Josiah wasn’t sure what to make of what Ofelia was telling him. It made him even more uncomfortable. “She has a baby of her own . . .”
“Sí, the baby stay with someone at her boardinghouse. She don’t bring him here to Lyle’s sickness. You like this chica?” Ofelia was leaning on the doorjamb, her face serious and concerned.
“I helped her and she helped me. I think it’s as simple as that. I hope so, anyway.”
“It is not that simple, señor.”
Josiah exhaled deeply. “I know.”
“Tener cuidado. Be wary.”
“I’m too tired to be anything else. But why do you say that?”
“She is a nice girl,” Ofelia said, bringing her voice even lower than it was. “But I think she is looking for something that is not here most of the time.”
“Like what?”
“A papa for her niño.”
Josiah nodded. “Thank you, Ofelia. You are a good friend. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Ofelia laughed, as if it were the only reaction she knew to make but she wasn’t quite sure it was the right one. “There is no need to worry, señor, I am not going anywhere anytime soon.”
CHAPTER 38
“I’ll see you home,” Josiah said to Billie.
A curious look crossed Billie’s face. “You don’t have to. I’ve walked that walk a ton of times, thank you very much.”
“No, I’d like to.”
“Suit yourself.”
Billie walked out the front door, wrapping a white shawl around her shoulders. Josiah followed after her, closing the door behind him softly.
Lyle was still sleeping and probably would continue to for the rest of the night. As was her custom when Josiah was away, Ofelia had slept in the bed opposite Lyle’s, albeit with one ear and one eye open. Though Josiah was back, due to Lyle’s state of health, rather than return to her own lodgings in Little Mexico, Ofelia was staying put, sleeping now on a mat just outside the door to the boy’s room.
The bath had revitalized Josiah, and a couple of healthy servings of Ofelia’s menudo had sated his appetite. He had changed into a set of clothes that had been left behind four months prior, and they fit him loosely. Ofelia had said he looked like an espantapájaros, a scarecrow.
It was good to be home, but Josiah felt different, almost like he was waiting to catch up with himself. Clipper had been put away in the livery down the street where the horse was usually kept, and everything else, as much as possible, had been put back in its place—with the exception of Lyle, who still had not woken to find his father home, and Billie, who needed to be escorted to her own home.
Night had fully enveloped Austin. There were none of the new gaslights on the street Josiah lived on. Those were saved for the main thoroughfares. With the clouds thick in the sky, there was no moonlight to navigate by, but Josiah knew his way—and so did Billie. She walked five feet in front of him, her pace rapid, her arms wrapped tightly around her, to keep warm in the chilly air, Josiah supposed.
The air felt good to him. It was nice to be on solid ground, off the back of a racing horse.
“Billie, would you slow down?” Josiah asked, walking even faster to catch up with her.
They had walked about two blocks.
Billie stopped abruptly and turned to face Josiah. “I’m so mad at you I could just spit. Haven’t you figured that out, Josiah Wolfe?”
Josiah stopped, too, about a foot from Billie.
There was music still playing in the distance, a raucous melody rising into the night air, mixing with other saloon music emanating from Congress Avenue. Cowboys from the trail were either taking a break, getting ready to head out, or coming back. Regardless, there was always something to celebrate. But Josiah was not in a celebratory mood and wanted nothing to do with saloons, liquor . . . or angry women, for that matter.
“Why would you be mad at me, Billie? I haven’t been here to do anything,” Josiah said. His voice was firm, and he stared her in the eye.
“Just like a man to think you have to be here to make a woman worry and fret over you.”
Josiah stuffed his hands into his front pockets. “I didn’t ask you to fret over me, Billie,” he said softly. “I did what I thought was best for everybody. I had no choice but to leave Austin if I wanted to stay a Ranger.”
“You left that little boy, Josiah. And now he’s sick. You ever think he needs a daddy more than you need to be off traipsin’ around bein’ a Ranger?”
