The Badger's Revenge

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Pearl.”

  “Don’t be.” She stopped within inch of him, looked up with fully open eyes, and tilted her head toward him. “I’m not something that can be easily broken,” she said, staring into his eyes. “I’ve been lost before. Married before. You know that. I’m not lost now. I’m right where I want to be.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” Pearl whispered.

  Josiah slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He couldn’t resist her eyes, her acceptance and desire, any longer.

  Their lips met in a hard hunger, more so than when they’d kissed on the porch of his home. Now they were alone, their desires growing and bordering on release.

  Pearl arched into Josiah’s body, and at that very moment, he knew he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t hold back any longer, couldn’t control for one more second the desire he felt for her.

  They made their way into the darkness of an empty stall, their hands searching each other’s body knowingly, confidently, not shyly—unbuttoning a shirt, tugging at a dress to feel more skin, each touch more comforting and familiar as they settled onto a soft bed of straw, never losing sight of the look in each other’s eyes, a deep blue ocean broken by a small island where they both sought refuge after a long, long, journey.

  CHAPTER 33

  The sun was just breaking over the cloudless horizon, warm, fuzzy yellow light slowly eating upward into the grayness of night. Somewhere in the distance, a robin began to chirp, not singing like in spring, but calling out for another of its kind. It only took a second for an answer to come back, farther away, but familiar—then the closest robin rejoiced, breaking into a song that was meant to announce its existence and location.

  Morning was coming on gently, but Josiah was in no hurry to see the day fully arrive. He wanted time to stop, wanted to live in the private world he and Pearl had created over the past few hours, and live there for the rest of his life.

  It was a world with no past or future, no responsibilities or consequences. It just was—of the moment—of need, desire, fulfillment, touch, and the rush of power rising deep from their loins and hearts. They were like animals, unleashed and unashamed of anything that was brought on by instinct. Their bodies had smashed together, then molded to each other. After that, discovery and pleasure were the only things that mattered.

  Love and longing were not mentioned. Their physical attraction had long since been judged as mutual—there was no indecision getting in the way of their need to touch and be touched. They both had trudged through a long, lonely desert. Whatever lay ahead for them, individually and together, was buried deep, for the moment, in the recesses of their minds that held out hope for ecstasy. Reality was completely out of reach.

  There would be time enough for expectations, for the world to have its say about what had happened between them. Time for regret, if it came, or embarrassment or shame, for that matter.

  But that time was not now.

  Josiah wanted to stay joined as one with Pearl for as long as he could, feel her welcoming warmth—take pleasure in her heavy breath, committing it solidly to memory in case he was ever sentenced, by himself or another, to that lonely desert again.

  “I really have to go,” Josiah whispered.

  Pearl opened her eyes and stared at him. They were face-to-face, Josiah gently on top of her, hesitating to move. She shook her head. “No.” Her arms around his waist, she pulled him tighter against her.

  Josiah buried his face in her neck, tempted to stay longer, wanting nothing more than to add another moment to their night. He pulled back though. Pearl whimpered as he did, closing her eyes, looking away. Sadness was interrupting their world. It was hard telling what emotion would come next—from either one of them.

  He stood up slowly.

  Pearl lay naked on a quickly made heap of horse blankets, her hair sprawled out underneath her head, her body perfect. She was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Even more so when she opened her eyes again—the sadness gone, replaced with need, begging him one last time to stay.

  Josiah never wanted to forget how Pearl looked at the moment—longing for him to stay, to come back to her. The image would make the miles he had to travel a little easier, he thought.

  “What if you never come back?” Pearl asked in a husky whisper.

  Josiah exhaled deeply. “Then we’ll both be glad we had this night.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to. Nobody I care about is safe as long as Liam O’Reilly is a free man. That includes you. He seems to have eyes everywhere.” Josiah found his long johns and began to put them on.

  Pearl sat up, pulling straw from her hair, covering herself with one of the blankets.

