stop. First we took the bread, and then, of course, we had to take the butter and jam, and then I thought of the pans we’d need to make more and Rachel remembered the bowls and spoons.”
Duncan had no idea what to advise them. These two were a lawyer’s nightmare. He had a feeling that if he talked to them long, other crimes might pop up along with recipes. “Mind telling me who you ladies think you killed? You know, the first crime you committed that sent you on the run?”
Sarah J glanced at her sister. “Our husbands,” she finally said. “We fed them mushrooms in the gravy.”
Duncan smiled. “Ladies, that’s not murder, that was an accident. I’m sure you didn’t know they were poison.”
Both shook their heads slowly as if easing into a new lie.
“You did know they were poison?” he tried again.
They both nodded.
He didn’t ask more, but he decided he’d probably turn down any dinner invitations.
Rachel looked like she might cry. “They rode off after supper and we never saw them again.”
Duncan had to ask, “You found no bodies?”
“No, but we know they’re out there. Both complained about not feeling well, and after they left, we fed the rest of the meal to the dog. He died before morning.”
“We killed them,” Rachel whispered, “dog and all.”
The day passed. When Duncan drove, he tried not to talk too much to the cooks. Lewt, however, seemed to enjoy visiting with the women when he took his turn driving the wagon. The gambler liked people, all kinds of people, or at least he pretended to.
Duncan preferred traveling with Sumner. He caught up on all that had happened at the ranch. The old man never gossiped, but he did relay facts when one of the McMurrays asked. By the end of the day, Duncan felt sorry for Lewt. The gambler was a good man, honest as anyone in his profession can be. He didn’t deserve the trick his cousins had played.
Duncan wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t tell by the way they acted, but he guessed Lewt had feelings for Emily. Em, on the other hand, had never liked any man who wasn’t related to her, and most of the time she wasn’t too fond of relatives either. When she was little he thought of her as the silent one because she didn’t talk enough for anyone to notice her. Once she started talking, it was mostly to pester him. They were opposites in almost every way, except one. They both loved horses and riding free across Whispering Mountain.
By midafternoon clouds began to form to the west. The choices were to camp out in the open or try to make a run for a mission almost ten miles away.
They ran, with the cooks’ screams carrying on the wind. The road was well traveled by now, but Duncan knew that five minutes after the rain started, it would be a river of mud. If they didn’t make the mission, the wagon would be stuck.
He laughed. Even if Toledo heard the screams she’d have to be flying to catch them, and once they were in the mission, she’d never find them. The missions of Texas had long been a place where rangers could rest or vanish for a time if they needed to.
They reached the mission door just as the downpour hit. Duncan pulled the wagon as close as he could to the chapel and helped the cooks in, then went back to carry Anna through the rain. As always, she didn’t say a word, but clung to him.
When he set her down inside the thick walls of the mission, her eyes were huge, not so much with fright, but with wonder.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, pushing the hair out of her eyes. She was back to looking very much like a child again. “The priest likes rangers. He’ll put us up for the night and make sure the gates are locked. There are nuns here too. They work with the school. You’ ll be safe among them.”
Anna nodded slightly, but he wasn’t sure she believed him. She stayed right beside him as they were served soup and hot tea. He watched her closely as she seemed to study every detail around her.
Duncan told everyone the story that his family believed—that their grandmother and grandfather met at this very mission. He’d been a teacher without a job who stopped here to help teach reading to the Apache. She’d been the daughter of a chief.