Paint the Wind

by Cathy Cash Spellman

  "Oh, please," she managed to whisper, "I need you inside me... I've needed you so long..."

  Ford raised his body above her own and slid his aching manhood into the hot and welcoming folds of Julia. Even then he controlled his movements, tantalizing, tensing, slowly inching his way within and slowly drawing back, again and again and again, until she thought she would die of desperation.

  "Now, Julia... ?" he whispered.

  "Now. Oh, Christ, please, now..." as he plunged wildly into her, bursting into her, exploding into her as all the pent-up frenzied longing of each one flooded the other with fulfillment.

  Ford Jameson slept for hours after they'd made love. Jewel sat in the chair beside him and watched the door. She knew the only hours of his life he ever slept in peace were the ones he spent with her.

  Fancy waited impatiently for Rufus to finish with the customers who had inconveniently chosen this, of all moments, to order.

  "Rufus!" she called out exasperatedly. "You come back here this minute and tell me who he is!"

  The big man smiled a slow, knowing smile at her impatience.

  "Ol' friend of Jewel's," he said in his usual abbreviated fashion. "Gunfighter. Best I ever seen. Mebbe the best there is."

  Fancy digested this fact with widening eyes. "But what was it I just saw happening between them? It seemed as if all motion in this place stopped to give them room."

  "Queer, ain't it? Always like dat wif dem two. Ford come by, Jewel ain't got eyes nor ears for nothin' else. Thinks he hung de moon. Mebbe he did." He nodded at the thought. "Damn fine feller."

  "But I thought you said he was a gunfighter."

  "You walk a mile in dem moccasins, 'fore you go judgin' de man, missy. Fast gun like dat, ev'y crazy in de Territory come after you. Never turn yo' back. Never sleep nights. Never trust no one. Never rest. Jest keep movin'. Keep stayin' alive. 'Til one day, some crazy kid is faster 'n you. Lessen you kin git a job marshalin' somewheres, your life jest one dead body after 'nother." He stopped a moment, then added, "Dey been together a long time."

  "Together?" Fancy said incredulously. "Rufus, I've been here for months and this is the first I've ever laid eyes on the man! How can you call that together?"

  "Dey together all right, missy. Don't you make no mistake 'bout dat, now. In dere heads dey together all de time... an' in dere hearts. Lotta folks live in de same house every day, ain't together like dem two is. He come when he kin. She knows when he be comin', too. Git all twitchy and quiet-like. He come in dat door soon after."

  "How long will he stay? Will I get a chance to meet him?"

  Rufus picked up an empty and put it into the tray with the other dirty glasses. "If'n somebody on his tail, he be movin' on right quick. If not, he stay long's he kin. Man like dat got a feel for danger... knows when it's a-comin'. Mostly moves on outta its way. One day, he won't move quick enough."

  Fancy shook her head in wonder and walked slowly past the bar to her dressing room door, but her eyes almost involuntarily stole up the stairs in hopes of one more glimpse of the mysterious stranger whose arm had encircled Jewel Mack on the stair, as if he owned her.

  "Saw Dakota, Julia," Ford said as he sat on the bed and pulled on first his socks and then his boots. The woman seated at the dressing table mirror gave an involuntary start.

  "She's grown real beautiful," he said, stamping his heels down firmly to get the boot's fit friendly to his feet.

  Jewel turned toward him on the little bench, her eyes suddenly full. "How is she? What's she like?"

  Jameson smiled a fraction, or rather his eyes softened from their usual vigilant wariness, and he walked toward the window and looked out as he answered.

  "She's taller than you and real slim, Julia. I heard one of the other girls call her 'elegant.' She has my dark hair, I guess, and eyes. She's halfway between little girl and young lady. A little gangly like a newborn filly, but graceful too. She's doing well at school they told me. Another few years and she'll be all grown up and graduating."

  Jewel nodded.

  "She asked for you, Julia, and I told her you loved her. She said she loves you, too, and waits for your letters. Wants to come home to visit once she finishes her schooling."

