Oh, he’d made it to Amarillo, but had discovered by some fortuitous questioning that Callista and Marshal McCall hadn’t arrived. So he began to backtrack.
And everyone had said Jaxson McCall was a good tracker. Treadwell permitted himself a small congratulatory smile. He could teach McCall a thing or two about tracking! He felt an anticipatory edge of excitement when he thought about McCall. No doubt the marshal would prove a worthy adversary, in the end.
The ticket clerk in Amarillo had been a wealth of information, and all he’d had to do was mention McCall as an old friend. The clerk had provided him with every detail he could’ve hoped for: the fact that McCall had been seriously wounded a few days earlier, but that he’d made it in to Conway and was at the Pavilion Hotel, accompanied by a beautiful traveling companion. And wasn’t Mr. Treadwell lucky? The stage going back east was a bit late today, and there was room, if Mr. Treadwell wished to purchase a ticket eastbound?
The coach ride back to Conway had been short, albeit somewhat uncomfortable. Treadwell thought once more about the older couple who had shared the ride with him from Amarillo. A preacher and his wife. At least, he’d called himself a preacher.
The woman had been pleasant enough in a simple sort of way, but the preacher… He was unlike any clergyman Dunstan Treadwell had ever known. Even now, he felt a prickle of apprehension at the base of his neck, just thinking about that preacher. ‘Man’ something or other, his name was. Manley.
There had been an instant, palpable dislike between the two men. Treadwell smiled. It was only fitting, he supposed, when good and evil should come together, that there would be some friction. He’d have been disappointed if the preacher’s “goodness” had been weak. It hadn’t been. They had bristled at one another almost visibly, barely managing to remain civil for the hour-long trip from Amarillo to Conway, despite the preacher’s wife’s attempts at making polite conversation and trying to initiate some interaction among the three of them, the only passengers for that leg of the journey.
She’d finally given up, thwarted by the sense of black foreboding that enveloped the two men, and finally, her, as well. Treadwell had known his association with Reverend Manley wasn’t over. He’d seen in the depths of Manley’s somber blue gaze that he knew it, as well. What irritated Dunstan Treadwell was the complacent acceptance the man exuded. Though neither of them could know how their destinies would intertwine, it was enough to know somehow, they were not finished with one another as they stepped from the stagecoach in the small town of Conway, Texas.
Yet, Treadwell was left with a gnawing worry at what was inevitable between himself and Talmadge Manley.
And Manley, Treadwell thought, seemed to know what was yet to come, and to welcome it.
****
Jax headed straight for the barn, Brendan right behind him, Jeremy bringing up the rear. Wordlessly, Jax went to the stall where his black stood stamping and pawing as he waited. He, too, had had enough of this place. Jax threw the silver-conchoed saddle across the horse’s back and cinched it in place, noting that his brothers were losing no time in getting the saddles on their mounts, as well.
Jeremy was the first to break the terse silence. “Are we doing the right thing do you think? Leaving?” He glanced first at Jax, then at Brendan.
Jax looked at him steadily. “For my money, we should never have come back here.”
“Like coming back to hell.” Bren’s face was grim as he methodically readied his gear and began to strap it onto the sorrel’s back. “Nothing’s changed.”
Jeremy turned to saddle his horse, and Jax could sense the indecisiveness coursing through his older brother. Did he feel he’d be letting them down if he stayed? He knew a big part of Jem’s uncertainty was because of his allegiance, however misguided, to his mother.
“You’re a doctor, Jeremy. If you feel like you need to be here, we’ll understand,” Jax said in a quiet voice.
Jeremy turned to him quickly. “I’m not weak, Jaxson.”
After a long moment, Jaxson answered, “I know. That was just the old man’s attempt at ladling a little more self-doubt on you while he could. It’s up to you as to whether or not he was successful.” He finished saddling the horse and leaned on the rough wood of the barrier between the stalls, resting his arms on the top of it. “You know why he hates you so much, Jem?”
