“Well, la-di-da, ain’t she a fine lady.” She recognized Squirrelly’s voice.
She heard Eddy get out of the car, and then one of his hands was on her waist. “Come on, honey.”
“Where are we, Eddy? Why do I have to have my eyes covered?”
“I don’t see any reason for them to be covered now.” Eddy jerked the scarf off.
She blinked in the bright morning sunlight. When she was able to focus her eyes, she saw that they were in front of a rough log cabin, with one door and one window on the front. It stood alone, surrounded only by rocks and trees. She was in the middle of nowhere.
“What is this place?”
“It’s the Waldorf-Astoria!” Squirrelly said, and giggled.
“You’ll be all right here. I’m staying with you,” Eddy said reassuringly.
“Me too.” Squirrely giggled again, this time licking his lips.
Katherine shot him an angry glance, which set him tittering even more.
How could Eddy expect her to stay in the same place as that fool? Why was she here? What were they going to do with her?
Eddy turned and pointed back toward the car. “Let’s get our things—”
Seeing her chance, Katherine jerked away from him and ran up a small incline of rock at the side of the house. This might be her only chance. She had to make it count!
Running and stumbling on the loose rock, Katherine tried to break away. It was hard going, but slowly she made her way up the small hill. Halfway to the top, her foot slipped and she fell. The sharp rock cut her knees, but she jumped back up and kept moving.
As she neared the top of the rise, she felt a hand grab hold of her ankle.
“Now, where do you think you’re goin’?” Squirrelly’s voice came from behind her.
Quickly, and with all the strength she had, she kicked her foot back, feeling the heel of her shoe connect with something solid. Squirrelly let out a shout and a string of curses as he fell and then slid down the rock.
With her legs churning, the pain from the small cuts forgotten, she reached the top of the hill. Before her lay a vast area of small trees and shrubs. She had hoped that she would be near a road, another house, or that she could catch a glimpse of someone. Instead, there was nothing. Tears of disappointment filled her eyes.
“Where you gonna go?” a gravelly voice said from behind her.
Katherine spun around to see standing on the hillside the scar-faced man who had driven the car. She’d not heard him on the rocks! Hard eyes stared at her. They reminded her of the eyes of a wolverine she’d seen at the zoo.
“People that live in these parts respect what’s out there,” he said, low and menacingly. His hand reached to his belt and grabbed the hilt of a knife, slowly pulling it free. The sound of the blade sliding from the scabbard chilled her. He held the large knife out to his side so that she could see it clearly. “You ain’t got no respect.”
A bead of sweat slowly ran down her cheek. She didn’t know if it was from the heat or the fear that sliced through her.
“But this here’s something you better respect,” the scarred man continued. “’Cause if you don’t…,” he said, and made a slashing motion with his arm.
“Hayden!” Eddy yelled, scrambling up the hill. “There’s no need for that. Kate was just coming back down to the house. Weren’t you, Kate?”
“Yes. Yes, I was,” she answered, making her way back down the rocky hill. Hayden was dangerous! Even now he still had the knife out, his eyes boring holes into her.
“Put the knife away, Hayden,” Eddy ordered.
Silently, his eyes never leaving Katherine, Hayden slid the knife back into its scabbard. Without a word, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the car.
She stifled an impulse to thank Eddy for his help. Why should she thank him? He appeared to be in on this bizarre plot, whatever it was.
“Bitch! I’m not forgettin’ this!” Squirrelly had stumbled to his feet, his handkerchief held to his nose, a crimson stain of blood on the white fabric. His clothes were covered in dust and dirt from his tumble down the hillside.
“Shut up, Squirrelly,” Eddy said sternly.
“To hell with that! She’s gonna pay!”
“I said shut up!”
Squirrelly stared at them for a moment, the hatred evident in his eyes. He kept dabbing the handkerchief against his nose before he, too, stalked off toward the car.
