Shrinking into her chair, she hugged her arms around her trembling body.
Less was expected from a woman in a wheelchair. There were fewer opportunities to make wrong decisions. Her chair was safe and familiar, a shield between her and a world full of expectations and wrong decisions that could lead to disastrous consequences.
But she loved him. She loved him so much that it was tearing her apart.
Covering her face, sitting alone on the prairie, she wept until no more tears came.
It was easy to be right. But it took courage to live with mistakes, with being wrong. Alex didn’t know if she possessed the courage to take that kind of risk again.
Time was running out.
They crossed the Chikaskia River, Slate Creek, the Ninnescah, and camped alongside the Arkansas River outside Wichita, Kansas.
Like all the boom towns along the trail, Wichita was wide-open with more saloons and gambling halls than churches or harness shops. Strung out along a bluff overlooking the wide, shallow Arkansas, Wichita was a good place to fatten weary stock on lush sedge grass and provision the outfit for the last push into Abilene.
Dal crossed his arms atop the pommel and let his shoulders slump as he watched Jack Caldwell canter toward town and a rendezvous with Lola. Lola was going to be very happy today. The injustice of it stuck in his craw like bitter fruit.
Clicking his tongue, he urged his horse into a circle around the King’s Walk herd, warning himself not to count the longhorns, but he did. And each time the number came up the same. Acid poured into his stomach, and he ground his teeth.
He knew Lola, and he’d recognized Caldwell for what he was. From the beginning he had known they would cheat. He had known this, but hadn’t been able to stop it. He had been counting on Emile Julie to arrive, kill Lola, and solve his problems.
For the rest of his sorry life he was going to blame himself that the Roark sisters had not won their father’s inheritance. He’d let them down, and he’d let Joe down. Dal couldn’t believe that Joe had wanted Lola to have his ranch, his stock, and all his holdings. Joe had gone to his final reward hoping his daughters would inherit their birthright. Wanting it to happen that way.
They would have if Dal had been better and smarter.
By the time the sun set, he was as low as he’d ever been. He had failed in every way a man could fail. He’d failed the woman he loved, he hadn’t done the job he was hired to do, and he had failed himself.
Damn, he needed a drink. The craving gnawed at him, turned his mouth as dry as a desert floor. What the hell did it matter now if he found some relief? He’d fallen as far as he could. What was one more failing?
Without a word to anyone, he rode away from his herd and headed for the lights of town.
The saloons were crowded, but he’d expected that. Several herds camped along the Arkansas, and the cowboys were spending their wages and cutting up along Main. Eventually, he found a saloon that wasn’t as jammed as the others, took a stool at the bar, and ordered a whiskey.
The hot pungent aroma strung his nostrils and he swallowed hard, gripping the shot glass and a promise of oblivion. He inhaled deeply, anticipating the long burn followed by an explosion of heat in his belly. One shot wouldn’t be enough, it never was. Escape required a bottle, maybe two. Surrender would be costly and would take most of the night.
Turing the whiskey glass between his fingers and staring down at the surface, he thought about that. Giving up. Worse than giving up was acknowledging himself as a quitter. If he swallowed this whiskey as his mind screamed at him to do, then the drive wouldn’t end at Abilene, it ended right here. He ended right here.
One swallow, he thought. That’s all it would take, and his problems dissolved. He looked at his fingers straining around the glass and saw the future. He’d smuggle some bottles back to camp. He’d be drunk when the herd entered Abilene. That way, the count wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter when Freddy walked away from him. He wouldn’t give a damn that he’d failed to stop Lola and Jack or that he had quit when it looked like he was beaten. Nothing would matter, not the past, the present, or the future. And he wouldn’t matter, not even to himself.
Raising the glass to the light, he contemplated the golden promise inside. Surrender.
It was that, or… keep fighting. Refuse to give up.
