Читать книгу The Renegade's Redemption - Stacy Henrie - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCasper, Wyoming, April 1892
Tex Beckett twirled the gold coin back and forth between his fingers, its shiny surface catching the lamplight in the saloon. “Much obliged, Quincy,” he said with a grin.
The barrel-chested cattle rustler visibly swallowed and inclined his head in somber acquiescence. His skin more closely matched the gray of his trimmed beard now that their poker game had come to an end.
Scooting the rest of his winnings toward himself, Tex picked up the weathered piece of parchment lying on top. “So this map shows the whereabouts of more gold coins like this one?”
One of Kip Quincy’s partners piped up. “Not just gold but silver ones too.” Tex blew out a whistle of appreciation at the potential wealth.
“Shut up, Lester,” Quincy ground out, clearly sore over losing the treasure map after only having it in his possession a few weeks.
“When were you planning to head to Texas to search for the loot?” Tex asked.
Quincy’s thunderous look flicked from Lester to Tex. “Planned to head south this week. What I hadn’t planned on was losing tonight.”
In all honesty, Tex hadn’t really planned on winning; he’d never gambled before. And he wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to accept Quincy’s invitation this evening.
Maybe it was the loneliness that had been eating at his gut the last six months. Or maybe it was because he was closer to his home state of Idaho than he’d been in eight years. Or maybe it was staying this past week on the ranch of a family friendly to outlaws and rustlers that had him missing the company of would-be friends. Even the continued company of Quincy and his three henchmen, who’d also sought refuge at the ranch during Tex’s time there, seemed a better substitute for friends than no friends at all. Spending the evening around the card table with them had seemed like a better prospect than spending it in his hotel room, alone.
Whatever the reason, Tex hadn’t lost the game and he was grateful. Maybe he had his father’s touch. Though more times than Tex could count, that “touch” had been as elusive to his father as rain in a drought. His jaw tightened just thinking of how he, his mother and his twin brother, Tate, had been forced to eek by for years, barely scraping together enough to live on, after his father had finally chosen the gambling life over a family life.
And that’s why this would be his one and only game of poker.
“Thanks again for playing, boys,” he said, scraping back his chair. The other four men did the same. Tex leaned forward to pocket his winnings, but Quincy reached out and clapped a hand onto a corner of the map.
“I’m thinking you don’t need this old paper after all,” the older man said, his expression no longer full of disbelief but anger.
Tex set his hand on the map as well, his other rising to the gun in his holster. “Now, Quincy,” he crooned as if talking to a child. “You threw that map into the pile of your own volition and I won it fair and square.” No one in the saloon would contest that.
Quincy’s scowl deepened, but he lifted his hand and backed away from the table. “Should’ve known not to play poker with the Texas Titan.” He hissed the words, though to Tex they sounded as loud as a train whistle. “How much did you tell us that Wanted poster said you were worth? Dead or alive.”
Arranging his face so as not to show his alarm, Tex didn’t answer. Instead he made a show of slowly pocketing the gold coin, the pile of cash in the center of the table and the map.
He’d known his acquaintance with Quincy came with the risk of having the man reveal Tex’s outlaw identity. Prior to this, Tex had been enjoying going unrecognized, since folks this far north hadn’t seemed to have heard of his heists. But they certainly would if Quincy started flapping his jaw about it. And it only took one person wanting to collect on the reward to send a telegram...or maybe Quincy was intending to double-cross him and turn Tex in himself.
That was the way with thieves, Tex supposed. They couldn’t be trusted.
“As I said it’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.” He hardened his look as he gazed at Quincy. “Sounds a lot more polite and civil than calling you cattle rustlers, don’t it?” Quincy’s eyes narrowed, but Tex could tell the man understood the message. If Quincy ratted him out as an outlaw, he’d do the same, naming the man and his partners as cattle thieves.
Tipping his hat to the men, he exited the saloon. A brisk wind followed him up the twilight-lit street to the hotel where “Mr. Chancy” was greeted by the desk clerk on his way to his room. Once inside Tex locked his door and set his gun on the nearby table. He wouldn’t put it past Quincy to try to get back the map. The man was that stubborn, but then again, so was Tex.
