Marley leaned over her patient and again placed her mouth next to his ear. “I’m not giving up on you. Fight to live. I’m waiting. The doves are waiting. I want to know your name.”
Four
Fire shot through Roan Penny from head to toe. He must not have been dead, because there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t burn or throb. Surely dead people didn’t feel such agony. If only he could force his eyes open. He felt them fluttering, but they seemed to be weighted down. Maybe the bastards who caused all this had returned and sewn them shut.
Panic raced through him. He needed to see, to find out where he was and what kind of danger he was in. Why were the doves mourning so? Were they warning him? He had to get up. He tried to move, and a sharp cry burst from his throat.
A sudden hand on his chest offered comfort. A woman’s voice murmured, “You’re safe. No one will hurt you here. Sleep and let your body heal.”
Water dripped into his parched mouth and moistened the lining. The faint scent of rosewater surrounded him. Roan relaxed and let himself drift. He was safe. The kind voice had said so. It was men he had to be wary of. Almost every man in his life had beaten him down, but the women had shown him softness…until they went away. They always went away.
He had no idea how long he’d slept, but when he awoke again, he found he could force his eyes open. A glance at the wooden ceiling told him he was in someone’s modest house, not a saloon with its tin or a barn with rafters. Movement beside him drew his attention, and he turned his head, the pain from the effort sending a sharp intake of air whistling through his teeth.
Through his swollen eyelids, he could make out a woman. And he had no problem noticing the pistol she held on him. He stiffened, wishing he knew where he was, who she was.
“I’m glad you’re awake.” She laid down what appeared to be a pencil and he heard a book softly closing. He gathered she’d been writing something. She leaned forward, the gun in her grip. “You must have a million questions. So, I’ll start by telling you that I’m Marley McClain, and you’re on the Aces ’n’ Eights Ranch. How are you feeling?”
Like hell, but he didn’t think that would be appropriate to say in front of her. Instead, he managed, “Alive.”
“Who are you?”
He worked his tongue, his mouth as dry as dead leaves, and pointed to what appeared to be a cup on a small table. He could see little beyond shadows and outlines. Was this the best his vision would ever be from now on? If so, it would make his task a hundred times more difficult. She helped get the water to his mouth with her free hand, and he didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything as refreshing. He drained the cup and laid his head back on the pillow.
“Roan. Roan Penny,” he rasped. “You don’t need that gun, ma’am. It’s not like I’m in any shape to hurt you. How long have I been here?”
“Two days.” Sounds suggested Marley laying the gun down on a plank floor. “It pays to be careful. We’re dealing with rustlers around these parts. Are you involved in cattle theft?”
It took him a second to process that he’d lost two precious days, and another to comprehend her question. “No.”
“Do you know what happened to you, Mr. Penny?”
He closed his eyes and saw the hooded men, the flash of fire, Mose lying dead. He heard that raspy snarl in his ears that had warned to never return to San Saba County. He had news for them when he found them again—no one was going to tell him where he could go.
“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “Could I trouble you for more water?”
She refilled the cup and held it to his lips; the scent of roses that followed her reminded him of wild ones that had grown next to Mose’s cabin.
“I’m sure you’re starving.” She rested a hand on the bedcovers. He wished he could see her better. “I’ll get you something to eat. My mother put on some hearty soup this morning.”
“What time is it?” Roan couldn’t tell, little light coming through the windows.
“Midafternoon. The skies are dark and gloomy.” She was silent a moment. “Do you have anyone who’d be worried about you?”
“No.” No one who cared whether he lived or died.
“What is it that you do, Mr. Penny?”
“Whatever work I can find. Can you call me Roan, miss?” Roan tried to sit up but the effort was useless, and he dropped back to the pillow. Pure agony riddled his body and filled his brain with thick mush.
Marley put a hand on his chest. “Lie still and rest. What are you searching for, Roan?”
“Answers.” He had a group of murderers to find, and he wouldn’t rest until he did. But the main thing he’d tried to find ever since he’d turned twelve was a place to belong, where someone welcomed him. Mose had, but now he was gone. Roan inhaled sharply. “Everyone alive is searching for something or another.”
“I never thought about it that way, but that’s very true.” She turned when the door opened and what appeared to be a small boy crept inside. The shadowy figure went straight to Marley, and Roan wondered if he belonged to her. She hadn’t said whether or not she was married.
“Mama Rose, what’cha doin’?” the boy asked. Roan could barely make out the boy’s light-colored hair and slight build.
“Matthew, I told you, my name is Marley Rose not Mama Rose.” She lifted the hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead. “I’m tending to this man here, sweet boy. His name is Roan Penny. Can you tell him hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Penny.” The youngster stood next to the bed, squirming. “What’cha doin’ in bed for?”
“He’s hurt, honey.” Marley lifted the boy into her lap. “And before you ask—I don’t exactly know how it happened. Maybe Mr. Penny will enlighten us soon.”
Her voice felt like smooth silk rustling over him, and Roan didn’t think he’d ever forget the musical sound. He wished he could make out her features. Between the way his face was swollen and how bad his eyes were watering, he couldn’t see much of anything.
