Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (15 page)

“Come meet Mara Shannon, Emily. She dashed upstairs, changed into her Sunday go-to-meeting dress and gussied up her hair when she heard you were coming.” Pack’s face was relaxed, and his usually grim mouth was slightly parted and tilted at the corners. His teasing eyes caused a bubble of happiness to burst from Mara in the form of trilling laughter.

“Pack Gallagher! I did no such thing! My dress and apron were dirty. Pay him no mind, Miss Rivers. He’s got a loose mouth.”

“I know what a tease Pack can be. I’m glad to meet you at last, and please call me Emily.”

Emily stumbled on the step, but Pack’s hand beneath her elbow steadied her as if he had done it many times before.

“I’m glad to meet you, and call me Mara, or Mara Shannon if you wish.” As Mara held out her hand, Pack lifted Emily’s forearm. Mara grasped the girl’s hand and smiled into her face. Her eyes were large and smiling, and it was hard for Mara to believe that her eyesight was so poor she could scarcely see her hand in front of her.

“I’ll call you Mara Shannon. That’s what Pack calls you.”

Mara’s eyes went quickly to Pack’s. He was looking down at her with a broad smile and something like pride in his eyes. A dull red started up from her neck and she turned quickly to the man beside him. Charlie Rivers was not nearly as tall or as heavy as Pack. Silver strands shone at his temples; his eyes were clear gray with wrinkles at the corners, and they moved over Mara with interest. When Mara extended her hand to Charlie, he clasped it firmly.

“How do you do?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss McCall.”

“Charlie and I will see to the horses. Take care of Emily, Mara,” Pack said.

“Of course I will. Did you think I’d leave her standing out here on the porch?” Mara said in a tone of mock exasperation. Then as an aside to Emily she said, “Some men don’t think women know anything, and Pack Gallagher is one of them. Let’s go visit with Brita. She speaks of you often, and I’m sure she is eager to see you.”

“Set the basket on the porch, Charlie, before you take the wagon away,” Emily called.

“Some women don’t think men know anything, eh Charlie?”

Mara struggled to bring some order to her thoughts in view of Pack’s behavior as she led Emily through the parlor to Brita’s room and placed a chair beside the bed. He was completely different from the cantankerous man she had faced several nights before. He smiled, teased, and his voice was gentle. Seeing him with the Rivers opened up new avenues of conjecture as to his real nature.

Emily held out both hands to Brita. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, Brita, but I knew you had Mara Shannon with you.”

“ ’Tis glad I am to see ye, Emily. Ye look well.”

“I can smell cake. Have you been telling Mara Shannon how to make your everyday cake?”

“That I have. The lass takes to cookin’.”

Emily removed her bonnet, groped for the chair behind her, and sat down.

“We were worried about Pack until Mr. Sparks came over and told us he was here with you and Mara Shannon, and that he was going to be all right.”

“Aye,” Brita said heavily. “Until next time.”

“I’ll see about starting the noon meal,” Mara said.

“I’ll help.” Emily started to rise, but Mara placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No. Visit with Brita. I’m sure she’s tired of hearing the sound of my voice.”

“Charlie will bring in the basket if he doesn’t get to talking with Pack and forget about it. I brought along a baked chicken, a loaf of wheat bread and some pickled beets that Brita is fond of. The raisin cookies are for Trellis.”

“Cookies!” Mara exclaimed. “You’ll have to tell me how to make them.”

“Did I hear my name?”

“Trellis! You scamp! You heard
cookies!
” Emily’s face creased with a beautiful smile. She reached for the boy’s hand. “How dare you sneak up on me. Just for that, if I catch you, I’ll give you a hug.”

“Now that wouldn’t hurt me none a’tall, Miss Emily.”

Mara saw the pleasure on the boy’s face.

“We’ll be having dinner in a little while, Trell. Stay and eat with us.”

“Can’t, Miss Mara. Me ’n Trav are goin’ to town.”

“What are ye goin’ fer, son?” Brita’s eyes were anxious. “Is yer Pa in town?”

“Yes, ma’am. Me ’n Trav thought we’d go in ’n ride home with him.”

“Aye. Ye be good lads. Ye’re to be careful, hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

“Take the cookies with you, Trellis.” Emily, sensing the tension, spoke lightly. “You and Travor enjoy them. There’ll be none left once Pack gets his hand in the pan.”

After Pack brought a fresh bucket of water to the kitchen, he and Charlie sat on the porch while Mara prepared the noon meal. She fried meat, made cream gravy, boiled potatoes and eggs. While the food was cooking, she changed the tablecloth and set the table, placing the everyday cake in the center. After taking Brita a tray, she removed her apron and called the men and Emily to the table.

