by R. Kent
I spun the cylinder of my gun, checked its smooth action, then jammed it into its holster.
The pastor swabbed a line of blood from his neck with a clean handkerchief. “Son, those men aim to kill you one day.”
It did appear that Seth and Jeb had a particular mad on for me.
Sahara rushed over as fast as Charlie Horse’s lameness allowed. She thrust his reins back at me with a look I didn’t understand. She took the pastor’s arm and headed him toward the mercantile.
On a glance, I saw Jack McKade backhand Seth across that split ear. Jeb dumped onto the boardwalk in a drunken heap. McKade kicked him in the ribs. Sun glinted off the brace on his leg.
Charlie Horse and I doddered down Main Street under silent stares. Just when I was feeling all alone, Lily stepped into the road and took up my arm. “Our hero.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I felt my cheeks heat up. She was truly lovely. A luxurious wrap of blond curls nested atop her head, showing off her graceful neckline. Her porcelain shoulders were swaddled by the thick, soft, rabbit fur collar of her long, tailored coat. I felt the heat of her cuddling my side. “Austin.”
When Rose said my name, it was with some importance. But Lily… When Lily uttered my name in a breathy whisper, it was like a special secret just between the two of us. I played the echo of her voice over and over in my mind.
At the livery, I tied Charlie Horse in the spacious aisle and took my satchel from his saddle horn. “Justice?”
There was no response.
“Hmm. It looks like we’re all alone.” Lily stroked her warm palm across my cheek. But her eyes strayed over my shoulder to where the shiny, silver-dollar-sized, copper conchos adorned my saddle.
When her rich blue eyes came back to mesmerize mine, my face glowed with heat. I wormed away from her close scrutiny. Would she notice I didn’t have the fuzz of an adolescent beard? Lily was bound to find out. Sahara was bound to find out.
My gut wrenched akin to a gnawing hunger pang that I’d never be able to satiate. I plucked the loaf of molasses bread from my bag. The cloth fell open. I tore off a wad. Anything for distraction from Lily’s fine form. When the bread hit my tongue, I closed my eyes. Heaven. I’ve never had anything like this.
“Oh, Austin. You make that ridiculous lump look too delicious.” Lily plucked a nibble from the molasses bread. She popped it in her open mouth without a crumb touching her perfect lips.
When she smiled, I thought she smiled just for me.
Her arms came up over my shoulders. She was my exact height. I swallowed hard, forcing the molasses bread down my dry throat.
Lily lazily draped on me. And in that moment, I wanted to believe I was the only thing on her mind.
But, through the muscle movements of her arms, I knew the tips of her fingers caressed those copper conchos behind my back.
Chapter Eight
Her arms remained lightly on my shoulders. I could feel the flat of her belly pushing up against my own. Layers of clothing couldn’t protect me from her scalding heat. I stared into her blue eyes. Her glance flickered past me to the copper conchos.
Through continued muscle movement in her arms, I knew she continued to swirl her fingertips over an engraved Spiral of Life. Admittedly, I was jealous of that copper disk shining under her touch.
“I know that saddle,” Lily said. “It was my cousin’s. Only it didn’t have the copper ornamentation when I saw it last.” Her eyes grew distant. “I loved my cousin Jamie.” Her voice was soft. “Jamie had no fondness for the blacksmith’s forge or this livery. My father gave him his first gun and taught him the quick draw. ‘Pull that smoke wagon,’ he’d call out to Jamie.”
“Your cousin?” I asked.
“Cousin Jamie. He was gunned down in the streets of Durango by a horrible murderer.” Lily leaned more heavily onto me. “I do like the copper decorations.”
“That makes Justice your—”
“Uncle. Silly goose.” Her breath tickled my lips. “I don’t come here for the smell of horse manure or those nasty, bellowing cows.” She snuggled close to whisper in my ear. “Where did you get the copper?” Lily pulled slightly away to peer into my eyes.
Were her eyes narrower than I remembered? The trapper last winter had spoken at length on the lack of virtue in yellow-haired girls that were narrow between the eyes. The trapper had spoken at length on everything. This last winter had been a long one.
