The Blackbird

by Kristy McCaffrey

  Atop horseback, the state of her leg was undetectable, and he couldn’t help but think that she must enjoy the mobility. Tess carried herself well, and her womanly curves were readily apparent, despite her efforts to hide them. She was no longer twelve years old.

  He wondered what it would’ve been like to meet her six years ago, before life knocked the wind clean from her and left a strong-willed vise in its place.

  That night Cale made a better fire, and they enjoyed hot beans and biscuits.

  Tess took a sip of thick coffee, swiftly hiding her grimace. “Why did you stop riding with Hank?”

  It was both complicated and simple. He saw no reason to rehash the circumstances, since it touched on a side of Hank that no daughter should ever have to hear.

  Cale offered a reason that should suffice. “He left to retrieve you.”

  “But you never came back.”

  “I decided to move on.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.” He stoked the fire, the pungent smell of mesquite reminding him of nights spent on the trail with Hank. “Why don’t you tell me what happened four years ago?”

  “There was a fire.”

  “I know. It was in the telegram that eventually caught up to Hank. How’d it happen?”

  “Hank didn't marry mi madre until I was three years old. He said at first he didn't know if he could wed her, because there were laws and such, but madre fought and argued with him—at least, that's what he told me; and knowing mi madre, I believe him—so he married her. It turned out there were no laws against a white man marrying a Mexican, but, despite that, we weren't welcomed by the townsfolk much. I’ve wondered if this is what made her such a bitter woman.”

  Tess set her plate aside, then brushed at her skirt.

  “She drank too much,” she added. “She always did, but as the years wore on, with Hank spending so much time away, it weighed on her. She was a difficult woman to live with. ”

  “I never had the chance to meet her,” Cale said. “I'm sorry to hear things weren't peaceful between them.” But he knew Hank—tenacious and shrewd and at times, unforgiving—and he could well imagine that Isabelle had chosen a hard life to be tied to him.

  “I had mi abuela,” Tess continued. “Dolores Rios Campos was my protector, my teacher, my—” Her voice caught, and she paused.

  “I met your abuela once.”

  “You did?”

  “We were in Tucson, years ago, on the trail of a man who abducted and sold girls in Mexico. Your abuela came to us one night with information as to his whereabouts.”

  “How did she know?”

  “I'm not sure. She mostly spoke with Hank, but then she looked at each of us in turn. For some reason, she settled her eyes on me. She called me el puma.”

  “But this would’ve been before your attack.”

  “Yeah. Strange.”

  A wistfulness crossed Tess’s face. “Sometimes she walked with a foot in the other world.”

  Cale asked gently, “How did the fire happen?”

  Tess hesitated before continuing. “Isabelle was deep into her cups and started it by knocking over a candle. We couldn’t afford kerosene for the lamps. Our little dwelling was adobe, but the smoke was too much. I tried, I really tried, to save them...”

  In one instant, Tess had lost everything.

  “I’m sorry, Tess.”

  “You apparently had some sort of falling out with Hank, so why are you here?” she asked, clearly wishing to change the subject. “Why did you come to help me?”

  He stared into the fire and ran fingers over his short hair. “Despite how things ended, I'm indebted to Hank, for many things. When Mary sent that letter to the Ryan’s and asked me to help you, it seemed only right. Maybe it's time Hank and I made our peace.”

  He gazed into her green eyes, a reflection of Hank and a hint of the woman that Tess Carlisle could be. He'd only spent a few days with her, and he felt the wall around her as if it were real, but there were moments when he caught a flash of fire, her convictions straining to burst forth. It made him curious. About her.

  “It's time Hank and I made peace, too,” she said.

  * * * *

  On the third day, they entered Tubac, a ramshackle collection of adobe dwellings and remnants of the Spanish occupation of the 1700’s. The most prominent cluster was the decaying presence of the large presidio buildings. A rise in elevation had brought welcome relief to the heat, and lush cottonwoods hugged the Santa Cruz River.

