Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  “We might as well stop at the mercantile while we’re here,” Marty decided.

  Ridge nodded. Most likely they wouldn’t feel much like shopping tomorrow after the funeral.

  The general store was located at the other end of town. Ridge was aware of several curious glances cast in his direction as he rode alongside the buckboard. Most of them came from men; one came from a fancy woman leaning over the balcony of one of the saloons.

  Redheaded, her cheeks rouged and her lips painted, her full breasts barely covered by a gaudy silk kimono, she waved at Ridge.

  “Hey, handsome,” she called, “why don’t you come see me sometime?”

  “Sure enough, honey,” he called back, only then remembering that the Flynn women were within hearing distance. Glancing sideways, he saw that Martha Flynn was watching him, her eyes narrowed, her expression sour.

  Before he could say anything, she faced front again.

  “Something bothering you, Miss Flynn?” he asked, unable to resist baiting her.

  “Of course not,” she replied coolly. Pulling back on the reins, she brought the buckboard to a halt in front of Grant’s General Store. The sign read:

  GRANT’S GENERAL STORE

  Groceries

  Dry Goods

  Hardware

  Best Selection This Side of the Missouri

  Ignoring him, she climbed down from the seat and headed for the general store. “Come on, Dani,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her sister was behind her. “We haven’t got all day.”

  Chapter Four

  Ridge stared after the two women. Dani Flynn might be as pretty as a spring day and as sweet as molasses, but Ridge had never had much of a sweet tooth, and the more he saw of Marty Flynn, the more he liked her, rough exterior and all.

  Dismounting, he tossed his horse’s reins over the hitching post and followed the women into the store. The smell of leather and coal oil mingled with the scents of pickles and cheese.

  Figuring the women would be a while, Ridge strolled up and down the aisles. There were shelves filled with canned goods, bolts of calico and gingham, pots and pans, flatirons and horse harnesses. Moving on, he saw barrels filled with plump dill pickles, crackers, and sauerkraut. An assortment of soaps and laundry tubs were stacked in one corner. He saw sacks of potatoes and onions and apples as well as sacks of rice and beans and sugar.

  One glass-topped counter held long bars of Brown’s Mule plug chewing tobacco. The bars were creased along the top to make it easy for the proprietor to cut off the right amount. Red metal tags in the shape of a mule were stuck into each section. There were boxes of cigars. Sacks of Bull Durham came with free packs of papers.

  Another counter held a variety of nostrums guaranteed to cure just about any ailment known to plague mankind, from John Bull’s Worm Destroyer to Dr. Rose’s Obesity Powders.

  A table held an assortment of spectacles that were priced from four bits to a dollar a pair. As he passed by, Ridge saw a middle-aged gent trying on one pair after another until he found a pair that suited him.

  There was also a shelf of veterinary supplies, including cures for scours, distemper, mange, and colic. Nearby were curry combs and brushes, calf ropes, picket pins, and saddle blankets. A couple of yellow rain slickers made a bright splash of color against one wall.

  In a corner, he saw a jumble of washtubs, slop jars, cuspidors, milk pails, coffeepots, dustpans, teakettles, coffee grinders, and washbasins.

  Moving on, he saw a display case filled with knives of every size and description, along with an assortment of fishhooks.

  The back of the store held a rack of ladies’ ready-to-wear dresses. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held an assortment of men’s shirts, trousers, and longhandles.

  By the time he made his way back to the front of the store, Marty and Dani were waiting at the front counter while their bill was tallied.

  The man behind the counter kept up a running conversation while he added up their bill, talking about the upcoming church social and the new parson and the weather, until he figured out how much he was owed and handed Marty the bill. She looked it over carefully before she paid it.

  “Here,” Ridge said, stepping up to the counter, “let me help you with those.”

  For a moment, he thought she’d refuse his offer just to be ornery. Instead, she uttered a curt, “Thank you.” It took all three of them to carry the supplies out to the buckboard.

