The Mirror (15 page)

But the two of them had set something in motion, and whatever he wore, it didn't stop him long.

"Brandy-"

"You're beautiful, Corbin Strock."

Shay took a long lovely breath and Brandy spread her legs and . . .

Shay got the surprise of her life.

Brandy
was
a virgin.

Shay watched Corbin slip his long underwear into his pants, unable to believe he intended to leave her unsatisfied. She was no expert on lovemaking and although she would rather have died than admit it to her friends, Shay Garrett hadn't slept with a man until she'd met Marek. But Marek Weir was looking better by the minute.

"Thora K. and I'll be heading back, but you may stay as long as Mrs. McCabe needs you." He gathered his belongings together faster than she'd ever seen him move. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Brandy." And he was gone.

15

Hutchison Maddon slid his stiff leg under the wooden table. With his good foot he pushed the chair back on two legs and leaned against the wall. He watched people moving about on Nederland's Main Street through the mud- and fly-specked window.

Letting his mind float away the vestiges of too little sleep, he stretched the soreness from his body.

He ordered his food and then sank into the din of dishes and voices around him ... let them combine to form a background ... let the red-and-white checks on the tablecloth blur into pink . . .

Distant ridges, jagged with uneven pine, eased into his head . . . swaying grasses in the north park . . . the lazy movement of a steer's behind. . . .

When his food came, he smelled in the coffee steam from his cup, let tough juicy steak linger on his tongue.

The door opened and fresh air entered to mingle with the food and people smells in the room. So did Lon Maddon.

His twin shouted a breakfast order to Hank and sat in the chair opposite. "You riding back to the north park?"

"I don't know." The yellow of egg yolk . . . the warm filling taste of it on a hunk of bread.

"What's the Doc say?"

"Says it can't be done." The salty tang of a fried potato followed by the smooth heat of coffee.

"That's what he always says."

"Lon, whatever
you
got that needs saying, let it wait?" Corbin Strock's little wife leaned over him in his thoughts, as pleasing to look at as a sky over the divide with the sun going down.

Hutch'd sensed a lifetime of secrets trying to hide behind her eyes. Where would John McCabe's daughter get secrets?

"Watchin' you eat makes me sick," Lon said as his own plate arrived. "You enjoy it too much."

Hutch sat back to study the image of himself across the table. "And you just can't wait to spoil it for me. Your face says you got news."

"Wanted to know if you was riding out today, that's all. Thought I'd go with you."

"You told me you liked freighting better than ranch work."

"I do. Figured I'd ride as far as the north park with you and then I'd go

on. Thought maybe I could talk you into going on with me. But if the
Doc says you can't sit a horse . . ." The excitement behind Lon's grin signaled trouble. "Thought you might lend me some of that money you been
saving."

"No."

"Thought I'd take off for the Little Hole and see if I couldn't double it for you. You could go along and watch me do it if your leg--"

"No."

"I suppose we could go up to Caribou, but that's a kind of trap if he hears of it. 'Course there's two of us and one of him, still--"

"Who's he?"

"Had a drink last night with a man just in from Denver. Name was Murphy. He thought I was you. Said Tom Horn was in Denver and heading this way."

"What's that got to do with me? There's no money on my head."

"Seems like Horn had a talk with Mr. James B. Collard, III." Lon paused to let that name sink in. "And Collard's daughter sent this Murphy here to warn you. Only he warned me instead. If I was her I'd let you die. No explaining women. Never was."

Hutch kept his face still, felt a little ball of fear slide down the inside of
M
his rib cage. "Why should Collard send Horn after me?"

"Seems Collard's going to become a grandfather unexpected-like. His daughter visited a cousin at the Wind River Ranch and went riding out with this lowly ranch hand. It got so bad they had to fire him." Lon's grin widened. "Thought you quit that job, Hutch. Murphy says you was fired."

Hutch wiped his mustache slowly with the cloth napkin beside his plate and then overturned the table, the dishes and what was left of the coffee into his brother's lap.

Somewhere in the back of the place a woman screamed.

"Oh, God, the Maddons are at it again. Now, you boys stop." Hank came running. "Hutch, that leg won't take--"

Lon came out swinging from under the pile of table and dishes. Someone tried to grab him, but not before his fist buried deep into Hutch's stomach.

Hutch fell back on the wrong leg and then against the door. When he went down it was on the sidewalk outside.

A circle of faces revolved above him and square storefronts above them.

He tried to pull in some air and choked. Nothing inside him seemed to want to open up for it.

Lon pushed through the crowd and helped lift him to his feet. With one arm slung over his twin's shoulder, Hutch managed to hop along on his good leg.

"Where're we going?" he gasped.

Lon was laughing. "To get your money and then the hell out of here."

Hutch looked down at the top of Doc Seaton's head. It was the first time he'd noticed Doc's hair was getting thin at the crown.

"This is the craziest trick you boys've got up to yet." He wound the new bandage around Hutch's leg, the cigar between his teeth exhaling a sweet smell. "No damage I can see now, but riding a horse clear to Utah-- C if this were my leg I wouldn't even be walking on it."

"Yes you would." Lon moved restlessly about the tiny cabin. "First baby coming or case of croup and you'd hobble off to be there."

Hutch studied the picture of the late Mrs. Seaton in its scrolly frame. The lace doily under it was as yellowed as the curtains. The pretty wallpaper had dirtied in places. Dust mocked the glass-fronted bookcase.

