by Linda Broday
“Pa says I’m a good-for-nothing coward. I aim to prove him wrong. I ain’t a coward. I ain’t.”
“There are other ways to prove it. But not this. Let’s shake hands and let me help you,” Houston pleaded.
“This gun is all the help I need. Pops.”
“All right. Talkin’s over, boy.” His voice held a cold, deadly edge. Zeb was deaf to his advice. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Indecision filled Zeb’s eyes; he probably realized he’d come too far to back down. His bony Adam’s apple bobbed in this throat as his hand hovered over the gun. He licked his lips.
A bead of sweat trickled down Zeb’s face. Houston knew the inside of his mouth must be as dry as a sun-baked riverbed.
Don’t do it, kid.
Please don’t draw, Houston silently begged.
Don’t pull the damn trigger.
From the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Mary steal up behind Zeb with a raised skillet, evidently aiming to knock him out. His heart stopped. His stomach clenched with the need to cry out and stop her, to send her out of danger.
Before he could, Zeb whirled and turned his gun on her.
In a split second, Houston drew and fired.
Nineteen
The discharge was loud in Houston’s ears. He rocked back on his heels but didn’t feel any burning pain. That appeared to be a good sign. He slid his Colt back into the holster.
Dr. Mary caught Zeb as the force of the blast sent him into her arms. She lowered the kid gently to the ground, showing the gaping hole he now had in his chest. Houston stumbled to him and knelt. A bloody hand fumbled for his. He took it and looked into Zeb’s distant eyes.
“You were…right. Stupid,” Zeb mumbled. “I wish…”
Houston knelt beside him. “I didn’t want to do this. I tried…”
“No choice,” Zeb mumbled as blood gushed from his mouth in a final gurgle before his head rolled to the side.
“I wish I could’ve saved you, boy,” Houston murmured brokenly. He wished to God Gracie hadn’t eaten the jimsonweed and brought them to the town of Chimney Rock.
He cradled Zeb’s lifeless body, not caring that blood soaked his shirt.
Even after Zeb’s friends gathered ’round, Houston wouldn’t let go of the boy. He was back at his first wedding day, with Becky, his mind full of how he’d gripped her body to him and the helpless feeling that had washed over him. Horrible loss, deafening silence, and disbelief filled him.
He couldn’t save her then, and he couldn’t talk sense to this boy now. Damn Zeb’s father! If he just could’ve shown the boy some kindness, none of this would’ve happened.
Dr. Mary laid a hand on his shoulder. “You did all you could, Legend.”
“I should’ve tried harder to talk him out of it.”
“You could’ve talked until you were blue in the face and it wouldn’t have changed a blooming thing. The boy left you no choice. Zeb was on a runaway horse heading for a cliff from the minute he was born.”
“Did he have a mother, any family?” Houston glanced up.
One of the friends who’d come to watch spoke up. “Only his pa. Ma died a long time ago. Mostly Zeb lived alone on account of his pa never finding his way home.”
Deep sorrow fell over Houston. What a wasted life. As Zeb’s friends carried him away, Houston staggered to a well at the back of the doctor’s house to wash and collect himself before he went inside to Lara.
In the cool of the trees, Houston released his frustration and anger. He pounded on a large tree trunk until his knuckles were raw and bleeding.
Dammit!
Exhausted, he slid down the trunk to the grass and laid his hat next to him. He didn’t know how long he sat there. It could’ve been a few moments or a day or more. He didn’t know. He wasn’t aware of anything until Lara’s arms penetrated the numbness.
“It’s all right, Houston,” she murmured, pulling his head to her breast. “You couldn’t have stopped him. No one could’ve.”
“I tried. I couldn’t let him shoot the doc.”
“I know.” She kissed his hair and smoothed it back. “And it’s because of me your lives intersected. I caused this.”
“No.” Houston shook his head vigorously. “Don’t consider that for even a second. Not one speck of this was your fault.”