He still had a week. The contest wasn’t lost until the longhorns were counted by the officials in Abilene. Unless he took the first swallow. Then, he was beaten.
He slammed the shot glass down on the bar. Lola was not going to win. It wasn’t over yet. Disgusted that he had skirted so close to ruin, he turned his back to the bar.
That’s when he spotted her, dressed to the nines, sashaying through the saloon doors with a fancy man on her arm whose most interesting feature was that he was not Jack Caldwell. Lola saw Dal the instant he saw her. Leaning to the ear of her escort, she whispered something then walked toward Dal, swinging her hips.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite cowboy,” she said with a gloating smile. “Bartender? I’m a rich woman now and I want to buy this puncher a drink. Give us both a whiskey.”
“Where’s Caldwell?”
“Him?” Her husky laugh turned a few heads. “Why, Dal honey, Jack didn’t work out. You can tell Luther that I fired Jack as my representative. Now that my prospects have improved, I don’t need a two-bit gambler helping me spend my money.”
He hooked his elbows on the bar and regarded her with interest. “You always planned to double-cross him, didn’t you?”
“That’s such a harsh way to put it, honey.” She tossed back the whiskey and signaled the bartender for another. “Let’s just say Jack’s usefulness ended.” Looking into the mirror on the back bar over Dal’s shoulder, she patted her curls and preened. “The poor boy took it real hard,” she said with a laugh.
Now, he smiled. He had anticipated this moment for years. “Enjoy it while you can, Lola honey, because you’ve got trouble coming.”
“My only problem is figuring how to spend all the money Luther is going to give me.”
“I sent a telegram to Emile Julie from Fort Worth. Told him where you were and where you were heading. I figure if Julie and his men left immediately, they should be in Abilene by now, waiting for you. Or maybe they’re working their way back along the trail.” He scanned the crowded saloon, running a lazy gaze over the faces. “Julie’s men could be here now, looking for a chance to slip a knife in your cheating heart.”
Whiskey slopped down the front of her gown. “You son of a bitch!”
“You aren’t going to live long enough to spend Joe’s money.”
“The hell I won’t,” she snapped. “I’ll instruct Luther to pay Julie out of my inheritance. All I have to do is put out the word that I’ll pay what the bastard thinks I owe him.”
“Luther isn’t going to release a penny until after the herd is officially counted. A lot can happen in a week.” And this conversation had given him an idea. Pushing away from the bar, he stood, enjoying the ashy paleness beneath her rouge. “You can go on into Abilene where I can guarantee Julie’s men are waiting to kill you. Or you can disappear from here.”
“You’re right. I could tell Luther to send my money to a safe place.”
He nodded, smiling. “You could do that. If you think Julie won’t be watching the telegraph office or the post office or Luther. If you think Julie isn’t smart enough to follow the money. If you believe he won’t track you out of here. Personally, I think you’re dead.”
She screamed at him, her face pulsing scarlet. “You son of a bitch!” She flew at him, but he grabbed her wrists.
“When a woman starts repeating herself, the conversation is over.” An icy smile curved his lips. “Rest in peace, Lola.” He flung her away from him and walked toward the door and out onto the noisy boardwalk.
Now all he had to do was find Jack Caldwell.
Chapter 23
He found Caldwell in a less-cro
wded saloon on a side street off Main, brooding in front of a bottle and a deck of cards. Dal pulled up a chair and rested his elbows on green felt.
“I just talked to Lola,” he said.
Caldwell refilled his shot glass. “She double-crossed me.” He tossed back the whiskey. “I won’t get a plugged nickel of the money that bitch wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for me. If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll find a way to get even.”
“It won’t take the rest of your life. You can get even right now. Tonight.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Frisco?”
“How good are you with those cards?” He nodded at the deck on the table.
Without looking down, Caldwell fanned the cards in one hand. He stared. “I’m good enough to beat you any hour of any day.”