After slipping into bed, fully dressed, he linked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Where did he want to go next? He’d been working the last eight years in Texas and most recently in Utah Territory. Maybe he’d keep heading north to Buffalo or into Montana. But the thought of a new place, a new robbery didn’t fill him with the usual rush of excitement.
Tex slid his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out the earrings he always kept there. They had been his mother’s, the only memento he and Tate had been able to hold on to of hers after her death.
They weren’t just a keepsake to Tex though. They were a symbol, a reminder, of why he’d left his brother and the farm behind, nearly a decade ago.
His plan had been to sell the earrings, but when it had come time to do so, Tex couldn’t part with them. He kept seeing Tate’s face, twisted with outrage and hurt, when he’d caught Tex preparing to leave. The realization that Tex intended to sell the earrings had led to a blazing row. How could he get rid of something their mother had so diligently cherished and hidden time and again from their gambler father?
In the end, the fight had turned violent. Tex had struck his brother, hard enough to knock him out, and then left him behind—sneaking away like the thief he hadn’t yet been...but would soon become.
He and Tate hadn’t spoken since. No visits. No letters. Nothing to remember his brother by except the earrings they’d fought over.
Each time he pulled them out, he was reminded of his mother, of his brother’s cutting words that fateful night, and what Tex had been forced to do to survive these last eight years.
Feeling resolved once more, he secured the earrings back inside his pocket and turned over. Tomorrow he’d ride out of Casper, after he conducted a few matters of business, and then he’d move on to his next outlawing adventure.
* * *
Tex impatiently tapped his foot against the polished floor of the bank. The woman at the clerk’s window had been there for seven minutes, according to his pocket watch. A gift from his mother, which she’d saved for months to buy, a watch for him and one for Tate. It wasn’t the only thing the brothers had that was identical. Looking at Tate through the years had been like looking at Tex’s own reflection.
Tamping down thoughts of his twin, Tex crossed his arms and glared at the back of the woman’s head. He needed to hurry and cash in his gold coin for money so he could send some more anonymous funds to Ravena Reid and her grandfather back in Idaho and slip out of town as soon as possible. For all he knew, Quincy was still around, and that meant it was time for Tex to leave. He didn’t trust the cattle rustler. Especially not after seeing the desperate glint in Quincy’s eyes last night when the man had realized he’d lost not only his coin and his cash but his precious map too. The older man had been boasting all week about how he’d won it himself from another outlaw in a card game in Colorado.
At last the woman thanked the clerk and walked away. Tex blew out a breath of relief. Stepping to the counter, he smiled at the clerk through the bars on the inner window. “Morning. Busy day at the bank, huh?”
He brought his hand to his pocket, intent on extracting the gold coin. But the sudden click of a gun from behind and the wide eyes of the clerk in front of him made Tex freeze.
“Caught you right in the act of robbing our bank,” a firm voice intoned. “Didn’t I, Mr. Texas Titan?”
Terror he hadn’t felt since his first robbery coursed through Tex and robbed his mouth of moisture. He cautiously lifted his hands in surrender and turned to face the triumphant expression of the local sheriff. “There’s been some mistake. I was simply conducting my banking affairs like everyone else.”
The sheriff barked a humorless laugh. “I ain’t a fool. The jig’s up. Someone in town recognized you and I’ve been tracking you since you left the hotel ten minutes ago.”
It had to be Quincy who had turned him in. Tex frowned, his stomach still lurching with panic. “Why don’t we talk about this outside, Sheriff?”
“Not unless you’re in handcuffs first.”
Tex feigned a look of contrition as he fell back a small step, edging toward the wall that had a plateglass window. It stretched from waist high all the way up to the ceiling and looked out on an alley. “I can see how committed you are, Sheriff. And I applaud that.”
His words seemed to confuse the man, just as Tex had hoped. “But I’m afraid...” He moved another tiny step backward. “That I’m going to have to pass on the suggestion.”
With that he covered his face with his arm and dove for the window. The shatter of glass filled his ears and he felt it cut into the exposed skin along his jaw and hands. But better to deal with broken glass than a bullet.
