by Linda George
“God, woman, but you make me crazy.”
She nibbled on his neck, then his lips, pulling back just enough to make him long for her. It didn’t take long for him to pull her against him so he could complete the kiss and their coupling.
Lying together afterward, Tom ran his fingers through her tangled hair. “Know what we're going to do first thing this morning?”
“Can't.”
“Why?”
“We made love first thing this morning. It'll have to be second thing.”
“Good point. We're getting married.”
Rosalie propped on one elbow, twirling the hair on his chest around her fingertips, trying to keep her breathing steady. She had to be sure he was serious before letting him know what marriage would mean to her.
“I thought we got married last night.”
“We did. I want a piece of paper that says so. Today.”
“Are you sure that's what you want?” She prayed with all her heart he'd say yes.
“It is.”
Thank you, Lord! “I'm afraid it can't be second thing this morning, though.”
“Why not?”
“It'll have to be third.” She reached for him beneath the covers. “I'm waging war on you. If I lose, I'm yours to do with as you please.” He was, anyway. “If I win, though, you have to make love to me until I say stop.”
Tom grinned as she worked magic on him again. “I'll save you the trouble. I surrender.”
<><><><>
Rosalie suggested wearing the emerald dancing dress for their wedding, and Tom hadn't argued. She resembled a princess in that dress.
“I'd marry you even if you wore nothing at all.”
“That was last night. This is in front of a bunch of other people and not just you and me. Indulge me, please, so I can wear the prettiest dress I've ever owned.”
“Yes'm.”
Tom knew there'd be hell to pay when he got home, and with Trina when she heard they'd gotten married without her being there, but they didn't have much time. The race could go either way. If Rusty lost to Triumph, and the talk in town supported that possibility, then Rosalie wouldn't have to face Strickland alone. He'd have to deal with both of them as man and wife.
“I'll get the buggy. I won't be gone long. We’ll have the ceremony at the hotel. You can dress in my room.”
“I'll be ready.”
When they got to the El Paso, Tom saw Josh running toward them. “The depot! That horse is coming in! The one they say can beat Rusty!”
He squeezed Rosalie’s hands. “I'm going to check it out. I won't be too long.”
“I don’t suppose I should go with you.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“I'll be here, waiting.”
Josh had fetched a horse from the livery. Tom pulled the boy up behind him, and followed the crowd to the depot.
“There she is!” Josh cried happily. “Rounding that last bend!” He slipped to the ground and ran toward the platform.
Although eager to see the horse Strickland would be riding in the race, Tom felt intensely nervous over confronting the competition. They'd never expected Strickland to bring his own horse, all the way from Denver. This was damn soon after agreeing to the race, too.
The locomotive slid to a stop with a deafening expulsion of steam and the squeal of brakes. The crowd stepped back to avoid the heat, steam and cinders, then crowded close to the front of the passenger car.
“The guys say there's a man traveling with the horse.”
“What's his name?”
“Don't know. Want me to find out?”
“Make it quick.”
Josh squirmed through the crowd, stayed gone about five minutes, then squirmed back.
“Nobody's heard his name, but he's real short.”
“Thanks, son.”
“Any time.” Josh ran off to join his friends.
Zane Strickland strutted across the platform to the second freight car, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly. Tom couldn't decide if he might be checking for the marshal, or if he just wanted to attract the crowd's attention. Either way, the crowd gathered around him, calling, “Let's see that horse!” and “Open 'er up!”
Zane signaled for the door to be opened. It scraped back on gritty rails, revealing only darkness inside, followed by a loud whinny that quieted the crowd and left them murmuring in expectation.
Tom stepped closer. He hated being part of the spectacle, but had to see what Rusty would be up against.
Two of the brakemen positioned a ramp at the door, and one of them went inside. Finally, he reappeared, leading the horse.
