Comanche Rose (25 page)

"That ought to tell you something-—if something was eating on me, I'd be damned drunk. Besides, look who's talking. You don't drink much yourself."

"Amanda and I don't want you to leave," Clay said qui-etly. "That's what's on your mind, isn't it?"

"I'm not much of a cattleman," Hap muttered.

"You don't have to be. I'm not asking you to be."

"That's about all there is around here. Not much need for anything else."

"With me over at Austin so much, I need you to kind of look after Amanda and the baby when it gets here. You're the closest thing to kin we've got, Hap."

"She does all right on her own, Clay. She doesn't need me—and you don't either. You just want me underfoot where you can keep an eye on me." Hap heaved himself up from the chair and walked to the window. Looking out over the wide brick-paved courtyard to the hazy purple mountains in the distance, all he saw was Ybarra land. "You don't need to take care of me, Clay."

"You're like a father to me, Hap."

"I'm nine years older, that's all."

"You can't go back to the rangers—it's a young man's job. Hell,
I'm
too old for it. You paid your dues. You spent your time in the saddle."

"I'm not going back to the rangers," Hap muttered. "If that's what you're afraid of, I'm done with era."

"There's something going on, I can see it. Every day you've been riding out into the desert, practicing your aim—practicing your draw."

"Yeah."

"And all this mail. You never were much to write when I was a kid. All the time I was in Chicago, I think I heard from you twice."

"I figured Miss McAlester was talking good care of you."

"I missed you back then. I didn't like Chicago." Clay came up behind him. "Two more letters came for you today—one's from Rios."

"That where you got the notion I was going back to the rangers?"

"No. I've seen this coming ever since Christmas."

Still staring outside, watching the sleepy activity of several Mexican ranch hands, Hap exhaled heavily. "You know, I never tried to rein you in, Clay. Even when you were a wild youngster, and I was taking a lot of griping about it, I never tried to rein you in. I always kinda figured you had to find out who you were and what you wanted to do."

"Yeah."

"And when you wanted to follow me, I never tried to stop you, even though I wanted to. Every time you left out, I knew it might be the last time I'd see you, but I didn't figure I had the right to tell you you couldn't do it."

"No."

" 'Way I look at it, you think the boot's on the other foot now. You think maybe I'm not what I used to be, that I'll go out and get myself killed, don't you?"

"I worry about that leg, Hap. It damned near got you twice, you know."

"The leg's fine. All I got's a limp left. And that don't bother me like it used to. I reckon I've come to accept it, just like I was born with it." Hap swung around to face him. "If you care about somebody, you don't hogtie 'im, you know. If he gets careless and gets himself killed, you got a right to mourn 'im, but that's about it. Now, have we got that straight between us?"

That he was right didn't make it any easier. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hap's eyes narrowed as he studied the younger man's face. "You understand, don't you? You aren't just wanting me around because you're here, are you?"

"No."

"You never want to go back out yourself?"

Clay found himself looking away. "Yeah, sometimes I do. I guess there's always going to be that wildness, that meanness in me. Sometimes I just ride out to those mountains and sit up there, looking up toward the Comancheria."

"Then it wasn't fair to marry her."

"That why you never married?" Clay countered.

"No. I was always looking at the wrong woman."

"I've got no real regrets, Hap. If it was a choice between anything out there and Amanda, she'd win. When I get real restless, I just look at her, and I know I don't want anything else."

"Well, I don't have that. I'm going back out, Clay. I've got me a job lined up, and I'm inclined to take it. I may not walk straight, but I can sure as hell still shoot straight." As Clay looked up, he nodded. "Yeah, they're wanting a sheriff down at Helena. It's not the rangers, but at least it's in the right line of work."

"I see."

"I don't need your blessing to take it."

"I thought you wanted to farm once. You even saved your money for it."

"Four thousand dollars. And I've still got it."

"If you need more—"

"Clay"—Hap's mouth twisted wryly—"how the hell do you think I'm going to walk behind a damned plow?"

"The same way you're going to walk down the street with that Peacemaker strapped to your leg. But there's no talking to you, is there? Here—here's your damned mail," Clay said, handing him the two pieces. "I should have known you weren't going to stay. Rios said you'd be worse than me when it came to settling down."

