Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  Charley waited until he’d made it to the barn. Then he braced his arms against the wall, threw back his head, and hollered. The Duke of Essex, a rather musical mule, stared at him hard for a moment before he joined in.

  # # #

  Fermin Small bade farewell to the two scruffy gentlemen he’d just hired to do a job for him. Then he sat himself down in his chair and began laboriously to write a letter. Peering at the letter several minutes later, he smiled, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He felt pretty pleased with himself until he saw the America City Brass Band wend its way into town and his customary bad humor took over.

  Sitting in his stuffy office, he stared moodily at the gaggle of musicians as they straggled back into town after entertaining the Rothwell Ladies’ Literary League at Ivy Blewitt’s farm.

  He knew he should have been there. But although he knew himself to be somewhat cowardly and the knowledge hardly bothered him anymore, Fermin couldn’t bring himself to endure the contempt of the two Blewitt ladies today. Irritated, he tapped his pen on his blotter, forgetting he’d just dipped it in the standish until he felt his skin cool when a breeze blew in through his open door. Scowling, he looked down to discover the front of his shirt wet with blue ink.

  “Son of a sow,” he growled, mad as blazes.

  He blamed Charley Wilde.

  “Well, he ain’t a-goin’ to get away with it!” Fermin realized he’d got ink blots all over the letter he’d just finished penning, and uttered a foul oath.

  He grabbed another sheet of paper and set the first letter aside so he could read from it and copy it exactly. Then he dipped his pen into the standish once more. With his tongue gripped between his teeth in concentration, he began to rewrite his missive.

  As he painstakingly formed each word, he read them aloud to help himself think. “Dear Miss Pansy Blewitt. It has come to my attention . . .”

  # # #

  The only thing that kept Charley from running away the next morning was the knowledge that his men needed him and would flounder if left to their own devices. As much as he wanted to flee, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to escape just because he was having trouble controlling his shameful urges to ravish Addie Blewitt.

  Running away would be not merely cowardly but selfish as well. Why, if he ran off, who would be here to gloss over any inadvertent slips of his men’s tongues? Who would be here to think up a plan if somebody came to town and recognized one of the boys? Nobody, that’s who. Charley couldn’t do it, no matter how much he needed to keep away from Addie.

  Fortunately, there was plenty to keep him busy at the Blewitt place. Not only did he have to reinforce the hayloft, but he still hadn’t found those blasted rubies. Repairs and searches, however, were best done out of Addie’s company. If he’d had to remain within reaching distance of her, he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to maintain his restraint. Like a siren calling Odysseus, Addie called to him.

  As soon as he swallowed his last bite of biscuit at breakfast, he bolted for the door.

  “Don’t you want another cup of coffee, Mr. Wilde?” Addie called after him.

  His “No, thank you, Miss Adelaide,” sailed across the morning air and into the kitchen on the same breeze that brought a tantalizing whiff of apple blossoms. Addie just shrugged and set the coffee pot down.

  “Lester and I are going to take a trip into town, Addie,” Ivy informed her a moment later.

  “Really?”

  Addie was pleased to see Ivy with her ear horn again this morning. Ever since Addie’d decorated it, Ivy seemed not to mind using it. And she’d been inspired to decorate Ivy’s horn at the urging of Charley Wilde. What a fine, fine man her Prince Charming had turned out to be.

  With a doting look for Lester, who stared at his bite of biscuit and blushed, Ivy said, “Yes, indeedy. Lester and I are going to visit the Rothwell Emporium and see if Mr. Phipps has himself any silk roses for my new summer bonnet.”

  A nod from Lester confirmed Ivy’s recitation of their day’s agenda.

  “Well, I think that’s just fine, Aunt Ivy, Mr. Frogg.”

  “I’ll try to find a pink one for you, Addie.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Ivy.”

  In truth, Addie believed looking for silk roses to be a rather tame pastime for a pair of people newly in love, but she’d never say so. Besides, she reckoned allowances must be made for age in circumstances such as these. Now if it had been herself and Charley . . . Addie went misty for a moment as she thought about all the things she’d do if she had a morning alone with her Charley.

