Second Helping
Page 4
Chapter 4
Walking toward the house, he saw Rachel on the rear step, her stare held on the belt gun over his shoulder and spare rifle in his arm. Tirelessly scanning the country, Essex concerned himself with any desiring more than to just see, closing on her before meeting her gaze.
“How many men Lambertson got?” he asked.
Hot breezes fluttered her hair. “One less than before, I reckon.” she replied, eyes dropping to the guns before returning. “Heard it was five plus himself.”
Turning, she stepped through the door holding it until he passed by then pivoted to face him.
“Does there have to be more killing, Deacon?”
Essex moved forward, not wanting to face her. “See no other way.” he answered flatly, “Unless he’s willing to quit and such seems unlikely.”
Hanging his hat on a peg by the front door, he sat, laying the captured guns on her table, giving a nod when she set steaming coffee in front of him.
“He was watching your place, Rachel.”Essex explained, waving a hand over the weapons, “Not seeming to be in ambush but can’t be sure of that. Ordered me off and when I didn’t go, tried drawing against me.”
She sat, her own cup cradled between two lined, dry hands. Essex noticed abstractly her long, slender fingers, realizing then she’d brushed out her hair some, letting it hang behind over her neck and shoulders.
Swallowing, he bobbed his head. “Like your hair done that way.” he commented, bringing a hint of color to the woman’s cheeks.
“Used to be all the time like this. Took to bunning it up a few months back. Easier to manage, I guess.”
Essex nodded. Running a hand over his head, he grimaced. “Could use a long dunking in a river myself.” he suggested, Rachel flashing a quick smile at the thought when her tub and hot water sat only feet away.
Shifting uncomfortably, he reached to his pocket. She wanted to ask but didn’t so he brought up the wallet and set it before her.
Her eyes widened. “Pa’s.” she said simply, staring at it in horror. A full minute passed as Essex felt anger rising for knowing not what to say that might help. Finally, she reached out, drawing the pouch to her delicately as if it would bite. Loosening the ties, she riffed through it, withdrawing a small pile of bills and setting them on the table, several other papers being shoved back for later viewing.
Tears welling, she looked at him, her face drawn and sad. “Can get provisions now.” she said almost too soft to be heard.
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”Essex responded, the only words he could find, laying his hand on the table palm up and fingers out.
She ignored his gesture. With a small shake of her head, she responded, “It’s best. Knew in my head but my heart wouldn’t believe.”
Lips pursed, Essex raised a brow. “You’re needing to know, both were shot from behind. Likely ambushed.”
Rachel’s cheeks darkened and she looked away then back to him. Extending her fingers, she let her fingertips rest on his hand for a moment.
“I’ll make supper.” she said, rising and spinning away.
He watched, frustrated at being unable to ease her difficulty. Needing to do something, he took up the tobacco tin, stepping toward the door.
“If you’re not minding, Rachel, I’ll sit out front a minute. Have some thinking to do.”
Nodding in agreement, she took down the few fixings left, starting a list of supplies needed as the door closed behind him. Slicing potatoes and onions into a pan, she tossed an extra piece of wood in the stove then wiped her hand on a towel. Walking to the door, she stopped only a moment to watch him sit, smoking, staring out over the landscape.
Stepping through, she flipped her dress while sitting, looking south as he was. “Not wishing for more killing, Deacon.” she advised.
He waggled his head. “Can understand, Rachel, but you need to see if we do none, he’ll kill one more time at least.”
Her face jerked to him. “Meaning me, of course.”
Essex nodded. “I matter none to him, betting tho’ he’d much like taking me despite that. You give him real problems and can’t be allowed to stay.”
Leaning back, he reached out, laying his arm on the bench frame. “He ain’t worried none ‘bout water, Rachel. That river flow could be put right easy enough. What he’s wanting is your land.”
She shook her head. “He has plenty if the river is running.” she argued.
“Not the point, ma’am.”Essex growled. “I looked over your spread and his. What Lambertson has there” he continued, brushing an arm over the horizon, “ain’t near as good as yours nor as large, you having both your Pa’s and your own. Running yours and his, he’s got an outfit worth having. What’s he got now won’t count for nothing in a few years.”
Rachel sat silently, thinking, not wanting to believe but certain Deacon was right. Without reply, she stood, reentering the house. Crushing out his smoke in the dirt, Essex followed, cup in hand, sitting as she presented supper, the two eating without comment except for his giving appreciation for it.