Prairie Song

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Norah Talmidge’s hands fisted at her sides. Even from where Kate stood, behind the other woman and across the tent from her, she could tell her former employer burned with strong emotion. A helpless rage, maybe? Kate could only hope so. She wanted to say “How does it feel?” but wisely chose continued silence. Because she also realized that Mrs. Talmidge was powerless to stop these men, and therefore she was powerless to stop Kate. She’d been right to speak out to them, she assured herself.

  A desperate hope coursed through her, telling her that she—unlike the pampered and coddled Norah Heston Talmidge—understood these everyday men. They were different, much more independent, more ruthless, much less pliable than the ruffians back East who lived daily within the dangerous reach of the Talmidge power. These men, by contrast, already had their one-time money and owed no one their allegiance. Too, they’d already been dismissed. They were now free to act on their own. Which they proceeded to do.

  As one, with the wealthy woman effectively held in place unless she wished to directly challenge them, they turned to Kate. The black-vested man encouraged her to speak. “Go on, missy. Say your piece.”

  Kate didn’t waste time hesitating. “It’s true. You won’t get far if you leave. Because she’ll send someone after you to kill you. Just like she sent you after me.”

  The unshaven man shifted his rifle in his hands and chuckled. “But you ain’t dead, missy. I don’t expect we will be, neither.”

  “That’s right. I’m not,” Kate plunged on desperately. “But you will be. Because in taking her money and spiriting me away like you did, you just signed your own death warrants. And for more than one reason.”

  The men’s expressions showed their sudden unease. “Go on,” the black-vested one said.

  “She’s lying. She’s trying to confuse you.” Norah Talmidge took a step or two toward the men, drawing their attention her way—and blocking Kate from their view. “You’re too smart for that, I’m sure. Such fine men like you—”

  “Shut up, lady,” the same man said. “You ain’t been nothing but sass and disrespect since we hired on with you.” Despite the richly dressed woman’s shaking hand she lifted to her velvet-covered bosom, the man looked around her to again focus on Kate. “I said for you to go on. Give me those reasons why we’re as good as dead.”

  Triumph flitted through Kate. “For one, you now know about me. Which means she can’t allow you to live. She and her husband have too much at stake, through me, to take a chance on you talking.”

  “Talking about what?” The man nervously resettled his brown hat atop his head.

  Kate licked at her lips. She was getting to them. She had no idea where her courage and the clear-headed thinking were coming from, but she prayed for it to sustain her just a few more minutes. Because, for all she knew, Cole was already on his way. It wouldn’t be hard for him to put two and two together and to come charging up here. So all she had to do was stall until he came in, his guns blazing.

  “She doesn’t want you talking about my baby,” Kate answered the man. “And she can’t take the chance that you, might.”

  “Lady, why in the blue blazes would we? What’s so special about your baby?”

  Good. The men were curious. Now she had them. “Because she and Mr. Talmidge intend to say it’s theirs. And thereby they can claim his inheritance, instead of it going to his brother and his three sons. Before, only they and I knew about this. And they intend to kill me as soon as my baby is born. But now, you two know about it, too, because I just told you. Which makes both of you a danger to their plan.”

  The men’s eyes narrowed. They focused on Norah Heston Talmidge, who’d stood quietly by … although not calmly. No, she actually simmered with rage. Hatred for Kate, so intense she could feel it, seemed to radiate from her very pores.

  “Any of that true, Mrs. Talmidge?” the black-vested man wanted to know. “You intend to have us followed and killed?”

  Norah Talmidge raised her chin and glared at the men. “I’m not accustomed to being questioned. Especially not by the likes of you.”

  As the men’s eyes glittered with insult, Kate seized the moment. “It’s true. All of it. Why else would she have had you bring me here? What do you think she wants with me? She told you I stole from her, didn’t she?”

  The men exchanged glances; some silent message passed between them. Kate’s pulse leaped. Was it good news or bad? The black-vested man spoke up, his gaze traveling between Kate and Norah Talmidge. “We’re washing our hands of the whole situation. You two women obviously got business to carry out. And we don’t want no part of it. We been paid, like the lady said. So we’re moving on.”

