by Jane Toombs
Ezra said nothing. Poor Violet, without a mother to soften her father’s harshness. He and Jules had lost their mother, too, but there’d always been Tessa. He turned to his sister, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She stared at him, startled.
“You’ve been real good to me,” he said gruffly.
He wasn’t going to worry about whether or not Violet’s mother had been a cheat--what difference did it make to him? Violet was her own person. His heartbeat speeded as he recalled the way her soft lips and parted when she looked up at him. He could hardly wait to see her again.
When they arrived at the Gabaldon casa Vincente Gabaldon greeted Tessa with a smile and held onto her hand while he spoke to her. Ezra was a bit surprised Tessa didn’t draw away from him. Instead, she smiled, too, Of course, for an older man, Violet’s father was good-looking enough.
“I am so happy to have you in my house,” Vincente said to her. “It is my sorrow we haven’t met since last summer.”
She blushed, Tessa could look downright pretty sometimes.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s my pleasure to be here.”
Ezra glanced from one to the other. She hadn’t said a word about meeting him before and she was gazing at him, fascinated, like a bird at a snake. Ezra cleared his throat.
“Hello Senor Gabaldon.” he said.
Vincente’s manner grew more formal as he greeted Ezra. He escorted them into the main room of the adobe ranch house and left them with a final smile for Tessa.
Almost immediately Violet, accompanied by a maid, came into the room. Ezra caught his breath.
Violet wore all white except for a pink ribbon threaded through the high neck of her gown, the pink exactly matching the color of her lips. The gown was modest but fitted so well he couldn’t miss the delicate curve of her breasts and the sweet flare of her small hips. She offered him her hand.
As he touched her fingers, a tingling fire traveled from his hand to shoot through him like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“Violet,” he stammered. “I mean Senorita Gabaldon.” She took her hand from his and glanced at Tessa.
“Oh, I brought my sister. Tessa, this is--”
Tessa held out her own hand to clasp Tessa’s. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Senorita Gabaldon. Ezra wasn’t exaggerating, you’re a very pretty young woman.”
Violet’s cheeks turned pinker than the ribbon at her neck as she smiled at Tessa. “Thank you. I am honored that you came to call, Miss Nesbitt.”
Violet turned to the maid, giving orders in Spanish for little cakes to be brought with coffee and wine.
When everyone was seated, Violet leaned toward Ezra, “How is your friend Senor
Bonney?” she asked. “I heard he was arrested, It is a shame.”
“Billy’s all right. He’s having a fine time at Paton’s. Juan’s really his friend, you know.
“So I’ve heard. “I don’t understand this arrest.”
Ezra shrugged. “It won’t be for long.”
“I’m glad.”
Ezra gazed at her, entranced. Her soft brown eyes had tiny speckles of gold and her brown hair was pulled back from her heart shaped-faced. Face. But wayward wisps escaped to curl enticingly on her temples.
The maid returned with a tray of food and drink and Violet busied herself serving them. No one, Ezra thought, ever moved so gracefully. He could hardly believe he’d clasped that slender waist when he’d danced with her outside the cantina
“You must come to Maria Zamora’s house and visit me,” Tessa said to Violet.
Violet touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip for a moment and Ezra felt a flash of desire so acute he had to look away, lest he embarrass himself.
“I would like to,” Violet said, “But I must ask Papa.”
Ezra heart thudded in his chest. If she came to Maria’s, he might find a chance to be alone with her.
He couldn’t wait that long. He took a deep breath. By God, he’d make a chance. Now, today. Somehow.
All too soon Tess rose and began her farewells. He wanted to protest--it seemed they’d only been in the Gabaldon casa a few minutes. But he held his tongue, knowing Tessa did what she thought proper.
“A lady or gentleman never outstays a welcome,” his father used to say.
Whatever he might be, Tessa was a lady, all right. And so was Violet.
