The Loner 2

by Sheldon B. Cole

  Jessica closed her eyes. What should she wish for? Her thoughts turned to Blake Durant and she folded her arms over her breasts and squeezed. She could feel her breasts swell with desire and suddenly she was hungry for the touch of his hands. She opened her blouse and placed a hand against her throat. The hand moved down and in her imagination it was his hand ... gentle but insistent ... his hand, pressing against her flesh, arousing passion from her depths, making her hips sway, setting up a pulsing in her loins and arousing a hunger in her that could be satisfied only by—

  No!

  She lifted her hand away and grasped the porch railing, breathing heavily, her head bowed. After a while she went down the porch steps and walked beyond the clump of cottonwoods. There was the cross that marked her husband’s grave. She stopped short of the grave and a wave of shame moved through her. Then she took a deep breath. She had loved Tom, had been a good wife to him. There was no reason for feeling shame. She couldn’t help being a woman, having a woman’s desires ...

  She walked to the side of the grave. The flowers she’d planted near the cross were wilted. She watered them every day, but the searing sun was too much for the fragile blooms. Rain was needed. There was something in rain that brought life with it.

  She looked at the cross. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she murmured. “It isn’t that I don’t love you or that I ...” But she couldn’t find words to explain how she felt. She stood there by the grave for a long time, and finally a kind of peace came. It was as though he understood and was telling her.

  She didn’t go straight back to the house. She walked to the vegetable garden behind it. The spinach leaves were small and wrinkled. The tops of the carrots were dry, dead looking. Cabbage and cauliflower had refused to grow at all. She kicked at a clod of earth and even in the darkness she could see the small plume of dust. Dust and death. Had there ever been anything else? This was mean, heartless country. But back in Boston was a big house, wealth ...

  “We have rooms we never use,” her mother had said in her last letter. “Please, darling, come home and bring Jesse to us. He’ll receive a good education here, and neither of you will ever want for anything ...”

  Home.

  Where was home? She had thought it was here. It could have been here. But not now. She had nothing left to fight with. Tomorrow the mortgage fell due. If Mr. Darrett at the bank didn’t grant an extension ...

  She shook her head so hard that the back of her neck hurt, but she couldn’t clear her mind of the whirling thoughts that wouldn’t let sleep come. She walked. To the empty corral, to the grassless pastureland beyond. She walked until weariness came, then she returned to the house and fell onto her bed.

  “Rig is ready, Ma!” Jesse shouted.

  “I’ll be right out,” Jessica answered. She dried the last of the breakfast dishes, removed her apron, then went into the bedroom where she brushed her long auburn hair. After that she looked at herself in the mirror. Shadows beneath her eyes told of the few hours of sleep she’d had. Her lips looked bloodless. Perhaps a touch of powder and some rouge ...

  Moments later she looked at herself again critically. Better. But the gingham dress, though clean and freshly ironed, showed all the signs of long wear. In Boston she’d have a wardrobe closet full of dresses and shoes and frilly under things ...

  She turned away from the face that looked at her from the mirror. Her gaze moved over the room. Bare boards, a makeshift dressing table, an old bed. She walked into the kitchen. A table, three chairs, a cupboard Tom had made from old barn boards. It was a poor little house, yet tears welled in her eyes at the thought of leaving it.

  “Come on, Ma, hurry up, willya?” Jesse called.

  “Coming.”

  Jessica walked onto the porch and down the steps. Jesse sat on the hard buckboard seat. He tied up the reins as Jessica walked around the rig, then he leaned down to help her up.

  “Thank you, son.”

  “Nice day, Ma, ain’t it? Looks like maybe we’ll get some rain later on.”

  “Looks like we might,” she said, holding back a smile. Just about every morning Jesse foresaw rain.

  “We’ll get into town right when the bank opens,” Jesse informed her. “That’s good, Ma. It means Mr. Darrett won’t have any people in his office. He’s a nice man, Mr. Darrett.”

  “A fine man, son.”

  Jesse hit out with the reins and clucked his tongue and the old mare went into a half-hearted canter.

