After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  “Hell, Russ Sloan didn’t make no secret of it when he went. Todd told me about your trip. Course I didn’t tell nobody. What with all the road agents hanging around Tombstone, when they ain’t actually workin’, that is.”

  “Johnny Behan is too friendly to be a good sheriff. Even the Clantons like him. No wonder there’s no law here,” Steve said with disgust.

  Costello lowered his voice. “Heard tell Wyatt Earp is planning on running for sheriff against Behan.”

  “Might be a better man. Heard he cleaned up Dodge City. Maybe he can clean up Tombstone, too.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Costello snorted. “When you leavin’?”

  On the other side of the table, a tall Mexican in the somber brown cassock of a padre moved casually away and slipped out the front door.

  Andrea waited for an opportunity to see Tía, and finally found it when Judy was outside with Grant and the housekeeping staff was peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Steve had been gone for hours, but her nerves were still jumpy from lack of sleep.

  “Did you tell Judy?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “She hates me.”

  “What did she say?”

  Tía looked as though she might cry. “Just the truth. That I betrayed her by lying to her, and she isn’t going to forgive me.” She turned away and wiped at her eyes.

  Willie B. Parker flung open the kitchen door and yelled into the house. “The soldiers are back!”

  Wiping their hands on their aprons, Carmen, Lupe, and Cruz rushed out of the kitchen and scurried along the parlor at the front of the house. Andrea and Tía raced them to the porch.

  The soldiers riding in through the opened gate were in a state of disarray—bloody bandages had been wrapped around injuries, dead bodies sagged across saddles. One of the covered wagons had caught fire; the canvas was blackened and sagging over the wagon bed. Injured men had been piled into it like kindling.

  Tía turned to Carmen. “Get bandages ready.”

  Andrea ran down the steps and stopped beside Rutledge’s horse. “Captain! What happened?”

  “Geronimo! We were ambushed. His braves must have eluded Rogers’s sweep. There must have been two hundred of those murdering swine. We barely got away with our scalps.”

  “Are they following you?” Andrea asked.

  Rutledge looked behind him uncomfortably as if searching for Indians. “Hard to say. Something untoward is happening out there. I got the impression we were swatted away, like a bear swats at a gnat. Otherwise we wouldn’t have made it this far. My men and horses took a beating. If you have no objection, we’ll rest here tonight and go the rest of the way in the morning. I recommend you and all your people come with us. You’ll be safer at the fort.”

  Andrea looked at Tía, who had come up beside her, then turned back to Captain Rutledge. “I’ll talk to Johnny and let you know.”

  Rutledge shook his head in consternation, but Tía didn’t wait to argue with him. She turned and ran to look for Johnny. Andrea picked up her skirts and followed.

  Tía found Johnny Brago stretched out on his cot. He sat up and came easily to his feet. His dark eyes, narrowed against the sudden brightness, were unreadable. His gaze stayed on Tía so long that she felt heat flushing into her cheeks.

  Andrea explained as succinctly as she could. “I’m terrified for Steve,” she ended breathlessly. “He has no idea. Rutledge assured him they were driving the Indians north, back to the reservation, that there was no danger. They’ll all be killed. He’s riding into a hornet’s nest.”

  “Steve has lived in this valley all his life,” Johnny reassured her. “He knows what that kind of talk is worth.”

  “He seemed to believe it, though.”

  A wry look of consternation tucked in the corners of Johnny’s lips. His gaze slid over to Tía and seemed to be probing her soul.

  “Steve could be r-riding into a trap,” Andrea stammered, not bothering to hide her feelings. Nothing mattered except that Steve be safe…

  “Could be,” he said slowly. “More likely Geronimo has bigger fish to fry.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe tribal rivalry. Chatto and his daddy been a thorn in Geronimo’s side for years,” he said. “Or maybe he’s got some target picked out to show Chatto up. Could be anything as long as it’s daring. Something not just anybody would do. Could have nothing to do with us. Could be Fort Bowie. If I was Geronimo, I’d do something useful, like try to stop the railroad from coming through. But I doubt if he’s farsighted enough to figure that out.”