Hap waited until he was nearly out of the room. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Clay swung around, and his smile warmed his blue eyes.
"Vaya con Dios,
Hap. I'm giving you what you gave me—but when it's done, and you can't complain about it, I'll be dragging your dead carcass back for burial at the Ybarra. I want you to know that."

"I guess that's fair enough."

"Amanda's planning on you being here for the baby, you know.

"I don't know about that," Hap responded evasively. "He'll get here without my help, anyway."

"It's the closest you'll ever come to being a grandpa."

"Maybe. But I'll tell you one thing: If you name that kid after me, I'll disown the both of you."

"I don't think that's on the list, Hap. If it's a boy, it'll be John—probably John Ross, for her father."

"Good. That's got a real nice ring to it. I always thought Horace sounded like a damned sissy."

As Clay's footsteps receded on the hard stone floor, Hap turned back to the window. It was a mighty big place the Ybarra-Ross. Clay'd done well enough for himself that Hap could leave him on his own now.

Almost as an afterthought, he remembered the letters in his hand. Looking down, he saw Rios' handwriting, but it was the other envelope that intrigued him. Crudely printed in a hodgepodge of small and capital letters, addressed to HEP WOKKER at the EBARA—ROSE, it stood out.

Thinking it probably came from an illiterate cohort from his days at the state police, he ripped it open and read it.

Deer Mr. Wokker,

Jim sed I shud writ becuz we ar worrit abowt Annie Brice. The stade wudent hep her so shes gowin bak to th Injuns to luk fer her liddle gril. She pud a ad in th papr fer hep, but twar no anser thet we no uf. She wonts tu go annyhow. We wuz hopin yu cud hep owt and mebe git Cly Malster to do hit fer her. She tol Jim she wuz leevin cum th ind of th munth. Hop you ken hep.

It was signed simply "Mary Willett." If she couldn't spell anything else, the woman at least got her own name right. Scarcely believing what he'd just sounded out, Hap read the remarkable message again. If the Willett woman could be believed, Annie Bryce had made up her mind to go back to the Comanches rather than abandon her daughter to them. It wasn't rational, but he could see her doing it.

"Damn!" He balled the letter up and started to throw it across the room, then smoothed it out for yet another look. "She's lost her mind! She's lost her damned mind! How the hell does she think she's getting there?" he shouted to the empty room.

The Willetts wanted him to ask Clay. They were wanting Clay to ride up into the Comancheria on a wild goose chase for a kid that was probably already dead. Well, he wasn't going to ask him. Not now, not when he had his own baby coming. No, Clay had too much to lose. His days of riding off into the desert to track anybody were over.

Hap had to talk her out of it. He'd offer to take her to Austin himself so she could appeal to the legislature. He'd offer to approach the rangers for her. Anything to keep her from getting herself killed. Jesus, what could she be thinking of? But even as the thought went through his mind, he already had the answer. She knew time was running out, that she couldn't wait for a bunch of bureaucrats to decide to help her.

She'd been desperate enough to try to hire somebody, Mary said, but she hadn't got any takers. Hell, a man'd be a fool to sign on for something like that, no matter how much she offered. Getting caught by Comanches was a hard way to die, the hardest way he could think of. There wasn't enough money on earth to make a man risk that willingly. And yet she was going back to face them herself, after all they'd done to her.

This time when he stared out the window, he didn't see the courtyard, the vast expanse of sun-baked land. He didn't even see the distant mountains. He saw a pale slip of a woman, her pretty face framed with a halo of wheat-gold hair. And he was lying beside her in that wagon, holding her while she sobbed with remembered terror. He was in her kitchen, wanting her, reliving the feel of her lips yielding ever so briefly to his.

"You're a damned fool, Annie," he said softly. "A damned fool."

And from some corner of his mind, a voice spoke to him. Not
nearly as much as you, Hap Walker, because you won't let her go alone. No matter what it takes, you won't let her go alone.

The end of the month. That didn't give him very long to get over there, to try to talk her out of it. And if he couldn't, he didn't even want to think about it.

