Tucker’s Claim

by Sarah McCarty

  Davey nodded, staring at Tucker with rapt attention, absorbing every word as if it were gospel. Clearly the boy had a case of hero worship.

  Tucker tested Davey’s pinky. “Bet your mom told you not to touch the knives.”

  A little nod of his head.

  “You listen to your mother about such things.”

  Davey’s expression was stuck somewhere between terror and awe. He was at the age where any man’s attention mattered to him. Tucker was a big man, both in size and reputation.

  “Until you’re big enough, you do what your ma says. A man’s got no right worrying his mother.”

  Davey pouted. “She treats me like a baby.”

  Sally Mae hid a smile at Tucker’s blink. He slowly took off his hat. Sunlight streamed through the window, glinting off the blue-black of his hair as he set his battered hat carefully on the table. “There’s a proper way to do things, son, and an improper way. And as you found out, the wrong way isn’t the best.”

  Davey’s lip stuck out mutinously. Tucker nodded to Hazel, his silver eyes striking in the bright light. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, when Davey’s done here, I’ll teach him the proper technique with a knife.”

  Davey bounced on Hazel’s lap. “Please, Ma!”

  “I’m not sure…” Hazel’s protest trailed off.

  Sally got out her needle and thread. She wouldn’t have thought Tucker would know what to do with a six-year-old boy. Then again, she hadn’t thought he’d know what to do with a puppy, but he was comfortable with both. As Tucker released Davey’s hand, she had the thought that he’d be a wonderful father. But—she glanced at Davey’s excited expression—maybe a little too eager to pass on his wisdom.

  “He’s so little.”

  That got Hazel a glare from Davey, and a cock of an eyebrow from Tucker.

  “Little or not, it seems to me he’s pretty determined. A little education could save his hide.”

  Hazel bit her lip.

  “Mr. McCade has a point,” Sally Mae added.

  “Yeah, Ma, he’s got a point. You know I can be stubborn.”

  The corner of Tucker’s lips twitched. “I won’t take it far, ma’am. I’ll just make sure he learns what’s proper.”

  Sally had trouble suppressing her own smile at the excitement on the boy’s face. She had no doubt that what Tucker thought was proper was a far cry from the murder and mayhem the boy was imagining.

  With a sigh, Hazel gave up the battle. “I guess it’ll be all right.”

  “You can’t stop the boy from growing up, ma’am. The only thing you can do is try to see that he grows up sensible.”

  Hazel nodded. “Thank you, then.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Davey whooped, then saw the needle and thread and froze. His little face went white. She felt like a monster. Tucker’s hand brushed hers as he reached for his hat. Hazel’s eyes narrowed at the familiarity. The reaction, so typical of townsfolk, irritated Sally Mae. Tucker had done nothing to deserve such suspicion. Quite the opposite. He risked his life for the people of the territory, constantly fighting battles they couldn’t or wouldn’t. Like hunting Billy’s killer. He should be seen as an equal. Yet he wasn’t.

  Though he couldn’t have missed Hazel’s reaction, Tucker’s tone was as level and as calm as always. “Mrs. Schermerhorn is a good nurse. As good at medicine as any doctor. She’ll stitch you up right.”

  “It’ll hurt,” Davey said.

  “Yeah, it will.”

  Tucker caught Sally Mae’s eye. Davey stared as she reached for the needle. Swallowed.

  Tucker pulled out a braided strip of leather. “I could teach you a Ranger trick to deal with the pain.” He held the strip up. “You bite on this real hard and you won’t feel a thing.”

  Still in the grip of hero worship, Davey opened his mouth. Tucker slid the leather between his lips, his expression church-serious, if she discounted the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He cocked his eyebrow at the boy. “Are you ready?”

  Davey nodded. Tucker patted his back and nodded at Sally Mae. “Go ahead.”

  “I’m going to have to clean the wound.”

  “Davey’s ready for it, aren’t you, Davey?”

  Sally Mae hesitated after picking up a small metal bowl of water. Hazel rubbed her hands soothingly up and down her son’s arms. Davey swallowed and nodded his head.

