Sweet Cherry Ray

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Cherry hadn’t realized her mouth had dropped open as she’d been drawn into Lobo’s story. When she did, she closed it and swallowed the lump in her throat. It was all too clear in her mind—the danger he’d been in—his being shot.

  “Here, see there?” Lobo said, turning the gun over and pointing to the brass plate on the other side of the grip. “Taylor Aimes,” he read. Cherry hadn’t noticed the engraving on the opposite side of the grip of the one reading Peacemaker; she hadn’t noticed it read differently. “Texas Ranger,” Lobo read. “He was one of the Rangers Juan had gunned down. Jefferson took Juan’s gun—said it needed to be used fer good the way Aimes had meant it to be. He carried it from then on. I think he thought if he could drop twenty-five outlaws with it, it might make ol’ Aimes rest easier.”

  “So…so now you carry it,” Cherry said.

  Lobo nodded. “Yep. I got my own gun, of course. It’s a might purtier than this one—has my name engraved on it too,” he said, grinning. He shook his head and added, “But I decided I’d carry this one. As long as Black Jack Haley’s free to murder, I’ll carry this one. If it was good enough fer Jefferson, then I figure it’s good enough for me.” His frown deepened, and Cherry saw the moisture gathering in his eyes. “I can’t lay here feelin’ sorry for myself much longer, Cherry,” he said. “I gotta bring Jack in. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Cherry whispered. She did. Yet the selfish part of her—the part that wanted to own Lobo’s heart—the selfish part of her wanted him to forget about bringing Black Jack Haley to justice.

  “It’s why I came here,” he said. “It’s why I’ve been waitin’ around, bidin’ my time ’til Jack gets comfortable and rides back into Blue Water. It’s a good reason…don’t ya think?”

  Cherry nodded. “B-but when it’s over…when you’ve got him, taken him back to San Antonio…what then?”

  She watched as Lobo’s eyes lingered on her. “I ride a dangerous trail, Cherry. Yer pa knows it.”

  “Pa rode that same trail once…but not anymore.”

  He grinned at her, chuckled, and said, “What do ya want me to do, Sweet Cherry Ray? Toss my badge in the river and spend the rest of my days swappin’ cherry pits with you?”

  Cherry felt herself blushing, felt overly warm, humiliated somehow. Yet mustering all the courage she could in that moment, she asked, “What would be so terrible about that?”

  Lobo’s smile faded. She felt uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.

  “Fact is,” he began, “I can’t think of anythin’ I’d like better.”

  Cherry dared to look at him—half expecting a teasing smile to be on his lips—but he wasn’t smiling.

  “But you don’t know me, Cherry,” he said. “How can ya? I’ve only been in Blue Water a couple a weeks. Hell, half the time you’ve been with me, I’ve been tattlin’ on ya to yer pa.” His eyes narrowed then as he added, “And the other half I been slobberin’ all over ya like a wet pup.”

  “If…if I looked more like Pinky Chitter and less like I oughta be my own brother—” Cherry began.

  “Well, that’s just about the dumbest thing I ever heard come outta yer mouth, girl!” he growled. He frowned and wagged an index finger at her as he asked, “You wanna know the last time I was so distracted by a woman, Cherry?”

  Cherry frowned, not wanting to know—not wanting to hear about other women he had known. She shook her head, but he answered anyway.

  “I was sixteen, and the schoolmarm was eighteen. She backed me in a corner after school one day and kissed me the like I had never imagined. That was it! I was plum gone on her…though she wasn’t as plum gone on me. But I couldn’t think straight to save my life! I was always headin’ into trouble, making a dang fool of myself. She married the sheriff in our town when I was eighteen…dropped me like a hot potata. That’s when I decided to ranger with Jefferson.”

  Cherry tried to remain calm, but her body was trembling. She needed escape—escape or to be in his arms! One or the other.

  “Ain’t a woman I courted or been involved with since that got me that frustrated, confused, and just plain wound up,” he said. He looked angry. “Nope, notta one…that is, ’til I come ridin’ into Blue Water one day with revenge on my mind and find some purty little thing dressed up in boys’ britches and standin’ in the street with a dried-up ol’ wolf at her feet.”