  First she’d take him to the bottomless lakes outside of town. They were pretty as anything, and a perfect place for courting. Maybe he could row her down Calhoun Creek and they could spend a lazy day on the lake in Dempster. And when they wanted even more time together, they could always take a picnic to the caverns.

  Her romantic mist turned into drizzle when she acknowledged she still needed to do a good deal of work on Charley before she’d have to worry about taking any day trips with him.

  Still and all, Addie felt pretty doggoned pleased with herself when she tripped out to the pasture to milk Queen Elizabeth. Not only had her aunt Ivy’s Literary League meeting been a smashing success, but she also knew now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Charley Wilde was her One. Even if he wouldn’t yet acknowledge it yet. It felt so good, knowing both she and her aunt Ivy had found their Ones.

  Heaving a happy sigh, Addie swung her milk bucket and peered into the deep azure heavens. Whipped-cream clouds with lacy edges fluffed across them, giving Addie the whimsical impression that God must have spent the morning tatting. A gentle breeze blew, and buzzards rode the zephyrs like ships on a tranquil sea. The day seemed absolutely perfect.

  Altering the course of her gaze, she peered at the ground. A couple of glittering rocks caught her fancy and she stooped, picked them up, and dropped them into one of her deep apron pockets, thinking they’d look pretty in amongst the petunias this summer.

  Addie loved her flower bed, and she was certain Charley would share her appreciation. As a musician, he possessed the artistic soul of a man who’d admire the finer things. Addie just knew it.

  Queen Elizabeth used to reside in the meadow beside the Blewitt farmhouse. Since Charley and Lester had come to stay with them, though, they’d given Prunella and Ginger, Charley’s little mare, that meadow. The cow didn’t mind horses, but the horses weren’t sure about her, although they got along quite well with the Duke of Essex. With miles and miles of grazing land surrounding them, they’d simply moved Elizabeth slightly farther away from the house. Although Charley had raised objections, claiming she shouldn’t have to walk the extra distance, Addie didn’t mind at all. The day was lovely and she was glad for the walk.

  Although she feared it might seem disrespectful to some stuffy traditionalists, she and Ivy had taken to calling Queen Elizabeth Betsy. They found it easier, and the cow didn’t seem to mind. Addie spoke soothingly as she approached the spotted beast. Betsy eyed her calmly, chewing her cud, her brown eyes as placid as ever.

  “Aren’t you a pretty lady?” Addie crooned as she gave the cow’s speckled rump an indulgent pat.

  Betsy smiled at her. At least Addie felt certain the look of bovine placidity on Betsy’s handsome features was a smile. The cow, having had years of experience, meandered over to the stump without being prodded. She knew Addie would sit there as she performed her milking chore.

  “Isn’t it a gorgeous day, Betsy?”

  Betsy kept her own counsel, although Addie thought she detected a note of agreement in her whuffle.

  Addie got lost in staring into the magnificent springtime heavens for a moment until called back to her duty by a snort from the cow. She sat with a smile and began to caress Betsy’s teats gently.

  “I reckon you appreciate Aunt Ivy’s glycerin-and-rose-water lotion even more than Mr. Wilde, don’t you, Betsy?” Addie giggled.

  She’d been at her chore for some minu
tes, daydreaming as she gazed into the milk bucket, when Betsy shuffled her feet slightly. Addie looked up, surprised. Betsy was generally the most docile of creatures. She never moved while being milked.

  “What is it, girl? The last time you got restless when I was milking you was when Fermin Small rode up.”

  Frowning as she recalled the snoopy, inept sheriff of Rothwell, Addie glanced sharply around. Her eyes opened wide.

  Fermin Small was nowhere to be seen. Somebody was headed her way, though. Addie could see twin puffs of dust kicked up by horses’ hooves, headed away from Rothwell and toward the Blewitt farm.

  “Now who do you suppose that can be?”

  A frisson of alarm shot through her when the riders neared and she didn’t recognize them.

  How odd. When I heard Charley and Lester riding towards the house it didn’t bother me at all, and it was pitch dark then.

