“Why are you always like this?” Shasta touched his arm. “Forget about Black Jack. Sit down. Relax. Have a couple more drinks. Later we can fool around if you’d like.”
“Quit clingin’ to me.” Billy walked to the door, which had been left open, and glared out. “I’m sick of him. Sick of Black Mesa. Sick of being treated like an amateur. And I’m sick of you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Find someone else who tickles your fancy. Jeb Ellsworth thinks you’re a ravin’ beauty. Pick him.”
“I don’t like Jeb. I like you.” Shasta came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Why are you so mean to me when I care for you so? Don’t you know how much it hurts?”
“You should be more like me. Don’t ever let anyone or anything get a hold on you.” Billy smacked the wall. “I should show him. I should start my own outfit and steal and kill until I put him to shame.”
“Forget about Black Jack.” Shasta stepped toward the table and tugged at his shirt. “Have a seat. I’ll pour you another drink.”
Suddenly whirling, Billy pushed her. “I said to stop clingin’ and I meant it! If you want to do something useful, get in bed and take your clothes off.”
“For you, anything.”
Billy slammed the door, then kicked a chair and sent it skittering across the floor. “The more I think about it, the madder I get. Here I do him a favor by tellin’ him my brainstorm, and what does he do? He treats me like I’m fresh off the stage from New York City.”
“I was raised there, you know,” Shasta mentioned. “We left when I was twelve. My father thought he could strike it rich panning gold. But when he fell on hard times, he sent me to work in a bawdy house and—”
“You talk too damn much.” Billy came to the bed and began undoing his belt. “Why don’t you have blond hair instead of brown? And get yourself a flowered dress instead of that sack you wear.”
“You never complained about my dress before.” Sally grasped his hand. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I love you so very, very much.”
“That’s your problem,” Billy Braden said.
Chapter Six
Chick Storm was an early riser. A rancher had to be. There were never enough hours in the day to do all that needed doing.
This particular morning Chick was up and dressed before his wife stirred. He went down the hall and out the front door and stood on the porch, breathing deep of the crisp air. To the east a yellow sliver framed the eastern horizon. To the west the sky was still dark.
Light gleamed in the bunkhouse windows. Chick smelled cigarette smoke and heard voices when he was still ten feet away. Inside, the smoke was heavy, his punchers in various stages of undress. A few were still in bed but wouldn’t be for long.
“Mr. Storm,” Lin Cooley said. “You’re up with the robins today.”
“I wanted to be sure you boys made it back,” Chick said. “The wife and I turned in early and I didn’t hear you ride up.”
“We made it, as always,” Cooley said in that Texas drawl of his. “We’re about ready for breakfast. Then I’ll have the men head out.”
Chick saw Randy Quin down at the other end of the bunks, talking to Kip Langtree. “Did he pop it yet?”
Cooley shook his head. “From what he told me, she tried to pry it out of him but he got cold feet.”
“That’s a shame,” Chick said. “Dixie is looking forward to the wedding. She thinks they’re a handsome couple.”
“He’s afraid he won’t measure up,” Cooley said.
“Afraid he’ll take her for better or worse and it’ll turn out worse.”
“We all go through that. I was certain I would ruin Dixie’s life. I even said as much, right to her face, and she laughed at me and gave me her word she wouldn’t let me fail no matter how hard I tried.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from Cooley’s chest. “That sure sounds like Mrs. Storm, all right. You branded a fine heifer, boss, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
Now it was Chick who shook his head. “There isn’t a man alive could brand that woman. The best I can do is try my damnedest to keep up with her and hope she never tires of me.” He straightened. “Well, enough chitchat. That’s a minute I’ve wasted and the day hasn’t hardly begun. Were you able to pick up those things my wife wanted?”
“Yes, sir. They’re in a burlap sack up on your porch, to the left of the door.”
“I walked right by them and never noticed. When you have as many grey hairs as I do, you’re not as observant as you used to be.”
