by Rita Hestand
Moving quickly, she entered the smoke filled barroom with all the trepidation of a prisoner about to be hung. No one, not one soul, knew how badly her knees were shaking at this moment.
Her eyes teared for a moment, unaccustomed to the haze. Tobacco and whiskey permeated the air like a woman with too much perfume, stifling. Her stomach roiled. Smoke whirled like small tornadoes through the air, destroying any chance of a good breath. It took her a minute to adjust to the different light filtering through the room. Oil lamps flickered, ghostlike, against the dingy walls as Jodi imagined all the killings that went on here on a regular basis. Her own drovers had told her about some of the goings on here.
The bar was a beautiful mahogany wood with spittoons lined up and a brass rail for a foot-hold. The mirror was the fanciest one she'd ever seen. It was etched around the inside of the frame and it was shining.
Jodi squared her shoulders, determined not to run, as a drunk bumped into her, his breath nauseating her further.
She'd never begged any man for help and just the thought of it made the bile rise in her throat. But with what she hoped was some form of dignity, she forced it down.
One of the women leaning against the bar ambled toward her, her skirt swishing like a fishtail in water. A sideways smile glittered on her made up face. Her clothes were too young for her body, and her face too old for make-up. Her cheeks were too red, her eyes too brilliant, and her lips were brighter than a tomato gone ripe, Jodi acknowledged silently. Do men want women like this? she wondered.
“Well, what in the world have we got here?” the woman drawled, her flashing eyes taking Jodi in with little more than contempt.
“Ain't rightly sure, Bonnie, best leave it alone. It don't look too friendly,” the barkeep said, his eyes nailing her with dissatisfaction for her intrusion into their world. It was obvious even to them she didn't belong here.
“I'm looking for Hunter Johnson,” Jodi said in a strangely steady voice. How had it sounded so steady while everything inside her shook?
“It's a girl,” the woman said with a snarly laugh. “Well I'll be danged. I'd of never known it.”
For a split second, the insult stung, but Jodi let it roll off her back. What did she care what a harlot thought of her?
The woman stared, glancing from her head to her toes, as though she didn't believe what she was seeing. She seemed obviously confused by Jodi's appearance, as was Jodi by hers.
Jodi looked down at herself for a minute and realized that, as much as she hated to admit it, she was no prize either. Granted, she didn't look like much in her father's outfit, but she had never been taken for a boy before.
“A girl?” several shouted, turning their heads in her direction.
“You came to the wrong place, honey. He's not in here.”
When Jodi twisted her head in question, the woman explained, “He lives out back, in the shed. That's where you'll find him more than likely.”
Jodi nodded. “I'm obliged.” She moved toward the back door and turned the knob. She stepped out the door with trepidation. Her heart bumped against her chest as she saw the doorway to the shed. It was open, so she walked in.
It was a simple wood shed, piled with hay and tools and not much else. There was a pot bellied stove that had a pot of coffee warming on it. But there was no furniture, nothing to show a man lived here.
The man, if he was a man, was face down in the hay.
Jodi approached him cautiously. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was breathing.
He had long, black hair and a beard. Oddly, the black hair shone, as though it had been recently washed. It looked feather soft and Jodi's fingers itched to move it away to look at the man. What kind of man lay drunk with shiny hair?
She expected to smell whiskey, but there was none. There were no empty bottles lying around. Only the coffee pot sat on the stove.
She felt queasy, but she didn't let on. She couldn't. She had to force her iron will to stay here long enough to talk to the man.
Jodi cleared her throat effectively. Nothing happened. The man didn't move.
“I came to talk to Hunter Johnson. Would that be you?”
Nothing happened. The man didn't stir.
Clearing her throat again, she moved closer. He hadn't moved an inch.
“I said, I came to talk to Hunter Johnson,” she rasped in a louder voice.
Still nothing.
Wanting this over and done with, she walked over to where the man was lying. She pulled his hair up by one hand and jerked his head from the hay. One eye popped open, then two.
Slowly, he looked at her, and Jodi was startled by the man. Expecting the devil, she found, instead, only an unshaven, unclean coward. Yet, he was somehow—handsome. It disgusted her to admit such a thing to herself, but she had to.
It startled her that she recognized him that way. How could someone like this be handsome?
His dark, blue-black eyes raked her like a wild man. His beard was long and shaggy. He stunk of sweat and dirt, but no whiskey. It seemed his clothes were stiff from no washing. Again, her stomach roiled, and again, she paid no heed of it. She looked at his long hair. It had felt like silk against her fingers when she lifted his head.
It didn't add up. His hair was shiny and clean, yet the rest of him was rumpled, and smelled.
The man had strong, angled features, solid cheekbones, a narrow chin, but it was his eyes that held her, deep sapphire eyes that crinkled at the edges, as though he laughed a lot. She couldn't imagine a man like this laughing. What could he possibly have to laugh about?
“Are you Hunter Johnson?” She was killing time, unable to bring herself to ask what she must.
“Last I heard,” he mumbled, his voice deep and uncaring, but his scrutiny of her narrowing in on her.
