Page 90 of The Promise
"Later. Right now you need some sleep." Loralee's voice was gentle. Pete tried to look mutinous, but the effect was ruined when he yawned. "Patrick, you and Michael help me get him to his room."
Patrick reached down to help Michael lift the old man.
"Watch it, boy, I ain't no bale of hay."
Patrick grinned, adjusting his grip. "Sorry, Pete." Obviously the willow bark tea was working. He was as cantankerous as anold mule, and their mother had always said that when a sick person started to complain he was bound to be getting better.
"Come on, old man, let's get you out of here." Michael winked at Patrick and they started to move toward the door, careful not to jar him.
"Who you calling old? I reckon I can whup your skinny behind anytime I've a mind to."
Patrick smiled as they passed through the door into the cool night air. Yes sir, Pete was going to be just fine.
"Doyou think he's out there?"
Michael surveyed the dark perimeter of the ranch and considered Patrick's question. "Striker? I'd be surprised if he was. He's bound to know by now that you've had reinforcements."
"So you figure he's high-tailed it out of here?" Patrick sounded hopeful.
"Not likely. Whatever's going on here. It's not over."
"There's got to be something more we're missing." Patrick frowned into the darkness. "Maybe something to do with this Vargas fellow."
Michael had explained about Vargas and his preoccupation with the Promise, but even going over it with his brother had failed to clarify things. "It's all got to be tied together somehow, but I'll be damned if I can see the key."
"Well whatever it is, Striker thought Loralee and Corabeth knew about it. That's why he killed Corabeth and why he tried to kill Loralee."
"Makes sense. And then when you rescued Loralee, you became a threat, too."
Patrick nodded. "We'd have been dead if you hadn't gotten here today."
Michael looked over at his brother, aware how much it cost Patrick to admit he needed help. Patrick had been mollycoddled all his life. First by their mother, and then by Owen. And Michael supposed, in some ways, he'd spoiled his brother too.
And done him a disservice.
"I imagine you'd have found a way out if I hadn't arrived in time."
"Maybe." Patrick grinned, and the look reminded Michael of his mother. "But I'm glad you came all the same."
Michael reached down for a rock and lobbed it into the dark. "Where'd you bury him?"
Patrick jerked his head toward the hump back. "Up there. Seemed the right thing to do."
Michael swallowed back his pain. "What'd you do with his things?"
"There wasn't anything left. That's what made us think it was a robbery at first."
"What about his pocket watch?" It was the only thing of real value Duncan had carried. A gift from their mother. Even after she ran off, he refused to be parted from it.
"The watch, too."
Suddenly an image filled his head. Vargas on the street corner, checking his watch. "Son of a bitch."
"What?" Patrick dropped his foot and turned to face his brother.
"Vargas had Father's pocket watch. I saw him with it. It just didn't register completely until now."
"But how…" Patrick's voice trailed off uncertainly.
