Smolder on a Slow Burn

by Lynda J. Cox

  “He’s here to kill her.” A.J. draped an arm about Allison’s midsection, pulling her until her back was against his chest. She didn’t miss the implication in the gesture. She had a sudden insight that despite how close these two men had once been, they had also been incredibly competitive. A.J. had alluded to that fierce competition more than once.

  Taylor dropped his gaze to his desk and then snapped his head back up to Allison.

  “That’s my wanted poster, isn’t it?” Allison managed to ask without the slightest quaver in her voice, in spite of the way her insides were shuddering.

  “It’s for both of you and I was just thinking that it was a very bad coincidence on the name.” Taylor sat down, looked from A.J. to Allison. “Ease off the iron, A.J. Why don’t you take a seat and explain this to me.”

  “I would prefer to stand.” A.J.’s hold on her waist tightened ever so slightly.

  Taylor blanched. “If you want to stand, fine, but you did forget to add ‘sir’ to that.”

  “Not to you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, will both of you stop this?” Taylor was trying to extend the benefit of the doubt to them both and it was A.J. who was being unreasonable. Allison glared over her shoulder at him. “You said we needed to find a federal marshal to be sure that Oakten can’t wiggle his way out of a noose over a technicality with a local authority. I’m going to sit down while the two of you decide which is more important—trying to one up each other or figuring out a way to bring Oakten to justice for all the murders he’s committed.” She pulled free and sat in a chair near Taylor’s desk, but positioned herself so she could watch the two men.

  They were currently bristling like two tom cats, sizing each other up.

  Taylor sank back into his chair, dropped his head into his hands and appeared to study the wanted poster on his desk. But Allison caught the smirk he tried to hide. With a sigh, A.J. partially surrendered by sliding to his right and leaning a shoulder into the doorjamb. He holstered the revolver, and then crossed his arms across his chest. Before any of them could say anything, light footsteps on the board walk pulled everyone’s attention to the large window overlooking the street.

  Allison registered flaming red hair coiffed atop the woman’s head and from the corner of her eye she watched Taylor’s whole expression soften.

  The woman pushed the door open and without any preamble stated, “If you are late for supper again, Harrison…” She stopped, and dipped her head in a curt nod to first A.J. and then Allison. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize that anyone was h…” She trailed off again, and rounded on a heel, staring at A.J.

  He stepped off the doorjamb, swept the hat off his head and cut a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

  Her head snapped over to Taylor, bestowing on the lawman the most demanding glare Allison had ever seen. Even Alice never had the demanding stare that this woman had, Allison conceded. The marshal rose, and rounded the desk, walking with a slight limp. “Rachel, this young woman is Allison Webster…”

  “Adams,” A.J. immediately corrected. “We said our vows a few days ago, somewhere in Nebraska. Her name is Allison Adams.”

  Rachel threw her hands up. “Stop. Every one of you.” She inclined her head to Allison. “Who are you again?”

  Allison rose from the chair. “Allison Adams. I could ask the same of you.”

  “Rachel Taylor.” Rachel’s gaze swept over Allison, lingering for a moment on the fading bruise on her forehead.

  A.J. lifted a brow. “After Clarissa Howard, I would have put even money on you never marrying. Not after the way that hell-cat tore you to pieces.”

  “Who’s Clarissa?” Rachel demanded. Allison heard the claws being sharpened.

  “Later, Rachel,” Taylor muttered, glaring at A.J. “This isn’t the time or the place. I’m a little busy here.”

  Rachel wheeled on A.J. “I will assume, from what you said, you’re her husband. I’m also going to assume, with that last name, you’re the A.J. Adams that man”—and she pointed at her husband without looking at him—“says our neighbor Drake Adams is the spitting image of.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Accurst be he that first invented war.

  ~Christopher Marlowe

  Drake? Drake’s alive? And, he’s here?

  A.J. staggered a step back, needing the wall for support. The roaring in his ears drowned out everything except the echo of Drake’s name. He was dimly aware of Allison holding one arm, Taylor supporting him on the other side and as he slid partially down the wall, Taylor’s wife holding his coat front to ease his fall.

