Wyoming Tough - Diana Palmer [76]
“God, that’s so sweet!” Mallory exclaimed when he’d drained the bottle. “I’ve been tied here for almost two days. Thought I’d die, sure. Then an angel came walking up and saved me,” he added, smiling at Morie. “My own personal guardian angel.”
“I gave Joe Bascomb a pouch with cash,” she told Harding. “I spoke to the sheriff about it before I came up here, so he knows. I can’t tell you which direction Joe took. It was raining….”
Harding’s expression in the light of his flashlight was grim. “There’s no need to concern yourself with that now.”
“Have you caught him?” she exclaimed. “Already?”
“No,” he said quietly. “We found him. Sitting up against a tree about half a mile away. Stone dead.”
She caught her breath. Cold chills ran up and down her arms. That odd, high-pitched crack of thunder she thought she’d heard. A gunshot? “Dead?” She faltered.
He nodded. “Self-inflicted gunshot wound. He left a note.” He pulled it out of his pocket. “He addressed it to you, Miss Brannt.”
With trembling hands, she opened the dirty piece of paper. It was stained with blood. Joe’s blood. It was only a few lines of scribbled writing.
I killed a man and kidnapped another on account of a no-good woman who just wanted money. I’d never get out of jail. Thank you for being kind, when nobody else ever was. Your man is lucky. Be happy. Your friend,
Joe.
She burst into tears.
Mallory pulled her close and held her, despite the pain in his arms from being in such a restrained position. “It’s all right. It’s all over.”
“Poor man,” she choked out.
“He chose his life, Miss Brannt,” Harding told her quietly.
“But he didn’t,” she said through tears. “He had a learning disability and all sorts of psychological problems. But he didn’t get help because his mother thought they’d say there was something wrong with her, too.”
“Good Lord,” Mallory said heavily. “If only we’d known.”
“We all have a purpose,” Morie said again.
“Yes, we do,” Harding said, surprisingly. “People weave themselves into the fabric of our lives for reasons we sometimes never understand. But there is a purpose to everything. Even Bascomb’s suicide.”
“At least his mother didn’t live to see him come to this end,” Mallory said. He tilted up Morie’s wet face. “And speaking of family, we’d better start making telephone calls. My brothers must be out of their minds, to say nothing of your mother and brother and your vicious, rabid father….”
“He isn’t vicious. You’ll learn to love him,” she assured him.
“Think so?” Harding mused, pursing his lips. “I’ve met your father. And I have serious doubts about that.”
She chuckled. “You don’t know him. I do.”
“My loss, I’m sure,” Harding conceded. He looked up as the Jeep arrived. “Let’s get you to the hospital, Mr. Kirk. You’ll need to be checked out.”
“Hospital? I’m not going to any damned hospital!” he burst out as they helped him into the Jeep.
“Yes, you are,” Morie told him firmly. “Now sit back and shut up. We’re saving you.”
He gave her a blank stare. And then he chuckled. “Okay, boss,” he drawled. “Whatever you say.”
“You just remember that, and we’ll get along famously.” She batted her long lashes at him and grinned.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TANK AND CANE MET THEM at the emergency room. They hugged their pale, worn brother and choked up at the thought of how close he’d come to death.
“You let her come out after me alone,” Mallory accused them.
“You can thrash us when you’re better. Honest, we’ll break you a pine limb,” Cane promised.
Tank grinned. “But look what she did. She saved you.”
Morie beamed. “Yes, I did,” she agreed. “Despite the best efforts of my brother and mother and father and your brothers and Darby.”
“We’re all relieved,” Cane said, smiling at her. “But she did what none of us could have done. Bascomb would have shot us on sight….”
There was a commotion in the hall followed by angry footsteps and a loud voice.
“Dad!” Morie exclaimed, because she recognized that voice.