“You look like him.” Her cousin had had sunny yellow hair springing from beneath the brim of his jaunty bowler hat. He had been the nervous type. Too eager. His pearl-handled silver six-shooter sat high over his hip. He had had something to prove.
“I do declare, Austin, you are a million miles away.” Lily’s tongue darted out to lick at my bottom lip. She kissed me full on the mouth. Her lips were warm and wet. It was nice.
But all I could think about was Sahara. The way Sahara chewed her bottom lip when she worried. How her lips were moist and red and pouty. My mind pictured what it would be like to kiss her heart-shaped mouth. I wanted to taste her. I wanted to taste Sahara. A thrill ran through me at the thought, even as Lily’s lips still trespassed on mine.
“Eh-hum.” Justice interrupted.
Lily climbed off of me. She dropped her arms and spun to face Justice. “Uncle. I was—”
“I can see what you were doing.”
“Uncle. I wasn’t doing anything. Really.” Lily winked at me then beamed to her uncle. “Don’t be so stodgy, Uncle. You were young once too. Or was it so long ago?” she teased him. Lily walked over to her uncle, and wrapped about his bicep. She sidled up to him with a show of affection, much like a cat rubbing against a leg.
“Is there something I can do for you, Austin?” Justice asked. His face glowed with a taint of red high on his cheeks.
“Shoes,” I stammered. “Um, yes. Charlie Horse, er, my horse needs to be shod.” My voice squeaked too high.
“Will you be paying in copper?” Lily asked, perking her weight onto the tips of her toes.
“Lily, payment is none of your concern,” Justice said.
“Oh, poo.” She released her claws from her uncle’s arm. “I’m just saying that Austin has the copper. A girl needs to size up her prospects.”
“Lily. Austin is as good as married.”
“Not truly, Uncle.” Lily pulled away from Justice and tugged the fur-lined collar high around her neck. She looked at me and smiled. “They weren’t doing you any favors,” she said to me. “Seth and Jeb. They want the bride for whoring.” Her lips held a devious, tight slant. “If the agency pedaling brides made inquiries? Well, let’s just say that Seth and Jeb aren’t the marrying type. No respectable work. No land. No home.” Lily stuffed her small hands into overlarge front coat pockets. “Sweetie, you’re just a means to an end. They don’t figure you’ll keep her. Not with all of the trouble they will cause you.” Lily walked away.
Before she stepped from the shadows of the barn into the waning afternoon sunshine, she said, “Let’s face it, you’re more scrumptious than any of the other boys around these parts. You don’t need a whore.”
Justice shook his head and bent down to lift Charlie Horse’s hoof. “I don’t know what gets into that girl.” He gently poked and prodded the sore foot. “He ought to be soaked before I nail shoes on.”
I couldn’t believe Justice was McKade’s brother. Jack McKade was as bad as they come. Bad was in his blood. Lightning Jack McKade was a killer. I heard his father was holed up in the big house east of town. Like he was hiding out. I overheard some boys playing in the street say that the old man was all gnarly and pinched into a rolling chair. They say he took a bullet in his back. That he doesn’t ever speak, but his amber eyes watch as keen as a cornered cougar.
“The sorrel has a loose shoe,” I accused Justice McKade. I was angry. Angry that he was a McKade—bred bad like his brother and his father. Angry that I had liked and respected Justice. Angry because I’d thought he was one of the goo
d guys. Angry at myself for trusting a man just because he was nice to me once.
Most of all, I was angry because I knew that I was of bad breeding too. Born a killer out of a killer. Angry for knowing firsthand about killing and running and hiding. I was angry because I didn’t want to kill. I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to hide.
“So, you saw the sorrel?” Justice stood to his full height, laying his hand flat to Charlie Horse’s neck. “There was blood on the saddle.”
Charlie Horse nickered from low in his throat, ending in a slow, long blowing through his nostrils. Calm. Trust.
But Charlie Horse was wrong on this one.
A buggy swung into the barn. It clattered down the aisle then jarred to a halt. As Rose drew in the lines to the horse, Sahara fretted with toppled packages.