“This town is overflowing with cowboys and trail bosses. If I point out the trail bosses, can you beat one or two of them?” His expression hardened. “What I want is cattle, Caldwell. I want you to win twenty-five beeves. What the Roark sisters need plus a couple extra.”
Caldwell stared then fell back in his chair with a growing smile. “Sweet. I get what I want, revenge when Lola loses. And you get what you want, sixty thousand dollars.” He riffled the cards between his fingers. “Split the sixty, and you got a deal.”
“We split nothing. What you get is revenge, plus you stay alive,” Dal said flatly, his eyes cold. Pulling his pistol from the holster, he laid it on the table. “Here’s how tonight is going to go. I ride out of here with twenty-five longhorns in my pocket, or I put a bullet between your eyes. It’s your call.”
“Put the gun away, Frisco,” Caldwell said after a moment’s thought. He fanned the cards across the table. “All right. I’ll give the outfit enough beeves to win Roark’s money. And I’ll do it for the sheer satisfaction of making sure that Lola doesn’t get one cent of Roark’s money. The more I think about this, the better I like it.”
Disappointment twisted Dal’s lips. He wasn’t a killer, but he’d never wanted to shoot someone as much as he wanted to shoot Jack Caldwell. His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened on the butt of the pistol. “I’m pissed, and I’m losing patience. Let’s go.”
Standing, Caldwell flexed his fingers and straightened his shoulders. “You point out the sheep. I’ll fleece them.”
It took all night, but when the sun popped over the horizon, Caldwell had collected IOUs for twenty-five longhorns. He and Dal stepped out of the last smoky saloon, filled their lungs with cleaner air, and looked at each other with fatigue-reddened eyes. Dal folded the IOUs into his vest pocket.
“The losers promised delivery before noon,” Caldwell said. “And before noon the widow Roark is going to know she won’t get a cent. She double-crossed the wrong man.” He watched Dal walk away. “Frisco? Tell Freddy these cattle are for her. Tell her I bet on the wrong filly.”
Frowning, Luther watched the last trail boss deliver ten longhorns for branding, then ride away. “Someday,” he said to Dal, “I want you to tell me why Jack Caldwell chose to give the drive enough steers to beat Mrs. Roark.”
“In case you need reminding, you already made a ruling that the drive could accept a gift without violating the terms of Joe’s will.” His drovers were cheering so loudly that Dal could only hope they heard Grady ordering them to fetch the irons out of the chuck wagon and slap the KW brand on the fresh additions. The bosses hadn’t given away prime stock. They’d paid their gambling debts with skinny, footsore beeves, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d take them.
“The ruling is documented.” Luther thrust out his hand, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I don’t know how the hell you accomplished this, but congratulations.”
Freddy and Les ran up to him then, their eyes shining. Alex followed, rolling forward in her chair.
“Is it true?” Freddy asked, clutching his arm and searching his face. “And how in the world did you manage this? What on earth did you say to Jack?”
“I’ll tell you later. The important thing is you’re going to have that grand theater in San Francisco,” he said, not surprised that her dream had become more important than his. Maybe that’s what love was, when a man put a woman and her dreams above everything he had once thought was important to him.
“San Francisco?” Les asked, frowning. She and Alex looked back and forth between them. “But I thought you two…”
“We can’t seem to reconcile our dreams,” Freddy said softly, looking at him with anguish in her eyes.
“There aren’t words to express my gratitude,” Alex said. Her words were sincere, but she wore a distracted expression, and she scanned the campsite, looking for John, Dal guessed.
Les rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “How can we ever thank you?”
“By getting back to work,” he said gruffly. The smell of scorched cowhide hung in the air, and the branding was almost finished. “You cowboys have a herd to move.”
He held Freddy’s gaze for a long moment, then he turned on his heel, unable to bear the tears glittering in her emerald eyes, and he walked to the remuda and saddled the buckskin. He should have been happier, damn it. He’d won everything he wanted. Except the woman he loved.
