Promises Kept (30 page)

“Lane came over and told us about Colt and Tate. How is he? What can we do to help?” Victoria’s hurried words revealed her nervousness.

Tearing up, Helen could hardly talk. “The doc got the bullet out, but he’s not awake yet. And Tate . . .” she murmured, “that poor boy.” She wiped her tears with her apron. Victoria and Mrs. Wellington wrapped their arms around her.

“There now, you just have a good cry,” Mrs. Wellington told her.

“I’ve never seen Colt in such a state. He’s always so big and strong, but now . . .” Helen couldn’t go on.

“Colt is a strong lad, he will survive this,” Mrs. Wellington assured her.

Collecting her emotions, Helen said, “I know he will. I’m just so worried about what he will do when he gets his hands on the man responsible for killing Tate.” She gave them a brittle smile. “I’m so happy you are here. I need the company. I was just going to prepare something for the men to eat. Is Bartholomew with you?” It wasn’t often Helen had female companionship and right now it was exactly what she needed.

“I will do the cooking. You’re done in, and you need to get some rest.” Victoria could tell Helen was at her breaking point.

“Bartholomew will be in shortly. He’s seeing to the horses,” Mrs. Wellington added.

“I don’t think I can rest just yet, I’m just too nervous,” Helen replied.

“Then we’ll fix you up with a spot of tea—that makes everything better,” Mrs. Wellington said.

“Is Colt going to be an angel like Tate?” Cade asked.

“Shouldn’t we pray to God for him like we did Bandit?” Cody asked.

Victoria wasn’t sure if the boys understood about death, since Tate was the first person they knew who died. She’d explained Tate’s death by telling them they would no longer see him, but he was in heaven just like an angel. That explanation seemed to give them some understanding. She pulled both boys into her arms and hugged them to her. “No, Colt is going to be here with us for a long time. We must think good thoughts about him getting well. You can say a prayer for him before dinner.” She couldn’t even entertain the thought that he might die. To her, he was invincible.

“Can we see him?” Cody asked.

“Not right now. Let’s give him time to rest.” Victoria thought the best way to keep them from worrying was to keep them busy. “We need to help Helen right now. You two can set the table for her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they replied together.

“They are such good boys, Victoria. You’re an excellent mother,” Helen commented.

Victoria exchanged a look with Mrs. Wellington. Now that she had told the truth to Mrs. Wellington, she felt guilty continuing the lie with other people like Helen, who was becoming her friend. Knowing it was not the time for such discussions, she said, “They are worried about Colt. They’re very fond of him.”

“I daresay they aren’t the only ones,” Helen replied, glancing in Victoria’s direction.

Victoria hurried across the room to retrieve an apron off the peg, needing to keep herself busy. “Do you want me to cook enough for all the men?”

“Yes, I’m sure they will all stop in when they have time, to see how Colt is doing.” Helen sipped the tea Mrs. Wellington served her, but in a few seconds she was back on her feet. “I’d better take some fresh water upstairs.”

“I’ll take it,” Victoria offered quickly, wanting badly to see Colt. It wasn’t only the boys who needed reassurance that he would be okay.

Mrs. Wellington moved to the stove. “I’ll take over here. You go ahead.” She knew Victoria was distraught over Colt and would worry until she saw him.

The first thing Victoria noticed when she walked into the room with a pitcher of water was Bandit snuggled up on the bed beside a deathly still, deathly pale Colt. The two chairs in the room were occupied by Tom and T. J., and both were snoring softly. She moved quietly to the bureau and poured fresh water into the bowl. As if he knew he shouldn’t move, Bandit followed her every move with his eyes. After placing the bowl on the table by the bed, she dipped a cloth in the water and gently washed Colt’s face. The cloth snagged on his dark whiskers, and she remembered when he’d kissed her he was clean shaven. It was frightening how things changed in the space of one day. She could have lost him forever, and that was a thought she couldn’t face.

Encouraged that he didn’t seem feverish, she reached across Colt and patted Bandit’s head. “He will be okay,” she whispered. Bandit looked from her to Colt and started wagging his tail. She didn’t have the heart to make the dog leave, and thought perhaps on some level it might be a comfort to Colt to have him near.

