by Tinnean
“It’s all right. We’ll just have to be more careful in the future.” Papa stroked his hair and his back, which made George feel better until he realized Papa was shaking as much as he was.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know—some saddle tramp Don Jorge hired, I suppose. We’d better get out of here.”
“Can we go back to the valley?”
“No. They’ll come after me for shooting that bas—man.”
“Will they send you to prison?”
“No, they’ll figure he just needed killing, but a trial might rouse interest, and Don Jorge would send more men this way.”
George felt his eyes well with tears. “I’m sorry, Papa. This is all my fault.”
“It’s not, and I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s your grandfather’s for sending someone like this—” Papa nudged the man’s boot with his toe. “—to get you.” He gathered up George and threw him up onto Nightfall’s new saddle. “Now pay attention to what I’m telling you. I’ve got the title to that land.” He took the money belt from under his shirt and opened it, showing George the paper. “The valley will always be ours. Now. We’re going to head on east, and maybe someday a few years from now, we’ll be able to come back. How’s Sunrise?”
“Mr. Ike said her foot’s fine.” George worked his boots into the stirrups and caught up the reins. “He replaced the shoe. He also said the coin was enough.”
“Then there’s nothing keeping us here. It’s a good thing I got the supplies.” Papa mounted Sunrise. “Let’s go.” He rode out first, watching to see if anyone came running, but oddly enough, no one seemed to have heard the gunshot. Or if they had, they hadn’t been curious enough to investigate.
Sancho Panza stood outside the stable, waiting for them. Papa grabbed the mule’s lead and glanced around a final time.
“The ladies are going on a picnic,” George told him. “Maybe that’s where everyone is?”
“Maybe, son. Wherever they are, Ike is sure to be back sooner than I’d like. We’d better not dawdle.” He kicked Sunrise into a canter and George followed him.
And in spite of everything, he enjoyed the feel of his new saddle under him.
Chapter 4
Tom spent the next few months sleeping with one eye open. He didn’t breathe easy until he got them on the other side of the Mississippi, and even then he kept pushing for them to put distance between them and Don Jorge.
They did make a side trip up into Canada, which resulted in their trail being even more muddied if anyone was trying to track them. Tom hadn’t planned on it, but after they’d chanced to cross paths with a family of runaway slaves, it had seemed the right thing to do, and he and George had helped them get out of the country.
Eventually they arrived in New York City, and after a while, he found a room for them in a boarding house in the East Village run by an Irish widow.
He found a stable nearby for the horses and Sancho Panza.
And finally he found a company that offered a job driving hansom cabs through the streets of the city.
He took George with him when he went to see about the position.
“This would be a good job for you, Papa.” He smiled up at the man who was the owner of Hudson’s Carriages for Hire. “My papa is the best man in the country with horses.”
“Is he, boy?” Hudson looked over Tom’s dusty clothes, obviously taking note of his worn boots and stained sombrero. He turned his gaze to Sunrise and Nightfall. The horses stood placidly beside them. “I don’t doubt you can ride, but can you handle a carriage?”
“Let me show you what I can do.” Tom exchanged a wink with his son. He had trained Sancho Panza to pull the small cart he’d given his pretty wife to mark their first anniversary. Analeigh had been so pleased, and after George was born, she’d take him with her when she went to see Father Felipe or their neighbors.
“Okay, but this better be good. I ain’t got all day to hang around watching you make a fool of yourself.”
Tom grinned down at George and ruffled his hair when he bounced with excitement. “Here, son.” He handed George Sunrise’s reins.
Hudson led them into the stable just as a horse in one of the stalls gave a scream of outrage. A man squirmed out of the stall and lit out like his tail was on fire.
The sound of thuds rang through the stable as iron-shod hooves came into contact with wooden walls.
The man sent a terrified glance behind him. “I quit,” he shouted as he ducked behind them and bolted into the street.
