Tucker’s Claim

by Sarah McCarty

  Sally had missed the moments of communion in church when members gathered to contemplate their path, or pray for those in need. “Yes. I would. What will we do with the puppy?”

  Crockett was too busy chasing his tail to be concerned about what they intended to do with him, but Sally Mae couldn’t conceive of leaving him alone. Tucker had trusted him to her and she would not fail. In a tangle of paws, Crockett fell on his side, bounced up and looked at her to see if she’d noticed. She tapped her thigh. He came to her side, immediately licking her fingers.

  “We will take him with us.”

  “I don’t think Reverend Schuller will approve.”

  Bella whistled three short notes through her teeth. Kells came trotting around the corner. Crockett snapped to attention. Sally put her hand on his head. Kells was very big.

  “Friend, Kells,” Bella instructed.

  Somehow, Sally didn’t see those two words as much of a deterrent if Kells decided to eat Crockett for breakfast. She held her breath as Kells strolled over and touched his nose to the puppy’s. Crockett wiggled and licked the bigger dog’s lips. She’d take her cue from the puppy if she knew him better. But all she knew about Crockett was that he could be a brainless idiot that might not recognize death when it stared him in the face.

  Bella stood to the side, watching. “There is no need to worry. Kells is Hell’s Eight. He protects the small ones.”

  Sally Mae didn’t have much choice but to accept Bella’s statement as Kells walked around to sniff Crockett from head to tail. Apparently satisfied, he sat down and glanced over at Bella. Bella pointed to Crockett. “Guard.”

  There was no discernible change in Kells’s expression or demeanor, but Bella seemed satisfied. She brushed the puppy prints off her skirt. “Shall we go?”

  Sally Mae eyed Crockett. “I still think the Reverend Schuller isn’t going to be happy to see Crockett.”

  “Then he can discuss it with Kells.”

  Kells chose that moment to yawn, showing his large, white, very sharp teeth.

  “That would work.”

  “Sí, I think so.” Bella headed down the alley toward the main street.

  As she followed, Sally Mae realized it had been a long time since she’d made a friend. She’d learned to put some distance between the people around her because of their lack of understanding how her view of the world differed from theirs. She’d thought she’d been protecting herself, but maybe what she’d been doing was running away. She pondered that.

  The church was cool, soothing in its peace, and it suddenly didn’t matter that it wasn’t a Friends meeting place or a Catholic church. It was the right place to be at that moment.

  Bella genuflected as she entered and crossed herself, reaching automatically for the holy water that wasn’t there. With a complete lack of self-consciousness that Sally envied, she drew her hand back and shrugged. “Some things are different, are they not?”

  “I’m not sure they matter though.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Bella led the way down the aisle between the pews, stopping in the middle. Sally followed, letting the peace sink past the turmoil. She missed the gathering of Friends at times like this. The prayer, the quiet reflection had been solace to her young mind when she’d come to the Friends. Moments like this reminded her of everything she’d walked away from, yet she didn’t want to go back. Something out here in this wild land called to her, kept her here, gave her a peace she’d never found back in her very quiet, established community. She liked the uniqueness of this land. The violence disturbed her, but worse, she understood it and it felt good on some level to be among people who accepted violence as much a part of themselves as laughter and tears. Even though she didn’t believe in giving in to that violence, their acceptance helped her accept the struggle within herself as also natural.

  Jonah had been a naturally peaceful man. At peace with himself, his religion. At peace with his ethics. It was a peace she’d never achieved, and one that had often made her feel inferior because she couldn’t match it, no matter how many hours she spent in meditation. She always seemed to empathize with the violence better than the ideal. Always had the initial impulse to strike back rather than to turn the other cheek. So while here she was still a misfit because of her beliefs, she didn’t feel as inferior here.

