A Restless Wind (18 page)

     W
hat Jesse needed at the moment was a good stiff drink.  And some distance.  The saloon was crowded.  The familiar smells surrounded him.  Liquor.  Cigar smoke.  Sweat.  And cloyingly sweet perfume.  The place, only three doors down from the meeting hall where the reception was being held, was thronged with cowboys looking to drink, gamble or devote themselves to other pursuits.

     Pierce Champlin was at the bar beside him, downing a glass of whiskey.  Jesse threw a coin on the bar and drank the shot of whiskey that was placed before him.

     Pierce paused with his glass held halfway between the bar and his mouth.  “Look what just walked in,”  he said and gestured with his jaw towards the door.

     Jesse looked around.  Rafe Landry had just walked in.  Landry could be one hell of a mean drunk and it was obvious he’d been drinking.  When he was drinking, he was always looking for a fight.

     Two years ago, Jesse had warned a drunken Landry to back off when Jesse had come upon the man drawing his fist back, ready to smash that fist into his pregnant wife’s face for the second time.  Landry’s reply had been to tell Jesse to mind his own business and go to hell.  And then after a few more words, Landry had tried to draw on Jesse, leaving Jesse no choice but to shoot the man first.

     Landry’s wife had left him after that and Jesse had heard that Landry had gone pretty wild for a time.  He had even been caught stealing horses from one of the local ranchers.  Even though there was no doubt about the man’s guilt, the sheriff had let Landry out of jail after serving only two days.  Either it made no sense or it was making too much sense.

     Landry edged his way to the crowded bar right beside Pierce.  He forced himself in hard enough that he jostled the drink that Pierce had been lifting to his mouth.  Whiskey splashed over the rim of the glass onto Pierce’s hand.

     Pierce’s lips thinned into a humorless smile.  He straightened, set his glass down carefully and turned to the man.  Landry smiled, clearly looking forward to some kind of altercation.

     Pierce was unsmiling as he jerked his chin to his left.  “There’s plenty of room at the other end of the bar,”  he said.

     “You objecting to my company?”  Landry asked, half feigning innocence.

     “I never could abide a skunk standing too close to me.”

     Landry’s head snapped around.  His grin faded as he stiffened at the insult.  “You’re meanin’ me, I take it?” 

     “You’re a helluva lot smarter than I thought you were if you figured that out already,”  Pierce drawled slowly, taking a long, slow drink from his glass.

     Landry’s chin went out in an aggressive thrust.  Something dark flickered in his eyes as he glanced past Pierce to the man who had put a bullet through his shoulder two years ago.

     “I suppose you think I’m going to move just because you want me to?”  Landry asked Pierce, a  nasty smirk curling his lips.

     “Just that,”  Pierce informed the man in a cool, even voice.

     The men closest to them had gone still now.  Those becoming aware of the confrontation were watching to see where it was leading.

     “Why, I could knock you straight to hell before you could even blink,”  Landry said.

     “There’s nothing to stop you from trying,”  Pierce taunted.

     “Why, you  . .
.  ”  Landry’s voice broke in a snarl while he drew his fist back.  Patience was not one of his virtues.  If he had any.

     Pierce acted swiftly and his fist crashed against Landry’s jaw with a force that sent him staggering back to one of the gambling tables behind him.  Landry went for Pierce again, but because Landry was so drunk, Pierce easily evaded his fist and gave the man another blow to the face.

      In a blind rage Landry drew his gun from the holster at his hip.  In an instant, it seemed, Jesse’s hand was around Landry’s wrist, forcing his gun hand down with a grip like iron.

     “Put the gun away,”  Jesse said, an edge of steel lowering his voice.

     Furious but impotent, Landry realized, even through the whiskey haze, that he didn’t stand a chance.  Not with his fists or his gun.  Like all bullies and men who beat on women, deep down he was a coward at heart. 

     “Gentlemen, we don’t want to spoil tonight’s festivities with a drunken brawl.”  It was Brent Marsten speaking.  “I’m sure everyone wants to avoid gunplay,”  he went on smoothly, stepping forward.  “Let me buy you all another drink and we can forget our differences and go on celebrating.”

     The scene held for several moments longer.  Landry, eyes narrowed on Jesse with a hatred that was plain to anyone watching, gave a last malignant look at Pierce before he finally put his gun away.  Brent Marsten nodded to the bartender while Landry grabbed up his half empty bottle of whiskey and left the saloon.

     The cold look in Pierce’s eyes didn’t change as he continued to regard Marsten.  “Reckon I’m through drinking here,”  he said to Jesse as he, too, left the saloon.

Chapter 17

     After the incident in the saloon, Jesse decided it would be a good idea to ride back to the Circle I with Pierce and the other men.  Pierce’s run-in with Rafe Landry wasn’t the only thing on his mind.  In those brief moments when Pierce and Marsten had looked at each other, something had passed between the two men, something that had been unmistakably hostile.

     Pierce knew something about Marsten.  Jesse had also seen something else in Marsten’s narrowed eyes as he watched Pierce leave the saloon, something that made Jesse feel better about riding along tonight.

     All of the Circle I men were very drunk.  One of them was singing a song to his horse.  As they neared the ranch and were crossing the creek, Pierce leaned forward, clutched at the saddle horn but missed it and pitched headlong into the water.

     There were shouts of laughter as Pierce came up sputtering.  One of the men asked Pierce if he was trying to wash his sins away or if he just decided he needed a bath.

     “Reckon I need ‘em both,”  Pierce laughed as he dragged himself up the creek bank and stood there reeling.  “Lord, but it was a long way t’ th’ ground,”  he declared.  “When did th’t danged horse g’t so tall?  An’ where’n hell did he go?”  he wanted to know as he squinted into the darkness.