  Addie recalled the reason Charley and Lester had been forced to seek sanctuary with her and her aunt, and her uneasiness grew. Deciding to finish milking after she’d dealt with these strangers, she stood and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “They might be part of a gang, Betsy,” Addie whispered, anxiety giving an edge to her words.

  Betsy continued to chew her cud, but Addie noticed her expression seemed very solemn. The cow, too, turned to look at the newcomers.

  Chapter 12

  Charley watched Addie from the hayloft as she made her way to the meadow. He couldn’t seem to help himself. When she was anywhere within seeing range, he sought her out like a beacon. When she wasn’t in his eyesight, he felt somehow empty, as if a part of himself were missing.

  Don’t be stupid, he commanded his fanciful heart. His heart didn’t listen. As usual.

  Disgusted, he drew another nail out of his pouch, positioned it on the board he was fastening into place, and pounded on it as if it were his enemy.

  “Blasted fool,” he snarled.

  The Duke of Essex gave a short bray, as if he’d taken affront, and Charley said, “I didn’t mean you, mule.” Then he shook his head and wondered if that bullet Addie’s aunt Pansy had shot him with had been doctored with something that sent a man crazy. Talking to mules. Acting like a love-sick schoolboy. Nobody from back home would even recognize the man Charley Wilde had become in the last couple of weeks.

  Punishing another nail, Charley muttered, “I never used to be addled like this.”

  Glowering at the hayloft floor he was mending, he brushed his hair out of his eyes and grumbled, “Of course I never used to be a thief either.”

  Then he remembered Fermin Small’s penchant for sneaking up on him and peered quickly out of the loft window. It wouldn’t have surprised him any to find the sheriff grinning up at him, his gun aimed, gloating at having overheard Charley’s indiscreet comment. That’s when Charley spied the two riders.

  He squinted into the distance. “Shoot, they’re headed straight toward Addie.”

  Of course, he told himself, they might be friends of hers. However, although Charley knew his instincts to be far from infallible, he didn’t think these riders were friends. His guts told him they were not the type of men he’d want Addie to have to meet alone in a meadow on an isolated farm in the outlaw-riddled New Mexico Territory.

  As he scrambled down the ladder from the hayloft, Charley estimated the distance from the barn to the meadow.

  Blast it, I wish she’d given the cow this meadow and moved our horses farther out.

  Of course Addie wouldn’t hear of such a thing. Claimed a knight should be near his mount and the cow didn’t matter. As he raced out of the barn, Charley decided he’d have to shake some reason into that woman one of these days.

  # # #

  As the two strangers drew up to the pasture fence, Addie’s senses pulsed a warning. Every nerve in her body screamed that these were not nice men, no matter how broad their smiles. If these fellows turned out to be gallant knights, she’d eat her sunbonnet.

  One of them had stringy blond hair, a greasy hat and a dirty, light-weight duster over dirty denims. His leather vest looked too large for his skinny frame.

  The other man was darker. He might have been handsome had his features not been marred by an expression of cunning and his eyes not had the appearance of having been chipped from glittering obsidian. His clothing was dark and dusty, just like his partner’s. He wore his too-long hair slicked back under a newish hat bedecked with silver conches. Addie suspected the man had not purchased the expensive hat, but had acquired it by other, less savory means. Neither of these fellows looked particularly well-to-do. Nor did they look agreeable.

  Nevertheless, she smiled a friendly greeting. Although she’d had little personal experience with villains, in all the novels she’d read she’d gleaned the useful information that one was wise to lull evil men into thinking one did not suspect them of villainy.

  “Good morning,” she said, striving for a sunny tone. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

  The dark-haired man spat, thereby offending Addie, who didn’t fancy gentlemen spitting in front of her.

  “Well, looky here, Luther. Ain’t she a cute little thang?”

  Luther, the stringy blond, gaped at Addie, his eyelids drooping at half-staff over watery blue eyes. She noticed he had an overbite which, when added to the rest of his unpleasant attributes, made him look stupid.

  He said, “Pretty cute, Garland,” and Addie stopped smiling. Well, of all the nerve!

  “What do you say we find out?” Garland asked Luther.

  “Uh-huh,” Luther grunted.

