Little Red: An Everland Ever After Tale (10 page)

He broke away with a curse—one that she echoed silently—and stared down at her with unreadable eyes for a long moment. Then,
Abuela
called to them again, and he grabbed her hand and stalked towards the house, pulling her after him.

Hank stopped inside the front door, and Rojita—still trying to draw a full breath—tried to see everything from his point of view. Jack and Tom were struggling to carry in the jug of well water from the back, Mary and the twins were helping
Abuela
bring the meal to the table, and Micah was sitting at the head of the table, trying to comfort the youngest orphan on his lap. Little Blue—Rojita used to call him ‘Baby’—had been so tiny when she’d left, but judging from his scrapes and antics, he was growing into a little boy as wild as his brothers. Jack and Tom tried to set good examples, bless their hearts, but at ten and eight, there was only so much maturity they could manage. Mary Contrary was thirteen, and well on her way to running the household for
Abuela
, whereas the twins—at six—made up for with enthusiasm what they lacked in any real skill.

The front door opened into the main room, with the dining table set right in the front, the big fireplace—with the pot of beans still simmering—on the opposite wall, the tables and basins
Abuela
had always used as the kitchen on the far left, and
Abuelo
’s big chairs on the right. Rojita had always thought this room was cozy, with all of the children clamoring for attention or playing on the threadbare rug in front of the fire, but now that she stood beside Hank, she saw the sagging timbers and the scarred tabletop and the mismatched dining chairs and the patched aprons the girls wore. She glanced up at him, wondering if he saw the poorness of the family, like he’d seen in the house itself, or if he saw the love that had built it and kept it up?

He was frowning as his eyes flicked over the chaos, and that was a bad sign. She was about to apologize—again—when he darted away from her side, striding across the room to snatch the heavy jug of water from Tom just before he dropped it, trying to pour water into the cup Jack held. She couldn’t hear what he said, not over Blue’s wailing, but she watched him point to the cups. Both boys hurried to pick them up, and then Hank poured water into each of them.

Rojita felt her jaw hanging open, and snapped it shut before anyone noticed. He was
helping
? He’d stepped into chaos, and begun to help, and maybe it was just the onions
Abuela
was sautéing that were making her eyes water like this?

Sniffing, she stepped over to the table to help the girls lay out the simple luncheon that they were used to; brown bread and beans, with roasted pumpkin from the root cellar. Another few minutes of yelling and disorder, and then
Abuela
sat down and the children immediately followed. Hank took the chair across from Rojita, which had been John’s before he’d left last year to find work in Denver. Micah put Blue in his tall chair, and the boy immediately quieted when Hank handed him a piece of bread. As they all bowed their heads to pray over the food, Rojita reflected on how well her protector fit in here, with her family.

Too bad she’d ruined his opinion of her with that lie.

The meal was… fun.
Abuela
didn’t let anyone pester Hank, but the children all accepted him as if he’d been part of their family for ages. For his part, he’d offered a few teasing comments with a straight face that had even Micah chuckling. She’d seen Hank’s grimace when he’d been handed the bowl of beans, but then his brows had gone up when he’d tasted them, and she met his gaze across the table a little triumphantly. Yes, she was used to eating beans, but
Abuela
could cook them well enough that she didn’t mind one bit. Judging from the second helping Hank took, he didn’t mind either.

By the end of the meal, he’d charmed
Abuela
, broken up two fights between the children with just a stare, and had even carried on a begrudging conversation with Micah, whom she knew didn’t like Hank very much. Yes, her protector was fitting in quite well.

After lunch,
Abuela
directed the children on cleaning up, while the adults sat at the table. When Tom and Jack took their hats down from the pegs and headed out to their afternoon jobs—at the livery and blacksmith’s, respectively—Micah shooed the littlest ones out of the way and helped Mary with the dishes while he brewed the coffee. Hank didn’t say anything, but watched it all, and occasionally her, with an unreadable expression.

The air thickened in the silence, like they were all waiting on something.

Finally, Mary took the three youngest back to school, and the coffee was poured, and the adults breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Abuela
took her mug with a smile, and turned to Hank. “You are a good man,
Señor
Cutter. Stay. You will hear what I say.”

