Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  Nate

  The Rock Creek Six

  Book 5

  by

  Lori Handeland

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2002, 2012 by Lori Handeland. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Thank You.

  The Rock Creek Six Series

  (in series order)

  now available in eBook format

  Reese

  Sullivan

  Rico

  Jed

  Nate

  Cash

  Chapter 1

  "Josephine Clancy, you will not go off searching for that man alone. Let one of the boys do it."

  Jo continued to pack her saddlebag. Only Mary Reese would call the Rock Creek six "the boys." But since she'd gone to Dallas alone to hire them in the first place, perhaps she was the only one who could. Being married to their leader didn't hurt, either.

  "The boys are busy being men these days," Jo pointed out. "Reese has school to teach. Sullivan's the sheriff. Rico can't leave Lily to run Three Queens alone, and Jed's gone off with Hannah. I swear the two together wander farther than he ever did alone."

  "What about Cash?"

  Jo looked up with a raised eyebrow at Mary's mention of Rock Creek's resident gambler and gunslinger. "What about him?"

  "I don't know why he'd go after Nate and then come back without him. He never has before. The two of them are supposed to watch out for each other."

  With Nate and Cash, that was like asking one ill-behaved child to look after another. Nate had a drinking problem; Cash just had problems.

  Mary began to pace, agitated, worried. Jo was worried, too, but she knew better than to show it. Since she'd met Nate Lang, she'd become an expert at keeping what she felt to herself.

  At twenty-five, Jo had endured more than her own share of trouble. Her mother lost to childbirth, her father a selfish and unloving man, despite the Reverend in front of his name, a stepmother nearer Jo's age than her father's who couldn't wait to get rid of her, which had resulted in Jo's banishment first to an aunt's in Houston, then to Indian Territory to serve as a missionary. Only word of her father's murder had brought Jo back.

  The one true joy she'd found in returning to Rock Creek had been the belief she would see Nate again. But the moment he'd heard she was back, he had run.

  That had hurt more than she would ever admit. But now, three months later, Nate was still gone, and that Cash had returned without him was more worrisome than any lingering anger or pain. Jo was going to find Nate, and no one would stop her—not even "the boys."

  Mary stopped pacing. Jo's room in the rectory attached to the back of the church was far too small for a decent pace. But Jo had been unable to move into the larger bedroom reserved for the pastor of Rock Creek, even though she had been fulfilling what pastoral duties she could ever since her return. A circuit preacher had ridden through a few times and done the things for which she wasn't qualified—namely marrying, baptizing and burying.

  "Cash should be the one to drag Nate back from wherever it is he's gone."

  Jo finished packing and cinched her saddlebag. "I know where he's gone."

  Mary's eyes widened. "You got Cash to tell you?"

  "No."

  "Then how..."

  "I waited until Reese went in to talk to him, then listened at the door of Rogue's Palace."

  "Eavesdroppers rarely hear good of themselves."

  "I wasn't interested in hearing anything about myself. Just Nate."

  "If Cash knows where he is, make Cash bring him home."

  "Make Cash?" Jo snorted. "Why don't you?"

  Mary appeared doubtful, an expression not usually associated with Mary. "I could have James do it."

  "If anyone can make Cash do anything, that someone would be James Reese, but don't bother. From what I overheard between the two of them, Nate wanted to be left alone. Cash isn't going to disturb him, and neither will any of the rest."

  "Disturb him from what? The next bottle? Or the next whore?"

  Jo flinched—but inside, where no one knew but her. "I have no idea, but it's a rule, according to Cash. Not only do they come when one of them calls, but they go when one of them asks."

  "Men," Mary muttered.

  "Yeah."

  For a moment they remained silent, contemplating the vagaries of the male species.

  "So, as you can see, I'm elected to drag him home." Jo crossed to her bureau and removed what money she had left. Wasn't much, but it was all she had. Besides, she'd give her last cent gladly to get to Nate. The Lord would provide beyond that. He always had before, though rarely in the way she expected.

  "Jo, really. You cannot get on a horse and traipse about Texas."

  "Of course I can. I got on a horse and traipsed about Indian Territory. That was a lot more dangerous."

  "Nate can take care of himself."

  "No, he can't."

  "Maybe it's time he did. You don't have to save the entire world."

  "I don't plan to. Just him."

  "And what if he doesn't want to be saved? The boys have been trying for years."

  "No one tries like I do."

  "Well, that's true enough."

  Mary took a large breath and Jo braced herself for another onslaught. Mary didn't give up easily, which was lucky for Rock Creek. Five years back, the place had nearly become a ghost town, subjected to random attack by the bandit El Diablo and his horde.

  The latter believed there was gold hidden in town, though no one had ever found any proof that the legend was anything other than a myth. Mary's stubbornness and ability to manage the unmanageable had saved the town as effectively as the six men she'd hired to do so.

