Sweet Cherry Ray

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “I-I-I know,” she whispered.

  “You’d be smart to stay away from me…to just stay outta my way altogether,” he mumbled, his lips so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath in her mouth.

  “I-I know,” she managed to breathe.

  “I’m only kissin’ ya ’cause I want a taste of you…not because I like ya or nothin’ like that,” he whispered. “It’s purely my manly desires. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you bein’ so fulla spunk or lookin’ so plum cute when yer climbin’ out of a barrel.”

  “I know.”

  For all the bliss washing over her, for the bucketfuls of goose bumps breaking over her entire body, still she thought he sounded more as if he were the one needing convincing of his selfish, lustful character—not her.

  And then—just as Cherry thought she might scream with the frustration of Lobo’s teasing—he kissed her, pressed his lips to hers in a firm, demanding kiss.

  She was inexperienced and too uncertain to respond. While her inexperience pleased him, her uncertainty did not. Lobo wanted to taste Cherry Ray’s kiss the way he’d never craved anything in his life. And danged if he wasn’t going to make sure that he did!

  He allowed his hands to leave her face and travel caressively over her shoulders and arms. He felt her tremble—knew his touch was invigorating and reassuring to her. Letting his hands rest at her small waist for a moment, he drew her body against his, gathering her into his arms, forcing hers to encircle him. He was pleased with himself—for she did indeed melt against him and begin responding to his deepening kisses.

  Cherry’s blood ran heated through her veins, the hammering of her own heart ringing in her ears. Lobo McCoy was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted! And kissing him—kissing him was far more wonderful than even she’d imagined.

  As he held her against him, Cherry reveled in the feel of being in his arms—of the strength of his powerful body flush with her own. Furthermore, his moist, demanding kiss sent bursts of every beautiful color swirling in her mind. Quickly she learned to respond to him—to accept his kiss—to meld his with her own. And she’d never imagined such a thing! Even while reading about Oklahoma Jenny and Sheriff Tate, she’d never imagined Jenny was experiencing such intense and complete rapture.

  In those moments, Cherry didn’t care who Lobo McCoy was or why he’d come to Blue Water. In those moments, all she knew was joy, wonderment, and marvelous bliss!

  Breaking the seal of their lips, he mumbled, “And that’s why ya need to be more careful.”

  Cherry forced her eyes open, certain she would faint from residual delight and the sight of his handsome face poised above her own.

  “Look how easy it was for me to get that kiss from ya,” he said, holding her chin in one strong hand as his gaze lingered on her, seeming to study her face.

  “That’s ’cause I wanted ya to kiss me.”

  He was trying to make a point to her now—yet she suspected it wasn’t the real reason he’d kissed her. She wondered if he would’ve kissed her had she been dressed in her everyday britches and not her favorite pink dress. Oh, how she wished she could wear dresses every day. How she wished she could catch Lobo McCoy’s attention and kiss him every day!

  “You wanted me to kiss you?” he asked, releasing her.

  “Of course.”

  And it was the truth. Still, her real reasons for telling him the truth were not what he was about to think. She had wanted him to kiss her because he was beginning to own her—body, mind, and soul—because he was the most handsome and interesting man she’d ever met. That was the reality of it. However, she couldn’t let him know it; therefore, she twisted the truth just a bit.

  “You don’t really think you woulda been able to kiss me if I hadn’t wanted ya to, do ya?” His eyes narrowed as she continued, “I had my own point to make, Mr. Lobo. Don’t think I wasn’t aware of the fact you were tryin’ to teach me a lesson…and I do believe you may have just learned a lesson yerself.”

  “That bein’?”

  “That bein’ that you might be just as easy to fool as ya think I am.”

  He was silent for a moment—seemed to thoughtfully consider what she said. Cherry tried to appear unaffected—as if she hadn’t just told him the biggest lie she could tell. Oh, not that what she said wasn’t true. She’d seen plenty of cowboys charmed out of a week’s wages by the hussies working at the saloon. She knew a woman could lure a man out of just about anything if she had the know-how. Still, Cherry Ray had wanted Lobo McCoy to kiss her simply because she wanted him to kiss her. She was afraid he’d see right through her fib to the real truth.

  “Yer lyin’,” he said, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

  “No, I ain’t,” she lied again.

