Fred greeted Sharlene with a big smile that she couldn’t help but return as he ordered the special—hash browns, flank steak and vegetables—a meal she knew he would hardly touch but which he’d linger over, hoping she’d stop by and gab a little. She decided he was really kind of a nice guy. Too bad he was such a shrimp.
***
The next time Fred came in was when Sharlene was on the night shift. It was near closing time. Cookie and the Professor had finished cleaning up and left. Fred had to settle for coffee—no complaints. The only other customers were, coincidentally, Melissa’s hunk and two other oversized truck drivers. They’d finished a late-night snack and were all smoking up a storm over the last of their coffee.
Sharlene smiled and turned down Fred’s offer to drive her home. Jerry always made it a point to see her safely home after the night shift, since the buses weren’t running at that hour.
She had just walked past Fred to the cash register, figuring on counting up the take to have it ready for Jerry when he came by for closing. At that moment, the front door flew open. Two men in ski masks with lethal-looking guns moved quickly in. One leveled his weapon at the threesome at the table, the other, obviously the leader and holding a cloth shopping bag, moved quickly up to the register, the gun pointed at Sharlene. “OK. Empty the register, and drop in the cash.” He held out the sack.
Although frozen with fear, Sharlene still noticed out of the corner of her eye the three customers with their hands upraised, terror written on their faces and the hunk saying, “Please, don’t shoot. I got kids. I won’t do nothin’.”
A snarled response. “Bet your ass you won’t.”
Her own holdup man, taller than his companion, was growing impatient. “Move!” It was at that moment that Fred rose slowly from his chair to stand in front of Sharlene.
His voice was totally calm. “I’ll get the money.”
“I don’t give a damn who gets it. Just do it now. Fast!”
Still standing between Sharlene and the gunman, Fred punched the no-sale button, scooped the bills out of the open register and dumped them into the bag. Just then Sharlene felt a sense of relief as she saw a flashing blue light out in the parking lot—followed by horror at what it really meant. Without that unexpected arrival, the holdup would have ended with the masked men fleeing. There would be no such ending now.
“Get away from the window,” shouted Tall to the other holdup man, who immediately ducked into a corner while continuing to cover the three at the table. Tall dropped behind the cash register, his gun trained on Fred, who was still standing in front of Sharlene. The sound of a bullhorn came through from outside—mostly incomprehensible.
“Give up,” Fred said to Tall. “You haven’t hurt anyone. If you try to hold out, it will be just that much tougher on you, and someone could get themselves killed.”
“Bullshit! They’ll shoot the first one who steps through that door.”
“Call ‘em.” Fred nodded at the phone hanging on the opposite wall. They’ll let you surrender if they know you’ll come out with your hands up and no guns.”
“The minute they see me heading for that phone, I’m a dead man.”
“O.K. I have a cell phone in my shirt pocket. Let me talk to them.”
“Let him,” this from the other gunman. “He makes a lot of sense. There are more cops coming.” Sirens and more flashing blue lights confirmed his statement.
Tall’s gun wavered. “Move your hand slow. And if that ain’t a cell phone, you won’t live to wish it had been.”
Carefully and slowly, Fred reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a cell phone and raised the antenna. He punched in 911 and explained the situation to the operator, asking to be connected to the police outside the restaurant. A voice boomed out over the phone. “Come on out, hands in back of your heads.” Fred relayed the message.
Tall shook his head.
“Let me talk to Jerry,” Fred said. “I know he must be out there.”
After a few moments, a different voice came on. “This is Jerry.”
“This is Fred Baron, the bakery truck driver. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“There are five of us being held hostage. The gunmen won’t give up because they think they’ll be shot the minute they step out of here. Would you talk to whoever’s in charge and get them a guarantee that that won’t happen?”
Again, a moment of silence, then some talk in the background, finally the original voice again. “All right. No one will be hurt. Everybody out, one at a time, hands behind their heads, gunmen first.”
Fred relayed the message to Tall, who shook his head.
