by Linda Broday
Across Jim Ned Creek, he found a small wash and kept in it until he spied the old fort. Tall thistle would let him get within shouting distance before a lookout saw him.
With the land now officially owned by Henry Sackett, he wondered whether the man was in cahoots with the gang.
Regardless, his gut said Vince Foster led them.
The muscles in his jaw twitched. Nothing he could prove yet, but he meant to find out one way or another. The run-in he’d had with the man left a bad taste in his mouth.
“You have one hell of a nerve coming onto my property and accusing me of robbing stages,” Foster had yelled, his face a mottled red. “And I damn sure didn’t frame anyone.”
“A very reliable person claims otherwise.”
“Who would that be?”
“Why, so you can keep him quiet?” Luke had asked quietly.
The relay station owner had shoved him, then drew back his fist. “Get off my land.”
“Or what?”
“Consider this a final warning,” Foster had snarled.
The recollection of that day tumbled, dead weeds carried by the parched Texas wind. Luke hadn’t figured on Foster silencing the woman to keep her from talking. Old Mrs. Tucker might still be alive if not for his own carelessness. He’d underestimated the man. But he learned fast, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Luke would bet everything he owned that either Foster or one of his henchmen did in the woman. Had to. Come hell or high water, they’d pay for that and the other crimes too.
“I know you framed Jack Day, and I aim to prove it,” he muttered into the wind.
Glory would get her father back. He just prayed it wouldn’t be in a hearse. It all depended on him. A weighty burden for sure. Still, he couldn’t live with himself if he rode off for parts unknown before he tried. The tally of his losses made quite a list—his job, his reputation, the parcel of land he’d saved for, and…
He had trouble getting air into his lungs.
The biggest sacrifice of all—the woman who’d given him lessons in pride and strength.
His Glory.
Giving her up staggered him. The way he saw things, he had nothing else to lose. Truth to tell, he truly was second to Duel. A soul killer at best. Never mind the worst.
This would be the last thing he could do for her. He prayed it’d be enough.
A shot zinged past his ear.
“State your business, mister.”
Luke put on his poker face and peered into the brush. He couldn’t see anyone, although tiny movement gave away the man’s position. “A feller over by Fort Concho said you might need an extra gun hand. I came to see if the job is still open.”
“Your name?”
“Up in the Black Hills they call me Texas Kidd. Maybe you heard tell of me? Got a bounty on my hide from here to the Dakotas.”
“Cain’t say I have. What’re you wanted for?”
“Robbing, horse rustling. Held up a bank or two. And stages.”
What credentials did a hardened outlaw need anyhow before they accepted him into their midst? He hoped they’d buy it. For good measure, he adjusted the eye patch a little better. Fire and damnation, the nuisance sure hindered a man’s sight!
“Ever kill anyone?” the man asked.
Luke rested a forearm on the pommel. “Well, not counting the six or seven I planted grass over on purpose, I kinda plugged a few accidental-like.”
“Pass on through and ask for Lefty.”
The jitters quieted a tad. The first hurdle always appeared higher.
“Giddyup, you gotch-eared thing.”
A fine howdy-do for someone who was supposedly an expert horse thief to ride such a sorry animal. He hoped they wouldn’t hold it against him.
Other than jackrabbits and flies, no sign of life moved. The crumbling walls of the old fort hid their secrets well. Luke scratched his head, not relishing the dried mud that came off onto his fingers. He sure wished he could wind this up soon so he could take a bath.
Someone watched. The hair on the back of his neck twitched.
All of a sudden, the dirt floor moved. His one-eyed squint saw the muzzle of a rifle sticking out from the crack of a trapdoor.
“Move a muscle and you won’t have need for breathing.”
“The lookout told me to ride on in. Said to ask for Lefty.”
“Got a name?”
“Texas Kidd. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
“Mebbe.” A man climbed from the hole. “Thought you was dead, Kidd.”
Luke tried to work up enough spit to swallow. For God’s sake, he’d made up the title. What were the chances of a real live one? The game could end before it started if he didn’t resemble the man.
The rifle-toting desperado eyeing him wouldn’t fall for just any cock-and-bull story.
Twenty-three
Silence stretched.
Luke racked his brain before deciding a bluff remained his sole choice. “Dead? Naw. Got some folks to start the rumor. Pure necessity on account of the posse on my trail.”
The man eased toward him, keeping the barrel trained.
He hoped Desperado didn’t get nervous. That rifle would put a hole in his chest big enough to herd cattle through.
“You’ve changed, Kidd. Somethin’ different.”
Sweat trickled down his forehead. He tensed and dismounted, ready to pull and fire the Colt if the need arose.
“For a fact.” Luke added an extra helping of boldness to the swagger he adopted. “’Sides, I took some lead and pert near bought a parcel of prime land on Boot Hill.”
Would Rifle-Toter believe such a tale? He held his breath.
Even if he hooked the man, he couldn’t land him. Not unless he found a name to call him pronto. Though he could think of a few, they’d most likely get him shot.
