KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  His opponent lunged at him, but Tom rolled out of the way. “Damn it, Goose! What the hell are we doing?” Tom scrambled to his feet, brushed at his leather jacket, then held a hand out to help Gustavo up.

  “When a man picks a fight with me, I fight back.” He took hold of Tom’s hand and pulled himself up but didn’t let go. He clenched it in an iron-like grip. “You started it, I mean to finish it.”

  “Look, I’m sorry.” Tom said, thankful when Goose let go without any further attempts at fisticuffs. “I know what my mother is, and, for whatever it’s worth, yeah, I love her. That’s how it is. You’ve got no right to talk bad about her.”

  “Guess I deserved that punch in the face.” He rubbed his jaw then looked up at the taller man. “Your mother would be proud of you. Proud to know her son would fight for her honor.”

  Tom nodded. He hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but Goose was right. He would, indeed, fight to defend what little honor his mother possessed. Wouldn’t any son do the same?

  “Come on, amigo, let’s go find us some horses.”

  They traveled on in silence. The higher into the hills they rode, the colder the air became. Wind whipped over the craggy rocks and boulders, whistling through cracks and crevices with an eerie, ghostlike voice. It swept through the tall brown grasses that clung to life even as winter approached.

  Tom pulled his hat down low on his head, thrust his hands into a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves, then glanced over toward Gustavo. The other man nodded, and they kept on riding.

  An hour passed, and then another. Still, no sign of any wild horses in the valley below.

  Moment by moment, the sky grew darker. Thick gray clouds threatened to unleash a cold, icy rain. Most likely snow would fall before morning. A light dusting of snow, of course, would make it easy to track a herd of mares.

  If they found them.

  It didn’t look too likely. Discouragement settled over Tom like a heavy weight. It pressed against his chest and made it damned hard to keep believing in all those dreams he’d talked about. Those dreams meant too much, though. He would not let them die.

  “I think maybe we better turn back.” Gustavo jerked his head upward toward the ominous clouds scuttling through leaden skies.

  Probably so, but Tom couldn’t stop now. “You worried about a little rain? I thought you were tougher than that.” He put a big grin on his face.

  Goose wasn’t grinning. His face wore a grim expression. “No, señor, it is not the rain that worries me. It is not the wind.” He drew back on the reins, halting his horse. “I worry about getting stranded up here in these hills.”

  The Mexican was no fool. He knew all too well the dangers of the harsh, unforgiving landscape. Tom recognized the risks, too, but they’d come so far. Too far to simply turn around and go back with nothing to show for their efforts.

  Tom pushed his hat back and stared down at his companion. “You cutting out on me, Goose?”

  “Yep.” He wheeled his horse around, ready to head back the way they’d come. He jabbed a thumb toward himself. “I got too much life left in me. I don’t want to lose it to these cold, rocky mountains.” Leaning back, Goose smiled faintly. “I got me a girl now, you know. Lupita. She is truly the love of my life, and she needs me. If I get myself hurt, what would I have to give her? Or worse, what if I get myself killed?”

  “Hell, she’d just take up with somebody else.” Tom laughed, hoping to ease the escalating tension. As one of the girls at the Red Mule, Lupita entertained more than a few fellows. But she loved only Gustavo, which in some way, was supposed to make it all right.

  “Si, señor, probably my brother, Ignacio. I can’t let that happen. Lupita is my girl. She belongs to me. I’m going back.”

  Tom sighed. Goose was in love, all right. He’d never set much store on it, but he’d always heard that once love got hold of a man, no use fighting it.

  “All right, fine. Ride out if you want, but I’m not going back yet.”

  “You’re talking loco.” Goose’s voice seemed to waver in the wind. “We need to get back. No jokes, hombre. No pulling legs.”

  “I’m not joking. I’m going to keep riding. I’m not going back until I’ve found those horses.”

  “Good luck, you crazy son-of-a-bitch. I hope you make it back alive.”

  Without another word, Gustavo laid the reins against his horse’s neck and set off down the narrow trail.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Tom called it quits, as well. As he turned toward home at last, he cursed his own foolhardiness. Where he’d once thought his efforts to become a better man had given him a strong sense of determination, he now saw it for what it truly was—a stubborn streak that could do more harm than good in the larger scheme of things.