  “Should we go to Fort Bowie?”

  “Can’t hurt. If the fort falls, we ain’t gonna be able to stay here. If they’re the target, they’ll need all the help we can give ’em.”

  “Rutledge wants to wait until morning. Is that wise?”

  “Not if he’s right about the number of Indians.”

  “I’ll tell him that, unless you would rather.”

  Johnny laughed softly. “If you want him to go tonight, tell him I recommend waiting till morning.”

  “Why?”

  “He hates my guts. If he was starving, he wouldn’t take my recommendation to eat.”

  Tía pulled Andrea outside. “He’s right, you know. You go talk to Rutledge since he still thinks you’re Teresa, and I’ll make sure Carmen and Cruz are doing what they can for the injured soldiers.”

  Andrea obeyed. She should have believed Johnny and Tía. But she told Rutledge Johnny recommended going at once, and he puffed up like an adder. Logic forgotten, he was huffy and then adamant. “Morning will be soon enough, Miss Burkhart. Our horses are exhausted. I’ll lose half of them if we don’t rest them. The cavalry can’t afford that kind of loss.”

  Andrea found Tía in the dining hall where she, Carmen, Cruz, and Lupe were tearing sheets into bandages and shared the news with them. After the initial reactions and excitement died down, she pulled Tía aside.

  “I hope Steve made it to Tombstone,” she said, a frown creasing her forehead. “He could be dead or injured.”

  “Don’t borrow trouble. He made it fine,” Tía said firmly. “I hope he stays there. Carmen, can you get along without Lupe for a while?”

  “Si, I was thirty years old before patrón hired her.”

  Tía laughed. “I meant as your helper with supper.”

  “Si.”

  Lupe flashed Carmen a look of consternation. She was accustomed to cooking meals. Changes could be good or bad. She would rather Tía had asked her if she wanted to be spared.

  “Please come with me, Lupe. We will take the bandages to the soldiers and see if they need help.”

  Cruz snorted. “That should wipe the look off your face, Lupe. All those men around you.”

  Lupe picked up a stack of bandages and followed Tía. Injured men littered the south end of the compound near the front gate. Some had managed to take care of their wounds, others had not. Tía put Lupe to work and then moved from man to man, making them as comfortable as possible. She fashioned a pillow for one, covered another to stop his shivering in spite of the relentless heat.

  Lupe decided she liked playing nurse and flirting with the healthy soldiers. She stayed to do what she could for them. Tía went back to help Carmen and Cruz serve supper.

  Compared to the jovial atmosphere of Saturday’s dance, Sunday’s supper was a tense affair. The riders ate in relative silence, then tramped outside to talk in hushed tones or take their turns at keeping a lookout. Carmen and Cruz came out of the kitchen and sat with Judy. Andrea sat across from Tía. Lupe, who had never missed a meal and who had always been jealous of Judy, showed up after they had all seated themselves, decided that she liked no one, and sat by herself.

  After the dishes were washed Andrea settled down with a book, although Tía suspected she wouldn’t be able to read.

  “Do you want to go to the outhouse?” Tía asked.

  “No. Use the chamber pot.”

>   “I’m tired of being in the house.”

  Tía excused herself, took a lantern off the hook by the back door, lit it, and walked to the outhouse. She knew she should use the chamber pot after dark—it was safer and less scary—but she needed to get outside. Besides, there weren’t any Indians inside the walls, not with so many soldiers, cowhands, and vaqueros around.

  On the way back to the house, she dawdled. She resented the Indians and the threat they represented. Although she was terrified for Steve, she felt sorrier for Andrea, who was in love with him and could only sit back and pray he would survive. If only there was some way to warn him.

  Suddenly Tía stopped. Well, why couldn’t they? A messenger on a fast horse could make it—easier at night than any other time. Why not? Steve wouldn’t have left Tombstone yet.

  Whirling, she ran to Johnny’s cabin. The windows were dark. Disappointed, she stopped on the porch. She hesitated and then turned to leave. The door opened, and Johnny stepped onto the porch.