“Don’t say.”
The gamble could pan out. Lord knows he’d never been much good at cutting the cards, but it was worth a shot anyhow.
He prayed for an ace. “Hell, Lefty, we’ve all aged. You don’t expect me to keep my boyish charm while you get uglier than a horny toad ever’ time I see you. Shoot, I didn’t even recognize you.”
A chuckle opened Luke’s squinched good eye.
“Ugly, huh? You always were too big for your britches. Your poor mama must’ve plumb tuckered herself out whooping you.”
Whew, the hunch paid off. Relief rippled through him.
Lefty almost knocked him down slapping his back so hard.
“Well, yours probably hid you under the porch when company came calling for fear you’d scare ’em half to death.”
“Good to see you, Kidd.”
He’d made it into the hideout with all his hair. Reckon the captain would be pleased. He’d wait to see if he kept it before he passed the music and dancing.
* * *
“But why do I hafta do it?”
Squirt’s whine said little sis hadn’t stepped that far from the new one who’d surprised Glory of late. Not yet. It’d take more than a day or two, she supposed.
The Sunday afternoon clouds parted and let the sun peek through. She could feel the heat through the kitchen window. They had to sneak the laudanum from their mother’s room before she did something they’d forever regret.
“Because I need your special touch with Mama if she wakes.” Glory drew Squirt closer and kissed her cheek. “You’re not a little kid anymore. From now on, Hope and I are going to treat you like a young lady. We’re depending on you.”
“Well, if Hope wasn’t out gallivanting all over the country with Alex O’Brien, she could do it.”
Glory tried to block the rhythm of the small heart beating against her. It spoke of a special kind of fright.
The way hers did since…
; This called for focus. Calming the quivers inside would take her mind off unpleasant, scary goblins. Soon nothing but ghostly images would replace what once filled her life.
“Honey, you’re the only one who can wrap Mama around your finger. I chose you for this important task. You can do it, sweetie. Remember how brave and strong you’ve become.”
“All right. But you’ll wait outside the door?”
“I won’t budge until you come out.”
They stole softly to the bedroom. Patience turned the knob and tiptoed in.
Glory listened for sounds. No voices came. Good. That meant Ruth slept. A few seconds later, Glory jumped when Patience touched her arm.
“I can’t find it,” Squirt whispered.
“Did you look on the bed table?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe the bottle fell under the bed.”
“Nope, nothing there.”
She went over all the logical places in her head. Mama had to have it in there. Somewhere.
“It must be in the bed then. The pillows?”
“Aw, don’t make me look there. She’s lying on one and her arm’s on the other. I just know she’ll wake up.”
Damn this infernal blindness!
“Guess I misspoke about you being grown-up and thinking you could handle the job. You tried but it’s too big for you. I would do it myself, only I’d fumble around and wake her.”
If this didn’t work, nothing would. They could wait for Hope. Except Dr. Dalton stressed haste.
Finally, Patience let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, okay. I’ll try again, I suppose. For you. I just hate sneaking into people’s rooms.”
Since when? Glory had to clap her hand over her mouth to hold the laughter. “That’s my girl. Check in the bedclothes too.”
The grandfather clock in the parlor ticked, counting off one of the long seconds Luke spoke about. Minutes seemed to have passed. Concentrate on other noises, she urged herself. Still nothing. Her heart pounded.
At last came the faint click of the doorknob.
“Glory, you’d better come.” Patience sniffled, her voice shaky.
The odd tone chilled Glory’s blood. “Why?”
“On account of…”
“What? Tell me.” She gripped the small shoulders.
“Something’s bad wrong.”
Oh, dear God! The wind flew from her lungs. She stumbled across the bedroom, not waiting for Patience to guide her.
“Mama?” She patted the length of the still form until she located her mother’s face. “Mama, wake up.”
Cold, lifeless skin.
She located Ruth’s mouth. It gaped open.
Dalton’s instructions should they find the opium-laced bottle empty whirled in her head—send for him immediately. Even then it might be too late.
“Patience, tell me if she’s breathing.”
No answer came. Panic swept Glory. “Answer me!”
“I—I can’t—tell.”
Dear Mother Mary! She put her face against Ruth’s lips and detected the faintest of breath.
Mama, don’t you love us enough to see how we turn out?
The sound of the pain-filled answer became as loud in her ears as the familiar gong announcing the hour. Yes, their mother would throw everything away. She’d toss Hope, Patience, and her aside as objects unworthy of a struggle.
Damn you, Ruth Day!
She blinked back hot tears. She’d not give in to them. Not today. Only in the dead of night could she allow such things.
“Patience, you’ll have to go for Dr. Dalton.”
“But—”
“No buts. Honey, you can do it. Hurry!”
The screen door slammed behind the youngest Day, leaving nothing but eerie silence in her wake. Sitting beside Ruth’s bed, Glory cradled the thin, blue-veined hand, desperate to hold on to a shred of hope. She stroked the smooth fingers that had never known a callus or blister—the pampered skin of refined beauty.