  Cale felt as if he and Tess were on a holiday.

  He settled her at a boarding house, paid for a bath, then left to deliver the animals to the livery. He also intended to ferret out information about Hank's whereabouts. Tess would be angry if she knew he did this without her, but the journey had taken its toll—the dark circles under her eyes and the way she had constantly rubbed her injured leg all day while riding clued him in—so he wanted her to rest; and thankfully, she hadn't argued with him.

  A visit to the makeshift post office in the back corner of a saloon yielded no information as to the whereabouts of Henry Worthington or Carleton Perry. When Cale could turn up nothing else at the establishment, he headed elsewhere.

  A bit of inquiry led him to a hovel with a dirt floor and an underlying stench of sweaty bodies. It was late afternoon, but there were already many customers, mostly Mexicanos, and they eyed him warily. He ordered a bourbon and downed whatever rotgut had been substituted in one swallow, not of a mind to argue with the man serving as a barkeep behind the wooden plank.

  Cale took in the lay of the room, welcoming the distraction after spending so much time with Tess. Her emotional distance, while he understood it, irritated him.

  And the fact that it bothered him only annoyed him more.

  He didn't need to befriend her to find Hank. He knew that. And damn it, he could be unfeeling and detached, too

  Cale set down his glass and the barkeep refilled it. Emptying it, Cale continued this routine as Tess plagued his thoughts. The twinge of attraction that gnawed at him like a coyote chewing off his foot to escape a snare made him want to save her and run from her at the same time.

  After playing cards and downing more liquor than he should've, he learned of a fella who might have a lead to Worthington. In complete darkness, he managed to find the man's adobe home near the edge of town. Just as he approached, the distinctive sound of a cane hitting the dirt echoed behind him. He spun around.

  “What are doing here?” he asked Tess.

  She stopped before him, out-of-breath. “Trying to find you.” Her exasperated tone and narrowed eyes clearly showed her condemnation, and he felt like a school boy caught by his teacher. He stepped back before she smelled the liquor on his breath, but it was too late.

  “Are you drunk?”

  She moved toward him and he could smell rose oil. Damn, she smells nice. Even in the inky night, he could see the flash of anger in her eyes. He liked it. And he found it difficult to ignore the appeal of her scent, the lush curve of her mouth, the smoothness of her skin, leading from her face to her neck to...

  “Just a little,” he conceded.

  “Whatever on earth for?”

  “It's tough for a man traveling with a woman.”

  That caused her to freeze.

  Damn again. He shouldn't have said that.

  “Look Tess, I didn't mean it that way. It's just been a long few days.”

  She stepped back and he tried not to notice how enticing her hair looked, unbound and flowing over her shoulders.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, nodding toward the dwelling.

  “Following a lead on Hank.”

  “Then, I'll help you.”

  Cale didn't know what else to say, so he nodded. He walked to the door and knocked.

  An elderly Mexican answered.

  “ Are you Juan?”

  “Sí.”

  “My name is Cale Walker, and this is Tess Carlisle.” />
  At that, the man peered more closely at Tess. “You Hank's girl?”

  The man and Tess began conversing in Spanish. Short and wiry, gray hair sprinkled Juan’s dark hair, and deep wrinkles fanned the sides of his eyes.

  “Translate please,” Cale said under his breath to Tess.

  “He can show us where Henry Worthington was several months ago, in the hills to the east. Maybe Hank is with him. Juan isn’t certain.”

  After more discussion, she said, “He doesn’t want money. He said Hank did a favor for him once, so he will repay his daughter. We’re to meet at the livery tomorrow morning at seven o’clock sharp.”

  Juan interjected something in his native tongue.

  “He says we’d better make it eight thirty,” Tess added. “You’re going to need to sleep that off.”

  “I'm not drunk.”

  Tess gave Cale a look that said she didn’t believe him. She shook Juan’s hand. “Gracias.”

