Jane Bonander (24 page)

Serge rammed his fists into the pockets of his coat and presented both women his back.

A wave of weakness attacked Julia, and she leaned against the bars. She shouldn’t have come, but she’d had to. She’d had to find out for herself what had happened, and now she knew.

“Serge,” she said, her voice soft, “would that sedative have killed me?”

He swung around, his face etched with an agony of his own. “Of course not! Jesus Christ, Julia, I’ve loved you like a sister for so long, I can’t remember a time when you weren’t in my life.”

Julia swallowed the knot of tears. “But you could kill Papa.”

He gazed at the floor, appearing unwilling to look at her. “I had to please Mother. I did it for her. I’d even promised to kill your precious husband, but Mother wouldn’t let me. So instead I sent him a warning.”

Shocked, Julia asked, “What warning?”

“I tied a calf inside one of the caves he always rode by on his way home from his cabin. Then I created a landslide, making sure he had a devil of a time digging his way out.”

“You
did that?” Julia remembered how McCloud had tried to make light of the cave-in, but now she knew he’d only done that so she wouldn’t worry. Or ask too many questions. He must have known it was a trap, and he probably knew it was for him.

“How could you be so sure it would be McCloud who entered the cave?” she asked.

“Because I knew his routine. I did that, Julia, and I’m not sorry. I wish he’d suffocated in there.” His eyes burned with a hatred she’d never seen before.

Julia turned, anxious to leave, wondering just how much worse things could get.

W
olf allowed Baptiste to pick his way over the patches of crusty snow, following a path that led up through the brush. Although the ground was still frozen, most of the snow had melted. The air felt cold, but the sun was warm.

He’d had difficulty finding the family name, for records had been destroyed in so many counties. He’d hoped to be on his way home by now, not just arriving at his destination. He worried about Julia. Not because of the day-to-day chores that he had to trust Baptiste to do, but because of the burden of having her sister underfoot.

As he’d begun to pack that day, Josette had sashayed into his room and tried to seduce him. He let out a snort of disgust. She’d nearly bared her bosom right there in front of him, as if she were taking up where she’d left off. She was a woman to be pitied; had his own circumstances been different, he might have yielded to that. Despite feeling like a coward for leaving Julia with such a handful, he found himself unable to get out of there fast enough.

Julia. Emotion caught in his gut as it did every time he thought about her, and he almost doubled over. Julia, with her sharp, intelligent wit and her pouty mouth. Julia, with her prim, tight hairdo and her deep, hot passion. Julia, with her taut look of disapproval and her hearty, earthy laugh. Julia. Julia. Julia. He loved her. Holy double hell, he loved her! It was an emotion he’d never felt, never expected to experience in his lifetime.

As his mount stopped at the edge of the pines, Wolf felt an urgency to turn and hurry back to this woman who was his wife. But he’d come this far, and he was anxious to discover whether this man, this Tristan Fletcher, was, indeed, the other part of him. That part he’d been missing for so many years.

Wolf studied the big stone house. Two hundred miles north of Walnut Hill, it sat in a valley on the western slopes of the Sierra Nevadas, Wolf guessed about twenty-five hundred feet above sea level, for he’d been climbing since he left Sacramento.

He’d stopped in Hatter’s Horn, the tiny village down the road, and discovered the Fletcher ranch was not far away. He’d also discovered that “old man” Fletcher had died years ago, and his wife, “the bitch of three counties,” had followed him more recently.

The house appeared to loom into the light from the gloomy historical past. Wolf’s courage flagged. He’d grown up expecting disappointment. He wanted to believe his search was over, as it seemed it was, but the feeling of terminal frustration was still there. Tristan, the old man at the bar had called him. “Yep, he’s a breed. Looks just like you as a matter of fact,” the old barkeep had said.

Tristan Fletcher and Wolfgang Amadeus Morning Cloud. Wolf’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. They had been throwaway children, unwanted and unloved by the woman who bore them, yet each survived, and each had carved out a place for himself in a world that pitied and pampered no one.

“Yep,” the saloon keeper had told him over a shot of bad whiskey, “he come home from New York right after his ma died. Been gone about six months. I heared tell the will brung him back. Prob’ly the money and the land. O’course, coulda been the sister. She’s a strange one, let me tell ya. He ain’t been able to keep a nurse, ‘cause they ain’t willin’ to put up with her temper or her carryin’s on.” He’d touched a dirty, gnarled finger to his temple. “She ain’t right up here, if ya know what I’m sayin’. A woman full-growed what acts like a child.”

Wolf gave Baptiste a quiet command, and the animal forged ahead, through the thin layer of snow. Wolf’s heart surged in anticipation as a stallion, black as his own, pranced from the barn. Baptiste jibbed beneath him, moving restlessly.

