The Drifter's Promise

by Rita Hestand

  "Your talking about making-love?" he looked even more surprised.

  "I shouldn't be talking to you about this. You are a man too. But who does a person talk to? I feel guilty. I didn't make love with Jim. I can't stop thinking I was wrong. I should have given him another chance. A chance when he wasn't drinking. But the way he manhandled me I just couldn't agree to it. Now, I'm wondering if I was the one that was wrong. I should never have married. I mean you need a little intelligence to be married. On that subject I was so dumb, even I knew it. What Jim did, scared me so bad I never wanted it again. I couldn't just grin and bear it."

  "Men don't know more about making love Kate, they know more about having sex. And just from what you said, you weren't at fault. But there's a big difference in making love and having sex. All men can have sex, not all of them know how to treat a woman though."

  The subject was getting too personal, but she couldn't stop her mouth. "Is there a difference? I mean it's like lust and love. How do you know the difference?"

  "There's a big difference."

  "I thought you never had a girl."

  "I-I haven't. Not since I was a kid."

  "W-what happened?" She looked shocked.

  "She died."

  "Oh my God," she put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

  He looked at her hand, and moved away, "I was just nineteen. She caught the smallpox and died. I liked her a lot, my first real crush. I never bothered with courting after that."

  "It must have been terrible for you."

  "I might not have taken it so hard, but it seemed like everyone I ever cared about died. So I learned not to get too involved with anyone. There is a lot you can change in life but dying isn't one of them."

  "And you've been drifting ever since, haven't you?" She stared. "That's why you drift, to keep from forming a relationship with a woman."

  "Yeah, I guess it is."

  "That's so sad."

  When he got too quiet, she moved away.

  She got the beans out and he divided them, and he produced a deck of cards from his pocket.

  "You always carry a deck of cards around with you?" she asked with a smile not wanting to dwell on his missed love and loss.

  "Most men do." He grinned.

  "Now, first I'll show you what a winning hand looks like. You have to know what beats what. So, we'll start with pairs. One pair is a fair hand say in five card stud, as you don't get many cards and if the pair is high, like say Kings or Aces, then you should bet. If it's duces you should probably call the bet. I'll lay the cards out and show you what will beat what."

  She watched him lay out two pair then and told her that was a fair had in any game, especially if the cards were high.

  "Oh you mean if they are Aces or Kings?"

  "Yeah, that's the idea. And in stud, that's a good hand as you don't get as many cards."

  "Okay." She smiled again.

  Then he tossed three of a kind out and told her that was a good hand. A flush, and a straight could win too. Then he showed her what a Royal flush was.

  "Must be hard to get one of those." She chuckled.

  "Very hard. And if you ever get one, you've won the game. But just as you watch your opponent's face, they'll be watching yours, so don't give away a good hand with a soft smile."

  "My goodness, there are a lot of kinds of hands aren't there?" she mused with widened eyes.

  "Yes." He grinned at her enthusiasm. "That's what makes it difficult to win."

  Then after going over them many times, they played a hand. She tried to read his face as he played but it was hard. She laughed out loud, it was a melodious sound and he stopped to look at her.

  "What's so funny?" He asked with a grin.

  "I can't read your expressions." She sighed.

  "I have a poker face then," he laughed too.

  She lost the first hand, but he explained, "You have to learn to read your fellow player's face. Sometimes men will foolishly bluff their hand and win."

  "How do I do that?" She looked confused.

  "You watch his face for one. If he looks serious and hesitates your bet, he's not sure of his hand, and you could easily win. If he continually makes faces, you have to learn what those faces mean to that person. A good hand, a fast call of your bet usually means he's confident."

  "Oh, I see. This is fascinating." She grinned. "I never realized there was so much to the game."

  They played half the day and she won nearly as much as Wes.

  "You did good." He told her.

  "That was fun. Do you play often?"

  "Only when I go into a saloon." He informed her.

  Her face flushed, "Oh, and do you go often?"

