by J. R. Biery
In the distance, she heard James and Rubye laughing as they set the table and put food out for the men. She heard J.D. stir a little and hurried with her sorting. She found herself studying the plot map of the ranch, surprised to see how her ranch fit into the curve at the bottom corner of the ranch, nesting as she had against Jackson the other night. The memory brought color to her cheeks.
She was sitting there, when she looked up to see Jackson, standing and staring at her, a knowing grin on his face. J.D. raised his head and made swimming motions. Jackson lifted him up, accepting the hands grabbing his cheeks, reaching for his hat. He tilted his head back, making J.D. stretch to reach him. When he did, Jackson moved his head to kiss the soft exposed neck. The happy sound of the baby’s laugh filled the room.
Hattie rose, pulled like a magnet to the tall man and laughing baby. She raised her head for a kiss and J.D. managed to snag the hat. He was quickly chewing on the dusty brim.
“No, yuck,” she said, pulling the hat away and making a face at the baby.
He made the face back at her, but grunted and reached for the hat. Jackson swung it free and flung it back at the mattress.
“What’s Momma been doing, Jackie?”
He walked over to the desk, stared at the plot map, looking over his shoulder at the shelved books, the drawer barely open, with papers filed, and the wild stack of papers still to file.
He smiled at Hattie and leaned forward to kiss her again. “Thank you. But what had that look on your face?” The gruff growl of his voice made her stomach tighten, her cheeks flush again.
She leaned and pointed to the map, tracing the curve of the border between the two ranches. Jackson’s voice growled and she looked up to see his eyes dancing with devilment.
Rubye’s voice called from the open door as she stepped in to take J.D. “Vittles are served, you folks better hurry if you’re hungry.”
“We’re coming.” Hattie started to scoot around him but he turned her so her hips were pressed against the bulge in his Levis. Jackson leaned in and breathed against her ear, “Later, pretty momma.” He left first, winking at her as he picked up his hat.
Hattie folded and filed the map in the folder marked land, then stared at the next document. Suddenly, all the joy fled as she read the deed that changed the title of the ranch from one Harriet Stoddard, daughter and heir of Tom Stoddard, to the name of Jackson Harper for an amount of money that made her gasp.
For a moment she thought it might be a mistake. Maybe it was recent, changed after they married. Texas was like every other state, a woman’s property became her husband’s upon marriage. But when she checked the date she saw it was for six months earlier, the day she came to the ranch to be a wet nurse. All along, all this time, Jackson had already taken over her property. At that time he had not been contemplating marriage, he had just been grabbing her land.
Why, why had he called it the Stoddard ranch, let her send him there to check for her cattle, her pickling crocks, her missing furniture? Tears filled her eyes.
She sensed when he entered the doorway, waited while he closed the door and walked over to her.
“What’d you find now?” he asked, his voice still teasing.
But instead of going into his open arms, she shoved the deed at him and shot out of the seat.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“It’s not what you think. It’s still your land, our land. You remember, I promised you the taxes as salary, for taking care of J.D. But when I went to pay them, the amount was huge and overdue. Dawson was going to foreclose. So I bought the land for the back taxes, for you.”
“With the deed in your name?”
“I planned to deed it back to you when J.D. was weaned.”
She brushed past, swallowing the tears, hearing the words but not accepting their meaning. Feeling as empty and sad as she had her first day, she walked out. She walked out to the table to eat and take care of the baby. Her heart squeezed as the man she loved, the man she’d married, the man who had brought such joy to her even this morning, while that man walked out of the door without a look or word for her. Now that his secret was out, was he done with her?
Hattie swallowed, unsure of what she was swallowing. She knew from experience that to keep up with J.D. she needed food to make food. After all, that was her job, she was the milk cow.
Hattie tried to carry her anger with her through the afternoon but there was the explanation that Jackson had given her and the feeling that she had been hasty and unfair. There was the rawness still of hurt as much from the look on his face as in her own heart. If you loved someone, didn’t you have to trust and believe what they said?