  The storm that had threatened earlier finally broke only moments after he turned back. A bitterly cold rain washed down over him, leaving him to wonder why everything in creation always seemed to conspire against him. Maybe his unfortunate birth had brought a curse down upon his head.

  It didn’t seem fair. All he wanted was a chance to make something of himself. Wanting to rise above one’s meager beginnings and improve one’s lot was part of human nature, wasn’t it? He didn’t consider himself selfish, but counted it instead as ambition, and without it, a man would never amount to anything more than that hill of beans people spoke about so often.

  He wanted a good life for himself. Even more, he wanted it for Faith.

  His thoughts broke off as a ferocious wind tore through the hills. The full force of the storm moved in, making travel dangerous. He skirted the steep ravines, the wild and craggy trails strewn with rocks and mountain ash and late-blooming wild flowers. A raw, savage beauty gripped the land as the heavens unleashed their rains.

  Frustrated and angry, he pulled the collar up on his jacket and rode onward, doing his best to ignore the downpour and the raging winds. So much of life was like that. A man just had to toughen up, ignore the pain, and keep going. Lightning jagged through the skies.

  “Whoa, fellow, easy—” Tom muttered as Dandy pranced sideways after a rumble of thunder shook the earth. “Steady, boy.”

  His eyes scanned the landscape, seeking shelter. Through the growing darkness, he saw only a nightmare of craggy rocks and rough brush. Broken limbs lay scattered about like used matchsticks. A fool, indeed, to be out in a storm.

  But he wasn’t the only damned fool, he realized, as another burst of lightning lit the skies, illuminating the figure of a man on horseback a short distance ahead.

  Goose?

  No, it couldn’t be. The Mexican had ridden off too long before and was surely warm and secure in Lupita’s loving arms—and bed—by now.

  Tom’s heart pounded as thunder rumbled over the earth again. He clenched the reins of his horse and held on, but the stranger before him must have been caught unprepared. When his horse bucked and reared, the man took a hard fall. The horse fell, too, pinning its rider against the ground. The frightened horse kicked its forelegs, struggled to its feet, then galloped off. Its hoof beats pounded over the ground.

  Tom shouted to the man, but the wind and rain drowned out his voice. Pressing his legs against the roan’s flanks, he moved cautiously onward, reaching the fallen rider moments later.

  “Stay still, mister. Don’t try to move.” He dismounted and rushed to the stranger.

  From the corner of his eye, Tom saw the panicked horse circle back toward them, its gait slowing. He’d tend to the man first, then catch the horse.

  “Where you hurt at?” he asked, bending down. He already had a pretty good idea. From the way the horse and rider went down, Tom suspected the man probably had a few broken ribs. If not broken, at least badly bruised.

  “Can’t—breathe…” The words wheezed out from a gray-headed, gray-bearded old geezer.

  Tom stared down into the gentle eyes of an old man. Must be in his fifties, if he was a day. Maybe his sixties. Old, grizzled, and
tough enough to survive just about anything.

  “Keep still. You’ll be all right.”

  The man coughed, turned his head, and spat into the dirt. No blood, thank goodness. If his ribs were broken they hadn’t punctured the lungs. The important thing now was to get him bound up and moved out of the rain to shelter. Tom scrambled to his feet and headed for his horse. He never rode out without emergency supplies. In a harsh land like this, accidents happened.

  “Don’t live—far—” The man made an attempt to gesture toward the north.

  “Don’t try to talk yet,” Tom suggested, seeing how much effort the words had cost the man. He surveyed the landscape again. Moving the injured fellow would be risky, but if he had a cabin close by, he’d probably be a damned sight better there than lying on the cold, wet ground.

  The skittish horse had slowed its pace. Tom made a few noises, held out his hand, and began speaking in a soothing, sing-song voice. He knew the mare’s fears. He knew, too, how to calm her. Within moments, she stood docilely at his side while he stroked her soft muzzle. He looked at the old fellow who’d worked his way to a sitting position. “I’m not sure what’s the best way to get you home.”

