Two for Home

by Tinnean

  “Yes!”

  “My pa made it. He was the best gunsmith around.”

  Bert stroked the banjo’s neck. “I promise not to say a word about it.”

  “Good man.” Sharps put the banjo back in its case, slung it over his back again, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ll see you later.”

  Sharps had come up with a plan, but he needed a horse he could trust not to panic. Twilight seemed sound enough, but Sharps hadn’t been able to work with him, and he wasn’t willing to take a chance the gray stallion might bolt or throw him at the worst possible time. He pulled his rifle from the boot beside the wagon seat and walked up to the other woman in their party.

  “Mrs. Hall, I’ve noticed you could use an extra rifle.”

  “I was going to ask Mrs. Fox if I could borrow Al’s—”

  “Don’t bother. It’s in poor condition. If we had time, I’d try to clean it up.” He tipped his hat back. “Once this is squared away, I’ll do that anyway. Bert’s gonna be the man of the house, and he’ll need to know how to take care of his ma and his sisters.”

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Browne.”

  Sharps ducked his head but grinned at her from under the brim of his hat. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I reckon I’d better borrow Charlie’s bow and arrow.” Her voice had deepened, and her smile became hard.

  “Take this.” He handed Mrs. Hall his rifle and a box of ammunition. “This is a good weapon. My pa was a gunsmith. He made it for me.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the rifle. “This is very finely made. But what will you use?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Sharps reached up and ran his fingers over the canvas case that held the banjo. “Would you mind if I borrowed Salida? I want to do a little reconnaissance.” This was one of the things he’d done in those years after the War, although he’d never tell anyone. “It’s not that I don’t trust Twilight—”

  “It’s just you trust Salida more.”

  Sharps gave a solemn nod, then smiled. “I worked with her for a year or so. Twilight’ll come around in time, but—”

  “We don’t have the time.” Mrs. Hall returned his smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “Take her.”

  “Thanks.” He saddled the mare and shortened the stirrups, then paused for a minute. “I’ll bring her back safe to you.”

  “Just you come back safe.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, mounted Salida, and rode off.

  Salida had a quiet gait, and her coloring made her almost impossible to see in the dappled light of the woods she cantered through. It took less time than he liked for him to hear the men who trailed them, which meant they were closer than the captain realized. Sharps gave the men a wide berth, working his way to the rear of their ragtag column.

  As the captain had ascertained, the men coming from Willow Crick weren’t horsemen. They bounced in their saddles, huffing and puffing, and even in the fading light, he could see their faces were red from the exertion and shiny with sweat. Sharps could have picked off the stragglers with no trouble, but that would have alerted the rest of the bastards that they had company.

  The men talked, making no effort to keep their voices down.

  “What’s Mr. Weatherford want the boy for?” The man who asked that sounded familiar. Sharps reckoned he was one of the men from the saloon.

  “Dunno, Zeke. All’s I know is Mr. Weatherford said we could have the woman.”

  Sharps could understand why the town boss had it in for Mrs. Hall—she’d shot down three of the sheriff’s men—but to hand her over to a bunch of rowdies…Sharps turned cold as he remembered what the Wilson brothers had done to that poor little gal in the barn years before. Well, these yahoos were about to learn they were riding into a world of hurt. None of the men he rode with were gonna let that happen.

  As if he’d read Sharps’s thoughts, another man said, “Will the men stand for it?”

  “Don’t matter, none. They’re just a bunch of city slickers from back east. Mr. Weatherford said we wouldn’t have any trouble with them.”

  “Maybe not them, but that wagon master of theirs…we gotta watch out for him.”

  They were right about that.

  “What are we supposed to do? Shoot him?”

  Not if Sharps had anything to say about it. He took note of where the man was placed in the group.

  “I reckon.” The man who responded sounded unsure, as well he might. It was one thing to talk about shooting a man, but facing that man, facing his loaded rifle…that was something else entirely.

