Dakota Trail

by David R Lewis

  We caught our train the next mornin’, after eatin’ a breakfast a bacon an’ eggs that Mister Rafferty made for us. To tell ya the truth, I doan remember much about the journey except that the horses, even that new little sorrel, took to the trip without no trouble. We took ‘em to a livery in St. Joe that evenin’, instead a leavin’ ‘em out in a corral, an’ got a room for the three of us. We was up afore dawn the next mornin’ an’ got a quick bite ta eat at a café that had just opened up. Me an’ Marion said goodbye to Homer then, an’ hustled quite a bit to ketch our six o’clock train.

  We got off that sidin’ near Deer Run about the middle of the afternoon an’ rode over to town as quick as we could, settin’ on two horses an’ leadin’ the one we took with us for a packhorse that we never needed an’ that little sorrel I had took a shine to. Elmo McCoy seen us out on the main street an’ give us a big hello an’ a welcome back. We turned up the lane to the livery an’ was near to the house when little Bill come runnin’ our way. Grunt the dog was near twice as big as he was afore we left, an’ he come lopin’ along behind Bill. I give the lead on the new horse to Marion an’ got down offa Willie. I was fixin’ to give the boy a hug when Grunt kindly growled at me. I called him by name an’ patted my leg. He come over, cautious like, an’ give me a sniff. His tail come to waggin’ then, an’ he kindly let outa mess a little yelps. I hugged Bill while ol’ Grunt bounced around us some. Marion got down an’ roughed the dog up a little bit, playin’ with him. Both him an’ Grunt was grinnin’. I looked toward the house an’ seen Miss Harmony comin’ out our way an’ totin’ little Melody with her. She an’ Arliss the Mule arrived at about the same time. I give her a hug, kissed Melody, an’ give that little mule a pat or two, while we all greeted one another. My eyes was some full a tears, I guess, an’ I warn’t the only one.

  Verlon come up from down by the livery then, grinnin’ quite a bit. He shook hands with me an’ Marion, then commenced to study on that little sorrel.

  “He ain’t just a terrible bad lookin’ horse, is he?” Veron said.

  “I figgerd you maybe might have some use for him. He’s easy an’ some gentle. Another year or two down the road, somebody else around here might have some use for him, too.”

  Verlon glanced Bill’s way an’ smiled.

  “We’ll git the horses put up an’ such,” he said. “Why doan you go on to the house, Ruben. I expect they’s coffee, an’ I know they is some apple pie.”

  Harmony handed me little Melody an’ we walked to the house while I toted my daughter. We took a set in the kitchen an’ Miss Harmony studied on me.

  “You look tired, Marshal Beeler,” she said, pourin’ me a cup a coffee.

  “I’m some wore down,” I tolt her. “It has been a awful journey with terrible deeds an’ a happy endin’. If ya doan mind, I’ll tell ya about it later tonight.”

  “I see you brought home another horse.”

  “Yes M’am,” I said. “That little sorrel is young an’ some easy to deal with. The ol’ boy that had him didn’t have no need for horses any more, so I brung him home. Little Bill cain’t ride Arliss for the rest a his days. I thought he might have some use for the sorrel in a year or two.”

  “Or sooner,” she said.

  “Or sooner,” I agreed.

  Melody come to fussin’ quite a bit then, an’ Harmony took her off to give her a change. I follerd along.

  “How’s Grunt gittin’ along?” I asked her.

  “He spends his days with Bill and his nights with Melody. He sleeps under her crib an’ watches out for her. I’d tried to break him of it by leaving him outside, but he’d just sit on the porch and complain. I finally gave up and let him in. I believe our baby is safe from being kidnapped.”

  Harmony put little Melody down in her crib once everthin’ was finished an’ we went back to the kitchen. She had just set down a piece a apple pie for me when everbody come in from puttin’ the horses up. Verlon poured him an’ Marion some coffee an’ took a set.

  “You look over that new horse, did ya, Bill?” I asked him.

  “He’s kindly purty, Daddy,” Bill said. “What’s his name?”

  “I doan know if he even has one,” I said. “Why doan you give him a name?”

  Bill studied on that for a spell, then looked at me.

  “Fred,” he said.

  “You sure about that are ya, boy?” Verlon asked him.

  “Yessir,” Bill said, noddin’ his head. “Fred.”

  “Fred it is,” I said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  That evenin’ I tolt Miss Harmony about most a what we had been through on the trail. She felt some bad about everthin’ that had went on, but happy about how it all ended an’ was some proud a Homer an’ Marion an’ me. I turned in early that night an’ slept quite a bit later the next mornin’ than was usual. After I had some coffee, I stepped out on the porch. Down the way in the yard I seen Little Bill, Arliss the Mule, an’ ol’ Grunt all hangin’ out together near the garden. Bill was talkin’ to his pals an’ they both seemed to be payin’ some attention.

