by Nan O'Berry
They took a step forward.
“I’m heading over to the saddle shop. There’s a nice looking saddle on display.”
Clay grinned. “What do you need a new saddle for?”
Stone sheepishly looked away. “I’m not always going to ride for the express. I might need a good roping saddle to work cattle.”
Clay’s expression grew sober. Cattle would be what a growing nation needed. But to raise cattle, you need land. Good land, with running water, and lush grass, the kind of land you’d find in Texas. “I hope the saddle is still there.”
“Next,” Levi called.
Clay stepped up.
“Sign the ledger,” Levi prompted as he looked over at the stack of envelopes on the table next to him.
Clay dabbed the pen in the ink and scrolled his name in neat, legible letters under Levi’s watchful eyes.
“Here you go.” Levi handed over an envelope.
“Thank you,” Clay responded and stepped to the side.
“Next.”
Walking away from the crowd, Clay opened the envelope and counted the fives and twenties inside. He glanced back at the riders, seeing they were still engaged getting their wages, he stuck the envelope in his inside vest pocket and made his way toward town. He passed the freight depot then moved across Main Street going by the church. The town had not yet extended the boardwalk past the business district, so he paused before stepping on to the grey wood and wiped the dust from his boots by rubbing the leather down the backs of his denim trousers.
The weight of the envelope seemed to grow with each step. He had put away nearly two hundred dollars in an old sock, under his mattress. It would make a nice down payment on the small ranch near the head of the river in Fort Worth. There, he could settle down, raise good beef, and never worry if he were a McDaniel or just plain Adams like his mother’s father.
“Adams is good enough for me,” he whispered and pushed open the door to O’Neal’s.
Payday seemed to bring everyone to town, from the Captain’s men to local ranches. Patty seemed to be raking the funds in. Clay walked around the display items trying before walking to the end of the counter where Patty’s wife, Claire stood working on a pad of paper.
As his shadow crossed her paper, she glanced up. “Why Clayton, good afternoon.” Her smile turned up the edges of her eyes and lit up her face with genuine happiness.
“Mrs. O’Neal.” He tipped his hat.
“What can I do for you?”
Now, that he was here, it seemed like a foolish start. Clay dampened his lips and found his courage vanishing him like early morning dew. He cut his glance to the left, then to the right to make sure no one was watching. He leaned forward. “I’m here about some material.”
Claire blinked in surprise. “Material?” Her head turned as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Yes ma’am.” Clay glanced at the bolts of fabric behind her. “I need uhh lavender.”
“You need a lavender piece of material?”
Clay nodded.
She continued to stare and he felt the heat crawl up his neck. “Yes, ma’am, I need…” He paused. How much material does a woman need to make a dress?
Across the counter, Claire’s brows arched.
Suddenly, the people in the general store made it feel a bit too crowded. Clay leaned forward and gestured that Claire do the same. “I don’t know how much,” he confessed.
Claire’s mouth rounded into an ‘O.’
He waited for what seemed like an eternity.
“I see,” she murmured and drew back. “How tall would you say this ‘young lady’ is?”
Clay summoned up the image of Emma and lifted his hand two inches above his shoulder. “I think this is it.”
She jotted some things down. “And her waist? How small is that?”
Clay’s eyes widened. “Ma’am?”
She flashed a knowing smile in his direction. “A handsome young man like yourself…You mean you’ve never put your arms around her?”
Clay felt the heat in his cheeks deepen. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered why he had tied his bandana so tight around his neck. Swallowing, he whispered, “No ma’am.”
She straightened. “Oh.”
Raising both hands, he shifted them an approximant distance apart. “She’s about this big.”
Claire studied the expanse. “I will just estimate a good amount for skirt.”
A broad smile streaked across his lips. “I would sure appreciate that.”
“Of course.” Clair turned to survey the shelves of dry goods. “Lavender you say.” She brought her hand beneath her chin, then after a beat, turned to look at him. “Does anything strike your fancy?”
Clay didn’t know how to respond.
Sensing his bewilderment, she gave him an encouraging smile and rephrased her question, “Do you like any of the patterns over here?” She drew his eyes toward the far end of the middle shelf.
Clay glanced at each one until his eyes connected with a piece that seemed to have yellow flowers sprinkled over it. “That one.” He pointed.
She looked from his hand to the shelf. “The one with the yellow flowers?”
Clay nodded.
She moved toward the fabric and took the bolt down. “Oh, this is quite pretty. Who did you say it’s for?”
“I didn’t.”
She tilted her head and studied him.
Clay shifted his boots on the floorboards and glanced away before meeting her eyes.
“I won’t tell,” she whispered.
He sighed and looked at the counter. “Emma Rawlings.”
“Oh, that helps so much. I just cut some fabric for her a month ago. I have it written down.” She put the bolt of cloth on the counter and flipped her book over. “I know just how much to cut.” She flipped the bolt over several times and began measuring by holding the fabric to the end of her nose and extending it out as far as her arms would allow. When complete, she smoothed the fabric over the counter top and cut the length from the bolt. “Here you go.” She held out the folded fabric.
