by Gem Sivad
Samuel McCallister was almost pretty in his handsomeness, with yellow hair that curled around his shoulders, a lithe build, and well-chiseled features that flashed a frequent grin. But his eyes remained cold when he smiled and left Naomi wondering if his grin was even a reflection of humor. His gaze chilled her, especially when he smiled.
Naomi didn't trust the bounty hunters, but she didn't doubt their ability to deliver the service her body had paid for. They would find the Comancheros and defeat them in battle, saving the young ladies of Sparrow Creek Academy. What would happen after that, Naomi couldn't guess.
She was startled from her reverie when a body blocked the light streaming through the open door. She turned her head on her arms and then sat upright, waiting. With the three men digging, it hadn't taken long to bury Patrick.
He threw her his saddlebag. “Better get dressed.” He stood watching, and she was too weary to argue that the buckskin worked better where they were going. His next words surprised her.
"Put the long johns on under the pants. It'll take up some of the slack and give you some extra padding between your rump and the saddle. You'll thank me tonight."
They didn't have time to waste on her missishness, so she removed the pants, and he left her dressing, returning to his cousins. She followed his progress as she hopped on one leg and then the other, pulling the leggings up and then the deerskin pants back over those.
After her first moments of consternation, she pulled on her boots and tentatively moved toward the door. Her trunk was upstairs in the dormitory with the students’ belongings. She hesitated and then ran across the floor and up the steps. The outlaws had been up here. The bedding was scattered, as were her clothes and personal items.
"You can't take much with you. We're riding light and fast if you want to catch up to your friends.” She flushed at his admonishment. Again, he'd crept up on her without her hearing a thing.
Swiftly she grabbed a carpetbag and stuffed underclothing and blouses lightweight enough to cram into the bag. One brush and comb, soap.
She carried it back where he stood watching. He shook his head. When she walked down the steps, she had the brush, comb, soap, two drying cloths, and a blanket. She'd tucked her Godey's Lady's Book in the waist of her pants.
She knew he was right, but it did not make her like him the better for it. But, he would save the girls because of their bargain. For that she would listen to his advice. She followed him to the horses, appreciating the freedom of movement that skirts didn't allow.
As she reached for her horse's leathers, his hand closed over hers, and she was uncomfortably aware of his larger size pressing her against the animal. She tilted her head to look up, and he set a hat on her head. She recognized it as the handyman's wide-brimmed straw.
"I can't take Patrick's hat."
"Don't figure he'll be needing it, and the sun'll burn you to a crisp without it.” He ran his thumb across her already chapped and reddened cheek. “Wear it.” He turned away after setting it on her head. Then, as if he had an afterthought, he turned back.
"We'll be stopping in Buffalo Creek and leaving you there,” Charlie said mildly. Sam McCallister stood avidly listening, tying on the shovel that they'd used to bury Patrick.
"I told you I am going along,” she responded in a tone as mild as his. But she had to clench her jaw to keep from reminding him that she'd paid for the right to go along.
"Introduce us to your woman, cousin. It appears she has a mind of her own.” The big red-haired bounty hunter had come up behind Naomi unheard. She flinched, uneasy around these McCallisters who moved so stealthily. He spoke across her shoulder to Charlie Wolf. Then he shifted something inside his mouth and carefully spit, landing the brown stain on a tuft of parched grass.
Naomi stared at him, horrified. Pa Lancaster had dribbled tobacco on his chin now and again. Naomi looked for signs of the same from this crude man. “I am not Mr. Wolf's woman."
"Deacon and Sam McCallister,” Charlie nodded from them to her. Then he boosted her into the saddle, adjusting her stirrups when she was seated. She took that opportunity to lean toward him and whisper, “Please tell me you do not engage in that filthy habit.” He turned sharply in time to see Sam hit the same spot Deacon had stained a minute before.
Gathering his reins, he eschewed the use of stirrups, swinging lithely onto his mount, “No, ma'am,” and Naomi thought his eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth. “But I have other proclivities."
