by Linda Broday
“Pretty good if I do say so. You’re too pretty to waste your talents on cooking. You appear more suited to parlor houses and such. You got a man?”
Vallens stared through the scarred eye. She’d not run and give him the pleasure. But it took great effort to stand her ground.
“It’s none of your affair. I have a kitchen to ready before the supper hour.” She pivoted, dismissing him.
The dog uncoiled with killer instinct. His growl and bared teeth terrified her. She stood still as a statue when she wanted only to run.
“Quiet, dog. Lay!” Reluctantly, the animal stretched beside the master’s boots. Every muscle tensed beneath its hide. “The lady ain’t going nowhere less’n I say,” Vallens added softly.
“State what you came for because I have things to do.” She eased the knife from her pocket, hiding it beneath the apron.
“All in good time, dearie. Ol’ Zeke ain’t in any hurry.” Vallens finished the last bite. He laid down his fork, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Yep, that’s mighty good. What pleasures can a traveler find around these parts?”
Laurel stuck her tongue in her cheek to keep from telling him that the favorite pastime was feeding sinister men like him to the gators. But she doubted even those creatures that ate just about anything would find Vallens a tasty morsel.
“The business of eking out a daily living keeps us far too busy for other forms of entertainment.”
“Pray tell, to what business do you refer, girlie?” Vallens’s coarse voice sliced into her chest and plucked her heart from its hiding place. He hinted at lurid things.
Ollie’s sudden entrance saved a reply. “There you are, Laurel. I see—”
The woman pulled up short, swallowing hard. Clearly, this man scared Ollie more than anyone. When Laurel’s gaze drifted from the dear face, she spied a holster slung around the petite hips and the butt of a forty-four. The sight shook her.
“I didn’t think to have customers so long past the lunch hour.” Ollie’s short steps suggested someone who dodged a field littered with dynamite and blasting powder.
“The gentleman is about to leave,” Laurel said quietly.
Vallens snarled, “You’re interrupting a nice chat, old lady. Not wise for a body to do that. Could prove unhealthy.”
“Anything pertaining to Laurel pertains to me as well.”
“You’re a little on the squatty side to speak so bold.”
All four feet nine inches of the woman drew up. “I might be the one to teach an ugly swamp rat some manners.” Ollie glared. “Or I might be the man on the moon. And I damn sure might be the one to answer to next time you disrespect my girl.”
Vallens returned Ollie’s glare. “You her maw?”
“You could goldarned sure say that.”
“Then I reckon we got things straight, old woman.” Vallens thrust two fingers into a vest pocket. Ollie deftly caught the silver dollar he pitched in mid-air. “For the meal. We’ll cross paths again.”
Low rumbling came from the dog when his master stood.
Never one to miss out on getting in the last word, Ollie snapped, “You’d best count on it.”
Vallens’s fleeting grin exposed an evil heart. “For less’n a spit in the eye I’d sic Dog on you. Teach you to leave a man be when he has dealin’s with a lady.”
Ollie whipped out the revolver, brandishing it. “Get out or I’ll see what improvement a bullet between your eyes makes.”
Vallens held up both hands. “Just leaving.”
“Good choice.”
The vermin paused to throw Laurel a cracked stare. “A pleasure, ma’am. Let me know when you get tired of wearing your fingers to the bone here. There’s easier ways…but then, I suspicion you already know that.”
Sixteen
“I oughta pepper that smug rear end for such a remark,” Ollie hollered.
Despite the sort of dark gloom that had visited frequently back in St. Louis, Laurel couldn’t help notice how Ollie waited until Vallens collected his pistol and left before voicing the latest threat. Although she did more than plenty to his face.
“Taft sent him. Otherwise, why say what he did?”
The gleam in Vallens’s eye left no room for coincidence.
“Aw, the walleyed polecat was just trying to rattle you. Honey, he’d have snatched you in a second and been halfway back to Missouri if Will Taft employed the likes of him.”
“The man may work for the highest bidder, then, and wants to see if we’ll up the ante.”
