“They’ve been asking for you.” Sam eyed Charles coolly, continuing to wipe the glass in his hand. “Want to hire you before this thing with the Comanche gets outta hand.”
Charles shoved his Stetson back a fraction and gazed at the men at the end of the bar. They worked for one of the most powerful men in the area besides Earl Loflin. He wasn’t in favor of pursuing their offer because he wasn’t entirely convinced the Comanche didn’t have something to do with the incident on Earl’s land. Agreeing to take care of the problem would put him in jeopardy of having to defend his actions to Seth, which bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Still, the courteous thing to do was decline their offer without delay. Gathering his bottle and glass, Charles strolled down the bar to where the two stood, leaning heavily on the bar top.
“Gentlemen.” Being as there was no sense in ruffling feathers if one could help it, he raised his empty glass to them in a salute. “Sam says you wanted to see me.” His mouth turned up at the corners, yet his eyes locked in on the foreman’s face. You could tell a lot by what a man held in his eyes.
“Harrington, you gonna take that job I offered you or not?” Grump’s leather vest strained over his belly as the drink he saluted Charles with went down his gullet without a pause.
Carlos, smiled smugly. His dark eyes burned into Charles face with something akin to disdain. Nudging Grump with an elbow he said, “Gringo is not sure he wants to take your offer, amigo.” He nodded as he considered the man standing in front of them. In his eyes was contempt. “Maybe he’s lost his edge. I told you he wasn’t the one for this job.”
“Shut up, Carlos. Can’t you let me finish before you start spouting off at the mouth? Christ, drink and listen for a change.”
Cutting a hard glare at Grump, Carlos leaned heavily on the bar and slammed back his whiskey.
Charles eyed the two carefully, yet left them to work out their differences without interjecting. Carlos’ behavior demonstrated what Charles had always thought, the boy was too full of himself. Patience needed a cool head, not a hot mouth.
“Harrington, I want you to take care of these rustlers. They’re destroying our herd.” Slamming down his glass, Grump lifted a sleeve, wiping his mouth. “I know the sheriff is looking into the slaughter of all the cattle on Loflin’s place. He waved a hand in dismissal. That’s fine but we gotta take care of our own.” Turning to the bar, he poured himself another whiskey. “The boss wants you to locate those thievin’ Injuns and kill them. Jesus is paying five grand. You up for the job, Harrington?”
“Not this time, Grump.” Charles let the weight of his answer settle before offering his opinion. “The Comanche aren’t responsible for the cattle killings.”
Grump’s eye narrowed in consideration. “You got a better idea, boy?”
The derogatory rub grated on his already frayed nerves like salt in an open wound. Now wasn’t the time to let on. Instead, he lifted his chin a hair past level and stared down the challenge. “I can prove the Comanche didn’t do it. You willing to let me?” Unperturbed he’d thrown the gauntlet back in the man’s face, Charles leaned a hip against the bar and threw back his whiskey letting the burn take away the edge of Grump’s needling. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he waited.
“Gringo has gone loco, amigo. He sees things, which aren’t there. Let’s get the hell outta here. I feel an urge for a whore tonight.” Carlos’ upper lip curled in base consideration before he threw back another shot and slammed down the glass.
Grump’s arm came up, slapping Carlos across the chest. “Not so fast. Let’s hear what he has to say, ‘ey Carlos?” With a nod, he waited for Charles to continue.
“It’s a set up and an old one…you make it look like Injuns and everybody believes it’s an attack. The real rustlers get away scot-free while the Comanche die for their crimes. I’ve seen the proof. Injuns don’t use guns, least the ones I know don’t. The thieves you’re looking for aren’t too bright either. Why slaughter and leave good meat when a Comanche will use every bit of the kill down to the bones. You know I’m right.” Pausing to down another shot, Charles waited for Grump to absorb his information.
“Okay, you got yourself a deal, boy. Prove it weren’t no Comanche and the money’s yours. Agreed?”
