Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  He gestured with the gun toward the bedroom and then toward Anabeth. “You go on in there and wait for me.”

  “No.”

  He had hold of her hair so fast she didn’t have time to escape his grasp. He yanked her head backward, the gun at her throat. “When I say move, you move!”

  Claire jumped to her feet. “Leave her alone!”

  “You come a step closer, and I’ll shoot her dead,” he said to Claire.

  “Rankin! I know you’re in there! This is Jake Kearney. I want to talk.”

  Wat gave a shove that sent Anabeth flying toward Claire. When she landed, both of them lost their balance and fell in a tangle of arms and legs.

  “Don’t move!” Wat ordered. He went to stand beside the window. He searched the edges of light outside the stone house trying to find Kearney. “Show yourself, Kearney.”

  “I’m not that much of a fool, Rankin.”

  “Where’s the gold, Kearney?”

  “Let the women go, and I’ll take you to it.”

  “I’m not that much of a fool, Kearney,” Wat said with a raucous laugh. “You better start talkin’ or I might just—”

  “Wait! What if I trade myself for the women? How about it, Rankin?”

  “You come out where I can see you with your hands up and maybe we can talk.”

  “Don’t do it, Jake!” Anabeth shouted.

  “Shut up!” Rankin backhanded her, but Anabeth came up spitting and fighting. Claire joined the fray. One of them grabbed Wat’s hair and yanked hard, the other clawed at his gunhand. For a moment it seemed as though they would overwhelm him. Then the gun went off.

  Jake’s heart stopped when he heard the gunshot inside the house. “Kid! Claire!”

  Then he heard a woman’s scream.

  There was no thought to his own safety in Jake’s headlong rush toward the stone house. He had his gun drawn when he kicked the door open.

  Jake froze where he was. Wat Rankin had his arm around Anabeth’s throat, his gun aimed at her head.

  “Drop it,” Rankin said.

  Jake dropped his gun.

  “Kick it over here,” Rankin ordered.

  Jake did as he was told. Rankin moved a couple of steps with Anabeth and kicked the gun into the next room.

  “Where’s Claire?”

  Rankin gestured with his chin to the corner.

  Jake’s jaw tightened when he saw the huddled mass lying there. Blood ran down Claire’s face. “Is she dead?”

  “Naw. Just knocked her out with the butt of my gun. She’ll have a little headache, but she’ll be just fine. You, on the other hand, are not long for this world. Unless you start talkin’—fast.”

  “The gold’s not in the valley,” Jake said.

  “What kind of crap are you tryin’ to hand me?” Rankin snarled. “This is the perfect damned hidin’ place. That gold is here. I can feel it in my teeth.”

  “It’s not here,” Jake repeated.

  “Where is it, then?”

  “Booth left a clue to the location of the gold when he died,” Jake said.

  “What is it?”

  “Back door.”

  “That’s it? What’s it mean?”

  Jake shrugged. “You’re welcome to try to figure it out on your own. Or you can let the women go, and I’ll tell you.”

  Wat repeated the clue several times to himself, frowning all the while. The two words made no sense. Unless they had something to do with the hideout. Maybe Booth had left the gold at the back door to the shack before he had ridden around to the front. That must be it!

  Unless the “clue” was just a bunch of hogwash concocted by the Ranger to throw him off the trail. He cocked the gun he held to Anabeth’s head. “I don’t trust you.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Anabeth said. “I swear it!”

  Rankin’s eyes shifted from Jake to the Kid and back again. “If she knows where the gold is, there’s no reason to keep you alive is there, lawman?”

  It only took a second for Wat to turn the gun from Anabeth to Jake. Everything moved in slow motion for Anabeth as she threw her full weight at the outlaw. She felt herself falling as the gun went off.

  Things speeded up again as Jake launched himself across the room. The two men rolled around the wooden-planked floor, first one on top and then the other, writhing, kicking, punching, so that it was hard to see who was winning the battle.

  Anabeth lay where she had fallen, her legs pulled up to protect her swollen belly from the pain that seared her like a knife. She made a keening sound, afraid of what the pain in her belly might mean.