  The air was cool but not cold. Light was creeping its way into the barn, and Pearl glowed like a mythical creature, or Penelope on that last day before Odysseus set out for Troy.

  Josiah’s mother had loved the Greek stories, and they had read them together when Josiah was in his early teens. He hadn’t thought about that for a long time, and the memory made him warm and glad that he had a comparison to make, a story to latch on to, though that journey was a long one. Josiah hoped to return a lot sooner than his fictional counterpart.

  “Can’t you leave that man’s fate to Juan Carlos?” Pearl said.

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Juan Carlos is spry, wise, and skillful for his years, but I fear he’s no match for O’Reilly. Especially if he has already matched up with Cortina. That is a well-fortified hornet’s nest. Juan Carlos can’t go it alone. It would be suicide—and I would carry his death on my shoulders for the rest of my life and still have to look over my shoulder. And yours.”

  Worry crossed Pearl’s face. “Juan Carlos has more ways about him than you’re aware of.”

  Josiah chuckled. “More ways than I want to know. Is it a family trait? These hidden skills?”

  Pearl’s face reddened with blush. “Perhaps. I have my own secrets.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Please reconsider, Josiah.” Pearl said, her face and tone serious.

  “McNelly requested I go. I have to.”

  “McNelly?”

  Josiah found his socks and pants and nodded his head yes. “I’m not riding with the Frontier Battalion any longer. Pete Feders is no longer my captain. I’m not sure how that got arranged, but I am glad of it now.”

  Pearl’s eyes grew narrow. She started to say something, then held her tongue.

  Silence fell between them for a long moment. The robin drew closer, singing from the live oak just outside the door.

  “I think it’s best.” Josiah slipped a suspender over his shoulder.

  “You will be gone longer, farther away,” Pearl finally said.

  “McNelly is at his ranch for the winter. This is a special assignment, one I would have leapt at if it hadn’t come my way with the release from the Battalion. We have to stop O’Reilly.”

  “He feels the same about you.” Pearl stood for a long second, her search for clothes stopped, as she let the blanket fall away. It was one last sly attempt to derail Josiah’s departure. But it was, regrettably, too late for that.

  “You’re sure a sight to behold,” Josiah said.

  “I won’t ask you to stay again. Not this time.”

  Josiah looked away. “I would stay if I could. There would be too many complications. Too many lives left at risk.”

  Pearl walked to him then and slid her arms around his waist. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

  “I will do everything in my power to make it back here. There’s nothing more I’d like than to see you in a proper bed.”

  “Being improper?” A smile curled across Pearl’s lips.

  Josiah didn’t answer her. He kissed her deeply, closed his eyes, and let himself reenter their special world one last time.

  Josiah didn’t look back as he left. He knew Pearl would be standing in the shadows wat
ching him go, her eyes still begging him to stay. He didn’t want to see that or take the risk of being seen.

  He had eased Clipper out the back of the barn, taking an unseen exit from the Fikes estate.

  The sun was nearly up over the horizon, and every man and woman who worked in the mansion was already up, or would be soon. The day had begun, and though he had gotten hardly any sleep, just a doze now and then, afraid he would miss one second of being with Pearl, Josiah felt invigorated, and oddly at peace with how the whole night had turned out.

  The road was nearly a trail, one that led into town over a steep hill and through a healthy grove of oaks and maples. A creek cut through at the dip, with pecan trees and junipers as thick as he had ever seen them.

  He had traveled this trail before, but only at night, his senses lost in confusion as he had sought an escape from the estate, when he wanted to be as far away as he could be. That seemed like so long ago—he was a different man on the same trail.

  He felt alive now, fully himself, surprised at how much life had changed in a matter of a few short months. Facing reality would come sooner rather than later, but for the moment, he still wanted to bask in the joy and pleasure of the previous night.

  Clipper was moving along at an easy trot, the light certain now and the trail clear. The horse seemed to sense Josiah’s mood and mirrored it thoroughly and implicitly until the Appaloosa heard something ahead and stiffened, piquing his ears.