Jeremy turned to look at Jax, then went back to adjusting his saddle. “No. Never could figure it out. Guess I was just first in a long line of ‘mistakes’, as he said. And weak, at that, according to him.”
Jax smiled. “That might be part of it. But the main thing is, you chose a profession that heals people. All he ever knew how to do was to hurt, how to break, and be cruel. You defied him by not becoming like him. I admire you for that. It had to be hard, living here with him all those years. You’re probably the strongest one of all of us.”
Jeremy stiffened, his hands coming to a halt in their preparation of the harness and bit. He stood unmoving a moment, then slowly turned to face Jaxson. “Maybe you’re right.” Jeremy looked down, unseeing, as he remembered. “I never really thought about it like that.”
“That’s how it is. So, if you want to stay, go ahead. Bren and I will go on back to Conway and wait for you there. Maybe there is something you could do for the old man. You are a doctor.”
But Jeremy shook his head, and Jax saw the indecision was gone from his brother’s expression and demeanor as he spoke. “He’s past help—from me, anyway. As a doctor, or as his son.” An ironic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “As you pointed out, Jax, I am a doctor, but I’m also a man. This is one of those times being a man outweighs the fact that I also just happen to practice medicine. Just like with Blocker.”
Jeremy led his horse out into the late afternoon sun. “I’ve come to understand that some brutality can never be gentled; some sickness can never be healed; and evil should never be nurtured back whole again—even if it is possible.”
Jax and Bren both stopped, disbelieving, as they cleared the barn door. Jeremy turned to face them.
“Could you?” Jax murmured. “Could you have…made him whole again?”
Brendan stood, unspeaking, waiting for Jeremy’s answer.
“It’s…possible, I suppose. If I chose to nurture evil.” He reached for the reins, his decision made. He swung into the saddle as did Jax and Brendan. The smile he gave his brothers was tinged with sadness for what could have been.
“No. I think if Jack McCall expects help, he better look to someone other than this weakling. This regret. This…mistake. I make this decision as a man, not as a doctor.”
He turned his bay westward, and the three of them rode for home in a gallop.
****
Carlos had grown restless by early afternoon, but Callie would not allow him to get up.
“I want to go outside,” he complained. “I am not used to being inside so much, Miss Callie.”
“I know, sweetheart,” she comforted. She gave him a quick pat. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll walk over to the mercantile and buy some—”
“Candy?” he asked, his black eyes alight.
Callie laughed and hugged him. “If you like.”
“I like.”
“Carlos, what happened to your candy from yesterday? Did you ever get to the mercantile? Or did Blocker’s men grab you before?”
“Oh no, Miss Callie. That was after. I went in and bought ten pieces of candy—two for a penny. They stole me as I was leaving. And they ate all my candy. Every piece of it!”
“Don’t fret.” Callie couldn’t bear to see him so downcast. “We’ll get some more, if you feel like walking that far.”
“I do!”
“And if you eat a good dinner.”
Carlos raised a dark brow at her. “I am sure I shall be hungrier at dinner than I was at lunch,” he replied seriously.
“You worry me when you don’t eat,” Callie told him.
“Why should that worry you?�
� he asked practically. “You know I will eat when I become hungry.”
Callie laughed. “Oh, Carlos, you are so much like—” she broke off quickly, acutely aware of what she’d been about to say.
“What’s wrong, Miss Callie?”
She forced a smile and patted the boy’s thin shoulder. “Nothing.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You are missing Señor Jax, no?”
She nodded, giving him a true smile this time.
“I remember how it was when my mama died,” Carlos said in an effort to comfort her.
Callie seized the opportunity he’d opened. “Who did you stay with, Carlos?”
“Mi abuelo. But he was poor and old, and he died soon after, as well. By then, I was seven years old. Old enough to be on my own,” he told her proudly.
Callie wanted to weep at the fierce independence the boy wielded as his protection, yet again reminding her of Jaxson and the aloof coolness he exuded.
