Brandi flopped onto the wooden step. The night was exceedingly warm, the air heavy. She took several deep breaths before even considering another attempt to get Devon to his feet. It might take what was left of the night to get him moving again.
The wedding had been a solemn religious event. The reception was a drunken free-for-all. Fine food, music and dancing, lights glowed over the square that hosted the party and the revelers had no problem consuming the drink that Antonio provided--bottles and decanters of everything from beer to wine to tequila--and once the hilarity reached a crescendo, glasses were no longer used. Antonio and Devon were in competition, each guzzling from a bottle. Arm in arm they belted out several songs and as pleased as she had been the two had buried what animosity was between them, Devon couldn’t keep up with his host. Not that he didn’t try. His final reward was a state of paralysis. The brain was functioning for he pawed at Brandi a few times, making an attempt to speak, but his tongue was thick and she couldn’t understand a word. Finally, bloodshot eyes rolled into his head and he slumped into unconsciousness for about an hour, revived only when Antonio, who had continued the drinking orgy, poured a pitcher of water over Devon’s head.
The rest had rejuvenated Devon’s limbs enough to load him into a wagon. Deposited in Antonio’s courtyard, it was up to Brandi to get him from the yard to the bedroom. He crawled on all fours and was almost erect when his knees buckled again. He fell against her and slobbered an apology. Then erupted in a fit of giggles.
This was a side of the hardened outlaw she had never seen before. Always so stoic and guarded in everything he said and did, now reduced to nothing more then an idiotic mass of stupidity. It was actually quite refreshing.
“Poor baby,” she teased, stroking his hair.
“I had a little too much to drink,” he slurred.
“Gee, do you think?”
“I love you,” he said, resting his cheek on her lap. The words were flowing out even though his lips weren’t working up to par. Brandi let him ramble. She needed to take a break for a minute or two as well. “Yer a good woman.” With great seriousness he added, “You deserve better than me.”
“Um, that’s probably true.”
He laid quietly awhile, his legs twisted out to one side like a broken doll. One hand clutched her ankle. “I ain’t ever gonna let you go,” he said finally, his voice catching up to slow thinking. “Never in a hundred years.”
She puffed a laugh. “That about covers it.” The irony of the comment only she could appreciate.
“I had my doubts a couple of times,” he announced. “But I done decided yer the woman fer me.”
“Load off my mind.”
With maximum effort he lifted his head off her lap and swayed, focusing on her with half opened eyes. “Wanna know why?”
“Why you had doubts?”
“Nope. Why yer the woman fer me.”
“Go on then. Enlighten me.” This wasn’t really a conversation she could take seriously. Poor guy likely wouldn’t have any memory of this come morning, which by the growing hue wasn’t too far off.
“I done seen you.”
“Of course you saw me. Was that all it took?” She was humoring him.
“No, no, no.” He tapped his temple, the movement causing him to teeter. Catching himself he added, “I done seen you in here.” One eye squeezed shut. “You told me to go to Dry Gulch, that you were waitin’ fer me.”
A shiver fluttered the hairs on Brandi’s arm. “Your dream, you mean?”
“One of many but this here one was the clearest dream I ever had. You were smilin’ at me, purty as all get-out.” He dropped his gaze to her chest. “There was writin’ on yer shirt. You were wearin’ a white shirt that said…” He paused to think, straining with the task. “It said: I’m yer huckleberry. Yeah, that’s right. And over that was a picture of me, so I knew. How bout that?”
Brandi gaped, unable to speak. She had a T-shirt, a picture of the infamous Doc Holiday, not Devon, and beneath it a saying from the movie, Tombstone. She had worn it while packing the few items she brought for a week stay at Dry Gulch. “How ‘bout that,” she repeated weakly.
“When I laid eyes on you in that there saloon, I knew.” Devon smiled. “It were one of those signs, I reckon. I knew you were gonna be my woman.”
