The Rancher (42 page)

places and drew a word from the little purple velvet satchel on the lamp table. He threw his hands up in the air and started waving them around.

It was clear to Abby she would not find out any gossip today.  It appeared as if even the older women were enjoying the break from their daily lives.   Mrs. Hutchinson sat in the corner with her

fashionable hat and smiled in observation.

“Too bad your husband and his brothers couldn’t stay. They would have been quite entertaining, I’m sure.” Lily slouched against the back of the chair for only a moment before returning to her most ladylike posture. Abby hadn’t missed the way her friend had allowed her ringlet curls to fall over the discolored portion of her face.

“This has been...” Abby struggled for the right word, “lovely, Lily.  I had no idea people loved to play games so.  But I really must be going.”

“You can’t fool me, Abby McCallister, um, Redbourne,” she corrected.  “I know you are bored out of your mind and just want to get home and help the menfolk find out what’s going on around here,” she whispered.

“Windmill,” a deep voice sounded just behind Abby from the doorway.

A tall man, with grey speckles in his hair, stepped forward.   He wore black trousers and a black shirt adorned in a crisp white collar. “Glad to see you all are still having your Sunday tea.   I’d meant to be back in time for services this

morning, but alas, the good Lord just

didn’t see fit I guess.”

“Reverend Daniels,” Lily immediately stood up and walked around the high backed couch to greet him.   “Welcome back. You’re here just in time to take a turn.”

“Did you bring Reverend Harris with you?” One of the young Simpson girls asked with a giggle, hope evident in her big, bright blue eyes.

The preacher stared at her, a clouded expression crossing his features. “I’m sorry, Miss Natalie, but who?”

The girl’s face fell. Abby stood up and looked at the man who’d baptized her.

“The new reverend, of course.   You know...” Abby encouraged. “The one who took your place while you were away.”

“Abby?” The reverend laughed softly in

disbelief.  “I hardly recognized you.  You look lovely.”

Unaccustomed to others paying notice to her appearance, Abby averted her eyes and rubbed her neck.  “Thank you.”

It only took a moment for Reverend Daniels to recover.  “Now, I don’t know what’s going on here, but no one was sent to take my place.  I’m the only pastor that I know of in more than a hundred miles.”

Abby’s head whipped back toward the man and she stared for several moments.  “So, if Mr. Harris wasn’t the preacher, then...”

Her mind raced.

“Then, how’d he marry us?” she asked,deflated.

The   reverend   choked.   “You’re

married?”

She glanced at Lily.

“I’ve got to get home.”

Lily took a step toward her, nodding herhead with understanding.

“Has anyone seen Davey?”

She pinched at the skirt material nearher knees and lifted as she ran down the

hallway and outside toward the garden.  She’d seen Davey hitch the wagon to the fence in front of Mr. Campbell’s roses.

If Mr. Harris wasn’t a preacher...

Her head jerked from side to side, looking for any sign of the freckled cowhand who could drive her home.  She

wished she’d ridden the new stallion, Chester.  Patience had never been one of

her strong points and her sense of urgency to get to her father and Cole with information  about   Mr.   Harris   only

increased her unease.

When she at last found him walking around the back of the house, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along the stone pathway to the wagon.

“We have to go.  Now.” She lifted one foot to the metal rise.

“What’s yer hurry, Abby?  I haven’t had a chance to get somethin’ to eat yet.”

Abby whirled around to face him, her dress falling back down around her feet. An angry purple and blue bruise encased his swollen left eye.   Add that to his injured arm from the wagon accident and he looked a sight.

“Davey,   what   in  heaven’s   name happened to you?”

The slim redhead pushed past her and began untying the reins from the garden

fence.

“It’s   nothin’,   Abby.   Just   a misunderstandin’ over a game a cards is all.”

Abby hated asking for his help.

“Davey, I think I know who’s behind allthese
 
accidents.
 
”

He stopped. “What do you mean
accidents
 
?” He imitated her inflection of

the word, his eyes narrowing in on her with scrutiny.

“Davey, please.  We must hurry,” Abby said with an impatient edge to her voice. She turned away from him and lifted herself up onto the wagon seat.

“All right, all right.  Don’t get all bent, Abby.” He walked around the front of the buckboard and pulled himself up. “It shore is mighty strange seein’ ya’ll gussied up.”

Abby looked away.  If people didn’tstop mentioning her new look, she wouldhave to use one of them for target practice.

“Let’s go then. But from now on,” hissteely gaze moved upward, overshootingher eyes to an unknown location behindher, “the name is David.” His voiceseemed distant somehow. Hollow. Ahaunted expression fell over his features,overpowering  his   typically  childlike

appearance.

Abby lifted her eyebrows and dipped her chin to the right in attempt to hide the smile that threatened.

Davey focused on her, his voicesoftening. “Okay?” he added in a boyishplea.

“Thank you,” Abby leaned over, placedher hand on his unbandaged forearm and

squeezed, “David.”

She glanced into the back of the buckboard.  The sight of her Winchester rifle mounted to the side of the wagon bed reassured her.  No one would be at the

SilverHawk this afternoon because of thetea and she would not let anything elsehappen to the ranch.  After Davey droppedher at home with her gun in hand, he couldride out to the Grayson’s and get herfather. And Cole. She had to get word tothem before it was too late.

