Taming the Spitfire

by Temple Madison

  * * * *

  “Am I your woman?” she whispered as she and Reno lay beside the lake. “I want to be your woman.”

  When Reno didn’t answer, she looked and noticed that he was asleep, so she cuddled up beside him, and closed her eyes. She lay quietly for hours it seemed, listening to the restful lapping of the water along the bank. When daylight began to give way to twilight, and she heard the cicadas serenading in the bushes, she turned to Reno.

  “Hey,” she whispered while softly stroking his face.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, the strong planes of his face softening to a satisfied smile. “Hey, yourself.”

  “Don’t you think we better be gettin’ back to the ranch?” She looked up toward the sky. “Looks like the sun’s goin’ down. It’s done past suppertime, you know. The others might be gettin’ a little hungry by now.”

  “Supper? Now that you mention it I could go for a big plate of red beans and cornbread. Got anything like that in that kitchen of yours?”

  “Would Southern fried chicken do as well?”

  “Sure would,” he said as he pulled her up with him, and then held her close as they walked arm-in-arm back to the ranch.

  * * * *

  Later, Easy stood at her kitchen counter breading the chicken when Flash walked up behind her. His hands very slowly inched around her waist and then crept up to her breasts and began to squeeze.

  “Stop that, Flash. I ain’t got time to fool with you now, I got supper to get on the table.”

  “Fried chicken, huh?” he asked as the chicken sizzled in the frying pan. “I smell somethin’ sweet. Sure smells good.”

  “I got a peach cobbler in the oven.”

  “Easy, if you keep feedin’ us this good, I’m gonna bust plum outta my pants.”

  Easy snickered and stopped breading for a moment. Looking up, she said thoughtfully, “Does a cock gain weight?”

  “You’re funny, Easy. Real funny.”

  “Look, if you don’t get outta here I ain’t gonna get nothin’ done.”

  Flash squeezed her. “Mmmm, you smell good,” he said as he kissed her neck.

  Easy turned around and tried to push him away. When he wouldn’t go, she reached down and picked up a handful of flour and flung it in his face. “Now get out so I can finish supper.”

  “Why, you little hothead!” he yelled while brushing the flour off himself. Ready to fight, he reached around her, grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at her.

  After struggling with flour in her eyes for a moment, Easy reached down and grabbed the flour with two fists instead of one and threw it, followed by a bucket of water. Lifting it, she threatened him with it. “How about some water to make it stick?”

  “Hey, no fair!” he yelled.

  Midnight heard the scuffle and looked in. “What in hell?” He quickly turned around and ran outside.

  Within minutes Reno was bursting into the house to see both Easy and Flash throwing flour all over the kitchen and laughing like children. When he went over to try and stop it, he got a handful of flour in the face, making him sputter and spit.

  “Stop!” he finally yelled as he grabbed Easy with one hand and pushed Flash back with the other. “What in hell is going on here?”

  “That little witch threw flour on me!” Flash yelled.

  He quickly reached for Easy and dragged her kicking and scratching to a straight-backed chair, sat down and laid her over his lap and began spanking her.

  “You bastard!” she yelled as she tried to shield her butt from the stinging blows. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “If you’re gonna act like a child, then I’ll treat you like one!” he yelled back. After a few more slaps with his hard hand, he lifted her up and sat her down in the chair. “Now tell me why in God’s name did you start this flour fight?”

  “Me?” she yelled, rubbing her backside. “He started it. He wouldn’t leave me alone while I was tryin’ to fix supper, so I gave him a face full of flour.”

  Reno looked over at Flash. “Is that true? Did you start this fight?”

  Flash hesitated, and then said, “Hell, I was just bein’ friendly.”

  “Friendly, my hind leg! I know what you had on your mind,” Reno yelled. “Now get busy and get this kitchen cleaned up.”

  Flash heard snickering and looked over at Midnight and Cheyenne. “Shut the hell up, or so help me, I’ll…”

  “Flash!” Reno shouted.

  * * * *

  Supper that night was a strained silence until they heard something outside. Reno quickly leapt up and looked out. “It’s an Indian!”

  Easy went to the window and saw an Indian with braids down to his waist. He was old, his shoulders stooped as he waited on his horse.

  “It’s just old Charlie comin’ by for table scraps. He usually comes by after supper, but since supper’s late tonight—”

  “Charlie?” Reno said questioningly.

  “Well, Charlie’s what I call him. He’s got some Indian name I can’t ever remember, so I just call him Charlie. He don’t mind.” She looked over at the table. “Y’all got anything I can give him?” she asked as she quickly grabbed a paper sack and put several things in it. When she’d gathered up everything she could spare, she carried it out and handed it to him. “Here you are, Charlie.”

  After he made gestures of thanks and rode on, she noticed movement in some bushes upon a rise just beyond her house. She stood looking to see if she could see anything, but it was dark and hard to see.

