Dorothy Garlock (21 page)

“Mrs. Eastwood ain’t got no kindness in her. It all drained out a long time ago.”

“She’s got such a big house. Surely she will feel some obligation toward them and let them stay when she realizes they have no other place to go.”

Billy lifted bushy white brows and looked at her closely. “Don’t ya be countin’ on it, lass.”

Willa was still for a time, gnawing on her lower lip as she watched the brother and sister.

“Charlie was looking forward to being with his uncle and working here on the ranch. He’s a good boy, Mr. Coe. A dependable boy. He’s a fast learner and willing worker.”

“Smith said as much.”

Willa watched anxiously as Charlie and Jo Bell stepped up onto the porch. Charlie moved past his sister, rapped on the door and stepped back.

“Mr. Bowman told him he could stay here and work with him.”

Willa watched Charlie rap again.

“I ain’t surprised at Smith sayin’ that.”

The door remained closed and Charlie rapped a third time. He walked to the edge of the porch and looked back at Willa. A minute or two passed. Jo Bell stood impatiently with her
hands on her hips. Finally she knocked. When there was no answer, she flounced off the porch and headed back to where Willa and Billy waited beside the wood pile.

Willa turned worried eyes to the old man. “If Mrs. Eastwood is home why doesn’t she answer the door?”

Billy shook his gray head slowly. “I be guessin’ she don’t want company, ma’am.”

“Does she live in that big place alone?”

“Yup. Ain’t nobody stepped foot inside for more’n six years.”

“Maybe Smith will talk to her.”

“He ain’t likely to do that. They don’t cotton to each other none a’tall.”

“For goodness sake—”

“Horse turds!” Jo Bell reached them several strides ahead of her brother. “Ain’t no use hangin’ round here. Me and Charlie are goin’ on to a town.”

“Just hold on,” Charlie said. “I’m not takin’ ya anywhere yet. We got to get the lay of the land, ’n’ decide what’s best to do.”

“If you won’t take me, Smith will. And it ain’t none of your business where I go and what I do. You can’t do anythin’ right anyhow. Papa said ya was dumb as a cow-pie ’n’ would never amount to anythin’. He was right ’bout that.” Jo Bell’s face was a reflection of her contempt for her brother. “Go get Smith right now, Charlie Frank. I want to talk to him.”

Willa saw the hurt look on Charlie’s face. She thought he would be immune to Jo Bell’s nasty remarks by now. But it still hurt him to hear that his father had thought so little of him. Willa placed a hand on his arm.

“Do you want me to try and talk to your aunt?”

“How? She won’t come to the door.”

“If this don’t beat all.” Jo Bell turned on Willa. “Yore just the limit is what ya are. Yore wastin’ time, ma’am. I’m
leaving with or without Charlie. Ya can stay at this old run-down place, ’cause I don’t want ya comin’ with me.”

Both Willa and Charlie ignored the girl.

“Charlie, if I can get her to open the door, I’ll explain that you were on the way to visit your uncle when you heard of his passing. She may agree to let you stay through the winter.”

“I . . . ain’t . . . stayin’ . . . here.” Jo Bell yelled shrilly. “Ain’t ya hearin’ anythin’ I said? Yore not payin’ no attention to what I want a’tall. Charlie, ya stop talkin’ to
her
right now and listen to
me.”

Charlie’s patience finally snapped and he turned on his sister with a raised hand.

“Shut up, Jo Bell, or I’ll . . . I’ll slap your jaws.”

“Ya wouldn’t dare! Smith won’t let ya hurt me. He’ll hitch
our
mules to the wagon and take me to town. I want to leave here ’n’ I want to leave
now
and ya can’t stop me.” She stomped off toward the barn.

Willa glanced at Billy, a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. He was watching the play between brother and sister as if he doubted what he was seeing and hearing. When his twinkling eyes met hers, he shook his shaggy head in disbelief.

“Maybe ya
had
better try and talk to Aunt Maud, Willa.” Charlie’s voice held a note of defeat. “Ask her if ya and Jo Bell can stay with her for just a little while. Just till we can get somethin’ figured out.
Ask,
mind ya. We ain’t beggars. If she don’t want us here, we’ll hitch up and go.”

Willa’s almost twenty years had brought her a better than average acquaintance with many different kinds of people. Charlie was top-notch. Charlie had pride. Charlie deserved to stay here and learn ranching if that’s what he wanted to do. It was unfair that he felt obligated to look after such a spoiled, ungrateful sister.

“All right. I’ll go talk to your aunt.”

Willa’s shoulders went straighter, giving a regal look to her slight frame. She slicked the hair back from her temples with her palms and straightened her collar. She didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say to this hard-hearted woman, but she was determined to try to persuade her at least to take Jo Bell for a while.

She had gone less than halfway to the house when she heard a woman’s terrified screams coming from the barn. The sounds sent tiny hairs at the back of Willa’s neck erect as she recognized Jo Bell’s voice locked somewhere in the scream. She whirled about. Charlie and Billy were running. Fear put her feet in motion and she ran after them.

Smith heard the screams, too. He had unharnessed the mules and turned them into the corral. It took only a split second for him to determine where they were coming from. He vaulted a fence and raced to the barn. He reached it and heard a familiar Indian chant mixed with hysterical shrieks.

“Heya . . . a . . . a . . . heya!” Plenty Mad was dancing around the terrified girl, waving his war club. A feather was stuck in his headband and his face was streaked with red paint.

“Heya . . . a . . . a . . . heya! Me scalp um white squaw.”

On her knees, her arms wrapped around her head, Jo Bell continued to screech.

Smith swore viciously.

“Goddammit, Plenty!” he shouted to make himself heard over the noise. “Shut up that damn sing-song and get the hell out of here.”

