“Join me, Sara.”
She chuckled and took his hand, trailing after him into the water. He pulled her close; letting her naked body smash against his while she kissed him again. The heat between the pair of lovers held the chill of the Somerset at bay as Sara reveled in what she was feeling...absolute adoration for the man and she wouldn't trade it for anything. After their dip, they returned to the shore.
Darkness fell above them as the sun slipped away, giving way for the glinting stars. They made love into the night next to an all but forgotten picnic basket for they only had this one evening together. Come morning they both knew they would never see each other again and Sara Keene intended to make every minute count!
CHAPTER 6
FORT CREIGHTON, CALIFORNIA
Some hours had passed since the Rikers had left Bullet behind with an exchange of fond farewells from the Keene women and one more round of thank yous and not just from the sisters. The expressions of gratitude came from all the members of the Dallas wagon train, delighted to be liberated from being under the thrall of the Langstons. Now coming into view were the wooden walls of a fort made up of timbers with their pointed ends thrusting skyward.
Drawing closer, they beheld the curious sight of the gates to the fort being wide open. Not only that but several groups of enlisted men busied themselves arranging heaps of dried brush up against the base of the walls. They watched as a horse-drawn cart emerged from the nearby woods. Two men stood out in front of the open gates and the shorter of the two pointed towards a gap in the wall that didn't have any brush against it.
Now the Rikers could see inside the fort, and they saw all manner of activity going on with one thing in common. Wagons and buckboards were being loaded. As close as they were now, they could also see to no surprise the two men were officers. The shorter of the two who had pointed before was a stocky, older man who had his hat under one arm and wore the insignia of a colonel. The other serious-looking man with pencil-thin eyebrows crowning his longish face Riker identified as a captain.
“Now what do you suppose is going on here?” McKenna wondered.
“I can’t say for sure, but it sure as hell looks like they’re packing up. We’ll find out soon enough, hopefully over grub,” he said laconically. Having lost a good amount of time aiding the Texan wagon train, the pair had been eager to head out in the morning, so they had skipped breakfast. Their intention was to stop off at the fort that lay along their path and see if they could take lunch with the officers.
They came to a stop, and the focused pair of men noticed them for the first time. To no surprise, he saw the younger man, the captain, instantly appraising McKenna as she sat on Cain's back. The colonel, a man with a round face, bulbous nose over a handlebar mustache, didn't look twice at her as his cold gaze focused on Riker. The man withdrew his hat from under his arm and slapped it back on his bald head.
“Yes?” the man said without the slightest trace of warmth.
"Good day, sir. How do you do?" Riker asked, but the colonel ignored the question. As was their habit, Riker and McKenna glanced at each other, put off by the man's seemingly hostile attitude.
“We see Creighton is a bustling outpost this fine day, Captain,” McKenna said, clearly directing her comment towards the other officer, hoping for a better result.
“Was,” the captain began, “but the only bustle you see here is us breaking down the fort. We’ve been decommissioned now that the Indian threat is one hundred percent contained in these parts. Everything is being repurposed to other forts from our food stores right down to the armory itself once the contingent from Arizona arrives to pick it up.”
The colonel shot his subordinate officer a withering look. “Captain Ullery, there is no need to discuss military matters with some saddlebum and his woman.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel Christie.”
“Now unless you two have some business here, then you best keep along your way. We’re busy men with the decommissioning and don’t have time to tarry with a couple of civilians!” Christie said dismissively as he turned away to watch the men unloading the cart.
"Hold up now!" McKenna snapped, "Yes, I may be a civilian, but Nash here is-"
Christie spun around, “Young lady, don’t tell me to hold up. I don’t take orders from civilians, especially women! It will be a cold day in hell before I do!”
Riker sighed as he tightened the grip on his saddle horn that his right hand rested on. This man, apparently the commanding officer of the fort, had a belligerent attitude towards anyone not in uniform. He had seen plenty of that kind of prejudice during his active duty stint fighting the rebels. Riker had never understood the contempt some in the military had for the very people they were supposed to be safeguarding.
