Smoketree (13 page)

He watched me a moment longer. “I’m sorry,” he said obscurely, and was gone.

I sank back against the couch, letting my head tip back to rest against it. I knew the exhaustion was the aftermath of shock; the shakes would go away shortly, especially with the brandy flooding my system. I closed my eyes.

I heard the screen door stretch open again, wondering idly if Harper was back that soon, then heard the quiet footsteps on the wooden floor. Whoever it was didn’t wear boots. “Kelly!”

It was Brandon. I lifted my head and saw him cross the floor in about two strides. “I just heard. Are you all right?”

I displayed the brandy. “I will be.”

He stood over me a moment, rigid with concern, then carefully sat down beside me. A big hand reached out and steadied the glass. “The horse came back without you.”

An illogical bubble of laughter burst inside. “We simply decided to part company.” I smiled. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You look a mess,” he said, not unkindly. “Not much like the Kelly Clayton most people know.”

His weight on the couch tipped me against his shoulder. It was not unpleasing, and he provided a big, safe headrest. “The Kelly Clayton most people know is not the real me,” I said, feeling drowsy. “Actually, I prefer dirt.” Then I straightened. “Brandon, we’d better go check on the horse. It wasn’t her fault. Come on.”

“She didn’t throw you?” he asked in surprise.

“No, and I didn’t fall off, either.” I scowled at him. “I jumped.”

Brandon took the brandy snifter from my hand. “If you’ve decided to start jumping off horses, you don’t need any more brandy. You need your head examined.”

“Oh, it’s a little banged up, but it’s in one piece.” I felt at the back of my skull. “Come on.”

We went down to the pens. Nathan was there, carefully examining Hornet’s legs. Her head drooped as if she felt as poorly as I did, and she nosed his shoulder as he bent over a foreleg. Harper was leaning against the rails, watching silently. “How is she?” I asked Nathan.

He raised his head, then straightened as he saw me. He gently set Hornet’s leg down and looked at me. I saw a mixture of things in his face: concern, detachment, weariness and something else. It took me a moment to recognize it, and when I did I caught my breath.

It was fear.

“The mare’s all right,” he said, wiping a forearm across his forehead. The gray hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been running rigid fingers through it. “She’s bruised—she’ll be a little gimpy for a few days—but she’ll do. What about you?”

I shrugged. “About the same. Nothing a little rest won’t cure.”

My reassurance didn’t ease the worry lines in his tired face.

“Do you recall anything that might have triggered the runaway?”

I glanced at Harper. “There
was
something,” I said steadily. “A man. He popped up out of nowhere an scared me half to death. It’s no wonder she shied.”

“Shying is not a runaway,” Nathan said grimly. “It would take more than that to set her off on a dead run like that, especially down the mountain.”

“She didn’t run then,” I admitted. “It was after the sound.”

“Sound?” He repeated sharply.

“A crack.” I shrugged. “Sort of like a firecracker. Or maybe a gunshot.” I brought myself up short.

Nathan’s face turned ashen, collapsing into a map of wrinkles. He aged ten years before my eyes. Numbly I felt him take my arm and lead me around to Hornet’s back end. He didn’t have to point it out.

Splashed across her palomino rump was a dark stain. Something had gouged out a piece of flesh, leaving a short furrow as if made from a glancing blow.

A bullet.

I looked at Harper, who had ridden into the trees with a rifle in his hands.

I looked at him and he said nothing at all.

It is a hard thing to realize someone might have reason to shoot at you; it is even harder to realize it has happened. But it took little debate with my emotions, because my intellect recognized the truth.

Harper might have cut the fence himself, earlier, providing a reason for his retreat into the pines. He had carefully ordered me to a specific spot in the trail. The stranger had been there, waiting to give me a scare, one designed to get me off-guard, vulnerable to a rifle shot that would panic my horse into a dangerous plunge down the mountain. He had even chosen the horse.

But it was all so damned impossible.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Slowly I dragged myself from the bed, tightened the belt of my terry-cloth robe and moved to the door. The hot shower had worked some of the soreness from my body, but I was stiff, bruised and scraped in dozens of places.

I opened the door a crack, hoping to discourage the unwanted visitor.