Yes, Brandi mused silently, it was another one of those mystic signs. So many. Add it to the list. It was reassuring, however, that Devon had been touched by premonition. The force that had brought her here had also forewarned him that something special was going to happen. Except Devon couldn’t begin to understand the full impact of just how spectacular the supernatural was. And she wasn’t about to elaborate. He wouldn’t appreciate an explanation sober let alone in the state he was in now.
“Right,” she said, lifting him as best she could. “Let’s get you off to bed.”
It took some doing, but she managed to get him into the bedroom. He flopped onto the bed and she got his boots off. Devoid of any further energy, she left him dressed. She didn’t even bother taking her own clothes off before flopping into bed.
The pillow felt like a cloud from Heaven. Fatigue was quickly overpowering her body. Devon stretched his arm over her breast and sighed, a waft of alcoholic breath stinging her nose. “I wanna make love to you,” he mumbled.
“Be a daisy if you do,” she chuckled, pushing his lifeless mass away. “Go to sleep darling. You couldn’t even get your head up let alone anything else.”
He huffed, incensed. “I’ll have you know there’s still buckshot in my gun.” With that he passed out cold.
Brandi leaned over and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, Huckleberry.”
* * * *
In her dreams Brandi watched the cast and crew in the production of a little known movie called Tombstone. She, in her capacity as professor, was asked to be an advisor. The director leaned on her for the authenticity of his film, since she was a renowned expert on the Wild West. Val Kilmer was in the process of asking her for a date when she woke with a start. Bright sunshine streamed into the bedroom. As the reality of her surroundings sank in she fell back under the covers. “Who needs the movies when life truly reflects art?” she said to herself.
Devon was leaning over the cabinet, his face submerged in a bowl of water. A spray of water flew from his hair as he lifted.
“Darlin’,” he said, teeth clenched to the obvious pain of a hangover. “You see my pistol handy?”
Alarmed by the request she searched the room, seeing it hanging from the holster on the chair. “Yes, why?”
“Load it and then shoot me.”
Brandi laughed. “Feeling a little tender are we?”
“Oh,” he groaned. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do.” He looked terrible. His complexion ashen, fingers trembling, eyes red and swollen, he was the model for the expression ‘death warmed over’. “Are you going to live?”
“God, I hope not.” Devon sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.
“It’ll pass. You certainly had a good time last night.”
“Did I?”
“Yep. In fact, that new dance you invented I can see becoming a big hit.” Brandi hid a grin when he rolled suspicious, but uncertain eyes to scrutinize her face. “You called it the lambada. A lot of hip swinging. Now that was impressive. Are you double jointed by chance?”
“Yer joking, right?”
“And those animal impersonations! Why, you had the mating call of an armadillo spot on.”
“Very funny.” A bout of dizziness caused him to reach for the dresser. “I don’t believe a word yer sayin’.”
“Fine,” Brandi said with confidence. “But I’d bet you don’t remember enough to know whether I’m telling the truth or not.”
“That does it. Hand me the gun. I’ll shoot myself.”
Not able to carry the joke further, she confessed. “The worst that happened was an array of screeching songs,
thanks to you and Antonio. Shortly after that you had a nap.”
“I don’t sing,” Devon said in disbelief.
“You’re telling me! Nor is your Spanish anything to brag about. Anyway, it was a fun time had by all. No harm done. Why don’t you go back to sleep awhile?”
“Can’t. I said I’d go with Antonio this afternoon.”
“Go? Go where?”
“A friend of his just got back from Brownsville. He might have news about Trilby.” Devon pulled on his boots. The effort made him wheeze.
“Trilby?” Brandi was frightened. “I thought you had given up on finding Trilby.”
“I have. He ain’t given up on me though, remember?” Devon took her hand. “Plus, we got to map out a safe route to California. Last thing I want is to ride right into an ambush.”
“Oh. Well, seeing that you put it that way. But this afternoon? Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”
“Weddin’ is over,” Devon said. “I want to leave sooner than later.” He swayed slightly as he went past the window to reach for the holster. Something outside made him freeze on the spot. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.
