Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  “I rest my case. With your whiny jabber, you’re lucky to attract curdled milk.”

  Ollie spied Betsy Cole and her towheads heading up the street. The woman carried the baby on one hip, struggling to keep up with the boys who raced in front.

  “Howdy, Miss Ollie,” Edgar Lee hollered.

  “Morning, boys.”

  “What’s ya doing, Miss Ollie?”

  “Mildewing.” She cackled when Edgar Lee’s hold slipped on the horned toad he held and it leaped onto Jake’s lap.

  “Good God, what the hell!” The barber jumped to his feet. “Don’t you know those things cause warts?”

  “N-n-not if you don’t kiss ’em,” Andy said.

  Ollie couldn’t resist. “You ain’t gonna do that, are you, Jake? Come to think on it, might be more exciting than Florence.”

  “Are you the town hair-cutter? Why is your hair so wet?” Edgar Lee took a breath and licked his lips.

  “Yes, I happen to be the barber, young man. And dentist. Have any teeth that need pulling?”

  Edgar Lee and Andy began backing up, their eyes big as dollars.

  “Boys, he’s harmless. Jake, meet the best question-askingest, ring-tailed tooters in the whole dadgum state.”

  Betsy arrived, completely winded.

  “Mrs. Cole, have a sit-down. You don’t look so good.”

  “No time to waste.” Betsy brushed back a lock of hair from her eyes. “We got work to do. Come along, boys.”

  “Aw Maw, cain’t we stay awhile?”

  “We didn’t come to jaw. We came to work.”

  Edgar Lee’s shoulders hunched with dejection. A twinge of sadness swept Ollie. The tykes hungered for little boy things. They were too young to saddle with such adult burdens.

  “You mind your maw and I’ll tell you a secret place to catch crawdads.”

  Their faces lit up before they trudged after their mother.

  A dark horse and rider emerged from the woods just then, capturing Ollie’s attention. The saunter down the street made her heart shift into a frantic beat.

  “Who in thunder do you suppose that is, Jake?”

  “Sure hope he’s not looking for a shave.”

  She shuddered as if someone stomped across her grave. Dressed all in black, the stranger sat straight in the saddle. A warning whispered in Ollie’s ear too loud to ignore.

  Eighteen hands tall if the gelding stood an inch, he high-stepped past lumbering wagons and the bustle of mid-morning business. The shiny coat glistened, matching the funerary black the man wore. They halted across the street. She didn’t notice the gray beast, a mix of wolf and dog, until horse and rider came to a standstill. The lean animal bared its fangs at Ollie and Jake, a growl rumbling deep in its throat.

  Ollie gripped her hands tightly, giving silent thanks for the Closed sign swinging on the café. Coupled with the boarded window the Blanchard gang shot out, maybe he’d think it vacant. She could hope to God he moved on before he found out different.

  The stranger’s profile was all she’d seen until then. When he favored her with a frontal stare, Ollie couldn’t move past coldness freezing her breath.

  A scar, more terrifying than any she’d seen, ran diagonally from his jawline across one eye, vanishing under the brim of his hat. Her mouth went slack. The pipe clattered unheeded onto the sidewalk.

  “Dog…stay.” The order sprang from a guttural voice.

  Though she didn’t know him, the stranger brought familiarity of his kind. Frost coated Ollie’s breath.

  Son of a blue devil.

  Whatever name the man bore, it would start with a capital D for deadly.

  Fifteen

  Laurel peeked from a crack in the door for a glimpse of the death angel, as Ollie called him, who’d instilled terror. The runty benefactress provided explicit detail of the newcomer who went by the name of Vallens and who now sat in the café dining room with the wolf-dog at his feet.

  But she could see nothing except his backside.

  “What’s ya looking at, Miz Laurel?”

  She jumped a foot at Edgar Lee’s twang beside her. The door banged into her forehead with its quick release.

  “A man—nothing but a man.” Thank goodness for roomy pockets to hide her trembling hands.

  “Are you skeered of him?”