“You must not worry, Miss Callie. Señor Jax will be home soon. He told me so himself. I will take care of you until he comes.”
“Thank you, Carlos.” She glanced past him out the window. “Do you feel like going now? To the mercantile, I mean.”
“I am ready.”
“When we get home I’ll heat some water and you can take a bath,” Callie said, distractedly. She was watching a man and woman at the far end of the street who reminded her a great deal of Reverend and Mrs. Manley.
It was wishful thinking, she supposed, remembering the kind way Mrs. Manley had taken her under her wing. Due to the circumstances, she hadn’t even had a chance to say a proper goodbye to the older couple.
Callie went to the bedroom that she and Jax shared. She took the remaining money from her valise and trucked it inside her sleeve, thinking they might have a dress at the mercantile that wouldn’t be too expensive. The gown she wore now was borrowed from the clothing in the trunk.
Melinda’s gowns were well-kept, and she appreciated Jeremy’s open generosity, but she wanted something of her own, not something borrowed. Carlos needed some clothes, too. His shirt was one of Jeremy’s old ones hanging huge and shapeless across his thin shoulders, his pants threadbare and ragged.
Callie carefully pulled the door shut behind her and she and Carlos set a leisurely pace for the mercantile. It was warm for a December day, and Callie was relieved. She was wearing a day dress and shawl from Melinda’s trunk, but with winter almost here, she knew she’d have to buy a heavier wrap at the mercantile. She gave a rueful grin. She’d have to be careful and curb her spending. She hadn’t bought anything for so long—
She noticed the boy was suddenly quiet. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right, Carlos?”
“Oh, yes—yes, I am fine.” He seemed distracted.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, turning to follow Carlos’s gaze.
“Nothing. There was a man there for a minute—then he was gone.”
Carlos looked thoughtful, and a chill settled in the pit of Callie’s stomach.
“What is it, Carlos? What did he do?”
“I don’t know, Miss Callie. He just—had a—a kind of an odd look on his face. Maybe—maybe I didn’t see it right.”
“Well,” Callie said, “if you see him again, you let me know.”
“Sí,” Carlos answered. Then after a moment he asked, as casually as a ten-year-old boy could, “Do you have the little derringer with you?”
Callie patted her pocket reassuringly. “I’ve got it. It’s loaded and ready.”
“Good.”
The strained, quiet quality in his voice made Callie wonder. At first, she had thought that last night’s ordeal had made the boy jumpy. But in her heart, she knew that wasn’t true. He was too cool with a gun, too used to danger, to ever let his mind be affected by things that would frighten many adults, not to mention a child of his years.
They had reached the boardwalk in front of the mercantile, and Callie started up the storefront steps, almost bumping into a slightly plump woman.
“Oh, excuse me—” Callie began, but the woman reached out and hugged her before recognition had even begun in Callie’s own mind. Cara Manley? Could it be?
But when Callie’s eyes swept over the woman’s shoulder, the Reverend Talmadge Manley looked on indulgently, waiting his turn to hug Callie.
“What are you doing here?” Callie asked excitedly, holding the older woman apart from her, then hugging her once more, laughing in delighted surprise.
“We came to visit you and Marshal McCall, my love,” Mrs. Manley told her. “We felt badly about what happened to the marshal, getting wounded and all, and Mr. Briscoe told us you all stopped here to get him a doctor.”
Callie grinned, hugging the Reverend. “Well, that’s a whole other story, entirely.”
“We thought it best, in light of the circumstances of your—ah—marriage, and his being wounded, to come over and check on you,” Tal said.
“How is he, Callie?” Cara asked anxiously.
“He’s doing well. Oh, but here, let’s get what we came for, and then we’ll go home and I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Will you stay the night? Please say you will.”
“Well—” Tal began, but Cara interrupted him quickly, unable to bear Callie’s disappointment.
“Of course we will, child. We took a room at the hotel, but we can tell them we won’t be needing it.”
“Carlos—” Callie reached for the boy’s hand. “Carlos, these are some friends I met on the way out here, Reverend and Mrs. Manley.”