Charles wiped his hand across his chest before shaking Grump’s in agreement. “I’ll start tomorrow night. I’ll get your proof. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone waiting for me.” With a quick tip of his Stetson, he left the two, making his way up the stairs to Carmela’s door. Why hadn’t he simply declined their offer? The thought of harm coming to Lone Eagle’s tribe had an unease writhing in his gut and the need to defend rearing its head. The apprehension over this one rode his conscience without letting up. Unable to pinpoint the “why” of it, he slipped inside the soiled dove’s room and forced his immediate concerns to the back of his mind in exchange for the soft arms, which waited.
***
Morning broke with a dark rumble of thunder. Carmela’s long, silky leg rested across his while her arm circled his ribs. Her breath was warm on his back and she moaned in her sleep. Charles wasn’t sure if she dreamed of him or a more fanciful lover. She dreamt of pleasuring a man though because her hips ground gently against his ass. Unbidden, he mouth creased in a knowing smile. Carmela loved her job and there was no denying she was good at sharing her body with a man. She gave good head and satisfied a man’s urges in a variety of ways. He’d been taught at an early age what a woman wanted, so he’d never had trouble satisfying those he bedded. If truth be told, he’d never had a complaint from a woman except when he couldn’t stay. He’d love another romp with her. He had work to do. Charles never stayed long, there was no need. It was sex and when she began to make demands, he always managed to slip the noose women inevitably had planned.
His job called. Gun slinging wasn’t a reputable occupation to be sure. The word murder reared its unwanted head again with the thought of killing a man over something as useless as stealing cattle. Since he’d killed his father at the ripe old age of fifteen, Charles understood how meaningless life could be behind a gun.
His jaw set over the thought. No way to prove he’d been defending himself, he ran from the bloody scene of a hay hook sticking out of his father’s back and the sightless eyes staring up at him from the dark pool of blood surrounding his father. Even though he’d been beaten as a matter of routine, he couldn’t justify the death of his father by his own hand. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice always reminded him of how evil had penetrated his life. The repeated notion he’d started down a road of no return forced him from the bed and the sleepy eyed woman giving him a bleary, yet sultry look.
“You have to go so soon?”
Her voice left his dick throbbing. Spanish and sex gave him a hard on no matter what bothered his mind. “Yeah. I’ve got a job to do. I left you money on the nightstand.” Reaching out, he ran a finger along the slim, pert nose of her lovely face. “Don’t go poking every trail mite that waltzes in here, okay? You know I don’t wanna catch the ‘Great Pox’”. She smiled all seduction and sweet sin. His dick lurched. Damn she was good! Gripping his cock in his hand, he groaned aloud. Time was wasting. Turning from the sight of her luscious curves, he snatched up his pants, shoving in one leg and the other. “Work to be done,” he growled. Wanting to prove the Comanche weren’t responsible for this latest rash of attacks wasn’t going to be easy and made enemies to boot. He was burning daylight.
***
Wide open spaces loomed before him. He scanned the terrain with a vague sense of annoyance. As far as the eye could see belonged to his father, Earl Loflin, a man as hard and unforgiving as the ground under the hooves of Seth’s horse, Sarge. He loved this land and never wanted to live anywhere else except Texas. Shooter Creek Ranch had been his home from birth. Now, something was missing. Restless since their meeting with Lone Eagle, Seth’s unease grew. Red Bear and the others were ready to fight. The fact Earl had used force to make his poin
t in accusing them of cattle rustling didn’t set well in the camp. Trouble brewed. What worried Seth more was Lone Eagle’s lack of response. He seemed almost compliant. Celia was subdued and quiet too.
Glancing at the sun dipping low in the western sky, Seth ran a hand over his chest, just under his heart where a certain longing festered. Putting a name to the yearning did no good. He’s discussed the matter with Maggie, the housekeeper and Loflin boys surrogate mom since the death of their maw some eight years back. She’d told him in her best Irish brogue, ‘You’ll be finding the answer when the time is right, lad’. Jake Long, Shooter Creek’s foreman and Seth’s mentor said basically the same, ‘You’ll find what you’re looking for without trying. Give it time’. Time! Time to pack away the craving he couldn’t identify. “Jake’s right. I’ll stumble on this thing, whatever it is.” Leaning in, he gave Sarge an affectionate pat on the neck. “Right boy?”