  “No,” Kate whimpered, defeat a cold lump of dread in her belly.

  Just as they’d ignored Mrs. Talmidge’s earlier emotion, they now ignored Kate’s. Grim-faced and deadly serious, they turned as one and focused on the rich woman facing them. “Should someone follow us, ma’am,” the man in the black hat said, “we’ll come back. And we’ll be looking for you when we do.”

  Before Norah Talmidge could respond, Kate, feeling the opportunity slipping away, again stopped the men’s retreat. “Someone will come after you, all right. But it might not be anyone she sends. It’ll be a lot worse. Because it could be my husband. And he won’t be interested in talking.”

  Norah Talmidge pivoted sharply to face Kate. Her cheeks brightened with her temper. “You liar. You don’t have a husband.”

  Kate almost smiled … and would have if her cheek hadn’t hurt so bad. “But I do. I’m married now.”

  “Hold on, you two,” the brown-hatted outlaw said, cutting in and drawing Kate’s gaze—as well as Mrs. Talmidge’s—his way. “I agree with my partner. We ain’t got nothing more to do here with what’s between you two. First you”—he pointed to Norah Talmidge—“insult us, and now you”—he pointed to Kate—“threaten us. This don’t seem—”

  “I didn’t threaten you at all,” Kate called out, interrupting the man. “I just told you the truth. Mark my words, my husband will come looking for you.”

  The man pushed his hat up on his head and looked more peeved than alarmed. “And just who is this husband of yours, that we should be afraid of him, sweetheart?”

  Kate looked squarely in the man’s eyes and said, “Cole Youngblood.”

  Never had two simple words ever given Kate more satisfaction. Norah Talmidge reeled back a step, her mouth agape, her complexion paling. “You’re lying,” she hissed.

  Kate calmly shook her head. “No. I’m not. And I believe that all too soon, when he comes barreling in here with blood in his eye and his gun blazing, you’ll find out just how truthful I’m being.”

  Kate then looked toward the two hired gunmen. For their part, they couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to muster a word between them. Although their skin did appear to be bleaching out right before Kate’s eyes. No doubt with fear.

  Kate couldn’t help the smirk that played at the corners of her mouth. Never had she loved Cole more for being who and what he was than she did at this moment. She felt a moment’s triumph—before she acknowledged to herself that she loved Cole Youngblood. Really and truly loved him. And knew he’d come after her. Because, as he’d said earlier today, he loved her. The realization rocked Kate, had her breathing shallowly.

  Just then, the tent’s flap abruptly parted. Kate jumped. Norah Heston Talmidge shrieked. And the two gunmen stiffened, their eyes wide, their rifles held tight enough to whiten their knuckles.

  In stepped Edgar Talmidge.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cole held his roan to a sedate pace. It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, he decided, as his fist tensed around the reins he held. Everything inside him wanted to raise hell and half the dust of Oklahoma as he tore through this tent city erected by the attendants to the rich. A murderous anger ate at him, one sharpened all the more for being intensely personal. Inside one of these tents was his wife. He meant to have her ba
ck, and he didn’t care who he had to kill to accomplish that. Having nothing left to lose, Cole knew, made him a very dangerous man right now.

  He wasn’t oblivious to the stares coming his way. Even if these pillars of society did not know who he was, he looked out of place up here. His clothes weren’t fine enough. His horse and his tack weren’t sleek enough, not even for their servants. Besides that, there was his whole way of carrying himself, of slouching in his saddle. As if he didn’t give a damn—because he didn’t. As if he weren’t impressed with or intimidated by them. Because he wasn’t.

  Therefore, he stood out. And that was how he wanted it, boldly riding right down the middle of the high-society tent city’s main corridor. He figured his sober presence among them would cause a ripple that would spread rapidly throughout the camp. That was good. Because they needed to know he was coming. They needed to worry. They needed to have a care for themselves.

  And … they knew who they were.

