“Well, right now you smell badly enough to put me off my meal, and trust me, boys, that’s not happening. So follow me.”
They stopped at the clothesline before heading to the river. It took more threats to get the boys fully undressed and headed to the water. He was prepared to throw them in, they smelled that badly, but they eventually opted to enter the water under their own steam. Kevin in a mad dash, Tony a lot slower. He didn’t seem to know where to place his hands, trying to cover this part and that. No boy had ever been that shy in Jackson’s experience, but as Tony got closer, understanding dawned. Someone had beaten the boy, badly. To the point they’d left scars all over his body. Shit.
Jackson drew him short with a hand on his shoulder. Tony’s chin came up. “The man who beat you, is he still living?”
Tony just shrugged and stared straight ahead.
“Look at me, son.”
He did finally, shame warring with anger in his expression. From the water, Kevin watched.
“I want an answer. Is whoever did that to you still alive?”
Tony’s lips set in a thin line. His eyes took on that too-old expression. “I’m told I deserved it.”
“No one deserves that.”
Kevin came sloshing out of the water, fists balled.
“Leave him alone.”
Jackson stopped him with a raise of his hand. “I’m not asking to shame you, son.”
Tony bristled. “I’m not your son.”
“No, you’re not, because if you were, the man who hurt you would be dead.”
“He needs to be dead,” Kevin whispered, coming closer.
So he was still alive.
Tony ducked out from under Jackson’s grip and grabbed the soap. “Shut up, Kevin.”
As Tony and Kevin headed into the water, Jackson drawled with deliberate casualness, “If you ever want to settle that score, Tony, you let me know.”
The boys looked at each other. Kevin ignored Tony’s frown. “There are too many of them.”
“Shut up!”
Jackson smiled and let the rage settle into purpose. “I wouldn’t be going alone.”
“You’d need an army,” Kevin added, a touch of hope perking his voice.
Jackson thought of Clint, Cougar, the Reverend Brad, and Asa. Former bounty hunters, bandits, and lawmen. Cold-eyed men whose names struck terror into the hearts of those they hunted. He nodded. “I have one.”
“They don’t know me,” Tony whispered, dipping down in the water. “Why would they help?”
“Because I’ll ask them to.” It was as simple as that.
Kevin’s eyes got wider; Tony’s lips drew tighter; but neither said a word. They finished bathing in tense silence. As they headed back up the path to the house, with Kevin leading and Jackson bringing up the rear, Tony stopped, clenched his fists, and looked back over his shoulder, not quite meeting Jackson’s gaze.
“Did you mean what you said?”
“There’s never a time that I don’t.”
A pause and then, “And your friends? They’re good?”
“They’re very good.”
The boys exchanged a glance. Kevin was the one who spoke. “Good enough to kill someone?”
Both boys watched him intently. And why not? They clearly thought their lives hung on the answer. He tugged his hat down over his brow. “Without batting an eye.”
With a nod Tony resumed walking. “I’ll think on it.”
Eight
Dark had fallen by the time the children finally fell asleep bundled up on the pallets on the floor in Mimi’s room, all that energy finally exhausted by a hard day. And boredom. Mimi claimed she didn’t have enough lamp oil to burn at night, leaving the children with nothing to do but sit quietly. They soon said they were tired. Jackson had a suspicion it was a trick to get some peace and quiet. If so, it was a success.
Sitting out on the next-to-the-top step of the porch, Jackson breathed deeply of the cool air. Fall was coming. There wouldn’t be many more evenings like this. The house was quiet. The night was calm. The moon had yet to rise. A hoot owl in the distance punctuated the chirps of crickets. Jackson sat on the steps, sharpening his knife on the small whetstone he carried with him, letting the peace of it all wash over him.
The door slowly creaked open. Mimi’s scent teased his nostrils with the promise of summer and laughter and happy times.
“I always did like the scent of honeysuckle,” he mentioned, not looking over his shoulder. He heard that little betraying intake of breath that indicated her surprise, and then he heard the smile in her response.
“Did you, now?”
Her skirts rustled as she sat down on the step just above him. Her utter femininity appealed to him on many levels. But where she was sitting? That would have to change. He didn’t like her hiding from him. “Either I’m going to have to move up or you’re going to have to come down.”
“Oh? The great Jackson Montgomery doesn’t want a woman sitting taller than him?”
He kept the knife moving in little circles over the stone. “A man’s got to protect his reputation.”
Her laugh was more of an expulsion of breath. “You’re rather outrageous, aren’t you?”
Not that he was admitting to. “Made you smile, didn’t I?”
“That you did.”
For a few minutes there was only the soothing rasp of metal over stone. With a sigh Mimi slid down a step, keeping a discreet distance between them, tucking her skirts around her as she settled. She was barefooted. She had very pretty ankles and cute toes.
“Are you sure we should be going to town tomorrow?”