He landed with a hard thud on the ground in the alley. Gulping for breath, he lumbered to his feet and started for the front of the building. The sheriff fired a shot through the window, but Tex ducked out of the way. Jerking his horse’s reins free, he threw himself into the saddle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff barrel out of the bank, his face red with fury.
“You won’t get away so easily,” the man shouted.
Tex kicked his horse, his mind intent on fleeing. The horse leapt forward, and for one moment, Tex knew the familiar thrill of a clean escape. Then the sheriff shot at him again. This time the bullet found purchase. It struck Tex in his right side, and his body jerked hard to the left in reflexive response. He clung to the horse with trembling arms to keep from falling as searing fire registered through his shock.
Half blind with pain, he guided his horse down the alley and out the other side. As if from the end of a long train tunnel, he heard the sheriff hollering at him, but Tex couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in his ears.
He urged his horse into a gallop, heedless of the outbursts from those leaping out of his way. Pressing a hand to his side, Tex fought off the blackness stealing onto the edges of his vision. If he lost consciousness and fell off his horse, he would lose his freedom too. He had to get away from Casper before he passed out. His few belongings, including his money and a dwindling supply of hardtack and jerky, were thankfully already ensconced inside his saddlebags.
As he reached the end of the street, he dizzily looked back over his shoulder. The sheriff was running hard after him and the man wasn’t alone. Quincy and his friends were right behind him.
So it had been Quincy who’d revealed Tex’s identity to the sheriff. Likely in an effort to get back the map.
Tex scowled as much from the pain of being shot as the realization he’d been framed. He wasn’t giving up the map. Not when he’d won it fair and square. Quincy would have to pry it from Tex’s dead hands...though his demise might be sooner than he anticipated with his side bleeding out all over.
He pushed his horse faster, though the increased speed jarred his injury even further. The stabbing in his side pierced his every thought and sense. He ground his teeth against it, refusing to falter. He’d need to stop soon and bandage the gunshot wound as best he could, but right now he had to focus his little remaining energy and awareness on escaping.
And Tex knew where he had to go.
There was only one place Quincy wouldn’t think to look for him. One place he could convalesce in peace. One place where his outlaw past hadn’t yet caught up to him.
The Texas Titan was headed home.
Idaho, five days later
“Mr. Grady, please.” Ravena Reid tossed her dish towel on the porch rocker and trailed the middle-aged man into the yard. “You can’t quit now. There are still two more fields to plow and the planting needs to be done.”
He whirled on her, his face as red as his hair. “I ain’t staying another day. Them rascally boys spooked the horses with their snake. And that’s the second time they’ve made trouble for me in five days.” Marching forward again, he tossed over his shoulder, “’Sides, I can earn far better wages somewhere else.”
Desperation, in the form of a tight lump, lodged in Ravena’s throat and slowed her steps. Not for the first time she wished her grandfather were still alive. The last three months of running the farm and caring for the orphan children by herself had taxed her to capacity. She felt twice as old as her twenty-seven years.
Without their two older orphans, who’d left the previous autumn to make their way into the world, she’d had to part with some of her precious savings to hire someone to help with the plowing and the planting. Mr. Grady was the second man she’d employed—and just like the first, he’d quit after less than a fortnight. In Mr. Grady’s case it was less than a week. Clearly she wasn’t as adept at keeping a hired hand or disciplining the children to leave them alone as her grandfather had been. The knowledge brought the hot press of tears that she barely managed to blink back.
They couldn’t afford a delay in the planting. Not when she needed a good crop in order to provide for the children under her care and the other four orphans she and her grandfather had planned to bring to the farm this summer. There was also the matter of housing. She still needed to find a way to pay a carpenter to complete the lovely new house her grandfather had envisioned building. A house that would easily provide shelter for nine orphans and herself. And she owed it to Grandfather’s memory to fulfill the plans he’d made. The thought of letting him down increased her heartache and fear.
“Will you at least finish plowing the field you were working on?” she urged.
Mr. Grady didn’t answer. Instead he increased his agitated retreat to the barn. But Ravena wasn’t giving up.
Before she reached the barn doors, the man came barreling out on his horse. Which meant he’d made up his mind and had the mount already saddled before he’d come into the kitchen to tell her that he’d quit and wanted his wages.
