Little Sam's Angel

by Wills, Larion

  "Who knows? Mrs. Jones has got a mouth that runs faster than a stampede."

  "Hedges," Gabe jerked him to a place on the boardwalk away from doors and windows. "What did she start to say about ruining a man?"

  "Now, boy, don't get yourself up in a lather over gossip. It's enough that they know that Cargin woman was lying."

  "How do they know that?"

  "She got herself a bad reputation coming into town saying you gave her that babe then deserted her. Made herself a fallen woman with them lies," Hedges said, walking off.

  Gabe followed, but he wasn't satisfied with Hedges' answer. He had such a stormy look on his face that Burns stayed away from him while he tried on boots and gathered up his packages.

  Gabe waited until they returned to the hotel, then he cornered Hedges again. "It sounded like Mrs. Jones knew what happened out there."

  "She makes up what she don't know," Hedges countered evasively.

  "Only one person besides me would know. She didn't tell it, did she?"

  "No, only a few hints here and there to send Mrs. Jones in the right direction. It was all that was needed to set things right."

  "She told it! It wasn't bad enough she was exposed to it, she had to shame herself telling it? That Mrs. Jones thinks there's something between us now. That's why she kept asking about me seeing Little Sam. Damn it, Hedges, why did you let Sammy do that?"

  "Sammy ain't been shamed none."

  "I've done nothing but shame and humiliate her from the first time I saw her," Gabe said in a voice gone hoarse from trying to keep it down so no one would hear him.

  "Sammy don't hold it against you," Hedges told him in a vain effort to calm him.

  "I cain't stay here now, Hedges. It'd shame her more." Gabe stormed out of the hotel without his saddle.

  Hedges grabbed it up, staggering under its weight, to follow him. If Gabe hadn't had to take the time to tie his bundles onto the horse, Hedges wouldn't have caught him at all.

  "Gabe, do one thing for me, just one thing. Talk to Sammy before you do anything."

  "I cain't talk to her." He swung up to the back of his horse, reached down with one hand to take the saddle from Hedges and was gone.

  Hedges only had one consolation. "He's got to get by Sally before he can pull up stakes," he muttered hopefully. Then he grinned. Gabe had been so mad and upset, he forgot about calling Sammy Miss Mentrol. That meant that was how he thought of her, as Sammy. The grin faded though. Gabe was also so mad, he might just do what he threatened, leave there immediately. What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to that little boy?

  * * *

  If not for Danny, Gabe would have kept on riding right out of Crossings. He'd made a fool of himself before, over and over again. Burns had almost said what a no account he considered him, but Burns didn't have to put it into words. Gabe knew what folks thought of him based on the way he'd looked when he arrived in that town, even before Brenda had maligned him.

  Sure, three hundred dollars would mean a lot to him. The only place he'd ever called home his whole adult life was the bed in a bunkhouse and three meals a day that came with his dollar-a-day wages. When did a thirty-a-month cowhand ever see that kind of money at one time to call his own? He was a cowhand and nothing more, nor would he ever be.

  He didn't have much education to brag on, and if it hadn't been for Hedges staking him in that poker game that started it all, he wouldn't have anything but a bad fit hand-me-down town suit and a stage ticket to take him as far north as possible from the people who did know what he was, not to mention believing he was a raping, cold blooded killer.

  Thinking of the suit and the pious-mouthed people who had given it to him, he jerked the horse to a stop. Without much caring if anyone saw him, he stripped out of the suit and threw it away. He ripped open the package he had bought at the store and dressed the way he was accustomed to, in a cotton shirt and pants.

  Next he stripped the saddle Morey had loaned him off the horse and put his own saddle on. His horse, his saddle, and as soon as he got Danny, they were getting away from there.

  When he rode up in front of the house, Sally came out to greet him. "You sure look some different now," she said with approval.

  "Where's Danny?" he asked gruffly as he swung down and tossed the old saddle to the porch.

  "Takin' a nap. What's eating at you?" she asked, barring the way to keep him from going through the door.

