New West

by BA Tortuga

  “Boss, boss, there’s a wagon train up ahead.”

  “What?” He blinked at Dooley, worried he was hearing things.

  “There’s a wagon train, with a wagon headed our way,” Dooley repeated.

  “No shit?” Maybe they could trade a cow for some sugar and coffee, some bacon.

  Dooley nodded, and he headed up to the rise to see what he could see. Sure enough there was a trail of them, picking their way through the dust and dirt and broken pieces of old road. One wagon had broken off from the pack and was bumping right toward them, ripped up cover like a bunch of ragged flags.

  There was a man climbing out the side of the wagon, scrambling to the top of the rise. “Ez! Ez, it’s me!”

  Ezrah blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. There was no way that dreadlocked, raggedy sprite was Jesse. Right?

  “Jess?”

  “Yep. You wrote, I came!”

  There were tattoos on all the skin Ezrah could see, and blue eyes blazing at him as Jesse climbed toward him. The man looked as if he were…John the Baptist or something. Like a crazy desert hermit. Nothing like the skinny, pale, freckled kid who’d left all those years ago, headed out to the desert.

  Dooley stared, eyes wide. “Boss. Boss, that’s one of them Grounders. They ain’t good.”

  He snapped at Dooley. “I’ve known him since we were in diapers. I need his help. You just hush.” Ezrah stepped down out of the saddle, waiting for Jesse to reach him.

  “Look at you! All grown up.” Jesse came to him, wrapped him in a hard hug. The soft, murmured, “Sucks about Em. Sorry.” damn near did him in, making his knees wobble.

  “Thanks.” He hugged Jess right back, the skinny little bastard feeling and smelling familiar, even if he looked completely different, like a damned tribesman, all wearing his hair in braids and dressed in skins and patchwork broadcloth. It felt good to touch someone. God, he missed Emmett.

  “So, I brought things, but not a horse, because you know, I don’t have one.”

  “We have plenty. Or you can ride in the wagon with Cookie.” Ezrah chuckled. “I know you don’t love to ride, but it’s better than eating dust all day with the chuck wagon.”

  “Or smelling beans for hours. I know how not fun that is.”

  “Exactly. Looks as though you remember something from your cattle days.” He clapped Jess on the back, the beads on the ends of the man’s braids clacking together. “It’s good to see you, man.”

  “Wish it could be for something better. How can I help?”

  “Well, for right now, we need to keep the herd moving.” He glanced back at the two drovers who looked on with less-than friendly interest. “Dooley, go see if you can work a trade for some provisions, huh?”

  “You got it, boss.” The man gave Jesse a long look before turning away.

  “I have the urge to wiggle my fingers and go ‘boogala boogala’.”

  “You’d probably scare him to death.” Dooley was fairly-new to anything outside the ranch.

  “It’s too bad you need the help.”

  “Well, I appreciate you coming. I’ll talk on why after we settle tonight.”

  “You know it.” Jesse’s eyes moved over everything, touched on every bit of brush and rock, one after another, as if the man were hungry to see. Didn’t make a lick of sense. This ground looked the same for weeks and wouldn’t change much for days on days, leastways until they gained some altitude.

  Still, if Jess was up there in the high desert, living wild and lawless, maybe the prairie grasses looked fine.

  He shook himself when blue eyes landed on him, Jesse’s bright red eyebrow arching. “Cool. Let’s get you a mount ready.”

  “Sure. Sure, Ez. Whatever you need. I’m yours.”

  “That’s a dangerous promise.” There’d always been something he’d wanted from Jess, but he had never been able to say it or act on it. A promise such as that could give a lonely man ideas.

  Jess fascinated him, drew him, made him want things he shouldn’t oughta wish on. Hell, if nothing else, those things would be right dangerous on a trail drive. Ezrah made himself turn away, made himself get moving.

  He could feel Jesse’s eyes on him, following him, trailing along behind him.

  It was as comforting as it was itchy.

  Jess had come. Out of his little hidey-hole and into the sun. For him. That was damned crazy. Ezrah was grateful, even though he hated being beholden. Still, it was the only way to get an advantage over the bastard who was trying to kill him. A secret weapon.