“I got a job for you,” she said, frowning at her own exasperation.
“Don't want it,” he muttered, and then he got to his feet and looked around the corner, as though he expected to find something there. “Are you still here?” He turned back to look at her.
“Look, I’m not here because I want to be.” She raised her nose into the air with defiance.
But Hunter Johnson wasn't listening; he was staring wild-eyed at Jodi.
“Well, are you going to stand there all day, or tell me what it is you want?”
Her face screwed up as she came closer to him. “You're sober?”
“Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I don't drink.” He looked away from her.
“You don't drink?” She turned her head in question.
“Never have,” he answered, then flopped down in the hay again.
“But—”
“But then, I guess you probably figured I did, huh? Well, you figured wrong. Sorry, I have no furniture here; I can't offer you a chair, so tell me what brings you to my abode.” His voice was low and seductive.
“I'm not here because I want to be,” Jodi said, stymied by her own confusion of the man.
Blue-black eyes pierced her again. “Then why are you here?” His icy tongue lashed at her.
“I need help,” she began with determination. The words were dragged from her lips with all the distaste of acid. Her annoyance of the man was blatant. But he shocked her at every turn. He wasn't what she expected.
“So does everyone else in this town,” Hunter mumbled under his breath. He got up, this time to pour himself some coffee. He looked at her and then crooked his head. “Sorry, but I only have one cup.”
“I didn't come here to drink coffee with you, sir.”
He went on ignoring her till she'd had her fill, then suddenly, she drew out a gun and shoved it in his face. She cocked it till it clicked and leaned toward the stranger as he flopped back into the hay.
“I'm here because I got no choice. You are the last man in the territory that knows how to sit a saddle well enough to herd cattle.”
Something in her words made him look at her again, his irritation fading to
curiosity. His eyes slowly took her in, all of her. “That's the truth.”
However, the gun had no effect. He dismissed it like a pesky fly. He probably figured she didn't know how to use it.
She eased back on the gun, but she still held it almost at his nose. He didn't blink, nor did he bother acting afraid. However, he did act as though she had aroused his attention.
She expected him to blink, show fear—something. But she got nothing.
His eyes never left hers, and she thought she saw a spark of admiration twitch at his expression. “But you didn't come willing, did you?” His voice held bitterness that she far from understood. “You must be pretty desperate to come asking the scum of Esser Crossing for help.”
“I am...”
He nodded. “Cattle drive?” he ventured, obviously amused at her gall.
“That's right.” She gritted her teeth to admit it. She hated dealing with such an irascible sort of man.
He nodded again. “Put the gun down. You won't need it.” His voice wore an arrogance she refused to acknowledge.
She drew her brows together and firmed her jaw. “I came to offer you work, that's all.”
“You know who I am?” he questioned, giving her another glance, his long, dark lashes veiling his thoughts.
There was more to the question than he asked. He didn't realize he was dealing with honesty. “I know.” Her voice lowered with disgust.
“You'd trust me with your cows?” he asked, turning his head first one way, then the other, as though trying to figure her out.
“No sir, but I got no choice,” she said flatly, her honesty blatantly making him aware of her.
He nodded, and his look narrowed as though he needed time to assimilate her words and actions. Then he looked at her, not like most men look at a woman, but like she was a puzzle he needed to put together.
“What's your name?” He sat up in the hay, not paying her much attention as he continued to drink his coffee.
“Jodi Parker.”
“Frank Parker's kid?” He frowned for a minute, as though thinking about what that might mean.
“That's correct,” With new dawning, she realized for the first time that she and this misfit man had one thing in common, and that was for sure, her name wasn't any better than his in this state.
His expression grew serious. He straightened himself. Raking his hair back, he set his hat on his head. “How many men you got?”
Jodi relaxed and faced him again, shocked by his sudden interest. “Six.”
“That's not enough. How many head of cattle you got?”
“Got a thousand two-year-olds, and 1,500 three and four-year-olds.” She met his cold-eyed gaze. “Not counting the yearlings.”
“Yearlings,” he scoffed. “They'll have to be put to sleep; they just cause trouble along the way. And Remuda?”
“About fifty.”
“Not enough.”
Exasperated, Jodi fumed; holding her temper in was painful. “It's all we got!” she huffed, angered by his lack of understanding. “The soldiers came and took some of our best until we got wise and hid them out. Wasn't enough to take our men and boys, they had to have our horses and cattle too.”
“Yeah, the unfortunate war…” Hunter nodded and got to his feet, pacing the small space. Disgust lingered in his dark, brooding eyes.
There was a silence as he seemed to size her up. “I'll get us four more men, and we can pick some horses up on the way. What's the pay?”
“Hundred a month.” She was groping for answers to his fast line questions.
“Abilene or Baxter Springs?” His eyes never left hers.
“Abilene…less trouble that way. One of the soldiers came back from the war said Missouri wasn't too friendly to cattle drives from Texas because of the Tick Fever.” Jodi let down a few defenses since he was talking cow talk now. She felt she could deal with him on this level. He wasn't a greenhorn, that was for sure. He had asked every right question.
