by Tess Oliver
I huffed my consent. As tall as he was, Gypsy stood above seventeen hands. “If you can figure a way to hop up here without pulling me off, then I suppose a chilled ginger ale would be nice.”
He glanced around as he yanked his shoes on over dirty feet and pulled up his suspenders. There were no boulders to stand on. He took hold of Gypsy’s bridle and moved her closer to the slope. He stepped onto the higher ground. I scooted farther up on the horse’s withers. He braced his hands on her back and vaulted himself up and over, settling in behind me.
“Masterful,” I said.
“When I was a kid, we had a tall plow horse. I learned to climb on her back from wherever I was standing.” As long as Gypsy’s back was, there was still little room for both of us without some physical contact. I scooted back as much as I could. Warmth radiated off his body as his chest came whisper close to my back. He smelled of grass and shaving powder and perfume, his auburn haired friend’s perfume, no doubt. I pushed my legs into Gypsy’s sides. With some reluctance, she moved forward.
“Very nice. Is that French?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Is what French?”
“The perfume you’re wearing.”
“You like that, huh? I only wear it on special occasions.”
“Special occasions like having a roll in the forest and hitching a ride on a horse?”
“Yes. And the ginger ale. Don’t forget the ginger ale. Turn her here up to the road.” He leaned forward to point, and this time, his hard chest pressed against my back. I held my breath until he sat back. The climb up from the river was awkward with two riders. Jackson had no choice except to grab my waist. It was only a fleeting touch, but the heat from his hands lasted long after he’d removed them.
We reached the road. The shadows of midafternoon stretched out next to us. “So, Mr. Jarrett— Jackson— aside from keeping the women in town busy, what do you do?”
He laughed. “Damn, I guess I have no chance of ever redeeming myself in your eyes. I, uh, I’m in the exporting business,” he said.
“I see. I figured it was something like that. Your clothes, the haircut, the holster, they all point to export.” I squeezed my legs to push Gypsy on. “My horse is really milking this double rider thing.”
“Am I too heavy for her? I could hop off.”
“No, you’re fine.”
Either side of the road was covered with a carpet of tall grass and wildflowers. “It sure is pretty out here. Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Born in the house I was raised in,” he said proudly.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you speak with a little more sophistication than I would have expected from a boy who grew up out here. Or is that just an act to impress the ladies?” I glanced back, and ridiculously, I’d forgotten how close he was sitting. His nearness temporarily flustered me, and I shifted unintentionally sideways. He pressed a hand against my side to keep me from slipping off.
“Watch yourself. It’s a long way down. And in response to you observation— I don’t mind. It’s not an act. My ma was a teacher before she met my pa and moved here. She was a big believer in the power of books and learning.”
“Good for her. She must miss teaching.”
He grew quiet for a second. “Both my parents died while I was in France.”
“Sorry to hear that. Both my parents are gone, as well.” The clacking of Gypsy’s massive feet sent a flurry of birds from a bush. They twittered away in a cloud of feathers.
“This horse is a steady mount,” he said.
I reached down and patted Gypsy’s neck. “Wouldn’t be good to have a skittish horse under you when you’re standing on your head and doing somersaults on its back.”
“That makes sense.”
If not for the man sitting behind me, the serene landscape, Gypsy’s rhythmic movement and the warm sun would have made me sleepy. But he was tucked in close enough that I could hear his breathing, and his nearness kept me very much awake.
“You haven’t told me how you became part of the traveling show.” His smooth voice had been the first thing I’d noticed about him. Having it drift over my shoulder only deepened its appeal. For a second, I imagined what it would be like to have the man whisper something sensual or provocative in my ear. An involuntary tremble went through me at the thought of it.
“You can’t possibly be cold,” he said, obviously sensing my movement.
“Not at all. And to answer your question—” and to switch topics, I thought wryly, “my mother worked for the carnival. She was married to Buck Starfield. He’s my stepfather. After she died, I had no place else to go. So, I stayed with him. I’ve been on the road since I was eight.”