She returned to the office, asked James to remove the repaired cot and mattress to the bunkhouse, folded the bedding and pillow and gave them to Rubye to store. After filing the last few pieces of paper, Hattie swept the floor, dusted the desk and chair and shelves. She checked the desk, sliding out the center drawer with its well-used pencils and shaved quill pens. She checked the sides, front and under the top for hidden panels like Jackson had shown her in the bedroom.
Those men had been looking for something. Hidden money, or something else of value. She checked the floor, satisfied that there was no secret floor board hiding hole. Jackson was a rancher. Somewhere there had to be a safe or hiding place for the money to keep the ranch running. He used the bank, she knew that he did. But where would he hide the daily money. More importantly, why had he looked so strange when he saw the empty space at the back of the closet? What was missing?
All afternoon, the thoughts churned as she stitched tiny scraps together to form another small star square. She picked the garden, snapped late beans, put them on for supper. She fed the baby, folded clothes, settled down to piece a second square. Rubye had gone with James. They had promised her fish, something she had been longing for. Restlessly, she tended the baby, then made coleslaw while he played, made and baked cornbread, prepared pickled beets and eggs.
All the time she wondered how she could have behaved as she had, then she wondered why she hadn’t been angrier, yelled more. She felt sad, thinking of how wrong it was of her to not trust him if he were innocent. But what if he had been conniving, what if he were vile and evil like all men. But she knew all men weren’t evil. There was her father, and the men on this ranch, and Jackson. She would apologize, tell him she was sorry. After all, what did it matter? She was his and so was the land. But that made her even angrier. What was wrong with the world that a woman had such little value and why wasn’t she entitled to property of her own?
Her head hurt. She made sure the lid was tilted on the beans, moved them to the back-eye. After straightening the bedding on the bed, she stretched out to give J.D. his afternoon feeding. Finally, she put the sleeping baby in the crib and relaxed into sleep herself.
<><><>
In town, Jackson stopped at the teller’s desk. “Smith, I need you to do me a favor.” He pulled out the deed, laid it on the teller’s window. “I need to transfer this deed to my wife’s name, and I need it witnessed and notarized.”
“I’ll need to check with Mr. Dawson.”
“Why would that be? There’s no money involved. I’m just changing the name on the deed and I need you to witness and notarize it.”
“Well, Mr. Dawson is property assessor. All title transfers are done and recorded by him. I’ll be happy to come back and notarize your signature when he calls me back.”
Irritated, Jackson turned to leave.
“I can let you wait in his room,” Smith called after him.
“No thanks. I’ll wait outside.”
Annoyed, Jackson crossed the street as soon as he saw Dawson coming back from lunch, walking from the big house at the edge of town. He tried to find a smile to match that of his father-in-law, but it was too difficult. Scowling, he followed him into the office, barely managing a nod for the curious clerk.
“What’s troubling you son?” Charles asked.
“Anyone hurt, anything stolen? Sunday, why have you waited so long?”
Jackson waited until they were both seated, facing each other across the desk. “Why did you send them, Charlie?”
His father-in-law stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“They killed some animals, a mare and her foal, a dog. They wrecked the place but they only tore up Hattie’s things, ripped her clothes to rags. They damaged things while they looked for something. What were they looking for Charlie?”
“This is crazy talk, Jackson. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I came to deed Hattie’s place back to her.”
“Don’t be silly, Jackson. She’s your damn wife. What’s hers is yours anyway.”
Jackson stared hard at him. “She found the deed, saw the title change, and was upset. I promised her I’d pay the taxes. Nothing was said about my taking the property. If legally it’s all the same, then I just need the title to be in her name.”
Dawson stared at him grimly. “You’re a damn fool. The taxes will be at her rate, not yours. Why waste money?”
The thought of paying the outrageous taxes stopped Jackson. “Why would the tax rate be different?”
