by Linda Broday
Her mother’s pain was still so evident after all these years. Marley gripped her hand, crying. What both her parents had been through was unimaginable for anyone, and now she began to understand Jessie’s obsession with children.
“I longed for a child with every fiber of my being,” Jessie continued. “Then I found you, and you helped me bear the pain. Keeping busy, filling this home with love, all of it helped, and I just kept on going. A few days ago, I woke up and saw how many I’d brought home and what this had done to you.”
“There is so much need, Mama. How can you turn any of them away? They need love and someone to protect them, just as I did.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t have to take them all. There are other people and homes for orphans.” Jessie twisted her hands together.
“You just have to examine your heart.” That seemed to be the gauge for every decision. “Did they ever catch you for the murder of your husband?”
“Your uncle Luke was a Texas Ranger back then, and he came to arrest me. I didn’t run. I saw no need. I remember how my heart broke to ride off and leave you and Duel. You both soon followed, however. There was a trial and I had to tell everything—even the most personal details—to justify why I had killed a man.”
“He wasn’t a man—he was an animal. I assume they found you innocent. You certainly had just cause!” Marley cried.
“It wasn’t easy. The presiding judge and the town were against me. Thank goodness Tom Parker defended me. His arguments won the jury over.”
Marley vaguely remembered the man she had called Grandfather Parker, though he was no kin at all. Tom had been Duel’s first wife’s father and a famous judge in Austin until his death.
Marley brought her thoughts back to the horrors and torture her mother had faced all alone. “I’m glad they didn’t convict you, Mama. That would’ve killed Papa—and me too, I imagine.”
“Probably, but I know I couldn’t have lived without either of you.” Jessie took Marley’s hand. “Come with me.”
What was her mother going to show her? Jessie went up the stairs and hurried into the bedroom she shared with Duel. Marley couldn’t imagine what more Jessie would reveal. She didn’t think she could take anything else. But the truth was bringing her and her mother together in a way that she hadn’t felt in a long while.
Her mother went to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you and keep forgetting. I suspect you’ll have an occasion to wear it soon.”
The plum-colored wool-crepe creation, accented with a white fur collar, took Marley’s breath. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. I don’t remember seeing you wear it.”
“Your father bought it for the governor’s ball that Tom Parker invited us to in Austin. I only wore it once and never had occasion to wear it again. After Tom died, our invitations to fancy events stopped coming.” Jessie held it against Marley. “I think it might fit you. If not, we can alter it here and there. I want you to have it.”
Marley ran her hand over the rippling, luxurious fabric. “It’s absolutely breathtaking. Are you sure, Mama?” Awestruck, she brushed her fingertips across a sprinkling of pearls sewn into the bodice. Never had she had anything so fine.
“I am. As I said, I have no need of it.” Jessie smiled. “I think you might.”
“I do have a confession. Roan and I are talking about getting married. Not right away, of course, but when the time is right.” Marley met her mother’s eyes. “I love him, Mama. I think I have since I first brought him here.”
“Roan is a smart man. How does he feel about you?”
A smile curved Marley’s lips. “Last night after we got back to the house, he told me he loved me. I slept in his arms—sitting on the sofa. Don’t worry, we did nothing inappropriate.” But how she’d wanted to. She’d hurt so badly that she’d have done most anything to feel better. She’d needed his warm touch to thaw the ice inside her.
“I saw the signs, and I think he’s a wonderful choice for you.” Worry filled Jessie’s eyes. “Only Roan is the first to admit that he’s a drifter. How sure are you that he’ll stick around?”
“I’m sure, Mama.” Marley gripped the soft fabric of the dress to her. She knew, then and there, that it would be her wedding dress.
A vision of Roan standing beside her in front of the preacher brought goose bumps. He’d be so handsome, and she’d be proud to be his wife. She couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d lay beside him with nothing between them but skin. A shiver of anticipation raced through her.