  He stared at her with a smile, "Not lately."

  She turned from the stove where she stirred the stew, "Oh, I guess I work you too hard."

  "That's alright, the crop has to be picked and gathered." He insisted.

  "I guess you are overdue for a visit then," she asked shyly.

  "I'll get by." He said raking all the beans back into the barrel she had in the kitchen.

  She turned and he was close, close enough the smell the soap on his body. Close enough that if she reached a hand to him, she could touch him. She swallowed hard. "Look Wes, it's raining, if you want to go into town, go ahead, I don't mind."

  "You don't?" He asked.

  "No of course not. You deserve the day off." She insisted. "I might go over to Mrs. Tate's, and take my quilting pieces over. They meet every Thursday for quilting."

  "Oh, well, guess this is a good day for it, isn't it?"

  "Sure," she insisted, and then her eyes met his and she lost all thought. She felt tongue tied as his lazy gaze went over her with silent appreciation. It would be dangerous to lose her heart to this man, but a bond had already begun to grow between them. Her cheeks warmed

  "Want me to drive you over?" He asked still staring at her.

  "Will you pick me up later?"

  "Sure," he cleared his throat.

  "All right, that will be fine, then." She told him.

  She picked up the dirty dishes and took them to the counter.

  When he brought the wagon around, she had her quilting pieces and needles and thread packed in a valise. He took the valise, then helped her up. He held her hand just a minute longer than was necessary and she sat down beside him. The way he looked at her when he held her hand, made her wonder what he was thinking.

  The tension was so tight, she felt her cheeks blush.

  She was quiet all during the ride over and he couldn't think of anything to say either. And yet there was so much she wished she could say to him.

  After he dropped her off, he headed for town.

  Moby followed them to the edge of the yard, then slowly walked back and laid down on the porch.

  "He's feeling left out, I usually take him with me." She sighed as she watched him.

  ***

  This was a bad idea, and he knew it, but he had to put some space between himself and Kate. She was too much a woman to be around not to admire. And he did admire her. Hell, he wanted to kiss her so bad last night, but he refrained, and the strain it caused was enough to tell him he needed a trip into town. It wouldn't do to get tangled up with Kate, she wasn't the one-night kind of lady. She was the kind you married. A good romp in the hay with one of the girls in the saloon would be enough for him.

  The problem was, Kate was growing on him, like a flower blooming in the spring. The longer it bloomed, the prettier it got. He'd never met a woman that could twist his gut into. And never knew a woman like her that could kiss so well. She'd shocked him that day with her sweet kiss. God, that kiss made him want things. Things he figured a long time ago he'd never have. Never met a woman he just wanted to be around all the time. Just the mere touch of her soft cheek filled him. She was a good woman, a hard worker, and a great cook but the urge to touch his lips to hers was growing stronger every day. That's why he needed this trip into town. At least, t
hat's what he told himself.

  He parked the wagon at the end of the street and walked to the saloon.

  The smell of rot gut whiskey assailed him. A poker game was going on, smoke curled in the air, and the dancehall girls were milling around the bar with the two customers that were drinking heavily.

  One girl sidled up to him fast. She was lovely, with black flowing hair, and big dark eyes that stared into his. "What will you have mister?" she purred at his ear.

  "Just a beer, it's too early for anything else."

  Then another girl ambled up to him, "Wes, haven't seen you in here in a while. What have you been up to?" she curled her arm into his.

  "Work. And lots of it."

  "Sounds like you need a little rest and relaxation, honey."

  But he knew he'd made a mistake the minute he came in here. This wasn't where he wanted to be. Funny, but for money these girls would do anything for him. Still it held no challenge for him. He knew the difference in love and lust and one night with these girls would be nothing but lust. He suddenly knew he wanted more than that.

  "Actually, just want to drink my beer, play a bit of poker and then I got a friend to visit."

  The girls backed off. He could tell they were shocked that he didn't take their invitation seriously.