It was the fourth time she’d broached that topic. It was also the most direct. “I’m sure.” He tested the sharpness of the blade. Almost there. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what makes you so nervous about going to town?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never liked towns much.”
“Honey girl, you are as city as they come. You have no sick training, no animal training, no farm training. Hell, you barely know how to cook.”
It was the latter that got her back up. “I know how to cook just fine when I have all my spices.”
“Well, now, that I’ll have to see.”
She bristled. “Bland food never killed anyone.”
He set the knife and stone down. “Woman, it’s clear as day, you’re used to just walking down the street and picking up what you need.”
“So? It’s not a crime.”
“No, it’s not, but it makes one wonder what drove you out of your safe little city and into the big bad wilderness.”
She pulled her shawl around her shoulders as the breeze kicked up. “Cities aren’t as safe as you like to believe.”
“I don’t imagine they are, but they’re what you know and you left, dragging three kids in tow. The way I look at it, it’s got to be something pretty nasty to make you head out.”
“It’s not an exciting story, but since you saved my life, I’ll tell you. But I’m not answering questions.”
“Thank you.”
“I fell in love with the wrong man. A bad man. Very powerful. At the time, I thought he was so sophisticated.” She shrugged. “I had no money. He always had plenty. I didn’t realize he made his money off a house of ill repute and other shady businesses until I was in deep. There was some trouble one night. I grabbed the children, some money and things, and left.”
“Damn.”
“It’s a very old story.”
“Most people would have left the kids.”
She remembered that night. Melinda Sue getting caught playing with the beautiful “princess” necklace, Mac’s fury. He meant to kill the little girl. He had no use for the offspring of the establishment’s whores. If it hadn’t been for Tony hitting Mac over the head with a vase
, he would have succeeded. Knowing they had only until Mac woke up to get out of there, knowing they needed money, Mimi had grabbed the box out of the safe. It wasn’t until that night, riding the train west, the kids sleeping around her, that she’d discovered the encrypted ledger. She never would have taken the box had she known what was in it, but there was no going back.
She shuddered, remembering Mac’s fury when he’d reached for Melinda Sue. No. There was no going back. To Jackson, she simply said, “No, they wouldn’t.”
For a long moment, his gaze searched hers. Placing his hand over hers he nodded. “I’m guessing not.”
He saw too much. She flashed him a smile that probably wouldn’t fool the kids, let alone a grown man, and slid her hand out from under his.
“And now it’s your turn. What brings you wandering through here? Dirty clothes, tired horse, no soap, and a whole pouch full of money.”
“I could say I was good at robbing banks.”
She rolled her eyes. He noticed she was real fond of doing that. “You could.”
“I could say I’m good at killing.”
She didn’t roll her eyes at that. “You could.”
“I could say a whole lot of things . . .”
“Or you could just tell me the truth.”
“Why, when you’re withholding yours?”
“Maybe there’s a reason I’m withholding mine.”
“Maybe I’ve got the same reason.”
She looked him up and down. “I don’t think so.”
That piqued his interest. “What makes you say that?”
* * *
• • •
If Mimi had to guess anything about anyone, she’d guess that Jackson was used to being respected. It was there in the way he met the world with a direct gaze and squared shoulders. It was there in his easy humor and that devil-take-the-hindmost attitude. He carried his honor the way Mac carried his anger. As if it were the biggest part of him you could count on. Whereas Jackson was a man in every sense of the word, Mac was . . . Mac was just evil.
Mimi glanced at the knife in Jackson’s lean hand. The blade glinted in the faint moonlight. He carried his weapons with the same ease. “Just instinct.”
He cut her a glance. A strip of leather held his hair back at the nape of his neck, giving her a clear view of his profile with its strong jaw and bold nose. It also gave her a clear view of amusement crinkling the corner of his eye and cutting a shallow groove at the corner of his mouth.
“What else is your instinct telling you?”
She bought a little time by straightening the fringe of the shawl over her knees. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to indulge, because if she discussed him, sooner or later, he was going to want to discuss her. And that was a subject she couldn’t broach. She had to be strong. Jackson was the hero type. An honorable man. The type Mac, with his twisted ways and cruel mind, would love to destroy. If Mac or his men ever found her, they’d kill Jackson. Likely in front of her. And laugh the whole time. A piece of fringe broke off in her hand. She closed her fist around it. Mac liked to see people suffer. What she needed to do, if she was as good as she’d promised God she’d be from here on out, was to send him on his way.
In response to her perusal, Jackson arched his brow. Her heart did that particular ka-bump it did whenever he looked at her with that unnamed emotion that softened the masculine planes of his face. No, Jackson wasn’t for her, but while there would come a day when she would send him on his way, it wasn’t going to be tonight. Tonight she just wanted to feel that she wasn’t alone. No matter how often she told herself she could handle things, that it was going to get easier, she just seemed to get in deeper. Small problems became big problems and big problems disasters, to the point that she was now in way over her head. She couldn’t be a mother. She couldn’t be a leader. She couldn’t be a pioneer. If she needed proof of any of it, it was this last stand of a house she’d spent all their money on. The house that was falling down around them. The house with the snake-infested well.