“That goddamned knothead is gonna tear my stable apart,” Hudson said sourly. “I’ve had it. That’s the third man that flea-bitten nag has lost me this month alone. You better stay out of the way, boy, before he stomps you to dust. Barney.” Hudson yelled for one of the stable boys. “You go get the knacker. I’m done with this outlaw.”
“Hold on a second, Mr. Hudson,” Tom said. He’d been studying the brown and white paint gelding who paced the box stall, teeth bared and ears flattened. “You want to test my mettle—how about you see how I handle this horse?”
Hudson studied him for a minute, then shrugged. “It’s your neck.” He and Barney backed away. “I told you to move, boy,” he said to George.
“My son is handy around horses. Don’t worry about him. George, get Sunrise and Nightfall out of here.”
“And you might want to stay out of here,” Hudson shouted after George as he ran out of the stable with the two horses trailing behind him.
Tom just grinned. “Mr. Hudson, do you have some grain?”
“Yeah. Barney—where in tarnation did that boy get to?” Hudson looked around, frowning when he spotted the stable boy peeking around a bale of hay.
“George.”
“Yes, Papa?” George had returned by this time. “The horses are fine.”
“Good boy. Go get me a handful of grain.”
Tom knew his son would do as he was told, so he focused his attention on the paint. He didn’t enter the stall just yet. Instead, he studied the animal’s nervy movements, stamping his hoof and tossing his head.
“Here, Papa.” George stood beside him, a handful of grain in his cupped palm.
“Good boy,” Tom said again. He took the grain and approached the stall, crooning softly while he extended his hand.
The gelding continued pawing the ground but his ears flicked forward, and he wasn’t quite as nervy as a few minutes before. His nostrils flared as he scented the grain, and he stretched his head toward it.
“Come on, boy. It’s right here, waiting for you.” Tom began crooning again. He offered the grain on his palm.
The gelding took a step forward, and then another.
“That’s it. Why fight when you can eat? Here, have something delicious.”
The gelding accepted the grain, and when Tom entered the stall, the horse’s ears stayed up and he made no effort to charge Tom.
“Holy smokes!” Hudson exclaimed. “How’d you do that?”
“I told you my papa knows what he’s doing.” The pride in his son’s voice made Tom happy.
“It purely looks like he does.”
“That’s the boy.” Tom grinned and fondled the gelding’s ears. He’d always had a way with horses—one of the reasons he’d trained them for the cavalry. Tom stroked the brown marking that ran from between the paint’s ears down to his nose. Abruptly, he frowned. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Hudson demanded.
“What kind of bridle have you been using on him? The corners of his mouth are torn up.”
“He’s a devil. My drivers needed something to keep control of him.”
Tom shook his head. “Hire me for a couple of weeks, and let me take this horse out. If I can’t work with him, you won’t have to pay me a red cent.”
“You’re out of your mind, but like I said, it’s your neck. I’ll give you two weeks.”
Tom glanced over his shoulder. “
George, see if you can find a hackamore.” He fussed over the gelding, rubbing his ears and scratching the spot under his mane that caused his hide to ripple and his eyes to close in obvious pleasure.
“We don’t have none of those,” the stable boy said.
“That’s okay. I’ll make one,” George answered, and Tom was so proud he could have burst his buttons. “Do you have some rope?”
Hudson and the stable boy looked at George askance, and Tom hid a grin. He’d taught his son quite a bit, and over the past few years, George had become as handy around horses as he was.
Meanwhile, Tom kept stroking and making a fuss over the gelding. “So you’re an outlaw, are you?” Tom tugged the gelding’s forelock and rubbed his ears.
“All set, Papa.” George held out the head gear he’d fashioned from a length of rope.
“Nice work, son.” Tom took the hackamore, but when he brought it toward the horse’s head, the gelding threw up his head and flattened his ears once again. “Easy. Easy, now.” Tom calmed the paint down and let him get used to seeing the hackamore. When he finally seemed comfortable, Tom slid the headband on and made a few adjustments before fastening it in place. “All right now, suppose we go for a walk?”