  “Yes, ya are,” he argued with a chuckle. “Oh, not about the whole of it maybe…but in part. I think ya just thought all that horse sh—manure up right this very minute to try and cover yer tracks.” Again he wagged a scolding index finger at her. “I’ve got ya all figured, Miss Cherry Ray.” Shaking his head and still smiling, he reached out and took hold of her arm. “Come on, girl. It’s time we kicked yer little britches home…’fore ya find yerself in any more trouble.”

  Cherry breathed a slight sigh of relief. Sure—he’d figured out she was lying, but he’d seemed to miss the fact that it was true she had wanted him to kiss her. She wasn’t even upset by the way he was marching her home, yet again. Nope! Those moments of being held in his arms, his mouth demanding she return his kiss—those moments were worth anything. Anything! Even the tongue-lashing she knew would meet her at the door when Lobo McCoy came dragging her home again.

  

  “Shootin’ whiskey bottles off fence posts?” Mrs. Blakely nearly screeched. “Cherry Ray! Shootin’ whiskey bottles? On a Sunday? With a stranger?”

  “She’s a good shot, ain’t she?” Arthur mumbled under his breath.

  Cherry smiled as she saw the pride on her pa’s face. Likewise, she smiled because Lobo still held tight to her arm. She loved his touch! She loved the way it felt to know he stood just behind her—that she could turn around and see him there—touch him if she had the mind to.

  “Arthur!” Mrs. Blakely scolded. “Do not encourage her. This behavior just won’t do!”

  “I suppose it weren’t the worst thing that coulda happened, Fiona,” Arthur said.

  “Well, I’ll give ya that, Arthur,” Mrs. Blakely huffed. “Trottin’ off from town with a strange man that way. Do ya know what coulda happened, Cherry? Do ya?”

  “Lobo ain’t strange, Mrs. Blakely,” Cherry said at last. She was tired of the scolding—tired of the constant nagging. “He’s quite a normal-like feller. Now, Lefty Pierce…he’s strange. He’s got that one eye twitchin’ all the time, and he likes pickled onions for breakfast. Now that’s strange.”

  “You know what I mean, Cherry Ray,” Mrs. Blakely said.

  Still, Cherry grinned when she heard her pa stifle a chuckle.

  “Fiona,” Arthur began, “why don’t ya see to supper? I’ll take care of Cherry…and her smart-alecky mouth.”

  Lobo sighed. He did not envy Arthur Ray where trying to raise Cherry was concerned. What a little bundle of trouble! Stubborn, bullheaded, and with a witty tongue in her pretty little mouth, Lobo could only imagine the mischief the girl had gotten into over the years. He studied the back of her head, the way one long curl hung down her back. Immediately, moisture flooded his mouth at the memory of kissing her. Even now, as he held her arm tightly in his grip, not wanting to release her for some reason—even now he wanted to turn her to face him, drink the sweet flavor of her kiss again.

  Lobo closed his eyes for a moment—tried to call a vision of his purpose to mind. He’d come to Blue Water for a reason—and the reason wasn’t pretty little Cherry Ray. He straightened, released Cherry’s arm, and looked to Arthur.

  “I’ll be on my way,” Lobo said. “Just wanted to see she got home ’fore she ste
pped in anythin’ else.”

  “I appreciate it,” Arthur said.

  “Afternoon, ma’am,” Lobo said, touching the brim of his hat and nodding to Mrs. Blakely.

  “And good afternoon to you too,” Mrs. Blakely said. With one final glare at Cherry, Mrs. Blakely spun on her heels and stomped back to the kitchen.

  “You still plan on lingerin’ in Blue Water?” Arthur said to Lobo.

  Cherry looked to her pa, recognized the threatening expression in his eyes.

  “I do.” Cherry noted the way he straightened his posture almost defiantly.

  “Well…then we know where we stand, don’t we, boy?” Arthur mumbled.

  Cherry frowned as Lobo did as well.

  “I guess so,” Lobo answered. “Afternoon, Mr. Ray…Cherry,” he said before turning and leaving the ranch house by way of the front door.

  “What’d I tell ya about stayin’ outta that man’s way, Cherry?” Arthur asked the moment the door had closed.

  “I didn’t get in his way, Pa. I just sorta…sorta…”

  “When you was shootin’ with him,” Arthur interrupted, “did you see him draw? Did he fire at all?”

