A High-Country Christmas, page 7
“I’d like to take that bucket of barn paint back with me so we can mark her trees. See if they come through the mill.”
Emmy screwed up her face. “You’re gonna paint trees brown? Aren’t they already brown?”
Seth tweaked her nose and she giggled.
“I figure we might have a week or two left before winter settles in for good. If someone’s greedy enough, they could ride into that timber for one last felling, especially if they think no one’s living in the house.”
“Don’t you suppose they’ve seen the chimney smoke?”
Seth nodded. “Suppose so. I drove Abigale into Divide yesterday for supplies, so I’m sure word got out then too. That’s when I talked to Hoot.” He looked his pa square in the eye. “But I want to know as badly as she does. If I leave her over there by herself, she’ll confront whoever’s trespassing and get herself in a jackpot.”
His pa took a swig of coffee.
“She should come here,” Emmy said.
“Scrape soap in the dishpan for me, Emmy.” Ma refilled his father’s coffee cup and tried to fill Seth’s.
He covered it with his hand. “No, thanks.”
“So you want chickens,” she said. “Moving them in this weather might upset them, you know. Keep them from laying. But I’ve got a half dozen you can take. Once they settle, you should get eggs. If not, you’ll get chicken stew.”
Her eyes sparkled as she rejoined her husband at the table and took his hand.
Seth wanted that kind of companionship, and he wanted it with Abigale. His ma was right about that too. He’d been loving Abigale for a long time. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself because he was afraid she’d marry some banker or lawyer in Denver rather than come back home.
“Can you spare one of your milk cows? Ernestine’s gone dry, but we can breed her come spring.”
“Oh, yes, please,” Emmy cut in. “That’d be one less to milk every morning.”
“Who do you think is helping himself to Millertons’ lodgepole pine?” Pa shot Seth a look.
“Blackwell. His place borders to the southwest. But he doesn’t have as much timber, or as good a stand as Millerton.”
His ma’s expression sobered. “You be careful, son. He’s not a gracious man.”
~
Not only did Seth’s folks give him a small crate of hens and return Abigale’s basket and pie pan full of eggs, his ma tied a young milker to the back of the wagon and his pa laid in a hunk of salted beef.
“Appreciate it, Pa. I know I’m leaving you short-handed, but I have to make sure Abigale is safe and has everything she needs before I come back.”
His father gripped him on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Seth. But be wise. Don’t go lookin’ for a fight that isn’t yours. Bring her here if you can, let things smooth over till spring.”
“And bring her before Christmas.” His ma came off the porch and looped her arm through her husband’s. “She shouldn’t spend the holiday all by herself with no family. Tell her we’d love to have her.”
If only it were that easy.
CHAPTER 10
The higher Abigale rode, the deeper the snow, and she regretted bringing Chester along. The old dog struggled to climb out every time he broke through the crusted top, but she knew he wouldn’t go back on his own.
As they continued, Seth’s warning stirred through her. Don’t you ride out to the tree line, huntin’ trouble, while I’m gone.
Her shoulders tightened. She wasn’t hunting trouble, she was simply riding across her property, riding in the general direction of the lodgepole pines that flanked the mountain. And it was only prudent that Pop’s fully loaded Henry rested in the scabbard. One did not ride into the mountains unprepared.
In spite of the crystal-blue sky, she was grateful she’d piled her braid under a woolen scarf and wrapped one of Pop’s silk neckerchiefs around her throat. His hat stayed on with the added bulk, and the silk kept her warm. Pop’s heavy coat did too, as well as Seth’s words that rose inside her like hot steam from the kettle.
Though she accused him of being bossy, he’d never said anything so pointed unless danger was attached.
She fingered the scar at her left eyebrow, earned by her stubborn refusal to listen once before. He’d warned her about descending the north side of Aspen Falls, the slick-rock footholds too far apart for her twelve-year-old legs. The same year he’d gotten the gray scarf, and unhesitatingly wrapped it around her head to stem the bleeding. Never had he complained about the brown stain left behind.
