Little Red: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

That touch had been… disconcertingly wonderful. Rojita had barely slept, cradling her hand to her chest and thinking about the warmth and the sparks that had shot up her arm when Hank’s skin had brushed against hers. It was easy to curse this cold when it kept layers between them, but Rojita knew that it was for her own good. If she felt that way from an accidental touch, imagine what would happen if he actually held her hand?

  Her body had reacted traitorously enough—waking up on top of him that morning—despite her best intentions to not trust him. But the feeling of his skin against hers was seriously endangering the calm and patience Abuela had tried to drum into her over the years. Rojita was beginning to suspect that life would be much more fun if she embraced her wild side.

  It was that possibility that roiled her stomach enough so that she didn’t bother to venture down for dinner, and which kept her up half the night. Of course, it didn’t help that the bed seemed to aggravate all of her sore muscles, and no matter how she shifted, she couldn’t get comfy. Funny that; she’d slept fine draped on top of him, and curled up on his lap, but now that he wasn’t here…

  Maybe it wasn’t so funny after all.

  Abuela always said that there was one person out there for everyone. Before they’d gotten married, Mary and Maria and Marian—her older “sisters” at the orphanage—had scoffed at grandmother’s claim as being nonsense. They’d said that marriage was about partnership, not love, and that they could be happy and practical at the same time. Judging from their letters, they all were… but Rojita had always been the girl who’d sat beside Abuela as she read to them from the old book of fairy tales, and had traced the beautiful paintings with one tiny finger, and imagined what it would be like to live in one of those stories. Rojita had never asked for a prince, though; she would’ve been happy with a simple woodcutter, as long as he was handsome and brave and strong and could love her with all of his heart.

  Oh yes, she’d been fanciful when she’d been younger, and Abuela hadn’t helped either, with her stories about True Love and Happily Ever Afters. But she’d been married for close to forty years—and had endured so many hardships and adventures with Abuelo, just to remain together—that Rojita couldn’t help but be convinced, no matter what the other girls said. There was someone out there for everyone.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to find that One?

  Rojita groaned and pulled the pillow over her face. She needed to stop thinking about all of this. The problem was, of course, that she couldn’t help it; meeting Hank had… She groaned again. He was different. He made her skin tingle and her heart speed up and her mind start thinking impossible thoughts. Impossible, because it was pretty obvious that he had a low opinion of her, what with the smirking and teasing and calling her foolish. He wanted nothing to do with her; the good Lord only knew what he would’ve done if she hadn’t offered him that outrageous—and false—sum to escort her to Everland! But he’d accepted, and he was here with her, and Lobo was still out there somewhere, and Rojita hadn’t eaten dinner.

  By morning, she was just one big confused ball of emotion—fear, anticipation, nervousness, desire, all roiling inside her stomach. Oh, and hunger too, which was the most pressing concern at this moment. Still, she paced in her room long after the sun came up, not sure if she should go down alone, or if Hank would be coming for her, or if he was expecting her to meet him someplace. By nine o’clock, however, her hunger was pressing enough to make her decision for her, and she washed and headed down the lovely staircase.

  The stately older man from last night—Hank had called him Mr. Gunn—escorted her to a table in the dining room. Just being here made Rojita nervous; this was a finer place than any she could’ve imagined. If Hank hadn’t paid for her room last night, there’s no way she could’ve afforded to stay here. And eating here? No, this fine restaurant, with the fancy table settings and the matching chairs and the bustling people in actual matching uniforms wasn’t for her.

  But she was here, and Mr. Gunn was hovering expectantly beside her. Was he waiting for something? Was she supposed to tip him or something? Swallowing, Rojita glanced up at him, and he gave her a kind grin; there were other people in uniforms waiting on the other tables, but Mr. Gunn was focused only on her. “What would you like for breakfast, miss?”

  She had a choice? At Spratt’s Eatery in Everland, the best you could hope for was that Mrs. Spratt had made something you enjoyed, because everyone got the same food. This elegant place gave choices, though, and that would be fine for her limited budget.

  “Just some toast please. And a cup of tea, maybe?”

  “Toast?” Tsking, the old man shook his head. “No, that won’t do. You’ve obviously had a bit of an adventure, and you’ll need something substantial to prepare yourself for your next journey.” He winked. “Especially if Mr. Cutter will be going along with you.”

