Loner's Lady

by Lynna Banning

  Dan’s eyes widened in innocence, whether genuine or feigned, Ellen couldn’t tell.

  “Ellie, girl. You don’t want to spend the rest of your days plowin’ and plantin’, do you?”

  “What is wrong with plowing and planting?”

  Dan snorted. “For one thing, it’s bloody hard work.”

  “The work is hard, especially alone. It would be easier with a partner to help out.”

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “And for another thing, that’s what I came to America to get away from.”

  Ellen blinked against the tears stinging under her lids. “Why did you marry me, then, if you didn’t want to share my life?”

  “Ah, now, darlin’, you know why. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, in your high starched collar and your proper petticoat. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Still can’t. A man gets lonely, wants a mate.”

  “A woman gets lonely, too.”

  “We had fun in the beginning, didn’t we, lass? You an’ me in that big bed of your pa’s. We could have that again, Ellie. Just come to Mexico with—”

  “Stop, Dan. Please stop.”

  “What’s the matter, darlin’? You look fair sick.”

  She gazed at him so long her eyes burned. She was beginning to see what she did not want to see, and it hurt. Her heart felt as if it was being ripped apart inside her chest, the pain like nothing she had ever experienced. Sharp as a hot needle. Relentless.

  “The matter?” She could scarcely choke out the words. “Even if I could find a way to tell you, you would never understand.”

  Ellen clattered her way through the supper preparations, trying not to listen to the accusations and denials circling among the three men at her kitchen table. The sun had gone down, but the kitchen was stifling after the heat of the day. Gray had volunteered to be her helper, and he now stood at the wooden counter, shelling hardboiled eggs.

  “I sure like cookin,’ Miss Ellen. Even better than eatin’, sometimes. I like tryin’ out new things.”

  “A potato salad isn’t exactly ‘new,’” Ellen said. But the boy’s help in shelling eggs and paring potatoes left her free to chop celery from her garden and stir the pot of beans baking in the oven.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Shep skulk under the table and sniff at Jess’s knee. With one corner of her apron Ellen blotted her puffy eyes and sweaty face and resumed slicing celery stalks into thin crescents.

  Suddenly Dan’s voice rose in anger. “I told you we’ll be havin’ another twenty-four hours, if we’re lucky.”

  Her cutting knife wobbled.

  J.D. propped his boots on one of the two empty chairs. “Only if every lawman from here to Riverton is nearsighted or rides a lame horse. I can feel the net closing in. Makes my head ache.”

  “Stop whining, J.D. We’ll move on when I say so.”

  Ellen’s hand stilled on the pickle jar. We? Dan was still including himself?

  “Yeah?” J.D. drawled. “And just when will that be?”

  “When one of you stinkin’ thieves returns my gold.”

  Gray crushed the shell of the last of the eggs by rolling it on the countertop, as Ellen had showed him. “Seems t’me it’s more our gold than just yours.”

  “Never you fear, boyo, I’ll divvy it up fair and square.”

  “When you get your hands on it,” J.D. growled. “How do we know you even buried it in that satchel? Could just as easy have stashed it somewhere else and told us different.”

  “Well I didn’t,” Dan retorted. “I rode half the night to get here after you’n me met up. Buried the bag under that pepper tree with my own two hands.”

  Ellen’s knife blade rapped hard against her cutting board. And rode off without speaking a word to me. Not one single word.

  Jess cleared his throat. “Part of the answer is sitting here looking us in the face. Either Dan buried the money here, like he said, or he didn’t. If he did, he’d be the only one who’d know where. If he didn’t bury it here, why would he hightail it straight for the farm when you boys broke out?”

  J.D. snorted. “Don’t be stupid, Jess. Ya musta noticed that his wife’s here.”

  “His wife was here before, when he buried the money.”

  “When he said he buried it,” Gray said with a harsh laugh.

  Ellen stared down at the mound of diced potatoes and onions in her pottery bowl. Her young kitchen helper was so riveted by the conversation he was paying no attention to his freshly shelled eggs. One rolled away toward the counter edge, and Ellen scooped it up just in time.

  “Fact is,” Jess said, his voice carefully lazy, “any one of us would stand to gain if he cut out the other three.”