“Eddy, I …,” Kate started, but no further words came.
“Don’t mess with those two, Katherine. They’d just as soon hurt you as look at you. Just do what we say, and everything will be fine.”
His tone was comforting. Katherine didn’t know if she’d ever been more confused in her entire life.
Edwin grabbed her by the elbow and led her into the cabin.
Chapter 3
“NEXT STOP, MUDDY CREEK!”
At the sound of the conductor’s voice, Tate sat up and looked out the window. The first scattering of small houses came into view. The train would soon be pulling into the station. He stood and pulled his satchel and a large paper sack down from the rack above the seat, slung the bags over his shoulder, and started to move toward the back of the train.
He made his way through the other passengers who were gathering their belongings. When he reached the end of the car, he looked for the woman whose bag he’d dumped. She wasn’t in her seat.
He stood on the small platform that separated the cars and waited for the train to come to a stop. He peered through the door into the car behind him but saw no sign of her.
Tate hoped Jorge would be waiting for him. He’d sent a message ahead from Fort Davis to the Muddy Creek station agent asking him to notify Jorge Gomez to meet him today. If the message hadn’t gone through, he would be stranded here for the rest of the day.
As soon as the train came to a halt, he swung down onto the platform. The sun was high overhead. The temperature in June often got above one hundred degrees, and this day didn’t appear to be an exception. Tate pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow.
Suddenly he heard a shout. “Señor Castle! Señor Castle!”
A short Mexican man with a large-brimmed hat and a wide grin came hurrying from the back of the depot. The foreman’s clothes were dust-covered.
“Jorge! Am I glad to see you. I was afraid you hadn’t received my message.” Tate picked up his satchel and the sack and went toward him, holding out his hand. The two men shook vigorously.
“Señor, is good that you’re back. Little one, she miss you.”
“I missed her too. It’s been almost three weeks.”
As they talked, the two men moved through the station. Up ahead of them, a man knelt to embrace two small children who were peppering his cheeks with kisses. Their mother stood nearby smiling. The reunion made Tate even more eager to get home.
“You make the sale, señor?” Jorge asked.
“I made the sale. We couldn’t have asked for a much better deal. The problem was that the commander of the fort was away, and I had to wait a week for him to return. That’s why it took me so long.”
“Still … it is all very good.” The foreman’s grin grew even wider. “When they want them?”
“We’ve got to have them ready by the first of the month. The commander’s sending a detail down to drive them back to the fort. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
“That we can do, señor.”
They walked outside the station and stopped in front of a battered old pickup truck. Tate set the large sack and his satchel in the back and climbed into the cab. Jorge slid behind the wheel. When he started the motor, it backfired, sounding like a pistol shot. The engine sputtered once, twice, and then came to life. Jorge put the truck into gear, and they started to move.
“We’re going to have to work on this old thing,” Tate said.
“She noisy, but she run once she started. She get us where we go.”
“We’ve
got to make her last for a while yet. After we get the money from the fort for the horses, we’ll trade her in on something better.”
The truck bumped down the road that led out of town. The houses they passed were set farther and farther apart, and soon nothing lay ahead of them but the Texas prairie land. Tate tilted his head toward the open window and breathed in the fresh scent of prairie grass.
The two men were silent, comfortable with each other. They had been friends for many years. Jorge and his wife, Yelena, were with Tate before Emily’s birth. Looking back on all that had happened, he didn’t know how he would have managed without them.
“Did the fetlock on that old Hammerhead heal up?” Tate asked.
“It heal, but he run into a fence and got a big scratch down his side. I cover it with pine tar. He look a mess, but he always rarin’ to go.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have called him Hammerhead; he’s living up to his name.” After a few moments, Tate continued. “Have you seen that spotted stallion lately?”
Catching the spotted stallion had been a desire of Tate’s since the moment he first saw him five years ago. What a beautiful, proud animal! He wanted to catch him to breed his mares, but, more important, he didn’t want any harm to befall him.