  Cherry frowned. It seemed an odd question. Hadn’t her pa just scolded her for getting in Lobo McCoy’s path? What did it matter if she saw him draw or not?

  “Well, I did most of the shootin’,” she answered. “But in the end, he did draw. Shot six bottlenecks off the posts.”

  “How fast was he?”

  Cherry’s frown deepened. Why would her pa be so interested in Lobo’s draw?

  “Tell me what it is ya know about him, Pa. Please!” she begged. “Is he an outlaw? I need to know. I need to know if—”

  “How fast was he?” he interrupted.

  Cherry shook her head in awe of the memory of Lobo’s quick draw. “Fast. Fastest I ever did see.”

  “Accurate?”

  “Shot all six bottlenecks off all six fence posts before I even had a chance to blink. He uses both hands to—”

  “Triggers with his right and hammers with his left?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Pa…please tell me he ain’t an outlaw! Please tell me he ain’t here to join up with Black Jack and those boys in Blue Water.”

  Cherry felt fearful—terrified at the sudden vision of her pa having to gun down Lobo McCoy for some reason. It had been years since Arthur Ray had been faced with the need to gun a bad man down. Yet Arthur was a lawman—always would be. Cherry knew the only reason he hadn’t gone gunning for Black Jack Haley was because it had never been proven that Jack was the murderer he claimed to be. But Arthur knew something about Lobo—something that made him want her to stay away from the man. Cherry felt guilt rise in her at the thought of the wonderful kiss she’d shared with the handsome man in the vaquero’s pants. No doubt her pa would be furious, entirely enraged, had he been given any knowledge of it. Guilt was quickly squelched by the residual bliss her memory provided in the next moment, however.

  “I told ya before he ain’t here to join Jack…but that don’t mean Blue Water ain’t in danger, Cherry. Stay clear of that gunman. Do ya hear me?”

  “Yes, Pa,” Cherry mumbled. “But—but don’t ya think…don’t ya think that if he meant to harm me in some way…well, he’s had his chance, Pa. I don’t think he’s of the same nature as Black Jack and the others. I don’t think—”

  “I ain’t sayin’ he’d mean to harm ya, Cherry. I’m just sayin’ trouble’s to his back and trouble’s to his front, and I don’t want ya caught in the middle.” Arthur put one hand on Cherry’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “What’d I always tell you about a man who draws a gun like you seen that man draw his gun today?”

  Cherry swallowed. Lobo couldn’t be bad. He couldn’t!

  “What’d I always tell ya, Cherry?” her pa repeated.

  “Gunmen are good with a gun for one reason,” Cherry recited.

  “That’s right. Gunmen are good with a gun for one reason, and that one reason is killin’, Cherry. So you stay clear of that man. I don’t care how good-lookin’ he is…how excitin’ he may seem. He’s a gunner and that’s that.”

  Suddenly, Cherry felt hopeless, miserable, and disheartened. Her pa was right. Any man who drew a gun and fired the way Lobo did—well, it wasn’t for the sake of herding cattle. Still, she couldn’t believe he was an outlaw—she wouldn’t believe it.

  “Mind if I run out to the tree for one of my books, Pa?”

  Arthur Ray grinned. He laid a palm against Cherry’s cheek and nodded. “Go on…but don’t let Fiona see ya. She thinks I ought not to be lettin’ ya read them Oklahoma Jenny dime novels. She says they’re rottin’ yer mind.”

  “Thanks, Pa.”

  Slowly she meandered toward the old oak tree where she hid her dime novels. Maybe reading a bit would lift her spirits—take her thoughts from Lobo and his wonderful kiss.

  

  Later that evening, as Cherry lay in bed reading of Oklahoma Jenny outsmarting Arizona Bill, her mind could not release any part of Lobo McCoy. His face, his confident saunter, his moist, heated kiss—every part of every moment spent with him played out in her mind. In her innermost, secretive thoughts, she even admitted to herself that his skill with a pistol made him even more attractive!

  Cherry was suddenly aware of some commotion coming from the kitchen. Frowning, she put her Oklahoma Jenny down and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Stepping from her bedroom and into the main part of the house, she gasped when she saw one of her pa’s hired hands laid out on the kitchen floor. It was Adam Cunningham. The back of his britches was blood-soaked.