“Hell, boss. You can still lick any man here with your bare fists,” Cooley said. “There’s plenty of bark on the old tree yet.”
“Any news from Nowhere?” Chick asked. “Any gossip I can pass on to Dixie? When it comes to that, she’s as female as any woman ever born.”
“Sorry. It’s been as peaceful as ever except for a kid passin’ through who didn’t think too highly of the place. Old Man Taylor thought the kid might be a gun hand but all he had to base it on was the kid’s pearl-handled Colt.”
“Hell, half the kids on the frontier tote fancy hardware,” Chick mentioned. “They think it makes them more of a man.” His mouth curled ruefully. “Funny, isn’t it, the stupid things we do when we’re young?”
“It takes a heap of experience before we learn which side our bread is buttered on,” Cooley agreed. “I figure at the rate I’m going, I’ll be halfway smart by the time I’m one hundred and sixty-three.”
Chuckling, Chick walked out. He wasn’t quite to the ranch house when he spied several riders approaching from the northwest. Instinctively, he tensed, then walked faster. His Winchester was on pegs above the fireplace. Taking it down, he verified it was loaded, a precaution he learned to take back in the days when Indian raids were a constant threat, and returned to the porch just as the tip of the sun crowned the world and dispelled the lingering gloom.
Lin Cooley, Randy Quin, Kip Langtree and four other punchers had also seen the riders and were crossing the yard. Langtree’s eyes were the best in the outfit, and he was the one who exclaimed, “Why, it’s Mr. Jackson! What’s he doing here so early?”
“It’s none of our business,” Cooley said. “Let’s get to eatin’. We have a lot of cows to round up.”
Now that Chick knew who it was, he cradled the Winchester and leaned against a porch post. From inside the house came the clang of pots and pans.
“Chick!” Seth Jackson called out when he was still a good distance out. “I was hopin’ I wouldn’t catch you in bed.” He was a heavyset man with more muscle than fat and a swarthy face sprinkled with pimples.
“Dixie doesn’t cotton to layabouts,” Chick said. “You must have been riding all night to show up with the crow of the cock.”
“I spent a few days up to Beaver City,” Seth said. “Left Joe Elliot lookin’ after my spread and can only hope he hasn’t accidentally burned everything to the ground.”
“Joe is a good man, a good foreman.”
“But almighty loud.” Seth reined up at the hitch rail and wearily swung down. “You boys light and rest a spell,” he said to his men. “I need to talk to Mr. Storm.” Swatting dust from his clothes, he came up the steps. “I don’t suppose I could wrangle a cup of coffee?”
“You can wrangle a whole pot. What else are neighbors for?” Chick held the screen door for him, then led Jackson to the dining room. “Dixie!” he shouted as he took his seat. “We’ve got us a visitor. Can you bring us some coffee?”
The door to the kitchen opened and Dixie bustled in. She was wearing a man’s shirt and a man’s pants and her reddish brown hair was done up in a bun. “You’re not a moose, Chickory Storm, so I’ll thank you not to bellow like one in my house. Next time, come into the kitchen and tell me proper.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chick dutifully said.
Dixie smiled sweetly and bustled back out.
“I wish my Clara were still alive,”
Seth Jackson said. “I miss how she used to boss me around like Dixie bosses you.”
“That’s not bossing. She calls it ‘correcting.’ She says I was born an Eastern gentleman and I should behave like one whether I want to or not.”
Seth grinned. “That’s what you get for being from Ohio. Me, I’m Texas born and bred and damn proud of it.” He added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being from back East. More than half the folks out here are.”
“I read a newspaper article once where the editor went on about how America is a melting pot of people from all over,” Chick related. “He said that one day it won’t matter who we are or where we’re from. We’ll all be one great nation.”
“I don’t have much time for readin’,” Seth said. “And I don’t much know as I like the notion of being thrown into a pot with redskins and greasers.”
The kitchen door opened again and Dixie brought in a tray with two brimming cups of coffee, two spoons, and cream and sugar. “Here you go. Try not to spill any on my table or you’ll mop it up.”
