Sacred Ground (26 page)

Brett knew it would be only a matter of minutes before Mike asked about the cast. "I'll tell you some day, over a cold beer and a hot campfire. For now, let’s just say I broke my leg on the fall down that overhang, and was lucky enough to get out alive."

"Gordon Jenkins alive!
It's going to cause a stir. I thought this day would never come. We still need proof or a confession."

"We'll never get one from Gordon." Brett leaned back on his elbows. "That cowardly Wyatt might fold."

"You've got something there. I'll have forensics check every gun in Jenkins' house." Mike stated, rubbing his hands together. "If we're lucky we'll find the weapon,"

"Jenkins said the dead guy was a transient. No loss to society," Brett said, his words slowed by his heavy thoughts. "What if you make Wyatt believe you're pinning Gordon's murder on him? He might spill his guts."

"We need a motive."

"Easy. He wanted Gordon's wife and property. The man is near broke right now. He plans to force my mother to sell cheap. If I'm dead, then he'll have all three properties. Of course there’s the matter of finding oil."

"Oil?
What oil?"

"It appears Gordon and Wyatt found oil on my ranch."

"Now that’s mighty interesting, and enough motive for me. Wyatt knows we can't prove he killed Gordon, but you could press charges for attempted murder and damages of another man's property. It could get him years behind bars. If my guess is right, he'll start singing the right song."

"Mike, your devious mind is not fitting for an upstanding sheriff," Brett joked.

"Damn, did
Willow
make that cast for you? Kinda homely, sort of fits you though," Mike taunted.

"And to think I called you a friend," Brett answered, feeling better than he had in days. He leaned forward. "I think
Willow
's in great danger. Watch out for her, would you?"

"I understand the situation. You can count on me," Mike answered. "You'd best stay right here," he said, patting Brett's strange cast. "I'm sure it's boring and downright confining, but if either of those bastards
find
you, they won’t hesitate to kill you. I don't want to attend your funeral this early in life."

Brett gave his friend a smile. "I appreciate your help. Gordon is getting what he deserves, the old ones are seeing to that. Don't ask me to explain. He may not have been dead before, but he is slowly bleeding to death now."

"First you try convincing me Gordon is alive, and now you're trying to convince me he's dying. Don't suppose you care to elaborate a little? You reduced to having women's intuition, or is that Indian blood of yours finally catching up with you?" Mike covered his broad grin with a fist against his lip.

"You've worn out your welcome, Mike. Keep making those
comments,
and you'll be wearing that grin inside out."

"You're flat on your back and making threats? You never know when to keep your mouth shut, do you? I'll check back with you later. I'm going to file a report on what we've discussed so far. I think I'll leave out the part where you believe Gordon is being killed by your ancestors." Mike rubbed his palm over Brett's cast. "Strangest thing I've ever seen," he mumbled. "I'm going to pay Wyatt a not-so-friendly visit. I'll check in with you later," he said, as he backed out of the enclosure. "He's all yours,
Willow
. Never thought I'd see the day when you two would ever say two civil words to each other, and mean it."

Brett smiled. Mike's reference to Indian blood stuck in his thoughts. A few days earlier he'd have landed a fist in his friend's face for that comment. It slowly dawned on Brett, not all comments about Indians were meant as degradation. It had been his own feelings about them that clouded his judgment and reactions.

Willow
sat beside Brett. "You're looking so much better."

"I'm feeling a lot better. I'll be glad when this is over and we can get the boys back. I miss Sean something awful. I'm sure you're feeling the same about Lance." He watched her slow smile. Warmth washed over her features, and he loved her all the more.

"My son has been my inspiration. He has great excitement in learning about his ancestors. He's a true friend to Sean and he's been the kind of son a mother can be proud of."

"I know what you mean." He offered his arm for her to nestle against, welcoming her warmth and earthy scent.

"Now doesn't this make a pretty picture?" Gordon stood before them.

Brett jerked and
Willow
tensed before bolting upright.

"You just don't know when it's time to run with your tail tucked, do you, Gordon?" Brett asked, aware his words would only anger the bastard.

"You make it too easy.” Gordon’s laugh came loud and rough. "The way I see it, and so will the police, you came to accuse
Willow
of pouring bleach in your cistern. As usual, you two got into a fight, and you attacked her, raped her even. She managed to escape and get a gun. She shoots and kills you in self defense, but you manage to toss your knife at her."

"A bit convenient, don't you think?" Brett asked. "You might have forgotten one thing."

"Like?"

"Pretty hard for me to attack the likes of Willow Howling Moon with my leg in a cast.
She's a strong, capable woman. I don't rightly expect too many would believe she had to resort to shooting me, it's a known fact she deplores guns. Maybe you should have me shoot her and her knife me," Brett taunted Gordon while slowly sliding his palm toward the bow at his side.

"This is getting out of hand, Gordon."
Willow
rose to her knees and sat back on her heels, staring hatefully at her husband. "Why don't you pack your things and leave? No one would have to know you're alive. I, for one, wouldn't say a word. Lance is better off believing you're dead."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Playing house with this half-breed," he snapped, glancing down at his wounded palm. Fresh blood dripped onto the straw on the ground, forming a dark puddle.

