Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  “Good morning.” He spread one hand over her head, gazed into her eyes. “You okay?”

  “Mmm. You?”

  “I reckon. Sorry about last night.”

  “No need. I don’t think you knew where you were.”

  “Guess not. I want to go back.”

  “Back? To the stage stop?”

  “Well, I reckon. But I wasn’t thinking straight. I need to go back and try to find where that shot came from, see if we can track the bastard.” He gazed at her. “That is, ‘we’ if you want to go with me.”

  She captured his hand, rubbed her thumb over the calloused palm. Not the skin of a professional card player at all. Who was this man, really? “I’ll make a deal with you. If we can stop at the station we passed during the night and try to get something to eat, I’ll go back with you to hunt for sign.”

  Who was she kidding? She’d go with him either way, but they sure needed something to eat and some water for their canteens and water bag before they embarked on such a search. She couldn’t even let him go by himself without that. He could die out there.

  “Fine,” he said a bit sharply. “You don’t have to go, though. You know that.”

  “I know, but I want to if you’ll let me.” She could not allow him do this alone. She would never forgive herself. If necessary, she’d follow him.

  “Well, then, let’s get moving. How far back you reckon the station is?” He hoisted his saddle, turned his back to swing it up on the chestnut.

  “Not sure. I fell asleep in the saddle.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Zach, please stop being sorry about everything.”

  He rubbed his face with the palms of both hands. He’d been crying again. She acted as if she didn’t notice and busied herself saddling Morgan while he fastened the girth around the belly of Josh’s horse and climbed aboard his own.

  She followed him back down the trail the way they had come.

  “I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch when I catch him. Slow like.”

  “I know.” What else could she say?

  At the station, Zach stepped down out of the saddle into the well-trodden earth, pounded by hundreds of hooves till it was hard as rock. She slid off, so exhausted she kicked free of the stirrups and slid to the ground. Her belly hurt from being so empty.

  Zach took the reins of the three horses and led them to an adjacent corral, swung open the gate, and turned them in with a dozen or so animals, who immediately inspected the new arrivals. That was one of the attributes she loved about those magnificent horses. They exhibited such an innate curiosity about everything.

  A fragrance drifted from the open doorway of the stagecoach stop. Food. Beans, bread, something green with onions. She turned to hail Zach. He was standing at the outside rails of the corral, leaned forward as if in a trance. She had to free him of this sorrow he was trapped in. If he went after the gunman in this condition, he’d die. Simple as that.

  She ran to him, took his arm. “Zach, honey, I’m starving, and you have to be hungry too. Let’s go inside and get something to eat. We can’t function on an empty stomach. Come on, before I faint from starvation.”

  He gave her such a look of anguish she shivered, leaned close so only he could hear her next words. “You can’t kill him unless you can stand up and aim a gun. Now, come on.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the knuckles, then without a word let her lead him inside. Inside, where the darkness rendered her blind coming in out of the bright sunlight, she hesitated, stood there with her charge, waiting until she could make out the room. Windows were head-high slits that let in slim bars of light, filled with floating dust particles and smoke. The heat was overpowering. On the right was a waist-high bar the length of the wall. Behind it a woman stirred huge steaming pots on a large cast-iron stove. Enormous pans of cornbread rested along the back on the warming shelf. A stagecoach must have come in, probably around back, for three tables were filled with men, women, and children.

  She guided Zach to a man sitting behind a desk just on their right inside the door. He revealed a gap-toothed smile. “Help you folks?”

  An elbow in Zach’s ribs jolted him into action. “We’re traveling and out of money. But I’ve got a nice gelding with saddle I’d sell, if you’re interested.”

  The man glanced up at Tyra and shook his head, then back to Zach. “This ain’t no trading post. They’s one on down the road. Just keep going west. You’ll get there by dark, maybe.”

  The woman behind the bar sidled closer. “Hiram, let these youngsters have something to eat. It won’t make a dent in what I’ve got cooked up here.”