Any hope Tom might have harbored that Zane could be beaten disappeared at the sight of the slender-legged chestnut creature clumping down the ramp. The horse's head, refined and intelligent, with big, bold eyes, rested on an elegantly arched neck. Sharply sloped shoulders, well-defined withers, and strong, muscular hind quarters with the tail set high spelled one breed only.
A thoroughbred, no doubt about it. A bona-fide race horse.
Commotion in the crowd pulled Tom's gaze from the animal. Appearing at the horse's side was a man no taller than Tom's shoulders, and a man behind him in a brown suit who looked familiar, somehow.
The little man shouted at Zane. “Be careful! This is no plow horse. And get all these people away from him! If he spooks, he could be injured and you don't make enough in a year to pay the horse doc’s bill.” He took the reins and spoke softly to the horse, quivering with excitement.
Tom knew, without a doubt, this was a jockey, the one who would ride Triumph in the race Saturday. The man in the suit said something to the jockey, then disappeared into the crowd before Tom could get a better look at him.
The brakeman tried to clear everyone back from the platform to give the horse room to pass, but no one seemed willing to give up space to anyone else.
A gunshot thundered, hushing the crowd, sending Triumph into a frenzy. His flailing hooves convinced everyone, in a hurry, to clear back. The jockey clung to the reins as though his hands were tied to them. Eventually, he managed to calm the horse.
Zane, holding his gun, barrel smoking, approached slowly. “You got him under control, Sam?”
“I had him under control until you fired that gun! Don't you have any brains to go with all that money?”
Tom watched carefully as Zane moved closer, mumbling so the crowd couldn't hear. The jockey pressed his lips into a tight line, shaking with anger, saying nothing in response.
So that's how it is, Tom thought. The rider, Sam, knows the horse better than the owner and speaks his mind, until Zane feels he's losing face in front of everyone. Then it came to him. Where he’d heard the name Triumph before. He had to be sure, though.
Sam led Triumph away. Zane addressed the crowd.
“I know all of you are familiar with the Kincannon gelding. Well, come Saturday, Triumph is going to leave that sorry piece of horse flesh in the dust. Place your bets, gentlemen.” He stalked away.
A man standing near Tom told a friend, “What does he mean, 'sorry piece of horse flesh'? Rusty's beaten my best horses. Nothing sorry about him, or my horses, either, for that matter.”
Conversation throughout the crowd seemed to follow that same track. Tom headed back to the hotel after stopping to send a wire to Lubbock. Josh caught up with him and rode behind him on the horse, back to the hotel.
“Ain't he the finest horse you ever laid eyes on? I never seen nothing like that in all my life. Damn!” The boy couldn't stand still, fidgeting and hopping around with excitement.
“Be still. You're sitting on the horse's kidneys back there. Have a little respect. And watch your language. You aren't old enough yet to cuss.” Josh didn't say anything. “He's a fine horse, for sure,” Tom added, feeling bad about scolding the boy so much. An idea flashed through Tom's mind. “Do you ride much, son?”
“All the time. I can ride any horse you put me on, I swear!”
&nb
sp; “Don't swear. If you take to cussing and swearing now, you'll be a hooligan or an outlaw when you get to be my age.” Scolding again, but the boy needed some guidance.
“Yes, sir.” Josh ducked his head.
“Have you ever ridden Rusty?”
His head popped up again. “No, sir, but I always wanted to. Mr. Kincannon wouldn't let nobody but him ride his horse.”
“If you'll meet me at Rusty's stable in about an hour, I'll let you ride him.”
“Wow! Wait'll the guys hear this!”
“Whoa! This has to be a secret between you and me. Promise you won't tell anyone, or forget it.”
The idea of a secret obviously appealed to him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I won't tell nobody. I swear! Uh, that is, I promise.”
“Good boy. Have Rusty saddled with the smallest saddle you can find.”
“I got just the one! It was my sister's before she decided horses were too smelly and gave it to me.” At the hotel, he dashed off around the corner, hollering, “See you in an hour!”
