One Man, One Gun

by Matt Chisholm

  Honoria came and stood beside her father, taking his arm. She smiled down at Jody. The man’s grim face seemed to soften a trifle, but not much.

  “Mr. Storm,” she said, “I want you to meet my fiancé.”

  Jody’s heart thumped wildly. His stomach swooped. This came as a real shock to him. In all his wild thoughts concerning this girl he hadn’t once considered the possibility of her being bespoken.

  Charles Rolf and his daughter moved, revealing the man who had entered the room with Honoria.

  Jody found himself looking at the smiling face of Henry Carrington Wilder.

  Chapter Eight

  Jody’s first instinct was to jump out of bed, stark naked though he was, lift his knife from the bureau and sever life from the Englishman.

  Modesty and guile quickly came to his rescue. He took a strong grip of himself as he heard Wilder say: “How do, Mr. Storm?”

  “I do purty fine,” Jody said, with what he thought was commendable calm, “considerin’ the circumstances.”

  “Miss Honoria told me of your mishap,” said Wilder cool as you please. Dashed poor show. Terrific luck her finding you as she did. Sounds as if she saved your life.”

  “Way it looks,” said Jody, “but she ain’t saved the life of the gloot ’at done it to me.”

  Charles Rolf cleared his throat. He didn’t approve of that kind of talk in front of ladies. “Well,” he said, “we must let our guest have all the rest he can. I hope to see you later, Mr. Storm. Please don’t hesitate to call for anything you may need.”

  “I’m plumb grateful,” said Jody.

  Honoria gave him a wonderful smile, Wilder gave him a smile that was no less remarkable, though for a different reason, Rolf nodded coldly, Manuela Salazar stared no less coldly and they all departed.

  Jody was left alone to experience mixed feelings. He had found the man he was looking for, found him miraculously.

  His flesh crept and his hackles rose as he thought of Wilder standing there smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Jody was a product of the time and place — he believed in luck. Luck ruled the lives of men. Luck had placed Wilder under his hand. Therefore luck must have swung in his favor, changeable as a woman.

  But there was another side to the coin.

  There was Honoria, the girl who had come into the boy’s life like a flash of lightning. She was Wilder’s.

  More thought — she wouldn’t take kindly to Jody killing her affianced. She would hate him and that would be the end of his chances with her.

  She had looked on him kindly. Of that he was sure. Was she a flighty girl? Did she look at all men that way? What the hell did Jody care? He was besotted with the girl. He’d have her whichever way she was. His whole being demanded it.

  He lay back in the bed, cursing his weakness, thinking crazy thoughts. Was Honoria in love with Wilder? Was she being forced into marriage with him? Had she smiled on Jody because she wanted Jody to take her away from Wilder? Were her smiles meaningless? Around and around went his mind, without purpose, chasing thoughts and fragments of thoughts. That father of hers was a cool one, acting like he was confident he owned the world and everything on it. Wilder was not the only one who stood between Jody and the girl. There was Rolf too. Jody didn’t doubt that he would rather be dead than see his daughter take up with a rough cow-nurse like Jody Storm.

  Then the question hit the boy — what were his intentions concerning the girl? God Almighty, did he intend to marry her?

  The thought froze him.

  Marriage.

  A dreadful and blood-chilling thought.

  No, all he knew for certain was that this girl had aroused in him an uncontrollable passion such as he had never known before in all his life. He had to possess her if it was the last thing he did.

  Then memory of the bull came back into his mind. His heart sank a little. He pictured Pa, awaiting that damned bull. He pictured George and Mart taking bets on whether Jody would return with it or not.

  He lay there and cursed helplessly.

  His knife.

  He needed his knife under his hand to remind him that he was going to kill Wilder at the first opportunity. There was another side to that point, too. Wilder knew he was in danger. And there was a strong possibility he would do something about it. Back there in the hills, he had allowed Jody to live when he could have killed him. But the circumstances had been different then. He thought he could get away with his villainous behavior. Here with Jody in the same house, he stood to lose a good deal. Jody only had to talk.

  Jody threw back the bedclothes, slipped from the bed and tiptoed with what speed he could to the bureau on the far side of the room, picked up sheath and knife from its top and was on his way back to the bed when the door opened and Manuela Salazar appeared.

  Jody paused for one agonizingly embarrassed moment, muttered “Pardon me,” inadequately and dove again with what speed he was able, back beneath the bedclothes.

  The incident seemed not to disturb the Mexican woman one little bit.

  She closed the door and stood in the center of the room, regarding him as if he were no more male and recently naked than a Gila monster.

  “I have seen a man before, Mr. Storm,” she said, hands together calmly. “And I may say that it is exceedingly foolish of you to be out of your bed. Your shoulder demands that you should make as little movement as possible.”

  “I had to fetch somethin’,” he muttered.

  “Why should you need a knife in this house?” she demanded softly. “This is not the wilds.”

  How far could he trust this woman? What was her place in this household?

