Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  "No!" Reese shouted. "Me."

  The Comanche paused and stared at him with a spark of interest, almost admiration. But that couldn't be since the Indian had no idea what Reese was saying. He continued to try anyway.

  "Me first." He struggled, wishing he could use his hands to point at himself.

  "Shut the hell up, Reese," Sullivan said. "What possible difference does it make who they kill first?"

  "Who knows what might happen. While they're working on me, anyone could show up and save the rest of you."

  "In that case, me first," Cash drawled. "Me."

  "No. Yo primero!"

  "Kid, I'm the only one without a wife and far too many children. No one would miss me."

  "I would." The words were punctuated by the distinct sound of a rifle being cocked. All eyes turned toward the man who had appeared at the edge of the clearing.

  Cash's sigh of relief was in direct contrast to the sneer in his voice. "About damn time, Rev. We've been waitin' on you."

  * * *

  Nate had been riding merrily down the trail to Mexico when he'd heard his friends arguing. He'd smiled, nearly laughed in relief—it was just like old times. Then he'd followed the sound of their voices.

  It had taken him longer than he'd expected to near the border. Without Sullivan or Rico to scout, Nate was afraid he'd miss the signs if they had veered off the path. As a result he was forced to get off his horse and hunker close to the ground again and again.

  When night fell, he'd camped alone, hoping against hope the others would ride right into him, and they could return to Rock Creek together. But his hopes went unanswered.

  Instead, a nightmare appeared before his eyes. He didn't know what he had expected when he rode out of Rock Creek, but discovering his friends spread out like bait beneath the Texas sun wasn't it.

  His heart thundered in his ears. He could barely think straight. He'd considered picking off the Injuns one by one, but he'd been afraid if he alerted them with a single shot, they'd run rabbit. Then he'd be exchanging shots over the splayed bodies of his friends.

  Now that he'd stepped free of cover, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. Especially since he couldn't speak Comanche. Where in hell was Jo when he needed her?

  Without warning, the Comanche dropped Sullivan's hair; he dropped the knife too, and practically ran back to his friends. All eight of them gazed at Nate, wide eyed. He'd never seen that much expression on a Comanche's face before, not that he'd seen so very many. If he didn't know better, he'd think they were afraid of him, but that made no sense at all.

  Before he could attempt to communicate, the Indian with the imposing headdress spoke low and quick to the others. They jumped on their horses and raced away. The leader remained, as if waiting for his men to reach safety before he tried. Nate didn't move; he didn't speak. Things had been going quite well under that plan so far.

  "Pukutsi," the Comanche shouted, and leaped atop his horse.

  According to Sullivan Comanches considered it more courageous to touch an enemy with the hand or a coup stick than to kill him outright. Expecting the Indian to race toward him, Nate tensed. He would endure whatever he had to, as long as the Comanche went away. Amazingly, he did just that without a backward glance.

  "Are they gone?" Nate asked.

  "Long," Sullivan answered. "The others never stopped riding."

  Nate didn't ask how Sullivan knew that. He always knew.

  "You want to give us a hand, Rev?"

  "Sure." Nate crossed the clearing and, using the knife the Indian had dropped, cut the bonds on Sullivan's hands. The sheriff grunted in thanks and took the weapon to release his ankles.

  After drawing his own knife from his belt, Nate moved on to Cash. As soon as the gunfighter's hands were free, he punched Nate square on the jaw.

  Unprepared, Nate went down like a sack of flour dropped off the back of the wagon. By the time he sat up, everyone was free except for Cash, whose ankles were still bound tightly to the stakes sticking out of the ground.

  "What the hell was that for?" Nate asked.

  "For scaring me half to death."

  His friend looked the worst Nate had ever seen him, and Nate had seen quite a bit. Usually dressed on the edge of dandified, Cash kept his mustache and goatee perfectly groomed. Now his clothes were torn, his lace cuffs dusty and his face appeared pale beneath the shadow of several days' growth of beard.

  Confused, Nate glanced at Reese and the others. They didn't look much better. "What did I do?"