  She could feel her cheeks heating up, and resisted the urge to fiddle with the lovely white tablecloth. Mr. Gunn’s comment wouldn’t be so embarrassing if he hadn’t seen her acting like a complete ninny yesterday, when she accidentally touched Hank. Or if he hadn’t irritated Hank when he’d asked about the number of rooms, although Rojita still wasn’t sure what that was about. Or if she didn’t have to confess the truth now.

  But there was no use for it; Abuelo had always taught her to meet her problems head-on, and that no good ever came from dilly-dallying. Sure, that philosophy might’ve gotten her into some trouble in the past—like heading out of Marston on a horse she’d just stolen—but it was also the best way to deal with understandings. So she forced her hands into her lap, sat up straight, looked Mr. Gunn in the eye, and tried to emulate Marian’s haughty demeanor.

  “I will be fine, sir. At the moment, I am low on funds, and toast will be sufficient.”

  There wasn’t a trace of pity in his expression when he waved away her objection. It was a little disconcerting, after she’d worked herself into the tragic heroine role. “Don’t be silly, miss. Breakfast is included with your room fee.” He bowed slightly and headed for a door. Rojita’s eyes narrowed, wondering if breakfast was included in everyone’s room fee, or just hers, and how she felt about taking charity.

  When the food emerged, she decided that she felt pretty good about taking charity, after all. It was a delicious spread, and there wasn’t a single bean on the plate, but there were two sugar cookies, which were her favorite. She ate absolutely everything, not caring that she was being unladylike; she was hungry.

  After, she felt better. Fuller, definitely, and more… confident. Ready to face the day, and to face him. With El Lobo out there, after grandfather’s will, she couldn’t afford to be distracted by a pair of café con leche eyes and that warm caramel voice. Especially since they belonged to a man who obviously didn’t think much of her to begin with… and who made her stomach clench and her breath hitch when he touched her.

  Oh drat, she was doing it again; getting herself all worked up, thinking about his touch and Abuela’s stories about finding The One. Rojita forced herself to breathe deeply, and after she’d settled her red cloak around her shoulders, she figured that she was prepared to see him without acting like a complete ninny again.

  She was wrong. The moment she saw him, leaning against the desk and speaking to Mr. Gunn and two other men, she stumbled over her foot. Why in the world would just the sight of him—he was facing away from her, and without the thick coat he’d been wearing yesterday, his backside really was worth looking at, wasn’t it?—make her throat dry. Drat, she wasn’t nearly as composed as she’d thought.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Gunn noticed, and nudged the well-dressed man standing beside him. When he turned and flashed a smile in her direction, Hank turned too, and she almost groaned. Whereas Mr. Gunn’s companions—the man who dressed like a dandy and the younger man in leg braces beside him—looked welcoming enough, Hank was stoic, as usual. He didn’t have a welcoming smile; he didn’t even look pleased to see her. No matter what nonsense Abuela
had drummed into her about everyone finding The One for them, Hank Cutter wasn’t hers.

  Well, there was nothing for it; she was going to have to go over there and meet these men and face him and maybe touch him and oh look, Hank wasn’t wearing any gloves either. She managed not to roll her eyes at how ridiculous her thoughts sounded, and marched towards the desk.

  “Miss Zapato, it’s so nice to meet you.” The dark-haired gentleman took her hand and actually gave a little bow over it. Rojita’s eyes widened at the courtesy, but couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t feel a single frisson from his touch. “I’m Charlie Garrett, and this is my friend Franklin Haskell.” She nodded her hellos, wondering if the younger man was related to the town’s founder. “Mr. Cutter here has been telling us all about you.”

  She had to close her eyes briefly on the dread. All about her? About her recklessness and the way he’d saved her and then she’d curled up on top of him and gone to sleep? All of it? Her cheeks heated again, and she knew that she was blushing dark enough to match her hair. Still, she had to be polite, so she managed to choke out a “Very nice to meet you, sir.”

  He had a nice smile, and was obviously trying to put her at ease. It didn’t quite work, because Hank was still standing there looking impassive. He shifted slightly so that he stood over her left shoulder, and she could feel him there. Remembering how nice it had been yesterday when he’d put his hand at the base of her back, to lead her into the hotel, Rojita resisted the urge to lean back into his warmth.

