The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion

by R. H. Burkett

  Stunned, I stepped back from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh don’t play that card with me, Dixie.” Green eyes snapped with frustration and a touch of anger. “You may not hate all men like Fancy said, but it’s plain as the freckles on your nose that you don’t trust any of them. Got a stubborn streak a mile long. Wouldn’t ask a man for help if you were on fire and he carried the only bucket of water.”

  “I can’t.”

  The pout on her painted lips would’ve been funny if I wasn’t so riled. My outburst hushed the birds and ruined the peace of the day. She didn’t understand. I wouldn’t be like Mama, weak and depending on someone else for support. It’s what killed her. Had to be strong in order to survive. Trusting a man with my heart would only lead to trouble. In a huff, I gathered my skirts, whistled to Fang, and yelled back at Sassy as I stamped to the house.

  “Won’t never love a man. Ever.”

  Her laughter followed me, and before the door slammed shut I heard her yell, “Never say never, Dixie. It has a way of coming back to bite you in the butt.”

  Chapter Ten

  I stomped up the stairs cussing a blue streak. Didn’t need no damn man. Why did everyone think so? So what if I was the only one McCullough called darlin’ and my insides turned to jelly every time he did? Didn’t mean I belonged to him like some horse or steer.

  A picture of me wearing a big DARLIN’ brand on my hip flashed in my mind. Aggg! I tore at the buttons on my collar. Couldn’t get that “mighty pretty” green dress off fast enough. Didn’t need him. His gun. Or his horse. Well, maybe his horse. Really did like Joe.

  Felt so comfortable to be in britches and a cotton shirt again. A worn Stetson, found in the back of the closet, completed the outfit. With McCullough’s saddlebags thrown over my shoulder, I marched down the steps and out the front door. Fang followed at my heels. Time to end this nonsense once and for all.

  A slight breeze stirred the dust in the street and coated my throat with grit and grime. Sure would like to stop at the cook tent for coffee but skirted around it on my way to the stables. Felt guilty for laying out and not helping Chow with breakfast. I wondered if the shootout at the One-Eyed Jack would spoil my relationship with him. Hoped not. I liked Chow Chow and all his funny Chin-ee ways.

  Deep, masculine voices drifted from the barn and stopped me before I busted through the big doors. Wasn’t my nature to eavesdrop, but the sound of my name made me curious. I ducked behind the stacked bales of hay and listened. Big Mike’s lilting voice sounded amused. McCullough’s didn’t.

  “Judging by that silly grin on your face, I’d say you found that sorrel-haired filly of yours.”

  I peeked around the edge of a square bale. Always loved the scent of fresh hay but not crammed up my nose. I stifled a sneeze. McCullough’s dimples hid behind a scowl, and he brushed Joe’s coat with quick, short strokes. The muscles in his forearm bulged stiff and hard.

  “Dixie ain’t my anything. She’s nobody’s woman but her own.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Big Mike heaved his meaty butt up on the feed bin and grinned. “Didn’t sound that way a few weeks back when you warned me she might be riding in, and to watch over her, give her job, and a place to stay.” He clicked his tongue. “Sure hated to lie to the little lass about not knowing you. Took the blue shine right out of her eyes, it did.”

  Why, that overgrown, red-nosed lying Irish bastard.

  McCullough shot him a look. “That’s just between you and me. Don’t want her knowing I had anything to do with her welfare.”

  He threw the curry comb to the straw floor with disgust and whirled. Joe tossed his head in surprise. “And that reminds me. I told you to get her a safe, decent place to live. And where did I find her last night? At a house of ill repute.”

  Big Mike didn’t back down from McCullough’s steely stare. “Ah, don’t blow up at me, laddie. From the way ye talked, I expected a shy, wee snip of a girl to come dragging in. Ye neglected to tell me she’d be a stick of dynamite with a fuse of wild scarlet hair. I fixed her up at Maude’s place right proper, I did. But she’s got hot Irish blood running through her veins and a mind of her own. Couldn’t stop her from falling in with Peg and her girls.”

  He cocked his head to the side and gave McCullough a quizzical look. “And what’s wrong with that, I ask ya? Sassy Annie works for us and has a right good soul. Got more compassion in her big toe than that dried up piece of leather, Maude Akins, has in her whole body.”

