Texas Born (32 page)

'Oh, just give me some time to think about
it,' Laurenda said loftily. 'With our brains, we'll be able to cook
up something to break up those two. Right?'

Jenny looked at her for a long moment. Then
her lips spread into a wide, devious grin. 'Yeah. We'll be able to
cook up something good.'

Jenny scowled as the four of them came out of
the drugstore. 'What do we do now?' she grumbled in a bored
voice.

Red Brearer kicked at a pebble and watched it
bounce across Main Street, stirring up little clouds of dust. He
was short and stocky, with a perpetually surly expression. His name
was derived from his shock of orange-red hair, which stuck out from
under his cloth cap. 'I dunno. Wanna go over to the nickelodeon and
see the show again?'

Jenny glanced up the street at the pink
rooming house and shook her head. 'Auntie doesn't let us see the
show more than once, and we've already been this week. Besides,
I've already spent my week's allowance. Auntie only gave me the
money for the soda if I let Elizabeth-Anne come along.' She jerked
her head sideways in Elizabeth-Anne's direction.

Red looked at her out of the corners of his
eyes. 'You work in the café. Why don't you keep some of the money?
You know, just a little bit here and a little bit there?'

'Are you kidding?' Jenny shook her head.
'Auntie's too sharp. She always knows exactly how much there should
be. Even if I come up a nickel short, she knows it. I don't know
how she keeps track of it, but she does.'

A look of disappointment came over his face.
'There must be something we can do,' he mumbled.

Laurenda put a hand on Jenny's arm. 'I know
what we can do!'

'Whoa!' Jenny cut her off and turned to
Elizabeth-Anne, who was standing a few feet away. 'You've had your
soda, 'Lizbeth-Anne,' she said succinctly. 'That's all Auntie
required of me. Now, scram. We want to be left alone.'

Elizabeth-Anne looked at each of them in
turn. Only Red seemed slightly embarrassed. Then she shrugged and
slowly walked off, hands in her pockets, chin tucked down onto her
chest. Behind her she heard Jenny's stage whispers and then three
loud shrieks of laughter.

Her face burned with embarrassment. Then, for
some strange reason—an instinct or intuition—she suddenly felt a
force drawing her eyes up to the pink rooming house. She could see
a shadow in the third- floor window. And that, for some reason,
made her shrug off her embarrassment. Lifting her head with pride,
she headed for the Good Eats Café, every inch of her suddenly
brimming with confidence and dignity.

Zaccheus stood at the oriel window, one hand
parting the curtains, the other tucked into the small of his back.
Down the street he could see the young man and two young ladies
obviously ostracizing Elizabeth-Anne from their activities. The way
she walked along so dejectedly, hands in her pockets, tugged at his
heartstrings. She seemed so lonely, like a lovely vulnerable flower
deprived of water. She positively drooped.

A sympathetic look came into his eyes,
turning them startling blue, warm and liquid. He wanted nothing
more than to rush downstairs, throw the haven of his arms around
her, and offer comfort and succor.

Forget about them
, he wanted to say to
her.
You've got me
.

But at the moment, time was their enemy. He
had things he had to do, and he couldn't procrastinate.

He consulted his pocket watch, then snapped
it decisively shut. If he didn't hurry, he would be late. And that
was unthinkable, especially after Miss Clowney had gone through
such pains to get him this job interview. Besides, he consoled
himself, he would see Elizabeth-Anne later, after he got back.
They'd agreed to meet at the tiny park, with its bandstand, at the
south end of Main Street. Right now, he had time for a quick bath,
and that was it. He was expected out at the Sexton ranch, and it
wouldn't do to be late. Jobs for a young man, even one who was good
at figures and writing, were not easy to come by, especially here
in southwest Texas.

Twenty minutes later, as he headed out into
the country in the buggy Elender had lent him, he noticed Jenny and
her friends heading in the opposite direction on foot, toward a
dilapidated shack at the far side of the railroad tracks. A
half-hour after that, he arrived at the sprawling Sexton ranch
house with five minutes to spare.