  “For pity’s sake, I would hope not.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Grim reaper fit the creepy man in dismal trappings even down to the black hat. And according to Ollie, he rode a horse darker than midnight.

  “If he hurts you, I’ll get Paw’s musket and kill him. I’d be real mad if anyone made you dead.”

  Another David meets Goliath. Laurel’s chest tightened. Meager kindness had earned such devotion. Just when speech appeared possible, Andy rushed to throw his arms around her waist. Tears sparkled on the shy brother’s cheeks.

  “You know what? You’re brave little soldiers to take up for me. I think I’d be really angry if someone hurt you, too. But don’t worry your heads. That man is harmless. And remember how your maw feels about shooting.” She ruffled the towheads, grateful Betsy had found a spot on the upstairs banister to wipe.

  Edgar Lee solemnly nodded. “But I’m a man now and men hafta stand up for their fam’ly no matter how skeered they are.”

  To think of her as kin opened raw sores. She’d not seen her family in ages, nor had much hope of it.

  “There’s no need to take on so. It’ll be right as rain.”

  Laurel hated the hollow sound in her ears. Ollie had suffered another spell after her encounter with the death angel and had to lie down for a while. It took a lot of persuading to get the woman to take a buggy ride with Curley for a leisurely afternoon. Still, Laurel wished waiting on the stranger befell someone else’s lot.

  “I’d best go see what he wants, I suppose.”

  The sturdy, kid leather shoes seemed fashioned of lead as she wound her way toward her unlucky lot. The dog rumbled low, the back of its neck bristling. She drew back in alarm.

  “Dog! Quiet or I’ll carve out your gullet.”

  Laurel put the table between her and the beast. The man’s glance froze her blood. Ollie hadn’t embellished the beggarly appearance or disposition. It took effort to unglue her tongue.

  “I’ll kindly ask you to leave your animal outside or vacate the premises,” she finally managed, a bit weakly in her opinion.

  “He stays.” The voice was low and gravelly.

  Not a soul to help besides the boys. She stood her ground and met his stare, determined not to shrink into the woodwork.

  “I truly can’t allow—”

  The bell over the door jangled, to her relief. Lars Frederiksen, the burly steamboat captain of the Mystic Queen, and four of his crewmen entered the café. Bolstered, she eyed the captain’s long Colt Dragoon.

  “So be it for now, but I won’t have that dog running off business. Furthermore, we uphold a policy of no firearms. I insist you respect the sign to leave it on the front counter.”

  “Who’s going to make ol’ Zeke Vallens if he don’t? You oughta grow some before you go ordering folks around.”

  Captain Frederiksen flexed beefy fists and paused before taking a seat. “This gentleman causing trouble, Miss Laurel?”

  Vallens glared but handed over the weapon.

  “Thank you, Captain, but everything is under control.” She placed the Colt in the box up front and returned to the stranger’s table.

  “Monday’s special is pot roast.”

  “That all you got?” he snarled.

  “We also offer mulligan stew and beef steak.”

  Pray to heaven he didn’t want overmuch of any. Their meat stock had dwindled to nothing since the expected shipment was five days late. Perhaps Lars brought it on the Queen.

  “Two of those steaks,
and don’t take all day.”

  “Do you wish those raw or cooked, sir?” Laurel’s question seemed legitimate. Nothing this man said or did would surprise her.

  Wolf-dog sprang to all fours. Laurel gave a horrified shriek and the riverboat crew jumped to their feet.

  “Damn you, I said shut up. You gonna mind me, dog? You can’t tear into girlie here before she feeds us. Now lay the hell down.” He grabbed a handful of the bristling neck and forced the disagreeable animal to the floor. That it didn’t sink powerful jaws around the black-clothed arm surprised Laurel. “Cooked will suit us.”

  Thankful that the man called Vallens had a bit of control over the animal, she hastened to the others.

  “Say the word and me and the boys will roust them out. It would be pure pleasure.” Lars flashed daggers at the newcomer.

  “I appreciate that.” To get sideways with the man would only bring more grief to heap on top of what she already had.

  “You change your mind, just nod.” Lars winked.

