The Wren Page 3

  He fell to his knees, his body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. He cursed God, he cursed the Comanche, he cursed Robert Hart for bringing three young daughters to such a God-forsaken place, but mostly, he cursed himself. If only he’d stayed with her that night then she might be alive today.

  She was alive.

  “I do believe you,” he said raggedly, “and it scares the hell out of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I should’ve found you. Because if I had stayed with you that night you never would’ve been kidnapped in the first place.”

  Surprise registered on her face. “It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

  “Maybe not, but my own actions were my fault. I can’t imagine what the last ten years were like for you. It’s a miracle you survived at all.”

  “I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago,” she replied softly. “It’s hard enough just surviving day to day.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  Another bewildered look from her. “I don’t expect your help.”

  “What do you plan to do? Where do you plan to go?”

  Resignation crossed her features, and she sat on a nearby rock. “I don’t know. I haven’t planned that far.”

  “My ma can help you get in touch with your sisters.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.” She fiddled with the faded paper in her hand.

  “What’s in the letter?”

  Chewing on her lower lip, she didn’t answer. “Is Davis Walker still alive?”

  “Yes. He still runs a ranch in these parts.”

  She handed the letter to him.

  Dear Rosemary,

  You can’t put me off forever. I know you told me to stay away, but I can’t. I need to see you. I need to know why you won’t see me. What are you hiding?

  Davis

  Matt looked at Molly, stunned. “Davis? And your ma?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “How did you get this?”

  “One afternoon Davis came here. I was playing outside, but hid when I saw him. He pounded and pounded on the door—he was so angry—but my mama had taken Mary and Emma to visit with Sarah and her husband. Do you remember Sarah? She used to help Mama look after us. Finally, Davis left but before he did, he slipped this under the door.” She folded the paper carefully. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I sneaked back and read it. I was young, but not that young. I knew this letter meant trouble. I decided to bury it so no one, least of all Papa, would ever find out.”

  “You don’t think they actually carried on, do you?” he asked.

  Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s more. When the men took me that night, I clearly remember them mentioning Davis Walker’s name.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t really recall the context, it was all so confusing. But…”

  When she didn’t continue, he finished for her. “You think Davis was behind the attack on your family? Because he was angry your mother wouldn’t see him?”

  “Since I learned of my folks’ deaths a few weeks ago, images from my childhood have been running over and over through my head. So, yes, the thought has crossed my mind.”

  Matt didn’t like it. Davis Walker was his pa’s friend. He had also been a friend to Robert Hart. It disheartened him to think the man could be responsible for ripping apart all of their lives ten years ago.

  “I need to find Claire,” she said, rising from the rock. “She went to check out the Walker Ranch for me yesterday.”

  “And then what do you plan to do?”

  “Find out if Walker was really behind all of this,” she said resolutely.

  “And if he is?”

  “Make sure he pays.”

  Chapter Five

  Matt didn’t see Claire Waters until they were almost upon her, hidden as she was in a slight depression in the flat terrain, approximately five miles to the south of what was left of the Hart ranch. She was hunkered down near a cluster of oak shrubs, her horse picketed in a concealing drop-off.

  Molly dismounted and approached Claire without preamble.

  Two women alone, doing their best to hide and stay out-of-sight.

  The thought didn’t improve Matt’s already churlish disposition, caused in part by what Molly had told him of Davis Walker. But the basis of his dark mood began and ended with Molly herself. Her presence reminded him of the last ten years without her, of his failure to protect her.

  When Claire rose, hesitant, from where she crouched, and Matt saw green eyes gazing at him from a young and pretty face, he swore under his breath. Claire couldn’t be much older than Molly. The revelation surprised him. He’d assumed her to be a more mature woman.

  Instead, Molly had made her way to Texas with a girl who could’ve been her sister. Unprotected and vulnerable, they were obviously unaware of the many mishaps that could’ve happened to them. And that was just from the land itself—the weather and the creatures of the desert. He didn’t even want to contemplate their fates at the hands of men, especially in a land where women were scarce.

  “Claire,” Molly acknowledged, smiling. “Are you all right?”

  The woman nodded from beneath a broad-brimmed hat, a blonde braid trailing over a shoulder. Her look of distrust was hard to miss.

  “This is Matt Ryan. It’s all right, he knows everything. Matt, this is Claire Waters.”

  He swung down from his horse. “Miss.” He tipped his hat slightly.

  “He was at the ranch,” Molly continued. “They all thought I was dead.”

  “They did?” Claire asked, her voice level. “Is that why no one ever came looking for you?”

  Matt sensed Claire’s anger on Molly’s behalf, despite the young woman’s features revealing nothing but a calm exterior. Her sense of loyalty toward Molly caused him to reassess his opinion of her.

  “Yes,” Molly answered. “There was some confusion ten years ago, and another girl’s body was thought to be mine.” She smiled slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “He didn’t quite believe me when I told him who I was. Matt was a friend of my family when I was a child.”

  “I remember you mentioning him,” Claire responded.

