North to the Salt Fork (2 page)

He returned, dusting himself off. Several folks offered their thanks, but he dismissed the act as nothing.

“I must apologize for those rude boys,” Lucille said.

“Aw, boys'll be boys,” he said with a wink, taking his plate back from her. Lucille steered the threesome to the far corner.

“They're old enough to be past that point,” Lucille said; then she turned to the crowd. “Now, everyone please let Captain Starr eat. He can talk later.”

Several people repeated his name aloud and most shook their heads—they'd never heard of or met him before. Lucille felt pleased he'd lowered the boom on those two scamps, but she wanted to be protective of the stranger's privacy. He'd tell them his story later.

At last seated between the two women on the bench against the wall, he dug into the food as if he were a starved wolf. No telling when he'd eaten last. But to Lucille's surprise, when the musicians started a polka, he handed Sister his half-eaten supper and took both of Lucille's hands. “I haven't done this in years, so I might mash your toes. Let's polka.”

Lucille couldn't manage a single word before he whirled her away as if in a cloud of dust.

She had to admit that he could dance and it was all she could do to keep up. If he hadn't danced the polka in a long time, he sure had not forgotten how. Being whirled around in tight circles by a strong man was an exhilarating experience for her. She'd forgotten all the worrisome things that only a minute before had been weighing her down. Her breath came in gulps, and when the fiddles finally quit he gave her a short bow that made her want to hug him. She straightened her skirt and told herself to mind her manners; at that moment, it seemed that everyone in the county was looking at the two of them.

Later he danced a waltz with Sister, spoke briefly to Eric Wheeler of the Bar 9, then returned to their section of the bench.

“Are you here on business?” Sister asked in one of those rare moments when both women were present. He shook his head wearily. “I'm a man without a place. I came home from the war, found my family had been murdered by Comanches and I've not tried to sink roots ever since.”

“Your wife was murdered?” Lucille asked.

He shook his head. “No wife. My parents, sister and little brother.”

She nodded. No wife
.
A man in his mid-thirties who'd never been married was liable to keep right on with his bachelorhood and freedom. Some men were cut out to be husbands; others weren't. Why should she worry about that? She'd only just met him. Knew nothing of his past. Still the notion he'd never been married stung her.

From there on, dancing with him wasn't quite as exciting, but she liked it. Barriers had begun to grow in her thoughts. There was more to lose here. She shouldn't expose any more of herself, only to lose in the end.

“Where will you go from here?” she finally asked as they danced a slow tune.

“Do I need to leave already?”

Her face burned red. “No, no, I mean what will you do next? Obviously you are a man on the move.”

“Why, I was hoping you'd invite me to dinner tomorrow.”

She avoided his gaze as they slowly stepped to the music. “You're very welcome to come. . . . I have two children.” There. If her having big kids bothered him, she'd at least know.

“Good. I'd like to meet them.”

“Luke and Tally. They're nearly grown now. Need I say more?” She expected him to look disappointed.

“You must be proud of them.” She glanced up and to her relief, his smile was big. The music stopped and he guided her back to their corner.

“I am, but the boy thinks he's twenty-five instead of sixteen. And Tally, well, she's ready to run off.”

He laughed. “I'd love to meet them. How do I get there?”

“Oh, ride south along the creek to the crossing. There's a small rock waterfall below it. Turn west and my place is four miles from there. The D-T brand is on the gate.”

“Midday?”

“That will be fine. Don't expect too much.”

His brow furrowed, and he looked her square in the eye. “Taking a meal with your bunch will be my honor.”

She blushed. How was it that this man could make a woman of her age blush as if she were some silly schoolgirl? Why, she hadn't done that in years.

“May I ask why your children aren't here?”

“Luke has a broken leg and Tally offered to take care of him. They told me to go ahead and enjoy myself for a change.”

“Nice of them. How did he break it?”

“Oh, riding some bronc he brought home.”

He laughed. “I did the same thing when I was sixteen.”

With a frown she asked, “Is that a disease among boys?”

“It just might be.”

She felt him squeeze her shoulder, but remarkably she didn't consciously notice it for a long moment. When her mind caught up to the fact that his hand lingered there, she blushed again and looked away.

His presence had become so natural.

Oh, Lucille Thornton, what are you going to do? she thought.

The next morning, Captain Jack Starr took a bath in Dog Creek. After his skin had dried he heated some water over his small campfire and carefully shaved, using a straight-edge razor, then redressed. It was the best he could do to clean up for the meal he so looked forward to having with Lucille and the kids. Brushing his teeth with a rag dipped in salt water, he admired the hill country's live oak and cedar, a nice land of freestone streams with lots of forage for cattle.

Some doves in the treetops cooed at him and noisy meadowlarks darted in and out of the tall bunchgrass. He liked this hill country of Texas. As he studied the terrain around him, his thoughts turned to Lucille Thornton. Straight-backed and attractive, the woman had spurred something in his brain. No need for him to get too excited—she had her obligations to two children. He looked up at the sound of a horse approaching.

Out of habit he shifted the six-gun holster on his hip. Peering through the brush he could see a single rider approaching. As the man rode in closer, his cow pony dropped his head toward the dust and snorted. Jack's visitor sat in the saddle all dressed for church—Sunday suit and necktie, even a narrow-brimmed derby. His chin whiskers were no doubt trimmed for such an occasion.

The stranger pulled rein within twenty feet of where Starr stood. He didn't seem surprised to find Starr there by the creek.

“I saw you at the dance last night, Mister,” the stranger said. “May I inquire about your business in our community?”

Jack frowned at the unfriendly nature of the question. “You the law here?”

“No, but I am considered an elder leader in this community.”

Jack wiped his palm on the seat of his pants and stepped forward to offer his hand. “My name's Jack Starr.”