  Wes got his beer and ambled over to the poker table. Three men were playing, two of which he knew from another time, another game. The other one appeared to be a traveling peddler of some kind as he had a knapsack of pots and pans by his chair. Thoughts of him playing poker with Kate ran through his mind. He couldn't shake her even though he tried, she was in his mind and messing with him.

  He sat down to play and after he won two games he got up and left. That wasn't where he wanted to be, and he knew it. Why had he come here? He realized that somewhere down the line, he'd outgrown the saloons of late.

  He'd go talk to Dickens a while.

  He fussed at himself all the way out to Dickens place.

  But the minute he pulled up into the yard he heard the quiet and knew again something was wrong. He glanced over in the pen and saw three dead hogs and the others were making all kinds of noise. Blood was everywhere. He saw the barn door swinging. He saw the front door to the house was open.

  He got down quickly and ran up on the porch. "Dickens, you home?"

  There was no answer.

  He pulled his gun, something was wrong. He went inside and nothing looked amiss. Then he headed for the barn. He approached it carefully. He peeked his head inside, it was more than a little quiet except for a swinging stall gate.

  He called out, "Dickens, you in here?"

  There was no answer. He walked around the outside of the barn first, nothing was a miss there either.

  He went back to the door and walked inside. "Dickens," he hollered a little louder.

  Then he heard some kind of muffled sound.

  He ran toward the sound, and there he saw it, Bubba was laying across the stall, his eyes unseeing. Wes reached down to check to see if he was breathing. He wasn't. Bubba was dead. The sound had come from the horses, they smelled death.

  Dear God, the cat! Just from the looks of Bubba, Wes knew it was the cat again.

  He swallowed hard. Where was Dickens.

  Realizing that Dickens might be dead too, his heart began to hammer wildly. Where was the old man?

  He started walking about the place, maybe he'd gone after the cat himself. Wes felt his heart race, worrying about the old man.

  He walked all over the property, finally, along the fence line he saw him. It was Dickens. He ran and stooped down to check him.

  "I ain't dead yet," Dickens cried out at him. "Damn cat, killed Bubba, and three of my hogs…. " Dickens was saying as tears ran down his cheek. "I heard the ruckus and went to find them, he got the hogs first, then I saw the barn door flappin'. I went inside, about that time the cat came out, screeching and running. But I heard Bubba and I went to see if I could help. He died right there in my arms. I liked that boy. I liked him a lot."

  "You need a doctor. Let's get you to the docs." Wes cried.

  Wes picked him up and carried him that's when he saw the huge claw marks on Dickens chest.

  He didn't want to think about it too much. The old man was doing good to help him get to the wagon. Wes drove like crazy to get to the docs. When he got there, he hollered outside for the doc. The doc opened his door.

  "What's wrong?" The doc asked as he dried his hands on a towel.

  "Dickens, he's been hurt bad from the Cougar."

  "Let's get him inside," the doc didn't hesitate to help him.

  An hour later he came out of the room where he treated Dickens. He wiped his hands on a towel and sat down to talk to Wes.

  "How is he doc?"

  "I sewed him up, the best I could, disinfected the wounds. The one on his chest is pretty bad. What happened?"

  "Not sure doc. When I got over there, the barn door was open, three hogs had been killed, and I found Bubba, he was dead in the barn. Need to send someone over there to bury him proper. Then I went hunting for Dickens. He was out in the pasture. I think he went after the cat when he heard the commotion in the barn and pen. He had his rifle beside him."

  "That cat needs to be stopped, had a rancher come in with a badly wounded man just yesterday." The doc told him. "I lost him. That cat really cut him up."

  Wes looked at the doc, "Dickens will make it though, won't he?"

  "He'll need some care, and lots of rest. He doesn't need to be moving around until that wound heals up some. Is there anyone that can take care of him?"

  "Yes, me and Kate will take care of him. I can take him there and she'll see to him." Wes assured the doc.