  Matt recalled Molly’s statement about finding Claire bruised and bloody. She appeared recovered, although he did notice a jagged redness along her neck.

  Molly and Claire possessed unmistakable shadows in their eyes, and Matt suspected life had aged them quickly and efficiently beyond their years—not an unusual occurrence in these parts. Still, it bothered him.

  “I’ve told him about Walker, and he’s offered to help,” Molly said.

  Claire gave Molly an are-you-certain-about-this look, to which Molly nodded.

  “Davis Walker is still alive,” Claire said, “although he wasn’t at his ranch. An elderly woman, Mrs. Owens, said he was in Fort Worth for a few weeks. She let me stay the night because of the storm. Of his three sons, only T.J. was there. I didn’t get too much out of him except that he wanted me to share his bed.”

  “T.J. was never known for being subtle,” Matt replied. “He didn’t hassle you, did he?”

  “No,” Claire answered. “Joey Walker was due back today, but I missed seeing him because I didn’t want to be late meeting you. The oldest, Cale, hasn’t been at the ranch in quite some time. He would probably remember more than the other two about what happened ten years ago.”

  “Cale was the one who found the body,” Matt said to Molly. “He never mentioned anything about his father back then, but he left shortly after that.”

  “Did you leave, too?” Molly asked.

  “Yes.” He’d departed with a heavy heart and a determination to get away from the stark reminders of Molly’s fate that had been everywhere at the time.

  He watched Molly. Despite everything she’d been through, she stood tall and confident, her hair tucked into her hat once again. He was reminded of her knack for mischief, an extension of her curious nature
, and he wondered if any remnant of that child still existed. She was strong, she’d survived, but at what cost?

  Looking off to the east, trying to clear his thoughts, Matt said, “Cale joined the army around the same time I did, but after a few years he went out on his own.”

  “Doing what?” Molly asked.

  “I’ve come across him from time to time. Sometimes he’s a hired gun, sometimes a bounty hunter. He’s around somewhere. I’m sure I can find him.”

  “Didn’t any of the Ryan or Walker boys stay put?”

  “Not much to hold a man here.” Except endless days filled with memories best left forgotten. “Cale turned out all right. He’s got a sharp eye, a level head, and a better trigger finger than anyone I’ve met. Joey’s a crack shot, too. He joined the army eventually, but a few years back returned to help his pa manage the ranch. But T.J.’s been a burden, as far as I can tell. Drinks too much, gambles frequently. Davis has bailed him out several times.”

  “What about Logan?”

  “Who’s that?” Claire questioned.

  “My younger brother,” Matt replied. He smiled. “Believe it or not, Logan meandered into the life of a deputy. But he returned last year to help out with the ranch. My pa’s been having some health problems.”

  “Is that why you’ve stayed?” Molly asked.

  Like a smooth whiskey on a cold night, her rich voice warmed him. Unbidden, visions of sharing such a cold night with Molly filled his mind.

  “For the most part,” he answered, uncomfortable with his train of thought, knowing how out-of-line it was. Molly had always looked to him as an older brother. Indian captives, especially women, were often branded as tainted if they managed to return to their families. Molly would have a difficult time as it was, simply trying to readjust. He doubted she would welcome an interest from him that was as far from brotherly as he could get.

  What he needed to do was make certain she was well looked-after. He should find a suitable husband for her, one who wouldn’t hold the last ten years against her.

  “I think we should head back to my folks’ ranch.” He glanced at the sun sitting high in the sky. “It’s still a few hours’ ride from here. You’ll both be safe there. You can stay as long as you like, and you’ll be able to sleep in a bed.”

  “The ground isn’t so bad,” Claire remarked, gathering her horse’s reins then settling herself into the saddle.

  “There’s better ways to live,” Matt said.

  “A better life.” Molly shook her head. “Sometimes the best life is simply being alive.”

  Matt could see the simple truth in her words. By all accounts, Molly and Claire should be dead.

  “You don’t have to worry about us, Matt,” Molly said more firmly. “We can take care of ourselves.” She climbed atop her horse.

  Matt took the lead with Molly close behind, then Claire. He’d already made up his mind. He would take care of Molly. It was the least he could do. With her pa dead, she needed someone to look out for her welfare, to guard her reputation, to make certain the man she married did right by her. She needed someone looking out for her if she truly planned to chase down the men who killed her folks. That Molly might not want this from him was beside the point.

  Matt hadn’t been able to save her ten years ago, but perhaps if he helped her forge a new life it would lessen his guilt while at the same time bringing much needed happiness into hers.

  Despite the focus this new goal brought him, restlessness stirred once again, brewing just beneath the surface.

  He’d simply have to ignore it.

  Chapter Six

  As the three riders approached the Ryan ranch, the setting sun cast a golden hue on the terrain. Riding beneath a wrought-iron archway, Molly read the lettering—SR Ranch.

  “What does SR mean?” she asked Matt, who slowed his horse to match hers.

  “It’s for my ma, Susanna Ryan,” he answered. “Our cattle are branded with the SR insignia. Haven’t you ever been here before?”