  “Set an’ talk,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

  She stayed where she was, quietly considering that suggestion for a moment, then glided forward regally and sat at the foot of the bed. Jody, remembering the feelings he had experienced when she tended his wound, could have done with her a little closer than that. He may have handed his heart to Honoria, but in his book that didn’t mean he’d handed his body as well and his bodily instincts were working over schedule with this lovely Mexican woman in the same room.

  “What did you wish to talk about?” she asked, her large eyes on him.

  “You.”

  “I am a person of no importance.”

  Jody wasn’t always without thought. He had his moments of intuition.

  “They’re the people who hear and see things,” he said.

  “And you think I would repeat to you what I hear and see?”

  “It’s a chance worth takin’. Nothin’ asked nothin’ gained.”

  “Who are you, Mr. Storm,” she said, “and what are you doing here?”

  “That ain’t no secret,” he told her. “Miss Honoria picked me up half-dead after a brush with the Utes.”

  “But there is something else.” Jody had the impression that she was starting to come out of her shell. Under the show of reluctance, she wanted to talk. She had nobody to communicate with here. “A woman’s intuition, call it if you wish. There was that look on your face when you first saw Mr. Wilder.”

  So she had noticed that. He had covered up quickly. She didn’t miss much, this one.

  “I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’ crazy,” he said. “Laugh if you want. It was jealousy. I didn’t know the girl had a fiancé.”

  “But,” she said, “you have only known her a matter of minutes.”

  “That’s the way it goes.”

  Did her cold eyes soften a fraction? Did they take on a gentleness that should belong to such eyes naturally?

  “You poor boy,” she said softly.

  “You think I don’t have a chance,” he said. “But you don’t know.”

  “I think you do not have a chance and I do know,” she said.

  “I’m a Storm,” he reminded her, “an’ we don’t never give up. Not ever.”

  “Henry Wilder is an English milord,” she said. “That is Mr. Rolf’s ambition.”
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  “What’s so wrong with a Texas cowman?” Jody demanded.

  She almost smiled.

  “It is not what you and I think,” she said. “You have to contend with Mr. Rolf. He has ideas about social status. If you want Honoria, you will have to take her. But be warned, Mr. Rolf has stopped other men from taking her.”

  “And Honoria — does she love Wilder?”

  “That does not come into it. She will do as her father wishes. She is a good daughter.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “Looks like I’m beat before I start,” he said.

  “If you could realize that, Mr. Storm,” she informed him, “it would save a great deal of unpleasantness. And remember — you are a guest in this house. You are under a certain obligation.”

  She rose.

  “I came to ask you if you needed anything.”

  “I could do with five minutes alone with Honoria,” he said.

  “That I cannot promise, but I do not doubt that if she wishes to speak to you, she will find a way.”

  She tucked the bedclothes in around him and that brought her close. He had an impulse to reach out and touch her, but he held himself back, which he thought was pretty noble and self-controlled of him.

  “Sleep now,” she said. “I will come again before I retire.”

  Then she was gone.

  He started to doze. He’d get his strength up, then he’d cut the heart out of that sonovabitch Wilder ...

  He woke with a start.

  It was dusk and there was a light burning softly in the room. That meant that somebody had been in here while he slept. Wilder could have come in and murdered him in his sleep.

  He raised himself on one elbow and saw that the door was cautiously opening.

  He reached for his knife and slipped it from its sheath.

  Then someone entered quickly and shut the door behind them. Even in the dimness with the lamp turned low, he knew it was the girl. His heart started to pound violently. She stopped to turn the key in the lock, then came softly toward the bed.

  He went to say something, but she held a finger to her lips and said: “Sshshsh. We must be very quiet.”

  There was such a conspiratorial air about her that his thoughts went wild.

  She stood beside the bed and stood looking down at him. Her cheeks dimpled with mischief, the gamine showed plainly on her face.

  “Now I’m here, I don’t know what to say,” she said.

  He grinned and patted the bed beside him.

  “Set awhile,” he told her, “an’ jest leave it come natural.”

  She obeyed him instantly and he, hardly knowing what he did, laid his hand on hers that fell near his. To his surprise their hands came together naturally and gripped each other. Hers was warm and soft within his calloused one.

  “That’s better,” she said. “That’s much better.”

  “This is great,” he said. “Man has a dream an’ wakes up to find it true.”

  “Liar,” she accused him, “You weren’t dreaming of me.”

  “I durn well should of been,” he asserted.

  “Be serious,” she demanded. “There’s little time and there are several things I have to know.”

  Manuela Salazar smelled of warm hay and spices, this girl smelled of wild flowers and sagebrush. He put his other hand forward and her other one came to meet it. Could it be possible that she felt the same way he did?

  “What do you have to know” he asked.

  She hesitated.

  “Maybe I’m just foolish. I don’t know how to put it. But it was the look on your face when you saw Henry.”

  He laughed.

  “You saw that too?”

  “Did somebody else?”

  “It’s no never mind. So I had a look on my face when I saw Wilder. Why should I have a look on my face when I saw Wilder?”

  “It was so — how can I describe it? Almost as if you hated him.”

  “Not almost,” he told her. “I do hate him.”

  “But you don’t know him. What possible reason ...? It couldn’t be because ...?”