  "How'd you come to see her?" Jewel asked, her throat so dry, she could barely speak.

  "I was riding with the Earps in Kansas, a while back. Wyatt and Virgil needed a hand with some trouble and cattle. Then a little rough stuff happened at the Lady Gay in Dodge and I got laid up on account of a bullet in the brisket." He almost smiled. "Seemed a good excuse to take the stage into St. Louis for a spell. Seems like as I get older, I take to thinking more about mortality."

  "What're we gonna tell her, when she's full-growed?" Jewel asked, as if the question hadn't come up a thousand times before.

  "Same as we always told her, Julia," he said steadily, the quiet surety of his voice reassuring, calming her. "That her mama lives in the mountains for her lungs and her daddy's business keeps him traveling most of the time. Been thinking, maybe Europe is the place to send her next. I hear a lot of girls from good families travel a year or so in Europe when their schooling's done..."

  Jewel looked at Ford strangely for a moment, as if she hadn't heard him correctly. Then she laughed aloud.

  "Good families, hmm? The kid's got a gunslinger for a father and a whore for a mother—that's what you call a good family?"

  "Yeah," he said, with a slight gentling of the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. "You can tell just by looking at her she comes from real sturdy stock."

  "Been a long time, Otis," Ford said, stretching out a firm hand toward McBain as he drew up alongside him on the street. Bandana grinned. "Ain't but two men in the world I'd get a kick outta seein' today, Jameson, and the other one's dead!" He grasped Ford's hand and pumped it hard.

  "I baptized my spirit with a mite too much Taos Towse last evenin'," Bandana explained as he motioned Ford to walk along with him. "The top of my cranium has rebelled a bit since my eyes pried open this morning."

  "Must be getting old, Otis," Ford said amiably. "Never knew you to feel your whiskey before."

  "I fear I'm gettin' worse than old, Ford. I'm scairt I might be gettin' wise as well."

  "And rich, I hear."

  "Damned if I ain't! Rich enough to see you to a steak at the hotel if you'd care to indulge yourself with an old friend." Bandana noticed several new lines and a scar that hadn't been on Jameson's face when last they'd met.

  "I'd like that real fine, Otis." Bandana saw that his eyes were searching the road that stretched behind him. "Can't stay long, so we'll have to make it soon. At our age, it's best to see old friends when we can."

  "Posse or bounty hunter, this time?"

  "One or the other or both. Wouldn't like them to catch me here. Be hard on Julia if that happened."

  "Ever think of marshalin' or sheriffin'?

  Ford nodded. "Rode with the Earp boys awhile back in Dodge. Heard from Virgil there's room in Montana for a man good with a gun—if he's willing to clean up some range trouble for them, there'll be no questions asked. That's where I'm headed."

  "What about Jewel and Dakota?"

  "Jewel understands. Dakota doesn't know."

  Bandana nodded. "Well, there ain't no sign of a hangin' party jest yet this afternoon. What say we ride up into the mountains and I show you where the strike is. Like you to meet the two young fellers I got for partners, too."

  Ford looked hesitant.

  "Might be a real good hidey-hole should any of them bounty fellers happen to ride this way. Might be you could use a couple or three good men at your back if that happened."

  "I fight my own wars, Otis."

  "Cain't no man stand alone forever, Ford."

  "I thought you swore oft" partners after the last one," Jameson said, avoiding a response to McBain's statement.

  "I did for a while. But Hart and Chance happened along and partnership just came natural."

  "Hart and Chan
ce? Not McAllister?"

  Bandana shook his head, pleased with the response. "I knew from them you knowed each other... I thought to surprise you."

  "Damned if that's not the best news I've heard lately. I always wondered what became of those two boys."

  "May have been boys when you knowed 'em," Bandana said with a chuckle. "They're men now."

  The two old friends moved off toward the livery stable with Ford still watching the late afternoon sky in the special way of the hunted.

  Ford and Bandana climbed the steep trail toward the Fancy Penny with the sun an orange ball headed for the horizon. The clatter of their horses' hooves on loose stone caught Hart's attention as he stood outside the mine manager's office, deep in conversation with Caz. He stopped and stared, disbelieving, at Bandana's companion.

