“You go on out there, boss. I’ll stay here.” Dillon’s teasing eyes went from Jenny to Colleen.
“Take him with you, Cleve,” Trell said laughingly. “I might have to crack his head with my walkin’ stick.”
“You fellers have all the luck,” Dillon exclaimed. “Cleve, how’s it that we never can find us two sightly-lookin’ women with a granny that cooks vittles better’n any we’ve had at Delmonico’s?”
“What’s that, Granny?” Beatrice’s clear, childish voice filled the silence while Cleve was trying to think of something to say.
“A fancy restaurant,” Cassandra whispered, then turned her eyes to Dillon. “How come you’re not married, Dillon? You’re not bad-lookin’ and you’re old enough.”
Jenny looked at the ceiling. How would these men view her sister—calling them by their first names, asking personal questions? She needn’t have worried. Dillon was not in the least offended.
“Well, now, Miss Pretty Little Puss, I do thank ya for the ‘not bad-looking’ part. You see if I’d a picked just one gal outta the bunch I had to choose from, the rest of them would have jumped in the river. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”
Cleve snorted and murmured. “The kid’s windy as a cyclone. Don’t get it from his pa or his ma, that’s sure.”
“Tell her, Cleve. Tell her about how ya got to carry that big old club to keep the girls off me when we go into a town.”
“Dillon! You’re as full of hockey as a young robin.”
“Cassandra!” Jenny was mortified.
Trell smiled broadly despite the soreness. Cleve’s weathered face broke into a grin. All around the table there were smiles.
“Don’t get in a snit, Virginia. Ike says that all the time, only he doesn’t say … hockey!”
Jenny glared at Ike. His nose was about three inches from his plate, and his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.
“Ike is going to get his mouth washed out with soap … along with yours,” Jenny said sternly.
“Makes sense to me,” Travor said, hoping to ease Jenny’s embarrassment. “Not about the soap. About the pretty girls. I had the same problem once when—Ouch! Who kicked me?”
The only thing that would have made Jenny happier would have been to have Whit with them. He had said that he wouldn’t be back today. As soon as he returned, she would bring him to meet the marshal. It was time Whit learned that there were many more good white men than there were bad.
Travor waited impatiently for Colleen, Jenny and Cassandra to clear the table and wash the dishes. The men moved to the end of the table and Colleen filled their coffee cups. He listened with only half an ear to the conversation, his eyes following Colleen’s every move.
As soon as the last dish was put away and the wet towels hung to dry, Travor went to Colleen. He looked over her head to Granny and lifted his brows. The old woman nodded, her eyes twinkling. He took Colleen’s arm and propelled her out the door.
“I ain’t knowin’ much about manners, Trav McCall, but I know ya ain’t usin’ any,” Colleen sputtered as soon as the door closed behind them. “Hmm—”
Travor’s mouth covered hers with a hunger that silenced her, forcing her lips to open beneath his. One hand moved up to hold her neck in a viselike grip, tilting her head so that she could not escape his passionate kiss.
“I … asked Granny.”
“Did not.” It was all she had time to say.
“I used every ounce of patience I had while I waited for this,” he murmured huskily when he moved his mouth a fraction from hers.
They strained together, hearts beating wildly, and kissed as lovers long separated. His hands roamed from her shoulders to her hips and up and under her hair to the nape of her neck.
“Darlin’, darlin’—” His lips moved over her cheeks. “I swear I don’t know what’s happenin’ to me.”
Colleen laughed, a sound that came out throaty and shaky.
“It can’t be that yo’re hungry. Ya packed away a heap of supper.”
“I am hungry, sweetheart. I’m so damned hungry for ya—I can’t hide it.” He moved her hand down briefly over his hardened sex.
“Trav, I know what yo’re hungry for. I know what goes on ’tween a man and a woman.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Papa used to say, ‘Run along, darlin’, and stay with Granny. Me and yore mama are goin’ to love each other.’” Her hand bracketed his jaws. “I don’t remember when it come to me what they were doin’. A youngun that likes animals … just knows.”
