Solitary Horseman (25 page)

He grinned, a bit salaciously. “How did that happen?” He fell onto his back and stared at the ceiling for few moments. “And how is it that I came here to tell you to quit stirring the pot and I find myself in your bedroom and at your mercy?”

She scoffed at that and sat up, smoothing down her skirt with hands that trembled slightly. “I’m not the only one stirring up trouble. Don’t think I haven’t heard about you rallying other men to stand against the vigilante group or that you’ve asked the sheriff to send for the Texas Rangers.”

He sat up, too, and nuzzled the back of her ear.

She lifted her shoulder, laughing at the tickling sensation. “Stop that! Seriously, Callum, you said yourself that these men are dangerous.”

He captured one long lock of her hair and wrapped it around his fingers. “I know the worth of them, sweetheart. They’re like scarecrows – full of straw and sawdust. Just like Bransetter. He’s all talk and no muscle.” He kissed her softly.

Her heart sprouted wings.
Sweetheart! He’d called her sweetheart!

“I have to get back to the ranch.”

She grabbed his hand in both of hers when he stood up. “You won’t stay for supper? I could send something back with you for your pa.”

Looking down in her upturned face, he smiled and squeezed her fingers gently. “Tempting, but no.”

With a sigh of resignation, she walked with him to the parlor where she retrieved his coat. She helped him into it and buttoned it for him, much to his smiling delight. When she was finished, he covered her hands with his, holding them against the center of his chest. That’s when she noticed his scraped knuckles.

“It’s nothing. I skinned them on Bransetter’s big nose.”

She kissed each abrasion. “You shouldn’t have . . . but I’m proud that you did. I’m proud you think that much of me.”

“Banner.” He nudged her chin up with one of his bruised knuckles and his gaze bored into her. “I wouldn’t allow any man to talk that way about a woman . . . but when it comes to you?” He shook his head and a merciless expression hardened his features. “When anyone tramples on your name, there will be hell to pay. I made that crystal clear today.”

She swallowed the sting of tears. While she loved that he thought so highly of her, it also worried her. He could be so headstrong. “Will the Texas Rangers be here soon?”

“I believe they’re here already. In the county, anyway.”

“Thank heavens. Let them handle this from here on in, Callum.”

“That all depends on the other guys.” Callum shoved his hat onto his head and reached for the door handle. “If they keep away from me and mine, I’ll extend them the same courtesy.”

Standing in the doorway, Banner watched him mount his horse and ride away at a trot, his solitary figure growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared over a rise in the land.

Me and mine.

She was his.

She drew in a shaky breath and exhaled it on the rush of words, “I belong to you.” And in her mind, she added,
And I love you.

The four orphan calves crowded around Banner and Mary, trying to grab the teats on the milk bottles. Laughing, Banner, angled away from the biggest calf so that the runt could grab hold of one teat while a sweet-faced heifer calf claimed the other bottle she held. Across from her, Mary held a bottle steady for a brown Longhorn calf and waved the other to the biggest baby until she finally spied it and clamored over to grab on.

“This is one of my very favorite chores.” Banner smiled at Seth Latimer, who leaned against the top rail of the big stall.

“Seems like we always have orphans to feed. Either first-time mamas reject them because they don’t know what to make of ‘em or some old heifer up and decides the calf she just dropped ain’t hers, after all.” He shrugged. “Sometimes you can fool another nursing heifer into accepting a stranger newborn. Takes some doing, though. Some heifers love being a mama. I had a one a few years back I dubbed Annie Lee. You remember her, Mary?”

Mary nodded. “Dark brown with a white face.”

“That’s right. She accepted any calf you foisted on her. I bet she mothered a dozen that weren’t hers. I hated to see her go.”

“We don’t usually have this many orphans in January.”

“That’s my fault.” Banner shrugged at Mary. “I didn’t know to pull the bulls away from the herd so that the heifers wouldn’t drop calves in the harsh winter months.”

Seth spat tobacco juice into the hay at his feet. “Timing’s everything. Speaking of which, anybody know when Lilah Hawkins is supposed to birth her baby?”

“This summer. Maybe June, I think,” Mary answered with a frown.

Banner regarded her through her lashes, wondering if that frown meant she knew about Lilah and Ben and worried that the baby might be her grandchild.

“You’re healing up,” Mary said, changing the subject as she addressed Seth. “Have you walked all the way out here before?”

“Sure have. Last week, me and Banner strolled out here to visit Molasses. My old mare seemed happy to see me.”

“Oh, she was,” Banner assured him. “She perked right up. I haven’t seen her that frisky since I’ve been here.”

“She misses being with you every day,” Mary said.

He pursed his lips and wiggled them in that way he had. “Yeah, well, I miss her, too.”