  “Would do, but you know what would happen? They’d tell all their no-good friends, and first thing you know we’d be snowed under with folks wanting to eat for free. You know how that goes, Fleeta.”

  She sighed.

  “We don’t have any friends, and certainly none who are no good.” Tyra said the words to Fleeta rather than the stingy Hiram.

  “Maybe you could take the saddle and let her eat.” Zach squeezed her hand but continued to stare out the open door. “It’s worth way more than beans and cornbread.”

  How sweet this man could be, even though anger dwelt just beneath the grief.

  “Get on outta here,” Hiram shouted, flushing clear over his bald head.

  His hand bunched in hers, he let go a deep breath. She reached out to calm him, but it was too late. He was going to do something dangerous. “Don’t do it, Zach.”

  “Why not? The goddamned law is after us anyway.”

  Out came his Colt and he pointed it at the now terrified Hiram, who cringed and whimpered, “Don’t kill me. Fleeta, give these nice folks some dinner. I’d be obliged if you’d take it outside to eat it. You’re scaring the women in here.”

  “The women in here don’t even know what’s going on, you blamed idjit.” Tyra glared at Hiram, then turned to Fleeta. “He won’t shoot anyone. He’s upset. His brother just died, and we’re going to the funeral, and it happened so fast we didn’t have time to get hold of any money out of the bank. I apologize, but I’m sure you understand.” In an aside, she whispered, “Put that gun away, Zach. There’re men everywhere in here carrying rifles and pistols. You want to get us killed?”

  So far no one had noticed anything strange going on, but it wouldn’t take long if this situation wasn’t cooled down, and right now. “Please, Zach, honey. The lady is fixing us something to eat.”

  She sighed with relief when he slid the Colt back into its holster.

  The woman brought their plates and two tin cups filled with steaming coffee. “I’m sorry about your brother, son. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. But your wife is right. You could get killed pulling out a gun in a roomful of armed men.”

  Tyra took her plate and cup. “Get your food, honey, and we’ll take it outside.”

  “No need of that,” Fleeta said. “There’s plenty of room for you in here. Jest set down and eat and then be on your way.”

  Zach picked up his plate and cup. “Thank you, ma’am. I beg your pardon.”

  “It’s fine. Go on now.” The woman fingered back a strand of gray hair, wiped her face with the tail of her apron, and went back to stirring one of the pots on the stove.

  Tyra dropped into a chair, picked up a spoon, and dipped into the plate filled with beans, cornbread, and some greens she couldn’t identify. Nor did she care. After a few bites, she picked up the cornbread and crumbled some over the beans, stuffed a bite in her mouth, washed it down with coffee, and attacked the food once again. Zach slid his plate onto the table across from her and watched her closely for so long she raised her shoulders in a shrug. “What is it, honey?”

  “You are one hell of an amazing woman.” With that he dug into his plate, wolfing the food down even faster than she was. Between bites, he leaned forward. “You’re the only woman ever called me ‘honey.’ ‘Son of a bitch’ is way more common.”


  Grinning at him wasn’t possible, she had too much food in her mouth. But she’d let him know later how she’d liked that compliment. Wife. The woman had called her Zach’s wife, and he hadn’t corrected her. What would happen should Zach find his brother’s killer and in turn kill him? Even using her vivid imagination, she couldn’t come up with a good answer to that question. They’d just have to deal with it when it happened.

  Maybe he’d never find the killer. But that might mean he’d be driven to ride the countryside hunting for him the rest of his life. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and so he would keep on and keep on. Could she stay with him then? She shivered and took another gulp of the hot strong coffee. Only time would tell, that’s for sure.

  Around them the tables emptied out, and everyone left with a shuffling of feet and little conversation, everyone probably so blamed tired they couldn’t even visit. She’d been so involved with eating and watching Zach to make sure he was okay that she hadn’t even noticed.

  The woman appeared so silently at Tyra’s elbow she dropped her spoon in the plate. “Sorry, child. I’ve got some apple cobbler left. Would you both like some?”

