Wildflower

by Raine Cantrell

  “Who’s the man, Jenny?”

  His oily voice grated chillingly on her nerves. “A friend … of Ben’s,” she added quickly, scanning the rows of shelves behind the counter. “I need to ask you to put Ben’s and my supplies on credit until I sell the four mares I’m working, Mister Morro.”

  “Now, Jenny,” he whined, “you know my rule ‘bout that. Things are real tight for me since the mines closed. I can’t be waitin’ for my money with the last supply train due in a few days. Won’t be another up here till spring and they’ll be wantin’ cash for their goods. Can’t blame them either, haulin’ supplies over the mountain from Boise City.”

  She wanted to argue he had more money than her few supplies would cost but said nothing.

  “Well, if you ain’t got cash to buy, I’ll mosey back outside. Look around if you want.” Smoothing his oil-slicked hair, he came out from behind the counter. “If you were a smart woman you wouldn’t need to be askin’ me for credit. You could have anythin’ you wanted or needed from the store. Boy of yours is growin’ fast,” he added meaningfully.

  Once she would have met his suggestion with outrage and defiance. Now she merely shook her head, murmuring, “Nothing has changed.” She turned to leave and Sam walked inside.

  He stopped abruptly, seeing Jenny’s dejected stance and Morro’s oily grin. “Trouble, Jenny?”

  There was such deadly menace in his voice that she felt herself tense. Thinking of how little she knew of him, weighing it against the strength she sensed he-possessed, she refused to provoke him. “There’s no trouble, Sam.”

  “That’s good,” he answered, looking from her to Morro and knowing Jenny had lied to him. “I wouldn’t want to think there was. Robby said to ask Mister Morro if he knew of anyone that had pups for sale.” Pinning a hard stare on the man slyly eyeing Jenny, he barely contained the urge to plant his fist in the middle of Morro’s pinched smile.

  “Can’t rightly say I do,” Morro answered without looking at him.

  Jenny grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him aside, behind the dry goods table. She had to get away from the greasy, knowing whine of Morro’s voice. “Sam, I know I said I wouldn’t borrow any money from you, but Morro won’t give me supplies on credit. It’s not just for me I’m asking, but for Ben, too.” Raising her eyes to his face, pride warred with need. “I’ll only get what’s necessary till I get over to Gran Salinas’s store at Bent’s Fort. It’ll be a loan.”

  “Jenny, don’t,” he snapped, keeping his voice low. “Don’t ask me and damn it, don’t beg. Get whatever you need. All of it.” His harshness surprised her and she didn’t like the threatening stare he directed at Morro, who stood boldly watching. “Jen, I don’t like the looks of him. And I don’t like this town. Hurry up and get what you need.” Gazing down at her searching expression, his eyes softened just as his voice did. “It’s another feeling. Trouble has a smell all its own. ‘Sides, I want to get back to the buckskin.”

  She wanted to reach up and kiss him, but, conscious of Morro, settled for murmuring her thanks.

  “I don’t want you to thank me, Jen. Get me two boxes of .44s and some tobacco makings,” he added, giving her a gentle push as he left.

  “Ben’s friend, huh?” Morro remarked. “Seems mighty taken with you. Maybe you ain’t a fool after all, Jenny.” He was back behind the counter taking down two boxes of bullets, setting them in front of her. Splaying his thick fingers on either side, he grinned at her look of disgust. “Now, tell me what else you’ll be wantin’?”

  Jenny began rattling off her list of supplies, thinking Sam had gone, but he had hesitated at the door to make sure Morro didn’t give her any more trouble. Satisfied, he started forward, only to be forced to step aside as two women entered. The shorter of the two paled when she saw him. He frowned, trying to understand why she seemed to retreat from him. It was almost as if she knew him…

  “Mrs. Hadly, good mornin’. Widow Parkins,” Morro grated in his best winning manner. “What can I do for you ladies today?”

  Jenny stiffened when she heard it was May-belle Hadly. The other woman she didn’t know, but she turned, determined to stand her ground.

  Maybelle smiled and her wide tawny eyes roved with distaste over Jenny. “I thought it was your buckboard out front. I recognized Robby. Ross didn’t mention that you had been over to Bent’s Fort yet, Jenny. Or aren’t you paying for your supplies?

