Branded Hearts. Diana Hall
“This name I know.”
As do I. Kit rested her hand on her brother’s arm. Heaven help them if they ran across Benton. Her father would make sure Kit never saw her brother again, and if Sam Benton discovered the truth about Kit’s time in the Indian village, he would use his power to destroy Hawk and lock Kit away in a protected shell for the rest of her life.
“Garret’s counting on Benton to help him with the contract. But it’s those pants of yours that’ve really set him off.” The laughter melted from the man’s eyes. Every muscle tensed in the handsome young cowboy’s face. “Our ma was a whore.” He waited to see if the news shocked her. It didn’t. Hardship forced women into many roles. She had only to look at herself for proof.
“We don’t hide it under a rock,” Cade went on, leaning against the hitching post. “Don’t paste it on a billboard. She wore pants and cracked a bullwhip. Ma was pretty well known in the cow towns. Wichita, Dodge City, Abilene. Spent her last years salooning in Colorado City. Garret don’t cotton to being reminded of that time.”
Kit knew the pain of rejecting a parent. Garret resented his mother, whose life-style had forced him to face the unpleasantness of the world. Kit, a father who had tried to shield her from life. “Does he hate his mother so much?”
“Hate?” Cade rubbed his face as though to wash away the memories. “At one time, I’d say that was the only thing that drove Garret. He was a wild one. Full of spit.”
“What happened?” She wrinkled a brow in bewilderment.
Taking a deep breath, Cade seemed to evaluate whether she was searching for gossip or really cared. He must have found her worthy because he answered. “The war. Garret turned as somber as a preacher at the Pearly Gates.” Cade tapped the edge of her nose with his index finger. “Don’t you worry none over Garret. I got me a feeling you’re about as hard as some of Cracker’s week-old biscuits.”
He turned to her brother. “Hawk, I’ll be waiting for you to saddle up.” Cade adopted Kit’s nickname for her brother with the ease of a trusted friend. “Take one of the ranch horses and let that buckskin rest a spell.”
Waiting until Cade ambled over to the bunkhouse, Hawk shook his head, the blue feather in his braid rustling against the stiff leather of his vest. “This man, Garret Blaine, he is like the mountain above the treeline, cold, hard, never to thaw. We must find another ranch to take us on.”
She faced the rising peaks. In the distance, sunlight glistened on the snowy tops. Glaciers plucked the rock and, after centuries, carved jagged ridges and horns. Garret Blaine had a will harder than granite, and it would take more than ice and snow to dent it.
“The desert,” Kit corrected her brother. “Every bit of softness has blown clear of that man. He’s got a heart of stone and he’s as relentless as the desert sun.”
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the tiny spots of brilliant light behind her eyelids. “But we will stay. The Rockin’ G is perfect for us.” Her soul cried for peace, for an end to the quest that had kept her on the trail for two years.
Just a few more days and her long search would be over. At last, she would be able to sleep without having to tire her body to the limits of endurance. The thought gave her a much needed boost of morale. She opened her eyes, ready to fight.
Hawk had lost so much. To the bitter end, Kit would stand with her brother and see this mission to its bloody conclusion. Then perhaps she and Hawk could start again. Someplace where the nightmares of the past could no longer haunt them.
“Garret Blaine will have to make do with our company for a while. His ranch is remote, understaffed, and has some prime livestock.” Lowering her voice, she added, “The place is perfect for rustlers.”
Hawk’s icy stare heated. He clenched his fists into boulders capable of crushing the life from his enemy. “If Jando is here, I will find him. And kill him.”
He left Kit to wonder how long she would have to endure Garret Blaine before they could make a move. She prayed it wouldn’t be long. Both she and her brother needed a rest from their pursuit.
“Let this be the last time,” Kit whispered to the slight breeze. Only the sound of the evergreens and the sharp perfume of the cedars replied.
As soon as Cade stepped out the bunkhouse door, Garret hauled him around the corner. “In town, I heard news about rustlers. Nearly two hundred head of cattle are missing.”
He paused as he faced the barn where Hawk waited with two mounts, ready to ride out. “The last spread they hit was McVery’s, and he’s just north of town.”
Cade’s gaze followed Garret’s stare. “Kit and Hawk ain’t lassoed up with thieves.”
“We don’t know that.” Garret had to be positive Cade realized the danger to the ranch and to himself. Those two Indians could be tracking the Rockin’ G’s livestock and defenses. Both were scarce. “I’ve got nothing to go on except those Indians showing up at the same time as the rustlers. That’s nothing to condemn a man for.”
“Or a woman.”
Garret chose to ignore his little brother’s baiting re-mark. “You keep an eye on that Indian. Remember, he’s your responsibility.”
A roguish smile stretched Cade’s lips. “I’ll do that. But you be sure to do the same.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Garret felt as if his brother were luring him into a box canyon.
“Kit’s your hire.” Cade gave him a wink. “You make sure you keep an eye on her. A real close eye.” He gave Garret a jaunty salute then whistled as he strolled over to the barn. Slapping the big Indian on the back like an old friend, Cade saddled up and the two rode out.
Striding to the cabin, Garret threw open the door and entered the cool interior. He peeked out the curtainless window and spied Kit toting out saddles, her shoulders draped with bridles. She settled down in the shade near the pump and started scrubbing the leather.
What was he going to do with the likes of her? Garret rubbed his hand down his face. He paced between the cookstove and table until he reached the flour sacks that marked off Cade’s room. A quick pivot, ten paces, and he had reached the ragged quilt that sectioned off his room.
Memories tugged at his heart. He found himself lifting the curtain and walking over to his bed. At the foot, he stared at the trunk. Rubbing his hands down his jeans, he worked the stiff straps free then unlocked the trunk and swung the lid open, releasing the scent of cedar.
With reverence, he pulled out a quilt. Evenly spaced stitches held a kaleidoscope of patches. The red square came from Pa’s shirt. A faded triangle of blue had long ago been Garret’s coveralls, then Cade’s, then finally a part of his mother’s creation.
Time slipped away, and Garret returned to the homestead of his childhood. He could hear the sound of his pa’s fiddle and Ma’s clear voice calling her family to supper. Cade, just a baby swinging in a hammock in the dugout, giggled and sucked a sugar-water rag.
Why had he even saved the quilt? The bits of cloth no longer represented his life. They belonged to a family that existed fifteen years ago. Before his pa was bushwacked and his ma turned to whoring for money.
Despite the weight in his heart, he placed the quilt back in the trunk and picked up a leather satchel. His fingers shook as he flipped back the cover.
Brown, wrinkled papers, the ink faded with age, crackled as he shuffled through them. His mother’s fine script pleaded with him from the pages. The shame of his desertion stirred up a guilt so strong, so overpowering that it threatened to choke out the tears locked in his heart.
That