High-Riding Heroes

by Joey Light

  Wes and Victoria took a place on the walk where they could see everything clearly. Before long the stage was surrounded by the five mounted desperados, kerchiefs hiding their faces, guns waggling in the air. Shots were fired. The ringleader ordered the driver and the man riding shotgun to throw down the strongbox. Randy’s horse reared and spun around when the metal container was thrown close to his hooves. One of the other men shouted for the passengers, all convincingly frightened, to get out of the coach and empty their valuables into a pouch he held up. It was nearly a carbon copy of the stage holdup Wes had walked in on. He couldn’t see that much improvement.

  Wes murmured. “Eye contact. That’s one of their problems. They’re watching the audience from time to time.”

  She nodded. They certainly were. “Hams.”

  “The horses should be wired up a little more. They need to get them out and work them a while before riding into town. That one looks like he’s about to go back to sleep. Well, that dude just screwed this one up. He put his gun back in his holster before mounting up. I could have shot him and the leader before they knew what happened. All the men should have kept their guns drawn. A real desperado wouldn’t secure his weapon until he was safely out of town.”

  He was talking to himself as much as to her. She nodded. He had a good eye. A good sense of what she wanted here. She could have looked all day and known it wasn’t quite right but not put her finger on what needed correcting. Secure his weapon? His terminology amused her.

  Again, he arched his eyebrow and looked at her. “Well?”

  She tilted her head, stubbornly. “I guess I agree with you. Have a problem with that, Cooper?”

  This job was going to prove more interesting than he had ever imagined. “Nope. No problem.”

  As the outlaws rode off, hooting and hollering, the female passenger fainted dead away into the dust. Wes shook his head.

  “What?” she asked him, thinking it was a pretty good swoon.

  “Women usually lose it during the holdup, not after all the danger has ridden away. And the whole thing took too long. Should be done quicker. They couldn’t have taken that much time if they were out on the trail. What if someone came up on them? Just because it’s staged in town for convenience doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be authentic. I think the driver should have taken a shot at them. It’s his job to protect his passengers and their possessions.”

  Still, the audience was pleased. A couple of the little kids ran off the sidewalk firing pistols she recognized as being purchased in the general store. Good.

  “There’s a jailbreak in half an hour, then a little before dark the cattlemen, in from a trail drive, come rodeoing down the road whooping and hollering. They jump down and sweep up some of the women into the saloon for a little rip-roaring dancing,” she told him as they strolled along amicably. “The crowd loves it.”

  He nodded as he looked around. Keeping step with him, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. That surprised her as much as him.

  She didn’t stop to wonder why she did it. She was growing used to doing what pleased her and she liked it. She smiled to herself. Something weird was happening to her. In one instant she resented the hell out of him and in the next she wanted to touch him. Victoria took a deep breath. She’d have to analyze all this later.

  “I’m going to join Lola in the saloon show tonight.”

  He looked down at her. “From schoolmarm clothes to wild woman garb. This I’ve got to see.”

  Yes, she had thought of that, too, but it all seemed like so much fun, she promised Lola she’d join her in entertaining the crowd tonight. “I can’t join in the singing because I can’t carry a tune, but I can carry a tray laden with glasses filled with lemonade. There’s going to be a barroom brawl that needs your attention.”

  “What time?” He checked his watch.

  “Ummm. Show starts at 8:15, so I think the fight is at nine o’clock.”

  They crossed the street, dodging and waving to Buck driving his freight wagon loaded down with happy passengers.

  “I have to be somewhere at nine but I’ll plan on catching it another night.”

  That was about the same time he had disappeared last night. A date? Why should that surprise her, or send her spirits tumbling down a little? She didn’t think of him that way. Removing her hand from his arm, she excused herself. “See you later.”

  All she wanted was to be busy. Wes Cooper was a chauvinist and a bossy one at that. He aggravated her. As she swept up the stairs of the hotel, she marveled that such exasperation could cause such warmth.