In response, the bay nickered heartily.
“Besides, there’s always work to do.” He sighed, glancing off into the trees. Work kept the longing at bay during the daylight hours. In the wee hours of the morning, though, when nothing stirred except the wind in the trees, he’d wake feeling empty and alone, as if he waited for her. Perhaps that sliver of time was hers. She’d come to him on the wind and wrap him in passion. His heart would sing and his body would take all she had to give. He’d share the time with her before the world, called Shooter Creek, awoke.
Running his fingers through his hair, a sigh escaped. “Let’s go, boy. No use in wallowing in it, is there?”
Sarge’s magnificent chocolate brown head rose as if to answer his master. Quickly he jerked his mane from side to side. The horse, always responsive, always obedient, picked up the pace. Soon they were trotting down the path leading back from the creek. The pleasure of the ride didn’t last long.
Gunshots pierced the silence. Seth jerked, his muscles tensing at the sound. Up ahead the sound of cattle lowing and blatting intensified. Bovine bolted and the ground shook with their thundering hooves. He had to think quickly. Another gunshot followed by more rapid ones. His heart skipped a beat with the thought of Charles and a gunfight. Blood hammered in his head. Luckily, he managed to steer Sarge into the protective cover of a rocky outcropping as the cattle charged past, missing them only by inches. More alarming was the scene he rode up on as dead men lying in contorted positions littered the ground. The face of the one, which concerned him most was battered and bruised.
Charles lay in a pool of blood. “Lord, let him have a pulse. Holy crap! Swallowing hard, he counted again. There’s four bullet holes.
Charles groaned weakly.
“I got you. Don’t worry, old man, you’re gonna be all right.” Air was hard to come by. Charles doubled in size as Seth attempted to get him up and to Sarge’s position. I won’t make it very far if I have to drag you the whole way. Christ! There’s so much blood. Repositioning his hold on Charles, Seth tried to staunch some of the blood flow. He turned to those already gone and snatched up whatever lose clothing he could tear off. More concerned about how he’d get help for Charles, Seth didn’t take time to consider what had happened or whose fault it could have been. A rope and a tree for leverage and he managed to hoist the unconscious Charles onto Sarge’s broad back. Tyler was closest, he’d try for help there. Gathering his wits, Seth set out to find help with his brother in tow.
***
“Who’s there? State your business.”
“Father? Oh, thank God. It’s Seth Loflin, Father Samuel. I’ve got a man that needs help. Charles Harrington’s been shot. Please…let us in.”
“Seth? Charles?” Father Samuel peeked out of the door. “Are you alone?” Without waiting for an answer, he motioned him inside. “What happened? How bad is he?”
His rapid-fire questions rolled over Seth’s head like water. Maneuvering Charles limp body across the tiled floor of the mission, he heaved a heavy sigh when he finally managed to deposit Charles in the bed as directed by Father Samuel.
“There’s so much blood.” Seth looked down at his hands covered in crimson. They were shaking uncontrollably.
Father Samuel gave orders as he ripped Charles shirt from his chest. “Get me some hot water and the sharp pointed knife in the kitchen drawer. I need sheets for bandages. Look in the cabinet in my bedroom. Hurry, boy. He doesn’t have much time!”
Stumbling backward, Seth grimaced. Charles battered face lay deathly still on the pillow. Would Charles be alive when he got back with the things Father Samuel asked him to get? A small prayer Maggie used to say kept darting around in his head. Breath, damn it, breath! How he’d like to give Charles a piece of his mind when Father Samuel managed to save him. The bastard couldn’t die on him now. He had things he needed to say!
The old grandfather clock made a really annoying sound when the timepiece chimed the hour. Seth wiped at his eyes. They felt as if they held most of the sand between here and the Saline River. A clink in the bowl of red water next to the bed had him searching Father Samuel’s face as he turned to him. “It’s time to pray, my son.”
He could have hit him with a hammer and Seth wouldn’t have been more mortified. Praying was a last resort. Praying meant Charles was dying. Clutching the padre’s sleeve, he tried again. “No, you don’t mean that, right, father?”
The padre laid a hand on Seth shoulder. “He’s in God’s hands now.”