  "Please," Mary whispered. "You're my dearest friend. You only got back a few months ago. Georgie will be so disappointed that you've gone. She adores you."

  Mary and Reese's daughter, Georgia, was an angel. Jo loved children—any children, all children—perhaps because she was coming to understand she would never have a child of her own.

  "I'll be back," she said. "With Nate."

  "Wait a week. What harm can a week do? I'm sure he'll be back from... where is he anyway?"

  "Soledad."

  "Mexico?" Mary's voice squeaked.

  "Last I heard."

  "Absolutely not! I forbid you to go over the border."

  "When, exactly, did you get the idea that you could tell me what to do?" Hurt filled Mary's eyes as remorse filled Jo's heart. "I'm sorry."

  "No, you'r
e right. I'm just so used to—"

  "Managing things," Jo finished.

  Mary shrugged. Truth was truth, and Jo knew her as well as anyone.

  "I've been on my own most of my life," Jo said. "I can take care of myself and whoever else comes along. Nate needs taking care of more than anyone I've ever met, and it isn't in me to turn my back on him."

  "Nate's soul was lost a long time ago."

  "Funny thing about souls, they can be saved."

  "Only if they want to be. Nate's never struck me as a man interested in being saved."

  "He's better when he's with me."

  Mary hesitated, her gaze growing more concerned. "None of us knows what haunts him, why he stopped being a preacher and turned to the gun, but I'm sure what he's hiding is pretty bad. I don't think he'll ever be truly better. If he keeps drinking the way he does, he'll die—if not from the bottle, then from a bullet he's too slow to dodge. Then what, Jo?"

  "Then I'll bury him."

  "And then? Will you find another lost soul to occupy your life?"

  Jo cut a quick glance at Mary's face, shadowed by the late afternoon light slanting through Jo's only window. The woman was too shrewd by half. "There's always another."

  Her flippant tone must have convinced Mary that Nate's soul was all she was after. What else could there be?

  "Just be careful. March is funny in Texas—you could get snow, floods, or scalding heat. I'm not even going to mention the Comanche."

  "You know as well as I do most of them have been confined in the north for years."

  "Which only means that any you see are renegades and trouble."

  "Of course."

  "And Quannah Parker's still out there—somewhere."

  "He's been out there for years. But after a winter of hiding, running, and starving, I doubt he and his Antelope band will be in any condition to start a war."

  "What if he is?"

  "Then I doubt he'll want to start one with me."

  Jo had been dealing with Indians for a long time now. She knew many of the tribes' languages and customs. She had little to fear from that quarter. In truth, the white men were more savage than the savages had ever hoped to be.

  "I need one favor," she said.

  Mary nodded, agreeing without even asking what the favor might be. She was the best friend Jo had ever had.

  "Don't tell anyone where I've gone or why." From the look on Mary's face, that was exactly what she'd been planning. "I mean it, Mary. The boys will try to stop me. And I'm not going to be stopped."

  "I won't lie, Jo."

  "I'm not asking you to. Just don't say anything until someone asks. Can you do that?"

  Mary sighed then took Jo's hand. "All right. But Soledad is no more than a day's ride from here, two if the trail is washed out. You should be back here in four days."

  "Not necessarily. If Nate isn't... um, well, up to riding, we might have to stay a day or so."

  "Fine. I'll give you a week. Then I'll send out whatever boys I can grab."

  "Agreed." Jo squeezed Mary's hand and smiled, but Mary did not smile back.

  "I just don't want you hurt, Jo."

  "You and me both."

  * * *

  Night fell quickly in springtime, and the evenings were chilly, as well. Jo guided her horse across a shallow section of the river then urged it up the incline. There she paused and gazed back at Rock Creek.

  Lights sparkled in so many windows she was reminded of the stars in the sky. The town had grown since she'd first arrived here with her father seven years ago. She'd hoped this new place, new life, new chance would bring them closer. But nothing ever had.

  Maurice Clancy had been a terrible minister, a neglectful father, and a dreadful human being. Jo hadn't known the extent of his straying from the beliefs he had taught her, even as he broke every commandment, until she'd returned and heard all the gossip that had come out during the trial of his murderer, who had turned out to be innocent.

  She'd loved her father, nevertheless. He was her father, and she'd never given up hope she might save him too. Jo sighed. As Mary had said, some folks did not want to be saved.

  Music, laughter, singing drifted on a cool breeze. She closed her eyes and imagined what it must be like right now inside Three Queens. Johnny would be playing his precious piano, with Carrie at his side. Lily would be singing, and Rico would be watching her with that expression in his eyes that told everyone in the room exactly what he had planned for his wife as soon as they closed up for the night.

  What would it feel like to have a man look at her the way Rico looked at Lily? Or the way Jed looked at Hannah, Sullivan looked at Eden, or Reese looked at Mary? Jo had no idea, but she would certainly like to find out.