  “Don’t push old Nellie too hard,” Jessica cautioned.

  “Won’t have to, Ma. That’s why I wanted this early start. We can give Nellie a rest and a drink at Carter Creek; that’s just about the halfway mark to town.”

  “You think of everything, don’t you, Jesse?”

  The boy drew himself up importantly. “It’s a man’s job, Ma. A man’s gotta do the thinkin’ for a woman.”

  “That’s certainly so, son.”

  The rig bounced along, the rusted springs under the seat protesting loudly with each bump.

  “One of these days I’ll get you a new rig,” Jesse said after a while. “And then I’ll go to the horse sales at the county seat and I’ll buy you the prettiest Tennessee walkin’ horse you ever saw.”

  “That’ll be real fine, Jesse.”

  He looked up at the brassy sky. “All we need is a little rain. When we get some rain everything’ll be better, you’ll see.”

  It would take a lot more than rain to solve their problems, she thought, but she said nothing to Jesse. He was only a boy, and a boy needed his hopes and his dreams ...

  Old Nellie was in a frisky mood that morning and she got them to Carter Creek with time to spare. Jesse unhitched the mare and led her to the water.

  “Water’s nice and cool,” Jesse said. “Why don’t you put your feet in the water, Ma? Make you feel good?’

  “That’s a fine idea,” Jessica said. She climbed down from the seat and walked to the grassy bank where she removed her shoes. Then she sat on the bank and dangled her feet in the water.

  “How’s that, Ma?”

  “It’s a luxury, son.”

  Jessica closed her eyes. The water did feel good. She listened to the gentle run of the creek, the calling of birds, and then her thoughts turned again to the tall, tight-lipped man who rode the black stallion. “Blake Durant ...” She opened her eyes, surprised at the sound of her own voice. She looked towards Jesse, who still stood in the creek with the mare. He hadn’t heard her.

  Would she see Blake Durant in town, she wondered? He probably spent his spare time in saloons—but surely not this early in the day. Perhaps he’d be walking around, or maybe he’d be on the hotel verandah talking to some of the locals. But he was a handsome man, a virile man. There were saloon girls in town and some of them were pretty. She drew in her breath as there was suddenly an odd pain in her stomach. She was jealous! The realization puzzled her.

  There were splashing sounds as Jesse walked the mare from the creek. He looked over at her and said, “Stay there a while, Ma. Plenty of time. I spotted an apple tree across the creek. After I harness Nellie I’ll go over and see if I can pick some red ones.”

  “That’ll be nice, Jesse.”

  She reached down and swirled her hand in the water. A frightened minnow darted away. When the ripples were gone she saw her reflection. Did Blake Durant think she was pretty? She remembered the strange way he had looked at her, as though she reminded him of someone. Of course, there had to be women in his past—maybe there was one special woman.

  She slapped at the water, annoyed with herself. Here she was thinking about a man who was plainly a drifter. Why for all she knew he might be twenty miles or more away, heading for another town. But Durant had gone out of his way to help her and Jesse, and she’d always be grateful to him for that. Still, he wasn’t the kind of man who’d settle down with a woman so she was wasting her time even thinking about him. Besides, it was selfish of her to hope that Durant might be in town. It would be da
ngerous for him to stay there. He’d killed one of Cowley’s men and he’d humiliated two of them. Cowley wouldn’t be likely to forget such an incident. He might even send that terrible man Slater after Durant. She shivered at the thought. Slater was a heartless killer. Bloodlust was written in his eyes.

  “Hey, how about this?” Jesse called from across the creek. In each hand he held two large, red apples.

  She said, “You’re nothing short of a marvel, Jesse, that’s what you are.”

  Jesse wore a broad grin as he waded across the shallow creek.

  Griff Darrett stood up behind his desk as Jessica Gray entered his office. He was a tall, paunchy man with a florid face and an easy smile. In his black town suit and white shirt he presented an imposing figure. A diamond pin glittered in his cravat.

