Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  So far the trail had been a narrow path between mesquite and cacti. They were unable to ride abreast, which worked well, since Jo could unobtrusively slow their pace. But up ahead the road widened, and as soon as it did, Nate guided his horse next to hers and picked up the pace. Ruth, never a horse to be outdone, did the same.

  "How's everyone in Rock Creek?"

  Jo slid a glance his way, just in time to see him upend his flask. The container was nearly empty, and he still sat straight in the saddle, without a slur to be heard. Soon he'd know what she'd done. She might as well carry on a civil conversation while she could.

  "You haven't been in contact with anyone since you left?"

  That had been almost three months ago. Not knowing where Nate was, if he was alive or dead, had made those months the longest of Jo's life.

  "I'm not much of a letter writer," he said.

  "There's a telegraph office in Rock Creek now."

  "They seemed short a telegraph in Soledad. Even if they had one, what was I supposed to do, send the message 'another day, another bottle, wish you were here'?"

  The whiskey might not be making him slur, but it certainly was making him sarcastic.

  "Letting us know you were alive might have been nice."

  "But I'm not nice, and you know it."

  "I don't know any such thing."

  "Sure you do. You just won't admit it."

  Jo clenched her lips together before she started to argue. When he was in this mood, there'd be no point.

  "By now you should have figured out no news is good news with me. If you don't hear I'm dead, I'm probably not."

  "How comforting," she said dryly.

  His answer was a snort, which might have been amusement or just as easily annoyance. With Nate, one never could tell. "What's been happening since I left?"

  "The usual."

  "Marryin', buryin' and baby makin'."

  Jo smiled. "Pretty much."

  "Since your pa... uh... he... um... well, passed on..."

  " 'Passed on' is a nice way around the nasty word murdered."

  "What I mean is, who's been marryin' and buryin'?"

  "As the closest preacher is about three days' ride to Webberville, and demands a fairly expensive donation for his services—"

  Nate's lip curled into a sneer. Jo had to agree with that opinion. Preachers who demanded money were usually not worth the money they demanded.

  "Most folks wait for the circuit preacher to come through," she continued. "In truth, the biggest problem has been the lack of a doctor."

  Nate grunted. He was the closest thing to a doctor Rock Creek had ever seen.

  "I don't know how you could have ridden out and left everyone to their own devices."

  "I don't live there. I just visit once in a while."

  "And save lives and make folks happy and put an end to their misery while you're passing through."

  "You make me sound like an angel of mercy."

  "No angel. Just a man who could help, if he'd let himself."

  "Don't start, Jo."

  "Fine. I won't remind you how you saved Reese's life when El Diablo shot him the first summer y'all came to Rock Creek. If you hadn't, he'd be dead, and there'd be no beautiful Georgia Reese to smile like the dawn on everyone she meets."

  "Jo..." he warned, but she ignored him. She hated how he spoke of himself as if he were less than nothing. If he could only see what she saw.

  "Then you married Eden and Sullivan. Shame on you. If you hadn't, her brother would have caught them doing what they hadn't ought to be and killed his very best friend. Rourke would have hung and the six would be down to three. Eden would be heartbroken, unable to take care of all those stray children she finds, and there'd be no Fiona, either."

  She caught his wince. Nate had a serious soft spot for that little girl.

  "We won't discuss the time you kept Cash from killing Rico—"

  "Which time?" he muttered.

  "Precisely. If Rico was dead, Lily would have hanged when they framed her for that murder down in New Orleans. Then her Johnny and his Carrie would be orphans twice over, and the six would be down to two."

  "Stop," he ordered, but there wasn't much heat behind the word. He sipped at the remnants of his flask and contemplated the setting sun. Maudlin had overtaken sarcastic.

  "And I certainly won't list all the times you backed up Cash in some scrape his smart mouth and shiny gun got him into."

  "He does the same for me."

  "How big of him. How many times have you taken bullets out of that man and never told anyone? How many times have you shot someone who would have nicked him at the least and never even told him?"

