Devils on Horseback: Zeke, Book 3

by Beth Williamson

  The fourth time someone knocked, Naomi snapped. “What? Can’t you two just leave me alone?”

  When Lucy poked her head in the door, Naomi stopped packing and simply stared at the older woman. “Can I come in?”

  Naomi wanted to scream at her, but knew it wouldn’t solve anything. “It’s your saloon.” She turned away, keeping her temper reined in.

  Lucy stepped in and closed the door, leaning on it with her head down. “I’m sorry.”

  Naomi frowned, unsure of what she’d heard. “What did you say?”

  Lucy raised her face and tears steamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I did. Zeke’s a good man and I wanted him for my own.” She pushed away from the door and swiped at the tears. “I wanted him from the second I saw him, but all this time he ain’t never looked at me like he looked at you. He loves you.”

  She wanted to believe Lucy, she did, but Zeke had chosen whiskey over her, and that left Naomi alone again. This time with a broken heart and the knowledge of what it felt like to be loved and cherished by someone.

  “He didn’t love me enough.” Naomi shoved the yellow dress into her tattered traveling bag. She wanted to tear it to pieces, but the dress was still the only link to her former life. It had been her favorite Sunday dress, the reminder of who she used to be and what she used to have.

  “I just wanted to tell you that and ask you to stay.” Lucy swallowed so hard Naomi heard it.

  “You want me to stay?”

  Lucy looked her in the eye, the tough saloon owner replaced by a regular person. “I know it’s hard out there, Naomi, and you’re a good person, better than me, that’s for sure. Folks like you and, well, I can’t let you leave because of what I did.”

  The rug had been pulled from beneath Naomi’s feet in the last day, but this gave her a tiny glimmer of hope. She wasn’t sure if she believed Lucy or not, but she wasn’t going to throw away her chance to keep a roof over her head.

  “What do you say?” Lucy held out her hand.

  Naomi stared at the calloused palm of the woman who had given her a job when no one else would. There really wasn’t a question in her mind what her answer would be.

  “Yes, of course.” They shook hands and Naomi let out the breath she’d been holding. Life, it seemed, would continue in Tanger with or without Zeke by her side.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sun scratched at Zeke’s closed lids, disturbing his deep slumber. He rolled over, noting sharp pains in his shoulder and side. The stale taste of cheap whiskey coated his tongue, yet the jolt of its flavor made one eye pop open.

  A small lizard sat a foot from his face, watching him with beady eyes, startling him. His other eye refused to open and his head was fuzzy from the booze. The ground beneath him was dusty, rocky and unfamiliar.

  He blew dust at the lizard, but it merely blinked.

  “You know whiskey will kill you.”

  Nate’s voice, in the middle of God knew where, scared him so badly, he scrambled backwards. The rocks cut at his bare skin and he realized somewhere along the way he’d shed his shirt and boots.

  Zeke forced himself into a sitting position with a mighty groan, making his head spin. He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear away the drunken haze. It didn’t work because Nate was still sitting on a rock, plain as day. He wore a pressed dark brown suit, cream-colored shirt and the shiniest boots Zeke had seen in years. His hair was perfectly groomed and his eyes had no shadows in them.

  The fifth Devil had appeared from thin air in the middle of Zeke’s binge. Nate was living in Grayton, half a day’s ride from Tanger. Either more time had passed than Zeke was aware of, or he was drunker than he thought.

  “Nate?”

  Nate smiled, that grin that made women swoon. “Hey, Ezekiel.”

  Zeke closed his eyes and counted to five, but when he opened them, Nate was still there. He looked as perfect and whole as he did before the war. Perhaps it was the way Zeke remembered Nate in his mind.

  “Are you really here?” Zeke tried to ignore the urge to find the whiskey bottle he had apparently dropped somewhere.

  “Do I look real?” Nate raised one brow.

  Zeke shook his head, which proved to be a mistake when his stomach flipped upside down at the movement. “No, you look, well, you look like a dream.”

