Gathering on Dance Hall Road

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Ollie nudge him in the back. “Here, I’ve torn the sheet into strips. And here’s the tonic.” Ollie bent over the girl and felt of her forehead. “Sorry, dear, we’re gonna wrestle you about a bit.”

  Kit’s eyes fluttered open. “Ollie. You found me.”

  “Mr. Van DeVeer found you,” Ollie said, leaning down to look into the girl’s eyes.

  Kit blinked and looked right at him. “Pretty man,” she said, and moved her head and winced.

  “You let us do all the work, Kit dear,” Ollie said.

  Ollie nodded to Van. “Give me a few minutes to bathe her. I’ll call you, and you can help me get her wrapped up.”

  Grateful to be dismissed, Van jumped off the tailgate of the wagon and started to pace. He found himself near the horses. The girl’s horse stood, head down, asleep next to Ranger. Ranger stood asleep, still saddled and bridled. He removed the saddle and tack and cursed himself for treating Ranger so badly. “Wish you could tell me what happened out there. I’m thinking someone attacked the girl to steal her horse. Bet you know who it was. My question is, did you kill the culprit, or did he get away? I’ll take a look around in the morning and hope to hell I don’t find a body.”

  ∙•∙

  “Ollie?” Melody said, her tongue dry, throat scratchy. Ollie’s fingers, she knew them well. The woman had a gentle yet efficient touch, a little rough, but warm. They brushed the hair from her forehead.

  “You shush now. Just washin’ the dirt from your face and hands. Reckon you had a tumble off Maji.”

  “Maji?” Melody attempted to sit up and regretted her impulse. “Maji? Is she? Where is she?”

  “She’s fine. Probably out there asleep on her feet with her nose in her feed bag.”

  “The man? The tall man?”

  “He’s outside. I heard him talking to the horses.”

  Melody shuddered and sighed. Damn, he’s real and still here. I should’ve headed for Laura Creek a week ago. I’m a pig-headed fool. I had to take one last shot, feed my vanity, and perform and hope against hope fate would send me on my way to fame and fortune. Instead, fate sends me a Greek God; a savior come to the rescue. No one falls in love at first sight.

  Her trick riding act, without her brother Ryder, lacked an edge Melody could not attain no matter how hard she tried. Oh, she gave the crowd a few thrills, and they cheered and clapped, but the raw spectacle that Ryder inspired, the terror and awe, weren’t there. Ryder provided the fierce blaze of the wild and savage of their native heritage. She didn’t know if it had to do with her size, or if it was because she was female. Whatever the reason, she didn’t have it. And she wanted it. She wanted to set people on the edge of their seats, bring them to their feet, out of their minds as near to hysteria as you can bring a crowd. Instead, she neither inspired awe nor fright. She’d achieved admiration, and for the most part, respect. But she knew good and well folks admired her horse more than they admired her talent.

  Busted up, I have no hope of performing now. My shoulder will never be the same. Time to go home. But not this way. Not broken and beat.

  Cursing fate and lamenting the loss of the dream of attaining greatness as a trick rider in a big-time circus, tears began to flow. A hard, cold sheet of reality enveloped her heart.

  ∙•∙

  Ollie managed to get the girl’s trousers and plaid shirt off on her own. She tossed the shirt he’d used to wrap around the girl to get her up the hill onto the tailgate of the wagon. Cold and shivering, head down, Van put his shirt on and buttoned it up. One quick peek, seeing the girl, now in her chemise and pantaloons, stretched out on her cot, sent a rush of heat to his cheeks and places south.

  Ollie motioned for him to come on in. He hopped onto the tailgate and entered the confining space. Feeling clumsy and helpless, he carefully slipped his arm under the girl to support her shoulder and neck. She mewed, taking short little breaths, brows furrowed and tears sliding down the sides of her face. Ollie efficiently wrapped the sheet strips around her ribcage and stabilized her shoulder in a sling.

  The girl, her face clean, lips bloodless, eyes closed, lay limp and heavy cradled in his arm. Ollie poured out a dose of her tonic. He took the spoon and held it to the girl’s lips. Like an obedient child, she took her medicine, sipped cautiously at the water he offered, and then slipped away into a deep swoon without a peep or saying a word.

