by Linda Broday
The stench of that vile coffee swam up her nose halfway down the stairs. She knew Ollie would have a cup waiting and persist in feigned innocence.
“About time. Thought you’d sleep the whole day.”
Laurel spied a steaming cup at her usual place. She slid into the seat, wrinkling her nose at the dark contents.
“An extra ten minutes doesn’t quite equal twelve hours.”
“Might as well.” The corncob pipe between Ollie’s lips jiggled up and down with the statement. “Drink up, girl. It’ll pop those eyelids open good and proper.”
That wasn’t all it’d pop.
“You know I can’t stomach it.”
“How do you know if you don’t try?” Daring sparkled in Ollie’s round eyes.
“You’re not about to shush until I do.” Laurel glared, lifting the cup. Funny, it didn’t smell all that bad. And this liquid actually moved. A cautious sip slid onto her taste buds. “This is tea. You should be ashamed.”
“Well, I ain’t. Now, about that hiding nonsense…I reckon the death angel put your head under the bedcovers.”
“He makes my flesh crawl. I can’t help it.”
“I’d lie if I said he didn’t make me shake in my boots. We can’t let him know it though. Think what he’d do to cowards.”
“I realized that while I dressed. I’m not admitting he came to take me back or anything, but he’d better know right now I’m not a little girl anymore. I can fight a whole lot harder this time.”
She kept a knife under her pillow and one in her pocket.
“That’s the spirit.” Ollie cocked her head, listening. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s Mrs. Cole and those younguns.”
Laurel grabbed the basket of food she’d packed last evening, trying to quiet the uproar inside that railed against the lousy ungraciousness of life, love, and losing.
Ollie beat her to the door. The woman would deny how attached she’d grown to the pitiful family, only Laurel saw it.
“Morning, Miss Laurel and Miz Ollie.” Edgar Lee hopped down, almost upending Ollie who wasn’t much taller.
“Well, I’ll be slickered, if it ain’t the two tadpoles.”
Betsy climbed from the high seat and reached inside the wagon for the baby. “Kept my word like I promised.”
“W-w-we wanna stay here.” Andy fought back tears.
“But we cain’t.” Edgar Lee kicked a clump of dirt. “Maw says we gotta live with Uncle John.”
“U-U-Uncle J-John has a r-r-r-ranch.”
Laurel put her arm around the small shoulders. “That’ll be exciting. You’ll have great adventures and learn how to brand cattle and rope.”
“I reckon,” Edgar Lee grudgingly admitted. “Only I bet we don’t have more than we got here.”
She offered Betsy the basket of goodies. “Ollie and I packed a few things to help get you there.”
“You have no call to think I changed my mind about accepting handouts and such.”
“It won’t do a dam…darn bit of good to refuse. I’m sticking it in when you roll outta here,” Ollie blustered.
Laurel jolted when Andy threw his small arms around her waist.
“I-I-I love you.”
Laurel kissed the top of his head, wiping tears that trickled down Andy’s cheeks. A big lump choked her.
“I love you and Edgar Lee, too. I’m already missing you.”
“Shore shooting right. Don’t rightly know who’s gonna wash them dishes now.” The blustering voice cracked. Ollie turned to address Edgar Lee. “Boy, you’re might near a grown man. Watch after your maw and brother and Sissie, you hear?”
“I will,” the little man sniffled.
Laurel breathed a sigh of relief when Betsy took the basket. It would be downright shameful for Ollie to engage in fisticuffs with the woman.
“I don’t know what I’d have done without your help and your kindness,” Betsy admitted. “It truly saved us.”
How strange to hear something other than the hard flint in Betsy’s tone. Seems their acquaintance benefited everyone.
Ollie rested a hand on Betsy’s shoulder. “If we managed to ease the weight of your burden a mite, then we done what we should’ve.”
Baby Sissie reached for Laurel, cooing happily when she took her. The child snuggled against her breast. Laurel blinked hard and buried her face in the soft curls.
