Last Chance Cowboys

by Anna Schmidt

  “Whatcha drawing?” Ira’s voice was soft, but that did not hide his curiosity.

  Trey took a step back and looked at his work. The light was fading, and soon, he would have to stop. He set the rocks he’d been using on the deep adobe window sill. “My ranch. Ever seen it?”

  “Naw.”

  Trey moved his cot back against the wall and stretched out, his hands behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles. “My pa started it from nothin’,” he said. “He was killed before he could see it the way it is today.” He paused. “My pa was murdered,” he added softly, unsure why he would share that with Ira.

  “Well, so was mine,” the boy blustered. “You oughta know, since you’re the one who did it.”

  Trey grimaced as he tried to measure his words. “Ira, your pa tripped. If he hadn’t been holding that gun, he might have survived the fall. If you hadn’t brought that knife—and pulled it on an unarmed man—my friend might be alive, and you might not be here. You might want to start thinking about the trouble you’re in.”

  “So I stabbed a Mexican. Who’s gonna blame me for that? He was threatening me and mine.”

  Trey was on his feet and clutching the bars of the cell in one swift move. “Watch your mouth, kid. That man was my best friend—more than a friend. He was a brother to me, and he was worth half a dozen of you.” He hardly recognized his voice. The words came out like rasps of a saw on the wood that had become Javier’s coffin.

  He heard footsteps from the compound coming their way.

  “Chow time,” a soldier called as he entered the dim corridor. A second soldier accompanied him, holding a lantern. He unlocked Trey’s cell and stood aside while the first man delivered a plate of stew, a hunk of bread, and a tin cup filled with water. The two men silently repeated the action for Ira and then, checking to be sure the cell doors were secure, left.

  Trey picked up the spoon on the plate and scooped the food into his mouth, sopping up the gravy with the coarse bread. It was better than he’d expected. He washed everything down with the water, then stacked his cup on the metal plate and set them by the door. He stood at the window, gazing up at what he could see of the sky, wondering how Nell was faring. He was sure his family would treat her with respect. At least Amanda and Addie would. Jess was another matter. She wasn’t one of them, and although she’d had no fault in Javier’s death, Jess would blame her.

  He went back to the door, listened for sounds from the cell next door. “Did you eat?” he asked.

  “None of your damned business,” the kid growled.

  “You should eat. Gonna be morning before anything happens for either of us. You’re not likely to see more food till then either.” He lay down on his cot. After a minute or two, he heard the scrape of a spoon on a metal plate.

  Outside, it started to rain.

  * * *

  After the soldiers arrested Trey and rode off, the courtyard exploded in chatter. Nell filled a plate and escaped to her room, refusing Amanda’s invitation to have supper with Trey’s family after the other mourners had left. Everyone was trying to be kind, but it was clear they were uncomfortable in her presence.

  And would it be any different if she were at Lottie’s?

  She thought of her son and wondered if he understood why she couldn’t be with him, why, for the moment, he was best off staying with his aunt. But was it true? What were Ernest and the boys saying about her and about Trey? How might Lottie’s grief come out in words that accused and confused? And had her sister-in-law even bothered to give Joshua the note Nell had included for him when the cowhand delivered the message?

  She paced the large bedroom where she had slept these last few nights with Trey, her husband and a man she knew so little about. Oh, she knew he was gentle and kind, and he cared deeply about others. She knew the death of his friend had devastated him, and yet, unlike so many of the men she had known over her lifetime, his first thought had not been revenge. Trey’s concern had focused on others and on finding a way to make this right for everyone involved. He was a good man, but there would come a time when he would be forced to make hard choices. Would he choose her or see her as part of the larger problem?

  At night, when they lay in bed and he made love to her, she believed everything was possible. In this room, in this bed, being with him felt so right. But in the glare of day, when she left this room and sat at meals with his family, she was not so sure. She wished she could just get Joshua and go home to her own ranch. At least there she knew who she was, where she belonged. But the only home Joshua had ever known was gone, burned to the ground by men who carried only blind hatred in their hearts.

  Outside the closed door of the bedroom, she heard the others come down the hall, seeking out their rooms for the night. The house went silent, but the air hummed with the remnants of the day’s events, and the underlying presence of turmoil loomed over the quiet. The sense of foreboding was so pervasive that Nell knew she would get no sleep. Seth Grover had promised a horse and buggy by morning, but that was hours away. If she left now on foot, she would reach Lottie’s just before dawn, perhaps have the chance to talk to her sister-in-law without the boys and Ernest around. The need to do something—anything—was overwhelming. Nell thought if she had to spend one more hour in this house, she would go mad.

  It had started to rain, but that was of little concern to her. She needed to hold her son, the one constant in this chaos. Once she had been reunited with Joshua, things would become clearer. She could move forward and find a way to help Trey. She had no doubt his siblings and in-laws had already discussed the matter, but their reluctance to include her in that discussion had been obvious.

