by Crooks, Pam
“So you are Reese Carrison.” Bearing a dignity that belied their primitive surroundings, a short, wiry man rose from his rickety chair. In the muted firelight, his gold tooth glinted.
Reese regarded him, recognizing the influence this man held over the Gypsies, over Liza, as they waited for his guidance to receive a Gajo in their camp.
“Yes,” he said, cautious.
“I am Pepe.” A tight smile stretched his thin lips. He gestured to the somber-faced group huddled around him. “We were just discussing you.”
“I know.” Reese leveled him with a steely gaze. “What did you decide?”
“It is a very serious thing you have done.”
“Yes.” He refused to be intimidated by this man's authority. “Do you deny Liza happiness when she's known only scorn all her life?”
Pepe stiffened as if Reese had slapped him across the face. “It is not for you to question.”
“She's my wife,” he said roughly. “You can damn well be sure I'll question anything that pertains to her welfare.”
“It is a Gypsy matter. You are only a Gajo. You can never understand.”
“Oh, I understand. Better than you think.” Reese strove to keep his voice calm when he wanted to yell his frustration over their stubbornness. “Liza is a beautiful woman. She's talented and loving, with a heart hungry for a home of her own, a husband and children. She'd make any of the men here a perfect wife. But no one wants her. She's not good enough because she's half-Gaje.”
Pepe glared at him.
“Well, she's mine now,” Reese said softly. “And I want her more than anything.”
“She is marhime,” Pepe said, as if that explained everything.
“Yes, marhime. Because she's different through no fault of her own. And she's marhime because she's married to me. She'll always be marhime to the Gypsy. Why deny her acceptance in my world when she has no chance with any of you?”
No one spoke. Reese's pulse hummed in his ears. Everything hinged on this moment, on the kris's reaction to his desperate pleas.
And to him.
“The Gajo speaks the logic of his people,” Yojo said.
“It seems a hopeless case.” Stevan shook his graying head sadly.
“No,” Reese said in a hiss. “Not hopeless.”
“What is it you want from us?” Pepe demanded.
“A compromise.”
“Why?” Tinya spread his hands wide. “What will it prove?”
“It's a beginning,” Reese reasoned. “A way to make my marriage work.”
“How?” Dominic asked.
“Let me talk to her parents. Have they no say in this?”
Again, his question appeared to throw them off guard, as if in their collective wisdom they hadn't considered it.
Pepe nodded seriously. He snapped his fingers, his glance sweeping the Gypsies surrounding them. “Nanosh! Pesha! Come meet your new son-in-law!”
The men and women murmured among themselves. Reese searched the shadowed faces for Liza and found her peeking over the top of the kerchiefed head of the woman in front of her. She made no move to join him. Another Gypsy ritual, he surmised, expecting him to pave the way for the marriage without her.
A barrel-chested man with thick sideburns made his way through the crowd and halted in front of him.
“I am Nanosh,” he said. He appeared fatigued, emotionally drained. Dark circles ringed his eyes; his lids were slightly swollen.
“Reese Carrison.” Reese extended his hand and hoped Nanosh wouldn't insult him by refusing it, but the older man took the clasp in a tight grip.
“You married Liza,” Nanosh said quietly. “In spite of everything.”
“Yes.” Their handshake ended. “I'll take good care of her. You have my word on that. She's bewitched my people and made many new friends. They love her almost as much as I do.”
From around Nanosh's shoulder, Liza's mother glared at Reese. She was shorter than Liza, slender yet shapely for having borne five children. A faded kerchief was pulled low over her forehead, accentuating the stark shape of her scalp. Their gazes met, and she scowled, her black eyes darting away to stare determinedly at the ground.
“Pesha,” Nanosh warned.
He slipped a burly arm behind her, firmly nudging her forward. She resisted; he muttered something in Romani and pushed her a little harder until she stood directly in front of Reese.
Still, she refused to look at him. Reese's mouth softened. He found her mule-headedness . . . endearing.
“I've always thought Liza incredibly beautiful,” he said softly. “Now I know why. She takes after you.”