“It would be a small tract. Small ranches belong to squatters. The town council ordered that the rate for the small spreads would be ten times the going rate. You’re a cattleman; you know that small outfits mean barbwire, closed ranges and hurt cattle. The town wants to keep them out; the taxes are a legal way to do it.”
Jackson chewed on it for a minute, and then asked. “What about the Eastman place?”
“Fred Eastman lost that spread, the bank foreclosed, and I bought it. It’s now part of Dawson range and has the lower rate. Whose side of this range war are you on?”
“I didn’t know there was a range war.”
“Damn, Jackson, it’s being fought all over the west; Texas is just part of it. Now you’ve got a squatter for a wife, people are questioning your ability to think clearly. This nonsense of a title change will make them figure they’re right.”
“Is that why you sent them?”
The banker rose to his feet, his neck bulging, his face red in outrage. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of this nonsense. Why would I be behind rustlers? If you want to report the raid, talk to the sheriff.”
Jackson rose to his full height and glared down at him. “I saw them drinking with your man, the sheriff. Tony tells me they’re all staying at the Eastman place, Hogue, one of the Sweats, and two strangers. You just told me you own the place, but you want me to believe you don’t know about them? Come on Charlie.”
“I’m telling you the truth, you’re way off course on this.”
“They opened the panel in the closet. Took Hattie’s money and stole Donna’s jewelry. Only you, Donna, and I knew about that secret hiding place in the closet. So why did you send them Charlie?”
“I swear on Donna’s name, I know nothing about this.”
“I saw where they stopped at your house. I followed their tracks there. You may be a big man in town and own the law, but I’ll wire the Texas Rangers. If they come on my place, threaten my wife or child, I’ll damn well kill them.”
Dawson stood, florid with rage. “Get out, get out of here. You’re crazy Jackson. If it weren’t for Donna and J.D., I’d...,” he stopped, the bluster swallowed at the intensity of Jackson’s glare.
On his way out of town, Jackson stopped and telegraphed the Rangers at Austin, then sat to wait for an answer.
He saw the tracks, fresh ones as he rode toward home. Fear raised the hair at the back of his neck. He raised his gun and fired twice quickly, hoping his men would hear the signal and reach the ranch in time.
<><><>
It was Red, the newest outlaw, who noticed the kid watching the place. It took a day, but Able found out where he was staying in town, sleeping with a little Mexican named Maria. It was easy to waylay him on his way out to the ranch in the morning. They argued about it, but finally left him beaten but tied up in the cabin. Red had plans to bring the little Mexican out for a visit. The plan pleased Rafe, but first he needed to take care of the Stoddard girl.
They smiled when they found the ranch empty, but then smiled even bigger when they saw the older couple walk up from the creek, giggling like kids and holding a string of fish. He sent Red and Pierce around to the front of the house, he and Able sprinted to the back corner of the building, pleased to see the curtains moving in the light breeze. Hogue peeked in to see the blue skirt on top of the bed. They waited until they heard the others enter the house. Signaling Sweat to be quiet, he eased the window up and climbed over the window sill.
Able followed him in. They stood listening to the breathing, then Able stepped over to the crib while Rafe stood staring down at Hattie.
Hattie woke, feeling like a snake was crawling over her and screamed when she saw them. Able Sweat had his gun out and it was aimed at J.D. From the other side of the door she heard raised voices, James shouting, a crash, and then laughter.
Hattie sprang to her feet but Rafe held the gun up for her to see. “Not too fast, Mrs. Harper, you’ll wake the baby.”
Hattie shrank back against the dresser, her mouth dry with fear. “No, not again.”
Able laughed, grabbing his crotch. “Oh yeah, again and again, ain’t that right, Rafe.”
Their laugher ran through her, leaving her knees weak. Hattie sagged against the bed, her eyes wide with horror.
“Take off your clothes,” Rafe barked.