Wolf let his gaze rest on the rider. Dressed in buck-skins and a flowing black greatcoat that covered his mount’s rump, he reined in the animal and returned Wolfs perusal from across the wide, green, snow-spattered yard.

They approached each other. When they were a few feet apart, Wolf’s heart clattered in his chest, for it was like looking into a mirror.

“Whether I knew it or not,” Wolf said without preamble, “I’ve spent most of my life searching for you.”

His brother’s mouth lifted into a half grin. “And I, you.”

Julia churned butter on the porch, anxious to escape Josette’s whining. Marymae napped beside the churn in a wooden cradle Baptiste had built because she’d outgrown the old one. The night before, in front of the fire, Marymae had slithered to Baptiste on her belly—her first attempt at crawling.

Julia raised her face to the sun. It was warm; it felt good. Meredith’s men had recently finished the new barn from lumber McCloud had purchased before he left. It had been two months. A lifetime.

She touched her abdomen. Not an hour went by that she didn’t think about him. Miss him. Want to tell him her news. Carrying his child should have brought her more joy. In some ways she was happy to have a part of him with her. In others, she wondered how she would manage—with Marymae, her own child, and the one Josette was carrying—if McCloud didn’t return. And even if he did return, she didn’t know what to expect from him.

She sucked in a breath of spicy spring air, which was filled with the tang of the incense cedar needles and the budding bay laurels. Warm chinook winds rustled the new leaves of the cottonwood trees, and the flowering mustard on the slopes of Devil Mountain was slowly being replaced with purple lupine, yellow meadow daisies, and circular clumps of magenta red maids. The bountiful colors and smells of spring stole her breath away.

Julia’s reverie was interrupted by a shriek from inside the house, followed by the sharp slamming of a door. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the impatience that clamored over her skin.

Mattie bustled outside, her arms heavy with rugs. She dumped all but one on the floor, then shook the rag rug over the railing, onto the grass. Bits of dust sifted through the air, fluttering to the ground.

“What’s her problem now?” Julia asked.

With a cluck of her tongue, Mattie dropped the rug and picked up another, shaking it as she’d done the first. “She’s having a conniption fit because she has nothing to wear that doesn’t cut her off at the middle. Her back hurts no matter how she sits, and she has an eruption on her forehead. Probably from the sweets she’s been eating, but you can’t tell her that.”

Julia swallowed her impatience. “In other words, just an ordinary day in the tragic life of Josette Larson.”

Mattie’s answer was a grim smile. “She has over two months until her time.” She clucked her tongue again. “If she lasts, I’ll be surprised.”

“What are her choices?”

They exchanged glances. Julia didn’t trust Josette not to try something stupid.

Mattie looked away, and Julia followed her gaze to her burgeoning flower garden. “Your crocuses and daffodils are coming in,” Mattie said.

“I know,” Julia answered on a sigh. “The rock roses are budding, too.” A new season had begun, and McCloud was gone. She ached for him daily.

Mattie picked up the rugs and opened the door. “My, it is nice out here, isn’t it? I think while the stew is cooking and the bread is baking, I’ll get my knitting and join you.”

With a smile and a nod, Julia waited for her aunt to return. It had been a blessing to have her around. She’d forgotten just what a good companion Mattie was. She and Papa had not gotten on well, especially since Mattie’s way of life was not to Papa’s liking. He’d groused that Josette was Mattie all over again, but Julia knew that wasn’t so. True, Mattie had never married and had run a boardinghouse near the San Francisco docks for years, taking in all sorts of dregs and derelicts. And Julia had secretly wondered if Mattie might have had a lover or two in her past. That, of course, was never mentioned in their household. And the scandal of Mattie not being conventional was something they hadn’t been allowed to talk about in front of Papa.

But Mattie was nothing like Josette. Mattie was savvy and smart. And had a good heart in spite of her often biting tongue. In that respect, Julia guessed she and Mattie were alike. Not that she herself claimed to have such a good, generous heart, but Julia knew her words were often strident.

Mattie poked her head outside. “You seen my knitting needles?”

“No. Aren’t they in your sewing basket?”

Mattie’s tawny brows were pinched together. “No, and not two hours ago I was rummaging through my basket, searching for thread to mend that Frenchman’s shirt, and they were there then.”

“They didn’t fall out and land on the floor, did they?”

Mattie shook her head. “I’ve looked everywhere. Even under the sofa pillows.”

Julia’s hand stilled on the churn. “Is Josette in the bedroom with the door shut?”

At Mattie’s impatient nod, something cold clutched at Julia’s heart. “You don’t suppose—”

Mattie put a hand to her bosom. “I can’t imagine—”

Julia leaped to her feet and followed Mattie into the house, running toward the bedroom her aunt shared with Josette. Mattie grabbed the doorknob. It turned, but the door didn’t open.