Travor’s eyes roved over her upturned face. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath.
“Are ya shocked? Granny says nice girls don’t know about such, and if they do they don’t talk about it.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes anxious on his face.
“Thank God!” he said softly.
“Travor—” Her voice came shaky. “What’a ya mean?”
“Sweetheart, I was thankin’ God, I found ya. I’ve been around a lot of women. Some were brazen, some pretended to be so nasty nice, some so … dumb that they think they’ll get a baby if ya kiss ’em. None of them were as honest and sweet as you.”
“I’ve not ever … ever—Don’t think that!”
“I don’t think that, honey. I’m just so proud ya can talk to me about it. I want us to tell each other ever’thing.”
He lifted her arms up and over his shoulders so that she could wrap them around his neck. He devoured her mouth while his hands slid down to her buttocks, pressing their shifting muscles as he held her firmly against him until neither of them seemed able to strain close enough to the other.
The back door opened. Ike’s voice, thankin’ Granny for the supper, came to them. They moved as one around the corner of the house. Travor leaned against the wall, holding her firmly between his spread legs. His hand moved up to stroke her breast, his lips nuzzled her neck.
“There’s a preacher in Forest City. Trell asked Ike to go ask him to come here.”
“We don’t have to wait.” Her words were nearly unrecognizable, spoken as they were when he pressed his mouth again to hers.
His hands on her buttocks moved her hips in circles, pulling her tightly against his arousal and rocking her back and forth.
“I can … wait.” An almost pained sound came raspily from his throat as his mouth left hers and fastened on the soft skin on the side of her neck. “I want to wait until I can have you all night long, love you all night long, make it somethin’ for us to remember … when we’re old.”
He moved her away from him.
“Let’s walk, sweetheart. I want ya to tell me ever’thin’ ya’ve done ever’ day of yore life.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
The morning was bright and clear, but it went unnoticed by Pud and Linus as they stood on the porch of the store and watched the Reverend Longfellow’s buggy approach.
“What’s he back so soon for?” Linus growled.
“Arvella said he was bringin’ out a girl, but there ain’t nobody with him.”
“He’s got no rider with him, either. I’ll wait and take the buggy so ya can stay by Arvella. He’ll tear her up.”
“Bein’ loose from Alvin just this little while has give Arvella a little backbone. When I told her that her pa was coming, she just sat there. She didn’t even jump up and start cookin’ like she usually does.”
As the buggy approached, Pud could see that the horse pulling it was lathered. The misuse of a good horse riled him as much as cruelty to a man. A few yards from the porch, the tired animal was jerked to a stop so suddenly that the buggy rocked. The horse stood with bowed head, its sides heaving. The preacher bounced down.
“That horse isn’t worth the bullet it would take to blow its brains out. Get another horse and hitch it up. I won’t be here long.” He turned to walk up the steps to the porch.
“The horses here are hardly halter-broke,” Pud said. “We don’t have none that are broke to hitch.”
“Didn�
�t you bring that sorrel mare of yours out here? Hitch her up and be quick about it.”
“I ain’t doin’ that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I won’t hitch my mare to your buggy.”
“Hitch her to my buggy or get the hell out of here.” Longfellow glowered at the defiant man, who looked steadily back at him, then stomped across the porch to the door.
Before he followed Longfellow into the store, Pud told Linus to walk the horse to cool it, then rub it down and water it sparingly. He had promised Arvella he would stay nearby while her father was there, and he intended to keep the promise.
“Get up, you fat cow,” Longfellow bellowed as soon as he entered the living quarters. “Get some things together. You’re goin’ back to town.”
“Back to town? Why?” Arvella’s voice quivered.
“’Cause I said so. You’ve got no right here now. Alvin’s dead.”