Her soothing touch was a balm for his ragged soul. He wanted to stay in the coolness of the trees where trouble couldn’t find them.
“The blood.” He jerked away from her. “I’m covered in blood. You’ll get it on you.”
“If you think I care about little things like that, you don’t know me very well.” She ran her fingers across his jaw. “Blood washes off. What stains your soul…that’s what stays. You’re hurting and you’ll probably never be the same. Taking a life has to be unimaginable.”
“You have no idea of the misery that fills a man. Zeb was just a kid.” Houston scrubbed the back of his neck. “If I had to kill, I wish it had been Blackstone.”
“I wouldn’t want you if killing didn’t affect you.”
That she did want him came as a surprise.
Houston touched her flawed cheek. “I don’t think I told you my brother is a gunslinger. He’s constantly called out by men who want to become known for killing the famed Luke Weston. I always wondered how he can stomach taking so many lives.”
“Living by the gun would destroy something deep inside. Death must lurk around every corner,” Lara said.
“It does, but I never understood what it must be like for him until today.” Houston stood and pulled her up. “I need to wash so I can see Gracie. Any change?”
“She’s breathing easier. That’s a hopeful sign.”
“Sure is.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Go back in to her and I’ll be along.”
He watched her move slowly toward the house. He loved watching her walk. Her soft curves flowed like a stream of water—smooth and constant. His wife had a natural grace and a heart full of compassion.
He glanced down at his bloodstained hands. He’d brought more violence to Lara’s life. Why had he let her come with him?
The answer was clear.
Because he was a selfish bastard.
He’d taken Lara from the safety of the ranch, and now Gracie lay at death’s door.
How was he going to look at himself in the mirror again?
* * *
The shadows had grown long by the time Houston finally entered the doctor’s house. His boot heels struck the wood floor and his spurs clinked loudly, disturbing the quiet. He removed his hat and went straight to the room where Gracie lay.
Dr. Mary stood at the window looking out, her head down and shoulders curled, one hand gripping the necklace made of spent bullets. Her fingers were trembling and he thought he heard a sniffle, though he couldn’t be sure. Zeb’s death seemed to have affected her deeply too.
Someone had shoved the small kitchen table aside. Lara glanced up from the babe’s bedside and reached for him.
“How is Gracie?” He laid his hat on the table and took her hand.
“Showing tiny signs of coming around.”
Dr. Mary turned and spoke in terse sentences. “Though she hasn’t opened them yet, her eyes are twitching. Heartbeat is slowing some, pulse is stronger. I think she’s going to pull through but I caution against moving her from here today. The danger hasn’t passed, Mr. Legend.”
“I didn’t see a hotel when we rode in.” Was there anywhere suitable here for Lara? He could always sleep in the loft at the livery or on the floor here, but his wife needed more comfort.
“We don’t have one,” Dr. Mary said.
“If you can put Lara up, I’d be obliged. I’ll find a place for myself.”
“No need, Mr. Legend. Both of you will stay here. I’ll no
t argue about it either. By all rights I should be dead. Your quick reflexes saved my life.”
“Call me Houston. I’m glad I was there, although…” He could still smell Zeb’s blood, see his sightless eyes. And he could still hear the last words the boy had spoken.
“I’ll fix supper.” Lara rose and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “By the time we eat, it’ll be dark.”
Houston noticed her indecision about leaving Gracie. “I’ll sit with her, darlin’. At the slightest change, I’ll holler.”
When Dr. Mary and Lara went into the kitchen, Houston sat down next to the bed and lifted his Angel into his lap. The tiny fingers got lost in Houston’s large palm. She was so small and fragile, yet the girl had such a mischievousness about her. He’d give anything to have her sit up and scold him again.
Tired of fighting the weariness, he closed his eyes for just a second. He must’ve dozed off, because he jerked when Gracie’s finger closed around his. His eyes flew open and he found the baby staring up at him with a shy grin.
“Lara, come quick!” Houston sat the babe up, propping her with his arm.