  As he rode past, in the bright sunshine, not asking questions, directions, or permission, Cole had his Stetson pulled down low on his brow. He had no qualms about returning the open stares of those made of stern enough stuff to look him in the eye. Some were only curious, open and friendly-looking, stopping what they were doing and nodding his way as he passed. Some only spared him a glance before dismissing him and going back to their meals. A few women, though, stared openly, lingeringly. And still others, a few of the men, focused sharply on him, their expressions hardening.

  As he rode on, his body rocking along with the roan’s smooth gait, Cole found himself wondering just how many of these same men’s names he would recognize, if he heard them. He wondered how many of them had hired him in the past, and would maybe do so again in the future, to do their dirty work. That was one thing that continued to surprise Cole—the amount of work that would come his way from men like these. Not all of them. Most of them were good men who loved their families and who lived their lives respecting the law and giving back to their country by helping others less fortunate.

  Cole pronounced himself at least intelligent enough to know that much. Rather, in his experience, it seemed that a few men of this caliber—ones who, like Edgar Talmidge, repeatedly called upon him—held a heap of grudges and made a lot of enemies, most of them intent on escaping out West—only to run right smack into the business end of Cole’s gun. Or the gun of any other hired killer who might be available. It always seemed there was one around. A gun looking for a contract. Cole shook his head, sparing a thought for this new territory. It would take a strong lawman to bring order, and to keep it, out here in a place used to making its own laws.

  Until now, his place in this rich man’s scheme of things had all been fine with Cole. Because he was able to remain anonymous. He remained faceless to them; and they remained faceless to him. He was no more than a name. And they were no more than a paycheck. But not any more. Trouble now had a face and a name—and these men harbored the rotten son of a bitch in their midst. Cole had no doubt these influential men would close ranks around Edgar Talmidge, if they knew Cole’s intent, which was why he didn’t simply ask directions to the Talmidge tent.

  A chuckle escaped Cole. He’d always wondered if it would come to this … him hunting one of their own.

  And now, as he rode through their midst, searching for a telling clue that could lead him to Kate, he felt pretty certain at least a few of the men gaping at him knew who he was. But he didn’t figure they’d do much about it. He wasn’t after them, so why should they? Better yet, how could they—with their womenfolk and children around? And maybe even a mistress or two. There were always mistresses. These men seemed to marry for duty and money, and then philander for fun and love. But not Cole. All he wanted was Kate.

  Cole’s posture stiffened. He came close to reining in his horse. All I want is Kate? That wasn’t what he’d meant. No, he’d meant that he wouldn’t want to be one of these men because their lives were too complicated—by women and children and property and money. Cole agitatedly worked his shoulders, as if his shirt were suddenly too tight. Just being here around all these tents that reeked of untold wealth made him feel confined, tied down, constricted. It was not for him.

  He’d always thought he respected his betters. But these men didn’t seem the least bit better than he was. Far from it. Besides, Cole had a hard time swallowing the notion that anyone was his better. That wasn’t the way of it out West. A man was known by how he kept his word, and not by the size of his bankroll. So these men here surprised him. They weren’t bigger than life, as he’d imagined. In fact, they didn’t strike him as smarter or stronger than he was. They were just men, men who had a lot of problems and a lot of meanness, most of it brought on by having too much money and too much time. And too much of a sense of their own power.

  And here he had been helping them along for fourteen years. Son of a bitch. Cole fought the mirthless grin that twitched at his lips. He wasn’t saying much that flattered himself, either. A sudden discomfort, more with himself than with the different breed of people who surrounded him, had Cole nudging his Stetson up and shifting his weight in the saddle. Well, hell, he hadn’t come up here for a social hour. He’d come to find Kate. And he wouldn’t leave until he did. Or until he was dead.

  Cole turned his roan to the left at a break in the tent city’s configuration. And again found himself unexpectedly amused—this time by the wagon-trampled curve in the main grassy thoroughfare he faced. Even out here on the prairie, among the rolling green hills and tall stands of trees, with over a million unexplored acres awaiting only the firing tomorrow at noon of the starter’s gun to be claimed, these city slickers had constructed a city for themselves. They’d surrounded themselves with those they already knew, as well as all the comforts of home.