Her stomach churned and bile filled her throat. A familiar taste filled her mouth. She knew the taste. Fear. Her new best friend. She didn’t think Mac’s people would find them way out here, but even if they could, there had to be an end to the running. And she’d hit hers. Rubbing her hands together, she tried again. “My instincts tell me there aren’t going to be a lot more evenings like this.”
Testing the knife edge on his finger, he looked over. “Changing the subject?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“Turns out a full belly is making me feel obliging.” He set the knife and whetstone on the step. “So what would you like to talk about now?”
It was unadulterated curiosity that made her ask what she hadn’t wanted to. “What do you do for a living?”
“Back to me, I see.”
“Well, it’s natural for me to be curious about the man who braved snakes to pull me out of the well.”
“I’ve got news for you. If I’d known just how many snakes were in that well, I wouldn’t have gone down.”
But he had. The second time. “Why is that?”
“I hate snakes. There’s a reason they represent everything evil in the Bible.”
“You know about the Bible?”
His freshly washed hair caught a glint of the moonlight, framing his face in an illusion of pale light. It should have made him look womanly. Instead, it made him look . . . predatory. Like the manes of those lions she’d seen in picture books.
“Any particular reason I shouldn’t?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the guns, the hair, the knives.” She spread her hands, wishing she could see his face clearly. “Just for some reason I never thought of you as a churchman.”
“Most of the men in the Bible are warriors of some form or another. Moses. Job.”
“Moses had a staff and Job the jawbone of an ass.”
“Everyone has their battles to fight and nobody fights them unarmed.”
She’d never thought of it that way. “That’s true.”
“Are you a churchgoer?”
“It’s safe to say I spent a lot of time on my knees as a child.” Apologizing for her existence. “I’m a bastard.”
“And now?” Beyond that, he didn’t react. Could he really not care?
“I’m not so willing to kneel anymore.”
“Disillusioned on God?”
She shook her head. “No, I believe in God. It’s the church’s view of him with which I’m having a problem.”
Surprisingly, he chuckled. “You ought to meet the Reverend Brad. He’s got his own way of roping folk back into the fold.”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s an awfully quick judgment.”
“He’s a reverend.” She flicked the fringe. “They’re all the same.”
And she was tired of pretending otherwise.
He picked up the knife. “Funny, because I was thinking you two had a lot in common.”
Branches rustled as a breeze blew up. Pulling her shawl closer about her, she watched the shadows dance. Every preacher she’d ever met, no matter what the denomination, was all about sin and consequence. She’d been told she was going to hell so many times for things over which she’d had no control, she’d quit listening.
“Now, what would make you think I would have anything in common with a reverend?”
Bracing his elbows on his knees, Jackson balanced the knife in his hand. “Because you, like him, are unique.”
Her stupid heart did a flip-flop. Did he really think she was special? “Just how unique is he?”
“His pa was a preacher and about beat the religion out of him. He went outlaw. When he came to Cattle Crossing, he used the church as cover, but, well . . .” He flipped the knife. “Man’s calling is a man’
s calling.”
“What happened when everyone found out?”
“He tried to step down, but the town folk picked up some weapons and convinced him to stay.”
“That sounds like quite a colorful story.”
“The Rev’s a colorful man and his wife is just as interesting. A good woman, but opinionated.”
“She would have to be to have married such a man.”
“She really didn’t have much choice. Both she and the Rev had a shotgun at their backs.”
Damn him. Now she was intrigued. “You’re not going to leave it there, are you?”
That might just have been a slight smile on his lips. He flipped the knife rhythmically.
“Well, it seems Evie, the Rev’s wife, is an artist and a bit of a rebel.”
“What did she do?”
“I’ll put this as delicately as possible. She did a portrait of the Rev without his knowledge and with all his parts . . . exposed.”
“She painted him nude?”
“Buck naked.” He flipped the knife higher. She caught her breath as it came down. He caught it deftly, casting her a glance and a smile when she gasped.
“Rumor is, the painting wasn’t that flattering, her being an innocent and all. When her father found it and the Rev saw it, there was a lot of yelling. But for totally different reasons.”
She covered her laugh with the shawl. “And he was an outlaw?”
“A quite successful one.”
“But he’s your reverend.”
“You’ve got to understand Cattle Crossing. We don’t get many preachers through and never the understanding kind like the Reverend Brad, so we don’t take kindly to having him snatched out from under us.”
“Even though he had a past.”
He shrugged. The blade flashed. “Everybody who comes out here has a past.”
The question just popped out. “Do you?”
“I was born here. My past is an open book.” The knife clunked softly as he placed it on the step. Cotton whispered against cotton as he reached out. “What’s your excuse, Mimi? What secrets are you hiding?”
Lean away. Lean away.
Promises Decide Page 12
