Wandering Home (Dorado, Texas Book 1)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Kell quaffed the last of his third cup of coffee and nodded before heading out the door. “We’ll be here by five o’clock.”

  Throughout the day, Myrna and Vevina worked side by side. Tully was tasked with carving out the insides of three fat turnips, a task he could do while seated. Cabbage and potatoes boiled on the stove for the colcannon, and a ham roast baked in the oven.

  On one end of the kitchen table, Vevina assembled cardboard, string, wax crayons, and paints for mask making. Even as she answered what seemed like a hundred questions from Timmy, she too often thought of the image of Eugen with the hag stones around his neck. She vowed to make her mask extra scary to blend in with any undead souls or Sidhe who walked the earth this date after nightfall.

  ****

  Kell stepped onto the veranda, his hair still damp from the quick washing up he’d done in the bunkhouse. When the men arrived after chores were done and spotted the tub of water steaming on the stove, they quickly informed him this was the women folks’ message to perform their routine Saturday sprucing up. Kell only hoped that Tully and Myrna had taken precautions to guard Vevina as she crossed the open space between buildings.

  Even as he walked the dirt path, he kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The words spoken by the sheriff about pranks done related to Halloween had played through his mind most of the day. The minute the kitchen door opened, delicious smells wafted into his nose. Roasting meat, fresh bread, and creamy potatoes. And a sweet spicy scent he didn’t recognize.

  “They’re here. The party can start.” Timmy hopped up and down, clapping his hands.

  Vevina turned from the counter and smiled, wisps of her hair clinging to her damp face. “Thank goodness, now I can open a window. Tully wouldn’t let us until ye all were here.”

  Kell nodded at Tully. “Good man.” Then he crossed the floor to where she struggled with the window over the sink. “Let me.” He levered up the sash a couple inches and let go, but it slid down in its track.

  “Here, I use these.” Vevina held out her hands, each with a small block of wood.

  Another chore added to the list. “Obliged.”

  “Mr. Hawksen, want to make a mask with me?” Timmy tugged on the side of his trousers.

  He allowed himself to be dragged to one end of the table where he spied piles of art supplies. Dropping into the seat, he only half-listened to the boy’s story of making it real scary as Kell remembered how his sisters loved to draw and paint. Letting the memory wash through him wasn’t as painful this time, and he reached for a paper-wrapped wax crayon. “Show me yours, little buddy.”

  Blue eyes shining, the boy held up the piece of cardboard that was a mash-up of red, yellow, and black scribbles.

  “Whoa.” Kell jerked back in his chair, forcing his eyes to go wide. “That is scary.” As he changed the color of the brown cardboard with strokes of the crayons, he let the atmosphere of these folks gathered around this particular table fill him as they created a celebration together. He glanced around and spotted each adult coloring or cutting or feeding string through a hole punched in the side of the mask. Before today, he knew nothing about Samhain, but for a few hours, he looked forward to learning something new. And from the smells that were making his stomach rumble, he was certain he’d soon be enjoying a good meal.

  Right now, he was the closest to being part of a family since leaving home to fight in the War For Southern Independence. Thirteen years was a long time. Too long. He struggled to swallow against the lump in his throat. The only reason he was included here was due to the kindness of the petite woman at the end of the table with the reddish-blonde hair and the sparkling blue eyes.

  Vevina clapped her hands to capture everyone’s attention. “I appreciate ye all helping me make this celebration. Between Myrna, Tully, and me, we’ve gathered odds and ends from our Irish childhoods to share. If ye look on the counter, ye’ll see the turnips that Tully carved for lanterns, which ye’ll hear about in a story. Myrna made a dish from our homeland called colcannon, a mixture of cabbage, potatoes, butter, and milk. I also baked a brambrack cake for dessert.”

  “Mama, tell the story.” Eyes shining, Timmy bounced in his chair.

  “Aye, son.” Vevina walked across the floor to the pegs by the door, pulled down a woolen shawl, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll be needing me shawl cuz this tale always gives me the shivers.”