  His silence revealed more than numbers ever would. The sun washed his face in waves of orange and red. He was so handsome he made her eyes ache, so sad and lost he made her soul cry.

  Jo's heart thundered and her throat went thick. Sometimes when she looked at him she could barely keep from blurting out her love. But if she did, she'd never see him again.

  She swallowed, forced everything back where it belonged, down in the depths of her being, and stopped looking at him before she did something very foolish.

  "And the six would be down to one," she whispered.

  "Without them, I'd have been dead a thousand times over."

  She didn't bother to argue anymore. She'd made her point. Maybe once the alcohol had drained from his brain, he'd see the truth she had just demonstrated. He was a helper and a healer, at heart the man he'd been all those years ago in Kentucky.

  "Jo, you see only what you want to see."

  "So do you."

  "I know what I've done. What I'll never out run, out drink, or out live."

  "Why don't you tell me what could possibly be so bad that you turned your back on your calling, your God, your very life?"

  He upended his flask, shook the last few drops onto his tongue, and cursed. "Why don't you keep your questions and your memories to yourself? Let's pick up the pace, Jo. My cheery disposition isn't going to last much longer."

  * * *

  Darkness fell, and the damn Comanche trail went on and on. At first Nate had refused to let Jo lead the way, no matter how many times she asked. The woman was pokey, or maybe it was her horse. At any rate, an irresistible urge to move along possessed him.

  But as cool fingers of night reached across the land, Nate discovered he did not particularly like her riding behind him, either. For all he knew, he might turn around and discover her missing. After that thought occurred to him, he had let Jo take the lead. At least he could keep an eye on her ahead of him, and if there was an attack it was as likely to come from the back or the sides as the front.

  To be honest, Nate was nervous, and that was an uncommon thing for him. When a man didn't care if he lived or died, there was little to be anxious over. But he cared a great deal about Jo.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden anywhere without Cash or one of the others, and he'd certainly never been on the trail with only a woman. After tonight, he never planned to be again. It was just too damn much stress for a man like him to bear.

  Perhaps his unease stemmed from the trail itself, which went from wide to slim and back again, always shaded by cacti, mesquite, and rocks. The Comanche weren't fools. They could have hidden along this pass in a thousand places and massacred anyone who happened along. Nate hoped they were all still safely tucked up north in their reservation or wandering far away from here.

  Not that he had anything against Comanches. Hell, Sullivan was one—or half a one, at any rate. A man was a man to Nate's way of thinking. What was important was what the man did with his life, not the color of his skin, the mix of his blood, or the language of his parents. But that didn't mean Nate wanted to meet up with any Comanches out here in the dark.

  He shivered, so long and hard his back ached. If he was tired, Jo must be dead in the saddle. But when he peered through the gloom, her spine was straight, her posture aler
t. The woman never ceased to amaze him. She had ridden into Mexico looking for him. Only her sheer guts rivaled the stupidity of that.

  How her asinine father had ever ended up with a gem like Jo, Nate had no idea. That the man had never appreciated her, had instead seemed to resent her for her grace and humanity, could still make Nate furious even months after Clancy had died.

  Lucky for him, Clancy was gone—lucky for a lot of people in truth, considering the man—otherwise, Nate might wind up on the business end of a shotgun when he traipsed into town with Jo and it was discovered they'd been alone for days.

  Nate cursed. What had she been thinking?

  At that moment the trail widened, and he urged his horse next to hers. "Your reputation is going to be ruined over this."

  "What reputation would that be?"

  He couldn't see the expression on her face in the darkness, but she didn't sound concerned. In fact she sounded suspiciously as if she were trying to keep from laughing.

  "You shouldn't be out here alone with a man like me."

  "Nate, I've been alone with you a hundred times before and everyone knows it. I didn't care then, and I certainly don't care now."

  "But everyone will think that we... I mean that I—"

  "We did."