He knew McKenna well enough to be confident that she was looking at him right now, waiting to see if he would inform the men that he was one of them. As part of the elite program, President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton had launched all those years ago, a crucial facet was that Riker still retained the rank of lieutenant and now after several promotions, major in the United States Army along with special privileges that came with it. Riker knew he could end this right now and reveal his rank, but he now had no interest in breaking bread with an ass like Colonel Christie. Instead, he thought he would call the man out on what he suspected was some pure idiocy.
"Colonel Christie, would I be correct in guessing that once the fort is emptied, you're going to burn it to the ground with all this brush you are stacking up?" Riker watched coolly but with a degree of pleasure as the man sputtered at what he perceived as the audacity at being questioned. As a colonel, he would be unaccustomed to such a thing.
“Were you not listening before? We don’t discuss our affairs with some cowboy, nester, or traveling card shark, whatever you may be! Now get out on out of here!”
Riker ignored him. “I can understand the army not wanting to leave the structure, but you would think you would be smart enough to dig a fire break around the damned place. Yes, Creighton is out in the open, but the woods where you are getting your brush from is close by. Without that fire break, you are liable to catch the whole blamed woods on fire and burn it down all the way to Bullet. Use some common sense … sir!" With that, he nodded to his sister and they turned away, leaving the man red-faced and fuming.
As they rode away, McKenna’s laughter filled the air. “Well, you sure put him in his place, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re out one lunch!”
“Like you’d really want to take a meal across the table from that pompous windbag. He must think he’s a little Sherman burning the fort down behind him!’ Riker said, recalling his disdain for General Sherman’s March to the Sea, torching everything in his wake. He had no love for the Confederacy but leaving it in ruins was not the way to go as the time would come to build bridges with the South once the firing stopped, he had thought. Could anger over such wanton destruction have been one of the grievances that had put that damn gun in the hand of John Wilkes Booth that awful night. Riker resigned himself to the fact he would never know. The only thing for certain was that evening the world had been robbed of a great man and he and McKenna of their old friend.
"You're right," she said as she reached back and flipped open her saddlebag, pulling out a map and quickly opening it. After a quick study, she continued, "I still want to arrive in Pine Bluff on a full stomach, so how about this? It looks to me like if we cut across country, we can shave off a whole bunch of time and get a meal at some place called Dalton's Creek. From there it's a straight shot by picking up the trail to Pine Bluff. What do you say, Nash?"
“I say lead the way, Mickey. Next stop Dalton’s Creek!”
CHAPTER 7
DALTON’S CREEK
A dry heat cloaked the pair of siblings like a blanket crafted by the devil himself as they gently trotted down the street side by side as was their custom. Behind them, their horse's tails swished back and forth almost as if in a rhythm.
Riker looked about, tipping his hat to the ladies passing by and nodding at the men on the dusty main street of Dalton's Creek. A few smiles met them, but for the most part a somberness about the people jumped out at them.
“No warm welcome to go with the heat, eh, McKenna?”
“So, it would seem. Makes me grateful that we are just passing through here on the way to Pine Bluff. Now where do you suppose we can get a bite to eat around here?” she wondered as her gaze idly swept towards a church to the left where a woman could be seen emerging through one of the two double doors. Under her arm was some type of sign and a hammer dangled in one hand.
“So how did you leave things with Sara this morning?” She laughed as Riker shook his head, he had been wondering when she was going to get around to asking.
"Just what you would expect. The way you leave things with whatever gentleman catches your eye and lands in your bed," Riker returned with a laugh of his own. There was little the two couldn't talk to each other about and that included their romantic escapades that even the mention of would have sent many brothers and sisters into a state of complete embarrassment. Not the Rikers though, it had always been the two of them against the world and their deep bond had been a blessing in their lives. This was especially true as they had no memories of their mother, and for far too many years, they had been forced to live without their beloved father.
