Fire Eyes

by Pierson, Cheryl

  "What are you doin' up here, Mr. Freeman?" Jessica fought the urge to push a strand of hair behind her ear. The gun didn't waver. "You're a long way out of Texas."

  Again, he hesitated for an instant before he answered. "I'm lookin' for an old friend from the War. Heard he was hereabouts."

  "Who?"

  "Fella by the name of Eaton. Jack Eaton. Heard tell he's a Federal Deputy Marshal, and when I stopped off in Fort Smith they told me he'd headed up this way to take care of some business. Thought maybe I'd surprise him."

  Jessica tried to hide her shock at the man's words. A friend? Was he telling the truth? Something nagged at her. He seemed sincere enough, but…

  She lowered the shotgun. "Reckon I can feed you, Mr. Freeman, if you're not too picky. I have to tell you, I'm not all that good with a gun, and I haven't shot any game lately." She looked down, hoping the lie didn't show in her expression.

  "You here alone?"

  Her head came up quickly, eyes cool. "Does it matter?"

  Freeman opened his palms. "No, not at all. Just curious."

  "My husband is away. Yes, Mr. Freeman. I'm here alone with my daughter. Do I have anything to fear?"

  "Not from me, ma'am. I'm just hoping to maybe do a few chores around here for you, to repay you for the food."

  She nodded, sinking her teeth into her lip briefly. "Come on inside then. There's always beans and cornbread, even when we don't have much else. You're welcome to it."

  "Much obliged, Missus."

  Jessica stood aside as Freeman approached.

  He bent low to enter the cabin. Jessica did not replace the shotgun in the gun rack, but took it with her into the kitchen.

  He grinned affably as she nodded toward the table. "Have a seat, Mr. Freeman. I'll warm up the beans."

  "No need, ma'am. I don't mind havin' 'em cold. I'm sure they'll be fine." He chuckled as he pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. "I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

  Jessica took a bowl from the cabinet and spooned the beans into it. She noticed Freeman's gaze resting on Lexi, sleeping in her crib.

  "How old's your little girl?"

  "Six months, nearly seven."

  "She's a pretty little thing."

  Jessica set the bowl of beans on the table along with a spoon and a napkin. "Thank you."

  "Didn't know she was sleepin' or I wouldn't've knocked so hard earlier."

  Jessica smiled. "That's all right, Mr. Freeman. Lexi's a sound sleeper. Here, let me get you some cornbread. Would you like some butter?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am. This here's fine," he said. He ate quickly, hungrily, as Jessica poured him a glass of cool water.

  "I'm sorry there's no coffee. I don't keep it made up just for me. I'll put some on, if you like."

  Freeman waved a dismissive hand and reached to take the glass of water from her. "Never you mind, ma'am. Water's fine." He took a drink and set the glass on the table, then finished off his meal in silence.

  Jessica had gone to the wash pan to rinse the dishes, letting him eat uninterrupted. She glanced over at him, feeling his eyes on her.

  "Would you like more? There's plenty."

  He shook his gray head. "No, thank you. It was mighty good, and I sure do thank you for your hospitality." He stood up and carried his empty dishes to her.

  "I didn't catch your name, ma'am." His voice was polite, his eyes kind.

  Jessica dried her hands on the dishtowel. "Jessica—" Could she trust him? He'd said Jack Eaton was a friend. Turner was a common name. Chances were it would mean nothing to this man, anyway. "Turner," she said.

  There was no light of recognition in his blue eyes as he took the hand she offered. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner. And once again, I do thank you for your kindness."

  Jessica let her breath out slowly. Usually, she could read people rather easily, but shaking this man's hand left her with a blank feeling. Yet, his eyes held a kindness in them, his voice a shy quality, and his manners continued to be impeccable.

  "You said you were looking for Jack Eaton," she said, meeting his eyes.

  "You know him?" His voice contained a hopeful note.

  Jessica didn't answer for a moment. Was she doing the right thing? If she told him where Jack and the rest of the marshals were headed, and what their purpose was, she could just as easily be setting them up for an ambush as reuniting two old friends. She bit her lip, undecided. "I've heard of him."

  Freeman's face fell. "Oh. Well, I know he's got a reputation. A lot of people's heard of him." He glanced out the window. "He's a good marshal, by all accounts."

  Jessica nodded.