  “Hell, Jess.” Gray’s voice rose from a resonant baritone to a strident tenor. “It don’t take a genius to figure that out.”

  “Problem is,” Jess continued, “you boys can stay here and worry it out while Pinkerton and everybody else trails you south, or you can scrub Danny Boy’s pot of gold and head out before it’s too late.”

  “Hell no,” Gray shouted. “I want my share of that gold!”

  Jess turned toward him with an odd smile. “You ever think your life might be worth more than money, kid?”

  With growing unease, Ellen mixed a creamy dressing into her salad. She didn’t trust any of them. Not Dan. Maybe not even Jess. She wanted to, but she’d been cruelly stung by her husband.

  She wanted this whole ordeal to be over with, and there was only one way she could see to bring that about. “Tomorrow morning,” she announced as she plunked the potato salad down in the center of the table, “I intend to ride into town.”

  Gauntleted with pot holders, Gray slid the dish of simmering beans onto the scrolled iron trivet next to the salad, and sat down while Ellen fetched the coffeepot from the stove. Shep padded over and nuzzled the young man’s hand, then curled up at his feet.

  “What’re you goin’ to town for, Ellie? You needin’ supplies?”

  She filled all the coffee mugs before answering. “To see Uncle James about my leg. I am hoping it’s time for the plaster to come off.”

  Dan reached out to pat her behind, but she turned away to avoid his touch.

  “Move yer feet, J.D., so my wife can sit down. She’s got a broken leg.”

  “Jess could take the plaster off,” J.D. volunteered with a wily look. “He’s had lots of experience along those lines.”

  “That he won’t,” Dan sang. “He’ll not lay one bloody finger on my wife’s leg. Or on anything else.”

  “And,” Ellen interjected, her tone icy, “I intend to pay a visit to Sheriff DeWitt’s office.”

  Dan gaped at her in the stunned silence, his mouth hanging open. “Sure and I didna’ hear you right, lass.”

  “You heard me right. I’ve had enough. Either you gentlemen resolve this matter before sunup…” She looked pointedly from Gray to J.D. “Resolve it and move on, or—”

  J.D. sent a venomous look in Jess’s direction and grasped Ellen’s arm just above the elbow, roughly jockeying her into the remaining empty chair. “I wouldn’t do that, Missus O’Brian.” His fingers squeezed hard around her flesh.

  Ellen set her jaw and looked straight ahead. “I don’t suppose you would. Nevertheless, that is my plan. Do help yourselves to beans and potato salad, gentlemen. I would serve you, but my arm is otherwise occupied.”

  Jess thought J.D.’s eyes flashed a brief look of admiration at her, but in the next instant the dark man slid his hand to her wrist and then covered her fingers. Carefully he grasped her little finger and slowly, deliberately, bent it backward.

  “You’re a bit hard of hearing, missus.” He increased the pressure. Ellen bit her lip but said nothing.

  J.D. leaned toward her. “You might want to get your ears fixed,” he murmured. He pressed harder and the color drained from her cheeks.

  “Cut it out, J.D.,” Jess said in a low voice.

  “Like hell I will. If I hurt her en
ough, maybe Danny Boy, or maybe even you, will own up.” He flexed his hand again and Ellen gasped.

  Dan raised his head. “Don’t, J.D. I’m askin’ you, please don’t.”

  J.D. did not move. “I want to hear you beg, Dan,” he said, his tone growing softer. “And maybe I want her to beg, as well.” He squeezed Ellen’s hand until her mouth twisted. “And then I want you to get that goddam gold from wherever you’ve hidden it and divide it up.”

  A tremor crossed Dan’s flushed face. “I would if I could, J.D. I would, honest to God, I—”

  Under the table, Shep began to growl. Jess chose that moment to do the only thing he could think of. He lifted his brimming mug of steaming coffee and emptied it onto J.D.’s lap.

  Ellen jerked free at the same instant Shep sank his teeth into J.D.’s calf. The dark man tried to rise, but Shep held him fast.

  “Goddammit, my balls are frying! Get this damn dog off me!”

  “Serves you right,” Dan yelled. He leaned across the table and gripped the darker man’s shirt front so hard a button snapped off and bounced onto the table.