“Kelly,” said Brandon quietly.

I swung the door wider. It was dark now, past dinner—which I had skipped—and the illumination from the light beside my door splashed across his face and brought his gray eyes into sharp, welcome relief.

“I wanted to check on you, ” he said. “The way you took off after you saw the horse—”

“I know.” I interrupted, ducking the issue. I gestured him inside and stepped out of his way. “It was rude of me, but I had to get away. There were too many things I wanted to think about. Plus I needed a shower.” I ran a hand through my damp hair as Brandon entered.

I closed the door tightly as he took a seat in the padded leather armchair. I stayed where I was, leaning against the door, and waited.

“You are all right.” It was half-question, half-observation.

“I’m fine. Stiff and sore, but generally okay. And scared.” He looked around the cabin slowly, as if searching for something. He found it. My bags, set out in the middle of the floor, open and empty, but obviously waiting for something.

Brandon’s eyes came back to me. “You’re leaving.”

“I think it might be a good idea.”

“It was an accident,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to downplay what happened—I’m sure it was very frightening—but it isn’t reason enough to leave.”

I looked at him levelly. “Someone took a
shot
at me today.” He stood up. He walked across the room and put both hands on my arms, near the shoulders, and slowly walked me to the bed, where he sat me down. I felt like a puppet in his hands, arms and legs awry and joints too stiff to move without help. But I sat down as he sat me down, and looked up into his kind face.

“I know,” he said. “I’m not dismissing the possibility, or the seriousness. Only the intent.”

“Brandon, if you had been in my place—”

“If I had been in your place, I’d have been scared too, and angry. I’d want to find the man responsible. But it doesn’t mean I’d jump to the conclusion that
I
was the target.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You were on horseback. You presented an excellent target. Anyone who is any sort of marksman at all can hit that big a target, especially with a rifle.”

“What are you saying?” It came out curtly, and yet I meant it.

“It’s an easy shot, Kelly,” he said gently. “Had this person been shooting at
you
, you’d very likely be dead.”

“So?”

“So.” He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. “Look, you were the one who gave me that song-and-dance about someone trying to force Nathan’s hand to sell Smoketree. You even said it might be that wrangler. Maybe it is.”

I didn’t like hearing my fears confirmed. If Brandon believed Harper was responsible, it made it all the more dangerous. Especially for me. After all, I was the one who had voiced my suspicions.

“You thought it was all a story then, without any foundation.”

“Sure. Originally. It sounded a little far-fetched to me.” He smiled. “Well, maybe you weren’t so far off-base. There have been a string of incidents here, and each one has resulted in damage to the ranch. The barn burned down. That horse was turned loose. Now the guests are being scared off. Without guests, Smoketree is nowhere. It becomes a white elephant. So, Nathan sells it. It’s probably exactly what these land developers want.”

“And Harper’s behind it…”

He shrugged. “Could be. Seems logical.
I
don’t know. But he’d stand to make a lot of money if the place were sold. Money has been known to make people do strange things.” He grinned. “The root of all evil, and all that.”

I chewed at a ragged thumbnail. “So why don’t
you
leave?” I asked around the nail. “Why would
you
stay if that’s what’s going on?”

He shrugged again, one hand clinking the loose change in his pocket. “Nobody’s bothered
me
.”

“I’m scared, Brandon.”

“I don’t blame you.” His face softened. “Look, it was coincidence. Probably whoever it was with that rifle would have taken a shot at
anyone
. It just happened to be you.”

“Harper had that rifle,” I declared.

Brandon’s face tightened. "All right. I’ll stop avoiding the subject and name names.
Harper
had a rifle, and I’m willing to bet it was a bullet from his gun that hit the horse. The
horse
, Kelly. Not you.”

“I could have been killed!” I said angrily.

“Then what do you want me to do? Accuse him to his face?”

I looked away from him. “No, I suppose not. It wouldn’t do much good. Besides, there’s no proof.”

“I’m glad you noticed.” Brandon sighed and sat down on the bed next to me. “I know,” he said. “You’re scared. Like I said, I don’t blame you. Maybe you really should go, if it would make you feel better, but I don’t want you to. I’m being horribly selfish, but I want you to stay here for me.”