Doc needs a wife,
Hutch thought, remembering how the place sparkled before Mrs. Seaton died.

"Now you got to hold it out some and watch for trees." Doc got off his knees and shook his head. "You go tight trails and hit one, you'll come right off your horse. It's going to hurt riding with this, boy."

Hutch stood and they helped him get into his pants.

"How are you going to get on and off a horse if you can't get into your pants?"

"Lon'll help me." The leg felt good with the new tight bandage. Hutch tried some weight on it.

"You sure you got to go clear to the Little Hole?"

"Yeah. Not even Tom Horn's going to stick his neck in there."

Hutch turned his horse as the road topped the ridge. Lon reined up beside him. Nederland looked peaceful, the creek small and sun-dazzled, the buildings a pleasant contrast to the mountain valley.

"I had a reason for saving up, Lon."

"I know," his brother said quietly. "It'll wait. Besides, I'm going to double your money, remember?"

"This is crazy. You know our chances of getting out of the Hole alive. Someone gets rankled at the cards or ornery drunk--"

"And he's shooting before he's thinking." Lon finished Hutch's thought as he did so often. They headed the horses back on the road and made them walk easy. "Rather face Horn? You wouldn't face him anyway. You'd get bushwhacked. You ain't been savin' up for that. Hutch, remember the last time we was at the Hole?"

"We were just kids then."

"But we're still Maddons. We got a free ticket because of Pa."

The sun felt good on Hutch's back, brought satisfying smells from horse and leather. But the Doc was right about his leg. It wasn't going to be easy to get to Utah.

His horse was fresh with the morning and fidgeting to move out. Hutch gritted his teeth and eased the reins to see how much he could take. He groaned and pulled back so hard the horse reared.

Lon came alongside. "This ain't going to work, is it?"

"Not clear to Utah. I'll be riding so slow winter'll catch us."

"What'll we do?"

"Circle back around Nederland. Take the train from Denver.

"Train don't go nowhere near the Hole."

"Goes near enough to Robber's Roost. By the time we get there I might be able to ride that."

"Never been to the Roost," Lon said thoughtfully. "What if we meet Horn coming along from Denver?"

"You're the gambler in the family."

Lon was laughing again. He gave a whoop and turned his horse.

They managed to skirt town without being seen and without Hutch's leg catching on a tree until they came to the Brandy Wine. Corbin Strock hammered on a shed near the mouth of the mine.

"Think he saw us?"

"He heard the horses, but I don't think he looked up."

"Wasn't that a surprise--him marrying McCabe's daughter? Rumor has it she's got a tile loose."

Hutchison Maddon didn't answer, but he contemplated Brandy McCabe Strock for miles. It helped to keep his mind off the pain in his leg. He let his imagination ponder her without all those skirts on.

Thunder rumbled low over Boulder. From the window of Brandy's darkened room, Shay watched lightning streak and crackle across the sky, turned to see its reflection glow dully on the entwined hands of the wedding mirror.

If it had caused John's stroke, she could be courting disaster by spending so much time in front of it.
Shay, Brandy was alive when you left, and ninety-eight years old.
Of course, her grandmother'd had a stroke also, when Shay was too young to remember.

Rain slashed at the window as she turned to switch on the light for another session. Lightning snapped so close the room lit up as if a flashbulb had exploded. But the light hanging from the ceiling went out.

Again twisted bronze hands glowed with the lightning. The mirror's glass remained dark . . . like an empty black hole within the frame.

The glass should reflect more than the bronze, shouldn't it?

Shay had time to sense a charge on the air, as if the lightning bolt had sizzled within the room, and to hear a humming sound and the beginning of the thunderclap.

She reached out, grabbing for the mirror to break her fall, as dark mist swirled her down through the floor.

Shay thought she was on an elevator. The downward swoop stopped abruptly and the organs inside her were still falling when the elevator moved up to adjust itself to the level of the floor.

She tried to remember why she was on the elevator and then realized she was sprawled on her stomach.

A roaring approached, the floor vibrated. She opened her eyes to light sweeping by above her.

She rose swaying to her knees in time to vomit repeatedly.

Sitting back away from it, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

This wasn't an elevator.

Icy sweat pricked her face and back. Her hands touched cool grass.

The roar returned, attacking her senses until she cried out. She could see the blinding light coming at her now . . . and crashing by with the roar . . . the vibration beneath her . . . and far away, the beep of a car's horn.

Car! I'm back.
But Shay cowered, throwing her arms over her face and ears as the next car approached and raged by.

Stars overhead. A tiny red light flashing among them. An airplane.

Shay Garrett sat in a ditch beside a road. She'd expected to come back to the Gingerbread House.

She wore Levi's, some kind of a shirt, tennis shoes. Her hair was knotted into a bun. Pulling out the pins, she let it fall, swept her fingers through it, ran them over her face. No molar missing among her teeth. It felt like the right body.
But what's it doing here?

The familiar dark shapes of the Flatirons and other recognizable mountains against the night sky, the lights of Boulder twinkling below. Shay hugged herself and wept.

She was on the highway east and north of town. Once more the passing of a car threw her senses into turmoil, made adrenaline surge through her body as if she were preparing to resist violation.

She decided to make her way to a house and call home. Shay couldn't bring herself to flag down one of those cars even though it was the reasonable thing to do.
Must be culture shock after being gone awhile.
Brandy's world had been quiet and peaceful compared to this.

There would be homes near, if not on the highway then off on side roads.