“I’ll never forget you.” Betsy collected the miniature copy of herself. “Back in the wagon, boys.”
“You’re always welcome should you ever need a place.” Laurel’s arms and heart felt so empty.
“I appreciate that.” Betsy handed up the baby to Edgar Lee. Before she climbed to the seat, she hugged Laurel tight. “You’re real lucky to find a man like Mr. Brodie. He loves you, you know. Be patient. War’s a terrible affliction.”
Tears blurred the last glimpse of the family. Though Ollie shuffled back inside, Laurel waved until the loblolly pines and river birch swallowed them up.
The demonic laughter of loons from the bayou mocked her loneliness. Hundreds of long-tailed grackle settled in treetops, adding lusty calls.
She didn’t hear the footsteps until they crunched directly behind. She dabbed her eyes before turning.
“Never took you for a sappy, weak-willy sister.” Zeke Vallens, with a matchstick propped in the corner of his mouth, gave her a start. His wild animal was at his side.
“What I am is of no consequence to you.”
“Been checking around. Asked some questions. Folks say you’re about to marry the town mayor. That is, if the poor devil lives. That true?” The man’s gaze absorbed the sunlight, yet gave back none of the warmth.
“You’re the one with the information. Now, excuse me please. I won’t feed your curiosity.”
“Cain’t imagine you wasting all that softness on one man. Nope, just can’t figure it.” Vallens shifted the matchstick to the other side of his mouth.
Laurel clenched her fists. The smirk on the feared face angered and terrified her at the same time. Wolf-dog’s sharp eyes glittered, his long tongue hanging out one side, exposing razor teeth.
Dear God, Ollie should’ve let her hide under the sheet!
“Good day, Mr. Vallens.” She turned carefully, slowly, measuring how many strides it would take to reach safety.
“It’s my duty to remind you of your place, little missy. You don’t belong in a two-bit town feeding hungry bellies. Bet you don’t make enough to buy a dead man’s supper. Ain’t that right? Just saying there’s easier ways.”
Seventeen
Laurel whirled on her heels, forgetting the folly of sudden moves. The animal lunged for her. Had Vallens not snatched a handful of gray neck the wolf would’ve torn her to shreds. Her pounding heart told her how close the beast had come.
Sometimes being that frightened helped unleash old-fashioned fury. If a fight he wanted, then one he’d get.
“What do you want? How much will it take for you to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this town?”
“Ain’t your money I’m wanting, little missy. Got more than enough from selling wanted men’s sorry hides.”
“You’re a bounty hunter?”
“By trade. I’m not above dabbling in other persuasions should the job require.”
Blood drained, leaving her stone cold and faint. “In case you think that pertains to anyone here, there’s not a soul who’d pay one shiny copper for Ollie or me.”
But what about Brodie? The army would pay dearly for him.
The thought slid down sideways. Prayers doubled for Vallens to ride on before Brodie returned.
Wolf-dog’s powerful body strained against Vallens’s grip. “I wouldn’t be too sure, girlie. You might fetch a handsome price.”
The pitiful attempt to approach him with logic w
ithered. “Over my dead body, that’s the only way.”
“That’s purely a shame you feel that way. A crying shame.”
Laurel’s stand took every ounce of strength. She flew inside the café, slammed and locked the door behind her. Only then did she sink to the floor, shaking.
Ollie glanced up from peeling onions. She threw down the knife and knelt beside her. “Who’s chasing you?”
“That…that horrible man.” She let Ollie help her to a chair.
“Who? The alley was deserted when I came inside.”
“Your grim reaper.”
The woman’s lips narrowed into a thin line. She whipped the pistol from the table, then fumbled with the door latch. When it finally opened, sheer force sent it thundering against the wall. Ollie glanced up and down.
“Dadburn it. The devil’s gone.” She shut the door.
“Thank God.” Badgering Vallens would cause more danger and possibly trigger events no one wished.