  “Pa!” Cherry exclaimed as she approached her pa, leaning over the wounded man.

  “What happened?”

  “Ol’ Snort horned Adam.”

  “Strip his britches off, and let’s see how bad it is,” Fiona said, appearing from the other room. She was stripping an old petticoat into bandages as she approached.

  “I sent Griff to fetch Doc Milton, but I figure we better get to this now instead of waitin’ on it,” Arthur said as he began to help the injured man unfasten his pants.

  “Cherry, fetch some water, and get it warmin’ on the stove,” Mrs. Blakely ordered.

  “Ya oughta put ol’ Snort down, Pa,” Cherry cried. Her heart ached for Adam—the pain he was enduring was all too apparent on his grimaced face. “He’s gonna kill somebody.”

  “He’s worth too much in breedin’,” Arthur said to Cherry. “You boys know to stay clear of him, Adam! What in tarnation happened?” he asked the wounded man.

  “He broke through the fence somehow, Mr. Ray,” Adam panted as Arthur finally managed to strip his pants off. “Me and Griff had got him back in and were fixin’ the break, and he just—just came outta nowhere and got me.”

  “Cherry!” Arthur hollered. “Get to that water!”

  “Yes, Pa,” she said, hurrying to the kitchen for a bucket.

  “Yer dang lucky he speared ya in the hind end instead of the gut,” Cherry heard her pa say.

  She hated when the hands got injured. It frightened her—brought to mind the pure fact of mortality—and she hated it. She hoped Griff hurried—hoped he brought Doc Milton running!

  As she hauled the bucket of water back into the house and up on the stove, Cherry knew her Oklahoma Jenny adventures would have to wait. As she stoked the fire in the stove, she frowned. She hated old Snort! He was the meanest bull anybody ever saw—a Texas longhorn with the temperament of the devil—and she hated him! Still, Cherry knew enough about running cattle to know he was a valuable animal to own. She still hated him though.

  

  “Well, I don’t like him at all. Not one little bit,” Mr. Murphy said. “Somethin’s wrong when a man’s that purty. Why…he’s purtier than half the women in Blue Water.”

  “I say he’s gunnin’ fer somebody,” Otis Hirsch said as he leaned on the counter of the general store. “He looks too awful independent
to join up with Jack and his boys. Arthur Ray said as much, anyhow…said that Lobo character don’t look a lick like he’d be one to take orders from the likes of Jack. Nope…I say he’s gunnin’ fer sure.”

  Cherry shook her head with disgust. There they stood—men who allowed a man like Black Jack Haley to roam free as a cloud—speculating about Lobo. Cherry swallowed, trying to appear as if she were interested only in the new dime novels Mr. Hirsch had just put on the shelf. The talk and speculation about who Lobo really was and why he’d come to Blue Water had only increased in frequency and drama since he’d ridden into town almost two weeks before. The fact he was lingering—seemed to be waiting for something—only increased the gossip. The gossip worried Cherry. Many were the times her pa related tales of lynchings—times he’d seen townsfolk take matters into their own hands instead of waiting for the law to arrive. Many were the times her pa had told her of frightened townsfolk hanging an innocent man. Cherry didn’t like the talk she was hearing around town. Folks were frightened of Lobo because they didn’t know much about him—and fear could drive people to doing terrible things.

  “Carries a Peacemaker,” Remmy Cooper said. “Looks just like the one Wyatt Earp carries.”

  “How would you know what Wyatt Earp’s gun looks like?” Mr. Murphy chuckled.

  “I read it in a paper. Last year…just after the O.K. Corral. It said right there in print that Wyatt Earp carried a Colt Peacemaker…and so does that Lobo feller.”

  Cherry smiled, knowing she’d shot whiskey bottles with the very gun the men were discussing.

  “Well, whether Wyatt Earp carries a Peacemaker ain’t the question here,” Otis said. “The question is, how do you know this Lobo feller carries one?”

  “Seen it in the saloon the other night durin’ a card game,” Remmy said. “I got a right good look at it. It says ‘Peacemaker’…engraved plain as day.”

  “Engraved?” Otis said.

  “Yep.”

  Otis shook his head. “It’s worse than we thought then,” he said.

  “Why so?” Remmy asked.