearly off. Clothes were supposed to be made out of leather for just such times as these. “He wouldn’t burn our homestead, Shannon. I know the man. He isn’t behind this. And even if he was coyote enough to prey on homesteaders, he’s not fool enough to try it with me.”

Shannon’s eyes came up and met his. They exchanged a long look. “You can track whoever did this, can’t you?”

“I can track him.” Tucker could track a rattlesnake across solid rock. He sure enough could track the rattlesnake that had attacked his home.

“Good. But just because it isn’t Coulter doesn’t mean someone isn’t doing it thinking to please him. That’s how it was before.” Shannon pulled a kettle of water off the fire
place hook, filled a basin with water, and came to his side. “It could even be that same girl . . . what was her name?”

“Myra Hughes. The daughter of Erica Langley, who runs the town diner. And her stepfather’s Bo Langley, the U.S. Marshal who makes his home in Aspen Ridge. But he’s gone more than he’s home. Her brothers were in on it with her, and they’ve both left town. Bo threw them out of his house. He let Myra stay.”

“Well, she thought claiming Kylie’s land could snag her Coulter as a husband, so maybe she thinks that’d work again now with my land.”

“Maybe. She’d have to be mighty stupid, but maybe. And there are other ranchers in the area. Maybe she’s turned her eyes to them. And if a rancher who doesn’t like homesteaders is behind this, Coulter isn’t the only one in the area.” Tucker found some red scratches on the arm with the ruined sleeve.

“He’s the only one who’d want this land. I’m homesteading on his range.” Seeing his scratches, Shannon lifted a rag from the steaming water. “That’s a bite, Tucker.”