Sacred Ground (16 page)

"Almost what?
Everest will be willing to shake your hand anytime you care to."

She feigned shock. "Brett Turner, the way you talk." She pulled on her shirt and slid back into the warmth of the sleeping bag, waited for Brett to redress, and then snuggled her body into the inside curves of his.

* * *

"Morning, Mom," Lance shouted.

Willow peeked open her eyes and saw her son watching her from across the lively fire.
"Morning."

"You have your blindfold off. Can you see?"

"Sure can. You boys sleep well?" she managed to ask, struggling to wake.

"Yeah.
You two sleep together?" Sean asked.

"It got cold last night. Shared warmth was only logical."

"Shared warmth is good," Sean said.

She glanced back at a sleeping Brett. "Wake up sleepy head, the boys
are
getting restless."

"Dang, White Buffalo pooped in our sleeping bag," Lance shouted.

"Gross!" Sean added, laughing in spite of it all.

"Gross," Lance repeated, dropping to the bag, laughing, and then moaning as he grabbed at his skull.

"Come quick," Sean shouted. "Lance is having one of his headaches."

Willow
and Brett sprang from the sleeping bag.

"Lance, honey, where does it hurt?" she asked, pulling him against her.

"Right in back, like always," he cried, accepting her comfort.

"You sure it's just a headache?" Brett asked.

"I just had him in for a checkup. I told Doctor Helter about these pains and he wasn't the least concerned. He said some kids get more headaches than others do. Lance has never had seizures or passed out, so there doesn't seem to be any concern by the medical field."

"He's pale. His bottom lip is turning blue. I don't like this one bit,
Willow
." Brett placed his wrist against Lance's forehead.

"I've told Doctor Helter all about it, and he checked him over and said Lance is in great shape."

"Let him stay in the blanket and rest," Brett said. "It's really early and we won't start out for another good hour. I noticed the boys had a small coffeepot for heating water. I'll make some coffee and hot chocolate. They even have paper plates and plastic utensils. I'll scramble eggs and bacon, how does that sound?"

"Sounds great.
Bringing burnable dishes must have been Lances' idea. He hates dishes. Of course it's better than no dishes,"
Willow
said. "Where do you plan on getting bacon and eggs?"

"Bacon is wrapped in wax paper at the bottom of my pack. The eggs are dehydrated, but with some of the bacon grease, they taste remarkably good."

"And he cooks, too,"
Willow
commented, holding Lance.

"You stay put, I'm sure he finds comfort in your arms," Brett said. "Sean and I will be the cooks today. You two can make supper when we get home."

"That's a deal. Our place is closest, and it'll be late by the time we get back. You're welcome to spend the night."

Sean looked first at his dad, then at
Willow
. "Wow, you two should share the warmth more often. You've stopped yelling."

"Yelling wouldn't help Lance's headache," she said. "Why don't you check on the horses?"

"Hey, you're releasing my help crew,” Brett protested. “We'll cook, and then check on the animals."

Willow
smiled, realizing he didn't like his authority being challenged.

* * *

It took several hours before Lance's headache eased enough for them to travel.
Willow
kissed the top of his head, wishing she could eliminate his pain with the loving gesture. Finally, they arrived at the Arrowhead, tired, cold, and hungry.
Willow
adjusted her sleeping son in her numb arms. It had become increasingly difficult to hold him in the saddle in front of her. "You as tired as me?" she asked Brett.

"No doubt about it. Lance sleeping as hard as Sean?" He swung his leg over his mount, holding his son up in the saddle, then down into his arms.

"Yes. I'm not sure I can carry him anymore," she admitted.

"Stay put. Boys are a bit big for this, but they're exhausted. I'll take Sean in,
then
I’ll come back for Lance."

"Lance's room is up the stairs, far room on the right." She watched Brett carry his son and the picture presented a fatherly one, something she hadn't experienced with Gordon.

She waited in the still, cold night, holding Lance. She felt an excitement when Brett appeared back in the doorway. He had no way of knowing how truly handsome a man he made. He reached up and she lowered Lance into his arms.

"Feels good to have two sons," Brett said, turning back into the house.

His words echoed in her mind and words sank into her heart. She thought about the past couple of days with him and allowed herself a tired smile. "Brett Turner, I've waited my whole life to find you. Strange, you were right next door and I didn't even know it."

"I didn't know you were that close either." He reappeared and swung her down into his arms.

"I didn't mean for you to hear me. How'd you get back so soon?"

"The thought of you sitting on your horse, waiting for me, well, I found energy I didn't know I had.
Funny thing about love, huh?"

She laughed softly. "Put me down before
we
both fall. Are you hungry or just tired?" she asked, as they went into the house.

"Tired.
I'll miss holding you in my arms."