Pack’s eyes met Mara’s as soon as he came into the warm kitchen. A pleased look lit up his rugged features. Flushing, Mara shifted her gaze to the guests and told them to be seated. Emily and Mara sat across from Pack and Charlie. It was Emily who brought up the subject of Sam Sparks.

“Did Mr. Sparks’ hands heal all right? Oh, I hope he didn’t get any infection.”

“I didn’t know there was anything wrong with them.” Pack turned to Charlie. “What happened to his hands?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Charlie spoke up after seeing that his sister was going to leave the telling to him.

“Tell me what?”

“That he saved Emily from serious burns, if not worse.”

“Godamighty!” Pack glanced quickly at Mara because of his slip of the tongue, and then anxiously from Emily to Charlie. “What happened?”

Emily answered. “I was foolish enough to get too close to the fire when I knew the wind was behind me blowing my skirt toward the flame. I panicked and ran. Mr. Sparks caught me and put the flames out with his hands.”

“He never said a word about it.” Pack sat with his fork and his knife in his hand and looked searchingly at Emily. “Were you burned?”

“A little bit on my legs, but it was nothing compared to Mr. Sparks’ hands. Blisters were all over his fingers and his palms. Is he . . . still here, Pack?” The slight hesitancy in her voice was only noted by her brother.

“He’s down at the bunkhouse as far as I know. I haven’t seen him ride out today.”

“Charlie, you must go see about him.”

“I’m not sure Charlie should go looking for him down at the bunkhouse,” Pack said slowly.

“Why not? His burns could have gotten infected.”

“He’d know how to take care of them.”

Although Pack’s face was clear of all expression, Mara had the impression that he was not pleased about Emily’s interest in Sam. A feeling knifed through her that could only be jealousy. Emily had two men who cared for her, guarding her from both emotional and physical hurt. Lucky, lucky Emily. Charlie’s voice broke into Mara’s thoughts.

“I’ll see about Mr. Sparks before we leave, Emily.”

“Are you ready for cake?” Mara had caught the look that passed between Pack and Charlie. Mara had a dozen questions to ask Pack about Sam and the men in the bunkhouse, questions that he would soon answer—or she would know the reason why.

*  *  *

Sam knew that Charlie and Emily Rivers were at the house without ever seeing the wagon or Pack’s big gray horse in the corral. It was what the men talked about during the noon meal and what they talked about while they loafed in the bunkhouse.

“I’d shore like to get me a bite a that blind gal’s titties.” Sporty Howard let his knife fly through the air toward a paper he had pinned to the bunkhouse wall. “She’s purtier than that Irish baggage that come struttin’ down here switchin’ her tail like a bitch in heat.”

“Ya best be careful, Sporty. Our Texas friend ain’t likin’ to hear no nasty talk ’bout the ‘ladies.’ ” The voice came from the table where four men sat playing cards.

Sporty ignored the warning.

“Ever’time she goes ta the privy she looks fer me, pokes out her tits and wiggles her ass. She’s jist beggin’ fer it.”

“Sheeit, Sporty! Ya must think yer ahidin’ a fence post in yore britches.”

“I’ll tell ya right now, it ain’t nothin’ to be ’shamed of, by God! I ain’t had me no complaints.”

“Well then, jist wave it at Miss McCall and jist maybe she’ll give ya a invite to the privy.” Loud laughter followed the card dealer’s remark.

Sporty threw the knife, speaking as he jerked it from the wall.

“If I had my druthers, I’d take the blind gal. Her legs is long enough to wrap a man ’n give him a good long ride.”

“She’d not give ya the sport Mara would.” Cullen sprawled on an unmade bunk and rolled a smoke. “That redheaded heifer would be hotter’n a brushfire if a man could get close enough to light her up.”

Sam saw Cullen’s eyes flick to him. They were deliberately trying to rile him. Sporty Howard retrieved his knife and stepped back to make another throw.

“Hell! I ain’t wantin’ to get my pecker burned off, Cull. I like to do my plowin’ slow ’n deep ’n make it last. I can have me a high ole time goin’ up ’n down like I was bouncin’ on a featherbed. That blind gal’d do me jist fine.”
Plunk.
The knife sank into the wood again.

“I wonder how ole Charlie gets his rocks knocked off. He don’t go to town much.” The man who spoke was watery eyed and had a mustache soiled with tobacco juice.

Sporty laughed lustily. “What’d ya suppose, ya goddamn, stupid asshole!”

The man grinned as if he had just been given a compliment.

“I’d shore not be wearin’ out my hand if’n I was him! Haw! Haw! Haw!”