“I’ll be takin’ what I earned this week,” he said, jerking his horse to a stop beside her.
Straightening her shoulders, Ravena leveled him with her firmest look. She might be a lone woman running the place now, but she wouldn’t be cowed or swindled. “I’ll pay you for five days of work, not six.” She let the declaration hang in the air a moment before adding with a more entreating tone, “Unless you’re willing to work the rest of the day. Then I’ll pay you for six days.”
He glared down at her. “I already done told you, I ain’t staying.”
She clenched her teeth, frustrated by his decision and his barnyard vernacular. “Very well.” After fishing the required cash and coin from her apron pocket, she dropped them into his outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Grady.”
He sniffed with disapproval as he pocketed the money, then dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Head held high, Ravena stepped back to avoid the kick of dirt from the animal’s hooves. But her bravado ran out before the pair disappeared down the road.
Now that she’d lost another hired hand, the contents of the letter in her other pocket weighed heavier than a steer on her mind and heart. She moved to the porch and sat on the step. Pulling out the letter, she smoothed the wrinkles from it. If only she could smooth the troubled ripples in her life as easily.
Dear Miss Reid,
First let me offer my condolences at the loss of your grandfather. I never met a more gentle man and I’m grateful for my association with him these past few years.
Regarding the four brothers he planned to bring to your farm this summer, I’m afraid I do not have the most comforting of news. After I received your letter sharing the sad tidings of your grandfather’s passing and your limitation in providing any additional orphans with necessary housing, I felt it best to conduct a search for a permanent placement for the boys here in Boise but to no avail.
Here at the orphanage, we are quite at capacity at present. And unfortunately these boys, along with several of our older orphans, who have not found permanent homes either, will be joining the Orphan Train when it comes through on the first of July. As you are no doubt aware, the likelihood of the boys staying together once they leave here is quite low.
If you wish to follow through with your grandfather’s wishes to provide a home for these four brothers, I would urge you to make the necessary plans posthaste. I will not be able to detain their departure. I eagerly await your response.
Sincerely,
Miss Gretchen Morley
Tears succeeded in blurring her vision this time as Ravena repocketed the letter. Those poor boys. Of course she wanted to honor her grandfather’s wishes to bring them to the farm. As much for them as for herself. If she could fulfill Grandfather’s wishes in these last plans he’d made before his death, then perhaps she could finally feel she had done enough to atone for nearly turning her back on him and the farm all those years ago.
Wiping the back of her hand at the useless moisture in her eyes, she shifted her gaze beyond the barn to the unfinished structure that sat there. Her grandfather, a skilled craftsman as well as farmer, had framed the outer walls of the ground floor. But his death had robbed the incomplete edifice of its talented creator, leaving the posts to look like leafless trees eyeing the distant sky.
How was she to provide a home for four more children without a bigger house? How could she feed and clothe the children she already had if a large portion of her money went to hiring workers? And that was if she could find someone to hire who’d be willing to stay until the plowing and planting were done. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.
Even with the help of thirteen-year-old Jacob, the oldest of the orphans currently living at the farm, the two of them couldn’t finish the plowing and planting on time. She needed an able-bodied man willing to work for little wages. One skilled in house building as well as farming would be even better. It was a rather tall order.
Movement by the barn drew her attention. Nine-year-old Mark and his seven-year-old brother, Luke, peered around the corner. No doubt they were the owners of the offending snake Mr. Grady had been complaining about. “Mark, Luke, come here, please.”
The towheaded boys walked toward her, their chins dipped low to their chests. Sure enough, Mark carried a snake in his hand.
Though two years separated their ages, they looked as if they could be twins with their matching blond hair and brown eyes. They reminded her of a set of twins she’d known growing up—Tex and Tate Beckett. Even just the memory of the Beckett brothers caused a physical ache to lodge in her chest, especially any thought connected to Tex. He was the man she’d loved fully and agreed to elope with eight years earlier. Only Tex never came for her.
Which was good, she reminded herself. He’d saved her from making the two biggest mistakes of her life—leaving her grandfather behind and trusting Tex with her heart.