Micah passed Rojita a cup of the thick black drink, and she sipped it, wishing that they could afford the milk that would turn it the same color as Hank’s eyes. She wondered what
Abuela
had to tell them.

“You think we are poor. Maybe. But not here.” She thumped her chest. “Not here.” She tapped her temple. “But your grandfather, he is not poor, not always.” Rojita exchanged a glance with Micah. She’d talked to him about the will yesterday, and found out that he knew the details of the inheritance, from
Abuelo
himself. But as far as they both knew, that “inheritance” was just this crumbling building, and the desire to do right by the children.

“Many years ago, we leave Mexico,
no
? My Ernesto, he is chased, you know this? But why, you ask. Ernesto’s father, he is a wealthy man.
El Rey
, almost, very powerful. He has two sons. Ernesto is oldest, and inherits the money when
El Rey
dies; he wants to use
su padre’s
money to do something good. Something worthwhile. But his brother, he says no. He says ‘you give me your money, or I will kill you and take it.’ He is a bad man.”

Hank’s forearms were resting on the table, his hands wrapped around the mug. He was staring at
Abuela
like she was revealing the answer to a mystery, but Rojita didn’t understand. From Micah’s expression, he didn’t either.

“So Ernesto gives him half of the money. And then Ernesto and I, we come to Texas. But his
hermano
, he wants more, and he follows us,
no
? He tries to kill us both there. So we go to Oklahoma, to Kansas. We find children who need us, and Ernesto, he knows what to do with his father’s money, finally. But his brother, he still finds us. Ernesto is scared for us, for me, for you.”

The old woman reached out a hand, blindly groping along the table, and Rojita grasped it, squeezing. She remembered, although vaguely, the first home she’d lived in with
Abuela
and
Abuelo
, before they’d left Kansas, and never wondered why they’d abandoned it. There’d been six of them at that time—the other three Marys, and John and Sam who were working on a ranch outside of Cheyenne now. Micah joined them in Denver on their way to Wyoming, and Mary Contrary was soon after. The other children found their way to Everland once they’d settled.

“So we run. We run north, to Wyoming Territory, where no one knows us, no one to tell his brother where we are. Ernesto know that we cannot be wealthy here. We must be poor, so that his brother will not find us. So he learns a trade, he is good at it,
no?
” Rojita nodded through her tears, squeezing the old woman’s hand. She’d always known that they’d loved her, this couple who raised so many children as their own… but to hear what they’d gone through, for her and the others, was just amazing.

“Ernesto, he uses the money, sometimes, when we have no other choice. He uses it for the Marys’ weddings, a bit, and for the boys to travel to find work. And he uses it to send his favorite little girl to school,” she squeezed Rojita’s hand again, “So that she will return and keep my dream of the orphanage alive.”

“Yes.” It was all Rojita could to do to choke out the agreement, past her tears. “Oh,
Abuela
, of course. I’d do anything…”

Abuela
’s six teeth gleamed when she smiled. “I know this, and so did Ernesto. And he knows this about you too, Micah.” She nodded to the young man. “He knows that you will work hard to support your sister’s efforts with the children.” Rojita watched as Micah just nodded once, quickly, as if unable to speak.

“But there is still money.” This time, she pinned Hank with a stare, and Rojita wondered what she was trying to say. “Much money. Last year, Ernesto discovered that his brother was dead, many years, but his brother’s son was a bad man too. He wants his grandfather’s money.”

Hank twisted the coffee mug between his hands, but didn’t drop the old woman’s gaze. “
El Lobo
.”

Abuela
nodded. “Ernesto is afraid, then. He is afraid that, since we are old, and since this man is his blood, the money will go to him. He knows this is a bad man, who will not support the children. So he changed his will. When I am gone, the orphanage and the shop will go to Rojita and Micah.”

Hank looked down into his mug, as if the coffee would give him answers. “So Lobo figures all he has to do is wait ‘til you’re dead—or help you along—and then he’s only got to deal with y’all.” He lifted his eyes to Rojita’s, and she couldn’t look away. “He’ll kill Micah, marry you, and have control of the whole damn place.”

