The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) (24 page)

A line of pain lanced across Cullen’s face, and Braham felt sorry for his friend.

“Not sure you’ve got enough in that bottle to hear it all,” Cullen said.

“I brought two.”

Cullen scrubbed his face, letting out a long sigh. Then he pulled something out of his saddlebag and handed it to Braham. “I picked that up off the floor in Kit’s wagon. There’s a date on the bottom corner.”

Braham moved closer to the fire and studied the writing on the clear rubber-like material. “
Expires seven slash two thousand twelve.
What’s it mean?”

“Just what it says.”

Braham flicked his hat back with a snap of his finger and let out a long whistle. “I don’t understand.”

Cullen sipped from his cup. “When the Barrett girl got sick, Kit started talking crazy, saying she was taking the child to the hospital. I told Kit she was the only one who could save Frances and that she had to put medicine in the child’s arm just like she did to me.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“That’s no reason—”

“Kit attached a needle to that bag you’re holding,” Cullen interrupted. “It was full of medicine. Then she put the needle into the child’s arm. I asked her who she was and where she came from.”

“And…”

“She said she didn’t know who she was, but that she came from the twenty-first century.”

Braham turned up his cup and drank until it was empty. “I don’t believe it.”

“I didn’t believe it either. Then she told me she’d discovered a letter from her dead father telling her she’d been found on his doorstep as an infant—”

Braham smirked. “I called her a changeling.”

“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It meant she wasn’t my cousin.”

“You should have told me.”

“Probably,” Braham clamped his mouth shut, and looked away.

“Her father found her with a ruby brooch pinned to her dress. Kit says it has magic, and allows a person to pass through a door to another time.”

Braham tossed the rubber bag to Cullen. “With a horse and a dog and a cat. How?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Why’s she here?” Braham refilled his cup. Then he checked the amount of alcohol left in the bottle. There wasn’t enough for this story.

“She’s looking for her family.”

“If she finds what she’s looking for, will she go back to her century?”

Cullen sat still for an unmeasured time. Finally he said, “I can’t stop her.”

“She can’t leave.”

He shook his head, sighing. “If I’ve learned one thing about the woman, she can do damn near anything she wants.”

“You have to convince her to stay.”

Cullen looked regretful. “Until I settle things with Abigail…”

Braham hung his head. “I’ve got something to tell you, Cul.”

Cullen stared, holding his cup inches from his mouth, waiting.

“She’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“Abigail—” Braham gulped. “—died this past spring. She fell off her horse.” He braced for the punch he expected Cullen to throw. A punch he well deserved.

Cullen jumped to his feet, spilling his whiskey. “How do you know?”

“I got a letter.”

“From whom?”

“There was a telegram from Mr. Phillips with the letter from my father.”

“The letter you got at Fort Laramie?” Cullen balled his hands into fists and stepped toward Braham. “You’ve known since then, and you didn’t tell me.” His voice grated past his throat. He punched the air. “How could you keep that from me?”

Being hit with a two-handed broadsword wouldn’t have hurt Braham any more than the pain he saw in his friend’s face. “I was wrong.”

“If I hadn’t taken the wagon train job, I’d have been in California. She wouldn’t have died.”

“You couldn’t have saved your sister or Abigail. Kristen hit her head. But you forget that part so you can blame yourself. Abigail hit her head too. If you’d been in San Francisco, you couldn’t have changed the outcome.”

“You don’t know that, and you were wrong for not telling me.” He kicked dirt at the flames that nipped at his toes. “You were damn wrong.” Cullen turned away from Braham and walked to the river where he threw off his clothes and dived into the water.

Braham started to go after his friend, but instead he sat and watched to make sure Cullen didn’t drown.

I don’t know how I can make this up to you, but I will. Somehow, someway, someday.

AT DAYLIGHT, CULLEN walked into camp as Braham was pulling on his boots. “You’re up early.”

“Tell Henry I’m going to California to see Mr. Phillips and pay my respects. I’ll meet you in San Francisco by year’s end,” Cullen said.

Braham jumped up and stabbed the air with his finger. “You leave, I’m leaving too.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Braham.”

