by Keta Diablo
Aware she was gawking; she plucked a fork from the table, filled it with eggs and then motioned for Grange to do the same. Should she tell him about Cain or let him eat first? Her dilemma was answered in short time.
After demolishing the bacon and eggs, he slapped some butter onto a biscuit, held it in his hand and looked up at her. "So where is Cain?"
"Gone. I mean...." Damnation, this was going to be harder than she imagined. In less than twenty minutes she'd told the man his parents were dead and now she had to tell him about his brother. Laying the fork down, she folded her hands and placed them in her lap. "I'm really sorry. Cain passed on six months ago."
The same look she saw outside when she told him about his ma and pa flitted through his eyes, but other than that, he schooled his features. "What happened to him?"
"Kicked in the head by his horse." She cleared her throat, the only sound in the room. "He went out to check on the cattle. When he didn't return by late afternoon, I rode out to see if he was all right." His emotionless expression unnerved her. "I found him where the cattle were supposed to be grazing. He lingered a week, never regained consciousness."
He took a bite of the biscuit. "This my ma's recipe?"
"What?"
"The biscuits...did Ma teach you how to make these?"
"Yes, but is that all you have to say after hearing your brother is dead?"
"I don't know what else to say. Look, Mrs. Santos—"
"Jesse."
"Very well, Jesse. Look, I left here when I was seventeen years old. Cain was thirty-seven then, twenty years older than me. He was a good man but we were never close. He spent his days reading books about the supernatural, ghosts, mediums, and any other hocus-pocus phenomena that caught his fancy. He didn't have much interest in ranching back then but did his best to help out where he could. I don't know how you think I should react but the truth is we didn't have much in—"
"How did you spend your days?"
He set the half-eaten biscuit down on his plate. "Trying to figure out a way to get away from this hard life. I figured there must be a better way to make a living, so I grabbed the chance when I had it."
"Did you find it, a better way to make a living?"
"If not better, easier. I did some mining for a spell and hired on to cattle drives when I could. I didn't intend to stay at this ranch for the rest of my life, thought I'd rather do anything but ranch back then."
"What about now?"
He glanced from Grange to her. "What are you getting at?"
"You own half of this ranch. Your ma and pa laid that out in their will."
"How so?"
"They didn't name you but said the ranch, the land and all assets would be divided equally between their two sons."
"And now that my brother's dead and you're his widow that makes you the owner of the other half."
She gave him a slow nod.
"Not staying, headed north to Utah."
"Right now? I mean could you postpone it for a while, just until I get on my feet?"
"What does that mean exactly?"
She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed. "I don't have the money to buy you out right now. Things have been—"
"Let me guess...tough. Just like they've always been."
"It will turn around. I have some money saved but...."
She had his full attention now. "But?"
"Taxes are due, two years' worth."
He shook his head. "This is a hard life, and doesn't seem any less hard in the years I've been gone. You'd do best to sell the place, take what you can get and move on."
She ground out the words. "I'm not selling out."
Gray eyes hardened. "You're making a bad choice. There's nothing to keep you and the boy here now. And I could be mistaken but I didn't see any ranch hands when I rode in."
Grange spat the words hard and fast. "Those cowards took off."
"That's enough, son."
"Took off?" The corner of Coy's lip curled into a smirk. "You couldn't afford to keep them, am I right?"
She tried to keep the anger from her voice. "You needn't gloat but partially, yes."
"Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know the other part?"
She shoved from the table and walked to the mahogany desk against one wall of the kitchen, the desk that belonged to Cain and Coy's mother at one time, the one she claimed her great-grandmother hauled all the way to Arizona from out East. After pulling a piece of paper from the drawer, she returned to the table and laid it down in front of him. "This is from the company Cain worked for, the P.S.I. Agency in St. Louis. They took up a collection when they heard about Cain's death. The money should be arriving any day."
"P.S.I. Agency? What the hell does that stand for?"
"Psychic Specters Investigations."
He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "A ghost-hunting company? Are you out of your mind? It's probably a hoax outfit and I doubt they'll be sending you any money."
"They're legitimate. Cain worked for them for many years. In fact, he was their main field agent for this entire area, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. He had a good-paying job, received a check from them after every assignment."
"That's the key word here, 'had'. He no longer has a job with this-this specter-chasing whatever they're called." He shook his head and offered another half-chuckle-half-snort. "Should have known he'd buy into this hook, line and sinker after reading all those books."
Fetch came to his feet in blur of motion and ran toward her bedroom, barking like he was hot on the trail of a fox. Grange sprang from the table and grabbed the rope collar around his neck before the dog could enter her room.
Jesse took in the puzzled expression on Coy's face before she turned to see her son holding the dog at bay.
"Told ya Kajame warned us about the ghost in the house," Grange said, struggling to lead the dog outside amid frantic screeches from the owl.
The noisy clatter didn't stop until boy, dog and owl were confined on the porch.