Pesha sucked in a breath. With a flutter of her long lashes, her gaze lifted to him in surprise, then fell again. A faint blush touched her cheeks.
“The Gaje are very good at lying through their smiles,” she snapped.
“I don't lie. Ever.” He wondered how long it’d been since someone paid her a compliment. Unable to help himself, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She flinched and trembled, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I know how hard this is for you, losing Liza to a Gajo,” he said. “But as God is my witness, I swear to you, I'll make her happy.”
Her black eyes, silent and distrustful, opened once more and flitted over him, but no scathing rebuttal left her lips.
A tiny victory, Reese thought. Satisfied, he turned to Nanosh.
“I'm prepared to pay an honorable bride-price,” he said. “Whatever is fair.”
Nanosh looked skeptical.
“In addition, I offer you winter quarters here along the river, where there's shelter from the wind and plenty of water and grazing for the horses.”
His voice carried over his captive audience. Dark brows rose in unison.
“If you choose to stay, there will be no trouble from my people. You'll be free to come and go among us without harassment.” He squared his shoulders. “So long as the agreement is mutual.”
“How can you make these grand promises?” Yojo asked.
The women stirred as Liza moved forward. Her head held high, she maneuvered her way through the maze of bodies.
“He is greatly respected by his people. They will do whatever he asks of them,” she said. She came to a stop near Reese, close enough for him to feel her heat, but not touching him. “He is their leader. They adore him.”
She glanced at him proudly, then, her eyes deep, fathomless pools, and his loins churned with longing.
“Your offer is most generous, Gajo,” Nanosh murmured.
“We will call upon the magic powers of the dead,” Pepe said in finality. “Their wisdom will guide us in our decision. Do you agree, Pesha?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice, staring at Reese.
“That is enough for tonight. It is late. We have traveled many miles today, and we must rest.”
With that, Pepe dismissed the kris.
All around him, the Gypsies began to disperse. Disappointment knifed through Reese. He cocked his head toward Liza.
“When we will know?” he asked in a low voice.
She shrugged. “It is hard to say. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps the next day.”
“Not ‘til then? Why can't they decide tonight?”
“In a grave matter such as this, the kris must take great care. They may choose to call forward witnesses to my integrity. Who knows?”
Reese groaned and chafed at the delay. Liza moved against him, a subtle, intimate touch of her breasts against his arm, a wife's touch against her husband.
“I am glad you are here,” she whispered and lowered her lashes.
He soaked in her close presence. A potent gladness of his own soared through him.
“You deserve a sound thrashing for leaving. I was terrified I'd never find you again,” he whispered back.
“Do not scold me, my love.” She peered up at him, her expression beseeching and apologetic. “It was something I had to do. Besides, I knew you would find me again. You told me so yourself. Many ti
mes.”
He grunted at the logic in her words, at the truth of them, for they rendered him without power to chastise her further.
“Yes,” he said, wanting to hold her tight against his body but frustrated by the watchful band of men and women who kept him from it.
“Come.” She tugged at his hand. “Paprika is anxious to meet you.”
His fingers twined with hers. She led him around a campfire to a wagon situated on tall wheels. Painted a deep red with gold scrolls around the windows and door, it gleamed from thick layers of varnish. A young girl stood nearby, her gaze fixed on them, her features expectant.
Before Liza could speak, Paprika smiled, showing her strong white teeth. “He is even more handsome than I remember, Liza.”
No coyness or shy looks with this one, Reese thought, and grinned.
“Paprika.” Liza clucked her tongue. “Do not be so bold. Thank the saints Mama did not hear you.”
Nonplussed, Paprika dipped into a deep curtsy, spreading her full skirts wide. “No matter what the kris decides, he is a man with honor, Liza. I want a husband just like him.”
Reese inclined his head. “My new sister-in-law has the charms of a grown woman. I think Nanosh will have his hands full. I'm most pleased to meet you, Paprika.”
“She does not know her place.” A youth in his late teens appeared and glowered with brotherly annoyance. He removed his wool cap. “I am Hanzi.”