“We’ll mind our manners,” Chick said, and received a kiss on the cheek. He watched her go back in.
Seth chose a cup and took a loud sip. “Nice and hot. Just how I like it.” He ran a finger around the cup’s edge. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Ask it.”
“This doesn’t come easy. A man has his pride, you know.”
“We’ve been neighbors going on ten years,” Chick said. “We’ve helped each other out more times than I can count.”
“You’re a good friend,” Seth said, “which makes this all the harder. I’ve never had to stoop to askin’ for a handout, and it rankles.”
“You’re taking the long way around the barn. Come right out with it.”
“I reckon that’s best.” Seth took a deep breath. “I’d be obliged if you could see fit to loan me two thousand dollars.”
Chick put down his cup.
“I know, I know.” Seth gestured. “It’s just that I’m in a bind and I don’t know where else to turn. If I don’t scrape up the money I stand to lose my spread. You see”—he stopped and averted his gaze—“you see, I went and did something stupid. So stupid I can’t believe I did it.”
“Gambling?”
Seth sat back. “You know?”
“Secrets don’t stay secrets for long in these parts,” Chick said. “Poker, the word is. Several high-stakes games a year.”
“High stakes is right. But I’ve never lost so much before. I’ve always been able to stop before I got in over my head. This time I lost all the money I took with me, then was dealt a hand I was sure was a winner. So I signed a note for two thousand dollars, with my ranch as collateral.” Seth paused. “I’ll pay it back as soon as I can.”
“I don’t have that much handy,” Chick said. “The last few years have been lean, what with cattle not fetching as much as they used to and the cost of my new barn and the like.”
Seth closed his eyes, then opened them and shrugged. “Oh well. I’m a grown man. I’ll take my medicine without complainin’.”
“Your ranch is worth a lot more than two thousand,” Chick said. “Your cows alone would bring twice that much. Why not sell some off?”
“I can try, but this is a poor time of the year to sell. And if I don’t come up with the money in two months, Merney will come and take my place.”
“Titus Merney?” Chick made a clucking sound. “You played against a professional cardsharp? I thought you knew better.”
“My greed got the better of my judgement. I had four tens, the best hand I’d had all night, so I went for broke and he broke me.”
“Damn.”
“If I have to, I reckon I can go to Amarillo and ask the bank for a loan. They already hold my mortgage, so what’s another two thousand?” Seth abruptly stood. “It’s best I be going. Thanks for hearin’ me out.”
Chick followed him to the porch. “If there’s anything I can do to help tide you over, let me know. We have about four hundred saved, and I’m sure I could talk Dixie into letting you have most of it.”
“That’s kind of you,” Seth said as he climbed into the stirrups. “But don’t worry. I’ll figure a way.”
Chick watched his friend recede into the distance, then turned. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Since he left,” Dixie said. She linked her arm with his. “I couldn’t help but overhear when you were in the dining room. He only has himself to blame for the tight he’s in. Gambling is a surefire road to the poorhouse.”
“There aren’t any of us saints.”
“Granted. But like he said, he’s a grown man, and a grown man shouldn’t let himself be fleeced by a card slick.”
“Seth has had a hard time of it since that bull gored Clara,” Chick reminded her.
“It was her own fault, walking into that pen like she did,” Dixie said. “But Clara had raised it from a calf and still treated it like one. I tried telling her a bull is temperamental but she was as headstrong as I am.”
Chick squeezed her arm. “No one is that headstrong.”
They laughed, and Dixie said, “We don’t get ahead in this world by sitting on our thumbs. Those who want to make their mark need more than a small amount of pigheadedness.”
“In which case you and I should go down in the history books as plumb famous,” Chick quipped. He gazed to the south but Seth Jackson had vanished into the early morning haze. Shutting Seth’s plight from his mind, he went about his morning chores, including a midmorning ride to the east a few miles to check on one of his herds.