  "We thought you were dead, amigo."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Because that bastard Comanche—no offense, Sullivan"—the sheriff merely raised his eyebrow at the usual bait—"had your pearl-handled pistols."

  His friends must have run into the same group of renegades he and Jo had. Not so odd, really, since there weren't too many roving bands of Comanches to be had these days.

  "Want to explain how he got hold of them if you're still alive?" Cash asked.

  "I'm not sure. I think Jo gave them to him."

  "You and Jo ran into Comanches and they let you go?"

  "Apparently."

  "Doesn't make any sense."

  "Yes, it does," Sullivan murmured.

  "You got somethin' to say?" Cash snapped. "Say it. And hand over that knife so I can stand up."

  Sullivan shrugged and handed the weapon to Rico. With a flick of his wrist the blade spun end over end, catching the sun and sparking light every which way until it stuck in the ground between Cash's spread legs.

  The gunfighter narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, kid."

  Rico just grinned.

  As if the knife-throwing exchange had never happened, Sullivan continued, "The Comanche shouted 'pukutsi'."

  "I thought that was some sort of war cry," Nate said, "but then he ran off."

  "They all ran off. They were scared of you."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, him?" Cash yanked the knife from the muddy ground.

  "Pukutsi means crazy warrior." Sullivan's lips curved—as close to a smile as he ever came, unless Eden was around. "The Comanches think you're insane."

  "Doesn't everyone?" Cash muttered as he slit the bonds on his ankles.

  "Which explains why they didn't kill you and Jo," Sullivan reasoned. "But where did they get the idea that you were crazy?"

  "Jo," everyone said at once.

  Nate had known she wasn't telling him the truth about the Comanches' visit. Now he knew why. She'd said he was crazy.

  Didn't matter. As long as she was still alive.

  "Wait just one damn minute, Sullivan." Cash stood. "You said you couldn't speak Comanche."

  "I don't. I can recognize a few words. Pukutsi is one of them. They're very rare. Revered even."

  "The revered Rev. Catchy, ain't it?" Cash stalked to his horse and rode away, leaving the rest of them to follow or not.

  "What's wrong with him?" Nate asked.

  Reese put a hand on Nate's shoulder. "He was really scared you were dead."

  "He has a funny way of showing how happy he is to see me alive." Nate gingerly tested his jaw and winced.

  "Cash has a funny way of doing a lot of things."

  "I am glad you are alive, amigo." Rico went to his horse. After a nod that said the same, Sullivan joined him.

  Reese continued to study Nate, a puzzled expression on his face. "When did you stop drinking?"

  "It shows?"

  If he chose, Nate could behave as sober as the reverend he'd once been. Only his friends knew his sobriety was an act, because they knew he never let the world come completely into focus.

  "I may not have seen you sober since before Gettysburg, but I know it when I see it."

  "Don't expect it to last." Even now the thirst burned. Nate wished there was a saloon between here and Rock Creek, but he knew there was not.

  "You can drink any one of us under the table and still hit a squirrel at thirty yards. Can you shoot sober?"
/>   "I'm sure I can shoot. The question is, can I hit anything?"

  "You haven't tried?"

  "Haven't needed to."

  "Yet you walked into this clearing alone to face eight Comanches. You could have died."

  Nate merely raised his eyebrows. He'd been trying to die for years. Although the thought of Jo seeing him as buzzard bait held very little appeal. Next time he tried to get himself killed, he'd have to do it where she couldn't find him.

  "You would have died nasty, Nate. The Comanches take a long time to kill a body. It's the only fun they get these days."

  "You'd have done the same for me."

  Reese didn't bother to acknowledge what had always been the truth. "You saved all of our lives." Reese held out his hand. "Thanks."

  Warmth spread through Nate. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as if he'd done something worthwhile completely on his own. Maybe he never had.

  Sullivan and Rico rode after Cash with hardly more than a wave. Since it wouldn't be safe to be separated by much, Nate and Reese headed for their horses.