He tethered the horse, slapped the dust off
his clothes, hopped up on the porch, and knocked confidently on the
big double doors. A Mexican maid answered and led him down an
endless series of cool corridors to Tex Sexton's office. Opening
the carved dark-stained door, she stepped aside to let Zaccheus
enter and said: 'Mr. Sexton will be with you shortly. He's out
hunting.' Then she closed the heavy door quietly and he was
alone.

The first thing that hit Zaccheus was the
room's smells. The air was redolent with a mixture of expensive
masculine fragrances: leather and wood, Cuban cigars, oils, and
saddle wax. He walked over to one of the windows and gazed out at
the ranchland at the back of the house. Cattle were grazing
peacefully beyond the sheds and barns. He heard the heavy trampling
of hooves, and several horses galloped into view and slid to a
halt. Their riders, shotguns in hand, hopped limberly down off
their saddles. One horse was riderless, but dragged a litter behind
it. On it lay a slain deer.

Zaccheus nodded to himself. So the stories he
had heard were true: Tex Sexton had indeed stocked a portion of his
land with game.

As he watched, several ranch hands untied the
deer from the litter and dragged it into a shed.

Behind him he heard the oak door opening. He
turned around slowly.

'Be with you in a minute,' Tex Sexton said
abruptly, waving aside any greetings with a large callused hand.
Obviously there were going to be no handshakes and no hellos.
Zaccheus remained standing and watched as Sexton poured himself a
glass of bourbon from the sideboard. Then he drained the glass,
sighed deeply, banged it down, and went over to one of the deep
tufted black leather couches studded with gleaming brass nailheads.
He threw himself down on it, hooking a leg over one of the arms,
and studied Zaccheus quietly. Though his body was relaxed, Tex's
squinting eyes were wary.

Zaccheus studied him right back. Sexton
didn't dress the part of the powerful gentleman rancher, and that
surprised him. He dressed, in fact, like one of the ranch hands: he
wore baggy whipcord trousers, a mended red-plaid shirt with flaps
over the pockets, and worn, dusty boots.

Tex Sexton was close to fifty, but there was
an astonishing, youthful vitality about him. His hair was thick and
black, combed back and barely touched with gray at the temples. He
was a large man, both in height and girth, but he was light-footed
and carried his weight well. His face was long and brown and
narrow, an outdoor face, the skin drawn taut across the bones and
weathered with a network of tiny, shallow wrinkles. His mouth was
large and thin-lipped, and held an expression Zaccheus could only
interpret as sardonic, with a small humorless smile twisting up the
corners. His ears were large and stuck out at an odd angle, giving
him a deceptively countrified look. Above all, he was impressive.
The imperious self-assurance with which he held himself, and the
steady gaze of his large, hooded, predatory black eyes, belonged to
a man who could take care of himself. Who instantly felt at home in
any surroundings, no matter how far away from home he happened to
wander. And that, Zaccheus thought for the first time in his life,
all added up to one thing. Power.

Finally Sexton spoke. 'So you're the young
man recommended to me for hire,' he drawled in a lazy voice. 'Your
name?'

'Zaccheus Hale, sir.'

'Your accent puts you up north a ways.
Kentucky?'

Zaccheus couldn't hide his surprise.
'Tennessee,' he lied.

'Yep, Tennessee. I can see that now. Usually
I can place accents within a state or two. Mighty handy little
talent to have, if I say so myself. But your accent's bastardized.
Sounds like you've been moving around.'

Zaccheus felt a clutch of tension pull at his
stomach.
So Tex Sexton isn't as countrified as he appears. He's
a shrewd man. I'll have to be on my guard, and watch every
word.

'Let me tell you something, son. Usually I
don't hire people if they aren't from round here, 'less they're
migrant Mexes. But you come highly recommended by Jesse Atkinson.
Jesse's not only a good friend of mine but also the president of
Quebeck Savings and Loan, which I happen to own. Seems he heard of
you from the lady runs the rooming house in town—'

'Miss Clowney.'

'Guess that's her.' Sexton nodded. 'Usually
I'm not curious about outsiders, but seeing as how you've been so
highly recommended, and being a Bible salesman . . . well, a man
that honest is rare.' He narrowed his dark eyes. 'Know
figures?'

'I can add, subtract, multiply, divide, and
work out percentages, if that's what you mean, sir.'

'And you can read and write?'

Zaccheus nodded.