He dragged his hands down his face covered with whiskers and lined with sleep. “I didn’t lie to you.”

Cullen pumped his fist at him. “Withholding the truth isn’t as bad as lying because your motives weren’t malicious. Is that it?”

“We don’t need to debate the criminalization of acts of omission.”

Cullen saddled Jasper. “I’d appreciate it if you’d help Henry.”

“Damn it.” Braham picked up his saddle. “You’re doing exactly what I thought you’d do. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You don’t need to be running off to California. You need to be making things right with Kit. She’s the first woman you’ve ever respected. First woman you’ve ever loved. I know you bedded her. I’m not an imbecile. That’s why you’re eaten up with guilt. God, Cul, she could be carrying your child. Marry her.”

Cullen wondered if there was any whiskey left. “She won’t marry me. She’s going home.”

“Well then, go with her.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath.

Braham squeezed his shoulder. “I’m leaving the wagon train soon, heading to San Francisco. I’ll see Phillips. I’ll tell him how you’re feeling. He’s a good man. He’ll understand.”

Cullen’s gut twisted with grief. Although he hadn’t loved Abigail, he was fond of her. She would have been a good wife and mother. His father still grieved the death of his sister, and he prayed Mr. Phillips would find a way to cope with his loss. Braham was right though. Phillips was a gracious man and would understand.

The morning air smelled of sweet wildflowers. It reminded Cullen of a simpler time when he and Braham were lads and the consequences of their actions weren’t as life-changing.

Cullen gazed at the sunrise that never failed to humble him, then looked into his friend’s strained face. The truth hit him hard. His life would never be what he wanted without Kit by his side. The last vestiges of his life’s plan give way to his heart’s desire.

But even his heart’s desire needed a plan. He would propose to Kit. If she said no, he’d steal the brooch and hold it ransom until she changed her mind. Not much of a plan, but until he came up with something better, it was the only one he had.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CULLEN AND BRAHAM topped Pacific Butte at South Pass in the late afternoon. They looked out over the expansive valley filled with sand dunes and bluffs that formed a gate through the Rocky Mountains. Cullen whistled, letting his shoulders slacken a little under his red stripped shirt. “Do you know what the Shoshone say about the pass?”

Braham tipped back his hat and gazed out over the Continental Divide toward Oregon Territory. “Probably something about God running out of mountains.”

Cullen nodded as he glanced to the north where the snow-topped Wind River Range loomed, then looked southeast toward the sage-covered Antelope Hills that bordered the valley on the side. To the right was the Sweetwater River. To the west, the Pacific Creek. “We’re looking at the land of promise.”

Braham laughed. “Some promise. Looks rather bleak to me.”

Cullen had crossed through the pass twice before and had a camping site for the wagon train in mind. It would be the perfect place to either propose to Kit and marry her, or propose and become a thief in the night. The longer he thought about his alternate plan, the sourer it turned. No, he wouldn’t hold her against her will. Should she want to leave, he’d tell her he loved her and let her go. But it would be another loss from which he’d never recover.

Braham pointed ahead. “Look at that. What do you think it is?”

Cullen looked through his binoculars. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. He handed the glasses to Braham. “Buffalo. Must be hundreds. If they get spooked, they could run right through the wagon train.”

“I thought there were only small bands around here.”

“I did too.”

“Somebody forgot to tell the damn buffalo.”

CULLEN AND BRAHAM rode into the valley and met up the wagon train.

“Look-see who blew in with the tumbleweeds,” Henry said. “Glad to have you boys back. See anything?”

Cullen eyed the train, spread three wagons abreast, then nodded to the west. “Hundreds of buffalo a couple of miles north of here. We need to tighten our line and stay south while we cross the pass.”

Henry turned to Braham. “You get the Preston boys. They’re salty riders. Y’all watch those critters. Anything spooks ‘em, make sure they’re heading west, not east.”

“Those boys got guts enough for all of us,” Braham said. “We’ll stay between the wagons and the herd. Pass the word to keep the noise down.”

“If they get spooked, it’ll be easier to scratch you ear with your elbow than stop ‘em,” Henry said.