“Seth and Jeb rode out to your homestead,” Rose screeched. Her jaunty cap with its bright purple plume fell onto the bridge of her nose as the buggy settled. “They’re out to convince Sahara to move into town. No telling what they’ll do to your place.” She grabbed Sahara’s hand in solidarity. Sahara’s fingers clutched Rose’s, turning white.
Justice offered a hand to Rose and supported her elbow as she disembarked. Sahara scurried from the buggy.
I grasped the draped lines and hauled myself into the four-wheeled rig, staring down Justice, as if daring him to stop me. That had given Sahara time to climb up the back of the buggy and clambered over the bench seat to sit next to me.
“You’re not going,” I growled.
“I am,” Sahara spat through clenched teeth.
If the circumstances weren’t dire, I would almost consider her adorable with her tiny, tight jaw thrust forward in mad determination. “Suit yourself. But try to do as you’re told or you’ll get us both killed.” I lifted the lines to the horse. “Hya! Getup!”
The buggy wrenched from the barn with the horse at a lope. We tore down Main Street. I was headed out of town, but there was one thing I had to do first.
The street had grown quiet. Not too unusual, but unnerving for a bustling, growing community in a mining, tent town. Especially since hours ago, the townsfolk had poured into the street in anticipation of a showdown. I noted the now closed doors and empty alleyways.
“Don’t go in there. They’ll kill you.” Sahara’s voice shook when she spoke.
The Watering Hole was a dark hovel. I waited with the saloon doors half swung inward until my eyes adjusted.
“Austin.” Jack McKade greeted me from behind the daunting bar.
“Not too busy?” I asked.
“It’s early. You get used to the stillness.” He was swiping inside a glass with a filthy rag. Wiping any of them hadn’t mattered. None of the grime ever seemed to come off. “You want a drink?” McKade slapped a kitten from the bar. He’d been teasing it with a string off his rag. Its little body thwacked the floorboards before I heard its paws scampering away.
I jerked a leather pouch of coins from my hanging satchel and bounced its jingling heft in my palm. The coins were all I had left. This was my saved stake for cattle or horses, feed or seed, in setting up a proper ranch. Who was I kidding? With Sahara at the homestead, I would have spent every coin before I got to the ranching. I can’t afford the extra mouth to feed. Supplies were short. Winter was fast upon us.
There was no way to safely send her back. I clenched my fist around the pouch for a moment, then slapped it down on the sticky bar. I didn’t want her to go “No. No drink. Give this to your boys. And tell ’em, paid in full.”
I stomped from the Watering Hole. McKade barked, “That’s not how it’s going to work, Austin.”
The sun headed to hide behind the butte. The temperature dropped. A cold breeze enlivened the buggy horse to a crisp lope. Sahara edged closer until the length of her leg was secure against my own. I felt her warmth and longed to lean into it. I liked the feel of her against me.
Her breath was a frosty fog. It smelled like cinnamon. I liked cinnamon. At another time, in another place, I think I could have really liked her.
But her silence made the frenzied chase into the darkening evening even more unsettling.
Sahara usually talked constantly, but never said much. Oh, sure, she commented on this and that. She jabbered away like a chipmunk scolding a nut thief. My eyes would glaze over. Maybe I didn’t listen because she never said anything I wanted to hear? What did I want to hear? That she liked me. A little?
Steam rose from the tired horse. I reined in, gently coaxing him to a jog with the lines. Sensing my anxiousness, he pushed against the bit, wanting to run again.
It was getting dark. The hogan would have come into view by now if it was still bright daylight. If I strained, I could see the massive form of the rock backdrop standing against the gunmetal-gray sky. The slit of a moon barely cast any light.
Crack. A rear wheel splintered away. The horse spurred to a gallop. The buggy collapsed and dragged in that corner. Sahara was thrown over my lap. Before I could gain control of the scared flight animal, the other rear wheel tore off.
We thumped and bounced over the rocky ground. The horse bolted harder, like a spook was chasing his tail. I hauled on his mouth through those lines until his jaw gaped open and his chin touched his lathered chest.
When what was left of the buggy came to a jerky halt, I shoved Sahara upright. “Get out.” I pushed at her, hollering, “Cut the traces.”