"You can sleep in the room across from the boys. It's not large or fancy, but it's clean. There are extra towels in the bathroom cubby. You'll see them. I think Gordon's razor and stuff is still on the top cubby shelf. Help yourself to whatever you need. I imagine the boys are sleeping with their coats and shoes on, I'll take care of them and I'll shower after you're through."

"We could save water," he hinted.

"I'm afraid not. If Lance or Sean needed to use the bathroom and heard us, well, it wouldn't be right. Kids learn by example, we need to set a good one."

"You're right, but I can't help being disappointed."

"Go on, quit pouting.
Won't do you any good."
She led the way up the stairs. He stopped at the bathroom and she continued down the hall to the boys.

She moved into the room, leaving the door open for light, and had to chuckle at their exhausted snores. She tossed first one, then a second coat and pair of boots to the floor. Even though she didn't approve of animals in human beds, she allowed White Buffalo to snuggle down between the boys, this one time, she told herself.

Willow
sat watching the boys sleep. She heard the water from Brett's shower and longed to join him. Finally she heard Brett close the door to his room. She rushed to the bathroom, eager for a clean, refreshing shower and a decent tooth brushing. An hour later she felt remarkably better. Slipping into her robe, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

"Hi." Brett took a large bite of his sandwich. "I called my mom. She'd been pretty worried. She'll sleep better knowing the boys are back safe and sound."

"I'm glad you thought to call her. I'm sure she's been worried sick. I'm glad my folks left before the boys pulled this trick. They didn't have to worry. That sandwich looks good," she added in a light tone.

"I remembered the poor horses after my shower. The buffalo family is looking remarkably well. When I finished in the barn, hunger set in. I helped myself."

"I'm clean, now I need a piece of apple pie," she confided. "Pies are my one weakness.
By the way, nice robe."

"I hope you don't mind. I’m sure Gordon never used it. It looks brand new."

"No actually," she stifled a giggle, “it's one of mine. But that's okay, you're welcome to it."

"It's black and manly. You’re kidding, right?"

She shook her head. "Stop worrying. If it were pink I'd laugh, but black works." She giggled in spite of herself.

"Listen to you, now you're sounding like Sean. Black isn't all that works," he said, pulling his fingers through her long, damp hair. "It's incredibly beautiful loose."

"Brett, did you know your friend Sheriff Ferrell smokes cigars?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" He dropped the handful of hair and turned toward his sandwich.

"I was thinking about that cigar butt you found in your water truck bed. I was also thinking about Wyatt having told me about Gordon's death the night before. How did Wyatt know? Either he killed Gordon or someone told Wyatt that Gordon was dead. Who would think cigar butts were evidence if the sheriff was walking around smoking them?"

"I've known Mike all my life. We went to school together. What reason would he want Gordon dead? We need something incriminating. We need solid proof. Besides, we need a motive, and I can't imagine Mike having one."

"Then we need to work at it from a different angle," she said, taking a bite of pie. "What if Gordon stumbled onto something that Wyatt and Mike were doing?"

"What if Wyatt has something on Mike and is blackmailing him? That would explain why he's involved. I can't imagine him trying to sabotage me, but he might have had to look the other way when it came to Gordon's death."

"But what about the cigar butts?"

"Does look suspicious.
What secret might Wyatt have on Mike to make him do all this? He's always been one to uphold the law, no matter what." Brett teetered on the back legs of his chair.

She glanced down at the old spindle wood frame. "You might consider the age of that chair. I'm going to talk to Wyatt tomorrow. I have a feeling he's the key to this whole mess."

"This feels good, doesn't it?"

She glanced up at him, her fork midway to her mouth. "What?"

"Talking, you and me.
It feels good.
Lorraine
didn't have time to sit down and talk. She liked her movies or she wanted to go out for drinks and dancing. Usually I was too tired for either."

"She went without you?"
Willow
asked.

"Every Friday and Saturday night.
Don't know what she did. I didn't care then, and to be honest, I don't care now."

Willow
placed her palm over his hand and felt a current of heat flush her body. She pulled back. "I know the feeling. Gordon did the same, only he didn't bother asking me if I wanted to go along, he just went. Who knows, they probably were out drinking and dancing together. It’s kinda funny when you think about it. They probably knew each other better than you and me," she said, scooping up the last bite of Dutch apple pie.

Brett suddenly became sullen.

After a moment, she said, "I was just joking. I didn't mean to insinuate anything."

"Yeah, I know. I was . . . never mind. I'd better get upstairs before
it's
morning. Maybe you should come up and tuck me in."

"You go on up like a good boy. I don't need any trouble from you."

Brett's chair flipped backward and crashed to the floor.

Willow
rushed to lean over his still body and found herself pulled on top of him.

"Gotcha!"
He laughed. "Damn, think I bumped my head," he admitted, rubbing the back of his skull.

"Doubt if anything could be hurt back there. I've gathered that it's pretty thick."

"So much for a little sympathy.
I could have broken my neck with a fall like that."