  He didn’t know what Jess would need, or how it worked, but he knew it worked. That Flow thing. Jess had found him, hadn’t he?

  They walked to the remuda, Ezrah leading his mare to the herd. It was time to change her out anyway. “Pick your horse, man.”

  “Is there one that isn’t murder on the ball sac?”

  He barked a laugh, which made a couple of the boys turn and stare. He hadn’t had much to laugh on lately. “Queenie. The big gray mare? She’s slower, but it’s as if sitting in a rocking chair.”

  “That works. I’m not the best rider on earth, you know.”

  He knew.

  God, he knew. No matter how much Jesse had practiced as a kid, riding was a physical skill he just hadn’t picked up. “She’ll do right by you.” They had a few easy mounts in the remuda in case a man got injured.

  “Not everybody is a cowboy. Some of us are…special.”

  “You’re special, all right.” His grandpa would have called it touched in the head. Jess had always been different from anyone Ezrah knew.

  Jesse’s laugh rang out, weird and birdike.

  “Just let me get her saddled up.” They’d get a move on, and he’d fill Jesse in after supper.

  “Sure.” Jess went up to Queenie, started talking to her, and that eased him, that Jess hadn’t decided to be scared of horses. The man might not ride well, but he’d always loved animals.

  The man’s momma had been crazy over them—raising rabbits and dogs, caring for every injured critter on earth. He guessed Jess came by it natural.

  Queenie nickered and pranced, showing off. He made sure to love on her, too, when he got her saddled up. She’d be tired by the end of the day.

  “You’re all set.” He patted Queenie’s neck.

  “Thanks, Ez.” Jesse launched himself up into the saddle, awkward as all get out.

  Ezrah hid a grin, unsaddling his mare to get a new mount.

  The drovers were going to have a field day with this nonsense. It was worth it, though, just to have a friend here, someone who cared enough to drop everything.

  Now he just had to keep Jesse, and himself, alive long enough to utilize his newfound assistance.

  Good thing he liked a challenge.

  “So, how was the trail down?” They had to go back up roughly the same way Jess had come, so intel would be good.

  “Bumpy. Cold, up high. Not much access for me at the top.”

  “No, I guess not.” He’d never understood how Grounders tapped in, not really.

  He was pretty sure he didn’t trust it, long-term, but he needed to use it now. He had to get these cattle to Denver, sell them, and then get the money home to Momma. Then he could let Jess go back to his weird life, he reckoned.

  “And then the chicken said, ‘bawk-bawk, motherfucker’.”

  “Huh?” He stared at Jesse, wondering what he’d missed.

  “Pay attention, Ez. We’re having a moment.”

  “Are we?” That stupid grin was back on his face. Jesse had always made him smile. Except when the man had left. Then he’d wondered what the hell he’d done wrong for a year. “Oh, good to know.”

  “I figured you might have missed it.” Jess winked at him, playful.

  “I do that sometimes.” He let himself stare just a moment, noticing how Jesse’s eyes were still just as blue, even if everything else had changed. They were the only part of his friend he knew now.

  “You always have
. That’s why you have me.”

  “Right. Me brawn. You brains.” His face tried to crumple, his chest trying to cave in, too. Emmett had always said he was the translator, the one who connected with both brains and brawn. And he was gone. Just gone.

  “Stop it.” Jess held his gaze. “Not here. Here you’re the boss. These boys will eat you alive. You want to mourn him, you wait ‘til it’s night.”

  Ez shook himself, the ferocity of the words reminding him that a rogue posse had taken Jesse’s sisters, his mother, and done unspeakable things to them before gutting them for the coyotes. Jess knew about mourning, just as well as Ez, and Jesse didn’t have any reason to trust drovers or law, either. Looked as if the man had found himself a place with the tribes, at least.

  He nodded, his head on fire, his eyes burning. “Cowboy up, then. We’re wasting daylight.”

  A weird, huge floppy leather hat crashed down over Jesse’s face, casting a vast shadow. The brim was decorated up with beads smaller than a bug’s eye, the design fascinating Ez. “I’m ready.”