  "Alright, let me help you get him in the wagon, he's kind of out of it right now. I gave him some laudanum."

  Wes nodded, and the two of them got him in the back of the wagon. "See he don't move around too much for at least a week, give that wound time to heal. I'll look in on him in a few days."

  "Okay doc, thanks," Wes paid him and was on his way. He headed for the Tate place.

  When Mrs. Tate answered the door, she smiled, "You must be Wes, come on in."

  "I can't stay long but I need to take Kate home."

  "Oh, so early?"

  "Dickens was attacked by the cat." Wes told Mr. Tate as he came to stand behind his wife.

  "Dickens you say. Anyone else hurt?"

  "Bubba was killed and they got three of his hogs."

  "Good grief. That damn cat has to be seen about. Are you going out after him?"

  "Yes, as soon as I get Dickens settled."

  "Well, I hate leaving my wife here alone while I go, but if you could bring him in here, Kate and her could look after him while you and I go out." Mr. Tate told him.

  "I'd appreciate that. Can you help me get him inside, he's out of it?"

  "Sure."

  When Kate saw Dickens in their arms, she gasped. "My God, what happened." She cried. Blood was all over his shirt

  "The damn cougar," Wes told her, giving her a quick glance.

  They put him in the spare room and when they came out, Wes told them he went over to talk to Dickens and found Bubba dead in the barn, and three of the hogs killed. "When I saw that, and couldn't find him, I went looking. He was way out in the pasture, I carried him to the wagon then took him to the doctor." Wes explained.

  "Your going after him?" Mrs. Tate asked when her husband went to get his good boots and gun out of the bedroom.

  "Got to Annie," her husband told her as he came out of the bedroom.

  "The doc said the cat attacked some ranch hand too just yesterday." Wes explained. "We've got to get him before he does any more damage."

  "Oh of course," Mrs. Tate grabbed her chest. "But you two be careful."

  "Don't you worry none, dear. We're going to get him. He's a sly one, but I got a notion where he might be hold up." Mr. Tate told them.

  Kate stared at Wes.

  "Ca
n I borrow one of your horses Mr. Tate? I came in the wagon." Wes asked.

  "Sure."

  As the men went to the barn Kate peaked in on Dickens but he was asleep and breathing okay, so she closed the door.

  "This is just terrible. Bubba worked for Dickens a long time. They were close." Mrs. Tate shook her head.

  Wes came back inside and looked at Kate.

  "Look, the doc said to keep Dickens as still as you can for a week, giving him time to heal up. He was ripped bad on the chest, so it's important." Wes told her. "We don't know how long this is gonna take, but don't worry, we'll be back. But this time we have to get him, he's just going to keep on killing."

  "We'll take care of Dickens. I guess I'll be here then until you get back." She told him her eyes meeting his. He stared a long time, as a slow burning smile lit his lips.

  "Good, You two hear any noise of that cat, you stay inside. We don't know for sure where he is right now, so be careful." Wes advised.

  Kate nodded, "You too!" she touched his hand.

  He looked down at her hand and smiled, "Don't worry, I intend to."

  But the look in her eyes almost had him hauling her into his arms and kissing her for all she was worth.

  Mr. Tate came in and grabbed his wife, kissing her, then smiling. "Don't you fret honey. We'll be fine."

  "God go with you!" Annie told him.

  In minutes they were gone.

  Kate looked at Annie, "I'm sure glad Wes went over there. I had no idea he was going there, I thought he was going to town."

  "I guess they must be good friends too"

  "Yes, they are, but I thought he was going to town."

  "That is strange isn't it. A man like that, a drifter, having a day off, you'd think he would go to town, now wouldn't you." Annie smiled at her. "Did he have the whole day off?"

  "Yes, he taught me to play poker this morning, can you imagine!" Kate smiled.

  "Really, that's interesting too, isn't it?"

  "Annie, there is nothing between us. He's a hired hand, a friend, that's all." Kate insisted. "He won't be here that long."