  The saloon was filled to capacity. Lola and Roxey were dancing to a bouncy tune. Victoria cast them a small wave as she made her way into the crowd. Their costumes weren’t as revealing as they could have been but this was a family show.

  She was glad for that because she felt uncomfortable exposing as much bosom as she did. Her fiery red satin skirt bounced over the white crinoline. Her bright red high heels tapped over the wooden floor. Victoria wore a splash of rhinestones at her throat that refracted the light and warm red rubies on her ears.

  Spotting Nick at a corner table, his chair tipped back against the wall, Victoria sidled over as she had seen the saloon women do. She dearly loved this play acting. “Cowboy, you look lonely tonight.”

  His face brightened. Nick was a handsome man in a dark way. He was just under six feet, had square shoulders, and was narrow at the hip. He wore an unusually long, droopy mustache in keeping with his image. Though his eyes were blue, it was a midnight blue and he always seemed to have shadows beneath. He righted his chair and offered her the other one. “Sit down, Vic. You sure look perty in that dress.”

  Victoria was mildly amused at the ease with which he used Buck’s nickname for her. Yet, there was something about Nick that unsettled her. She chalked that up to the fact that he was a very moody man. She had caught him looking at her when he didn’t think she could see. She had seen him lose his temper with the other men too quickly, and she knew that he preferred the company of the horses he cared for more than that of humans.

  She gracefully accepted his compliment and tried to ignore the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her bust-line. He was just playing the part of the lonesome cowboy and doing it well. They sipped their drinks and chatted through another of the girls’ songs. Looking around, Victoria could see that the tourists, more couples than families tonight, were really enjoying the show and the dancing.

  Victoria watched the swinging doors for Wes. When she realized what she was doing, she took Nick by the hand and dragged him to the center of the floor. Smoothly, they danced.

  Other couples came to the dance floor and Lola and Roxey joined them, leaving Tom at the piano punching out honky-tonk. Before they knew it, they were all dancing with each other. The female tourists were elated to be in the arms of dashing cowboys, and the men had no qualms about randy-dancing with saloon girls. Breathless and laughing, Victoria whirled from one partner to the other. Her eye caught a glint of light and she looked back.

  Just through the swinging double doors, stood Wes. Missing a step and almost tripping, Victoria couldn’t pull her eyes from him. He was dressed in a gray suit jacket over black jeans. His white shirt had three buttons undone. At his waist a huge rodeo belt buckle glinted in the light. His boots reflected the lighting with a high polish. He wore no Stetson tonight, and his hair, wavy and thick, fell outlawishly across his forehead.

  Nick grabbed her and twirled her around. It was then that she realized the crowd had stopped dancing and formed a circle around them, clapping them on. Nick loved it. He yanked her to him, roughly, and then spun her away only to pull her tight against him and spin with her. He was good. No doubt about it. And she smelled whiskey on his breath. There was no doubt about that either.

  From outside the circle, Wes watched. Victoria’s cheeks were flushed a rosy red. Long, sleek, black-stockinged legs peeked out when Nick spun her around. Her hair, shiny and curly
, bounced around her head. Wes felt a tightening in his gut and was amazed to find his palms damp. She looked beautiful and wild. When he’d first pushed through the doors, he’d heard her laughter. Rolling, throaty, and sexy.

  When the dance ended, Victoria looked breathlessly toward the doors. He was gone. There was no explaining the letdown she felt. Had she been hoping he would come in and claim her for his partner?

  Nick led her by the hand back to the table in the corner.

  She turned her attention to him. She told herself she had no desire to be in J. Weston Cooper’s arms. She had just wanted him to see her successfully playing her role…adding something to Glory Town instead of being an albatross as she was sure Buck must have described her.

  Nick cleared his throat. She realized he had asked her a question and she hadn’t heard. She turned a smile on him and, after casting one more look at the saloon doors gently swinging back in place, patted Nick’s hand. “A root beer on ice would be nice.”