“Will you get all better, Mr. Penny?” Matthew asked.
“I sure plan on it.” Roan wasn’t about to stay in bed much longer. He’d wasted too much time.
“Did you fall down and hurt yourself?”
“Hush, Matthew,” Marley scolded. “Don’t ask so many questions.”
“It’s all right,” Roan said, his voice hoarse and raw. “The boy’s just curious. Matthew, some very bad people didn’t like me being friends with a certain man. I was lucky and survived, though I’m not so sure they meant for me to.” That was all Roan was saying right now. He didn’t like talking about his circumstances. “Is Matthew yours?” he asked, changing the subject.
Her tinkling laugh made him want to smile, even though it was too painful. He blinked hard several times and was finally able to make out the woman’s cloud of midnight hair. He guessed she’d have dark eyes and the coloring to match. Could be Spanish—a good many in this part of Texas were—but she had no accent.
“Matthew is one of my adopted brothers,” she said.
“How old are you, Matthew?” Roan asked.
The kid giggled. “I’m big. I’m this many.”
Roan guessed he was showing him with his fingers. “You sure are. Only I can’t see that good right now. Can you tell me how many fingers you have up?”
“Six.”
Roan winced. He had only been a year older than Matthew when his father had first told him he was worthless. That moment would never fade, staying as crystal clear now as it had been years ago. He and his father had stood at his mother’s deathbed, and even though he was a child, Roan had known she would never hug him again.
Blackie Culpepper had stared down at him with eyes as cold and lifeless as a piece of steel. “From now on, your name is Roan Penny. You know why?”
“No, sir,” Roan had said, wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve.
&nb
sp; “Because you’ll never be worth more than a penny. Remember that, boy. You’re never going to amount to a tinker’s damn. What is your name?”
“Roan Penny,” he’d answered.
“I’ve given you to old Widow Harper. Pack your belongings.”
The next time he saw his father, Blackie had a bandana covering his mouth and nose and was holding up a bank in Amarillo. And the last time, Blackie was laid out in a rough-hewn coffin on the street outside the bank in Sweetwater, wearing a sign that read Outlaw, and had a hole in his heart.
Roan had just turned seventeen, and he’d spared Blackie a single passing glance before hurrying on. It had felt like lucky stars then, not a bad moon, that had made Blackie give him up.
“Ahem,” Marley coughed, bringing him back to the present. “Matthew wants to know how old you are.”
“Sorry.” Roan released a troubled sigh and rid himself of the painful memories. “I’m way older than you, Matthew. I’m not sure you want to know by how much.”
“Yes, I do,” the boy argued.
Marley leaned toward Roan. “He won’t hush until you tell him, I’m afraid.”
“I’m twenty years older than you, Matthew.”
“Wow, that’s real, real old!” the boy exclaimed. “Are you married and have little boys like me?”
“Nope.” Roan tried to chuckle, then winced at the pain. He had barely started to think about what kind of life he wanted. He’d barely given thought about the kind of woman he’d take for a wife. He glanced at the outline of Marley’s shadowy figure. The lady had such a comforting, tender touch. He’d like such a wife, one who’d ease his loneliness and stand next to him when the storms came.
His stomach growled loudly.
“Oh my goodness, here we are talking away and you’re starving.” Marley jumped up. “I’ll get you that soup.”
“Coffee too?” Roan asked hopefully. “I could sure use some.”
“Of course. Come, Matthew, Mr. Penny needs to rest.”
If she left and he drifted off, she might not wake him, and his stomach was already chewing on his backbone. “Please, can you leave the boy? I don’t want to fall asleep.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
She put Matthew in the chair and told him to be good, then left the room.
Roan turned to the outlined figure of the kid. “What do you want to talk about, Matt?”
“My name ain’t Matt,” the boy said with a giggle.
“I thought since you’re six years old we could talk man-to-man. Do you drink whiskey and smoke yet?”
“Nope. They won’t let me.”
“How about a girlfriend. Do you have one?”
“No.” Peals of laughter filled the room.
“Matt, is there a gun by your chair?” He was concerned about that, even though he didn’t think Marley would be careless.
“Nope. Mama Rose took it with her.”
“Okay, that’s good. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Kids’ lives were cut short too often, and this one needed a chance to grow up.
To fill the time, Roan got Matthew to tell him about the ranch and the couple who’d adopted him. Through the eyes of a child, he found out how big these people’s hearts were. They’d taken in a whole slew of kids just like Matthew, kids who’d had no one, and given them not only a home but love.
“I love my Papa Duel. He’s the bestest one in the whole world.” Matthew’s voice lowered. “Even when I get in trouble, he don’t whup me. An’ Mama Jessie, she don’t get mad either. I don’t like to get spankings. They hurt real, real, real bad.”
“You know, I didn’t like whippings either.” Roan struggled to block out the memory of a dark barn and the pain that had always come to him there.
“Did those men hurt you because you were bad?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong. They did this to me because they wanted something someone else had.”
“Did you shoot ’em?” Matthew sniffled and, from what little Roan could see, wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Wounded one.”