“I wondered why he’d want an orphanage…” Rojita didn’t have to speak above a whisper. Hank nodded.

“He’s not after the orphanage. He’s after the other inheritance.”

“We didn’t know.” She glanced at Micah, who was looking as shocked as she felt. “We didn’t know that there was more than just the building.” Squeezing
Abuela
’s hand, she turned a teary gaze to the old woman. “We didn’t know.”

“Ernesto, he did not want you to know. Money will tear a family apart, he saw this. You, the other children, you were already from torn families, trying to build another. He knew it would not help, to know about the money. So he keeps it a secret, and it worked,
no
?”

“Yeah,
Abuela
.” Micah’s voice was thick with an emotion Rojita didn’t have to name to know, because her chest was full of it too. “It worked. You gave us a family when we didn’t have one. You showed us love, and gave us a future.
Abuelo
knew that I’d work hard to repay him for that, and same for Rojita.” She glanced at this man who’d once been her little brother, and he met her gaze fiercely. “That hasn’t changed. We don’t need the money. We’ll still work hard.”

“Don’t be stupid, Micah.” Her brother scowled at Hank. “Whether you want it or not, it’s still yours, and Lobo is still coming after it, and you. Not today—“ he pulled out the telegram, and passed it to Micah, “But soon. And when he does, I’m going to make sure that he doesn’t have a chance to get it.”

Abuela
seemed unimpressed by his impassioned speech, but Rojita couldn’t look away. “And why will you do this,
Señor
bounty-hunter? Because he is worth money, to you, dead?”

“Because I’ll keep Red safe.”

It was a growled promise, and Rojita was glad that she was sitting down, when he turned that fierce gaze on her. She swallowed, wondering what he was thinking when he stood up and planted both fists on the table. Leaning towards her, he narrowed his eyes. “All of this doesn’t change what was said earlier, honey.”
Oh Heavens
, her lie, her promise, that kiss! “You understand?” She might have nodded, but wasn’t sure. “I’m gonna go think on this, and we’ll figure out a way to end that bastard. And then you and me, Red, we’re gonna have another talk.”

He stalked for the door, grabbing his hat from the peg beside it, the same as the boys, and slammed it behind him on the way out. Micah looked from her to the door and back again, one brown raised questioningly, and Rojita knew that she couldn’t answer.

Instead, she burst into tears.

Abuela
clucked sympathetically and patted their entwined hands. “Shush,
mi hija
. He will help us fix this. He is a good man.”

That just made her cry harder. Hank Cutter
was
a good man, and she didn’t come close to deserving a protector like him.

He was out of ideas.

Hank had spent all afternoon prowling around Everland, trying to come up with a way to make sure Lobo didn’t get what he was coming for, and he couldn’t figure out a single way that kept Red and her family out of trouble. Sure would be easier if this place had a sheriff; having the law—especially law that recognized
El Lobo
was a wanted man—on his side would mean back-up. As it was, he didn’t want to get any of these people involved.

So now he was sitting at a table in the back of the Gingerbread House, nursing his whiskey and wracking his brain. He’d had a mediocre dinner at the Inn, and couldn’t stop thinking about the chaos and… and
fun
of the Zapato orphanage at mealtime. The way the youngest kid had shut up and listened to him, round-eyed, and the way those older kids had looked at him and Micah like they wanted to be just like them. It’d been disconcerting… and nice. Real nice, to be fussed over and contribute and enjoy a meal like that.

More than ever, Hank was willing to do whatever it took to keep Red and those kids and that old lady safe. He’d make sure that Lobo didn’t bother them. And then, when this was over, he’d go back to that orphanage, and have a talk with her.

He clutched his glass tighter when he thought of the way she’d looked up at him in the street this afternoon, offering… what? Offering herself? She’d offered to exchange her body for the debt she owed? Hank cursed and threw back the whiskey, pouring himself another glass. She’d been willing to sleep with him—let
him
sleep with
her
—to repay him for getting her home, just because she couldn’t afford the hundred bucks?