  "Damn it, Jo—"

  "It doesn't matter. They've thought that for years. At least now it'll be the truth."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "If you listen to gossip, the reason I left Rock Creek in the first place was to have your baby."

  He gaped. "Who said that?"

  "Who cares?"

  "I want to know who said such things about you."

  "So you can shoot them? I don't think so."

  "Josephine Clancy, you tell me right now."

  "No."

  Nate opened his mouth to argue then shut it again. There'd be no changing that mind once it was made up. He had learned a few things in his old age.

  Jo had been ruined by her friendship with him. When she'd said she would never have a husband, he'd thought she meant because of her mulish stubbornness, or her ability to take care of herself with no help from anyone else, or even her calling to serve God. He'd never considered that no man would have her because of him.

  Guilt pulsed to the beat of his heart. Nothing new, the guilt, only the reason behind it. He'd have to think on the best way to make things right for Jo. She deserved that much, and more, from him.

  The night went on interminably, as did the trail. A thick cloud cover slid over the moon, making it hard to determine the time. The air was chill, but Nate was hot. In fact, he was getting a bit shaky, and he wasn't sure if it was a result of his misgivings over this spooky trail, that he hadn't eaten in an unknown number of days, or merely the wicked spring wind that kept whipping down his collar and turning the sweat along his spine to ice.

  He became dizzy, the night surreal. Coyotes, or maybe Comanches, howled in the distance. The air smelled both damp and dry—rain on the wind and dust beneath their feet. His horse snorted uneasily, and Nate realized he held the reins too tightly as he fought for a better hold on what was real and what was not.

  Surely they should have left the trail by now and come to a road that would take them to Rock Creek. They'd never get back before morning at this rate. Some shortcut. Nate didn't relish a day in the beating sun with an empty flask.

  Ahead of him once more, Jo paused in a small clearing surrounded by rocks and mesquite. The spring rains had created a tiny pond—make that a puddle—on the low side. The high end sported an overhang of rocks that would provide shelter for a weary traveler.

  Nate was tired, and he felt very odd, but he didn't want to stop. Not when things would most assuredly get worse instead of better the longer they lingered on this trail.

  "Whassa madder?"

  Jo cut a sharp glance his way when he slurred his words. It was just too much trouble to get his tongue around them right now.

  She bit her lip, her expression both confused and concerned. "I—I think I took a wrong turn."

  Nate blinked at her a few times. "How wrong?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "We're wanering in the wilerness?"

  "So to speak. We'd best wait for morning before going on."

  "I don think thassa good idea." The more he tried to speak correctly, the harder it became. "We might run into Satan. Or somethin' near nuff."

  "Continuing the wrong way isn't a good idea either. Besides, I'm tired and cold and hungry, aren't you?"

  "Tired and hot and thirssy."

  Jo dismounted. "I have water."

  "Ugh."

  She yanked her saddle from her horse and carried it beneath the rock overhang. "Come on, it'll be good for you."

  "I hade things that're good fer me."

  "Really? I'd never have known that."

  She stood next to his horse and placed her hand on his knee. The coolness of her skin seeped through his pants and shocked his feverish flesh. He started so hard his horse skittered.

  Though her face was shadowed by the wide brim of her hat, he could still tell he'd hurt her by his reaction. He just wasn't used to being touched, unless it was with violence or lust. Tenderness had been lost to his past.

  "Jo, I—"

  "Come on, Nate." Weariness weighted her shoulders and her voice. "It's late. Let's sleep. Everything will be better in the morning."

  That statement was so "Jo" he might have smiled, if a tremor hadn't shaken him to the bone. He had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming. Not Comanches.

  Something much, much worse.

  Chapter 5

  Nate had imbibed too quickly, and the heat of the day had made the alcohol disappear from his body as sweat. With no way to obtain any more, the shakes would arrive soon. He hated the shakes. That's why he always made sure he had a bottle in hand.