  Cherry watched, overwhelmed with emotion as Lobo struggled to right himself. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached out, taking hold of the bodice of her dress.

  “How’d yer ma die, Cherry?” Lobo asked, his eyes burning with frustration and anger. Cherry swallowed and tried to force the tears in her eyes to stay steady—tried to keep them from escaping over her cheeks. “How’d she die?”

  “Sh-she was shot.”

  “That’s right,” Lobo growled. “By an old outlaw gunnin’ fer yer pa. Fuss Ingram told me the story when I was playin’ cards with him the other day.” Cherry’s tears escaped and trickled over her cheeks as he spoke to her.

  “S-so yer a coward?” she asked. “That’s what’s keepin’ ya from—”

  “I ain’t no coward, Cherry,” he said. “But I ain’t no fool neither. I won’t see you hurt because of me. Out there the other day, under that cherry tree—one more minute, one straighter shot, and you mighta been dead because of someone gunnin’ for me.”

  “They were gunnin’ for ya because ya beat their boys, not because yer a Ranger…and ya wouldn’t have had to beat their boys if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Black Jack will be ridin’ in soon,” Lobo said, perspiration gathering on his forehead. “And when he does, someone’ll tell him there’s a Texas Ranger lookin’ for him, and then he will be gunnin’ for me.”

  “So shoot him first and stay here with me,” Cherry breathed as tears trickled down her face.

  Lobo grimaced, as if the sight of her tears were more painful than the five bullet holes in his back.

  “Cherry!” Mrs. Blakely exclaimed in a whisper as she burst into the room.

  Cherry let her eyes plead with Lobo’s for a moment, but he looked away and let go of the front of her dress.

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks and turned to face Mrs. Blakely.

  “What is it?” she asked. She was unsettled as she looked to the old woman to see her face void of color, her hands wringing.

  “Griff saw Fuss Ingram,” Mrs. Blakely said. “He’s ridin’ this way with Tucker Johnson and Lee Taylor.”

  “Where’re my britches?” Lobo growled, trying to stand.

  “Arthur says yer to stay put, Mr. McCoy,” Mrs. Blakely said.

  “Like hell I will!” Lobo growled, trying to stand again. “Get me my britches, or I’ll face him in my underwear if I have to.”

  “Yer pa says not to let him out of this room, Cherry,” Mrs. Blakely said.

  “What?” Lobo hollered. “I’ll go where I want to, and when!”

  “Hush, Mr. McCoy!” Mrs. Blakely scolded. “They’re ridin’ up to the house right this minute. Arthur says he’ll send ’em back to town. They won’t do much without Jack with ’em.”

  “Settle on down, Lobo,” Cherry said, taking hold of his arms as he managed to get to his feet. “Let pa take care of it…for now.”

  “I won’t sit here like a scared pup and let yer pa get hisself killed!” Lobo shouted. Perspiration beaded on his chest and face. He was in great pain and in no condition to face outlaws.

  “I’ll lock the door and make some noise in case he don’t quit fussin’,” Mrs. Blakely said. Cherry nodded as Mrs. Blakely left the room. She heard the key turn in the lock on the other side of the door.

  “You let me outta here, Cherry!” Lobo hollered.

  “Hush! They’ll hear you!”

  “I…I want ’em to hear me!” he panted. “I ain’t gonna hide in here…hide behind yer pa’s gun! Yer pa did his job. He don’t hafta do it no more!”

  Awkwardly—for it was apparent he was
in great pain—Lobo reached back, picking his gun and belt up off the bed.

  “You put that gun down, Lobo McCoy!”

  “Keep him quiet, Cherry!” Mrs. Blakely exclaimed from the other side of the door.

  “I’m tryin’!” she exclaimed in return. Panic washed over her! If Fuss Ingram and the others found Lobo in such a weakened condition, they’d kill him for certain.

  “Well, try harder!”

  “You go on and move outta my way, Cherry,” Lobo said, limping toward her, hooking his gun belt over his left shoulder.

  Cherry shook her head, relieved when she heard Mrs. Blakely’s familiar, if not terrible, piano playing drifting from the parlor.

  “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me…” Mrs. Blakely’s rather sour voice began to sing.

