Bootleggers. Wasn’t that what the new sheriff had told him when he’d stopped by the ranch a few days ago? Rumor had it that a well-connected gang was smuggling liquor over the Canadian border and hauling it south to a ranch, from which the cases could be sold to distributors at a premium price. Could that be what he was hearing?
Picking up the loaded .44 that he kept within reach of the bed, he walked outside and stood on the porch, listening. By now the sound of the engine was fading. After a few minutes, he could barely hear it moving off in the direction of the sawmill and the Dollarhide Ranch.
Could Blake Dollarhide be involved in smuggling? That didn’t sound like Blake. But Logan couldn’t rule it out—any more than he could rule out an innocent explanation for what he’d heard—like a late-night delivery of equipment for the sawmill. Maybe his imagination was working overtime. In any case, when he went to town, he’d report what he’d heard to the sheriff. If nothing was done, he’d deal with the problem himself. He was a peace-loving man, but he drew the line at smugglers cutting across his property.
* * *
The truck had made it to the Hollister Ranch almost an hour later than expected. By the time the driver backed up to the barn, Mason was in a lather. “What the hell happened?” he demanded as the driver climbed down from the cab. “I was imagining you behind bars and the law coming after me next!”
“That road ain’t fit for a herd of buffalo, that’s what happened,” the driver said. “We met right on time. But I couldn’t drive more’n five miles an hour without gettin’ stuck or bustin’ an axle.”
Joseph and Cully had started unloading when Mason called Joseph over. “We can’t let this happen again. Is there a better way for the next shipment to get here?”
“Not for anything as big as a truck,” Joseph said. “But the going would’ve been easier if he’d driven alongside the road, through the grass and brush, instead of in the wagon track.”
“So why in hell’s name didn’t you tell him that?”
“I’m sorry, sir. We should have told him. But he didn’t ask.”
Mason scowled. “Next time, for God’s sake, say something. Now get back to work. You too.” He pointed to the driver. “We’ve got to get this truck unloaded and out of town before first light. Move it!”
He picked up a box and almost threw it onto the stack. Joseph felt small and stupid. He’d never wanted to make Mason angry. He would do better next time, he vowed. Whatever he had to do, he would make his father proud of him.
The major’s lower leg was damaged beyond repair, the bone shattered, the flesh shredded by shrapnel. Even if she could dig out every scrap of metal, there was so little muscle left that the leg and foot would be useless. Or gangrene would set in and do even more damage. With sirens wailing and shells bursting outside the tent, she made her decision. “I’m sorry. The leg’s got to come off. I’ll do my best to save the knee joint, but I can’t promise.”
“No! You’re not taking my leg.” She’d heard the protest before, more times than she could count. This time the voice was calmer and more resolute, but her answer was the same.
“If I don’t take it off, you’ll die.” She nodded to the nurse who stood by with the ether mask. The tray with the scalpel, bone saw, and antiseptic solution waited behind her.
“I said no! I’ll die first!”
“It’s my job not to let you,” she said. “As the property of the U.S. Government, it’s not your choice anymore.”
“To hell with the government!”
“You’ll be put to sleep. When you wake up, it’ll be over. Nurse, go ahead.”
But the nurse had stepped away. The mask, connected to a valved canister by tubing, lay next to the table. She would have to administer the anesthetic herself.
So far, she’d avoided looking at the officer’s face. Seeing it in her mind would only make things harder when the time came to start cutting. But as she turned with the mask, she met his gaze. She gasped.
It was Logan.
Kristin’s eyes jerked open. She was shaking beneath the quilt that covered her bed. The dream had been shockingly real. She could almost hear the echo of exploding shells and smell the odors of disinfectant and soiled bandages. The last time she’d had such a disturbing dream had been in Webb’s house. Logan had been lying next to her on the bed. In her half sleep, she’d been aware of his arm pulling her close, calming her and making her feel safe. But tonight there was no one to hold her.
The craving for a glass of whiskey to blur the awful images was like acid in her gut. Since the war, she’d learned to depend on alcohol to dull the dreams and the awful memories. If she were to marry Webb, she could have all the liquor she wanted. She could drown her demons anytime she chose. All she needed to do was say yes to him.
And what then?
She lay back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and tried to bring back the sensation of Logan making love to her—the delicious urgency, the surrender that was like jumping off a cliff and sprouting wings. Logan, filling the cold, empty places inside her, warming her, loving her.
What if she were to saddle a horse and gallop out to his ranch? Would he welcome her? Would he take her to his bed? Or, knowing Logan, would he remind her of their resolve to remain apart and escort her firmly back to her horse?
She craved him even more than she craved a drink. But Logan was right. If she were to go to him now, without resolving things with Webb, anything could go wrong. If Webb were to discover their tryst and believe she’d been stolen from him, he was capable of destroying the man he’d brought here as a friend and ally.
Kristin’s thoughts were interrupted by a frantic banging on the front door. She swung her legs off the bed, reached for her robe, and pulled it on as she hurried to answer.
A young husband, wide-eyed and disheveled, with his coat on over his pajamas, stood on the doorstep. As soon as she saw him, Kristin knew why he’d come.
“It’s Belinda,” he said in a breathless voice. “Her water broke and she’s having pains. I’ve got the buggy out front.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “It sounds like things are happening just the way they’re supposed to. Wait in the buggy, Charles. I’ll get some clothes on, grab my bag, and be right with you.”
Closing the door, she rushed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Belinda Poulsen was a healthy young woman. Kristin had examined her two days ago and found the baby in good position with a strong heartbeat. Tonight’s delivery showed every sign of having a happy outcome.
Kristin’s spirits rose as she picked up Sarah’s old doctor’s satchel and hurried outside. Times like this were the reason she’d come home to Blue Moon; and right now, that was all that mattered.
* * *
More than two weeks had passed without the sight of another black ribbon tied to the fence. Once, in town, Joseph had passed Mason on the street. Mason had pretended not to see him. It was the smart thing to do, Joseph told himself. Still, it stung not being acknowledged by the man he idolized.
Had he and his friends been dismissed from their so-called jobs in the Hollister barn? Or had there simply been a lull in shipments? Maybe the truck had been stopped somewhere and the driver was in jail—perhaps naming names. There was no one the boys could ask. All they could do was wait.