“It’s my job. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“Well, it ain’t right, and you damn well ought to figure out how to be somethin’ else.”
The veins in Josiah’s neck tensed up. “Come on, Billie. Let’s get you home. We’re not doing anybody any good standing here hollering at each other.” He grabbed her arm as he began to walk forward, but Billie pulled away. Josiah could see tears welling up in her eyes.
Billie stopped suddenly, then turned and lurched forward, throwing herself into Josiah’s chest.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding on to his waist like she was about to drown.
At first, Josiah stood stiffly, his arms at his sides. This was not the first time Billie had surprised him by jumping into his arms. Each time was uncomfortable for Josiah, and this time was no exception.
Billie turned her face up to Josiah, her eyes wanting, almost begging him to kiss her.
The feel of her pressed against his body began to awaken something in him that had been dormant since he’d left Austin. The simple desire for a woman, to feel needed, to want something more than a piece of information, a drink, or a ride home. He wanted to be needed, and he wanted to feel alive again, know what it meant to be intimate for more than a fleeting moment.
“I worried about you. About your son,” Billie whispered. “Don’t that mean somethin’ to you?”
Josiah kissed her then, felt her welcoming and desire, and matched it with his own loneliness and forgotten needs. It was a long, deep, passionate kiss. The outside world around them disappeared, and if the air swirling about them had been cold when they first walked out into the night, then between them now it was warm, hot, and growing hotter.
Billie moaned and leaned into Josiah, pressing against him even harder, grinding at the waist.
He felt her, could taste her desire, and for a moment, he was glad to let himself go. It was nice to be wanted, to feel what he had been missing. But somewhere deep inside of him, he heard Ofelia’s warning, heard the reminder that Billie was after something—a father, a husband, a life—he might not be able to provide. And then he thought about Pearl.
Josiah pulled away from Billie then, ignoring his own state of arousal, ignoring Billie’s unspoken offer to love him, to show him a way to pleasure that could last, if he wanted it to.
“What’s the matter?” Billie asked, a look of shock and concern crossing her face.
Words stumbled to the end of Josiah’s tongue and stayed there. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just looked down to the ground, kicked the dirt, and turned sideways, letting his embrace of Billie fall away and pulling out of hers at the same time.
“It’s that other woman ain’t it? The one you can’t tell whether you love her or not?” Billie demanded, her face all twisted in a growing rage.
Josiah nodded yes. He didn’t think about trying to not answer her or acting as if what she said wasn’t the truth. It was. Billie had hit the nail on the head—mostly. He was afraid, too, of getting into something that he couldn’t get out of. He didn’t know Billie that well; he felt obliged to her for helping him escape from O’Reilly and the corrupt sheriff in the town of Comanche, but he’d already done as much as he thought he had to do to thank her. He was having a hard enough time being a father to Lyle; he wasn’t sure taking on another child was something he could even consider.
He had yet to see Pearl since returning to Austin, and he didn’t know where they stood, or if she would even s
ee him. He hadn’t even sent her a letter in all of the time he’d been away.
Taking up with Billie, running off into the night for a moment of pleasure, no matter how desirable, was a mistake he was not about to make. He had enough new regret to wear, he wasn’t about to add more, if he could help it.
“You could’ve had anything you wanted, Josiah Wolfe,” Billie continued. “Anything, I tell you. I would’ve loved you till the moon fell out of the sky. But now you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ . I never want to see you again. Ever, you understand me? I never ever want to see you again.”
Before he could answer, and before he could reach out to touch Billie to try and calm her down, she tore away from him in a full run, disappearing quickly into the darkness. The only remnant of her presence was the echo of her sobs, rising into the air and mixing sadly with the saloon music that played on as if there was not a care in the world.
CHAPTER 39
Josiah did not chase after Billie Webb. He stood there for longer than he should have, staring after her, wondering if that was truly the last time he would ever see her. It felt like an end, one that he wasn’t all that sad about, more confused than anything else.