  “Hank tells us that he’s putting you on the train today for Everland, and that you’re in a bit of a rush.” Wait, putting you on the train implied that he wasn’t going with her. “Are you sure that you’ll be okay in Everland?”

  “Of course,” she answered distractedly, already turning towards Hank. “I’ll be safe there. You—“ she pointed at Hank’s chest, “Agreed to take me there yourself.”

  He shrugged. He actually shrugged, as if she didn’t matter one bit to him. “I didn’t really agree.”

  She took a few steps backward, gasping. “You did. I offered you a hundred dollars—“

  “And I never actually said I’d take you anywhere, Red. We both had to get to Haskell, so I figured I’d get you here and stick you on the train home.”

  Mr. Garret tried to interrupt. “When you say that you’ll be safe, do you mean—“

  Rojita ignored him. “You’re not going to take me to Everland?” She couldn’t decide if she was angry or hurt, but something must’ve shown, because he actually winced. Oh fine, a reaction finally, just when she’d given up on him.

  “Look, honey, it’s best for both of us if—“

  “Don’t you call me honey, Hank Cutter.” A few more steps backwards, but even being halfway across the lobby wasn’t helping her peace of mind. He hadn’t planned on taking her to Everland, after all. He wanted so little do with her that he was just going to stick her on a train and wish her good luck. He’d probably been counting down the hours ‘til he could get rid of her. “I’m not your honey!”

  “You most certainly are not.”

  The voice was deep and gravelly and coming from behind her. Judging from the dangerous look in Hank’s eyes when they flashed over her shoulder, she wasn’t going to like whoever stood there.

  It was El Lobo. Today just wasn’t going well, was it?

  She recognized him from Salt Lake City, when he’d accosted her and tried to get her to give him the will. But her grandfather’s letter with the warning had also been quite explicit; he’d described the gunslinger as “feral”, and it fit him in an odd way. He was dressed well, in a vest and short jacket despite the cold, his gray hair slicked back and his mustache waxed. A long Colt revolver—with what looked like pearl inlays gleaming on the handle—was tied to his right hip, like he was showing it off. He probably thought his smile was charming, but it revealed unnaturally pointed teeth. And his eyes—they were feral. Hard and sharp and glittering like glass shards, and they looked through Rojita like she was nothing at all.

  She shivered as he paced towards her, his height making her feel small in a way that Hank hadn’t. “My dear, you ran off in Salt Lake, before we could even become acquainted.” And then he was holding her, his hand tight around her upper arm, and Rojita didn’t even have time to squeak.

  “Get your hands off of her.” Hank’s normally-smooth voice held more than a hint of warning, of danger, but El Lobo barely glanced over her shoulder.

  “Do mind your own business, gentlemen. This conversation is between my betrothed and me.”

  Betrothed? “Betrothed?” Hank’s question echoed hers, and she wanted to scream No! but she couldn’t seem to make her throat work properly.

  “Soon to be, at least. Isn’t that right, mi amada?” Lobo squeezed, and Rojita winced. “No welcome kiss for me? You shouldn’t be so shy.” He leaned closer, and she shivered, to see his teeth up close. The last time he’d stood in front of her like this—thankfully in a public street in Salt Lake City—he’d told her with complete confidence that she would be his one way or another. She’d been terrified then, too.

  “You will marry me, Rojita. Or you will sign the will and your inheritance over to me. It’s your decision.”

  She finally found her voice. “I will never give you Abuelo’s orphanage. That’s all that Abuela has left! I’d sooner rot than let it fall into the hands of a low-down—“ She swallowed her words with a yelp when he squeezed harder.

  “Now see here, betrothed or not—“

  The gunslinger ignored Mr. Garrett’s interruption. “You’ll watch your tone with me, girl, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Oh God he looked ready to pull out that giant revolver—the one responsible for over a hundred deaths, Abuelo claimed—right now. Rojita swallowed, trying to cover her fear with bravado. “I was just answering your question. I’m not giving you the will, and I am not marrying you.”

  She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she felt Hank finally step up beside her. “She said she’s not marrying you.” His voice was flat, but she heard the anger in it. Oh thank Heavens, he believed her. “So get your hands off of her.”

  Lobo didn’t let her go, but his eyes did narrow thoughtfully as he stared at Hank. “Do I know you, señor?”

  Rojita turned when she heard Hank’s snort, but Lobo’s grip kept her from going to him. Mr. Garrett had moved up behind her protector, and the angry frown he wore contrasted with Hank’s cold calm. She didn’t know what Hank intended, but she was suddenly afraid for him.