  Licking her suddenly dry lips, Tía set the lantern down. “I…” she stammered. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  His eyes reflected back the lantern light like mirrors. Their opacity taunted her. What was he thinking behind his mask? Why didn’t he say something?

  “I wanted to ask you if we could send a messenger to warn Steve about the Indians.”

  Johnny smiled—a slow, cynical curving of his smooth lips that confused her. “To warn Steve? Don’t you mean Morgan Todd?” His husky voice was low and full of scorn.

  “I mean Steve!” she protested, too flustered to be truly angry.

  “I may look like I couldn’t drive nails in a snowbank, but I do have some sense, Tía Marlowe,” he said, his gaze raking over her.

  Now the anger that had been seething in her ever since she’d heard about Johnny’s fight with Morgan Todd brought her chin up defiantly.

  “I’m not Tía Marlowe. I’m Teresa Garcia-Lorca.”

  “So Carmen told me. I’m surprised you bothered to mention it. After all, I’m just hired help.”

  Confusion almost overwhelmed Tía. She couldn’t decide whether to fight with him about Morgan Todd or about her being Teresa or about his being mad that she hadn’t told him.

  “I’m sorry if I’m not exactly what you had in mind when you set out to make your girlfriend jealous, but unfortunately you forgot to tell me all the rules.”

  Johnny blinked. Of all the answers she could have given, that one stumped him. “The first rule is not to spread a lot of corral dust around.”

  “I didn’t lie because I wanted to! And don’t you act so superior to me, Johnny Brago. You spread some corral dust about Judy.”

  “I did not.”

  “You fought over her!”

  His dark eyes narrowed. They looked like little half-moons, curving downward. Combined with the cocky slant of his lips, they seemed to taut Tía, to remind her of things about him she’d rather have forgotten.

  “Is that what’s wrong with you? You got mad because I hit your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. If you want to fight over women in saloons, I couldn’t care less.”

  Johnny frowned. Tía had been mean to him for two days, but until that comment he hadn’t felt that he knew why. He had no idea why it should enlighten him so—she’d said similar things before—but that comment clicked into place, like the last, missing piece of a puzzle.

  She had been jealous. Joy rose up in him. If she was jealous, that might mean she really did care for him. He had the mad impulse to throw back his head and laugh.

  “Come here,” he said, stepping toward her.

  “No.” Anger and the jealousy she had denied boiled over. She didn’t know why she should be so mad at Johnny, but the thought of him fighting over Judy put her in such a bad mood that she didn’t want him to touch her. His touch had always aroused special feelings in her, and she didn’t want to feel anything with the mood she was in. He reached out his hand to her, and for some reason she could not fathom she hit it.

  Johnny looked stunned. Tía turned and walked off the porch without her lantern. She didn’t say she was sorry or anything. She just walked off the porch and kept walking as if she couldn’t stop herself. Johnny called her name, but she walked past the lighted windows of the women’s quarters as if she hadn’t heard him.

  And somehow, once she had done that, she could not stop or go back or acknowledge even that she had walked away. So she had to keep walking, even though part of her knew that it made no sense.

  Once she reached the orchard, where she felt safe from Johnny’s eagle eyes, she broke into a run. It didn’t matter that it was dark. She needed the exertion of running to still the terrible energy in her legs. And once she got running she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She leaped every obstacle, as fleet-footed as a deer, and exulted in the sheer freedom of it. It was inconceivable that anyone could catch her. Certainly not Johnny Brago, who was known for his laziness. She had heard the jokes the men told about him.

  She loved the orchard. Darker and cooler here, it smelled of overripe peaches. At last, panting, Tía stopped to listen. The sounds of people receded and were replaced by the skittering movements of unseen animals.

  She would walk to the playhouse and then go back. She had never seen the playhouse after dark.