“Don’t go borrowing trouble. Girl, let’s go see Murphy before the supper hour. Nora might appreciate company.”
Afternoon sun filtered through the mossy cypress, creating lacy shadows that swayed this way and that. Welcome warmth dispelled chills that the disfigured visitor left. The stroll to the trim clapboard house at the end of State Street provided for a bit of teasing.
“Perchance could I blame Curley for your rosy glow? You came back bursting with happiness until Vallens ruined it.” Laurel threaded her arm through Ollie’s.
“Don’t have any idea what you’re gabbing about.”
“Stop playing coy.” Laurel gave her dear friend a sideways glance. “Finding the man of your dreams is worth howling at the moon about.”
Except if the lady was bound to the man’s brother. Guilt twisted Laurel’s stomach. Sometimes the things one most wished to fade only tended to grow more vivid the harder a body tried to forget.
That low, lazy drawl.
The unpretentious scuffle of his boots on the floor.
The hiss of snake rattles on a well-worn Stetson.
Most of all, though, she remembered the storm of flutters he unleashed…the barest touch of his breath mingling with hers and the quirk of his mouth in a crooked smile.
“Ain’t ashamed of a blooming thing. I just ain’t one to kiss and tell.”
Things of passion made the sun’s rays extra warm.
“Ollie, how long do you suppose before Brodie returns?”
The petite woman came to a standstill and squinted at Laurel. “You’re pining for him, ain’t you?”
Laurel developed a sudden fixation on the condition of her broken nails. “No crime in wondering.”
Another sidelong glance said she didn’t fool Ollie, who divined each thought that popped into her head before she even had them.
They climbed the steps and crossed the veranda.
“I reckon Yates should be back in four, maybe five days with luck,” Ollie said.
A lifetime when the death angel had taken up squatter’s rights in the hotel. Laurel quaked, lifting the brass knocker.
“My land, don’t stand there like common folk. Come on in,” Etta greeted them, taking Laurel’s shawl.
“How’s Murphy today?”
“Doin’ right smart. That Nora’s of a mind he’ll come around soon. Ain’t that something?”
“I’ll be my mama’s stepchild,” Ollie proclaimed. “See? I told you, girl.”
“It’s a miracle,” Laurel said, kissing Etta’s cheek.
“Mr. Brodie’s gonna be tickled to death when he gets back, all right.” Etta beamed. “That’s a fact, sure, ’nuff.”
A much lighter step carried Laurel to the bedside. Though Murphy lay unmoving, a more natural color had replaced his skin’s ghastly pallor.
Nora met her questioning gaze. “It is good.”
“I’m here, Murphy. Do you hear me?” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m waiting for you. I’ve much to say.”
Amazement almost knocked her over when he moved his fingers. “Did you see that?”
“He come from the land of sleep. Talk to him. Your voice help guide him through the fog.”
“We’ve been so worried. You have no idea how sick you’ve been. Brodie went after the gang who shot you
.” Laurel touched the angled jaw that sported beard growth.
Murphy’s eyes fluttered, struggling as if weighted down. Seconds stretched. Her breath held suspended. Finally they lifted and he stared into her face. The wan smile was beautiful to behold. She leaned to press her lips to a cool forehead.
“I knew you could do it,” she whispered. “You’ve come back to us. You’re going to make it. Thank God.”
The effort became tiresome. After a brief instance, he drifted back to dreamland from whence he came. He’d passed through the shadow of death and returned.
With luck, Brodie may not have burying to cope with.
…Unless the black-clothed stranger and his wolf went to work.
* * *
Weary clear to his soul, Brodie reined Smokey to a halt. They’d ridden straight through except for brief moments. Ike’s description of Darcy and Willa’s harsh treatment didn’t allow for dawdling. Rosy dawn broke overhead when he slid the Winchester from its sling and dropped to the ground. Inching through a tangle of wood fern, Virginia creeper, and red foliage of yaupon, he pushed aside thick clumps of switch cane. A shanty stood in a clearing amidst the Arkansas woods.