  “Please be seated, Mrs. Gray,” he said in a rich baritone as he indicated the leather-upholstered chair beside his desk.

  Jessica thanked him with a smile and sat down. Darrett waited until she was comfortably seated before he lowered his long frame into his swivel chair.

  “I—I’m here about the mortgage,” Jessica said hesitantly.

  “Yes.” The smile left his lips and he shuffled among the papers on his desk. “I was just looking at the note your late husband signed.”

  “The note is due today,” she said.

  “Yes, my dear, I’m aware of that. And so is Mr. Cowley. I had a talk with him only yesterday.”

  Jessica nodded. “He wants my place.”

  “Wants it badly,” Darrett said.

  “But you’re holding the note,” she said.

  “I must correct you, Mrs. Gray. The bank is holding the note.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “I’m afraid not. I run the bank but I don’t own it—not completely, at any rate. You see, Mrs. Gray, I too signed a note. Several months ago, the bank’s biggest depositor, Mr. Cowley, decided to withdraw his money. This came as a complete surprise to me. I—I was unable to give him the money. It wasn’t because I’d done anything dishonest—I’d lent out too much money on mortgages. The only way I could give Mr. Cowley his money was to foreclose and then sell various properties. I couldn’t very well do that, so I borrowed a great deal of money from Mr. Cowley. In consideration, I had to meet one condition ... I am not permitted to give extensions on mortgages. I’m sorry, terribly sorry, Mrs. Gray.”

  Jessica looked down at her hands, defeat written in her face. She said, “Mr. Cowley did that only so he could get my place.”

  Darrett nodded in agreement but didn’t speak.

  “What happens now?” Jessica asked.

  “Well, the bank will have to foreclose tomorrow morning, at which time Mr. Cowley has only to meet the payment of your late husband’s note, plus interest, of course. The property will then be his. However, Mr. Cowley has no wish to leave you destitute, Mrs. Gray. He told me that he’s willing to give you two hundred dollars. I understand you have people in Boston?”

  “Yes. My parents.”

  “The two hundred dollars will more than pay for your journey. Then there will be incidentals, of course—clothing and so on.” Darrett sighed and got to his feet. “I—I just want you to know, Mrs. Gray, that I would gladly let you have an extension if the choice were mine.”

  Jessica smiled at him. “I know you would, Mr. Darrett, and I understand your position.”

  There was warmth in his smile. “Thank you. This—this has been one of the worst mornings of my life Your kindness and understanding have made it much easier for me.” He looked around as though afraid someone might be listening. “There is one way out. Do you know anyone who will advance you the money to pay the note?”

  She shook her head.

  “I would let you have it from my personal funds,” he said, “but Mr. Cowley would insist on knowing where the money came from.”

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me,” Jessica said, rising. “I know that Mr. Cowley is a hard, vindictive man.”

  “A completely ruthless man, Mrs. Gray. When he sets his mind on something, he doesn’t let anything or anyone get in his way. He’s determined to own this entire valley. Once he has your property he’ll be able to control the water supply. Then everyone will be under the Cowley thumb—and that includes me.”

  Jessica offered her hand and Darrett took it. She said, “Perhaps I should feel sorry for you and the others who’ll have to—” She turned away abruptly.

  “Is something wrong?” Darrett asked, then he saw her shoulders shake and it was obvious she was sobbing. He looked around helplessly. “I wish there was something I could do ...”

  “It’s all right,” she said, getting control of herself. “A woman’s weakness, Mr. Darrett.”

  “I’m not looking at a weak woman,” he said feelingly.

  Keeping her back to him, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, then she forced a smile as she turned to face him.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Darrett, and thank you for all your efforts on my behalf. When will Mr. Cowley want us to leave?”

  “Tomorrow, I’m afraid. But if you need some help in packing ...”

  “My son and I will manage.”

  “I’ll see that you have seats on tomorrow’s train east. Just come here to the bank in your buckboard and I’ll give you the balance of Mr. Cowley’s two hundred dollars. If you get here in the morning you’ll have time to shop; the train doesn’t leave until three in the afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darrett.” She started towards the door, then stopped as a sudden thought struck her. “There’s the buckboard and Nellie, the mare. They’re not part of the property listed in the mortgage.”

