Ranger's Revenge (Texas Ranger Jim Blawcyzk Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

  "Jim?"

  "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm really ticklish on my sides," he explained.

  "That's something I never would have expected from you, Jim."

  Therese resumed washing the Ranger's torso, gently massaging as she worked her way lower, now soaping his belly.

  Therese leaned over him, scrubbing his skin. Her long black hair drifted over Jim's chest. Her hands were now kneading his lower abdomen. Unconsciously she began tracing the rim of Jim's bellybutton.

  Jim had been trying to fight off the stirrings of his body as Therese worked on him. However, the last time he and Julia had made love was two nights before the attack on the JB Bar. Now, with the tantalizing Therese Marchitto massaging his flat belly, urges too powerful to resist were beginning to rouse in his groin. He groaned.

  "Therese."

  The dancer appeared not to hear him. She continued to rub her soapy hand across his belly.

  "Therese!" Jim repeated, louder.

  "What is it?"

  "I think you'd better stop. I'll finish washing myself."

  Therese looked down and jerked her hand away from Jim's beltline.

  "Jim, I'm so embarrassed," she stammered. "I didn't realize what was happening. I hope you understand that is not the kind of woman I am. I had no intention of... of..."

  Jim put a finger to her lips.

  "Shh. I'm sure you're not, and you didn't," he assured her. "Just like I'm a married man, and would never be unfaithful to Julia. Nonetheless, this is far too tempting a situation. We need to make sure things don't get out of hand before it's too late and we do something we'll both regret."

  "For the rest of our lives," Therese concluded. "I was just about done anyway, thank goodness. Here's the towel. You can dry yourself. While you do that, I will prepare that poultice for your chest."

  "I think perhaps you might want to let me apply that poultice on my own," Jim noted.

  "Nonsense! You could never apply it properly," Therese replied. "Besides, that poultice smells so horrible it will stifle any thoughts of romance. Now you dry yourself while I get it ready."

  Jim watched Therese as she left the room. He sat up, drying himself vigorously. Those past few moments with the incredibly alluring dancer were the closest he had ever come to being unfaithful to his wife and, hopefully, closer than he ever would again.

  Jim finished toweling himself off and dropped back on his pillows with a sigh.

  A few moments later Therese returned, carrying a bowl filled with a steaming, foul-smelling substance.

  "Whoa! What is that stuff?" Jim exclaimed.

  "It's Doctor Morris's own concoction," Therese replied with a laugh. She sniffed at the bowl, her nose wrinkling. "And as I said, this odor will drive any thoughts of love right out of your head."

  "Boy howdy, that's for certain," Jim agreed. "Smells worse'n a saloon full of cowboys after a month on the trail and smokin' peso cigars."

  "You've got it just about right," Therese concurred. "But Doctor Morris insists it's the cure for your fever. So just hold your nose while I plaster this over your chest."

  Therese sat alongside Jim's bed to apply the thick, pungent brew over his chest.

  "I figure you wasted your time scrubbin' me down before puttin' this stuff on me," Jim complained.

  "You needed to wash in any event, and I'm just about finished. Does it seem to be working?"

  "I dunno. The stink alone might be knockin' me out." Jim grinned. "But yeah, it seems to be doin' somethin'."

  "Then it's working. That's good. You will sleep soundly all night and wake up refreshed," Therese said.

  She finished spreading the poultice over Jim's chest. "Now unless there's anything else you need I'm going to get some rest myself," she said. "I have to go back to work tomorrow."

  "There's just one thing," Jim answered.

  "What's that?"

  "This."

  Jim dipped his fingers into the poultice covering his chest, taking some to wipe it on the tip of Therese's nose and on her chest, just above her cleavage.

  "If I've gotta smell this bad, it's only fair that you do too, lady." He laughed. "Besides, if Reese Macklin somehow gets me before I get him, the smell of this stuff will keep him away from you."

  "And I thought you were an honorable man," Therese said.

  "Good night, Lieutenant Blawcyzk."

  "G'night, Therese Marchitto."

  Once Therese had left, Jim recited his evening prayers while the heat from the poultice suffused his body. He soon fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. He awakened sometime in the pre-dawn hours to a soft murmuring.