They skirted east of Newton, and crossed the Cotton-wood River, heading north.
Three more days, Alex thought. She finished washing the supper dishes, then dried her hands on her apron and leaned against the worktable, watching the sun flare into a glowing disk and sink into the horizon. Three more days and the most profound experience of her life would come to a close. Would she drive into Abilene the same woman who had driven away from Klees? Or would she be someone new? It was time to face her choices.
“A penny for your thoughts,” John said, coming up behind her.
He didn’t touch her because touching her was too painful. She knew that. He didn’t touch her, didn’t kiss her, no longer spoke of the future. His eloquent grey eyes told her that he thought placing a distance between them would make saying good-bye easier.
“I’ve been wrong about so many things,” she murmured, watching the sun set.
“Don’t,” he said gruffly, running a hand down his face. “You don’t have to explain.”
He thought she meant she had been wrong about him. She turned to correct him, then stopped and stared into his beloved face. Golden light bathed his cheekbones and the mouth she longed to kiss, illuminated the steady love glowing in his eyes.
“Would you do something for me?” she whispered.
“Anything you ask.”
“Would you fetch my bedroll out of the wagon?”
He glanced at the sky, judging the time, surprised by her request. “Of course.”
“Put it over there, beside the women’s latrine tent, please.” Gripping the crutch, she swung forward. “And then, please leave me.”
He stiffened and turned away, but not before she saw the pain in his eyes. “Good night, my love. Sleep well.”
Dropping to her knees on the grass, her heart pounding and her hands shaking, she untied her bedroll and checked to see that everything she wanted was there. When she was sure, she dropped her head and touched her fingers to her eyelids.
“I can. I’m not wrong about this. I’ve never been so right.”
Freddy sat next to Dal, their shoulders touching, looking across the campfire at Les and Luther. Les and Luther held hands, gazing into each other’s eyes wordlessly. Seeing them put the sweet into the bittersweet thoughts that drew lines across Freddy’s forehead.
She didn’t want the drive to end.
Never again would she know the thrill of chasing a tough old longhorn, or sleep in the open air beneath a starry sky. Never again would she tuck into a raw steak and a charred biscuit and think she was dining on the food of the gods. She’d never again pick at calluses on her palm, or feel the warm power of a cutting horse between her thighs. Or lie in the arms of a man that she loved with all her heart and soul.
She leaned agains
t Dal’s shoulder and closed her eyes. There had to be a way they could find a future together without giving up their dreams, without making each other miserable. Why couldn’t they find a solution?
Dal dropped an arm around her. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.
“I feel as hopeless as John looks.”
John sat across from them, cradling an empty cup between his hands, staring into the flames licking the bottom of the coffeepot. For the past week he’d been almost as silent as he’d been when he came to them.
“Where’s Alex tonight?” Dal asked, frowning and looking toward the chuck wagon.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a couple of hours.”
Then she heard Drinkwater gasp, and one of the other drovers dropped his cup. Dal’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, and she heard him draw a sharp quick breath. When Freddy followed their stares, she saw Alex standing beside the chuck wagon lanterns, leaning on her crutch.
But it was an Alex that Freddy had not seen in several months. Her luxuriant blond hair was dressed high and scattered with tiny wild roses. She wore a blue silk dress that matched the color of her shining eyes. She was as elegantly beautiful as Freddy had ever seen her.
Looking at John, she came forward on the crutch. And Freddy rose to her feet as the drovers slowly stood, watching. The hush was so absolute that she heard the crackle of the campfire, heard the longhorns settling down out on the bedding grounds.
When John came to his feet, Freddy sucked in a breath and held it, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Understanding blazed in his expression, and his hands opened and closed at his sides. Moisture glistened in his eyes.
Alex came to the fire and scanned the faces staring at her until she found Freddy. “Thank you.” Her soft voice sounded loud in the silence. “I love you.”
The Best Man Page 36