The sun set before they reached the home valley. Strung out in single file, their horses as tired as they were, they came within sight of the buildings. Willis adjusted his bandanna and brushed dust from his shirt and pants.
“Well, lookee there, boys,” Charlie Weaver said. “Will is takin’ a bath in the saddle.”
“Drop dead, you jealous goat.”
“My, oh, my. Such language.”
The laughter brought a smile to Willis’ lips. God, he loved this life. “If it’s language you want, remind me when I get to the bunkhouse later.”
Charlie was quick to pounce. “Later? Where will you be in the meantime?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. That’s right. Your cow bunny will want to tighten her loop after givin’ you so much slack.”
“Your day will come,” Willis predicted. “There’s not been a man yet who is loop proof.”
“When my day does, I’ll likely be so booze blind, I’ll be married a week before I know I’m hitched.”
“Just think how drunk the dove will have to be,” Willis said, and was rewarded with guffaws and glee from every puncher.
“That one is yours,” Charlie conceded, “but I’ll have the last laugh on your weddin’ day. I’ll still be single.”
“I’ll think of you on my weddin’ night—you and your pillow.”
“Dang!” Charlie said. “That’s two in a row. And you haven’t touched a bottle all day.”
They placed the bodies in the stable on a bed of straw and covered them with blankets. Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. The Tylers had hastened from the ranch house and Reuben Marsh came from the bunkhouse to hear what had happened.
Willis was concluding his report when the one he had been yearning to see stepped through the open double doors, her ever-present shadow behind her. She was wearing her hat but he did not need to see her eyes to tell what was in them. In a few lithe bounds, she was in his arms. He held her close, intoxicated. A lump formed in his throat, and he had to cough several times before he could croak, “Did you miss me?”
“Not one bit,” Laurella said, then through the veil whispered, “I missed you more than I have ever missed anyone or anything. I thought I would die, my heart hurt so.”
Willis sure had been feeling light-headed a lot lately. “No man has ever been happier than I am right this moment,” he whispered in her ear.
Abe Tyler was standing beside the body still draped over a horse. “You brought one of the rustlers back?”
“I figured the law might need proof,” Willis said. “We can take him on to town in the mornin’.”
Abe gave a few tentative sniffs and wrinkled his nose. “He’s rank as it is. Find a spot close by and plant him. Mark it so we can find it again if we have to.”
Reuben Marsh was standing over McLeash and Stewart. “I’ve buried more good men in the past few weeks than I have in the past twenty years.”
“These will be the last for a spell,” Charlie said. “By now the rustlers are long gone. To California, maybe. Or Arizona Territory.”
“We don’t know that,” Sam Tinsdale said.
Abe put an arm around Elfie. “The important thing is that you ran them off and recovered our missing cattle. Now we can get on with the business of sellin’ the Bar T.” He looked pointedly at Laurella. “Say, tomorrow morning? We’ll go into town, consult with my lawyer, and by week’s end, he can have everything in order.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Laurella said, and squeezed Willis’ arm.
The excitement had died down. Punchers drifted toward the bunkhouse or the cook shack. The Tylers walked out with Reuben.
“Armando, wait for me at the house,” Laurella instructed her protector. “I’m takin’ a walk with my beau.”
“Sí, senorita.” Armando took a few steps, then stopped. “I have been as much use to you as a fifth wheel on that buckboard.”
“Who watched over me all the way here? But if it will make you feel any better, as soon as my pa arrives your ordeal will be over.”
“How soon will that be?” Willis was curious.
“I wrote them but they haven’t answered me yet,” Laurella said, and grinned. “It could take them a week to recover from the shock.”
Soon they were alone with the bodies. Laurella pulled Willis into a dark corner, raised her veil, and kissed him on the cheek.
“Why, you hussy,” Willis said, and kissed her on the mouth. She tasted as sweet as he remembered.
