“Are we going down or passing by?” The two days since they’d buried the horse thieves left their mark on Shane. He’d been quiet during their rides, saving his questions for when they bedded down each night.
Like most children, he hadn’t figured out when Jimmy wanted to sleep, he actually wanted sleep. Still, it seemed better for the kid to talk to him and get his thoughts out. “Maybe,” he said by way of response to the initial question. “I’ll go down; you stay here in the trees.” Though the trees offered little in the way of cover. Jimmy visited once and learned east Texas was heavily wooded. But close to the river the rolling hills of landscape consisted of almost all prairie, the high grass beginning to sag with the onset of autumn.
“Why the hell do I have to stay?” Shane’s temper flared, and he scowled at Jimmy.
Sparing him a look, Jimmy said, “Because you can’t control that temper of yours. Nothing may be wrong. If it’s good, you can join me. If it’s not, you’re here where you’re safe.” He waited a moment for the boy’s argument.
“I can handle myself fine.” His white knuckles and the vein throbbing in his forehead decried his words.
“Yes, you’re also following orders, Shane. You’re here because you want to help. When we go into an unknown situation, it’s always better to have assistance they don’t know you have. So you can go with me and expose us both, or you can stay here like I told you and be ready to assist me if I need it.”
The young man’s mouth fell open, his shock doing more to break the cycle of violence cloaking him than any anger could have managed.
“Not everything is about thinking you can’t handle something, Shane, some is about trust. If I can’t trust you to watch my back, you shouldn’t be here.” Perhaps a harsh assessment, but fair. Had it been Cody with him, or Noah, they might have argued to be the one to go down to the house, but they wouldn’t have seen fault in one staying behind while the other scouted.
“I didn’t understand.”
“I know,” Jimmy said with a nod then resumed scanning the way station. The itch between his shoulder blades didn’t diminish. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later, but today I need to trust you. Can I?”
“Yes.” The hurried response carried a hint of shame. Jimmy had a couple of choices, he could comfort the boy or he could respect the man learning a lesson.
He went for the latter. “If I go inside the building, give me ten minutes. If I don’t come back out or you see me go down, you get your ass back to the ranch.”
“How does leaving you help?” Shane frowned, though to his credit, he didn’t argue. “If I go down, I’ll be dead. I won’t need help, but our family needs to know.” Meeting Shane’s gaze, he raised his brows. “They need to know where and they need to know how so they can prepare. We protect them. That’s why we’re out here.”
“So don’t die.”
Jimmy grinned. “I’ll make a Morning Star out of you yet.” Leaving the kid to chew on that thought, he tapped his heels to the horse’s flanks and headed down. Nothing leapt out at his arrival. A faint breeze stirred the air, mixing up hay, horse, and wood smoke. It smelled like a working ranch, but it still didn’t feel like one.
No one came out to greet him, nothing moved, save for the horses flicking their tails as they continued to snooze. One deigned to raise her head and look at him, but then she settled back to sleep. Loosening the ties over his pistols, Jimmy continued to study the area. Setting the horse to a hitching post, he dismounted and withdrew his rifle at the same time.
The itch between his shoulder blades grew downright painful. Dropping the reins, he considered his options, house or the barn? The house would be the most natural spot for him to check on whether they had room or supplies he could use.
The lack of movement grated on his nerves. Keeping a light grip on the gun, he headed for the open front door. A shadow shifted and a woman stepped out, pointing a scattergun straight at him. With so little distance between them, she didn’t have to be a good shot.
“Afternoon,” she said by way of greeting. Older than him by a few years, she wore a worn expression and showed a certain competence in how she held the gun in her hands. “Can I help you?”
Loosening his grip, he held his rifle so it pointed toward the sky and touched the brim of his hat with his free hand. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. This has the look of a way station.”
“It does. No stage coach due for another two days.” Good to know. Her attention didn’t waver. Her rumpled apron sported the stains from cooking. Had he interrupted her?
“Fair enough. Not looking to buy a ticket, ma’am, but wouldn’t mind a hot meal and a place to rest the horse for the day. I can pay for it.”