  Ford had changed so little with the years; the coiled-spring body, the sorrowing eyes, were the same as he remembered.

  "Ford!" he yelled. "Ford Jameson!" Hart covered the ground between them and grabbed the gunfighter in a bear hug that startled Bandana with its exuberance. There were damned few men who could touch Ford Jameson and live to tell the tale.

  "Bandana told us you two knew each other, but I never thought to see you here in Leadville."

  "How long has it been, Hart? Ten years?"

  "Nearer fifteen. We were just kids when you saved us."

  He still thinks of his brother and himself as a pair, thought Ford. It wasn't often you found that kind of loyalty in this sorry world.

  "Is Chance still as handy with a deck of cards as he was back then?"

  "Better, I expect. He's pretty good at a lot of things these days —politics, silver, wine, and women high up on the list. He'll be pleased as punch to see you, Ford."

  Jameson smiled inwardly at the pride he sensed beneath the words. Hart had grown to be a man much like the boy he remembered—honorable, loyal, and God Almighty big. Six-foot-five or -six, he'd judge, and broad as a Missouri ox. Ford, studying Hart's eyes, saw no sign of weakness there; he wondered what he'd find in Chance's.

  "By God, it's you!" Chance shouted over the din at the gambling tables, the pleasure in his voice unmistakable. He stood up and pushed back his chair. "Deal me out, boys," he said to the other men at the table, and moved toward where Bandana and Hart stood grinning, next to Ford.

  "I never thought to see you again," Chance said as he pumped Ford's hand and clapped him heartily on the back.

  "Never thought to see you so prosperous," Ford replied.

  The four men traded stories over dinner, of all that had happened to them in the years since they'd parted company.

  "Julia invited us to see the show at the Crown tonight," Ford said over coffee, and Chance and Hart exchanged uncomfortable glances. Neither one knew how to cope with the fact that Fancy was back in Leadville.

  "Damned good idea," Bandana responded before either McAllister could decline. "Got somebody there I'd like to introduce you to, Ford. She's a real old pal of mine and I'd like for you to meet her."

  "So Fate has decided to take it out of my hands," Fancy thought nervously when Jewel told her the boys were out front and wanted her to join them after the show. She'd so hoped that Chance, at least, would seek her out after she returned, but only Bandana'd had the courage for that.

  She'd intended to end tonight's show with a can-can, flaunting plenty of ruffled bloomers, but instead, before the last number, she signaled the piano player there'd be a change in the repertoire.

  "There are some very dear old friends of mine in the audience this evening," she said to the assemblage, and the listeners quieted to a few muffled coughs. "If you'll indulge me, I'd like to sing a song to them I think they may remember."

  Fancy walked upstage center and began to sing, her voice a clear crystal bell that encapsulated all the sadness of a sorrowful world. The song from the music box, they used to call it, as if it had no other name... the song of Beau Rivage and Christmas Eve and a thousand lonely nights of longing.

  The other men in the bar arched to see the fortunate ones she was singing to. They were surprised to see Bandana McBain and the McAllisters enrapt by the haunting refrain.

  Rufus handed Fancy a glass of water as she left the stage, and a towel. "You best dry your eyes, girl, before you go on over dere." She did so gratefully, pretending she was blotting the sweat of the performance from her face as she composed herself.

  Hart jumped to his feet, followed by the other three as she drew near, and then, somehow, it was all easier than she could have imagined, for there were introductions and hugs and laughter and drinks all around and somehow the years had melted away and they were simply together again.

  The physical reality of Chance's face and form, which had haunted her dreams and nightmares, quickened Fancy's loins and heart with bittersweet memory. I remember... Oh, Lord, I remember everything, but her face showed only the sweet smile of friendship. Hart lifted her off the ground with his hug, and Bandana held her close for longer than need be.

