Sweet Cherry Ray

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

She could swear she saw a twinkle of amusement flash in the stranger’s dark eyes, even though his frown persisted.

  “I am a faster runner than you, and I hope you have learned yer lesson,” the stranger said. “But I still think yer pa needs to know what you been up to.” Without another word, he turned her toward the house, forcing her to march in front of him.

  It seemed only a matter of moments before she stood on the front porch facing the door of the ranch house.

  “Go on, girl,” the stranger said. “Let us in.”

  “Mister…I don’t think you quite understand who my pa is.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States,” he growled as he reached forward and opened the door.

  She stumbled as the stranger forced her into the house. Considering Mrs. Blakely’s dramatic gasp and the way in which her eyes widened, her hands going to cover her mouth, Cherry knew she was in trouble. It was only at that moment she realized—the stranger still wore nothing but his boots, britches, and a gun.

  Chapter Three

  “Arthur!” Mrs. Blakely screamed. “Arthur! Bring yer gun!”

  “No, no, no!” Cherry said, shaking her head at Mrs. Blakely. “It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s just—”

  “You let that girl go this instant!” Mrs. Blakely shouted at the stranger. “Her pa will drop you cold dead on the floor if ya harmed a hair on her head!”

  The stranger raised his free hand, stretching his arm out at his side in a gesture he meant no ill. “Ma’am, I—” the stranger began.

  “He’ll drop you cold dead!” a now nearly hysterical Mrs. Blakely shouted.

  “He didn’t do anythin’, Mrs. Blakely. Calm yerself down,” Cherry said.

  Still, she wondered why the stranger had not released his grip on the back of her shirt. Her mind instantly drawn to Oklahoma Jenny and the Pistoleer, she wondered if the stranger held fast to her simply for his own protection. Hadn’t the pistoleer held onto Oklahoma Jenny until he’d been certain Sheriff Tate wouldn’t shoot him? In her soul, she knew the stranger didn’t mean to hurt her—for if he had, he’d have already done it.

  The stranger remained perfectly still as Lefty Pierce rounded the corner, pistol drawn. Cherry’s pa followed close behind, a crutch under one arm, a rifle aimed low with the other.

  “Cherry?” Arthur Ray asked. He wore a threatening frown, but she knew he was concerned—even frightened. She’d never seen her pa frightened, and it worried her.

  “It’s all right, Pa. He’s fine. He just brought me home.”

  “What’re ya doin’ with my girl there, boy?” Arthur growled, seeming to ignore Cherry.

  “I’m just bringin’ yer lost pup home, sir,” the stranger said. “Found her down by the crick and was just bringin’ her on home.”

  “Well, she’s home, and ya better let her go before ya find a bullet through yer skull, boy,” Arthur said.

  “It—it ain’t his fault, Pa,” Cherry stammered as she felt the stranger release her shirt. She glanced back to see him standing with both hands raised, arms outstretched at his sides.

  “Isn’t his fault, Cherry,” Mrs. Blakely whispered.

  Cherry rolled her eyes, certain Mrs. Blakely would be nagging her from the grave thirty years down the road.

  “Well then, he better get to doin’ some explainin’ ’fore I drop him cold where he stands,” Arthur said.

  “But, Pa—”

  “Hush, Cherry,” Arthur interrupted. “Let him get his tongue to waggin’ before my finger twitches on this here trigger.”

  Cherry swallowed hard. An uncomfortable sort of panic was rising in her. What if her pa’s finger did twitch? What if her pa shot the handsome stranger before he had a chance to explain it was all her fault? Cherry, normally so calm and brave, frowned when she felt her arms and hands begin to tremble with anxiety. What had she done? Silently, she scolded herself—not for spying on the stranger while he was in the creek but for getting caught.

  “My name’s Lobo, sir,” the stranger said.

  “Ain’t that nice,” Arthur growled, his frown deepening as he glared at the man.

  “I come across yer daughter while I was bathin’ in the crick, yonder,” the stranger continued. “I tried to tell her plain and simple that a girl oughta not be out about such mischief, sir. But she wouldn’t hear of it, and I thought I might should bring her on home for her pa to talk with.”

  “Lobo?” Arthur asked. “Lobo what?”

  “Just Lobo.”

  Cherry watched as her pa looked the stranger over head to toe.

