Charlotte coaxed her horse to go faster. Heyes' telegram, delivered to her house yesterday after nightfall, was tucked safely away in the pocket of her riding skirt. The note didn't go into much detail but what it did say was setting warning bells ringing in her head and they were getting louder by the minute.
He had said she should deliver the message to Jed as quickly as she could, but she knew that it wouldn't have been safe to try to ride out to the ranch last night by herself; especially considering that there were horse thieves in the area. So she had waited, impatient and increasingly worried as the minutes ticked by, until the livery stable opened in the morning so she could retrieve her horse and head out. She had decided to forgo her buggy for a faster mode of transportation; horseback.
Charlotte was comfortable on the back of a horse, having grown up on a ranch much like the one Heyes and Jed were running right now. She didn't ride as much any more, because it wasn't considered proper, by some, for the local school mistress to be astride a horse, galloping full-bore down a dusty road; exactly as she was doing right now.
All the telegram said was that Jed's suspicions were correct, that he should be careful and watch over Catherine, and that Heyes would be back as soon as possible. Charlotte tried to imagine what suspicions Heyes was talking about and hadn't come up with anything. But at least it gave her something to think about on the trip out to the ranch. Before she knew it, she was within sight of the big white house where Heyes lived.
She started to relax as she got closer to the house. Everything seemed to be in order; the ranch seemed quiet and nothing seemed amiss. But as she got even closer her unease returned—if anything, the ranch seemed too quiet. There wasn't much of anything going on and she wondered where everyone was.
Heyes was angry…at himself. And anger had always been his enemy. Anger meant loss of control and Heyes was very much about control; control of his emotions, control of his circumstances, control of his own destiny. But when he was angry, really angry, he let go of a tiny bit of that control and sometimes the results were disastrous.
He hadn't listened when Kid first told him that Wilde couldn't be trusted. And that's why he was so angry now. If he had taken his partner more seriously, if he'd paid more attention instead of ignoring Kid's instincts, they never would have hired the boy and he would have had to move on. They wouldn't be dealing with such a mess now.
He had just been so involved in the new life they'd built for themselves in Pine Bluff and on this ranch, and even more importantly, his love for Charlotte, that he hadn't been able to hear what Kid had been trying to tell him. And because of that he was angry—as in, thoroughly pissed off—at himself.
But he was ready to set things right now; he had enough information on Oliver Meek, alias Jeremiah Wilde, to convince the sheriff that the young man was the most likely culprit behind all the thieving and mischief that had been confounding their ranch and Denton's too.
He had planned to stay in Cheyenne overnight and set out at dawn, but , after finding himself unable to sleep, he had left the soft hotel bed hours before first light and started home to the ranch and to his family. So It was barely mid-morning when he rode onto their property. Fleetingly, he noticed that everything seemed quiet and he took that as a positive sign. If he hadn't been so enmeshed in his anger, he might have realized things were not as routine as they seemed at first glance.
He rode his mare slowly into the barn, intending to put her into her stall for the time being and return later, after talking with Kid, to tend to her. In the barn, he swung his leg over the horse's rump and dismounted a few feet away from the stall. He led the horse into the stall and turned to pull the door shut behind the big animal. With the gate securely latched, Heyes headed for the open barn door. Just as he reached the opening, he caught a glimpse of movement over his left shoulder and heard the soft rustle of fabric rubbing against itself. Then, the blinding blow to the back of his head pushed everything else out of his mind right before he fell heavily, facedown to the ground.
The skin on the back of Charlotte's neck was tingling. It was too quiet. Suddenly, she noticed movement just outside the barn. She wasn't quite close enough to see clearly, but she could make out at least one person standing there, slightly hunched over and peering down at something on the ground. As she got closer, she could recognize the ranch's hired hand. As she watched, she saw him raise his arm above his head. Illogically, it reminded her of one of her students asking permission to talk. At this distance, she thought she could see something clutched in his hand but she couldn't be sure.
He didn't seem to notice her at first, but suddenly, his face swung toward her as though he was startled to realize he was not alone. He lowered his arm and knelt on the ground, reaching out to touch the form crumbled before him. With horror, Charlotte recognized Heyes' hat lying crushed and soiled in the dirt; then realized that the object lying motionless on the hard packed earth was not an object at all. It was a man; and not just any man, but Hannibal Heyes. Fear rising in her throat, she pushed her horse faster again and, bounding down from her horse in one easy sweeping motion, ran to her lover's side.
Jeremiah's eyes never left her. He put on a carefully staged show of concern for Heyes as she dropped to her knees on the other side of the fallen man.
"What happened to him?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and unrecognizable to her own ears.
"He must have fallen from his horse," Jeremiah replied, feigning concern. "I found him here just now." Charlotte glanced into the barn and saw Heyes' horse in the stable. In the half-light of the big empty building, she could see that the animal still wore its saddle and all of Heyes' gear.
Then Heyes moaned quietly, almost inaudibly and Charlotte's attention refocused on him. He was unconscious and white as chalk. His breathing was shallow and irregular. Charlotte carefully lifted his head in her hands, examining his wound with gentle fingers. "He's bleeding."
"Looks like a nasty gash. Probably needs medical attention," Jeremiah offered. "Maybe you should ride back to town and get the doctor."
She didn't seem to hear him. "Go find Mr. Curry. We'll need help getting him into the house."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Curry isn't here. He headed into town at first light this morning."