“Guess you’ve seen a lot of the country.”
“Yes and no. We’ve never really taken the show west of the Mississippi. Buck has plans to go to California one day, when there’s enough money for new trucks. The ones we have now probably wouldn’t make it.”
“Turn on that path up ahead. It leads to the market and hopefully, a ginger ale, now that I’ve promised it”
“You realize if the store is out of it, then I have to ride you back to the river and dump you off where I found you.”
He laughed. “I’m sure I could come up with some other way to repay you for the ride,” he said suggestively. I ignored him. He was obviously as skilled at flirting as he was at vaulting onto a horse.
A small wood shingled building with a front porch and a big dust covered sign that read Hart’s Emporium loomed in the distance. With three front windows and shutters in bad need of fresh paint, it seemed the store had lived a previous life as a family home.
Two girls, who looked to be in their late teens, sat on the front steps of the store eating ice cream. Enthusiastic smiles popped up on their faces when they saw Jackson drop down off the horse. He turned around and unexpectedly reached up to take hold of my waist before I could slide off. I braced my hands on his shoulders. They were hard as steel beneath my palms. His hands were big and strong. They nearly encircled my waist as he lowered me slowly to the ground. He was even taller than I’d realized. We were mere inches from each other. I dropped my gaze, feeling suddenly shy about the whole, slow descent from Gypsy’s back.
Jackson removed his hands from my waist. I found the courage to peer up at him. “Cinnamon and gold,” he said in that rich whiskey tone.
“Pardon?”
“Your eyes. They are cinnamon and gold.”
My face warmed, and I looked away, toward the store. “You promised a cold drink.”
“I did. I’ll be right back.”
A short, stout woman with hair the color of caramels piled up high on her head and round rosy cheeks dotted with freckles was pulling a box off the back of a horse cart.
“I’ll wait out here with Gypsy. If anything happened to her I’d become an unwilling participant in the knife throwing act.”
“There’s a knife throwing act?”
“No, but there would be if I lost Gypsy.”
“Jackson? I thought that was you,” the woman called. She lifted her face to get a better view of me over the box of goods she was carrying.
“Just stopped by for a couple of cold sodas. This is Charli from the traveling show.” Jackson hurried over to her and took hold of the box.
“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said. “I’m Mabel. If there’s anything you travelers need, be sure to shop at Hart’s Emporium. I have everything you can think of.”
I waved to her. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to let the others know.”
“Hey ya, Jackson, have you seen Bodhi?” One of the girls asked. “I’ve been looking all over for him.”
“He took off with Noah this morning. They were going fishing.” He disappeared into the store behind the woman.
The girl who had asked the question licked her ice cream cone and then tilted her head questioningly at me. “You came in with the show?”
“I did.”
The
y both squealed with excitement. “Are you almost open?” the other girl asked. “We’ve been waiting and waiting.”
“Next week.”
“Can’t wait. Are you seeing Jackson?” one asked boldly.
I smiled. “No, I just gave him a ride on my horse.”
Jackson walked back out with two bottles of ginger ale. Rose had been right, ‘awfully damn pretty for a country boy’. I shook myself out of the thought. He was just a new face in a new town, albeit a really fine new face. In less than two months, we’d be packing up the tents and trunks and heading away from this place. No sense in even getting to know him.
He handed me the bottle. It felt like ice.
“You weren’t kidding when you promised a cold drink.” I put the bottle to my mouth. The liquid was fizzy and refreshing as it cascaded down my dry throat.
He watched me drink it. “Good, eh?”
“Delicious. Aren’t you going to drink some?”
“I was having too much fun watching you.” He lifted the bottle. His Adam’s apple moved along his throat as he gulped down half the bottle’s contents. Amazingly, he even made the simple, everyday task of drinking appealing. He lowered the bottle with a sigh. “My house is just a short walk from here. I suppose I can make it the rest of the way on foot.”
“Will you be coming to the show?” My head was telling me to leave off and not think about him anymore. But the frivolous part of me that yearned for companionship, for a man’s touch, seemed to be overriding my common sense.