  Josiah heard the same thing as the horse, at about the same time. He pulled back on the reins, bringing Clipper to a stop, his hand automatically easing onto the grip of the Colt.

  It only took a second for the rider to appear, pushing full out. To Josiah’s relief, it was Scrap Elliot.

  Clipper relaxed as Josiah loosened his hold on the reins. They both sat there waiting.

  Scrap saw Josiah just as soon as he cleared a bend in the trail, braking Missy, the blue roan mare, hard, but gentle. “There you are,” he said.

  “What are you up to, Scrap?”

  Scrap looked at Josiah oddly, not accustomed to the happiness in his voice. “Come to gather you up, that’s all.”

  “I’m on my way home now.”

  “Best hurry that up.”

  Josiah furrowed his brow, noticing the sweat on Scrap’s forehead, the full complement of bullets in his belt, and the stuffed saddlebag tied over the saddle. “Where’s the trouble?”

  “Ain’t none yet, but Juan Carlos is madder than a hot pepper at your absence.”

  “What do you know about Juan Carlos?”

  “Tarnation, Wolfe. I’m goin’ with you. I’m one of McNelly’s boys now, too.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The noise from the hustle and bustle of Austin reached them long before they left the trail. Morning had fully broken, the edge of the sun a quarter of a hot red plate on the horizon.

  Clouds that looked like narrow fingers stretched out overhead, the soft light coating the underside with warm tinges of pink. It was hard to tell if the sky was angry or happy. The combination of colors was confusing, especially against the sky that seemed to suck up the hues like a sponge. In some places it was blue, mostly off in the distance, to the west, and in others it was almost pure white, void of any perceptible weather or attitude.

  The sky over Austin itself turned from pink to fire red, the color of a warning flag, but that did not deter Josiah. He pushed Clipper as hard as he could, rushing home, riding as fast as he could—just so he could leave again.

  Scrap and Missy had no trouble keeping up, and there was no question that on a good day, the roan mare could outrun Clipper by a fast mile. Today was not that day though. There was no need for Scrap to make haste any more than he already was; the boy had already done his duty.

  The thought of the boy riding along to the border with him and Juan Carlos was both an aggravation and a comfort to Josiah. He was glad Scrap was still a Ranger, even gladder that he hadn’t followed after Donley and fallen into bad graces with Governor Coke, but it felt like there was a rope tied to Josiah that always ended up being looped around Scrap. It was something to get used to, and mostly, Josiah didn’t want to be partnered with anyone, especially a hothead like Scrap Elliot. He liked riding alone or with the boys of the company, not just one man.

  Little puffs of dust flew up behind the two horses each time a hoof landed heavily on the ground. There was no need to worry about hiding their destination, but Josiah was tense anyway, constantly looking for the next ambush, sure that O’Reilly would kill him sooner rather than later.

  Regardless of Juan Carlos’s knowledge of the Irishman’s trek to the border and potential union with Cortina, there were enemies to be on the lookout for right in the heart of Austin.

  How far O’Reilly’s shadow and orders fell was never in question. The scoundrel had picked up right where Charlie Langdon had left off, creating a gang of followers who, for some reason, were more than happy to do his bidding.

  There was no doubt O’Reilly was capable of meanness and madness, violent acts that would make even the most experienced Ranger wince and look away, but it had never appeared to Josiah that the Irishman had the gift of persuasion—other than with a six-shooter and a knife. There had to be more to the man’s power than he knew.

  The trail narrowed through another thick grove of trees, and Josiah continued to lead the way.

  Buildings on the outskirts of the city were easily within a half a mile’s ride, in sudden view once they broke out of the trees. Josiah was not planning on slowing down until he reached the house he called home, but he was surprised to see a familiar horse standing idle in the middle of the trail about fifty yards up.

  Juan Carlos was waiting, sitting on his nameless chestnut stallion, a hard look on his face.