“What is it? Is she worse?” With her hands dripping water, Lara ran into the room.
“See for yourself,” he answered, filled with relief.
Gracie reached for Lara. When she took the child, Gracie patted her mother’s cheeks then laid her head on Lara’s shoulder.
Happy sobs broke from Lara’s mouth as though she could no longer hold them in check. “I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle. I simply can’t believe it.”
Dr. Mary beamed and wiped her eyes. “Moments like these are why I’m a doctor.”
Houston blinked hard. A glorious sunset burst through the window in a blaze of deep oranges and purples. It seemed God had painted the magnificent view just for them. In a day full of tragedy, death, and worry, Houston took comfort in the breathtaking picture. Maybe this was a message of some sort.
Or could it be a reminder that a man could lose his way if he didn’t pay close attention?
A reminder that not everyone rejoiced pierced him. He thought of Zeb and the fact that Houston had taken his life today. Somewhere in Chimney Rock, sorrow filled the hearts of Zeb’s friends. Maybe a few others as well.
“Houston, I need to finish seeing to supper,” Lara said, holding Gracie out to him.
He shook his head. “Dr. Mary and I will prepare the meal.” He wasn’t sure how much help he’d be, but he could take direction well. Most times, that is. “You try to feed Gracie.”
“All right.” Lara settled into the chair and positioned the babe in the crook of her arm. Dr. Mary handed her a light cloth, and she covered herself and let Gracie nurse.
Houston stood in the doorway, watching his family for a long moment. The sight brought a lump to his throat. He saw the love of a mother shining in Lara’s eyes. She might not ever be able to show him love, but he knew she did care for him, at least as a friend. Maybe that was a start and it would grow from there. That’s all he could hope for. He turned toward the kitchen.
* * *
After eating and washing the dishes, Houston rolled down his shirtsleeves and collected his hat. “I’m going to step out for just a bit, Lara. Sit here with Dr. Mary and talk. You don’t often have a chance to be with other women.”
Worry wrinkled her brow and her voice filled with panic. “Do you really need to go out? You might run into trouble. Stay here with us.”
The pleading in her voice pierced him, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t go.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I need to check on your mare.” He bent to kiss her then walked the short distance to the livery.
Five minutes later, he tied the Appaloosa to a hitching rail. He stood in the evening breeze for a second then swung toward the noise of the dimly lit saloon.
Heads turned and the piano player’s hands froze on the keys when Houston entered the local watering hole. He scanned the room and sauntered up to the polished bar.
“What can I get you, mister?” the barkeep asked.
Houston pitched him a silver dollar. “Information.”
The slender man caught the coin and bit it to verify that it was real. He wore a jaunty green derby, and red garters edged in black on his upper arms kept his sleeves in place.
“Never sold words before.” He grinned. “This is a first.”
“I’m looking for Zeb’s father. Don’t have a last name.”
“Oh, you mean Jubal Flanagan.” The barkeep jerked his head toward a man puking in the corner onto the sawdust floor. “Good luck.”
“Obliged.” When Houston strode toward Jubal, the piano player resumed pounding out his tune and conversation returned to a loud din.
Jubal finished retching and glanced up at Houston. “What the hell are you lookin’ at?” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Gray bristles covered the stout man’s face, testifying that he’d not shaved in God-knows-how-long. His beady dark eyes glittered wildly in deep-set sockets, reminding Houston of a possum. Jubal seemed to have a surly attitude. No wonder Zeb turned out the way he had.
“Came to pay my respects and offer condolences.”
“For what?”
“For your son,” Houston said.
“Good riddance.” Jubal hiccupped. “Zeb was nothing but a disappointment. Always whining about food an’ the cold an’ why I never came home. Worse than his damn ma. He should’ve died when she did.”
Thin-edged anger rushed over Houston. He grabbed Jubal Flanagan by the shirtfront. “His death is on you, you sorry bastard. If you’d been a real father, he wouldn’t be dead now.”
