Ball and Chain

by J. R. Roberts

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Or maybe I should have buttered him up with a good meal before I told him what Bobby did to his little girl that night and that I intended on going back for more helpings every night that summer!”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “I see your point. Fathers are different with their daughters than with their sons. I knew that already.”

  “Then why are you asking such stupid questions?”

  Despite the fire in Ellie’s voice and tone, Clint had to chuckle as he admitted, “Because I just don’t see how this is the end of the world. It’s embarrassing, but not long ago there were men shooting at all three of us. We could have been murdered, or even caught a stray bullet and died just the same.”

  Ellie’s expression shifted from angry back to terror. “We could have?”

  Clint shook his head and waved his hands as if he hoped he could literally clear the slate and start fresh. “No . . . what I meant was there was real danger and we could have gotten hurt. This is just embarrassing, Ellie. There’s a big difference. Can’t you see that?”

  Ellie spent the next several seconds frantically wiping at the tears streaming from her eyes. Before too long, the tears stopped coming. “You . . . you’re right.” She sniffled.

  Clint took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over to her. “At least nobody’s shooting at us, right?”

  She nodded and used Clint’s handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

  “And you’ve got to admit we had ourselves one hell of a time last night.”

  Finally, Ellie smiled. “And . . . and this morning, too.”

  “And this morning,” Clint agreed. “There, now. You feel better?”

  Just as she began to nod, Ellie jumped from her chair as the front door was kicked in and an armed man stomped inside. She let out a little yelp and raced to get behind Clint.

  The sudden noise put Clint on the defensive and he swept one arm out to get Ellie behind him. His other hand went for the Colt at his side. Pain gnawed into his elbow from the wound and the stitches, but he managed to get to his pistol just fine. He stopped short of clearing leather, however, once he got a look at who’d come into the cottage.

  “Hank?” Clint asked.

  The older man glared at Clint as if he were a blood enemy. He held his shotgun at hip level, but raised it slowly as he replied, “You know damn well who I am. I’m that little girl’s father.”

  “Pa!”

  “Stand aside, Ellie girl,” Hank warned. “This don’t concern you.”

  To Clint’s surprise, Ellie actually fought to get around him so she could face her father head-on. “It most certainly does concern me. I’m not a girl anymore! I’m a grown woman!”

  Hank barely even seemed to realize that she was there. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon Clint as he growled, “And he’s a grown man. I won’t have him doing . . . doing what he done to you!”

  Clint pushed Ellie behind him again and held his gun hand well away from his holster. “Look, Hank. This is awkward enough, but I didn’t do anything to Ellie that she didn’t—”

  “I saw what you done, goddammit!”

  “I know and I’m sorry,” Clint said. “Maybe I should just leave.”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, mister. That is unless you take my girl along with you. Once you’re married, you can live wherever you please.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Every muscle in Clint’s gun arm wanted to draw his pistol.

  Every instinct in Clint’s head told him to draw the pistol.

  The longer he looked down the wrong end of that shotgun, the harder it got for him to leave the modified Colt where it was.

  “Look here, Hank,” Clint said in a voice that was just as steady as his arm. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “The hell I am,” Hank snarled. “You made the mistake when you bedded my daughter like she was some kind of—”

  “Stop right there!” Ellie said.

  Hank blinked as if he’d just now realized she was in the same room. “I told you to step aside, girl.”

  “Why? So you can shoot Clint? So you can kill the man who saved both of our lives?”

  “If he saved you just so he could get you alone, then yeah,” Hank replied. “I would shoot that man.”

  Clint had looked into the eyes of many killers in his day. He’d stared down the barrels of more guns than he could count, which gave him a good handle on judging the men holding those guns. Playing poker for almost as long helped him figure out when a man was bluffing. All of those things combined to tell Clint he had a definite problem with Hank Mason.

  The shotgun was steady in Hank’s hands and his finger was curled expectantly around the trigger.

  The tone in Hank’s voice was an even snarl and didn’t falter in the slightest when he’d made that last threat.

  Hank wasn’t bluffing. Clint would stake his life on that much.

  The only thing that remained was what Clint would do about it.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Hank,” Clint said.

  One corner of Hank’s mouth curled into a grin. “I’m not the one that’s about to be hurt here, boy. Even if you can get to that fancy gun of yours, I’ll be able to cut you down.”

  Clint knew better than that, but there was no need to push it. Instead, he gave Hank what he wanted by putting a more concerned expression on his face when he asked, “What do you want from me?”

  “You heard me the first time. You’re gonna marry my daughter.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why?” Hank asked as his eyes narrowed. “You’ll fuck her, but you won’t marry her?”

  “That’s enough, Pa!” Ellie shouted as she stomped forward despite the shotgun in her father’s hands.

  “He just called you a whore!” Hank said.

  “He did no such thing! You’re the one who said that word and it makes me sick that you did!”

  For the first time since he’d stormed into the cottage, Hank’s anger dimmed a bit. He looked at his daughter, but couldn’t do so for long before shifting his eyes back to Clint. Lowering his voice as if Ellie somehow wouldn’t hear him, he said, “You treated her like one, you son of a bitch, and I won’t have anyone treating my daughter that way.”