Then he squeezed his thighs and his horse, incongruously named Old Mossy, broke into a dancing side-step, arching his neck and snorting in response to his rider. Her first impression remained—Charlie Wolf McCallister was a beast riding a beast.
He nudged her mare into motion, coming in beside her on the right. As they started down the trail, his cousins brought up the left, and he finished the introduction, speaking across her.
"Cousins, this is Naomi Parker.” He nudged his horse a little closer to where she rode his buckskin mare. “Former teacher at the Sparrow Creek Academy for Young Ladies, and...” he finished the introductions, “...my woman."
Sam and Deacon pulled their hats at her, having no comment other than a nodded, “Ma'am."
It was late afternoon going onto evening when they reached Buffalo Creek. They rode into the town livery and dismounted. Sam and Deacon went on to the sheriff's office to check on the women already rescued. Any rewards that might be forthcoming, the McCallisters aimed to collect.
Charlie figured it was time to speak to the teacher about what had transpired between them.
He intended to drop her off in Buffalo Creek and pick her up on the way back. He'd leave her enough money to make do on until he returned. Then—when he got that far in his thoughts—he stalled. He suspected that if he left her with much money, she'd be long gone before he hauled Jericho to justice.
She studiously avoided his face, slid sideways whenever he got too close, and didn't have anything to say to him. When Miss Parker had nothing to say, he already knew it meant trouble. She clenched her jaw, holding back argument.
He sighed and pulled her up against his length, wishing they had the time for another joining. She stood stiffly in the circle of his arms, staring at his shirt. “We made a bargain. You were going to help me rescue my students.” Her voice was stubborn and her arms rigid barriers between them.
"Woman,” he scolded her sternly. “You can hardly stand up. I can tell by the way you're walkin’ that your rump hurts.” His hand patted her there familiarly. “And, from the sounds your belly's makin', you're more than a little hungry. Besides, you'll be in the way.” He was happy to end that conversation. “When did you eat last?"
His body relaxed against hers as though it had found home. He groaned and pressed her against the swell in his pants. Her face flushed, showing a reluctant reaction, but her body remained stiff and unresponsive.
Her effect on his body fascinated him. He'd heard of men being pussy-whipped and had always disregarded such talk. Now he knew better. He wanted nothing more than to follow her around all day on the off chance he might get a chance to slip it to her again.
He swatted her butt, laughed, and stepped back, “Be glad you get to stay behind. You've got the services of three bounty hunters who will rescue your students. You're staying here."
"I'll get you a room and some supper.” Charlie Wolf ignored her silent fury and turned toward the barn door. “Hiram Potter is a good man, at least as much as any lawman can be. You'll be fine until we get back.” He moved toward the open barn doors and then paused, looking at her.
"Put your new dress on. You can't go into the hotel wearing my buckskins.” He pulled his hat low on his forehead, eyes on the dirt street, while he walked toward the hotel situated next to the sheriff's office. No sense in advertising his movements this evening.
For once she'd kept her thoughts to herself. Usually, her tart arguments had to be dealt with before she'd budge. Maybe she was in shock. He didn't thi
nk many people had ever managed to make Naomi Parker mind.
Aside from the fact that she was a liability, she moved like a woman pure worn out. Mad at him or not, she needed a hot soak and a good dinner followed by sleep in a soft bed. Much as he'd like to climb in behind her, he'd be sleeping in the saddle or on the hard ground, as usual.
He opened up the place, banging on the counter until the clerk came out frowning, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I need a room."
His money was still nestled in the saddlebag flung over his shoulder, but she'd taken his Colt 45. He should have seen that coming.
"Never mind.” He turned away and headed back to Naomi on a run. By the time he got to the barn, she was gone. He saddled Old Mossy and headed into the dusk, following her trail through the quickly fading light.
He hadn't ridden far when Deacon swung in on his left and Sam took the right.
"Following the schoolmarm, cousin?” The younger man grinned knowingly.
