Oklahoma's Gold (5 page)

"You think this is funny?" she snapped.

"No, no. Look, we really seem to have gotten off to a bad start. Maybe if we try again, we could …" She wouldn’t let him finish. Did this woman ever stop interrupting people? He let her go on protesting, but really didn’t listen this time. He turned to get back in the truck and drove toward the ranch. She could follow or just stand there yelling for all he cared. Miss Emma would probably tan his hide with one of her hell fire and brimstone lectures later on, but right now, he just didn’t give a hoot.
What is wrong with women around here
, he asked himself and watched in his rearview mirror to see the Toyota pull out slowly to follow him.

Chapter 7

The piercing, screaming sound penetrated the tranquil night, waking nearly everyone on the farm. Charlie Stillwater and his two sons, George and Charlie Junior, ran bare-chested and barefoot out onto the porch, pausing only seconds until their sleepy brains cleared enough to realize the screaming belonged to the horses in the corral.

They ran in a frenzied scramble that almost caused a collision. As the corral came into view, Charlie and the boys barely missed witnessing Thunder break through the torn fencing and gallop away from the farm, closely followed by Quickfire. The only sound remaining was a low, miserable whinny coming from the wrecked corral. As they reached the broken fence, George was the first to spot Apache lying on the ground, struggling to get back up, but clearly not able.

"Apache!" George yelled and rushed to the animal's side. "What’s wrong, girl?"

"Move aside, son," Charlie spoke softly and gently touched the boy’s shoulder. George immediately obeyed his father and backed away.

Charlie began examining Apache’s legs when a faint rattling sound reached his ears. He quickly turned in the direction of the noise and pulled out a pistol from the waist of his pants where he’d instinctively placed it before they’d left the house. In that brief moment, another rattling sound joined in, only from the opposite direction.

"Get out of the corral, boys. Now!" he shouted.

Within a matter of seconds, the boys were on the porch. They heard the gunfire several times in quick succession, then pause and fire again, just once. Their father walked slowly toward them, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Father?" George questioned, and when Charlie did not respond, the boy’s eyes grew large with alarmed concern. "No!" he screamed, then tried running toward the corral. Charlie was just able to grab the boy’s arm to stop him.

"No, son. There may still be rattlers around. I shot at least six." He shook his head. "But there may be more."

"Apache," George cried.

"Apache is gone, son. It was too late," Charlie spoke apologetically, as if he himself was to blame. George began to cry softly into his father’s chest as Charlie held him tightly.

"How could there be so many snakes in the corral?" Charlie Junior spoke for the first time since they’d left the house.

"Perhaps there is a nest nearby," Charlie suggested, but strongly doubted.

"Did they all look like young ones?" the boy inquired.

"No, but …" Charlie began. His response trailed off. He, too, began to have strong suspicions. Normally, he would not be alarmed. He was a quiet man, practical, sensible, not given to fantasy or an active imagination. However, many so-called accidents had occurred lately, though not just on his farm. Many of his neighbors had talked of strange happenings. There had been dead animals found in a couple wells, fences torn down, a dead cow, several stolen livestock, and even a brush fire which had destroyed crops, nearly reaching a barn before being put out. Hardly a normal year. And now this.

He looked up at his older son. He could see the anger and bitterness reflected in the boy’s eyes. And something else. It frightened Charlie, but made him proud at the same time. It was the readiness to fight, fight for his family and for his honor. Charlie’s forehead creased with lines of worry. There would be trouble ahead. For centuries, Apache, part of the warring Chiricahua band, held honor as very serious business. And they were part of him, his ancestors, his mother's ancestors. It was in their blood to do so.

Chapter 8

"Just tell me. Are they all settled in, Cora?" Emma inquired. "I know, but I really can’t deal with … Okay, okay. Put Daniel on the phone … He’s not…? Then put the girl on the phone," she exclaimed, totally exasperated at this point. "What do you mean she’s gone for a walk? She doesn’t even know her way around. Dadblast it! She’ll be stumblin’ round in the dark, probably fall in a gopher hole and bust an ankle," Emma griped as she adjusted the phone on her shoulder. "Send one of the other hands to bring her back to the house. Pronto!" she ordered. "And Cora? Get someone to find Daniel. I want to speak with that young man, soon as possible," she added before hanging up.

"Arguin’ with company. Humph! Of all the foolish things. What’s gotten into that boy!" Emma grumbled to herself as she walked back to Fred’s room. She reached the door and could see the nurse was changing the bedding. Mac had assisted by lifting Fred’s limp body and placing it on a cot. The doctor was writing on the patient’s chart. His face featured a worried look of intent, Emma noticed.

"Any change?" she asked hopefully.

Doc Willis looked up and smiled kindly as he recognized Emma. "No, Emma. I’m afraid not." Seeing her look of discouragement, he quickly added, "But he’s stable and that’s extremely important in a case like this where internal bleeding often causes complications. There’s no sign of that here." He lightly touched her shoulder to comfort her. "It takes time."

