Smoketree (18 page)

“I can do it,” I assured her. “But what about you. Aren’t there fences between here and Smoketree?”

She slapped a back pocket. “I have my wire clippers on me. Hornet and I will do just fine.” She gestured. “Climb down so I can give you my clumsy child.”

I dismounted and ducked under Hornet’s nose. Preacher stood quietly, nosing at Cass as if asking her to relieve his pain.

She handed me the reins. “Straight down the hill,” she said. “You’ll come across a wide ski run. Cross that, and you’ll see a catwalk. At the end of it is the flat in front of the ski lodge.” Her face was pale and strained. “Take care of him for me. And I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s okay,” I said gently. “You just see to Nathan.”

Cass turned and swung up on Hornet, making the motion look effortless. She walked the mare a few steps away so she wasn’t crowding Preacher, then set her into a fast trot. She didn’t dare gallop, not in the darkness. I watched the pale flash of Hornet’s rump fade into the shadows, and then she was gone.

I turned to Preacher, putting out a hand to stroke his face as Cass had done. But I stopped before I touched him. It was this horse who had killed my friend.

For a moment I nearly dropped the reins. My hands trembled, transmitting my apprehension, and Preacher responded. He shifted uneasily; his ears flicked up, then forward. He stared at me, and the injured leg was lifted from the ground in an attempt to ease the ache.

My breath hissed as I exhaled through taut lips. I had promised Cass, and she already had enough to worry about. I had to get Preacher to the ski area, or she would never forgive me. And I wasn’t certain I’d forgive myself.

Slowly I put out my hand and touched his face. My fingers shook; it irritated me, but I couldn’t stop it. I felt the stiff, short hair beneath my fingertips; the unyielding bone beneath that. I wondered what thoughts went on in the brain within the skull. Horses, I had heard most of my life from various sources, were stupid. They had no sense.

Preacher nudged my shoulder with his nose. He resembled, suddenly, nothing so much as a large dog, and I felt ludicrous in my apprehension. And yet the knowledge wouldn’t fade.

This horse had killed a man.

And now I was all alone with him.

I led Preacher up the hill, down it, then on toward the ski resort. The big horse moved slowly; no doubt he would have preferred to stand still, but I gave him no choice. I knew well enough that if I thought about it, I would not do what I said I would. And so I took him through the forest, wondering the entire time what might set him off.

At times, when he lagged, I felt the reins tighten against my hand. I tugged, urging him onward, and after a moment he continued. I did notice that as we went on his gait improved; perhaps he had not injured himself as badly as Cass feared. He began to move more willingly, if still somewhat stiff and hesitant, and our pace improved. Perhaps it wouldn’t take hours to reach Snow Crest after all.

Patches of snow remained beneath the night-blackened trees, luminescent in the moonlight. To minimize the distance we had to cover, I kept myself to a straight line. This meant most of the time I had to walk through the snow patches, which crunched and mushed beneath my shoes. I disliked the slimy, slippery feel. Preacher, following behind me, did not seem to care, but then his weight was significantly more substantial. He left black holes wherever he stepped in the snow.

I was cold. The night air crept through the weave in my heavy sweater and raised goosebumps upon my skin until I shivered and set my teeth. Preacher’s breathing was loud in the silence of the night; hot horsebreath caressed the back of my neck. It was the only warm spot on my entire body. I was grateful for that much, although the thought of his big teeth so near my neck gave me pause. And then I grew angry with myself, because it was pointless, under the circumstances, to dwell on what had happened to Drew.

When at last we reached the ski run, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was a wide, naked swath of cleared ground, cutting down the mountain in a smooth, precise line. A chair lift hung silently in the moonlight; regimental towers marched up to the top of the run. We were very nearly there.

I took him across the run and into the trees again, following the catwalk Cass had described. Preacher walked more easily now on level ground. His pace increased; so did mine. I had no wish to be run over.

A black shape loomed on my right as the catwalk opened onto a wide, flat area cleared of trees and rocks. The ski lodge. As we moved closer I saw an odd flickering glow from the lodge, throwing dim light into the surrounding trees.

Cass? I wondered. No; too soon. And she had said she would send someone, not come herself. Harper? Probably not. He would be with Nathan.