Memory hadn’t failed. He’d come to the right place.
A crow’s shrill caws broke the early morning slumber. A wisp of thin smoke from a flue on the roof gave sole indication anyone occupied the shack. A child’s muffled sobs reached his ears and closed a fist around his heart.
He studied the layout carefully as the door opened. Bert Blanchard emerged with a bucket.
The man’s grumbles carried in the stillness. “Don’t know why I hafta draw the water. Hell, I gotta do everything, even to leaving poor Luther behind.”
Brodie didn’t hesitate. He crept behind and, before the robber-turned-kidnapper got wind, cracked the thick skull with the butt of his Colt. Bert slumped to the ground in a heap. Emptying the man’s holster of its hardware, he tossed it down the well. When Bert came to, he’d not pose a threat. Brodie reached for the man’s arms to drag him from view.
“Don’t take all day with that water,” Nat called. “We need coffee. You know how quarrelsome Reno gets without it.”
Bert would have to lie in the open. Brodie raced for cover, beating Nat Jude who came to investigate. The speed with which the man reached inside for a rifle said he spied the body beside the well. Quickly, Brodie squeezed off a shot, slid another cartridge in, and sent it behind the first. Both caught the ruthless child-stealer and murderer in the shoulder.
Nat fell back inside, slamming the bolt on the door.
Christ a Friday. He’d just put the odds in their favor.
“Who’s out yonder?” Nat called.
“Shenandoah.”
“Hell, you should’ve said something,” Reno broke in. “We took you for a lawman. Why’d you hafta go and shoot Nat for?”
“This is no social call. I came for the children you took.”
“You been smoking dandelion weeds? Ain’t no little girls in here.”
Nat added, “That’s right. It’s just me and Reno.”
“You’ll go to hell for lying.” And for lots more…
“Reckon I’ve been thinking we might already be edging on down there,” Reno spoke again. “You bring a posse?”
“Naw, I figure I can handle you boys by myself.”
“We’re not going peaceful-like,” Nat snarled.
“I didn’t expect it, you sorry piece of manure,” he muttered into the wind. A faint shape crossed the dingy, broken window. They were trying to rig up a plan, in addition to drawing a bead on his position. Brodie shifted further into the undergrowth.
“Who sent you, Shenandoah?”
Tall, dry grass swayed around the shack. Laurel’s gaze, awash with unshed tears, flashed from between each dead clump. Impassioned pleas of a pretty lady sent him, nothing more. Failing to find the abductees dumped along the trail, he now shared Laurel’s fear. Those girls might end up ruined for life.
Damn, he should’ve torn himself away sooner.
Jude and Darnell had no idea of the justice he’d inflict. Brodie tightened his grip on the Winchester. They’d earned a free trip to Glory Land this fine September morn.
“It purely seems to me you should worry about why, instead of the who part. Get the wax out of your ears and the lead out of your britches. Send the captives out and we’ll call this a day free of bloodletting.”
“Don’t know why you’re raising all this fuss over a darkie and her carpet-bagging playmate.” Hate spat from Nat Jude.
Anger ricocheted but Brodie didn’t rise to the bait.
A rifle poked through the window. Three flashes burst from the barrel. He leaned back. No use burning powder until he had a target. Reno, the hothead, would be his guess.
“We ain’t giving back the money. You can forget that.”
A high-pitched scream of a youngster suddenly pricked the morning chill. Gooseflesh rose on the back of his neck. His hardened stare never left the tumble-down hideout.
“Boys, you better hope a panther made that cry. Otherwise, you’ll be real sorry.”
“We ain’t scared of you,” Nat Jude answered. “Men say you’re not so fearsome anymore. You’re getting old. Do what you gotta do or shut the hell up and leave us be. I don’t think you’ve got guts to take what you want.”