It was difficult for her to see this larger-than-life man in such a state of helplessness. Yesterday when he’d pulled her into his arms, he was so warm, strong, and solid, so full of life. She moved her hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat. It reassured her to feel a strong, rhythmic beat. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “You need to wake up. The boys want to see you, and you are worrying everyone to death, especially Bandit.” She jumped when Colt moved his head toward her lips. He let out a small moan, and Bandit’s head snapped up and he looked at Colt. When Colt didn’t open his eyes, Bandit lowered his head back down to rest it on Colt’s hand and let out his own little groan.

When she finished washing Colt’s face, she took his hand in hers and stared at his face. He looked quite disreputable with a day’s growth of black whiskers and his long, unruly hair, but he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Unbeknownst to her, Tom and T. J. had awakened and were watching her. If T. J. had had serious thoughts of courting Victoria, they would have been quickly dismissed when he saw the look on her face as she held Colt’s hand. He couldn’t figure out two things: why Colt hadn’t realized how she felt, and why she was spending so much time with Wallace.

Mrs. Wellington walked in carrying a tray. On seeing Tom and T. J. awake, she said in a direct tone that indicated she would brook no argument, “Get yourselves downstairs and have a good meal and then get some rest. Victoria will call you if there is any change.” Both men jumped up and started moving toward the door, not daring to argue with the woman.

“How is he?” Mrs. Wellington asked.

“He doesn’t feel feverish, so I think that is a good sign.”

Placing the tray of food on a table by the chair, Mrs. Wellington walked to the bed and looked at Colt. “I thought you might want to stay up here while Helen rests for a while, the poor dear. Why don’t you eat here and after I clean the dishes, I will come sit with him. Don’t worry about the boys; they are already at the table with the men.”

“I got him last night,” Hoyt Nelson told Wallace.

“What are you talking about?” Wallace asked, settling in his chair.

Hoyt finished rolling his cigarette and lit it as he strolled to the chair in front of the desk. “McBride. I shot him last night.”

Lurching from his chair, Wallace planted both palms on his desk and leaned forward. “You did what?”

Hoyt blew smoke in his face. “I killed McBride.”

“I gave you no authority to kill McBride, at least not yet.” Wallace wasn’t angry that McBride was dead; he just wanted to be there to see him killed. He had a score to settle.

Hoyt grinned. “Let’s just say the opportunity came for me to expedite matters. I’m tired of this nothing town and it’s time I moved on. Besides, you own the sheriff, so it’s not like he will come looking for me. Right?”

Wallace shook his head. He was an idiot to think a hired killer could take orders, or be trusted, for that matter. “I wanted things handled more subtly. Do you know what that means?”

Returning Wallace’s glare, Hoyt’s voice took on a deadly tone. “Yeah, I know what it means. Problem is, you’re going about this all wrong. Everyone’s noticed you’ve been distracted by a pretty face. I’m not inclined to stay around here until you finally decide how to handle that woman and get your mind back on business.”

“I’m paying you as well as every other man on this ranch to do things my way.”

Hoyt dropped the cigarette on the fancy rug and ground it out with his boot. “I’d say I just did things my way. Now I want my money.”

If Hoyt thought Wallace was going to roll over and play dead, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. Wallace sat back down in his chair and wrapped his hand around the pistol under his desk. “This is not over. I want the Barlow farm. I had a plan for McBride. Since he’s dead, I guess getting what I want will be easier.”

“I told you, I don’t intend to hang around here forever,” Hoyt ground out. “I don’t see anyone else standing in your way.”

“McBride has two brothers, and I guess you didn’t know that. One happens to be a U.S. Marshal.”

“I don’t see what difference that makes. I don’t see him around.”

Wallace just shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose you do. As I stated in our agreement up front, when I have the Barlow farm, then you get your money.” Before Hoyt could respond, he added, “Find Gage Hardy for me and send him in.”

“Why do you want him?”

“I have some questions for him.”

“There’s a man that can’t hold his liquor,” Hoyt said.

Wallace was counting on that. “Few men can. Just get him in here.”

Hoyt stood to leave, but Wallace stopped him. “You’re sure you killed McBride?”

“Yep, it was after midnight. No one saw me.”

“If it was dark, how do you know you shot him?”

“He’s a big man. Hard to miss.”