Fred spoke into the phone. “Let’s have Sharlene come out first, then the three customers, then the two gunmen, then me. We’ll have our hands behind our heads. I’ll stay on the phone.” Tall nodded.
A reluctant “OK” sounded in the ear piece.
“Just to be safe,” Fred said to Tall, “you and your buddy take your masks off—and leave the guns on the floor.”
The surrender came off smoothly. The police herded the handcuffed gunmen into patrol cars, took statements from the others, and Jerry was left behind to apologize to Sharlene and Fred. “That was stupid of me. I was parked at the back of the lot and saw those two putting on hoods just before they went into the restaurant. Without thinking I called 911 and there was a cop car a block away. If I’d just kept quiet, they could have been long gone on their way. Hell, I’m insured against theft, anyway. Someone could have gotten hurt because of me.”
Fred shrugged. “All’s well that ends well.”
Jerry was still having regrets. “Just as soon as I close up I’ll drive you home, Sharlene.”
“No need, Jerry,” Sharlene said. “Fred said he’d drive me home tonight.”
Fred’s face flushed with pleasure. “Yeah. All’s well that ends well.”
____________________
DEALER’S CHOICE
Phil couldn’t help but be amused at the way the acquaintanceship had begun. He had come in early to the tavern for a last drink before the trail drive, knowing there wouldn’t be another chance before Dexter Springs, long dusty days in the future. The crowd hadn’t begun to gather, so there seemed little need for the two noisy cowpokes who’d just come in to push up to the bar. They hadn’t bothered Phil, but they evidently felt that the only other drinker there was in their way. Or perhaps it was because he was better dressed—had an East Coast look to him.
He certainly had done nothing to provoke them, but tempers flared, one of the newcomers grabbed his arms behind his back, the other swung a fist at his face. More to even up the odds than because of any commitment to someone he hadn’t so much as spoken to, Phil tapped the aggressor nearest to him, then planted his large fist—hard—on the other’s chin, and watched him collapse. Meantime, the intended victim had also floored his tormentor.
After escorting the losers none too gently out of the tavern, the winners decided that another drink was called for. They moved to a table.
“Phil Duchamps.”
A handshake and “Michael Collins.”
Phil estimated his companion to be a few years younger than his own thirty-three. About his own size, but darker haired. Certainly as physically fit. “Guess you really didn’t need any help. Looks like you could have taken care of those two by yourself.”
“Maybe. But it would have taken a lot longer.” He rubbed the bruise on his cheekbone. “Might have lost some teeth, too.”
Michael insisted on paying for the round, and the conversation shifted to occupations. Phil went first. “I’m leaving tonight on the trail ride to Dexter. Good moonlight. Should be able to make it to the river before the heat of the day tomorrow.”
“That should be about your last drive to Dexter. I do dispatch work on the railroad, and my father’s one of the directors. He says they’re planning a spur through there by next spring. I’ll be coming out that way sooner or later to check on the te
rminal arrangements—by stage, not in the saddle. Those two called me a tenderfoot, but riding a horse from here to Dexter would make me a tender rump.”
“First and last for me then, I guess. I’ve never been anywhere near that country before, even though I’ve done a lot of trail work. Maybe it’s time for me to settle down now that the railroad’s going in everywhere. Critters’ll be happier, too. Riding beats walking all those miles.”
Michael laughed. “I can sympathize with the cows. Give me a train any day, where I can sit back with a good book and let the scenery go by.”
The afternoon wore on. They exchanged further backgrounds. Phil, long ago from Chicago. Michael, only recently from New York. As they left, Michael handed his new friend a Western Union address, saying, “Thanks again for the right hand. If you need help anytime, wire me. I owe you a favor.”