  Tucker met Sally’s gaze. “The sooner you get started the sooner Davey and I can get on with our lessons.”

  He was right—putting off the inevitable accomplished nothing. “Let’s get started.”

  Sally Mae picked up the last of the rags and looked out the window. Tucker was sitting on the edge of the back porch with Davey. He was showing Davey the proper way to hold a knife. At least that’s what she thought he was doing. Both were bent over the leather sheath lying across Tucker’s thigh. Crockett chewed a stick at their feet.

  Hazel came up beside her with a bowl of dirty water. “I’d dump this out, but I hate to disturb them.”

  “It’ll keep.”

  Hazel put the bowl down on the cabinet shelf, watching the two through the window. “I’d forgotten how much difference a man makes in a little boy’s life.”

  A pang of jealousy stabbed deep. Had Hazel set her cap for Tucker? A second later she felt small for the uncharitable thought.

  “Tucker won’t let him do anything dangerous.” Sally watched as Tucker put his hand over Davey’s and adjusted his grip, helping him in deference to his bandaged hand. “He knows he’s just a little boy.”

  “At his age, Billy had his own knife for cutting bait.” Hazel’s breath caught. “His father gave it to him.”

  “It’s been hard for thee since thy husband passed.”

  Hazel nodded. “Too hard.” She wrapped her hands in her skirt. “I’m taking Davey back East.”

  “Back to your family?”

  “Yes. There’s nothing for me here anymore.”

  Involuntarily, Sally Mae’s gaze went to Tucker. She’d thought going back home was her answer, but she wasn’t sure anymore. “I’m going to miss thee.”

  “Thank you.” Hazel wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Maybe going home will…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Make everything stop hurting so much.”

  Sally didn’t know what to say. “I hope so.”

  In companionable silence, they cleaned the small mess in the kitchen. Hazel looked out the window again. “He’s good with children.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Hazel slid her a look from the corner of her eye. “A woman could do worse.”

  “Yes.” Much worse.

  “Too bad he’s Indian.”

  Her hands clenched on the cloth. “In God’s eyes all men are equal.”

  “But not in all men’s eyes.” Hazel turned to face her. “There’s been talk, Sally Mae. And some of the men have been making threats.”

  Oh, heavens. “Against Tucker?”

  “And you.”

  The shock of that took the strength from her knees. “Why?”

  “Because you didn’t look at them.”

  “But most of them are married.”

  “You’ll find most men aren’t too particular about that.”

  “They should be.”

  Hazel stared at her, sighed and shook her head. “I can’t say I approve of such relationships—”

  “I don’t remember asking for thy approval.”

  Hazel shook her head and wiped down the counter. “It’s a hard row going against the tide, but I’ve heard the Europeans are more open to more…difficult relationships.”

  Difficult. That was one way to put it. “The color of Tucker’s skin is not my concern.”

  “It’s not?”

  She needn’t sound like there couldn’t be another issue. “Tucker’s ways are not mine.”

  Hazel didn’t pretend to misunderstand. And why should she? Jonah’s and her beliefs had been the grist for gossip for
years. “Every marriage requires compromise.”

  She knew that. Tucker ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled. In moments like this, it was easy to believe that he could give up the violence. He turned and the sun highlighted the battered bullet he wore around his neck. Always, there was a reminder of what he was. A man born to this land. Comfortable with its violence. Capable of surviving whatever came his way. A man who thrived on the challenge of it.

  “Sometimes compromise isn’t enough.”

  Hazel sighed. “You really feel that strongly about his job?”

  “Violence is abhorrent to me.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be doing the hitting.”

  “But I couldn’t sanction it for my children.”

  “The only law here is the law a man can make for himself, and if a man can’t defend himself, all he’s doing is setting him and his loved ones up to be victims.”

  And the cycle continued. “I know that’s the belief.”

  Hazel let the curtain drop back. “So maybe I’m not the only one who would be better off going back home.”

  She’d had that thought herself. “Maybe.”