Deak, the older McCallister brother said, “You two set the town of Flat Rock on its ear. You fixin’ to do the same with Buffalo Creek?” Deacon McCallister didn't have much to say on most occasions. When he spoke, people tended to listen.
"I doubt that there was a soul this morning who didn't know you'd spent the night with the Sparrow Creek schoolteacher."
Deak eyed him expectantly and when no explanation was forthcoming, added, “Wallace was in the bar with a fist of money, claiming you'd paid him to get lost after dragging the schoolteacher inside. Said he snuck back and she was struggling to get away from you and you had your knife out."
"Funny,” Charlie mused and then kicked his horse into a faster gait. “I didn't see anyone comin’ to her rescue."
"Well, they might've, but with Deak watchin’ the front of the bar and me eyein’ the backdoor, no one troubled you.” Sam savored the memory of danger like it was a tasty dish. Then he remarked in a more serious tone than his usual, “There's gonna be hell to pay over this one, Charlie."
But he followed the warning with a grin saying, “Not to mention I didn't get my monthly fuck, and even the sway of Old Mossy's rump is lookin’ good to me."
Charlie pulled his hat lower. “Naomi Parker's under my protection. That's all any bastard needs to know.” It was the only thing Charlie had to say on that subject and glowered at Sam, who would laugh skidding into the flames of hell.
Now it was doubly important he catch up to Naomi. She had no business riding out alone, unprotected. The town might have turned a blind eye on an Indian bedding a whore, but a schoolteacher from the territory was another matter.
As soon as word circulated, there would be those who wanted to lynch him for soiling one of their own; at the same time, Naomi would become fair game for any man's attentions. Her teaching days were over, whether she realized it or not. “You will do right by that woman?” Deacon rumbled in the voice Sam called his Wrath of God imitation.
Wolf's stoic regard was answer enough, and Deacon switched topics, satisfied.
Sam said, “U.S. Marshal wired a request that we track down a bunch of Comancheros who've kidnapped Important Daughters of Texas Citizens.” His drawled words were underscored by Deacon's addition of, “as opposed to unimportant citizens."
When his wife had been murdered in their Abilene home, Robert McCallister had been an unimportant citizen. His eyes were shards of blue ice remembering. “I take it Naomi Parker was the Sparrow Creek teacher. It's handy that chasing after your woman is going to get Jericho for us too."
Sam grunted, “Looks like your plan fell apart. Mangas Colorado's Apaches must have taken the cattle, payment or not."
"Yes,” Charlie agreed. “And, one way or another, Jericho kidnapped the Sparrow Creek girls to replace the ones we rescued. The Comancheros will be travelling fast, heading due south toward Mexico. We need to keep the gang too busy riding to stop and abuse ‘em."
"Well, nevertheless, cousin—” Deacon fingered his beard and spit. “—your woman is running loose, interfering with our hunt."
Sam nodded. “I'm going on to Eclipse and have the sheriff there contact the families, and then I'll circle back and join you on the trail. By the time the families get word, maybe we'll have the ladies safely home."
"Deacon, you ride up the trail.” When his cousin frowned Charlie assured him, “Hell, they left tracks a mile wide; you don't have to be a tracker to follow that. It's like they didn't care who knew where they were going. Stay alert because that's not a good sign."
Deacon frowned and Charlie added, “It appears I've got some work to do corralling Naomi Parker and seeing to it that she gets to Buffalo Creek in one piece.
"I'll catch up to you later."
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Chapter Seven
Naomi had time to wonder, more than once, why folks always thought they knew best for her. Her sister had started the trend, sending Naomi to the neighbors to stay when an offer of marriage had taken Comfort Parker to Texas.
Naomi reacted now the same way she had then. That day, she'd climbed under the porch and refused to say good-bye. Then, for a full week after Comfort had gone, Naomi had fished all day and stayed alone in the one-room shack, telling herself she didn't need anyone.
In the end, she'd been happy to be taken in by the Lancaster family when she'd fled her shack in the middle of the night, running from a monster named Harvey Collins.