Her fists twisted into my coat. “I don’t know what those are.”
I shoved the thick leather lines at her. “Hold him. Tight.”
Knife in hand, I jumped from the wreck. The traces were taut to the singletree. I sawed them from it then slashed the leather loops from the shafts. The frightened beast jolted forward. I rushed to his head to grab him by the bridle.
Sahara let go.
A small critter rushed against my legs and yelped. My pup.
Sahara climbed from the smashed buggy and stumbled over. She reached for the dog. “She’s shaking.”
“Shh.” I said, pressing a finger to my mouth. The gesture was lost in the darkening night. I stuffed a loose line of the horse’s bridle at Sahara, lifted the scared pup to her, then disappeared into the near blackness without another word.
I had expected the cow to greet me when I scurried under the rock formation. Or to hear the soft, questioning nicker from the mustang mare in guarding her foal. Nothing. It was quiet. Too quiet.
An oil lantern sat on a jutting stone, shoulder height. I thought to light it. But I knew better. I also knew there would be nothing to see. My cow was gone. The calf, the mare, and the foal? All were gone. I didn’t need a lamp to tell me that.
I slid my sweating palm down the leather shaft of my holster, flicking the loop from the gun’s hammer. The revolver’s butt filled my hand as I popped the weapon loose. I spooned the grip gently and extended a finger to caress the slim trigger snuggled inside its protective metal guard.
I crept to the hogan from its back side. There were no saddle horses tied as before. The door was left ajar. It was quiet within. The gaping hole was black. There were a few live coals in the fireplace. Not enough for light.
I steadied my breathing which had grown tight and quick. In doing so, I smelled the familiar scents of cedar, wood smoke, earth, wool blankets, horse, and dog. Sahara’s scent, with her peculiar hint of lilac soap, laced through all of the others. But there was also the breath of alcohol. Not alcohol itself, but the pungency that’s added with stale exhaling. And tobacco. Possibly tobacco. It was more like the spittle of chewing tobacco, old, fetid, and mixed with the rank body odor of men. Not just one man. Two. Each had his own stench. Both were familiar.
Their stenches drifted from the open door and wound around my head, alerting my senses. Had they departed? Or were they still inside, waiting? I’d have to enter to find out.
What choice did I have? There were always two choices. These choices were my pathway in life. Flight or fight.
I could wait. Do
nothing. Cause nothing. Let whatever would happen happen. But that was still a choice. Flight.
Flight. I could run. I could gather Sahara and the pup and Charlie Horse, and run. We could leave to homestead elsewhere. But where? Where could I go that the same problems wouldn’t follow. And Sahara didn’t know. She knew nothing of any of it. I couldn’t expect to take her with me. She wouldn’t stay with me if she ever found out.
Maybe it was time to face my troubles, here and now.
I could fight. I could fight for what was mine, exposing my birth identity, my past, all of my secrets. I could fight for Sahara.
I crouched low at the doorway. I had made my decision.
With the flick of my wrist, I tossed my hat inside the doorway. Its landing caused a diversion as I rolled through the opening in a somersault, gun ready. Keeping my back to the shadowy wall, I slid along, watching, listening. All I felt was emptiness.
Seth and Jeb were gone.
The tired coals bit into the kindling I offered, devouring the small dried twigs and chips. The fire was ablaze in minutes, casting its warm, orange glow. Sahara would see it, but I hoped she would not run directly to it. I hoped Sahara would have more sense to wait for my return.
“Look at this mess.” Sahara stood framed in the open doorway, one hand pressing fingers over her mouth.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” Sahara said as she entered. The sleeping pup filled her arms. She struggled to close and bar the door behind her.
I swallowed a word of disgust. Pulling the loop of my holster over the hammer of the revolver, I asked, “How were you to know it was safe?”
She placed the pup in front of the fire. “I didn’t hear any shooting,” Sahara replied, nodding and looking impressed with her own common sense. With a hand propped to her hip, Sahara then tilted her head to the side in an expression that was, no doubt, to make me feel like a scolded child.
I fed the fire a dried log. I would rather have used chips this early in the season, saving the wood for colder nights when a slower, hotter burn would be needed.