Sweet Cherry Ray

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “An engraved Peacemaker…it’s a rare thing,” Mr. Murphy said. “Costs a shiny bit too. Ain’t many men walkin’ that carry an engraved Peacemaker.”

  Cherry frowned. She knew Remmy Cooper played cards over at the saloon two nights a week—but Remmy telling the others he’d played with Lobo unsettled her. In fact, it downright made her mad! She knew if Pinky Chitter had made it clear to folks she thought Remmy Cooper was a handsome man, then she must be drooling like an old hound dog over raw meat at the likes of Lobo McCoy.

  “Well, I saw more than that,” Remmy said, lowering his voice.

  “What more did ya see, boy?” Mr. Murphy asked.

  Cherry stood still and strained to hear what Remmy was saying.

  “Notches,” Remmy whispered.

  “Notches?” Otis asked.

  “More’n I could count in the short time I saw his grip.”

  Cherry frowned. Her heart experienced a sudden pang. Notches on a pistol grip meant only one thing—kills. Frantically, she searched her memory—tried to recall the details of Lobo’s gun the day she’d held it, used it to shoot whiskey bottles off the fence posts. Were there notches? She couldn’t remember! She couldn’t even remember if she’d seen the Peacemaker engraving. Oh, why hadn’t she paid better attention to the gun? She shook her head as her thoughts answered her own question. What woman in the world would pay attention to the details of a gun when a man as handsome as Lobo McCoy was standing right in front of her?

  “He rides a fine pony too,” Mr. Murphy said. “I shoed his horse last week. It’s a mighty fine animal.”

  “Hey there, fellers!”

  It was Billy Parker. He and Pocket had just entered the general store.

  “Hey there, Billy…Pocket,” Mr. Hirsch greeted. “What can I do for you boys today?”

  “Well, I gotta be gettin’ back,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “Me too,” Remmy added. “See you fellers another time.”

  Cherry smiled. Nothing broke up a gossip session like the appearance of innocence.

  “Ma’s plum outta sugar, Mr. Hirsch,” Pocket explained as he approached the counter. “And I hate cherry pie without sugar.”

  “There’s a lot of talk goin’ ’round, Cherry,” Billy whispered, stepping up beside Cherry.

  “About what?” She figured the talk Billy spoke of was of the same sort she’d just heard.

  “That Lobo feller. Folks is worried. They say one outlaw in Blue Water is already one too many.”

  “I don’t think he’s an outlaw.”

  “Well, outlaw or not, ol’ Black Jack’s gonna come gunnin’ for him once he gets wind of what Pinky Chitter’s been up to.”

  “What?” Cherry exclaimed.

  “Did ya need somethin’, Cherry?” Mr. Hirsch asked.

  Cherry’s exclamation had been louder than she had intended.

  “No. No, I’m still lookin’.”

  “I think there is a new Oklahoma Jenny there, Cherry. I thought about holdin’ it back fer ya,” Mr. Hirsch said.

  “Yes. I see it here,” she said, reaching out and picking up the book.

  Billy took the book from her. “Oklahoma Jenny and Lawless Sue,” he read aloud. “You sure do like these books, don’t ya, Cherry.”

  Cherry took hold of Billy’s arms, fairly dragging him toward the counter.

  “Will you save this over for me, Mr. Hirsch? I forgot my dime,” Cherry said to Mr. Hirsch.

  “Sure thing, sweetheart,” Mr. Hirsch said, taking the book and placing it on a shelf under the counter.

  “Pocket, Billy and me will be outside,” she said.

  Quickly, Cherry pulled Billy out of the store and onto the boardwalk. “Billy—what do you mean?” Cherry asked.

  “’Bout what, Cherry? What’s got yer tail all tangled up?”

  “What’s Pinky Chitter up to with Lobo?” she asked.

  Billy shrugged. “I ain’t rightly certain. Only that she’s near to slobberin’ on him every time’s he’s over playin’ cards at the saloon.”

  “Why’s he playin’ cards at the saloon?”

  Billy shrugged again. “It’s what outlaws do, Cherry—sit around in the saloon, playin’ cards, and waitin’ for someone to pick a fight so they can shoot somebody.”

  “Lobo ain’t an outlaw, Billy,” Cherry said.

  She drew in a deep breath—felt the hot sting of tears welling up in her eyes. Pinky Chitter? Jealousy burned through her entire being—scorching her heart, tearing at her soul.