  Both men grinned evilly. Addie had been uneasy ever since she realized they were unknown to her. At each new offense the men offered, her uneasiness slid toward wrath. They were violating every lesson Ivy’d every taught her about proper behavior in ladies and gentlemen. Her sensibilities rebelled. Addie simply deplored incivility.

  “I asked you a polite question,” she snapped.

  The dark-haired man said, “Huh?” Luther’s small blue eyes popped open.

  Addie’s wrath grew. These men were not merely rude; they were obviously obtuse as well. She planted her fists on her hips and glared at them.

  “I said, ‘Good morning, gentlemen, it’s a fine day, isn’t it.’ Now, when a lady addresses a fellow in a polite fashion, she expects a courteous response. Didn’t your mamas teach you anything?”

  Luther and Garland exchanged a puzzled glance. Garland, the quicker of the two, frowned down at Addie.

  “I don’t reckon you got no right to talk about my mama like that.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your mama, you goose,” Addie declared hotly. “I was talking about your manners, which are simply terrible!”

  Luther grumbled, “Got a big mouth, don’t she, Garland?”

  “She do,” said Garland, although his assertion was nearly drowned by Addie’s gasp of affront.

  “Mebbe we ought to teach her to treat us with respect,” continued Garland, beginning to dismount.

  “I did not invite you to enter this meadow!”

  Vaulting over the fence one-handed, Garland snarled, “Who cares, lady? We ain’t comin’ to tea.”

  “You most certainly are not,” said Addie, backing up. Fear mingled with her anger, and her brain went on the alert. Instinctively, she became aware of her surroundings, seeking possible weapons. Her pickings, she realized at once, were perilously slim.

  Darting behind Queen Elizabeth, she cried, “Stay away from me, you brute!”

  Luther, leaning on his saddle horn, a sly grin on his face, said, “She called you a brute, Garland. You gonna stand fer that?”

  Garland frowned when Addie disappeared behind the cow. “I ain’t gonna stand fer nothin’, Luther. I’m gonna teach this snippy li’l thang just who the man is around here.”

  Luther began to slaver. “Kin I have her next, Garland?”

  “I reckon you kin have her as often as you kin, Luther.”

  “How dare you?”

/>   Addie’s exclamation of outrage startled Elizabeth, who shuffled sideways. Garland drew his pistol and aimed it at the cow.

  Well, that was more than Addie could take without fighting back. Nobody drew a weapon on her cow and got away with it. Snatching up the only commodity at hand, the milk bucket, she flung it at Garland, shrieking, “You fiend! You vicious, hateful fiend. How dare you frighten my cow!”

  Garland, surprised, staggered when the bucket hit him in the head, sloshing warm milk over him. His stagger brought him into contact with Addie’s milking stump, making him stumble. For a second or two he danced like a crazed prairie chicken among the creosote bushes, trying to regain his balance, then fell on his back like a gaffed trout. His arms and legs sprawled outward and his gun flew from his milk-slicked fingers.

  Not pausing to savor her victory over Garland, Addie whirled on Luther, reaching into her apron pocket as she did so. Before the slow-witted Luther even reached for the butt of his gun, she’d begun flinging stones at him.

  Unfortunately, Addie’s aim was not always the best. The same faulty eye that had caused her arrows to land in the ceiling of the barn rather than in the target Sun in His Eyes had rigged for her, today caused her to miss Luther entirely. His horse was not so fortunate. The first of Addie’s quartz-encrusted rocks hit him square on the flank. The second nicked his hock as he reared back, neighing in shock and pain.

  “Oh, dear,” cried Addie, mortified. “I’m so sorry, Horse.”

  The horse did not acknowledge her apology. With another whinny of horsy terror, it reared again.

  Luther slithered from his saddle like an eely worm as the horse bolted. He landed head first on the desert floor. Addie had time only to look at him sprawled there and decide his least vulnerable asset had cushioned his fall before she ran to where she’d last seen Garland’s gun.

  Happily for her, Garland was still trying to get his bearings. He’d managed to crawl to his hands and knees, but as one of those hands impacted with a prickly pear bush as he did it, the result was not to his liking. He bellowed when cactus spines dug into his palm. Dripping milk, he peered at his hand in dismay.