Ralph Compton Tucker's Reckoning (9781101607770)

by Compton, Ralph; Mayo, Matthew P.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Arliss and Tucker did their best to keep Emma occupied and close by them in the days following her lousy announcement, but it became apparent that she’d not let it go on that way forever. She wasn’t much use to them, her mind elsewhere.

  “I’m worried about her, boy. She ain’t right. That English buzzard is going to pay for this.” Arliss turned from the doorway of the barn and headed for the tack room.

  “Where you going, Arliss?”

  The old man spun on him, came at the younger man with a finger poised. “I’m going off to do what you appear to be too stupid or too scared to take care of.”

  “Just what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said.” The old man headed once more into the tack room.

  Tucker followed him. “You can’t just say something like that and then leave, Arliss. I’m as concerned about her as you are, maybe more. I . . .”

  “There,” said Arliss, smiling. “You was about to say it. Go ahead and admit it: you feel something powerful for that girl. I may be old and bent by my rheumatics, but I ain’t stupid, nor blind, nor deaf neither.”

  “What am I supposed to say to her? She’s a woman, a beautiful woman.” Tucker toed the straw on the stable floor. “But I’m . . . well, you know what I am, what I have, where I’m headed. I’m wanted by the law. Everyone thinks I killed her uncle, including you and her. Hell, I’m surprised when I wake up alive. Figure, from your point of view at least, that I’ve earned a bit of retribution.”

  Arliss slammed the harness down on the workbench and glared at Tucker. “If that don’t beat all! I say, if that don’t beat all! You think we’d honestly let someone we thought killed my best friend in the world and Emma’s only and last living blood kin on the earth—any that mattered anyway—that we’d let him live under this here roof? You’re dumber than I thought. I knew we’d be having an uphill battle with you, being a Texan and all, but I thought you might be the pick of that Texican litter, thought you might be the one sharp knife in that drawer full of spoons. But I guess I was proved wrong once again.” He turned away, sputtering.

  Tucker couldn’t help smiling.

  “Gets to be a man with a superior intellect such as myself ought not to get himself all built up, get so he believes someday somewhere someone might just prove him wrong. But no, I guess being so smart and all, I am doomed to a lifetime of disappointment.”

  “So you’re saying that neither of you thinks I’m a killer.”

  “Any plainer, boy, and you’d risk it smacking you in the head. Which is what I’m about to do. And if you’re fixing to talk with Emma, try to convince her to keep from making a wrong decision, for all the wrong reasons, you best get at it.” Arliss turned away again, then came right back up to Tucker with that finger poised. “But you listen good. Anytime I see her crying and it ain’t because she stubbed a toe, I’ll be on you like flies on a cowpat. You hear me, you Texas waddy?”

  Tucker nodded at Arliss, trying to keep from smiling. But it was too much for him and the old man just walked away, muttering about how foolish everyone was acting.

  “Good,” said Tucker. “Then I’m going to see to that busted fence in the south heifer pasture.”

  “But I thought you was going to go see Emma!” Arliss stared at Tucker as if he had swallowed a bee.

  “All in good time, Arliss.”

  * * *

  Outside the back door of the barn, Emma heard the whole conversation and headed back to the house. Her smile slowly faded as she recalled that the things she was thinking about could never be. There wasn’t enough time, money, or people to stop the mad Englishman from taking everything he wanted—herself included. And it seemed that even Samuel Tucker, a man she’d grown fond of, didn’t sound to her as if he wanted to even talk with her.

  He’s just playing us along, she told herself. Healing up until he can move on. She climbed the front steps to the house, poked the coals in the cookstove. But she knew she was kidding herself. She knew the way Tucker watched her when he thought she was busy. But it was absurd. The man was a drunk. . . . So why was she trying to lie to herself now? She slammed the top on the woodstove. What did she want?

  “Emma.”

  She turned to see Samuel Tucker standing inside the door.