  "That Jack, he's a blowhard, but he comes through in the end. He's got a story for every situation, and they all revolve around him." He chuckled, his blue stare swinging back to Jessica. "I'd be much obliged if you could tell me what you heard about him."

  Jessica shrugged. "Let's go sit down, Mr. Freeman. I know you must be saddle-weary."

  "I need a smoke, ma'am, so maybe we could step outside." He broke off as her eyes went to the shotgun standing in the corner. "Mrs. Turner, I swear I mean you no harm."

  Jessica let go a small, self-conscious laugh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Freeman. I'm sure you don't. Come on, we'll go sit on the front porch."

  They stepped onto the porch and Dave Freeman immediately reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarette makings. "Mrs. Turner, I have to be honest with you. I figure you know a whole lot more than what you're tellin' me."

  Jessica's heart jumped, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "Why do you say that, sir?"

  He drew out his matches and struck one, cupping the flame as he brought it up to light the cigarette. "I been trailin' Jack Eaton for the better part of the past week. Been ridin' pretty steady, but by God, so has he." He gave her a speculative look, his blue eyes keen under his bushy gray brows. "I reckon, from the looks of things, he and the others spent the night here a couple of days ago. That right?"

  Jessica swallowed hard. He didn't wait for her reply.

  "I don't know who else is with him, but I got a feelin' your husband's ridin' with him, now." He took a long draw on his smoke. "I can pick up the trail, Mrs. Turner, but it would sure help me if I had any idea where they're headed."

  "Honestly, I don't know."

  The man was uncannily intuitive, Jessica thought. Much more intelligent and purposeful than he had first seemed.

  "Do you know who they're after?" His gaze seared her, but she kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes. He gave a short, caustic chuckle. "Your husband Kaed Turner?"

  She couldn't help herself. Her eyes flashed upward, the affirmative expression undisguised. "Don't you harm him, Dave Freeman!" she hissed. "I don't know why you're so hell-bent to find Jack Eaton, but you leave my husband out of it, do you hear?"

  Freeman nodded, his eyes grave. "Don't know your husband, Mrs. Turner, but he's a lucky man. Seems like he's got it all right here. Don't know what would ever prod him to leave. Must be somethin' all powerful important."

  Jessica nodded, thinking of what Kaed had told her about the children Andrew Fallon had taken, about the terrifying way Fallon had killed her own brother, and her husband, before that. Of how he had almost killed Kaed.

  "It is," she said quietly.

  "So you know the purpose, but not the direction."

  When she didn't immediately answer, he put his cigarette to his lips again and puffed.

  "What's your purpose, Mr. Freeman?"

  He turned his head to look at her. "Come again?"

  "Your purpose. Why are you suddenly tracking Jack Eaton? War's been over with now for two years."

  Freeman chuckled. "Why, Mrs. Turner, you sound almost protective. Why is that? You sound as if you doubt my intentions."

  She regarded him coolly, not returning his engaging smile, suddenly wishing she still held the smooth wooden stock of the shotgun in her hand.

  "Your purpose, and your intentions, are your own, I su
ppose, Mr. Freeman. I suggest you attend to them. You may refill your canteen from the well before you go."

  Freeman lifted his bushy eyebrows at her curt dismissal. "Well, then." He gave her a measuring look, then walked down the front steps to stand in the yard. "I appreciate your hospitality, ma'am. Thank you for the meal, and the company." A hint of a smile remained about his mouth, as if he found the situation amusing.

  Jessica ignored it. She gripped the porch railing until her knuckles whitened to still the shaking of her hands. She couldn't let him know how unsteady her legs were, how glad she was not to have divulged any more than she had. How inexplicably worried she was that she had admitted to being Kaed's wife.

  Freeman refilled his canteen from the well, deliberately, as if he were in no hurry.

  Why doesn't he go? Just take the water and get out. Jessica was reading him plenty right now, and not liking it. But still, the man puzzled her. She had the urge to ask him—really and truly—who he was. But no matter what he intended, she was helpless to send a message of warning.

  He capped the canteen and replaced it on his saddle, then opened his saddlebag and drew out a blue and black buffalo plaid jacket. The afternoon air carried a chill. Jessica stood immobile, wanting to rub some warmth into her arms and shoulders, but she would not move until the stranger was gone. And, she promised herself, she would sleep with the shotgun loaded and ready beside the bed tonight.

  Freeman put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle. "Didn't mean to worry you, ma'am."