“I guessed as much,” Reese said, nodding. “I hear you came looking for us in Niobrara City. I'm sorry we missed you.”
“It would have saved us much worry had you been there.” Hanzi regarded him steadily. “My sister deserves the best. She has not had an easy life.”
“Oh, Hanzi,” Liza breathed, her embarrassment obvious.
“She'll be cherished forever,” Reese vowed. “Please know that.”
The words had no sooner left his mouth when a raucous roar filled the air. From out of the shadows, a shaggy-furred bear lumbered toward them on all fours, his mouth open, teeth showing.
Reese's jaw lagged. Before he could react, the bear rose up on his powerful hind legs and lunged toward Liza, throwing his burly arms around her and swallowing her in a mammoth hug.
She squealed. Reese broke out in a cold sweat and leaped to save her, but in a few heart-stopping seconds, she pushed free, amazingly safe, her giggles mingling with the animal's low-throated grunts.
Only then did Reese see the chain around the bear's neck. Only then did he hear the Gypsies' laughter.
“Do not be afraid for me, my husband,” Liza said, her eyes twinkling. “He is only Rollo, wanting to tell me hello. He has missed me, I think.”
She gave the bear an affectionate scratch beneath his chin. Reese swore in delayed reaction.
Hanzi barked an order, and the animal immediately crouched back into the shadows, disappearing from sight behind the wagon.
“Sweet mother.” Reese let out a deep breath, lifting his hat to rake an unsteady hand through his hair. “He just took ten years off me.”
“Oh, I am sorry. I did not see him coming or else I would have introduced you first,” Liza soothed. “Would you like to meet him?”
“No, thanks.” He shook his head firmly and replaced the hat. He tossed a cautious glance toward the wagon.
Liza laughed again. Rising up on tiptoe, she dropped a light kiss onto his lips.
Beyond the realms of the Gypsy camp, a sudden explosion blasted through the night, sending repercussions of sound thundering down Reese's spine. Beneath his boot soles, the ground trembled. From its hook on Nanosh's wagon, a lantern swayed slightly.
The Gypsies murmured among themselves in alarm. Reese shot a glance into the blackness. His brain deciphered his bearings, a possible location of the blast. Icy fingers of dread clawed at his stomach.
“Saints in heaven. Reese.” Horror laced Liza's features. “The trestle bridge.”
Her words confirmed what he feared most, that Silas McCrae had finally made good his threat to destroy the N & D.
To destroy him.
“The son of a bitch,” he breathed and started toward the stallion.
“You must not go,” Liza gasped. Her hand on his arm stayed him. “He will kill you.”
“He's got to be stopped,” he said tersely.
“Then I am coming, too.”
“Like hell.” Over her head, he gestured to Hanzi. “See that she stays. Don't let her out of your sight.”
“I will do as you say,” Hanzi said solemnly and planted himself next to her with one brown hand banding her wrist.
“I want to go.” She pulled at her brother's grip and glared at Reese. A tempest brewed in her ebony eyes.
“No. I'll be back for you later.”
“Reese!”
He sprinted toward the stallion, vaulted into the saddle, and the concerned Gypsies parted to give him his way. He left the camp at a full gallop, leaving behind the scattered campfires and plunging into the moonlit night. The horse's iron hooves hammered the road in a hard run. He needed no lantern. He well knew the lay of the land, every hill and valley, each crack and crevice. He could find Skull Canyon blindfolded.
After what seemed an eternity of a ride, he reined the stallion in at the canyon's ridge.
Nothing could have prepared him for the destruction of the mighty bridge that had taken weeks to build and drained the strength of two dozen men, that only hours ago stood mighty and awe-inspiring and garnered the cartel's admiration. Thick timbers cut from trees scarce to the prairie lay mangled and splintered on the canyon floor, useless for little more than kindling to feed a hungry fire. One end had collapsed like a heap of toothpicks, leaving the other bent and weakened. In the breeze, loosened planks groaned and creaked.
Reese stared.
Nausea rolled inside him.