  Sharps wasn’t going to let them get the opportunity. He removed the banjo from its canvas case and used a piece of fringe to fasten the case to the saddle. He flipped up the sight, lowered the lever and trigger into place, waited until they were about a quarter mile ahead of him, and then rode after them.

  It wasn’t long before they all reached the small wagon train. From their grumbling, it was obvious they hadn’t expected a fortified position.

  The Willow Crick men kept some distance between the wagons and the men and lone woman who faced them from behind the shelter of the wagons. Sharps was out of sight, but he had no trouble hearing the cocksure words of the leader.

  “All we want is the woman and the kid. Turn ‘em over, and we’ll let you go on your way.”

  Instead of answering, the quiet of the twilight was broken by the sound of rifles being cocked.

  “Now hold on there a minute.” The cockiness left the leader’s voice, and he sounded uneasy. “Mr. Weatherford said you’d be reasonable, you’d cooperate.”

  “I reckon you shouldn’t have believed him,” the captain said in a cool tone. That was the man Sharps had marched beside for three years, and even though they were on the outs now, he thought his chest would burst with pride.

  “You’re being stupid. You’re gonna get yourselves killed, and for what? A woman and kid who’re nothing to—” The man howled and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Ow!” He took his hand from his head and stared down at his fingers. “Hey! I’m bleeding.”

  Mrs. Hall raised her voice. “Now suppose you gents be on your way?”

  “Why you—”

  Sharps had heard enough to know things were about to go to hell. They were four against twelve. Well, he reckoned that was about to change. He looped the reins around the saddle horn loosely enough to give the mare her head.

  Sharps had always been an excellent mimic, and during his years drumming the men into battle, he’d heard the Rebel yell more times than he cared to recall. Now he tightened his knees around Salida’s barrel, tossed back his head, and let out the banshee cry. Then he drove his heels into the mare’s sides. She bounded forward, and Sharps began to fire the banjo Pa had made into a rifle.

  The party behind the wagons were firing as well, and Sharps guided Salida with pressure from his knees while he continued to shoot at the men from Willow Crick. Their horses were unused to bullets flying close by, and they shied, and bucked, and tried to bolt, throwing off their riders’ aim.

  He didn’t shoot to kill, although he wouldn’t have minded, especially the one who suggested they shoot the captain.

  It was over in less than a minute, and although none of the men were dead, they had all been injured. Most of them had fallen off their horses, and they moaned and rocked and cradled their wounds.

  While Sharps waited for the barrel concealed in the neck of the banjo to cool, he slid the lever and trigger into the resonator and lowered the sight. Within minutes it appeared to be nothing more than a very finely-made banjo. He put it back in its case and slung the case over his shoulder.

  The captain stepped over the wagon tongue. “Mount up and get out of here,” he ordered the Willow Crick men. “And tell Weatherford if he comes after anyone in this wagon train again, I’ll personally hunt him down like the dog he is and blow his brains all over hell’s creation. And that goes for you boys, too.”

  “I g
ot men who’re bleeding,” the leader whined. He started as Sharps appeared out of the shadows. “You gotta help us,” he pleaded.

  “People keep telling me that.” Sharps circled the men to face them. “Can’t imagine why they’d think so, but there you go.” He took out a pouch and began rolling a cigarette. “You want my advice, I’d say turn your horses around and head on back to Willow Crick.”

  “Now, you heard the man,” the captain said. “Hightail it out of here.”

  The men who’d fallen off their horses managed to get to their feet and hoist themselves back into the saddle. The ones who had managed to stay in their saddles didn’t wait for their companions. But in a matter of minutes they were all gone.

  Sharps walked Salida toward Mrs. Hall, tipped back his hat, and took the cigarette from between his lips. “Thank you for the loan of Salida, ma’am.” He swung down out of the saddle.

  “Thanks for the loan of the rifle. It’s a honey.”

  “It takes a good marksman—markswoman—to appreciate a weapon like that.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Hall blushed. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

  “Like I said, Pa made it for me.”

  Mrs. Hall’s brothers scrambled over the wagon tongue. Chris held a bow, an arrow nocked in the bowstring. Charlie had his own rifle—so that had been the fifth rifle he’d heard cocked. Thomas, the littlest boy, twirled the rubber of a slingshot and grinned.