Clay took a step back. It was one thing to order the cloth, but to carry it out from the general store in broad daylight for the world to see. No, he needed it covered.
“Something wrong?”
He stared down at the cloth. “I-I can’t.” His glance found hers and he added in a whisper, “I can’t carry this out.”
She blinked and slowly realized his dilemma. “Shall I wrap it for you?”
He nodded feeling relieved.
Claire walked over and placed his purchase on the plain brown paper. Once wrapped, she tied the paper securely with twine. “That will be four dollars and twenty cents.”
Reaching into his jacket, he drew the envelope from his pocket, and handed Clair cash. She scribbled something in her notebook, then moved to the cigar box that served to hold their receipts. “Your change.”
Clay took the money and slid it into the pocket of his trousers. Tucking the package under his arm, he nodded, then headed for the door. All he needed to do now was to get back to the station, retrieve his horse, and ride to the Rocking R. His thoughts were centered on the opportunity to see Emma. He didn’t notice the group of cowboys lounging at the entrance until they spoke.
“What you got there, cowboy?”
Clay glanced to the right as the man pushed away from the front of the general store. He lifted his chin and under the dove grey hat, he recognized the face of one of the teamsters who worked for Pierson. “Afternoon,” Clay murmured and continued on his way.
“I asked you a question, boy.” The man’s tone deepened as he accentuated the last word.
Clay felt himself bristle. He paused. “Just a package.”
The man lifted the right edge of his lips. “Just a package.” He looked past Clay to the others in attendance. “You hear that? Just a package.”
The men roared with laughter.
Clay glanced around as a bit of un
easiness settled over him.
“What express rider needs a package?” another piped up.
Clay’s head whipped around to see the man behind him. A figure to his left lunged forward. He tried to avoid him, but their shoulders clashed. He felt the cowboy’s hands grasp the brown paper package. He tried to clamp his arm down. A hand to his chest prevented the action. He felt himself shoved off balance and fell into the arms of another cowboy as they made a tight ring.
“No, it’s not yours.” Clay yelled as he watched them toss the package from one to another.
The laughter only increased. Jumping, he latched on to the paper. Another pair of hands gave a mighty shove. Clay heard the paper rip as his ankle bent and he flew out into the middle of the dirt in front of O’Neal’s. The force of the fall left him scrambling for air.
Across the way, hoots and laughter billowed from the boardwalk as he drew his knees beneath him.
“Maybe it’s a blanket for his horse?” one guffawed.
“Or curtains for the bunkhouse,” someone else added and the crowd roared with laughter.
Clay turned his head. The scent of hot earth and animal dug stung his nose. Slowly, Clay lifted his head. His heart turned as the men pulled and pawed Emma’s material. Hot anger roared through him. In a flash, he was up. He didn’t know who threw the first punch, only that his hand connected with just as many jaws as fist connected with his.
One against six was never good odds. Someone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind him. Faces lined with pure hatred surrounded him as fists plummeted his midsection and his face. He heard shouts. The hands let go and Clay’s legs folded beneath him. He lay in a heap as the cloth fell over his body, and the sounds of boot steps retreating filled his ears.
“Lay still.”
Clay recognized Claire O’Neal’s voice.
“Patty’s gone for Mr. Hawkins. Lay still.”
Clay swallowed and closed his eyes.
Clay sat in the kitchen chair as Olivia Hawkins gently pressed a cool cloth against his face. “I don’t understand,” she bristled. “All this was a misunderstanding?”
Clay refused to respond. It was easier to pretend he was beyond caring to express the real reason for the altercation.
“Now, mother.”
Levi hushed tone did little to pacify his wife. “Don’t now mother me.” She shook a finger at him. “Six roughy-ons against one of our boys seems hardly fair. You wait until I see the Captain. I won’t stand for this type of shenanigans. We’re trying to make a decent town of Three Rivers.”
“Yes, mother.”
Clay opened his one good eye. “It was my fault,” the words tumbled thick from his bruised lips. Across the way, he could see Levi’s eyes open wide. Surprised by his comment, he stared and Clay felt he needed to add more, “I bumped one of them with my shoulder. It was unintentional, but I guess he didn’t think so.”
“You bumped shoulders.”
Clay stared at the table. “I need to watch where I am going.”
“Humph.” Olivia Hawkins dismissed his apology with a snort.
Clay glanced up and he could see Levi watching him.
Dampening his lips, Levi looked to his wife. “Mother, why don’t you go see if Anna needs any help outside. I want a word with, Clayton.”
Olivia looked less than appeased. Still, she took the cloth way and placed it in the bowl. Looking between Clay and her husband, she drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I will and in my absence, perhaps you can talk some sense into this young man.”
Clay listened to her footsteps as they retreated to the back door. Again, with his good eye, he looked to the bowl. Reaching out, he made a move for the towel. He seemed to have to concentrate to get his arms to do what he wanted. He pressed the cloth to the side of the bowl and placed it against the heat on his right cheek then sagged a bit in the chair.
“You want to tell me what really happened?”
Clay shifted his gaze to Levi. “If I knew more, I’d tell you.”
“Pierson’s men said you started it.”
“Not surprised.”
“But you won’t tell me what’s going on?” Levi questioned.