Lin Cooley and Randy Quin happened to be there, and when Chick found himself alone with the young puncher, he casually mentioned, “There’s been some talk you haven’t asked the question yet.”
Quin blushed and seemed to be trying to shrink into his saddle. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t hold my breath, were I you, boss.”
“I only mention it because Mrs. Storm has offered to have the ceremony here, instead of in Nowhere,” Chick disclosed. “We’re also willing to put the two of you up in one of our guest rooms until you find a place of our own.”
“I don’t take charity.”
“That was uncalled for,” Chick said sternly. “You have to learn to tell the difference between a helping hand and an insult. My wife and I would take it as an honor. We don’t get many guests, and it’s been ages since Mrs. Storm enjoyed the company of another woman.”
“Females are as scarce as hen’s teeth in these parts,” Randy allowed.
“Talk it over with your cow bunny if it ever reaches that point.” Chick raised his reins to ride off.
The young puncher quickly said, “Mind if I ask you a question, Mr. Storm?”
“Not at all. So long as you don’t mind if I don’t have the answer. Dixie is the one who knows all there is to know.”
Randy looked to see where Lin and the other hands were. None were anywhere near them. “She’s the one I want to ask about. How did you know Mrs. Storm was the one for you? Out of all the women in the world, what made you pick her?”
“I don’t know as I did. It was more a case of her picking me. Lord knows why.” Chick was partly joking but Randy failed to appreciate the humor. “There was something about her, Randall. Something I can’t describe. When we were apart I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and when we were together, I was so happy, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
“You weren’t scared when you proposed?”
Chick grinned. “I’ll be honest. I was never so afraid in my life. A herd of longhorns were stampeding in my stomach and my knees had changed from bone and muscle to mush.”
“Yet you asked her anyway?”
“I figured I might as well after all the suffering I put myself through.” Chick waited for another question and when there was none, he said, “We don’t get many chances for lasting happiness in this life. When one comes along, grab it or you’re liable to spend the rest of y
our days miserable.”
“Thanks, Mr. Storm,” Randy Quin said, and rode off deep in thought.
Chapter Seven
The sun was at its zenith. Nowhere lay as still as a cemetery under its burning rays, her buildings as squat as tombstones. Svenson the blacksmith was kindling his forge. Over in the saloon, Dub Wheeton played solitaire. The Palmers were having their midday meal. Robert Renfro was wiping off the sign to his barbershop.
Marshal Paul Lunsford stepped from the jail, adjusted his white hat so the brim shielded his eyes, and strolled to the livery stable. “It sure is a hot one.”
“Then why in hell are you out and about when you should be inside out of the sun like everyone else?” Old Man Taylor baited him.
“I don’t see you inside.”
“I’m old. The only time my muscles and joints don’t ache is on really hot days like this one. I can even move my fingers without them hurting.” Taylor wriggled his right hand to demonstrate.
“I know what you mean. On hot days I sometimes think I can feel this.” Lunsford patted his twisted right arm. “For a little while I can half convince myself it’s not completely useless.”
“A man’s worth isn’t measured by what he can do but by what he is,” Old Man Taylor said.
“Better be careful. The heat is bringing out the human being in you, and you wouldn’t want to spoil your reputation.”
“At my age it’s my privilege to go around with a broomstick shoved up my ass if I want.” Taylor resumed whittling. “It’s the only other amusement I have.”
“Heard the latest?” Marshal Lunsford made small talk.
“About the Palmers getting in a shipment of Sara toga chips and an icebox? I don’t much care for the chips but I like to buy a glass of ice and suck on the pieces. No water or juice or anything in it, just the ice.”
“Not that. About Dub maybe leaving Nowhere.”
Taylor sat bolt upright in his rocking chair. “Tell me you made that up. A town can do without a lot of things but not its watering hole. Where in hell would we get our drinks?”
“Dub says he’s tired of barely squeaking by. He says he’s thinking about moving to Kansas City or Denver or wherever there are enough people for him to show a profit.”
Ralph Compton Nowhere, TX Page 5