  A hundred yards into the shadowy orchard, surrounded by weird, suddenly intimidating shapes, something skittered to the left of her. An image of Johnny in the hayloft, moaning to make the kids think he was a ghost, flashed in her mind. It might be Johnny trying to scare her. She would not give him that satisfaction. She strode forward confidently, tripped, and fell headlong in the dirt. Something moved nearby. Tía strained to hear it again. Her ears picked up the distant sound of careful footsteps. An Indian? Probably just Johnny, looking for her in the dark.

  The compound was big enough that it was possible to get into trouble, even with all the soldiers camped by the front gate and riders standing guard around the walls. She was a hundred yards from the nearest wall and probably three hundred yards from the nearest guard. She could scream and bring everyone running, but then she would only embarrass herself. She would get up, brush herself off, and walk back to the house.

  Tía stood up and started to brush herself off. Sand crunched as if under a foot. Suddenly she was remembering how easily that Indian had gotten into the house and almost killed Andrea.

  Heart pounding, ears straining for any sound, Tía took a careful step. Was that a twig being brushed aside by a careful hand? Every nerve in her body strained at the inky darkness—she heard crickets and frogs; a horse whinnying, one of the women letting out a spurt of shotgun Spanish in the distance; but no footsteps on her path.

  The sounds reassured her. She was only seconds from the back door. A mixture of emotions—fear that Johnny had followed her, foolishness that she was overreacting, and lastly defiance that she should care what he thought—gave her the courage to head back to the house. She could walk away if she felt like it. It didn’t mean she was jealous. Maybe she just felt like walking away.

  Forcing herself to breathe quietly, Tía moved forward cautiously. A bird trilled a few short notes. Startled, she turned and looked behind her. Nothing moved except the shadows made sinister by a light breeze. Tentatively she took a step backward.

  A hand covered her mouth so tight she couldn’t make a sound. A strong arm pulled her back against a warm chest.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Johnny whispered next to her ear.

  He held her immobile until her panic subsided, turned her slowly in his arms, and replaced his hand with his warm mouth. Tía’s wild urge to struggle lasted only a moment. The kiss was sweet and dizzying. At last he relinquished her lips, but he did not move away. He held her close. She buried her face against his neck and pressed her lips there.

  Johnny sighed. “Why do you keep running away from me?”

  “I didn’t run away,” she whispered, feeling wonderful.
She had never felt more alive. Her body tingled with power and awareness. His lips found her mouth, and she strained against him, not fighting him now, letting him kiss her, taste her, explore her. His body felt so good to her, so warm and solid and necessary. She hugged him hard and close. But it was not enough.

  Johnny picked Tía up and carried her through the trees to his own favorite spot—stumbling only once, catching himself quickly—to place her on a blanket he had left there a day or so ago.

  “Is this the playhouse?”

  “No, this is where I sit when I need to get away from those lunkheads in the bunkhouse.”

  “You scared me,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t want you to scream and bring the whole blamed compound down on our heads.”

  “I should have.”

  Johnny kissed her mouth, her eyes, her throat. His lips so close caused Tía’s breast to burn. She longed to feel the warmth of his lips and the stiff bristle of his mustache on her breasts. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and wondered if doing so would cause the same reaction to him that his doing it caused in her. It must have. Johnny deepened his thrusting into her open mouth, but he didn’t try to touch her breasts. His mouth nearly devoured her, but still his hands remained chastely on her back, kneading her hungry flesh.

  Tía was on fire. Her whole body flamed. She wanted to feel his hands on her. His fingers pressed her spine, dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, but they didn’t move threateningly close to anything he shouldn’t be touching. At last, in desperation, Tía took Johnny’s hand and guided it up to cup her breast. Johnny’s hot fingers held her and squeezed her tight, as if their hunger to touch her equaled her hunger to be touched. Then his fingers teased and pulled at her nipple. His kiss deepened, making her crazy all over. Finally his teeth nipped through two layers of her clothing at her breast. Soon even that was not enough.

  “Help me,” Tía whispered.

  She struggled with her gown, and Johnny unfastened the buttons and helped her free it over her head. It felt wonderful to be free, and she still had the safety of her camisole and undergarments. It was cooler with more of her skin exposed to the warm night air.