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Authors: Bridge to Yesterday
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help her.
When
he brought her the canteen, she juggled the infant so that she could reach the
petticoat herself. Then she waited for him to settle himself down, noting again
the embarrassment he showed with regard to his leg. She made no mention of it
but simply handed him the edge of Emily's frilly slip and allowed him to rip
it.
"Make
sure this part is clean," she warned him. "I need just a strip."
He
looked at her oddly but did what he was told. Then she soaked the rag with the
water and let the baby suck on it, which quieted him immediately. While the
baby drank, the man unbound her feet.
"You
want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Mary Grace demanded.
Untrussed, on solid ground, with the baby in her arms, she felt much less
frightened of the man, who couldn't pry his gaze from the child she held.
"If I'm not mistaken about them, I think this baby's uncles are murderers,
and they aren't going to take too kindly to what you just did. We have to go to
the police and tell them what I heard. I'm sure they'll give you some kind of
protection, and I can get the baby to child welfare and they'll find a good
home...."
He
interrupted her. "Nobody's findin' a home for what's mine."
"You
really are his father? They said his father was dead," Mary Grace said. She
held the baby tighter to her, flexing her feet to get the circulation back.
"Why
else would I have taken him, you little fool? I'm his pa, and he's stayin' with
me. Let the Tates try to take him away. I'll be ready." She noticed then
that he had brought the rifle with him to where they sat, and that he had
another gun strapped to his hip.
"This
is ridiculous," she argued, placing the rag against the baby's lips to
remind him why it was there, and wrapping her skirts around him to keep him
warm. "If the baby's yours, why didn't you just sue for custody? You could
have gotten a court order, now that Emily's..." She stopped midsentence.
Did he know about Emily? Did he know his wife was dead?
"...
dead. So who's gonna say I'm the daddy? Just my word. Besides, we're talkin'
about the Tates. The law don't mean nothin' to them."
Mary
Grace's shoulders sagged. Her side ached and so did her head. She was bone
tired and confused. "Look. We've got Horace. Let's just go to a hotel,
wash up, get some food and some sleep, and we'll go to the police in the
morning."
"Horace?
They named him Horace? Just shows they ain't got a lovin' or sensible bone in
their bodies. His name's Ben, after my father."
Ben?
Could wires have gotten crossed somehow? Had she been pursuing some other child
named Benjamin? "Benjamin?" she said, blinking quickly as though that
would somehow make things clear. "This is Benjamin? You mean to tell me
I've been chasing the fucking wrong child?"
Sloan
looked at the woman holding his son. He couldn't really blame her for being
upset. He hadn't exactly treated her with the courtesy due a woman. Of course,
judging from the mouth on her, the way her hair was left like she'd just got out
of some man's bed, and the fact that it wasn't just some man but one of the
Tates, she really didn't deserve to be treated like a lady. Still, some kind of
shock seemed to be setting in. Tears were rolling down her face, but she was
laughing.
"You
mean to tell me," she said, nearly gasping for breath, "that I fell
off a goddamn cliff, nearly drowned in a river, walked across the desert in the
middle of the night, had rifles aimed at me, watched a woman die in my
arms..."
She
paused, and Sloan lowered his eyes out of respect for the mother of his son.
When he looked up, she continued.
"...
tried to run away with a baby, got kidnapped, and spent a day across the front
of a horse, and all for the wrong child?"
"The
wrong child?" Sloan asked. He had no idea what she was talking about.
"I'm
looking for Benjamin Weaver. Blond kid, four and a half years old. Somehow my
sources must have gotten screwed up."
"Screwed
up?"
"Do
you repeat what everyone says, or is it just
When
he brought her the canteen, she juggled the infant so that she could reach the
petticoat herself. Then she waited for him to settle himself down, noting again
the embarrassment he showed with regard to his leg. She made no mention of it
but simply handed him the edge of Emily's frilly slip and allowed him to rip
it.
"Make
sure this part is clean," she warned him. "I need just a strip."
He
looked at her oddly but did what he was told. Then she soaked the rag with the
water and let the baby suck on it, which quieted him immediately. While the
baby drank, the man unbound her feet.
"You
want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Mary Grace demanded.
Untrussed, on solid ground, with the baby in her arms, she felt much less
frightened of the man, who couldn't pry his gaze from the child she held.
"If I'm not mistaken about them, I think this baby's uncles are murderers,
and they aren't going to take too kindly to what you just did. We have to go to
the police and tell them what I heard. I'm sure they'll give you some kind of
protection, and I can get the baby to child welfare and they'll find a good
home...."
He
interrupted her. "Nobody's findin' a home for what's mine."
"You
really are his father? They said his father was dead," Mary Grace said. She
held the baby tighter to her, flexing her feet to get the circulation back.
"Why
else would I have taken him, you little fool? I'm his pa, and he's stayin' with
me. Let the Tates try to take him away. I'll be ready." She noticed then
that he had brought the rifle with him to where they sat, and that he had
another gun strapped to his hip.
"This
is ridiculous," she argued, placing the rag against the baby's lips to
remind him why it was there, and wrapping her skirts around him to keep him
warm. "If the baby's yours, why didn't you just sue for custody? You could
have gotten a court order, now that Emily's..." She stopped midsentence.
Did he know about Emily? Did he know his wife was dead?
"...
dead. So who's gonna say I'm the daddy? Just my word. Besides, we're talkin'
about the Tates. The law don't mean nothin' to them."
Mary
Grace's shoulders sagged. Her side ached and so did her head. She was bone
tired and confused. "Look. We've got Horace. Let's just go to a hotel,
wash up, get some food and some sleep, and we'll go to the police in the
morning."
"Horace?
They named him Horace? Just shows they ain't got a lovin' or sensible bone in
their bodies. His name's Ben, after my father."
Ben?
Could wires have gotten crossed somehow? Had she been pursuing some other child
named Benjamin? "Benjamin?" she said, blinking quickly as though that
would somehow make things clear. "This is Benjamin? You mean to tell me
I've been chasing the fucking wrong child?"
Sloan
looked at the woman holding his son. He couldn't really blame her for being
upset. He hadn't exactly treated her with the courtesy due a woman. Of course,
judging from the mouth on her, the way her hair was left like she'd just got out
of some man's bed, and the fact that it wasn't just some man but one of the
Tates, she really didn't deserve to be treated like a lady. Still, some kind of
shock seemed to be setting in. Tears were rolling down her face, but she was
laughing.
"You
mean to tell me," she said, nearly gasping for breath, "that I fell
off a goddamn cliff, nearly drowned in a river, walked across the desert in the
middle of the night, had rifles aimed at me, watched a woman die in my
arms..."
She
paused, and Sloan lowered his eyes out of respect for the mother of his son.
When he looked up, she continued.
"...
tried to run away with a baby, got kidnapped, and spent a day across the front
of a horse, and all for the wrong child?"
"The
wrong child?" Sloan asked. He had no idea what she was talking about.
"I'm
looking for Benjamin Weaver. Blond kid, four and a half years old. Somehow my
sources must have gotten screwed up."
"Screwed
up?"
"Do
you repeat what everyone says, or is it just
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