There was silence. It seemed to go on and on. Pud’s heart thumped as he waited to hear what Arvella would say. The man had dominated her for so long that she was a different person in his presence. God help her to keep her wits about her.
“Alvin’s dead?”
“You heard me. His house burned down last night with him in it. You’re a widow now, and back under my roof.”
Silence again.
“His house burned with him in it,” she echoed his words when she finally spoke.
How could he have died in a fire? He was killed trying to carry off the teacher.
“It’s what I said. The bastard burned to a crisp.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m not … really. I hated him.”
Longfellow paced the room. Since he’d discovered Alvin’s safe empty, he’d had a gut feeling that Havelshell had been storing away documents to save his own hide and put the blame for their rustling activities on him. During the night he had decided the best thing to do was to take what money he had on hand and his other asset and head for the coast of California. There he was sure to find a man who would marry Arvella and get her with child.
“Why are you standing there? Get some things together—”
“I’m not leaving. I’m Alvin’s widow, and I’ve got a right to stay until another agent arrives.”
The preacher exploded in a spate of angry curses. Pud wished that folks in town who believed him to be so Christian could hear him.
“You damned bitch! You’ve no right to do anything, say anything or think anything unless I tell you. Get your fat ass in there and get a bag packed or you’ll go without one.”
“I’m not going.”
“Don’t you dare say no to me!” The preacher’s voice had risen to screech.
“I’m not leaving. As Alvin’s widow, I’m entitled to whatever he had.”
“You’re entitled? You’re entitled to whatever I give you.”
Pud heard the sound of the slap and the small cry that came from Arvella. He opened the door and went into the room. Longfellow’s hand was raised.
“Don’t hit her again.”
Longfellow spun around in surprise, came up against Pud’s solid frame and backed away. Pud’s interference was totally unexpected.
“I told you to get the hell out!”
“I quit workin’ for ya the day I rode out here.”
Longfellow’s eyes went from his daughter to Pud.
“Are you horny for this fat cow? I’ve heard about men that liked fat meat. There’s even a whorehouse in Denver that keeps one or two. I’ve been thinking of taking this tub of grease—”
“Hush up your mouth!”
“Ho! Ho! So that’s the way the wind blows.”
“Pud—” Linus stood in the doorway. “McCall’s here with two other fellers.”
Longfellow looked alarmed, then issued the orders crisply.
“Get out there. See what they want.”
Pud looked at Arvella. Her eyes begged him not to leave.
“See what they want, Linus.”
“I didn’t tell Linus. I told you,” Longfellow said irritably. “And close the door.”
Pud didn’t move. And then heavy bootheels sounded on the plank floor of the store. The screen door slammed.
“Golly-damn! This is ’bout the sorriest Agency store I ever did see.” The voice had a Texas drawl.
A tall man in a Texas-style hat came to the door and Linus moved out of the way.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I’m Mrs. Havelshell.” Arvella crossed the room.
“Marshal Cleve Stark, ma’am.” Cleve removed his hat. “Have you heard the news about your husband?”
“My father, Reverend Longfellow, just told me.”
Until now, Cleve had not looked at Longfellow although he had recognized the buggy and knew he was there. The man came forward and held out his pudgy hand.
“Reverend Henry W. Longfellow, Marshal.” He had the same pious look on his face that he wore in church. “I can see that you recognize my name and are wondering about my connection to my famous relative. We were cousins and close friends.” He chuckled. “Folks are always expecting me to render verse after verse of Henry’s poems. He’s been gone for a couple of years now. God rest his soul.”
“Golly-bill, Cleve! The little dude talks like a snake-oil salesman, and he cleans up pretty good, too.” Dillon lounged in the doorway with a crooked grin on his face. He lifted his nose and sniffed. “I do believe he got that horse-hockey washed off.”
Longfellow’s eyes hardened. He shot Dillon a look laced with enough venom to drop an elephant; but when he turned to the marshal, he wore an expression of regret.