“Sí, I have seen him,” Jorge said. But I’m not the only one. Señor Wilbur from over east came by the other day.”
“What did he want?”
“He want to know if I seen the wild herd that is led by the stallion. I say no.” Jorge laughed. “I see him, but I don’t tell.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Tate said with a tight face. “Wilbur wants the stallion. But I don’t like the way he plans to go about getting him. I don’t believe in creasing a horse to stun him. Not many men are that accurate, and most of ’em either kill the animal or miss, scattering themanadas.”
“Señor Wilbur is stubborn man. He not going to worry about killing or scattering the mares.”
“He’s a dang fool if he thinks he’s a good enough shot,” Tate said through gritted teeth. His fist was curled into a tight ball. “Another thing, where do you aim? A place close to the withers? A foot behind the ears? A vertebra a little forward of the hips? No, I won’t have Wilbur trying to catch that horse by creasing him. He has a herd of nice mares and produces good foals. I wonder why he doesn’t go after the loose stallions. There are ten or twelve of them following his mares. They’re the ones the spotted stallion has run off.”
“Yelena and little one baked a cake for your return,” Jorge said, turning the talk from the stallion.
“I bet Emily liked that.”
Jorge smiled. “She sat on table and stir.”
Tate knew Jorge and his wife were very fond of his little six-year-old. They didn’t have any children of their own and had taken to Emily from the day she was born.
As Jorge turned the truck down the road toward the ranch, Tate feasted his eyes on his home; the sturdy frame house looked as if it had been there forever. A stone chimney rose up from each end, and a long porch spanned the front. The homestead was set amid a grove of mesquite trees, with the occasional yucca scattered amongst them. In the network of corrals behind the house, horses grazed. He and Jorge had worked most of the winter with the horses, breaking them to halter. Home. He loved it and never wanted to live any place else. However, as much as he loved this place, he’d move to a city quicker than scat for Emily to receive the care she needed. He’d do it without a backward glance.
As soon as Tate stepped out of the truck, Old Bob, his eight-year-old dog, came to meet him, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Tate reached down and scratched the mutt’s shaggy head. “Hey there, Bob. Have you been looking after things while I was away?” Yelena stood on the porch holding Emily. Dressed in a blue, light cotton dress, the child was all smiles and waved both hands. Her curly dark head bobbed with excitement. Tate hurried onto the porch, dropped his bag and paper sack, and reached for her.
“Hello, little sweetheart.”
“Daddy, Daddy!” Emily fell into her father’s grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck, then patted his right cheek with one small hand and bestowed wet kisses on the other. “Daddy, I’m glad you’re back! Did you bring me a present?”
Tate kissed her forehead. Has it been only three weeks? It seemed like forever since he last held his little girl. “I’ve missed you, Emily. Have you been good for Yelena?”
Emily hesitated before answering, “Sometimes.”
“Now, what does that mean?” Tate chuckled.
“I hit Yelena.”
Tate pulled his daughter away from him and looked down into her blue eyes. “Why did you do a naughty thing like that?”
“She said that I couldn’t wear my pretty dress with the pink ribbon.”
“Your Sunday dress? Were you going somewhere?”
“No. I wanted to play outside in the sand, and she wouldn’t let me.”
“Yelena was right to say no.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Now, I don’t want to hear you saying things like that. Yelena cares a great deal for you. If she tells you not to wear your nice dress, you do what she says.”
“Are you mad at me, Daddy?”
“Of course not, sweetheart, but I want you to be a nice girl. I think you should tell her you’re sorry.”
Emily turned in her father’s arms. A look of rebellion came over the child’s face and then her eyes went down to the paper sack lying on the porch. “Sorry, Yelena,” she murmured. “Now can I have my present?”
Tate sighed. “You can have it, but I don’t want to learn that you hit Yelena again. Promise me.” Emily quickly nodded her head, her eyes never leaving the paper sack. Tate leaned down and picked up the bag.