“What is it?” Brandi skipped to his side, just to rub in the fact she wasn’t nursing a headache or dizzy spells.
Flanked by two of Antonio’s rancheros was Budd. Devon’s haggard appearance f looked good compared to Budd. He slumped over his saddle, drawn and disheveled, teetering from side to side as though any second he’d tumble off. The guards held rifles but there was no need. Their captive could barely keep his chin up.
Antonio was first on the scene, but it was Devon who caught Budd as he finally slipped from the mount. They carried him to the shade of the porch, Antonio calling for water. Budd’s lips were parched, his eyes rolled, the only motion within a face that was cracked with dust and dirt. He took the cup of water, drinking fiercely, some of the water trickling down his neck.
“Not too fast,” Antonio said, taking the cup away. “A bit at a time.”
Propped against the outside wall, Budd reached weakly for Devon. “Boss,” he rasped faintly.
Devon took hold of his hand. “I’m here, Budd. You made it. What happened?”
After guzzling more water Budd revived, finding the strength to sit up on his own. He wiped his face with a dirty shirtsleeve, taking a few seconds to gather his wits. “Good to see you, boss,” he said, forming his words with more clarity now that his throat was soothed.
Other than being dehydrated and worn out he was intact. Devon patted him down, finding no signs of broken bones or wounds. Budd nodded forward, dozing off.
Antonio took hold of Devon’s arm, taking him to one side. “A friend of yours?”
“Budd Little. He’s ridden with Romy and me for these past few months. Once we saw it was Horn chasing us we split up. I expect he went to San Antone cause he’s sweet on a girl there. Won’t know fer sure till he’s able to talk.”
“He’s in bad shape,” Antonio said, glancing back at the sleeping guest. “My guess is that he has been riding a long time to get here.”
Devon agreed. “I reckon he has important news.”
“Then you will want to stay here, wait for him to wake.”
“Yep. I do.”
Antonio’s chest widened with a deep sigh as he scanned the outer perimeter of his property. “I have a bad feeling about this, amigo.”
“I ain’t too comfortable about all this neither,” Devon said.
“We shall wait,” Antonio continued. “But once he is well, I insist all of you move on.”
“You have my word on it.”
Antonio patted Devon’s shoulder, pleased with the answer. He was being shrewd. He had played the patient host long enough; accompanying his guests were many unanswered questions. Mysteries of this sort could only lead to trouble.
Devon sat vigil over Budd. Neither of them moved. Morning yawned into late afternoon while the heat of the day shimmered white. Insects buzzed while short bursts of wind twirled dust across the courtyard like miniature tornadoes. Everyone seemed to sense that something was amiss with this stranger. Even the children kept a distance from the porch.
Brandi accepted a plate of beans and bread from Maria, who handed it over before quickly disappearing again inside the house. Devon hadn’t eaten. He sipped black coffee and watched Budd, rolling over worst case scenarios in his mind. The few times Brandi tried to engage him in conversation he merely grunted a monosyllabic response and went back to his vigil. Finally she gave up. Devon’s mood was feeding her feeling of impending doom. She prayed it was misguided.
Finally Budd stirred. His lids cracked open and he reached, slow motion, to rub his nose. “Where am I?” he muttered, half awake.
Devon helped him to sit upright again while Brandi poured more water. “Mexico,” he answered. “You made it, Budd. Yer safe here.”
Budd drank some of the water and then poured the rest over his head. “I feel like shit,” he said.
“You look like it, too,” Devon smiled.
“How long was I out?”
“Most of the day.” Devon peered anxiously at him. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Budd struggled to his feet, taking a few steps into the yard, and then proceeded to relieve himself. Brandi winced with disgust. They could do well without him. He was crass and ignorant. But then, her opinion was based on the way he had leered over her, that first day of their run, when Budd had jostled for her favors.
“Anything stronger than water to drink round here?” he asked, sitting down on the step beside Devon.
“A bite to eat would be better fer you,” Devon said.