"Seems like you're losing an awful lot of blood," Brett said. "Did the old ones visit your dreams last night? Don't look so shocked, I was there too, remember? I saw what they did. You realize you're bleeding to death, don't you?"

"Brett, what are you talking about,"
Willow
asked.

"Tell her, Gordon. Tell her how you've been pilfering her people's artifacts. Tell her how you dug up the graves and stole what she thought was protected. One of those ghost shirts belongs to a great medicine man,
Nat-o-wap-ah
, Blind Medicine."

"How do you know these things, Brett?"
Willow
asked again.

"It comes in my dreams.
Nat-o-wap-ah
came to me and asked that I return his powerful shirt. I told him I would. He said the man who stole it would feel the blood drain from his body if he didn't return it," Brett said, sliding his fingers over the bow hand rest.

"I don't believe a word of this bullshit," Gordon snapped. "You've turned into a freaking Indian. Couldn't stand you much before, it's worse now. You're unnatural."

"Call me any name you like. I’ve never needed to have you for a friend. I don't even care if you believe me. Look how your hand is bleeding. You think that's natural, Gordon?"

"I don't have to stand here listening to this nonsense. I'll kill you both, then―"

"What? Wait for the ancestors to come for you? You know the feel of their darkness. You know the coldness of the swallowing hole. You even know the smell of their rotting, decayed bodies, don't you?" Brett goaded.

"Shut up! This doesn't make any sense." Small beads of perspiration formed on Gordon's forehead and upper lip.

"Maybe if you return the shirt and the other artifacts, they might be forgiving," Brett suggested.

"This is crazy,” Gordon sneered. “I don't back down to live Indians, much less dead ones."

Brett tensed as Gordon pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it toward
Willow
. Brett considered aiming the bow at Gordon, then reconsidered, realizing how ridiculous it would be against a gun. He had an immediate understanding how the Indians must have felt when the white man came with their thunder sticks.
Helpless . . . totally helpless.
"No one is going to believe we killed each other." He adjusted his cast so he could move his good leg under him. It would be easier to get up when the time came.

"They certainly won't think of blaming me, now will they?" Gordon asked, laughing. "That's the beauty of being dead."

Gordon's laughter still sounded high pitched and crazed. Perhaps it had been the result of being a dead man for six months. It might have been his experience with the ancestors. Whatever the cause, reasoning with this man would be futile, yet, Brett decided he had to try. "You don't have to kill us. Just leave."

Willow
had grown unusually silent. Brett placed a hand on her arm and felt her tremble. So, Gordon had reduced her to this sullen, silent submission. The bastard!

"Never thought you'd see her with her mouth shut, did you, Brett old boy? She knows her place. You got to train a woman to behave. Ain't that right, darling?" Gordon took a few steps closer.

Unmoving,
Willow
kept her eyes downcast.

"
Willow
? You okay?" Brett asked, shaking her slightly.

"Answer, woman," Gordon shouted. "Know what I'll do if you don't," he threatened, moving closer to her.

Brett wondered if she lured Gordon closer, hoping that together they could over take him, or did she truly fear the man this much? Brett gripped the bow, ready to use it in any way that might cause the bastard injury.

"Bitch?"
Gordon kicked her knee with his boot tip.

Willow
dropped to her back, out of Brett's way. He raised the bow, bringing the wide wooden piece against Gordon's shin.

Gordon bellowed in pain, took several hops back and fell against the wall of straw bales. They collapsed, sending him sprawling. Within seconds he'd scrambled to his feet.

Brett read fury and the uncontrolled wild-look of a madman. Brett drew in a ragged breath as Gordon cocked his gun and leveled it at
Willow
.

"Look at her! Not so independent now, is she? I'm going to splatter her brains all over you, Brett. I'll let you feel the pain of losing her, and then I'll end it for you, too."

"You won't get your hands on either of the boys,"
Willow
said, her tone low. She glared at Gordon with cold eyes and an icy expression. Her posture spoke of pride and defiance.

"You'll be six feet under, love. Nothing will stop me from doing what I want."

"I gave Mike Ferrell a packet before he left this afternoon.
Instructions on the envelope say to
open at the event of my death
.
Inside is the gun you used to murder that poor man whom you chose to take your place. I'm sure it has your fingerprints all over it. I told them you were alive and that Brett, Mike and Wyatt can verify it. I also included some soil testing results that prove oil has been found on Brett's property. It's motive enough for murder."
Willow
drew in a deep breath.

"So? It's my gun. It would have my fingerprints all over it. Anyone could have used it and returned it to the house. Where's the proof or witness it was me who shot that man? Maybe I went in hiding when I realized someone was trying to kill me. I've been in hiding and trying to gather proof."

"Think you've got it all figured out? You don't."
Willow
’s voice gained strength. “Just in case they can't prove you're guilty of this murder, which I think they can, I've made sure you won't get near the boys or their property. I wrote a Will, giving my parents full custody of Lance. Brett did the same for Sean. We both stipulated if we died it would be murder, and that you and Wyatt were guilty. We gave our sons complete ownership of our properties. You won’t be able to get it refuted in court. Even if
your
little murder scheme works, you still won’t get the boys, or the property oozing with oil—and that means you won’t be getting
Lorraine
."