“No need to apologize, Marshal. I understand brash young folk. I’m sorry you had to witness my loss of patience yesterday morning. I was out of my mind with worry over my son-in-law, Mr. Havelshell.”
Arvella backed up into a corner. The marshal, like everyone else, would be taken in by her father’s smooth talk. Her eyes sought Pud for reassurance. She didn’t understand why they were saying Alvin died in a fire. He was killed by the Indian boy. Linus had seen it, and Linus wouldn’t lie about it.
“Come outside.” Cleve beckoned to Longfellow.
“Of course.” Longfellow headed for the door, then turned to speak kindly to Arvella. “Get your things together, dear. I’ll take you home.”
Pud lingered after the men left the room.
“Are ya goin’ with him?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then ya won’t. Just sit tight. I’ll see what’s goin’ on.” Pud went through the store to the porch. He stopped so abruptly Linus bumped into him.
Longfellow stood with his arms around a porch post and his wrists shackled. A flood of foul language was spewing from his mouth.
“Goddamn you! What the hell are you doing? You sonofabitchin’ bastard! Folks won’t stand for you treating me like this.”
“Now, now, preacher. You ain’t never goin’ to get to heaven a-cussin’ like that.” The young Texan patted Longfellow on the head as he would a child. “Settle down, little feller. Ya just might pull this porch top down on ya if ya keep yankin’ on that post.”
“Get your hands off me, you ignorant, two-bit bastard!”
“That’s the second time ya called me that. Do it again and ya’ll go to that brand-new Federal pen in Laramie with yore chin between yore eyes and yore eyes tied on top a yore head.”
Pud and Linus gaped at Longfellow. He was livid with anger, but not so angry that he didn’t realize the tall blond deputy was dangerous when pushed.
“Stay with Arvella, Linus, so she’ll know what’s goin’ on.” Pud prodded the boy back into the store, then stepped off the porch.
“Howdy, McCall,” Pud said. “What this about?”
“You’ll have to ask the marshal. He’s the man in charge. His deputy is takin’ care of the prisoner.”
“Prisoner?”
“Harris,” Pud said, and stuck out his hand.
“Are you and the boy the only men who work here?” Cleve asked as he shook Pud’s hand.
“There’s a couple of Indians that come in from time to time. Not much goin’ on until the cattle come in.”
“Were you here when the last allotment arrived?”
“No. I just hired on a couple months ago.”
“Do you know if anyone made a count?”
“Mrs. Havelshell keeps tab on what comes here,” Pud said.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll have a look at the books.”
“Will she have to leave right away?”
“I see no reason for it. It will take a month or so to get another agent here. McCall vouched for you—said he didn’t know ya, but folks in town said ya was pretty straight. I’d like ya to stay on and keep thin’s goin’ till then.”
Pud nodded. “Do ya mind tellin’ me what Longfellow’s done. Mrs. Havelshell’ll want to know.”
“I don’t mind tellin’ ya, and I’ll tell her before we go—that is, if she don’t already know it. Federal agents have been looking for him for a long time. Longfellow isn’t even his real name. It’s Morris. Clarence Morris. But he’s gone by half a dozen names. He killed a miner and stole the gold the man had worked for so he could bring his family out from Missouri. He’s a rustler and a swindler. He’s slicked more folks outta money than a dog’s got fleas. He and Havelshell have been helpin’ themselves to the Indians’ cattle. When I get him to the Territorial capital, he’ll be put away for a long while—if they don’t hang him.”
“Mrs. Havelshell had nothin’ to do with any of that.”
“I figured as much. Longfellow’s ranch will be sold to pay for what he has stolen. Havelshell was fixin’ to hightail it out of the country. I have a bag with papers and quite a bit of cash money. I’ll see to it that Mrs. Havelshell gets some of it.”
Sweetwater Page 35