  Ollie had said the girl was tough, but Van thought that an understatement. Shaken, he couldn’t get out of the wagon fast enough, leaving Ollie to tuck the girl in for the night. She doused the lantern, and he offered her his hand to help her down to the ground. She huffed and shook her head. “We’ll see how she is in the morning,” she said, smoothing down her stained white apron over her trousers. “Bound to be sore as a beat-up bear after falling off a horse. Not much more we can do. So, I’ll turn in, I guess. First got to take care of my fire and set the stew to the side.”

  Van didn’t move. He’d come up here to find peace and quiet. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, calling himself a fool. He should’ve, could’ve, stayed one more night at the boarding house and high-tailed it up to the mountains first thing in the morning. Now, he couldn’t leave until he knew what the hell had happened to the horses, and to the girl.

  Ollie kicked dirt on the fire in her pit and bid him a good night. “I’m a light sleeper,” she told him. “If she calls out in the night, you come get me, and we’ll give her another dose of the tonic.”

  Chapter Four

  Van checked on the mare’s fetlocks and doctored them with some of the salve his father insisted he take along just in case. He wrapped the horse’s legs in a few strips of Ollie’s sheet. The mare didn’t behave as if she was in pain or uncomfortable. But Ranger wouldn’t put weight on his sprain. Both animals received some of Ollie’s tonic.

  Van waved Ollie a goodnight and laid out his bedroll near the tongue of Kit’s wagon where he could keep an eye on Ollie’s wagon and the horses staked on the rope line to his right.

  The chill in the air drove him to snug down into the wool collar of his mackinaw. He lay down on his bedroll and folded the wool horse blanket over his legs. He closed his eyes and promised himself he’d rest for just for a while and then check on the girl and the horses.

  »»•««

  The click of a rifle being cocked and the smell of gun oil brought him full awake. Eyes open, moonlight reflected off the business end of the gun barrel a foot from his nose. His heart jumped into his throat and cramped his stomach.

  A voice in the dark at the other end of the rifle warned him, “Twitch, and I’ll scatter your brains to kingdom come.”

  Van blinked but didn’t move a muscle, not even to take a breath.

  Ollie? Ollie had her gun. Would she hear they had a visitor, an unwelcome visitor?

  “Don’t look for the old lady. I got her hog-tied and muzzled. All I really want is the mare. Told the kid I’d give her two bucks for her. But no, she wouldn’t have it. Shoved my balls up to my ears, she did.”

  The owner of the voice jabbed the gun closer to his face. “The bay? Is he yours? He kilt my brother Donnie. Stomped him and bit him on the neck, shook him like he was a ragdoll, he did. I’m gonna kill him for that. Someone’s gotta pay. You ain’t much good without a horse, so I’ll kill you too.”

  The gun barrel moved side to side and hovered over his heart. Van dared to take a breath and slowly slid his arm out from under the horse blanket.

  Kit? What about the girl?

  “Now, don’t you worry none about the kid, I got her tied to the mare. Figured the mare wouldn’t budge lessin’ I brought her along. Don’t need a female, especially a scrawny squaw. Squaws don’t appeal to me. They’s mean, hard to break. But they’s better than a goat. Smell the same, though. I’ll find a use for her. Put her to stud, put both’em to stud. That’ll settle both’em down good.”

  The bastard laughed at his joke, and the gun barrel shook, the moon’s reflection blurring
. The evil laughter spilled out into the frosty night, and the vapor of his breath formed a fog over Van’s head. “Well, I guess that’s about it. I’m done negotiatin’,” the devil said.

  Van had one chance. He took a deep breath and grabbed the rifle barrel, giving it a good hard yank forward. It went off, the bullet hitting the dirt right above his discarded hat. Grit flew into his eyes, and gravel bit his cheeks. His opponent pitched forward.

  Rolling out of the way, Van flung the gun aside. His attacker landed with a thud on his big belly. Van grabbed his sweaty ears, using them as handles to twist the bastard’s head, giving the devil no choice but to roll over on his back or get his neck broke. The assailant yowled and cursed, arms flailing. Straddling him, Van tossed the horse blanket over his shoulders and arms and pinned the bastard with his knees. Striking while he had the upper hand, Van drew back his fist and plowed it into the thief’s nose once, twice for good measure. Thud and grunt, the eyes of the thief rolled back in his head, and he went still…limp.