Pushing aside the painful recollections, she waited for the boys to shuffle to a stop in front of her. A shiver passed through her at seeing their reptile up close. She feared snakes every bit as much as the horses did. “Do you remember what I’ve told you, boys, about bringing snakes around the horses?”
Mark shot her a sad look. “We ain’t supposed to do that.”
“Aren’t supposed to do that,” she gently corrected. It was her duty to raise these children up right, and she would do it. A visit to their teacher might be in order to stress the importance of grammar and proper speech now that school was in session again.
“But it’s a real beaut, Miss Ravena.” Mark grinned, his sorrow forgotten, as he held the snake aloft.
Ravena scooted back against the porch column, eager to put distance between herself and the slithering creature. “Be that as it may, the rule still stands. As does the consequence. You, boys, will need to take over mucking the stalls for Jacob this week.”
Mark and Luke exchanged pained glances.
“And,” Ravena added, “if Mr. Grady were still here, you would need to apologize to him.”
“Mr. Grady left?” Luke asked, his tone a mixture of regret and curiosity.
“Yes, he’s left. Now please take that thing and release it somewhere beyond the fields.”
Mark frowned and eyed the snake dangling from his fingers. “Do we have to?”
Standing, Ravena fought an audible groan. “Yes,” she intoned firmly.
They started to walk away, their heads low with dejection once more, then Mark turned around. Luke did the same. “If Mr. Grady’s gone then how are we gonna...” Mark smiled sheepishly. “I mean going to do spring planting without any help? Can we still get those new brothers you told us about?”
Fresh apprehension washed through Ravena at hearing her own unanswered questions posed back to her. “We’ll figure it out, Mark. All of it. About the planting and bringing those new brothers to the farm.”
Satisfied, the boys scampered off. Thankfully they didn’t see the droop to her shoulders or hear the heavy sigh that escaped her lips as she picked up her dish towel from off the rocker.
“Let my words be true, Lord,” she prayed as she entered the house. “Please let them be true.”
* * *
He might die. Right here on the front step of his childhood home. Gripping his side, Tex managed to haul himself off the new horse he’d bought from a livery in Boise that morning. How he’d survived his escape from Casper, the train journey west to Idaho, and the thirty-mile horse ride north from Boise to his hometown was beyond him. Some might say he’d had help from above, but Tex scoffed at the idea. He and God were as distant as he and his brother.
Or at least as distant as he and his brother had been. That was about to change when he came face-to-face with Tate again today.
Apprehension battled with the pain in Tex’s gut as he stumbled toward the door. Would Tate take one look at him and throw him out? Tex couldn’t say he’d blame Tate if he did. He’d probably do the same if their roles were reversed, given the way things had ended between them. His excessively serious brother, older by five minutes, might say Tex had gotten what he deserved. Tate might even call the law on him.
The thought sent a shudder of dread through Tex and had him tugging the brim of his hat lower. He nearly turned around...but he didn’t know where else to go. If there was any chance of shelter to be found here, he had to try.
“Can I help you?” a man asked as he exited the nearby barn. He had a few years on Tex’s twenty-nine.
“I’m looking for...” Tex swallowed. It was a struggle to say his brother’s name for the first time in years. “Is Tate Beckett around?” Perhaps this man was a hired hand.
But the man shook his head. “Sorry. Beckett doesn’t live here anymore. He sold me the place eight years ago. Said he was leaving the area for good.”
Tate wasn’t here? Tex sagged against the porch railing in disbelief. This was a possibility he’d never even considered. His brother had loved this land. While Tex had tolerated farm work, Tate had loved it, even when they were young. Why would he up and leave a place and an occupation he’d prized? And where had he gone?
“You all right?” The man peered hard at Tex. “You a relative of Beckett’s?”
He didn’t need anyone recognizing him—not as Tate’s twin and certainly not as the Texas Titan. “Much obliged for the information, mister.”
Mounting his horse left him sweating, despite the pleasant afternoon, and aggravated his wound even more. The makeshift bandage beneath his new set of clothes would likely be bloodied again. With great effort, he kept himself in the saddle and turned his horse.
Where should he go now? The question had barely entered his head when he found himself guiding the horse away from the road toward the shortcut between his old home and the next farm over.
He’d go to Ravena’s; she’d likely still be there. If anyone loved this place more than his twin brother, it was Ravena Reid.