  “I hope your cargo contains meat for the café?”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  Laurel took their request and barely reached the swinging portal to the kitchen when more customers strolled in. Surely Vallens would behave in a packed house.

  * * *

  Smokey’s ears perked up at the soft moan. Brodie slowly lifted his hat and hung it on the saddle horn. It wouldn’t do for the noisy rattles to announce him. He slid the forty-four from the holster and eased to the ground.

  The moan came from his right. A cautious turn around a stand of cedars gave a glimpse of two men. One lay next to a trickling creek. The other knelt beside him.

  “Get your hands up slow and easy.” Brodie found instant recognition in the face when the man turned. “What are you doing, Ike?”

  “My brother’s hurt real bad.”

  His insides tightened into a hard ball. “Which one?”

  “It’s Luther.” Ike’s voice trembled.

  Damn his luck.

  “Toss your pistol into the creek and don’t try anything.”

  “Ain’t got no bullets in it, Shenandoah.”

  “Throw it in anyway—along with Luther’s.” The weapons splashed and sank to the bottom. Brodie moved closer.

  “He’s dying. Some fool man in Redemption gut-shot him.”

  “That fool was my brother.”

  “If we’d knowed that was your town, we’d never have gone anywhere near it. We respect another man’s territory.”

  “Redemption doesn’t belong to me.” Except for his name and the clothes on his back, he owned nothing. He hated the brittle, dry feel to his insides. Everything he desired had shriveled. “My brother’s dying, too, compliments of your gang. I’d call that brother for brother.”

  Keeping his six iron on Ike, Brodie knelt by Luther. Blood soaked the clothing until it bore no sign of the original color.

  “Luther, it’s me…Shenandoah.”

  The old friend tried to moisten his dry lips. “Them’s angels singing. Sweetest music I ever heard. You hear it?”

  Smokey nickering softly was all Brodie could distinguish.

  “Ike, get the canteen from my saddlebag.” He holstered the Colt and lifted Luther’s head. Ike uncorked the tin vessel and passed it. Brodie trickled some onto the man’s tongue.

  “Paw, is that you?” A thin stream of red oozed from the sides of Luther’s mouth. The man’s eyes stared unseeing. “Paw, I done some terrible bad things.”

  Brodie’s gut clenched tighter.

  “He’s out of his head,” Ike whispered.

  No harm in granting a dying man’s wish that he could see. “It’s all right, son. You can make amends.”

  “No time, Paw.” Sobs racked the body. “I didn’t mean to do ’em, honest. I tried to be good like you and Maw taught me.”

  The pitiful confession tore a chunk out of Brodie’s heart. He took a deep breath. “You did your best and that’s what counts. Your maw and me are proud of our boy.”

  “I didn’t let you down? You’re not ashamed?”

  Tears blurred the familiar face and Brodie struggled to speak. “Close your eyes now and rest. Let the angels carry you home.”

  Luther’s lids drifted peacefully shut. A shudder, a whoosh of air, and the body sagged limp in his arms. The ache created a hole unlike any Brodie had known since the war. He well imagined the scene repeated when he returned to Redemption.

  Damn destiny, damn fate, and damn his sorry timing!

  “Reckon I’ll carry him on back to Missouri.” Ike wiped his nose on a shirt sleeve. “Bury him next to Maw and Paw.”

  “He’d appreciate that, I reckon.”

  Together they tied Luther across Ike’s horse. Brodie didn’t speak until they finished.

  “The girls…what happened to those little girls, Ike?”

  “Reno and Nat have ’em.” The middle Blanchard brother brushed a hand across his eyes. “Bert tried to talk some sense into ’em, but they wouldn’t listen. They said they’re keeping ’em in case a posse shows up.”

  Two murdering desperados with nothing to lose. Brodie’s jaw clenched. “They’ll have hell to pay if they harm them.”

  Ike jerked back. “You’re a man of your word, Shenandoah. Thank God it’s them and not me who’ll be on the receiving end of your justice.”

  “Are you saying they’ve already hurt them?”