  Jenny ignored her barb.

  “I’ll be needin’ that man of yours to lend a hand with loadin’,” Morro said.

  “He’s not my man,” she protested softly, aware of the covert looks the Widow Parkins was giving her.

  “Oh, you’re fairly bristling, Jenny,” Maybelle remarked with a sweeping turn of her skirts, raising the heavy scent of lilac water. Perfectly arched brows framed the glitter of her eyes, while creamy smooth hands that had never known a day’s work patted her sleek upswept auburn hair. “Sarah,” she purred in her honied voice, “since you’re fairly new here, you don’t know that Jenny carries a grudge against most women. Her husband ran off with a woman and she won’t admit he wasn’t worth crying over.”

  Jenny sucked her breath in and then, slowly, let it out. She wasn’t going to let Maybelle bait her. She wouldn’t! It didn’t help to see Morro lick his lips, swinging his sharp pig eyes back and forth between the two of them. Sarah’s heart-shaped face paled beneath curled blond hair. Shorter than Maybelle, delicately featured, she was lovely. Once Jonas had made her feel that way, soft and small and pretty. But Jenny shoved aside those thoughts.

  “Gus,” Maybelle demanded, “I’m still waiting for you. And I don’t like it. Neither will Ross when I tell him you ignored me for a half-breed bitch!”

  At this last remark, Sarah Parkins backed away, holding her skirts as if Jenny would taint them. Maybelle laughed, the sound low and filled with scorn. Jenny’s hand clenched at her side. Her face hardened when Maybelle nudged her aside in total dismissal. Only the thought of Robby overhearing them prevented her from starting a loud quarrel.

  “Maybelle, we’ll come back later.” Sarah didn’t look at Jenny, nor did she lower her voice. “Mister Morro is obviously too much of a gentleman to say anything, but I suddenly find the air in here too close. Breeds, you know, carry a stench all their own.”

  Jenny’s teeth clamped together. She tried to think of Ross Hadly, of his kindness over the years, his friendship, but this, this was unbearable.

  “Push me once more, Maybelle, and I’ll make sure Ross knows exactly what you are. As for you,” she said to Sarah, “if you’re with her, folks will tend to think you’re tarred with the same brush.”

  “Are you daring to threaten me?” Maybelle demanded, clutching her reticule in one hand, slanting the other on a fully rounded hip. “Lord knows there is little enough to amuse a lady in this town, but I can always count on you to provide what entertainment there is. Sarah knows what you are. That is one reason she put a sign not allowing Indians in front of her respectable boarding establishment. And if you ever dare,” she announced coldly, “to threaten me about Ross, I’ll see that you and your precious son never show your faces in Folsom again!”

  “Maybelle, please, don’t lower yourself to her level. I’m sure she would never attempt to come into my place. But I want to leave now.”

  Unbeknownst to all of them, Sam overheard everything. He stood hidden in the shadows of the store, his gut tightening in reaction to Jenny’s humiliation, but he knew she would resent his help. As the women left, they both made grand sweeps with their skirts to avoid contact with Jenny. Sam was at the door when they reached it. Maybelle ignored him in her fury, but Sarah Parkins clutched her lace-edged throat with one hand, staring at him before darting from the store. He was certain that Sarah knew him. He was tom between wanting to support Jenny and wanting to run after the widow and demand—what? What could he ask? His soft steps took him to stand behind Jenny, and with one hand he reached out, cup
ped her shoulder, and turned her to face him.

  He expected tears but found none. She was pale, her lips thinned, and her eyes darkened. “Go wait outside for me,” he ordered softly, urging her toward the door. “Send Robby in while I settle the bill and then we’ll load the wagon.”

  Mutely she nodded, needing to be alone. She heard her son call out to Sam as he ran inside and she climbed onto the buckboard’s seat. She clenched her hands together, sitting there, staring straight ahead. Soon she heard the muffled sound of them loading the wagon, but she didn’t turn. Telling herself that what had happened didn’t matter was foolish. Maybelle’s words hurt, deeply so. And the shame of Sam hearing them, knowing what people thought of her, made the pain coil deeper inside her.

  “Mom? Mom, I’ve been calling and calling you.”