  As quickly as he collapsed, A.J. shoved himself to his feet. Rachel backed away to give him room to stand. He flung off Allison’s hands and rounded on Taylor. “Drake’s here?”

  “Well, someone named Drake Adams who lives here bears an uncanny resemblance to you at the same age,” Taylor offered. “I thought you were dead and Drake’s never mentioned you. He honestly doesn’t remember anything before the Majors family took him in. How in the hel…how was I supposed to bring that subject up when the last thing we were discussing was why you, she, and Oakten are all in my town?”

  “When were you planning on telling me my brother is alive and he’s here?”

  Allison stepped between him and Taylor as did Rachel. Allison pushed him back a half step. He noticed Rachel doing the same with her husband. With both women standing between him and Taylor, plus the distance the two women forced on them, A.J. relaxed. Taylor also visibly calmed.

  “It may take some time to explain all this.” Taylor looked completely dumbfounded.

  “Give it a try, why don’t you?” A.J. said. “You’re usually really good at cutting everything to the quick and laying it out in black and white.”

  Rachel twisted to level a grin at A.J. over her shoulder. Allison shifted to stand directly between Rachel and him. He caught Allison’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. They were trying to avoid a madman intent on killing her. His brother was in the very same small town. Both of them had a wanted poster sitting on the marshal’s desk, and it was Allison’s palpable jealousy he was most concerned with assuaging at that exact moment. The whole state of affairs would be comical were it not for the seriousness of the situation.

  “You do know him very well, don’t you?” Rachel said, apparently oblivious to Allison’s discomfort. “Rather than hashing this out here, we’ll go out to the house and discuss it over supper. That was the reason I stopped here in the first place because Harrison is also notable for arriving late when we have supper guests.”

  A.J. pulled himself fully erect. “Allison and I already have a room and we can eat in town, but thank you for the invitation.” Allison’s shoulder relaxed under his palm.

  Now Rachel rounded fully on him. “Are you sure you aren’t related to Harrison? You’re as rigid and as stubborn as he is.”

  A.J. opened his mouth to argue whether or not he was rigid and stubborn, but before he could say anything, Taylor protested, “Rachel, I can’t take them out to the house. There’s a wanted poster for both of them—for murder. Do you really want to take that kind of a chance with the kids at the house?”

  “I’d never hurt any child!” Allison gasped. “I’m a teacher.”

  “If you think I could stoop to doing harm to any child…”

  “STOP!” Rachel’s shout brought about instant silence in the jail. She walked over to Taylor’s desk and picked up the poster. She glanced at it and then over at Allison. “I don’t see the likeness.”

  “Thank you,” Allison murmured. “I didn’t see it, either.”

  Rachel wadded the poster into a ball and opened the large potbellied stove that radiated heat into the office. She threw the paper wad into the flames. A.J. noted she totally ignored her husband’s outburst. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but it appeared that Taylor’s wife had become an instant ally.

  “What?” she asked in a voice full of innocence that ninety percent of t
he belles A.J. knew in what seemed a lifetime ago would have envied. “I didn’t see the likeness and now there isn’t even a poster. And, besides, this way you can keep an eye on both of them and you don’t have to miss supper.” She turned from the marshal. “You and your wife will join us for supper. There is plenty of room at the Lazy L so you don’t need to come back to town and get a room.”

  Allison looked up at him, appearing as befuddled as he did with this strange turn of events.

  “We can’t take them to the house,” Taylor said. “I have to lock them up here until I can get this straightened out. When I pinned this badge on I took an oath…”

  “And we all know, regardless of the cost, you follow orders,” A.J. said, not bothering to curb his sarcasm.

  Rachel graced him with a smile. “I do like you. If Allison doesn’t mind, she can ride to the ranch in the wagon with me. I have a heavy buffalo rug in there and that wind is really picking up. A horseback ride could be very miserable if that’s the only coat you have.”

  “It is,” Allison said.