  Kell leaned back, surprised at the mischievous glint in her eyes. The woman was quite the actress.

  She hunched her shoulders and paced in front of the stove. “I’ll start with an old, old folk tale I heard when I was no more than Timmy’s age. This is about a man named Stingy Jack who was a lazy blacksmith and tricked the devil…” Vevina paused and looked around the table, eyebrows raised high, before continuing the tale.

  Kell caught only bits and pieces of the story. A cross, a wastrel life, Heaven, Hell. Instead, he was intent on watching Vevina’s face as she relayed the details—a sly grin, a gaped mouth, a chiding finger wave. Warmth grew in his chest, a feeling that only intensified when his little buddy snuggled a cheek against his arm.

  “…so when Jack cries that if he’s not allowed in Heaven or Hell, he won’t have a light to see with as he wanders through eternity. And ye know what that Devil does?” Her forehead wrinkled over her brow, and she jammed both hands on her hips and leaned forward.

  Myrna put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile during this serious part of the story.

  “What, Mama? What did the Devil do?” Timmy whispered, gripping a hand on Kell’s arm.

  “Why, the Devil tosses Jack an ever-burning flame from Hell. So Jack had to pull out his penknife to hollow out a turnip to hold it in. He carries it with him as he trudges through eternity looking for a resting place. And he became known as the fearsome Jack Of The Lantern.” With a flourish, she whipped off her shawl and let it dangle as she gave a deep bow.

  Everyone clapped, and Hank blew a loud two-fingered whistle.

  Vevina smiled and gestured toward the carved turnips. “So, we’ll be putting candle stubs in these lanterns, lighting them, and placing the glowing lanterns at the edge of the veranda. Light holds goodness, too, and can keep the evil spirits at bay on this night when the veil betwixt the living and the dead is thin.” She grabbed up her mask and tied it on. “But there be no worry, because we all have scary masks. Time to put them on.”

  Not wanting to dampen the fun, he didn’t stop the others from going outside to set out the gourds. Instead, Kell stood guard with a hand hovering over his Colt. As he scanned the yard and nearby pasture, he wished he’d cut the mask’s eye holes a bit larger. He breathed a big sigh when the ritual was completed and he could herd everyone back into the kitchen. Next came bobbing for apples followed by carving apple peels to see who got the longest string. Something about tossing the peel over your shoulder, but Kell was fuzzy on the details, because he was enjoying how much fun Timmy and Vevina were having.

  The meal was tasty, and the glass of beer Vevina distributed to each man was a welcome surprise. Toasts were made as thanks for getting in all the crops before this date. No one wanted to leave anything in the fields for the fairies to claim. Finally came dessert—cake and coffee.

  Myrna held a knife over the golden brown loaf served on a ceramic platter until the chatter died down. “Fair warning. Inside this brambrack cake are three objects so don’t be taking huge bites while you’re eating.”

  Vevina stood at her side and handed along the filled plates to be passed around the table. “If ye be lucky enough to find an object, hold it up, and we’ll tell ye the portend.” She used hand signals to indicate the plate with the half-sized portion should go to Timmy.

  Another new tradition. Kell waited before picking up his fork until both women had taken their seats. Then he dug in, forking in a mouthful. The flavors of the moist cake exploded in his mouth and, after he swallowed, left a tingling on his tongue. Whiskey?

  “Whoo-ee,
I got a coin.” Hank grinned and waved it in the air.

  “Congratulations, my friend.” Tully smiled and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “That speaks of prosperity.”

  “I want a money.” Timmy whined and smashed his fork over the thin slice of cake. “What’s this?” He held up a crumb-covered object.

  Myrna laughed then pressed her lips tight. “Ah, my lad, a twist of rag tells of coming money trouble.”

  “Here’s mine.” Smiling, Vevina held up a shiny ring, glanced at Kell, blushed, and then down at her plate.

