Winter Magic

by Cheryl Pierson

  “You can live here, too, Brett,” Jake had pleaded. “Stay here. Go to school—”

  “School!” Brett had scoffed. “Nah. That’s not for me. I’m gonna be a safecracker. A real professional!”

  “Pa would skin you alive!”

  Brett had leaned over the pommel of his saddle—a gift from his new gang of “brothers”—

  “Pa done himself in and left us, Jake. He did what he wanted—gambled everything away—now…it’s up to us to make our own way in this ol’ world. I aim to make mine crackin’ safes.”

  “Stealin’,” Jake sneered.

  “Puttin’ food in my belly,” Brett corrected, before riding away.

  That was so long ago…but the condemnation in his little brother’s eyes still hurt.

  His lips turned upward sardonically. “You were right, Jake. I should’ve stayed there.” But at that time, the thought of endless days of book learning had seemed too harsh to bear, and Brett had not been able to understand how Jake could look forward to that kind of life with such relish.

  Now…he wished his youthful self had had more maturity; that he hadn’t chosen the path he had; but he’d needed to make his mark on the world. Oh, and he’d done that, hadn’t he?

  What a way to have gone about it. He’d give anything to change it; but it was, of course, too late for that. Now, it seemed, his younger brother was going to pay the price for Brett’s wild ways.

  The telegram had come two days ago. There had been one word on the paper that let Brett know this was no game, no fake; his mother’s middle name—Jacqueline. Unusual at best; but the secret was that Jake had been named for her, in a roundabout way, since there had been no daughters, and Jake was the last baby she would ever have. When he’d seen that name, chills had marched right up Brett’s spine. They had Jake. And Brett knew he had no choice but to help them in this scheme of theirs, or be the cause of his brother’s death.

  Dammit! The anger set in again swiftly. If he didn’t make it to Ft. Smith by this time next week—well, the telegram had let him know what would happen to Jake. Firing squad. Every member of the gang would be expected to participate.

  He was so lost in thought, the crack of the rifle didn’t quite register with him at first—and then, the bullet struck him, flying through the coat, the thick woolen shirt, and the underclothes…and finally, burying itself deep in his left shoulder.

  Brett’s breath was harsh with pain. He should’ve been the least bit afraid, but he couldn’t muster it up. If they were going to kill him—there was no cover nearby. He was an easy target. And either way, his brother was as dead as Brett was going to be.

  He dropped the reins, fingers and arm numbed by pain, and fell from the saddle to the rocky ground. His head hit hard, and his world went black.

  ****

  Angie Colton plopped the spoon down on the stove. The beans were about finished, but—

  “Angie! Angie, I shot him! I shot him. Think I might-a killed him!”

  Angie hurried to open the front door of the small shack for her little sister, Earlene. She might have smiled at the ragamuffin eleven-year-old, but for what she shouted as she ran. Instead, Angie caught her quickly by the shoulders as she crossed the threshold.

  “What—what are you saying, Earlie? You shot someone? Who—”

  But the normally-unflappable youngster was a sobbing mess.

  Angie released her and took the beans off quickly. She threw on her coat and grabbed a small leather bag of medicines and bandages. She usually took care of wounded animals with her medical supplies, but she reckoned a man would be as easy as an animal—and she had a feeling Earlene was talking about shooting a man, for sure. But why? What had he done? And where was he?

  “Now, you listen to me! Listen!” Angie gave Earlene a shake. “Where is he?”

  “J-Just a little ways, Ang. I thought he was comin’ this way—and you said not to let anyone come too near—”

  “I didn’t say to kill ’em, Earlene!”

  “I didn’t mean to!”

  Angie didn’t have time to ask questions standing on the front porch. “Show me where he is. Do we need Big Red? Never mind, let’s go. If we need him, you can come back and saddle him while I’m looking over the wound.”

  She gave her little sister a sharp look as they hurried away from the house. “How many times did you—”

  “Just once,” Earlene said.