  McCullough’s stern look dissolved into a grin. Gleaming white teeth flashed. “Didn’t say Peg and her doves weren’t good women, just don’t care for their line of work that’s all. Sounds like you and Sassy Annie have more than a working interest in common.”

  Big Mike stroked his walrus mustache, and a blush ran up the back of his thick neck. “Aye, and what if we do? Love’s a funny thing. Finds ya when ya least expect it. Have it in mind to make an honest woman out of her one of these days. A man doesn’t live by bread alone, laddie.”

  McCullough laughed, low and musical. Taut muscles rippled beneath his shirt when he leaned over and picked up the brush and finished polishing Joe’s hair into a fine sheen.

  “And what about Dixie?” Big Mike asked.

  “What about her?”

  “Ah, lad, ya needn’t play stupid with me. I’ve known ya far too long. Every farmer’s daughter and schoolmarm across the country have pranced and danced around ya. Never gave them a second look. But this Dixie lass has ya tied up in knots. What’s different about the girl?”

  Fang whined. I bent down and put my hand around his muzzle. “Shh.” I whispered in his ear. This I had to hear.

  McCullough gave Joe a final pat on the shoulder. Not finding anything to sit on, he squatted on his heels and leaned his back against the stall door. Big Mike waited patiently for his answer. I, on the other hand, wanted to dart across the barn floor and yank the words right out of his mouth. Of course it didn’t help that the coffee I drank earlier had worked his way through my innards. Had to go—bad. Maybe if I sat down and crossed my legs the urge would go away. Finally, Big Mike broke the silence.

  “Didn’t know it was that hard of a question.”

  A slow, easy grin spread across McCullough’s sun-burnt face and made those damn dimples of his deepen. He pulled a stem from a nearby bale of hay, put it between full lips, and chewed. His brow furrowed, deep in thought.

  “Those school teachers and daughters who paraded around never once looked me in the eye. They were too busy batting theirs and pretending to be something they weren’t. But Dixie holds my gaze with a look so deep it rattles my soul. She is who she is. And if you don’t like what ya see, to hell with ya.”

  Big Mike belched a laugh. “Aye, noticed that about her. What else?”

  McCullough chewed hard on the stem until it splintered and shred. With a soft pouf, he spit it out into the sunlight that streaked through the high windows of the barn and spilled across the dirt floor. Barn sounds closed in around me—the chomp-chomp of horses eating oats, chickens clucking. My gaze never left his face.

  “Isn’t an easy thing to put it into words.”

  Good God Almighty. Didn’t think I was that bad.

  Big Mike shifted his weight on the feed bin and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Laddie, ya got to be doing better than that.”

  Yeah, laddie. Explain.

  Wide shoulders shrugged, and he lifted his gaze up to Big Mike for help. “All right.” Big Mike said. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Let me ask ye this way. If ya could only use one word to describe Dixie what would it be?”

  “Passionate.”

  Yee haw. Liked the sound of that.

  “When life slaps her down, she jumps up, spits in its eye, and dares it to hit her again. Dixie rushes headfirst into the day and gives it everything she’s got. Lives every moment like it was her last.” Warmed up now, McCullough’s deep walnut eyes flashed, and his words r
an faster. “She’s on fire all the time. Burns with a passion to see justice done. Right the wrongs. Every little thing that makes living worthwhile and beautiful she notices, not even aware she’s one of them. When I’m with her, I catch that fever. Fills my heart with joy plumb near to overflowing. Makes me feel wild. Free. Alive.”

  I about wet my pants.

  Big Mike cleared his throat, and I glanced at him. The serious way his thick lips puckered together made me take a second look.

  “Sounds to me like you’re in love, lad.”

  “Love?” McCullough snorted. “That’s loco.”

  “Oh is it now? A man wouldn’t be giving up his horse and gun without a fight. You handed both over to the lass without even a whimper. And ya can’t deny the way that mug of yours lights up with just the mention of her name.” He leaned back and pointed his finger at McCullough. “Ya can’t hide from love, laddie boy. Trust me. I know.”