  I love you now as I did then, she thought later, lying on her bed, her heart beating like a triphammer... and you're just as capable of throwing me into a tailspin now as then... just as handsome as in my fantasies... just as seductive and smart and desirable. And now you're very, very rich...

  Oh, Chance, you are just what I want in this world, just as I feared you'd be. Now all I'll have to do is figure out what I intend to do about that.

  Chapter 59

  Fancy reined her horse in lightly; the gelding had a soft mouth and responded easily. She loved to ride "a la clothespin" as Bandana called it, astride in a split leather skirt she'd had specially made; on horseback, she was reckless and utterly without fear. All wild creatures recognize one of their own, Bandana had told her when first he'd seen her on a horse. I'm free when I ride, Bandana, she'd replied. It's the only time I'm ever truly free. The swinging door to the Crown creaked open just as she dis- mounted and Ford Jameson emerged, tipping his hat to her as he neared the hitching rail. Fancy peeled off her dirty riding gloves, and put a hand on the man's arm to detain him.

  "I was hoping you'd be here," she said, breathless from the exercise. Ford stopped, and Fancy felt enveloped in his mysterious stillness; he had a disconcerting habit of looking down at the ground as he spoke to you, as if he didn't wish to burn you with the power in his gaze.

  "Ford, I've been wanting to ask a favor of you—I need to learn to handle a gun." There was no trace in her manner of the coquettishness she used on other men. "I should have learned long ago... My daddy would have taught me, I'm sure. But Atticus didn't want me touching guns—it was the only thing he wouldn't teach me. Jewel said I should ask you. She told me you taught her..." She trailed off uncertainly, for an odd expression had changed Ford's eyes, as if he were remembering something painful.

  His gravelly voice was gentle when he spoke. "I'll teach you, Fancy. Go borrow a pistol and gunleather from Julia, while I get my horse from the livery. I know a place."

  Fancy felt a clamminess in her palms. What was it she always sensed in him that was dangerous? He'd been nothing but tender and courtly toward her; not since the southern gentlemen of her childhood had she seen such innate grace in a man. In another, better world Ford would have been someone important.

  Ford reined in near a small stand of trees and signaled her to dismount. He lifted the Comanche-length split reins over his horse's head and left the mare ground-tied, reins dangling.

  "Won't she spook from the gunfire?" Fancy asked, hitching her own mount to a tree.

  "Cavalry horse. Trained to lie down in battle so you can fire over her belly."

  Fancy raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Ford was already walking to a place thirty or forty feet away. He set up a row of tin cans on a tree stump and then returned to Fancy's side.

  She strapped the gun belt around her middle, clumsily pulling it closed to the smallest notch; the gun rode high at her waist and made her feel uncomfortable. She feared the heavy wea
pon now she was so close to it.

  "Lower the leather a mite," Ford said, studying her. "Halfway between wrist and elbow is just right. Some wear it low on the hip, but you don't want to have to lift the gun too high once it's drawn."

  Ford demonstrated with his own weapon: his right hand moved, strong and effortless, to grip the butt of his Colt. The draw was so swift and sure, it seemed not to have happened at all, yet there was the revolver in his palm, and the shot had knocked the first can down before Fancy was even certain Ford had pulled the trigger. She looked at the man wonderingly. "Mebbe he's de best dere is," Rufus had said.

  Ford replaced the gun in its holster so tenderly, it barely touched the surrounding leather; the fluid move was perfect, organic. With intense curiosity, Fancy saw Ford flex his right hand once above the grip, as if to release an energy that had built up within him and no longer had a place to go. Fancy stared at the hand, seeing it clearly for the first time. It was long and lean; the veins stood out in bluish lines above the strength of lean muscle. They were intelligent hands, doing what they were born to do.

  "There are fancy rigs," he said softly. "You needn't know about them, except to know they exist so you won't be taken by surprise." A sadness flickered in his eyes before he lowered them again. "Some men cut away the leather from the trigger guard for access... some carry in their waistband, but that's a dangerous thing to do, lest you geld yourself.

  "Some men keep a twenty-dollar bill folded in one empty chamber to protect themselves. They call it burying money.