  Such as, Cole noted as he rode by, the silver tea sets proudly displayed atop ornately carved wooden tables set outside some of the tents. All around Cole, servants abounded. Card games were in progress. Children ran about, their indulgent nannies close on their heels. Thus freed, the richly dressed wives visited and chatted, walking from one tent to the next. And that was another thing … there were some nice-looking women up here, too. But there was only one who interested Cole right now. And that was Norah Talmidge. Because she knew where Kate was.

  If she were outside socializing, Cole figured, she wouldn’t be hard to find, since she looked so much like Kate. But if Norah Talmidge held Kate captive, she wouldn’t be outside engaging in social activities. She’d be occupied with her prisoner. Instead of faces, then, Cole concentrated on looking for anything out of the ordinary that would serve as an obvious marker for him.

  He discarded the notion that he might find the Talmidges by identifying the fancy carriage the lady from yesterday had been riding in. Because everyone up here seemed to have one just like it. Cole shook his head in disgust. He’d seen carriage after carriage, with the fancy horses to match, being unloaded daily from the trains up in Arkansas City. Just brought their wealth with them, they did, rather than be inconvenienced.

  Cole figured that Mrs. Talmidge—or Mr. Talmidge, because he knew he’d assigned more deviousness and blame to the missus than he had the mister—had to have had help nabbing Kate and spiriting her away. The Talmidges certainly wouldn’t have sullied their lily-white hands doing the dirty work themselves.

  And as Cole knew firsthand … where there was a hired killer, there was a horse. He searched now for that saddled, dusty, sweat-lathered animal, the one a kidnapper would have ridden hard as he’d taken Kate away. Cole’s frown deepened. Something else bothered him about this other hired gun. And that was the simple fact that he had been hired. To Cole’s knowledge, the Talmidges knew nothing of his own close association with Kate. So why hadn’t they looked him up first when they arrived? And he knew they had arrived. He no longer doubted it, much less even questioned how he knew. He just knew.

  Once they arrived, they could have easily found him with a few well-
placed questions. Yet, they hadn’t done so. Instead, it appeared they’d latched on to the first outlaw they could find to carry out their dirty work. Or maybe they’d spotted Kate on their own and, not wanting to risk the time and trouble it would take to locate Cole, had hired another gunman to get her instead. That would save them a heap of money, he had to admit.

  But Cole shook his head and shifted his weight in his saddle. He had no answers, only questions. It was all mighty curious. And yet, the very way in which today’s events had unfolded assured him that, had he not believed Kate’s story about the Talmidges’ misuse of her, then the existence of another gunman would have convinced him that the Talmidges had something to hide. He’d have known that obviously they’d lied to him about why they wanted her found and killed.

  It appeared now—since they were right here on Kate’s heels—that it had been their plan all along to come out here themselves after hiring him. Evidently they’d meant to allow him to hunt her down … and then they’d take her away after that. In essence, then, Cole realized, he’d been used. And he didn’t like being used. Not one bit. Or lied to. Theirs was a breach of trust and confidence, when he’d never given them a reason to think they couldn’t trust him.

  Dishonorable, that’s what they were. All the more reason not to like the man or his wife, Cole decided as he became aware of the warm April sunshine beating down on him, warming him beyond what his flaring temper already had. He decided that maybe he’d ask the Talmidges for a few answers to his questions … before he killed them. And he would kill them. Kate would never be safe as long as they were alive. So, they had to die. It was really that simple.

  Having ordered that in his mind, Cole returned his attention to hunting for that horse or telltale sign that would point him to the tent and the people he sought. Like this one. Cole reined in his mount … and sat there staring, wondering now what exactly had caught his wandering attention. Because he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nothing so big as a horse, that was for damned sure. And this tent was like all the others. Big. White. Surrounded by all the trappings of wealth. Looking it over again, he finally realized what had caught his eye. The door flap was tied closed.