  Taylor threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender and muttered, “One of these days, Rachel, I’m not going to give in.”

  “Good. Now that we have all that settled…”

  A.J. wasn’t sure what had been settled. Being in the same room with Rachel Taylor was like being caught up in a tornado.

  Rachel cast a quick glance up and down over A.J. and for the first time in ages, he felt embarrassed by the condition of the greatcoat he wore. But her warm smile a moment later quelled any misgivings. “Harrison, I know you’ve a few extra pairs of gloves around here. There’s also that bright yellow scarf I knitted that you refuse to wear. Go get them.”

  A.J. couldn’t stifle his laughter as the man leaped to follow his wife’s orders. Rachel leaned closer to A.J. “Just between you, me, and your wife…he’s the only blue belly I’ve ever really liked.”

  “And you were how old when the war ended that you’ve met how many of the men who fought that war?”

  “I was nine or ten,” she announced airily. “That being said, I’ve met enough of you Rebs to know when it comes to being gentlemen, those blue bellies could learn a few things from you men in gray.”

  Taylor emerged moments later from a back room with a pair of thick fur lined mittens and a long goldenrod colored wool scarf. Rachel snagged them from her husband’s hands and held them out to A.J. “I think I’d pay good money to see you wearing it as a sash.”

  “I would too,” Allison said.

  A.J. shook his head. “If it’s meant to be worn as a sash, it has to be silk. Even as badly worn as this coat is, I won’t dishonor the uniform.”

  Taylor re-emerged from the back room. “I found another pair of mittens for Allison and a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. That buffalo robe won’t be enough to keep her warm if the two of you are using it as a lap rug.”

  A.J. watched as Allison swung the blanket around her shoulders. Taylor said, “I’m assuming you have two horses. Tie Allison’s to the back of the wagon, Rachel, and A.J. can follow me to the house.”

  “I’d rather not. The last time I followed you it didn’t end well.” He couldn’t keep the image of those fifteen foot tall wooden walls from rearing into his vision.

  Taylor turned around. “The last time you followed me you were in shackles and there were five armed guards around you with orders to shoot to kill if you tried to escape. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  “No thanks to you.”

  Rachel paused in the doorway. “I hope the two of you don’t kill one another before you get to the house.”

  “Don’t plan on it,” Allison cautioned. “I’m tempted to ask for their guns.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Rachel turned to her husband. “Harrison?”

  A.J. looked from Allison and Rachel to Taylor. Allison held her hand out to him, palm up. “Your gun, A.J.”

  He tipped his head at the marshal. “You first.”

  Before Taylor could respond, Rachel crossed the room and pulled his revolver from its holster. She turned to A.J. “Mr. Adams, your turn.”

  A.J. pulled his revolver clear and handed it butt first to Allison. “Satisfied we aren’t going to shoot one another?”

  “Yes,” Allison said, handing A.J.’s revolver to Rachel. The two women then marched out the doorway.

  Taylor muttered, “What just happened?”

  A.J. wasn’t sure himself. The open doorway sent a blast of frigid air into the jail, sending a chill down his back. He waited until the door closed before he spoke. “Thank you for the solicitude you showed to my wife when you brought that blanket out for her.”

  “Will you please stop with the formalities? Are you really married to her? You’re Catholic.”

  A.J. nodded. “So are you, unless you’ve changed religions. Or was that someone else Father Sullivan threatened to excommunicate with me if we ever stole sacramental wine again?”

  Taylor laughed. “We were so drunk…and you just kept begging him to stop screaming. I couldn’t even do that my head hurt so bad.”

  A.J. refused to join in the laughter. “What does being Catholic have to do with whether or not we spoke our vows? As soon as we can, we’ll have a priest make it official with Mother Church.” He shook his head. “She’s a remarkable woman.”

  “She’d have to be, to put up with you.”

  “I could say the same about your wife.”

  Taylor’s gaze swept over A.J. “I’ve got an extra coat back there. It’s lined with raw wool, which is probably a lot warmer than your overcoat.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve been cold, before.” He was not about to cut Taylor any slack, not now. Not now that the women were out of earshot. Not now that he finally was face to face with him. He didn’t have to back down this time.

