Everett didn’t look up. “Somewhat.” Johnny leaned against the counter, scanning the building clouds. A nice shower would settle the dust. “A lot of good food and drink, I guess.”
Getting up from his stool, Everett sorted another stack of papers. “You’re serving a sentence, aren’t you?” He avoided Johnny’s eyes. “You’re a criminal.”
Johnny took a deep breath. Pidgin knew his status, but he’d play along. “Yeah. I’m a criminal.”
Everett had decided to press the issue. “What’d you do? Kill someone?”
“I’m accused of robbing a bank.”
Everett reshuffled the same stack of papers. He’d be lucky if there was anything left to deliver if he didn’t stop moving them around. “Did you do it?”
“A judge said I did.”
The men fell silent. Everett finally stashed the papers neatly on a shelf and returned to the window. Johnny glanced toward the mercantile, aware of Everett’s curious sideways looks.
“We don’t need no more trouble in town. We got enough.”
“I don’t plan on causing trouble.”
“Don’t matter. The celebration and picnic this year? It won’t be worth attending.”
Johnny didn’t doubt that a bit. He’d never been one for socializing.
“No whiskey this year.”
Johnny’s brows lifted curiously. “You a drinking man?”
“Nah. Just on Founders’ Day.” He straightened, looking proud. Johnny had a hunch he could be easily led.
“Never cared for whiskey myself. A man needs to keep a clear head.” At least not all of Grandpa’s teachings had left him.
“Whiskey,” Everett repeated, frowning. “Minnie Rayles won’t let the men have whiskey. It’s mostly stuff they make. Home brew, a little gin…but we can’t have anything this year.” His eyes met Johnny’s. “That’s a crying shame, ain’t it? It’s the one time of year we’re allowed a bit of the brew, and now Minnie goes and spoils it.”
Johnny shrugged. “Bad habit, one you’d best avoid.”
Warming a little, Everett leaned closer. “Well, there’s not a thing we can do about it. Minnie is just plain mean-spirited. I don’t know how Carl stands it. I wouldn’t want to marry a bossy woman like Minnie.”
“Not many would.”
Silence stretched between them. Everett cleared his throat. “Actually, I don’t care all that much for strong drink, but the other men think it’s important. Personally, what I look forward to is the shooting contest.”
“They have a shooting contest at the celebration?”
Everett nodded. “Big one, every year. The winner this year takes home a brand-new Greener double-barrel shotgun.”
“A Greener, huh? Nice gun. Guess you plan on winning?”
“Me? No. I can’t hit the broad side of a barn. Hubie Banks will win it. He wins every year.”
Play it easy, Johnny reminded himself. Nice and easy.
Removing his hat again, he studied it. “What makes you say that? You could practice and get better, couldn’t you?”
Shaking his head, Everett appeared to consider, and then he discarded the thought. He glanced at Johnny. “You probably know how to shoot a gun—shoot one real well.”
“I do okay. What kind of a gun do you have?”
“A pistol.” Everett’s eyes drifted back to Ragan. “A real man needs to shoot good. Take care of his family, put food on the table.”
This was going to be like taking candy from a baby. The subject seemed to be a sore spot with the clerk. Shifting, Johnny said quietly, “I wouldn’t necessarily say that. I know women who despise violence.”
“Women like their men to be men. And a real man knows how to shoot a gun accurately.”
“Most anyone can learn to be a good shot. If a man wanted to learn, I could teach him to shoot a rattlesnake’s eyes out at fifteen feet.”
Everett’s jaw dropped, and then his eyes narrowed. “You’re not allowed to have a gun.”
“I could teach a man to shoot without touching the gun.”
“You could?”
Johnny could almost see the cogs turn in Everett’s head. He wanted it, but would he go for it?
“No.” Everett shook his head. “I may look like a fool, but I’ve got more brains than that. You’re a criminal. You’re not even supposed to be around a gun. I could get in trouble.”
Johnny smiled. “I merely mention my services, should you need them.”