  "Nothing that ain't been eating at me from the start," he growled, trying to push her aside.

  Sally was like a rock, using a hand on each side of the doorjamb to hold her place. "You stay away from that boy till you calm down some. You'll spook him, jerking him up out of bed, mad as you are."

  "I'm leaving here," Gabe declared, daring her to stop him.

  Shocked, with no way of knowing what had set him off, she said, "Fine and where are you going to sleep, on the ground using the stars for a blanket?"

  "I got a blanket," Gabe said, backing off to glare at her.

  "That babe needs a bed and a roof over his head."

  "We'll make do, both of us. Just get out of the way so's I can pack."

  "You better pack plenty, and when you get done with what you need, that horse will be so loaded you'll be walking. Takes lots of things to care for a babe."

  "I'll get a wagon, a covered one so's he can have a roof over his head and a bed."

  "When you get that done, you come back. You may be cooled down by then."

  Without physical violence, she was an impassable obstacle, and to make matters worse, Gabe knew she was right. He headed for the woods.

  Gabe swung the ax until sweat soaked his new shirt and poured down his face. Chips flew, even if there wasn't much firewood being cut. He demolished the length of wood until it was nothing but chunks. When he stopped, it was to peel his shirt off to keep the newness of it from chafing him.

  Nothing makes a man madder than having someone tell him he's wrong when he knows he is. Gabe had to work that mad out before he started thinking straight. He couldn't go off half-cocked. Those days were over now that he had Danny to care for.

  The fact that he had always been level-headed and rather slow to anger before that night in Crystal Creek didn't seem to enter his head. Even with the lies Brenda had been telling about him, he hadn't gone crazy mad then every time something crossed him. He knew he couldn't keep acting the way he had been. Danny was depending on him, and sleeping under the stars—no matter how many blankets he had—wasn't for a baby.

  He did need a wagon, and to get a wagon he needed money. That meant cutting wood and that meant staying put. He'd cut wood until he got the money, and then he'd get them an outfit fixed up. He still didn't know what he'd do after he left there, but if it was never anything but chopping more wood somewhere else, they'd get by. He could even go home, he figured, back to where he had family to help him no matter how much that might hurt his pride.

  He may never ride a horse again for a living, but—horse! Lord, he'd left that horse lathered and hot with a saddle still on it. He grabbed up his shirt, running to get back to care for it, and ran right into Sammy.

  Avoiding her and avoiding town were the two most important things on his list if he figured on staying there. First thing out of the hat, he ran into her, and without a shirt on.

  "Don't you ever let anyone know you're around?' he snapped, scrambling back into his shirt.

  "You are not going to make me mad," she yelled at him, sounding furious despite her claim to the opposite.

  "Good," he snorted, stomping off the way he had been going.

  She spurred her mount to come up next to him. "Mr. Taylor, I want to talk to you."

  "We ain't got nothing to talk about."

  "Damn you, turn around and look at me."

  With a jerk of astonishment, he did.

  "Oh, don't look so shocked. I've cussed all my life, and I'll keep right on cussing until the day I die."

  "Don't sound rig
ht coming from a lady."

  "I'm not a lady. I'm Little Sam."

  She so confused him, he forgot all about how he was dressed, asking, "How's that make any difference?"

  "Why, that forgives all transgressions," she said sarcastically. "You'd never expect any better from a female raised like a boy, and…" She pointed her finger at him for the next bitter words. "…I'm Big Sam's daughter. That puts me in a class all by myself."

  "You don't sound like you like it none."

  "I have to live with it," she said sadly.

  Gabe pondered that as he tucked his shirt down his pants absently, until he realized what he was doing and jerked his hands up quickly.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor. I keep on embarrassing you. I really don't mean to," Sammy told him.

  "It ought to be me saying that," he said glumly. "And lots more. I never meant to shame you, ma'am. There ain't nothing I can do to change the talk, and you don't deserve it."

  "What talk?" she asked, sliding off the horse and causing him to back off a few steps.