But that left no one to meet me. I would have to wait until someone was free to come, and no doubt it would be a while. A long night lay ahead. But so did a lodge, and perhaps a care-taker. There would doubtless be a phone; I could call the ranch and find out about Nathan’s condition. At least I could wait without the added burden of not knowing how he was.

We came out of the trees into the clearing. The chair lift dangled a hundred yards upslope, double chairs hanging from a cable made invisible by the darkness. The wide run stretched beneath the chairs, driving upward, losing itself at last in the trees.

The lodge, on my right, was a dark, lumpy building in the moonlight, resembling an appropriately Alpine structure. A sundeck stretching from the second floor provided a roof to the entrance. It was jammed with stacked wooden tables and benches. The lantern light glowed dimly through the broad expanse of mullioned windows.

Preacher stopped short, jerking backward on the reins. I turned to him in consternation, then took a step back, suddenly afraid. His eyes rolled in his head and he exhaled his breath in a heavy snort. I thought he might rear, and it frightened me badly.

“Let go of the horse.”

I jumped, almost screamed. Preacher backed up, but now I understood the reason for his reaction. It was much like my own. “Wait—” I said. “He’s injured.”

“Let go of him
now.
”

A powerful hand closed on my upper arm and jerked me away. Preacher’s head shot upward in alarm; his eyes rolled again. I lost the reins without warning as the horse snapped his head away. I turned angrily to find out just who had such a firm, unrelenting grip on me.

“Hey—” I began.

The man had a gun in his hand.

I stared at him. He was a complete stranger to me. He jerked my arm again. “Come with me.”

“
Wait
a minute—”

He put the gun to my head. He never said a word. I shut up instantly and made no protest as he shoved me toward the ski lodge.

He swung open one of the heavy wooden doors and pushed me inside, directing me toward a flight of stairs. I stumbled over the first step and nearly fell; he jerked me up roughly and gave me a hefty push in the rear with his knee as I faltered.

I climbed.

The stairs were battered and scarred from hundreds of ski boots that had pounded up and down them. I reached for the handrail, needing support, but a hand pressure in the small of my back convinced me I needed nothing more than speed.

As I reached the top of the stairs I hesitated, staring through the shadows of the second floor. Gloomy lantern light lent an eerie color to the room, though I was unable to appreciate it.

Smoke hung in a gauzy cloud; I squinted through it to make out the other occupants. And then my mouth fell open.

John Oliver sat at a formica-topped cafeteria table, perching on one of the round plastic stools, tapping his fingers on the smooth table surface. Heavy brows drew downward as he watched me. A cigar lay at hand, trailing malodorous smoke into the air.

But it was Brandon who stood up. Brandon who rose as I was pushed into the sphere of light. “Kelly,” he said. “Oh Kelly…”

Briefly, I thought they had caught him too. And then I thought no, of course not; Brandon is
with
them. And he was.

“I found her outside with a horse.” The man who held my arm spoke in a measured cadence that was surely foreign, though I could not place the accent.

There was a second stranger in the room. He sat on top of one of the nearest tables, his feet propped on one of the stools. He smiled.

“Kelly,” Brandon said again, “what are you doing here?”

The gunman still held my wrist. The hand attached to it was cold, numb. So was the rest of me. I could only stare at Brandon.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I swear I never meant for this to happen.”

“Brandon.” His name was dust in my mouth. “Brandon—what’s happening?”

The second man continued to smile. He was very dark, with an aristocratic bone structure—he was attractive in a vital sort of way, but his smile was eerie. My flesh crawled over my bones.

“Rashid,” the dark man said. “Be gentle. She is a lady.”

“Do I care?” Rashid retorted. “She is here.”

“Leave her alone, Frenchie,” Brandon said sharply to the man sitting on the table. “I’ll be responsible for her.”

Frenchie. A Frenchman? No. He did not have the accent for it.

“Brandon, what are you doing?” I asked with as much calm as I could muster. “You and John Oliver—tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“But would you believe it?” asked the man called Frenchie. “I think not. So what use is an explanation?”

The gunman—Rashid—pushed me forward and shoved me down the line of tables toward John Oliver. A pressure on my shoulder told me to sit; I did so with alacrity. I doubted I could stand a moment longer.

