Wildflower

by Raine Cantrell

  “Mave was my sister.”

  Jenny bit her lip. His soft tone didn’t conceal his rage. All she could do was try to make him doubt.

  “I already explained about his not having a memory. I understand your reluctance to believe it. If you did you would need to question everything you think is true and that wouldn’t make sense to you, would it?”

  “It makes no sense to me at all, Mrs. Latham,” he said without turning. “I can’t fathom your reasons for getting involved in this matter. Char-mas Kilkenny, if you will allow me to be frank with you, is nothing but a hard case who lived by his gun. His reputation was unsavory at best, even if he did try for a measure of respectability by running a ranch in Segundo. My sister denied seeing the truth. She was with him over my objections and is now dead.”

  “People do change, Major! If he was involved with—”

  “This is a waste of time,” he cut in. “Mostly mine. I can’t pretend to know what my sister thought and it’s too late to ask.” He turned then, the light from the window behind him shadowing his face. “The only reason I am telling you this much, Mrs. Latham, is in the hope I can prevent your further involvement with a man who can only hurt you. But I digress from my story, such as I know it. You do want to hear it, don’t you?” he asked with irony toned by sadness.

  Jenny nodded.

  “There’s little to tell,” he began. “Several men were staying at his ranch and Mave was desperate to see them gone.”

  “They were friends of—”

  “Charmas,” he supplied. “I don’t know. What I am sure of is they were running from the law. I have no exact details of what happened, you understand, but my sister was found raped and strangled outside the bam. The men were long gone and Kilkenny was sprawled on the floor, out cold.” His eyes fixed upon her with such hate that Jenny wished she could dissolve into the chair. “He was drunk, if you’re still curious to hear more. From my own past association with him, I believe that. He couldn’t summon the decency to sober up upon hearing that Mave was dead. Before anyone thought to stop him that day, he took off on that damn buckskin of his. And that,” he concluded with venom, “is why he will hang for her murder.”

  “You don’t really believe that, Major! You’re allowing your hate for this man to color your thinking! And what about the others?” she demanded. “They’re going free!” Jenny knew both what she said and thought was true. Charmas Kilkenny didn’t kill Mave Allison. He couldn’t have raped her either. There was too much gentleness in him. They had been alone for weeks and never once did he try to force himself on her. Besides, he had killed one of those men. He was tracking the others, of that much she was sure. But how to make the major, still glaring at her with an expression of rage, see that too?

  “I consider this interview over, Mrs. Latham.”

  His coldness by itself was a dismissal. Jenny rose, determined to try one more time. “What if I bring you proof of what I believe?”

  “Proof? What proof could you give me?” he returned with all his military arrogance coming to bear on her.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “There’s a woman who lives in Folson now, a widow, Sarah Parkins, and Sa—I mean, Charmas was sure she knew him.” She hid her disappointment when his features remained stony. “I could try talking to her and find out what she knows about him. She met with these other men, and she refused to tell Charmas who he was or what their names were, but perhaps I could convince her to talk.” She paused, frowning, thinking back to the afternoon the man called Charmas had come back to her. “Major,” she began excitedly, “he was going to track those two men she met. Don’t you see, they must be nearby? If he were lying, why would he come here? Why would he ride in openly, knowing you would be here? And he rode in openly, didn’t he?”

  “You’re rather convincing in your misplaced zeal to save his skin, Mrs. Latham, and I can only wonder why.”

  “But you can’t deny what I said is true, either!” Glaring at him, Jenny braced both hands on his gleaming wood desk and leaned close. “If I had lost my memory and found a bit of it returned by trailing two men—particularly the knowledge I was wanted for murder—I wouldn’t ride in to face the man whose sister I was accused of killing till I knew everything. That is, I wouldn’t, Major, unless I was a damn fool.” Eyes glittering, Jenny continued, “Charmas Kil­kenny may be all you said, but the man is not a fool.”