Yet, as she embraced the thought, memories of the events in San Saba sent the dream flying. Roan wouldn’t stop until he’d finished the task he’d set for himself. He knew Gentry now, and the boy beside him in the race.
Sooner or later, he’d go back to exact punishment.
Except Will Gentry was here, and after twenty years of waiting, she knew the man would easily bide his time. Watching. Waiting. Planning. And he meant to get her. Oh God!
Twenty-four
Later that day, Marley finished hanging the last of the diapers on the line and picked up her basket. The chore was never ending. Those three babies were a lot of work. If she ever had any, and she hoped that was a long way off, she only wanted one at a time. But ever since her talk with Jessie, Marley had tried to help out more. Her mother was simply exhausted.
Every so often, Marley took out the dress her mother had given her and ran her fingers across the fine fabric. One day soon she’d wear that dress, and she hoped it would be to stand in front of the preacher. She hadn’t told Roan about it. She wanted it to be a surprise.
The older children had ridden off with Papa Duel, and the younger girls played nearby with their dolls. Marley kept an eye on them, making sure they didn’t wander from her sight.
Young Matt scampered up beside her. He clutched the book of stories she’d been reading to him under an arm. “Where you goin’, Mama Rose?”
“To clean my house. Want to come help?”
“I want you to read me a story.”
Marley stopped. “Matthew, you know stories are for bedtime.”
“My name is Matt.” He gave her a mulish frown.
“Besides…Matt, I thought we agreed to leave my papers in the bedroom. Why did you bring them out here?”
The child lowered his voice to a whisper. “The pirate will get ’em. I gotta keep ’em safe.”
“Oh, I see.” Marley stifled a laugh. The kid was as fanciful as she was. Often she let him make up the bedtime story, and he could come up with some tall tales for sure. Others were very good. “I tell you what. Give them to me, and I’ll keep the pirate from getting them until tonight.” Another of the boys Matt’s age flew out the back door. “Why don’t you and Benji go play for a while?”
“Okay.” He thrust the handwritten stories at her and took off running.
“Remember to stay near the house,” she called, glancing around.
Monsters lurked near, and they stole not only your breath, but your life.
* * *
Just after dawn three days later, Roan and Hardy Gage rode to the far southeast pasture, checking the fence line. The rustlers seemed to know exactly when to strike and where. At the rate cattle were disappearing, Duel McClain would soon have a ranch with no livestock. Sometimes they were able to trail the rustlers for a little ways, but most often all the thieves left behind was a downed fence. Strange how the theft always happened on the east side of the ranch, the side nearest to San Saba County.
The hands had also been searching for signs of Gentry. They’d discovered places where someone had bedded down, and found cigarette butts in the flattened winter grass. While they didn’t know for sure that it was Gentry, Roan felt certain it was.
He kept his gun loaded and his senses sharp. A man could lose his life if he didn’t.
“Hardy, you’ve been around a long time. Have you dealt with rustlers before?”
“Yep. Never this bad though.” Hardy pushed back his hat. “We usually caught the vermin within a day or two. I’m just wondering what in the blooming hell they’re doing with all these animals. They have to be driving them somewhere close.”
“Do you suppose they have a ranch and are stocking it with our cattle?”
“Could be. Or maybe they’re holding them in a canyon.” The old man rubbed his grizzled jaw in thought. “This is more like they have a bone to pick with the boss. They seem to like jabbing him with a sharp stick, then hiding for a while, only to come out and do it all again.”
“I still think the bunch here is working with the group in San Saba.” Roan let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought for sure Will Gentry was behind all of it. I would’ve bet money. But it seems that he was only after Marley. How about Wes Douglas?”
“Could be. But didn’t you say that young guy in San Saba claimed someone named Rube led those riders?”
“That’s what Zach swore up and down.” Roan glanced at Hardy. “And you don’t know anyone named Rube? Maybe it’s short for something—like Reuben.”
“Nope.” Hardy shook his head. “Don’t know anyone.”