“Nope. We need a drink.” He looked at Brandi when he spoke. “Be a darlin’, go fetch us some whiskey.”
Devon nodded, dismissing Brandi’s scowl. She didn’t have far to go. There was a jug on the porch floor.
Budd pulled the cork and drank more than his share before passing it to Devon, who visibly blanched. Regardless, he took a swallow in anticipation of Budd’s news.
“That’s better,” Budd said. “I needed that. Where’s Romy?”
“He got married yesterday,” Devon answered. “I expect him back tomorrow sometime.”
“Married? Well, I’ll be damned. Slick, ain’t he? You married, too, or is this filly still up fer grabs?” He threw that famous leer to Brandi. It was all she could do to keep from slapping him.
“Budd,” Devon growled, his cheeks flushed with growing intolerance. “Either spit out yer news or yer teeth.”
“Sorry, boss. I don’t mean no harm.” He took another swig. “It ain’t good,” he said. “I went to San Antone, laid low like you said. Weren’t there too long when I overheard talk about Horn and his boys.”
“Go on,” Devon said. He was wringing his hands together.
“They followed you, didn’t they?” Budd asked dryly.
Devon nodded.
“Close shave, I heard.”
Devon had frozen except for the vein in his neck that fluttered to a thrashing heartbeat.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, boss,” Budd said, lowering his voice an octave. “But apparently Horn weren’t too happy bout yer quick get away. He took it out on yer family.”
All the blood had drained from Devon’s face. “Sadie,” he whispered.
“Not her. If the talk is right, she’s alive. They roughed her up a bit but she didn’t tell ‘em nothin’.”
“What then? What happened?”
“It’s Cal,” Budd said. “He weren’t forthcomin’ with where you were headed so they shot him. Then they burned down the house.”
Devon blinked, recoiling as though he had been viciously slapped. “No,” he rasped. “No, I can’t believe it.”
“I kept my head down awhile longer and then figured once you were on the move you’d come here. I rode steady. Figured you’d wanna know. I’m real sorry, boss.”
Brandi, stunned at the horrible news, flashed a morti
fied look to Devon. He had turned, his shoulders shivering. She wanted to race to his side, offer comfort, but she was too weakened to even speak. Her stomach flipped.
“Were you followed?” Devon asked, his voice barely audible.
“Nope. Don’t think so. But I reckon he knows where you and Romy are. We should leave in case he shows up here. No sense puttin’ these good people in harm’s way.” Budd sounded oddly calm, as though his speech had been practiced until fine-tuned. “We gotta kill this bastard, boss. I wanna let you know I’ll do all I can do to help.”
“How badly was she roughed up?”
“What?”
Devon spun round, bolts of anger flashing from his shimmering blue eyes. “My sister,” he screamed. “What did they do to her?” Before Budd had a chance to answer Devon was yanking him up. With a hard shake he repeated the question through clenched teeth.
Budd raised his hands in submission. “Hey. Don’t take this out on me. Weren’t my idea you try to hide with family.”
The impact of the comment washed across Devon’s hardened features. It was an error in judgment to go there. Cal had been right. Because of Devon his sister was hurt, homeless and a widow. He let go of Budd and yelled a curse of torment to the sky. A wounded animal wouldn’t have sounded any different.
“She’s alive,” Budd said. “The boy, too, but that’s all I know.”
“We’ll leave come mornin’,” Devon uttered before striding away to collect his tortured feelings.
“I thought you might say that,” Budd said.
Brandi couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a wry smirk touch Budd’s lips. Then she raced off to follow Devon.
* * * *
Selfish as it was Brandi’s main worry was that their trip to California would be abandoned. Devon had only just decided to leave the path of revenge for his brother’s death. Now the flames of his hatred had been fanned anew. Not that she could blame him. His sister was all the family he had left, and she was in a position of need. Who else would answer her calls for help but Devon? Yet to go back was to ride into the danger. There was a strong possibility Horn or some of his posse would be lying in wait. If she had thought of an impending trap, the same thought must have been wracking Devon’s mind.
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