  She slid into the pew beside Bella. Closing her eyes, she opened her mind to the quiet. Beside her, Bella murmured in her native tongue, her prayer rising and falling in a smooth cadence that made it easy to ride. She wanted to pray for understanding, for strength, for forgiveness. She wanted to pray for so many things, but the only thought that occupied her mind was, Please, bring him back to me.

  They caught up to Billy’s killer three days out. The bandit hadn’t even bothered to hide his trail. Tucker glanced over at his companions, seeing the same suspicion on their faces as had to be on his. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s either begging for a beating, or laying a trap,” Shadow offered from where he knelt studying the tracks.

  Tracker pointed to the canyon ahead. “If a man had friends, that’d be a good place to lie in wait to ambush a posse.”

  “Anyone been in that canyon before?”

  “I have,” Sam said, leaning on the saddle horn, a smoke between his fingers. “The best place to trap someone is about three-quarters in. The valley narrows and there’s plenty of cover up on the ridges.” He took a draw on his smoke. “There’s a back way in we can use to our advantage. Maybe have a couple of us up on the ridge and get a drop on them while they’re focused on ambushing us riding in.”

  “You think they’re really waiting in there, expecting us to follow this trail to our death?” Tucker asked.

  Tracker shrugged. “It would make sense. The only law about these parts are you and Sam. They get rid of you both and there’s nothing much standing between them and anything they want to do.”

  Sam tapped the ash off his smoke. “For sure, the townspeople would be easy to cow.” Wetting his fingers, he doused the still glowing tip. “They’ve gotten pretty complacent.”

  Tracker chewed on a blade of grass. “They have at that. One good ambush could take care of a lot of problems for a lot of bad people.”

  Tucker glanced over at Sam, knowing the same tension was running under his skin that ran under Sam’s despite his nonchalance. Sam had always been good at hiding what he felt. It didn’t mean he didn’t feel things. “Which is why I didn’t want you to come. You’ve got a fiancée to think about.”

  Sam tugged his hat lower, the way he did when he didn’t want anyone to see his eyes. “Just because I’m engaged doesn’t mean I want to miss out on the fun.”

  Tucker shook his head. He’d give up the old ways in a heartbeat if he could have Sally Mae. “You’ll be Hell’s Eight until the day you die, Sam, but you’ve got responsibilities now, maybe a baby down the road, and I, for one, don’t want to be the one to tell Bella you’re not coming home.”

  Tracker switched the blade of grass to the other side of his mouth. “That’s one woman who’ll likely kill the messenger.”

  Shadow grunted. Tucker took that as agreement. Apparently Sam did, too. “I appreciate the concern, but there are some decisions that are mine to make.”

  “Fine. But do me a favor and quell that reckless streak of yours.”

  “I already promised that.”

  “To Bella?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it easy for you to leave the widow, Tucker?” Shadow asked.

  Tucker slapped the reins against his thigh. “There’s nothing between Sally Mae and me.”

  Shadow snorted. “That lie would fly better in front of idiots than us. We know you, remember?”

  “There can’t be anything. If anybody got a whiff of me being around her, they’d string me up, Ranger or not.”

  Sam spit and took a drag on his cigarette. “They’d have to come through Hell’s Eight to do it.”

  Tucker m
et his gaze. That was the kind of no-win fight Tucker didn’t want anyone engaging in on his behalf. “And they would. You know how white men feel about their women.”

  “You’re half-white,” Sam pointed out.

  “Only the half no one cares about.”

  Tracker flicked his piece of grass to the ground. “Damn hard to miss with those eyes of yours.”

  “My eyes aren’t the part people are worried about.”

  Sam chuckled. “I just bet.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game with the widow,” Tracker opined.

  “So you said before, but what I do with her is my business.”

  “Nobody’s arguing that.” Tracker looked at him from the shadow of his black hat. The scar on his cheek was vividly white in the bright sun. “Thought I’d mention that we’d be watching your back, just in case you slip a time or two.”

  He didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Or at least doing a real good job faking it.

  Sam shook his head. “I have a feeling, friend, that you don’t have anything you want anymore.”