“Then do you know of a canyon where the rustlers could hold the stolen cattle?”
“Shoot, there’s more of ’em around these parts than a dog’s got fleas. It’d take a while to check them all.”
Roan’s thoughts were already on his plans to head back to San Saba, but he wondered if it was best to stay where he was. He still felt in his bones that Will Gentry had holed up nearby. No, forget San Saba for now. He’d stay and marshal all his energy to the task of finding the man on the Aces ’n’ Eights. Marley deserved to rest easy knowing Gentry would never bother her again.
“Hell and be damned!” Hardy yelled. “Would you look at that?”
A gaping hole in the fence was in front of them. Fresh cow patties said the cattle had recently gone through. Roan glanced around, checking for riders, before he dismounted for a closer look.
“Damn it! This is getting old,” he muttered to Hardy. If only they could set a trap, except the rustlers never hit the same place twice. This time, however, something was different. The path left behind them was clear and easy to follow. Had they gotten sloppy? Or was it an attempt to lure Roan and the others out into a trap of their own?
“If this ain’t the damn drizzlin’s.” Hardy strode to the trampled ground. “Roan, saddle up. We’re trailing the bastards. I’m mad enough to tackle ’em with my bare hands. Besides, Hanson and the others will be here soon to fix the fence.” He glanced at the rustler’s tracks.
“If we hurry, we can catch them.” Roan crawled back in the saddle and followed the marks in the dirt, always aware of the danger.
An hour later, he and Gage rode into the town of Piebald, where the tracks abruptly ended. Cold stares made it clear that the town didn’t have a welcome committee. Their horses clip-clopped down the street, the hair on Roan’s neck bristling. They stopped at a holding pen of sorts next to the stables and dismounted. Cattle milled inside it. Roan moved among them and found over three dozen wearing the Aces ’n’ Eights brand—a diamond with the number eight in the center.
A stocky, bald man marched toward him. “Hey, get out of there!”
Roan glanced at a group of youngsters playing marbles in the dirt and waited until the man got closer. If shooting started, he didn’t want the kids to get hit. “These cattle are stolen. I’m taking them back where they belong.”
“You ain’t taking nothing nowhere, mister.” The man jammed a hat onto his bald head and glared, his hand inching toward his gun. “Can you prove they’re stolen? Maybe you’re looking to steal them for yourself.”
Hardy Gage snorted.
“We work for Duel McClain at the Aces ’n’ Eights.” Roan rested his hand on his Colt. “Rustlers have been stealing us blind. My boss would be happy to claim his stock, but I have a feeling they won’t be here when he comes.”
“You’ll have to take this up with Rube. That’s all I know. I’m just guarding this pen.”
Roan’s ears perked up. “I’d be much obliged if you can tell me where to find Rube.”
At last, maybe he’d lay eyes on the guy. They must’ve been looking in the wrong place. Piebald wasn’t that far from San Saba, but neither was the needle in the haystack when you were trying to find it.
“Try the saloon down the street. Might find Rube there. But I warn you, mister, start trouble, and we’ll escort you both right out of town.”
They mounted up and had no trouble finding the Yellow Dog Saloon. The cold stares of two men resting their bones against a pole for support would’ve given a seasoned lawman reason for pause. Still, he hadn’t tracked the mangy thieves for nothing.
No sooner had Roan swung his leg over and dismounted than a wad of spit spattered the toe of his boot and dripped off.
“Who you think you’re staring at?” The snarl came from the spitter.
Roan untied his bandana from his neck and swiped his boot clean before he raised a glance. He didn’t bother replying. It never did any good.
Someone hurled a rotten egg, splattering the projectile against his leg, the stench rising upward. They made Gage a target as well. They’d need a bath after leaving here. After fitting in at the McClain’s, the hollered slurs almost didn’t matter so much.
“I’m talking to you, vagrant,” the man growled at Roan.