  “You’re completely wrong,” he stated calmly, meeting her gaze. “He knew exactly what he was doing in coming here. I would go so far as to say he gambled that I wouldn’t do a damn thing to him. Charmas,” he said with a smile of recollection, “is bold that way. And there have been no strangers entering the fort in over two weeks. So that, Mrs. Latham, puts a hole in your reasoning.”

  But he hadn’t reckoned on Jenny’s stubbornness. “What about Bent’s Flat? You don’t keep track of the comings and goings of men over there. He could have made a mistake and thought this was the Bent’s they referred to. Well, he could have,” she shouted, seeing the denial in his eyes.

  “And there’s one fact you can’t dispute,” Jenny stated. “When I accidentally shot him he wore a belt buckle with the initials ‘S. L.’ inside it. They’re not his, are they?”

  “I believe one of the men that was killed was named Saul Lomas. Most likely Charmas got greedy and killed him.”

  “You’re wrong!”

  “Perhaps.” He turned away from her.

  Had anything she’d said made a dent? His faintly mocking voice brought her complete attention back to him.

  “To prevent you from making the same mistake my sister did, Mrs. Latham, I will look into what you have so earnestly confided to me.”

  “May I see him?” She had never meant to ask. Why had she? Allison’s smile, making her aware of what he was thinking, infuriated Jenny. Nothing happened! she wanted to shout. He was good and kind and … and she had lost him.

  “I’m afraid I must deny your request,” he stated thoughtfully. “You’re young, Mrs. Latham, and are most foolishly involving yourself with a man who should not be allowed anywhere near decent women. For your own good,” he warned, “your visit, conducted behind my back, was also your last.”

  “You have no right to speak to me this way, Major. I do not need a man to look out for me. As for ‘involving’ myself, you’re wrong. I came here in the interest of seeing justice done. He has no one else and I request that you consider my seeing him. I would like to bring him a change of clothing. Surely you won’t deny him that?”

  “Where’s he’s going, he won’t need clean clothes and you seem very intent on forgetting that I am the commanding officer here at Bent’s Fort. My word is law. Your request is denied. This interview is at an end.”

  She spun on her heels, angry strides taking her to the door. “The matter is not ended, Major. I’ll retreat, an enemy under fire, if you will. But I assure you our business is not finished!”

  Crossing the parade ground, Jenny decided she had no choice but to return to Folsom. After concluding her business with the quartermaster, she was anxious to confide in Gran and ask her to keep Robby at the fort. But by the time she returned to the store, Gran was so busy Jenny had no time to talk to her until early evening.

  Later, Gran cut off Jenny’s expressions of gratitude for taking Robby, but she did urge Jenny to use caution. “Maybe the major has the right of it. Sounds like it was a rough bunch your Sam—I mean, Charmas—rode with.”

  “He didn’t kill Mave Allison. The rest of the story I can’t deny. He was good with his gun. Ben thought so, too.

  “Well, if you’re set on doin’ this, wait a day. I’ve a few favors owed me. Belen Tome runs the largest of saloons in the flat and might know somethin’ ‘bout these men you say Charmas was trackin’.”

  “Gran, I can’t tell you much about them. Mac Peters said one of them has yellow eyes, and dressed all in black. The other ones carries a fancy knife he tends to play wit
h while he talks. They had to be the two men Sam—I mean Charmas—followed.”

  “Ain’t you forgettin’ the belt Charmas was wearing? Stands to reason that he might’ve killed this Saul Lomas. He was riding a bay horse without a brand and those men had his. A Rocking K brand could stand for Kilkenny. So we know there was a third man. Not much else makes sense.”

  “Sense? You can still talk about making sense of any of this?” Jenny’s hands spread wide in a gesture of dismay. ‘This is a nightmare; it has been from the moment I shot him.”

  “All the more we should be pitying Charmas Kilkenny. What must all this seem like to him?”

  At the moment, Charmas Kilkenny was telling himself that the whispered voice he heard calling his name was his imagination. No one here knew him but for Jenny, Robby, and the major. But the voice, whispery like gravel being rubbed together, came again out of the darkness beyond his cell.

  “You ain’t sleeping, Charmas, I know it. Come by the window so’s we can talk.”

