Chapter Forty-three

The Honorable Judge Miner stepped out of the bunkhouse with more money in his pockets than when he went in. It was his opinion that coming out ahead made it a worthwhile use of his time. Thaddeus Frost’s fine liquor was an additional bonus. The judge recognized there were less than half the guests present than there were when he took refuge at the card table, but there was still plenty of food to be had and dancing to be done. He was making a relatively straight path for the lovely Mrs. Frost when he veered sharply to the left. Someone observing him might have attributed his sudden change of course to inebriation, but that would have been the wrong conclusion.

Judge Miner had just spied the Putty brothers. He couldn’t recall seeing them earlier, or at least not seeing them present at the nuptials, but then there had been such a gathering that he could easily have missed them. There also existed the very real possibility that they would have used the crowd to hide from him. If they’d seen him, they would have been relieved when he disappeared into the bunkhouse.

Judge Miner sidled right up to Willet Putty and threw a friendly arm around the man’s shoulders. When he spoke, though, it was to the sheriff. “These boys giving you any trouble, Jackson?”

“Not a whit,” Brewer said. He waved a lantern over the table where the guests who had been carrying had put down their gun belts. “It’s like an armory. We’re trying to find a tooled leather belt and a Colt with a pearl grip. We have plenty of ivory grips, but not one of the other. Mr. Doyle Putty says it belongs to him, but I don’t see it.”

The judge leaned forward and poked his head around Willet so he could see Doyle. “Is that right, Doyle? You own something like that? Or could it be that you saw it earlier and thought you’d like to leave with something different than you carried in? We’ve talked about this sort of thing before, haven’t we? At least that’s my recollection.” He felt Willet try to shrug him off. Instead of removing his arm, he tightened his grip under the guise of another friendly squeeze.

Jackson Brewer’s gaze shifted from the table to the Putty brothers. “You familiar with these men, Judge?”

“We have a nodding acquaintance. Isn’t that right? Doyle? Willet?” When neither man spoke, the judge added, “I know their daddy a mite better, but these two have passed in front of my bench now and again. Just passed, mind you. Slippery. The pair of them. What was it last time, boys? Something about welshing on a bet. Or was it about a missing side of beef? I had to throw it out because the man who brought the complaint didn’t show for court.”

“Interesting,” said Brewer. “So, Doyle, do you see your gun on the table or not?”

Doyle shifted his weight from side to side. “No, sir, I guess I don’t see it. Come to think of it, I left my gun behind.”

Judge Miner nodded. “There you go, Sheriff. No gun. What about you, Willet? Were you carrying?”

Willet pointed to a scarred brown leather belt with an ivory grip six-shooter in the holster. “That’s mine.”

Sheriff Brewer picked it up, examined it, and returned it to the table. “I’m not comfortable passing it to you right now, but if no one else claims it by the end of the night, I’ll have it for you tomorrow in my office. You can come by and pick it up. How’s that suit?”

“That’d be fine,” said Willet.

“Excellent.” Judge Miner removed his arm from around Willet’s shoulders and patted him on the back. “You boys go along now, and make sure you’re riding out on what you rode in.”

Jackson watched them go. “Is it my imagination, or do they look like they’re struggling not to run?”

“Probably not your imagination. They have what you’d call a natural inhibition when it comes to the law.”

“You sure? Doyle Putty talked to me for quite a spell earlier.”

“Huh. First I heard of a Putty doing that. Mostly they try to steer clear. I probably only see them a quarter of the time I should, but on the other hand, they’re probably only guilty of about half the things folks credit them with. You’ll have to figure out how that adds up. I was never good with fractions.”

• • •

Inside the barn, Remington and Phoebe were making no headway against the fire. They extinguished flames blanketing two of the bales, but while they worked, the fire spread to more stalls.

Remington circled Phoebe’s waist with an arm and dragged her away from the heat and billowing smoke. When they were close to the door, he released her waist and set his hands on her shoulders. Her face was streaked with soot and beaded with sweat. Her eyes were awash in bitterly angry tears. She held the smoldering blanket she had been using to fight the fire in front her, one corner in each blackened fist.

Remington lowered his head, met her eyes. “Listen to me. We can’t win this. We’re going to lose the barn, but that’s all we’ve been fighting to save. The fire is our escape, Phoebe. We just have to keep it from reaching us until someone on the outside recognizes what’s happened. We’ll be in the most danger after they remove the bar and open the door. The fire will leap this way. We won’t be able to stop it. It will beat our rescuers back, and you and I will have to move quickly and be ready to take Ellie and Ben with us.”

“Mr. Shoulders?”

“Ellie and Ben first.”

Phoebe nodded. “I can drag Ellie out.”

Remington took the blanket from her hands. “You get under the smoke. Stay beside the door, not in front of it. It won’t be long.” He pointed to the loft. Floating embers had ignited some of the bales forming the barricade. “The roof’s next. We want the fire to break through there.”

Remington waited until Phoebe crouched below the smoke before he left her side. He wrapped the blanket he took from her around his shoulders and grabbed a second one to pull over his head. Without a word of his intentions, Remington ran headlong into the wall of fire. He heard Phoebe cry out and recognized it as a cry for him not as sign that she was in danger. He ignored it.