  “He didn’t, Pa. It was—”

  Before she could get into any unnecessary details, Clint extended his arm so she couldn’t walk any farther. Fortunately, Ellie stopped talking when she bumped against Clint’s arm.

  “If you have a problem with me, let’s hear it,” Clint said.

  “You know my goddamn problem with you!” Hank bellowed.

  “Fine. Then put the gun down.”

  Hank didn’t move.

  Locking his eyes on Hank, Clint took half a step forward like he was the predator stalking its prey. “Only a stupid kid aims a gun at another man to look tough. Someone your age should know better than that. If you intend on spilling blood, then you’d best be ready to spill some of your own.”

  Hank still didn’t move, but Clint could see the wheels turning behind the man’s eyes.

  “Lower that shotgun so we can settle this like men,” Clint said. “My offer stands to leave if that’s what you want. Or you could take a swing at me if you’re still of a mind to hurt me. This has already gone too far, so don’t push it any further.”

  Ellie nodded vigorously. “Yes, Pa. For my sake. I don’t want to see you shot or killed. I don’t want either of you shot.”

  Letting out a slow breath, Hank relaxed his finger on the trigger. “You first, Adams.”

  “We’ll lower our guns together,” Clint offered. When he saw Hank nod, Clint slowly began to unfasten his gun belt. He didn’t pull the strap out all the way until he saw Hank following through on his own part of the bargain. Even though Hank was lowering his shotgun, Clint said, “Why doesn’t Ellie collect both our guns?”

  “All right,” Ellie said before her father could refuse. “That’s fair.” She went ov
er to her father first and held out her hand. “Give me the shotgun, Pa.”

  Reluctantly, Hank complied. He didn’t actually let go of the shotgun, however, until he saw Clint removing the gun belt from around his waist and holding it out toward his daughter.

  Ellie held the shotgun by the barrel and turned toward Clint. Since he was going to have to be true to his word if he was going to get out of this situation, Clint handed over his gun belt.

  “There,” Clint said. “Happy?”

  Hank lowered his head and took a step forward. He then leaned into a swing so his fist made it all the way to Clint’s chin. The punch was fast, but Clint had seen it coming. Even so, he stood his ground and took it in the name of defusing the old man’s temper.

  The old man packed a wallop. Clint rubbed his jaw and blinked a few times. “Ellie, why don’t you take those guns back to your house so your father and I can have a discussion?”

  She wasn’t anxious to leave the two alone, but Ellie nodded and carried the weapons out.

  Clint watched her carefully to make certain Hank didn’t make a desperate grab for his shotgun. He only lost sight of the old man for a second or two, but that was enough time for Hank to get his hands on something heavy and smash it against the back of Clint’s head.

  “Now I’m happy,” Hank said as Clint slipped into unconsciousness.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Clint didn’t know how long he was awake before he realized he could open his eyes. His head hurt so much that it felt as if his skull had been cracked and fire was leaking out. He figured it was a nasty dream, complete with ghostly voices that echoed through his ears without him being able to understand what they were saying.

  After a while, Clint realized it was no dream.

  The voices belonged to Hank and Ellie.

  The pain was all too real.

  So were the ropes wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles.

  Opening his eyes made Clint feel as if he were prying them open with a set of hot pokers. There wasn’t much light in the room, but what little there was burned all the way through to the back of his skull. Clint closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and braced himself for his next attempt.

  This time, Clint opened his eyes and lifted his head. The pain that shot through him only added fuel to his fire. For a moment, he thought he could build up enough strength to bust out of his ropes. He even tried testing the ropes, but soon realized he was overstepping his limits. His ankles ached within his boots, and his wrists were cut open before he gave up and slumped back against the wall.

  Unwilling to rest, Clint took in his surroundings while his body remained still. It only took him a second to realize he was still in Aunt Iris’s cottage. In fact, he was in the same bedroom where he and Ellie had done the deed that had gotten Hank so riled up in the first place. The only reason he hadn’t recognized it even sooner was because he was trussed up with his back to the door that led out to the main room. All he could see was the wall directly in front of him and the square window covered by thin curtains with red flowers stitched into them. It had been those god-awful curtains that had tipped Clint off.

  Although Clint’s arms and legs were tied up, there was nothing around his mouth. He pulled in a deep breath and was about to let out a holler when the door behind him was opened and a series of quick steps tapped over to him.

  “Oh, Clint, you’re all right,” Ellie said. “Thank God.”

  Clint shifted his eyes to look at her, which hurt a lot more than it should have. “Ellie, get me out of here. Right now.”

  Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, “I can’t. Not while my pa’s around.”

  “I don’t care where your pa is,” Clint snarled through gritted teeth. “Get these ropes off me because if I have to tear my way out of here, it’s gonna be ugly.”

  Her face became even more distressed and her eyes immediately became red around the edges. “Please don’t say that, Clint. You wouldn’t really hurt us.”

  “Hank broke something over my head! He’s holding me prisoner. If you won’t let me go, that means you’re an accomplice in this whole mess.”