  Still, he was her husband. Trey and Joshua were the closest family she had in this world, and she would not shirk in her responsibility to either of them. On the other hand, Henry had been family as well, and didn’t she owe some loyalty to Lottie and her boys? Drawing a cloak over her head to protect her from the steady rain, she stepped outside and set out for the long walk to her brother’s ranch. With luck, she would arrive at dawn and find Lottie alone in the kitchen.

  * * *

  Unable to sleep, Juanita sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee gone cold in her hand. She heard the heavy front door open and close. One of the herd dogs set to barking. Someone going out at this hour? Wearily, she pushed herself to her feet. She reached the window in time to see a small figure walking up the trail that led away from the ranch—a woman in a cloak, her hood pulled up over her head. Trey’s new bride.

  She watched until Nell was out of sight. She thought of waking Eduardo and sending him to get her. Wherever Nell was headed, she would be soaked by the time she got halfway there. Maybe she had finally seen the light and realized she and Trey had made a terrible mistake. Of course, Trey would never admit that. He would want Juanita to go fetch Nell home. But what did she owe this woman whose family had murdered her son?

  Let her go, she thought as she drew in a dry sob, her tears long since spent. Even with Trey in the house, the woman was a distraction, a presence none of them seemed to know how to face. Now Trey was in jail at the fort thanks to that woman’s family’s accusations. But then Pete Collins had accused him too, a man Javier had known—even admired.

  For the first time since Trey had come riding into the yard leading the horse with Javier’s body, Juanita had doubts. Was it possible that Trey had not told the whole truth about the events leading up to Galway’s death? Jess was the hothead in the Porterfield family, but Trey’s limits had never been truly tested. Perhaps he’d finally let his anger and frustration take its natural course.

  She shook off the thought. Jess might lie to her to save his skin, but never Trey. That boy was far too honest, too certain of the good in every person he met. He was probably sitting in jail right this minute, trying to find something positive in this whole mess.

  And while he was in ja
il, he would assume that his family was taking care of his wife. Juanita sighed and let the kitchen curtain fall back into place. She walked down the hall to Trey’s old room. Her eldest son’s snores resonated even through the closed door. “Rico, wake up,” she said as she entered the room and shook his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Louisa whispered.

  “Trey’s wife has run off, and I need Rico to go get her and bring her back here.”

  Rico rolled over and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s she gone?”

  “I don’t know. My guess is either she’s headed back to her people or else she’s got some fool idea of seeing Trey over at the fort. Either way, she’s out there on foot, in the rain.”

  Rico swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his trousers. “Why don’t you wake Jess? He’s Trey’s brother and—”

  “And so are you. Maybe not blood, but sometimes that’s not all that counts. Now get dressed. I’ll fix you some coffee and wrap up some cold biscuits for you to take along. She can’t be far.”

  A few minutes later, Rico walked into the kitchen carrying his boots. While he sat and pulled them on, Juanita placed a cup of hot coffee and a package of biscuits wrapped in oilcloth on the table next to him. “Take Trey’s slicker there. That rain is coming harder by the minute.”

  Rico stood, swallowed more coffee, and grabbed Trey’s yellow slicker from the hook by the door. “Ma, this woman’s family killed Javier.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then why—”

  “She didn’t kill your brother. And she’s Trey’s wife, whether we like it or not. Trey is family, and now, so is she. We take care of family. Now get going.”

  But Rico stood his ground. “I just don’t understand how you can be so worried about her. Why not let her go back to her people and let them take care of her?”

  “Because that woman is suffering same as us. Did you forget somebody, probably some cowboys, burned her home to the ground? What did she ever do to deserve that? She has no place in this world right now, Rico. She doesn’t fit here with us, and my guess is her brother’s family won’t greet her with welcoming arms. Her husband’s in jail, and her brother is dead, and she had no say in any of it.”

  “She didn’t have to marry Trey. She had a say in that,” Rico reminded her. “And besides, you’ve suffered too—you and Papa. Javier’s dead, Mama.”

  She spun around and faced him, taking hold of his jaw and forcing him to meet her gaze. “You think I don’t know that? I know my son’s lying out there in the ground. I also know I can’t change that, but what I can change is how I—and my family—handle our pain. What do you want, Rico? Revenge?”

  “Justice,” he said, pulling away from her as he finished his coffee and set the cup on the drain board. “An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what the Bible preaches?”

  “And where will that get anybody? Another mother’s son in prison or hanged? Another ranch burned or the stock slaughtered and decent people suffering because they can no longer make a living?” She was shaking as she gripped Rico’s arm. “Go find her, Rico, and let’s start down a different trail to find our way past this.”

  Rico wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “All right, Mama. We’ll try it your way. Don’t upset yourself, okay? I’ll go find Trey’s wife and bring her back.”

  “Take the wagon.”

  Rico shrugged into the slicker, pulled his hat firmly in place, and opened the door. The wind whipped through the kitchen, bringing the rain with it. Rico held tight to his hat and slammed the door shut as he hurried toward the barn to hitch up the wagon.