Slight adjustment of the accurate weapon and a keen sense of where Jude stood would deliver the answer. Brodie aimed just a hair or two right of the window. An orange ball, a puff of smoke sent the bullet on a mission. The wood splintered when it hit. Groans and cussing punctured the tranquil Arkansas hills.
He figured Nat’s opinion of age and guts might differ now.
“Damn you, Shenandoah. Now you’ve gone and made us mad.” For the first time, Reno’s bravado cracked. “Hold onto your rattlers. We’re coming out.”
Precious minutes came and went with no movement. Brodie dare not sit idle while they did God knows what. Reno and Nat could simply wait him out or hope he made a mistake.
But his birth certificate made no mention of patience.
And he didn’t make too many mistakes.
Except where Laurel was concerned.
The dry grass danced. One spark would create an inferno. A family of squirrels cavorted along the limbs of a mighty oak towering above the hideout. They scampered down an overhang and dropped easily to the flat tin roof, giving him a better notion.
Dense foliage concealed Brodie’s wide circle. Blocked from the window’s limited view, he reached the structure’s rear.
Rough tree bark scraped his palms. Crawling out on a limb, he swung silently to the roof. The stained bandana stuffed into the flue wouldn’t take long for the ol’ smoke-’em-out strategy.
And he was right. He’d barely shimmied down and positioned the shack firmly in the middle of his sights in time to see a figure run from the shack.
A child strained against the man’s grip as he dragged her along by an arm.
Brodie aimed for the bulky upper body and made his peace. Then, he introduced Reno Darnell to a chunk of hot Winchester lead. The girl screamed while her captor sprawled face down.
Inside the cabin, the other child coughed and sobbed but no one poked out their head.
That could mean only one thing…
* * *
Five o’clock sneaked silently into Laurel’s bedroom the following morning. She squinted at the unwelcome thief, her thoughts on Murphy’s miraculous awakening. Though it brought happiness, she couldn’t risk saying what she needed to tell him for days or perhaps weeks.
And the matter of Vallens entered into the equation. The man might steal the luxury of waiting.
Fear shook the length of her. She jerked the bed sheet over her head and burrowed deeper.
The death angel had not sought t
heir town for his health. A specific goal lurked inside that black heart. Something frightening, something deadly known only to her sixth sense.
Lord help if they didn’t get rid of him soon.
Hinges on the door squeaked.
“Why in tarnation are you lazing around in bed at this hour?” Ollie shook her. “And what are you doing under there?”
Laurel lifted her head, glaring through a curtain of hair. “For your information I’m hiding.”
“It ain’t working too well.”
“Everyone doesn’t have your sharp wit, General b’Dam.”
“Maybe you should stick with cooking and such. You have more skill at that.” Ollie peeled back the sheet. “Remember the Cole family? They’ll be here shortly.”
She groaned. “I completely forgot.”
Another reason for the ache sitting on her chest. She would dearly love to pile in and go with them. Escape Vallens and that evil dog of his.
But then…it might be worth hanging around to give Brodie an earful that she’d not be doled out to anyone.
She alone would decide who to marry. And love.
Although the rebel hadn’t appeared to give that much thought.
“Ollie, why does fate always have to switch things back and forth and upside down the moment you get comfortable?”
“Girl, don’t do a damn bit of good to rant and rave and blame fate. Change is a fact of life. Without a shake-up occasionally, things’d get about as dull as a bunch of widow women knitting long johns.”
“Fine thing for you to say. I prefer boring.”
“Better accept what is, dearie, and go on. Asking all these goldarned questions won’t bring any peace that I know of.”
“Do you know how long it’s been since I had reason to be carefree? I miss that and lots more.”
Ollie patted Laurel’s cheek. “Happiness is nothing but a state of mind. Joy comes from tiny details, not how perfect life is. Girl, you gotta keep your eyes peeled or it’ll slide on past you.” She swatted her leg. “Get dressed, lazy bones. I’ll make some of my special coffee. It’s purely a waste of energy fuming and fussing over stuff you got no control over.”
“Don’t make that horrible brew of yours on my account,” Laurel yelled at the closing door.