  “I got ‘em good, didn’t I, Georgie?” he asked his sister.

  “You surely did.” She stroked a tender hand over his blond hair.

  So, it hadn’t been four against twelve but seven against twelve. Sharps grinned wryly. They’d hardly needed him. Still, he was glad he’d been able to even the odds a little bit more.

  “Where have you been, Sharps?” the captain snapped, causing Sharps to jerk in surprise. “You weren’t here—”

  “I went for a ride.” He’d hoped…Well, no matter.

  Mrs. Fox moved aside the canvas that covered her wagon and glared at them. “Are you quite finished? You’ve frightened my children almost out of their wits. Shame on you.” A final glare, and she withdrew back into the wagon.

  “I wasn’t scared,” Bert announced.

  “No, you weren’t, were you. I’m proud of you, Bert.”

  The boy flushed with pleasure.

  “You’d better go comfort your woman,” the captain snarled at Sharps.

  “Huh?”

  The captain turned toward the other men. “We’ll make camp here. I won’t take the chance those yahoos’ll change what little minds they have and come back. We’ll need to set up a watch roster for tonight in case they decide to pay us another visit.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Sharps looked at Mrs. Hall, feeling confused and hurt. “What’s he talking about?”

  “He thinks you’re…fond…of Mrs. Fox.”

  It took a second for Sharps to wrap his mind around that notion. When he did, he demanded, “Is he out of his mind?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, that sounds ungentlemanly. But she’s just lost her husband. And…and I’m not in love with her.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Hall rested her hand on Sharps’s shoulder. “You’re in love with him.”

  Sharps hunched in on himself. Having someone see his deepest secret felt like he’d taken a blow to the gut. Then he straightened. “I reckon it doesn’t matter. Do you want me to leave?”

  “What? Why would I…?” She exchanged glances with her husband. Was Hall about to jump on him and start whaling away at him because he cared for another man?

  Sharps observed them stoically. It had been easy to keep his attraction to men to himself—the captain hadn’t been around—but he’d seen how others had been treated.

  Mrs. Hall picked up on his tension almost immediately. “No!”

  “Thank you.” He could see she was about to say more, but the last thing he wanted to talk about was his futile love for another man. “Excuse me. I’ll groom Salida before I give her back to you. Let Captain Marriott know I’ll take whatever watch he wants.”

  Sharps led the mare away. He could feel two sets of eyes on him and was relieved Mrs. Hall and her husband hadn’t seemed upset by the woman’s assertion that Sharps loved the captain.

  Even though he’d never acted on his interest in other men, Sharps had learned to keep it hidden. The only person he was actually willing to reveal it to was Steve Marriott, and that looked like it wasn’t going anywhere, in spite of the cap’s pleasure at first seeing him. The captain must have somehow realized Sharps’s…unnatural…desire for him. While Sharps had been working for Colonel Sebring, he’d had to sit in on a salvation meeting, and the “brother” who’d done the preaching had called down hellfire and brimstone on those who followed the ways of Sodom and Gomorrah. At first the thought had niggled at him that the captain had somehow discovered his preference and been disgusted by it. What other reason could there be for him to be so curt with Sharps and to put such distance between them?

  But with Mrs. Hall telling him the cap thought Sharps was in love with Mrs. Fox—could the captain be jealous because he was in love with Mrs. Fox and thought Sharps wanted the widow? But if he did, wouldn’t it make more sense to keep Sharps away from her rather than constantly throwing them together?

  Or was the cap being honorable and bowing out?

  Sharps was so confused his head began to hurt.

  Well, he’d ride along until they reached Mrs. Hall’s valley, then he’d give the captain his gift, and leave.

  He unsaddled the mare and began rubbing her down.

  “Sharps?”

  “Hullo, Bert.”

  “You came back.”

  “I told you I would. Did you get to use the frying pan?”

  “No.” Bert sounded disgruntled, and in spite of how low Sharps felt, he couldn’t help being amused.