  "Bet you never expected I'd save all of you," Nate murmured. "I've been a fuckwit from the beginning."

  "If I thought that, I'd have left you behind the first chance I got."

  Nate had never considered why Reese allowed him to stay all those years ago. He'd just been thankful he had.

  He'd always longed for this man's approval. Reese was everything Nate had once hoped to be—a leader, a friend, a husband, and a father, admired and respected by all who knew him.

  "Can I ask you something?" Reese didn't wait for Nate's permission. "What made you stop drinking?" He held up his hand to forestall Nate's argument. "For the time being."

  "You leave me with a town full of your women and children, then disappear, and you want to know why I haven't had a drink in days?"

  "If you could stop, then why haven't you?"

  "Because I didn't want to. Still don't." If he thought he might never have another drink in his life... Nate shuddered. That didn't even bear consideration.

  "What are you trying to forget?"

  Nate stared at Reese, shocked. One of the rules of their friendship was that they never questioned another man's past. They all had their secrets. Some were worse than others.

  Nate had not shared his history—the reasons he could not bear to see the world clearly, the memories he was forced to drown every day of his life, the extent of his miserable failures—with anyone. Perhaps if he had, Reese wouldn't have felt guilty that he'd been unable to stop Nate from drinking. But Nate had never been able to voice all the things that haunted him.

  Not that Reese didn't have failures of his own. Under his command, an entire company had died during the war. His family had disowned him. A schoolmaster by profession, he'd become a hired gun when the festivities ended.

  Hell, he'd gotten Mary pregnant, then waltzed off to parts unknown. If it hadn't been for his five friends, the love of his life would have been fired from her teaching job and most likely run out of Rock Creek, as well.

  But accidents happened.

  "I never asked you about your tainted past," Nate said.

  "I told you anyway."

  "And expected all of us to hate you the way those fools you'd once called your family and friends did."

  "But you didn't."

  "There's nothing you could tell me that would make me turn my back on you. I've ridden at your side for too long not to know your heart."

  "Really?" Reese got on his horse, and followed the others toward Rock Creek.

  Nate stood in the clearing and watched him go. His mind was clear enough today to understand what Reese was saying, or rather wasn't saying. If Nate would follow Reese into hell itself, despite Reese's faults and mistakes, and be glad of it, wouldn't Reese and the rest forgive Nate any indiscretion?

  Of course. Unfortunately, Nate wasn't looking for their forgiveness, only his own.

  And that was something he would never, ever have.

  Once he'd believed there was no sin God could not forgive. Now he knew there was no God, and sins lived on forever.

  Nate got on his horse. He'd give his soul right now for a drink.

  Too bad he'd left that buried in Kentucky.

  * * *

  At the first sight of a rider, Jo thought she was hallucinating. She'd been up in the church tower, her gaze focused on the western horizon since the previous afternoon. If she hadn't been alone, she'd think she'd returned to the time when the six had first come to Rock Creek.

  She remembered fondly the nights up here with Nate, getting to know and secretly love him. Even the occasions she'd been on watch with Rico, Sullivan, or Jed had been pleasant. She just hadn't come to the tower whenever Cash was on watch. Very few people did.

  Jo squinted against the setting sun. A single rider. She didn't like that a bit.

  Reaching for her rifle, she considered ringing the bell. But the sound would only bring all the women running, and she didn't want that. So she readied her weapon and waited until the rider got close enough to recognize.

  "Well, think of Satan and he appears." She lowered her rifle. Unease flickered, deep and foreboding. Where were the rest of them?

  Cash rode into town and went directly to Rogue's Palace, where he dismounted. Jo's gaze swept the horizon. Two riders came over the hill—Sullivan and Rico.

  Jo rang the bell.

  Cash spun toward the sound, gun in hand. He glanced at the tower; Jo waved. His curses were vile, loud, and typical. Jo would have laughed if she'd been able to think of anything but Nate.

  Her eyes strained against the encroaching darkness as a solitary figure appeared. She could tell it wasn't Nate by the slimmer width of his shoulders. Which left Reese.

