by Craig, Emma
The brightly colored fellow smiled at him in some relief and said, “Thank you, kind sir.”
As Jed lifted the dog in the air, however, both he and Rosamunda’s victim realized they’d been unprepared for Rosamunda’s tenacity. She didn’t let go, and the fellow found himself upended, much as Tacita had been several seconds earlier.
Rosamunda let go of his boot just in time to save her teeth from being ripped from her jaws. Furious about having been foiled in her rescue of Tacita, she tried to turn on Jed, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Here. Take this damned animal of yours, Miss Grantham.”
“How dare you speak to me in that dreadful manner!” Tacita snatched Rosamunda away from him.
Rosamunda buried herself in her mistress’s arms and glowered at both men. Fiends. Human males were all fiends.
Still training his gun on the stranger, Jed watched him get up and dust off his trousers. Mad as fire by this time, he growled, “Who the hell are you?”
The fellow held up his hands, palms out, and smiled. “So sorry, sir. I, a fellow traveler along life’s twisting path, smelt your fire and am come to share my humble treasures with you.” He waggled his eyebrows at Tacita. “And your lovely wife.”
Aghast at the stranger’s assessment of their relationship, Jed snarled, “Like hell!”
Tacita shrieked, “What?”
Rosamunda yipped savagely.
The stranger’s eyebrows rose over his beady black eyes. Then he shrugged in a self-effacing manner. “Well, perhaps not. It is not my place to judge, my friends. But come, let us break bread together. If you will allow me to share your beautiful fire, I shall consider it a boon. I trust, in return, you will allow me to share my food with you.”
Tacita took a step forward. “Food?”
Jed heard her stomach growl and frowned down at her. Immediately, his gaze encountered the snarling countenance of Rosamunda.
“Aye, madam. Lovely food. I have melons and cabbages and chickens and potatoes and big, glorious steaks.”
Jed’s glance swept back to the stranger, who had allowed his hands to drop. When Jed recocked his gun, his arms shot into the air again. “Where in the name of Glory did you come by all that stuff?”
Tacita whapped him on the arm and hissed, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, too!” he hissed back.
Rosamunda growled.
“I am a merchant,” the man said with another careless shrug that Jed recognized as one he’d seen before in other people of a particular type. “At the moment I carry a consignment of food to the soldiers at Fort Sumner.”
He squinted at the man. Releasing the hammer on his gun once more, he asked, “Say, are you one of them Gypsy fellows I’ve seen here and there?”
The stranger’s teeth glittered a white half-moon in his beard. “Gypsy, vagabond, citizen of the world. I am what I am. And I travel the plains in my wagon, marketing my wares as I can.”
“You got any weapons on you?” Jed asked suspiciously.
“For heaven’s sake, Mr. Hardcastle. The man seems harmless enough.”
Tacita’s whisper grated on Jed’s ears. He knew she didn’t understand the hazards of the plains like he did; but that was the main reason she was supposed to trust him in these matters, for cripes sake. The fact that she seemed determined to second-guess him at every step of the way annoyed the devil out of him. Out of the corner of his mouth, he growled, “Hush up!”
Rosamunda growled. Tacita glowered.
Still grinning, the man said, “A man would be a fool to travel in Apache country unarmed.”
“Apache country!”
“Damnation! Will you quit screeching in my ear?” Jed gave Tacita the hottest glare he had in him.
Rosamunda barked. Tacita pinched her lips together until they formed an angry slash across her face.
“Hand ‘em over,” Jed told the stranger. “I don’t hold with folks sneaking up on other folks.”
“Sneaking? I was not sneaking, sir. I am an honest tradesman.” The stranger slapped a hand to his heart. When Jed pulled the hammer of his gun back once more, he lifted it up again in a hurry. “Truly, sir, I am a poor but honest tradesman. A tinker, if you will. A drummer.”
“Yeah? You got anybody else with you?”
“Alas, no,” the man said with a dramatic moue. “I am alone in the world.” He appeared to think for a second. “Well, except for my one mule, of course, but I need her to pull my wagon.”