  “You ain’t sweet on that outlaw, are ya, Cherry?” Billy whispered.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to dispel the remembered sensation of Lobo’s kiss—his arms pulling her against him—the way his smile caused butterflies to rumble around in her stomach.

  “I-I’m just sayin’ he ain’t an outlaw is all.”

  “Well, he better be one,” Billy sighed. “And he better be good with that iron on his hip ’cause when Black Jack does come back…” He shook his head. “Pinky will win Lobo over one way or the other, and then Black Jack Haley will be gunnin’ for him fer sure.”

  Cherry swallowed hard—demanded her tears stay in her eyes, not escape over her cheeks.

  “He’s over there right now, and Pinky’s tryin’ her feminine ways on him,” Billy mumbled.

  “What?”

  “He’s over there—at the saloon—playin’ cards. I just seen him through the window.”

  

  “What’s he doin’?” Billy asked. “Is he a-smoochin’ with Pinky yet?”

  Cherry frowned. Pinky Chitter was the prettiest woman Cherry had ever seen! With auburn hair, emerald eyes, and skin as smooth and perfect as porcelain, it seemed to her that Pinky Chitter should’ve been married off and settled with some rich man out East. She’d always wondered how Pinky had ended up in a saloon in Blue Water, Texas, instead. Youthful beauty still radiated from the notorious saloon girl. Her smile brightened a room better than any candle or lamp ever did. Black Jack had claimed Pinky for his own years ago but had never married her. Cherry often wondered what kept Pinky as loyal to Black Jack Haley as she was. There wasn’t a woman in the world that fell in love with an outlaw and didn’t come to some sad ending, it seemed. Cherry’s pa said Pinky stayed in Blue Water, lingered in waiting for Black Jack, always hoping the outlaw would settle down one day and marry her.

  “She better keep her hands off him,” Cherry mumbled as her thoughts found escape through her voice. Peering through the window into the saloon, Cherry could see Pinky sashaying around a man sitting at a table in the middle of the room.

  “What’s that, Cherry?” Pocket asked. “’Cause it seems to me she’s already done got her hands all over him.”

  Cherry frowned, furious jealousy rising in her bosom as she watched Pinky sit down on the man’s lap. Pinky took the man’s hat off and began running her fingers through his hair.

  “Why are these windows so filthy?” Cherry grumbled. “Don’t they ever give ’em a good wash?” She was frustrated. She couldn’t tell who Pinky was flirting with, but she suspected it was Lobo.

  “Y-you boys shouldn’t be here. This ain’t somethin’ you should be seein’,” Cherry said. She was angry at the tears gathering in her eyes. Lobo was a good man—she was certain of it! Yet good men didn’t go letting saloon girls paw at them—and they certainly didn’t smooch them in return or go up the saloon stairs with them.

  “What in tarnation are ya up to now, Cherry Ray?”

  Cherry Ray gasped as a strong hand took hold of her shirt from behind. In an instant, she was hefted to her feet, her boots grinding in the dirt as Lobo turned her to face him.

  Chapter Six

  “You boys run on home,” Lobo said to Billy and Pocket.

  “Y-yes, sir,” Billy stammered. He paused, however—looked to Cherry as if uncertain he should leave her in Lobo’s company.

  “It’s—it’s all right, Billy. You run on home. I’ll be fine.”

  “Y-yo
u sure, Cherry?”

  Cherry nodded. “I’m sure. And don’t go tellin’ anybody we got caught spyin’…again. Especially my pa.”

  “B-but, Cherry—” Billy began to argue.

  “She’ll be fine, boy,” Lobo growled.

  “I’ll be fine, Billy,” she said, smiling. “Fact is I’m old friends with Lobo.”

  Billy’s eyes narrowed. “You sure ya don’t want me to holler fer yer pa, Cherry?”

  “Oh, I’m sure, Billy. Whatever ya do, don’t go hollerin’ for my pa.”

  Billy still paused—still frowned. When she nodded her reassurance again, however, he turned and followed Pocket.

  Cherry watched as Billy and Pocket walked away. Billy looked back over his shoulder at her twice, and she nodded with encouragement both times.

  “What’re ya doin’ out here?” Lobo asked. He wore a deep, scowling frown on his handsome brow—an irritated, yet concerned, scowl. “Dang it all, Cherry! Ya don’t go peepin’ in saloon windows. Some shooter might think yer too awful nosy and put a bullet in yer head! What’s wrong with you?”