  Angie couldn’t miss the smugness that crept into her sister’s voice when she added. “Once was all it took.”

  ****

  In a short time, they’d reached the place where Earlene had shot the man out of the saddle.

  “See here? There’s blood right here—” Earlene pointed, her eyes on the ground. “Yep, this is where he hit, right here…”

  “But where is he?” Angie murmured thoughtfully. Even as relief flooded her that he wasn’t dead, she still felt a prickle at the back of her neck, as if she were being watched. And that was one of her gifts…she never ignored that feeling.

  He could be lucid enough to get a good shot at the two of them…from wherever he might be right now. It was no good questioning Earlene—she had believed she’d killed him, so she wouldn’t know where her bullet had actually struck him. Angie sighed.

  “He must’ve gotten back up on his horse. Eight miles into Clear Springs from here…Let’s go saddle up Big Red and trail him. We need to be sure he doesn’t die out here for real, Earlene.”

  Earlene sighed heavily. “Okay. But I’m hungry.”

  Angie cast a glance at the darkening sky. “Let’s hurry. We don’t have much daylight left, and I smell snow in the air.”

  But Earlene had already sprinted on ahead of her, back to the barn, to saddle Big Red.

  Angie hurried, too. She wanted to find the stranger before he lost any more blood. Her little sister didn’t need a man’s death on her young conscience.

  Chapter 2

  An unknown horse stood at the hitching rail of the front porch. Angie wasn’t far behind Earlene when she saw her little sister stop, as if her feet were suddenly stuck to the ground.

  Angie forced her own steps forward, coming abreast of Earlene, then passing her, rushing forward.

  The horse shifted, and as he moved to the side, Angie saw the form of a man lying on her front porch.

  “Is it him?” Angie asked in a low tone.

  Earlene didn’t answer, and when Angie turned, the girl had tears running down her cheeks.

  “Part of me wants him to be alive, but the other part don’t,” Earlene whispered. “He’s liable to be a mean ’un, Ang. And us all alone—”

  “Hush up your blathering, Earlie,” Angie said sharply, sparing her a hard glance. “Better be every little part of you down to your wishbone hopin’ for him to be alive, girl. Else, you’d be a murderess.”

  Together, they slowly approached the bottom step of the porch.

  “And from the looks of him and his gear…he’s not some drifter that will go unnoticed if he disappears. Now, help me get him inside.”

  Earlene turned wide eyes on Angie. “But—you’re gonna bring him in our house, Ang?”

  “Well, I sure as hell am not gonna leave him here on the porch to freeze to death, little sister! It’s bad enough you shot him! And we’re going to have a talk about that. You and that gun—” She broke off. “Oh, come on. Help me, before he bleeds to death.”

  “If he’s a robber, I’ll plug him again,” Earlene said steadfastly as she helped Angie roll the man over onto his back.

  Angie bit back her response. Right now, this stranger couldn’t do anyone any harm. His shoulder still oozed blood, but the lump on his head where he’d fallen from his horse was every bit as worrisome. How had he gotten back on?

  Just as they leaned over him to take hold of his coat, his eyes opened.

  Earlene jerked backward, with a shriek. Angie was startled, but she managed not to scream. His dark, intense gaze held hers, and she felt her bones s
eem to liquefy and melt.

  In spite of his situation, incredibly the corner of his mouth lifted in a rakish grin. “I’ll be damned…”

  ****

  Oh, she was beautiful…strange woman with caring in her eyes…little girl…must be her sister…

  Brett’s thoughts scattered and flew as he looked up into the young woman’s face, bent so close to his own. He shivered as the wind blew and swirled around them, as if sucking him and this woman into a whirlpool together, where there was nothing solid for either of them to hold on to. The danger wasn’t from the swirling sensation, Brett knew…he was drowning in her eyes.

  The throbbing of his wounded shoulder overtook all other thought as he tried to sit up. He rolled, instead, his stomach rebelling at the movement and the sudden wash of pain that passed through his body, sharp and harsh.