  They were about ready to go when the young man Ridge had seen fighting earlier came running toward them. He was a tall, lanky kid with wavy brown hair, mild brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

  Dani’s eyes lit up as the young man approached the buckboard. He nodded at Marty, but it was Dani who held his attention.

  “Cory, are you all right?” Dani asked anxiously.

  The kid lifted a hand to his black eye. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Listen, I heard about your father…”

  At the mention of her father, tears filled Dani’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Dani.” Cory looked up at Marty, who was standing beside the buckboard, her fingers drumming impatiently on the wheel. “Miss Flynn, if there’s anything I can do…”

  “Thank you, Cory,” Marty replied. “The funeral’s tomorrow at ten. If you’ll excuse us, we have a lot to do before then.”

  “Oh, right.” He looked at Dani again. Ridge could tell the kid was itching to touch her but didn’t dare, not with her sister standing there, watching his every move.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Cory said.

  “Yes,” Dani replied softly. “Tomorrow.”

  The trip back to the ranch was uneventful. Ridge used the time to study the landscape. Two roads, one of them little more than an overgrown path, veered off the main trail. When asked, Marty told him that the first cutoff led to an abandoned homestead. The second led to the Circle V Bar C, Victor Claunch’s spread.

  Marty was certain Claunch had killed her old man.

  Ridge shifted on the seat. He would have to arrange to meet Mr. Victor Claunch one day soon.

  Judging from the crowd gathered at the gravesite in the small family cemetery that morning, Ridge figured the whole town had turned out to pay their final respects to Seamus Flynn. Standing off by himself, Ridge let his gaze wander over the crowd. He recognized Dani’s friend Cory, looking uncomfortable in a city suit and bowler hat. And there was Alexander, the newspaperman, and the lawman, Sam Bruckner. The blacksmith stood head and shoulders above everyone else.

  Ridge shifted his gaze to the Flynn women. Both wore black. Dani wore a floppy-brimmed hat with a black veil. Her head was lowered, and Ridge knew she was weeping.

  His gaze moved to Martha Flynn. She stood there with her head high and her eyes dry. It was the first time he had seen her in a dress. It fit well enough and looked good on her, but he thought pants and a shirt suited her far better.

  She slipped her arm around her sister’s shoulders as the parson began to speak, extolling the virtues of the late Seamus Patrick Flynn, who had single-handedly carved an empire out of the wilderness. Turning to the grieving daughters and the friends and neighbors of the deceased, he assured them that the dearly departed had gone to a far, far better place.

  Tuning the parson out, Ridge let his glance move over the mourners once again. His eyes narrowed as they settled on a tall, well-dressed man standing on the far side of the casket. The man, who looked to be in his mid to late forties, had dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a thin mustache just turning gray. He was bulky through the shoulders and his suit looked hand-tailored. A gold watch fob winked in the sunlight. The man wasn’t paying any more attention to what the parson was saying than Ridge was. Instead, he was watching Marty Flynn.

  Ridge would have bet his brand-new Winchester rifle that the man was none other than Victor Claunch.

  Ridge blew out a breath of relief when the parson said the final amen. One by one, the mourners stopped
to offer their condolences to Dani and Marty. Mr. Watch Fob was the last to offer his sympathy.

  Ridge moved up behind Marty as the man took her hand in his.

  “I’m sorry about your father, Martha. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for you in the next few days, you just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Claunch. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” It was clearly a dismissal.

  Claunch knew it, too. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I imagine you’ll be moving back east with your mother now.”

  Ridge couldn’t see Marty’s face, but he saw her shoulders stiffen.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” she said, her voice cool.

  Ridge moved up to stand beside Marty. “Are you ready to go, Miss Flynn?”

  Claunch looked at Ridge and then back at Marty. “Who’s this?”

  “A new hand. I hired him a few days ago.”