  “I’m flattered you think I’m a dream. Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” He rose and began walking back and forth slowly. Amazingly enough, dust coated his boots with each step. Maybe he was really there and not Zeke’s drunken imagining.

  “I figure I might be dead or maybe I just drank myself into making up stuff in my head that ain’t real.” Zeke clutched his stomach, surprised to see blood seeping from numerous scrapes on his chest.

  “You’re not dead, but you’re drunk. Again.” Nate shook his head. “I am hard pressed to believe you were that stupid, Zeke. You’re the smartest among us.”

  Zeke didn’t like the reminder of his own failings. “Well if you’re here to tell me what an ass I am, don’t bother.” He glanced around, needing to find that damn bottle.

  When Nate appeared beside him, Zeke let out a yelp of surprise. “What the hell are you doing, trying to take a year off my life?”

  Nate’s brown gaze was intense. “You will die out here, alone and drunk. If you don’t break your neck, the animals will finish you off. You’re throwing your life away, Zeke Blackwood.”

  Zeke opened his mouth but nothing came out. The image of Nate was right. He’d gone out there to escape, and maybe to die. The charred remains of his heart cried out at the thought. What was he doing? Naomi had been more than right, she’d been justified.

  “What should I do?” Zeke reached out for Nate, but he was back on the rock.

  “Go home.”

  “I can’t go back to Georgia.” Zeke screamed inside and out. “It’s gone, everything’s fucking gone. How do you expect me to go back?” The image of Briar Creek, of the devastation left of their hometown, tasted like ashes.

  “I don’t mean Georgia, Zeke.” Nate smiled gently. “Tanger is your home now. You and the others have found a place to belong. Now you just have to forgive yourself and begin living again.”

  Zeke lurched to his feet, sick of the imaginary Nate. He was going to find that goddamn bottle, come hell or high water. “You need to find your way back to Grayton and leave me the hell alone.”

  This time, Nate laughed. Laughed! “I am in Grayton. This me only exists in your head and your heart.”

  Sweat rolled down Zeke’s face as he stumbled forward, ignoring the annoying Nate. The scrubby brush told him he’d gone quite a ways from Tanger, to where the green hills disappeared. The dry, dusty ground appeared to be his own personal hell and Nate the devil in the disguise of a Southern gentleman.

  “Allison’s death was not your fault,” Nate said from the right.

  Zeke turned and lunged at his friend, but ended up slamming his shoulder into a rock and almost knocking himself unconscious. He slid to the ground, a primal sob exploding from his throat.

  “What Veronica did to you was not your fault. The war was not your fault.” Nate wasn’t giving up until he turned Zeke inside out. “You’re a good man, a good person, and you must forgive yourself.”

  Agony roared through Zeke as every wound he tried to drown was ripped open anew. Once the tears began, he couldn’t stop them until he simply had no more left within. His face was hot and gritty, as the salty wetness mixed with the elements of the rawest human emotion.

  As the sun set, a solitary figure huddled between two rocks, shirtless and shoeless, hugging his knees while rocking back and forth. Zeke Blackwood had finally hit bottom.

  * * * * *

  Zeke had been gone a full week when all hell broke loose in Tanger. It was as if the fates were waiting to unleash themselves and cause mele
e amongst the townsfolk. Three fights at the saloon in one evening ended with Matthew Marchison’s beaten body being discovered by the outhouse behind Aphrodite’s. They brought him in the saloon and Naomi helped try to stop the bleeding. The man was nearly unrecognizable as the kind, bespectacled older man she knew.

  After he was rushed to Doctor Barham’s house, Naomi got on her hands and knees to clean up the blood left behind on the floor. The sobering reality of Matthew’s condition had finally stopped the fights, but the saloon was a wreck. She dipped the rag in the bucket beside her and continued cleaning the floor. The water had already started to turn a murky red color.

  Lucy brought in two fresh buckets of water. “Lord have mercy, you’d think they would get tired of beating the shit out of each other.”

  Naomi harrumphed. “Men will never tire of using their fists.”

  She wished Zeke had said goodbye or even explained why he left. Instead she was left with unanswered questions and a saloon full of rowdy cowboys who delighted in making enormous messes.