“What did he say?”
“He’s a bounty hunter. Leastwise that’s his claim.”
“Any idea who in hell he’s sniffing after?”
“Maybe me.” Or Ollie. Or Brodie. Or all three. Who knew? Taft taught her well to distrust the obvious. The walls seemed to close in when Laurel repeated the conversation.
“Son of a bluejacket. He’d better not try it or he’ll find himself on the hurting end of this six iron, trying to plug a few leaks. I ain’t about to let him get you.”
“You’ll do your level best.” The assurance didn’t comfort.
“I need to come clean about something, girl.”
The solemn statement brought ghostly silence inside like when a person had to own up to a secret even though they hated to but couldn’t see a way to dodge it. Laurel knew it would bring change that would serve no practical purpose.
“Please, we should get lunch cooking.”
Ollie continued, unfazed. “That night we snuck out of the Black Garter…I struck Will Taft, rendering him almost dead. Then I stole the money he was counting.”
“You didn’t.” Laurel covered her mouth.
“I ain’t sorry. He deserved it for his devil ways. That’s what brought us to Texas and how we purchased this café. Vallens is here because of me.”
“It could be any number of reasons.”
“Stop humoring a sick, old woman. You know I’m right.”
The revelation made sense. Despite agreeing, she wouldn’t admit that Ollie had unwittingly put them both at great risk. By finding one, Taft would find the other.
“We’ll think of something.”
“I’ll go to Vallens and fix it. Don’t worry about them taking you again. I’ll protect you.”
The heart and will of a crusty lady didn’t equal out the difference. Only one man had the ability to boot Vallens out of their lives and heaven only knew where he rode this day.
* * *
“Help! Help me!”
Brodie pried Darcy’s arms from his neck and gripped the Colt. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Shielding his mouth with a shirt sleeve, he ran into the billowing, gray plumes.
Suffocating haze robbed his sight. Panic rose. A man could get turned around real fast when blinded. For a second he gave thanks he didn’t set the grass afire. Smoke filled his lungs, but at least he didn’t have a blaze to fight.
He nearly tripped on a form on the floor. Kneeling, he saw Nat Jude. Dead or wounded, didn’t matter. At the moment he had greater concerns. He slid the Colt into the holster.
Smothered coughs and a whimper penetrated the dense cloud. Plunging ahead, he groped soft flesh that shrank away from him.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.”
Something held her fast when he tried to lift her.
The bastards had bound her.
His lungs ached from an urge to fill them. Unable to see, he fumbled for the dagger he carried in his boot. With a finger between the ropes and her tender skin, he freed the girl.
Slinging her over a shoulder, he raced for sunlight and fresh air.
Darcy met them, latching onto his waist. “Watch out!”
A deep voice buried into his brain. “Hold it, Shenandoah.”
Damnation.
The guttural warning contrasted with the musical kerloo calls of migrating whooping cranes.
Brodie’s eyes watered too badly to focus, but memory served to assign the voice to the eldest Blanchard. Through the blur he couldn’t tell if Bert pointed a weapon or not.
A crucial error not ridding Reno’s carcass of the sidearm.
“I should’ve finished you off when I had the opportunity.”
“Reckon that was your last mistake, Shenandoah.”
One Brodie would gladly rectify had he eyesight and no child on his shoulder. He’d have to depend on wits to get them out alive.
“You’ve got me dead to rights.” He inched toward the vague figure, trying to block the choking noises the little girl in his arms made.
“Damn right I do. About time you noticed.”
“Let me put this little lady down and make sure they’re both all right. Then you and me can unravel this mess.”
“Good try. You think I’m stupid?”
“I don’t have to tell you where two dead girls will lead. Folks might be lenient for the kidnapping, especially when I tell how you helped keep them from harm. But murder has the makings of a lynch mob.” He took a few more cautious steps.
“Won’t make a hill of beans. My best shot is killing all of you and running.”