  Jim rolled from his bed, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. The soft voice was coming from a room down the hall. Quietly, Jim padded barefoot down the corridor. He stopped when he reached the source of the sound.

  Therese, her head covered by a black lace veil, was kneeling in front of a small candle-lit shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe. She had a set of rosary beads in her right hand. The murmuring which had awakened Jim was Therese praying.

  Jim went back to his room, retrieved his shirt, and slipped into it. He returned to where Therese had her head bowed in prayer and knelt beside her. Therese gave him a slight smile, and resumed her rosary.

  Jim folded his hands and bowed his head. Side by side the rugged Texas Ranger and the hardened saloon entertainer whispered their prayers, comforted by the presence of the Blessed Virgin.

  Chapter 16

  Two mornings later Jim was raring to go. The rain had stopped, and the Rangers and Eric hit the trail before sunrise. The roads were still muddy and slick, so the going was slow and tedious. By late afternoon, they reached the fork in the trail which led to the Rocking E, the Esposito ranch.

  "You're certain you don't want us to ride along with you until you reach home, Eric?" Jim asked.

  "I'll be fine," the youngster replied. "Besides, you don't want to waste any more time catchin' up to Reese Macklin. It's still a three-hour ride to my place. You'd end up losin' another whole day if you came along."

  "All right. I just want to thank you again for savin' my hide back there in Bartlett, son," Jim said. "And you'll get a message from Austin when you can pick up your broncs."

  "You got back our stolen horses and are goin' after the men who shot my dad, so you're doin' just as much for me," Eric responded.

  "Kid, if you ever want to join the Texas Rangers, just give Captain Trumbull our names," Smoky added. "You're a man to ride the river with."

  "I appreciate that, Smoky. But I reckon this is adios for now."

  "You take care, Eric. Vaya con Diets," Jim said.

  Eric turned his blue roan and loped out of sight

  "Jim, we gonna try and make Buckholts today?" asked Smoky.

  "No, we'd have to travel half the night. I figure to find a place to hole up just before sundown, then hit the trail again before first light. That should put us in Buckholts by early morning. We'll grab some breakfast, pick up what information we can, then head out after Macklin."

  "Good idea about the grub. I never did hanker to die on an empty belly," Smoky said. He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  "The only dyin' will be done by Macklin and his outfit, Smoky. Bet a hat on it."

  The pair rode mostly in silence for the next two hours, until they found a campsite by a small pond. They cared for their horses, ate a quick supper, and rolled up in their blankets.

  The dawn mist still shrouded the ground when Jim and Smoky rode into Buckholts the next morning.

  "Somethin' sure smells good in this town," said Smoky. "It's makin' me even hungrier than I already was."

  "Well, it shouldn't be too hard to find the source," Jim said. "This place ain't too big."

  Buckholts was a small hamlet, barely large enough to be called a town. There wasn't even a livery stable in sight, just a common corral at the far end of its short main street. And so far no one was stirring.

  "There's the place we want," Jim said
. He pointed to a small building with "Whitney Bakery and Cafe" lettered over its door.

  "Let's put up the horses and head on over there," said Smoky.

  Sizzle and Soot were unsaddled, rubbed down, and turned loose in the empty corral. As always, Sizzle insisted on his peppermint. Once Sizzle had eaten his treat, he and Soot ducked their noses to suck up water from the trough, while their riders forked hay stored in a lean-to over the fence for them.

  Satisfied their horses were settled, the Rangers headed for the bakery. They entered and took seats at a small counter.

  "I'll be right with you," a voice called from the back room. A moment later the voice's owner stepped from the room. He was tall, with thinning black hair and dark eyes. He carried a tray of hot, freshly-made doughnuts. Almost as much powdered sugar coated the man's deep blue shirt and his apron as the doughnuts.

  "What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked.

  Smoky's eyes grew wide at the sight of the doughnuts. "You can set that tray right here in front of me," he said, "along with a pot of black coffee."

  "You want all these doughnuts?" was the baker's incredulous response.

  "Well, I might let my pardner have a few, but I can't remember the last time I had hot doughnuts. Just leave the tray."

  "Whatever you say, gents. You're the customers. I'm Pete, the owner of this bakery."