  Satisfied she had done what she could, Juanita turned back to the stove. The others would be up soon, and they would want breakfast. Then they’d have to continue the discussion they had begun the night before about how they were going to get their youngest brother out of jail.

  Eight

  Trey was surprised to realize he’d finally slept. He had been awake much of the night, staring into the darkness, thinking about Nell. He had made a mistake marrying her before the meeting with her brother. As much as he had wanted to marry her, he should have taken the time to have that meeting, perhaps to even let Henry know of their plans. After all, Galway was head of that family. But he hadn’t thought about seeking approval from either side. And now with her brother dead, her nephews and sister-in-law were bound to cut her out of their lives.

  And then there was his family—his sisters and brother who had loved Javier as one of their own. Would they cast blame on Nell simply because of her kin? And would Juanita, Eduardo, and Rico ever forgive him for creating this mess in the first place?

  The only way he could see them all getting through this was finding a way to come together, starting with the two families. After all, that had been his intent from the beginning. His family had always jokingly called him a dreamer. Well, now the label was no joke. Now, because of his certainty that he could make peace between ranchers and herders, his family and neighbors saw him as a fool.

  From out in the compound, he heard men shouting. The urgency in their voices made him go to the narrow, barred window. It was still dark, although there was a faint light of dawn on the horizon where the night sky was turning gray. The rain was coming down so hard, it was difficult to see, but he was able to make out soldiers mounting up and riding through the massive double gate others held open against the wind.

  “What’s going on out there?” Trey asked when the guards brought breakfast a few minutes later. From the next cell, he could see Ira Galway’s hands clenching the bars, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

  “Raids overnight,” one guard replied.

  “Them or us?” Ira demanded.

  “Both,” the other guard said. “And that’s all you fellas need to know.” He and his partner left, hunching their shoulders against the storm as they ran for cover on the other side of the compound.

  The bread was soggy and the coffee cold. Trey could hear Ira muttering to himself.

  “Galway?” he called. “Seems to me with your pa gone, you and your brother are in charge of things over at your place now.” During the night, he had considered the futility of his rage at what Ira had done and focused instead on the possibility that the boy might be a link to the other herders.

  “What’s that to you?”

  “Well, I was hoping to deal with your pa. When we first met, he seemed to me a reasonable man. A man we could work with. Now I’m wondering where you and your brother might stand on this range war situation.” He was well aware it was unlikely either Ira or his brother had even considered their position now that their father was gone. Perhaps they had thought Ernest would take charge. “I haven’t had the chance to meet many of the herders other than you and your pa,” Trey continued, “but we have to start somewhere.”

  “You trying to con me, mister? That’s your plan, ain’t it? Same way you conned Aunt Nell into marrying you so you could take her land. Now you want my pa’s place as well. I’m not stupid.”

  “Never said you were. And I’ve got plenty of land, so why would I need more?”

  “’Cuz if you own us, you can drive us out.”

  Trey felt his temper flare. “No man owns another man, Ira. We fought a war to make sure of that.”

  Ira took a minute to absorb that before asking, “Did you fight then?”

  Trey laughed. “How old do you think I am? I was six when that war ended. They were taking them young, but not that young.”

  From the other side of the wall, Trey heard a snort that sounded a lot like a laugh the kid was trying to cover. He waited.

  A minute later, Ira threw the tin cup against the bars, and the weak coffee spattered on the dusty floor. “This stuff tastes like piss.”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about the coffee Javier’s pa makes—best in the territory. When we’r
e out on the range for days at a time, it’s Eduardo’s coffee keeps us going. I’d give a lot for a cup of that right now. Javier used to—”

  “Are you scared, mister? Pa always said when a man can’t shut his mouth, he’s probably scared, and you sure do talk a lot.”

  Trey thought about that. “Hard not to be when you can’t see what’s ahead,” he admitted. “It’s not so much for myself. More for your Aunt Nell and her boy—wondering what’s ahead for them, especially if I’m not there to make sure they’re all right. Your ma’s got you and your brother, but your aunt? Well, without me, she’s on her own.”

  When there was no answer, no further comment from the cell next door, Trey figured he should just let the silence stand. He walked back to the window where the downpour still fell in a curtain that blocked out anything that might be happening in the compound. He let the lashing rain soak his skin and the whiskers that had blossomed overnight. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, drying them by wiping them over his trousers. With nothing else to do, he picked up one of the rocks he’d been using to draw and started working on the sketch again.

  “Hey, mister?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I never meant to kill him. Just wanted to hurt him.” Ira’s voice trailed off, and Trey knew he was crying again.

  He also knew it was as close to an expression of regret as the boy was likely ever to utter.

  * * *

  Nell hadn’t made much progress by the time she heard the wagon behind her. The torrential rains had turned the dusty trail to mud that clung to her boots and spattered her skirt. The wind was driving the rain right at her, and she had trouble seeing where she was going. Twice she had stumbled and almost fallen, regaining her balance at the last minute. She’d thought of going back. After all, Amanda’s husband had promised to get her a horse and buggy by morning, and the hint of murky gray in the distance held the promise of daylight. Still, she plodded on.