  “Ahhhh.” Tully grinned and looked around the table. “Mrs. B.’s to have romance in the new year.”

  Romance? Not for a drifter like him, who hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. Anxiety shot through him. As the newest male on the ranch, Kell knew everyone would be looking his way. He stood and strolled to the stove to refill his coffee cup. A light flashed through the window, but he dismissed it as a reflection from one of the turnip gourds. But by the time he’d walked the length of the kitchen and glanced in that direction again, he spotted yellow-orange flames spread along the ground and shoot skyward.

  His body tightened. “Fire. In the fields.” He whirled, glancing around the house to determine where was the safest place for Vevina and Timmy.

  “Curly—” Jumping to her feet, Vevina grabbed the man’s arm and then pointed. “Fetch the washtub from the bunkhouse and fill it at the pump. Hank, grab blankets from the closet and toss them in the horse trough.”

  Kell took a moment to watch as Vevina took command, giving the same orders he would have—if he’d known where the necessary supplies were stored.

  Every adult dashed to a task—either assigned right then or remembered—meant to save the ranch.

  A little hand pressed on his leg. He glanced downward and realized Timmy had been overlooked in the confusion. Kell squatted and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, touched to see the boy’s trusting gaze, so like his mama’s, looking toward him. “Your job, little buddy, is to stay with Tully. He’ll be sitting at the big window in the front room, keeping guard. I don’t want you to leave his side. Understand me?”

  Wide-eyed, Timmy nodded, his chin quivering. “W-what about Bandit and Scout?”

  That’s a brave kid to think of his animals. Kell scooped the boy against his chest, feeling Timmy’s small arms circle his neck and fighting away memories of his sisters’ hugs, and stood. “I’ll find them and get them inside.”

  Huffing as he moved with unaccustomed speed, Tully clumped past. “I heard, Hawksen. Grab me my rifle, and I’ll keep watch of the boy.”

  For the next thirty minutes, every able-bodied adult beat back the flames in the haystacks. Wet blankets steamed as the people pounded at the burning hay to smother the fire. Sparks flew and flittered in the dark night like summer fireflies.

  At one point, Kell grabbed Vevina in mid-run from the washtub to the fire line. Hair had unwound from its bun and strands clung to her damp face and neck. “Stay back, we’ll handle this.”

  Giving him a blue-eyed glare past soot-covered cheeks, she just shook her head, planted her hands on her hips, and stomped a foot. “I’m not a hothouse rose. I’ll be remaining right at the front and helping to save me own ranch.”

  Then he lost sight of her for several anxious minutes as he ran to stamp out a fire in the field started by an ember caught on the breeze. And then another, and yet a third made him double-back toward the house. Pausing to catch his breath, he scanned the field. Curly and Hank were flailing their sodden blankets at what looked like the final flaming stack. Shoulders rounded, Myra trudged toward the trough, the blanket held at her side.

  “Myrna.” Vevina stumbled out of the barn, her arms full with a mound of brown cloth. “Let’s wet these burlap sacks to edge the garden.” The women plunged the sacks into the trough and dashed to protect the food that would be precious come winter.

  The imminent danger was past, and none from the ranch had been hurt. But he cursed himself for succumbing to the temptation of the holiday meal and celebration, rather than maintaining his guard position in the rocks. If he acted more like a Ranger than a member of the family, he might have prevented the fire from starting in the first place. Kell ran into the barn to his horse’s stall. With gentle words and a couple chin scratches, he coaxed Pepper out of his stall, slipping just the bit and halter over the stallion’s head. With a leap, he mounted and then rode into the field toward the cowhands. “Curly, Hank, I’ll ride the perimeter and check for hot spots. Help the women with the garden.”

  Both men waved and mopped their faces with the sleeves of their shirts.

  Now that the emergency had subsided, Kell needed to figure out the cause. On his exit from the ranch house, he’d counted the gourds on the veranda, and all six were present. Holding his thighs tight, he kept Pepper at a brisk walk, not willing to risk injury from an unseen gopher hole. The sky was an inky black marked with white dots. No clouds, no lightning, and a moon just clearing the treetops on its rise. That fire had to be set by a person. Past the circle of stones, he heard boots scraping on the rocks where he and Pepper had camped out earlier in the week.