  I went on down to the livery to put up some a my possibles an’ such. I was cleanin’ out my big pair a saddlebags when I run across them bars a soap I had bought for Miss Harmony. I took ‘em out so I could give ‘em to her, an’ felt some dust like in the bottom of the bag. Damn. I had plumb fergot about that coffee Miz Darlene had give me from the notions store. The little sack it was in had come apart an’ it warn’t good for nothin’ anymore. Oh well. At least I had a horse by the name a Fred.

  ******

  Author’s notes:

  Save an author; write a review.

  I would love to know what you think about DAKOTA TRAIL. Ratings and reviews are a great way to applaud (or boo) an author, so please consider leaving a review.

  For more information regarding other titles in this series, please visit my website, ironbear-ebooks.com or visit us on our FACEBOOK page, Ironbear eBooks.

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  Ruben and the gang are taking a little rest, now. But, don’t worry. They will be back on the trail, soon. In the meantime, please continue to the next page to read the first (3) chapters of the FEAR OF THE FATHER (the CROCKETT series, book 1).

  Thanks,

  David

  The Crockett Series consists of 8 books that follow the life of David Allen Crockett, a retired cop whose only desire is to be left alone. Crockett wants to live in a world where he can mind his own business and do radio recordings for a little extra cash once in a while. His friends won’t let him. Why? He’s too good at what he does. After all, Crockett can’t stand injustice. And, it doesn’t matter if the wrong-doings are aimed at the innocent or him. Consequently, his world becomes one of false IDs, bad guys, kidnappings, murders, and damsels in distress. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it, his motto seems to be “Here we go again!”

  Pack your Dramamine and get your seatbelt buckled, then join Crockett in the mystery and mayhem he calls life! —David R Lewis

  NOTE: Though this is a series that follows the chronological happenings in the life of Crockett and friends, each book can be read as a standalone.

  FEAR OF THE FATHER

  (Call me Crockett)

  By David R. Lewis

  Copyright 2006

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rachael Get Your Gun

  Doctor Ruby LaCost adjusted her glasses and looked at the young woman sitting across from her.

  “You’re going to what?” she asked.

  The young woman’s face was as immobile as porcelain. “I’m going to buy a gun.”

  “Ah, Rachael, I’m not sure that’s your best possible course of action at this time.”

  “You sound like a psychologist,” Rachael said, the hint of a smile teasing her glossed
lips.

  “You’re dealing with memories you’ve kept repressed for a great deal of your life. Now is not the time to get involved with a firearm!”

  “I’ve made up my mind.”

  Ruby noted Rachael’s rigid posture. “It’s your father, isn’t it?”

  Rachael looked at her blankly.

  Ruby forged ahead. “Every time you’re dealing with something about your father,” she said, “you go on emotional hold. You become neutral and separate. You tuck in behind your newsreader identity. It’s how you choose to protect yourself from him.”

  “That’s why I want a gun,” Rachael said. “To protect myself from him.”

  “You haven’t even seen the man in years. Why now?”

  “He knows that if I’m going to a psychologist some things could turn up that would be dangerous to him.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “Fifteen years or so. Ever since I went to live with Aunt Ivy.”

  “Does your aunt have any connection to him?”

  “None. She despises the man.”

  “If you haven’t had any contact with him in that long, what makes you think he knows where you are or what you’re doing?”

  Rachael plucked absently at the hem of her skirt. Her shoulders sagged and she lifted tear-filled eyes to look at Ruby.

  “He knows,” she said. “He makes it his business to know. I’m a loose end. Daddy hates loose ends.”

  “And you’ve decided to get a gun.”

  Rachael nodded.

  “Do you know anything about guns? Have you ever even shot a gun?”

  “There are a couple of places that give lessons.”

  Ruby fiddled with her pen as she stalled for time.

  “Okay,” she said. “I know somebody who might be able to help. Will you give me a day or two?”

  After Rachael left, Ruby reached for the phone to call an old friend. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, Crockett,” Ruby said. “Gotta gun?”

  “What?”

  “A gun. You know, bang-bang, innocent bystanders lying in the street, blood in the gutter, that kinda stuff.”

  Crockett lowered his voice into a stage whisper. “Ruby, if someone is forcing you to make this call, clear your throat.”

  “I have a client.”

  “One of your own? I told you that 900 number would work!”

  Ruby grinned. “If you can drag yourself out of that quagmire of isolation and self-pity you laughingly refer to as your life,” she said, “meet me for lunch.”

  “Gee, I don’t know. My calendar’s pretty full.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Is this, like, a date?”

  “Business,” Ruby said. “I’ll buy.”

  “Must be serious.”

  “Possibly. The Classic Cup, on the Plaza, one-thirty.”

  She hung up quickly, knowing that the Classic Cup did not compliment Crockett’s self image, half expecting him to call back and bitch. He didn’t.

  Crockett remained on the couch for a while, feeling like he’d come in during the middle of the movie, a common sensation when he dealt with Ruby. He realized that making him play catch-up was one of her ploys to keep him off balance, but today was different. Today was obviously not just fun and games. She wanted his cooperation. The fact that she needed his assistance for some reason didn’t mean that he had any sort of advantage. Ruby didn’t give advantages. Whatever was on her devious mind would be more than met the casual eye. Still, it was nice to be needed, even if he had no idea why. Sighing, he rose, compensated for the kink in his back, grimaced at the pain in his hip, and limped into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth in the shower, slipped into some faded jeans and a nearly clean flannel shirt, and prepared to venture out into the world.

  Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza is one of the more celebrated up-scale shopping districts in the Midwest. Luxury cars adorn its curbs, jowly businessmen its bars, young lions its pubs, junior leaguers its shops, and pretension its restaurants. Ordinarily Crockett avoided the area at all costs. Ordinarily Ruby didn’t ask him if he had a gun.

  Parking was a predictable hassle. He left Thumper on Ward Parkway and walked to the Classic Cup, wishing he’d brought his cane. Ruby was waiting just inside the door when he arrived. As usual, her slow grin brought butterflies to his nether regions, and he gave her a peck on the cheek as they were approached by a waitperson who looked a great deal like Uma Thurman. Uma raised his eyebrows and looked at Crockett. Crockett raised his and looked back. They held their mutual pose for a couple of beats and Ruby snorted.

  “Two,” she said. “A sidewalk table please. He smokes.”

  Uma permitted one eyebrow to fall and curled his lip. “This way,” he oozed, and led them outside.

  Crockett looked at Ruby as they walked to the table. She hadn’t changed much over the years. Still the thick mane of nearly black hair, still the oversized mouth and eyes, still the flawless olive complexion. At five-ten and about one-fifty he found her wonderfully substantial. In heels they stood nearly at eye level, with him on the short end. Ruby never went out in public without heels.

  She smiled at him as they sat.

  “You didn’t have to get dressed up just for me,” she said.

  “Clothes do not make the man, Ms. LaCost.”

  “No, but they evidently do make mistakes.”

  “My underwear’s silk,” Crockett said. “Chinese. Raw.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “There’s still time.”

  Ruby blew him a tiny kiss. “It is possible that I may require your assistance,” she said.

  Crockett bumped his eyebrows. Ruby ignored him.

  “I have a client who believes she needs to learn how to use a gun to protect herself,” she said. “I have attempted to dissuade her from that course of action.”

  Crockett peered at her over the top of his menu. “Of course you have,” he said. Their waitress arrived.

  Ruby ordered something with the oxymoronical title of Southwestern Pizza. Crockett had a turkey sandwich, hold the sprouts, hold the avocado, hold the cilantro, hold the orange-mustard sauce, add some mayo, tomato, and lettuce. The young woman looked at him askance. He lit a Sherman.

  “My client needs to be handled with kid gloves,” Ruby went on. “I am concerned that she will purchase a firearm and cause herself injury, or patronize a less than scrupulous instructor, or find herself immersed in a situation with which she, as emotionally fragile as she is, will be unable to cope.”

  “No shit?”

  Ruby broke out in laughter, a rich contralto that was irresistible.

  “Do you really talk like that to those poor unsuspecting victims of yours?” Crockett asked.

  Ruby rested her chin in her hand and smiled. “None of this crap works on you, does it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Crockett, no matter what I say, this woman is going to get involved with firearms. I want you to teach her how to handle a gun safely. I trust you. I believe she will, too.”

  Crockett knew Ruby’s seemingly open declaration of purpose and need was not the whole story. She had other motives. Ruby always had other motives.

  “I’m not qualified,” he said.

  “You used to be a cop. You are a truly sensitive and honorable man. This woman is very vulnerable. You would never take advantage of that.”

  “I wouldn’t?”

  “I’ll discuss it with her. If she goes for it, I’ll set up a meeting for the two of you. Feel free to charge her something unreasonable for this service. She can afford it.”

  “You’re being both civil and complimentary,” Crockett said. “I’m a little scared.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Aroused, too.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Dammit, Ruby, you know I don’t like guns.”

  “Yes, but you need my approval so badly that you will most certainly do as I a
sk.”

  He gave up. “Alright. I’ve got a recording session tomorrow morning. Tell her to call me after ten. I should be home by then. She can buy me lunch or something. I want to spend some time with her in a semi-social situation before I hand her a loaded gun. Nothing can screw up a brand new relationship like getting shot in the foot.”

  Ruby grinned.

  “No shit?” she said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Born to Rust

  Putting a sincere smile in his voice, Crockett said, “Bob Bailey Homes, Olathe, Shawnee, and Overland Park.”

  “That’s it,” squeaked his headphones. He took them off and walked out of the booth to where Rob sat amid his recorders, processors, computers, and speakers. The little girl from the advertising agency, who thought she was a copywriter, a producer, and terribly sexy, beamed at him.

  “Really great job, Mr. Crockett, really. It’s always really great to work with a professional.”

  “It is, isn’t it? That Rob’s a helluva guy.”

  She giggled in what she assumed was a fetching manner and crossed her legs. “We’ve got some other stuff coming up in a couple of weeks,” she said. “We’re gonna need kind of a hillbilly country voice, and a real nervous wimpy guy.”