     “I’ll take care of your horse, Pierce,”  Jesse said, grinning.  To the other men he said,  “Somebody better escort him to the bunkhouse so he can get some sleep.”

     Jesse unsaddled Pierce’s horse and turned it into the pasture.  He glanced up at the house.  He frowned and shook his head.  He was not exactly presenting to the world the image of a dangerous outlaw by sharing pie and molasses cookies with Hetty.  Or petting kittens with her.  Or dancing with her.

     He sighed aloud.  There were some things a man could anticipate.  But this was not one of them.

     Hetty swallowed the whiskey down so quickly that her throat burned like hot coals.  How did men drink this stuff?  she wondered.  She steeled herself, however, and managed another two swallows.  Her Uncle Zeb took a drink now and then when he needed to unwind.  And she definitely needed to unwind.

     She finished the whiskey and set the glass down on the table.  Hard.  Defiantly.  She would drink
whenever she wished.  And she would dance with whomever she chose to.  Brent had no right to confront her about drinking champagne or dancing with Jesse or anything else for that matter.  She hadn’t even had a taste of champagne.  A cowboy had bumped into her and spilled the entire contents of her glass down another man’s shirt.

     She returned the whisky bottle to the shelf on the back porch, opened the door and stepped down into the darkness.  It was quiet now, but earlier she had heard the cowboys coming back from town, obviously full of whiskey themselves.

     Well, there.  Cowboys could drink.  Amiline and Lieta could drink.  Brent had not been without a drink in his hand all night.  Why should she be expected to behave any differently?  If Brent were standing before her right now, she would raise a glass of whiskey in a toast for women’s liberation, just as Amiline had done earlier, and defiantly drink it down right in front of him.  Every drop.

     Restless, she walked across the yard, stopped at the corral and leaned against the top board of the fence.  It was a beautiful night.  Too beautiful to stay inside.  She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky.  It was full of stars.  Millions of them glittered above the trees.  The moon was out, too, adding its magic to the night.

     She listened to the crickets and the frogs, watched the dark shapes of the horses moving about in the corral and, turning, gave a startled gasp.  She recognized the man immediately.  Jesse had just stepped out of the deep shadows of the barn.

     He had stopped short as if she had surprised him as well.  After a few moments of silence, he explained to her that he had ridden back with the others and was seeing to Pierce’s horse.

     “I could hear them from the house,”  she said.  “I’m surprised they found their way back.”

     “Yeah,”  he breathed.  “They were in a pretty festive mood.”

     The moon was lighting his face, the shadows accentuating the bold, masculine lines of his chin and jaw.

     “You’re up late,”  he said.

     “Yes, I-  ”  she hesitated a moment, just now starting to feel the effects of the whiskey.  “I couldn’t sleep and it’s a good night for star gazing.”

     “There seem to be a lot of them out tonight,”  he agreed, sending his gaze up to the star-strewn sky.

     “Yes,”  she said, pointing.  “There’s Polaris, the north star.  And Cassiopeia.”

     But while she was identifying constellations, he was looking at the soft contour of her lips and the way her hair caught the moonlight.

     “It’s beautiful,”  she breathed.

     He agreed and with an effort tore his gaze away from her.  He had a job to do, he reminded himself.  And star gazing with Hetty was not part of the plan. 

     A horse nickered in the corral.  The moon retreated behind the clouds, throwing them into sudden darkness.

     Hetty was aware of the impropriety of being out here alone with Jesse.  The hour was late.  She knew she should go back to the house, but she couldn’t seem to summon the will to do so.

     Jesse was standing close to her in the darkness.  A strange sensitivity, a heightened awareness of his presence ran along her skin, brought all her senses to life.

     “Did your guests enjoy themselves tonight?”  she heard him ask.

     “They did,”  she replied.  “In spite of all the gossip.”

      He looked at her.  “I suspect we were the subject of some of that gossip.”

     “I’m sure you’re right,”  she said, closing her eyes for a moment as the warmth of the whiskey flowed through her veins.  She wondered what the gossips would say if they could see her standing here alone in the dark with a man whose reputation was questionable at best. 

     I suppose if Evalia can stand it, I can, too, she said to herself.  She dared a sidelong glance up at him.  “Men don’t have to worry as much about reputations,”  she said.

     “Men acquire bad reputations, too,”  he reminded her.

     “But men are allowed much more freedom in acquiring them,”  she pointed out, wondering if the whiskey was making her talk outright about such things.  “A woman doesn’t have half the freedom a man has.”

     “You’re probably right there,”  he conceded.

     Society placed a good many restraints on women, Hetty thought.  Let a woman dare to take one step beyond those restraints and other women were perfectly willing to tear her to shreds.   Evalia was a perfect example.  And there were plenty of men, too, who were just as intolerant.  Brent had been furious because she had danced with Jesse.  She wondered what Brent would say if he could see her now.

     “The truth is that most men are applauded for being a little-  wild,”  she said, watching his face as he turned and leaned his back against the fence.  “A man can drink to his heart’s content,”  she went on.  “A man can frequent saloons, smoke cigars, fight, gamble and never have to answer to anyone for his actions.  He can come and go as he pleases while a woman can’t go anywhere in this world without a chaperone.  Even being here alone with you would be looked upon as being very-  improper,”  she said, frowning as she tried, for a moment, to clear her head. 

     “We have been alone before,”  he reminded her quietly.

     “I can assure you I have been lectured on my behavior on more than one occasion,”  she said.  “Well-bred ladies are not supposed to be in the least bit impulsive,”  she mocked, repeating the words she’d heard over and over again at the school in Boston.