  Midnight. The town closed at ten. It was quiet except for the ever-present wind that rolled down the deserted street and played along the sidewalks, through the porch posts, leaving ghostly, red, dusty tracks.

  Her home was the Donaldson Hotel. One room or ten. The entire lower floor consisted of lobby, dining room, and kitchen. In the daytime it might be teeming with tourists either climbing the stairs and wandering the re-created rooms or sitting down to a nice steak and potato meal and sopping wonderful, huge homemade biscuits through thick flour gravy with fresh apple pie for dessert. But at night…it was all hers.

  Heavy velvet drapes lined the tall windows. They had once been a bright eye-catching emerald green. Tonight they appeared to be the limbs of a weeping willow, dull and saggy. The mantel over the fireplace supported a branding iron and over it hung a painting, slightly askew, of pioneers making their way west by wagon train and an aging woman soaking her feet in a nearby stream while her husband stood guard.

  The furniture was Victorian and old, but still functional. A sizable bank loan would bring this place up. That, in turn, would bring in more tourists, drawing more money. Most of the businesses were owned by the people occupying the trailers on the back lot. They paid a small rent on the buildings and a percentage of their profits to Victoria and Buck.

  But the hotel and dining room were theirs and the money from the horseback rides helped. She would like to eventually rent out rooms as she was told they did years ago when there had been a piano player and then the visitors danced and sang the night away.

  They also owned the saloon, and even though they served nothing but soft drinks and snacks, there had once been a bigger show than Roxey and Lola singing “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” She hoped the people she hired earlier would spice up the show. Before, there had been a cover charge and a night’s entertainment, not just a small souvenir counter and a cooler filled with ice cream. All these things had to be brought back if this old town was to survive. And she was determined it would. It meant too much to her to watch it decay. And even if Buck didn’t realize it right now, it was important to him, too.

  It would all be so simple if she just wrote a draft from her bank and put her money to work, but that was what her mother was waiting for her to do. Trust funds and IRAs and CDs that belonged to Victoria were the result of old, moldy family money, and even at this age, she would have to get permission to move such a huge amount. Control. Some people could never relinquish it and her mother was a prime example. She was hoping Victoria would fail in this venture as she had secretly hoped she would at everything. Victoria had sensed it every time she tried something new. Her mother didn’t hide the fact that she thought women should hang on a man’s arm, adorn his home, and bear his children in quiet and loving peace. Victoria chuckled.

  Tired after the long day but not yet ready to retire upstairs to her room, Victoria sat in an overstuffed powder blue chair in the cozy lobby, one leg slung over the arm.

  She had opened the fake cupboard to reveal the television and was now snuggled in to watch a rerun of Gunsmoke.

  Victoria had always been fascinated by the Wild West. The rough-riding cowboys and Indians and cavalry and trail drives. She had read books, fiction and nonfiction, whenever she had had the chance. Victoria knew all about Annie Oakley, Buffalo Bill, the James boys, and the Youngers. This was like waking up after falling asleep in a movie theater, finding you had somehow slipped through the giant screen to stand up on the other side. Now that Victoria had everything she needed to propel herself back to a time that enchanted her, she wanted it to be perfect.

  There was a certain freedom in the Old West. Laws were tested as soon as they were made. A man’s mettle was his reputation. Some of the women, outlaws and girlfriends of desperadoes, dared to be what they wanted even back in those days. When she was younger, Victoria had dreamed of being one of those women. Riding beside her man, firing her gun at the law fast on their heels, hiding out at the Hole-in-the-Wall, bandages and beef already at the waiting.

  During a commercial, Victoria walked barefoot back to the room behind the dining room that served as office for the CPA who came in once a week to bring everything up to date and be sure taxes were filed and paychecks written. Pulling the clipboard off the wall, she unsnapped the profit and loss statements from under the metal clip and returned to her chair, snagging a bag of chips on her way to munch on.