“Are you gonna kill ’em when you get well?”
Roan didn’t feel comfortable talking about this with the kid so he said nothing. But he was sure going to try. They had to pay for what they did to Mose. He didn’t want to take their lives, didn’t enjoy the thought, yet if it came down to that and there was no other way, he knew he would. He’d talk to the sheriff in San Saba first. But if the hooded gang was too powerful, the sheriff might refuse to do anything. Hell, they might even be paying the sheriff to look the other way.
“My Papa Duel says that we can’t turn a blind eye to wrong things.” Matthew scooted from the chair and placed both elbows on the quilt covering Roan. “Are you blind in your eye, Mr. Penny?”
“No, I don’t think so.” But his head was pounding.
“I cain’t even see your eyes. Did those bad men pull ’em out?”
“Of course not.” Roan almost regretted asking for Matt to stay. The kid had a million and one questions. “Have you ever played the quiet game?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s play it. It’s easy—the first one to talk loses.”
“Okay. I guess.” Though Matt’s features blurred, Roan saw him put his fingers to his mouth and pretend he was buttoning his lips.
Silence finally fell over them, and Roan could think. He needed to bury Mose, and he’d already lost two days. The animals would have gotten to him by this time. Were the riders who’d killed him connected to the rustling going on around Aces ’n’ Eights? He wouldn’t put anything past those murdering bastards. Anyone who’d empty his gun into a man point-blank and then drag another would be capable of anything.
He couldn’t place the ranch’s location in his mind, but he hoped he was within walking distance of San Saba. Even then, he was in a weakened state. The food might give him enough strength to ride, but first he’d have to find his clothes and borrow a horse. God willing, that gang hadn’t found his mare, Shadow, in the cane breaks where he’d staked her out with Mose’s mules. Shadow was the only thing of value Roan owned, and to lose her would hurt as much as losing Mose. The gray mare was family.
And if the riders had killed her as callously as they had Mose…
Either way, he had to do something. Sometimes a man had to take a stand and find justice. Even if little was to be had for honest men like Mose Mozeke.
Five
Marley returned a short time later with the soup and coffee, amazed at the quiet. Matthew never seemed to run down. “I hope this will tide you over until suppertime.”
“I’m sure it will. Right now I’d be grateful for a piece of dried-out shoe leather.” He struggled to pull himself to a sitting position, but his arms gave way and he collapsed back onto the pillow.
“Here, let me help you.” Marley set down the tray. Putting an arm around him, she managed to prop him against the headboard, then fluffed the pillows and straightened out the bedcovers. “There,” she declared.
“My Mama Rose knows how to make things all better,” chirped Matthew.
Roan lifted his gaze to hers. “I can see that.”
“Has Matthew been too much of a bother?” Marley sat the tray on his lap and wasn’t surprised at all to see him go for the coffee first.
“I played the quiet game,” Matthew said, fidgeting.
Marley chuckled. “How did that go?”
“Pretty well actually.” Roan set down his cup and dipped the spoon into the soup. A taste brought what appeared to be something close to a half-formed smile. “This is real good.”
“My name is Matt,” Matthew announced. “And I’m going to be just like Mr. Penny.”
“Oh, you are?” She shot Roan a questioning glance.
He took a drink of coffee. “
Don’t look at me.”
The look that passed between him and Matthew was one of conspiracy. She was glad that Matthew had found a new friend.
Roan ate, and noise drifted in from outside.
“Who are all those kids out there?” Roan asked.
“They belong to my parents. They’re playing, but if the racket bothers you, I’ll make them go elsewhere. It sounds like an army when they start running and chasing one another.”
“They’re fine. How many are there?”
“Including me, a baker’s dozen right now.” Marley sat down and lifted Matt into her lap. “My mother seems to have a special sense for lost or orphaned children. She somehow finds them all and brings them here.”
A strange look crossed Roan’s eyes. “She must have a generous heart. I assume they don’t all live here with you.”
“No, they live next door with my parents.” She kissed the top of Matt’s head. “Theirs got too crowded, so my father built this one for me. I like being on my own.”
She sat there until Roan finished and asked him if he needed help lying back down.
“I can manage. It takes fewer muscles to fall than to get up.”
Marley nodded. “Matt, we have to let Mr. Penny rest now. Come along.”
The boy tugged on her dress and gave her a hopeful look. “Will you tell me a story?”
“Tonight, when I put you in bed.”
“But can you now? Please.”
“I’m too busy now. You’ll have to wait.” Marley glanced at Roan, who seemed interested in their conversation. “He loves for me to tell him stories and never gets enough.”
Roan met her gaze. “Do you read from a book or make them up?”
“Some of both actually.”
Ever since she was a little girl, Marley had loved telling stories. Writing and illustrating children’s books had always been her dream, but she had other passions as well. When she found time, she also loved to paint the rugged landscape and could get lost for hours mixing and splashing the colors on a canvas. But frustration twisted inside her. She didn’t know the first thing about how to make her passions a reality, and these days she had too much work to do to even spare it a thought. “I should help my mother. I’ll be back with your supper.” She collected the tray and shepherded Matt toward the door.
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