Eight

Marley sat at a newfangled Singer sewing machine the following morning, trying to figure out why her bobbin thread kept breaking. Truth to tell, her thoughts were more on the letter that Roan had left on her bed with a late-blooming rose on top. He’d thanked her again for saving his life and then spoke of never forgetting her. The part that filled her thoughts had seemed to come from his heart. She’d memorized the words.

People’s paths sometimes cross for seemingly no reason, only to realize the significance later. You gave me hope that I had long lost. It crowds out despair, and I will always carry you in my heart. When loneliness sets in, I’ll recall the conversations we shared and times spent together. I wish you every success and happiness that life has to offer. Follow your dreams and don’t get discouraged. I hope you think of me fondly as I will you.

Though she’d risen early and thrown herself into her chores, nothing kept worry at bay. Her constant thoughts were on her father and Roan. She sent up a silent prayer for their safety and hope that everything would turn out all right.

She finally rose with a sigh and went next door. “I’m having a difficult time focusing today, Mama.”

Her mother glanced up from feeding one of the babies. “They’ll be all right, Marley Rose. It doesn’t do a lick of good to fret. Your father knows how to take care of himself, and I suspect Mr. Penny does also.”

“Sometimes things happen beyond a person’s control.” Marley stood at the window, looking out. “What do you think about him?”

“I like the man very much. He has kind eyes and a beautiful smile.” Jessie glanced up. “But don’t go losing your heart, Marley Rose. Roan Penny is a handsome man with caring ways, but he may not be looking for a place to settle down. And what do we really know about him? Take this slow.”

“We’ve been over this, Mama. I told you that I’m not pinning any hopes on him.”

“I’ve seen how you stare at him and how he looks at you. Your father and I have kept you too sheltered. You don’t know how easily a man can charm a woman and make her do crazy things,” Jessie answered softly.

“There’s no worry there. I’ll probably never see Roan Penny again.” But Marley’s heart desperately wanted him to return. His touch still burned on her.

* * *

Roan was digging around in the rubble of what was left of the house when Duel found him, still looking for his holster and Colt.

“I’d best get moving if I don’t want to be late getting home,” Duel said. “Have you thought about my offer?”

Roan stared through the hole where the doorway had been, his gaze trained on the rolling hills Mose had given his life for. “I intend to seek justice. I can’t do it from your ranch.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything different. But here’s something for you to chew on. These things take a while and are a whale of an undertaking for one man alone.” Duel pushed back his hat. “It’s always been my experience that it’s wise to bide your time on revenge. Let the confrontation come at a time and place of your choosing, not theirs. And in the meanwhile, you’d have a paying job, food, and shelter, and can regain your strength for a proper fight.”

“I won’t have the bastards think I tucked tail and ran. That’s not a message I want to send,” Roan argued.

“Who cares what the hell a group of murderers think? You don’t have to prove anything as long as you know who you are.”

“Begging your pardon, but I’ve never given anyone reason to think I’m weak or incapable, and I don’t intend to start now.” Roan noticed a glint of silver among the ashes. His Colt. He dug it from the rubble, but the fire had baked the leather holster the gun was in. He wasn’t even sure the gun would ever work again.

“Son, I suspect you’ve had to fight all your life for every speck of ground. It takes courage to keep getting up each time someone knocks you down. Only a fool would call you weak. All I’m saying is this—retreat for the moment. Devise a plan, then come back. I guarantee you’ll get a lot more satisfaction. Choice is yours though. I’ve got to ride.” Duel stuck out his hand. “If you need help, you know where to find me.”

Roan stuck his Colt into his waistband and followed Duel to the horses. Before they reached them, two riders, bandanas covering their mouths and noses, burst from the wooded growth.

“You’re trespassing on private land,” the man with long, light-colored hair snapped.

The voice indicated someone around Roan’s age. In fact, both seemed young. Anger boiled inside Roan. “I came to bury my friend. The devil take you and the rest giving the orders! This land doesn’t belong to you.” He slid his Colt from his waistband before the two riders could blink. Their eyes widened, and they shifted. “You caught me by surprise the other night. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

A gust of wind whipped the other horseman’s sandy hair. “You were told not to return. We meant it.”

Duel pointed at him. “You come a little late to tell a man where he can go. As you can see, he’s a mite riled. Unless you can produce a deed, I suggest you get off Mozeke land.”

“It’s in the process,” the blond rider shot back. “Who are you, mister?”