Nothing like a rooster fight to draw a crowd. Piebald appeared to overflow with exception takers. Roan favored them with a wary glare but kept silent. By the slow way they straightened, he knew these men inclined toward the nastier side.
“I asked what you’re staring at, boy.”
“Looks to me like this one’s off the reservation,” the other half of the duo sneered.
Whatever Roan did or said wouldn’t make any difference. They meant to show him the error of riding into their town, so he might as well get the ruckus started. He wasn’t about to apologize to anyone for taking up elbow room on this earth.
Mose’s old advice filtered through the haze. You’ll spend the rest of your life gettin’ up if you let the likes of rotten no-accounts knock you down.
Roan braced himself. “Not looking for trouble.”
“Must be, or you’d get back on that horse.”
A strange light filled Gage’s narrowed eyes. “Before you ride into a canyon, you better know how you’re gonna get out.”
“Why is that, old man?”
“We might be a lot more than you bargained for.”
Roan shot Gage a glance. He didn’t know how much the old ranch hand could take and wished he’d come alone.
“You reckon they might take convincing, Bert?” Spitter asked.
“I suppose it’s a waste of time to ask if you know anything about a cut fence on the Aces ’n’ Eights ranch.” Roan’s low drawl took on a steely edge. “Wonder if I’d find a pair of wire cutters in your pockets.”
Spitter snorted. “You must be plumb stupid, boy. Can’t you see you’re not welcome here? I think we’ve made ourselves pretty plain. Get the hell gone!”
A woman striding toward a buggy caught Roan’s attention. Strands of her auburn hair caught the light. When she turned to glance in their direction, he recognized her as Virginia Creek. Her riding skirt and leather jacket looked expensive, and fit her like a glove. What was she doing in Piebald?
A tall, thin man stepped to her side and helped her up into the buggy.
Will Gentry.
Roan straightened his spine and started toward them but found his path blocked by Spitter and his friends. “Do whatever you feel you have to, but I’m going to speak to the lady.” He tried to shove past, conscious of the horde of people gat
hering, wondering where Gage had gone.
“Bert, I think he wants a licking, don’t you?” Spitter launched himself at Roan, aiming for his stomach. When Roan easily sidestepped, the bastard landed facedown in the dirt. The second man jumped into the fray. Again, Roan dodged the blows and landed two good ones of his own, sending Bert into the barber pole next door.
His attention was on the couple riding away in the buggy amid a cloud of dirt. He had to catch them. Two strides was all he managed to take before someone grabbed his arms from behind and wrenched them tight. Bound up, he made easy prey for the snarling cowards. The horde pounded on him until blood dribbled from his mouth.
Between blows, Roan found Gage. The man was fighting with two men attempting to tie him up.
“Hey now, what’s the trouble, boys?” a man asked.
An arm around Roan’s head prevented him from seeing who’d spoken. He only prayed the man would reason with the bullies.
One of the men holding him spoke. “Preacher Joe, I reckon this godforsaken cuss ain’t never been baptized. Have you, boy?”
A fist slammed into Roan’s kidney. Roan gasped in agony.
“Yeah, we’d consider it an honor to remedy that small oversight. We’d be plumb remiss to shirk our Christian duty,” a second man rasped.
Another fist whipped Roan’s face sideways, the pain making him see stars. If he could get loose, he’d get in some blows of his own, but their grips were bands of steel, cutting into his arms. The thought crossed his mind that he might not live through this. He wouldn’t if the crowd had any say in the matter. But Gage might make the difference if he could free himself.
“Well, that being the case, carry on the Lord’s work,” Preacher Joe said in a booming voice. He left Roan to the sinister flock, who dragged him away by his arms.
Roan spied the horse trough through a haze of bodies, and he knew they meant to drown him. These demons were too close for comfort to the hooded marauders of San Saba. Intent on killing him, the one binding his arms released him in order to hold his head under. Roan took a deep breath just as they dunked him.