She frowned, but the scattergun lowered a fraction. “We aren’t an inn. We don’t house guests here.”
“Barn would be fine with me, or I’m good sleeping rough, if I can let the horse graze.” He softened his expression, aware of even the minute changes in her manner. Nothing behind her moved, but he couldn’t shake the sense they weren’t alone. Her attitude didn’t have the same level of worry he’d expect from a woman alone. Either she was as capable as she appeared or she knew she had nothing to worry about.
Lips compressed together, the way station mistress frowned. “Fine. You can use the paddock on the far side of the barn and two flakes of the hay. Not a scrap more, as we’ll need what we have for winter.”
Inclining his head, he simply said, “I’ll pay for four. How much extra for a hot meal or two?” What don’t you want me to know? He kept his manner relaxed, however, because the scattergun hadn’t wavered. Chances were, he could hit the gun before she fired it, but why take the risk when he wanted to know what she was hiding?
For a split second, her gaze shifted to the side and the house behind her. Her lips compressed, and a bead of sweat trailed from her forehead to her cheek. “Fifty cents and I’ll pack you a hot meal for when you leave as well. Tomorrow.” Her knuckles went white. “But you go on down to the barn now, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed there.”
So, whatever she hid—or feared—was inside the house. Jimmy touched a hand to the brim of his hat. “If you like, I can haul water for the horses and spread hay while I’m there. Least I can do.”
Surprise skittered across her expression. “That would be fine. My husband will be down directly, if you have any questions.”
Passing a glance over the house, Jimmy nodded. “Would you like me to pay you the coin now, ma’am, or would you rather I give it to the mister?”
Another flicker of uncertainty, but the gun lowered another fraction. “Mister Turren can collect it.” She withdrew a step. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ve work of my own to tend.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Jimmy didn’t turn his back on the house, or the woman with the scattergun. Once at his horse, he took a moment to check the fittings and girth. Though he canted his head toward the horse, he kept his attention on the house. Mrs. Turren retreated inside, closing the door, but not before Jimmy saw the shadow of movement behind her.
Frowning, he waited another minute. No curtains displaced and the door remained firmly shut. Was Mrs. Turren truly unfriendly to strangers or was she in some kind of danger? Without a definitive answer, he couldn’t make a decision on interfering or putting miles between them and the waystation.
“First things,” he told his horse. The animals needed a break, and he’d offered to tend her nags at the barn. Taking the horse’s bridle, he angled away from the house, keeping the animal between him and a clear shot. Most people wouldn’t shoot a horse to get to their target. Those who would, well, they needed a quick clean kill anyway. Out of sight of the house, he stripped the tack and glanced toward where he’d left Shane.
The boy tucked into the scrub well enough it took Jimmy a moment to locate him. Nodding to him, he finished settling the horse then used a currycomb to brush the animal out. When he turned her loose, she dropped into the dust and started rolling
almost immediately. By the time she lurched to her feet, she was filthy and quite pleased with herself. She trotted off to check out the other horses on the other side of the fence.
At sundown, he’d have Shane work his way to the barn. He’d negotiated for two people, so in a way, he’d let Mrs. Turren know two would be present. Still, he wanted to give them some time to slip past whomever she kept hidden in the house.
Maybe it’s a runaway slave… The thought worked for him, but it wouldn’t have been his first choice. Everything about the way station set up was solid. The barn was in good shape, the food bins well-stocked and the hay easy to access. Clearly a well-established, working set up, and no one developed an operation by being unfriendly.
They didn’t do it by being stupid, either. He stowed his gear where he found some tack cleaning supplies and kept his rifle handy as he fed the horses. Awareness of his surroundings kept the itch up between his shoulder blades.
A door slammed at the house. He hurried to the barn entrance and peeked between the slats. Mrs. Turren marched toward the barn with a couple baskets in hand—and no rifle to be seen. Making a decision, he headed back to his tack, stowed his rifle, and went to work on cleaning the leather.