  “Claire,” she whispered. “Claire!”

  Claire’s eyelids fluttered. She lifted a hand to her bloody head, and tentatively touched the swollen flesh there.

  “Can you move?” Anabeth whispered. “Can you reach Wat’s gun?”

  Anabeth nodded with her chin toward the gun that had flown from Rankin’s hand when he had hit the floor. It was halfway across the room.

  “I can try,” Claire said. She pulled herself along the floor with her elbows and knees, always with an eye to the fight going on between the two men.

  Just as she reached the gun, Rankin kicked it away with his boot. “Get away from that, bitch.”

  Claire met Anabeth’s terrified eyes and once again started crawling toward the outlaw’s gun.

  Jake finally got the hold he wanted on Rankin’s neck. “If you have anything you want to say to your Maker, say it now, you bastard.”

  “I wish to hell I’d taken that gold when I shot the sonofabitch who was carryin’ it,” Rankin gasped.

  Jake froze.

  Claire stared with loathing at the yellow-haired outlaw who had killed Sam. “You’re an animal,” she said in a soft voice. “You deserve to die for killing Sam.”

  “And for killing Booth,” Anabeth whispered.

  Jake cut off Rankin’s air, and the two women watched with merciless eyes as the outlaw thrashed in Jake’s grasp.

  The knife appeared so suddenly and was used with such effect that it took a moment for Anabeth and Claire to realize what had happened.

  When the blade stabbed into Jake’s forearm, he let go of the outlaw. He howled in pain when Rankin turned and yanked the knife back out again.

  Rankin surged to his feet, the knife in his hand still dripping Jake’s blood. His triumphant gaze leaped from Jake’s cold gray eyes, to Anabeth’s dark blue ones, to Claire’s golden topaz orbs.

  “I’m going to slit your throat, Kearney. But not before I rape your woman. And your sister. I’m going to—”

  Rankin looked down at his chest in surprise. There, sticking out from the fourth rib, was a feathered shaft. He looked up again, and his eyes went wide when he saw the Apache standing there.

  “I’ll be damned. Killed by an Injun.” He laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. Blood streamed through his fingers where he clutched his wound.

  “I’m gonna miss having me them two women—”

  Rankin never had a chance to finish his grisly requiem. Jake broke his neck first.

  There was a sudden babble of voices as each of the four people in the room made sure that their respective loved ones were safe.

  Anabeth appropriated Jake’s bandanna and wrapped it several times around the knife wound in his forearm. She tied it tightly to stem the flow of blood.

  “That probably needs stitches,” she said.

  “Later,” Jake said. “Are all the outlaws accounted for?”

  “The one who tried to leave the valley, the Mexican, he will trouble you no more,” Wolf said.

  “Solano,” Anabeth murmured to herself. All those who had taken part in Booth’s murder had paid for their treachery with their lives. Now, at last, Kid Calhoun could rest in peace. And a young woman named Anabeth was free to think about the future.

  Wolf knelt beside Claire and brushed a gentle finger against the bruise on her face. “I wish he were alive, that I might kill him again,” he
said savagely.

  “Wolf! Oh my God, Wolf!” Claire said in a voice filled with wonder and with joy. She clutched Wolf tightly as he sat down and pulled her into his arms.

  “Why did you leave the village, Little One?” he murmured in her ear.

  “I thought you’d been killed by the soldiers! When White Eagle said he would take me home, there was no reason for me to stay.”

  He fingered her golden hair, which had been cut off at the shoulder. “You mourned for me in the Apache way?”

  “The man who won my heart was Apache,” she answered.

  “Then you did not wish to leave me?”

  “Oh no! I … I love you, Wolf. I thought I would never have a chance to say that. I want you to know now in case … I want you to know.”

  Wolf held one of her hands in his, rubbing the knuckles with his thumb. “When I thought you wanted to leave me, I was angry. I came after you intending to take you back whether you wished to come or not. Now …”

  His dark eyes searched her face. “Now I ask you to come with me. To be my woman. To be my wife.”

  Claire’s heart soared on wings. The smile on her face felt silly—and wonderful. “Do you mean it, Wolf?”