  Ezrah stared, feeling as if he’d be doing that a lot. “Yeehaw.”

  “You know it.”

  They started moving, heading toward the sun at a slow pace. The rocking of the saddle and the constant low of cattle was familiar, comforting.

  Dooley came riding up, grinning ear to ear. “I did good on the trading, boss. Sugar, bacon, flour, and some ammo.”

  “Good man.” He clapped Dooley on the shoulder as the man moved close. “Did you let Cookie know?”

  “Yessir. They’re heading east, the wagons are. Going to try and cross the New Divide.”

  “Well, good on them.” Ezrah wasn’t sure he believed there was anything still over there except the ruins of old buildings and bridges.

  God knew no one had really heard from them in forever. It was like the Lost Coast. Wrecked and gone. He wished the land sailors well, though. He really did. He’d never needed to go farther than old Dallas to know he didn’t want to go no farther.

  He just needed to get these beasts to Denver, to the people who dared to take them farther. That was all.

  That was enough to get a man killed.

  Chapter Four

  Jesse’s ass hurt.

  His ass hurt. His back hurt. His thighs hurt.

  His balls were going to explode.

  Also, his brain was becoming mush and was going to leak out his ears.

  There was no doubt Queenie was a superior mount. However, she was not like sitting in a rocking chair. Unless the rocking chair was full of stones and prickly pear.

  Which, honestly, who did that? No one, that was who. Not even sex fiends out there in the Flow looking for someone to flog. Or hair-shirt monks who lived in old Taos. He’d met two of those. In person.

  They were actually kind of cool, and they shared that sour juice stuff, which whoa. Visions.

  Big visions.

  That had made him hurl, but his ass hadn’t hurt. Just his throat the next day.

  He was going to miss the Gathering this year, spending most all his spring right up through to fall on this crazy favor for an old friend he hadn’t seen in forever. Somewhere—in the Flow or in the flesh—one of his friends was laughing at him. Him. On a horse with a bunch of cowboys who would flay him as well as look at him. This was a bad place for a friend of the Diné, and a worse place for a Grounder, and he was both.

  Not to mention that whole wanting to stare at Ez’s backside and imagine wicked things. The Diné had a name for that—Two Spirited—and didn’t hold it against anyone. Not even a crazy Grounder who was more interested in the pipe than fighting for the attention of some beautiful tanned-leather boy. He was still a bit of a spectacle and his port…that ran against what a lot of them stood for. Good thing he’d been one of them longer than he’d been a Grounder. The Diné were driven into his skin.

  He reached up, touched the tiny spot. He needed it, though. More than the Gatherings, more than the sound of the drums.

  In the Flow he could have all of that and more.

  In the Flow he could have everything.

  He sighed, shifting in the saddle again and wondering, not for the first time, why men weren’t smart enough to ride sidesaddle. His balls hurt really, really hurt.

  Not only that, but who had looked at these big-assed animals and thought, “Wow. I should jump on its back”?

  “You okay, man?” Ezrah had been riding up and down the column, checking in with the drovers, looking over the herd before they stopped for the night. The man was barely sweating, even though it was hotter than hell.

  “Peachy.” And what in the trembling hell did that mean, anyway? Who had looked at a peach all those centuries ago and decided it was the symbol of yay?

  “You look as if you might just die.” Ez was laughing at him. Out loud.

  “Don’t make me smother you with my poor swollen balls in the night, Ez.”

  Ezrah barked out a laugh. “Your sweaty, stinky balls? No thanks.”

  “I’ll have you know they weren’t nasty this morning, they were totally reasonable, normal nuts.”

  “Now they’ll have to be scraped out of your pants like a burned flapjack. Nasty, deer-hide-flavored flapjack.”

  Oh, now. This was clearly an attempt at a one-upmanship. A gross-out battle.

  “It’s more like they’ve been mashed into a slippery goo. Slick ball goo.”

  “Wow. You should talk to Cookie. He might have a gravy for that.”

  Okay. That was uncalled for. “I’ve smelled the chuck. There’s no way he can improve the goo.”

