Bret was right; Molly felt more calm and peaceful when she and Bart were on their way back from delivering the supplies to Jason. Seeing her mares made her happy, and for a few minutes she forgot all the violence and turmoil that had invaded her life.
Bart was pleased to see a smile on her face and told her so. "It's encouragin' to see you lookin' happier. We're gonna get this all straightened out, ya know."
"Without any more bloodshed?" she asked, the smile fading just a bit.
"That I can't guarantee, but I sure hope so. I think a lot depends on the marshal."
"You think he's the one behind it all, don't you?"
Bart was careful with his answer. "I do now. I don't believe he started it, but I think he's the one pushin' to finish it."
"Why? Because he was snooping around the ranch?"
How could he explain it to her? It was a gambler's instinct, and he trusted the feeling completely. "That's part of it. The rest is just . . . a gut feelin' he's the drivin' force behind it now."
She was silent for a minute, and then she asked, "It won't end until Conrad's dead, will it?"
"That's the whole point of everything, isn't it? For it to end without anybody else dyin'?"
"I hope you're right, Hancock. I do hope you're right."
XXXXXXXX
Bret turned Noble and Blackthorn out of their stalls and watched the two horses run and interact with each other. It did him good to lean against the corral fence and pay close attention as they galloped back and forth, snorting and jostling with each other like two brothers would. He quit worrying about what was probably coming and just remembered the days he and Bart played down by the river, young and carefree and joyous. When had life become so complicated and troublesome?
After the two had run for a while he brought the stallion inside the barn to give him a rubdown and turned the Arabian loose in the corral with the gelding. Bret kept busy by grooming Blackthorn, taking a while longer than normal since he was operating mostly one-handed; but it allowed the gambler to think while he worked. No matter how he ran scenarios in his mind he kept coming back to one indisputable fact – if Molly had no place left to conduct her breeding there would be no reason for her to remain in the valley. And there was only one sure way to destroy the Hooper Ranch – burn it down.
Was that the conclusion that his brother and Delgado Hernandez had come to? As many times as he ran the possibilities through his mind he couldn't think of any other way to run Molly off her land. Unless somebody who was a better shot than Nance Tesson intended to take aim at the girl – somebody like the marshal? Bret got the feeling that even the marshal wouldn't go that far. And it appeared that the man that would was already dead.
So that left the threat of being burned out. That would explain Sanders snooping around earlier in the day. But what if he was wrong? What good would it do to prepare for something that wasn't going to happen? Maybe they were all wrong. Maybe it truly was over.
He stopped what he was doing for a minute and considered that possibility. No, Bret didn't believe that. The consortium had tried too many dirty tricks to obtain the Hooper land just to give up now. He finished with the stallion and left the stall, wandering back up to the porch of the house. That's where he was sitting when Del Hernandez rode up.
"Hey, Joe," the deputy called from his horse, "did I miss him?"
"Yeah, he's been gone for a while. Took Molly up there with him. We both thought maybe it'd do her some good to go up an see the mares. It's been one thing after another for her the last couple months. Molly left some sweet tea inside. How 'bout a glass?"
"Sounds good. I wanted to talk to ya, anyway."
"Come on down an sit. I'll bring some out."
By the time Bret got back with the tea Delgado had taken one of the rockers on the porch. "Thanks. A man could get used to this."
"Sittin' on the porch rockin'?"
The deputy laughed. "This view. This life. You and Hancock gonna stay when this is all over?"
Bret shook his head. "Nope. We'll be movin' on, the way we usually do. We never intended to stay this long to begin with. It's just when somebody needs your help . . . You askin' just to ask, or is there another reason?"
"Just wonderin' . . . about you and Molly."
The gambler took a good look at the deputy and was honest with him. "There is no me and Molly, Del. Is there a you an Molly? But why haven't you done somethin' 'fore now?'
"That's a long story, Joe. Her father was a good man, but we never did hit it off for some reason. Then when he died, she needed time to grieve. There was a moment I thought I was gonna be sheriff, an I was gettin' ready to ask her . . . well, not sure just what I was gonna ask her. Then Sanders got the job, and I didn't even have that to offer her. Next thing I knew, you an Hancock were here. And it looked like . . ."
"Nope. It's nothin' but friendship. I wouldn't wait too long if I was you, though. Somebody else is liable to come along." Bret looked up from his tea. "Sounds like they're back." Both men stood as the wagon pulled up in front of the house.
Delgado tipped his hat. "Miss Molly. Hancock. I heard you had a new crease put in your scalp last night, Hancock. How's it feelin' today?"
"Like somebody tried to dig a well in my head, deputy. You here about the shootin'?"
"No. We were talkin' this mornin' when we got interrupted and I came out to finish the conversation."
"What was that about, Delgado?" Molly asked.
"Mayor Haven had a complaint from the Bradfords. Marshal never showed up out at their place like he was supposed to. Wanted me to go and find out what the problem was."
Bart spoke up. "I can tell ya why Sanders wasn't at the Bradford's. He was here, pokin' around."
"Here? Doin' what?"
"That's what I'd like to know. He was nosin' around everywhere, lookin' for somethin'."
'Or lookin' at somethin',' Bret thought.
"No idea what he wanted?" Hernandez asked.
"Nope. He didn't knock on the door and I stayed outta sight."
Molly excused herself. "I'm going in to start supper. Delgado, can you stay?"
Del glanced at Bret, who nodded discreetly. "Yes, ma'am. I'd be honored."
Bart and Delgado sat on the porch; Bret leaned against the porch railing and lit a cigar. He kept his voice low so Molly wouldn't hear the discussion they were on the verge of having. "Del, this mornin' you were about to tell Molly and me what you and Hancock agreed on - the idea about the consortium's next move. What was it?"
The deputy looked surprised and turned to Bart. "Why didn't you tell him?"
Bart looked sheepish. "Because I can't remember what it was."
"Ah. You thought they'd try burnin' her out; I agreed that seemed like the next logical step."
"Yeah, that was it. Musta been the bullet last night. Do we tell her or not?" the younger of the brothers asked. "Delacroix?"
"Yes. But not tonight. Give the poor girl one peaceful evenin'."
"Hernandez?"
A nod of the head from the deputy. "I agree. Not tonight."
"In the mornin' then?"
Two heads nodded. Bart continued, "I think we better split up the night; stand watch, just in case. Until Sanders makes his move."
"Alright. I'll take first watch. Hancock, you take the second."
Bart got up from the porch. "I'm goin' out to feed the horses. Call me when supper's ready."
Bret took the seat his brother had vacated. "You think we're over-reactin'?"
"In light of what's happened? No, I don't. I wish I could do somethin' to help, but without proof of any kind . . . "
"I know. My gut-feelin' can't testify in court," Bret finished for the lawman. "We've been lucky so far. Let's hope our luck holds."
"Maybe it'll be quiet tonight. Friday's usually are around here."
"Let's hope so."