“Never wanted a snot-nosed kid in the first place.” Jubal twisted free. “Leave me alone less’n you’re buyin’ the next round.”
Houston grabbed the man’s arm and propelled him toward the swinging doors.
“Hey, you can’t do this!” Jubal glanced around at the other patrons. “Stop him. He’s gonna kill me just like he killed my boy.”
No one stirred. They shot him one disinterested look and turned back to their whiskey and card games.
Out in the darkness beyond the lamplight, Houston threw Jubal to the ground. “Where’s your horse, Flanagan?”
“Where the hell do you think?”
Several horses stood next to the Appaloosa at the hitching rail. “Which one?” Houston hauled Jubal to his feet and pushed him toward the animals. Of the three unfamiliar horses, one was in poor shape. He dragged the drunk to it. “This yours?”
“Yep. What are you gonna do?” Jubal slurred his words.
“Something that people should’ve done a long time ago.” He boosted the man up into the saddle and held the reins while he climbed onto his gelding. He glanced up and down the street, wondering which direction to go. Luckily, a man emerged from the saloon.
“Mister, do you know where they took Zeb Flanagan’s body?”
“You’ll find him at the Mitchells’ next to the schoolhouse.” The man glanced at Jubal and shook his head.
“Thanks.” Houston turned the horse’s head in that direction.
“Say, aren’t you the one who shot the boy?” the man asked.
Houston winced. “That’s right. He didn’t give me any choice.”
“He never gave anyone their druthers. Jubal’s fault sure enough.” The stranger moved down the street, muttering to himself.
“Where are you taking me?” Jubal screamed.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
When he stopped at the house, Houston dismounted and yanked Jubal from the saddle. Gripping a fistful of shirt, he marched to the door and knocked.
“Yes?” A woman said through the opening.
Houston removed his hat. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am. I was told this is where Zeb Flanagan�
��s body is laid out.”
Jubal clawed at Houston’s arm, trying to get away. “You ain’t gonna take me in there!”
“The boy’s here.” The woman stared hard at Jubal. “They brought him to me because they didn’t have anywhere else to take him.” She held the door. “Come in, Mister—”
“Legend, ma’am. Houston Legend. I won’t take up much of your time.”
“It’s no bother. I’m Mrs. Mitchell. I fed Zeb and tried to keep him out of trouble.” She wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job. He wasn’t a bad sort. Just needed direction and to be loved, something he never got from his father.” She cast Jubal a look of reproach.
“No! Let me go!” Jubal yelled as Houston propelled him into the house by the nape of the neck.
She led them into a small parlor where a half-dozen boys Zeb’s age sat stiffly. Houston nodded to each one then shoved Jubal toward the roughly hewn box.
“Get a good look, you sorry bastard.” Houston held Jubal’s face nose to nose with Zeb. “Look at your son. See what you did. You bear the responsibility for this. He wanted to make you proud of him for the first time in his life. Your need for whiskey was stronger than the love for your son. Take a good long look.” Anger made Houston tremble. “You threw him away like he was slop for the pigs.”
Jubal sobbed. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“You make me sick,” Houston spat. “You’re a pathetic, miserable excuse for a human being.” He shoved the smelly drunk from the room and spoke to Mrs. Mitchell. “I apologize for interrupting, ma’am.” He took some money from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “To help with expenses. Give Zeb a good send-off.”
“Thank you, Mr. Legend. I’m glad you forced Jubal to see him.”
“Doubt it’ll make any difference but it had to be done. The boy deserved to have his father weep over him.” Houston put his hat on.
With the lamplight catching on her chestnut strands, Mrs. Mitchell stared up at him with a piercing stare. He didn’t know if she was about to lash out at him or not. “You’re nothing like I imagined, Mr. Legend. When I saw Zeb’s body, I hated you and wanted to give you a piece of my mind. Then I heard you had to kill the boy to save Dr. Mary’s life… That changed things. How’s your sick baby?”