***
If he hadn’t been convinced before, this drive would have done it. The weather had been miserable, with cattle spooking at the thunderstorms that plagued both herd and riders. They’d been fortunate in losing only a half-dozen head, but men and horses had been tired after the first day, bone-weary by the end of the week and exhausted by the time the last of the animals had been herded into the stock pens. Phil could think only of a comfortable bed. Finding one in what passed for a Dexter Springs hotel, he slept around the clock. Yes, he decided, this was the last trail ride. He had put enough of his pay aside in Wells Fargo over the years to prove-up some land. It was time.
It was also time to say goodbye to the other riders and move on. California, maybe. The trail boss, Kurt Marken, had invited him to a card game—”dealer’s choice,” the boss had said—and a farewell round of drinks. Phil found Sam’s Place with little difficulty in a town that featured a half-dozen taverns strung along the main street. Cards had never been of much interest to him, but he took a seat next to his host.
Phil admired Marken, an old-timer who had skillfully moved the herd from watering hole to watering hole, cutting several days off of what it would have taken had they followed the river. He had less admiration for one of the other trail riders now drinking heavily—and losing heavily—as he grumbled over the cards he was being dealt. Huge Chad Pearson had been a painful addition to the crew, and Phil had made it a point to avoid the ill-tempered cowhand.
Paying scant attention to the game, Phil was chatting with the old trail boss when a woman came in from the back room. A woman in this smoke-filled room of loud men was remarkable enough. A woman of her appearance was startling. Somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, tall, slender, jet-black hair hanging to below her shoulders, with eyes to match the color, she would have made any man’s head turn—including Phil’s.
Marken grinned. “You have now laid eyes on Maria Tuttle.”
“What’s she doing here?” Phil watched as the woman went over to say something to the bartender.
A laugh. “She owns the place… and a lot more. Her father was Manuel Rodriguez. If you’d a spent any time around here, you’d know about him for sure. Owned the biggest spread in this part of the Territory, just west of town. Him, his wife and two boys died from typhoid back a few years. Left Maria and her kid sister behind. She weren’t much more than a kid herself, but she took over the ranch. Kept it goin’. Couple a years ago she married Sam Tuttle, who owned this place. Couldn’t a been more than a month after, he died too. Was kicked in the head by his own horse right out there by the hitchin’ post. Drunk as a skunk at the time. No great loss to the world. Maybe that’s why Maria’s not much interested in men. Sam was a slick talker, but he sure weren’t no prize.”
Phil hadn’t been the only one listening to the talk about the tavern owner. Pearson muttered a curse, threw down a losing hand and stood up. “Time to change my luck,” he said. “Maybe that spic ain’t inerested in men ’cause she ain’t met a real one yet. Time for a big kiss and a shot a tequila.”
Within moments he had lurched toward the bar and grabbed Maria by the arm, twisting her around to face him. Phil could see the startled expression on her face. The noisy bar fell silent. Without stopping to think, Phil began to get up but felt a hand on his arm. “No!” Marken said. “No need.”
In the moment that Phil hesitated, Maria spoke, her voice soft but easily heard in the silence. Pearson’s body hid hers from view, but what may not have been visible nevertheless seemed obvious. “I know exactly where your black heart is located. Take your hands off of me, or I’ll put a hole in it.”
The bulky figure backed off. “I didn’t mean nothin’.”
The silver pistol in her hand was now in full view. She gestured with it toward the door, but didn’t raise her voice. “Out! And don’t even think about coming back.” There was no argument.
Heads and hands went back to their games, drinks rose once more to lips, the noisy talk resumed. Maria caught Phil’s eye. What seemed to be a quick flash of amusement flickered across her face before she slipped the pistol back through a slit in her skirt into what must have been a leg holster. She turned to resume her conversation with the bartender.
It was difficult after that for Phil to give even token concentration to his cards. He lost some, but not much—only because he would most often fold. Marken was amused at his companion’s inattention to the game. “Think she’s nice lookin’?”
“Putting it mildly.”
“You oughta see her sister. Felicia’s the most beautiful woman this side a the old Miss. Smart, too. Teaches in the town’s one-room school. All the single men around here—and a good chunk of the married ones—are bird-doggin’ her. But it’s look, don’t touch. Maria sees to that, and you got a glimpse of the reason why she don’t have no trouble keepin’ the animals away.”