“Josette!”

The coldness around Julia’s heart spread into her stomach. She pounded on the door. “Josette, open this door!”

Both women were quiet for a moment, their ears to the door, listening for sounds from the room. Julia heard high-pitched whimpering.

“Oh, dear Lord, Mattie, do you think she’s—”

“Josette Larson, open this door or I’ll come in the window!” Mattie shouted.

Mattie turned to leave, but Julia stopped her. “You stay here. I’ll go.”

Julia lifted her skirts and ran through the house, out the back door, and to the bedroom window. She dragged a crate beneath the sill and stood on it, standing on her tiptoes to see inside.

One hand flew to her mouth, for her sister was lying on the bed, her skirt up around her hips and her legs spread apart. She clutched two knitting needles in her fist and was trying to—

Julia’s shock caused her to tumble from the crate and she landed flat on her bottom on the grass. Scrambling to her feet, she put the crate on its end, stood on it again and forced the window open. She dragged herself through the opening and slid to the floor.

She struggled to her feet and threw herself across the bed, grabbing her sister’s arm, holding it down until she could twist the knitting needles from her grip.

Mattie pounded on the door. “Josette? Julia? What’s happening in there?”

Julia’s heart was in her throat, beating so hard it threatened to come out her ears. She crossed to the door, pulled the chair out from under the knob and opened it. Mattie stumbled inside.

“What was she trying to do?”

Julia raised the needles in her direction.

Mattie hurried to the bed, yanked Josette to a sitting position and slapped her on the cheek. With a whimpering cry, Josette cowered against the headboard, one hand covering the cheek Mattie had hit. Her eyes, filled with fear, never left her aunt’s face.

“How
dare
you try such a stunt!”

Julia discovered she was clutching the needles so tightly, her knuckles were white.

“Did she get them inside?”

Julia continued to examine them. “I don’t think so. There’s no blood.”

“Please, Aunt Mattie,” Josette whined. “Don’t hit me anymore.”

Mattie grasped her by the shoulders and shook her. “I should slap you senseless,” she threatened. “I know what you were trying to do, you spoiled girl, but do you know you could have
killed
yourself? Do you?”

Fat tears tracked Josette’s blotchy cheeks. “I don’t care. I hate this. I
hate
being this way!”

Mattie flung Josette away from her and stood, planting her fists on her hips. “And you think ramming a knitting needle up inside you is the answer? Hell, no,” she swore soundly. “The answer, my girl, is not to get yourself in this condition in the first place.”

Josette rolled her head and pouted, the tears coming. “It’s too late now, isn’t it?” she spat at her aunt.

Mattie heaved a sigh. “Yes, it certainly is.”

“I don’t want to go through this again. It
hurts,”
Josette blubbered.

“And you don’t think it would hurt if you jabbed those needles into your body? Not only would that baby come before it’s due, and probably die, but you could do all kinds of permanent damage, you fool.”

Josette didn’t answer, but her tears continued.

“There’s no way that baby can get out
without
hurting. What you were trying to do would just make it worse.”

Julia stepped to the bed, angry with her sister for attempting such a stupid thing, but feeling a pinch of pity for her as well. Being the source of Mattie’s anger wasn’t a pleasant position to find yourself in.

“Aunt Mattie is right, Josette,” Julia chided. “You’ve got to learn how to keep this from happening. You’ve just
got
to.”

Crying in earnest now, Josette rolled to her side and clutched at her stomach. “Don’t you yell at me, too, Julia, dearest. I don’t feel good. I feel awful.”

“Lie on your back,” Mattie ordered. When Josette complied, Mattie pushed her skirt farther up her hips and yanked her knees apart. “Let me see if you’ve done any damage.”

Josette clamped her legs together.

“Oh, for the sake of the Good Lord,” Mattie muttered, “you spread ’em for everyone else, spread ’em for me.”

Even Julia blushed at Mattie’s blunt words. Josette turned her face to the wall and allowed her aunt to examine her.

Julia studied her sister’s legs, now swollen so badly she couldn’t make out her delicate anklebones. Moving closer, she bent and touched her, leaving a thumbprint in the puffy skin above her ankle. Her alarm was immediate.

“Mattie?”

Her aunt followed Julia’s gaze to the lowest part of Josette’s calf. Neither said a word for fear of adding to Josette’s hysteria.

Mattie pulled Josette’s dress down then felt her forehead. Julia could tell she was concerned, but she said; “I don’t think she hurt anything. I guess time will tell.”

It made Julia ill to think that Josette purposely wanted to get rid of the baby. And if the baby happened to be McCloud’s, it made it that much worse. Julia placed a protective hand over her own stomach, silently assuring the baby that grew there that no matter what, she would love it beyond measure.