  “I’m going to go check on Matthew at the doc’s house. He didn’t deserve nothing like that.” Lucy stood and surveyed the room, giving Naomi a chance to watch her boss.

  In the last seven days, Lucy’s hard edges had softened and she was a much less caustic person. Even the mention of Zeke didn’t upset her anymore. Naomi was surprised to see genuine concern in Lucy’s expression when she spoke of Matthew. Perhaps the dragon lady of Aphrodite’s was human after all. They’d come to a peace of sorts between them, a mutual respect for which Naomi was grateful.

  She needed as many friends as she could get and fortunately Lucy was becoming one of them. Louisa and Carmen were in the back picking up the broken glasses and cards that littered the floor. Each of them had volunteered to do that rather than clean up blood. For Naomi, it didn’t matter one way or the other.

  “I’ll be back in a while, girls. Joe is in the kitchen and if any of those fools stop by again, send ’em packing. If they don’t listen, shoot ’em.” With that the older woman left the saloon, shawl in hand.

  “Naomi?”

  She looked up to see Gregory Conley peeking through the door. The young man had done his best to do some true-blue courting. Truth was, it flattered Naomi to be treated like a genteel lady. Over the last week she realized he was as gentle and innocent as he appeared. His most recent sermon had been about apologies and jumping to conclusions about folks.

  He knew she didn’t love him, maybe never would, but it didn’t stop him. The minister was apparently determined she would be his bride and he didn’t give up easily.

  “Come on in. We’re just cleaning up in here.”

  He stepped in and his eyes widened when he caught sight of the chaos. It was as if a twister had run through the building and left behind nothing but destruction and broken beer mugs. This time Joe had protected the liquor bottles so at least the damage wasn’t as great. Too bad they didn’t have a sheriff to make the cowboys pay for what they’d done.

  “What happened?”

  “A saloon fight.” She wanted to roll her eyes sometimes at his naiveté. “It happens in saloons.”

  “I know that but this…it’s beyond my imaginings.” He glanced down at the floor beneath her. “Is that blood?”

  “Yes, Gregory, it’s blood. Someone nearly beat Matthew Marchison to death.” She had forgotten the two men had formed a bond weeks earlier when Gregory had first arrived in Tanger. His face blanched at her pronouncement. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so callous. He’s over at the doctor’s now getting fixed up. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

  She was lying, of course. Mr. Marchison was barely breathing when he left and even that sounded like a death rattle. He’d be lucky to survive the night, much less recover completely. However, in her odd relationship with Gregory, he needed to have things tempered, whereas she usually laid everything on the line in black and white.

  “I must go see him.” Gregory turned to leave, then swung back around and dropped to his knees. He cupped her chin and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Even on your hands and knees, you’re stunningly beautiful. Don’t forget to marry me, angel.”

  Then he was gone, through the doors as if he had wings on his shoes. Naomi sat on her knees wondering how it was she engendered such devotion in one man and such complete disregard in another. God must be punishing her for all her sins, either that or she just had the worst luck in the world.

  “How did you get two men, chica, and I have none?” Carmen leaned against the broom and scowled at her.

  “Yeah, she sure does have them falling all over her, don’t she?” Louisa hauled a crate full of broken glass to the bar. “I wish I had her hair. Mine won’t stay put for anything.”

  “I don’t want her hair, but aye, I wouldn’t mind a piece of either one of those men in her pocket. A blond devil and a brown-haired angel.” Carmen waggled her eyebrows. “Or perhaps both at the same time.”

  Naomi couldn’t help it—she blushed at the thought. There was no way Zeke and Gregory would be together with her, and the very idea made her wiggle.

  “Don’t tease her, Carmen. She’s still pretty innocent.” Louisa got to the kitchen door with the crate.

  Carmen eyed Naomi on the floor. “Oh, she’s no innocent, but she doesn’t have the experience to go with it.”

  The Mexican woman was too smart for her own good. Naomi did have quite an education, just not the carnal side of it, or at least not all of it.