So much for keeping it quiet. Tom hurried upstairs. He wanted to tell Rosalie about Triumph before someone could beat him to it. He took the stairs two at a time, knocked softly, then entered.
Rosalie sat at a desk by the window, with paper and pen in front of her, wearing a blue dress instead of the green one. When she gave him a sad smile, he could tell she'd already heard.
“There's no way Rusty can beat a race horse, Tom.” She stared at the paper on the desk.
“Maybe not, but we might be able to even the odds just a little.”
“How?”
“I won't know for sure until we see how well Josh can ride.”
She caught on immediately. “Put the least amount of weight possible on Rusty. That's a great idea, Tom! Will it be enough, though?”
“If we could tie some rocks to Triumph's tail, I'd feel better about it.”
She picked up the paper and held it toward him. “I've been writing up the terms of the wager. Perhaps I should add rocks to the deal?”
Tom took the agreement and read it carefully, feeling a knot form in his gut as the words scrolled through his mind. It boiled down to “winner take all.”
Tom dropped the paper on the table and took her into his arms. “I love you. No matter what happens, I'll always love you. Even if Rusty loses, we'll get shed of Zane Strickland the minute I can arrange it.”
“I know.”
In Tom's arms, almost anything seemed possible.
“And now, you have to put your green dress on so we can find the preacher and get married.”
She shook her head slowly.
“Rosalie, that horse doesn't change a thing.”
“Yes, it does. When I thought Rusty had a chance of winning, I let myself think we could be married and everything would turn out fine. But things have changed. There's a genuine race horse in the picture, now.”
Tom gritted his teeth. “Rosalie, once we're legally married, Zane will have to deal with both of us.”
She kissed him tenderly. “If I'm indentured to him, what sort of marriage could we have? You'd be fighting mad every day to see me head for the Strickland home to clean and cook, instead of taking care of our home. And think about the McCabe family's reputation. Tom McCabe's wife an indentured servant? Unthinkable.”
Tom looked out the window, his expression hard.
“See? I'm right and you know it. We have to settle this. If Rusty wins, we'll be married. But, if he loses, I won't marry you until I've paid my father's debt and I'm free again.”
Tom embraced her, then buried his face in her soft, thick hair, fragrant with lilacs. “I wish we could get on the train today and never look back.”
“If I've guessed right about your family, running has never been something the McCabes have done. I doubt your father or brothers would cotton to the idea of starting now.” She kissed him, held him, yearned for him. “As far as I'm concerned, we're as married as if the preacher had performed the ceremony himself. I don't need a piece of paper to prove how much I love you, or that I've promised to keep myself only unto you for the rest of our lives. I belong to you, and you belong to me, isn't that right?”
“Damn straight.”
“All right, then, let's see if Josh can ride Rusty well enough to give him the edge he needs to win that race.”
“I love you. Don't ever forget.”
“How could I? Without you, I'm only half a person.”
<><><><>
At the stable, they found Josh already in the saddle, warming Rusty up, getting him ready to run.
“See, Mr. McCabe? I can ride real good!”
“Let's take him out on the road and see how well you can stick on his back when he's running full out.”
“Yes, sir!”
They followed Josh and Rusty to the Cold Spring Road, leading north out of Fort Worth.
“Is there a landmark on this road, about half a mile away?”
“How about the Devil's Fork?”
Rosalie explained that the tree, struck by lightning years ago, had been burned black. Three branches remained, resembling a huge pitchfork. She'd always felt God had put it there to warn people entering the city about the evil that lay waiting in the Acre.
“That's perfect, Josh,” Tom told him. “Ride to the Devil's fork, around it, then back here, as fast as you can. Wait until I give you the signal.”
Josh pulled Rusty into position beside Tom and Rosalie. Tom raised his hand, lowered it, and Rusty took off. Tom counted in seconds, reminding himself not to count too fast just because it was exciting to see the big horse run.