“I thought you wanted to draw against him,” Wallace taunted.

“I did, but I shot his foreman, and McBride came running, so I had no choice.” Turning to leave, Hoyt gave him a parting demand. “If I hang around here any longer, I’ll expect triple the amount we agreed on. And don’t think of asking Hardy to take me out. He’s not fast enough or smart enough.”

Wallace leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. It amused him to see what went through Hoyt’s brain. He had no intention of asking Gage Hardy to kill Hoyt. But maybe he needed to think this through. Perhaps that wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. Hoyt was proving to be a problem, and it might not be a bad idea to find a way to eliminate him after he got what he wanted. Killing McBride didn’t bother him, except for the timing, and the fact that Hoyt had a habit of bragging about his exploits to the men. Maybe he should hire someone to take him out.

Thirty minutes later Gage Hardy walked into Wallace’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

Wallace poured him a large glass of whiskey. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Unable to sleep, Victoria squirmed around in the large chair T. J. had carried from Colt’s office upstairs so she would be comfortable. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable, she was just nervous. Colt hadn’t moved a muscle for hours. She leaned forward and placed her palm on his forehead for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. No change. After she refreshed the damp cloth on his forehead, she picked up the books on his bedside table. The Bible and a book of Shakespeare’s works. That made her think of Mr. Barlow’s letter:
I read the Bible and Shakespeare
. She hadn’t read the Bible in a long time, but she picked it up and started reading one of her favorite passages to Colt. After a long while, she closed the book and spoke softly to him.

“I wanted to talk to you, to tell you things about my past.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to talk to him. Maybe it was her deep-seated fear he wouldn’t survive, no matter how often she told herself otherwise. Somehow it seemed easier to spill everything in her heart without those black eyes boring deep into her soul. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m the daughter of a woman who worked in a saloon in Abilene. The twins are also children of a saloon woman.” From there, she spilled every sordid detail of her life. She told him of the night Gage Hardy attacked her, the one thing she hadn’t even told Mrs. Wellington. She described the fire at the saloon, and how she took the boys that night and left that life behind. She told him of her ordeal traveling with the young boys, right up to the day she reached Mrs. Wellington’s boardinghouse. When she finished telling him her story, she was both exhausted and relieved. Smoothing his wavy hair back from his forehead, she gazed at his strong features. He was an unbelievably handsome man. Everything about him was masculine except those long, dark lashes of his. She wanted him to know how much she cared for him. “I love you,” she whispered.

Her story would have to be repeated one day; she owed him that. Leaning over, she kissed his forehead, much as she did the twins every night. Resting her elbows on the bed, she folded her hands together and did something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl living with her grandmother. She prayed.

Colt had awakened before Victoria started talking. The room was quiet, and he didn’t know where he was or what had happened. His mind was fuzzy and his body ached all over.
And why is my hand so cold?
Events flashed in his mind as he tried to remember what happened to him, but everything was disconnected and confusing. He saw himself standing by Victoria’s barn, talking to her. Kissing her. Then . . .
What happened after that?
He was starting a fire . . . T. J. was there. He saw himself near the fire . . . Tate was asking him about . . .
Victoria?
They were laughing. Nothing was making sense; each thought seemed to be disjointed. He heard something . . .
a gunshot?
Then he saw himself kicking dirt into the fire . . . running . . . his gun was in his hand.
What is evading my memory?
Tate . . . where was Tate? What happened to . . . Tate? To T. J.? Suddenly the disconnected scenes of that night assaulted his mind. It was so dark, but he saw a body on the ground. Not . . . oh no, not Tate! No! He reached down to feel the boy’s chest to see if he was breathing. Warm blood was flowing from his lifeless body. Tate . . . shot . . . no, God . . . Tate was dead. He started to drift back to the place where he couldn’t feel the pain. This had to be a dream. Tate couldn’t be dead.

Someone placed a cool cloth on his face. He was so hot and it felt so good. Maybe he’d caught a fever and was out of his head. Then he heard Victoria’s sweet voice. He tried to hang on to every word to remain conscious. He wanted to ask her if he was dreaming, but he couldn’t speak. All he could do was listen. He concentrated on what she was saying so he wouldn’t drift away. She was telling him about her past. She told him why she’d lost her faith.