She’d think about the repercussions ofnot being officially married later.  If theycould just find Reverend Harris, orwhoever he was, he could lead them to thenew owner of the Gnarled Oak and theycould put an end to all this mystery andmayhem once and for all.

Something wasn’t right.   Cole couldfeel it in his gut. He scanned hisimmediate surroundings before followingthe others through the homestead and into Max Grayson’s study. The ranch appearedjust like any other—horses in the corral,ranch hands fixing fences.  Nothing wasvisibly amiss, but Cole could not ridhimself of the feeling that something wasterribly wrong.

He glanced about the room. Except forthe lack of books against the walls, itreminded Cole of his father’s study. Framed drawings and paintings hungthroughout the dark, musty room. With thecurtains drawn, the sun touched the backwall, illuminating a collection of mapsand landscape drawings.

Cole was fascinated with the intricacyof the maps.  The detail was extraordinaryand the technique awe inspiring. Hewalked the length of the room, stopping infront of each frame.

“Who’s the artist?” Cole turned his

head over his shoulder and asked Mr.

Grayson.

“Not sure. Just initials scribbled at thebottom. See there?” Max pointed to thelower left corner of one of the pictures.  PBH.

“I have some just like it in my office. Johansson gave a set to each of us when itall started,” Clay offered.

Max Grayson’s eyebrows lifted insurprise as he moved behind a mahoganydesk that consumed nearly half the room. He reached into a large cabinet, pulling

out a bottle and five small glasses. The honey colored liquid was poured into the first glass and he slid it across the desk to Clay. When he offered the second glass to Cole, Cole shook his head. He’d learned a long ago the ill effects drinking had on his reflexes and had determined to never

touch the stuff. He couldn’t afford to.

“No, thank you,” he declined.

Each of his brothers in turn refused the glass.   Mr.   Grayson  shrugged  his shoulders and downed the brew in one swallow. He set the glass back on the table, refilled it, then leaned back in his chair, one hand still on the tumbler and the other resting on his midsection.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Mr. Grayson invited, tilting his head toward the chairs at the outer edge of the wall.

Raine sat in the chair next to Clay, but Cole and Rafe remained standing.

“What is so important, Clay, you had tobring along all of Levi’s brothers?”

“Oh, this isn’t all of us, Mr. Grayson. We are seven brothers total.” Rainesmiled easily as he spoke.

Mr. Grayson’s mouth opened and hestared blankly at Raine.

The sunlight glinted off the glass of thefarthest  framed  map   on  the  wall.  Something about the drawing pulled Colecloser and he lifted it off its nail.  Uponinspection, he was even more awed by itssophistication.

“Max, is this the only map of Silver Falls in your collection?”

The white haired man nodded. “But

there are five others similar to it.  One for

each of us who own a part of the original mountain spread.”

“Mine’s hangin’ in my study,” Clay pointed out. “And I think Henry and Zed still have theirs too.”

“I’m not sure where the map for Deardon’s place is or Johansson’s for that matter,” Max offered.

“Each of our individual maps are recreated portions from a master drawing of Johansson’s original spread. If you’re looking for that, you’ll want to find Freidrich’s grandson or the man he sold the property to,” Clay said.

“Alaric Johansson is dead.” Cole spoke in a low voice.   He took a small

weathered note from the inside pocket of

his vest and handed it to Clay.

Clay scanned the message and looked

up at Cole.  His eyebrows formed a solid crease across his forehead. “Where did

you get this, son?” Clay’s tone held a

touch of accusation.

Cole knew he’d kept his secret toolong.

A loud pounding on the door capturedthe attention of all the men in the room.

“It’s Weston, Mr. Grayson.” Doc Knight pushed the door open and stood,dark circles lining his eyes. “He hasawoken.”

Max pulled himself up out of his chairin a hurry and grabbed his hat from therack at the entry.

“Wes is my foreman,” he said over hisshoulder before disappearing out the doorwith the doctor.

Cole followed.  As they climbed the

stairs to the bedroom, the doctor mumbled a few words to Mr. Grayson Cole couldn’t hear.

When the door opened, the pungent aroma of liniment smacked Cole in the

face.   He could see the injured man, bandaged around the head and arm, and one of his eyes looked puffy and swollen beneath the black and purple bruising.

Mr. Grayson sat down in a chair at the edge of the bed and removed his Stetson. He leaned forward onto his knees, fidgeting with the brim of the hat.

“Glad you’re still with us, Wes.” Mr. Grayson dropped his head as he spoke. Only when he said the man’s name did he look at him. “Who did this to ya, son?”

Wes stared at the ceiling, but his shoulders scrunched into a half-hearted

shrug, evoking a grimace from his parched lips. He started to choke. Doc Knight filled a glass with water and moved to the side of the bed.  He lifted Wes’s head enough that he could gently ease the cup to his mouth. It was then Cole noticed the unfocused expression in his eyes. The man was blind.

“He hasn’t spoken a word since he opened his eyes.” Once the doc was satisfied Wes’d had enough to drink, he nodded to Mr. Grayson who leaned in a little closer.

“We’re going to find out who did this to you,” Grayson said. “Do you hear me?”

The man’s eyes closed and a single, fat tear trailed his tightly clenched jaw. When he opened them again, his lips pursed and Cole sensed the fear of a horrible truth