  The click of a revolver hammer brought instant quiet. “Don’t know who to shoot first,” Jess said quietly. “You, J.D. Or Dan.”

  Both men froze, and then Dan sank back and very slowly raised his shaking hands shoulder high. “I’m not armed, Jess.”

  Jess ignored him. “Now, J.D.,” he said, as if to himself, “he’s just plain mean.” He swung the barrel toward the older man’s chest. “But Dan, now. Dan’s a liar and a coward.” He turned the weapon on the Irishman and watched his already elevated hands rise to the level of his ears.

  “Miz O’Brian?” Jess said without looking at the counter where Ellen stood holding her breath. “You all right?”

  “Y-yes. But I’m mad as a hornet.”

  “Which one do you want me to shoot first?”

  A long silence stretched while Ellen apparently thought it over. After an excruciating minute, she advanced to the table and positioned herself behind Jess. “I think, Mr. Flint, that you should start with whichever man you think has pulled the wool over our eyes about that gold.”

  Jess grinned. “You’re leaving it to my judgment?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “Any last words you want to say to your wife, Dan?”

  Dan’s dark eyes opened even wider. “Ellie, what’s got into you? Don’t let him kill me!”

  Ellen cocked her head. “A big, big dose of good sense, that is what’s got into me.”

  Shep’s growling grew louder, and then from under the table came the sound of ripping fabric.

  “For God’s sake, Jess, shoot this damn dog.”

  Jess shook his head. “The dog’s done nothing mean or dishonest.”

  Gray suddenly twitched to life. “Yeah, he’s just about the best dog in Oregon,” he blurted. “Don’t kill him.”

  Dan’s eyes shifted to Gray and a crafty look crossed his face. “Now why would you think that, boyo? That he’s the best dog in Oregon? You know any dogs in Oregon besides this one?”

  J.D. stiffened in a way that had nothing to do with Shep’s grip on his leg or the angle of Jess’s revolver. He swung toward Gray, an ugly expression around his mouth, his flat, black eyes narrowed to slits.

  “You bastard. You cheating bastard.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  White-faced, Gray backed toward the stove, his palms raised outward in denial, his eyes wide with fear. J.D. advanced on him, his mouth twisted with rage. “You little weasel. You’d double-cross us?”

  “No! Honest, J.D., I swear it. I ain’t done nuthin’ ’cept sneak some food under the table an’ make friends with that dog. I always did like dogs.”

  “Yeah?” J.D. snarled the word, his face contorted. “You think we’re dumb enough to believe that? C’mon, you baby-faced liar, own up. You got that mutt to sniff out our gold.”

  Ellen’s heart heaved into her throat. Any minute now, her kitchen was going to turn into a battlefield.

  Gray’s backside bumped against the hot stove and he began to sidle sideways. “Honest, J.D. You gotta believe me!”

  Jess stepped into J.D.’s path. “I believe you, Gray,” he said over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t be smart enough to steal the money and then hang around for supper like nothing’s happened.”

  “Th-thanks, Jess.”

  J.D. kept coming until the only thing separating him from Gray was Jess. “Whaddya mean, smart? That’d be a damn stupid thing to do.” He elbowed Jess aside to stand chest to chest with the boy, and reached his hands to grasp both halves of Gray’s unbuttoned leather vest.

  “J.D., I—”

  “Shut up!” Dan suddenly shouted.

  J.D. didn’t release his grip. “Make me!”

  Ellen heard Jess begin humming a familiar tune. As she listened, the melody rose over the din of men’s voices, but it was only when she recalled the words that her mind snapped to attention. I met my love in the cornfield, in the cornfield it was sweet….

  Dan yanked J.D.’s shoulders, breaking his hold on Gray’s vest. “Shut the hell up, all of you! We’re goin’ to get to the bottom of this right now.”

  All four men paused, looking uneasily from face to face. But it was Dan who drew his revolver. “Right now, by God.”

  Jess hesitated for a split second, moved toward Ellen, singing in a low, raspy voice. “‘In the cornfield, sure was sweet…’”

  Dan pointed his revolver at Jess’s back. “You, too, Jess.”

  Jess lifted his hands in acquiescence, but positioned himself in front of Ellen, shielding her from the gun barrel. She lifted her eyes to his.