Banner’s heart went out to him. He was a rancher from his toes to the top of his floppy, black hat and she knew it pained him something fierce to know that he’d never ride Molasses or any other horse again.

The calves finished the milk and Banner handed Mary the bottles she’d used to be rinsed in the water trough. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped from the stall, securing the gate behind her to keep the calves penned up.

“It’s getting colder,” she noted. “Ready to go back in, Mr. Latimer?”

“I reckon so.”

She looped her arm in his and they began the slow journey to the house. The sun was low in the sky, its rays turning the last patches of snow into pools of sparkling diamonds. “You’re doing much better walking, Mr. Latimer.”

“Getting up in the morning and dressing is easier for me, too.” He glanced at her. “I reckon I have you to thank for that. I would have sat in my chair and rusted up.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. There are still things you can do around here.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Mending halters, reins, and rope. Whittling new handles for the tools. Things like that.”

He was quiet for a few steps before he gave a soft
harrumph.
“I guess I could do those things, come to think of it.”

“Sure. There are quite a few chores you could tackle that would help out around here.”

“I suppose I’ve rested up enough.” He winked to let her know he was teasing before facing front again.

“I’m glad you think I’m not so bad, after all. Being a Payne, you know.” She wrinkled her nose at him to let him know she was joshing him, too, but his expression changed from light to heavy.

“I shouldn’t have been so ornery toward you. I see that now. How I felt had nothing to do with you or your brother. It was bad blood between me and your pa.”

She nodded, not really wanting to go over this ground again.

“The way folks have treated you has been mostly my doing and I’m ashamed of it.”

Startled by his confession, Banner stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Callum tried to tell me I was being bull-headed, but I closed off my ears to such talk. I’ve always tried to do right by folks who do right by me and I broke that rule – busted it into pieces when it came to your family. That you came here with an open mind and heart, held out your hand to me, helped me get back on my feet – well, it humbles me.”

She cleared her throat. His unexpected apology floored her. “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Latimer. I appreciate it. And I’m glad we could forge a friendship, too.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, if not relieved, to have gotten that off his chest. “Callum ought to be riding up any time now. It’s his turn to watch the herd tonight, so he said he’d be in early to grab a bite to eat and a nap before he heads out again.”

“I’ll fix a couple of bacon sandwiches for him,” Banner said, glad to be back on familiar footing. “I think there are some oatmeal cookies left from dinner, too.”

“He’ll like that.”

###

The ground was rockier as Callum directed Butter toward the low foothills in the farthest northeast corner of the Payne’s land. It was territory they rarely if ever traversed because the thickets were plentiful, starving out any grazing grass, and the rocks grew progressively larger the closer you rode toward the hills. Mossy Springs was fed by these hills and Callum had decided to look closer to see if there was a deep water basin or other natural water containment. He’d even seen caves in hills that opened up to fresh water caverns.

In an exploring mood, he let Butter take her time stepping around boulders and skirting big sticker bushes. It was no wonder that the cattle didn’t venture here. The ground under Butter’s hooves was nothing more than a blanket of crushed leaves, fallen stickers, pebbles, and rocks.

Butter lifted her head and her nostrils flared slightly. Intrigued, Callum squinted ahead at the play of shadows and sunlight. A trail of sorts meandered up the hill in front of them, taking a sharp turn halfway up and disappearing. He sniffed the air and caught the faint burning smell of wood. A campfire? Looking up to see if he could spot smoke, he discovered that the trees obscured his view of the overcast sky. He urged Butter onward, shifting his attention to the ground. That’s when he saw what should have been obvious, but with all the layers of debris, he hadn’t noticed. Dung. Cattle leavings.

What the hell?

He placed his hand on the butt of his rifle as Butter steadily climbed the hill. As they approached the sharp turn, the aroma of burning wood grew stronger. Butter’s nostrils flared again and her ears pricked forward. They rounded the curve and Callum saw that the trail now led down instead of up. The ground was beaten, flattened by many hooved animals. They passed through a thick copse of evergreens and then the land flattened out. He reined Butter through the straggly trees as a ramshackle hunter’s cabin came into view. The barest wisp of smoke hovered above the chimney. Someone had been here.

He’d heard about this place, but hadn’t taken the time to find it. The ground around the shack was soggy and muddy from the melting snow, but he knew that it would support clover and grass in the spring and summer. Enough to sustain a few head at a time. Had he stumbled on the place where the Payne cattle rustlers hid out? Sure looked like it.

He caught the sound of running water and urged Butter forward until he spotted the source. A trickle of water slipped down the side of one foothill. At the base of the hill were six big buckets someone had used to collect the water. In the warm months this trickle would be a steady stream and had eroded a trench that snaked back in to the trees. He knew it would lead to a creek and then, eventually, the springs.