  “I never say what I do not mean.”

  She laughed. “Then, yes. Oh yes!”

  He kissed her once hard, a kiss to seal their future. A promise of forever that he had never thought to make.

  Across the room, Anabeth felt tears sting her eyes as she listened to Wolf’s tender confession of love. The sharp pains in her belly hadn’t stopped completely, but they came less frequently, and they were less strong. She relaxed back into Jake’s arms. “Booth is avenged now, and the Calhoun Gang is no more.”

  “Kid Calhoun is dead and buried,” Jake said.

  “Jake?” Anabeth whispered.

  “Yeah, Kid?” he murmured huskily.

  “Are you going to marry me?”

  “What?”

  She punched him in the shoulder. “You heard me.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “The man is supposed to do the asking,” she said in an aggrieved voice.

  Jake grinned. “Will you marry me, Kid?”

  “Why should I?” she retorted.

  “Because I adore you. Because I want to spend my life loving you.”

  Anabeth searched Jake’s face and found there the truth in his words. “All right, Jake. I’ll marry you.”

  Jake swallowed over the thickness in his throat. His hand scraped across the floor as he tried to lift it to Anabeth’s cheek. He looked down and stared at what he saw. “Kid?”

  “What?”

  “Could what you heard Booth say be ‘trap door’ instead of ‘back door’?”

  Anabeth frowned. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  Jake’s fingers traced the wooden floor, feeling for rough edges. Where the floor met the wall he found a small metal loop. Jake stuck his finger in it and pulled. A section of the floor lifted up and out.

  There lay Sam’s money belt, stained brown with his blood. Jake carefully hoisted it out and laid it on the floor beside him. He looked over at Claire. “There it is, Claire.”

  Wolf stiffened. He knew as well as any of them the significance of the gold. He looked at Claire, but she was already shaking her head.

  “You keep it, Jake.”

  “If you ever need a place to come, a refuge,” Jake said, including Wolf in his gaze, “Window Rock will be there.”

  “I know,” Claire said. “Maybe … someday … I’ll be able to go back there. But not now. I—”

  Everyone froze at the sound of footsteps outside the stone house.

  “Get the gun!” Anabeth mouthed to Claire, who was closest to it.

  The panic ceased abruptly when they realized it was only He Makes Trouble who had arrived in the doorway.

  “If I am lucky, the Gray One will come with a basket some night to carry you away,” Wolf said in a severe voice.

  “I had to come,” the Apache boy said. His eyes were wide and frightened, but he held a knife clutched in his hand. “I was worried when you did not return.” And scared. But He Makes Trouble did not say that. He wanted his father to be proud of him. It was worth the tongue-lashing to know his newfound parents had survived and that he was not going to be an orphan again.

  Claire opened her arms, and the Apache boy snuggled into them. “I am glad to see you, Mother.”

  “And I’m glad to see you,” Claire said, smoothing the Indian boy’s hair back from his face.

  “Where is White Eagle?” Wolf asked.

  “He is waiting outside.”

  Wolf called the boy’s name, and Jeffrey appeared in the doorway.

  “I did not want to disobey you,” White Eagle said, “but He Makes Trouble would have come alone if I had not come with him.”

  “He can be very persuasive,” Wolf agreed.

  Dog stuck his nose in the doorway. He sat down and thumped his tail once.

  “Blackie,” Anabeth cried. The dog crossed to Anabeth and licked her face. “I sent him to find you,” Anabeth told Jake.

  “And he did,” Jake said.

  Jeffrey lingered in the doorway. Wolf called to him. “Come inside and greet your mother, White Eagle.”

  Claire’s eyes widened at the title Wolf had given her. And softened when Jeffrey stepped farther into the room.

  “Greetings, White Eagle,” she said.

  “I am glad you are safe,” White Eagle said. He stood before her, feet shuffling. “Broken Foot said I must come to you.”

  Claire’s brow furrowed. “When? Why?”

  “He was killed by the white soldiers, and Cries Aloud with him. With his last breath, Broken Foot said I should go live with my aunt’s son.”