  She turned and began walking away, the cane at her side and her checkered skirt undulating around her.

  Cale nodded to Juan and ran a bit to catch up to her, swaying from a bout of dizziness. “Wait for me, Tess.”

  She paused. “Maybe I should let you borrow my cane.”

  “No, I'll be fine. I just don't want you walking alone.”

  “I came here alone.”

  He fell into step beside her, focusing diligently on walking straight. “You really don't make friends easily, do you?”

  “I didn't know it was important to you that we be friends.”

  “Well, I don't like it when we're not getting along.”

  “We've only known each other a few days, Señor Walker.”

  “Now hold on.” Was he slurring his words? He couldn't be sure. “You need to call me Cale.”

  “Because you call me Tess?”

  “I'm supposed to call you Miss Carlisle?”

  “That would be proper, wouldn't it?”

  Cale laughed. “But you and I are practically related because of Hank.”

  Tess stopped. “So, you see yourself as my brother?”

  Hell no.

  At least he had enough sense not to blurt that out.

  He'd definitely had too much to drink. This rarely happened to him. He imbibed at times, but always within his boundaries.

  In a flash, a hunger for this woman coursed through him. Unable to tear his gaze from hers, he wanted to set this boundary clearly. “I'm not your brother, Tess.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to speak. Her momentary hesitation was all it took for Cale to know that she wasn’t immune to what was happening between them.

  She knew he wanted her.

  Chapter Five

  Tess rode beside Juan, with Cale and the mule behind them, as they departed Tubac and headed east into a valley. She angled her hat to shield her eyes from the blinding sun.

  “How do you know my father?” she asked in Spanish.

  “The Irishman saved my neck one day,” the burly Mexican answered through bad teeth, his chubby hands clutching the reins. “I was ambushed outside of town. He took care of it.”

  Cale moved his horse beside hers. Tess couldn't quite bring herself to acknowledge him. The previous night had left her unsettled, so she simply ignored the fact that Cale had looked at her the way she caught Tom gazing at Mary sometimes.

  “I never knew the Irish were so violent,” Juan added in English.

  “That's enough,” Cale cut in.

  Tess stared ahead. “You don't have to hide what mi padre is. I know.”

  From the corner of her eye she saw Cale adjust his hat. “Tess, I really wish you'd let me search for Hank alone.”

  Her gaze finally slid to him, and she noticed his haggard appearance. “You really should try not to drink so much when we're in town.”

  “I agree.” A slight smile graced his mouth, causing a brief flutter in her stomach.

  “Is it really that difficult traveling with me?” she asked before she thought better of it.

  His blue eyes met hers. “No. But do you have any skills?”

  Shocked, she couldn’t speak. Does he think I’m a prostitute?

  “Can you shoot?” he added. “Do you have a gun? Or a knife, maybe?”

  Her indignation melted away as she realized she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I rode with Hank long enough to use a weapon or two. I have a Remington six-shooter.” The revolver was tucked away in her bag.

  “Cap and ball, or cartridge?”

  She tried to hide her irritation, but failed. “Cartridge.”

  “You have some of those too?”

  “Yes.”

  It annoyed her that he thought her unprepared. She wasn’t stupid. She knew full well what lay in the wilderness.

  “A woman with a gun is no good thing,” Juan said. “When they get angry, they can shoot your peck—” He stopped. “My apologies to you, Miss Theresa.”

  “No need,” Tess replied. She’d imagined many times aiming a gun at that part of Saul Miller.

  “I guess the solution to that is to never anger a woman with a gun,” Cale said.

  Tess caught his grin as he turned his face away from her. She stared straight ahead, and did her best to pretend he wasn’t there.

  They rode all morning until Juan finally brought his horse to a halt. “This was the last place I saw the old crazy coot, the one called Worthington,” he said. “The Irishman was with him.”