Tom led the gelding down the center of the stable. At first he could see the horse was ready to balk, but when he realized his mouth was free of the bit, he followed willingly.
* * * *
At the end of two weeks, Hudson scratched his head in amazement as Tom harnessed the gelding to a hansom cab and drove up and down the street in front of Hudson’s Carriages.
“You sure it’s a good idea not to have blinkers on that knothead?”
Tom gave him a look. “Outlaw is more comfortable and better behaved without having his side vision blocked. Trust me, he’ll be a happier horse.”
“Outlaw?”
“You named him.”
Hudson shook his head. “You’ve got yourself a job! But just make sure you’re the one who drives him.”
“I can do that. I’ll want some time to be with my boy, though.”
“I’ll need you most mornings and evenings. Those are our busiest times, what with men needing to get to work or wanting to take their ladies to dinner or the theater.”
Tom figured that would be a good arrangement. He’d enrolled George in a good day school, so he should be back at the boarding house when his son got home. Mrs. O’Connor, their landlady, had taken a shine to George and had agreed to keep him with her while Tom was at work.
Hudson wasn’t a bad man. He did a good job running the business. He just wasn’t comfortable around the horses. Tom could help him out there.
He stuck out his hand, and they shook on it.
* * * *
Tom quickly learned his way around the city. In addition, by listening to the men who rode in his cab, Tom learned of various important business dealings and was able to take advantage of some of them, making enough money for him and George to live comfortably.
The tension began easing out of him, and he stopped looking over his shoulder, expecting another yahoo like the one whose brains he’d left splattered all over in the stable in Woody Draw. With any luck, if Don Jorge was still looking for George, he wasn’t looking in the East.
* * * *
There came a Saturday when Tom had the morning free, and since George also had the next two days free, Tom planned for them to take the horses out. Tom missed riding, and he couldn’t wait to get on Sunrise’s back. This would be the first time they’d been riding together since Tom began driving a cab. He’d given the task of caring for the animals to his son, and in addition to grooming the horses and the mule and mucking out their stalls, George had been riding them for a little while each day after he came home from school.
He shook his son awake. “Let’s get hopping, George.”
George bounced out of bed. “We’re going riding!”
“Yes, we are, after we’ve had breakfast. The horses are going to need some exercise.” There had been a rainy spell recently, and Sunrise and Nightfall hadn’t even been able to take advantage of the paddock behind the stable where Tom boarded them.
“Can we do tricks?”
“We’ll see.” But Tom decided he’d make sure he had his lariat with him.
They washed, dressed, and went down to the dining room, where they ate the oatmeal provided every morning by Mrs. O’Connor. The meal might be the same every morning, but the taste varied from day to day, depending on what fruit their landlady decided to add to it, and it was always excellent.
“I’d love to see you ride one day,” Mrs. O’Connor said wistfully.
“Why not today? What do you say, George?”
“Hurrah!” The boy jumped to his feet, and Tom laughed.
“First finish your breakfast.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Will that be all right with you, Mrs. O’Connor?”
“Aye, it will,” she said in her Irish lilt.
* * * *
While Mrs. O’Connor cleared off the table, Tom and George walked to the stable. They watered and grained the horses, and then groomed them.
“I think you’ll be needing a new pair of boots soon, George. I should have ordered them when we got shoes for you to wear to school.”
“We didn’t think I’d be riding much.”
“That’s so. Still…we’ll take care of that our next free morning.”
Tom patted Sunrise’s flank, grinning when his son copied his action.
They saddled up, and he hoisted George onto Nightfall’s back.
“Papa, I’m too big for you to keep doing that.”
“You’re my boy. No matter how big you get, I’ll always want to do that. I might not be able to when you get as big as me, but I’ll always want to.”
“Ah, Papa.”
Tom reached up and ruffled his son’s hair. “You look so much like your mama.”