“What is it?” Emily asked excitedly.
“Let’s go in the house and find out.”
Tate carried his daughter into the kitchen and set her on the edge of the table. Her thin legs hung down limply. She walked, but her uneven gait made her hips so tired she could only go short distances. Damn Hazel, the girl’s mother, for going off and leaving her!
The shoe had slipped off the foot of Emily’s shorter leg. Tate reached for the shoe and lifted his daughter’s short leg up onto his knee. He cradled her tiny foot in his hand.
“I got on my new shoes, Daddy.”
He had bought the shoes the last time he went to Alpine. Emily had loved the bright red color at first sight. “I see you have, little sugar bun.”
“I can walk in them when Jorge holds me.”
“You can?” He slipped the shoe gently back on Emily’s foot and buttoned the strap. “You’ll have to show me after you open your present.” Emily reached her hand into the sack. “What is it?” she said again.
“Pull it out and see.”
Emily pulled out a doll that he had bought in Alpine. It had a baby face, blue eyes, a pink mouth, and long brown hair. Its dress was pink with a matching pink satin sash. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy! She’s got a dress just like mine!”
“Do you like her, sweetheart?” Emily’s smile was all the answer he needed.
Emily hugged the doll close to her. “Does she cry?”
“Bend her over and you’ll find out.”
Emily bent the doll back and forth. Her smile widened when she heard the doll coo, “Ma … ma.”
“Lay her down,” Tate said. “Her eyes will close.”
Emily laughed with delight. “What’s her name?”
“The lady at the store said that she didn’t have one,” Tate said. “You’ll have to give her a name.”
Emily thought about it for a while, her little nose crinkling up from the effort. Finally she said, “I think I’ll call her Sarsaparilla.”
“That’s a pretty long name for a baby.”
“I like it,” the girl said defiantly.
“Maybe you should shorten it up a little.”
“Well… then I’ll call her ‘Sassy’”
“Th
at sounds great, honey.”
“Are you hungry, señor?” Yelena asked as she set plates on the table.
“My belly’s so empty it thinks I’ve forgotten about it.” Tate laughed as he lifted Emily up and sat down with her in a chair. Emily snatched her doll from the table and started bouncing it on her knee.
“Jorge coming,” Yelena said.
“Great. I’ve not had a good meal since the day I left.”
By the time Tate finished eating, Emily had nodded off to sleep. One arm hung down toward the floor, but the other held her new doll tightly to her chest. The excitement of her father coming home, and the doll, had been too much for the child.
Tate carried her to the small room off the kitchen and laid her down on her bed. She woke and smiled up at him. He pulled the curtains shut on the purple-and-yellow-streaked evening sky, sending the room into near darkness. He kissed her forehead.
“Can you tell me a story, Daddy?” Emily asked sleepily as Tate changed her clothes and tucked the doll into the crook of her arm.
“Not tonight, honey.”
“Please?”
“Daddy’s got to talk to Jorge. Yelena will.”
“I’ve heard her stories,” Emily complained.
Tate pulled a thin blanket up to his daughter’s waist, then leaned down to give her one more kiss good night. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly.
“Daddy, you smell funny,” the little girl said.
“I do?”
“You smell like flowers.”
Tate grinned.
Tate went out onto the porch, where Jorge sat in an old bentwood chair. The vivid colors of the sky had darkened as the sun started its disappearing act over the western horizon. Stars had begun to spring to life above them, twinkling in the early evening sky. It had been a hot day, but the air had already started to cool down. A light breeze carried the scent of sage.
Tate lit a cigarette and sat down on the edge of the porch. Old Bob trotted from the yard in back of the house and sat at his master’s feet. The dog gave a contented sigh before settling down.
“I got a good price for the horses, Jorge. I’ll be able to pay you now.”
Train from Marietta Page 3