When her long shadow stretched up the entryway to the barn, he glanced toward her, stood, and removed his hat. “Ma’am.”
“I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I’m not sure what came over me.” Her swift smile took the sting out of the lie. The way her pupils dilated and her gaze shifted to the right betrayed her mistruth.
He could call her on it, but to what purpose? Or he could let it go. He chose the latter. “No apology needed, ma’am, I showed up uninvited. My companion, he’ll be joining me come sundown. I’ll keep an eye out and see he doesn’t bother you any. We’ll sleep up in the hayloft.”
Pursing her lips, she held out the pails with their food. He could already smell the biscuits. It had been plenty of time since his last hot meal, so his stomach twisted in eagerness. “It gets cold at night. I’ll put some blankets out on the porch. Just leave them folded in the morning, and we’ll clean it up after.”
He heard her unspoken words. Be gone by sunrise. Jimmy inclined his head then set the pails aside. “Ma’am, if I’m being forward, you feel free to pay me no never mind. But is everything all right?”
The trickle of sweat on her brow increased and her pupils flexed, tightening then swelling once more. “It’s all fine. You should be feeling fine.” Worry decorated her voice, and she twisted her hands. “I need to finish preparing the mister’s supper. I’ll tell him you’re here. Don’t you forget about the blankets, you hear?”
She all but fled and Jimmy frowned. Nothing in her manner or her attitude confirmed it’s all fine. Scratching at his jaw, he glanced up to Shane’s hiding spot. With deliberate slowness, Jimmy shook his head. Whatever was going on, he wanted Shane to stay put.
Hoping the young man would understand, he went about finishing the chores as he’d promised Mrs. Turren while keeping an eye on the house. Over the next couple of hours, he kept himself busy cleaning and repairing tack then he straightened the barn. The unnerving silence at the house kept him on edge. A working farm and way station, yet where was the Mister? Why was Mrs. Turren so upset?
The food smelled good, but Jimmy didn’t dare try it without something more to go on than the kindness of a woman who clearly didn’t want him around. When he ran out of tasks, he retrieved the promised blankets and settled into the loft with one of the pails. He made a nest with his rifle at hand then watched the house through the slats. Every instinct said to keep watch, to wait, and to listen.
He trusted those feelings, honed from years of training with his brothers and with Scarlett. Wyatt might’ve been a damn tough teacher, but Jimmy and his siblings learned to become grateful for the lessons. If your gut says something is wrong, trust it. So he waited. The sun began a speedy descent by late afternoon. Autumn days were shorter, and the temperatures fell with the setting sun.
Something needed to give. He didn’t want Shane stuck cold camping if he could help it. A movement below caught his eye and Jimmy shifted. The little devil abandoned his horse and walked in, using the lengthening shadows as cover. By the time Shane made the top rung of the ladder, Jimmy shook his head.
“Hey,” the younger man said by way of greeting. Jimmy nodded to him. “I found some shelters out there for horses in their paddocks. I stripped my girl and let her out with them. She’s got good food and is settled for the night. No one will notice an extra horse in the dark.”
It wasn’t a bad plan. “Get tired of waiting?”
“Very.” The truth. Good boy. “Did you save me some food?”
“We’re not eating any of her food. There’s some hard tack in my bag.” Jimmy advised, keeping his attention on the yard and the house. Despite the darkness, no light gleamed from within. The moon wouldn’t rise for another couple of hours.
“I thought the reason we stopped—”
A flutter of movement caught his eye. Jimmy held up his hand and kept it in a fist. Shane went silent. The landscape went quiet before a shadow detached from the house and strode toward a field. The figure moved with singular purpose. A flash of silver on a leg revealed a weapon, but a large coat and hat hid the person’s identity from view.
“Stay here,” he ordered Shane. He didn’t have time to explain. He dropped out of the loft and jogged to the door. Easing between the parted entryway, he studied the darkened direction where the figure disappeared.
Using the shadows to his advantage, Jimmy followed when a shuffle of movement to his right pulled his attention.