  Slowly she focused on her son. Robby. She had to think of her son. He was all that kept her sane when she thought of the wasted years with Jonas. “I’m sorry, honey,” she murmured. “I really didn’t hear you.”

  “I know that!” he cried excitedly. “I wanted to show you what Sam bought me. He even let me choose.” He held out two sticks of peppermint candy in one hand, too absorbed to see how upset she was. His grin was wide, his brown eyes bright as the other hand uncurled to show her a jackknife. “Just look at it, Mom,” he urged with pride and awe. “It’s got two blades like I wanted.”

  Oh, Sam, she silently cried, what are you doing to us? She had put off buying Robby a knife so many times. She buried her black mood deeper. “Oh, it’s fine, Robby.” Her throat was dry. “Did you remember to thank him?”

  “Sure I did. He didn’t want any. Said I earned it for taking care of his horse and stuff.”

  Sam came out of the store, grinning, his arms loaded with packages. She stared at them suspiciously, knowing they weren’t what she’d ordered. Jenny sat straight, remembering he needed clothes and his own supplies for leaving.

  “Jen? Hey, look at me.” She raised her head, his grin stretching his lips until they ached. “I got a present for you, too. Here,” he said softly, holding out the package. When she made no move to take it, he dropped it into her lap. “You can’t refuse a gift.”

  “You bought Robby a knife. It’s enough.”

  “A boy his age should have one of his own. All boys want one. Maybe someone did the same for me.”

  “You wanted to go back to the livery stable,” she reminded him, unwilling to touch the package.

  “C’mon, Mom, take it. I want to see Mac Peters. He might know who has pups.”

  The brown paper crackled open to reveal a gown of cream, embroidered with dark blue flowers. She sat there, fingering the delicate lace trimming the neck, her throat closing with emotion.

  “Don’t you like it, Jen?” Sam regarded her with uncertainty.

  She couldn’t look at him. Aware of the attention they could attract, she lowered her head. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  Sam’s voice was gruff. “Do you like it? It’s hard to tell when you won’t say.” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Fine. Now let’s get to that livery. Later I’ll get Widow Parkins to fix something we can take with us. That okay with you, Robby?”

  Jenny didn’t miss their shared puzzled look or the careless way Sam ruffled Robby’s hair. He was a man for touching and she wanted to reach out and be touched by him, too. Her son gazed up at him with a grin and her heart felt the pain he would know when Sam left. But it was the only decision he could have made, she told herself, clutching the soft cotton folds of her first dress. Tension rose inside her and she wanted to be alone, but Sam quickly interrupted her thoughts.

  “Robby, share one of those peppermint sticks with your mother. A little sweetenin’ll do her good.” He winked at Robby, who attempted one back, and Jenny’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. He would be so good for both of them … if only he would stay.

  “He’ll spoil his supper having candy now.”

  “Sure he will,” Sam answered smugly, climbing up onto the wagon seat. “I figure a little spoiling is in order for all of us today.” Taking the reins, he turned the horses in the middle of the dusty street, heading toward the livery stable. Jenny needed someone to spoil her a little, or maybe a whole lot, depending on how a man felt, he thought. Skidding his thoughts away from such dangerous territory, he guided the team into the stable yard. He had a right to expect answers, but not to hurt her, he warned himself.

  Mac Peters came out of the barn, wiping his hands on a soiled leather apron. Leery after Morro’s reception of Jenny, Sam turned guarded eyes on the wiry man limping toward them. Peters lifted one hand to shade his eyes, his lips breaking into a smile when he recognized them. He even took off his battered old hat before he uttered a word of greeting. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

  “It’s good to see you, Jenny. That the boy? He’s growed some since I last seen you in town.” There was nothing more than natural curiosity in Mac’s eyes when they settled momentarily on Sam. Jenny quickly introduced them, explaining they wanted to look at the buckskin horse. Robby squirmed down as soon as he heard there was a new litter of kittens in the bam.

  “Shame your pa never lived to see him, Jenny,” Mac remarked.

  “If he had lived, Mac, I wouldn’t have Robby.” She knew Sam was alerted by the bitterness in her voice, but before either could say more, she asked Mac about the horse.

  “Mean-lookin’ hombres brought him in. Said they found him wanderin’ up ‘round Smith Canyon ‘bout three maybe four weeks ago. Traded him for care of their own horses and ten extr’ dollars I gave ‘em. Good, sound horse, too. Funny, though,” he added, scratching his thin gray hair, “saddle had bloodstains on it.”