  “That’s a dangerous place for man to be,” Shadow interjected quietly.

  The problem with riding with people for so long was that they had a way of knowing things others couldn’t see. “I didn’t say I had what I wanted. I said I knew what I was doing.”

  “You want her?” Shadow asked.

  Shadow rarely spoke, but when he did it was usually a good idea to listen. Except Tucker couldn’t hear this. Not and keep his perspective. “Don’t go interfering, Shadow.”

  “If you want her, you should take her.” He shrugged. “She will have no other, anyway.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s not that hard. You want her, she wants you, so take her.”

  Like the savage everyone thought he was. “I’m only halfIndian.”

  “Seems your claim on ancestry gets real convenient,” Sam cut in. “First you were all Indian, but now you’re claiming to be all white.”

  Shadow shrugged in that enigmatic way he had. “So pick the side that gets you what you want.”

  The degree to which he wanted to do that shook Tucker. “She’s just amusing herself as she comes out of her mourning.”

  Shadow grunted. “I always thought it was a good idea to understand the woman you’re screwing.”

  Tucker’s hand went to his knife. “Show some respect.”

  Shadow didn’t flinch. “I show more respect than you do. I do not see her through other’s eyes. She’s not like other whites. And like you, she has no place. Take her, and give her one.”

  “And how long do you think that would last?”

  Tracker scanned the ridge. “I imagine as long as you’re strong enough to hold her.”

  “That would be about five minutes, around here.”

  Sam pushed his hat back. “Well, maybe around here isn’t where you should be with her.”

  “We have a job to do, remember? We’re supposed to be finding Billy’s killer and Ari, not courting widows.”

  Sam smiled. “Courting widows is a lot more fun.”

  Shadow joined in. “And likely to yield a lot more results.”

  “I’ve finally got a good lead to where Ari might be,” Tracker said. “Heard about a blonde woman living with Mexicans just below the border.”

  “Do you really think it’s her?” Sam asked.

  “The timing fits.”

  He didn’t sound too hopeful. Tucker couldn’t blame him. In the eight months they’d been searching, they hadn’t found hide nor hair of Desi’s sister. Not a surprise since she’d been captured nearly a year before Desi had come to Hell’s Eight, but it wasn’t Hell’s Eight’s way to go back on a promise, and they’d promised to come back with the information on her sister, good or bad, that Desi needed to know. “I hope for Desi’s sake it is.”

  “I’ll head down and check it out after we finish this. Right now, we’ve got company.” With a jerk of his chin, Tracker indicated the ridge. Tucker had already seen what had drawn Tracker’s attention. The reflection of the sun off glass.

  “Curious bunch, aren’t they?”

  Shadow swung back up on his horse, barely seeming to disturb the air around him. There was no better rider anywhere than Shadow. No better hunter, no better killer. No one better to have on your side. No one harder to understand.

  “Then I guess we’d best not disappoint them.”

  The familiar byplay settled like an old friend around Tucker.

  “Have I ever told you there’s nobody I’d rather die with than you three?”

  “Anybody ever told you you’ve got a damn pessimistic bent?” Sam scoffed, settling his hat on his head. “Besides,” he asked, sending his horse in a circle with a touch of the reins, “who the hell says we’re going to die today? Sure as hell not me. I’ve got something good waiting for me back home.”

  And for the first time, Tucker realized, so did he.

  “Let’s ride, then.”