“Give me your weapons, and you can pull your wagon into the clearing.” Jed knew he sounded as though he begrudged the man the use of their fire. And he didn’t, really. He’d just never seen this fellow’s like up close before, and he’d lived long enough on the frontier to mistrust anything out of the ordinary. “Throw ‘em down on the ground in front of me.”
Quick as a wink, the stranger complied. Jed saw Tacita go slack-jawed when two knives, two Colt revolvers and a derringer chunked into the dirt at his feet. He contained his smirk; silly female hadn’t believed him before. He reckoned she did now.
Jed corralled the weapons with his boot. “That’s it?”
“Alas, I stand before you unarmed and at your mercy.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t expect you’d object if I checked for myself, would you?”
The stranger had himself a whole repertoire of shrugs, Jed decided. He offered up another one now. Tacita didn’t object; Jed figured she’d learned her lesson.
“If you must.”
“I must.”
So Jed searched him while Tacita huffed at his back. He didn’t bother to look at her. He found no more weapons.
“I’ll help you with your wagon, then,” he said when he was through with his search.
The newcomer swept a gallant bow. “I should consider it a favor, kind sir.”
“What’s your name, stranger?” Jed asked politely. He could feel Tacita’s hot glare boring into his back as he headed off with the drummer.
“My name is Cesare Cacciatore Picinisco, my good fellow. And will you honor me with your name, sir?”
“Hardcastle. Jed Hardcastle, Mr. Piskanickle.”
Rosamunda’s low growl followed them into the trees.
# # #
“Well, I don’t care what you think. I think it was rude of you to treat that poor Mr. Picinisco the way you did!”
Rosamunda couldn’t have agreed with her mistress more unless she’d commanded Jed to leave them now and continued on her way without the fool man. Thanks to this kind-hearted Mr. Cesare and his wonderful wagon, Rosamunda hadn’t eaten so well since . . . well, since yesterday. Still and all, she hadn’t expected to eat well on this journey at all. Not that she begrudged Tacita a single miserable meal of stringy dried beef and water, but it was a pleasure to have partaken of Mr. Cesare’s delicious beefsteak.
She sighed as Tacita scratched her little round belly. She’d have glowered at Jed, but she felt too lazy.
“You can never be too careful out here in the territory, Miss Grantham,” Jed said stiffly. “I’m surprised you didn’t learn that when this gentleman dumped all those weapons at your feet.”
Rosamunda snorted. Jed sounded just like that fellow she’d seen in a melodrama in the park in Galveston last summer. Only that fellow had been the hero of the piece. Jed Hardcastle was merely a nuisance. And a bully. And, what’s more, one who didn’t like canines, and who called her Rosie.
“I still think you were a beast to keep your gun trained on him for so long.”
“You’d have preferred it if I’d dropped my guard and he’d shot us all?”
“Oh, don’t be silly! He’s not that type of person.”
“Maybe.”
Rosamunda, on her back in Mistress’s lap, looked over to where the two men had parked Mr. Cesare’s wagon. It was a lovely wagon, painted all over with flowers on a red background. “Cesare’s Goods, Wares and Miscellany” had been stenciled on both sides in fancy black lettering. It was a pretty wagon. R
osamunda liked it. She liked Mr. Cesare, too.
Although she had little energy to spare at the moment, hers being occupied in digestion, she tilted her head to one side and snarled at Jed. He harrumphed.
Then he said, “Miss Grantham,” in a measured voice that clearly indicated his strain, “I would appreciate it if you’d let me do the job you’re paying me to do, and you just tend to your dog-eared terrier. I know this country and the people who live in it a whale of a lot better than you do.”
It looked to Rosamunda as if Tacita didn’t want to admit to a thing. “Perhaps,” she said stubbornly. “I still don’t believe there’s any need to be rude to people without provocation.”
Jed merely humphed.
Picinisco had propped himself against one shiny black wagon wheel. He smiled now and withdrew a harmonica from his pocket.
“May I honor my two hosts with some music?” he asked politely. “It’s the least I can do for the kind people who allow me to share their company and their fire.” He cast an uncertain look at Rosamunda. “And their animal.”
“She’s a Yorkshire terrier, Mr. Picinisco,” Tacita said with pride. “She’s a descendent of the great Huddersfield Ben himself, and a prime example of her breed.”