  “Didn’t you ask them about it, Mac?”

  “Jenny, when I tell you they was mean lookin’, they were just that. One of ‘em dressed all in black with the damnedest yella eyes.” He grinned. “Yep, that’s right—fella had himself yella eyes. Cold, too. The other one looked to be half Mex. Had himself a habit of playin’ with his fancy knife when he talked to a body. Didn’t take to either one. Dex Bowman had ‘em over at his place. Said they had plenty of cash to pay for their drinkin’ licker but they roomed over at the new widder woman’s. Don’t rightly know how she allowed ‘em stayin’, her bein’ what she is and them bein’ what they was. Didn’t make no trouble, mind you. Then they rode out.”

  She gazed at Sam, who shook his head. Icy fingers of dread were running up and down her spine. She couldn’t question him now.

  “You got yourself more’n enough horses, Jenny, why ask ‘bout this one?”

  “She’s not. I am.” Mac swung his attention to Sam. “I’ll offer you whatever it costs for feed and over.”

  “Well, now, don’t be so hasty there, young fella,” Mac cautioned, peering up at him. “Go look him over ‘fore you make an offer.”

  Sam smiled as Mac moved to help Jenny down from the wagon. The man’s small show of respect went a long way toward easing his distaste over what happened to her in the store. He motioned Jenny back when she would have followed him to the corral, so she went into the bam to find Robby.

  Mac watched the easy rolling walk of the tall lanky man as he slowly approached the buckskin. The horse nickered, nose outstretched to Sam’s open palm.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Mac whispered.

  “You’ve been graining him real good, Mac. He’s gotten fat and lazy looking. Ain’t run him at all?”

  “Nope. Didn’t figure to either. He’s got himself a mean streak when the notion takes him.” Now he understood. It was the man’s horse. Whenever he’d gone near the buckskin, he’d shied away from him.

  “Yeah. I know that streak,” Sam said with a soft laugh. “Figure it up and I’ll take him now.”

  “Sam, is it? Yeah, I thought that’s what Jenny called you. It’ll be a dollar a day for feed and … well, I’ll make it an even twenty ‘cause I ain’t quibbli
n’. I’ll throw in the saddle for nothin’ cause I ain’t gonna get a thing for it with bloodstains on it. And I’ll take back the ten I gave those two hombres for him. Sound fair?”

  Sam grinned, slapping forty dollars into Mac’s callused palm. “Keep it all, Mac,” he said, folding his hand over the money.

  Mac scratched his head again. This Sam didn’t look like a man who would answer any questions he had. And he had plenty. Shaking his head, he wondered how Jenny had taken up with such a fella. It wasn’t his business, but he’d been good friends with her father. Curious, too. Those men that brought in the horse had a mean look about them. Since this was his horse, Sam had to know them. ‘Course, that didn’t mean he was cut from the same cloth, he reasoned, but then again, it could mean just that.

  Sam had tied the horse to the back of the loaded wagon by the time Mac made up his mind. He tossed the saddle in the back on top of sacks and piled packages, then smiled, hearing laughter come from the barn’s open doors.

  “Been too long since I heard Jenny laugh like that.” Then Mac did something he’d just sworn he wouldn’t do. “You take up with Jenny and her boy?” He leveled a direct look at Sam and saw for himself how the man’s hazel eyes darkened until they were almost black. He didn’t blink an eye. “Allow it, stranger, ‘cause I know Jenny and knew her pa. Andy was a fine man. He sure didn’t deserve to die the way he did. And to my way of thinkin’, Jenny didn’t deserve what happened after that.”

  “And exactly what was that?” Sam countered, suddenly tense, wondering if Mac would answer his question.

  Taking a bite from his tobacco plug, Mac thoughtfully studied the man in front of him. For sixty years he’d relied on his instincts. “Andy was shot by a gambler back when the town was jus’ startin’ to die. Jonas Latham was as fast a draw. He killed the gambler and took Andy home to die. I wasn’t there, but Morro was. He didn’t stop it.” He spit out a long stream of tobacco juice. “Folks hereabouts figure it didn’t matter none what happened then, seein’ as how she’s got—”