Whose Sin Is Her Love – chapter seven
xxxxxxxxxx
Adam stared at their unexpected guest. Tempy, as Joe called her, or Temperance had returned to the common room. She'd tried to lie down but had grown uncomfortable and decided walking around might help. He'd left the outer door open a crack so he could listen for his brother's return and hoped the cold breeze blowing off the rain wasn't too much for her. He wasn't worried about Joe – so far. It was his youngest brother's habit, whenever he was outside, to make a detour to the stable before coming in. Tonight would be no different. The kid would want to personally make sure that his beloved Cochise was well fed and bedded down properly. The man in black pulled his pocket watch out, noting the time.
If Joe didn't show in ten minutes, he was going looking.
"My pa has one of those," Temperance said as she halted by the table. "He looked at it all the time. He liked to say, 'When you kill time, remember it has no resurrection.'"
"That's an unusual choice of words."
The young woman shrugged. "He's a preacher."
"And he threw you out?"
Her hand landed on the bump at her middle. "I ain't married."
As a young man he'd been puzzled by a scripture their parson often quoted. It was in the seventh chapter of Matthew. 'Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name have cast out devils, and in thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.' He couldn't figure out how someone could sit in the pew week after week and call themselves a 'believer' and not, well, believe.
Later, he'd found out that parson was one of them.
"I take it your pa doesn't understand grace."
Temperance rolled her eyes. "All my pa knows is the law. He's got a long list and he's checked everythin' off and that means he's a good man." Her lips curled with a smile that reminded him of his ornery little brother. "Pa gave me that list. I made sure I un-checked all of them."
"If you don't mind my asking, do you know who the father of the baby is?"
She shot him a look that could have killed. "It ain't like I took on every stallion in the stable. Of course, I know." She moved to the window. "He don't want nothin' to do with me, or the baby neither."
"I'm sorry."
Temperance turned back to stare at him. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you sorry? You don't know me from Adam."
He chuckled, which didn't help her disposition any. "Look, Temperance, I know you'd rather be alone, but Joe and I are here to do a job and we're not leaving until it's done." Never mind that he was not about to leave a pregnant woman on her own. "So why don't you cut out the 'tough as nails' act and make it easier on us all."
Her jaw tightened in defiance. "What makes you think it's an act?"
He snorted. "Did you notice my baby brother?"
Temperance's gaze went to the door. It was wistful.
Yeah, she'd noticed.
"He's…nice," she said at last.
"Joe? Yes, he can be. He's also stubborn and willful and as close-mouthed as a clam." Adam grinned. "Sound familiar?"
That got a smile. A little one.
"What's with the disguise?" he asked a few seconds later.
"What disguise?"
"The cowpoke clothes. The dirt." He paused. "The fake dialect."
She frowned.
"A while back you weren't dropping any 'gs' and forgot to use 'ain't' a few times."
Temperance glared at him and then seemed to deflate. "It's a sure bet that you've never traveled alone as a woman. You should try it some time. It ain't…it isn't easy."
"So where are you from?"
She'd moved to the stove and was fingering one of the towels that hung from the rack on its side. "Lots of places. Sacramento was the last stop. My father had a call to one of the big churches there."
"Is your real name Temperance Flowerdew?"
The young woman looked at him like he was an idiot. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"
He shook his head. "No. It's just…unusual."
"My father says it was originally 'flower dieu', like in the flower of God." She made a disgusted noise. "That's what he called me and my younger sister, Chastity, his little flowers from God."
"Where's Chastity?"
There was something in her eyes – a darkness that moved in as if heralding a storm. "Dead. Like my ma. I'm all that's left."
Sensing the subject was a tender one, Adam shifted to another. "So, who's after you? You said the father of the baby wanted nothing to do with you. Is it your father?"
"My father is a saint sent straight from Heaven to light the way for all of us poor ignorant souls who walk in darkness, or so he says." Temperance turned to look at him. "If you ask me, he's a demon from Hell. He'd as soon kill me as anything since I darkened the name of Flowerdew."
Good Lord! What had they gotten themselves into?
Themselves….
Joe.
The man in black rocketed out of his chair and headed for the door. "I need to check on my brother."
"Why? Joe's old enough to take care of himself."
Adam turned to face her. "It appears that your home life was hell, Temperance, and I'm sorry. There are families who care about one another and look out for each other and mine happens to be one of them. My brother has been gone too long." He swallowed over a lump of fear. "Something's wrong."
Adam grabbed his coat. He thrust his arms into it before opening the door onto the tempestuous night.
Then, he froze.
"Back up real slow, Mister Cartwright," the stranger who had been going to the Ponderosa said as he leveled a pistol at his belly. "You ain't goin' nowhere."
xxxxxxxxxxx
It was beneath his dignity – not to mention his pride – but he ran like hell.
Joe stopped, breathing hard, and looked back over his shoulder. One good thing about John C. Regan was he was big as a moose and just about as stupid. The people in Reno could have heard him as he charged through the underbrush. Apparently, you didn't have to know much about finesse to be champion of the world.
Then again, there wasn't much need of finesse when you were six-foot-seven and weighed over three hundred pounds.