  “Damn it, A.J., stop. You don’t have to keep reminding me of what happened. I had my orders.”

  If it had been any other man, A.J. would have taken the excuse and walked away. “And that made it right, Harrison? You had your orders? You were willing to take a friendship of over twenty years and gut it and send me straight into a hell worse than any one’s imaginings. And your orders made it right?”

  Taylor turned from him, shoulders dropping. “I didn’t have to imagine what was happening. I saw it every time I went to Infernum. I heard about it, too, from the other officers there. You think it was easy for me, to do nothing, leave you there, and let that bastard do what he was doing?”

  “Yeah, it was real tough on you. Let me assure you it was no Sunday picnic for me.”

  “You didn’t make it easier on yourself. I begged you not to be a hero, not to be a fool, just to find out what we needed and then I could have gotten you the hell out of there.” Taylor placed his palms on the desk top and leaned forward. “You had to maintain that damned sense of honor, didn’t you?”

  “They should have picked a different man if they just wanted someone to find out where that gold was hidden.”

  “I should have picked a different man.”

  A.J. rocked back onto his heels. “You should have picked a different man? Why did you pick me?” The world seemed to spin out of control around him.

  Taylor still hadn’t straightened or turned to look at him. “Because when the group I was in talked about how to find and recover that stolen gold, the idea of finding someone who would be willing to help find it by planting that man in the prison at Infernum was tossed around. We all decided there wasn’t a Confederate who would willingly help and any Union soldier we put in there disguised in C.S.A. gray wouldn’t tolerate the conditions. We agreed we needed someone who would find out what we needed to know about that gold because he felt honor bound to protect the lives of the C.S.A. troops. I was put in charge of finding the right man.”

  “And I was the right man?” Once more, the faces of the men held within the walls of that prison that could have doubled as an antechamber to hell rose in his memory.
“Why? What did I ever do to you, other than be better than you at everything we ever did?”

  “That’s exactly why.”

  A.J. recoiled into the doorjamb. “You sent me straight into hell because I was better than you? You did that out of jealousy?”

  “No.” Taylor straightened and finally turned to face him. “I did it because I knew your honor—that damned honor we were both raised with—wouldn’t let you fail and condemn another group of men to death.”

  “I found out those five men you put up against the wall at Rock Island were already condemned to die. You did a masterful job of manipulation there. If I had still refused, what were you going to do then?” A.J. folded his arms over his chest, trying to understand Taylor’s reasoning.

  “I was fully prepared and ready to order another five men killed. And, another five after that. I was willing to sacrifice five, ten, even one hundred men to find a way to save the thousand at Infernum.” Taylor tilted his head at A.J. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “A.J., you said it yourself. It was the last thing you said to me in Oakten’s office. Don’t you remember what you said about those men being your responsibility?”

  For a slender moment, he stood in the camp commander’s office again, shackled, fighting the waves of pain as he recalled the words he said to Taylor.

  I’m honor bound to defend my men. Make no mistake about it, Major Taylor, the minute you brought me here, those men because my responsibility.

  “Actually, I think the very last thing I said to you was when the war was over I would find you and kill you.”

  Taylor conceded the point with a nod. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”

  “Not hardly. I still don’t understand how my being there was saving any of them. I couldn’t do a damn thing about the lack of food, about the lack of shelter, or absolutely no medical supplies for those men.”

  Taylor sank to the desk behind him. “There wasn’t anything you could do about that, but we could. Many of the officers in that original group ordered to find the missing gold were utterly appalled with the conditions in our camps. We could understand to a certain extent the deprivations in the southern camps. Hell, we had the supply lines for most of the South cut off. But for the North to treat prisoners with the same deprivations as prisoners in the South was beyond the pale. Every one of us picked a friend or cousin or brother that we knew was being held in a Union prison and started taking supplies into our own camps. We all knew full well that each of us was probably destroying a friendship by showing that kind of overt favoritism to one of those prisoners.”