  Glory Town wasn’t in dire straits. Things were tight and had to be managed properly, but with a nice fat loan, the tourist business could be increased two hundred percent. Prices needed to be adjusted. Victoria had spent many an afternoon in Tulsa and Oklahoma City comparing price tags on T-shirts and boots, Western clothes, and souvenirs. She had compared their prices with those of a few other restaurants in town. They were selling below market value.

  No one had bothered to assess these things in years. She wondered what kind of a man her uncle had been. It seemed neither of the partners had a real head for business. If it wasn’t for the bookkeeper that Victoria strongly suspected had gently led the men along, the place could have folded years ago.

  On the television, Marshal Dillon headed up a posse hot on the heels of a gang of bandits. The gunfire drew her undivided attention for a while. Horses’ hooves pounded the earth, sending spirals of dust behind them. The men rode low and bent in the saddle, hats flapping in the breeze. They cornered the outlaws in a blind canyon and slid off their horses in one smooth motion and ran to hide behind boulders, guns drawn. A volley of gunfire was exchanged. One man grabbed his midsection and, with a screwed-up face and blood dripping from between his fingers, twisted and flopped to the ground. Another took a bullet in the head, threw his rifle in the air, and fell off a small cliff, body sliding and skidding in the dust. She studied the movements and the actions. A wry smile appeared on her face. Yes, her men needed a lot of improvement.

  From the books Victoria had seen, the men’s pay had remained relatively the same for some years based on the take from the gate. From time to time, the odd, occasional bonus kept them going, but they would all enjoy seeing long lines at the entrance, knowing the money was going to get better. Besides, they had to be tightened up and sharpened a little. To do that, they needed an incentive. Victoria looked forward to meeting with Bill Boyd in Dallas about that loan the next morning.

  Tapping the pencil on the board, she let her imagination run. Paint, lumber, new harnesses and fences. The gallows that the tourists liked to climb up on and put their necks in the breakaway noose was actually getting downright wobbly. More material for the seamstress so she could make new and better costumes instead of merely repairing the old ones.

  A shiny new spittoon for the saloon and a few of the new gaming tables. Pool would be good. Every man liked to do that. And flashy, silver-laden saddles and bridles for some of the horses. And some potted plants for the lobby of the hotel…Her mind whirled and filled way beyond her means but it was fun to dream and imagine. She knew limitations and priorities w
ould have to be considered. But that was okay. Her town was going to thrive and simply teem with tourists. Everyone would be happy.

  A commercial touting the benefits of trying the four flavors of oatmeal ended and Gunsmoke was back on. This scene was in a saloon. Her set wasn’t far off but could use some more props.

  The marshal and Festus walked down the street of Dodge City, Matt assuring his deputy that all the bad men were captured and safely in jail. The credits began to run up the screen and the theme song faded into the background.

  Half an hour later, her head stuffed with plans, she turned off the TV, snapped lights off in her wake, and headed for bed. After dreaming about the legends and the mystery and the wildness of the Old West, she could now taste it and live it. Victoria planned on propelling herself into the untamed, adventurous life portrayed here. This was as close as she would ever get and it excited her. Motivated her. The hell with the people who would like to see her fail. Tomorrow would be a good day. She would make it one. It would be the real beginning of her new life here. And if that included getting along with or at least tolerating J. Weston Cooper, then so be it.

  Chapter Three

  For the next several days, things ran pretty smoothly. Victoria attended some of Wes’s instructional sessions but during others she was busy. Buck kept a quiet eye on her. He seemed to be mellowing just a bit, but Victoria didn’t trust it. She was still a long way from being accepted.

  It was seven o’clock on Tuesday and they had the usual light count of tourists. Having just returned from her trip to Dallas, jetting down and back in the same day, Victoria headed for the barn after dropping her luggage in her room and changing to jeans and a T-shirt. She was anxious to ride a while and spend some time with her horse.