Darkness engulfed Josiah, and as tempted as he was to chase after Billie, he knew it was best that he didn’t. They both shared a weakness that, if breached, could cause them both a lot of problems. Problems neither of them needed. Billie was still grieving, still trying to find her way after losing her husband, Charlie, and for some reason, she thought Josiah was her way to a new life, or, at least, a direction to take.
What Billie didn’t know was that Josiah carried his own grief. Not only from losing his family—that was always there—but from being responsible for Maria Villiareal’s death, and for leaving Lyle for such a long stretch of time.
One thing was for sure, Josiah was done with spy duty, with long assignments. He would make that clear to Captain McNelly the next time he saw him. It would either be agreeable, or that would be the end of his Texas Ranger career, plain and simple.
After taking one long and deep look down the street, into the darkness as far as he could see, making sure Billie was truly gone from sight, Josiah turned and headed back to the house on Pecan Street.
His pace was slow, and he was able to focus on the steps ahead of him. He was a couple of blocks away from home, and the street he was on was lined with houses, all built about a foot from one another. None of them had yards, and like his own house, each one had a simple porch that faced the street. Hitching posts dotted the street, and there was no boardwalk, just the dirt from the road. Most of the houses were dark, and being aware of the lack of privacy and how it felt to be invaded by curious eyes, Josiah ignored the goings-on in the houses as he passed by if there were lights in the windows.
About a half a block down, Josiah caught a whiff of smoke. Not chimney smoke, or smoke like Scrap’s quirlies, but cigar smoke. He was certain of it. When he looked behind him, just passing an alleyway, he was just as certain that he saw the shadow of a man skirt away, just out of sight, and disappear into the darkness.
Josiah picked up his pace, and just as he was about to turn onto Pecan, he glanced over his shoulder again. The hair on the back of his neck was raised, like someone was watching him, trailing him. It was a well-defined sense, born in the War Between the States, and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. Josiah trusted his intuition more than his sight at times. This was one of those times.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowing red orb, and the figure of a man about a half a block behind him. Now he was sure someone was following him. Instead of turning left on Pecan Street, he turned right, and eased his hand down to grip his Peacemaker. A quick jerk up, since he wore a swivel rig, and a spin, and he’d have the man covered—as long as the man didn’t shoot first.
Maybe there was more than one, Josiah thought, fearing he might be walking into a trap. He stopped then, the barrel of the gun aimed automatically at the figure’s chest.
The figure, almost certainly a man, stopped, too. They were about fifty feet apart, facing each other. The stub of the cigar glowed deep red as the man drew a drag from it.
“You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you, Wolfe?”
Josiah recognized the voice but couldn’t place it right away. “How do I know you’re not armed?”
“I suppose you just have to trust me.” The cigar dimmed like a shooting star fading from sight. But there was no question that the man was coming closer now, moving toward Josiah.
With his thumb, he eased back the hammer of the Peacemaker. “I’d stop right there, fella. I’ve got my gun on you.”
“I figured as much, but you’d be making a big mistake shooting a newspaper reporter, out for a stroll, just doing his job.”
The man continued to walk forward, and his features were coming dimly into view. A splash of light fell on him as the clouds parted and the moon shone onto the ground briefly, then disappeared, offering up another dose of darkness.
It was then that Josiah fully recognized Paul Hoagland, the short, mousy-looking reporter from the Austin Statesman , who had pursued him out behind the capitol building after Josiah had given his testimony to McNelly, Jones, and the adjunct general.
“You owe me a story, Wolfe,” Hoagland said, coming to a stop about a wagon’s length from Josiah.
“I’m not sure I owe you anything, sir,” Josiah answered, easing the hammer back to its place. He kept his hand on the grip of the Peacemaker, though, just in case . . .
“I saw you to freedom in exchange for an interview, or have you forgotten?”
“I’ve been away for a while.”
“Trust me, Wolfe, there are those in this fair city of ours who are still interested in knowing what has become of you. You were gone, but not forgotten, as they say.”