  “Ya say ya was bathin’?” Arthur asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the stranger answered. “I was told it was a fine spot for a man to get his thoughts in a right row. I didn’t mean no harm.”

  “Exactly how did you come across her if you was in the crick?” Arthur asked.

  “I heard somethin’…a noise close by,” the stranger explained.

  Cherry shook her head, wondering, for her own sake, why the stranger had to be so dang honest with her pa. “I got out of the crick real quick, grabbed up my britches, boots, and pistol, and found yer daughter hidin’ behind a rock.”

  “Spyin’ on a man havin’ a bath, Cherry?” Mrs. Blakely gasped. “Mercy sakes, Arthur!”

  “I expect she was just curious, ma’am,” the stranger said. “I-I mean, bein’ that I’m new in town and all,” he added when Mrs. Blakely gasped.

  Cherry watched as her pa used his crutch to hop forward. She felt guilty when her pa frowned at her and shook his head with disapproval.

  “Didn’t I just warn you, girl? Didn’t I just warn ya about gettin’ into mischief?”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  “Seems I’m the one owin’ an apology here, Lobo,” Arthur said, lowering his rifle and bracing his crutch under his arm as he offered his hand to the stranger.

  “Not at all, sir,” the stranger said. With a weary glance at Lefty Pierce, the stranger lowered his arms and grasped Arthur’s hand with a firm grip. “Thinkin’ on it now, it musta been a might shockin’…me standin’ here only half-dressed with yer daughter in hand. I thank ya for not shootin’ before askin’ questions, Mr.…uh…Mr.…”

  “Arthur Ray. This here’s Lefty Pierce and Mrs. Fiona Blakely.”

  “Howdy, ma’am,” the stranger said, nodding to Mrs. Blakely. “Mr. Pierce,” he added with a nod in Lefty’s direction.

  “And I’m guessin’ you already know my daughter, Cherry…probably better’n you’d like to.”

  Cherry felt herself blush apple-red as the stranger nodded.

  “I’m afraid she knows me better than she probably wanted to too,” the stranger said. She could feel his gaze on her—hear the disapproval in his voice. “Arthur Ray?” the stranger suddenly mumbled. “Out—out of San Antonio?”

  Cherry looked to the stranger. It seemed he’d paled a bit. She looked to her pa to see his eyes narrow as he nodded.

  The stranger nodded and said, “Ain’t that a kicker.”

  “It can be,” Arthur said.

  Cherry frowned. She was certain something unspoken had passed between her pa and the stranger, but she didn’t know what.

  “Well, then, I’ll be headin’ on back to the crick to fetch my shirt and hat,” the stranger said.

  “That there’s a good idea,” Arthur said.

  The stranger nodded. Cherry felt her brow pucker with bewilderment. She figured the stranger had heard the name of Arthur Ray before—that much was obvious from his reaction and the fact he knew where her pa was from. Yet it was the unspoken things passing between them—a sort of threatening understanding—that was what puzzled her.

  “Sorry to have startled ya, ma’am,” the stranger said to Mrs. Blakely. “You all have a nice evenin’.”

  With that, the stranger turned and left by way of the front door. Cherry watched him go—watched the muscles in his arms and back move with the rhythm of his saunter. She suddenly felt disappointed, sad somehow—as i
f watching him walk away was the worst moment of her life.

  “So that’s Lobo McCoy,” Cherry heard Lefty Pierce mutter.

  Cherry turned to see that her pa, Lefty, and Mrs. Blakely stood behind her watching the stranger walk back toward the creek as well.

  “Yep,” Arthur said. “Lobo McCoy…right here in Blue Water.”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Cherry asked, irritated she didn’t share in the knowledge her pa and Lefty owned. “Who is he?”

  “A man you’d do well enough to stay far away from, Cherry,” Arthur said. Her pa reached out and gripped her shoulder while still leaning on his crutch. “You stay out of that man’s way, Cherry,” he said. “Do you hear me? I mean it! You stay away from that man.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “He’s Lobo McCoy,” Lefty answered, his voice hushed with obvious awe.

  “And don’t go tellin’ nobody who he is, Cherry,” Arthur said. “Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t tell nobody his full name. He done told us his name was Lobo, so I ’spect he plans on tellin’ folks that much. But don’t you go speakin’ a word of McCoy to nobody! You hear me?”

  “Well, yes, Pa, but—”

  “I mean it this time, Cherry,” Arthur said.