Laurella trembled against him. “I was so worried. I kept thinkin’ that it would be you they brought back belly down, that I didn’t really deserve to be happy.”
“That’s foolish talk,” Willis said.
“Habits are hard to break,” Laurella said, “and I’ve been in the habit of thinkin’ I’m a freak since I was knee-high to a calf. It will take a while to get used to the notion that maybe I’m a normal woman.”
“No maybe about it,” Willis said huskily. “You’re as normal as normal can be.” He was slightly bewildered when she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed softly into his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Laurella did not answer. She stopped sobbing but sniffled and wrung the collar of his shirt as if it were a washcloth.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I don’t have much experience with your kind—with women, I mean. Half the time I don’t know what to say or if I do know what to say I’m not sure how to say it.”
“You do fine,” Laurella said softly. “It’s me. I get emotional. I try not to but I can’t help it.” She nuzzled his neck. “I’ll get better as time goes by. Wait and see.”
“Do you hear me complainin’?” Willis responded. “Don’t change on my account. I like you just how you are.”
“You might think different a year from now.”
“I won’t think different ever. Don’t put words in my head, especially in advance.” Willis smiled to reassure her.
“Do you know that you have your father’s smile?” Laurella asked.
The reminder was like a bucket of cold water in the face. “Pa!” Willis exclaimed. “I forgot all about him. How is he, anyhow? Did he give you any trouble while I was gone? If he did, he’ll regret it.”
Laurella drew back. “Oh. That’s right. I haven’t told you yet. I was too thrilled to see you.”
“Told me what?”
“I don’t know if I should say.”
“You can’t start to say somethin’ and then not say it,” Willis said. Although, now that he thought about it, women did it all the time.
“It can wait.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Willis said.
Laurella glanced at the double doors and then leaned close. “Promise you won’t be mad at me.”
“How can I promise a thing like that when I don’t know what it is?”
“You have to promise,” Laurella insisted.
The more Willis got to know her, the more female she acted. “I give you my range word.”
“Good.” Laurella beamed. “Your father and I have become good friends. He asked if he could come to our weddin’, said it would mean the world to him. I hope you don’t mind, but I said he could.”
Chapter 20
Willis lay on his back in his bunk staring at the bunkhouse rafters and marveling, for the hundredth time, that Laurella had done what she did. Asking her to tend to his father had been a mistake. The whole time up in the mountains, he had been worried sick his father was treating her poorly, and the whole time the two of them had been getting along like two peas in a pod.
His father would come to their wedding over his dead body, Willis vowed. That old man had caused him too much misery for much too long for him to forgive and let live. If he had his druthers, he would never set eyes on Matthew ever again.
The more Willis thought about it, the madder he became. His father had a lot of gall, asking to be at the wedding, when until now he had shown no interest in Willis’ personal life or, for that matter, wanted anything to do with him. For God�
�s sake! Willis mentally shrieked at the rafters. His father had run out on his sister and him when they were barely old enough to fend for themselves. He did not give a good damn what the old man wanted, and he would make that clear as clear could be.
By the clock that Reuben Marsh kept on a shelf above his bunk, it was nearly three a.m. Snores rose in a grinding chorus. All the punchers except Willis were asleep. Or so he hoped. Easing his blanket off, he slowly sat up. He had removed his spurs before he turned in and he did not put them back on. Slowly rising, he moved toward the front. As he came abreast of Charlie Weaver’s bunk, Charlie muttered and rolled over.
Willis froze. After he was sure Charlie had not woken up, he limped to the door. The wooden latch, worn smooth by use, worked noiselessly. Then he was outside in the brisk night air, a stiff wind at his back, hurrying past the stable and the main house to the gully.
A figure separated itself from the darkness. Laurella wore a dark dress and her hat.
They hugged, Willis pulling her close against him. “How can you see out that thing?” he whispered, although he did not need to. They were far enough from the buildings that no one would hear. But he dared not risk being caught, as much for Laurella’s sake as his. Folks would not like it that they had harbored the Flour Sack Kid.