  "I cain't repeat it."

  "How will I know what you're talking about if you don't tell me?"

  "It ain't for a lady to hear from the likes of me," he said stubbornly.

  "I'm not a lady, remember? I'm Little Sam."

  "I don't see no difference."

  "Mr. Taylor," she said, blushing beautifully, "that is the kindest compliment I've ever had."

  That perplexed him further. He stood there feeling for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

  "I've embarrassed you again, haven't I?"

  "No, ma'am, I just don't understand why you talk yourself down like that. I've heard folks talk about you, and it was always respectful."

  "Where, Mr. Taylor? In the saloon at night? Are ladies talked about in a saloon?"

  "They did it respectful-like," Gabe said, remembering that the first talk he'd heard was in a saloon, and it'd been said in a way he'd never realized that Little Sam was a woman. Even talking with Hedges, he had assumed Little Sam was a man until after the fight.

  "They always do, but did you know that I was a woman?" she asked, almost as if she could read his mind. "I've heard them, Mr. Taylor. It's always Little Sam this and Little Sam that, never she or her. You'll understand it better after you've been here awhile."

  "They respect you," he said, remembering what Hedges had said about her not being shamed in talking to Mrs. Jones.

  "Of course they do, as Little Sam. Not as a lady or even as a woman," she said bitterly.

  "You're a lady, ma'am," Gabe said earnestly. "I forgot that more times than I care to count, on account of I get so mad I just stopped thinking. It's those things I wish I could take back."

  "Cain't we just forget about them?"

  "I cain't."

  "I can, Mr. Taylor, simply because I understood what caused them. I'd like to be friends."

  "I ain't fit to be your friend," he exclaimed. "No, ma'am," he went on when she opened her mouth to dispute the point. "You're a fine lady, owning a nice spread of your own, and I'm nothing but a near-broke cowhand. It ain't proper I'm even talking to you."

  "Well, if that isn't the silliest thing I ever heard. If I cared about that, which I don't, the fact that you own this ranch would change that."

  "I don't own this. You do."

  "I don't until I pay for it. Just because you agreed to sell it to me, doesn't make it mine."

  "It was always yours. What's silly is you not taking that deed right now. You shouldn't have to pay for what's rightfully yours."

  Sammy sighed with exasperation. "Don't start that again. You won it fair and square, and you aren't even bound to sell it to me."

  "I agreed when I took it, 'cause Smith didn't have no right betting it."

  "It was his. He worked the claim out, and I owed him for it. I'm grateful he wasn't so drunk he didn't think to set a price on it, but it legally was his to bet, and it is yours now. You're a ranch owner, whether you like it or not."

  "Ma'am, it—"

  "Would you stop arguing with me?" she shouted in frustration. "You do this every time I come near you. All I want to do is be able to talk to you without it ending in a fight."

  "Ain't no reason for us to talk."

  "We're neighbors and in business together. There's reason," she said coldly, "and I'd like to be able to do it without ending up screaming at you."

  "I don't mean to make you mad," he said, his own exasperation clear in his voice.

  "Well, you do," she snapped, glaring at him. Then she burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, but I just realized why you make me so mad, and it really is funny."

  "Well, maybe you can tell me so's I can stop doing it," he retorted sharply.

  "You treat me like a lady. I'm not used to it. I thought you just plain hated the sight of me."

  "I know my place," he said stiffly.

  "I'm sure of that, but you've got your places mixed up. Really, Mr. Taylor, you have no idea how grateful I am that you won that deed. Please," She held her hand out to him, "as one rancher to another, can we just be friends?"

  "I don't much feel like a rancher, but I don't want you to think that I think bad of you." His handshake was nothing more than a quick touch of fingertips. That was all he would allow himself, since all he really wanted to do was drag her up against him and kiss her.