  “Oh, yes, we would. I’m so sorry about earlier. He’s very upset.”

  “Don’t talk about me. Don’t apologize for me.” Zach glanced up with a frown, then mashed the last of his cornbread in bean juice and spooned it up.

  The woman patted Tyra’s hand, as if she understood fully how difficult it could be to deal with a cantankerous man, and went away to fetch two large bowls of fragrant pie.

  “When you finish this, I think I’ve got a pair of shoes that would fit you. People leave things once in a while, and this small bag turned up long after the stage left one day. Some folk are funny about strapping their best belongings on top of the coach. You come into the back room, I’ll just bet there’s a dress you could wear, too.”

  Halfway through his pie, Zach peered at her through thick eyelashes. “Didn’t mean to be ornery. This is the best pie I’ve had in years, the only pie I’ve had in a long time.”

  “I can’t cook.” Tyra took a big bite. “But if I could learn, I’d want to make apple cobbler first. This is delicious.”

  He remained silent. When she finished her pie, she followed Fleeta and, behind a curtain drawn over the corner of the room, sat on a bench while the two of them sorted through what turned out to be a boy’s bag. The Sunday-go-to-meeting shoes fit her small feet, and one pair of britches would do. The remainder of the clothing did not fit her, and she was relieved there wasn’t a dress. It might be difficult to explain to the kind woman that she didn’t wear dresses.

  She hugged the woman, who patted her on the back. “You get in trouble, now, child, you come on back here, and I’ll see you go back home where you belong. That man’ll be the death of you, mark my words.”

  “I’ll be all right with him. He loves me and I love him. We’ll get along okay. Thank you so much for the shoes and for caring about me.”

  When she returned to the main room, Zach held a straight face when he caught sight of her. “Well, I reckon it’s better than naked.”

  Fleeta gasped and hurried back behind the serving bar.

  “I agree with her. You should go back home. I could get you killed.” His expression was totally unreadable, his tone somewhere between sadness and fury. He swallowed the last bite and washed it down with coffee, avoiding her stare.

  The lump in her throat choked her and she could hardly reply. “Why? ’Cause you don’t like my outfit?”

  “Of course not. Because you need to get married and have babies and learn to cook apple cobbler. That’s why,” the last two words uttered harsh, angry. He rose, took his hat from where he’d upturned it on the table, crammed it on, and stormed out of the station.

  She grabbed her own hat, yelled a last “thank you” to Fleeta, and raced after him. He was almost to the corral when she reached him and grabbed his arm. “Stop, please stop. And listen to me for just a minute. Please.”

  Face dark as storm clouds, he brushed her hand aside. “You’re a pretty young woman, and I’m going to hell. You can’t go there with me. I won’t allow it. I love you too much to let that happen.”

  “You love me?”

  “Was that all the hell you heard?”

  “Well, no, but it was the best part.”

  “Goddammit, girl.” He grabbed her shoulders, bent down, and kissed her. A long, sensual kiss, lips devouring hers, leaving her weak-kneed. When he pulled away, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m done crying, but I’m not ever going to forget you. Now you git on that horse, and you head for home.”

  “Why, Zach? What happened that made you change your mind? You said I’m amazing, and so I thought…”

  “It was what you said about the cobbler. And I heard her, too. You need to stay alive to learn to cook. I mean it, now. I’ll only get you hurt or killed, what I got to do. And I got to do it. You know that.”

  “Oh, Zach.” There was no way she could convince him to take her along. His eyes, his mouth, his stubborn stance, all told her so. “Okay. Okay.” She nodded, lips sealed in a firm line. But be danged if she’d give up this easy.

  “Well, since we’re going the same way till you get back there to where…to where we buried Josh, I’ll just ride along, if that’s okay with you. Then, if you still don’t want me along, I’ll go on back to Victoria. And I’ll marry James Lee and be miserable the rest of my life. And you better not ever forget that, either.”