A feeling of dread and anticipation pushed through Tex’s cloud of pain at the thought of seeing her again. It was quickly followed by a surge of memories, most prominent being the afternoon, eight years ago, when he’d last seen and spoken with her. They’d planned to run away together that night—had arranged for him to come and fetch her. But his brother had caught Tex as he was leaving. After that horrible fight, with Tate accusing him of ruining Ravena’s life, Tex had run off alone, without a word to the girl he’d planned to marry.
He’d thought he’d never see her again, had believed she was better off without him. Now he had no choice but to turn to her. He needed to find somewhere safe where he could rest, or he’d run the risk of collapsing in the middle of the road...and no doubt find himself waking up in a jail cell.
Would she and her grandfather let him stay? Even a night or two in a real house, without being on the run, would surely help him heal faster.
Tex swiped at his brow with his sleeve. The temperature felt as if it kept soaring. Or maybe that was his fever. He’d contracted one at some point during the train ride to Idaho. In another hour or so, he’d probably be shivering with cold. And then there was the near-constant dizziness.
Trying to block out his intense discomfort, he turned his mind to Ravena once more. Would she be as beautiful as he remembered? It wasn’t hard for him to conjure up the image of her dark, wavy hair, deep brown eyes and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Tex had met plenty of women since leaving home, and yet, none of them affected him the way Ravena had. None of them had seen past his causal, lighthearted, adventure-seeking demeanor to the real man beneath, either.
The Reids’ farm came into view, causing Tex’s heart to flip painfully in his chest. He’d never allowed himself to believe he would ever come back. If he hadn’t deserved Ravena years ago, he certainly didn’t now. Fortunately, she and her grandfather, Ezra, weren’t likely to know about his unlawful profession. And he wanted to keep it that way.
At the edge of one of the fields, which he absently noted was only a quarter of the way plowed, he climbed off his horse. If he thought facing Tate would be hard, facing Ravena was sure to be a thousand times more difficult.
Something akin to the fear he’d felt when the sheriff in Casper had recognized him twisted in Tex’s stomach now. Could he face Ravena after all these years? What if she had learned he was an outlaw after all? His breath whooshed harder and faster through his lungs as the dizziness intensified. Tex tried to focus on leading his horse and staying upright. But after a few moments, the edges of his vision began to curdle like two-day-old milk and he found himself falling. The last thing to register in his mind was the feel of warm dirt against his face.
* * *
“Miss Ravena, Miss Ravena.” Mark’s frantic cry could be heard clear back to the kitchen.
What now? she wondered, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. If their snake had gotten loose somewhere it wasn’t supposed to... “I’ll be right back, Ginny. Keep forming those biscuits, please.”
The ten-year-old girl nodded, her red hair framing her pale face. She typically said little, even though she’d been with them for nearly a year now, but she was a quick learner and an efficient helper in the kitchen.
Ravena met Mark and his brother in the hallway. “What’s going on?”
Hands on his knobby knees, Mark leaned over, trying to catch his breath. Luke copied his brother’s stance. “There’s somethin’ you gotta see, Miss Ravena.”
She forced a patient smile. “Ginny and I are making biscuits for supper. If it’s another snake...”
“Not a snake,” Mark said, panting. “It’s a person.”
“A person?”
Luke slipped his hand in hers and tugged her toward the front door. “He’s dead, out in the field.”
Ravena stopped short, horror coursing through her. “Dead? Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mark gave a solemn nod as he rushed to push open the screen door. “He’s lying in the dirt, not moving. Luke even poked him with a stick and he still ain’t moved.”
“Hasn’t moved,” she murmured. Were the boys serious? She almost wished it were a snake that had them overly excited.
“You gotta come see, Miss Ravena,” Luke said, his eyes wide. “Besides, his horse is just standing there.”
If what they were saying was true, she couldn’t very well leave a...a dead person in her field. Though what exactly she’d do with him, she didn’t know. First Mr. Grady and now this. But she refused to be beaten down by this day.
Taking the rifle from its pegs above the front door, she followed the boys outside and across the yard. She cast a glance at the barn where she knew Jacob was working and six-year-old Fanny would be playing with the new litter of kittens. Should she ask Jacob to tag along? But she dismissed the thought. She had the gun and it wasn’t as if she’d never seen an expired person before.