  “Yeah.” Hank’s drawl was slow and mocking, and for a second she thought that he was agreeing with her fear for him. “You do.”

  Lobo’s eyes narrowed further. “We met in Texas, did we not?”

  “You shot me.” Why did her heart lurch at that bland confession? She wanted to go to Hank, to pat him down, to find out if he had been shot, and if he was okay now. But from the way the older man was glaring at him, Hank wasn’t going to be okay for long. No matter what he claimed about his history bringing in bounties, there was no way he’d be able to stand against a monster like El Lobo.

  “I’ve shot many men. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Nope, and I ain’t going to be heart-broken that you don’t remember me, either. For now, though, I’ll give you one more chance: Get your hands off of her.” Oh my. He sounded quite… heroic, didn’t he? But Hank wasn’t wearing a gun—the only weapon she’d seen him carry had been the long-barreled Winchester rifle on the saddle of the horse he’d ridden yesterday—and Lobo was obviously skilled with his.

  “And if I don’t?” Mr. Garrett shifted at the bland curiosity in the gunslinger’s voice, and Mr. Gunn had apparently disappeared, but Hank just watched emotionlessly. “If I decide that she has something that I want, and that I intend to keep, no matter what you or her filthy grandfather have to say about it?”

  “Sir, that’s quite enough. I don’t want any violence in my hote
l.” Lobo’s attention turned to Mr. Garrett, who’d stepped around Hank to move between the men, and his grip loosened. Hank wasn’t looking at Mr. Garrett, or even her. No, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of El Lobo, and she knew from his expression that he hadn’t forgiven the man. Lobo would regret shooting Hank, she knew it.

  The gunslinger opened his mouth to reply to Mr. Garrett—she could see his dismissive sneer already falling into place—and that was the only opening Hank needed. There was a blur, and then El Lobo was falling backwards, pulling her with him. Everything seemed to slow down…

  Her scream was cut off when she was suddenly yanked backwards, and pulled—thrown?—into Hank’s chest. He was solid and comforting, despite the dangerous aura that seemed to surround him, and she wanted to curl up into his wood smoke scent. Was it her imagination, or did he give her a little squeeze before pushing her away to stand alone?

  Rojita stumbled slightly, but managed to right herself before he noticed. Goodness, she was unsteady, wasn’t she? The roiling ball of emotions from this morning had been replaced with equal parts hurt and anger at his confession, and then immediately pushed out by the dull terror she’d felt in Lobo’s grip, only to be completely subsumed by the warmth and safety of his arms. And now, trying to stay upright after taking her emotions on such a wild ride, all she felt was emptiness without him. And didn’t that just make her sound like a ninny?

  Hank stepped away from her, and that’s when time sped back up again and she finally realized what had happened. El Lobo was on the floor of the fancy hotel, his hands clasped to his face and blood seeping out from between his fingers. Hank had hit him. He’d been weaponless against the gunslinger, but not defenseless; Rojita saw blood dripping from his knuckles, and knew that he was a force to be reckoned with. Lobo shouldn’t have taunted him about their past.

  Only a few seconds had gone by since Hank’s lightning-fast strike, and he wasted no time. Stepping forward, he grabbed a handful of El Lobo’s vest and lifted him upright. He thrust the man towards Mr. Gunn, who’d appeared out of nowhere—had he snuck around behind the gunslinger somehow? The white-haired hotel manager was stronger than he looked; he had Lobo’s arms twisted behind his back before Rojita could blink, and Hank quickly pulled the big revolver from its ornate holster. He turned and tossed the gun towards the young man in leg braces still standing at the desk, who caught it awkwardly. “You mind, Franklin? Keep him covered.”

  Mr. Haskell nodded, and turned the revolver on Lobo, although he didn’t look pleased about it. Only then did Hank step back to Rojita’s side. “You okay, honey?” His question was curt, but when he flicked those soft brown eyes her way, she could almost believe that he cared. She couldn’t speak, so just nodded, dazed. “Good.”

  “I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want any violence in my hotel, Mr. Cutter.” Mr. Garret was glaring, but Hank just shrugged.

  “I didn’t shoot him, did I? More’n he deserved, really.”

  “He’s bleeding on my carpet.”

