Vickie Britton, page 18
Brad and Ivan were each to one side of me. Brad’s skin had lost its healthy, golden glow. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead, the pale streaks drowned by the rain. His amber eyes were downcast, the light, rather stubby lashes shining with tears.
I glanced from him to Esteban, who hung back a little, hands in the pockets of his Levi’s. Has one of them, either Brad or Esteban, been Colleen’s lover?
I focused my attention on Ivan, the wronged husband.
Rain-soaked hair plastered his forehead, accentuating the dark, tearless eyes and somber lips. He stood, a silent observer, a stranger at his wife’s burial.
I turned away from him, focusing on the back of Martin DeGarza’s green suit. He wore no coat. The big man was cold. Every so often a quiver shook his broad shoulders.
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Suddenly, he covered his face in his hands and wept, apparently brokenhearted. In a strange way, I was relieved by his open display of grief. It proved that Colleen had at least one sincere mourner.
A sudden rustle of motion told me that the Father was finished. Few words, few consolations were exchanged as we moved away. Brad took my arm, his grip so tight that it ached as he walked with me to the big car waiting to drive us back to the ranch. Ivan followed a short distance behind us, walking alone.
The ranch seemed nearly deserted. This time, there would be no feasting, no dancing as there’d been after Tavas’s burial. The few men I saw went about their business with closed expressions and frightened eyes.
The house was cool and silent. Alice was nowhere in sight. I’d gone to my room to change into some dry, comfortable clothes, when I heard a knock on my door.
Brad’s voice, through the door, sounded excited. “Anna, you have to come down to the barn. It’s urgent.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, hastily tucking my shirttail into my jeans as I stepped out to meet him.
“Manuel’s been released, and he’s just showed up here. Turns out the blood on the knife wasn’t human blood. They had no reason to hold him.” His voice remained calm and steady, but the worry in his eyes gave him away. “We’re going to have trouble keeping the help, Anna. Manuel’s friends swear they’ll leave if Manuel goes, the others say they’ll walk out if he stays.”
Ivan met us halfway to the barn. He’d changed into jeans and a dark shirt. He’d shaved, but his hair, which had grown longer the past few weeks, brushed past his shirt
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collar. “It’s Esteban that’s causing all the trouble,” Ivan said, falling into step with us. “He’s getting them all riled up.”
Brad was gloomy. “We can’t afford to lose another man. We’re so short of hands now that we can barely manage.”
“Can we get replacements?” I asked.
Ivan shook his head. “Rumors have spread like wildfire. I doubt that you could get anyone to set foot out here now.”
“There must be some solution.”
Several of Manuel’s faithful disciples were hanging around near the barn. Just outside the closed door to Guillermo’s office, I turned back. Esteban’s friends had formed another, larger group. Dark eyes, accusing and angry, glared at us as we moved past.
“Way it looks now, we’ll have to pick and choose,” Brad said. “We may have to let Manuel go.” He pushed open the door to Guillermo’s office. Inside, Guillermo and Esteban spoke in angry, raised voices.
“We don’t want him back here.” As he spoke, Esteban glared at Manuel, who stood quietly by the wood stove. His calm manner and huge, sad eyes impressed me. Dark clothing reinforced the image of a priest.
“He has as much a right to be here as you do. Maybe even more,” Guillermo countered.
“What do you mean by that, Old Man?”
“I think you planted that knife in Manuel’s locker,” Guillermo accused. “I saw you hanging around out there that afternoon the police found it.”
“Me?” Esteban made a scornful sound. “If anyone planted the knife, you did.”
“If I’d planted the knife, it wouldn’t have been in Manuel’s locker. I’d have stuck it in your gut.”
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I’d never seen Guillermo so angry. His face was a mask of rage.
Esteban’s eyes were wild, fierce. With the swiftness of a jungle cat, he jumped on Guillermo.
Stunned, I watched the two men struggle. Then Ivan stepped in the middle, separating them. He took hold of Esteban’s shoulder, shoving him roughly away.
“Get your damned hands off me,” Esteban growled. An angry tirade of Basque followed.
His eyes were narrowed, cat’s eyes in that lean, angry face as his gaze swept scornfully over us, singling out Guillermo. “I’ll get you back for this,” he hissed as Ivan forced him outside.
“Please,” I told Guillermo and Brad. “I’d like to have a word alone with Manuel.”
“You sure?” Brad asked, lingering by the door.
I nodded.
Manuel stood waiting, as if for his executioner. “Are you going to let me go?” he asked, a look of defeat upon his face.
“Not if you tell me what I want to know.”
His expression didn’t change. “You want to know about the Cult of Akerra.”
“Yes.”
“Some of us meet in the canyon at night. We are only simple folk who gather in the cover of darkness to practice the old folk medicine. We meet in darkness to avoid mockery, ridicule of our beliefs. We do not worship the devil. I swear to you, Miss Haspura, we have nothing to do with those mutilations—or Colleen’s death.”
“The knife they found—was it yours?”
“Ours is a peaceful gathering. Guillermo knows that.” With slight hesitation, he added, “He used to be one of us.