Now she was going out on her own looking for the same monster, because in her heart, she knew that when she found the girls, he would be there too.
She would either have the help of the bounty hunter, Charlie Wolf, or she wouldn't. But, she'd hired him to help her, not tell her what to do. And fulfilling her duty to her students was what she had to do.
She uneasily remembered his question, “You'll trade your life for theirs?” when she'd bartered for his help. Of course he hadn't actually meant her life—as in the rest of it—had he? Just thinking about that possibility made the cut on the palm of her hand itch.
When the starless sky turned dark, closing down around her like a blanket thrown over her head, she forgot about any misunderstanding that might exist between her and the bounty hunter and hoped that Charlie Wolf would catch up to her soon.
The buckskin mare put one foot in front of another as though she had a destination in mind, so Naomi left the reins slack and gave her the lead. The animal traveled swiftly as Naomi alternately slumped in the saddle or tensely strained to see through the blanketing darkness.
Charlie Wolf's dark stallion edged beside her when shades of purple began to lighten the sky. Her legs were trembling with fatigue, and she wasn't sure she would be able to stand if she slid from the buckskin, but he pulled her mount to a stop, dismounted, and caught her as she toppled over.
"I told you to stay put in Buffalo Creek.” The whole time he was scolding her, he led her away from the open flat land and toward a shaded gulley.
"Best stop for a time. The animals need rest, and so do I.” He loosened the girth on the buckskin mare, slid the bit from her mouth, and hobbled her, all while Naomi stood, weaving on her feet, watching from exhausted eyes.
When both animals were cared for, he strode to a spot under a tree, brushed away the dead limbs and debris, and unfurled his ground cloth. Then he laid his blanket on top of that.
"Rest here, before you fall down,” and she did, too tired to even ask where he would be.
When she woke, she was alone. She was reassured by the sound of the horses. She listened, eyes closed, sorting through her most recent memories. Charlie Wolf had put her to bed.
He was near; his horse, Old Mossy, stood next to the buckskin mare and ate leaves from the tree Naomi rested under. She sat, wincing at the ache in her body, stiff from both the hard ground and all the unusual activities that she had recently engaged in.
In the time it took for her to rise from the blanket and look around the camp he'd made, he was beside her.
He handed her linen and a bar
of soap. “There's a river down below. Bathe.” Grateful for the chance to soak, she left comment about his uncouth behavior for another time and turned to hurry to the water. “Watch out for snakes,” he advised.
The snakes would have to watch out for her. She intended to get clean. She wallowed in the semi-warm water that moved lazily past. Her hair hung in rough strands that would become snarled balls when dry. She worked ineffectually at one tangle.
She felt his eyes watching her. “I wish my hair was straight like yours.” He held out his hand indicating it was time for her to quit the river. “Just look somewhere besides at me,” she told him, exasperated at his bold stare.
When she emerged from the water, he wrapped the blanket around her, and rubbed the linen across her hair. Then he handed her a tin, and said, “Rub that into your hair, then rinse it out."
She smelled it. It smelled like him, or at least the spicy wood scent she associated with him. “What's in it?” she asked suspiciously.
"Bear grease.” He grunted impatiently. “Now rub it on your hair."
It was odd how right away her hair felt different. It hung in soft wet strands that felt like silk when she rinsed his concoction from her head. “It feels like when I was a child and rinsed my hair in rain water.” She let her hands play down the silken length and looked at him doubtfully. “Bear grease?"
He snorted. “No. My mother makes it for me to use on my hair.” She had noticed how shiny his hair was.
"It's indecent for a man to have hair that hangs down his back and is prettier than a woman's.” The tart words escaped her before she could stop them. Then she fastened on the important part of his sentence, excusing her own rude comment.
"You have a mother?” She was surprised. He didn't look like a man with a mother, let alone one who made him beauty products for his hair.
He capped the tin and stuck it in his pocket. “Did you think I was born in a cave with wolves?"