“I have been serving the Texas Rangers, as I have done for nearly a year now.”
The smell of the cigar was pungent and thick as Hoagland stepped even closer to continue the conversation with Josiah.
Josiah stepped back, not wanting to have the conversation at all. His mind was still buzzing from the emotional confrontation with Billie. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was have an exchange with a man whose business was the use of words and, as far as Josiah was concerned, the spreading of lies and gossip.
“It seems so,” Hoagland said. “Your whereabouts were obviously considered a secret once General Steele issued his statement clearing you of any wrongdoing.”
“What is it you want from me, Hoagland? Can’t you leave me and my family to ourselves? I’m a simple man.”
“I only want what you promised me—the story from the horse’s mouth about what happened to Captain Peter Feders. Was it really self-defense?”
“I have answered that question to the only court that matters.”
“You most certainly underestimate the court of public opinion. They ran you out of town once, and they surely will again.”
Josiah stepped forward, ignoring the cigar and his repulsion to it. Hoagland stood his ground. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show a quiver of fear.
“Who do you really work for, Hoagland? Who really wants me run out of this town once and for all? The Widow Fikes?”
Hoagland chuckled. The bowler he wore trembled and almost fell off. “Really, Wolfe, you have been away for a long time. The Widow Fikes has no power of persuasion in this city. She has no property. No standing at all. She’s lost everything, or didn’t you know?”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the world. Josiah’s thoughts immediately turned to Pearl. There had been no communication between the two of them the entire time he was in Corpus Christi. To be honest, he didn’t know if Pearl Fikes was dead or alive—but he suddenly wanted to run to the estate and beat on the door, rouse Pedro, and prove the newspaperman wrong.
“Oh,” Hoagland said, “you didn’t know.” Obviously judging by the look on Josiah’s face.
> “No,” Josiah whispered.
“You have enemies here, Wolfe. Enemies that hold more power than Elvira Fikes could ever hope to hold.”
“I have enemies everywhere.”
“You sound proud of that.”
“It’s a talent I have, acquiring enemies.”
Hoagland chuckled again. “I like a man that’s not afraid to make enemies. Maybe that’s why I find you so interesting.”
“I’d rather be left alone.” Josiah turned to walk away, and got a few steps off before realizing Hoagland was just going to follow him. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Then here’s what you need to know: I killed Pete Feders. It was self-defense. Him or me. And it was one of the worst days in my life . . .”
CHAPTER 40
Morning pushed into the green blanket covering the window. The edges around it glowed with soft golden light. Beyond the window, the world began to wake. A few horses clip-clopped down the alley that ran behind the house. A rooster crowed, even though the sun had already poked up over the horizon an hour or so before, and the ground rumbled with the power of a train waiting on the tracks as it built up steam, preparing to depart the station two blocks away.
Josiah sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The smell of coffee, of really good coffee, greeted his nose, and he knew immediately that he was home, not on the trail with Scrap, whose coffee was weak and nearly tasteless. Complaining about such a thing never have crossed Josiah’s mind, but he had sure wished Scrap had taken some coffeemaking lessons from Ofelia.
Lyle was still buried in a bundle of blankets in his bed. The boy was breathing slowly and steadily, nothing to give Josiah any more concern than he already felt. The only other noise in the house was Ofelia as she shuffled about quietly in the kitchen.
Standing hesitantly, pushing the night fully away with a stretch and a reach to the ceiling, Josiah was not too anxious to start the day. The run-in with Hoagland had left him feeling unsettled and unsure of what to do next. In the end, the man had left Josiah standing on the street with no promises and his demand still in place. Josiah owed him a story. It was that simple—even though Josiah didn’t feel like he owed the man anything, much less a story about shooting Pete Feders or what had happened since. The past was the past. As haunting as it might be, Josiah wanted nothing more than to move on now that he was home, in the same room with Lyle, who, when he was well, knew nothing about the past. The present was the boy’s only concern.
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