It was damned galling, that’s what it was. Oh, he wanted her. He wanted her bad, but he wasn’t going to take her because it was her
duty
, because she felt like she had to. He wanted her to want
him
, as a man. Not as some way to ease her conscience.

Of course—Hank snorted as he stared at the amber liquid in the glass—turns out that she had that hundred bucks after all. But he didn’t want her money, had never wanted her money. He hadn’t done it for her money—or her body. He’d gotten her home, and he’d keep her safe, because he cared about her, and wanted to know that she was okay.

He threw back another gulp of the burning liquor. So yeah, after Lobo was out of their lives, he was going to have a talk with Red. Only problem was, his body was telling him that he didn’t want to do much talking. But his heart told him that they had to get her silly notions all straightened out before they did anything besides talking. He’d tell her that she didn’t owe him squat, and…

Hank sighed. Then they’d see.

When the woman slid into the seat beside him, she startled Hank enough to make him whisper a curse. When was the last time someone had snuck up on him? Probably
El Lobo
, when Hank had been ambushed and shot. He glanced around the saloon, to see if anyone else saw her approach, but no one seemed to notice.

“Oh, they can’t see me right now, Hank.” He really looked at her then, startled at her strange declaration. She was an odd-looking whore, for sure; young and beautiful, with the red hair he’d been fantasizing about lately. But whereas he was looking for burgundy silk, this woman’s hair was… unnaturally red, bright red. And she had
purple
eyes, which was damned disconcerting. She was dressed in bloomers a couple decades past fashionable. Yeah, she wasn’t the sort he’d expect to find at a whorehouse.

“How the hell do you know my name?”

She smiled, and she really
was
beautiful, in an otherworldly way. But he didn’t like the way she looked faintly calculating, like she knew something he didn’t know. “Do you believe in fairy godmothers, Hank?”

He snorted, thinking about the way he’d teased Red—had it only been a few days ago they’d met?—about needing one. “Nope.” Maybe the whiskey had been stronger than he’d thought? The bottle suddenly looked kinda blurry, that was certain.

“Well then.” She nodded firmly and, placing her forearms on the table between them, leaned forward. “I think it best that you absolutely, in no way, think of me as a fairy godmother. I’m not. I’m just here to offer you some advice.”

He had to glance around once more, his brows drawn down. Who was this woman? How come no one seemed to be paying them any attention? “Oh yeah? What kinda advice?”

“Trust the cloak.”

Well,
that
hadn’t been what he was expecting. Hank carefully placed the glass on the table and sat forward. “
What
?”

He’d tried to sound menacing, but her smile told him it hadn’t worked. “Rojita’s cloak can do more than just keep her warm, Hank. It kept her safe until you found her. It was made to… conceal.”

That pause had sounded ominous. “If you mean Ernesto Zapato’s will, we’re way ahead of you, lady.”

“I know. But who do you think gave Ernesto the cloak in the first place?”

This conversation was getting away from him. “Red told me he got it in barter from a customer.”

“Yes.” The mystery lady sat back and looked fondly down at her high boots. “He did such good work, didn’t he?”

Hank sighed, and pushed the whiskey to one side. He was getting a headache. “Lady, what are you trying to tell me?”

She stood up, and put her hand briefly on his shoulder. An odd feeling—not the heat he felt when Red touched him, but a sort of
lightness
—filled him, and he scowled in response. “Trust the cloak, Hank.”

And then she was gone. He blinked, and looked around, seeing the back door swinging shut.
The hell was that about
? Trust the cloak? Concealing
what
?

Deciding that he’d had enough—enough liquor, enough wakefulness, enough being on edge—Hank swiped his hat from the seat beside him. He’d head back to his room at the Inn, and sleep. Tomorrow, things would make more sense.

He’d been right. Hank woke up before dawn—sat right up in bed, actually—and knew what he could do with the stranger’s advice. The cloak was made to conceal, huh? Well then, he could use it to set a trap.

Impressed that he didn’t have any sort of headache this morning, he pulled his jeans and flannel on over his long johns, and shoved his feet into his boots, stamping a little to warm up. No time for breakfast; he had to see Red immediately.