Jesse affected a sheepish smile and wondered if the heat in her cheeks would give her away. "Sorry about that."
"Ghost in the house?" Coy leaned forward in his chair, seemingly intent on getting some answers. "This is getting better by the minute. And who is Kajame?"
"Just an old Indian who lives not far from here at the foot of the mountains. He's taken a liking to Grange, that's all."
"What tribe?"
"Yaqui, I believe."
"And the ghost part?"
She shrugged. "I really don't know. Some silly talk from Kajame ever since Cain died."
Eager to change the subject, she plodded forth. "Allow me to tell you how Cain and I met. Maybe you'll understand why I can't just up and leave."
He settled into the chair again, crossing his arms over his chest.
"When my folks died, I had no choice but to take a job at Two Bits in Red Butte."
"Two Bits...that rundown brothel?"
She gave him a dismissive wave. "It's also a saloon, you know. In any event, I didn't work the brothel part of the business. I did odd jobs, scrubbed floors, cooked and did laundry for the women, whatever I could do to eat. Cain used to frequent the saloon once in a while and that's how we met. Guess he took pity on me, offered me a safe place to live...here at the ranch, as his wife." She sighed. "Cain was the finest man I ever met."
"Sounds like him." He smiled as if remembering. "But things are different now and you need to think of the boy."
"It is him I'm thinking of. This is his home; he's known no other." Her voice took on a militant tone. "Besides, no one is running me off my land. I promised Cain before he died. Maybe he couldn't hear me by then, but I meant what I said."
He came to his feet. "I'll be leaving sometime today but I'd like to ride out and look things over if you don't mind. I can check on the cattle at the same time."
"Grange was just about to do that. I'm sure he'd like company." She knew this was a man no one could push aro
und. He was as hard as steel, inside and out. Still, she had to buy time. Maybe she could convince him to stay...just until the money arrived or a divine intervention of some sort took place. "Looks like you could use some rest and a few home-cooked meals wouldn't hurt none either."
He waggled a finger in her direction. "I know what you're doing, and I told you, I'm not staying. I intend to get away from this unforgiveable mountain terrain, find my own place in Utah."
"A week, give it one week and maybe you'll change your mind."
He heaved a labored sigh. "Two days, and that's it."
"I'm not in a position to bargain. Two days it is then."
Chapter Three
Coy figured Grange must have been eavesdropping on the porch when the kid suddenly walked from the barn with a Roan tacked and saddled. Coy scanned him head to toe, took in the old Winchester rifle stuffed into a scabbard, the owl on his shoulder and the dog running in circles around the horse as if eager to head out. "Anyone else riding with us?"
A puzzled expression crossed the boy's features. "What do you mean?"
Coy rolled his eyes. "Nothing kid, nothing at all."
They headed toward the mountains, Coy devouring the landscape, remembering landmarks from days gone by.
Grange finally broke the silence a short time later. "The rifle belonged to my dad. He didn't have much use for it but taught me how to use it."
"Looks pretty old."
The boy patted the stock and smiled. "Suppose so. Shoots two inches to the right of target, too."
"You figured out how to compensate for that all by yourself, huh?"
"Yep, had to if we wanted to eat."
A hawk soared by overhead. Coy watched its path, envied its freedom and wondered where the predator was headed.
"Course it isn't as nearly as fancy as that Colt .45 you got holstered," Grange said, returning to talk of guns. "You put the shine on that revolver?"
"Nope, comes like that, nickel plated, polished to a high sheen."
The Vulture Mountains loomed ahead. The boy riding abreast of his horse brought back fond memories from when he was about that age. He spent many a day running through the foothills and climbing the peaks.
"How 'bout you teach me to shoot that pistol?"
Coy tossed his head and gave a short laugh. "No, siree. If I did that, your ma would be mad enough to kick a cat."
"We don't have a cat. Well, unless you call that old Tom that sneaks into the barn now and then to get out of a storm. Besides, she wouldn't be mad once I explained I could protect her better now."
"What would you be protecting her from anyway?"
"The Torres brothers and their gang."
Coy brought his horse to a stop and the kid followed suit. He looked over at him. "Those snake-bellies are still around and wreaking hell?"
Grange nodded and fell silent while Coy revisited the scrapes he had with Domingo and Benito in his youth. Course, it was always two against one but Coy got his licks in, enough to put Benito out of commission for a month after one brawl. He had a peaceful summer that year while Benito nursed a broken jaw and Domingo was sidelined by a lack of courage without his brother. He wasn't surprised by the boy's revelation; always knew the Torres brothers’ youthful antics would escalate into criminal activity one day.
"Damnation," Grange said, using his mother's word and slapping his slouch hat against his thigh. "They went and cut another fence line and now we're missing half a dozen head."
Coy dragged his gaze in the direction of the fenced off grazing land ahead. "How many head do you have?"
"Fifty. Looks like forty-five now if my quick tally counts for anything."