“If I knew what happened. I made a purchase at O’Neal’s and started back to the station.”
Levi shifted to look at the back door. “About that purchase, pretty out of the ordinary for a cowboy.”
Clay shrugged.
Levi shook his head. “So you came out of O’Neal’s and bumped shoulders, then a man and his friends beat the living tar out of you?”
Hearing his boss repeat his description of the incident, he realized just how flimsy his excuse sounded. “Something like that,” Clay murmured and dipped the cloth back into the bowl. “It happened so fast.”
“That, I can understand,” Levi agreed and rose from the chair. He took the cloth from Clay’s hand and dipped it into the wash basin. “Press this against your lip.”
Clay did what he was asked.
“Rules are rules, Clayton. Fighting is frowned upon. Since it will be a few days until you can see out of that eye. I’m going to use that as your suspension. I’ll put you in rotation next week.”
The words hurt more than Clay thought they would. Not being honest with Levi hurt more in some ways than the blows of the fists he’d endured. “Yes, sir.”
Levi pulled the cloth away. “The bleeding has stopped.” He took a deep a breath. “Did you try to avoid it?”
He nodded.
“And you are sure they were Pierson’s men?”
Clay swallowed. “Some.”
“But you couldn’t swear to it?”
Clay looked up. “No, sir.”
Levi’s hands moved to his hips as he thought about Clay’s words. “Well, what is done…is done.”
Clay felt Levi’s gaze upon him. He shifted his head so he could meet his gaze.
“You need some rest. Let’s get you to the bunkhouse.”
Clay staggered to his feet.
The chair rocked back nearly taking him with it until Levi stepped forward and grabbed his belt to steady him. “Here, put your arm around my shoulders.”
Clay did as he was told.
“We’re going to take it easy. Just let me know if I go to fast.”
They move toward the door. Clay could hear his feet drag across the floor and prayed they didn’t scrap the wood. At the doorway, he paused. “The material?”
“Anna is washing it. Come morning, it will be clean and dry,” Levi explained.
He nodded.
If Levi was curious about the purchase, he didn’t let on. Instead, he helped him across the porch and to his bed in the bunkhouse. “I’ll check on you later,” Levi informed him as he slid Clay’s boots beneath his bunk. “Try to get some rest. The others will no doubt want a better explanation.”
Clay rolled his head onto the cool ticking of his feather pillows as Levi left the room. It hurt to breathe, let alone to think. Still, as his eyes closed, he knew no other explanation would come.
Chapter 6
Clay opened his eyes and for a moment, panicked. The memory of his altercation flooded back. He jerked and a painful reminder raised its ugly head. He held his breath and rolled onto his back, unable to contain the groan that pierced the air. Closing his eyes, he remained still and tried to steady his breathing through slow measured intakes of air.
Somewhere in the room, a low whistle echoed. “Boy, howdy, you went and had a good time without us.”
Clay turned his head to see Stone peering down at him like he was some attraction in a traveling medicine show.
“I didn’t know skin could turn that shade of indigo.”
“The devil take you,” Clay cursed and immediately, wished he hadn’t. The pull on his bruised lips smeared the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Now, now…” Stone waved a finger at him. “Remember your southern sensibilities.”
“Help me sit up.” Clay extended his
hand.
Stone grasped it and eased his friend into a sitting position. “Okay?”
“Feel like death warmed over,” Clay admitted.
“That good, eh?” Stone teased with an arch of his brows.
“Now, you’ve gone and done it,” another rider spoke. “Mrs. Hawkins will be fussing a blue streak if she sees blood on him.”
Clay shook his head, but didn’t doubt that it was true.
“You sure do look like something the cat drug in.” The rider sighed.
“Mirror,” Clay demanded.
The other rider snatched down a small mirror the boys used to keep from cutting their throats while they were shaving.
“Thanks.” Clay glanced at the young kid. His brow knitted together as he tried to recall the face. “You’re new here?”
The kid nodded. “Signed on a recently. They call me, Denver.”
“Thanks, Denver.” Clay held the mirror out and stared at his own reflection. The boys were not too far off. His face was a mess. His left eye was swollen closed and the socket around it sported a shade of deep indigo that reminded him of the evening sky. His lips were split in several places and trying to scab over. Just below his right eye, a gash slashed the skin across his cheekbone. Yep, he was, as they put it, in an extreme state of untidiness. “That’s an ugly sight,” he agreed. He handed the mirror back to Stone who intern gave it to Denver.
“Just promise me,” Stone began. “The other fella looks worse.”
Clay could only offer a forlorn expression.
“Darn it,” Stone swore and gave a shake of his head.
Denver took a seat on the bunk across from him. “How you gonna ride like that?”
Stone gave the kid a warning glance.
Clay figured he had already heard the news. “Not riding till next week.”
“What?” Stone’s face filled with alarm.
“Out of rotation.”
Stones eyes blazed. “Because of the fight.”
“Because of a lot of things,” Clay replied. “I got in a fight. Levi was in his right to remove me.”
“But it wasn’t your fault!” Stone snapped.
“I should have let it go,” Clay scooted to the edge of his bed.