Carefully I set both hands on the table, spreading my fingers. I stared at them a moment, then finally looked at Brandon, “Is it the land? Is it Smoketree you’re after?” I swallowed painfully, “Is that what’s been going on?”

John Oliver drew on his cigar, observing me with cold eyes as he blew out the smoke. It coiled upward, wreathing itself around the lantern light. He said nothing. But he smiled, and I knew, somehow, there was more to all this than land. There had to be. But whatever it was, I didn’t want to die over it.

“Land?” Frenchie mocked. “No, I think not. Not this land, at any rate. Not even within this country.”

“Enough,” Brandon said. “I’ll answer for her, but only if she doesn’t know anything.”

“But she already does,” Oliver commented. “She’s here, Brandon. What else is there to do?”

“Let me walk out of here,” I said. “Just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“And would you give us your word?” Frenchie asked.

My mouth was dry. I knew there was no sense in it. Not even in begging. They already knew what they would do.

My belly churned. I was sick and clamped my jaws against the urge to lose the contents of my stomach.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” I said faintly. “Just let me go.”

Brandon shifted restlessly on his stool. “Kelly, don’t bargain with them. You don’t have anything they can’t take anyway. ”

“Bargain with
them
," I said sharply. “What about you? Can I bargain with you?”

“I think not,” said Frenchie. “He is as committed to this as we are, if for different reasons. And I’m quite sure he recognizes the risk you constitute.” He smiled again, and this time it had an edge to it. “Just as he did when he killed the man and set the horse loose. Clever, no?”

My knees wobbled as I stood up in shock. “Brandon! You killed Drew—?”

Rashid’s hand came down on my shoulder. He thumbed a pressure point that shot pain and numbness throughout my body; I dropped down at once. John Oliver’s smoke was a veil before my face, filling my nose and eyes. I wanted to cry; I wanted to scream; I wanted to strike out at them all. But I did nothing, because I could not.

“You’ll kill me,” I said raggedly.

Oliver sighed. “It’s your own fault—you shouldn’t have come up here. Blame yourself.”

Blame myself. I nearly laughed. But I was afraid it would turn into hysteria, so I clamped down on the impulse. I retreated into silence.

“I had to kill him.” It was Brandon, explaining, as if he thought I could understand. “What else could I do? We were in the middle of a meeting. Stanford came to my door and knocked—he said he was hunting you. Hell, we couldn’t be certain what he’d heard. He saw Rashid and Frenchie. So we had to do something. I hit him. Later, when it was dark, I carried him down to the horse’s pen and cut the animal loose.” He shrugged. “It had to be done. What choice did I have?” My hands were sweaty in my lap. They felt too heavy, too cold, attached to someone other than myself. “For the land?” My words came out slurred, as if I were half-drunk. Or very, very frightened. “At least tell me what I’m here for.”

Oliver began to grind out his cigar. Neither Rashid nor his companion said a word.

Brandon moved slightly. His eyes did not avoid mine. “Not land,” he said. “Oh yes, we’re behind all the incidents, but all that was just a smokescreen. What we’re really here for is to strike a deal.” He shrugged. “Weapons. Why else would John and I be dealing with Arabs?”

I twitched. “Arabs?” I said blankly. “Good God, Brandon—what for? What are you doing?”

“Selling weapons to them,” he said, smiling. “You might call it an exercise in free enterprise.”

I stared at him. “Are you crazy?
What for?”

“Money,” he said succinctly.

“You’re heir to Walkerton Industries!” I snapped, suddenly angry. “What do you need with money?”

“I need more of it,” he said, no longer smiling. “I’m on a fixed allowance. My father tied everything up several years ago, when it became clear I was not going to become the sort of company man he wanted.
Me
, for Christ’s sake, on a fixed income!” A white line framed his mouth. “I won’t stand for it. So I’m doing something about it.”

“Your lifestyle doesn’t appear to be particularly spartan,” I said clearly.

His mouth was a grim line. “Oh, it’s a generous allowance. But not what I need. So John and I worked out an arrangement whereby he hides the missing arms in the computer inventory at his plant, then stockpiles them elsewhere. We sell them to the highest bidder.” He relaxed a little. “It’s strictly business, Kelly. I’m not motivated by God, glory or the American flag. Politics bore the hell out of me. And it might just as well have been an Israeli faction who bought these arms.”