  Cherry had never seen her pa so severe—never seen such fear in his eyes. “What’s he done, pa?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Never you mind that. You just stay out of his way and let him be about his business in Blue Water. Promise me, Cherry. You stand here and promise me ya won’t go causin’ that man any more trouble.”

  “Is he that dangerous, Pa?” Her curiosity was too alive to ignore. Yet to imagine the handsome stranger as being so bad an outlaw that her pa would worry so severely—she didn’t want to believe it! “What’s he done?”

  “Danger rode into Blue Water the moment that man did, Cherry,” Arthur began, “and I don’t want you in the middle of it. Promise me.”

  “All right, Pa,” Cherry mumbled halfheartedly.

  “Cherry!” he scolded.

  “All right!”

  Still, as she watched Lobo McCoy rake his fingers through his dark, wet hair as he headed for the creek, Cherry knew she would never be able to keep her promise to her pa. Not once—not once in the whole of her life had a man like Lobo McCoy crossed her path. Handsome, powerful, fearless, yet cautious too, Lobo McCoy marked the standard of what every man should be in Cherry’s mind. She smiled as she thought of Oklahoma Jenny and Sheriff Tate. It seemed to her that Sheriff Tate was such a man as Lobo McCoy. Less exciting—calmer perhaps—but suddenly, she could see why Oklahoma Jenny loved Sheriff Tate so thoroughly. Something about Sheriff Tate attracted and held onto Jenny’s soul, and Cherry knew in that moment that Lobo McCoy held onto hers. She had no intention of keeping away from him—danger or no danger.

  “Get on in and close that door,” Mrs. Blakely said.

  Cherry could hear the muffled tap of her pa’s crutch. He and Lefty were heading for the parlor.

  “Come on, Cherry,” her pa said. “I want to know how you came to be peekin’ on that man while he was bathin’. And what happened to them Parker boys? Wasn’t they with ya when ya left the house?”

  “I’m comin’,” Cherry said. Yet she lingered a moment more—watching as the stranger met the tree line and disappeared from her sight.

  “Yep,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do it…but I want you for my own, Lobo McCoy.” She smiled as she closed the door. “And when I set my mind to somethin’, nothin’ can stop me. Not even Pa.”

  

  Sunday morning dawned bright and hopeful for Cherry Ray. Sitting beside her pa in the buggy, she wondered if the Parker children would be at church. As Mrs. Blakely prattled on from the backseat of the buggy, Cherry’s thoughts lingered on Lobo McCoy—just as they had nearly every moment for the past three days. Would he be at church? she wondered. Surely not. Not that he didn’t seem the type—it was just—well, something else.

  For three days, Cherry had wondered about her pa’s reaction when Lobo had asked if he was from San Antonio. For three days, she’d thought of the way Lobo had not attempted to force any sort of unwanted attention on her when he’d found her spying on him while he bathed. Well, sure—knowing who her pa was, Black Jack wouldn’t have touched her either. Still, Lobo hadn’t known who her pa was when he’d first found her behind the rock. Yet he hadn’t harmed her, and she was certain he wasn’t an outlaw. At least not the sort Black Jack Haley was.

  Thus, Cherry’s mind had been concocting all sorts of possibilities concerning the handsome stranger, Lobo McCoy. Perhaps he wasn’t any sort of bad man at all—simply someone stopping over in Blue Water on his way to somewhere else. Maybe he had kin in Mexico and was traveling on to visit them. His pants certainly were a testament to his having been there at some point in his life.

  Yet try as she might to justify his mysterious behavior, Cherry knew her pa knew something she didn’t. The fact that he wouldn’t give her any more details on what he did know about Lobo McCoy nagged at her worse than ever Fiona Blakely did. Her pa saw danger in Lobo’s wake. Cherry knew this simple fact meant she should see danger too—but she couldn’t. How could danger look so delicious dressed in nothing but boots and britches?

  “And don’t whip yer fan back and forth so fast, Cherry. It draws attention and makes the preacher think yer not interested in his sermon,” Mrs. Blakely was saying.

  “I won’t,” Cherry said, releasing an exasperated sigh.

  “You will,” Mrs. Blakely said. “You always do.”

  “You look mighty purty in that there pink dress, Cherry,” Arthur said.