  “Your cousin?” Claire asked, confused.

  “Wolf.”

  “Wolf is your cousin? And now your father?”

  White Eagle nodded, but kept his eyes on his feet.

  “And I am to be your mother?” Claire tried to keep her voice even, but it trembled with emotion.

  Again, White Eagle nodded.

  “I am honored,” she said quietly. “I’ll try to be a good Apache mother.”

  Jeffrey’s green eyes flashed up at her. “And I will try to be a good son.”

  “Then come and embrace me, as a son should greet his mother,” she said in a trembling voice.

  Anabeth felt the tears welling as Jeffrey crossed the room. She looked up at Jake to share the moment with him. His gray eyes were warm with love, liquid with emotion.

  When Claire had her son back in her arms for the first time in nearly four years, she looked up at Wolf. Everything she felt was there for him to see in her eyes.

  The Apache pulled He Makes Trouble tight against his side. He did not turn away from Claire when a tear slipped from his eye. He did not wish to hide his joy.

  Anabeth shrieked as something slimy landed on her hand.

  Jake and Wolf were instantly alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s … it’s …” Anabeth looked down and laughed.

  “What?” Jake asked, irritated that he wasn’t in on the joke—especially since his heart was still in his throat.

  “It is my frog,” He Makes Trouble volunteered. “I wondered where he had gone. I had him in my hand when I was waiting outside, but he got away.” He walked over and recovered the bullfrog and held it up for their inspection. “See?”

  A smile curved Claire’s lips. Jake shook his head and chuckled. Wolf tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help himself.

  The four adults looked from one to another. They were no longer four people facing life alone. They were a family, with ties that would last a lifetime. And love that would last forever.

  Wolf took Claire’s hand in his. “Let us go home,” he said.

  Jake knelt beside Anabeth. “What do you say, Kid?”

  Anabeth looked into Jake’s warm gray eyes and smiled. “Oh yes, Jake. Le
t’s go home.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Among the Apache, children were taught not to use a person’s name to his face, because when a person was called by his name he was compelled to respond to whatever request was made of him. If an Apache was angry and wanted to provoke a fight, he could call a man by his name. Thus, few Apaches told white men their real names.

  To avoid using names, the Apache resorted to referring to people in terms of their relationship to others, such as the father of someone or the uncle of someone, by their age, by nicknames, or simply by pointing.

  The Apache names we are familiar with were given by white men to the Indians, and many have Spanish origins—Geronimo, Mangas Coloradas, Delgadito, Ponce, Cochise, Kayitah, Juh, Alchise, Benito, and Nana, to name a few. Among themselves, the Apache had names such as Stepping on Water, Thin Old Woman, Coyote Has Sores, Going About with Head Bent Down, Not Quite Enough, Yellow Eyelids, Buckskin Shaker, and so forth. Unless the name itself referred to a sex, such as Red Boy, names were not indicative of the bearer’s sex.

  For purposes of this book, I have taken the liberty of using what would have been the Apache names for characters. I have allowed them to address each other by name without the consequences that would have ordinarily ensued according to Apache manners and customs.

  LETTER TO READERS

  Dear Readers,

  In response to the tremendous number of letters I received from you asking for a sequel to The Barefoot Bride that would tell Patch and Ethan’s story, I have written Outlaw’s Bride. You’ll find the first chapter of the sequel following this note. Believe me, there are lots of humorous, hair-raising adventures in store for Patch and Ethan before they find true love with each other.

  I always appreciate hearing your opinions and find inspiration from your questions, comments, and suggestions. It would be fun to know more about you—your age, what you do for a living, and where you usually find my books—whether new or used.

  For those of you who may be interested, I also write contemporary Westerns. You can look for Hawk’s Way Trilogy in April, May, and June 1993, from Silhouette Desire. The series includes The Rancher and the Runaway Bride, The Cowboy and the Princess, and The Wrangler and the Rich Girl.

  I’ve also written a wonderful historical Western novella entitled “One Simple Wish” for the Harlequin anthology Untamed! Tales of the West, which is scheduled for publication in July 1993.