On a whim, she turned off the path and headed for the waterfall, hoping it was as beautiful as she remembered in winter. Frozen solid in an everlasting descent.
Only the horse crunching through snow broke the stillness, for Chester followed behind now, finding it easier on his old bones, she supposed. An occasional jay or squirrel scolded as they passed, and the pristine beauty of the land soothed Abigale’s sense of loss.
People came and went, but the land—the land was forever.
All the world was white, it seemed, other than sky. Aspen trees huddled stark and bare, and cloaked evergreens dusted her with sparkling powder, branches lifting when their heavy loads slid away.
Without its summer voice giving notice, she came upon the falls by surprise. Beyond a stand of young pines, it hung like liquid glass against the rocky ledge, clear in places, pale blue or gray in others. Frozen yet still moving, a faint trickle whispered from beneath the icy mantel.
She stopped and dismounted. The horse blew impatiently, raising a breathy cloud. Chester came up beside her, and she bent to hug his neck.
“Isn’t is beautiful?” she whispered, unwilling to disturb the peace of the place.
The horse lifted its head, ears sharp, trained toward the south. Chester did the same, looking into the thickets and forest that surrounded them. And that’s when she heard it—the snap of limbs, cracking like gunshots in the clear air, increasing in intensity until they ended in a final heavy crash.
Silence followed. No bird, no scurrying critter.
The horse blew again, and she gently covered its muzzle with her gloved hand.
Someone had felled a tree.
Swinging into the saddle, she turned from the falls, but not back the way they had come. Instead, she headed straight for the sound, through the forest at a slower but steady pace. Whoever had cut the tree would be busy stripping its branches and making enough noise to cover her approach.
Nor would they expect anyone to come in from above. With a touch of the reins, she aimed her mount farther up the slope and into the thicker tree stands.
As they climbed, she crossed clearings through which the wide park below spread out like a snowy blanket. A dark pocket of buildings marked Divide, muddy roads spoking from its hub. A handful of barns scattered across the valley, the nearest one her own, its roof a solid white slab that securely covered her winter feed, thanks to Seth.
Voices carried on the clear air, punctuated by the snap of an axe, the dull scrape of a saw limbing the pine. It wouldn’t be easy dragging it out. One of their horses had to be stout, likely a draft animal that could pull the chained dead weight.
Near a rocky outcropping, she stopped and listened.
“Wrap it up, boys.”
Abigale’s heart lurched to her throat.
Harsh and heavy, the voice was unlike that of any teacher or student she’d known. Often as a child, she shrank from it on Sunday mornings when the owner bent low and peered at Abigale with cold, dark eyes to ask, “How’s the little orphan today?”
Her grandmother’s whole body would stiffen and she’d squeeze Abigale’s hand. “Our granddaughter is right as rain on a summer’s eve and twice as pretty.” Then she’d stomp into the church house, dragging Abigale with her.
Once, Abigale looked over her shoulder and saw the bold, sneering face, an elbow nudging a snicker from a scrawny son.
A sudden gust danced through the trees, singing in the towering lodgepoles and brushing a chill across Abigale’s face. She looked up to see full-bellied clouds scudding overhead. They’d soon bunch against the mountain, joining forces in a snowy onslaught.
She slid the Henry from the scabbard, dismounted, and loosely tied the horse to a thicket. Her hand, palm down, and a whispered “stay” dropped Chester to his belly.
Several yards away, she tucked into an old snag, sighted the crown of a tree near two men sawing limbs, and squeezed the trigger.
Sharp and clear, the target snapped. One man cursed.
Her lever action didn’t give them time to think before her second shot hit a lower branch.
“Let’s go!” the voice yelled.
Abigale chambered another round.
Three men scrambled at the order, one onto the back of a draft horse dragging a chain, and two into a wagon. Saws and axes were left behind.
The man on the drag horse took off with the wagon following fast. The other rider reined around and stared up into the brush, hard face unmistakable, even at this distance, as were the proud set of broad shoulders and large hands that roughly handled the horse.