  But every time she did, she got a sense of panic in her gut. The feeling that going backward was wrong. That her future was here. And every time she thought of here, she thought of the longing she saw in Tucker’s eyes every now and then. For a man who courted violence, how could she so often see in him such a need for peace? “I haven’t decided.”

  The kitchen curtains fluttered as they were once again dropped back into place. Tucker resisted the urge to shake his head. If the women were so worried as to what he was going to teach the little boy, why had they let him take him outside? The curtain pulled aside again. He could make out the blond of Sally Mae’s hair. He could understand Hazel’s concern. Davey was all she had left, and his reputation wasn’t the cleanest, but Sally Mae? He held the sheath while Davey carefully extracted the knife with his good hand, blade pointed away as he’d been instructed. It bothered him soul deep that Sally Mae checked up on him. He’d thought she knew him better, that maybe they’d reached an understanding these past couple months. It wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong. Likely wouldn’t be the last. But he’d be lying to say it didn’t hurt.

  “Did I do it right, Mr. McCade?”

  “You did it just fine.”

  Davey looked up and smiled at him, showing the gap between his front teeth. “Thanks.”

  It was such a small thing, showing a boy how to safely handle a knife, but it was a good thing. He wondered if Caine’s wife would have a little boy or little girl. He hoped to hell Desi had a boy. He didn’t think any of Hell’s Eight were ready for a little girl in their midst. Davey’s smile faded. Tucker mentally cursed. Hell, he’d forgotten to smile back.

  “You’re doing fine, son. Just remember—a knife can be a very good friend to a man, but you always have to show it the proper respect or it will turn on you.”

  Davey nodded. “And I always have to use the proper knife for the proper job.”

  “And what do you do if you don’t know?”

  “I don’t touch until I ask.”

  Tucker smiled and ruffled Davey’s too-long, shaggy brown hair. “You’re a smart kid.”

  Again Tucker was amazed at how that small bit of attention puffed the boy up. He thought of his childhood. He couldn’t recall any soft moments with his dad. If he screwed up, he got beaten. If he didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t get beaten, but there was never a time when the touch of his father’s hand had filled him with confidence. And his mother? He remembered the downtrodden woman who walked with her head down and seemed to haunt the shadows. By the time he’d been born she was so fear ridden that she wouldn’t stand up for herself, let alone him. He brought his hand back to his side and curled his fingers into a fist as the desperation from the past came calling. There’d been plenty of times when he was little that he’d silently pleaded for her to help him, show him she cared, maybe by sneaking to his bed and treating his wounds the way he’d sneaked over to treat hers after his father left the house. But she never had. As he’d gotten older, he’d just settled for praying she’d get a backbone, though what the hell he’d expected her to do against his father’s muscle, he didn’t know. He’d just wished that once, just once, she’d make the effort.

  The window curtains fluttered again. Sally Mae, checking on them. He smiled ruefully, picturing Sally in the place of his mother. For all that Sally held to her pacifist beliefs, he was willing to bet no man, husband or not, would lay a hand on her child. He wasn’t sure how she’d arrange it, but he knew in his gut that she would. She was a woman whose ability to love ran as deep as her convictions. She would protect their children. The pronoun stopped him dead in his mental tracks. Their children. Shit.

  Take her…

  Like a tease, Shadow’s suggestion sidled up to his scruples, tempting him with the possibility. Damn Shadow. He had no right to place such ideas in Tucker’s head. Not a man like him. A wife, kids, a family—they weren’t for him. His taint would haunt them. And even if he could have that dream, the only woman with whom he wanted to have them was out of reach.

  He took the knife from Davey and slid it back into the sheath. It was a small knife, but it still had a sharp edge. “You hold it this time, but be careful,” Tucker said as he handed the sheath to Davey.

  Tongue stuck in his cheek, Davey placed the sheath awkwardly in his lap. The curtains fell closed, leaving a blank window upon which his memories could paint their vivid images.

  You’re always dreaming big, boy. That’s a bad habit.