He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure, and I felt silly for asking.
“It’s all right. Not everyone likes traveling shows.”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve got some things to do in the next few days. If everything ends well, then I will be at the show. And I’ll be keeping an eye out for the beautiful copper-haired horse walker.”
I sipped some more ginger ale. “If everything ends well? That sounds sort of dangerous.”
He didn’t answer, and from the look on his face, I wasn’t too far off with my assessment.
“Well, I have to get back,” I said. “Can you give me a leg up?”
He put down his bottle and cupped his hands for my foot. Without spilling a drop, I threw my leg over Gypsy’s back and sat down. I raised up the bottle. “Thanks so much for the drink. Take care of yourself, Jackson Jarrett.”
“Thanks for the lift.” He tipped his hat to me.
I reined Gypsy around and smiled down at him as I moved past.
Chapter 4
Jackson
“A half moon,” I noted, “couldn’t have asked for a better amount of light. Not too much but just enough to see the ruts in the road and cast shadows for a bit of deception.” I looked over at the car. Noah was just sliding out of the backseat. “You did a good job positioning those hats, Noah. Looks like a car full of passengers. Can’t be carrying moonshine if the backseat is filled with people.”
“What I don’t understand, Jackson,” Noah said, “is why we are taking the car out at all if it’s not going to carry any whiskey?”
“It’s all part of the plan.” Noah had the same smile as his sister, Ella, and every time I saw it, it made my throat tighten. “Do you remember everything I told you?” I asked.
“Sure do, Jackson.” He looked nervous at the moment, but I knew he would pull himself together once the action got started.
I lifted my finger at him. “Don’t forget, if things go wrong or badly then you take this car and drive as fast as you can for home. No looking back, right?”
“Ain’t nothing going to happen, Jackson. I’ve got you covered.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.” I looked around. Three vehicles. Four men. We were ready. “They’ll have at least six men, the three Denton brothers and their three partners. They use two Fords that have both been upgraded. They’re fast. Much faster than our car and especially these two old trucks. No doubt, they’ll be waiting for us at the fork. Tonight, they might have a third car, maybe even some extra men. There is a lot at stake, so they’re not going to take any chances. I’ve no doubt they’ll have men and a car on the Georgetown side of the bridge just to make sure we don’t get through. Of course, I’m just speculating about all this. If I’m wrong, then this whole thing could turn to shit. We know two things for certain about the Dentons. They are better with guns than fists, and they like to play with fire, literally. As long as we stick to the plan, and as long as they don’t show up with more men or more vehicles, we’ll win this thing. So, take your last smokes, boys, and we’ll get moving.”
“This one is on me.” Noah pulled out his pack of cigarettes, and we each took one. Noah had never grown big and strong like his brother, Henry, and his dad, Willie, had made it painfully obvious that he was disappointed in his youngest son. Noah didn’t have the temper or the cruel nature of his pa and older brother. But Noah was smart, and with all the shit he’d had to put up with from his pa, he managed to grow up with a good sense of independence. He was Bodhi’s best friend, and he tended to hang out with us Jarrett’s more than at home with his family. Although his family consisted only of his pa, who woke up drunk and went to bed drunk, a habit that had resulted from losing both Ella and Henry in the space of three years. Noah’s ma spent most of her time cooking and taking care of Willie. Katy, Noah’s only remaining sibling, had moved away with her husband.
Gideon walked over to the truck. “Bodhi, climb in and hold her in neutral while I give her a crank, eh?” He stuck his cigarette between his lips and bent down to the crank while Bodhi climbed into the driver’s seat. Gideon had gotten both trucks up and running. The tires were old and worn, and the wooden beds were splintery and cracked, but the trucks served our purpose perfectly. Gideon had removed the back windshield on the cab of one truck like I’d asked.
I adjusted the crates in the back, and the glass jars clinked together. I wanted to make sure they were seen.