  * * *

  Gabe couldn't and wouldn't forget her position. The fact that he also was a rancher didn't cut any ice with him. He'd come by that ranch through a fluke of luck, and a ranch wasn't much more than pretty land without cattle and horses. The land was nothing he'd worked for or earned, and there was little chance he'd ever make more out of it, even if he was to keep it.

  Sticking by his resolve to stay away from Miss Samantha Mentrol, it was easy to avoid her if she stopped by the ranch, simply by making sure she wasn't there before he went up to the house when he went in from cutting. It was even easier not to make any trips to her house. He didn't have any business there.

  Two months went by with the range quiet and peaceful. Sammy's crew was well down the trail, taking her cattle to the northern rail head. The few times Gabe had been in town, nothing snide had been said about him or Sammy being involved to cause any quarrels, fights, or hard feelings, and nothing about the lies Brenda had told.

  The women in the town fussed over Danny something fierce. Gabe never went in to town that someone didn't give some little gift to the boy. Danny stayed quiet and somber, only he was fast growing into the little boy stage. He never seemed to mind where he went or how, as long as he was with Gabe.

  The first few times Gabe took him on the horse, Danny rode in front, facing him, clinging to his shirt and pressed as tight as he could get to Gabe's chest. Gradually Gabe was able to coax him around to face the horse's head. If he hadn't been such a subdued child, he'd have grabbed for the reins, anxious to imitate Gabe instead of clinging to the saddle horn. He'd have kicked and squealed in glee or even fear, but Danny never did any of those things.

  Sally never commented on the child's somberness or that he never talked. She probably figured since Gabe knew so little about children, he hadn't noticed that it was strange and didn't want to add to his worries for the child. He surprised her one night by bringing it up.

  He came in, tired and weary from pushing himself another day to get as much wood cut as possible before it was time for Sally to leave for the evening. He ruffled Danny's hair in greeting the way he did every night, and Danny reached out to be taken up in his arms.

  "You leave your Papa be," Sally scolded. "He's tired, and you don't need holding."

  Hearing himself called Papa gave Gabe a start. "I ain't really his papa, Sally," he said, grateful to be able to sit down. Even after nearly three months, he didn't seem to have the strength he'd had before he'd been shot.

  "You're all he's going to know as such. You do all the things a papa should for him, so it's time he started calling you that."

  "He
don't never call me anything," Gabe said, staring at the child.

  Danny stared back, blue eyes shimmering, begging to be picked up. He'd dropped his hands, but his eyes did all the pleading that was necessary.

  "Why don't he talk, Sally? I heard him make noises, so it ain't 'cause he cain't. He ain't deaf, I tested him on that. So why don't he talk?"

  "He will when he's ready," she said.

  "He don't never smile, either," Gabe went on glumly. "I tried everything, even tickling him. He just won't smile. Think maybe it's 'cause he really don't like me much?"

  "That boy loves you more than anything in the world. Don't you ever go thinking any different. He's just got some things to get over. He'll laugh and talk in time."

  "Been over two months."

  "May be that many again and more. You just let time do its healing and be patient."

  Sally set hot food in front of Gabe, then watched as he picked at it. He'd been doing that for several days, just not having much of an appetite.

  "You're going to have to stay home tomorrow," Sally told him. "I got some things I got to do."

  "I'll take him with me."

  "Gabe, you listen to me. You stay home and rest some. You ain't let up a day since you started. Your eating has fallen off, and you don't look much more rested when you get up than when you went to bed. You're pushing yourself too hard."

  "I got to. The summer's going by fast. I got things we got to have when time comes to clear out."

  "Money ain't that important, Gabe Taylor. You're losing weight now, not gaining like you should."

  He smiled at that. "I'm heavier now than I ever been, thanks to your cooking. I'm all right, Sally, really."

  "You know, you don't smile much more than that boy does. Could be if you slowed down enough to enjoy life, he'd learn from watching you."

  Gabe looked over at Danny thoughtfully. Something Sammy’d said came back to him, something about a child needing love more than anything else. He hadn't taken much time, except in the evenings, to be with the boy. "Maybe one day won't hurt that much," he said.