  Unfortunately, few men stood in line to marry spinster missionaries hopelessly in love with someone they could never have.

  Jo clucked to her horse, and they headed southwest. Probably not the best of ideas to disappear in the night, but Jo wanted to be long gone if Mary changed her mind and returned at dawn to continue their argument. Besides, the darkness held no fear for Jo Clancy.

  She patted the rifle she'd learned to use before she'd gone to Indian Territory. Once there, she'd learned to use it even better. Little frightened Jo, except perhaps dying without ever having been loved, and there wasn't much she could do about that.

  By the time dawn quivered behind her, Jo was halfway to Mexico. The only creatures she'd encountered were a coyote just after midnight and later a hawk that started up in front of them and made the horse prance a bit. But Ruth, as Jo had named her mare—whither thou goest and all that—was accustomed to surprises, and she didn't buck or run. Ruth was nearly as calm as Jo. That's why they traveled together so well.

  She lost nearly a day finding her way across a creek that had swelled past its banks with spring rain and winter runoff. So even though she was tired, Jo didn't stop, eating jerky in the saddle and drinking water from her canteen. Days without sleep were nothing new to her. In the territory when epidemics such as smallpox or typhoid would sweep a nation, sleep was not something she got very much of.

  Right now Jo was running on nerves and sweat. She'd had a bad feeling ever since she'd seen Cash ride into Rock Creek. There was only one reason Nate would have stayed behind in Mexico.

  He was planning to die alone.

  She planned to stop him.

  * * *

  Jo approached Soledad as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, casting red, orange, and gold fingers of fire across the barren landscape. The village, if one could call it that, consisted of several adobe cottages, thatched lean-tos for the animals, and quite a few pigs in the street.

  One of those adobes had to be a saloon, or Nate never would have remained. Jo allowed Ruth to snort at the pigs in her path. The animals snorted back, but they moved. The mare was not a beast to trifle with; she'd been known to kick a coyote or two that thought to make her a meal. Neither Ruth nor Jo had any time for nonsense.

  An ancient woman sat outside stirring a pot over an open fire. She turned a dark, expressionless gaze on Jo. Perhaps Jo's attire—that of a man, or a boy considering her small stature—confused her. Or perhaps Soledad didn't get too many visitors.

  Jo's gaze swept the muddy, piggy street. She could understand why.

  "Senora." Jo inclined her head. "Donde esta el salon?"

  The woman didn't appear surprised at Jo's voice. Perhaps her disguise wasn't that good after all.

  Jo glanced down. She was thin, with a small chest and narrow hips. Her loose cambric shirt disguised any shape she could lay claim to. During the last bout with lice in the Territory, she'd cut her hair all the way to her scalp. It was just beginning to grow again, stick straight and black. Even without her hat, she'd resemble an unkempt lad.

  It was much safer and easier to travel in trousers, and Jo didn't care about any gasps of outrage she might encounter were she to run into a lady. Somehow, Jo didn't think she'd have that problem in Soledad.<
br />
  The woman pointed across the street at a cottage that looked just like all the others. But now that Jo listened, she heard numerous male voices drifting through the holes in the walls that served as windows and out the wide-open door.

  "Gracias." She pulled the brim of her hat. The senora returned her attention to the pot without comment.

  Ground tying Ruth in front of the saloon, Jo's fingers drifted over the rifle secure in the scabbard. She glanced at the gaping doorway, then back at the gun. Without further thought, Jo pulled the weapon free and held it loosely against her thigh. A pistol would be less conspicuous, but she'd never been able to hit much with one of those. She figured the only way Cash could be so accurate with his was through sheer magnitude of use.

  Uttering a short, fervent prayer that Nate was right inside the door and she wouldn't have to use her gun tonight, Jo stepped into the saloon.

  No one paid her any mind, not even the man behind the bar, and Nate was nowhere to be found. If God planned on answering only one of her requests, she'd have made only one, and it wouldn't have been the gun prayer. Jo should have learned by now that bargaining didn't work. God answered every prayer—but his answer for the vast majority of hers, at any rate, was no.

  Jo had to step over two pigs and three dogs in order to reach the bar. There were more animals inside than people, although in the dim light it was hard to tell the difference except by the snorts and the woofs.

  "Senor," she murmured, not wishing to draw attention to herself unless she had to.

  He grunted like one of the pigs—or maybe it was one of the pigs—and continued to stare at the floor.

  "Senor," she tried again.

  "Si."

  "Do you speak English?" Her Comanche was so much better than her Spanish.

  "Si."

  Jo frowned. Did he speak English? Or was he just agreeing with everything she said?

  "I'm searching for a man."

  "There are several scattered about, senorita." Now he looked at her. Unfortunately the look was a leer. "Take any one you like."