Paxton and the Lone Star (34 page)

Stand aside. The cream rose to the top of the milk on its own, after all was said and done. A man could give his son only so much, and no more. Slowly, Luther O'Shannon uncoiled from the chair, walked over to Ramez, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Aside, is it? I am old and in the way, is that it?” He sighed, cupped his hand around the back of his son's head, and gave him a playful, affectionate shake. “Very well, Ramez. The land is yours to do with as you wish. But one thing.” His voice dropped and he stared directly into Ramez's eyes. “Do anything but lose.”

Ramez exuded confidence. “I will not lose, Father.”

“The Ridge Road can be dangerous—”

“I have ridden it many times. The southern height is the key, but Torbellino is sure-footed and I have handled worse.”

“Under no circumstances will you allow True Paxton to win,” O'Shannon insisted, as if he had not heard what his son had said. “Do you understand me?”

Ramez returned his father's stare without blinking. “Of course, Father.”

“Good.” O'Shannon turned away wearily. “Then off to bed with you. You'll have a long day tomorrow.”

Ramez sighed. He detested being treated like a child, but he was tired and would have to start for San Antonio early in the morning so Torbellino would be well rested by Thursday. “Very well,” he said stiffly.” Good night, Father.”

The door clicked closed again, and O'Shannon was alone. Tired himself, he picked up the glass of
pulque
Ramez had poured and sank into the chair by the fire. He tasted the liquor and scowled.
Pulque
was meant to be drunk from clay, not fine crystal. Everything had its place. Liquor as well as people. Trouble began when they left their place.

He stared into the flames. A servant moved in front of him and swept up the powdery fragments, then silently left. O'Shannon tried to recall Ramez's mother, the way she had looked before the cholera had sapped her strength and wrung the flesh from her young bones, but all he could remember was a skin-tight mask of death, so he moved his thoughts elsewhere. To the race, to the wager. To True Paxton, a stranger from the North who had entered Luther O'Shannon's private, contented world. He stirred. Misgivings nibbled at his mind. But Ramez deserved to have his day and his chance. No argument about that.

Outside, the south wind had stilled. Luther O'Shannon listened, but could hear nothing except the sound of the fire. He wouldn't sleep this night, nor the next, nor the next. Soon he would have company, though. Before the night was over, the north wind would be baying at the door.

Chapter XXIII

Emperor, as they had taken to calling Firetail after Joseph's comment two days earlier, was resting. True dozed in a pile of hay just outside the stallion's stall. It had been a rough two days, and there were another twenty-two hours to go before the race. Their preparations had been exhaustive. The same afternoon that Joseph made the bet with Ramez, True had found a man who knew the course O'Shannon had picked, and rode around it on one of the stable horses. Three hours later, right around five o'clock, he had ridden Firetail slowly around it again, after which Firetail received his third rub-down of the day. Afterward, Joseph himself picked a bag of oats and another of corn at random and set them aside. With equal care, he and he alone carried the emperor's water from the well.

No less than three people had warned them to beware of the O'Shannons, so just to be sure, True and Joseph had taken turns staying awake at the stable. Firetail wasn't used to such constant attention and responded with increased nervousness, as if he knew something was up, but that was the price they paid. A norther had blown in Monday night. By Tuesday morning it was cold enough to leave a skim of ice on standing water. The sun came out Tuesday around one, and True took the occasion to half walk, half run Firetail around the course. They kept the same vigil Tuesday night as they had Monday.

No one suspicious had come to the stables or been seen lurking around when Firetail was let outdoors. By Wednesday at noon, while the rest of the town geared up for the New Year's Eve festivities, True had begun to think they had imagined threats where there were none, and were acting like a couple of little old ladies. He was about ready to leave the stable when the door opened and Joseph came ambling in with lunch. “If it doesn't snow and we don't all freeze to death before morning, I guess we'll have a race,” he said, handing True a plate wrapped in a towel. “Old timers say tomorrow's gonna be the same as today. We never ran him in weather like this before.”

True opened the towel and sniffed at his food.

