I Never Thought I'd See You Again: A Novelists Inc. Anthology (22 page)

He nodded, unable to speak. Finally, he cleared his throat and said. “I reckon I’d better get started.” He slid the pistols into the holster. “I’ll load them after I’m outside.”

“Wait!” Winnie grabbed her phone. “Picture.” She took a few of him alone, and one of he and Paul together. “Special.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

Paul handed him a piece of paper. “Directions to the dam.” He sighed and added, “I also put directions to the dock where the
Sooner Sunset
is, just in case.”

Sam wished he didn’t understand this could be good-bye, but it could. If he completed his mission today, he would be called back. “Thank you, both.” He looked around. “Where are the young’uns?”

“With their doting aunt up in Bartlesville,” Paul said with a sad smile. “Thought it best.” He sighed and draped an arm across his wife’s shoulders. “Tried to convince their mother to go along, but she refused.”

Winnie elbowed him in the ribs. “I can tell when you’re trying to get rid of me, buster.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Love.” He headed toward the backdoor. “I think I’ll stick with Lucifer.” He hesitated. “Paul, keep the place locked tight.”

“No question.”

“And if’n, you know . . . you’ll fetch Lucifer?”

“Of course.” Paul retrieved Sam’s phone from the table. “You might need this.”

Sam almost growled. “Already hatin’ that thing. If it beeps again while I’m ridin’, Lucifer may throw me back to Henry.”

The directions Paul had given Sam were off-road, thank goodness, so he had no traffic. He felt truly alive now, ridiculous though that was. Sure, he was breathing, his beard grew, he felt hunger — none of which he experienced in Transition — but he wasn’t foolish enough to consider himself
alive.
The memory of dying was entirely too vivid.

He was dead. Or close enough to it. So that meant he was expendable. But gosh darn, it felt hellfire damned good to sit astride Lucifer again, have six-shooters on his hips, and his badge on his chest.align:justify" aid="5N3PP">
“Yeehaw!”

Lucifer seemed to echo the sentiment. When they reached the top of a rise with the lake spreading out before them, he reared up on hind legs and pawed the air in fine fashion. Sam couldn’t help but wave his hat in the air.

“Damnation, but this feels like the good old days, friend.” He patted his stallion’s neck as they trotted down the embankment toward the gathering of cars, trucks, officers, yellow tape, and madness.

“I think our fun is over, Lucifer,” he whispered. “Stay easy, boy.”

“Clint Eastwood at high noon,” Johnson said, pointing at Sam and Lucifer.

“Clint who?” Sam asked.

Murphy looked up from the screen she was glued to. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Beg pardon, ma-Murphy?” Sam tipped his hat. “I ain’t shat lately, but thanks for the concern.”

She stared at him and shook her head. “I thought you said you aren’t a cowboy.”

“I ain’t never herded a cow, so I ain’t a cowboy.” Sam stroked Lucifer’s neck to soothe him around all the machinery and people.
I know exactly how you feel, fella.
“I’m a lawman.”

She put a fist on each hip and glowered at him. “What does that make me, Weathers?” she asked, tilting her pretty head to one side. “And be careful with your answer.”

Sam chuckled. “Ain’t gonna touch that one.” He looked around. “Where can I tie my horse?”

Johnson started guffawing, and a crowd gathered to watch as Sam dismounted.

Sam leapt to the ground and looked at the crowd he’d drawn. “I swear. Ain’t you folks ever seen a horse before?”

“Sam, I don’t think the horse is the as much an issue as . . . ” Murphy waved her hand down the length of him. “You.”

He stiffened and looked down at himself. “Everything’s buttoned that oughta be.” He aimed a thumb at the crowd. “If’n it weren’t, they wouldn’t be laughin’.”

She blushed. Really and truly blushed. From the neckline of her stretchy blue top all the way to her hairline, she turned fiery red. He’d have bet even her feet were red by now.

“I’ll bet,” she murmured. “There are some trees over there by the water where your horse should be safe and undisturbed.”

“Thank you . . . Murphy.” Old habits were hard to break. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d almost called her “ma’am.”

“Get back here so we can assess the crime scene with the coroner.”

He nodded, not sure what the blazes she was talkin’ about, and headed toward the water. Lucifer hesitated, and he looked down the embankment and at their surroundings. He didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. “What is it, fella?” He stroked the animal’s quivering body. “It’s all right, boy.”