She looked sharply at him, "I didn't see him. I just came from that way."
"Now that is strange, Miss Gray. But maybe he took a different road for some reason."
Her penetrating gaze never left his face. He maintained a neutral expression. "What about the other ranch hand…Clay. Where is he?"
"He's out doing some fence work on the far north property line. Don't expect him back before nightfall."
"Catherine?"
"I think she's in her room resting. She wasn't feeling too well this morning after her pa left. I don't think we should bother her right now."
Charlotte was beginning to realize she didn't like this boy. His words were polite enough but he delivered them with a thinly concealed arrogance that rankled her.
"Ok, we'll do it by ourselves. Help me move him into the house and I'll tend to him while you go to town for Doc Weaver."
"Miss Gray, I really think that you should go for—"
"Help me," she commanded, trying to lift Heyes' unresponsive body into a sitting position. Jeremiah leaned back on his haunches, his hands on his hips, indecisive. She snapped her eyes onto his face and repeated, in her best 'stern schoolteacher' voice, "I said, help me carry him."
Wilde frowned; Charlotte was puzzled by his apparent unwillingness to assist her in moving Heyes. Finally, he grabbed beneath Heyes' armpits. Charlotte grabbed his legs, and the two of them carried Heyes into the house and into his bedroom. They laid him on the bed and Charlotte set to work, first making him comfortable and then tending to the cut on his head.
Jeremiah lingered, watching her efforts warily; watching Heyes even more warily. Charlotte glanced up, as if noticing him there for the first time. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go get the doctor."
"Yes, ma'am. Right away," he answered, courteously. But his feet didn't move. He remained standing next to Heyes' bed, as if waiting for something. Charlotte stared at him pointedly, her eyebrows arched in the unasked question. Because he had no answer to give her, he finally left, backing out of the room as he went, his eyes never leaving Heyes.
"Close the door behind you," she said.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied dutifully, his eyes frosty with resentment at being ordered around. He pulled the door shut behind him, but Charlotte got the feeling that he was reluctant to leave. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out the reason but she doubted that it was out of concern for his boss. Even after he left the room, she felt his presence hovering over her and Heyes and sensed that he was still in the hallway just outside the closed door. She frowned, trying to guess his motivation but before long, her mind dismissed Wilde; she had too much to do now, caring for Heyes, to let the boy cloud her thinking.
Jeremiah didn't realize it but Charlotte had him pegged. He was indeed standing immobile just outside the closed door, in part listening for any sounds of Heyes coming to and in part, trying to calculate what his next move should be. He certainly had no intention of going for the doctor; what he really needed was a minute alone with the famous Hannibal Heyes so he could finish what he had started, and he would have had that, except for the untimely arrival of the meddling school teacher. Now he was at a loss as to what to do. He started seeing the plan that he had laid out so carefully begin to unravel. Kid Curry was out of the way, and probably would be for a long time; horse thieving carries a heavy sentence in these parts; but Hannibal Heyes was becoming a problem.
He could just burst back into the bedroom, take the woman by surprise, and kill them both; but that would put an end to any part of his plan being realized. He'd lose the ranch and Catherine and he hated the thought of losing the ranch.
He glanced at the closed door leading into Catherine's bedroom and imaged her lying on her bed, tears staining her soft cheeks. He thought about going to her, comforting her…that could be very satisfying right now. But there were things to think through first, plans to be redrawn. Catherine would have to wait; he'd have her soon enough.
Charlotte poured water from the enamel pitcher into the matching enamel basin. She'd found a fresh cloth and some bandages in Heyes' washroom and made herself busy gently washing the dried blood away from his head. After applying a bandage to the wound, she leaned down and softly kissed his forehead. He looked so vulnerable laying there; the white bandage wrapped around his head white in stark contrast to his dark hair. His face was white too, as if all the blood had drained out of it. He was still unconscious.
She took his hand in hers and sat looking at him without speaking. Something was bothering her; something about the young man, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. She wished Heyes would wake up so she could ask him what his telegram had meant. It had to have something to do with Wilde, she was almost positive of that.
Suddenly, a shiver ran through her. She realized what had been bothering her since arriving at the ranch and finding Heyes injured and Wilde standing over him. Fear turned her blood cold as she remembered seeing Heyes' horse in his stall, door shut, waiting for someone to come and remove his saddle.
Wilde had said that Heyes had fallen from his horse and hit his head, but that was impossible. If it had happened the way he told it, the horse would have been outside of his stall, not inside with the door shut.
Then another image filled her mind…Wilde holding something she couldn't recognize in his hand as she rode up and then, later, noticing a large, jagged rock lying on the ground a few feet away from Heyes' prone body, where Wilde had probably tossed it away before she got close enough to notice what he was doing. That's why he knelt down next to Heyes. So she wouldn't be as likely to notice him throwing the rock to the side.
"Oh my God," she breathed softly. "He was going to kill him. If I hadn't gotten here when I did…" She shuddered at the thought, gripping Heyes' hand more tightly within her own, holding on to him like his life depended on it. 'Where is he now?' she wondered, knowing that, if he had just tried to kill Heyes, the one place he wasn't, was on the way into town to get the doctor.
Another chill coursed through her body, remembering what Wilde had said. If he was telling the truth, then she and Catherine were alone here on the ranch with him, the only other man unconscious in the bed next to her. "I've got to get to Catherine," she told herself, "before he does."