  “That’s okay.” He hid his smile. “You were there and ready to pitch in, and that’s what counts.”

  “It is?”

  “You bet.”

  “Yeah. May I…may I ask you something?” The boy sounded serious.

  Sharps paused in brushing Salida and glanced over his shoulder. “Sure.”

  “Will you marry Mama? I know it’s awfully soon since Papa passed, but you would make a great father.”

  “Thank you, Bert. I’m pleased you think so, and I’d like to be your pa, but I can’t.”

  “Because you don’t love Mama.”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. She’s a good woman, and maybe one day she’ll find another man like your pa, one who’ll love her the way he loved her, the way she deserves, but it won’t be me.”

  “Because you love someone else?”

  Sharps didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want to lie to the boy, but he also didn’t want to build up hopes that were destined to be dashed.

  “It’s okay.” Bert’s smile wobbled. “I just hoped—”

  Sharps abruptly found himself with an armful of little boy. “I’m sorry.” He stroked Bert’s hair.

  Just as abruptly, Bert pulled himself away, ran to the wagon, scrambled up, and disappeared into its darkness. Sharps stared after him regretfully.

  He’d liked the boy holding onto him, depending on him. He knew he’d never be a father in the normal course of events, but…would it be so bad if he did marry Mrs. Fox?

  It didn’t take much consideration to accept it would, and the fact that she’d so recently lost her husband was only the first of many obstacles in the path of marrying the widow. She was older by at least eleven years, she was pregnant with her deceased husband’s child, and…she would never be pregnant with a child of his own. In addition, if Steve…if the captain loved her…

  Sharps sighed, finished grooming Salida, and turned her out, then went to Mrs. Hall to learn what his rotation on the watch would be. He didn’t feel comfortable approaching the captain, but for some reason going to the woman instead of her husband
felt like the thing to do.

  Chapter 21

  After ten days on the road, they’d managed to cover about a hundred and fifty miles.

  “We’re going to take tomorrow as a rest day,” Steve told them as they made camp. “We’re far enough from Willow Crick that we can relax our guard, but only for a bit.” In spite of that fact, he felt they still needed to stay alert.

  Sharps agreed with him, although Steve could see the younger man would have preferred to push on. He probably wanted to get to a town that had a preacher so he could marry the widow. She’d been short with them after their run-in with the men from Willow Crick, but it hadn’t taken long for Sharps to win her over and have her lingering next to him, touching his shoulder and smiling at him with big, sad eyes.

  Steve shook his head and watched sourly as Sharps rested his hand on her shoulder. If the kid wanted a readymade family, who was Steve to interfere?

  Who are you kidding, Marriott? You’re someone who wants Sharps for yourself.

  Sharps left the widow and went to speak to Mrs. Hall, then brought the big gray stallion he’d named Twilight to the wagon and looped the reins around a wheel. He’d been working with the stallion each evening after they camped…and come to think of it, when had a city boy become so comfortable with such a high-strung animal? What had Sharps been up to these past five years?

  Steve continued to watch as Sharps pulled a saddle blanket from the hammock under the wagon and smoothed it over the stallion’s back. He was about to retrieve a saddle when Bertie came running up to him, and Sharps stooped a little—he was only a few inches taller than the boy and it didn’t take much for the two of them to be on eyelevel. Steve couldn’t hear what they said, but after they’d spoken for a bit, Sharps straightened, removed the blanket from Twilight’s back and released him back into the makeshift corral. Then he pulled a knife from its sheath and reached into the hammock. When he straightened this time, he showed Bertie a strip of fringe that Steve had seen hanging from the saddle. Sharps grinned down at Bertie, returned the knife to its sheath, and led the boy into the woods, seeming to weave the fringe as they walked.

  He was probably going to show the boy how to make a snare. Well, of course. That was something a father would do. It really looks like Sharps is setting himself up to become a pa, Steve thought sourly. He didn’t begrudge Bertie a father, but did it have to be Sharps? And did Sharps have to rush into it so wholeheartedly?