  Lobo scowled. “She sounds awful!” he growled.

  “Keep quiet, Lobo. Let pa take care of it this time.”

  “They’ll shoot yer pa, Cherry,” he said. “I can’t let that—”

  “Stay here with me,” she said, placing her palms on his chest. Gazing into the warm brown of his pain-filled eyes, she pleaded, “Let pa take care of it…just today. Black Jack ain’t with them, and none of them have the courage to go against pa. Wait a few days…’til yer strength is back. Just—just stay here with me for now.”

  “Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away,” Mrs. Blakely’s vinegary voice sang. Lobo grimaced again.

  “Cherry,” he said, swaying slightly. “I can’t let yer pa—”

  “Just sit down and let it pass, Lobo,” she said, gently pushing him back toward the bed.

  “If I go,” he began, “they won’t kill yer pa.”

  “They won’t kill him.”

  “They’ll kill one of us if they get the chance. Better me than yer pa, don’t ya think?”

  Cherry felt the tears leave her eyes, felt guilt pinch her heart, desperation grip her soul. “No,” she whispered. She couldn’t let him go! Not for any reason—not even for her pa’s sake. Furthermore, she knew her pa would understand—that her pa would’ve made the same decision were the choice his own.

  Lobo frowned—sat down hard on the bed as if he’d been slapped to sudden consciousness.

  “Stay here with me, Lobo,” Cherry whispered, as his hands went to her waist. “For now…for now just stay here with me…just for a few more minutes…just ’til they’re gone.”

  Lobo’s fevered mind fought for understanding—truth. Surely she hadn’t just told him she’d choose his life over her daddy’s? Surely not! She’d only said it to stun him—to keep him too confused to break out of the room. The tears on her beautiful cheeks and what he saw in her eyes, however, told him differently.

  He tried to think of his murdered brother, of the pain his body was experiencing because of his wounds. He tried to think of Black Jack Haley, of Pepe Ortiz—anything that might distract him from the beautiful young woman standing before him now. She was right; he was too weak to face anybody, let alone three healthy outlaws. The fever he felt, the pain, the weakness in his limbs—he might not survive if he faced Fuss Ingram and the others in that moment. And suddenly—suddenly he wanted to survive! Suddenly, Lobo McCoy wanted something besides justice and revenge. Suddenly the only thing Lobo McCoy cared about was the only thing he’d ever wanted so badly he was willing to sacrifice his pride, strength, and life for. Suddenly, the only thing Lobo McCoy wanted was Cherry Ray.

  “I-I have to bring Jack in,” Lobo stammered.

  “You will,” Cherry said, reaching out and running her fingers through his already tousled hair. “But when yer able. If ya go out to face his boys now…”

  “I-I have to leave once I get him,” Lobo mumbled.

  Cherry was relieved he’d finally lowered his voice—hoped Mrs. Blakely would stop singing, quit causing Stephen Foster to roll over in his grave.

  “Just stay simmered down for a few more—” Cherry began.

  Lobo suddenly reached up, gathering the fabric of her dress bodice in his fists. Cherry gasped, delighted as he pulled her to him, their mouths meeting—the fiery passion blazing between them instant and all-consuming.

  

  “Afternoon, Arthur,” Fuss Ingram said.

  Arthur Ray stood, rifle leveled, Lefty Pierce behind him. He wished Fiona would stop that dang cat-screeching!

  “Fuss…Tucker…Lee,” Arthur greeted. “What’re you boys doin’ out so far from town?”

  Fuss’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Arthur,” he began, “fact is, we heard that new stranger in town is actually Lobo McCoy…a purty famous Texas Ranger outta San Antonio.”

  “Ain’t that interestin’?” Arthur said. “But I still don’t know why you boys are out my way.”

  “Well,” Fuss began, “we figure you Rangers are thicker’n sap and that ya might be hidin’ him out here. Word in town is he got in a tangle with a couple a red-haired boys and ended up shot in the back.”

  “Only a fool coward would shoot Lobo McCoy in the back and let him live to come gunnin’ for him,” Arthur said. “Besides, what do you boys care if he did get hisself shot? He ain’t caused ya no trouble, has he?”