“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Turren stood in her yard, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. How the hell had she seen him much less realized who he was? “You shouldn’t be running around in the dark. Go back to the barn. It’s safer there.”
Why was he running around in the dark? It was damn late.
“Go on back to the barn. Get some rest. The food is safe.”
A gun being cocked cracked through the silence. “I don’t know what you’re doing to him, lady, but you need to stop.” Shane appeared behind the woman and pressed a gun to the back of her head.
What the hell? Jimmy frowned.
“Believe me,” she whispered. “It’s better for both of you to calm down.” Her voice strained at the end of the last syllable, and she turned toward Shane. “You’re so angry, but I promise you, I’m protecting you both. Quinn decided you were fine to leave alone, but if you follow…Quinn will kill you. You have to stay here.”
Quinn? The name meant something to Jimmy, but exhaustion weighing on him made thinking increasingly difficult. He’d come out here for a reason. “Shane, why are you pointing a gun at her?”
“My thoughts exactly.” A strange man’s voice entered the fray and he stepped out onto the porch, backlit by a lantern from the house, also armed. “Abigail, come away from them.”
“All of you need to calm down,” Mrs. Turren repeated. “We’re all going to get some rest and talk about it over breakfast in the morning.”
Shane wavered on his feet then shook his head like a dog trying to shake off water. “What are you doing to me?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said then her husband struck.
Bad idea. Jimmy raised a hand. “Don’t hit him.” Too late. The stock of the rifle hit Shane in the back of the head and his eyes flared. He whirled and seized the gun. The barrel snapped in half.
Jogging forward, Jimmy got between the husband and Shane. “Hold it in,” he told the boy. As tired as he was, as much as he wanted back in the barn, he had to defuse the situation.
“What are you doing?” Shane scowled. “Don’t you get it? She’s messing with us. It’s not like Delilah, it’s more like…”
“Please.” Mrs. Turren placed a hand on his arm and peace swamped him. Shane wavered. Mrs. Turren held the younger man’s arm as well. “Both of you, I promise, you’re safe.” Another fresh hit of
serenity followed by the urge to trust her flooded him.
Empath.
Jimmy wanted to curse, then forgot why. “We should turn in for the night and let you both sleep.” He patted Shane’s shoulder and the younger man swayed, a pained look on his face.
“Are we really going to do what she says?”
Why shouldn’t they?
Wait. He’d been going after someone…
“You’re an Empath.” Jimmy swung his attention onto Mrs. Turren and she withdrew. Her husband put her behind him. “You’re Fevered.” He closed a hand around his gun. Whatever she was, she wasn’t as strong as Kid or he’d already be back at the barn. Or maybe Shane’s presence challenged her, since his thick skull proved hard on Kid and Jason both. Too much turbulent emotion and his abilities too tied into them for mental gifts to take easy control of Shane, it seemed.
“Please,” Mrs. Turren said. “We truly mean you no harm, but I can’t let you follow Quinn.”
“Why do I know the name?” Had they taken the memory from him as well?
“I don’t know. Truly, I don’t.”
“You two should just leave my wife alone.” Even without his weapon, her husband refused to budge from between them. Good man. “Now. We did you a kindness. We expect the same in return.”
Not Fevered. Or at least he hadn’t displayed any obvious signs of an offensive gift. “Give me one good reason to trust you, considering what you just attempted.”
The husband scowled, but Mrs. Turren shook her head. “Come inside. I have some chicory brewed and fresher food, since I expect you didn’t eat anything because you were too suspicious.”
He recognized she employed a delaying tactic, conceding ground to get him in the house. He glanced to where the figure had disappeared. The mysterious Quinn. “Swear on your husband’s life this Quinn is gone and this isn’t a trap.”
“Maybe we should make you swear the same thing.” Mr. Turren didn’t like him. Fair enough.
A standoff and the minutes ticking by allowed Quinn to get away. What if Quinn was the doppelganger? He flexed his hand, but the darkness showed no sign of movement, so wherever the figure retreated, they’d already made it beyond even his extraordinary sight.
The Quick and the Fevered Page 3
