“I wouldn’t put it past Pa to have something to do with that robbery,” Ben said.
“Oh, yeah?” Boyd screeched from the barn doorway.
They all three turned to face him, and Crockett sucked in a painful breath. How much had Boyd heard?
The old man charged toward them and grabbed Ben’s shirtfront. His face flushed almost purple as he snarled in his son’s face. “You ungrateful pup! I oughta throw you into New Mexico.”
“Pa—”
Crockett leaped to grab Boyd, but he was too late. Boyd punched Ben hard in the stomach, and Ben doubled over, his eyes wide as he gasped for air. Jane gave a little squeak and jumped backward, watching her father with huge eyes.
“Traitors, the both of you,” Boyd growled.
“Stop it!” Jane dropped to her knees at Ben’s side.
“Breathe, Ben. Are you all right?”
Boyd took a step toward them, and Crockett grasped the older man’s arm. “Take it easy, Mr.—”
Boyd turned on him, fists swinging. Crockett jumped back, avoiding the first blow. Boyd’s momentum carried him forward and the second punch hit Crockett in the ribs. He swung back and connected solidly with Boyd’s jaw. The old man flew backward, arms outflung. His head hit on the edge of the bench with a thud.
Crockett hauled in a breath, ignoring the pain in his side and his aching knuckles, waiting for Boyd to get up and come back for more.
The white-haired man lay still. Crockett’s stomach began to roil. Houston and Bowie ran over from the wagon.
“What happened?” Houston demanded.
“Boyd lit into Ben,” Crockett said.
“When Crockett tried to stop him, he started fighting him,” Jane added.
Crockett made himself approach and stoop over Boyd, pushing back his collar to finger his neck, where the pulse should run strong.
“He’s out cold.” Jane knelt beside her father and looked up at Crockett. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“I can’t feel his heartbeat.” Crockett went to his knees and lowered his ear to Boyd’s chest. His shirt and overalls smelled of sweat, whiskey, and horse manure. Crockett straightened.
Ben came closer, hugging an arm across his abdomen. His green eyes held a panicky look.
“Crockett?” Jane had tears in her eyes. “He’s not breathing, is he?”
Crockett couldn’t speak. Not since the war had he known this feeling, as though he had fallen off a cliff, but no land rushed up to meet him.
Bowie pushed him aside and knelt by the old man. Crockett straightened and moved closer to Jane. He wanted to touch her, pull her away or take her in his arms or just pat her shoulder, but he couldn’t. Would she ever want him to touch her now?
Houston hurried to Boyd’s other side. Ben stood back, gazing anxiously toward his father’s still form.
Houston and Bowie talked in low tones across the man’s body, and Houston rose.
“I’ll go for the sheriff.”
Crockett was glad he had offered. He didn’t want to leave Jane right now, and he knew Bowie would avoid going into town if possible.
“The sheriff?” Jane took a step toward him. She wobbled a little, and Crockett grasped her arm to steady her. “What about a doctor? Your brother Travis?”
“It’s too late for that,” Houston said. “I’m sorry, Miss Jane.”
Ben’s jaw dropped. He was still breathing hard from the blows he had received. “You mean, Pa’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Houston said, throwing a troubled glance at Crockett.
“It’s not Crockett’s fault,” Ben said quickly.
“Pa attacked Ben,” Jane added. “Crockett was trying to help Ben, and Pa hit him.”
Crockett studied Ben, who looked as though he would keel over any moment. “You might ask Travis to come out here if he can, to see Ben,” Crockett said.
“What about you?” Houston asked.
“I’ll be all right. Sore ribs and skinned knuckles is all.”
“I’m fine,” Ben said. “I can ride with Houston if y’all will stay here.” Crockett wondered if he wanted to get away from the sight of his father’s lifeless body.
“Get your horse then,” Houston said. He walked toward the corral fence and gave a piercing whistle. His chestnut gelding lifted its head and trotted toward him. Ben went slowly into the barn for his saddle.
Bowie stepped over to Crockett and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I—I don’t know how to act.” Crockett looked at Jane, expecting to see anger or hatred in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jane.”
“I know you are,” she said. “I don’t know what to think, or how to feel. It’s just … well, God knew this would happen, didn’t He?”
“I suppose He did,” Crockett said. “But it’s the last thing I meant to happen. I didn’t want to hurt him, just knock him down so he’d quit fighting. I thought maybe once he was quiet we could talk to him about that money, and maybe he’d give us some straight answers.”
“What money?” Bowie asked.
Crockett sighed.
Jane lifted her chin. “It’s some old money I found on this property. Your brother Chisholm took a sample and is looking into it for us.”