The teenager shuddered with the memory of those three-hundred pounds slamming into him. It had been nearly a year since the beating, but it might as well have been yesterday. For a split second pride had demanded he face the brute down and stand his ground. Fortunately, common sense and brother Adam's voice in his ear quoting that damn saying about 'the better part of valor' won out. Pride be damned! He'd taken off like a jackrabbit that sighted a coyote. His slight size proved an advantage when it came to running. He could fit in – and through – places that stopped big men cold. Unfortunately, he had his dang leg to contend with. The wound was throbbing like Hell. Still, Joe knew the pain in his leg was nothing compared to the pain he would feel should John C. Regan get hold of him.
The teenager started running again, moving quickly but pacing himself so he wouldn't wear out too soon. Lord! Where in the Hell had Regan come from anyway? The last he'd heard about the prizefighter, he'd been in London. He'd found a New York newspaper lying on Pa's desk one day. When he opened it and read the front page, his heart near skipped a beat. There was a photo of Adah Menken. Standing next to her was her husband, John C. Regan, the 'Bencia Boy'. The article said they were headed overseas on a European tour.
Maybe Europe threw him back.
The teenager turned a bend and kept running. His plan was to double-back and reach the line shack before Regan did. It seemed the smartest course. He'd stepped out to pee, not to take a hike or go hunting, and hadn't bothered to put on his gun belt. He was without a coat or gloves and the rain was steadily coming down. Adam was at that shack and, much as he hated to admit he wanted older brother at his side, when it came to dealing Regan he could swallow that too! Together they could make the prizefighter back down – or maybe even take him out.
That would take out most of his nightmares as well.
"CARTWRIGHT!" the moose bellowed from close behind him.
Time to hop.
xxxxxxxxxx
"Don't try it!" the dripping stranger snarled as he stepped into the shack. "I'll shoot you where you stand."
Adam's brows folded toward the center. He hadn't tried anything. Then he realized the man was looking beyond him and turned to see Temperance lowering her rifle.
'Good', he thought. 'She's got spunk. I can count on her in a tight spot.'
"Leave that rifle where it is and move to the other side of the room, woman," the stranger ordered. "And don't think I won't shoot just 'cause you're a woman in a maternal way."
Temperance made a face and did as she was told.
The man turned back to him. "Take a seat, Cartwright."
"At the table or on the cot?"
"Don't you get smart with me!"
"I'm not. I'm simply attempting to clarify what your desire is."
And stalling for time, of course.
"My 'desire' is for you to shut your yap and plant your butt on that there chair!"
He could probably take the man. The stranger was jittery as a bee-stung stallion. Sadly, Temperance was in the line of fire.
As was her unborn child.
Adam sat at the table.
The man produced a length of rope from his pocket and held it out. "You, woman! Get over here and tie him up. And make it tight!"
Temperance took the rope. She groaned as she bent over to bind his hands.
"I got more for his feet," the man said.
The expectant mother straightened up and looked directly at the stranger. "If you think I'm going to bend all the way over and tie his feet, you got another think coming!"
"You'll do as I say!"
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Temperance glared at him. "Go ahead. Do me a favor!"
Their captor had no reply for that.
As the blonde woman moved away, Adam looked longingly at the door. The stranger had pushed it to after coming in. It was his hope – his prayer, really – that his little brother didn't suddenly push it open and walk in unaware of danger.
"You looking for the kid?"
"No." Adam glanced at his captor. "Just admiring the sunset through the window."
The man shook his hair free of rain. "It's the last one that skinny little runt will ever see."
"What have you got against my brother?"
"It ain't just your brother. It's all you Cartwrights!" The stranger pointed the gun directly at him. "So high and mighty. So sure of yourselves. We'll see how high and mighty your old man feels when he buries that smart-ass kid of his."
Adam thought back over the conversation he'd had earlier with this man. So the threat here was to Joe and not to Temperance. Good Lord! How could he have gotten it so wrong? He'd been so concerned about protecting the pregnant womanfrom danger, that he had unknowingly placed his little brother directly in the line of it!
"You're working for John C. Regan."
"Maybe I am, and maybe I ain't." The stranger sneered. "I'm bein' paid to keep you inside. Ain't none of my business what's goin' on outside."
"If Regan…kills my brother that will make you an accessory to murder."
"Says who?"
"Says me!" Adam inclined his head toward the woman behind him. "Says Temperance. There are two witnesses!"
"You can't prove nothin'. If I go to jail, it'll be for a few days for holdin' a gun on you. Nothin' more."
He was right, of course.
Damn him!
Adam licked his lips. "Look. I have a good deal of money. Whatever Regan is paying you, I'll double it –"
"You don't get it, do you, Cartwright? This ain't about money alone. It's about takin' you and yours down a notch of two." His captor paused. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Adam studied the non-descript man before him. "No."
"Well, I remember you – always ridin' at your pa's side like you was some kind of a prince, shoutin' orders and makin' everybody hop. You hadn't been home a month from that high-faultin' school back East and already you was actin' like you was the boss of everyone."