Sam’s chest was tight. He took a deep breath. They were trying to bait him into a fight. Why? Was the man he was looking for here in the bunkhouse, and had he somehow got wind he was being hunted? Sam decided that he wouldn’t play into the hands of a gun-happy, knife-throwing piece of horseshit like Sporty Howard. He’d not be forced to show his hand to this wolf pack. The time would come, he vowed silently, when Sporty and Cullen would eat their words. He got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the shifty-eyed Howard. The man grinned at him impudently.

“Ya goin’ up to the house ta pay your respects to the
ladies,
Sparks?”

Cullen sat up on the bunk. “Ya ain’t got no chance at all with the redhead, Sam. Ole Pack’ll be all over yore ass like sorghum on a hotcake if ya blink a eye at her.”

“And ole Charlie ain’t lettin’ nobody sniff up to his woman, neither,” Sporty added.

The desire to kill a man knifed through Sam like a hot blade. All that kept him from going for the man’s throat was years of self-discipline. There was a sudden quiet that lasted for a few tense seconds. When Sam’s words fell into the silence, they were clipped, but soft, and carried a weighted message to each man in the room.

“A man that talks bad ’bout good women is lower than a snake’s belly. If any of you gents want to make somethin’ of it, speak up.” There was silence as Sam turned eyes, hard as steel, on the knife thrower. “All of yore brains is in that stick ’tween yore legs, Howard. One day I’m goin’ to break it off and shove it up yore ass.”

“Now that jist plumb scares me, Sparks.” Sporty tried to speak with bravado, but his voice failed to carry its former confident tone.

Seething with anger, Sam stood with his hands on his hips. His eyes circled the room and moved back to Sporty. The men were watching quietly. Finally Sporty grinned at him and palmed the knife. Sam waited until the knife left the hand and struck the wall before he turned, walked out the door, and headed for the corral.

“And one a these days I’m goin’ to blast that bastard clear to hell!” Sporty yanked the knife from the wall.

“Ya had yore chance,” one of the card players said dryly. “What stopped ya?”

“Best do it when he ain’t lookin’.” Cullen stood and glanced out the window. “He’s steady ’n quick. Quicker ’n a goose shittin’ appleseeds.”

“So he’s steady ’n quick. Ya think I ain’t?” Sporty sneered. “What’s he runnin’ from?”

“I didn’t ask him, no more’n I asked you. But I’m leery of him.”

“Ya think he’s the law?”

“No. I think he’s lookin’ for somebody, ’n when he finds him he’ll kill him.”

“Glad it ain’t me.” The man dealing the cards slapped the deck down on the table. “The bastard’ll not give up till he finds him. Them Texans ain’t got no quit a’tall. I fit in the war with ’em. I’d ruther have me one steady ’n quick Texan on my side than six a anybody else.”

“Yo’re right as rain ’bout that.” The man with the soiled mustache spit in the can beside his chair. “I come up the Cimarron with one a ’em. He’d have a smile on his face like the wave on a slop bucket while he was gunnin’ a man down. It beat all I ever saw.”

“Sheeit! If they were so good, why’d they let a bunch a pepper eaters whip their asses at the Alamo?” Sporty wiped his knife on his pants and shoved it in the scabbard. “What ya goin’ to do with that redhead, Cull?”

“What do you mean?”

“Goddamn it! Ya know what I mean. Is she goin’ to mess up what’s goin’ on here? Hell! We’d best start lookin’ fer another place to spend some time.”

“Don’t get yore ass over the line. I done got it figured out what to do. All I got to do is wait till Pack leaves. I wish to hell them roughhousers had finished him off when they had the chance.”

“You scared a him, Cull?”

“Scared? Hell! I’d a killed the son of a bitch long ago, but the ole man was set against it. But it’ll happen. I ain’t havin’ my plans ruint by no prissy ass woman ’n a dumb muleskinner.”

“I ain’t likin’ that marshal nosin’ ’round either.”

“He didn’t even come down here,” Cullen said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Might be he’s got a hard-on for Miss Prissy Ass.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m gettin’ antsy. I ain’t feelin’ easy here no more.” Sporty pulled his gun out of the holster and spun the cylinder like a kid playing with a toy. He waited for someone to say something, but no one did.

*  *  *

“Sam! Hey, Sam!”

Pack was calling from the back porch of the ranch house and waving his arm. Sam glanced back toward the bunkhouse. The porch was empty. The building was set a good three hundred feet back and to the north of the house, and Sam had plenty of time to wonder what Pack wanted to speak to him about as he walked up the path. He had not intended to go near the Rivers, although he wanted to see Miss Emily again and had even thought up several excuses to ride over to their place. He wanted to see her and yet he didn’t want to see her. What the hell was the matter with him? This was not the time for him to be lollygagging over a woman.