The stallion nickered low and swung his head. Reese's searching glance skimmed along the demolished bridge and the shallow stream beneath, but no movement drew his eye, no sound reached his ear.
Yet something--or someone--was there. He'd long ago learned to trust his horse's instincts, high-strung and fine-tuned to anything amiss. And he'd bet his last dime that McCrae had stuck around to gloat over his handiwork.
Reese coaxed the stallion down the steep canyon wall. The horse picked his way around iron bolts and shards of wood strewn from the blast. At the base of the bridge, Reese dismounted and withdrew the Winchester from its scabbard. He left the stallion to nose a drink from the stream.
Eerie silence gripped the canyon. Reese bettered his hold on the rifle and scoured the darkness around him.
“Lookin' for me, Carrison?”
He whirled.
“Up here.”
A maniacal laugh skittered down Reese's spine. His head jerked toward the sound.
Directly above him, Silas McCrae stood at the highest point of what little remained of the ravaged bridge. Muted gleams of moonlight silhouetted him against the sky. He made an ominous sight with his feet spread and the buffalo coat heavy and thick upon his shoulders.
A wild man, as wild as the creatures he sought to protect. Hate unfurled inside Reese like the sails of a ship, so deep he could feel no fear.
“I could kill you for this,” he said with a snarl.
“Reckon I got the advantage, railroad man. See?” From the voluminous folds of his coat, he produced a stick of dynamite in each fist, their dangling fuses a harrowing reminder of their potential to destroy. “From your own railroad yard. A little visit to one of your sheds, and no one even noticed.”
“Be careful, McCrae, damn you.”
He cackled like a crazed coyote. “Dynamite to build the railroad. Dynamite to blow it up.”
Reese's blood ran cold at the singsong in his tone. “Think about what you're doing.”
“I'm done thinkin'. I ain't puttin' up no more with that blasted train blowin'smoke and screechin' its horn. And I ain't gonna stand for it haulin' in buffalo poachers, neither.”
“Not my train, McCrae. Others maybe, but not mine.” Reese grimaced. “I've seen it, too. Entire herds of buffalo wiped out while the train runs past. But the N & D is here to help Niobrara City, make it grow, not kill the buffalo.”
“Shootin' from the windows, like they was shooting at toy ducks.” He seemed to relive a nightmare from the past. Reese wondered if the old man had heard a single word he'd said. “Laughin' and havin' a good time while they picked off the herd one by one, then leavin' the carcasses to the wolves--”
“The farmers and ranchers need my train for their crops and stock--”
“--and the hides to rot in the sun.” McCrae's voice thundered downward from the unstable bridge. “This is my country, Carrison. And it was Lester's, too, until you killed him! We was here before any of you! Now all kinds of people are crowdin' me and the animals out!”
“No, no.” Reese shook his head furiously. “The land can't remain untouched forever. I'll share the land if you share my railroad.”
“I'll die first!”
In despair, Reese realized Silas McCrae was a case of dementia long past reason, and nothing he could say or do would calm him.
“Get down from there, or I'm coming up and dragging you down,” he grated.
Again, the maniacal laugh shivered along his spine.
“I'm not done yet, Carrison. I ain't leavin' no part of this bridge standin'.” In devious glee, he waved the dynamite in the air.
Reese moved toward him. “You can blow up every bridge and rail along the N & D line if you want.”
“That's just what I'm plannin' to do.” McCrae shook a meaty fist to punctuate the promise. He wobbled on a loosened timber and regained his balance with a hasty flail of his arms.
“I'll build another,” Reese said. “Bigger. Stronger. You'll never win.”
McCrae spat in disgust. In the blink of an eye, he produced a match and lit it. The orange-red flame sputtered and sparked, then flared into brilliance.
“Stay back, Carrison, or I'll blow you up right along with your precious bridge,” he warned.
True to his word, he touched the match flame to the fuses. Reese swallowed hard, never thinking, never really thinking, that McCrae would see his threat through.
His instincts urged him to run, yet McCrae had to be stopped. Could he get to him in time? Indecision warred within him. Save himself or McCrae?