  Van worried he’d killed him.

  The horses, excited by all the commotion and the smell of fear in the air, sidled and whinnied. Fearing Maji would toss the girl off her back, Van dragged the man over to the horses, found the loop of rope on his discarded saddle, and tied the intruder up like a trussed turkey.

  Damn, he’d never been so scared. Have to get the law up here, now. Well, hell. So much for peace and quiet. Shit!

  The horses danced on one foot then the other, the whites of their eyes showing in the moonlight, ears pulled back. Van reached out a hand in the dark to the mare. “Whoa, girl, steady,” he said before daring to approach. “We’ve got ’im all tied up. I know, I know how you feel. I’m still shaking. He hurt you.” He touched the mare’s nose. She blew and scraped the ground with her hoof but stopped fidgeting. “Good girl. It’s over. He can’t hurt you now. I need to get your mistress off your back.” The mare shifted, throwing her head. “I’m not going to hurt her. Easy, easy,” he said smoothing his hand over the mare’s strong neck and down to her brisket.

  He had one hand on the mare’s neck and one hand on the girl’s back and prepared to slide her off in one quick move to get out of the mare’s way. “Gonna ease her off now. Steady.”

  “Maji, stand,” said the girl, her voice hoarse and labored. “Stand for me.”

  The mare went quiet, head down. Van felt the horse’s neck muscles relax. He slid the girl into his arms, to cradle her.

  “Steal Maji from me,” she said, her voice cracking with despair, her face pressed against his chest.

  “No one’s going to steal your mare. She wouldn’t let them,” he said, once again stepping up on the crate and into her wagon.

  He laid her down on her cot. Her eyes fluttered open. “You’re beautiful.”

  He reached for her blanket and laid it over her. She’d passed out.

  Hesitating to leave her, Van gave himself a mental poke. Ollie. Have to help Ollie.

  Festering mad, face red, sweaty, and in her voluminous nightgown, Ollie Miller lay on the floor of her wagon wedged between two cots, her mouth stuffed with a wad of cloth, squealing and writhing. Van removed the rag from her mouth, which, as it turned out, was a pair of drawers. Holding them up, he decided they were way too small for Ollie, a child’s drawers maybe?

  “Gunshot?” she said first. “Heard gunshot. Thought you or the girl was dead for sure. Kit? Kit? Is she…is she?”

  “No, she’s all right.”

  “He punched me,” Ollie wailed. “I punched him right back, I did. Made him mad,” she said, rambling on while he untied her bonds.

  “Kit’s in her wagon on her bed. A little worse for wear,” he said. “The bastard had her draped over the mare’s back. She came to and helped calm the mare so I could get her down. But she’s out again.”

  “So, he didn’t get Maji?”

  “No, no he didn’t. I’ve got the blackguard tied up near the horses. They’re keeping an eye on him. I don’t think they like the smell of him. Are you going to be all right?” Van asked, helping her to stand.

  Wobbly, she flopped down on her cot and smoothed a heavy coil of her red hair out of her eyes. “I will be,” she said and huffed. “Bastard took me by surprise. I was in here readin’ the latest penny dreadful, must’ve dropped off to sleep and he snuck up on me. Times like this I wish I was in a proper house with walls and doors I could lock.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said and backed up to leave. “You’re safe, Ma’am. I’ve got him tied up proper. I’ll keep watch. There were two of them. He said my horse, Ranger, got his brother Donnie down in the ravine. They jumped the girl and tried to hobble the mare. That’s when Kit lost her seat. Those two horses put up one hell of a fight.

  “Ma’am,” he said, “we’ll have to bring in the law.”

  She nodded and heaved a weighty sigh. “The law don’t have high regard for us travelin’ folk. But the sheriff in Pendleton is a fair-minded man. We don’t bother him, and he don’t bother us.”

  Chapter Five

  Mr. Beautiful entered her wagon. Melody knew his step, the way the wagon rocked when he stepped on the tailgate. The sweet smell of dust and grass surrounded him. Peeping through her lashes, she concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow and steady, heart racing. He hovered over her and adjusted the blanket to cover her cool shoulders. She held at bay a ridiculous, disgustingly feminine inclination to sigh.