  “I don’t think we have a chance of seeing Zeke again.” Naomi swallowed the pain at the thought.

  “Si, pero the minister is here to stay, I think.” She nodded at the door. “He is very much in love with you.”

  Naomi agreed with Carmen, but didn’t want to voice it aloud. There was no chance she’d ever love Gregory in return, but she didn’t want to break his heart either. He wasn’t going to give up, so she either had to decide to settle for a man who loved her or wait forever for the man she loved.

  * * * * *

  Regret was a bitter taste on Zeke’s tongue, yet he swallowed it anyway. After a hellish night shivering in his own misery, he found himself clear-headed. A fruitless search yielded no sign of his horse or the rest of his clothes, but he did find his boots. Zeke knew what he needed to do, he’d just have to do it bare-chested. The image of Nate stuck in Zeke’s head, hounding him as he walked back to Tanger.

  The walk took two days, which gave him too much time to think. Or perhaps it was what the imaginary Nate wanted. Zeke’s mind kept returning to his biggest regrets.

  The job had been a godsend and he’d thrown it away. He’d walked off when challenged, ran like a dog with his tail between his legs. Zeke came to realize his actions had not only been embarrassing but downright stupid.

  Then there was Naomi. She loved him, he knew that, yet he treated her badly. Not only that, he’d disappointed her and likely broken her heart. It would take some serious groveling and the devil’s own luck to win her back.

  When he reached the outskirts of Tanger, he glanced down and almost groaned at his appearance. He couldn’t see his face, but it was probably as bad as the rest of him. Dirty, bloody, scraped and pitiful.

  No doubt the gossips in town were having a grand old time talking about him and his utter stupidity. Hopefully his return wouldn’t cause even more talk, but that was wishful thinking. Naomi had been right—God had given him a second chance and he’d let his fear get in the way. Tanger wasn’t perfect, but over the last year the townsfolk had embraced the boys from Briar Creek. Zeke had been dumb enough to push away from that embrace.

  Already Hettie Cranston had spotted him as he walked past the hotel. It seemed she’d gotten close to that ass Byron Ackerman and was firmly seated at the registration desk while he ran the hotel. Her mouth dropped open in a big O when she saw him and he saluted and kept w
alking.

  He wanted to stop at Aphrodite’s to see Naomi, but knew his first priority was to get cleaned up, and to apologize to his friends. He headed straight for Elmer’s. The breakfast crowd had gone and it was too early for dinner, so Zeke knew the restaurant would basically be empty.

  However he didn’t expect a cloud of smoke from the kitchen. His veins turned to ice as he ran into the building, slamming into the kitchen. Lee and Gideon were by the back door waving the smoke out when he burst in.

  “What’s on fire?” he shouted, looking around for the source of the smoke.

  “Lee’s cooking.”

  “Shut up. I’d like to see you make biscuits.”

  Zeke held up both hands. “You mean Lee was baking and nearly caught the place on fire?”

  “That’s about it.” Gideon pushed away from the doorframe and looked at Zeke. His eyes widened as his gaze wandered up and down the wreck Zeke had become. “I won’t ask what happened to you, but I will admit I was worried about you.” Zeke was grateful to have such staunch friends. “You look terrible.”

  “Where have you been? And what the hell happened to you?” Lee frowned at him, still waving the smoke from in front of his face.

  “In the middle of nowhere, thinking. I owe you all an apology, a big one.”

  Gideon turned to him, seriousness in his gaze. “You don’t need to apologize to us. Water under the bridge, cousin. Do you want to talk about why you left?”

  Zeke swallowed the lump in his throat at the easy acceptance of his apology. “I need a shave and a bath first. Let’s get that done then we can sit and jaw.”

  “And none too soon either.” Lee wrinkled his nose. “You stink, brother.”

  “Maybe you can boil some water without burning it so I can take a bath.” Zeke ducked when a blackened biscuit came flying at him. “Or maybe Margaret should help you.”

  By the time the tub had been filled the smoke had dissipated from the kitchen and Zeke was able to finally clean himself. Once the dirt and grime were rinsed away, he felt human again. He felt home again.