Abigale waited a good long while before moving from the snag, listening as the startled thieves bounced their wagon over the mountain’s shoulder. Commending Chester, she slid the Henry home and mounted, then circled around the fallen tree and came in from the north. She couldn’t safely carry the saw, but two axes were easily tethered to the back of her saddle before she followed the clear trail that cut through snow, churning mud and rocks. By then, the sun was a thin memory behind gray quilting, and fine flakes had begun to fall.
Abigale raised the collar on Pop’s coat and pulled his neckerchief over her nose and mouth. Nearing her property line, she turned for home. Chester followed in her wake.
If only there were some way to prove what she’d seen today. Otherwise, it was her word against theirs.
Blackwell wasn’t among the thieves, only his hired hands. Abigale had seen that clearly. But he didn’t need to be there. Not when the one running the show was his wife.
~
Seth made better time back to the Millertons’ than he’d expected. Though he might have driven Tess harder than she was used to.
He unhitched the mare, then cooled her out and rubbed her down. Water and feed lured her to her stall, and while he was at it, he fed Coop and the other horses, Ernestine, and the new milker. He’d have to come back and milk after he carried the—
Other horses. He ran out to the corral and checked the pasture. No animals were down.
One was gone.
His gut twisted like a kinked rope.
No smoke curled from the chimney when he passed the house on his way to the root cellar with the beef. But a serious case of mad curled inside his chest, and he busted three eggs in his hurry to get them in the house.
Sure enough, the hearth was cold. It’d been cold a long time.
And the Henry was missing from its place above the mantel.
Blasted, bull-headed woman had gone and done exactly what he’d told her not to.
He built a fire, then pushed the chair and sofa farther back into the room in case a sap pocket snapped out an ember in his absence.
The cloud cover that laid against the mountain when he’d driven in had dropped considerably. Fat flakes were falling, and Coop wasn’t all that happy to be saddled and riding out in it, but Seth wasn’t going to sit by the fire and wait for Abigale to get home.
He struck out toward the mountain, but turned back for Pop’s shotgun.
With fresh snow falling, Seth had no trail to follow. Only his instincts, and they were a poor match for the expanse of forest and mountain shoulder that loomed before him. In less than thirty minutes, it’d be dark as the inside of Abigale’s root cellar.
Which way’d she go, Lord?
The lodgepole stretched a long swath that he couldn’t cover in the dark, but that wasn’t the image that came to him. Rather, he saw the falls. Aspen Falls, he and Abigale had called it when they were kids. It was tucked back in a rocky cleft where the white-barked trees spilled out like a gold river in the fall.
He supposed it was a matter of trust. He’d asked for help, now he had to trust he’d heard right, so with a touch of his heel, he turned Coop toward the northern edge of the timber.
Why did Abigale do this to him? Did she hate him? Did she want to drive him crazy with longing or just drive him off?
His pa had told him to be wise. Seth knew what that meant. Slow down and pay attention. Don’t go off half-cocked. He shifted the shotgun lying across his lap, grateful he’d had enough sense to see it was loaded and put extra shells in his coat pocket.
Bears hibernated. Cats didn’t. Catamount Creek was so named for a reason, and this was the time of day the big cats hunted, when their eyes saw better through the falling dark than anyone else’s. A scattergun wouldn’t drop one. He’d need daylight for a shot like that, not to mention a rifle. But he had a chance at scaring one off if need be.
“God, help us.”
Coop’s ear flicked back at Seth’s voice, a foreign sound in the snowy silence.
Seth paid close attention to the horse, for Coop would sense danger before he did, and it could mean the difference between life and death.
On the heels of that thought, Coop lifted his head and snorted, ears pointing straight ahead. He wasn’t nervous, didn’t twitch and side-step, but he definitely knew someone—or something—was coming.