  “Emma, I need to talk with you.”

  “I thought you were going to the south heifer pasture. . . .” She bit off the words, but too late. Now he’d know she’d been listening in on them.

  He walked up to her and stood before her. A single tear slid down between her nose and cheek. She gritted her teeth, didn’t dare wipe it away. She hated crying.

  “So you know what I said to Arliss.”

  She nodded, didn’t look up. He dabbed the tear, then raised her chin. They looked at each other a moment. Then he kissed her, long and slow. She put her hands on his chest and leaned against him.

  They stood that way for a while in the silent kitchen, the stove’s coals slowly dying out, the cold of the waning day overtaking the room. “I don’t know what to do,” she said finally, in a quiet voice.

  “Marry me, Emma. Say you’ll have me and the rest won’t matter.”

  She pulled back, looked at him. That was not what she had expected. Two such offers in as many days. “I always assumed growing up that I’d never marry, that I’d live out my days on this ranch, the Farraday spread as everyone calls it. Managing the herds, working alongside my father and uncle and Arliss as they grew old. But all that began to change two years ago, less than a year after Grissom came to town.”

  “I don’t want to go to Texas. You can’t stay here. Arliss won’t leave.”

  “Neither will I,” she said, pushing away from him.

  “What? But there’s no way you can stay. We can’t beat him, Emma. There’s no way I can think of to best that man. He has money, power, armed men, the town’s support, in part because he’s getting rid of Grissom. From what you said, he probably owns Marshal Hart too.”

  “A couple of days ago I’d have defended the marshal, but now I’m not so sure. I think you’re maybe right.”

  “So you agree, there’s no way to beat Tarleton.”

  “Can’t beat ’em . . .”

  “Emma.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, stared into her eyes. They were like sparks and he wanted to kiss her again, but he had to get this thing straight, settled in his mind once and for all. “Emma.” He felt her breath on his face. Then she pulled away and he let her.

  “You’ve decided, then.”

  She said nothing, just stood at the long scarred surface of the dry sink, the chopping board, running her callused fingers along its smooth, work-worn surface.

  Tucker watched her for a few moments more, hoping there might be something he could say, but nothing came to him. He’d said it all and now felt hollow, gutted by a dull, ice-cold knife.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “You have to help me, Granville.”

  “Grissom?” Marshal Hart rubbed a big hand through his bristly gray-black hair. “What in the hell are you doing here? You know what time it is?”

  “I am well aware of the time, Marshal. I own a pocket watch.”

  “Probably not anymore.” A voice from the dark behind Grissom snickered.

  The marshal leaned out his doorframe, peered into the dark. “That Vollo, the worm?”

  The little grungy man stepped forward, pushing Grissom out of the way. “Watch what you say, Mr. Law Dog. I want to know what you gonna do about that man who killed Rummler—you know, the killer you let go from your jail.”

  The big marshal grabbed a handful of soiled shirt, chest hair, and wooden neck beads and dragged the little man in close, their nose tips almost touching. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing about it—
I ain’t arrested you for the murders of Rummler and Farraday yet. Count yourself lucky if that don’t change in the next five seconds.”

  Grissom watched as the little man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, too frightened by the marshal’s narrowed eyes and low, husky growl to say anything. Not wanting to risk annoying the marshal any further, especially not when he needed a favor, Grissom also kept his mouth shut.

  The marshal let go of Vollo’s shirt and shoved him backward. Vollo stumbled to the edge of the small porch and teetered there on the first step, until he grabbed a porch rail and stood still.

  “Now, what’s this about me having to help you, Grissom?”

  “Yes, well, it occurred to me that I have done a good many people in this community a good many favors over the years, and now that I find myself in a bit of, shall we say, a squeeze, I think it’s time I call in a few well-earned favors.”