“He likes the cold,” he said, spooning beans laced with hot chili onto a
tortilla.
“These smell good. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Yeah. Feed your horse some of them beans and he'll by God live up to his name,” Joseph growled, his lips turning up at the corners.

“Can't be that bad. Just a bunch of beans.” True took a bite. “Jeee-sussss!” he gasped.

Joseph tried not to grin. “Told you,” he drawled. “But go on and eat up. Wouldn't want Firetail to feel all alone in the world.”

True drank some water and bit a hunk out of a plain
tortilla.
“You sure have a funny way of cheering someone up,” he said.

“You did look a little glum. Just thought I'd take your mind off the race for a minute.”

“With a brother like you …” True's grin faded. “I keep telling myself that O'Shannon's horse will be running in the same weather as ours. And that ought to even everything out.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Pensive, Joseph walked into the stall and ran a practiced hand over Firetail's flank. “Feels good. One more time around and he'll be as ready as he ever will. When are you leaving?”

“Few minutes. Elizabeth's coming by. We're going to ride it together.

“Oh? You two been riding a lot lately.” Joseph emerged from the stall, stood over True. “And not just on horseback.”

True's face hardened. “None of your business, big brother.”

“Or so I hear,” Joseph amended with a shrug.

“Well, maybe you've been listening too hard.”

“Have it your way,” Joseph said. “I've listened too hard.”

True searched his brother's face for a hint of sarcasm. Finding none, he softened, rolled another
tortilla
full of beans, and handed it to him. “Here. Put some fire in
your
tail.”

Joseph clapped True on the shoulder, took a seat next to him, and began to eat. In seconds, his face was reddening. “I want you to win that race,” he said, trying to talk and gasp at the same time. He took a swallow of coffee, which only made it worse, and switched to water. “It's never
really
mattered before, but this time we have to win.”

“That was the general idea,” True agreed, recalling his initial inspiration after his encounter with Ramez O'Shannon by the creek.

“You know why I came to Texas?”

It was a surprising question, seemingly out of context with the subject at hand. True looked sharply at his brother, but could find no signs of rancor or of the anger that usually drove him. Inside the stall, as if impatient for an answer, Firetail drummed on the plank floor. “No,” True said. “Why?”

“I came along for the ride.” Joseph swallowed his beans and took another sip of water. “At twenty-seven years, that's a hell of a reason to do anything. I've been thinking, though—surprise, eh?—and time was when this would have been just another bet. If luck went against us, so what? Find a warm whore for a cold night, get drunk, and the hell with it. Why not?”

“Joseph …”

“No. I'm not through.” Joseph stared at the tiny, iridescent drops of oil floating on top of his coffee as if they carried a message that, if he were clever enough, he could decipher. “I couldn't sleep last night. Just lay there next to Lottie and stared at the ceiling. Jason was cut out for running Paxton Shipping. I knew it but I resented him anyway. As for you and Andrew, I figured because you came from a mother different from mine, that it always had to be me against you.”

“I never felt that way,” True said softly. “I can't imagine Andrew did, either.”

“Doesn't matter. As far as I was concerned, you did. Mainly because Father favored you. No—” He held up a hand to stop True. “That's a fact, and I don't blame him. I did for a long time, but not now. I was the eldest in age only. You were the one we all followed. Look, we even followed you to Texas.”

“Hogjaw—”

“Brought us. He took you. Andrew and I tagged along. What I'm getting at …” He trailed off, looked for the right words. “Lottie … I don't know if I love her, True. I've never loved any woman I've bedded. But we're married and so be it. And I love what's inside of her.” He looked at True for the first time since he'd started talking. “She's carrying my child, True. Son or daughter, I don't care. It's my child. And I want a house to raise it in. A house of my own on land that I own. So this race matters. I don't want to go grubbing and scratching about, True.”

Horse sounds. Wind through cracks in the walls. The door creaked open. “True?” It was Elizabeth.

“In here,” True called, with an apologetic glance at Joseph.

“Doesn't matter,” Joseph said. “I'm finished anyways. All talked out. There's work to be done. You two go on.”

“Joseph …”

“I said go on,” Joseph repeated gruffly. “I have to get some sleep if I'm gonna stay up all night with the emperor here.”