  “If I let you go, you’ll hurt Pa,” Ellie whined.

  “No. I won’t.” Even though Clint knew he had to be convincing, he was too angry to pull it off. There was too much heat in his blood for him to keep it from showing in his eyes. Still, he fought as hard as he could to do better on his second attempt. “I never wanted to hurt your father, Ellie. I was the one who tried to talk to him, remember? I didn’t even make a move when he punched me.”

  “That’s because you knew you had it comin’!” Hank shouted from the next room.

  Once again, Clint did his damndest to keep from looking like he wanted to murder the old man. “I was willing to let the matter drop,” Clint said loudly enough to be heard throughout the cottage.

  “I just bet you was,” Hank shouted back.

  “Why don’t you come in here and talk to me like a man?”

  Not long after making that challenge, Clint heard heavy steps thumping toward him. Soon, the old man stepped into Clint’s view, cradling the shotgun in one arm.

  “What are you going to do, Hank?” Clint asked. “Drag a preacher into this room so he can perform a ceremony while I’m tied up?”

  “Maybe. The preacher’s an old fishin’ buddy of mine. He’s known Ellie since she was knee high to a grasshopper and I don’t think he’d take any better to what you done than I did.”

  “Uncle Mike wouldn’t approve of this and you know it,” Ellie said.

  “Uncle Mike nearly killed that boy that tried to get you into his barn that summer. You know that?”

  Even Clint knew more of the story where that was concerned. Since neither one of them wanted to tell Hank the rest of it, Ellie shut her mouth and backed away.

  “You’ve got to see this is crazy,” Clint told him. “I know you must be upset, but this is taking it too far.”

  Hank looked down at him without showing a hint of emotion in his face. He cradled his shotgun like a baby and let his eyes wander as if to pick out the best target. When he glanced over at Ellie, the slightest hint of distaste drifted beneath his expression.

  “You seem like a good sort, Clint,” Hank admitted. “You did pull our fat from the fire the other night. If I untie you, will you stay put and wait for the preacher to get here?”

  “Sure,” Clint said.

  Hank paused for a few seconds, leaned down, and said, “You’ll run like a jackrabbit as soon as you get the chance. Cool yer heels here for a bit more until you get enough sense to do the right thing.”

  Clint had plenty of opinions about the old man, but he had to admit one thing: Hank was probably deadly at poker.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  During the time they’d spent together, before he was knocked out, Clint had told Ellie he’d rented a room at Bernadette’s Room and Board. After Ellie saw her father leave the bedroom, she checked to make sure Clint was in one piece. Then she excused herself and joined her father in the large front room.

  “Keep your mouth shut about this,” Hank demanded. “The whole damn town don’t need to know our affairs.”

  “I will as long as you don’t hurt him while I’m gone,” she replied. “He may be a prisoner, but he should have his things and some fresh clothes.”

  “Just so long as your man don’t step out of line.”

  She stopped and spun around on her heel so she could storm back to where Hank was sitting. Once Ellie was at the table, she placed her hands on her hips and said, “If you hurt him, you’ll never see me again.”

  It was the only real threat she could think of, but it seemed to do the trick. Hank scowled, but nodded his agreement. Ellie knew him well enough to take that as gospel.

  “So you’re going to get his things?” Hank asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “When will you be back?”

  Snapping her head toward the door, she strutted out of the c
ottage and told him, “Whenever I feel like coming back.”

  After slamming the door behind her, Ellie kept right on strutting down the path that led away from the cottage. She couldn’t have kept the grin off her face if she’d tried, and she only gathered more steam in her stride as she thought about putting her father in his place.

  It was a short walk to Bernadette’s Room and Board. When Ellie got there, she wanted to take another lap around town just to calm herself down. For some reason, she was no longer scared. She knew her father wasn’t about to kill Clint and she knew Clint wasn’t about to kill her father. That meant everyone was waiting on her for a change. That felt good.

  “Good morning,” Ellie chirped as she stepped into the boardinghouse.

  There were two people in the front room. One was a skinny woman who sat hunched over a table and the other was a gentleman sipping from a china cup in a padded chair. Both of them looked at Ellie, but the woman was the first to speak.

  “You here about a room?” she asked. Blinking a few times, she squinted and then added, “You live around here don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ellie said. “I’m Hank Mason’s daughter.”

  “Oh, the miller. I heard there was some trouble at your place last night.”

  Ellie looked around uncomfortably, but could only find Bernadette and the other man looking back at her. Even so, she felt nervous when she nodded and said, “Yes, there was, but it’s all right now.”

  “Good. What do you need?”

  “I’m here to collect Clint Adams’s things.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Bernadette asked. “I’ve got something else he needs.”

  “What is it?”

  “This,” the skinny woman said as she motioned to the table.

  Ellie only needed to see the side of the wooden frame that was lying in front of Bernadette for her to rush over and smile gleefully. “Is that my sculpture?”

  Bernadette looked down and shrugged. “It’s Mr. Adams’s sculpture. He hired me to fix the frame.”

  “What was wrong with it?” Ellie asked.