  Or he always had until now. He was going to pay for his lack of foresight. And not just him, but Jo, as well.

  He didn't want her to see him at his worst. Only his friends had ever been there when he trembled and sweated. They would empty a bucket of water over his head or throw him in the nearest river, then put a drink in his hand. He had great friends.

  Nate tossed his saddle next to Jo's and his bags against the rock face then followed them both to the ground. Jo stared at him, her face scrunched up and worried. He must look even worse than he felt, which was saying quite a bit.

  "Here." She fumbled for her canteen, but he shoved it away.

  "Jus lemme be."

  Maybe if he slept, when he awoke he would feel better. Maybe. But he'd never tested the shakes, never let them run their course to see what lay beyond. He'd always been too much of a coward.

  Coward or not, he'd discover what lay beyond tonight, and Jo would too. He'd ride into the mesquite and hide if he wasn't afraid of leaving her. Not that he'd be much good in another hour, but he couldn't make himself go.

  "J—Jo." His teeth chattered already. Wonderful.

  "You've caught a chill." Guilt haunted her face. "I never should have brought you this way."

  She spread out a bedroll and bullied him onto it, then pawed through her bags, yanked out a blanket and tucked it about him as if he were a child. Her hands shook as well, and he snatched them between his own when she would have flitted away.

  "N-no, I didn't catch anything. Y-you have to kn-know."

  "What?"

  She was so innocent, she scared him. So sweet and gentle and pretty, she made his eyes ache.

  Pretty? When had he started to think of her as anything other than Just Jo, his little shadow? Perhaps when he'd taken her innocence and become responsible for her, even though he could barely manage to take care of himself.

  Nate shook his head. He wasn't up to thinking about that now. He didn't have much time before he wouldn't be up to anything but the shaking.

  "I—I don't have any more whiskey."

  "I know. You told me."

  "Th-that's ba
d."

  "I have water and food. We'll be all right."

  "Y-you w-will b-be. B-but I'm g-going to g-get sick, Jo. Ever heard of a m-man havin' snakes in his b-boots?" She nodded. "I'm going to be shaky sick and p-probably wo-worse."

  He could imagine what was coming if the common name for his ailment was "snakes in the boots."

  "Oh, no." She yanked her hands from his and pushed the heels of her palms against her forehead as if it ached.

  " 'S okay. 'S happened b-before. I'm j-just not sure what'll happen if they start and I d-don't d-drink to stop th-them. I might g-get a little c-crazy."

  "I'm sorry," she moaned. "So sorry."

  "N-not your fault. S-silly girl."

  "It is. I didn't know. I thought—"

  He put his fingers against her lips. They didn't have time to chat. Her mouth still moving, the sensation resembled a kiss, and though he should have pulled away, he didn't, savoring the gentleness of her touch before the world went hard and dark.

  "I'm s-sorry y-you'll see me this way. If it's t-too hard, you don't have to st-stay with m-me."

  Her eyes widened above his hand, and she jerked her mouth free. "I would never leave you, Nate. Never. Especially when you're ill."

  "N-Not ill. I'm a d-drunk. N-not an accident. I d-deserve this."

  "More penance for your past?" He could only nod. "Don't you think you've paid enough?" He shook his head and the world spun. "You won't be happy until you're dead, will you? Will that be enough?"

  The trembling became a full-fledged shudder. His bones felt as if they were clanking together. Before he could no longer think, he tried to make her understand the truth that drove him every day.

  Taking her hand again, he tugged her close enough to hear him whisper, "Never enough."

  * * *

  Beyond the shakes lay something much worse.

  Delirium and delusions.

  Jo shouldn't be frightened. The things Nate muttered and shouted weren't real. But every time he cried out, her heart stuttered, then thundered.

  Her chest felt heavy with guilt and tight with fear. She knew nothing about this illness, had not expected him to get sick without the alcohol. She'd only wanted to make him better, and instead she'd made him worse. What if he died out here because of her selfish need to help anyone she could, especially him?