Seth slid the gun off his lap with his right hand, held it against his thigh, muzzle angled down, and slowed Coop’s walk. Movement caught his eye, and he squinted through the snowfall. Someone was riding this way. A man, hat low, shoulders hunched against the cold. A small man. Seth reined aside into the trees and waited.
If he hadn’t recognized Pop’s old hat and coat, he wouldn’t have known it was Abigale riding the bay. He wasn’t all that familiar with their horses, but he’d know that hat anywhere. He was half ready to give a whoop and a holler to know she was safe, and half mad as a hornet that she’d ridden off by herself. If he was a kid, he’d kick Coop’s side and chase her home, give her a fright for doing what she’d done to him.
But he wasn’t a kid. He was a man in love with an infuriatingly independent woman. And winning her wasn’t going to be easy.
He nudged Coop onto the trail.
Abigale drew up, suddenly straight as a barn board, eyes round as dollars and colorless in the near dark. A neckerchief covered her mouth and nose.
“Goin’ somewhere?” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. Anger did that to him, and at the moment anger was winning over relief.
The bay danced backward at Abigale’s tight draw on the reins, and her free hand went to her chest. “Seth Holt, you scared me half to death.”
“Good. We’re even.”
With that, he turned for the house.
She followed, subdued for once. He heard only the hooves of her horse behind him as they cut through the silent woods. Until he didn’t.
Whirling Coop around, he found her missing. Missing! Did he have to tie a lead on her horse?
“Seth!”
At the fear in her voice, he dug his heels in and raced up the trail. She wasn’t far.
“He’s gone. Chester’s gone. We have to go back.”
The snow fell heavier now, laying down a thick blanket. “You brought Chester with you?”
“I know. It was foolish of me.”
Seth snorted. That wasn’t the only foolish thing she’d done, but pointing that out wasn’t going to help matters. “When did you notice him missing?”
“Just now—a few seconds ago. I hadn’t paid attention until you met us on the trail. I just assumed he was following in my steps like he had been.”
“Stay here. I’ll ride back a ways, see if I can find him.”
No surprise when she gathered herself and turned her horse. “I’m going with you.”
Arguing with her was pointless and time consuming, and at the moment time was what they didn’t have.
Fresh snow nearly filled their trail that grew fainter the farther they rode. The old dog must have fallen, unable to make it in the cold. Seth felt the loss deep inside, but the dog wasn’t worth Abigale’s safety. He reined in.
“Abigale.”
She rode past him.
He heeled Coop into a lunge and sprang around in front of her. “Abigale—I understand Chester is important to you. But he’s not worth your life.”
At a whimper, they both turned their heads.
Seth swung the gun barrel forward and gave Coop his head, but the horse began to blow and quake, shied to the right.
A snowy mound on the trail uttered a weak growl. Seth raised the gun and aimed across his horse, into the brush on the left.
A blur sprang to the trail.
Seth fired.
Coop reared at the unexpected explosion.
Seth fired the second round and reloaded as Coop danced beneath him, unsettled by the gunshot as well as the lion. But as far as Seth could tell, the cat was gone. For the time being.
Abigale jumped down and ran to Chester, lifted him from the ground, but couldn’t remount with his weight. Seth held the dog while she stepped up, then laid him across her lap and swung back into the saddle.
Without saying a word, they turned for the house with Abigale in the lead and Seth watching Coop’s ears, as well as over his own shoulder.
CHAPTER 11
Abigale couldn’t see through her tears, but she felt Chester shivering where he lay by the fire as she toweled him dry. Seth had settled him on a quilt while Abigale unsaddled her horse. If he’d seen the axes, she’d never hear the end of it.
Taking care with the sores on Chester’s head, she gingerly dabbed where buckshot left little bare patches. The mountain lion had grazed him but hadn’t had a chance to dig in its claws or fangs, thanks to Seth’s clear thinking.
If Chester died, she’d never forgive herself. He was all she had left of her family.
Coffee filled the house with a comforting aroma that did little to ease Abigale’s guilt. Seth clattered around in the kitchen and cracked eggs into a skillet of hot grease that sizzled and popped.