  “Can you help us a little, mister?” the woman asked. “Just a little ways—you can have my bed—” She broke off and colored at her words.“I mean, Earlie and I can bunk up together in her bed and you—”

  “I understand,” Brett replied. He wasn’t thinking he’d be getting that lucky. “I’m not sure I can…stand.”

  “Just crawl. You’re too heavy for me’n Earlie to lift.”

  The girl opened the front door, holding it back as she stepped out of the way.

  The rifle…she held a Yellow Boy as if it were part of her arm. She couldn’t be any older than ten or eleven…what was she doing with that kind of a gun?

  Shooting your damn ass out of the saddle, Brett, that’s what she was doing with it.

  “Help me—” He reached for the front porch post and started to pull himself up.

  The woman immediately did what she could to support him. His knees threatened to buckle, but he kept himself from going back down. He was determined to walk through that doorway—and he wasn’t going to vomit on anything when he did.

  “I’m Angie,” the woman said, slipping her shoulder under his for him to lean on. “Angie Colton. And this is my sister, Earlene.”

  They’d managed to navigate the few steps across the porch and through the door that Earlene held open. When Brett looked at the girl, she glanced away quickly.

  Yeah. She’d been the one. Brett Diamond…ambushed by a ten-year-old. He started to laugh at the thought, but walking took every ounce of his concentration.

  Turning his attention away from his half-pint assailant, he took in the surroundings inside the cozy cabin. He was vaguely aware of the front door closing behind them, as Angie did her best to guide him to her small bedroom

  “Brett Diamond,” he managed, gritting his teeth. “Thanks for—for the help.”

  A fire burned low in the hearth, and he wondered if they were running out of wood. There was snow in the air…and Christmas only a few days away.

  He smelled pinto beans and cornbread, and his stomach rumbled, despite the sick feeling that had threatened a few moments earlier.

  The bedroom they’d just entered had a fresh, clean scent. It was cooler, being separated from the main room where the fireplace was, but still warm enough to be comfortable.

  Angie steadied him, unwinding his arm from around her neck, and threw the covers back for him.

  He swayed dizzily for a moment, moving his feet farther apart to keep his balance.

  “Here—let me help you—this’ll be easier to do while you’re standing…”

  Brett felt her fingers at his chest, unbuttoning the buttons that held his overcoat fastened securely against the cold. She gently pulled it off of him and dropped it to the floor.

  Her fingers went back up to his throat, working their nimble way down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning the heavy flannel. He heard the tsking sound she made at the sight of the bullet hole.

  “Shame. I’ll try to patch it. I’m a pretty good hand with a needle and thread,” she murmured, drawing the shirt from his body as well. “Oh, dear.”

  Brett opened his eyes, and seeing where her gaze had gone, his followed. The undershirt was soaked with his blood, wine red.

  “I’ll just cut it off—you probably can’t lift your arm, and there’s so much blood—”

  “I don’t give a damn about…this shirt. Just need…can you unbuckle my belt?” If he didn’t lie down soon, he was going to embarrass himself. His legs were shaking.

  She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

  “Hurry—” he muttered.

  Quickly, she removed his gun belt, then unbuckled the belt at his waist.

  “Should I—”

  Brett nodded. “Unbutton the fly…and I’m gonna need some help with—”

  “Of course.”

  Between the two of them, they worked the denim pants down over his buttocks and he gratefully sat on the edge of the mattress. Angie reached to pull off his boots, and then completed the task of removing his denims, laying them on a nearby chair.

  “Let me help you,” she fussed, fluffing pillows behind his head as he lay on the bed. Hastily, she covered him with the softest sheets he’d ever felt, and the quilts settled over him with a comforting heaviness.

  “You shouldn’t sleep,” Angie said softly. She lit the bedside lantern to hold back the encroaching shadows of evening. “Let’s talk a little. You may be concussed.”

  “I’m not good company,” Brett said. “And right now, I don’t feel much like…like conversation.”