Later, it was Maria who approached Phil, as he rose to leave. “I saw you getting ready to join in when I had that little altercation. Gallant, but unnecessary.” She seemed to be trying to hide a smile.
Before Phil could stammer a response, she went on. “I have something to tell you, and this isn’t exactly the place for serious conversation. Let’s go back into my office.”
The “office” wasn’t much more than a cubbyhole, with room enough for a desk and a couple of chairs. There were no preliminaries once they’d sat down. “I’m in need of a ranch foreman and haven’t had much luck so far. Had a good one a couple of years ago, but he heard about a gold strike up north and couldn’t resist the call. Since then I’ve had three locals. Two of them turned out be drunk more often than sober, and the third one spent most of his time losing his pay at cards—even before he got paid.”
“You mean, you think I’d do as a ranch foreman?”
“Why not? I sure wouldn’t get rich off of your drinking habits. Seems to me you nursed two whiskies through the whole evening. And from what I could make out, you’re not much of a card player.”
Phil finally began to relax. “I’m not always that bad. It’s just that I was distracted.”
A rich, warm laugh greeted the comment. “I’m going to assume there was a compliment buried there. But, to get back to my offer. Are you interested? If so, come by the ranch tomorrow afternoon. Say, around five. Just go out of town headed west. It’s not hard to find. It’s all there is out there. I’ll throw in supper too, whether or not you take the job.” She went on to sketch out the responsibilities of a foreman. By the time he left, they were on a first-name basis. Phil was pleased, and was virtually certain he would accept the offer.
The Rodriguez spread certainly wasn’t difficult to find. As Phil rode up, he took in the cluster of buildings making up what was really a compound. There was a rambling hacienda and several outbuildings, including an enormous barn, all built in the traditional Spanish style. Adjacent to the barn, in a fenced enclosure, several cows and their calves were making the most of the late-afternoon sun, which had finally made its appearance after a stormy day.
Dropping the reins over the hitching rail, Phil climbed the few steps up to the wrap-around
porch. Even before he had a chance to knock, a grim-faced middle-aged woman opened the door. There was a moment of silence as she appraised him, then she silently stood back and nodded. Escorted into what Phil took to be the library, he found Maria waiting for him as his guide turned and left.
“Thank you for coming, Phil. You’ll have to excuse Estrella. She speaks very little English, and is shy about using what little she knows. But she’s a jewel. Has been with the Rodriguez family since before I was born. I’m not sure what I would have done without her when my parents died.”
Again, it was obvious that Maria was not one for preliminaries. Her next words were, “I’m especially in need of a good foreman right now. The days of free-ranging cattle this close to town are over, especially with the railroad coming in. As I told you yesterday, I’ll be fence building from now until first snow. That, alone, will be a full-time job. I’ve already hired a half-dozen men, but I can use more. Supervising them will be your first priority.”
Before Phil could voice even mild reservations about what seemed to be Maria’s assumption that he’d agreed to becoming foreman, a stunning woman entered the room. His first thought was that Marken had vastly understated Felicia’s beauty. Even before the introductions, Phil knew these two were sisters, though in many ways they seemed very different. Felicia’s hair was brown instead of black. Her face was elfin, while her sister’s face was square. About the same height and figure, the really striking difference was in the eyes. In contrast to Maria’s dark ones, Felicia’s were a startling and contrasting blue-green.
Conversation slipped quickly into non-business matters and Maria excused herself, saying she needed to talk to Estrella about supper.
“You’re from Chicago?” Felicia asked.
“A lot of years ago. I left when I was thirteen.”
“I would like to go there.” She sounded wistful. “I’ve never been outside the Territory. Do they really have buildings there that are over ten stories high? I’ve seen pictures of them, but I can’t imagine standing on the street and looking up at them.”
Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 24