Still, she gave a quick prayer for protection and a little added bravery as she trailed the boys to the fields. If she weren’t on such a morbid errand, she might have paused to take in the view—one she never grew tired of. The farm sat on a hillside bench, overlooking the valley, the river and the mountains beyond. A stream ran along the edge of the property and boasted several nice-sized shade trees.
“There’s his horse,” Mark said, pointing.
Sure enough, a lone horse munched on the grass at the edge of one of the fields. The one Mr. Grady had left only partially plowed. Ravena shaded her eyes with her hand and was able to make out a figure lying facedown in the dirt.
Her heart sped up as she strode toward the body. The gentleman was tall and dressed like a cowboy or a farmhand, though even with the small amount of dust and dirt on his clothes, she could tell his were new. Ravena crouched beside him and set the gun within easy reach. There didn’t seem to be any obvious reason for the man’s demise. No limbs twisted at odd angles, no visible head injuries, no blood that she could see. And yet something had caused him to crumble in her field.
She watched the back of his coat for movement and felt immense relief when she saw it rise and fall with breath. A sick or injured man was a far cry better than a dead one.
“He’s still alive,” she announced in a half whisper, though she didn’t know why she felt the need to speak quietly.
“How come he don’t...doesn’t...move then?” Mark asked from where he and Luke stood behind her.
“I believe he’s unconscious.” She glanced past the man, in the direction he appeared to have been riding before his collapse, and frowned. Why would a stranger take the shortcut between her place and the old Beckett farm instead of using the road?
Luke placed his hand on her shoulder in an oddly comforting gesture. “What are we going to do, Miss Ravena?”
She studied the man again. “We are going to gently roll him over and see if we can get him to come around. Hopefully long enough to tell us who he is.”
Placing her hands along his arm and side, she nodded toward his legs. “Boys, you push from there.”
They scrambled into position, their faces more alight with excitement than worry. Boys will by boys, she thought with a rueful shake of her head.
“Now we’ll roll him over on the count of three.” She took a deep breath, then began to count. When she reached three, she and the boys rolled him onto his back. The man cringed in pain, but his eyes remained shut.
A patch of red drew Ravena’s attention to where his coat had fallen back from his shirt. She leaned closer to examine it. “I think he’s been wounded.” But how? A sliver of dread traveled up her spine. Had his injury been an unfortunate accident? Or had someone hurt him, and if so, was the offender still close by?
“He’s wounded,” Mark repeated with awe, sounding far too impressed.
“Go get Jacob from the barn, Mark,” she directed. The injured man didn’t need the boys gawking at him as she tried to clean the dirt from his face and revive him. “We’ll need Jacob to help us assist this man to the house. Luke, get some water.”
They took off at a dash, their childish voices full of wonder as they talked over each other. Ravena allowed herself a small smile at their antics. They might tire her out with their innocent mischief, especially since her grandfather’s passing, but they were good boys.
Taking a corner of her apron in hand, she gently began wiping the dirt from the stranger’s bearded face. He stirred, prompting her to console him. “We’re here to help. You’ve passed out in our field, but we’ll get you up to the house in a minute.” She’d probably need to send one of the boys for the doctor. “Can you hear me, sir? We’ll have you fixed up soon.”
When he didn’t respond, she resumed cleaning his face. She was concentrating on brushing the last of the dirt from his beard before she realized he’d gone completely still. Was he truly dead and gone this time? Jerking her gaze to his, Ravena found his eyes open. Brilliantly blue eyes—familiar eyes—which peered directly at her.
Her heart flew into her throat as she studied his face, now absent of dirt. There were age lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him, as well as tiny red cuts where his beard didn’t cover his tanned skin. But the dark eyebrows, the arch of his jaw, the brown hair lying damp against his forehead were still as recognizable as they’d always been.
“Tex?” His name barely made it past her lips, but a faint smile creased his mouth at hearing it.
“Hello, Ravena,” he murmured in a hoarse voice, which only confirmed the truth.
For better or worse, Tex Beckett had just stumbled back into her life.