  The memory of his father’s accusation slammed out of the past, punching into his gut with the same force that his father used to make his point with his fist. His existence was a mistake. His father had tried to beat him out of his mother and then he tried to beat the life out of him. The only justice Tucker had ever seen for his mother was when someone had beaten the life out of his father. But it was only after his father died that he realized that others were standing in line to pick up where his father had left off. A man who wasn’t strong went down fast under the strength of others. He’d made damn sure he was strong. He flexed his fingers, shaking off the memory. He’d gotten to the point now where the past didn’t matter. He was big enough and mean enough that he did the ass kicking if there was a call for it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the ideal of Sally Mae’s beliefs. They were just impractical.

  Crockett growled. That in itself was enough to snap Tucker’s head up. He’d yet to meet anybody the pup didn’t love. Lyle stepped around the corner. As soon as he saw Tucker, he drew up short. The shift in his expression brought Tucker slowly to his feet. Crockett stood, too, all of his baby teeth set in a snarl. Inside Tucker, a snarl also grew. Lyle was up to no good.

  “Davey, go inside.”

  “What’ll I do with the knife?”

  Tucker kept his eyes on Lyle. From the set of Lyle’s chin and shoulders, he could see the man’s bluster was on the rise. “It’s yours, but I want you to give it to your mother for safekeeping.”

  “Really?” Davey carefully slid the small knife back into the sheath, his eyes big.

  You’d think Tucker had just given the kid diamonds. “Really. But your mom holds it, understood?”

  Davey whooped, nodded and raced to the back door. “Mom! Look what Mr. McCade gave me!”

  Lyle walked toward the back door. “Right generous of you, injun.”

  Tucker stood. “You always were a fool, Lyle.”

  Lyle’s courage ran out fifteen feet from the back door. “And you’ve always been too damn uppity.”

  Crockett advanced on Lyle. It wasn’t like the dog to take an instant dislike to somebody to that level. Tucker’s suspicions rose right along with Crockett’s hackles. “I thought I told you to stay away?”

  “I got a right to come calling on my intended.”

  Everything inside Tucker went still. “Your intended?”

&n
bsp; “That’s right.”

  “You been hitting the bottle harder than usual, Lyle?”

  “I’ve done given up the drink, not that it’s any of your business.”

  There were two constants in Lyle’s life. He always flapped his lips when he should keep them still, and he could always be found at the saloon with a bottle by his side. “Why?”

  “Mrs. Schermerhorn does not approve of strong drink.”

  “Mrs. Schermerhorn doesn’t have a problem with drink. It’s drunks she doesn’t approve of.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. Sally Mae didn’t approve of showing disrespect for what God created by poisoning it with drink, but she allowed for personal choice.

  “Nevertheless, she’s accepting my suit.”

  The thread of Tucker’s patience snapped. “The hell she is.”

  He took a step toward Lyle, not sure what he intended to do, but for sure he was doing something to wipe the confidence off the bastard’s face.

  “Tucker!”

  Only Sally Mae dared to snap his name out in that particular tone. And only Sally Mae could draw his temper up short with just a word.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute, Sally.”

  “Now, Tucker.”

  Damned if it didn’t make him smile, the way she wasn’t cowed by the thought of his temper.

  “That’s Mrs. Schermerhorn, to you,” Lyle scornfully injected.

  “The day the likes of you will be giving me orders is the day they’ll be making snowballs in hell.”

  Lyle drew himself up to his full height. Word was, before he’d found the bottom of a liquor bottle, Lyle had been the big bull in these parts. But a love of alcohol and a lazy nature had turned muscle to fat and fear of him to contempt. “As Mrs. Schermerhorn’s affianced—”

  “My what?”

  Lyle continued, as if Sally Mae hadn’t interrupted. “It’s my place to insure she doesn’t have to suffer an uppity injun who can’t remember his place.”

  Tucker pulled his hat low over his brow. “Go back inside, Sally Mae.”

  “He’s not my affianced.”

  “Didn’t think he was. Now go inside.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m about to commit a violence that will upset your peaceable nature.”