  Claunch’s gaze moved over Ridge, lingering on the well-worn grips of his Colt. “What’d you hire him to do?” he asked brusquely. “He’s sure as hell no cowboy.”

  “I hired him to kill varmints,” Marty replied.

  Claunch looked at Ridge again. “Is that right?”

  Ridge nodded. “If you know of any varmints in these parts, you might warn them to stay the hell away from the Flynn place.” He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “I’ve got a real itchy trigger finger. Sometimes I shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Tension crackled between the two men as they sized each other up. Ridge noted the slight bulge under the man’s jacket and wondered what kind of iron he carried, and if it was the same gun that had killed old man Flynn.

  Knowing it would annoy the hell out of Claunch, Ridge took Marty’s hand. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes.” Marty turned to her sister. “Come along, Danielle; it’s time to go home.”

  The women were subdued on the short ride back to the ranch house. For once, Marty hadn’t refused Ridge’s assistance when he offered to help her onto the seat of the buckboard. He glanced at them now, their arms around each other. Dani had removed her hat, and he could see the tracks of her tears on her cheeks. Scanlan and the rest of the cowhands rode along behind the buckboard, careful to keep their voices low. Several carriages and buckboards brought up the rear, occupied by close friends of the Flynns’. Ridge knew it was customary for friends of the deceased to stop by with food and condolences and spend time with the family after the funeral. He had a feeling that Marty would just as soon be alone with her grief.

  When they arrived at the house, he lifted Dani from the buckboard. She murmured her thanks, then hurried into the house. Turning back to the buckboard, he reached for Marty. She put her hands on his shoulders and he lifted her from the seat, letting her body slide down the length of his own as he set her on her feet. It was a good feeling, but this wasn’t the time to pursue it. He took a step backward, putting some distance between them. He didn’t want to give any of the cowboys any fat to chew, or add any grist to the gossip mill.

  It was in his mind to make himself scarce until the Flynns’ company departed, but Marty put an end to that right quick.

  “I’d like you to come up to the house,” she said.

  “Why? You think there’s gonna be trouble?”

  “No. I’d just like for you to be there.”

  He wanted to refuse but he couldn’t, not when she was looking at him like that. There were dark smudges under her eyes, making him wonder if she’d gotten any sleep the night before.

  “All right. I’ll be up after I take care of the horses.”

  “Thank you.”

  He watched her walk away, her shoulders slumped, until she reached the front door. She paused there a moment, then lifted her head and squared her shoulders. He knew she was pulling herself together so she could be strong for Dani.

  Taking up the reins, he led the horses down to the barn, grateful to have a few minutes alone before he had to face the townspeople, who were arriving even now.

  By the time he returned to the main house, the porch, the parlor, and the kitchen were overflowing with people standing in small groups. A long table had been set up against one wall. It was heaped with covered dishes, baskets of bread and rolls, some sliced meat and cheese, and a number of desserts.

  Dani sat on the sofa, her face pale, an untouched plate of food on her lap. The boy, Cory, sat beside her. It was obvious from the look on the kid’s face that he was in love. Marty moved from room to room, chatting quietly with her neighbors, thanking people for their condolences.

  A small group of men stood clustered together in the dining room swapping stories about the deceased.

  “He was a heck of a horse trader, Seamus was,” one man was saying. “I remember he sold me the prettiest little filly I ever saw. Told me she was a top-rate trail horse. And she was, too, except for one thing. She was afraid of water. Never could get that horse to cross so much as a mud puddle, let alone ford a river. When I complained, old Seamus said if he’da knowed I wanted a horse that could swim, he woulda sold me a sea horse.”

  Quiet laughter filled the room.

  “I remember one time…”

  Moving away from the circle of storytellers, Ridge took a place near the front door, where he could see what was going on but wasn’t in anyone’s way. He was the first one to see Victor Claunch arrive. Ridge shook his head. If the man had, in fact, killed old man Flynn, then he had a hell of a lot of nerve to show his face here now.

