“You’ll get a lawyer. Get him in the back, Curtis. I can’t even look at him. One of my men, one of my own, trying to backshoot a man like that.”
The accusation had Clintok kicking out, elbow jabbing. “Skinner killed those two women, and you do nothing. He kills them, and you suspend me for dogging him for it. He deserved having his horse shot out from under him. He deserved worse.”
Tate’s face looked like a mask of fury carved in stone before he shoved Clintok back against the truck. “You were aiming for the horse? Is that what you’re claiming now?”
“You did nothing.”
“I’m doing something now.”
*
It tore up his gut, questioning one of his deputies—former—dealing with the pip-squeak of a lawyer. It didn’t help the knotting and twisting that Clintok proved pitifully simple to trip up.
Maybe it soothed some to stand in the Longbows’ kitchen and watch out the window as Alice carefully led the recovering horse around the paddock with Callen limping by her side.
“Her progress is really remarkable.” Celia Minnow watched with him.
“Is she going to remember more about the captivity?”
“I wish I could tell you. I can tell you she’s stronger, mind and body. I can tell you she seems to have forged a bond with him—with Callen Skinner. It’s the horse in part. But it’s also him. He left home, came back. So did she. Someone hurt him. Someone hurt her. Being here, surrounded by family, has helped give her a sense of safety, helped her throw off a lot of the indoctrination.”
“But I still need to let her tell me as it comes to her.”
“She has a lot of trust in you. Pushing too hard for answers could damage that. I know it’s frustrating.”
“I’m wondering if he’s dead, and that’s how she got away.”
“If you’re wondering if she caused his death, my opinion is she wouldn’t have been capable. He dominated, she submitted. She speaks of him as alive. Her thought pattern often simplifies everything, as a child’s would. It’s coping. There’s good and bad, mean and kind, soft and hard. And other times she’s remarkably astute.”
Celia gestured toward the window. “Cutting her hair? The courage of that, the symbolism of it? It was an act of self—recognition of self.
“She may slip back again, and everyone should prepare for that. But she’s making good progress.”
“I’m going to go out, talk to her, while she’s with Cal and the horse. I’ll keep it light and friendly.”
Callen figured she’d have walked Sundown to Billings and back, and been happy about it. His own leg ached like a bitch, and he could only blame himself for skipping the afternoon Motrin. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to stop.
“Can I braid his mane?”
“Ah…” Callen chanced a look back at Sundown, calculated the humiliation.
“I used to braid Venus’s mane. And bring her carrots. I can bring him a carrot.” Suddenly she stopped, looked around. “Where’s Venus?”
“I don’t know. Is that your horse?”
“She’s mine. Grandpa let me pick her out. Pretty Venus. She’s a buckskin, too, with a blond mane and tail. And … that was a long time ago. I forget. It was a long time ago. She must have died like Grandpa when I was in the cellar or in the house. She must have died when I wasn’t here.”
“I had a horse before Sundown. I called him Charger. It was real hard for me when he died.”
“But Sundown’s getting better. He won’t die.”
“He’s getting better.”
“He’s getting better,” she repeated and began to walk. “When he’s stronger, I can sit on him?”
“As soon as the doctor says.”
“I talked to my doctor today, too. Both my doctors, the man and the woman. They said I was getting better, too. There’s Tate. Bobby Tate. I know him. He’s not mean.”
“I know him, too.”
“Alice Bodine,” Tate said with a cheerful smile. “I sure like your hair.”
“Bodine did it. That’s her first name, that’s my last name. This is Sundown. Somebody hurt him and Cal, but they’re feeling better.”
“So I see.”
“You’re the sheriff now. Bobby Tate’s the sheriff. You have to find people who hurt people.”
Tate nodded, took a chance. “You’re right. I did find the person who hurt Sundown and Cal. I put him in jail.”
Her eyes widened. “Does he have to stay there? Locked up? It’s hard to be locked up. You can’t get out. Nobody comes to let you out or hears when you scream.” She pressed her face into Sundown’s neck. “I didn’t hurt anybody.”
“No, you didn’t, honey. But this man did, so the law has to decide what to do about it.”
“You’re the law. Bobby Tate’s the law. Did you find Sir? Did you put him in jail?”
“I sure want to. I’m trying to.”
She angled her head around again. “We used to kiss, didn’t we?”
“We did.”
“You don’t kiss me now.”
“Well, I got married.” Tate tapped his wedding ring. “But before we kissed, after, too, we were friends. We are friends, Alice.”
“Sir didn’t kiss me. I didn’t want him to, but he would have no matter that. But he didn’t. We did other things. You did other things with me.”
Tate cleared his throat as Callen looked discreetly away. “Well, yeah, we did.”
“But you weren’t mean. You weren’t hurting. We laughed and laughed, and you walked on your hands. Sir doesn’t laugh. He hurts. His hands are hard and mean, and he rapes me. Dr. Minnow says it’s rape, not marital rights. He rapes me so it hurts, always.” The words tumbled out, the pitch rising. “It’s rape, Dr. Minnow says, even when I don’t fight. If I fight he hits me and hits me and it’s worse. Even when I just laid down and let him, she says it’s raping. Is that the law? Is it? You’re the law, is it the law?”
“It is. It’s the law.”
“If you find him, you’ll lock him up? I want that.” She surprised Callen by reaching out, gripping his hand. “I want him locked up where he can’t get out, where nobody comes when he screams. I want that.”
“I’m going to keep looking so that happens. I promise you, Alice. You said he had a beard all over, and dark eyes.”
“Dark eyes. I close mine when he does it.”
“Maybe you could tell me more about how he looks and we could draw him.”
“I can’t draw. Reenie can’t, either. Even I can draw better, but I can’t draw faces.”
“I know somebody who can draw faces, if you want to try to tell me more of how he looks. How you remember.”
“I don’t know.” Her hand tightened, a small vise, on Callen’s. “I don’t want to see his face. I’m going to make Cal a scarf. I’m going to ride Sundown when he’s better.”
“That’s okay.” Swallowing frustration, Tate kept his tone easy. “It’s too pretty a day to worry about things. Maybe I’ll come see you tomorrow, Alice, just to visit.”