McKenna accepted his answer and then pointed up the street. “Not sure but I think I see a sign that says café. “Further down the street where they were looking the woman bearing the sign had drawn more attention beyond that of the Riker twins. Two men sat on horseback watching as she approached an empty signpost outside the white clapboard church. Farley Spencer, the heavier of the pair poked at the chewing tobacco with his tongue that was wedged next to his gums. The man was pushing north of 275 in pounds, and if his horse could have spoken, she would have been lamenting her lot in life at the burden she carried around. Stroking his overgrown beard, Spencer turned and looked at the thinner man who was wiping his head before jamming a dirty Stetson with a small decorative raccoon tail hanging off from it, back on his head. Clyde Bryant stared at the woman; his sour hawk-like face screwed up tight
“What’s it say, Clyde?” the illiterate Spencer asked as the woman began to pound the sign into place. Bryant studied it for a moment before slowly replying, careful to get all the words right and keep his veneer of superiority over his friend at being able to read and write.
“Citizens Unite at the church tonight. Hear the Reverend Beckett discuss the evil of mob rule.”
“That right?” Spencer said before spitting his wad of tobacco into the air striking a nearby hitching post, leaving the brown mess dripping down the length of one of the columns. “What do you think about that, Clyde?”
Slipping his Peacemaker out of his holster like greased lightning, Bryant waved it in the air before he laughed, "The same thing you're thinking, partner. That sign will do Jim Dandy for target practice." An instant later, the stifling air hummed with the angry sound of flying lead. The screaming woman had barely stepped away from the sign as round after round struck it obliterating letters here and there as wood chips rained down.
Riker and McKenna witnessing the impromptu gunplay turned and gazed at each other with knowing looks. Once more, it was time to carry out what their dear friend had wished of them … the protection and safeguarding of the innocent. They were a part of Lincoln's legacy, and they would never let down the great man who now belonged to the ages.
Turning their horses, they trotted towards the two men who sat belly laughing on their steeds. McKenna tipped back her flat-brimmed hat she favored and whistled. “Hot damn! That was a fine piece of shooting!”
“Damn straight it was, dove! My friend Clyde here can drop a man from clear across town. Yep, mighty fine shooting indeed!” the fat man said as he slipped more tobacco into his mouth.
“Seen better though,” she said with a shake of her head.
“That right?” Clyde Bryant smirked as he and his partner’s eyes wandered McKenna’s figure. The heat had forced her to remove her vest hours ago and her melon-sized breasts pushed against the cloth struggling to keep them in place.
“How’s this?” Riker said coolly, his Colt .45 appearing quickly in his hand as if by some otherworldly method. The blast of a single shot echoed down the main street of Dalton’s Creek as Riker cleanly shot in two the rawhide cord from which the baby raccoon tail dangled from Bryant’s hat. The piece of fur silently pirouetted to the hard-packed street as the pair of jaspers reeled in astonishment. Finally, Bryant seemed to find his voice.
“The hell you think you doing? You got no idea you’re messing with the law around here?” Raised eyebrows from the Rikers greeted the man’s bluster, but before either could say a word, the fat man pounded his saddle horn eliciting a forlorn-sounding whinny from the challenged animal bearing his mass of flesh.
“Why don’t you explain it to this no-account mongrel! Teach him a lesson in front of his woman about interferin’!”
People were no longer bustling down the street going about their business. The sudden drama playing out had brought everyone’s gait to a halt at the two pairs squaring off. Leaning forward in his saddle, Riker nodded towards McKenna. "Not my woman, she's my sister."
Spencer snorted and chuckled, “Back in bayou country where I grew up that didn’t matter none at all to some folks!”