Lucifer’s ears twitched and he pawed the ground. He wasn’t going down there.

“What in tarnation has gotten in — ”

Suddenly, Sam knew where they were. Not twenty yards from where he now stood was the spot where he died. His gut churned and sweat popped out on his face. Lucifer nuzzled the side of his neck. The animal knew Sam needed comfort even as he had a minute ago.

“Like walkin’ over your own grave.” He sighed and gave the reins a tug. “Come on, Lucifer. History ain’t gonna repeat itself. And besides, we’re both already dead.”

Lucifer balked again, but trusted Sam enough to follow him down the bank to the water. The sandy Shangri-La d fas bank hadn’t changed much since that long ago day when Buck Landen had stabbed him and Paul had found his body.

“Your brother’s here.”

Sam spun around in a crouch and had both guns drawn by the time he realized it was Murphy.

“Holy shit, Batman.”

Sam straightened and holstered his weapons. “Sorry, Murphy,” he said. “You startled me.”

“So I see.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Your brother’s here. Said he has a delivery for you.”

Paul appeared behind Murphy. “Sam, they showed up right after you left. A s
pecial
delivery.” He had an envelope in his hand. “Return address just says ‘Henry.’“

“Can sure tell you two are related,” Murphy said. “Meet me up here when you’re done, Sam. Got the coroner. Remember?”

Murphy headed back to the group, leaving Sam and Paul alone again. Paul continued down the bank to the water, then spun around to face Sam.

“Are we where I think we are?”

“Yep.” Sam removed his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. “Lucifer sure as hell remembers it.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Lemme see that special delivery.” Sam took the envelope and tore it open, only to find it contained yet another envelope. “What the hell?”

“Open it,” Paul said.

“Ain’t addressed to me.” Sam and Lucifer started back up the bank, but a strange prickling sensation crept up the back of his neck that brought him to a halt. He turned slowly and looked across the river, where a man stood on the bank with a duster flapping in the breeze. His hair was long and shaggy. He stared hard at Sam, then disappeared into the trees.

“The Butcher.”

“Out in plain sight like this?” Paul looked where the man had been. “I don’t see anyone.”

“You won’t now.” Sam continued up the bank with the envelope. “He wanted to make sure I seen him.”

“He knows you’re here.”

“That he does.”

“Who’s the letter for, Sam?”

“Murphy.” Sam shook his head. “Who knows what’s got into Henry?” He stopped just before they reached the busy camp and handed Paul the reins. “Hold Lucifer for a minute.”

Paul seemed nervous. “Sure, but I want to get back as soon as — ”

“You left Winnie alone.”

“Security system’s on and Frank’s out in the stable.”

“The Butcher knows
you’re here
.” Sam grabbed the reins and swung himself into the saddle. “I’ll meet you at the ranch.” feelings about your dady vo

“Winnie!” Paul ran to his car. The tires spewed gravel.

Lucifer reared up on his hind legs and trumpeted. Sam saw Murphy rushing out from her equipment. “Weathers, you’re about five seconds from going back where you came from.”

“That’s a fact, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me!”

“This is for you.” He passed her the envelope, and added, “The Butcher is heading to the Weathers’ place. Saw him across the river.”

“How do you — ”

“No time for jawin’.” He tipped his hat and gave Lucifer his head. Behind him he heard cars leaving the crime scene, and knew one of them was Murphy. Sam and Lucifer took off cross-country at full gallop.

Marshal Sam Weathers wasn’t going to let the Butcher kill again. No way in hell.

Paul knew the moment he leapt out of the car that something was wrong. The front door was ajar. “Winnie?” He resisted the urge to charge inside until he heard a low moan from the far side of the porch. A second later, he saw Frank pulling himself up from the ground, blood leaking down his face from a gash on the side of his head.

He hurried to Frank’s side just as Lucifer came galloping up the drive. “Where’s Winnie?”

“Bastard snuck up on me,” Frank said while Paul pressed a handkerchief to his foreman’s wound. “Took Winnie.”

“Took her . . . ” Paul’s stomach pressed against his heart. He met Sam’s gaze. “The boat?”