Thunder rolled through the valley. The horses picked their ears and sidestepped.

Henry grimaced. “Clear day. Can’t be thunder.”

Cullen clamped his cigar between his teeth. “Not thunder. Stampede. Not enough time to move the wagons.”

“Give me your bring-‘em-close glasses,” Henry said. “Want to see what we’re dealing with.” He focused the binoculars at the dust cloud. “Damn.” He lowered the glasses and pointed them offhandedly at Braham. “Get those boys to help you. If y’all can’t turn them, I’ll damn well put windows in those skulls and make a breastwork of carcasses.”

Henry tossed Cullen the binoculars, spurred his horse into a lope, and yelled over his shoulder. “Come on. Get the women and children into the wagons. Tell the men to load their rifles. If the boys can’t turn them, we’ll shoot the ones in the middle and hope they’ll pass on either side. If not, they’ll run right through us. I’ll ride the far outside of the wagons. You ride inside.”

Cullen had heard of men facing down stampedes, heard of the fear, and its crippling panic. He hoped to God he wouldn’t fail the people who depended on him. He checked his holstered .44 Colt revolver, then wiped his palms dry on his trousers.

He and Henry trotted down parallel lines. “Pack the wagons together and form a shield wall,” Cullen yelled. When he saw Adam, he stopped. “Get everybody inside the wagon, then load your rifle and stand ready.”

Cullen drew his carbine. As he rode back down the line, he shouted, “Make every shot count.”

The ground groaned and heaved beneath the crazed animals. Pots and pans swinging from hooks inside the wagons clanged like cymbals.

Cullen dismounted in the center of the front line. He noticed a slender backside, then wisps of blond hair tucked under a hat. He yanked the woman up by the back of her collar and pulled a strange-looking rifle from her hands.

“Holy hell, Kit. What are you doing? Get in the wagon with Sarah and the children.”

“Give me my rifle.” She grabbed the weapon and depressed the bolt release. The bolt sprang forward, chambering a round. “I’ve got thirty bullets in the magazine and five magazines in my bag. If I hit what I’m aiming at, I can down those critters pretty fast. Faster than you.”

His body tensed with the red rage of fear.

“You need my rifle. You need me. People I love are in these wagons, and I’ll shoot every bullet I have before I let one of them get hurt.”

He didn’t have time to fight with her while buffalos waged war on them. “Show me how to use the gun. Then get out of my way.”

She shook her head. “I’ll reload for you, but I’m not leaving.”

He shouldered the weapon and aimed. “What’s the range?”

“Two hundred yards.”

“How fast?”

“As fast as you can fire.”

“When this is over we have some talking to do.”

“Then let’s shoot some buffalo.”

He pointed to the magazine box under the rifle’s barrel. “You have five of these?”

“I’ll refill them as you empty them.”

He looked through the scope and placed the crosshairs on a target. If the weapon performed to Kit’s expectation, he could damn well shoot a third of the herd before anyone else got off a second shot. “Where’s your handgun?”

“It’s only accurate to twenty-five feet. Not much good here.”

“Keep it close.”

“If the buffalo get that close, we won’t be here.”

“It’ll be too late to run.”

“We’re not running. The brooch will take us out of here if those buffalo get close enough we can smell their breath.”

“They won’t get that close.”

But they sure as hell were getting closer, packed in a dense mass and running toward the wagons in a panic.
At any moment, Kit expected the pulverized ground to open into fissures and gobble up everything in one dry, dusty gulp.

As she slipped a clip into her pistol, and racked the slide, she heard the oxen and mules struggling against their hobbles to flee from the roll of thunder and choking dust.

Cullen looked up from his own weapon and turned to her. “You sure about this rifle?”

“Yes.”

“Look—ride the line and tell the men to hold their fire until the herd gets within range. Make sure they understand we’re shooting the buffalo in the center. ”

She squeezed his arm. His muscles tensed, and his face creased with concern. “Come straight back.”

Kit rode the line and shouted instructions to the men. By the time she returned to Cullen, he was firing into the herd. An empty magazine and a pile of shells had collected at his feet. Dead buffalo littered the pass.