“That would explain you handily,” McKenna deadpanned. Riker’s flinty, hazel eyes watched the man’s slow reaction as what she had said sunk in. The fleshy jowls turned crimson, and he barked to the other man.
“You gonna school this stranger or not, Clyde? We can’t have him disrespectin’ the law and all!”
Riker leaned back as he watched Clyde prepare to slip off his horse. "If you're the law, you might want to show the citizens under your authority a little more respect. I reckon if you get down off that horse, it best be to get busy making a new sign for the lady."
A small amount of dust kicked up off the street as Bryant’s well-worn boots smacked into the earth. Riker looked at his sister and a moment later his boots were touching the ground as well and the two men advanced towards each other as McKenna called out, “I’ll bet you knock out one of his teeth, Nash!”
“Not a bet I’m taking. If they are as rotten as they look, he’s liable to lose at least three of them!”
Bryant snarled at the insult and launched himself toward the tall man. He lashed out at Riker who took the man’s blow right in his gut, the force knocking the wind clear of his lungs. His opponent didn’t have a moment to gloat as Riker rallied and careened towards Bryant carrying them both to the ground. Both men’s hats went sailing to the dirt as they rolled about kicking up dust.
Momentarily getting the upper hand, Bryant rolled atop Riker and held him down by his throat and pounded him with a sucker punch to his temple. Through the stars he was seeing Riker stretched out an arm and clasped a handful of sand and tossed it into Bryant’s eyes.
The Peace Officer bucked backward blinded and reeled in pain as Riker savagely threw him off him. Staggering to his knees, Bryant rubbed at his eyes, only making the stinging worse. Riker took a moment to gain his breath and pressed his advantage. He walloped Bryant in the chin causing him to fall rolling back to his side, spitting out a rotten tooth.
Riker launched himself back to his feet, dusting himself off he taunted, “You best remember this beating the next time you go flashing around a six-gun shooting up people’s property!”
“I’m the law around here, damn you!” the man spat as blood flowed from his mouth as he was still struggling to clear the dust from his eyes. He was about to attempt to regain his feet when Riker performed a foot strike on the prone man’s shoulder knocking him on his back. Riker pounced atop Bryant for some payback for what he had done to the woman’s sign. He nailed him in the face with several more strikes resulting in another tooth littering the dusty stre
et. More blood also began to pour from Bryant’s split lip.
"Now, are you going to treat your citizens of this fine town with a little due respect?"
A dazed Bryant lay spread-eagle, pinned to the ground and tried to use any method he could to get up, but the larger, stronger man overpowered him. As a last, desperate resort, Bryant tried to repeat Riker's tactic and stretched his arm out to pick up his own fist full of dirt. Noticing the attempt, Riker smashed Bryant's elbow, beckoning, "You can do better than that, friend."
Seeing that Bryant was getting far worse than he was giving, Spencer drove his heels into the side of his mount intending to draw up behind Riker. McKenna almost felt pity for the man for completely dismissing her as a threat, but that evaporated when he reached into his pocket and withdrew a blackjack. She wasn't about to give him the chance to crack open Riker's skull with the mini club with its lead weight wrapped in leather. Leaving her Colt .45 in her holster, she slipped out her brass knuckles from her pocket and onto her hand as she urged Cain into motion.
A howl of agony accompanied the blow she leveled to the back of his head as she drew up next to him. With her free hand, she grabbed his shoulder and summoning all her strength she yanked the colossal man sideways and let the force described by that Newton fellow in her textbooks back in her college days take over. Indeed, gravity sent the man crashing into the ground, a grotesque wad of chewing tobacco burst from between his lips as his jaw impacted with the ground.
Far down the main street, the fight was drawing more and more attention. As rancher Luther Beckett took a drag on his pipe while he conversed with Finn Crewson, Dalton’s Creek’s lone blacksmith, both men became aware of men and a few women running past the door of the shop. Crewson laid his hammer down atop his anvil.
Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1) Page 5