“Hello, Carlos,” Reverend Manley said, bending down to the boy and sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you, sir. Mrs. Manley.” He shook her hand as well, and Callie could see that both of them were impressed by Carlos’s self-assurance.
“We’ve come to buy candy,” Callie told them, “and maybe some new things to wear.”
Carlos shot her a look, but remained quiet as they walked into the mercantile. He went immediately to where the candy jars sat perched in a row on the counter.
Tal’s eyes rested on the boy thoughtfully. “Where did you come by your young friend?”
Callie smiled. “It was the other way around. He’s been with us ever since we got into town. I’ve got so much to tell you all—it seems as if we haven’t seen each other for months, rather than days.”
“Looks as if he took quite a beating.”
Callie nodded. “Yes.” She sighed, remembering. “I’ll tell you all about it when we get home—”
“Oh, Callie, look at this beautiful dress!” Cara exclaimed.
Tal smiled at Callie. “Go on and look at that dress my wife’s so excited over. Meanwhile, would you like me to help young Carlos pick out a pair of Levis and a shirt?”
“Would you? Oh, and get him underwear and socks—”
“And boots? Miss Callie, can I—can I have some boots?” Carlos stood a few feet from her and Reverend Manley. They’d been so intent on their conversation that they hadn’t noticed him.
Callie turned to see the hopeful expression on his face. She wasn’t sure she’d have money for all of that—if she got the dress. She glanced toward where Cara Manley stood beside the dressmaker’s form, fingering the draping folds of azure material. It looked so soft and warm, a beautiful shade of dark blue; like the twilight sky on a summer night, Callie thought.
She turned back to Carlos, her decision made. She could do without the dress. “Yes, Carlos, if I have enough money. Let’s get your clothing first, then we’ll—we’ll see about the boots.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Callie! Thank you!” His dark eyes were shining with anticipation. Callie reached out and ruffled his hair. This boy was hers now, too, and he would never go without again.
****
That night, Callie served a simple but tasty meal of fried chicken with gravy and sweet potatoes. Tal had killed the chicken, and Cara plucked it, while Callie heate
d water and supervised Carlos’s bath.
Tal built a fire in the hearth, and they set the tub there, so Carlos wouldn’t become chilled. When Carlos was done, he dressed himself carefully in his new clothes—the Levis being too long and an inch too big in the waist—and pulled on his new, shiny black boots.
When the bath and the meal were over, Carlos began to yawn, and Callie suggested he get ready for bed. With no argument, he got up, politely excused himself.
“Quite a little man, there, Callie,” Talmadge said. “Jax oughtta be proud.”
Callie looked up at him, surprised, but unable to deny his assumption. “Jax didn’t know—until last night,” she said. “Carlos wonders, but he and Jax haven’t talked about it yet.”
As Callie quietly related the story of Carlos’s life, Cara Manley dabbed at her eyes. Finally, when Callie was done, Cara said, “You do think—now—everything will work out, don’t you? The boy will become part of your family, and—oh, Callie, I forgot to ask—is it really true? What Jax told Blue Feather?”
Callie looked down. “Yes, it’s true.”
“Oh, praise the Good Lord!” she said exuberantly, then paused and peered at Callie closely. “You are happy about it, aren’t you?”
“Of course!”
“And, what about Jaxson? Or have you told him yet?”
“Yes, just before he left.”
“How did he take it?” Cara pressed.
“He was happy. A little unsure, I think, about what a father does, but—he’ll learn.”
“Congratulations, my dear,” Tal said.
“Oh, yes. Congratulations,” Cara murmured warmly.
“Yes, congratulations, Callista.”
Callie swiveled around instantly, her incredulous, stricken gaze meeting Dunstan Treadwell’s. He stood behind them, his shoulder braced against the wall. A cruel smile curved his lips, and his .45 Schofield pointed directly at Callie’s heart.
Chapter 30
The Half-Breed's Woman Page 25