  “I’ll be glad to buy the rig and the horse,” Darrett said.

  “No. I just want to be sure that Nellie will have a good home. She’s served us faithfully and well.”

  “I’ll keep her with my horses,” Darrett said. “She’ll get the best of care, I assure you. If there’s any other way I can help you, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

  “There’s nothing else.”

  “Perhaps you’ll think of something.”

  Jessica opened the office door. As she closed it behind her, she heard Darrett say in a low voice:

  “I am sorry ...”

  Jesse was seated on the buckboard, waiting. There was excitement in his glittering eyes.

  “Ma, I just saw Mr. Durant go into the saloon. Maybe I could go in there and invite him out to supper tonight or—” He stopped as he saw the expression on his mother’s face. “Mr. Darrett gave us the extension, didn’t he?”

  She lowered her gaze and shook her head.

  “But—but he’s gotta give us the extension, Ma!”

  “He can’t.”

  Jesse got to his feet, rage twisting at his young face. “He’s a liar if he says he can’t! This is his bank—he’s got plenty of money!”

  “Jesse, there’s nothing we can do ...”

  “But there’s somethin’ Mr. Durant can do! Ma, I’m gonna go and have a talk with him.”

  Seven – No Street for Womenfolk

  Belle descended the stairs as Durant returned to the saloon. Ignoring everybody else in the bar-room, she crossed to his side. Hap brought her a drink which she allowed Durant to pay for. She was silent for a while, then she turned to face him and said:

  “I know you’re not a man who backs down to anybody. Last night you proved it to me. But why did you let Gus Cowley call you down like that in front of all those people?”

  “He said nothing that mattered,” Blake told her. Although his reply made her frown at first, gradually her expression lightened.

  Before they could continue the conversation, Tom Dowd entered the saloon. He checked the card tables and saw Red playing poker with Callinan. The redhead sat hunched, eyes downcast, no loud boasting coming from him this time. His friends had thinned down to a pair and they looked worried.

  Dowd walked to the bar, touched his hat to Bel
le and looked at Blake.

  “Hear you ran into Cowley.”

  “Yep.”

  “And side-stepped him.”

  Durant shrugged. Dowd settled down over his drink, swirling it around. “Sensible thing to do. Saves us both a lot of trouble. I guess that now, havin’ settled that business to the satisfaction of both parties, you’ll be moving on.”

  “It depends,” Blake said, with a look at Belle. Her face colored and she smiled shyly back at him. Blake noticed that Dowd didn’t miss this by-play between them as the lawman downed his drink. Dowd wiped his mouth, set down the shot glass and gave another touch of his hat to Belle. Then he glanced at Blake.

  “Maybe this is goodbye. I sure hope so.”

  Blake said nothing. Dowd turned and left the saloon. He wasn’t gone more than a minute when there was a scraping of a chair at the card table and Red’s booming voice:

  “It ain’t natural, Callinan! You won every damn hand in the last hour!”

  “Luck of the game, boy,” the gambler said softly.

  “Don’t call me boy!”

  “No disrespect meant.”

  Silence settled again. Blake watched Red count his chips and grab for the cards Callinan dealt.

  “He’ll learn—too late,” Belle said dryly.

  “Learning comes hard to some,” Blake said. Then he turned at the sound of the batwings being slammed open. A look of surprise crossed his features as he saw Jesse Gray take a few steps into the saloon and stop, his gaze taking Blake in, then shifting to Belle.

  “I think this young feller wants to talk to me,” Blake said.

  “Got to fix my hair anyhow,” Belle said. Then she lowered her voice. “Blake, I know that’s the Gray boy. I also know how bad Cowley wants the Gray property. You watch yourself.”

  “I’ll do that,” Blake said with a smile. “Now you go fix that beautiful hair.”

  She smiled back. “Nicest thing you’ve said to me.” And she walked off and went up the stairs.