“He's right about that.” Hunter shuffled and stood straight. He stared into her eyes till she nearly backed away. Never had a man looked at her the way he was. “You'd be stuck in Missouri if they even let you through the state line. They are quarantining them these days, passing laws to keep us out, like we can prevent the disease.”
Jodi eyed him closely. Despite her dread of being here and her personal feeling towards this man, she knew instinctively that he was a cow man, and suddenly understood why Clem had sent her here. Perhaps he was the only man for this job.
“Fair enough. When you want to leave?” Hunter flopped back down on the hay, his glance scrutinizing her.
Jodi realized he was accepting and felt a small relief run through her. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing it, though. “Meet you at Round Rock in four days.”
“I'll be there then.”
“So will I.” She stood up to leave and saw him staring at her intently again.
He was tall, lean, and dangerous looking, but his expression was entirely sober. She had expected to find a drunk. Instead, she found a man who was completely sober and ready to accept her offer.
It shocked her that he was sober. She certainly hadn't expected that. But to live in a place like this…what manner of man was he?
“You won't be there,” he bellowed. “I'll meet your men there.” He said it like a command.
“I'll be there.” Meeting the steel flint of his gaze steadily, she squared her shoulders. She realized she was in for a battle, and was prepared.
“No ma'am, you won't.”
“Look.” She moved to face him again. If he'd had been a bear, she wouldn't have cared. She knew being a woman in the cattle business was a hard pair of boots to fill, but she had filled them since her folks had gone to war, and she aimed to keep on doing it. “I just lost my foreman. He got thrown and broke his back. He'll be laid up for a long time. He can't sit the saddle. And no one's taking that herd north without me, understood? This town…what's left of it, is depending on me to get that herd through. It could mean the life or death of this entire town.”
She was facing him like some gunslinger.
Admiration, or surprise, flickered in his eyes. She couldn't be sure which, not knowing the man. When he smiled, his face dimpled, making her more aware of him. She felt that smile to her toes.
“This town is a lost cause, lady. Just like the war. And I won't herd cattle with a female.” His voice held little respect. “No man I know would. Women on a trail drive are bad luck, lest you have a man to go along with you.”
“I have no man, and if that's the way you feel, then you won't herd my cattle, mister.” She turned with a decided slump and started marching out the shed door. No laughter followed her like she expected. Instead, he stood staring at her backside.
But he caught up to her as she entered the saloon the way she came, and he whirled her around and shook his head. Knowing he now had an audience, he pulled her by the arm all the way back to a table and practically threw her in a chair. Then, he turned a chair around and straddled it as he watched her and stared disbelievingly. For long, silent moments he said nothing, as though he was measuring every word she had said.
“What the heck you want to drag yourself through unsettling territory with a bunch of rangy men for? You don't look like an idiot.” His eyes held no humor.
His words made her flinch inwardly, but she swallowed them nonetheless.
“I got people depending on me. They trusted me with that herd. You understand that. They worked and scrimped for those cows. Been most the late winter and early spring rounding them up and putting road brands on them. We even got them inspected. There's a market, a good market now, if we can get them there. I'm not going to let some low down scum steal them away from me. They are mine, and I'm taking them to Abilene.” Her voice held strong determination.
He stared, his brows knitting in anger, mixed with something close to admiration. It was an expression she couldn't read.
&n
bsp; Suddenly, he nodded and with cool indifference, muttered lowly, “On one condition.”
“I'm listening.” She couldn't hold the contempt from her voice.
“We get married.”
Never in all her twenty years had anyone said such a thing to her. But to come from this man's mouth was more than she could tolerate. A man who lived in a shed like an animal, who left the war before it was over, who…
“I loathe you, sir.” Her voice became a low whisper, her gaze taking in the saloon, once more, with disgust.
He sneered. “I can see that.” He nodded again.
“Then why...?”
“I got my reasons.”
“Would you mind sharing them with me then, because I see no point to this kind of talk?”
He shook his head in exasperation. “Nope! But it's the only way I'll take that herd through with you in the saddle.”
She stood up again, scraping the floor with her chair and shaking her head. “I might have known you wouldn't be a gentleman about it, a coward like you.”
If her words stung him, he didn't let on.
“On the contrary, I just asked you to marry...that's pretty gentlemanly of me...don't you think?” The laughter in his voice surprised her again.
Angered by his nonsense, she turned to leave again. She straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and walked out the door. This time, there was no laughter.
Once she was clear of the vermin inside, she felt herself weaken and nearly fall. She needed to throw up, but she squashed the distaste in her mouth and kept moving, momentarily, at least. Then, she paused and leaned against the side of the building, feeling a roaring in her stomach. She pitched her dinner on the side of the road, wiped her mouth, and looked about. A few watched and snickered, but said nothing when she glared at them.
She wanted to scream her annoyance of the man. He was everything her cousin Susan had said he was. He made no sense to her at all. She wasn't even sure he was human.
She grimaced inwardly; she was in the biggest trouble of her life and had no way out.