George touched his chest. Beneath his shirt was Analeigh’s locket.
Tom missed her so much. It had been seven years now, but her loss was still a dull ache in his heart. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and mounted his mare.
“Ready to head back to the boarding house? Mrs. O’Connor should be done with the breakfast chores.”
“She likes you, Papa.”
“Well, I like her too. She’s a nice lady.”
Mrs. O’Connor had lost her husband in 1850, during the Great Famine, and had come to the States shortly afterward. Tom had no idea how she’d come up with the money to buy this house, and he had no intention of asking her. She treated him and his son well, fed them and saw to it they had clean laundry, and that was all he cared about.
“No, I mean she likes you. I heard her telling Mrs. Keogh—” one of the widow ladies who lived at the boarding house—“that it was so sad you had to raise a little boy all by yourself.” George folded his hands, held them to his heart, and fluttered his long lashes. “The poor, poor man needs a good woman to be a helpmate to him, Mrs. Keogh.” He spoke in a perfect imitation of Mrs. O’Connor.
“Oh, hell.”
George giggled.
“It’s not funny, young man. And I don’t want to hear you using language like that.”
“No, Papa.”
Tom didn’t think he’d ever fall in love again, and he didn’t want to hurt their landlady’s feelings. It might be a good idea if he started looking for lodging somewhere else.
Although…he’d have to find a place close to his work and George’s school. Damn it, it was going to be hard.
“Come on, Papa.”
Tom pushed aside his worrisome thoughts and nudged Sunrise’s sides. Obediently, the mare fell into step with the gelding.
* * * *
It was pretty much the way it had been in Woody Draw, when he’d put Sunrise through her paces, but this time he let George show off Nightfall’s fancy steps as well. They drew an appreciative crowd, who applauded and threw them coins.
Tom glanced at his son, and in a synchronized movement, Sunrise and Nightfall bowed, and Tom and George swept off their hats and bowed also, which brought laughter, cheers, and more applause.
He grinned and waved to the crowd, and that was when he saw the girl. She was very pretty, very well-dressed, and she looked very happy. Wisps of very blonde hair peeked from under her stylish bonnet. She was seated in a buggy beside a young man equally blond and pretty.
“Oh, please, Barron! Give the man a coin.” She begged prettily, too.
“Barron” tossed a penny in Tom’s direction and gave George a disdainful glance when he hopped off Nightfall and began gathering the coins. In return, Tom gave Barron a hard glare, and he was pleased to see the young man turn pale. Barron slapped the reins against the rump of the placid horse harnessed to the buggy, and they trotted off.
“That was wonderful, Mr. Pettigrew!” Mrs. O’Connor clapped her hands and gave a little bounce, drawing his attention to her. “You’re very clever. And so skilled!”
He looked down and smiled at her. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
She beamed at him, fluffing her hair and batting her eyes, exactly as George had done.
He nearly choked containing his inappropriate laughter at his scamp of a son, but he didn’t want Mrs. O’Connor to think she was the object of his amusement.
He definitely would have to start looking for other lodging.
Chapter 5
It had been a long day, and Tom was glad it was over and he could go home. Mrs. O’Connor was an excellent cook, and her Irish stew was enough to bring tears to a grown man’s eyes.
Tom saw the girl as he was driving past Gramercy Park—the same girl who had smiled and clapped when he and Georgie had put on an exhibition some weeks back. He’d seen her frequently since then, usually with Barron at her side. Tom would tip his hat to her, and her face would light up and she’d give him another beautiful smile. Of course Barron hadn’t been pleased, scowling at Tom and angling himself protectively in front of the girl. It was obvious they were courting, but if they hadn’t been, and if he were more than a hansom driver cum rancher cum former soldier who had a talent for gentling horses, he’d have struck up a conversation with her. He wouldn’t though. From the first time he’d seen her, he’d known she came from a wealthy family, and wealthy families liked their women to marry into other wealthy families…