  "Well, if your doughnuts taste as good as they smell, you must do a heckuva business," Jim answered.

  Smoky already had half a doughnut stuffed in his mouth, powdered sugar sprinkling his whiskers. "They do, Jim. Try 'em," he mumbled, and swallowed.

  "Wonderful doughnuts, Pete. I'm Jim. My pard here's Smoky."

  Pete lifted a pot of steaming coffee from the stove and two mugs from a shelf. He placed these in front of the Rangers and filled both.

  "There's plenty more where that came from. Doughnuts too," he said.

  "Thanks," Jim replied.

  "I haven't seen you boys before. What brings you to these parts?" Pete asked.

  "We're lookin' for Reese Macklin. You know where we might find him?"

  Pete jerked the coffeepot from the counter.

  "You're not lookin' to join up with that bunch of renegades, are you? Because if you are, then get out of my shop! Right now! And don't think of settin' foot inside my place again."

  "Whoa. Easy, Pete. We're not lookin' to ride with Macklin."

  Jim dug in his shirt pocket, pulled out his Ranger badge, and pinned it to his vest. "We're lookin' to bring that whole bunch in, belly-down over their saddles."

  "Well, we're gonna bring 'em in, anyway," Smoky said pulling out his badge and pinning it to his vest. "Dead or alive. Which way depends on how much of a fight they put up."

  Pete stared at the silver stars on silver circles glittering on the men's vests. "You're Texas Rangers?"

  "That's right. Rangers Jim Blawcyzk and Smoky McCue." Jim said.

  "Well, I'm sure glad to see the two of you," Pete declared. "Reese Macklin and his bunch have been ridin' roughshod over everyone in these parts for far too long. It's about time someone settles their hash."

  "Speakin' of hash, Pete, you wouldn't by chance have any, would you?" Smoky requested.

  "For you Rangers, sure. Anything you want. Comin' right up."

  Pete disappeared into the kitchen. Soon the banging of pots and pans and the sizzling of frying meat, potatoes, and eggs filled the small cafe.

  Smoky poured himself another mug of coffee, grabbed another doughnut, then rolled and lighted a quirly. "I don't think our friend Pete cares much for Reese Macklin," he observed.

  "I think that's pretty plain," Jim replied.

  Pete returned with a heaping plate of hash.

  "Just pile it on," Smoky requested.

  "How about you, Jim?" Pete asked.

  "None for me, thanks," Jim answered. "These doughnuts'll do just fine."

  "He's only eaten a dozen and a half so far," Smoky pointed out.

  Once the Rangers finished their meal, they lingered for a few minutes over final mugs of coffee. A few more customers had entered the shop, nodded at the Rangers, then hastened to the far side of the room.

  "Looks like folks are afraid to get too near us," Smoky said.

  "That's cause if Reese Macklin or any of his boys happen to spot you there'll be a shootin' scrape. You can count on that," Pete said.

  "Pete, to get back to my original question, where is Macklin's place?" Jim again asked.

  "It's just about two miles east of town. A small ranch, not in bad shape considering a mess of owlhoots live there. No sign, but there's a big double-trunked live oak at the gate. You can't miss that tree. The buildings are about a quarter-mile after you turn in."

  "You have any idea whether Macklin's there right now? And how many men are with him?"

  "He should be, although with Macklin there's no guarantee. You never can tell when he might head out. He's usually got anywhere from six to eight men workin' for him."

  "Gracias" Jim replied. "Time to get ridin'. Pete, those doughnuts were the best I've ever tasted, bar none. What do we owe you?"

  "Taking care of Reese Macklin and his bunch will be payment enough. But there are still four doughnuts on your plate. Are you sure twenty were enough for you two?"

  "I could probably squeeze in a few more," Smoky said laughing.

  Jim and Smoky pushed up from their chairs. Pete bagged the remaining doughnuts and handed them to Jim.

  "I want to wish the both of you good luck. But be careful. Reese Macklin's a dangerous man," Pete advised.

  Jim's voice was dead calm when he replied. "Not half as dangerous as I'll be when I finally catch up with him."

  "I believe that, Ranger," the bakery owner said. "And you be sure and stop back here once your work is finished."

  "We'll do that," Jim promised. "Adios, Pete."