“I don’t need them, thank you. Judge McMann would be real upset if I was to do anything to interfere with his program.” He glanced toward the mercantile. “So would Ragan.”
“I understand,” Johnny said.
Everett picked up another stack of papers. Sweat stood out on his upper lip and his hands shook, causing several of the documents to fall to the floor. He leaned down to pick them up. “I’d…I’d like to take you up on your offer…but it just wouldn’t be right.”
Johnny calmly set the hook. “Don’t know of a man who wouldn’t give his eyeteeth to own a Greener.” He chuckled. “Imagine the look on Hubie Banks’s face if you were to outshoot him this year.”
“Yeah…” Everett paused to imagine it. “I’d love to see that, all right. And the look on Ragan’s face when I won.”
“Well, looks like Ragan and Mrs. Seeden have finally finished their shopping.” Johnny casually pushed away from the counter. “Are you sure they said a Greener?”
Everett looked downright sick. “I’m positive. I had the deciding vote.”
“How much do you suppose a gun like that’s worth?” “Ten—fifteen dollars.”
Giving an appreciative whistle, Johnny adjusted the brim of his hat. “Nice shotgun. If you change your mind about my help, you know where to find me. I’m sure we could work something out.” He stepped down off the porch.
“Er…Mr. McAllister?”
Johnny turned. “Yes?”
“Can you really shoot a rattlesnake through the eye?”
“Every time.”
He could feel Everett’s stare as he crossed the street and took the packages out of Ragan’s hands.
She smiled up at him, her pleasant talk with Roberta still evident on her face. “Did I see you visiting with Everett?”
“Just killing time while you shopped.” They fell into step, walking down Main Street. They were almost at the crossroads before Johnny offered his thoughts.
“Why does a woman like you stay in a town like Barren Flats?”
Ragan laughed. “What a question.”
“I mean it. I know you take care of the judge and your father, but don’t you want more?”
“More?” She appeared to at least consider the idea. “No, not more. Maybe different. Why would I want more?”
He shrugged. He’d want more—or would he? He’d spent years looking for his family’s killers. He’d told himself revenge was the driving factor, but maybe what he wanted was a family again. Ties. Roots. Belonging to someone.
“You’re smart. You have a lot to offer.”
Her smile was almost impish. “To whom? A husband? Everyone thinks I’ll always be an old maid, but someday I want to marry. Right now, I stay in Barren Flats because my family is here. And Procky is here. He and his wife were second grandparents to me when I was growing up.”
They turned toward Judge McMann’s street. “
I have responsibilities here,” Ragan said.
“You can’t sacrifice yourself forever.”
“Family isn’t a sacrifice—but then, you wouldn’t know about that.” She glanced at him, a lighthearted challenge in her eyes. “Since you came from a pea pod.”
Wouldn’t know about family? She had no idea. He knew what it was like to wake to the smell of ham sizzling in a skillet. Ice on his bedroom windowpane Christmas morning. The sound of Ma humming as she slid a lemon cake into the oven. He knew all right. And it hurt.
“So you’ll just stay here and be a nursemaid all your life?”
“You haven’t gone to school?”
“I want to go to college. He’d like me to study law someday. Says I’m a natural, but I don’t know if it’s what I really want to do. Besides, I have plenty of time to think about it.”
“Can a woman get into law school?”
“It would be a struggle,” she admitted. “Just last year the Wisconsin Supreme Court denied Lavinia Goodell’s application to the bar. Apparently, they believed women are too delicate and emotional for the profession.”
Her chin lifted. “I may have to go to the Midwest if I pursue a law degree. The University of Iowa and Washington University in St. Louis opened doors to women almost twenty years ago. But whatever I decide to do, I want to make a difference in people’s lives.” She slowed, turning to face him. A hot breeze ruffled her blond hair, tossing it around her animated features. “Are you surprised that I want to further my education?”
“Nothing about you surprises me.” He’d been here long enough to realize she was strong, independent, bossy, and prettier than any woman should be.
She brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “I want to make a difference, like Procky does. I’ve watched wayward boys and grown men change into responsible, outstanding citizens because he gave them the opportunity to develop to their potential. Most in our program have failed, I admit that, but a few have been given a new chance in life, and you can’t put a price on that. When I lie back on my pillow at night, I want to know I’ve helped someone headed in the wrong direction to change—to turn his life around.”
She touched his arm. “What about you? What do you want to do once you leave here?”
His plans? He had only one: stay alive long enough to kill Dirk Bledso.
“Johnny?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“You’re twenty-eight years old. You can’t drift all your life.”
“I don’t plan to.” They reached the judge’s front porch, and Ragan reached for her parcels. Their hands brushed in the brief exchange. At the contact, her eyes held his.
“Let’s talk about it soon,” she said softly. “And someday I’d like you to tell me about your family too.”
For a split second, he thought about telling her everything. He’d empty his soul, tell her what his life had been like the past sixteen years, and tell her that he knew all about family and responsibility and loving someone. He knew she would understand his pain.
“Don’t hold your breath,” he said. What was there to tell? They were all dead.
Her look was indecipherable. Curiosity? Concern?
“Ragan?” The judge’s voice came from the back of the house as they opened the screen door.
“We’re home, Procky. I have the coffee.”
Chapter Twenty-One
That night Johnny stood at the east window overlooking the judge’s moonlit rose garden. Crickets chirped and an occasional whippoor-will called to its mate. A barely perceptible breeze stirred the lace curtains. Johnny turned when he heard a soft scratching. The moon shed enough light to see a furry black paw work its way under the edge of his door and then stretch more fully under the crack in search of anything to ensnare on the other side.
Moving away from the window, he lightly touched the tip of his bare toe to the back of the curled paw. It instantly began a frantic clawing sweep, trying to trap the object. He grinned and watched as the leg stretched as far as possible, grabbing, and then retreating to the opposite side. Another tentative try scooping air, and then a plaintive plea for admittance.
“All right, all right. Hold on.”
He opened the door a crack and Kitty burst into the room, scolding him for the neglect she had endured.
“You’re late, cat.”
She arched against his leg, and then jumped to the sill when he stepped back to the window. He let his hand fall on her head and she pressed into his chest.
“Look out there, Kitty. It’s too pretty a night to be cooped up inside. You should be out socializing, making small talk with the other cats in the neighborhood.”
She meowed.
A sound caught his ear, and he moved to the north window. The cat changed sills, and rearranged herself in front of him. The muted sound progressed slowly until, illuminated by the moonlight, a small, donkey-drawn cart came into view. Two men walked beside the conveyance, occasionally taking hold of the harness to keep it moving. It passed in front of the house, and the creaking wheels could still be heard as it disappeared into the shadows.
Johnny crossed back to the bed, wondering where he’d seen a cart like that before and thinking of the people he’d seen with donkeys. Plummer had a team of mules. There could be a donkey or two on the Banks’ land. The Hubbard girls had a pet jenny, but it was smaller than the one pulling the barrow. He mentally went through the town’s dwindling stock population.
He could account for six donkeys, but who were these men?
Lying on the bed and stroking Kitty’s head, he wondered who was taking a cartload of what, where, after midnight.
The cat stretched along his thigh and purred when his hand settled on her back. Strange, how comforting it was to know another living being wanted his companionship. It had been years since he’d had a pet. Sixteen years if the number mattered. He took a deep breath. Sixteen years. He’d had a dog, Red. Best hunting dog in the county. Bledso had shot her too.
He had no idea how long he’d slept when the sound of the returning cart awakened him.
Kitty hit the floor and jumped back onto the windowsill as Johnny got up and watched until the mysterious wagon came back into view and bumped back toward Main Street. The donkey moved faster now, and both men rode in the obviously lighter cart.
As the puzzling sight disappeared into the shadows, Kitty jumped from the ledge and ran to the door, trying to paw it open. Johnny stepped over and opened it for her. “Don’t go waking up the judge. It’s the middle of night, you know.” He watched her silently flick down the stairs.