  Jessica nodded, feeling foolish.

  "Anything you want I should tell Marshal Turner for you?"

  "No. No thank you." She fought the urge to cross her arms as a prickling sensation crawled up her spine and across the back of her neck. She tried to smile, but it was forced. I ought to offer him some food to take with him.

  Instead she blurted, "Are you really Jack Eaton's friend?"

  Freeman guided his horse closer to the porch and sat, eye-level, looking at her. His eyes burned a brilliant sapphire. "That's what I aim to find out, Mrs. Turner. Guess I'll know when I catch up to him, now, won't I?"

  Jessica's heart jumped at the riddle in his words. He tipped his hat politely, riding away without a backward glance.

  She didn't think he'd come back this way again. But she intended to lay the shotgun handy, all the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tori lifted her head, waking instantly. She and Lily had taken shelter in a small hollow beside a huge boulder. It hadn't concealed them very well, or kept them very dry in the downpour of the storm, but they'd been beyond caring.

  Tori had been too exhausted to take another step. She'd slept deeply, dreamlessly, would still be sleeping now if not for the unnatural silence. She put her hand over Lily's mouth, shaking her awake, and she pointed to the tall elm tree that guarded the stone where they'd slept. Lily nodded her understanding.

  Muddy and damp, Tori boosted her little sister up to the bottom limb and waited until she cleared it before following her. There was no rain now, just a dull cloudy grayness and a fine mist, and she knew there was a reason for the sudden hush around them.

  Carefully she settled into the crook of a tree limb opposite Lily, and they began their wait.

  * * * * *

  Andrew Fallon's spine prickled and tensed as the click of a cocked .45 sounded directly at his back. He reined in his horse, sitting straight and stiff in his saddle. This was damned inconvenient.

  "Put your hands in the air," a deep voice demanded.

  Fallon heard the slow step of the man's horse behind him. He raised his hands cautiously, letting his own horse's reins fall to the ground.

  "Drew?"

  Fallon's lips curved slowly at the uncertainty in the other man's voice. He gave a soft chuckle. "You had me goin' there for a minute, Dave." Fallon lowered his hands and took the reins up, turning the horse to face the big man behind him.

  A grin lit the man's face as he closed the few feet between them. "Well thank God I found you! That was a piece of luck, for sure."

  "For sure," Fallon agreed, flashing another wide smile.

  "I've been ridin' all over hell's half-acre and Texas lookin' for you."

  "What name are you using these days? You'd'a never got this far callin' yourself Dave Fallon, I know." He scanned the line of beech and elm trees at his brother's back. "Didn't bring company with you, did you?"

  "Freeman," the other man said coldly. "Dave Freeman. And no, I didn't bring anyone else with me. Why would I?"

  "Oh, I dunno. Greed, maybe? I hear there's a price on my head. Five thousand dollars." He became serious again. "You weren't plannin' on collecting it, were you, Dave?"

  Dave shook his head. "No. It never crossed my mind."

  Though Dave's smile held, Fallon saw a subtle change in his eyes. They weren't so friendly any more. They were more determined. He pretended not to notice.

  "Well, Dave," he drawled, "you musta been missin' family a powerful heap to come all that far just to see me."

  "No, Andrew." He paused. "I didn't just come to pay you a visit. I've come to bring you home, brother. Can I holster this gun, Drew? Can we talk like reasonable men? Like brothers?"

  Andrew Fallon gave his brother a smooth smile. The uncertainty in Dave's tone was obvious. He'd always been weak, Fallon thought, having difficulty keeping the contempt from his eyes. "Sure, Dave. You didn't never need that gun. You know I always listened to you." Dumbshit. Dave had always been easy to fool.

  Casually, Andrew Fallon dismounted, turning to face his oldest brother. Standing would only make it easier for him, as quick as he was, as accurate as he was.

  "I heard you ran, big brother," Fallon murmured tauntingly. "Ran like a spotted ol' coon dog."

  "That's not true," Dave said tightly. "Pa was sick. Dyin'. I had to go back to see to him, Drew. Wasn't nobody else. I barely made it home. He died just after I got there. He was askin' after you. Had I heard anything? Did I know where you were?"

  "Pity, that." Unmoved, Fallon flicked at an imaginary piece of lint on his coat.

  Dave's eyes hardened. "You haven't changed a lick these past six years. Not for the better, anyhow. All those things we heard—are they true, Drew?"