  “Some kind of animal, I guess. Might be trapped in those bushes. Poor thing, maybe I should go up there and see if I can…” And then the bushes moved again. She knew if it was an animal it ought to make some kind of sound, but she heard nothing. She felt a chill, and knew if she was smart she’d leave it alone. “Might be a coyote, or a wolf stuck up there—or worse.” She looked toward the barn where her chickens were roosting, and hoped the chicken wire that closed them in was strong enough to discourage any animal that had it in his mind to attack them. Slowly, while rubbing the chills down on her arms, she turned and walked back into the house.

  “What kept you?”

  “Oh, nothing. I thought I saw…” Her words faded, deciding she didn’t want to bother anyone with her problems. “Just talkin’ to Charlie.”

  “How did you ever learn to read his hand gestures?”

  “It’s not hard. His gestures are crude. Anyone can tell what he’s saying. Sometime I have what he wants and sometime I don’t. If not, he just rides on and comes back the next night.”

  “Strange,” Reno muttered.

  “You know, now that I think of it, we haven’t had any Indian attacks around here for ages.” She looked at Reno. “I just wonder if old Charlie’s the reason for that?”

  * * * *

  Hooot! Hooot!

  The moment she heard it, she stopped reading and grabbed her gun belt. After she’d cinched it around her waist she checked the bullets, and then slowly opened the front door. She heard the rustling of bushes near the house again as she stood on her porch and looked warily out into the darkness. Something—someone was out there, she knew it. Living alone since her father died she had developed a sixth sense about these things. When the old owl that lived in the trees on her property began to hoot his haunting message, she stopped whatever she was doing and listened. She didn’t know why he hadn’t made a sound earlier tonight, but he was really active now, and that meant something. It could be anything from a fox stalking the henhouse to the old Indian that had already been by tonight. Remembering the movement upon the rise she saw earlier, she knew she had an uninvited guest. Just then she saw a dark rider, the moonbeams painting his strong shoulders with its cold light.

  “Evenin’, ma’am,” came a smooth voice.

  “Who are you?” she called out, her gun pointing threateningly at the chest of a silhouette on horseback.

  T
he man eased up when he saw the gun pointing at him. “No one important, just a poor traveler in need of food.”

  “Your name, nimrod, what’s your fuckin’ name?”

  “Why, uh…Ben…yes, that’s it…Ben Wheeler. And you are…?”

  “The name’s Easy McClure, and this is the Lazy M Ranch. It’s a fur piece to the gate, how come you been hidin’ out in them bushes? Are you a lawman?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I don’t have nothin’ to do with the law. I’m down here from Wheelock. Are you the owner of this way station?”

  “Way Station? This ain’t no way station, friend. I’d advise you to get back on the road out there and go east about five more miles. There’ll be one there.”

  “Five miles is such a long way at this hour of the night, I was wondering if I could trouble you for a meal, and a night’s lodging.”

  Just another dumb cowboy, she thought as her defensive stature slowly became relaxed, and she put her gun away. “All I’ve got left is some cold chicken and turnip greens, maybe a little cornbread. You can bunk in the barn, but don’t get too comfortable. You’ll have to leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand. And thank you.”

  *

  When Ben entered the house, he saw the flickering light of only two wall lamps, giving the room a warm, comfortable feeling.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I was up readin’,” she said as she entered the shadowy kitchen.

  He looked over at the chair she’d been sitting in and recognized the cover of the latest edition of Frank Starr’s Ten Penny novels. “Lucky for me you were, I guess,” he said as he saw her stretching upward toward a carriage wheel that hung from the ceiling. Attached to each spoke was an oil lamp that gave light over the eating table. “Can I help you?”

  “I can manage. Been doin’ this since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

  His gaze drifted downward and he noticed her rounded figure that fit so well in a man’s jeans. His gaze was drawn to the belt that cinched the jeans up to fit her small waist, and the way the gun belt she wore lay seductively along her hips.

  “There now,” she said. “Nothing like being able to see what you’re eatin’.”

  Later, while Ben ate, he looked around. “Just you in this great big house?”

  “I’ve got ranch hands that help me keep the place up.”

  He nodded. “Must get lonely, though. A woman alone—”

  “Who said I was alone? Look, don’t get no ideas, see. I’ve got cow punchers around here as big as houses. They’d eat a little dirt farmer like you in one bite.”

  He looked up the staircase to the second floor with interest. “Big enough place to have lots of house guests, though. Anybody besides you stayin’ here now?”

  Easy angled a suspicious look toward him. “Why the hell are you askin’ so many questions?”

  He shrugged. “Just friendly interest.”

  As she walked over to the table to get his dirty dishes, she looked down at him, her green gaze putting out a stern warning. “Just don’t let me find out it’s for anything else. These guns on my hips ain’t there for show.”

  “Oh, no, it…it’s nothing, just being friendly.”

  Taking one last sip of coffee, and laying his napkin on the table, he rose from his chair and took a few halting steps toward the front door and opened it. A sudden gust of wind blew against him, making him pull his coat closer around him. He turned to Easy, hoping she’d insist he stay in the house. “A storm must be comin’, the wind’s picking up.”

  “The barn’s got a good roof on it,” she said as she cast a hard look in his direction. “You’ll find what you need in a chest by Killer’s stall.”

  “K-Killer?”