  “Hey, he has new stores to work with.” Ez grinned at him. “Half hour before we stop for the night, man. You can do it.”

  He nodded. He could. He knew it. He was just going to die as soon as they stopped. Plonk. Gooey death.

  Ez spurred off, heading for the front of the column, and he watched that ass meet and separate from the saddle, over and over.

  Fine bastard.

  “You’d best be careful, Grounder. The boss is a good man. We’re watching you.”

  He looked over at one of the dozen drovers riding with Ez and rolled his eyes. “I’m terrified. You assholes couldn’t keep Emmett alive. I’m not worried.”

  Maybe he was a little worried, but he knew better than to show fear. Even Ez would attack a weak man. It was who they were. These cowboys had to be hard as nails to survive.

  Good thing Jesse knew a thing or two about keeping his head down and staying out of sight.

  “Just watch your back, man, and find a way to be useful.”

  “Oh, trust me. I am useful.” And ready for this particular conversation to be over.

  “You boys get back to work.” That was one of the older men, the one he thought he remembered as Ezrah’s trail boss. He seemed a reasonable sort.

  He didn’t thank the man; that wouldn’t be taken well. He just kept his mouth shut and rode, fingers stroking the port behind his ear. Maybe soon he’d find a spot underground, a hidden well. He needed it, really, needed his own reality.

  Needed to fly.

  Maybe after they settled for the night. He could check the perimeter of camp, see if there was a place to slip underground.

  A guy could hope, right?

  “I’m Cyrus, by the way. You probably don’t remember me.” The trail boss nudged his horse over, reaching to shake hands. “We appreciate your help, son.”

  “Jesse. I’ve been friends with Ez a long time, but I’m sorry to say I don’t really recall. I’m happy to help.” If by happy, he meant willing and not sure what the hell he could do.

  “I don’t remember much about you either, son, but I heard a good bit. From Emmett, believe it or not.” Well, that explained why Cyrus wasn’t treating him as if he were a pariah.

  “Emmett was a good man. We all grew up together. I taught him to shoot.”

  “No shit? Well, no wonder he couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

  Jesse hooted, the
horse dancing underneath him at the sudden sound. “You know it. We learned on a rifle that cocked left.”

  “That explains a lot.” Cyrus chuckled. “Well, you watch yourself around the boys. They’re a superstitious lot.”

  “I get it. I’ll watch my back.” And his front. And his sides.

  “Good deal.” They grinned at each other just as Ezrah called a halt.

  “Man, I’m afraid if I dismount, I’ll never walk again.”

  “You’d be best if you walk a good bit, actually,” Cyrus said. “Work it out.”

  “I can do that, thanks.” He could walk and search for a place to get underground. His skin itched. He needed in. Needed to be somewhere real again, somewhere he belonged. His port throbbed in the back of his head, a constant reminder of its hunger.

  “Hey.” Ez stopped next to him, smiling a little, his face etched with dust.

  “Hey, there.” He dismounted, forcing himself not to wince. He could do this. He felt as if he had jock itch, his inner thighs were so chafed.

  Why had he come again? Right. Ez. They were friends, him and Ez. Family, almost.

  Bound by their love of Emmett, if nothing else.

  “You look so serious. The boys already harassing you?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. It happens.” It happened when they were kids, it would happen again.

  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Ez grunted. “You’ll eat with me. We’ll have our own little fire, because we have a lot to talk on. Hour ‘til grub if you want to try and find a hot spot.”

  “I will.” There was one close, a low tickle in his ear, a buzzing whisper. His fingers clenched at the need to dig out his cables and all.

  “Be careful.” Ezrah clearly didn’t understand, but he was trying.

  “Just keep your cowboys off me, yeah?” He could find a place, port in. Soar.

  “I’ll do my best, man. Can you tell if there’s anyone else about?”

  “I’m not a seer, Ez. I’m a Grounder. Once I’m in, I’ll know who else is in the stream. It isn’t magic, for fuck’s sake. It’s technology.”

  Ez gave him a measured look. “I know that. But if the old man has someone in there hunting us, you’ll know, right?”