Violet walked with them to the door. He held her hand for a moment, said goodbye, then stepped aside to let Tessa repeat her invitation to visit at Maria’s. Then, as Tessa started away, Ezra moved back quickly before Violet could close the door.
“Meet me tonight under the cottonwood east of your house,” he whispered almost in her ear, so close he could smell a delightful scent of roses.
Violet spoke so softly he hardly caught her words, “Tomorrow night.” Louder, she said, “Adios, Senor Nesbitt,” stepped back and closed the door.
He floated off the stoop and over the ground to join Tessa. I’ll see Violet tomorrow. Alone. Would it really happen? Would she come?
The next day crawled by with the speed of a land turtle. The sun shone warm. Everywhere Ezra looked the hills showed green with spring and the birds sang themselves hoarse, courting. Is that what he meant to do--court Violet?
The idea of marriage frightened him, but she wasn’t like the cantina women Billy sought out. He knew those women could be had, sometimes for a few pesos, sometimes because they took to a man. Billy wasn’t shy about bedding them, but Ezra’d never had the nerve.
He wanted Violet in that way. It excited him almost beyond tolerance to even think of kissing her, but he wanted to protect her, too. Now that he’d seen her again, he couldn’t imagine living the rest of life without her.
“Violet is a lovely girl,” Tessa told him, coming up to him as he stood by the Zamora corral willing the sun to hurry down the sky. “I can see why you’re so attracted to her.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll never harm her in any way.” “Never!” he said fervently.
Tessa smiled and patted his arm.
“I reckon I’ll have to find work.” he said.
She nodded. “Senor Gabaldon will certainly insist any man who courts Violet has something to offer besides himself.”
At last the sun disappeared behind the western hills. Shadows deepened. Ezra ate Maria’s chili con carne, afterward telling her she was the best cook in the territory. He wrestled with Jules, letting his little brother pin him to the floor. Lying on his back, he plucked Jules off his chest, lifted him into the air and held him at arm’s length while Jules laughed as he tried to free himself.
“You’re in good spirits tonight,” Tessa commented. She couldn’t suspect, he told himself. He set his brother down and rose to his feet. Jules immediately tackled him and Ezra slung him over one shoulder. Then, as an excuse not to talk to Tessa, he carried Jules into the bedroom and tossed him on the bed.
“When I grow up I’m gonna ride with Billy like you do,” Jules told him.
Ezra tousled his hair. “You’ll have to learn to shoot better, if you want to do that.”
“You can teach me.”
“Sure.”
Yet when Ezra stepped out into the night, he realized he didn’t want Jules ever to ride with Billy. Jules reminded him of Papa in many ways. Jules ought to go east to a university like the one where Papa had always planned to send Ezra.
His brother didn’t belong in a hard-riding, fast-shooting crowd like Billy’s.
I’ll have to give it up myself, Ezra thought with a pang. If I mean to get a job. And I’ll need a job if I intend to court Violet.
There was no one waiting in the deeper darkness under the big old cottonwood. It seems to Ezra he could smell the new leaves. The spring night itself smelled fresh and cool. Would Violet come? Had he mistaken what she’d whispered at the door? He leaned against the thick trunk, his gaze fixed on the lighted window of the Gabaldon casa. Off in the hills a coyote yipped. Another answered, and
another, until their chorus started a ranch dog to barking. An early frog croaked a love song from a nearby stream, He remembered the words to one of Browning’s poems:
“Never the time and place
And the loved ones all together!”
She must come to him tonight. He couldn’t bear it if she didn’t. Something moved in the darkness. A stone scuffed under a footfall. Ezra held his breath, hoping, afraid to call her name in case it wasn’t Violet. He could picture Vincente’s anger if her father caught him waiting under the cottonwood. He breathed a faint scent of roses and his heart skipped a beat, then began to thud in his chest. He saw a slim figure approaching.
“Violet,” he whispered. She ducked under the low-hanging limbs and he caught her hand.
She resisted when he tried to pull her closer. “You must behave or I won’t stay,” she said softly. He could see the oval of her face like some night-blooming flower, smell her rose perfume mixed with the intoxicating scent that was her own.