“You’re not a murderer, Bert. No need to start now.”
“An eye for an eye. For Reno and Nat.”
“They drew their fate after what they put these innocent children through.” Brodie uttered a low oath when stinging sweat trickled into his eyes. “Besides, remember how Reno and Nat left your poor shot-up brother behind with no more regard than a slab of spoiled meat.”
“Take out that iron and throw it over here.”
“Now how do you think I can manage that? With my teeth? You’ll have to come get it.”
“My mama didn’t raise no fool. Do as I say,” Bert snarled.
“Don’t get nervous now. I’m going to put the girl down.”
When he bent to do as bid, his vision cleared just enough to spy a horse moseying behind Blanchard.
Smokey? It had to be his old friend.
Brodie gently lowered Willa. From the corner of an eye he saw the horse rear, his forefeet knocking Bert to the hard clay.
If he didn’t act now, Lady Luck might turn her back.
He leaped toward the figure, swinging a hard left and crossing with a right. Bert’s harsh grunts silenced a family of squawking blue jays in the treetops. Quickly locating Reno’s pistol, Brodie stuck it in his waist before hauling Blanchard to his feet. A length of rope looped over the saddle horn on Smokey provided ample binding of the outlaw’s hands and feet. Only then did he turn to the animal that’d saved his butt.
“Good work, boy.” He patted the smooth neck. Smokey snorted and nibbled on his shirt as if to say it’s about damn time he got some credit for doing the hardest part.
Children’s coughs mingled with sobs brought back his attention. He drew a pail of water from the well and knelt in the Arkansas wild rye to wash tear-stained cheeks.
“It’s all right. You’re safe, darlin’.”
Willa’s big eyes stared into his. The child shook when he put his arms around her. “I’m skeered.”
“I know, but I would never hurt you.”
“Who you be?”
“A friend. Your mamas sent me to bring you girls home.”
Darcy sniffled and sat up. “Are you sure? Those men said they’d sell us and we’d never see the bayou again.�
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“Yep, I’m certain. They won’t ever threaten you again.”
“I want my mama. I need my mama.”
Brodie didn’t know whether to blame the moisture in his eyes on smoke or that Darcy’s pleading gaze held the same lost fear Laurel’s had. His gut wrenched as he cleared his throat.
“I’ll have you back in Redemption before you know it.”
“You promise?” Willa asked. “You won’t leave me here ’cause I’m black? Mama says most folk hate people of color and not to trust ’em.”
“Not all do. I’m not one of those. I promise.”
* * *
Purpose. That’s what Ollie harped on and that’s the way Laurel marched down the street—a woman with a purpose who wouldn’t let a pitted, washed out road waylay her. She’d geared herself up for battle and chosen her weapon.
The clerk at the desk glanced up at the sound of the hotel door. “May I help you?”
“Zeke Vallens?”
“Let’s see. That’s number six at the top.”
Her best shoes drummed the beat of a platoon’s drill as she mounted the stairs. Pausing at the door, she first straightened the lace-rimmed bonnet and adjusted her skirt to hide the bulge within the folds. Long white gloves somewhat disguised the trembles. Fighting rising panic, she sharply rapped twice.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Vallens showed surprise. “If you’d have let me know in advance of your visit, I would’ve taken a bath. Or at least washed up first.”
Her cheeks burned.
“You deviant, it’s not that kind of call.”
Horror swept over her when he tried to pull her into the room. She’d not be alone with Vallens. Not willingly.
The metal shaft in her skirt helped bring calm. Her grip tightened, ready to plunge it into his rotten chest.
Ollie had been bound and determined to pay Vallens a visit. Had Laurel not tricked the dear lady and switched places, it would’ve meant the grave for sure.
And still might. For someone.
No one had to tell her the grim reaper never lost.
She’d given that terrifying thought great consideration.
Anything to repay Ollie’s kindness overrode the wish to keep far removed from this man’s sight.