  “Ain’t the way I heard it,” said the marshal, arms folded over his long-handles, his chest hair crawling out the top. “Squeeze, I mean. I heard you are in something a mite more than a squeeze, Grissom. Heard you were all but done in this town. Heard that you assaulted Lord Tarleton, forced his two bodyguards to put innocent people in this town in mortal danger by firing at you in defense of their employer. A man who, I might add, has done more for this town in driving out a snake like you and that worm there than anything you have done in your nearly three years in Klinkhorn.”

  “But . . . what do you mean, Granville? We have an agreement, Marshal. An understanding. You wouldn’t want me to let certain people know of a certain killing or two that you were behind, now, would you?”

  The big marshal laughed a low, deep sound, cold and without mirth, but it fit his mood. His mouth beneath his ample mustache was the only thing on his face to smile. His eyes were unmoving points of black light. “I ain’t afraid of you. You can’t touch me, can’t do it.” He reached back into the dark of the foyer beside him and lifted out a shotgun. “I tell you what I’ll do, Grissom. I’ll give you and that worm of yours to the count of five to get off my porch. I’m feeling extra generous, so I’ll give you until an hour before dawn to get the hell out of town altogether. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”

  “But . . . how dare you? I made you what you are, gave you the ability to make good money in this town, and this is the thanks I get?” Grissom’s purpling face shook with rage and his voice grew louder.

  “You keep it up,” said Hart, “and you won’t make it to dawn.” He racked in a shell and never lost his smile.

  Grissom followed Vollo to the steps, and as he reached the first one, he felt a boot pushing against his ample backside and he pitched forward, hit the ground face-first, and heard that same deep, cold laugh rumbling behind him.

  “Get up, Grissom. Get up and get gone from my town.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Emma was pleased to find Louisa Penny home, her little house’s front room cluttered as usual with all manner of dummies bedecked in a variety of dresses in various stages of construction. Patterns hung from chair backs, the floor was barely visible through layers of cloth scraps, balls of yarn, baskets brimming with other projects, and against one wall, a loom stood canted to one side. It bore a colorful project half-completed, waiting in vain for the woman who might not get back to it for weeks.

  “Louisa? You in here?”

  “Back here. . . .”

  Emma stepped with care through the clutter and made her way to the kitchen at the back of the first floor.

  “Emma! So good to see you. What brings you to town today?” Louisa clunked the wooden spoon on the edge of the simmering pot and hugged her younger friend.

  “I was in a few days ago too, during that snowstorm we got.”

  “All but melted now,” said Louisa, rubbing her hands. “I hate to admit it, but I don’t want winter this year. My hands aren’t getting any less stiff. I can’t bear to think what the cold will do to these knuckles.” She held her hands out in front of her.

  Emma regarded them, the red, work-hardened hands and bumpy knuckles half as feminine as a lady of finery’s hands would be.

  “If I had any way of taking on less work and more time to relax doing what I enjoy doing, I’d take the chance in a heartbeat. But if needs must, or some such thing. . . . I have it better than most in Klinkhorn. I have a skill that, while it might not pay much, does keep body and soul together.”

  “That’s what I came to talk with you about, Louisa. All this talk of money everybody seems to be having.”

  “I guess it’s because of that Lord Tarleton and all his grand falutin’ talk about making Klinkhorn into a . . . ‘destination’ is the word he keeps using. Claims everybody and their brother will pay to come here for what he calls a ‘wilderness experience.’”

  “Do you believe that, Louisa?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Emma shook her head, then said, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else? Ever? Unless I say you can?”

  Louisa smiled. “That depends if you’re about to tell me you murdered someone.”

  Emma stared at Louisa, not smiling.

  “Emma, tell me you haven’t killed someone. I was only joking.”

  “No, no, nothing like that. But . . . in a way it might be killing someone’s spirit.”

  Louisa put her arm around Emma and pulled her over to a chair at a small table in the sun. “Sit here and I’ll make some tea. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  She set the pot and two cups down and poured the tea. “What would you like to tell me, Emma? And yes, I will keep it a secret for as long as you’d like me to.”