"I know. I know. I guess I’m just an impatient old fool." She attempted a smile, and then scowled. "Whoever did this—he better pay!"

"They’ve got Joseph …" Mac began, but Emma cut him off.

"Phooey! He’s no guiltier than I am," she scoffed.

"The sheriff seems to feel strongly he’s the one, Emma," the doctor said.

"Caleb’s still wet behind the ears and wouldn’t know a snake if it bit ‘im," she criticized. "People have got to start facing the truth. Their damn prejudice and hate will be the ruin of all that’s civilized ‘round here," Emma warned.

"Now, Emma," Mac chided. "Don't you think that's a bit exaggerated? Maybe a few, but not all are that way. You shouldn’t be so hard on folks."

"Well, you can all turn your backs and blind yourselves to what’s goin’ on. But not me!" she exclaimed.

"All right then, Emma Thomas. If you’re so sure powerful smart, then who did beat the stuffin’ out of Fred?" Mac retorted.

"I don’t know, but …"

"Hah!" Mac stopped her.

"Hah nothin'! What I do know is that it’s a sight easier and lazier to accept a drunken Indian as the guilty one than to go out and look for the truth!" And with that, Emma stomped out of the room and down the hall.

Chapter 9

"I think I’m quite capable of taking an evening walk!" Jess protested, trying to jerk her arm free from Daniel’s hold.

"Still, I have orders, ma’am," Daniel said stiffly as he gripped her more tightly. The cowboy sent out to find Jess had come back empty-handed, and since Daniel had already returned, he offered to go find the missing guest, though at this moment, he didn’t know why. He wasn’t anxious to tangle with her again. That was for sure. There was that one little detail though, he admitted reluctantly. He had been partly to blame for her running off … in the night … like a crazy person. He scowled remembering.

If she just hadn’t spouted off to him like that, yelling about the chuckholes and the dust and his manners. If she’d just kept quiet and stopped there, maybe he wouldn’t have reacted. But no, she had to go and demonstrate the dust getting in her eyes, asking him how he’d like it, and then throwing some in his face. That’s what did it.  He remembered the conversation like it happened just seconds ago …

"How do you like it?" she asked and threw the dust in his face.

He wiped his eyes, and then very slowly, started walking closer to Jess. "Well, I guess what I’d do, if I got a face full of dirt, is take a bath," he answered calmly.

"Take a bath?" she repeated and looked incredulously at him, as if he’d gone insane.

"Yep. Wash it all off. Take a bath," he said once more.  As quick as lightning, he’d picked Jess up and threw her over his shoulder, walked to the horse trough, then dropped her screaming and kicking into the water. It was so comical-looking, her drenched hair dripping, that he’d begun to laugh, which made Jess even angrier.

The surprising thing was that even now Daniel didn’t know what had provoked him. He felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar with his behavior.

He gripped her arm even more firmly as the anger and frustration about his feelings of helplessness mounted.

"Ouch!" Jess exclaimed. "So you’re a bully, too." She scowled at him as fiercely as she could.

Disgusted with the whole ordeal, Daniel dropped Jess’ arm, expecting her to run off to the house, but instead she just stood there. The moonlight cast shadows around her, giving an ethereal, ghostly appearance to her frame. Along with the deadly, angry expression of her eyes, well, the sight was actually spooky, Daniel mused. Yet, the idea of Jess being something to fear struck him as ridiculous, so he laughed for the second time tonight. A huge belly laugh that even scared off the coyote howling nearby.

"What, may I ask, is so damned funny?" she snapped and even stomped her foot in anger.

That, of course, made Daniel laugh even more until he thought tears would come to his eyes. But instead the tears came from Jess. She suddenly burst out crying, covering her face with her hands as if to hide the display of weakness. When Daniel noticed, his smile turned to serious concern. "I’m—I’m sorry," he stammered apologetically. "I really didn’t … I mean I know it’s not … you’re not funny, that is."

"Oh, shuttup," she said between sniffles, her head still hung down, not wanting to look at him yet. After a moment she wiped her eyes and slowly glanced up.

When her gaze met his, there was a brief moment Daniel sensed another feeling inside, but he quickly pushed it away. "Like I said, I’m sorry. Sorry for… awe, hell! Sorry for all the stupid things I may have said or done which even though …" He shook his head and paused. "Even though it’s been what? Maybe two hours at most since we’ve met? I’ve managed quite a few stupid things. And I’m sorry," he finished before turning away.

"Why do you dislike me? Is it because of the remark? I told you I didn't mean it that way."

The question caused Daniel to halt in his steps and stare bewildered at Jess. "Dislike you? I don’t dislike you. You may infuriate me, yes, but I wouldn’t call it dislike," he explained.

"I don’t know," she began. "Seems to me your feelings go deeper than that."

"You don’t know the half of it," he muttered under his breath, and then louder, "Well, you’re wrong."

"Okay," she shrugged. "How’s this. Someone wise I know made a pretty good suggestion earlier this evening. So, why don’t we try starting over?" She looked imploringly at him with an impish grin across her face.