  “Killer’s my bull. He don’t like strangers, so you’d best be quiet.” She gave him one last knife-like look before she closed the door. “Hope you don’t snore.”

  Chapter 6

  LATER on that night Easy woke up to some distant chanting, and got up from her bed to look outside. When she realized it was Cheyenne doing some kind of Indian ritual in a clearing behind a grove of trees in back of the house, she quickly pulled on her robe and ran outside. As she ran toward the sound, she looked back at the barn, hoping the passing cowboy hadn’t heard it. She had a feeling about him, and didn’t want him to find out that Reno and his gang were here.

  She worked her way through the shrubs until she finally found Cheyenne, dressed in Indian garb with war paint on his face. She gasped as she saw his magnificent body shining with sweat beneath the moon, and dancing around a pile of sacred items. His voice was smooth and deep, and the mystery of it seemed to sink into every pore, forcing her to stop and listen.

  “From the south the enemy comes.

  From the north, the east and the west, they come.

  Send us brave birds, warlike birds

  That will come swiftly and save us.

  I wish to join the heroic warlike birds

  And throw my body in the strife…”

  As Easy listened, she was almost in awe. The beauty wasn’t in what was said, but in the delivery, the passion, the faith that she felt in the air about him. Apparently, Cheyenne was praying to his god for victory over their enemies. But something wasn’t quite right.

  Gunslingers praying for victory?

  Gunslingers that shot other men?

  Gunslingers that killed daily?

  Would any god answer a prayer like that?

  She moved closer, but she stepped on a twig that sounded like thunder. Cheyenne quickly ceased his chant and turned quickly, his body in a crouch, his hands raised in offense.

  “Easy,” he said when he saw her, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, Cheyenne. I heard your chant from the house and came to tell you that there’s a drifter in the barn that might hear you. It seems I became so mesmerized by your ritual that I forgot why I was here.”

  “Who is it?” Cheyenne whispered.

  “I don’t know. Just a passing cowboy that asked for food and a bed for the night. He should be gone at first light tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Easy was entranced by his appearance. Her eyes raked over the rippling muscles in his broad chest and arms that before had been hidden beneath his western garb, never in his Indian getup. God, he was handsome. His hair was loose and thick as it hung around his face like a cloud, making him appear so mysterious. He had a colorful band around his head, and there were feathers and different kinds of objects all over him that she didn’t know the meaning of.

  She focused on his strong jaw, his lips, and the darkness of his eyes that were deep and liquid. She felt a jolt when those eyes looked up and saw her staring at him.

  While the shadows hung around him, he said, “Why do you look at me that way?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen you in your native garb before. For the first time I see you as you really are.”

  “Which appeals to you more? The cowboy…or the Indian?”

  She tried to speak, but could do nothing but tremble. “I d-don’t know.”

  “Come here, Easy,” he said, his voice smooth and deep. “Perhaps it is time for the truth.”

  She stepped out of the brush and carefully walked up to where he was. He took her hand and led her to a rock and sat her down. As he crouched before her, he began to speak in a whisper, and looked deep into her eyes.

  “There is a rose that blooms at midnight.

  It blooms the whole night long.

  Its fragrance is a mighty mist,

  It’s beauty like a song.

  The stars and moon hide their face in shame

  When the petals of this rose spread forth.

  For nothing in this world can equal its beauty

  When the hour of midnight comes forth.

  That rose is you, my love,

  That rose is you.”

/>   She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and when she couldn’t contain them, she began to cry. “Oh, Cheyenne, that’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Easy, I’m not a half-breed, I am a full-blooded Indian brave, and my name isn’t Cheyenne.”

  “What? N-not Cheyenne?”

  “I escaped from my reservation when I chose to live among the white man. My tribe would have killed me had they found me, so I changed my name to Cheyenne and have been hiding among Reno’s gang since. Reno is the half-breed. I am a full-blooded Apache.”

  “If your name’s not Cheyenne, what is it?”

  “I am Cheveyo.”

  Easy gasped as she remembered a story in her Ten Penny book about an Indian brave named Cheveyo. The stories were so exciting they took her breath away. There were colored pictures galore of an Indian brave riding, fighting and even loving, but all at once they stopped. The last story she read was all about his strange disappearance. The loss was almost devastating to those who kept up with his exploits. She was still waiting for his return when without warning he was here—loving her. His love a little more wild than the others. His love more passionate and free. His love more serious—as necessary to the Indian as breathing. Now she knew why he seldom smiled. He felt deeply, making his love a savage kind of love.

  “It is our secret,” he whispered. “Now you tell me a secret, and when we have shared our secrets we become as one.”

  She was silent for a moment, almost afraid to speak, and then the halting words seemed to spill out of her mouth all at once. “I…I’m afraid of Indians.”

  He snickered, trying to keep from laughing. “Easy, you try to act so tough, but you are such a little fawn. Yes, that is your Indian name. Little Fawn. Again, this will be our secret.” He squeezed her hand. “And Little Fawn, you will never have reason to fear me. Unless, of course, you will not let me make love to you, in which case I would have to kill you.”

  They both laughed. “You know, you even speak differently. More like an Indian, frankly.”

  “Because I must pass for white, I speak like the white man.”