"Bad news, Hap?"

He spun around to face Clay. "No," he lied. "But I just found out I've got a little unfinished business over on the San Saba. Reckon I'll be leaving out early in the morning." Expecting an argument, he added defensively, "Nothing much. I'll leave word where you can reach me over there. I'll be wanting to know about the baby."

"Yeah." Clay hesitated, then ran his fingers through his short blond hair. "I, uh, I just came back to say I'm sorry, Hap. I guess I know how you felt every time you sent me out."

"Most of the time I felt pretty good about it. You never let me down—never."

"You taught me a lot."

"I hope so."

The younger man shifted uneasily from one booted foot to the other. "I guess I just thought if I was settled down, it was time you were, too."

"I know."

"Hell, if you don't get your head blown off over there, Helena might be a good place for a man like you. Maybe when you're not trying to cover half of Texas, you'll have time to find yourself a woman. They have a way of settling down men like us, Hap. Maybe you'll have a Horace, Jr."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you? I should've never told her."

"Yeah, I always thought Hap stood for a family name," Clay said, grinning. "You know, something like Hapgood maybe. When you weren't around, Rios and I used to guess a lot about it."

"Well, now you know," Hap retorted. "Just don't expect me to answer to it. And don't go putting it on my tombstone, either. I won't rest easy under Horace—be like being buried in somebody else's grave. Hell, what am I talking about? More'n likely I'll be burying
you."
He hesitated, sobering. "Tell you what—I haven't had a good drink in nigh to three months. Tonight me and you'll split some good whiskey for all the good times. Wouldn't seem right anyway if I was leaving a place without taking a hangover with me."

"Sure. What did Rios want?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. I didn't get around to reading it. Guess I'll take a look at it now." Sliding his thumbnail under the flap, Hap pried it up, then pulled out two sheets of paper. Giving them a cursory glance, he murmured, "Well, I'll be damned."

"What?"

"Here, you read it. You ought to get a real good laugh out of this."

Taking the letter, Clay read aloud.

Hap,

I thought I'd better warn you before I sent him your way, but there's a man been asking about you. I guess he's been talking to some of your friends, by the sound of it. Anyway, he's wanting to publish a book of your memoirs (hope I spelled that right). Maybe I should have said your life story,
amigo.

He says it ought to appeal to folks back East, what with you being a war hero, Indian fighter, gunfighter, army scout, and Texas Ranger. Funny I didn't realize you'd done all that until I got to thinking about it, and I guess that's right. I think you ought to do it, just to set the record straight, because the way he's talking, if you don't, he's going to write about you anyway.

His name is Woods—Elmo R Woods, but don't call him Elmo. He goes by E.P Anyway, unless I hear different, I'm going to tell him how to find you. I expect he'll be out sometime in April.

I just got back from El Paso, and would have stopped in at the Ybarra, but I had a prisoner with me, and I was afraid Clay might kill him. You can tell him I caught Sanchez-Torres' brother coming across the border from New Mexico.

The service isn't the same without the two of you. I'm almost missing Clay's coffee. I know I miss swapping stories with you. The kid I've got with me now doesn't have any.

"As ever, your friend, R.R." Clay handed it back, grinning. "He's right, you ought to do it. Guess this means you'll be putting off leaving a little while, anyway."

Hap shook his head. "If he wants a story bad enough, he can catch up to me. Besides, I don't know that I want to be in any dime novel. Might give folks the wrong idea about why I did the things I've done."

"Or the right one."

"I'm not much of a hero, Clay. I always just tried to do what I could to make things right. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't." Hap looked down at Rios' letter. "I don't reckon folks'd want to read that, do you?"

"I would. I'd save a copy for my son, if I have one. I'd want him to read it someday. Then maybe he could understand me a little easier. I've always tried to be like you, Hap."

The affection in the younger man's voice was almost more than Hap could bear. Rather than acknowledge it, he pocketed the letter, muttering, "Hell, I'm not done living yet. How the dickens am I supposed to know how everything's going to turn out? Somewhere out there there's probably a bullet getting ready to write the final chapter."