  Cherry looked to him and smiled. She knew he was only trying to soften Mrs. Blakely’s eternal nagging. Still, she was certain that, in her pa’s eyes, she did look pretty.

  “Thanks, Pa,” she said, wrapping her arms around one of his still strong ones and laying her head on his shoulder.

  “And I don’t know if ya need to be a runnin’ off with those Parker children after services today,” Mrs. Blakely said. “You always come home dustier than any trail hand at the ranch.”

  “I like the Parker children. They’re—they’re interesting. And besides, I’m always home in time for Sunday supper.”

  “Well, yer old enough ya oughta be cookin’ Sunday supper by now,” Mrs. Blakely said.

  “How ’bout we just ride the rest of the way into town in quiet contemplation of the Lord’s day,” Arthur said.

  “Of course, Pa,” Cherry said, stifling a giggle. She could tell by the way her pa rolled his eyes that he too was tired of Mrs. Blakely’s perpetual nagging.

  It was a glorious day! The grasses and wildflowers were especially fragrant, and the birds flittered hither and yon as if not a care in the world owned them.

  Cherry’s thoughts immediately returned to Lobo McCoy. She’d stayed up far too late the night before reading Oklahoma Jenny and the Pistoleer. Over and over she’d read her favorite pages—the pages where Sheriff Tate saved Oklahoma Jenny from certain death at the hands of the pistoleer, then brazenly kissed her in front of all the townsfolk. It was one of her favorite parts of any of her Oklahoma Jenny books. Closing her eyes, she could just imagine it—see it in her mind’s eye, just as the scandalous book described it. She could see Oklahoma Jenny wrapped tight in Sheriff Tate’s strong arms—their lips pressed together in a kiss! The thought of it always caused her to sigh, and today was no different.

  “I know how ya feel, Cherry,” Arthur said.

  “What’s that, Pa?” she asked, opening her eyes once more.

  “It is a beautiful day.”

  Cherry realized he’d misunderstood the reason for her sigh. Smiling, she nodded at him and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

  She hoped Lobo McCoy was in town even if he wasn’t in church. She hoped he would be somewhere near when they drove in and would see her dressed as a woman instead of a man. Oh, how she loathed dressing in men
’s clothes! It was rare that she let herself admit the fact, but every Sunday the realization was put to her again. Every Sunday as she put on a soft pastel-colored dress and stood before the mirror in her room, she grew angry—angry at having to dress in men’s clothes to save her pa worry. Every Sunday when she studied her reflection, pleased with having been able to pull her hair up, a few soft curls cascading over her neck and shoulders—every Sunday frustration grew thick in her veins. Still, her pa was her pa, and he loved her—this she knew for certain. He cared for her, worried for her, and only meant to keep her safe. And so, she endured it—waiting for the day when Black Jack Haley would leave Blue Water for good and she could dress as femininely as she liked every day of her life.

  

  The service had been enjoyable enough. The preacher had spoken of “goodwill toward men,” and it had put Cherry’s mind to thinking on Christmas. She always enjoyed thinking on Christmas, and she left the small white church with a smile on her face and a lighthearted sensation in her bosom.

  “Cherry,” Billy Parker said as he rather trotted down the church steps behind her. “We’re goin’ for our Sunday walk. Do ya wanna come with us?”

  “Sure.”

  She ignored Mrs. Blakely’s heavy sigh and the way the elderly woman rolled her eyes with obvious disapproval.

  Instead, she asked her pa, “Is it all right if I go, Pa? It’s just a Sunday walk.”

  Cherry watched as her pa’s eyes narrowed.

  “Last time you was out with these Parker boys, ya got yerself drug home by the scruff of the neck,” he reminded.

  “It’s just a Sunday walk, Pa.”

  Arthur Ray sighed. What could he do? He worried about Cherry—worried about the fact she’d rather run headlong into mischief with a bunch of kids than spend time with the other young ladies in town closer to her own age. Still, it was nobody’s fault but his. He was the one who insisted she dress like a boy in order to keep the likes of Black Jack Haley from eyeing her up. Yet he wondered if he’d damaged her in another way—by not letting her be the young lady she so obviously was. Furthermore, he hadn’t liked the way her eyes had been so lit up and full of fire the day Lobo McCoy had drug her on back to the ranch house. Lobo had rattled Cherry—Arthur knew it all too well by the color in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes the day the man had showed up at the house, Cherry Ray in hand.