  “I-I…I was only—” she stammered.

  “You were only steppin’ in more mischief,” he interrupted. “I swear I don’t know how yer daddy sleeps at night for worryin’ over ya. If you were my daughter, I’d turn ya over my knee and paddle yer behind.”

  “Well, I ain’t yer daughter, now am I?” she said, glaring up at him.

  She hated that he was speaking to her as if she were a child. She hated the men’s shirt, trousers, and hat she wore—for she knew it was one reason he treated her the way he did. He’d treated her very differently the last time they were together—the day she was dressed like a woman and he’d kissed her like she was one.

  “No, you ain’t,” he said, seeming to settle his temper a bit. “But, darlin’, you gotta be more careful ’round town—’round men, especially ones the likes who linger yonder in the saloon. Yer daddy dresses ya up like a boy, and I don’t know how long it’s been goin’ on, but I will tell you this—there ain’t a man left in this town that ain’t noticin’ yer a fine filly.”

  Cherry’s own anger lessened a little. Did he think she was pretty right then—even if she wasn’t dressed in a pink dress?

  “Ol’ Black Jack and his boys are gonna ride back into town one day, Cherry,” he continued, “and when they do…well, you just need to be layin’ low more’n ya are.”

  “Black Jack only cares about Pinky Chitter. I ain’t worried about him takin’ notice of me.”

  It was a lie, of course. The fact was she did worry about it. Cherry had worried about Black Jack coming back to town ever since the last time he’d been there—the last time he’d been in town and tried to catch her when she was riding home one evening. She’d never told anyone about it—especially her pa—never told anyone about Black Jack finding her out picking berries near the creek and trying to force a kiss on her—never told anyone about how she’d barely made it to her horse after he’d chased her—how he’d tried to outride her before she finally saw the ranch house and safety. Cherry hadn’t told anyone about Black Jack, and she didn’t plan to. She wouldn’t even let herself think on it. Her pa was strong, but he was older than Black Jack and no longer used to dangerous confrontation. She wasn’t about to be the reason for her pa to go gunning after Black Jack. And so, she kept her secrets concerning the outlaw to herself.

  “Well, the only thing Pinky Chitter’s got on you is she shows more skin than she ought,” he said. “Black Jack’s seen her skin…might be he’s weary of it. Might be he’ll be wantin’ somethin’ fresh when he gets back.”

  “I ain’t scared of—”

  “I know, I know,” he grumbled. “You ain’t scared a nothin’. Ya’ve told me that a thousand times.”

  “I never told you that a thousand times.” Her smart-aleck streak was stirred. “We haven’t even seen each other enough for you to have told me a thousand times. Can ya just imagine how long it would take for you to tell me somethin’ a thousand times? I mean, it’d take a month of Sundays for you to—”

  “Listen, Cherry—” he interrupted, a rumble of frustration in his throat.

  Cherry startled when a loud crashing noise erupted from inside the saloon. “What was that?” she asked, darting back toward the window. Maybe this was her chance—her chance to distract him from the fact she’d been caught spying, yet again.

  She was pulled up short when Lobo’s powerful grasp took hold of her arm. “Dammit!” he growled. “They’ve seen us.”

  Cherry gasped as Lobo pulled her away from the window, taking her face between his strong hands.

  “Yer gonna find yerself six feet under, Cherry Ray,” he grumbled as he looked at her. “He’s comin’ out. Who is he?”

  “Who’s who?” Cherry asked in a whisper, trying to look back into the saloon through the window.

  Lobo turned her face toward his again. “The old boy who was sparkin’ with Pinky,” he clarified in a whisper. “He’s comin’ out here.”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Who is he, Cherry?” he growled. His frown was furious—as intense as was the fire in his eyes. “Is he a lawman? A rancher? One of Jack’s boys?”

  “I-I don’t know! I couldn’t see him good through the window! I…I thought it was you.”

  “Me?”

  “What’s goin’ on here, stranger?”

  Cherry was breathless as Lobo’s hand went to her throat. Pushing her back against the outer wall of the saloon, he drew his Peacemaker and leveled it at the man who had just appeared.

  “Ain’t no concern of yers,” Lobo said.

  Cherry looked to see Fuss Ingram, one of Black Jack’s boys, his hand poised above the gun at his own hip. Pinky Chitter stood next to him, eyebrows raised and a knowing grin on her face.