The man checked his horse, obviously not ready to shake with him—yet. “Mine is Hiram Sawyer. Now that you've had your dances and free meal, I suggest you just keep on riding.”

“I guess you tell that to all the folks traveling through here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Listen, Hiram. I fought four years for the Confederacy. That's over, but I ain't being run off anywhere by any old goat that's set himself up as the so-called law.”

“You'd be wise to heed my words, sir.”

“I'd probably be wise to shoot you off that horse and tell God that you died going to church this morning.”

“Watch your tongue. I'll allow no slander about the Lord.”

“I'm not slandering God nor anyone else but you. And if you think for one minute you can ride down here and order me off, then you've been smoking opium. I'll ride where I want to ride and stay where I want to stay. Now get on to your services before they have to hold your funeral.”

“You shall regret this day, sir.”

“Hiram, I'll regret lots of things, but one of them won't be because I ran from you.”

The fire on Sawyer's face was obvious. He jerked his horse around and in a huff rode off in the same direction he'd come.

Had the old SOB come all the way out here to make him clear out? Or was he simply interested in Mrs. Thornton and didn't want any competition? Snooty old devil—he'd bear to watch. Jack reminded himself that cowards like Hiram always hired professionals to do their dirty work—that would make it harder too, until he came to know the faces and names of his back stabbers.

Still upset by Sawyer's challenge, he went and saddled the stout red roan horse he called Mac and took off his hobbles. He tied his bedroll with his housekeeping gear wrapped up inside behind him. Anger festered by the minute over the man's orders that he leave the country. How powerful could Sawyer be? Major rancher? Banker? Political leader? Or just one of those men that thought God had put him in charge and no one wanted to challenge his authority?

He checked the sun time, figured it was midmorning, and headed for the falls on Lost Dog Creek. The falls spilled over with less than a foot drop off a well-worn limestone outcropping, pure and clean. After Mac took a deep drink, they headed west on the road for Mrs. Thornton's place and the D-T brand she said would be on the gate.

When he arrived Jack dismounted under the arch of the gate and smiled at all the D-T's burned in the lumber. He opened it, led his horse through, closed it and remounted, heading north up a wide, grassy swale. Good cow country. Running water that bisected such great land pleased him.

He topped the ridge and could see the cottonwood trees surrounding the house, corrals, sheds and a creaky windmill, plus some rail-fenced cropland. It was a nice layout and he felt a little jealous that she owned such a homey place. Dogs began to bark and a girl, around fifteen years old, with her mother's brown hair in abundant braids, came and stood in the open, shading her eyes with her hands to better see what made the stock dogs bark.

“Maw! Maw! It must be him,” she shouted at the house.

Drying her hands on her apron, Lucille joined her daughter in the yard. Coming off the hill, Jack could see her head bob in agreement. Then she herded her daughter back toward the house. He rounded the corral and noticed a frisky pony galloping around in the pen; Jack figured this must've been the source of the boy's broken leg. Mac did a foot-shuffling gait, obviously excited about their arrival at Lucille's place.

He dropped off Mac at the hitch rail, removed his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. The temperature was rising.

“Good afternoon,” Lucille said with a smile from the porch.

He checked the sun time. “Am I late?”

“No, you're right on time. Come in. There's hot water in the basin if you want to wash up.”

“Thanks,” he said, wrapping the reins on the rack.

He hung his hat and jacket on the porch wall pegs and set about to soaping his hands. When he looked up, Lucille's girl was holding out a tin can for him.

“I'm Tally,” she said. “I have some tea. It's pretty cool, but not icy like the lemonade last night. I know how cold that gets.”

“Oh yes,” he replied, thinking about how refreshing some of that ice-cold lemonade would be now. “Why don't you call me Captain,” he said, drying his hands and face on the towel.

“I will, Captain Starr.”

“On second thought, that sounds too formal.” He took the can and sipped the sweetened tea.

“Maw would want me to call you Mr. Starr.”

He reached out and hugged her shoulder. “Darling, we better work this out.”

She laughed. “She told us you weren't stuck-up, even though you were an officer in the war and all.”

“Tally,” Lucille said, sounding shocked after hearing Tally's words from the kitchen.

“She's fine,” Jack reassured her. “Is this Luke, the bronc rider?” he asked of the boy who sat with his left leg in a cast across two chairs. He appraised Jack suspiciously, then nodded a quick confirmation. Jack reached out and shook the youth's calloused hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Same here,” Luke said, firmly gripping the captain's hand.

The room smelled of fresh-cooked food, and the large table was set for four. Jack was about to take a seat when he realized he was still wearing his gun belt. He handed Tally the can of tea and unbuckled it. “Excuse me.”

He went to hang the gun set on a coat peg by the door. There was a Winchester rifle over the door and a shotgun standing up beside the door frame. Lucille must be a capable woman, he thought, if she could handle guns like these. Then again, with two children and no man, she had to be.

“How have you been?” he said to Lucille.

“Fine, now that you found us all right.” She patted the back of a chair and said, “Come sit. You're at the head of the table.”

Jack smiled with pleasure. “May I seat you two ladies first?”

She broke into a smile. “I reckon.”

He helped both of them, then took his place. “What about Luke?” he asked, gesturing to the boy, who hadn't moved from his resting place.

“I can eat over here. I'll be fine, sir.”

“So long as you don't starve.” He shared a wink with the boy. But he was hardly a boy; many men in his outfit during the war had been no older than Luke.

“I'll fix him a plate,” Tally said.

“Good. We have to take care of our disabled troopers.”

Lucille filled Jack's coffee cup, and made sure that he had the first serving of everything. As she hovered over him with a bowl of mashed potatoes, he gently stopped her. “I eat mess with the troopers. Don't fuss over me.”