“No sing-song. War chant. Heya . . . a . . . a . . . heya!”

“War chant my hind foot. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Silly damn white squaw want to see savage Indian.”

“You’ve had your fun. Get out before
I
scalp
you.”

“Why you mad, Smith? Plenty Mad show silly damn white squaw savage Sioux warrior,” the Indian grumbled. His ugly face looked more grotesque than ever decorated with smears of red paint.

“You’ve scared the hell out of her.” Smith strode to where Jo Bell knelt on the hard-packed dirt.

“I did? That plenty damn good, huh, Smith? You know hell what? Damn white woman think Plenty Mad damn fierce warrior. Think Plenty Mad take hair, boil her in pot.”

“If you pull this stunt again, I’m going to be mighty tempted to take
your
hair and boil
you
in a pot.” Smith’s face was a dark mask of harshness.

Plenty shrugged indifferently and shoved the handle of his tomahawk in his belt. “No like black hair nohow,” he grumbled.

Smith grasped Jo Bell’s arms and pulled her to her feet. “You’re all right. Plenty is harmless. He’s just showing off. He won’t hurt you.”

“Smith! Oh, Smith!” Jo Bell threw her arms about his neck. “That . . . savage! That . . . filthy, ugly savage attacked me. He was . . . he was goin’ to kill me.”

“No. It’s a game he plays. He just likes to scare city folk.”

“He was going to s-scalp me! Shoot him, Smith! Shoot the ugly old thin’.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt you,” Smith said firmly. “This is his idea of having fun.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Plenty Mad’s laugh was a cackling sound. He doubled over, laughed and slapped his thighs. “Stupid damn white squaw think savage Indian scalp her. Ha! Ha! Ha! She plenty scared? Huh, Smith?”

Billy and Charlie came hurrying down the lane between the stalls.

“I figured that ya was up to yore tricks, ya dal-burned mud-ugly mule’s ass,” Billy yelled at Plenty Mad. “Ya ain’t
got brains enough to spit downwind. I been tellin’ ya to cut that out. Ya’ll try it on the wrong tenderfoot and get that hatchet buried in yore ugly head.”

When Plenty Mad saw Charlie, he lifted the tomahawk in a threatening gesture. He tried to look fierce, but he was laughing so hard he had to give up. Holding his sides, he fell back in the hay and laughed with unrestrained delight.

14

^“
W
hat’d he do to Jo Bell?” Charlie moved past Billy to where his sobbing sister stood clinging to Smith.

“She’s all right. He just scared her.”

“He was goin’ to k-kill m-me! Take me away from this scary old lonesome place. Just you and me, Smith. We can take my wagon and go find S-Starr. P-please. I’ll be . . . real nice to ya.” Jo Bell wrapped her arms tighter about his neck and snuggled against him.

Over Jo Bell’s head Smith caught sight of Willa standing quietly beside Billy. Her back was straight, her hands clasped in front of her. Eyes so astonishing blue and luminous looked directly into his. He saw pain there before she blinked it away. In the dim light her pale face appeared infinitely soft and beautiful. Her delicate features seemed to stand out with additional clarity that he had not noticed before.

She looked as if the strength had been drained out of her.

An unexpected twinge of yearning stirred deep inside of him. This weepy, stupid girl disgusted him. He wanted to
shove her away from him. Instead he reached up and gently pulled the clinging arms from around his neck.

A storm of emotions flooded Willa when she saw Smith with his arms around Jo Bell, her arms wound about his neck, his chin in her hair. The entire length of her body was pressed to his and he bent over her protectively. The breeze sweeping through the barn wrapped the girl’s skirts intimately about his legs.
I can have him if I want him. All I’ve got to do is snap
my fingers.
Jo Bell had believed the words when she had said them. She was young, beautiful; and although her beauty was only on the outside, it was enough for a man like Fuller. Was it enough for Smith?

Willa’s heart thumped against her ribs with a feeling of incredible sadness. Tears welled up inside her, threatening to burst free. She choked them back as she left the barn. Standing in the warm sunshine, she tried to put her thoughts in perspective. If Smith took Jo Bell away, would Charlie stay here? It would be a blessing for the boy to be rid of the thoughtless sister who took such delight in hurting him.

So why was she feeling such keen disappointment? Smith was not the kind of man she wanted to spend her life with. He was a drunkard, a hellion, a man who would keep a woman at arm’s length and never reveal his true feelings. Willa sighed, closed her eyes, and let her shoulders slump wearily.

“I’ll see that you get to Sheridan, if that’s where you want to go. I told you the old woman wouldn’t let them stay.”

Smith’s voice coming from close behind her caused Willa’s eyes to fly open, but she didn’t turn.

“They haven’t talked to her yet. She wouldn’t come to the door.”

“There’s a cabin out behind the bunkhouse. You and the girl can stay there for the time being. I’ll find someone to take you to Buffalo and you can take the stage to Sheridan.”

Willa turned and met his eyes evenly. “You’re not taking her to Sheridan?”

“Her?” An unpleasant smile crossed his features. “Did you think I would?”

She shrugged. “She’s very . . . pretty.”

“So is a bear cub, but I don’t want to sleep with one.”

Willa fought to convey a calm she was far from feeling. She wondered what thoughts lay behind the half-shuttered green eyes that looked into hers. Her gaze was drawn to his mouth. Remembering the kiss, her face flooded with color.

“Charlie asked me to talk to Mrs. Eastwood,” she said quickly, controlling her voice with effort.

“Good idea. Then maybe you’ll see what you’re up against.”

“I’ve got to try—for Charlie.”

“I doubt she’ll come to the door. So open it, go on in, and get it over with.”