“Duel McClain of the Aces ’n’ Eights. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Roan watched a light dawn in their eyes and their nervous glances. He kept his gun trained on the two.

Duel narrowed his eyes and hardened his voice. “Maybe you’re the ones who rustled my cattle. You know what we do to rustlers, don’t you?”

“You can’t blame that on us.”

“But I’m guessing you know who did it.” Roan’s finger tightened on the trigger. “You’d better speak up before he reaches for his rope. A man like McClain doesn’t have much patience.”

The two men’s eyes widened with fear. The sandy-haired one opened his mouth to speak, and a shot rang out. At the same moment, a flock of pigeons flew from the barn. The rider toppled, falling from his horse. Roan took cover behind a tree, and Duel dove into the brush. The second rider whirled and galloped into the woods.

“Did you see where the shot came from?” Roan asked, scanning the area for movement.

“Nope. I was watching the two riders.” Duel removed his hat and lifted his head for a look.

“Evidently someone didn’t want them to talk.” Roan cursed the blurriness still affecting his eyes. “I think he must’ve been nearby. Close enough to hear the conversation. The shot scared those pigeons from the barn. Could be where the shooter hid.”

“Yep,” Duel answered.

They waited for several minutes, listening to the sounds around them. When no other shots came, they emerged from their cover.

Roan knelt over the body of the downed rider, staring at the perfectly placed hole between his eyes. He removed the bandana. The pimply face showed him to be very young, and Roan didn’t recognize him.

Duel rifled through his pockets, finding only a bent harmonica, a bag of marbles, and a cold biscuit.

What was going on here? Counting the boy Roan had unmasked on the night of the attack, and then these, they were all only half-grown. Was it the work of a gang of fresh bloods? Though there had been the rider with the gravelly voice. That rider had definitely been older, and he’d appeared to be the one in charge.

“McClain, do you think I might’ve been the target?”

“Nope, you weren’t standing close enough. And the shot came just as this man opened his mouth to spill his guts. The shooter wasn’t aiming at you.” Duel swung to his feet and stared at the barn. “The gunman was facing the riders, not behind them.” He drew his gun and strode toward the structure. Roan hurried to catch up, though his gut told him the shooter had already vanished. Maybe he’d left something behind that could identify him.

A cat raced for a hiding place when they entered the barn. In the loft, they discovered a matchstick, the leavings of at least half a dozen cigarettes, and an empty Bull Durham sack. No telling how long the shooter had been sitting there watching. Maybe he’d slept there too, only yards away from Roan and Duel in their bedrolls. The hair rose on Roan’s neck. Whoever it was could’ve killed them at any time.

If that was so, what had stopped him?

Roan glanced around, looking for any other clue. “He was up here a while, watching us. I wonder why he waited so long to make his move? Any thoughts, McClain?”

“Definitely here since early morning,” Duel answered. “I doubt he slept here, or there’d be more telltale signs.”

“I guess we might as well head down. I’ll tote that body into town to the sheriff.” Roan moved to the ladder but paused. He picked up a long silk thread—red—from bits of hay and dirt. “What do you make of this? It certainly isn’t anything Mose would’ve had. A woman?”

Duel took it and scowled. “Has to be from a woman.”

The mystery deepened. “No women ever came to visit Mose and me.” So who? Roan puzzled over it all the way back to the man lying on the ground. He glanced at Duel. “I don’t suppose you could spare an hour to go into town with me. It would be just like this bunch to accuse me of firing the fatal shot.”

“I can spare the time.”

They put the young man over his horse and rode toward San Saba.

Duel broke the silence. “Where did you learn to handle a gun like that? You’re fast.”

“Just practiced a little,” Roan admitted. “It pays a man to be good with any weapon he carries, otherwise it’ll get him killed. I’m not ready to die.”

“I assume you’re just as skilled with that big knife you carry.”

“I do all right. I stabbed one of those hooded riders with it the other night.” Roan explained about leaving his holster and Colt inside Mose’s cabin, and what it had cost him. “If I’d had it on, I could’ve made a difference.”

Duel studied him. “Maybe or maybe not. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

They rode a little farther before Roan spoke. “Is that job still open?”

“It is.” Duel allowed a grin. “Glad to see you changed your mind.”

There had been a lot of wisdom in Duel’s advice. He had to be smart about this. There was nothing left here except retribution, and that would come later. After he came up with a plan, at a time and place of his own choosing.

When the gang least expected it.

He’d haunt their dreams and take his revenge very, very slowly.