  Ground-tying the stallion, Kell drew his Colt and crept forward, staying to the shadows. He placed each footstep with care to avoid making a sound and giving away his position. After a few minutes of slipping around boulders and pressing himself through gaps, he leaned his head around a concealing rock and spotted a man dressed all in black.

  He sat on the ground with his back against a rock, and both hands were occupied with pulling off a boot. Nearby, a horse stood.

  Kell eased his gun hand into the open, bracing his wrist on the rock, and pointed at the man. “Freeze. Raise your hands.” He waited to see if the man would comply before he moved his body into firing range. Body tense and gaze alert to any sudden movement, Kell advanced until he recognized familiar features from the wanted poster. “Bert Benton, I’m taking you in to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Ain’t my name.” After the initial stilling of movement, Benton glanced around then slumped his shoulders.

  “Not according to the reward posters.” For a moment, he held still, listening for any sign that Benton was not alone. Only the sounds of a breeze rustling through the mesquite tree and the skittering of a rodent filled the night air. Kell circled to his right so he could guide Benton to the same access in the rocks he’d come through. “Put the boot back on and stand.” As he watched the man follow the instructions, he thought that finally Vevina could get a good night’s sleep. Pride ran through him that his action would ease the petite woman’s burden.

  “Got a sprained ankle.”

  “Life’s tough. Should have thought of that when you ran through an open field in the dark.”

  Benton jerked up his head and glared. “Can’t prove I started those fires.”

  Gotcha. Kell couldn’t stop his grin from spreading. “Did I say anything about a fire?” After grabbing the horse’s reins, he jerked his pistol toward the opening. “Start walking.” The return trip to the ranch house took twice longer because of the limping man walking with his hands tied behind his back. But Kell didn’t mind. He had more time to think of the reward money. Five hundred dollars amounted to more than a year’s wages as a ranger. Maybe he should make a trip to visit his folks. If this was his ranch, he’d invest in a few more horses and train them to work the cattle…

  The sight of lights shining from the ranch house struck a chord deep in his chest. Bringing in Benton meant he had protected all the people within those walls. Kell spotted several faces in the windows and circled his arm above his head.

  The door opened, and several people pressed through the doorway.

  “Caught Benton, and I’m riding him into town to the jail. Curly or Hank, I wouldn’t speak a word of argument about having company.” He gestured toward the man. “Once I’m assured he’s outnumbered by guards, I’ll let him ride his horse.” He
scanned the group again, didn’t see Vevina, and automatically tensed.

  Hank strode across the yard and grabbed Pepper’s halter and the reins of the criminal’s horse. “I’ll get a horse saddled. But there’s something in the kitchen you got to see.”

  That doesn’t sound good. Kell slid off of Pepper and took the stairs two at a time. He dashed inside but slowed his pace when he spotted Vevina sitting at the far side of the room, her head in her hands. She was safe, that was the important fact.

  Tully sat in a nearby chair, cradling the sleeping child.

  A battered leather satchel rested in the middle of the table.

  “What’s that?” He tossed a glance at the others as he approached Vevina who sobbed with huge shudders.

  She lifted her face, tears streaming across reddened cheeks, and shuddered before she spoke. “A s-satchel I’ve never seen before. And it’s filled with s-stolen mo-money.”

  The look of misery in her eyes was what did him in. Only a few hours ago, they’d been full of fun and mischief. Wishing he could comfort her but knowing doing so wasn’t his place, he turned his attention to the bag instead. Rifling through the contents, he noted the bank notes were wrapped with paper bands identifying the same bank that issued the reward posters. Benton had been right. The loot was hidden on the ranch. “How did you find it? Where was the bag?”

  “Last night, I was visited by Eugen’s ghost.”