  The silence was deafening. I could hear every peck Big Mike’s scrawny banty rooster made to the hard, dirt floor.

  “I got one more question to ask ye,” Big Mike said.

  “Promise?”

  “Oh, I be certain there won’t be any others after this one. But I need your word that you’ll answer it.”

  “If it will shut you up, then I give you my word.”

  A huge sigh made Big Mike’s belly shake. He hesitated for a moment like he was about to do something unpleasant. Then he fixed McCullough with a dead-on stare.

  “Do you think all this heat and passion that is the essence of Dixie would be hot enough to sear closed that wound across your heart that’s been weeping ever since that bloody day in Kansas?”

  Damned near bit my tongue in half.

  McCullough leaped from the floor. Fists clenched. Murder in his eyes. Even though out of sight, I scooted back and waited for fists to fly.

  “Damn it, Donovan! I told you never to speak of that day.”

  “Aye that ya did.” Big Mike thundered back. For the first time I sensed the power that hid under the man’s huge coat. “But ya gave me your word. I be expectin’ an answer.”

  McCullough paced. Three steps one way. Three another. He turned his back to Big Mike, gripped the top of Joe’s stall gate, and leaned hard into the wood. Wide shoulders that could carry the sins of the world slumped. He turned around to face Big Mike and sighed so deep I thought his boots would fall off. But still no answer.

  “Jackson.”

  I cringed at the force of Big Mike’s voice. It eased when McCullough met his stare. “I’ll be needin’ that answer.”

  Soft. So soft I struggled to hear.

  “Reckon’ she might.”

  Hell and damnation. If it started raining pitchforks, I couldn’t be more stunned.

  “Satisfied now?” McCullough asked. “Why’s it so damn important for you to hear this anyway?”

  “It wasn’t so important that I heard it, lad, as it was for you to say it.”

  A slight chuckle escaped him, and McCullough relaxed. “Michael Francis Donovan, you’re as tricky as those little green leprechauns you talk about.”

  “Aye that I am. And damn proud of it.”

  “I doubt you could fool Dixie,” McCullough said and sat crossed legged on the ground. “She’s got too tight a rein on her heart.”

  “Aye. Noticed that. Because of Whitaker I suppose.”

  “Reckon’ that’s most of it. She didn’t volunteer too much information about that night except to say he didn’t ruin her. But just the same, undeniable damage was done. Wouldn’t be surprised if she has nightmares about the whole thing. Ain’t likely she’ll be trusting of any man for a very long time—if ever.”

  Big Mike climbed off the feed bin and rubbed his big butt. “Aye, I agree with ya there, laddie. She’s made it more than plain she don’t have any use for men. Almost bolts and runs when one gets close enough to touch her. Ya can imagine what a stampede I had on me hands when me boys heard I hired a new woman. They act silly enough around a beefy one. But when they saw Dixie, what with her silky crimson mane, upturned nose, flashing blue eyes, and an arse—”

  “Donovan!”

  “Sorry, lad.” Big Mike ducked his head and sleeved the sweat from his ruddy face. “Thought I’d have to beat them off with a shillelagh bigger than a redwood, but Dixie took care of it herself. Tommy Ferrell, the blithering idiot, made the mistake of grabbing her arm.” A huge laugh boiled out of Big Mike. “Damn near pulled back a stub, he did.”

  McCullough laughed. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  “Aye.” Big Mike chuckled. “But ’tis a sad thing for one so young to hate so. Be an awful lonely future for the lass if she doesn’t learn to forgive. Course the right man could—”

  “You playing matchmaker now?” McCullough interrupted.

  “Ah laddie, ’tis as plain as the nose on your face that you and her belong together. Both your souls were linked before the beginning of time. Both of ya have the strength to heal the other.”

  I’d heard enough. Been holding my breath so long my lungs hurt. I’d done made up my mind to tell McCullough thanks for everything but to take his gun and horse and hit the trail. Now I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to go. To know that out of all the women in the world, he thought I was the one that could stop his suffering made me feel special yet overwhelmed at the same time. The stink of horse manure added with fragrant sweet hay and saddle leather closed in tight and smothered me. I needed time to clear my head. If I could back out nice and quiet McCullough would never know I’d overheard the biggest confession of his life.

  Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Sylvester the barn cat strolled through the door. Fang took one look and leaped. Growls and howls, spits and hisses hit the air. Dust flew. Horses threw their heads and snorted. Matilda, the milk cow, let out a bawl loud enough to wake the dead.

  Big Mike swore. “Sweet Mother Mary! What manner of beasty is this?”

  “Dixie?” McCullough’s roar shook the dust and hay from the rafters.

  I jumped from the floor, brushed the straw and dirt off my butt, and walked casually toward him. Every nerve danced, and my stomach flip-flopped.

  “How long you been here?” McCullough asked.

  His dark look edged on dangerous, and the ice shooting from his eyes froze me to the spot.

  Sure hoped I didn’t pee all over his boots.

  Chapter Eleven

  The secret to telling a good lie is to convince yourself first that you’re telling the truth. By the time I reached McCullough, I believed the sun rose in the west and set in the east.

  “I just got here.” I matched his frosty glare with one of cool indifference and wide-eyed innocence. “Came to give you your saddlebags.”

  His clenched jaw relaxed. He took the bags and even managed to smile.

  And Sassy said I couldn’t play poker. Ha!

  “Miss Dixie.” Big Mike doffed his bowler hat. “Would ya mind calling off that wooly beast of yours before me cat suffers a fit and dies?”

  Sylvester killed and ate copperheads for breakfast. Doubted he’d die of anything but old age. Peering over the edge of the hay loft, the wily tom switched his scarred tail and watched in amusement as Fang tried everything but standing on his head to get at the want-to-be cougar.

  “Fang. Down. Come,” McCullough called.

  Surprised and a little miffed that he obeyed McCullough’s commands so willingly, I swatted Fang on his rump when he walked by.

  “Traitor,” I mumbled when his gray eyes gave me a confused look.

  “Miss Dixie, I found this man eying your horse. Says he’s a friend of yours. Is that so?”

  I nodded to Big Mike. “It’s okay. Big Mike, this is Jackson McCullough.”

  It was all I could do to hide my grin when I watched McCullough’s hand disappear in Big Mike’s bear paw. The two acted like they’d never met. Still playing the game. Big Mike reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his pipe.

  “Well, then
all is well. I be needin’ a smoke.” He tipped his hat again. “Be seeing ya in the morning, lass. Good day to ya, Mr. McCullough.”

  Joe nickered. I turned away from McCullough and patted the horse’s shoulder.

  “He’s getting a hay belly,” McCullough said.

  I bristled. Big Mike wasn’t fat, just round. Then it dawned on me. McCullough was talking about Joe.

  He leaned casually against the stall gate and fixed his gaze on me. “Joe’s the kind of horse that needs to run.” He winked. “A soft horse won’t carry ya far if you need to make a fast get-a-way.”

  I smiled.

  “I’m riding up in the mountains today to see an old friend. Why don’t you saddle up Joe and come with me?”

  Oh, hell. No. No. No. How could I back out of this? Had to admit a ride in the fresh mountain air sounded good. Would give me time to think. Only alone. Not riding beside the very person I needed to clear my head about. No. I wouldn’t go. I raised my gaze. He grinned. White teeth flashed.

  My head shouted no, but I heard my mouth say, “Sure. Be right back.”

  Coward. I told myself as I made a bee line to the outhouse.

  Joe was already saddled when I returned. Thank God McCullough didn’t ask me where I’d been.

  “I’ll give you your saddle back,” I said.

  “Nope. You need it.”

  Good God Almighty. First his knife, then his pistol and Joe. Now his saddle. If he gave me his Stetson and boots, we’d be as good as married.

  “I can’t accept all of this,” I said. “I have money. I can buy my own horse and rig.”

  He threw a long leg over his saddle and settled easy on Buck’s broad back. “Already told you, I can’t go back to the train with my horse and not you. Besides, Joe and the saddle are gifts.”

  “Horses are a dime a dozen.”

  “Not like Joe.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Dixie. My horse. My decision.”

  His stern tone told me there was no sense in arguing. Okay, Mr. Pinkerton Detective, you won this one, but I’ll find a way to get even.