  Josiah pushed Clipper a little harder, rushing to Juan Carlos, then eased the Appaloosa back, coming to a quick stop. Scrap followed suit and stopped Missy beside Josiah, with a concerned look on his face.

  “Whoa, there, Clipper,” Josiah said, patting the horse’s sweaty neck. “I expected to find you at the house,” he said to Juan Carlos.

  “I am here.”

  “I can see that. Something is wrong.” Josiah squinted knowingly, it wasn’t a question.

  “Sí, there is. Two men are watching the house, waiting for your return. They are well armed and unfamiliar. I am sure they do not intend to look out for your best interests.”

  Josiah felt a burning sensation in his chest. “I was afraid that might happen.” He flipped the reins, but Juan Carlos eased his horse in front of Clipper, gently grabbing the bridle, not allowing Josiah to pass.

  “You cannot go home, señor. They will kill you and your son.”

  “They will anyway. I have to protect him.”

  A slight smile slipped across Juan Carlos’s leathery brown face. “Señor Lyle is not there. Nor is Ofelia.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Safe in Little Mexico.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “That’s the first place they’ll look,” Scrap interjected. “Everybody knows Wolfe favors Mexicans.” He waited a second, then nodded. “No offense to you, Juan Carlos,” he added.

  Scrap’s tone was conciliatory, which was as uncommon as a pure white hawk flying overhead. The gesture surprised Josiah, but he didn’t care at the moment to find out what had changed between the two men. Perhaps it had something to do with McNelly, or maybe not.

  “If those men go after el niño, they will not leave there alive.” The look in Juan Carlos’s eye was as unmistakable as the certainty in his voice.

  Scrap just shrugged. “We’re gonna have to have our eyes peeled then.” He looked at the sky, then said, “It’d be easier to travel at night, but I got a feelin’ there’s bad weather comin’ along. Pink skies ain’t for fairy tales. Saw a tornado once in the afternoon after seein’ a mornin’ sky like this one here.”

  “You cannot go home, Señor Josiah. I have packed as much of your gear in
to my bags as I could.”

  Josiah exhaled loudly. “If you think it’s best.”

  “I do.”

  “I would have liked to have seen Lyle before I left.”

  A gentle, knowing look crossed Juan Carlos’s face. “It is a good thing you did not come home last night, señor. There may have been more trouble than we could have handled. Leaving this way has, perhaps, saved some shooting and fear that the boy would remember. Trust me, this way is better.” He paused, then allowed himself to smile, broadly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  Josiah felt his face flush. It was most certainly the color of the sky, but he said nothing, gave no indication of what had happened or would happen. Juan Carlos knew somehow, though. That wasn’t a big surprise.

  “Yeah, Wolfe, come to think of it, what in tarnation was you doin’ out so late at the Fikes place?”

  “That’s none of your business, now, is it?” Josiah snapped.

  Juan Carlos started to laugh. It was a tiny laugh just in the bottom of his throat at first, then it dropped to his thin, almost invisible belly, and he laughed deeper.

  “What did I say?” Scrap said.

  “Nothing,” Juan Carlos said in between laughs. “I just have not seen Señor Josiah look so young and foolish in a very long time. It is a nice thing to see.”

  “If you say so.” A perplexed look crossed Scrap’s face. It didn’t appear that he found anything funny about the situation.

  “Thank you, Juan Carlos, you’re a true friend,” Josiah said, the note of sarcasm in his voice high—which of course, made Juan Carlos laugh even harder.

  “I think we had better go,” Scrap said. “Are you comin’, old man, or are you gonna sit here hee-hawin’ all day, drawin’ all kinds of notice right to us?”

  “Usted tiene el humor de una chiva,” Juan Carlos said to Scrap, grabbing his stomach, forcing himself to stop laughing.

  “What did he say, Wolfe?”

  “How in the heck would I know?”

  “You live with a Mexican.”