It was true Pa had given him a lot of responsibility very quickly and he had been a little high-handed at times.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," he said and meant it. "I was a kid. Not that much older than my little brother," he added with meaning.
The stranger looked a bit uncomfortable. "Your pa should have known better."
As he'd noted before, the man was rail-thin with dull brown hair and muddy eyes. He could see his face now and there was something familiar about it. The thin lips. The downward cast of his eyes that made him look shifty. A cruel mouth. It was coming back. This man had worked for them at one of the timber camps. There was a conflict of some sort. Something to do with a choice the man made that put others in danger. Pa had been furious and fired him on the spot.
"Brig Louden," he said.
"So you do remember me."
Oh, yes, he remembered him. He'd told Brig that the cable he was using to restrain a load of timber was damaged and would not hold. The camp had been in his care that day and he'd ordered the logger to cease working until a new one could be secured. The problem was, Pa had promised a bonus to the crew who finished first – within safety limits, of course. Brig defied him and continued to work. The cable snapped soon after he left, sending an avalanche of two ton trees crashing down the hill.
Five minutes before the timber hit the ground, Pa's foreman had been standing at the bottom of that hill with sixteen-year-old Hoss and ten-year-old Little Joe, explaining how the timber business worked.
"You nearly got my brothers killed."
Brig sneered.
"Almost did then. It's for sure one of them is gonna die now."
xxxxxxxxxx
Joe turned and looked over his shoulder as he slipped through a narrow passage between rocks. It was clear as a bell John C. Regan didn't like to lose. The prizefighter cursed up one side and down the other – using words that should have set the trees on fire – as he continued to elude him. This time it was different from that night in the alley. That night Regan caught him off-guard. He'd been thinking about Adah and his pa and not payin' attention to what was going on around him. This time he was keenly aware, just as the other animals in the forest were aware, that he was being stalked. Like them – like any animal being pursued by a predator twice its size – his senses were heightened. He could hear Regan's threats – the almost bestial howls of frustration – and feel the forest floor shake beneath the giant's boots. He smelled his pursuer's cheap cologne and whiskey, and cigar-stained breath on the breeze. In contrast, he'd become preternaturally quiet. Joe moved with stealth and secrecy, determined to conceal any signs of his presence.
The weary teenager halted for a second to wipe sweat from his eyes. He'd been traveling in one direction for a while, running along the bottom of a ridge and clearly making for the high ground. The high bank of earth was dotted with caves where a man could hide. He wanted Regan to think he was a coward. Big men tended to dismiss slender wiry men like him and to underestimate them in size and speed – and courage. Cautiously, he began to climb and, after a few minutes in the rocks, turned back the way he had come. If his gambit worked, he would soon pass over the prizefighter's head and leave John C. Regan stumbling through the dark in a vain quest for a prey that had both outsmarted and outwitted him.
It would have worked too if one of those other animals in the forest hadn't decided to make an appearance at that moment. Joe jerked back as a mountain cat's paw swung at him out of the dark. He yelped as his foot hit a slippery rock and he dropped to the ground – thirty feet behind John C. Regan.
The prizefighter heard him. Regan swung around and bellowed, "CARTWRIGHT, YOU'RE DEAD!"
He would have been too.
If it hadn't been for that cat.
Adam had nothing to do, so he was resting his head on his chest. It came up at a sound. The man in black winced at a cry that was one of mingled horror and pain. His instant response was to shoot to his feet and run out the door, but he couldn't. Damnably, he was held firmly in place by the ropes Brig had used to bind him to the chair.
"Did you hear that?" he demanded.
"Yeah, I heard it."
"Someone is in trouble!"
The cowboy sneered. "Yeah…."
"Good God, man!" he cried. "You don't know who it is. It could be – "
Brig snorted. "I know who it is, Cartwright. That's the sound of your baby brother goin' down."
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath. When he did, a scene flashed before them – him coming into the hotel lobby that night, turning the corner and seeing his baby brother stretched out on the settee more dead than alive. Joe's body was broken and his face battered almost beyond recognition. John C. Regan had no more than a few moments in that alley. He could have been caught – jailed – and punished for what he did.
Out here there was no law.
No hope.
Adam's eyes popped open when someone started pounding on the door.
"Open up!" a gruff voice called.
"That you, John?" Brig asked as he went to it and lifted the bar.
"Yeah, it's me."
"You take care of the kid?"
"I took care of him."
Brig turned back to shoot him a triumph look. He was caught off guard a second later as the door burst in and slammed him into the wall, knocking the gun out of his hand. The fact that the outlaw was now powerless barely had time to register before a bedraggled, wild-eyed figure rushed into the room. Little Joe eyed the weapon and the downed man. It surprised Adam when, instead of picking up the pistol and pointing it at Brig, his brother took the time to close the door and slam the safety bar back into place.
"Joe, look out!" he cried.
Brig was reaching for the gun. Joe's boot came down on his hand with force.
Just as a fierce banging began.
"Trouble?" he asked.
Baby brother placed his back against the door and nodded.
"With a capital J.C. Regan!."
xxxxxxxxxx