Hattie shook her head, “No, no I won’t.”
“Yeah, you will,” Rafe snarled, “Pick up that baby, Able.”
“No,” Hattie screamed and J.D. woke crying, his little face a mask of fear.
Able laughed and holstered his gun. He grabbed J.D. and the baby screamed.
“Don’t hurt him.” She muttered, her teeth chattering. Woodenly, she closed her eyes and slowly began to unbutton her blouse, inching out of it even slower.
“Look at them titties, Rafe. She’s got some titties on her now.”
Hattie cringed, hating the see-through quality of Donna’s fancy underwear. Even Jackson hadn’t seen her in them. But stealing herself, she inched onto the bed, pretending to be struggling with the fastenings on her skirt. There was no rifle, behind her closed eyes she could visualize it in the rack above the fireplace. Why had she thought that meant it was ready to use as a weapon? But maybe the pistol was still there, still under the pillow. Was it, or was it in the gun belt hanging in the study?
When she had the skirt loose, Hattie rolled so the bed was between them, then she looked up, pretending to smile as she wiggled out of the blue garment.
“Who-wee, just like a pro,” Rafe called. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown to like it, cause I’ve been looking forward to having to fight you again, little hell-cat?”
Trembling Hattie draped the skirt onto the bedpost and sank down on the pillows. She could feel the hard edge of the pistol under her hips.
Outside, Jackson waved Cliff to the front of the house, gun drawn and cocked as he inched closer to the window. Inside, he could hear and see everything.
Hattie stood again, almost blocking his view and he watched her remove and hang the skirt before sitting down. He didn’t want to shoot her or J.D. by mistake. Then he watched her raise the petticoat and slowly begin to work a stocking off. For a moment, he was as mesmerized as the men inside.
“Damn,” Able shouted and dropped J.D. into the crib. “Damn brat pee-ed on me.”
Jackson heard the scream as the baby collided with the rails. God he was going to kill these animals.
But into the shocked atmosphere, there was the bark of gunfire from the living room and an answering echo from his bedroom.
As soon as Able flung J.D. into the crib, Hattie aimed the pistol and fired, hitting him in the face, then she swiveled before R
afe could drop what he was holding to draw and fire his gun. Jackson yelled from outside the window. “Grab, J.D.”
Hattie rolled across the bed toward the crying baby and Jackson fired, shooting the gun from Rafe’s hand, then shooting the horrible man through the chest and groin. Hattie lifted the baby from the crib, then aimed her gun at Able and echoed Jackson’s shots, destroying the nightmares by shooting him in the groin and chest too.
Gingerly, Jackson came through the window, praying she wouldn’t fire by reflex in his direction. She dropped her gun in the crib and sank back onto the bed to examine the bawling J.D.
From the other side of the door, Cliff called. Everything all right in there boss?”
“Yeah, we got these two, what about on your side?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty well dead, almost as many holes as those ponies. Are the baby and your Missus okay?”
“Give me a minute to find out,” Jackson called.
He turned to watch a half-dressed Hattie remove the last of J.D.’s clothes. Frantically she was checking the baby, gently feeling of his arms, legs, belly and back. Despite his crying, she carefully looked at every inch. Solemnly she looked over her shoulder at Jackson and nodded.
“They’re both all right,” he was gratified by the relieved sighs on the other side of the door.
He handed Hattie the discarded blouse, then helped her button it and handed her the skirt. He sank to lift the sobbing baby into his arms, cuddling him and kissing the red marks on his soft arm, the quickly forming bump on his forehead. Hattie fastened her skirt, pulled on her stocking, and then turned to take the baby.
Automatically she curved him against her body as Jackson lifted them both to sit in the open window. Hattie gave the baby her fuller breast while Jackson stood protectively over them.
“You were outside all along?”
“No, we just got here, but I heard most of it. I would never have let them put their hands on you. I just had to get a clear shot and know where you and the baby were.”