  She reached for his denims, folded them, and laid them on her dresser top. “Then I’ll talk to you—if I don’t bore you to death, and end up putting you to sleep rather than keeping you awake.”

  Brett noted the uncertainty in her tone. He started to shake his head, but his ears rang and buzzed. He quickly said, “You won’t bore me.”

  “I need to look at that wound of yours and see what I can do to heal you.”

  “Little sister’s a damn good shot,” he murmured. “Unless she was aiming for my head.”

  Chapter 3

  Angie’s fingers froze as she pulled back the covers. She quickly recovered herself, opening her small bag of medical supplies she’d placed on the night table. She took out the scissors and began to cut away the blood-soaked undershirt.

  “Earlene?” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “Wasn’t her that shot you.”

  Brett didn’t answer.

  Angie felt the desperation to protect her sister overcoming everything else. The silence stretched between them.

  “Earlie, she’s not that good with a gun yet. She’s passable, but she really—”

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, Miss Colton. Or your sister. I just want to know why.”

  “I told you—”

  “You’re lying to protect her. She carries that repeater like she was born with it in her hand.”

  “Mr. Diamond,” she responded in a steely voice. “My sister has been here this afternoon helping me with chores.”

  And she should have been! But Angie had been soft on Earlene. Earlie was a spirit who rode with the wind, and hated to be confined to the indoors. Sometimes—most times—it was just easier to let her go once the outdoors chores were done. Mama had always said Earlie was—

  “Why’d she shoot me?”

  Angie studied him a moment, then began to rummage in her bag for what she’d need to take care of him. Tweezers…there they were.

  “Mr. Diamond, it’s been real hard making a go of this place since our father died. We’ve been here three years, now; the last one without Papa.” She tried to keep the resentment from her voice, but it crept in. “Papa was—a dreamer. This little place—well, we eke out an existence, but nothing more.”

  She cut the shirt away and drew it from under him, folding it with the bloody side up before she laid it on the floor.

  She rose and went to the washbasin on a stand, washing her hands with a bar of lye soap that lay nearby.

  “I’ve been a lot of places in my life, but—” she began, breaking off as she turned to look at Brett.

  He smiled.

 
She dried her hands. “Well, have you ever been to New York City, Mr. Diamond?” she asked smugly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “It’s just—you seem so young.”

  “I’m nearly nineteen! Oh, I know that’s bordering on spinsterhood in some parts. But I’ve got Earlie to raise. And I’ve got to find a way to do better—not for me, but for her!”

  “And…that’s why she shot me?”

  “Of course not.” Angie’s mouth was tight for a moment, then she said, “This might hurt some. I need to clean it.” She seated herself again beside him and dabbed at the wound gently with a dampened cloth.

  “That has nothing to do with her shooting you.” Her words were spoken in cadence with her ministrations.

  That damned silence settled in again.

  Angie sighed heavily. She did not want to trust this man. Life was so much easier if you didn’t trust anyone. Her father had proven that by bringing them here to safety. And she’d just admitted Earlie had shot Brett Diamond, after all.

  Damn it!

  As she cleaned the wound with a small amount of carbolic acid, Brett’s breath hissed inward, and he turned his face away from her.

  “I’m sorry. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. I’m afraid the bullet didn’t pass all the way through.”

  “Figured as much.”

  “I had told Earlie to keep strangers away from here. Two girls, alone like we are now…you can’t ever be too careful!”

  Brett turned speculative, knowing eyes on her, and she felt the flustered worry rising up in her again. It was as if he could look right through her; see everything inside, no matter what secrets she tried to hide from him. Maybe he had gifts similar to those she was born with…

  “Well, don’t you believe me?”

  The faintest smile played around Brett’s mouth at the distress they both heard in her voice. Her question hung in the air, and he didn’t even need to speak for her to know the answer.

  ****

  Angie Colton did know what she was doing when it came to removing the bullet from his shoulder, and for that, Brett was grateful.