The engine sputtered. “You did a good job bringing this old relic to life, brother,” I said. “Maybe that brain of yours isn’t mush after all.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you mush for brains, Jacks.” Gideon dropped the cigarette and smashed it with the toe of his shoe. “Are we going to stand here all night, or are we going to get this show started? Still don’t understand why my truck is filled with empty boxes covered with a canvas tarp.”
“It’s called a decoy, Gideon. They don’t know the boxes are empty, so be ready for the chase. Noah, give Bodhi and me ten minutes head start. That back road is hard for horses. It’ll be even harder for this old truck. Then you and your passengers drive on. Gideon will be close behind in the second truck.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck, and Bodhi climbed into the passenger’s side. The truck lurched forward, and it limped along like a lame horse on the unpaved road. The back road wasn’t really a road at all but a swath of cleared dirt that led to the back of our house. Whenever Gideon and I had been out getting drunk or in trouble and we didn’t want Ma or Ole Roy to see us come in, we’d use the secret path to get home. Then we’d climb in through our bedroom windows. I was fairly certain Ole Roy knew what we were up to, but he never let on. It would have caused Ma too much worry.
I pointed to the floor of the truck. “Reach under the seat. I stuck a bottle down there.”
Bodhi pulled out the bottle and held it up. “Are we going to have a drink?” he asked. “You know I hate the taste of this shit.”
“No drinks. Besides, it’s just water.”
Bodhi stared at me in confusion. “None of this is making sense to me.”
“It will. Just remember everything I told you, and keep to your orders, soldier, all right?” I turned to him and chucked him on the shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” he said with a salute.
The truck was still running fine when we reached the lookout spot, a patch of grass tall enough for camouflage, a half mile from the fork in the road. The Dentons lived about five miles s
outh of Harper’s Cross in an area at the base of the mountains that didn’t even have a town name. The three brothers were rough around the edges and no more educated than tom cats, but like stray cats, they had cunning and they knew how to survive. They’d won over Griggs early on. But their partnership was about to come to an abrupt end . . . as long as my plan worked. I knew that if we’d just taken the truck and headed toward Georgetown with our forty crates, we wouldn’t have had a chance. The profitable partnership with Griggs had allowed the Dentons to beef up their cars and get bigger wheels. There was no way we could outrun them, and Griggs knew that. There was no doubt in my mind that he was counting on the Dentons to catch and probably kill us. This was a game, a night of sport for Griggs, but I was going to make sure that the game ended in our favor.
The truck motor chugged in neutral as if it had a bad cough. “Keep your fingers crossed that this truck stays alive, Bodhi. Otherwise we’re finished.”
Two headlights glowed in the distance. “There’s Noah.” Bodhi put the bottle down on the seat next to him and pulled his gun from its holster.
“A little change in plan,” I said. “When we get right in front of them, I want you to heave that bottle out first. Doesn’t have to damage the car. I just want them to be convinced that the whiskey is in our truck. Then take out the headlights. Nothing more. I don’t want to start a war with the Dentons for taking out one of their kin.”
“Right.”
Our gray Ford rumbled past with Noah behind the wheel and four fedoras bouncing on sticks in the empty seats.
Bodhi laughed, but it wasn’t his usual laugh. It was edged with nervous excitement. “Looks like he’s driving four friends out of town.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for.” More headlights loomed in the distance. They were weak and spread too wide for a car. It was Gideon, right on cue. And the yellow glow behind him assured me he was being followed. The truck rolled past with one of the Denton cars behind. Neal Denton, the eldest brother and leader, was always consistent. He never verged from the way he did things. In this business, it was never good to be predictable. I knew that they always went out in two cars, with the second car staying far enough behind that it could fall off and turn around if the first car was chased by the cops. Tonight was no different. Another pair of headlights popped up like the yellow eyes of a giant animal. I pushed the lever forward, and we coasted onto the road at a turtle’s pace hitting the path just ahead of the second car. The horn blew, and the driver had to slow not to slam into us. The cool night air ushered in through the open frame of the back window.