  Molly shook her head. “Mama never liked traveling much. I think her rule was ten miles or less, so I don’t recall ever being here.” After a moment, she added, “Or to the Walker Ranch.”

  “His place has grown in the past few years,” Matt said. “Davis runs about thirty thousand head of cattle on fifty thousand acres.”

  “It seems hard to imagine,” Claire said. “How big is this ranch?”

  “We’ve got close to fifty thousand beeves. My pa has expanded the SR onto close to eighty thousand acres now.”

  “How do you manage it?” Molly asked.

  Matt smiled, scanning the surroundings. “There’s talk among the ranchers of fencing in their properties using a new type of enclosure called barbed wire, but my old man isn’t so sure. It would protect the cattle from theft, and let squatters know they’re not where they should be, but there’s something about the wide open spaces. You hate to rope it off.”

  A large, two-story ranch house came into view, its white-washed wooden exterior contrasting brightly with the new spring grass growing around the outskirts of the main property. Tall cottonwoods surrounded the wrap-around porch, as well as the bunkhouse off to the right. A large corral, and a smaller one containing a dozen or so horses, stood near an immense barn. Farther to the south were additional holding pens and several wooden buildings.

  Molly absorbed the scene, feeling slightly overwhelmed. The Ryan Ranch seemed large and busy, with men on horseback and afoot moving about. She was accustomed to being alone. She was accustomed to loneliness.

  A yearning welled up inside her. She wanted roots, wanted a real home, wanted to feel safe. And somewhere, in the darkest part of her mind and the hidden desires of her heart, she wanted a family, too.

  Glancing at Matt beside her, his very presence a distraction, she realized she didn’t want to be alone anymore either. She wanted children. And for that she would need a husband, wouldn’t she?

  The thought surprised her. Had she wanted a husband she could have simply begged Bull Runner to let her stay with the Comanche and marry Snake Eater. But while she had to admit she didn’t know much about what went on between a man and a woman, she had been certain of one thing—being Snake Eater’s wife would have been a world smaller than the one which she had already inhabited. Besides, there had been nothing physically appealing to her about the Comanche warrior, despite the female following his fine-looking face had generated in camp.

  Matt.

  As a child, Molly had entertained thoughts of marrying him. Simple, innocent longings created by her fondness for him as much as by her sister Mary’s teasings. But she had been a child then and he almost a grown man. She accepted such a fate would never be.

  And now? While the idea of marrying him seemed far-fetched in the extreme, she couldn’t help but hope they might be friends again. But Matt had thought her dead all these years, and she wasn’t sure he believed it was her yet. It was unlikely circumstances would ever be the same between them again.

  Molly’s eyes burned suddenly with tears. Nothing would ever be the same again. Blinking hard, she willed them to stop.

  Matt dismounted, looking back towards her. “Are you all right?” he asked, walking around to lead her horse.

  Molly coughed and glanced at her hands. “Yes. I just have dust in my eyes.”

  She came down from her horse while Claire did the same. A burly man rounded the house, his face covered with gray whiskers.

  “Hey there, Matt. We was wonderin’ what happened to you last night.”

  “I got waylaid by the storm, Dawson. Is Pa around?”

  Dawson squinted at the ladies, smiling. “He’s out checkin’ the herd on the north plateau. Your ma’s inside.”

  “Thanks. Molly and Claire, this is Randall Dawson, our foreman.”

  “Pleased to meet you, misses. Just call me Dawson.”

  Molly smiled, glad for the distraction.

  A woman came through the front door. “Matthew? I thou
ght I heard your voice.” She stopped short. “I didn’t realize you brought guests.” Immediately, a delighted expression crossed her face.

  Molly’s recollection of Matt’s mother was vague, for she had seen her only a handful of times.

  She was tall, lithe, and surprisingly feminine for a woman living in such a rugged land. Mother and son shared the same facial features—a long narrow nose, eyes slanting slightly at the corners, and dark hair, although hers was sprinkled with silver and swept atop her head in a bun.

  “I’ll introduce you,” Matt said as he indicated for Molly and Claire to precede him into the house. “But let’s go inside first.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, but you might want to be sitting down.”

  His mother frowned slightly, and addressed Molly and Claire directly. “You’re both welcome here despite Matthew’s strange behavior.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ryan,” Molly responded.

  Matt’s mother smiled at her. “You remind me of someone.”

  Matt led them into the house and to a large sitting area. A maroon-colored upholstered couch with spool-turned legs sat across from two similarly-colored stuffed chairs, while a large rock fireplace dominated the opposite wall. The décor was rustic and masculine, and Molly liked it.

  She removed her hat, as did Claire, and suddenly became aware of how grimy and saddle-worn she must appear. It amazed her how Claire’s hair still managed to shine despite her tired and dirty appearance as well. Her blonde tresses, bound in a single braid down her back, glistened in the muted light of two oil lamps shining from the mantel above the fireplace. The quickly darkening sky could be seen just outside a large window overlooking the porch.

  Matt threw his hat on a side table then gestured for Claire to sit on the long couch. “This is Claire Waters.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Claire said, a certain amount of discomfort apparent.