  This time he sat up, running his hands through his hair. He smiled. He knew what the man wanted to talk about. The window was set high in the stone wall to discourage visitors or escape, so he had to grab both bars with his hands, bracing his feet against the wall to peer out. He couldn’t see worth a damn, even with the faint quarter moon, for clouds obscured its light.

  “I’m here. Talk,” he finally whispered.

  Directly below him a man’s voice drifted upward. “Don’t you bother to say hello to a friend first?”

  “Is what you call yourself now?” Charmas strained his arm muscles to pull himself higher. His hands slid down the bars as if they were greased.

  “Old man Allison’s got you locked up tighter than a virgin’s legs. But I still aim to get you out.”

  “How the hell are you gonna help me, friend? Thinking about tying the rope for Allison?”

  A short bark of laughter floated up to Char­mas. “No way. You and me got unfinished business. I’ll get you outta there. Less’n you’d be wantin’ to wait for that federal man Allison sent for. Hear Purray Taylor saves this territory money. He don’t bother with judge or jury since he figures his gun saves the expense of the hanging man, too. But then,” he added with another bark of laughter, “you know Purray. How many times you crossed guns with him and walked away?”

  Charmas didn’t answer the man’s mocking laughter. He heard the strike of a match; the tantalizing aroma of tobacco curled lazily up and his nostrils flared, inhaling the smoke drifting into his window.

  “Them bastards take your makings, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here, friend. I’ll still share with you.”

  Charmas extended his hand out the window and took the lit cigarette.

  “Always my pleasure to help a friend.”

  “You always liked calling me that,” Charmas remarked.

  “We was that, or you forget it when you got greedy? The others were all for killing you right off.”

  “Like they did Mave? And you stopped them, right?”

  “Getting you out is what needs doin’ first. Then we’ll talk ‘bout how friendly we’re stayin’.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Jenny finished her longed-for bath that evening, she slipped into a new soft white cotton nightgown, a gift from Gran, slowly buttoned up the long row of fastenings, and stared at herself. What do you want? she asked the shadowed reflection in the mirror. Sam. I want the man I came to know and began to love, she admitted, before starting to empty the tub.

  Carrying the filled buckets through the kitchen the first time, she heard the rhythmic creak of Gran’s rocking chair in the sitting room. The wind gusted, and the trip from her room to the back door left Jenny shivering. She hurried now to be done with it.

  “Just one more,” she grimly told herself, the warm glow of the bath forgotten by the fourth trip. Setting down the buckets, she opened the door, gritted her teeth, and reached to pick up the handles only to find them taken from her hands. Bent over, her hair falling forward, she saw a pair of men’s large boots blocking her way. Straightening, she said, “I thank you for…” her voice died in a choked cry.

  She ignored the sudden drops of rain as well as the bite of the wind.

  “I saw you ride in, Jenny. I had to come.”

  Her throat closed tight. He was smiling down at her as he tried to come into the house, and somehow she had the presence of mind to block his way.

  “I need to talk to you, Jenny. I want to see Robby, too. I know he’s here with you.”

  Even in her numbed state she heard the same husky impatient ripples in his voice.

  “No.” His grin showed how weak a denial it was. “You can’t see him now,” she managed a bit more firmly. “Not now and not later. Not ever again. Go. Go away!” she demanded, shoving at him and slamming the door in his face. Heaving with every searing breath she drew, Jenny stared at the shadow he made standing there. Slowly she began to turn the lock. Not that it would stop him. The small-paned windows set above the wood of the door would be far too easy for him to break if he was of a mind to do it.

  “I’ll be back, Jenny. You can’t hide here. You can’t hide from me anywhere.”

  Stumbling away from the door, she closed her eyes as if that could shut out the sight of him. He would never leave her mind. He was right. She had nowhere to hide from him.

  “Jen, the wind’s picking up and—Jenny? Jenny?”