  He waved Tom’s concerns away. “I’ll be all right. I can ride. Man’s got to be able to take a little pain.”

  “You sure you can make it?”

  “It’s not far. Just past those pines.” Although the man’s face showed his agony, he mounted up with Tom’s help. “Sweet Jesus, it hurts. We’ll just take it easy. You stay with me, all right?”

  “Sure thing, partner.”

  Both men were drenched by the time they reached the pines. They rode on into the clearing where a small, but tidy little house sat, surrounded by a few outbuildings.

  His brows rose. “Joe Love’s old place?”

  Well, to each his own. Nobody around Sunset wanted to come near the land where outlaw Joe Love had been ambushed and shot to death. Maybe this old geezer was some sort of hermit, a bit like that Bradford fellow who used to live out in the woods, whittling ducks and geese from blocks of pine.

  Cody Bradford had actually turned civilized now. He’d found love in the arms of Miss Maddie Marlowe, she’d taken him for better or worse, and the last Tom heard, they were living happily ever after in California.

  Funny thing, love was. It could sure as hell change a man’s circumstances.

  For better. Or worse.

  He pushed aside his philosophical thoughts and carefully helped the wizened old gent down from the mare.

  “I think you’d best have a doctor take a look at you.”

  “No doctor’s going to ride out here in foul weather, my friend. Just help me to my bed, will you?” He nodded toward the back of the house. “Name’s Leland Chappell, by the way. I appreciate your assistance, young man.”

  “Tom Henderson.” He held out a hand which the man clasped with a surprisingly strong grip. “Glad to help.”

  Tom soon had Chappell settled into his bed, as comfortable as he could make him. The storm had all but blown over, and the late afternoon skies were a few shades lighter now. For certain, the worst was past. “I still think you ought to have somebody take a look at those ribs, and if you give me a couple hours, I might be able to find a doctor for you.” It was about time Abner Kellerman made himself useful once more. “You hang on now, all right?”

  “Sure thing. Takes more than a fall to do me in.”

  With a tip of his hat, Tom headed home. Most likely that’s where he’d find Abner. He and Tom’s mother were keeping company again. The question, of course, was whether or not the old doctor would be sober enough to answer a call for help.

  As expected, the doctor’s antiquated black buggy sat parked outside the cabin. Where the old sot had once passed his time on a leather-covered barstool at the Red Mule, he now spent it instead on the comfy settee in Charlotte’s tiny parlor. He appeared to have taken a genuine liking to Tom’s mother. Or maybe he just liked her ability and willingness to match him drink for drink. Quite the pair they made, indeed.

  Tom stepped inside. Sure as the sun went down in the west, his mother and Abner sat side by side, each with a glass in hand.

  Kellerman raised his drink. No doubt he meant to propose another toast.

  To their growing friendship, perhaps, or maybe to the fast-approaching holidays. Neither of the pair needed any real reason to down another shot of whiskey. What they both needed was a reason a stop.

  “Put that down, Doc.” Tom didn’t wait for the man to comply. He snatched the glass away. Kellerman’s reactions were too slow to stop him. “Haven’t got time for this right now,” Tom said. “I’ve got a mission of mercy for you.”

  “What are you prattling on about now, cowboy?” He leaned forward. “Give me that drink.”

  Tom ignored him. “A man’s been hurt. He needs a doctor. You happen to be the nearest one, so grab your hat, put on your coat, and let’s get going.”

  “Hurt?” He seemed to have difficulty grasping the word.

  “Broken ribs,” Tom said. “That’s my guess.”

  “Well, then, there’s nothing I can do for him.” Kellerman shook his head.

  “You can take a look.”

  “Why? Broken ribs will heal up on their own. A few week’s rest in bed, that’s all that’s needed.”

  Tom could hold onto his patience no longer. “You’re a doctor, damn it! And it’s time you start acting like one. By all accounts, you’ve spent the last twenty years in a stupor, so by now, you should have figured out that nothing’s going to ease your pain. I reckon my mother’s trying her best, but meanwhile a lot of good folks are hurting.”