  “Go,” he murmured. “Like we agreed. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  “Damn you, Jess, get away from my wife!”

  “Sure thing,” Jess replied without moving. “You’ll excuse Miz O’Brian. She’s…needing to visit the privy.”

  “So do I,” Gray blurted. “So goddam scared I almost—”

  Ellen turned toward the back door, her crutch scraping across the plank floor. Gray started to follow.

  “Not you, Gray,” Dan yelled.

  Before the screen door closed, Ellen caught Jess’s gaze and sent him a tiny nod. With an almost audible groan of relief, he turned to find J.D. and Dan planted in front of him.

  “We’re going to beat the devil out of whoever’s got that gold,” J.D. hissed. “Starting with you, Jess.”

  Jess’s hands automatically folded into fists. “This has nothing to do with the gold, does it, J.D.? This is about Callie.”

  J.D. swung at him, caught him in the chest with an off-center blow. He took another unexpected punch in the gut, then retaliated with a fist to J.D.’s jaw. “Time you got over it, J.D.”

  He hit him again, this time landing the blow near J.D.’s ear. He was right. Sure wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Ellen dragged herself across the creek with halting steps, managed to stagger up the muddy bank and then crawl to the center of the cornfield. Using the tip of the crutch she’d dragged behind her, she scratched a shallow depression in the crumbly soil and settled her bottom in it like a nesting hen. Then she wrapped her dirt-stained denim skirt over her bent knees and cocked her ear.

  Faint cries carried on the still night air. What was happening in her kitchen?

  A gun went off and someone yelped. Then she heard breaking glass, two more echoing gunshots and the whiz-snap of the screen door. Muffled shouts came from the barnyard, together with an odd, rhythmic sound like someone slapping laundry against a washboard. She stiffened in horror when she realized what it was—human fists meeting bone and flesh.

  She’d seen violent things before. Her father flying headfirst out of McCready’s Saloon. A horse an Indian had ridden half to death and abandoned alongside the road. Once Sheriff DeWitt had pistol-whipped a card player he’d caught cheating. But this—this was deliberate, punishing meanness unleashed at human beings, and that she could not stomach. Dear
God, things would never be the same after this night.

  The groans and scuffling noises went on and on, interspersed with Shep’s high, tense barking, and then all at once it was quiet. The cornstalks whispered over her head and from the creek came the chirrup of crickets.

  The silence was worse. Perspiration slicked her face and neck until they were sticky. She used her mud-stained skirt to mop her cheeks and forehead, but she knew she was just smearing the grime around.

  What did it matter, anyway? No one could see her out here in the field, and she certainly did not intend to return to the house. She was more than a little hungry, but she would not budge.

  She dropped her head onto her knees and thought of Jess purposely planting himself in front of her with Dan’s revolver trained on his exposed back. Jess had been an outlaw once. Maybe she shouldn’t trust him, shouldn’t trust any man, ever again.

  But she did. She did trust Jess.

  A sick feeling filled her belly. Her husband had changed for the worse, while Jess… She tried desperately not to think of Jess.

  She must have slept, because when she lifted her head she could hear the steady scritch-scrutch of cornstalks rubbing together. Someone was coming through the field toward her.

  She flattened herself on the ground and held her breath as the steps drew nearer.

  “Ellen?” A man’s weary voice spoke. “Ellen? Where are you?”

  She sat up. “Jess? Over here.”

  He stumbled through a row and fell onto his knees in front of her.

  “Jess! You’re hurt!”

  He tried to smile. Blood dripped from his scalp, across his forehead and down one cheek. His mouth was cut where his own teeth had been driven into the flesh of his lower lip. His hair, matted with blood and dirt, straggled over his eyes, and one sleeve had been torn away at the shoulder.

  “I’m a mess, I know. But…” he said with a hoarse chuckle “…you should see J.D. and the others.” His voice sounded like rusty barbwire scraping across a fence post.

  “I don’t want to see them. Any of them.” She mopped at the bloody scalp wound with what she hoped was a clean section of her skirt, and he closed his eyes. Gradually his breathing slowed to normal. When the bleeding stopped, his forehead sank forward onto her chest, and with a groan he curled up and laid his head in her lap. Eyes shut, he searched for her hand and held it tight.