  From far away she heard Gran’s voice. “Jenny! Answer me,” Gran demanded, shaking her. ‘Tell me what happened! Damn you, girl. Talk. What made you look like this? Oh, Jenny.” Gran’s voice shook and she hugged the younger woman’s stiff body close, murmuring against her shoulder when despair forced the words out, “Jenny, you look like death.”

  Jenny opened her mouth and one word slithered out: “Jonas.”

  “Dear God!”

  Jonas Latham. Terrified, past rational thought, Jenny stared at the woman trying to comfort her and saw beyond her. Jonas. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here. Jonas couldn’t be anywhere. He was dead!

  She knew that. She remembered the blood. She remembered walking away and leaving him there. But it was her nightmare come again. Shocked at the hot wetness on her cheeks, she lifted her hand. She was crying.

  Gran went to the sideboard and poured out a glass of whiskey. She knew Jenny’s feelings about liquor and usually respected them, but not tonight. Coming to Jenny’s side, she ordered her to drink it.

  Jenny felt her stomach turn when she inhaled the fumes. “I can’t.”

  “Land sakes, girl, drink this down.” Her voice brooked no refusal. When Jenny gingerly tasted it, Gran sighed in exasperation. “Lord have mercy, pretend it’s cider and drink it.” Holding the glass, Gran repeatedly tilted it to Jenny’s lips, until the glass was empty. Urging Jenny into the parlor, Gran ignored her accusing look. “Feel warmer, don’t you?” She didn’t expect a reply and thought about forcing another drink on Jenny when the staccato of hard knocks reached them.

  Jenny gripped Gran’s wrist to stop her. “Don’t let him in!” she begged. “Please, don’t let him near me.”

  “Lord, Jen, do you take me for an old fool? Be a cold day down the devil’s way afore I’d let that animal near you.”

  Grabbing her loaded rifle from the rack in the kitchen, Gran could make out the bulky shape of a man through the window’s lace curtain. Cocking the hammer, she demanded identification.

  “Charmas. Charmas Kilkenny,” came the muffled answer.

  “What’s goin’ on?” she mumbled, wrenching open the door. This one belonged in the guardhouse and that other polecat was slinking around outside in the dark.

  He came in, bringing the wet coldness with him.

  “How’d you get out?”

  Closing the door, he looked down at her. “Where’s Jenny?” Then he saw the rifle in her hands. “You won’t need that for me.”

>   “I’ll be the judge of that,” she snapped.

  “Jenny?” he repeated, glancing around the room.

  “She’s inside. But she’s in a real bad way right now. I don’t know if seeing you is such a good idea. I’d best ask her first. She thinks you’re locked up. Thought so myself.”

  “I’m here,” he said, as if that explained it all.

  “I’m old, mister, not blind,” Gran warned.

  Huddled close to the fire, Jenny looked like a lost child.

  “Jen, there’s someone here to see you.” Gran gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No, honey,” she whispered, “not Jonas, but the other one. Charmas.”

  “Here? Why?” Jenny, disoriented from the unaccustomed drink, turned to see him leaning against the door frame, a smile on his lips.

  “Did they let you go?” she asked, filled with hope.

  “No.”

  “Then you busted out,” Gran surmised, noting the way he looked at Jen. “Well, set by the fire and dry off.” Charmed by his smile, she offered, “Want coffee or something a mite stronger to chase the chill?”

  “I won’t put you to no trouble. I won’t be here long. I just need to talk to Jenny.” With a shift of his body, he added, “Alone.”

  Reluctant to leave her, Gran took Jenny’s quick nod for agreement. Passing by Charmas, she wondered who helped him break out. There was no outcry, so the post wasn’t alerted yet. But what was he doing hanging around here? A man with any sense would have run. She gazed at Jenny, backlit by the fire’s glow, smiled, and closed the door.

  Charmas recalled all the other nights he had been content to just look at Jenny. Need came hungering inside him and he forced it away. Dropping down to the floor beside her, he lost his breath for a moment when she looked up at him. Cupping her cheek, wanting to touch her, he flicked his thumb lightly over the tip of her nose. Her breath fanned his palm, her gaze questioning, lashes fluttering closed when his thumb caressed her lip.