  Jo couldn't stand it anymore. She abandoned her post, descending the stone stairs of the bell tower two at a time. She burst out of the front door of the church just as Rico and Sullivan rode by.

  "Did you—" She paused for breath, pressing a hand to the hitch in her side.

  "Que?"

  "Did you see Nate?"

  "Si."

  Jo took a deep breath, and her side hurt again. At least he'd found them, or they'd found him. She glanced west, but there were too many buildings in the way. "Where—?"

  "He will show up sooner or later, chica." Rico winked and jumped off his horse, catching his wife mid leap. They kissed right there in front of God and everyone, and they kissed as if they'd been apart for a century and not just a few days. A wave of longing washed over Jo, and she had to look away.

  Only to find Sullivan and Eden doing the same thing, although they couldn't quite get as close as Rico and Lily because of Eden's belly. They didn't seem to mind.

  A streak of white at the corner of her vision drew Jo's attention just in time to see Reese catch Mary, and the two locked lips. Children poured out of the buildings and surrounded their families.

  Jo and Cash stood alone. She wanted to cross the street and ask him where Nate had gone, and if he would truly return. But the sneer on his face as his dark gaze swept over the families stopped her. Cash was in no mood to be civil. What else was new?

  "Wahoo!" The cheer from Reese was as incongruent as the site of him tossing his hat into the air then spinning Mary round and round. "We're havin' a baby!"

  Jo couldn't help but smile at the joy in Reese's voice and the rhapsody on Mary's face. Envy swamped her. She wanted Mary's life—or Eden's or Lily's, even Hannah's—so badly she felt dizzy with desire. Shame soon followed.

  Those who coveted rarely found happiness. Just look what had happened the last time she'd coveted. She'd gotten what she wanted—Nate's body—and lost so much more in the process. His ease with her, their former friendship, the ability to meet his eyes and not remember what it felt like to hold him deep inside.

  Was he gone for good? Would she ever see him again?

  Jo glanced toward the families, and her heart stuttered as Nate rode around the corner of
Rogue's Palace. Jo took a single step forward, hoping he would see and join her. Then she would no longer be alone.

  Instead, he peered at the milling throng of happy people, dismounted, and tossed the reins of his horse over the hitching post in front of the Palace. After a short discussion with Cash, he followed the man inside.

  Never once did he look Jo's way.

  Chapter 11

  Cash couldn't believe how good Nate looked. How competent he appeared. He couldn't get over that Nate Lang had just saved all their hides and hadn't needed a drink or ten to do it.

  He had to admit he was jealous. For years he'd done his best to keep the Rev alive and just a bit happy. Whiskey and women—that had been the way. They'd shared enough of both to forge a bond no one could break. Except, maybe, Jo Clancy.

  The little missionary could be trouble. She wanted to save Nate's soul. But there was no soul to be had. Cash should know. He didn't have one, either.

  Of course, that wouldn't stop her from trying.

  After retrieving a bottle and two glasses from behind the bar, Cash joined Nate at a table. Nate eyed the whiskey like it was a long lost friend.

  Cash poured him a double and slid the glass within reach. Expecting Nate to slam the drink back and ask for a refill, Cash managed to conceal his surprise when he only wrapped his hands around it, tight enough to make his knuckles whiten, then lifted his gaze. "I apologize."

  Cash tossed off his double and poured another. He and the others always drank out of the same bottle as Nate, which left a whole lot less for their friend to imbibe. So far Nate hadn't gotten wise to their little trick, which was the only way they'd found to curb his drinking at all.

  "What's the apology for this time?"

  "Any number of things. Take your pick."

  "In that case we could be here a while."

  Nate's lips twitched. "The argument in Soledad for starters."

  Cash shrugged. "Not a fight we haven't had before."

  To be honest, he couldn't recall what they'd fought about, only that they had. Cash had known all through the shouting and the shoving that Nate was making him mad on purpose, and he'd known why.

  The time had come for Nate to die. So why was he still alive?