  “Fine. Just till then, since we’re going the same way.”

  She smiled behind his back, then wiped it away when he led Morgan out and handed her the reins. “Why don’t we go on to the trading post, trade that horse for some supplies and food and water? Then you can get to tracking, and I’ll go on home, both of us with plenty to eat for a while.”

  In silence, he tightened the girth on the chestnut’s belly. “He’s getting further and further away the longer I wait to get on his trail.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, if you starve to death chasing him, then what have you accomplished?”

  “Woman, you are the pigheadedest woman I’ve ever met.”

  “There’s no such word. Can we do that?”

  “Hell, I suppose so. You’re right about eating, but tell you what I’d rather do. Trade in the saddle, and maybe get up a good poker game to earn some funds to buy supplies, and use the horse to pack it.”

  She tightened the girth he’d loosened when he turned the horses in the corral, patted Morgan on the butt, and swung into the saddle. She’d be danged if she’d give him a chance to ride off and leave her. Soon he was ready, and they rode off together. With a deep-set satisfaction, she followed him on down the trail toward the trading post Hiram had mentioned earlier.

  By midday they came upon a creek and watered the horses. The water raced along and looked deep. She waited beside him on the bank, hoping he would not try to ford it. When he made up his mind, she kept her silence.

  “You wait here.” Without explaining himself, he tied his rope around a stout tree. “When I holler, you get off, get ahold of the rope, and come across.”

  She nodded. “Without the horses?”

  “Yep. I’m tying the rope on the other side. I’ll come back for them.” Before she could object, which she wanted to do, he nudged the chestnut into the water and played out the rope behind him.

  Halfway across, the bottom went out from under the flailing hooves, and the animal started swimming. Zach slid off, hung on to the rope and the chestnut’s tail till they fetched up downstream quite a ways. He then returned to the far bank opposite her and tied the rope around a tree.

  Both hands over his head, he signaled her. Though his mouth was open she couldn’t hear the words, so she slipped into the water, hanging on tight. Left on the bank, Morgan let out a loud whinny and came after her. Heart in her throat, she turned loose and started toward him. The current caught her and lifted her feet off the b
ottom, banged her up hard against the saddled horse. He kept right on going, as if sensing he had to get to the other side. She clung to the saddle, all she could do. Like Zach, they both floated downstream. When the bottom reappeared underfoot, the bank was so overgrown with brush and boulders they couldn’t climb out. Morgan headed on downstream, taking her along. Behind her Zach shouted, words lost to the wind and raging water.

  Heart racing a mile a minute, she searched ahead frantically for an egress from the creek. At last she saw an opening. Not much of one, to be sure, but they could get out if she could convince Morgan to do so. Her feet clattered along the rocky bottom, and she managed to get hold of the reins, tugged his head toward her in the hopes he’d get the message and veer toward the bank. Behind her, Zach crashed through the brush. Either him or some danged bear, and she made a bet on him.

  Morgan’s hooves dug in and he lunged toward the bank, hind legs hunching to push them up and out of the water. On firm ground, the strong horse shook his head and chuffed. Exhausted, she let go the saddle and fell to the ground. With his nose Morgan nudged her as if to check her out.

  “Tyra, you okay?” Zach dropped to his knees next to her, turned her over gently, then pulled her into his arms. “I thought you were gone. I should never have asked you to do that. Never.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. It was quite exciting, actually.”

  He buried his nose against her neck. “Sometimes you sound just like that English girl you once were. I can’t lose you. Lord, girl, I can’t.”

  “Then let me stay with you. It’s the only way you can keep me. Don’t send me away. I don’t care what we have to do. We’ll do it together.” She kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth.

  One hand cupped over the back of her head, the other at her waist, he refused to let her go, held the kiss until she could scarcely take a breath.

  Morgan nudged the two of them as if to say it was time to move on. She laughed, and Zach joined her.

  “Let’s go through this stand of trees, and I’ll get Josh’s horse before he runs off.”