He lay back down and settled his head on the pillow, uneasy. Who were the men with the donkey?
And what had they taken out of town in a cart at this time of night?
Chapter Twenty-Two
I understand Dirk Bledso’s here in Salt Lake City.”
Glasses clinked down on the bar, and silence settled over the room. Eyes centered on Johnny in the barroom doorway. He smiled at the bartender. “Tell Mr. Bledso he has a visitor.”
A cowboy waved a mug in the air and then hurled it against the wall. “Tell him yourself!”
Johnny’s hand moved to Everett’s gun. He’d waited sixteen long years for this moment. The taste of victory was sweet.
Chairs overturned and customers faded into the shadows. There he was, just as Johnny remembered. Dirk Bledso, bigger than life. Drawing his last breaths. Johnny looked his enemy in the eye. Mama’s face floated in front of him, terrified, pleading. “Don’t kill my babies…”
Papa stepped up, yelling for Bledso to leave them be. Johnny watched the impact as bullets riddled his parents’ bodies and they crumpled to the ground. Slowly, methodically, he raised Everett’s gun and sighted his prey. The shot hit the Viper straight between the eyes. His evil grin hung midair long after his body lay on the floor. A cheer went up from the townspeople.
The crowd pushed close to the platform, but a hood over Johnny’s head prevented him from recognizing faces. Voices rose and fell. He felt the noose drop around his neck. Someone needed to return Everett’s Greener.
He’ d broken his word, his solemn pledge. Grandpa wouldn’t be happy about that.
He sucked hot air between his teeth, and the rope pressed, squeezing, squeezing.
“Prepare to meet your Maker, boy.”
Ragan. If things were different he’d have been different. Been
the sort of man a woman like her could look up to…maybe even love. He’d wasted his life on hate. Who had been the victor: Bledso, a man who cared nothing about life or values, or him, a man who’d thrown away his life in pursuit of bitterness?
The floor dropped from beneath his feet, and he fought the weight on his throat, struggling for breath…
Johnny’s eyes jerked open. Moonlight flooded the room. Sweat pooled on his body, and his heart hammered. He lay for a moment, staring into bright green eyes.
Then he sat up, struggling to untangle himself from the damp sheet and Kitty. The cat hissed, startled by the sudden movement. A flurry of cotton and feline ensued. Kitty emerged from the sheet and stretched, lazily arching her body, and then she rubbed her face along Johnny’s arm.
He stared at the pet and then gently pushed her aside. With a protesting mew, she jumped down and stalked to the window. Perching on the sill, she stared back at him with her sleepy jade eyes.
“This place is getting to me,” he grumbled. His breathing was ragged, and the image of Dirk Bledso seared his brain. Sisal still bit into his neck.
Hanging wasn’t something he often allowed into his thoughts.
Kitty jumped from her perch and rejoined him on the bed. Purring, she nuzzled his neck, forcing him to pay attention to her.
Settling back on the pillow, he let her stay. For once, her company was more welcome than the darkness. He absently scratched behind her ears. “You know, cat, when I do kill Bledso, there won’t be a man alive who’ll blame me. He’s a blight on the face of the earth, a scourge to humanity.”
“I know you’re hurtin’, boy. Real bad, but killing’s not the answer. It’ll only bind you to further pain.”
Grandpa’s words. Grandpa who’d hurt as badly as him, but he’d read the Bible by lantern night and stoically follow the Word. “Weren’t easy,” he’d say when Johnny accused him of not caring. “Hard—real hard to live the Word, but it would be harder to stand before the Lord and say you’d killed one of his children in cold blood. The Lord judges, not man.”
Kitty rubbed her whiskers against Johnny’s chin and purred.
Stupid cat. Stupid him for lying in bed talking to a cat. Regardless of his grandfather’s words, Bledso deserved to die. The last time he’d disappeared like this, word was that he was dead, his body lying somewhere in the Sierra Nevadas, bones bleached white by the sun.
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