A shutter suddenly banged.
Glory jumped in alarm before she realized the wind had picked up, gusting against the windows. Blood in her veins turned to ice.
The wind always carried problems.
Inside the house, spirits of long-dead elders huddled around. They spoke in hushed whispers of that long, painful night of the soul. She suddenly grew old and haggard.
Her biggest fear, the thing she’d fought most, had come to pass.
Useless.
Dependent.
Alone.
Glory rested her head on the sheets. She’d become the very image she so despised. The strength of the wind shook the house, a beast trying to get inside. For her, it already had.
Vague hoofbeats and voices reached her. Probably something her madness conjured. She was alone.
“Patience? Glory?” Hope called. “Where are you?”
She jerked up her head. “In Mama’s room.”
“Dear heavens! Oh no.” The soft calico Hope wore brushed against her. Glory wished she could tell her she’d only dreamed the tragedy.
“We found her too late. I sent Patience for the doctor.”
“Why did I have to go with Alex today of all days? Why couldn’t I have come home with you?”
“Stop it!” Glory laid Ruth’s hand on the sheet and rose. She shook her middle sister. “Stop that right now. You are entitled to a life of your own. You deserve any happiness you can make. Nothing you did would’ve changed a thing anyway. We found Mama like this.”
“The laudanum bottle. How much…?”
“Patience looked for it.”
“It has to be here.”
A rustle of the covers grated on her nerves. She couldn’t bear to know the answer, as it would mean their mother took the easy way out because she was weak-minded.
The shutter banged loudly again.
“Here it is.” Hope paused. “Oh God!” came as a strangled sob.
Finding the truth would complete the numbness seeping over her. She had no room for warmth or love or tenderness.
That had vanished. All it did anyway was bring hurt.
“It’s empty, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Hope’s shoes made a hollow sound on the floor when she moved to the window. “They’re here—the doctor, Patience, and Uncle Pete.”
* * *
Twelve chimes of the clock announced the midnight hour, and Glory had yet to find her bed. Nor had anyone else. They all waited for God alone knew what, even Uncle Pete, who refused to leave.
“I’m scared.” Patience threw her arms around Glory’s middle. “Do you think Mama’ll die?”
“The doctor has done everything to make sure she doesn’t.”
Though whether it would be enough or not only time would tell. For all intents and purposes, Ruth was dead when help arrived. She just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.
Dr. Dalton came from the bedroom for a hundredth cup of coffee. Bloodshot eyes, rolled-up sleeves, and a wrinkled frown were what she pictured in her mind. He had proven his worth. She had no idea how they could pay for his services. It added one more person to whom they were beholden.
“Are you afraid?”
Arm in arm they turned into the parlor. Glory counted the steps to the rocking chair and pulled Patience onto her lap.
“Sure am, Punkin.” Addressing her baby sis by Luke’s nickname had slipped out. She gasped for air.
“I sure miss Mr. Luke. Wish he’d come riding up on Soldier. Don’t you?”
Oh yeah. And a whole lot more. She would never smell fresh hay or hear raindrops on the roof without remembering a love that transcended the boundaries of time and space. It was endless and unconditional. She took him without judgment. However, whatever, whoever he wished to be would thrill her.
Please let him know I’ll shrivel and die without him.
She wouldn’t ask anything else—not even to get her sight back.
* * *
Safety amongst a band of cutthroats could be measured in split-second increments.
Luke kept a sharp eye out for slithery things that favored underground dens as he walked through the unkempt group. His nerves were stretched. Staying alert and ready could mean the difference in living and bedding down with the buzzards.
“Texas Kidd, huh?” The one doing the asking picked his teeth with a long Bowie knife.
The fellow’s looks matched a garden slug’s. Though Luke felt he owed the slug an apology for the comparison.
“That’s what I said.” Luke pulled up an overturned barrel and sat down with the six or seven men who halfheartedly played cards. Their bored expressions suggested they couldn’t wait for the order to ride. “You boys sure have quite a setup here.” He let out a long whistle. “Yep, the trapdoor above hides the whole shebang. Whoever thought of it has my admiration.”
“Humph, if you say so.”
So much for hoping they’d toss in a tidbit now and again. Offering a name would make his job a tad easier. No one had bothered with introductions.
“Ever run across any snakes down here?”
“When we do, we skin and eat ’em.”
He hoped they were pulling his leg. Then he decided keeping an eye out might not hurt.
“By chance, you mind pointing me in the direction of who’s in charge so I can find out when I can get to work?”
“You’re awfully nosy, ain’t you, Tex?” Slug flicked his wrist and launched the knife. The blade stuck in the table half an inch from Luke’s hand.
“Just pays to draw a bead on how the operation’s run.”
“He’ll send word when need be.” Lefty shuffled the cards. “We sit tight and wait.”
That meant the boss man stayed at another location. Either these men plain didn’t know, or else they were awful dumb. Luke cast the Arkansas toothpick a cautious glance. Too many questions could get his teeth picked next. Might pay to become miserly in that department.