  “Well, I ain’t exactly saying that in particular, but they ain’t been none too gentle either. The girls are alive though, or leastways they were when Reno and Nat dumped Luther and rode off.” A hard glitter shone in Ike’s eyes. “Put a bullet in them for me and my brother, will you?”

  Brodie snatched his hat from the horn and jammed it on his head. The rattles’ vibration added deadly assurance. Nat and Reno’s next stop was the hereafter—and he’d be sure to drag out their departure. First, they’d pay.

  “Where are they going?” Hard flint layered the question.

  “Arkansas. Said they’d lay low for a while.”

  Smokey stood motionless while Brodie put a foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up. He spared no parting word or backward glance at the friend he’d owed so much.

  * * *

  Laurel’s stomach knotted as she seared the steaks. Dishing up plates of roast and bowls of stew kept her from stealing the nearest horse and running.

  Called himself Zeke Vallens, did he?

  Keeping busy didn’t prevent questions from circling like vultures. Vallens could work for Will Taft. The flesh-den owner probably hired the man to track her and Ollie. If so, he’d come a long way for nothing. Her lips tightened.

  “What’s wrong, Laurel?” Betsy touched her shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” Except for I’m lousy, I’ve got rotten luck, and I wish Brodie was back. Never had she imagined the hiss of those rattles would bring comfort instead of dread.

  Brodie would protect her if for no other reason than, heaven forbid, to make sure she married his brother.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, your white face disputes that. Got anything to do with the man in the other room? I almost choked when he gave a plateful of meat to that mean ol’ dog.”

  “I appreciate you taking that to him, Betsy. I simply have a premonition he’s bent on making our lives miserable.”

  “Ain’t asking, mind you, but wondered if you knew him?”

  “I can happily state I’ve never had the misfortune.”

  “A body would be well off to avoid him.” Betsy gazed sadly out the back door where the children waited. “I hate to run off with him sittin’ there. Don’t see I have much choice in the matter. We roll at dawn. Fort Richardson is a long ways.”

  Tears lurked behind Laurel’s eyelids. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Reckon you’ve been as good
a friend as I’ve ever had. Time to get on with things.” Betsy swung to open the door.

  “Will you stop on the way to let me say good-bye?”

  Betsy gave her a long stare. “I’d like that.”

  After she left, Laurel glanced around the spotless kitchen. A lick and a promise was all she’d ever had a second to spare. She glowered at the dining room entrance. “I’d rather rake embers in hell and feed the furnace than face Vallens again.”

  But she’d delayed it long enough. She just wished the dining room wasn’t empty. Vallens sat with both feet propped on a chair as though king of his castle. Wolf-dog warily eyed her but uttered no sound.

  “Empty plates generally indicate a good sign,” she said, praying he’d not tarry.

  “Is that pie I smell?”

  “Rhubarb.” Her heart sank.

  “I’ll take some. Got a hankering for something sweet.”

  Shivers chased up her spine when he eyed her from head to toe. She almost lost her grip on the plates. The statement pertained to more than pie and she’d seen that leer in men’s eyes far too often to play innocent. She hurried to do his bidding.

  Vallens’s gaze followed each twitch, the rise and fall of her steps when she returned. He removed his feet from the chair. The beast bared its teeth.

  “Oblige me with your company, girlie.”

  The sharp order split the air like a thin piece of rawhide. Laurel edged her hand beneath the apron into her pocket to grip the knife she’d hidden. Whether this black-clothed man bore deadly intent or not, she’d protect herself from him. Her clenched jaw and jutting chin should relay that.

  “Who do you think you are? You can’t come in and treat people as though we’re slaves to do your bidding. We have laws here. Change your tune or I’ll get the sheriff.”

  “Be sorta hard, seeing as how he’s stiff as a two-by-four and six feet under.”

  Laurel’s heart stopped. The strange man knew too much.

  Vallens took a bite and chewed. He waved his fork toward the pie. “You make this?”

  She nodded.

  “Didn’t hear you, girl. Cat got your tongue?”

  “I made it.” The words came through stiff lips.