“I can see fine,” Laurella whispered, then turned her good cheek to him and raised her veil. “Can you?”
Willis took the hint and kissed her on the cheek. Taking hold of her chin, he turned her face full to him and kissed her full on the mouth. She stiffened, as she always did, and when the kiss ended, she raised a hand to the ruined half of her face and touched it as if astounded anyone would ever want to put their lips on hers. Almost reluctantly, she lowered the veil.
“Take me to him,” Willis said.
She had been to the gully so many times that she easily found her way. “There,” she said after a while, and pointed.
Thick brush choked the bottom. Willis peered intently but did not see any trace of his father. “Are you sure?”
“Matthew, are you there?” Laurella softly called out.
Part of the brush moved, and out of the opening came the man Willis could not bear to look at without his insides churning and his hands balling into fists.
“Laury!” Matthew came up the side of the gully and gave her a quick hug. “I was beginnin’ to think you weren’t comin’ tonight.”
Willis grew even madder.
“Hello, son,” Matthew said. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”
“Is it?” Willis coldly rejoined.
“Your gal is a peach, let me tell you. I never wanted for food or water the whole time you were gone.” Matthew smiled at Laurella. “She reminds me a lot of your mother, God rest her soul.”
“Have you mended enough to travel?”
Matthew seemed to give a start and tore his gaze from Willis’ intended. “What? Oh. The wound isn’t completely healed yet, but yes, I’m fit enough to light a shuck whenever I see fit.”
“Whenever I see fit,” Willis said.
Matthew’s face was hidden in shadow. “Is that how it is, then, son?”
“That’s how it is,” Willis bluntly informed him. “And I told you before to stop callin’ me that. Don’t pretend we’re somethin’ we’re not.”
“Will!” Laurella said.
“I’m sorry,” Willis said, but he was not sorry at all. “There’s too much bad blood between us for me to treat him as most sons treat their fathers. He robs. He steals. He’s an outlaw. He shot the parson—”
“That was his own fault,” Matthew said. “If the fool had let me leave in peace, it never would have happened.”
“Of course you blame him.” Willis’ fists were as hard as iron. “You always blame everyone else. You’ve conveniently forgot you tried to rob him and Fred Baxter.”
“Well, there’s that, too,” Matthew said, “but I was polite about it.”
“You’re despicable. Why didn’t you stay in Colorado? Better yet, why haven’t you gotten yourself killed? Why keep tormentin’ me?”
Laurella put a hand on his arm. “Will Lander, I won’t have you talk to your father like this in my presence. Whatever he’s done, he’s still your father and he’s always loved you very much.”
“He has a damned peculiar way of showin’ it,” Willis rasped, his throat threatening to constrict on him.
“It’s not too late,” Matthew said. “I can start over.”
“Just like that?” Willis uttered a brittle laugh. “I’m supposed to act as if all that’s happened never did? I’m supposed to welcome you back into my life with open arms? Is that how you have it all worked out in that lunatic mind of yours?”
“I’m perfectly normal,” Matthew said.
“Oh really? When was the last time you rode into a town and saw everyone walkin’ around with flour sacks over their heads? Normal folks don’t do that. Normal folks don’t rob other folks at gunpoint.” Willis’ voice was rising but he couldn’t help himself. “Normal folks don’t have wanted posters on them.” He took a step, his fists rising. “Normal folks don’t turn their backs on their son and daughter!”
“Will!” Laurella moved between them, facing him. “Don’t! You’ll never be able to live with yourself.”
“It can’t be any worse than livin’ with what I’ve already had to put up with,” Willis said.
Silence fell, broken only when Matthew finally said, “I take it I’m not invited to your weddin’.”
“You’re not completely stupid,” Willis said.