Sam didn’t answer. He and Lucifer galloped away before Paul had a chance to suggest they go in the car. No matter. Paul had a gun and he knew how to use it. He went inside, grabbed his rifle and ammunition. By the time he returned, Agent Murphy was interrogating Frank.

“Weathers, I want to know what the hell is going on here, and what your brother is up to.”

“Did you get your letter?” Paul asked, heading for his car. “The Butcher has my wife. Sam has gone after them, and so am I.”

“Where?”

“My houseboat.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “We’ll take my car. You’re in no condition to drive. Help is coming,” she said to Frank.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am again,” she muttered.

In the car, she started with the questions again. “How do you two know so much about this case?”

Paul saw the letter from Henry sitting on her console. “Maybe that letter will have some answers for you.” He kept staring ahead. “Take the next left. It’s faster.”

She did and he saw the water up ahead. “My houseboat is the only one moored down there right now.”

Some feelings about your dady vothing dark came over the hill on their right. Sam was so low against Lucifer’s back that man and horse were practically one as they flew across the terrain.

“I don’t know if that man is insane or incredible,” Murphy said, darting glances between the road and the rider.

“Both.” Paul shaded his eyes and looked into the distance. “There’s the boat.” His throat tightened. Dear God, he couldn’t lose Winnie. They’d been through so much together . . .

“You didn’t answer me. How do you and Sam know so much about the Butcher?” Murphy repeated.

A bullet ricocheted off the hood of the car. Murphy hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. Paul reached for the door handle, but she grabbed his arm.

“Stay low and do as you’re told, Mr. District Attorney,” she said. “I’m the cop. Remember?”

Paul wrenched himself free and climbed out of the car, rifle in hand.
Where the hell is Sam?

Agent Murphy crawled around the back of the vehicle and joined him. “The shot came from that direction,” she whispered, pointing toward the dock.

“My houseboat.” He shaded his eyes and scanned the area. “There’s a row of trees over the rise that goes down to the water. You game?”

She checked her weapon. “On three.”

They ran like hell over the hill and into the stand of scrub and cottonwood. A second shot took out the windshield.

Breathless, they waited in the trees. “Where the hell is Sam?” Murphy whispered.

Paul’s heart hammered and his mouth was desert-dry. He couldn’t lose Winnie. Sam wouldn’t let it happen, and neither would he.

“Not sure.” He saw a series of quick flashes across the clearing. Again.
Sam!
“I think he’s in those trees,” he said, pointing.

“I wonder if he knows enough to set his phone to vibrate.”

“No.” Paul swallowed hard. “But I did it because of Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?”

“His horse.”

“Funny. I could have sworn he would ride a white horse named Silver,” she mumbled while dialing Sam.

Paul wanted to be with Sam now — just like back in 1896. “Sam Weathers is the bravest US Marshal to ever wear a badge. Look him up sometime.”

Stealthily, Paul crept through the point where the two woody groves joined, just north of where they now hid.

Murphy, phone in hand, hissed, “Weathers, get your ass back here.”

Ignoring her orders, sweat trickling down his face, he continued his trek. He knew she was following, though neither of them spoke. When they finally started back to the south toward the lake again, she broke the silence.

“Your brother must have figured out how to turn off his phone.”

Paul nuzzled the side of his neck their your pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. “No, I did after he said he wasn’t taking that ‘piece of shit’ with him to either Heaven or Hell.”

She grabbed his arm. “Weathers, is your brother on a suicide mission, or some kind of fucking martyr?”

Paul pulled his arm free and looked her right in the eye. “Not exactly. And he isn’t my brother.”

“Who the hell is he then, besides fired?”

“United States Marshal Sam Weathers.” Paul started walking again. “My great-great-grandfather.” He looked back at her openmouthed stare. “You really should have read that letter, Agent Murphy.”

After Sam used his badge to reflect sunlight toward Paul, he figured he would have company soon. He heard them coming long before they stumbled into the small clearing where he and Lucifer sat watching the boat.

“About time my posse showed up,” he said without turning around. “Hope you don’t mind, Paul, but I borrowed your field glasses.”

“Binoculars?” Paul squatted down beside him. “See anything?”

“Here have a look for yourself.” He handed Paul the field glasses and saw Murphy glowering down at them. “You gonna stand there like a target, or hunker down here where you’re harder to see?”