Cattle could be kept here a few days and then secreted out on a moonless night to rendezvous with an unscrupulous cattle buyer. This area might not even be Payne property as their spread ended somewhere in these foothills.

Butter pumped her head up and down in agitation. Callum figured she’d had enough of this place and wanted to move on. He stroked her mane to settle her, but she danced sideways and nickered in the way she did when she sensed danger.

Pebbles rained down behind him and his heart muscles tightened. He had only a moment to put the spurs to Butter before he felt and then heard the gunshot. Butter bucked and sprang forward, racing hard for the shelter of the evergreen trees. In a blur, Callum felt heat radiate from his shoulder and blaze down his arm. He smelled gunpowder and his owned burned flesh.

When they were in the shadows of trees again, he reined Butter hard to get her to slow down and sprang from the saddle. He let go of the reins, trusting the horse not to bolt and leave him. With stealth, he circled back to where he thought the shot must have been fired, forcing his mind off the blood that warmed his shoulder, soaked his shirt, and trickled down his left arm. He gripped his rifle in his right hand and focused his attention on treading quietly and watching for any movement ahead or beside him.

The ground was mushy, muffling his footfalls, but also hindering any sudden movements he might need to make. He breathed in the smell of moss and wet leaves, his exhales sounding like wind gusts to his hypersensitive ears. He felt, rather than heard, the approach of someone on his right. Dropping to one knee, he brought up his rifle, the butt balanced against his uninjured shoulder. A man’s figure, obscured in shadow, separated from the tree trunks. Fire bloomed from the barrel of the rifle he pointed at Callum, but Callum was already moving, rolling sideways, coming back up onto his knees again, the rifle pointed steady and true. He fired. The figure jerked, released a garbled cry of surprise and pain, and slumped against a tree. He tried to raise his rifle to get off another shot at Callum, but the weapon slipped from his fingers.

Callum straightened and strode purposefully toward his attacker. Before he got a good look at the man’s face, he already knew who he’d find. Jeb Johnson. Small, beady eyes stabbed at him from a pasty-white face, which was partially covered by a thick, black beard.

“Bastard,” Johnson wheezed, glaring at Callum as if his eyes alone could send Callum to hell. “You’ve killed me.” He lifted his hand from his chest to stare at the blood. His blue shirt front was black with it. Then he pitched forward. Surely dead.

“Better you than me.” He’d thought that often during the war. Why should he go on living when his brothers had died? Why did the men beside him in battles fall or be blown to bits while he fought on, unscathed? But this no-good thieving bastard didn’t warrant his concern, he told himself.

Callum stood over the body for a few minutes, coming to grips with taking another life while his own life-giving pulse ratcheted down to something akin to normal and the sweat on his body changed from hot to chilly. His hand felt sticky and he blinked away the blur in his vision to examine the blood that had soaked his coat and shirt cuff and stained his hand a rusty red. A hard, throbbing ache owned his shoulder and arm and every movement sent shards of glass cutting through flesh and muscle.

Steeling himself against the torment, he whistled for Butter. After a minute, he heard her picking her way toward him. It took him agonizing minutes to hoist Johnson’s big, dead body over Butter’s saddle and secure it there. Grabbing Butter’s reins, he followed the trail with the palomino behind him until they were finally out of the foothills. He knew that Johnson had a horse or two stashed somewhere nearby, but he didn’t have the energy to look for them. Instead, he swung up behind Johnson’s body, settling his butt on Butter’s, and rode slowly and painfully home.

He had to stop four times and sit for a spell under a tree to keep from passing out. Any other time, he would have run into one of the other cowhands, but not today. Not when he would be eternally grateful to see one. It was good and dark when he finally saw the lights of his house in the distance. That was when he heard a horse – more than one horse – heading his way. He sighed. Yeah, they’d been watching for him.

Shane and Ben appeared out of the gloom, their faces set in lines of worry.

“Where in the hell have you been?” Ben barked. “Hollis and Franklin are out looking for you. The others went into town to see if you were there.”

“Who’s that?” Shane asked, spotting the draped figure. “What happened? Is he—?”

“Jeb Johnson and, yes, he’s dead. I killed him.” Callum tried to sit up straight, but couldn’t. He slid off the back of Butter and almost landed on his own butt, but kept himself upright by the grace of God. “He nicked me.” To prove it, Callum gripped one side of his coat and flung it open to reveal his soaked shirt.

“Nicked?” Shane squeaked. “Man, you’re bleeding bad!”

Ben muttered something foul in Comanche and was beside Callum in an instant. He grabbed Callum’s right wrist and guided his arm around his shoulders, steadying him as they walked jerkily to Ben’s horse. “Get up there, Cal. Can you stay in the saddle? I’ll ride back with Shane.”