  There was nothing but desert, scrub brush, and the sun beating down on them.

  “Where?” Tess asked.

  Juan shrugged. “This is the best I can do for you. The old man was convinced that spirits chase him, and the Irishman likes his tiswin.”

  “What’s that?” Tess asked.

  “Liquor,” Cale answered.

  “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you know that?”

  She immediately regretted her sharp tone, but unease sat heavy in her belly. Were they wrong to trust Juan?

  Her eyes shifted to Cale. His unreadable gaze made her tense.

  “We appreciate your help, Juan,” Cale said. “I think we can take it from here.”

  Juan hesitated. “I hope you find him. I am sorry there are not better clues.”

  “That’s what happens when you chase a ghost.”

  The Mexican laughed. “Out here, there are muchos espíritus.” He turned his horse toward the path they'd just traversed, heading back to Tubac. “Adios, amigos.” He waved and left them, visible until his animal crested a rise and disappeared.

  Tess sighed. “How will we ever find any clue to Hank's whereabouts here?”

  Cale's eyes fixated on a point in the distance to the south. “Right now, that's the least of our problems.”

  Her unease turned to alarm. “What's wrong?”

  “Just act normal. We're being watched.”

  “By who ?”

  “My guess is amigos of Juan. He was just too good to be true.”

  “Then why did you follow him out here?”

  “I’m not entirely certain. And I do think he knows Hank.”

  “What should we do?” she asked, suppressing the urge to swing her gaze in all directions in a search for any possible adversaries.

  “Do you have that gun handy?”

  Tess’s shoulders sagged. “It's at the bottom of my bag. And it needs to be loaded.”

  Cale guided Bo beside her horse. He untied her satchel and handed it to her. She opened it, felt for the gun and the box of ammo. When she pulled them out, Cale took the weapon and bullets from her, inspected the gun and, with smooth movements, placed cartridges into the chamber. She twisted in the saddle and secured the bag once again. He handed her the revolver.

  “Keep it close,” he said.

  “Should we hide?”

  “No. I have an idea.”

  * * * *

  Cale threw together a make-shift camp and started a fire, picketing the horses a
nd Moses. Tess watched him with wary eyes and tight features, but he ignored her and readied for visitors.

  Two riders appeared out of a cloud of dust in the distance.

  Tess followed his gaze. “Why don’t we try to outrun them?” she demanded.

  “Might work. Might not.” He moved toward her. “Sit down.”

  She stared at him. “Why?”

  “Trust me, Tess. If we ride and they pursue, they’d likely pick us off with those long rifles they’ve got with ’em.”

  Her face blanched.

  “I’m gonna tie you up,” he continued.

  “What?”

  “It’ll be loose, and just for show. I’d really rather not discuss this. We don’t have much time.”

  The fiery spirit she kept under wraps flashed briefly to the surface, but she regained her composure and sat down, bending only her right leg.

  “You really ought to let me have a look at that,” he murmured.

  He grasped her wrists and place them on her lap, then wound a rope around them but didn’t tie it. He set the Remington on her skirt then pulled the hat from her head and covered the weapon with it.

  “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” he said.

  He stood as two men on horseback reined to a stop thirty yards away.

  “Can I help you fellas?” Cale asked.

  Both appeared young, but rough around the edges, wearing sweat-stained clothing and sporting beards. He’d been right about the rifles, hanging in slings on each animal. Pistols hugged the men’s hips.

  “Well, you and the lady seem to be a long way from nowhere,” the one on the right said, spitting to relieve the wad of tobacco in his cheek. “Why’re you out here all alone?”

  “Just passin’ through.”

  “That your wife?”

  Cale feigned a relaxed stance, his hands near the Colts at his side. “No. She’s my prisoner.”

  “What she done?” Tobacco seemed genuinely interested.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  Tobacco spit again. “The thing is, we’re kinda in charge out here. You’re ridin’ through our territory. So, you gotta pay.”