'Good. Tell you what I need, and you tell me
if that's what you got. Brains are a rare commodity round here, and
they tell me you got one. What I already got are smart accountants
and lawyers and managers and all that, but I've got a lot of
businesses need seeing to. What I want is a loyal, sharp young man
with a brain that goes clickety-click all of the time. Somebody
who's got a nose for trouble, who can keep his eye on the overall
picture without personal things or other people getting in the way.
Somebody who can keep me informed. I don't want the bare-bones
details. Just the overall picture. Get what I mean?'

'In other words, sir, you want a liaison
between yourself and all the people heading the other businesses
you own.'

'Liaison.' Sexton tested the word on his
tongue. 'Good word, that.' He nodded. 'Yep, that's exactly what it
amounts to. But more. You gotta be a troubleshooter too. Keep your
eyes on everything, and if something seems fishy, investigate. Keep
your pulse on the hired people and keep your ears open in case
anybody tries to make trouble for me.' The sardonic smile widened.
'Seeing as how bright and honest you're supposed to be, I thought
maybe I'd give you a chance. Think you're cut out for it?'

'I don't want to be a spy, Mr. Sexton,'
Zaccheus said in a level voice.

Sexton threw back his head and roared. 'I
don't want a spy, son! I got plenty of those already. What I want
is a . . . what did you call it?' He squinted craftily, playing the
fool. 'Liaison. Somebody to keep me abreast of the overall picture
so I don't have to listen to two dozen people when one will do.
Every week I'll expect a written report on everything important
going on. Everything in a nutshell. Know what I mean?'

Zaccheus looked at him curiously. 'Why don't
you get someone from around here? Someone you know you can
trust?'

'Because,' Sexton explained patiently, 'the
ones I do trust got jobs with me already. A lot of people around
here don't like me, son. They're out to hammer me down. They got a
lot of preconceived notions about me. That's why I want you. You're
fresh blood. Untainted and unbiased. You don't have any reason to
hate me.'

'But I intend to stay here. How do you know
you can trust me after I've lived here for a while.'

'Hell, son, I don't want some hobo who'll
catch the next train out. I want somebody who'll stick around.'

'And you trust me? Even though you don't know
anything about me?'

'I trust my instincts.'

Zaccheus was silent.

'Son, instinct is a talent you use to sniff
out other people. And I sniff you out as honest.'

'I suppose I'll be spied on too?'

Sexton sighed and smiled hugely. 'Sure, I'll
keep my eye on you. What do you say? Want the job?'

Zaccheus hesitated for a moment. Then he held
out his hand. 'I'm willing to give it a try, Mr. Sexton,' he said
slowly. 'Besides, what's the worst that can happen? I can always
quit.'

'That sounds more like it.' Sexton jumped
nimbly to his feet and slapped Zaccheus on the back. 'Tell you
what, son. You come by at six in the morning and we'll get you
started. From that minute on, you're on my payroll.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And one more thing, son.'

'Sir?' Zaccheus looked at him.

'Round here, I'm not 'sir' or 'Mr. Sexton.'
We aren't that formal. Everyone calls me 'Tex.' Got that?'

An answering smile broadened Zaccheus' lips.
'Yes, sir, Tex.'

'That's better, son,' Sexton said. 'Now, you
run on home and report back here tomorrow. Damned if I don't think
you'll work out just fine.'

The town crazy of Quebeck, Willy Campbell,
commonly called 'Mutt' by the children who taunted him mercilessly,
lived in a shack out next to the railroad tracks. Sometimes he
lived alone, and sometimes he shared the shack with his wife and
daughter. His wife, Sadie, and their daughter—nicknamed 'Railroad
Yellow,' both after her blonde hair and her habit of disappearing
for weeks on end by jumping on railroad cars and riding off with
the hobos—well, people tended to stay well clear of them. Mothers,
trying to instill fear in their children, would warn, 'Now, don't
you wander off, or else Mutt's gonna get you, and if he don't,
Sadie or Railroad Yellow will!'

Mutt and his family were not as dangerous as
everyone liked to believe. They were merely different—and
unfortunately suffered from generations of inbreeding. It was that
which set them apart, nothing more. The truth was, they were really
rather benign if left alone. The problem was, no one did.