“Violet,” he murmured.
“I came to see you for a reason.” she said.
“Yes, I had to see you, too. Violet, You’re the most--”
“Why I came is because I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything, anything at all.” He reached for her hand, again, marveling at its tininess.
She let her hand rest in his. “I think of you as my friend and that is why I ask you.”
“I am your friend. Always.”
Her face was close to his. All he needed to do was bend his head and their lips would touch. Dizzy with anticipation, Ezra leaned forward.
“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll find a way to take me to see Billy without anyone knowing.”
Ezra held. “Billy?” he muttered.
“Yes, I want to go to him now, tonight. He promised me the last time we met that he’d come for me soon.”
Ezra drew away from her, let go of her hand. “Do you mean when you met him at the cantina?”
“Billy and I have met four times since then. Secretly, of course. He is so brave, so wonderful.” She sighed. “But now he’s locked away and cannot come to me and I want to see him very badly. Oh, Ezra, I’m so glad you are going to help me.”
Chapter 12
Mark crested a hill and shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun to look at the adobe buildings of Lincoln spread out below along the Rio Bonito. His black snorted and tossed his head as though to show contempt for the little town. It didn’t look like St. Louis, that’s for sure, any more than this sparse high country looked like the lush river valleys of Missouri. Mark patted the black’s neck, saying, “You’ll get used to it, Sombrito.”
He was glad to be back. St. Louis had stifled him with its burgeoning greenery, its thousands of people. He was traveling light, the two most important things he’d brought with him being Sombrito, born and raised in Kentucky and bought by the Judge two years ago, and his United States Deputy Marshal’s papers.
The judge was in poor health, though he claimed seeing Mark gave him a new lease on life. “
“Hell, you could have come home any time these past seven years,” the Judge had told him. “That warrant out for you was voided when Hiram York left office. He got caught with his sticky fingers full of bribes before the year was out. Everyone knew Brendon York was an even nastier chip off the same villainous block. No one mourned his passing. I tried to locate you. Where in the name of heaven were you?”
“In the New Mexico Territory,” Mark said. “And I changed my name. Called myself
Halloran.”
The Judge grinned. “At least you stuck to an Irish moniker.”
“I should have stayed here and faced up to what I’d done.”
“You’d be seven years in your grave if you had, and you know it. Hiram was riding high when it happened. The warrant was for show—his boys were out to shoot you, not arrest you.”
Mark sighed. “I never killed a man since. I won’t, unless it’s to save my own life, but I can’t say I’m sorry Brendon York is dead.”
He told the Judge about the mess in Lincoln County and about Tessa Nesbitt.
“If you’re going back, and it sounds as though you are, you ought to carry some authority to get the place cleaned up,” the Judge advised.
Mark nodded. “I’m going back. You ought to see that country. Rolling grasslands, mesas, mountains, canyons—it’s got everything. Even the sky is different. Bigger. More stars. It gets into a man’s blood.”
“Sounds to me like something besides the country got into your blood,” the Judge said. “Well, I’ll tell you, you straighten things out and then I’ll come for a visit and see for myself. It shouldn’t be hard to get you appointed as a Deputy United States Marshal. Later on, maybe you’ll feel like settling down and practicing a little law.”
Trust the Judge to try to arrange his life, just as he’d always done. But this time Mark didn’t fight him. Coming into Lincoln County as a lawman made a lot of sense. As for ever going back to being a lawyer, time would tell.
So now he was Mark Dempsey once again; he had his name back, free and clear. He’d never suspected it would be so easy. In fact, he’d been afraid he faced a hangman’s noose, once he returned to St. Louis.
What had Tessa thought about him leaving her without any more than a second-hand good-bye?
Somewhere down there she was waiting. But was it for him? Had that bastard Rutledge
taken his place? Mark kneed the black ahead, anxious to get into town as soon as possible.