  “Well, since yer a stranger in these here parts, I feel obliged to tell ya—that there’s Arthur Ray’s daughter ya got holed up,” Fuss said. “Ol’ Arthur’s a retired Texas Ranger, and I doubt he’d take kindly to anybody who didn’t treat his little girl just so.” Looking past Lobo, Fuss looked to Cherry and said, “You all right, Cherry?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Ingram,” she said as Lobo’s grasp on her throat lessened some. “Y-you just startled him—us.”

  “Well, I’ll tell ya this, Cherry,” Pinky began, smiling as she studied Lobo from head to toe. “You sure did pick a mighty fine man to start up bein’ a woman with.”

  Cherry watched as Lobo holstered his pistol. His hand left her throat to settle on her shoulder.

  “Pardon me for drawin’ on ya,” Lobo said. “Just wasn’t sure whether you was friend or foe.”

  Fuss smiled. “Friend…especially if’n yer up fer a game a cards.”

  “Thank ya kindly. Just give me a minute or two to…uh…to finish up here if ya would, and I’ll be in right quick.”

  “Yes indeed,” Fuss said. “You sure have grown up fine and pretty, Cherry Ray.”

  Cherry felt uncomfortable with the way Fuss’s gaze lingered on her—with the way he smiled as he looked her up and down.

  “We’ll be seein’ ya inside, stranger…whenever you and Cherry here have finished up…whatever it was you were doin’.”

  “You have fun there, Cherry,” Pinky said, taking Fuss by the arm as they both turned to head back inside.

  “I will, Miss Pinky.”

  Once they were gone and he could see them settled back at their table inside the saloon, Lobo breathed a relieved sigh.

  “Yer gonna get yerself killed, Cherry Ray!” he scolded. “You’ll probably get me killed in the mess of it too.”

  But Cherry’s mind had quickly moved beyond any danger they may or may not have been in from Fuss Ingram. She’d seen the way Pinky Chitter had looked at Lobo—the same way a starving coyote eyed-up an injured rabbit.

  “So yer goin’ in there?” she asked.

  “Well, thanks to you, I reckon I have to.”

  “But yer just
goin’ in to play cards. Right?”

  Lobo’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “I reckon,” he said.

  Cherry’s heart was hammering like mad within her bosom. She knew darn well Pinky Chitter had her eye on Lobo McCoy! She knew darn well she’d tried to coax him into more than playing cards.

  “Promise you’ll only play cards,” Cherry said. A strange sort of desperation was gripping Cherry—gripping her as firmly as her small hands now gripped Lobo’s arm.

  “Why?” A spark of mischief rose to his eyes, and he grinned a little. “What? Don’t ya want me spendin’ time with Miss Pinky?”

  “Sh-she’s Black Jack’s girl,” Cherry stammered. Oh, how she hated the thought of Pinky Chitter touching Lobo! How she hated it! “H-he’ll kill ya for sure if ya try to—”

  “She’s a saloon girl, Cherry. Seems to me if Black Jack don’t care enough to drag her on out of here, then he ain’t gonna be too particular about who she…spends time with.”

  “Promise me ya won’t go spendin’ any time upstairs with Pinky,” Cherry said. Frantic, desperate, she reached out, clutching the front of his shirt with both hands. “Promise me!”

  Lobo’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing once more as he looked at her. “Cherry,” he began, “you don’t know nothin’ about me. I’m as likely to be a murderin’ outlaw as I am to be the preacher on Sunday. It ain’t wise to think kindly on the likes of me. It ain’t wise at all.”

  “I-I just don’t want to see Black Jack gun ya down over Pinky Chitter,” she lied. “That’s all. He’ll gun ya down fer sure if ya—”

  “One of his own boys is in there slobberin’ on her right now, Cherry. Black Jack don’t give a mind to who does.”

  Cherry let go of his shirt. She took a step back, certain she could hear her own heart breaking inside her. The ache in her bosom was excruciating—like nothing she’d ever felt before.

  “So…so yer goin’ in to her then,” she whispered.

  “I’m goin’ in to play cards, Cherry…and only because you got me in a pickle in the first place with all yer dad-burned spyin’.” He shook his head; his shoulders sagged a moment as he placed his hands on his hips and breathed a heavy sigh. “And now they’re a-lookin’ out the window at us. I’m gonna hafta make this good or else they’ll think you were just spyin’ on ’em…and me along with ya.”