  Fuss looked to Tucker, to Lee, and then back to Arthur. “Well, no, he ain’t. But we figure he’s here gunnin’ for Jack…and I’m sure Jack would rather we take care of the problem ’fore he gets back and has to take care of it hisself.”

  Arthur chuckled and nodded. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I always forget you boys is just pups still hangin’ on the teat. It’s a wonder Jack had the guts to shoot that Ranger in the back in San Antonio. With you boys around…seems to me he don’t usually hafta have the guts.”

  “Now we don’t want no trouble, Arthur,” Tucker said. The outlaw stepped back a ways as Arthur raised the level of his gun barrel.

  “Then ya oughta just hurry on back to town for a game a cards,” Arthur said. “If’n that was my brother you all shot in San Antonio, I’da dropped everyone of ya cold already.”

  “Is he with ya, Arthur?” Fuss asked.

  “Do you see him with me?”

  “Ol’ Jack won’t be happy if he finds out you been hidin’ that Ranger,” Fuss said.

  “And I’m sure ol’ Jack won’t be happy if he rides into Blue Water to find yer ugly carcasses hangin’ from a tree neither.”

  Fuss straightened his shoulders at the threat, but Arthur kept on. “Hell’s comin’ fer Jack, boys. One way or the other, it’s comin’ for him. You wanna go down with him, that’s yer choice. But goin’ down without him is plum foolish. And believe me, tryin’ to back a wounded wolf into a corner the way yer doin’ is one sure way of gettin’ yerself killed. Now you go on and tell me Jack’s worth all that, and I’ll tell you right where that wounded wolf is.”

  The men were quiet, obviously considering what Arthur Ray had said.

  “Best wait ’til Jack gets back, Fuss,” Tucker said.

  “Yeah,” Lee added. “After all, Jack might want another Texas Ranger notch on his own pistol.”

  Fuss’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he wants two.”

  “Maybe,” Arthur said.

  Fuss exhaled an angry sigh. “Well then…I guess we’ll be seein’ ya in town, Arthur.”

  “I guess.”

  Arthur watched the three outlaws mount and ride off before he closed the door.

  “Fer Pete’s sake, Fiona!” he exclaimed. “You know I can’t stand Stephen Foster!”

  

  Cherry reveled in the feel of Lobo’s unshaven face between her hands—the delicious flavor of his kiss! Even for his weakened condition, he sent her heart to hammering—goose bumps breaking over her arms and legs. She loved the scent of his skin, the fevered heat of his mouth as he demanded she allow his marvelous affections.

  He swayed slightly, and she knew he was weak—dizzy because of his wounds.

  Breaking the seal of their lips, Cherry held Lobo’s face between her hands, gazing into the warm brown of his eyes.

  “They�
��re gone,” she whispered. “They’re gone, and you need to rest.”

  “I need you,” he mumbled, kissing her again.

  It was sheer fear—fear for his well-being that enabled Cherry to break from him once more.

  “Lay down,” she said, gently pushing at his chest. He closed his eyes, and she helped him to lie back down in the bed.

  “Yer pa’s gonna shoot me when he finds out I been kissin’…that I been kissin’ his daughter right under his own roof…and in my underwear, to boot,” Lobo mumbled.

  “Just rest,” Cherry told him, smoothing the wrinkle in his brow.

  “What’d ya do with that ol’ wolf, anyhow, Cherry Ray? Did ya keep it or throw it in the fire somewhere?”

  Cherry smiled. Lobos were a breed of timber wolf. She’d never thought of it before—the fact she’d drug Ol’ Red home the very day Lobo had ridden into Blue Water.

  “I kept it,” she said, laying one hand against his fevered cheek. “I’ll always keep it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Arthur Ray studied the young man sitting across from him on the porch. Lobo McCoy was a fine man—a fine man and a fine Texas Ranger. He was strong too. It hadn’t even been a whole week since Lobo had taken five bullets in the back. And yet there he sat, looking as healthy as a horse and strong as an ox. Yep—Arthur Ray had never known a man good enough for his daughter—until now.

  “You given any more thought to what we talked about the other day at the boardin’ house?” Arthur asked.

  Lobo’s eyebrows arched—his attention still fixed on the stick he was whittling with the knife he’d pulled from his boot a few minutes before.