Nodding, Picinisco said, “Really.” He sounded fairly befuddled.
Tacita gazed down at Rosamunda with love in her eyes. Rosamunda licked her hand. “Oh, my, yes. Why, she’s a perfect bitch.”
Jed, who had been in the process of swigging his coffee, choked and some of the coffee spewed out onto the ground in front of him. Rosamunda and Tacita both eyed him glacially for exhibiting such abysmal manners.
Picinisco merely stared harder and said, “Er—”
Pointedly ignoring Jed, who had succumbed to a coughing fit, Tacita continued. “She has a splendid coat. Just see how even and straight it is. And look at how neat and compact her body is, too. Her muzzle’s not too long at all, and there’s not a sooty hair to be found amongst the tan. And see where the tan begins? It’s perfectly even. See? Her coloring is absolutely exquisite.”
Rosamunda rolled over onto her full tummy, both so that she could exhibit her manifold charms more fully and also to assess the reaction of Tacita’s audience. Everything Tacita said was true, of course. Rosamunda was a paragon of her breed. As little as she admired arrogance, still more did she reject false modesty. Rosamunda knew herself to be perfect. She couldn’t help it.
Jed Hardcastle was still choking and paid no attention. Mr. Cesare, however, seemed very attentive. Rosamunda honored him with a pleasantly doggy smile.
“Go on, please, Miss Grantham. I am strangely interested in this delightful animal of yours.” Picinisco’s smile fairly beamed across the fire to Rosamunda and Tacita.
Happy to oblige, Tacita said, “Oh, well, her perfections are legion, Mr. Picinisco. Take her ears, for instance.”
Jed, who had finally stopped coughing, choked out a, “Huh!”
Tacita frowned. “And her eyes. Why, just look at her eyes. They simply radiate intelligence.”
This time Jed said, “Ha!”
Tacita ignored him. “And her legs are straight as a string. See?” She demonstrated, turning Rosamunda over and showing off her legs. Ever eager to oblige her mistress, Rosamunda did so by being absolutely still and holding her legs straight up in the air. “And her coat is as glossy as a newly minted coin. She’s just the prettiest thing in the whole wide world.”
Tacita nuzzled Rosamunda who nuzzled her back. Jed looked away in disgust. “And she only weighs five pounds, so she’s as dainty as a porcelain rose.”
“And is a dog like your delightful pet expensive, Miss Grantham?” Picinisco asked. “I understand some purebred animals can cost a good deal of money.”
“Oh, my, yes! Why, if somebody were to purchase such a specimen as Rosamunda, he might expect to pay nearly two hundred dollars.”
Picinisco’s mouth dropped open.
“Two hundred dollars? For that?” Jed’s unflattering words precipitated a hot glare from Tacita and a low growl from Rosamunda.
“Yes, Mr. Hardcastle,” Tacita said frigidly. “Two hundred dollars. Rosamunda is as close to perfection as you can find in a Yorkie.” Peering lovingly at her dog, she added, “Of course, Rosamunda is priceless to me. She was a gift from my beloved parents. They brought her to me all the way from England, and I wouldn’t part with her for the world.”
Tacita jumped when Jed rose all of a sudden. “I’m turning in.” He sounded as though he couldn’t do so fast enough.
Eyeing him with irritation, Tacita said, “I’m not through telling Mr. Picinisco about Rosamunda’s merits, Mr. Hardcastle. I shall go to bed when we’ve finished our conversation.”
Rosamunda couldn’t understand why Jed seemed so angry when he looked down at her and said, “Suit yourself.”
He was undoubtedly jealous, she decided, preening inwardly. He obviously couldn’t hold a candle to her when it came to possessing sterling attributes of their respective breeds. She was certain that nobody would pay two hundred dollars for him. Rosamunda felt quite smug.
Picinisco’s mouth closed with a snap. “One moment, Mr. Hardcastle,” he said, stuffing his harmonica back into his pocket and standing up. “Before you retire, please allow me to offer you a sip of my very best cherry brandy. A small thank-you for allowing me the pleasure of your fire and your company.” He smiled at Tacita. “And you, too, Miss Grantham.”