  The man averted his gaze. “There’s a doctor in Denver.”

  “And Denver is hours away.”

  “Mrs. Phillips—”

  “Listen to me will you? Amanda Phillips knows a hell of a lot about birthing babies, and she’s good at treating aches and pains. She can stitch up cuts and yes, she can set broken bones, but she’s not a doctor, damn it! She’s a woman with a home, a family, and a sick husband of her own. I won’t be bothering her, especially not when you’re standing right in front of me. Now, are you going to get in that buggy of yours or not?”

  “Abner, maybe he’s right.” His mother placed a hand on the man’s forearm. “If somebody needs help…”

  Her words, her gentle voice, her touch must have given the doctor pause. Confusion rippled across his face, but then he nodded. “Yes, maybe so.”

  “It’s time, Dr. Kellerman,” Tom said, his own voice hushed, almost reverent. “Time to start anew.”

  Kellerman suddenly seemed to change before Tom’s eyes. His spine straightened. He lifted his chin and nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been a drunken ass long enough.” His face reddened and he bowed toward Charlotte. “Excuse my language.”

  Tom reached for the man’s hat and overcoat and tossed them to him. Kellerman, however, hesitated.

  “Wait, Tom,” he said. “I’ve got no medical supplies.” He looked toward the table beside the settee, then grabbed the bottle. “Guess I could give the fellow of shot of whiskey. It might help dull the pain a little.”

  “All right. Bring the whiskey. But remember, it’s for him, not you.” He gestured toward the door.

  Abner hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

  When they returned late that night, the old doctor took out a rag and wiped his spectacles. “Tom, I want to thank you.”

  “For what? All I did was try to help a man. Anybody would have done the same.”

  “Not necessarily. Furthermore, you helped not one man, but two.” He tucked the rag into his coat pocket. “You could have let me go on being the worthless sot I’ve been for the last two decades. That’s what everybody else has done, you know. They’ve looked at me, seen me in my cups, and figured I wasn’t worth saving.”

  “Everybody’s worth saving, Doc.”

  “In the eyes of a good man, yes.” He
put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You are a good man.”

  Tom’s chest actually swelled. He felt it and drew in a long, deep breath so he could enjoy that sense of pride coursing through his body. Nobody had ever called him a good man, before.

  “Thanks, Doc,” he said. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He grinned. “I think there’s hope for you yet.”

  And hope for him, too.

  All the dreams in his heart surged again, renewed by the power of a few kind words. Wild horses. Lucille’s love. Most of all, Faith. He could truly have it all, if he believed in himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hard to keep a good man down, Tom knew, and to his mind, Leland Chappell was one of the finest fellows he’d ever met. Despite his age, his bruised ribs healed swiftly. He didn’t need Tom, Abner, or anybody else checking on him every day, but it was obvious from the way his old eyes lit up that he enjoyed it when company did come to call.

  He’d been a drifter for all of his life he told Tom one early December afternoon as they sat together by the hearth. In his rough, work-worn hands, he held a small carving knife. While he talked, he whittled away at a piece of ash, fashioning a spinning top—a gift for Faith.

  “Reckon I’ve been most everywhere and seen just about all there is to see. Loved me a lot of pretty ladies, too.” Chappell paused in his work, ran a finger over the smooth edge of the toy, and nodded. “You know, I’d do things a bit different if I had it to do over again.”

  The remark caught Tom by surprise. From the sound of it, Chappell had led a fulfilling life, one of excitement and adventure. He’d fought in the Black Hawk War of 1832, prospected in California, spent a little time with the Rangers in Texas, and to hear him tell it, barely escaped with his life on more than one occasion.

  “What is it you’d want to change?” Tom reached for the tinderbox, grabbed a piece of oak, and threw it onto the fire, then cast a curious gaze at the grizzled old man.

  “I would have settled down. Would have found me a good woman and had a family.” Chappell set the top aside. “I’ve always had friends wherever I’ve gone, but a man needs a home, a place to call his own, sons and daughters.” He stared into the flickering flames. “Sometimes I regret the way I let life pass me by. Always figured there’d be time enough later, but the years go by awful fast. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”