“All right. “True rose, reached out to touch Joseph but pulled his hand away at the last moment. “We won't lose,” he promised quietly so Elizabeth wouldn't hear.

“It's almost one,” Elizabeth said, appearing out of the gloomy front part of the stable. “You ready?”

“Just finishing eating,” True said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Joseph and I've been talking tactics and strategy. Sleep well?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Morning, Joseph.”

“Morning?” Joseph sounded like his old self again. “Don't let Hogjaw ever catch you calling afternoon morning. He'll try to trade faces with you.” He set down his plate and started into Firetail's stall. “You saddle hers. I'll take care of Firetail.”

Easier said than done, True thought, genuinely worried about the race. Working quickly, he saddled the same little chestnut mare Elizabeth had ridden for the past two days, then walked both horses to the front door and, after helping Elizabeth mount and waving goodbye to Joseph, headed Firetail toward the
Calle de la Quinta.
“Quiet today,” he finally said, when Elizabeth hadn't spoken for the first few minutes.

“Oh?” Elizabeth said, a little coolly. “Nothing to say, I guess.”

They rode in silence, following the path the race would take. The trail was actually an assortment of paths that, as seen from a map, continually bore to the left and traced an uneven but closed loop that hung from the southern edge of town. Someone had erected flags along the course since the day before, and True had time to think for the first half mile or so. Elizabeth was withdrawn to the point of truculence. He had to admit he hadn't paid much—any, really—attention to her for the past two days. But that wasn't his fault. A great deal was at stake and he had been hard on the grind. The least she could do was understand.

The course began to rise into the hills, and True concentrated on the job at hand. His eyes sweeping every inch of the trail, he took note of slopes and angles, of dips or obstructions that might cause a mishap. Twice he rode a section, turned Firetail about and retraced his steps, and then rode it at a gallop. The worst, most dangerous part of the course lay at the extreme southern end. There, the horses were forced to run up a gradually sloping hill, climb a truly brutal twenty yards amid a jumble of boulders, and zigzag another hundred yards or so along the rim of a limestone cliff before beginning a long, slow, angling descent that would take them back to town. True rode Firetail up the steepest part of the climb, walked him back down, and let him walk up it again to make sure both of them knew the exact route they would take through the boulders. “This is the hard part,” he told Elizabeth, holding her chestnut's bridle as he led the way along the rim.

“You realize this is insane, don't you?” Elizabeth asked in return, trying not to look over the edge.

“You want that land or not?”

The little mare shied. Elizabeth gasped and held onto the saddle horn. “Of course,” she snapped, more in fear than anger.

The path widened and True led them all into a sheltered spot out of the wind. “Then don't make it any harder than it already is,” he said, handing back the reins to Elizabeth. He let one hand rest on her thigh. “Please?” he asked gently. “I need all the help I can get, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth swung down off her horse, leaned against a wagon-sized boulder. Men were such an intolerable mixture of shrewdness and density, she thought. All True had to do was tell her he still loved her, that he wanted to marry her. All he had to do was set aside the race for a few moments, take her in his arms, and kiss her. That wasn't asking too much, was it? She too had been busy. She had carried water. She had brought him his meals, listened to his and Joseph's endless speculation about each and every aspect of the race. She wasn't being selfish. She had a right to be indignant. Of course the race was important. But not as important as the two of them. Nothing was that important. When a man and a woman were in love …

“Stay here,” True said shortly, unwilling to wait any longer for a response. “We're going over this a few more times, and then head back to town.”

When a man and a woman were in love … Elizabeth sighed, wished she were warm again. He was so damned intense! It wasn't as if he'd never raced before. He had. Often. The stakes were higher this time, of course, but the race itself couldn't be
that
different. A little smile creased the corners of her mouth as she sank further out of the cutting wind. All the help he could get? Very well. Very well, indeed. A hint of mystery to distract him would do for starters. And then? Joseph was due to watch Firetail that night while True relaxed and got some rest. The smile deepened, then faded and became secretive. He would rest, surely enough. And relax, too. Of
that,
if nothing else, Elizabeth was certain.