  Dismounting, Claunch tied his horse to the hitching post. Removing his hat, he shook off the trail dust, settled the hat back on his head, then walked up the porch steps and through the front door without knocking, as if he already owned the place.

  A flicker of surprise showed in Claunch’s eyes when he saw Ridge. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone surly.

  “I work here, remember?”

  “Then perhaps you should be in the bunkhouse, with the other hands.”

  “Perhaps,” Ridge said, his tone just this side of insolent, “but Miss Flynn invited me. Personally.”

  Claunch’s eyes narrowed. “Just what is your relationship to Miss Flynn?”

  “Maybe you’d better ask the lady yourself.”

  “Ask me what?” Marty said, coming up behind them.

  Smiling indulgently, Claunch reached for Marty’s hand. “There you are, my dear.”

  “Yes.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt, thereby avoiding his touch. “What is it you wanted to ask me?”

  “He wants to know what I’m doing here,” Ridge explained.

  “Mr. Longtree is here at my invitation,” Marty informed Claunch coolly. “It is, after all, my house.”

  A muscle worked in Claunch’s jaw at her rebuke. “I’d like to speak to you alone, Martha.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible now.” She gestured at the parlor. “As you can see, there are a number of other people here whom I must see to.”

  “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I’ll call on you in a day or so, if that’s all right.”

  “Yes, of course,” Marty said politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Claunch nodded curtly.

  With a glance at Ridge, Marty went back to her guests.

  Claunch glared at Ridge. “Enjoy yourself while you can,” he said brusquely. “You’ll be out of a job as soon as Martha and I are married.”

  “From what I’ve seen, that could be a while.”

  Rage filled Claunch’s eyes and mottled his cheeks. “We’ll see about that!” He stalked out of the house, letting the front door slam behind him.

  Chapter Five

  Marty wandered aimlessly through the house, picking up a dish here, a glass there. The last of the mourners had gone home over two hours ago. Pleading a headache, Dani had gone to her room shortly after that, leaving Marty to clean up after their guests. In truth, she was glad to have something to do
, anything that would keep her from thinking about her loss. She had always been closer to her father than to her mother, and now he was gone…

  She shrugged the thought away and concentrated on the compassion and openheartedness of their neighbors instead. It had been kind of their friends to come and express their condolences, to help them through the first bleak hours after the funeral. As always, at births or marriages or deaths, the women brought food.

  She glanced at the painting of her mother and father that hung over the fireplace in her father’s office, and suddenly the tears she had been holding back for so long flooded her eyes. With a choked cry, she ran out of the house, down the porch steps, and out into the darkness, where no one could hear her.

  Pausing beneath a cottonwood tree, she dropped to her knees. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she rocked back and forth sobbing, “Pa. Oh Pa!”

  “Martha.”

  She glanced up at the sound of her name, and felt her heart skip a beat when she saw a dark shape materialize out of the shadows. She blinked at the apparition, wondering if it was her father’s ghost, and then she realized it was Ridge Longtree.

  “What are you doing out here?” She wiped her tears away, hoping he hadn’t heard her crying. She hated weakness in anyone, most especially in herself.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  She started to say yes, and then sighed. “No.”

  He dropped down beside her. In the pale light of the moon, he could see the tears still trickling down her cheeks. With a wry grin, he offered her his kerchief.

  She took it with a murmured, “Thank you.”

  “Anytime,” he remarked, watching her dry her tears.

  She managed a faint smile through her sniffles.

  “Why do you hide your tears?” he asked.

  “Dani’s cried enough for both of us. One of us has to be strong.”

  “You think hiding your tears from your sister makes you stronger?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sparks danced in her eyes. “I just hate for anyone to see me crying. I always have.” Ever since she had been a little girl, she’d gone off to cry alone, taking refuge in the loft or under the porch or out behind the springhouse.