When Rusty streaked past them, Tom nodded, impressed. A hundred and fifty seconds. Faster than any horse on the McCabe Ranch, for sure. But fast enough to beat a thoroughbred on the track?
“There's one thing we haven't determined about this race.” Rosalie linked her arm with his. “Distance.”
“What's Rusty's best?”
“He's quick on the start, unbeatable for a quarter to a half mile, but still shows amazing endurance in races a mile or longer. He's good at just about any distance, really.”
Tom had no idea what Triumph's best distance was, but he might be able to find out. Most thoroughbreds were slow to start, best on a longer race. They could assume Triumph matched that pattern, but Tom wanted to know for sure.
“You'll need to put the distance in the agreement.”
“Yes, and then we'll keep it to ourselves until I show the agreement to the marshal. We'll have to hope he'll make Zane abide by it.”
“I doubt he'd give in to Zane on anything. As for the distance on the agreement, let me do some poking around in town before you write it in. I'll see what I can learn about Triumph's racing record.”
Josh brought Rusty alongside, puffing and snorting, pulling on the reins as though he wanted to run again. “How did he do?”
“Great. We want you to ride Rusty in the race Saturday. Will you do it?”
“Honest? You mean it? You aren't just funnin' me, are you?”
“I never make jokes about serious matters. Will you do it?”
“I'll have to ask my ma, but I know she'll say it's all right.” His eyes flashed above his gappy grin. “My grandpaw will be tickled!”
“I'll talk to her if you want me to. Walk Rusty around until he cools off, then give him a good rubdown. We want him in top shape for the race. And pull everything off that saddle you can, to lighten it. The less weight he's carrying, the faster he'll run.”
“Yes, sir.” He wheeled the horse around and headed back to the stable.
“Josh!”
He pulled up.
“Not a word about this to anyone, remember? No one's to know you're riding Saturday except your ma and grandpaw. I want you to bed down with him until the race. I don't want anyone messing with him while we aren't looking. And let me tell your mother.”
“I'll stay with him every minute, I sw— I promise! I won't tell
nobody.”
“Good boy.”
Rosalie kissed Tom. “You've thought of everything.”
“Maybe. Will you have to recopy the agreement to put in the distance?”
“There's room at the bottom of the page.”
“Good enough. Let's get back to the hotel. I have some snooping to do, to see what I can learn about Triumph.”
Tom didn't have to go farther than Merchant's to find Luke Short and Bat Masterson in the midst of a crowd of race-rabid bettors.
“Strickland's horse is going to leave that gelding choking on dust from the word go,” someone in the crowd shouted above the din.
Luke Short drained a glass of beer, wiped his moustaches with one sleeve, then eyed the shouter. “Triumph leaves the starting line like he's been let out of a corral into a pasture of good grazing. He eats dust until half a mile out. At the mile, he's the one in front, with the others eating his dust.” He glanced around. “Anyone know the distance on this race?”
Muttering among the crowd produced no answer. Tom sat quietly, contributing nothing. He had what he'd come for. No need to get anyone excited yet.
Zane Strickland came in, brushing dust from his jacket and hat. “Damn town. Nothing but dust and heat.” He mopped his brow with one sleeve, pulled up a chair where Masterson and Short sat with their heels propped on the table, and ordered a beer.
Luke dropped his boots to the floor and leaned toward Zane across the table. “How long is this race, Strickland?”
“Does it matter?”
“It damn sure does. We want to see those horses go at least a mile.”
“Why?”
Luke explained. Zane leaned back in his chair, took a long pull on the beer, then grinned. “How about a mile and a half?”
“Sounds good. Who's taking the bets around here?”
Time to step in. Tom scraped his chair back and stood. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but Mr. Strickland didn't initiate this race. Miss Kincannon did. She determines the length, and she hasn't made up her mind yet. She'll announce it at the race.”
Zane stood so fast, his chair skittered off to one side, landing on its back. “Wait just a minute. In a race, both parties have to agree on distance.”