  The gunslinger made an inarticulate noise of protest, and Hank’s lip actually curled up on one side. “I warned him not to touch her.”

  She should’ve been angry at his high-handed attitude. She should’ve been shocked that he’d resort to such a primitive display in response to a situation that really didn’t involve him. But Rojita remembered the feel of El Lobo’s hand on her, and the relief that had coursed through her when she’d landed in Hank’s arms, and decided that this shortness of breath was almost certainly appreciation for his methods. It probably didn’t have anything to do with the way he’d dismissed Mr. Garrett and was looking down at her like… like she was his.

  And then, without dropping her gaze, he spoke to the distinguished man currently restraining a livid gunslinger. “Do me a favor and store my saddle for me? I’ll be back for it.”

  “Where are you going?” Mr. Gunn asked the question Rojita hadn’t be able to, what with her dry throat and lack of air in her lungs and oh my Hank had an intense stare, didn’t he?

  “I’m taking Red to Everland, to her grandmother.”

  He was? “You are?” Why did that announcement make her feel weak and buoyant and expectant and terrified all at once?

  He smiled at her. He actually smiled. A real, honest-to-goodness smile, that just lit up his face and crinkled his eyes and—Dios mio!—she was lost. “You sound like you swallowed a frog, honey.”

  “Will she be safe with you?” Mr. Garrett’s question didn’t seem to distract Hank one bit.

  “I’ll protect her from this scum.” Without dropping her gaze, he jerked his chin towards El Lobo, growling in Mr. Gunn’s grip.

  She could hear the grin in the hotel manager’s voice when he spoke up. “I can vouch for him, sir. Mr. Cutter is a fine, upstanding gentleman.”

  “The hell I am.” Hank’s smile slipped away, but Rojita didn’t care; she would have the amazing memory of it to take out and examine whenever she needed. He’d smiled! “But I ain’t letting this son-of-a-bitch touch her, neither. If she says she’ll be safe in Everland, then that’s where I’ll take her.”

  “But will she be safe with you, Mr. Cutter?”

  The question from Mr. Garrett drew Hank’s attention away from her. Without his fierce, wonderful gaze, she felt safe touching one hand to her chest, trying to understand the feeling that was near to bursting from under her skin. But she watched the two men staring at one another, and had to give Mr. Garrett grudging respect for not backing down from Hank’s dangerous scowl. Finally, her hero gave one curt nod, and Mr. Garrett nodded in return, and the two other watchers sighed in relief.

  “Then go, Hank. We’ll keep your saddle, and we’ll have Sheriff Knighton lock up your friend here overnight. No promises, though; he hasn’t broken any laws, besides bleeding in my lobby.”

  “Yes, go, Hank Cutter,” growled the gunslinger. Rojita could see the blood still dribbling from his nostril, caking his mustache and the front of his fine white shirt. Had she thought him scary before? Now the look in his eyes was positively terrifying, and she wanted to step between the two men, as if she could protect Hank. “Run away.” He sneered in his now-nasally voice, and Mr. Haskell raised the gun a bit, although he didn’t look comfortable doing it. “Run to Everland, where I’ll be able to find you.”

  Hank took her hand and the warmth spread up her arm again. “Alright. Once Red’s settled in there, you and me can have a do-over of Texas.”

  “I look forward to it. But first, I will make her mine. Her, and her grandfather’s property. And you will watch, before I kill you. I will be coming for you, Hank Cutter.”

  “Fair enough.” He squeezed her hand, but didn’t look her way. “Thanks for the warning.” Rojita wondered if anything fazed him.

  Then Mr. Garrett was standing beside them, handing Hank his hat and saddlebags and—oh good, there was his rifle—and then they were headed for the door. Well, Hank was pulling her towards the door, and she stumbled in his wake. Everything had happened so quickly! They were leaving? For the train station? Together?

  “Hey, Franklin,” Hank called over his shoulder, “Let Señor Lobo know that his horse is over at Herb Water’s place.”

  Rojita glanced back once, wondering if she should bother saying goodbye to the men standing in the lobby. Mr. Garrett waved to her jauntily, as if happy to have them out of his hotel, but Mr. Gunn and Mr. Haskell looked worried. She didn’t have time to wonder about that before the gunslinger’s curses drew her attention, and the hatred she saw there—and the determination—made her shudder.

  Oh dear.

  CHAPTER FIVE