Tacita smiled graciously. “Thank you very much. A sip of cherry brandy sounds quite elegant.”
Picinisco showed the brandy bottle to Jed and Tacita. The label was indeed elegant, and inscribed in a language Rosamunda couldn’t identify. She was quite good at recognizing the way English words used those letters they called the alphabet. He then poured the liquor into two small, heavy glasses and handed one to Jed and one to Tacita.
“Thanks, Mr. Picklewillow. Don’t mind if I do.” Jed took the proffered shot glass, drained it, and smacked his lips. “That’s pretty good stuff.”
Tacita, giving Jed a superior look, sipped her brandy demurely. “Mmmm. It’s delicious, Mr. Picinisco. Where is it from?”
Smiling benignly and pouring Jed another glassful, Picinisco sighed and said, “From my own beloved homeland, Miss Grantham. From Sicilia.” He splayed a beefy hand over his heart. “From Sicilia.”
# # #
For the life of him, Jed couldn’t understand why he found Tacita’s recitation of the wonders of that animal so irritating. What did he care if she chose to waste her love on a frog-eyed terrier? It was nothing to him. He couldn’t stand the woman anyway. The more attention she paid to the rat, the less she’d pay to him. And that’s just the way he wanted it.
He couldn’t, therefore, understand why it should gall him so that Tacita, the most beautiful female he’d ever encountered, should be so determined to lavish all of her affections on a dog.
Not, of course, that Jed himself wanted her affection. Far from it. After all, he was engaged to Miss Amalie Crunch, and he was not a man to break a promise, even one made for him by his parents. He couldn’t, however, banish the niggling thought that Tacita’s love for Rosamunda was a substitute somehow; that there must be something sad in her life if she had forsaken the human race for a five-pound, mean-tempered canine.
Oh, Jed could understand how a body could love an animal. Hell, when he was a boy, he’d loved his coon hound, Biscuit, more than anything else in the world. But he’d been a boy. A boy and his dog. Why, that was a combination even poets couldn’t resist.
Jed could even feature love between a girl and her dog. But Tacita was a full-grown woman. And a well-grown one, too. She should have a fellow in her life, not a dog.
It aggravated the hell out of him that he was beginning to feel kind of sorry for her. Of course, there was that fellow she was going to marry in San Francisco, but she sure didn’t talk about him the way she talked about that dog of hers. Contemplating her marriage annoyed him, t
oo, for some reason, so he ceased thinking about it.
But two hundred dollars? She must consider him a pure fool if she expected him to believe anybody would pay two hundred dollars for a dog—especially for a dog that was smaller than a damned rabbit and had a temper nastier than a polecat.
# # #
Jed’s sympathetic mood didn’t last past Tacita’s first piercing shriek the following morning. His head pounding and his eyes gummy, he groped for his gun before he realized it was Tacita screeching and not an Indian raid.
Staggering to his feet, he almost fell over again when blackness threatened to send him reeling. Good God, what was the matter with him? Slowly, the words Tacita screamed began to penetrate the fuddled mire of his brain.
“She’s gone! Oh, Mr. Hardcastle, she’s gone! That fiend kidnapped her!”
Through what seemed like a forest of gunk, Jed’s thought processes began to stagger to attention. He peered around the clearing. The wagon was gone. Obviously, therefore, the wagon’s driver must be gone, too.
“Don’t just stand there! Do something!”
Jed rubbed his aching head. Then he rubbed his sandpapery eyes. “Who’s gone?” he asked in a foggy croak.
“Rosamunda! Oh, Rosamunda’s gone! She’s gone!”
Jed almost fell over backwards when Tacita flung herself against his chest and began sobbing onto his long-john tops. His gun slipped out of his numb fingers and his arms closed around her and he tried to make sense of everything.
“Oh, Mr. Hardcastle,” came, muffled, from the region of his breast bone. “She’s gone! Oh, I’ll die if Rosamunda’s gone! I’ll just die!”
“Don’t worry, Miss Grantham,” he found himself saying. “I’ll find her.”
He wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his lips. It was because he was confused, was all. If his head weren’t full of glue and Tacita Grantham’s soft sweet body weren’t pressed against him, he’d never have uttered such a tremendously foolish declaration.