  Emma tapped the rim of the elegant little saucer under the teacup, thought about the many times she’d had tea here at Louisa’s house. It was the only place she’d ever experienced the fineries that Louisa had told her so many times were a lady’s privilege, even on the frontier. Most of her always thought it was a bit silly, and that Louisa was always a little too frilly sounding for her, but there was a part of her that wanted to be like that, wanted to wear the dresses. She couldn’t help it. And now that such things were offered to her in spades, she wasn’t sure she wanted them, wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Emma, what’s wrong?”

  “That Englishman everyone’s so excited about—even you—”

  “Lord Tarleton? Yes.” Louisa smiled and Emma thought maybe she even blushed a bit. “He’s a handsome man, to be sure. And he’s—”

  “He’s asked me to marry him, Louisa.” Emma blurted it out and then stared at the pink flowers on the tablecloth.

  Her friend’s continued silent shock finally drew her gaze back upward. Louisa was smiling. “You’re . . . why, you’re going to say yes, I assume, Emma.”

  “Why should I?” she said. “I mean I guess I have to, but really, why should I have to do this for everyone? Why does it have to be me?”

  “Emma, what are you talking about?”

  “This foul town, everybody in Klinkhorn stands to gain something if he stays, and he’ll only stay if I agree to marry him.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Not in such words, but yes. But, Louisa, I don’t love him. I don’t even like him. Is this the way it’s supposed to be?”

  “Is there some sort of rush? Don’t you have time to think about it?”

  “I don’t think so, no. He says he owns our place, that the loan you mentioned that Uncle Payton took out was never paid off, and now that he bought the bank, he owns all the unpaid debt, and that includes our place.”

  “But that can’t be. Payton paid off the loan. He told me so himself, on that very day he died.”

  “That’s the problem. No one can find the signed document saying the land was paid off. Samuel Tucker says that—”

 
“Wait, who? Who have you been talking with, Emma?”

  The girl sighed. “You might as well know: he’s the man who was suspected—wrongly, I might add—of killing Uncle Payton.”

  Louisa backed up, her jaw set firm. “What are you telling me? I’d heard he escaped from the jail. The marshal said he was long gone from Klinkhorn.”

  “Well, he’s . . . Look, Louisa, you have to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone. Do you understand?”

  “If it’s about that killer being anywhere near you or Arliss or this town, I can’t make that promise, Emma. I can’t do it.”

  “He’s not a killer, Louisa. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Whose truth, Emma? His?”

  Emma had never seen her friend act this way before. Louisa looked as angry as anyone she’d ever seen.

  “Louisa, I need to talk with you about this.”

  “About what, Emma? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you have fallen in love with this outlaw. That he’s living in your house, or some such nonsense.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. Either Louisa was a really good bluffer or she was just taking a stab in the dark and hitting her target dead-on.

  “Oh no, you’re serious? Emma . . . what does Arliss say?”

  “We have proof that he didn’t kill Payton.”

  “That came from him, conveniently, right?”

  “That’s not fair, Louisa.”

  “It might not be fair, but I bet it’s the truth. Now tell me you don’t really love him, Emma.”

  “And tell you that I love the Englishman instead, right? Isn’t that what you want to hear? Isn’t that what the entire town wants to hear?”

  Emma headed for the door, with Louisa close behind, trying to stop her, saying, “Emma, wait. We can talk this out. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You just took me by surprise.”

  “I never should have come to town today.”

  She shrugged Louisa’s hand off her arm and headed out the door. None of it was fair and none of it was avoidable. Short of killing a few folks herself, she couldn’t think of a way to get out of this mess. But there had to be a way. She just had to believe it. The only people she could trust now were Arliss and herself. Could she trust Samuel? What if Louisa was right? Of course she’d be angry and not want to believe in Samuel Tucker—he was the man accused of killing Payton, the man Louisa had been courted by, after all.