When Grange dismounted, the owl fled from his shoulder to the branch of a nearby Cypress. The kid plucked a pliers from his saddlebag, pulled the rifle from the scabbard and placed it on the ground near his feet. Stepping over the fence line, he picked up one end and made eye contact with Coy. "Might help if you get down and hold the other end for me."
In short order, he'd repaired the damage, which earned a nod of admiration from Coy. "Looks like you've done this before?"
"So many times, I can do it in my sleep."
"Think the Torres brothers did this?"
"I don't think; I know. One of the ranch hands hid behind a stand of mesquite one day and watched them cut the line and scatter the cattle."
"You get them back?"
The boy shook his head. "Not all. That's what they do; pick them off a few at a time. Some we round up, others I suspect they drive to their ranch."
"They're wearing the Ranchero Santos brand aren't they?"
Grange looked off into the distance with daggers in his eyes. "Course they're branded but who's going to ride over there and take 'em back? I want you to teach me how to shoot that gun."
"We can't always have what we want, and besides, just what do you think a snot-nosed kid like you can do against grown men?"
"I'll decide once I know how to shoot."
"I already told you, no. Now, let's head back. I want to talk to your ma about the missing cattle."
Grange mounted and Coy did the same. "You think you can talk her into leaving, but she won't listen. She promised my dad, and she never breaks promises."
As they rode out, the owl flew from the tree and took up his usual position on the boy's shoulder. Coy allowed Grange to stew for a spell before he broke the silence. "Tell me about the old Indian."
"Kajame? He's Yaqui, older than dirt and my friend. He's lived around these mountains all his life in an old abandoned church with crumbling adobe brick walls."
"Indians carry all kinds of superstitions, you know."
"Yeah, guess that's so, but they're smart too, know things you and me would never know if we lived to be one hundred."
"Like the ghost?"
Grange snuck a peek at Coy out of the corner of his eye but kept on riding. "You saw Fetch take off toward the bedroom like his tail was on fire, didn't ya? He does that a lot, ever since Pa died."
"Kajame thinks the ghost is your dad?"
"He doesn't say who, only that there's a chichijal hanging around the house. That's the Yaqui word for ghost. Kajame says dogs and children can see ghosts. Do you want to know why?"
"I'll bite."
"Cuz they've never been schooled not to." Grange narrowed his eyes and focused on Coy's face. "You're not laughing?"
"Nope, listening. What else does Kajame say?"
"He says I can get rid of the ghost."
"How?"
"Take his boot, make a footprint in the sand, pick up a handful of the dirt and bury it in a graveyard."
"Do you think there's a ghost in the house?"
His answer came fast. "Yes."
"So why don't you do what the old Indian told you to do?"
"Cuz...cuz Ma talks to him sometimes. I hear her through the door, and I don't know what to think." He dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."
The roof of the barn came into view and next the house. Coy flung his reins around a post near the porch steps, and Grange took off toward the barn. Had his brother married an addle-pated woman? Who speaks to dead people? Had the stress of losing her husband caused her to go off the deep end? Questions rambled around his brain about her, and yet his brother had married her. Cain saw something in the woman, enough to make sure she had a home, safety, and mostly love.
A part of him wanted direct answers to those nagging questions, and a part didn't. He didn't have time to get to the bottom of what was going on, didn't believe in all this talk about ghosts from a superstitious shaman. Yet, he couldn't ignore the problem with the cattle and the Torres brothers.
Damn, he should have kept on riding when he left Yuma, headed straight for Utah like he planned. He bounded up the porch steps two at a time with the intention of asking the confounded woman what she intended to do about the stolen cattle.
Chapter Four
Jesse finished up the brea
kfast dishes, swept the kitchen floor and walked into the bedroom to retrieve an old straw hat she favored. The weeds in the garden weren't going to disappear on their own. With a sigh, she yanked the hat from the hook on the door and spun around on her heels when the voice spoke loud and clear.
Should probably have told you Coy was born mule-headed.
She searched the corners of the room, hoping this time Cain would actually appear in her line of vision. When he didn't, she blew a huff of air. "You probably should have told me your younger brother was the one coming to help us."
Ah, my darling Jezebel. I couldn't have promised that exactly. I said help was on the way but it falls to you now to convince him to stay.
She plopped onto the end of the bed. "Oh, he's made it quite clear he has no intention of staying. He's headed to Utah, but you already know that, don't you?" She chased the room again with her eyes. "Are you always here, or do you come and go?"
I'd have to say the latter right now but I'm working on it.
"The energy problem you mentioned."
Yep. Think of it as a candle flame blowing out. I'm here and then...poof!
"Why do you think you are here? I mean, I'm glad you're here, but I have to tell you, it's strange. Sometimes I wonder if you're just a made-up voice in my head."
You're not going crazy if that's what you think.
With her feet resting on the rail of the bed, she dropped her chin into her hand. "Why wouldn't I think that? How many people talk to a ghost? Here's a better question: How many loved ones return in ghost form?"
Loved ones...I like that, Jezebel. You did love me, didn't you?