Stunned at the padre’s words, he backed up until the timber of the inner chamber’s support hit him square in the backbone. Nothing had ever felt as bad as the padre’s words. Charles couldn’t die! He’d only begun to live. Hell, he hadn’t been out of Texas and lay dying? It wasn’t possible. Stumbling, Seth wheeled and managed to reach the outer door. He needed air. His world was spinning and he didn’t want to think. No one could help. No one cared enough to help he corrected. Not even his paw. Shaking his head, Seth leaned heavily on the outer wall to the adobe structure. The tiniest thread of light pierced his conscious. She could help. Staggering like a drunk man, Seth reached Sarge, leaping into the saddle. A strong tug of the reins and he was galloping west to her.
***
A cool breath of air swirled around him. She was close, so close and yet so far from all the pain and suffering of his world. If he could get to her, she’d drive the demons away.
Her head came up as he approached. The anguish must have showed in his eyes. Taking his hand, she led him to the private place within their world behind the falls. His erection ached with need. Her eyes burned into his, as she dropped the simple skin of the dress she wore. Nothing stood between his hands and her skin except distance, which he eliminated immediately. “Celia…” Like a breath, he whispered her name. His lips searching for hers found her moist and receptive. Slowly, the tension loosed and the pain ebbed with her touch. She was warm and pliant under his rough hands. He appreciated her giving so freely as his hands traveled down to the v between her legs. Her juices slicked her inner thighs. A glance up found her eyes closed with his touch. His tongue tasted her core, the quivers sending pre cum slipping from his head. Allowing him entry, she moaned softly as he slid two fingers inside her wet folds. No more waiting, he vowed as with a swift tug, he laid her flat atop the rock and drove his cock deep inside her. Her cry of delight sent the blood surging to his erection. No one understood like Celia. No one loved him like her. He’d never leave her, never. His father could go to hell for all he cared. She bowed up with the urgency for more. He gave all he had, plunging deeper and deeper with a shaft he could have sworn was made of stone. Her cry of release came to him from somewhere outside his own body as his climax had him shuddering with satisfaction.
In her arms, slick with perspiration, he collapsed and fell into a fitful slumber where gun’s fired in the darkness and blood ran freely. The stampeding cattle thundered across his face and he heard the screams of those he couldn’t save.
Jerking upright on the rock, Seth sucked in air. With a shaky hand he glanced aro
und as his eyes grew accustom to the darkness once more. She lay quietly on her side, her soft bronze skin shown in the sparkles of moonlight reflecting off the waterfall. Slowly, his heart rate steadied as he recognized he’d been dreaming and nothing more. Still, the need to get back to Charles had him rising to search for pants.
Celia roused and shoved at her hair. “Where are you going?”
“I have to get back to town. Charles is in bad shape and I have to be there.”
Her brow furrowed with worry. “What happened?”
Rather than tell her the truth, Seth hedged with a white lie. “He ran into some trouble out on the range and got shot and stomped by a cattle stampede. Father Samuel did all he could for him.” Seth swallowed and crouched beside her.
Her eyes searched his.
“He said his life was in God’s hands now.”
Reaching up, she feathered her hand along his jaw. The softness of her touch reminded him of an angel come to earth. How could she be real? “I will send up a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. You will see – everything will be all right.”
Wishing the whole situation were that simple, Seth smiled for her. Her words, though full of innocence, he held with reverence. Celia was pure and untouched by the cruelty of the world around them. What he wouldn’t give to make sure she remained so. Nothing in the world could stop him from loving her, nothing…
***
Smoke curled from the adobe chimney of the mission. Seth tied Sarge to the post outside and strode in to face the news however bad it proved. If he lost his friend to the damn rash of cattle rustling, he vowed he’d leave no stone unturned until he found those responsible.
Father Samuel met him at the door of the small hut where only the night before he’d brought Charles for help.
Too scared to get the words out, he waited. Father Samuel stood stoically within the frame of the small entrance, his mouth forming a thin line. His brown eyes held something Seth swore looked like compassion. The smell of burning oak wafted past him and he found the courage to ask, “How is he?”
Salvation's Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel) Page 5