“What would you have me do then? Leave as soon as I can? Fetch a horse and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Oh, sure. I give you a mount, and by nightfall you’ve robbed someone and are back to your old ways.” Willis shook his head. “Not this time. This time we do it right. This time I take you to Cottonwood and put you on the stage to California and we never see each other again.”
Laurella bowed her head.
“If that’s how you want it, son, then that is how we’ll do it,” Matthew said. “But I feel guilty about havin’ you pay for the ticket.”
“I could just shoot you,” Willis said.
“I reckon I had that comin’.”
“You have a lot more besides.” Willis had to think a bit before he remembered what day of the week it was. “The next stage to California arrives in town the day after tomorrow. About noon, as I recollect. It heads out again at two. We’ll leave the Bar T an hour before sunup, which will allow us plenty of time to get you there.”
Laurella said, “I’m goin’, too, and don’t even think of stoppin’ me.”
I’d rather you didn’t, Willis almost responded. But her tone convinced him to keep quiet. To his father he said, “Lie low until then. Try to sneak off, and I’ll track you down and take you into town over my saddle. Savvy?”
“Whatever you want, son.”
Willis had to leave before he took a swing. Wheeling, he said, “Let’s go.” He did not look at Laurella until they were near the mouth of the gully, and when he did, she stopped and plucked at his sleeve.
“That was mean, Will. How could you—to your own pa, the man who helped bring you into this world and who raised you until your mother died?”
“You weren’t there,” Willis said. “He’s not the saint you paint him to be.”
“I’m not sayin’ he was. But he’s your father, and he deserves better than to be treated as if he’s the worst scum who ever lived.”
“You’re confusin’ my pa with yours. Mine was not there when his son and daughter needed him the most. Mine wasted his life ridin’ the owlhoot trail.” Willis was quaking with anger. “Mine couldn’t be bothered to show up at my sister’s funeral.”
“So you plan to hold all that against him for the rest of his life?”
“I’ve held it against him this long,” Willis said. “Another five or ten years won’t matter.”
“I don’t quite know what to sa
y. I’ve never met anyone so bitter. I like your pa, Will. Yes, he’s been an outlaw, and yes, he deserted you, but he wants to change and he’s here now and that ought to count for somethin’.”
“Have you asked yourself why he’s here? Why he came all the way from Colorado after all this time? I’ll tell you why. His misspent life is catchin’ up with him. He’s not as spry as he used to be. Old outlaws are soon dead outlaws unless they can dig a hole and pull the dirt in over them. That’s what I am to him: his hole—his way of hidin’ where the law will never find him and escapin’ the fate he deserves.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s just not so. I’ve talked to him. I’ve heard the love for you in his voice, seen it in his eyes. He has missed you, missed you terribly, and he wants to spend what time he has left makin’ amends.”
“He’s too late,” Willis said. “The fences that needed mendin’ have long since fallen down and there’s nothin’ left to mend.”
“You don’t feel any sentiment for him—not any sentiment at all?”
“What do you want me to do? Lie? I don’t feel a thing for him, no.” But as Willis said it, his voice broke. “I’d as soon he was dead and out of my life for good.” He turned and would have stormed off but the ache in his chest would not let him. He held out his hand for her to take and she took it.
“I’m here for you. Remember that. I will always be here for you from now until the day we die.”
Willis forgot about his father. He took her into her arms and raised her veil and lavished kisses on her until he was breathing fast and hard. Then she went back inside the house and he headed into the bunkhouse, afraid his pounding heart would wake the other hands.
Once again on his back in the bunk, Willis imagined the life he would live with Laurella, and felt joy such as he had never known. Thoughts of his father tried to intrude but he would not let them. He was done with his father. Oh, they were father and son, but only in blood, not in the real sense. His father had given up that right when he left his sister and him.
Laurella was kind enough not to bring up Matthew the next morning. Willis took her for a stroll in the bright sunlight and was invited to the house for coffee and cakes.
For the Brand Page 23