I touched Brandon’s leg. “Thank you. But you know—”

“I know. No strings. I just want you to stay.”

I smiled at his earnestness. “If you’ll be my bodyguard.”

“They’d have to pry me away. ” He put a finger on my bottom lip, gently touching the swollen cut, and carefully kissed me beside it. “Stop worrying about this dude ranch, Kelly… it isn’t your concern.”

I wanted to agree. I
did
agree. And yet I knew I wouldn’t stop.

Brandon rose. For a moment he held my right hand locked in his, fingers interlaced. I nodded, and he let me go.

The Olivers were missing at breakfast. Brandon told me they had gone into Flagstaff; John to conduct some long-distance business and Lenore for some shopping. When I pointed out Smoketree was not so backward as to have no phone service, Brandon laughed and said Newton’s business required privacy.

“What does he do again?” I asked over a forkful of scrambled eggs.

“Runs my dad’s munitions plant in Nevada.”

“Guns and bombs and missiles?”

“Plus a lot of other things.” Brandon reached for the pancake syrup. “I’m not sure about all his responsibilities, but he keeps himself pretty busy.”

“What are you two up to? You never did say.”

He splashed the syrup over the stack of pancakes. "Oh, just some deals we’ve talked about before.”

I grinned. “Ah hah, up to something sneaky, are you?”

He nodded, mouth full of pancakes. He tried to maintain a suitably serious expression, but the glint in his eyes gave the game away. “We’re going to blow up the Kremlin,” he admitted.

“No doubt some portion of the great American public will thank you for it.” I dug into my hash browns with relish.

“There’s always somebody somewhere who will approve of what’s done, no matter how foolish it appears,” Brandon observed. “If I’ve learned nothing else about human nature, it’s that some people are just too idealistic for their own good.”

Francesca, in the process of joining us at the table, raised her brows in Brandon’s direction. “Is that true, Brandon? Do you think?”

He nodded. “I
know
. How do you think the world got into such a mess in the first place? Idealism can pervert the mind.”

I stared at him. “Good heavens, I’ve never heard you talk this way before!”

“Because you never gave me the chance to.” He grinned. “Tucker had your undivided attention.”

Francesca set her plate down and seated herself next to me. “Still, I think there is room for idealism,” she said lightly. “It would be so boring without it.”

“True,” Brandon admitted. His attention turned then from us to the latest arrival, Patrick Rafferty. I nearly dropped my fork as the man sat down next to Brandon.

For a moment I stared at him, completely taken aback by his sudden voluntary sociability. Then, as I noted how his eyes remained focused on Francesca, I realized why. Well, who wouldn’t be smitten? She was gorgeous.

Cass was present also, at the head of the table, but Harper was not in sight. I wondered if he was avoiding me, but thought it unlikely. He hadn’t displayed much guilt before; I doubted he would start now. But I wondered if he would say anything at all about the incident, even if only to protest his innocence.

Footsteps interrupted the meal as it neared a finish and I thought the wrangler had decided to brave the climate after all. But it wasn’t Harper. It was Nathan, and the expression that came over Cass’s face was startling and frightening.

“Uncle Nathan—”

The urgency in her voice, though muted, sliced through the cursory table conversation like a machete. Her fork clattered to her plate and her eyes dilated. She placed both hands flat against the table and pushed to her feet.

Elliot broke off his comments to Francesca, who stared at Cass as the girl moved to her uncle. Brandon turned to look and so did I.

Nathan Reynolds had come into the room softly, silently, as if attempting to avoid notice. He stood stiffly in the center of the room, clutching his hat in both hands as he stared blankly at us all. His face was grayish, aged and apprehensive. He looked very ill.

Cass went directly to him, asking him a question no one else could hear. Nathan acted as if he didn’t hear her either, or couldn’t. She placed both hands on an arm and tugged at it, but he shook his head stolidly and said nothing.

Nathan shifted the hat around and around in his hands, creasing it, ruining the broad brim. His hearty, warm manner and air of relaxation were gone.

He swung his head back and forth like an injured animal as Cass asked him questions. No answer was forthcoming. Finally she managed to urge him toward the private quarters, speaking in a calming manner as one does to a sickly child. She threw a strained look at me over a shoulder.