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He can tell you that no blood has ever been shed on our altar.”
I studied the solemn-eyed, earnest man before me. I believed he was telling the truth. I knew from what Inspector Tull had told me that Colleen’s murder had been no ritual slaying. It had been an inside job, carefully planned and executed, probably down to the very first of the mutilated animals. The knife had been planted. The ‘Cult of Akerra’ had been framed.
“Your word?”
I saw a flash of pride in his dark eyes. “My word of honor.”
I opened the door to the crowd still gathered about the barn. “Manuel is to stay.” I heard the murmuring of disapproval begin.
I raised a hand to silence them. “Now hear me out. Manuel has not been found guilty of any crime. A man is considered innocent until proven guilty according to the law. He must be treated with the same fairness that any one of you would expect.”
I heard Esteban’s friends conferring with one another. They stole furtive glances at Esteban’s swollen lip, the slight shadow of a bruise beneath his eye.
“I need to know how many of you plan to leave. Let’s see a show of hands.”
More whispers. One man stepped forward, then another. “We need our jobs. We’re willing to work out a deal.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’ll stay, but on these conditions. We get extra pay. And anything else happens around here that we don’t like, we walk. After all, we’ve got our families to think about.”
“Guillermo will handle the details.”
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Conflict momentarily resolved, the men began to scatter. I was wise enough to know the trouble was far from over, but for now, I’d convinced enough men to stay to keep the Devil’s Gate in operation.
Manuel came up to me quietly. “Thank you,” he said, so softly I could barely hear the words.
“That’s probably the first ‘Thank you’ old Manuel’s ever made in his life,” Guillermo said and laughed. He walked away to join the others.
“I’m proud of the way you handled the situation,” Ivan said, coming up beside me. Admiration glowed in his eyes, warming me. “I guess old Tavas knew what he was doing after all when he left you in charge.”
“Do you really think I’m doing the right thing by letting him stay, Ivan?”
“I don’t believe Manuel is capable of murder,” Ivan replied.
“Neither do I.”
“But someone on this ranch is,” he added darkly.
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Chapter 27
I was waiting for Brad outside the barn when Guillermo came riding in from the corrals. Enough cattle had been rounded up to start the head count and prepare for the fall ritual of branding. At the Devil’s Gate, the branding was done in two different areas—the corrals near the house where Guillermo was working and a place closer to the mountain pasture called Bull Run. Today, Brad and I planned to drive down to bring supplies to the Rodriguez family who worked on the far side of the ranch. With the weather as unpredictable as it had been the last few days, I knew that we would now be having a busy day and night in order to get as much done as possible before the first heavy snowfall.
Guillermo looked weary despite the earliness of the day. Though it was only ten o’clock, I knew he’d already put in a good day’s work. A fine powder of dust covered him from head to foot. His face, above the dark-colored bandanna at his throat, was streaked with grime and sweat.
“Well, I have good news and bad news this morning, Anna,” he said, pulling the horse up beside me.
“Let me have the good news first.”
“So far, the head count is way up over last fall despite the…losses.”
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“That’s great. And the bad news?”
He paused a moment. “A couple more hands didn’t show for work this morning. Family men. You understand…”
He pulled the hat back from his eyes, pushing at the sweat-dampened, silvery locks near his temples. “Ivan drove into town to find more help.”
Suddenly apprehensive, I asked, “How short are we?”
“Oh, we’ll manage.” He hesitated a second before adding, “But it’s always wise to have a few extras on hand.”
“You mean, in case some of the others decide to walk.”
He nodded. Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you and Brad still going up to Bull Run?”
“Yes, I’m waiting for him now.”
“Well, I’d best get back to the corrals.” He started to turn his horse around.
I called him back. “Guillermo? Keep an eye on Esteban while we’re gone.”
“He’s been subdued lately. Maybe that scuffle with me knocked some of the pride out of him.”
“Let me know if he starts any trouble.”
“I will.” As he turned back, I saw a deadly glint in his eyes. “You just leave him to me.”
A short time later, Brad rattled up in the old truck. “Sorry I’m late. I had to do a little repair work,” he said. “Ready to go?”
I hopped in beside him. The truck made an ominous sound as we started out on our forty-mile trip up to the isolated, weather-beaten old house at Bull Run. I think we were both a little worried about what we might find up there. What if the Hispanic family, frightened by all the
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trouble, had taken off without warning, leaving the place unmanned?
We divided potato chips and a thermos of coffee on the way. Neither of us took off our jackets, as the windows to the old pickup didn’t close all the way, and it was cool even inside. I was glad to see that Brad had remembered to pile a couple of old blankets into the back with the supplies, just in case we got stranded somewhere.
We reached the little house around noon. At first, the place seemed deserted. Then, the door swung open. Jose’s three older boys ran out to greet us enthusiastically. Visitors were a rare occasion on this isolated part of the ranch. The two smaller children followed, waiting expectantly for the candy we always brought with us, while the older boys began to unload the supplies.