  8

  A draw of the cards determined that Tucker would be the decoy to distract the outlaws while Tracker, Shadow and Sam would get in position to pick off the ones who were lying in wait. Being a decoy was dangerous, but that wasn’t why it always took a draw of the cards to decide who got the role. The real truth was it was wearing on the nerves to so passively wait to see what would happen. It wasn’t Tucker’s first time as decoy, not even his fifth. He had notorious bad luck at cards, but experience didn’t make it any less nerve-racking to ride between long-ago rock slides, knowing the outlaws could be tucked behind any of the giant boulders, knowing all it would take was one shot and their plan, not to mention his life, would be over. His only protection was the assumption that the outlaws were intelligent and lazy. Lazy, because they’d want to spend the least amount of effort to get the Rangers off their tails, and intelligent, because Tucker needed them to be able to come up with the basic, most obvious plan to accomplish their goal.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he passed the rock slide that guarded the entrance to the canyon. Tucker put his hand to his holster and checked his revolver, sliding it up to make sure it was clear. He laid his rifle across his thighs. The barrel was warm from the heat of the sun. The familiar weight settled his impatience. This wasn’t the first time outlaws had thought to ambush Hell’s Eight. It wasn’t the first time Hell’s Eight had decided to cut such attempts off at the knees. They knew what they were doing. He’d dawdled a good hour before riding in, pretending to cook dinner, giving the others time to get through the back entrance and into position.

  Tucker surveyed the tumble of rocks ahead. As traps went, this was a pretty obvious one, which boded well for Shadow’s plan to succeed. His horse, Smoke, stumbled. Tucker couldn’t have timed it better if he’d wanted to—just short of halfway in, on the edge of the likely ambush spot, and a deadfall to the side to provide cover for him if necessary. Pulling Smoke up, he swung off, resting his rifle against a rock before running his hand down her front leg to lift her hoof. With any luck, the bandits would assume he’d stopped to check her shoe. Hopefully they’d see it as their chance and have their guns and attention trained. And hopefully, Tracker, Shadow and Sam had had time to work around to the hidden back entrance and had their guns trained also. He was taking the latter on faith.

  He patted Smoke’s shoulder. “Sally Mae would say that was a step forward, wouldn’t she? Me taking something on faith?”

  The gelding tossed his head and whickered, his eyes rolling slightly. “Yeah, I can feel them, too. Just relax, boy, and we’ll have it all sorted out in a few minutes.”

  He released his hoof. He stomped it down, shifting restlessly. But he stayed. He’d chosen Smoke from his remuda for this ride precisely for his obedience. The tingling on the back of his neck increased. Picking up his rifle, Tucker swung back up into the saddle, nerves dancing under his skin. He flexed his fingers. When the
shots started flying, there’d be no time for mistakes or hesitation.

  To the right, birds stopped singing and a jay squawked a warning on the hill to the left. Was it friend or foe hiding there? Another jay took off from a thicket ahead. He kept riding, the steady clop of Smoke’s hooves on the hard ground matching his heartbeat as the cold calm of prebattle settled over him. His senses sharpened, picking up the warmth of the sun and the rhythm of the unnaturally quiet land. The muscles in his chest tightened. He hated this. He was much better at creating action than passively waiting for it to happen.

  On the ground ahead, a spray of wildflowers made a home between two rocks, splashing the dusty surface with a bright flare of yellow. A surprising moment of beauty thriving in the midst of rubble. He took it as a good omen, touching the bullet around his neck in confirmation. As Smoke carried him forward, the light shifted across the petals until they shone with the same pale gold as the moonlight on Sally Mae’s hair. Ah, damn, for sure she was the beauty in the midst of the ugliness of his life, and if he were anyone else, if she were anyone else, he’d have her hog-tied and chained to his side, branded in every way a man could think of as his, wedding ring and all.

  He remembered the wild way she’d taken him when he’d plunged deep into her body, the way she’d wrapped her long legs around his hips and pulled him deeper as he’d come, so deep he couldn’t think of anything else but giving her his child. That had been a first for him. He’d never thought like that before. He liked children well enough, but he hadn’t seen the need to have one of his own. With Sally Mae, he became a different person inside, his thoughts not so clearly on the turmoil around him, but more on the possibility of a future. When he was around her he was not the outlaw Ranger, but someone more…respectable.

  Shit. He spit the dust out of his mouth. There wasn’t enough respectable in the world to make a relationship between him and Sally Mae possible. That was going to take a miracle.