  "Maybe." Fallon grinned. "But I never ran, David. Like you did."

  Fallon cocked his head, waiting for his brother to come at him, like in the old days. Would he be that stupid?

  Dave looked away, not taking the bait. "What are you doing here? And why didn't you ever come home?"

  Fallon took a step forward, and his brother's horse shied away with a snort. "I did not wish to come home." He hissed between clenched teeth. "As to what I am doing here—" He drew himself up to his full height, lifting his head. "I am leading the greatest army in the world. Fallon's Brigade." He lifted a sandy brow. "Perhaps, you have heard of us?"

  Dave Fallon shuddered. "Yes, I've heard all about Fallon's Brigade. You made quite a reputation for yourself. Not a good one, either." He shook his head. "After Pa died, we heard some awful hard things about what you done, Drew. It broke Mama's heart. I promised her I'd make it right again."

  "Just how do you intend to do that, brother?"

  "I promised Mama I'd see you came home to Texas to make a new start. You keep goin' like you are, you're gonna die young. You've got a passel of lawmen after you, boy, an' I ain't talkin' 'bout amateurs."

  Fallon's brows shot up. "Really, dear brother? Do tell."

  Dave Fallon leaned over the pommel of his saddle, a scowl on his face. "You take this lightly. That's pure arrogance outta you. Just like everything."

  "Who are they, Dave? That's all I need from you."

  Dave sighed. "Tom Sellers, for one. He's a tough one, and he hates you after, after what happened at Honey Springs."

  "Heard about that, did you?"

  "Yes, I heard, dammit! And so did Mama and Pa and Eddie. Seemed like ever'body in Fort Worth heard about it."

  Drew
Fallon lowered his eyes for a moment, a smile touching his lips. "Ah, yes. Eddie. How is our middle brother?"

  "Dead." Dave said succinctly. "Shot in the back by a man whose son and grandson you killed."

  "Hmm. I'm afraid I don't remember them."

  "Drew—"

  Fallon cut him off. "You said there were others, besides Tom Sellers. How do you know?"

  Dave's features were grim. "I stopped off in Fort Smith to see Jack Eaton."

  "Why in God's name would you do that?"

  "He and I served together for a short time in the War, before what happened at Honey Springs. I thought maybe he might've heard—well, Christ, we didn't know if you were dead or alive."

  "Alive, brother. Very much…alive."

  Tom Sellers wouldn't be alone, Fallon knew, and he'd be out for blood after Turner's murder. "Who's after me, Dave, besides Sellers?"

  "Eaton, Harv Jenkins, and two young ones, Morgan and Hayes, according to the office there in Fort Smith. But Kaed Turner's leading the pack."

  At that, Fallon's pulse leapt. "Turner? You sure about that?"

  Dave smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure."

  Fallon slapped his gloved hand against his thigh with a curse. "Turner. I was sure he wouldn't make it. I beat him bloody." He turned to look at his brother. "What makes you so certain?"

  "I talked to his wife. Pretty little thing. She claimed she didn't know where they were headed, but I'd already found that out for myself in Ft. Smith."

  "His wife?"

  "Yeah. Jessica Turner. Lives just off the west branch of Clear Boggy Creek. Got a nice little cabin there."

  Andrew Fallon began to laugh. His body shook until finally he dabbed a corner of his gloved finger to first one eye, then the other. "This is so…rich."

  "Enlighten me," Dave said dryly.

  "I killed that woman's first husband, Billy Monroe." He smiled. "We needed to commandeer supplies and he was most…uncooperative. A traitor, you might say. He cried like a baby before we finished with him. Yelled for her to come save him." He gave a snort of laughter. "Course, we was miles from that cabin by then. Wasn't no way she coulda heard him bawlin', even loud as he was. We went back the next day where we'd left him. Thought maybe we oughtta do the right thing, drop him at her doorstep. But someone else already beat us to it. That damn Standing Bear, I figure." He sniffed. "Kaed Turner would be dead right now, too, if that damned Injun hadn't interfered, again." He shook his head. "Evidently, Turner's got more grit than Mr. Monroe had. But that woman, Jessica, she's the one I should've gotten rid of. Once that's done, I can take any of the benefits of the land that we need for our army." He laughed again. "Mrs. Kaedon Turner, huh? Well. I can fix that."