When he angled back onto the road, he saw a dust cloud that resolved into a rider galloping toward him, Winchester in hand, and Mark checked the impulse to reach for his own gun. There was something familiar about the way the man sat the horse, and besides, the rider was fleeing town, not coming after him. He pulled to the side of the road, so there’d be no question he meant to let the man pass unmolested.
Mark recognized the rider as the man hailed him.
“Halloran!”
Billy the Kid.
Billy slowed his horse. Mark halted and waited for Billy to stop beside him.
“Good to see you again, Billy,” he said.
“Where you been?” Billy asked. I heard you went to St. Louis.” “You heard right. I’m just back.”
Billy grinned. “Well, I’m just on my way out.”
“Things quieted down any?”
Billy shrugged. “You could say so. At least the new sheriff and the new governor ain’t as bad as the old ones. I’d sure like to jaw with you, but I’m in sort of a hurry and would take it kindly if you didn’t mention meeting up with me.”
Mark nodded. “Good luck,” he called as Billy spurred his horse.
The rest of the way into Lincoln, Mark wondered if he’d meet men riding after Billy, but no one came along until he was on the outskirts. Again he recognized the rider.
“Ezra!” he called.
Ezra pulled up his pinto. “Mark! I never expected to see you again.”
“I rode down from Santa Fe. Your sister--is she still in town?”
“Tessa is living with Maria Zamora, She and Jules. Look, I’m in a hurry right now. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“When will that be?”
Ezra hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’ll see you.” He dug his heels into the pinto and galloped away.
So Ezra was still following Billy.
Mark stopped off at the sheriff’s office. Tom Longworth, wearing a deputy’s badge, was the only one there. He looked at Mark’s papers and shook hands. Mark had always liked Longworth.
“Gonna need all the lawmen we can get,” Longworth said, “Billy’s on the loose again.
“On the loose?”
“Yeah, he’s been under house arrest up to Patron’s place and I guess he got tired of it, Patron sent a boy a few minutes ago to report Billy was gone. Hell, Juan probably saddled his horse for him.”
“You going after him?”
“N
aw, we got better things to do. You know yourself ain’t no one gonna catch up to Billy if he don’t want ‘em to. Besides, he was supposed to get a pardon, courtesy of the governor. It may come through yet.”
“Then why are you worried about him being on the loose?”
“He’s bound to run off a few horses here, a few steers there, and get people to complaining. Been some grudge killings in the south county, but things have been quiet up this way. Except for the Indians. Some chief named Victorio has got the Mescaleros on the warpath again. Like I said, glad you’re here, we need you.”
Longworth told him of a place where he could get room and board. Mark brought his gear to the house, had something to eat, then set off for Zamora’s.
“ Tessa, she go off with Senor Rutledge,” Maria told him. “I think to Senora McSween’s casa.”
Susie was back in town? Mark was surprised. He’d have thought she’d want no part of Lincoln after last summer’s horror. He asked Maria where Susie was living, started in that direction, then decided not to go there after all.
He was tired. Sombrio was tired, too; he’d pushed to get to Lincoln. And he sure as hell didn’t want to meet that bastard Rutledge. Didn’t want to see Tessa with him.
There was always tomorrow.
Mark hesitated as he passed Zamora’s on the way back to his room. Blue shadows darkened the tiny yard as dusk settled in. He could wait here for Tessa. The door opened and Maria came out, her arm around a smaller woman. He could hear the woman sobbing. Before he could urge the black on, Maria caught sight of him.
“Senor! Por favor!”
He swung off the horse and walked toward her.
“What am I to do?” Maria asked. “This child, she is loco. She says she will run off.” Mark took a good look at the girl, not a child at all, but a very pretty young woman.
“What’s wrong, senorita?” he asked.
“Oh,” she sobbed, “oh, I don’t know what to do. Billy is gone, and Ezra, too--they left without a word. Left me. Billy left me.” She glanced wildly around. “I’ll ride after him. I’ll find him!”