His goal was the ladder on the other side of the dancing, crackling flames. He threw off his blankets, grabbed hold of a slat, and began to climb. When he reached the loft, he shoved several of the burning bales out of his way, and then raised the ladder to use like a battering ram against the roof. He struck again and again. His arms trembled with the weight of the ladder and the jarring force he was using to punch a hole. Wood cracked and creaked but it was impossible to know if the cause was his relentless effort or the work of the equally insistent fire.

None of it was as welcome to his ears as the sound of Phoebe heaping curses on his head. Apparently she had a list of them.

• • •

Thaddeus opened his arms to Fiona and invited her to sit on his lap. He expelled a breath when she collapsed heavily on the seat he made for her.

“Did you just oof?” she asked, leaning backward to get a better look at his face.

He pretended ignorance. Sometimes it was a husband’s only defense. “Hmm?”

Fiona patted his cheek. “I’m going to let that go.” She slipped off his lap and onto the bench beside him and promptly rested her head against his shoulder. “I am exhausted, Thaddeus, and replete, and I cannot remember when I have enjoyed myself more. Judge Miner would not release me. I had to beg him for a drink so I could sneak away.”

Thaddeus chuckled. “He was resting his legs under a poker table most of the day.”

“Ah, so that’s where he disappeared after the ceremony. Have you seen Remington? Phoebe? They shouldn’t leave without saying farewell to their guests.”

Thaddeus looked around. “I don’t think they’ve actually gone anywhere. More likely they wanted a little time away.”

“That’s what the honeymoon is for. Will you at least tell me where they’re going?”

“After they’ve left. I promise.”

Fiona sighed. “I don’t understand why people don’t trust me with their secrets when I’ve proven that I know how to keep them.”

“You know I’d tell—” He stopped because Fiona sat up abruptly. She lifted her head and sniffed the air.

“Thaddeus? I smell—”

“Smoke,” he said. “I do, too. The wind’s shifted. It’s coming from the bonfires.”

She frowned. A sharp crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t think so.” She jumped to her feet and began to turn. “This smells more like . . .” Fiona grabbed Thaddeus’s shoulder. “Thad! The barn’s on—” She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. At least four people shouted it out for her.

“Fire!”

The music stopped. The band threw down their instruments, jumped off the porch, and ran full tilt toward the barn. Guests abandoned the tables, left the circle of the bonfires, and dropped their drinks. The men in the bunkhouse were moved to leave it as soon as the shouting reached them, and when they recognized the cause of the commotion, they directed people to the watering troughs and the well. Women joined the men to start a brigade.

Thaddeus caught Scooter Banks by the sleeve. “Where’s Remington? Is he with you? I don’t see him!”

Fiona jammed a fist against her mouth as spindles of fire arose from a hole in the roof. “Phoebe! Has anyone seen Phoebe?” She grabbed Jackson Brewer’s arm as he was hurrying past and pulled him up short. “I can’t find Phoebe! She would have come running if she could. Remington, too. I’m afraid they’re—” She couldn’t say her fear aloud and accepted that Jackson would nevertheless understand.

“I’ll see to it,” he promised, and then he was running again.

• • •

Remington dropped the ladder over the side of the loft once he had opened the roof. The blankets he had used to protect himself earlier were now ablaze. Descending the ladder would be like choosing to enter one of the circles of hell. Before he took that path, he began pushing bales of hay off the lip of the loft. Although some of them were burning when he dropped them, none of them exploded into flames. Just the opposite, in fact, the thick bales smothered a swath of fire. The unfortunate consequence was impenetrable clouds of smoke.

Remington could no longer draw a breath without coughing. He grabbed the top of the ladder, swung around, and lowered himself four rungs before he surrendered to the inevitable and jumped. Phoebe might have screamed. He couldn’t be sure. They were both choking on the smoke.

The bales cushioned his fall. The sleeve of his coat smoldered. He slapped at it as he scrambled over the hay bales and charged forward. He was gratified to see that Phoebe hadn’t moved from where he left her. He dove for her, tunneling under the heavy layer of smoke. She kept him from banging his head against the wall.

“They have to be close,” he said between coughs. “The fire’s through the roof. Can you shout? Curse? Bang the walls?”

She did all of that. He rose to his knees and joined her. Behind them, the fire continued to creep in their direction. Occupied with attracting attention, neither of them saw the man they knew only as Mr. Shoulders heave himself off the barn floor and climb the wall hand over hand until he was standing on his feet.

It was when Mr. Shoulders began to cough that Remington became aware of him. “Get down! You can’t breathe up there.”

“Can’t . . . breathe . . . down . . . there.” He pounded his fists against the wall. “Got . . . to . . . get . . . out.”

Phoebe tried to make herself heard over the hand she was using to cover her mouth and nose. “Do what he says. Get down! I think I can hear them. They’re coming.” Her intention was to keep pleading but she did not have the breath for it. She gave up and went back to pounding the wall.

Natty Rahway inched sideways and tripped over the unconscious bodies of Ellie and Ben. He sprawled on the ground, picked himself up to his knees, and crawled toward the barn door.

Remington made a grab for him and missed. He also called out a warning. It was ignored. “Get ready, Phoebe. I think you’re right. They’re close.” He crawled sideways, found Ellie, and rolled her toward Phoebe. “Take her wrist. You’ll have to move fast.”

“Worry about yourself.”

Remington cupped the back of her head in his palm. What he did then could hardly be called a kiss, not when his mouth was as hot, hard, and sooty as a branding iron. “Sweet Jesus, but I love you.”

The door opened then. They sheltered their heads while Natty Rahway was consumed in a tornado of fire.