  It was her turn to laugh.

  “I can’t believe that even from a Texan,” she said. “You don’t know me even.”

  “I don’t have to know you. We’re here holdin’ hands, ain’t we? You do that with every cow-nurse comes ridin’ by? You think I do it with every girl I meet up with?”

  “No, but ... Well, I don’t accept that.”

  “I ain’t askin’ you to. But try this one for size — I hate Wilder for another an’ better reason.”

  “What other reason could there be? You don’t know him.”

  “Who said I didn’t know him?”

  That stopped her, her hands jumped a little in his. She frowned, she looked a little scared.

  “You mean something happened between you and Henry in the past?”

  “Not too long ago. In fact, a durned short while back.”

  Her expression changed again. She looked at him, aghast.

  “You can’t possibly mean —”

  “I mean it. He was the feller left me stranded in the hills.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Nobody’s askin’ you to. But it’s a fact. An’ I aim to have his guts for it. I was comin’ here to buy a bull from your father. He has every cent I was carryin’ on me. I’ve been suckered, but good. An’ that fancy-pants done it to me. Have a good laugh.”

  But there wasn’t a vestige of a smile on her face. She looked down at him.

  “You could have died out there,” she said, awed.

  “Sure. Only thing in his favor is he didn’t kill me outright.”

  He knew she believed him. Things weren’t all that good between this girl and the English milord.

  Her mood changed suddenly. From being grave and thoughtful, she was suddenly alive and tense for action. Her hands moved in his, wanting release. He held them firm. She relaxed and said: “I must go. My father would kill me if he found me here.”

  Jody grinned.

  “Kill me, more like,” he said.

  She smiled and nodded —

  “That too.”

  “Don’t go yet awhile. Maybe I won’t have another chance to talk with you.”

  “You mean you won’t find a way?” she said.

  “Honoria,” he said, “how crazy are you about Wilder? The truth.”

  Serious again. She covered her eyes with her long-lashed lids.

  “I’m marrying him.”

  “He ain’t goin’ to be alive to marry,” he said.

  “No,” she cried. “You mustn’t even think it. You don’t know my father.” Suddenly, her eyes were wild with concern.

  Jody knew there wasn’t much time. He had to seal a bargain of emotions with this girl. There were several things he had to know.

  “What’s Manuela Salazar in this house?” he demanded.

  The unexpected question set the girl off-balance.

  “She’s father’s mistress,” she said.

  That shook Jody and he had to think about that one.

  “Do you hate her?”

  “Hate her? Of course not. She’s a fine person and has been a good friend to me. She makes life bearable here. Officially, she’s my duenna.”

  Had Manuela come in here to talk to him and pump him for Rolf? Had he told her too much?

  “How does she feel about your father?”

  “You know, I think she hates him a little.”

  “And you?”

  “I think I feel a little sorry for him. His ambitions eat him away. All this business with Henry, that’s a part of it all. He wants to see me as an English lady. He made his money on the Barbary Coast, you know.”

  Jody didn’t know.

  He said: “Honoria, you ain’t goin’ to marry Wilder. You’re goin’ to marry me.”

  It was out even before he had decided.

  She held on tight to his hands and leaned back to look at him.


  “Why,” she said, “I believe you mean it.”

  “I mean it.”

  He pulled her toward him. She resisted. He applied what little strength he had left to him. He won the victory with an ease that either did credit to his Storm charm or pointed to the lady’s accessibility. Jody wasn’t in the mood to debate the point. Right now he was aware only of the fact that his arms were full of a wonderful example of Western womanhood and that he was a pretty lucky fellow to be right where he was at that given moment in time.

  Suddenly, the fire that burned in him caught her. The mouth that sought his was furiously impatient with a life of its own, matching his in frantic desire. The hands that groped blindly yet unerringly for him were imbued with the same hot haste that impelled his own. They grappled with each other in a sort of divine insanity, reason gone and consequences forgotten. They fought and the fight was only to gain each other. Their violence was so sweetly shared that it lifted them both into heights which they had never known before.

  While hands and bodies urged, their mouths fought a battle of their own, opening, consuming.

  Time receded. There was no time.

  The bed-clothes were thrown back, Honoria flung herself on the hard naked form of the man, Jody, whose arms, wounds or no wounds, clasped her, ground her against him.

  “Now,” Jody said.

  “Yes,” said the girl.

  Pa’s bull, the money, revenge, all lost in a limbo.

  White flesh under a brown hand.

  “Honoria, I know you’re in there.”

  Ice cold water flooded the room. Passion died instantly, heads jerked, alarmed eyes turned to the door. Sanity fell like wintry waters.

  Honoria stared at Jody. Horror and terror.

  “My father,” she whispered desperately and needlessly.

  The door shook, fists pounded.

  Jody heaved the girl off him. A man of action. A Storm was never beaten till he was dead. She stood, panicking, adjusting clothes, patting hair.

  Cool, Jody, cool. Hard to think with all that racket at the door going on.

  Think: Doors do not hold forever. A minute flat and there could be an outraged father in here dealing out a just comeuppance to one Jody Storm.