But it wasn’t until he was standing in front of the orphanage that he realized how early it was. What if none of them were up? Or worse, what if the old woman was the only one up, and he had to explain why he was here so early? But there was a single, flickering light coming from the side of the house that had been designated the “kitchen”, and Hank forced himself to knock on the door.

But when it was opened by Red—still in her nightgown and bare feet, a colorful shawl around her shoulders and hair spilling down her back like she’d just tumbled out of bed—he couldn’t silence his surge of protectiveness. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He knew from her confusion that she didn’t understand the danger, and he pushed her back into the house and slammed the door before he answered. “You look like you just came from someone’s bed, and you’re gonna open the door? It’s still dark out! I could’ve been anybody!” During his tirade he’d backed her into the table, and now she clutched at her shawl with one hand and used the other to support herself on the table top. He knew that he should feel guilty about the alarm he saw in her eyes, but he couldn’t contain his anger at her vulnerability. “You can’t just open the door without finding out who it is. You could get… hurt.”

He realized that he’d shown his hand right about the time her eyes softened, and he cursed. He hadn’t come here to tell her he cared, but that’s just what he was doing. One of her small hands came up to rest on his chest, and even through his thick coat he felt her warmth.
Dammit
. What was the use of trying to fight it? He pulled her to him, and lowered his lips to hers.

He could probably keep his head, if she didn’t make those sexy little kitten noises in the back of her throat; if she didn’t press up against him so that he could feel
everything
through that thin nightgown she wore. He wanted nothing more than to pick her up and sit her on that table and bury himself in her warmth… and judging from her enthusiastic response, she wasn’t disagreeing either.

But was it because of what she’d said yesterday? Did she think she was paying a debt, somehow? With a growl, he wrapped his fingers through her hair, and pulled away from her sweet lips. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were glazed, and he wondered why the hell he was being so noble. “Listen, honey.” He was breathing as hard as she was. “When I make you mine, it’s not going to be because of some debt. You’re going to
want
it, you understand? You don’t owe me squat, and you’re going to remember that.” Her eyes had widened during his promise. “You got that, Red?
You don’t owe me anything.
And I ain’t gonna take what’s offered if it’s only offered as payment.”

Her lips made a little “oh” of surprise—or maybe understanding—and he had to step away before he started something he couldn’t finish. Not right now, at least. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her, and took another step back.

“Did you come to lecture me, then?” She’d turned away from him, but he could see her hands clutching her elbows, and worried that she was cold. Why wasn’t there a fire going? She put one small, bare foot on top of the other to keep it warm, and he cursed again. Moving towards the large hearth along the back wall, he began to lay out a fire, muttering under his breath about fools.

“I came here to tell you about a plan, but I found you being rash and foolish again. Opening the door to danger, running around barefoot in winter. What happens if you get sick, huh? You’re going to add to your grandmother’s burden, that’s what. Don’t you
think
?” He knew he was being cruel, but figured it was better than the alternative: kissing her senseless again.

“I’m not reckless, you know.”

He snorted, setting a match to the kindling. “Could’ve fooled me.”

So quietly, he almost didn’t hear it, she said, “Only around you.” And he had to close his eyes on a groan. She’d offered herself to him; didn’t get any more reckless than that.

There was a long moment of silence that was broken only by the crackling of the kindling catching, and then the kettle began to boil and she moved towards the stove. “I just came down to start the coffee for
Abuela
and Micah. They work hard, and deserve a few extra minutes of rest. I wasn’t going to be down here long enough for my feet to get cold.” He glanced her way, but her back was to him, and her shoulders seemed stiff. “And you were the one who knocked on my door at this God-awful hour. I got worried. I’m not used to… to being hunted.”

He should apologize. He should tell her that he was only snapping because he was worried about her… but couldn’t. Wasn’t used to having to apologize. Wasn’t used to caring.

“So what’s your plan?” She’d poured coffee into two mugs, and put one at the chair he’d sat in during yesterday’s meal. When he joined her at the table, he was struck by how
right
it felt. Like this was his place. He sipped the coffee; dark and strong, the way he liked it.