  They emerged from the bakery to hear the snorts and squeals of a horse coming from the corral.

  "That's Sizzle!" Jim hollered. He jerked his Colt and broke into a run, Smoky hard on his heels.

  Inside the corral, a rough-looking cowboy sat on a saddled and bridled Sizzle. The horse had his ears pinned back and his feet planted deep in the soil. Despite the rider's jabbing spurs into the big paint's flanks and whipping the reins across his neck, the horse refused to move. Even when the horse thief yanked back on the reins and slapped them across the gelding's rump, Sizzle refused to move forward. He stood still, except for one or two rearward steps when the pressure on the bit became too much to bear. Finally, Sizzle dropped to his knees, and rolled onto his side. The cursing horse thief barely leapt from the saddle in time to avoid being crushed under twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh.

  "Step away from that horse, Mister!" Jim snarled.

  The outlaw grabbed for his gun.

  Jim and Smoky fired at the same moment, Smoky's bullet taking the horse thief in his stomach, Jim's in his right hip. The man crumpled. The Rangers ducked under the fence and into the corral. Sizzle trotted up to Jim and nuzzled his neck.

  "In a minute, Siz," Jim said.

  Smoky rolled the badly wounded outlaw onto his back and wrenched the gun from his hand. "He's about done for, Jim," he said.

  "You tried stealin' my horse, and you're payin' for it," Jim said.

  "Made a mistake. Stubborn cayuse. Just about the worst one... I've ever come across," the dying man muttered. "Only one worse was a horse back in San Leanna. Like to have killed me. Had to shoot him."

  "You're Clete King!" Jim exclaimed. "The no-good coyote that tried to steal my horse and ended up cripplin' him."

  He rammed the barrel of his Colt against King's forehead.

  "Jim Blawcyzk!" King exclaimed. "But, but it can't be you. We left you lyin' dead."

  "I'm not dead, King, and every man in Macklin's outfit is gonna pay for that mistake." Jim thumbed back the hammer of his Colt.

  "Don't do it, Jim," Smoky said. "He's already done for."

  Jim eased
down the hammer and slipped the Colt into its holster. "I know that," he answered. "Besides, he'll die a lot slower this way. And even dyin' gut-shot's better'n he deserves. C'mon, Smoke, let's get outta here."

  Ignoring the curious crowd gathering outside the corral, the Rangers left the renegade lying there in a puddle of blood. Jim checked over Sizzle while Smoky saddled Soot. Satisfied the horse was not injured, Jim opened the sack of doughnuts and placed one on the palm of his hand.

  "I saved these for you, Siz. Maybe they'll make up a bit for what that hombre did to you."

  Sizzle snatched the doughnut from Jim's hand and nosed the sack for more.

  "I guess you like 'em as much as I do," Jim said laughing. He gave the paint the remaining pastries.

  "I figure you learned one thing today, Jim," Smoky remarked as he tightened his cinches.

  "What's that?"

  "Sizzle there's just like Sam. He ain't ever gonna be stolen. That bronc's never leavin' your side, pardner."

  "I guess you're right, Smoke. Stealin' him has been tried twice, and twice it didn't work." He patted the big gelding's shoulder. "Reckon I'm stuck with you, pal," he said.

  Jim and Smoky climbed into their saddles. Two minutes later, they were galloping out of Buckholts.

  Chapter 17

  Two miles east of town, Smoky reined Soot to a halt. He pointed ahead to a tremendous double-trunked live oak. "That has to be the oak tree Pete described, Jim."

  "It's gotta be. There sure ain't gonna be another one like it in these parts. Better check our weapons."

  Jim pulled his Peacemaker from its holster, checked the action, and replaced it. He did the same with his Winchester.

  After checking his guns, Smoky hooked a leg over his saddlehorn. He pulled the makings from his vest pocket and began to build a quirly. "How do you want to handle this?" he asked.

  "I figure we'll just ride on in there and take that bunch," Jim replied.

  Smoky rolled the paper and licked it to seal the edges. He stuck the cigarette between his lips, lit it, and took a deep drag before answering. "Macklin and his men might not be all that cooperative. It's not gonna be easy roustin' them outta there, but I guess that's as good a plan as any. You reckon there'll be guards posted?"