  He stood for a few seconds then left her, and she let her breath go. Cursing her bruises, squirming, she struggled to sit up, ignoring the shooting spikes of pain in her chest and neck. Outside, dawn cast a hazy pale light across the high, rolling prairie. She shivered, winced, and right-handed, pulled her blanket up to her chin.

  She had to get dressed. He mustn’t come in and find her undressed again. Her body responded to him, her flesh tickled, she ached in places as yet unexplored. He posed a danger. She didn’t know how, or why, but the threat was there. She didn’t understand it; he made her heart lurch and jump. His blue eyes looked into her heart and asked too much of her. There were aspects of her gender she’d as soon ignore. Defiantly, she liked being neither woman nor man. She preferred being a freak. An unlovable freak who knew how to train and ride a horse. She knew her place, how to behave in a sideshow circus.

  A God, such as Mr. Blue Eyes, would naturally be curious; men were curious creatures. He probably had females falling at his feet all the time. A few fools had tried to spark to life the woman inside her—Kit, but not Melody McAdam. Melody McAdam never allowed anyone to get close enough to weaken her defenses. Kit the trick rider knew how to deflect and defend herself. Between the halves of herself, her heart was well protected.

  Mr. Blue Eyes weakened her defenses, made her question her reasoning, and challenged her resolve to stay in disguise, to hide from the reality, the responsibilities and norms of her gender. Soon enough, at home in Laura Creek, she’d have to face those challenges now that her short-lived career as a sideshow freak had come to an end. Her family would pressure her to take her place as a woman, take a husband, raise a family. The prospect brought her no joy. The fantasy of Mr. Blue Eyes and his effect on her had no part in that. None at all.

  Leaning back against her pillow, she sorted through the events of the past twelve hours. How in the hell she’d ended up back outside and on Maji’s back remained a mystery, an unpleasant, horrifying mystery. That man, Mr. Blue Eyes, had come to her rescue again. She found his presence intrusive and wished him gone.

  “Should you be sitting up?” Ollie asked, huffing and puffing to board her wagon. “Van’s gone to the ravine.”

  Van? Melody didn’t understand the significance of Ollie’s announcement, but obviously, Ollie considered it of extreme importance, her lips tight and brows puckered.

  “I’ve got coffee made. Maybe a nice biscuit with honey. Or if you’re up to it, some fried taters. You didn’t get any of my stew. Van and me, we had stew. He said it hit the spot.”

&
nbsp; “Van? Who’s Van?”

  Ollie sputtered and gave her a tut, tut. “Now that’s Mr. Van DeVeer. You met him last night. Hoyt’s his name, but he says everyone calls him Van. And that suits him.”

  Melody squeezed her eyes shut. Of course, she remembered now, not Mr. Blue Eyes, but Mr. Van De Veer. A fancy name to be sure. Just plain Van? Nothing plain about the man. “Help me get my shirt and trousers on.”

  Ollie shook her head at her. “I’ll help you with a shirt and vest, but you’ll wear a skirt. Easier for you to use the thunder mug. Can’t have you pulling your trousers up and down. That won’t do. Won’t do at all.”

  The struggle to get her flannel shirt and vest on, her arm back in a sling, and then into her woolen skirt, left Melody puny and weak. Ollie ordered her to rest before leaving to fetch her coffee and a biscuit. But not so puny Melody could let go of all her questions. Maji, she had to see to Maji.

  Ollie returned with plate and cup in hand. Melody shifted her legs over the side of her cot and attempted to stand. The interior of her wagon stretched and twirled; she slumped to the side. Ollie set her plate and cup down and eased her back down on the cot. “Now if you’re gonna be doin’ stuff like that, I’ll have to tie you down. You want to get up, fine, you call me, and I’ll help you up. You’ve got a lump on your head, some cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder, a bigger man than you would’ve been laid out good and proper. You don’t need to go showin’ all of us how tough you are. It’s just foolishness, is what it is. Where was you goin’ anyway?”

  “Maji. I have to see to Maji. She’s here, right? The bastard didn’t steal her, did he?”

  “Now, now. I told you last night your fool mare is fine. What I gotta do, bring her in here and show you?”

  “Yes,” Melody said, her jaw set and tears forming in her throat. “Did they hurt her?”