“Leave the blankets,” I heard Brad say as the boys carried off food, ranching equipment, and other goods piled high into the back of the pickup. We stopped for a while to talk to Jose and his wife, Maria. The conversation was rather stilted, as neither one spoke fluent English, but I gathered that everything was going smoothly. I was relieved there’d been no cattle lost from the place.
Brad and I did notice, however, that the household had grown in number by two silent young men who did their best to avoid us.
“Could be illegals,” Brad whispered to me as we stepped outside. I’ll have to have a little talk with Jose about them.”
I followed Jose and Brad out to the crowded pens where the boys were starting the long and tedious branding and de-horning process. Brad, who knew enough Spanish to carry on a decent conversation, drew Jose aside…
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“I’m glad to see that things are running without a hitch,” Brad remarked suddenly, and I knew he’d shared my worry that the terror had spread even to this faraway corner of the ranch. “Jose knows about the rumors, of course. The newcomers brought word from town.” He explained, “Turns out the two are Jose’s nephews from San Francisco, not across the border.” We looked over the cattle, both pleased to see that this herd seemed healthy and that there were quite a number of new calves. “They’ve come up to this area to look for seasonal work.”
“I worry about them being so isolated up here. There’s not even a telephone.”
“They’ve got three strong boys and I brought an extra rifle.” He paused. “I told the nephews they could stay—at least for the time being.”
Before we left, Brad and I made a head count to take back to Guillermo, and Brad left Jose some vitamins, cautioning him to make certain his boys didn’t forget to inoculate for blackleg before driving the herd down.
The family waved to us as we pulled away. I stared out of the truck window as we drove across one of the prettiest parts of the ranch. Violet mountains streaked with white made razor-slashes against the troubled blue canvas of sky. Evergreens grew in abundance, their dark, hazy nettles adding a muted softness to the scene, like one of those paintings done on velvet.
The green mountains gave way to rolling hills and bald-faced, rocky ledges as we neared Secret Pass, then turned back toward the main road. Suddenly, the engine went silent. Brad pulled over at the crossroad, repeatedly trying the starter. “The engine,” he said, “it died on me.”
“Oh, no! Do you think you can get it started again?”
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“I’ve got some tools in the back. Wait here.” He jumped out. I waited for him to return with the tools. Instead, he came back grinning, carrying a covered basket under his arm. It must have been hidden under the blankets.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He laughed. “Getting out our picnic.”
“A picnic? But there’s snow on the ground.”
“Since when did that stop us?” He tapped on my window. “Come on. Grab a blanket. There’s a little shelter down below the rock ledge. It’ll be warm there.”
Reluctantly, I followed him. I knew we should be getting back. Judging from the clouds gathering overhead, I also knew we might be in for another storm.
The rocks were damp and cool near the base of the cliff, but, with the blankets spread out beneath us, I had to admit it was rather cozy. From the basket, Brad produced slightly soggy ham and cheese sandwiches which he’d kept on ice, a bag of cookies, and a bottle of wine.
“Whatever gave you this wild idea?” I asked, after we’d finished our sandwiches. I was beginning to feel comfortable despite the chilling wind. The sun peeked reassuringly through the openings in the rock wall; the storm clouds seemed no closer that they’d been half an hour ago.
Brad put the plastic cup of wine aside, then moved closer. I felt the light weight of his arm across my shoulder. “It’s the only way I could think of to have you all to myself.” His lips grazed my cheek. “Remember what we talked about that day at Al’s? I’ve tried not to rush you, tried to give you time to think it over.” He looked into my eyes, his expression hopeful. “So what do you think—about us?”
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His mouth was warm and eager upon mine. I tried to respond to the longing in him, the persuasiveness of his ardent kisses, but I think we both knew that there was something missing. No matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t think of Brad as anything other than my best friend.
Sensing my reaction, he pulled away. The hurt in his eyes was hard to bear. “What kind of a spell does he have over you, Anna?” he asked softly. Then, with a dry laugh, he added, “Or maybe I should be asking what it’ll take to break that spell.”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I could make you happy.”
I looked up at him, studying the clear, yellow-brown eyes, the wayward locks of hair, the familiar face with its slightly wide nose and generous mouth. Something told me I could learn to love this man who’d always cared so much about me. “Don’t give up on me yet, Brad,” I said lightly. “We have fun together. We laugh. Those things are important. Let’s not rush into anything. Maybe…I still need more time.”
“There may not be time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just promise me one thing,” he pleaded, and there was an unmistakable note of desperation in his voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful around Ivan. I can’t explain now, but I know something about him. Something that might change everything.”
As we packed up the blankets, basket, and the remainder of our picnic lunch and threw it into the back of the truck, Brad seemed his lighthearted, carefree self again. It was as if the strange conversation about Ivan had never been. Now, he sat in the driver’s seat, seeming suddenly
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hesitant, uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He shoved the keys into the ignition, then turned to me. “Anna,” he confessed with a short laugh, before trying the engine. “I wasn’t joking before. The truck really won’t start.”
“Surely you’re kidding?” I cried. “I wish I was.” He lifted the hood and, for what seemed like hours, he fiddled with the engine
