The Badger's Revenge (11 page)

There was no question he needed to be bandaged. All things considered, his whole body hurt. He caught the first whiff of coffee boiling on the stove and realized how hungry he was, too. He quickly discarded the rest of his clothes and found a pair of trousers, socks, and a simple tan cotton twill shirt. He dried himself with a wool shirt that had been eaten up by a cadre of unseen moths, and changed into the clothes. They fit like they had been made for him.

When Josiah walked back into the room, Billie was standing over the stove with her back to him. She was frying up some bread and bacon. She must have heard him come in. She turned to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Nothing came out of her mouth but a surprised cry, followed by tears bursting out of her eyes, cascading down her full cheeks as if a dam had been breached after a devastating storm.

“For a second, I saw Charlie standing there,” Billie
said, wiping her face dry. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.” Josiah stood a good ten feet from Billie, across the room, and had his own visions of ghosts. There was no way Josiah could not have thought of his wife, Lily, silhouetted against the window, her stomach swollen with child. They'd had four children together. He was no stranger to the beauty of pregnancy—and the tragedy of it, too. “I take it Charlie Webb was the one John Wesley Hardin killed in the spring,” he said.

“Shot him in the back is what he did. The coward.” Billie hesitated, scowled, and looked away, fighting back even more tears. “Don't ever mention that man's name in this here house again, you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. But I won't rest till I hear tell that son of a bitch is dead and buried. I'd've gone after him myself if I'd been able, but I'd figured out that me and Charlie was gonna have a young'un to look after right before then.” She exhaled heavily. “It's not your problem.”

“You don't have a family to go to, I take it? No one to help you out?”

“None that's worth the powder and lead to blow to hell. Charlie was my family. All we ever wanted was a little piece of land and a family to look after. He took to bein' Roy's deputy to make a little extra money. I never figured he'd get kilt.”

“I've questions about the sheriff.”

Billie let out a quick laugh that originated deep in her chest. “That man's scared of his own shadow. My guess is he let the fools into the jail that pulled out Hardin's brother and started all this meanness. Look at what it's done. Nobody feels safe. You're a Ranger, can't you do something?”

Now it was Josiah's turn to exhale. “The county sheriff pretty much has authority over all of the Rangers. He's got to ask us for help, and we're not lawmen. Not in the sense that the sheriff is. Jurisdiction is a topic best left to Governor Coke and the men in Austin who make the laws. They don't want us to wear badges or interfere in county business. There's not much any Ranger could do. Especially one who's just been shot and chased after like he's an outlaw himself.”

“Well those stuffed shirts ought to get out of the city more often.”

“You'll get no argument from me on that.”

The room was warm and the smell of bacon strong, carried about on the drafts that were poking in all through the house as the storm carried on without any sign of letting up outside.

Billie had set two plates on a small wood table. A cup of steaming coffee sat waiting for Josiah—but he didn't move. His feet were suddenly frozen to the floor. He was afraid of what he was walking into, certain that if he sat down at the table, leaving would become difficult, if not nearly impossible. And he had to leave. He just had to—and soon.

“Let me take a look at that leg.” Billie slid a piece of fried bread onto a plate and set it on the table along with a small bowl of beans.

Josiah still didn't move. He just stared at her, uncertain of what would be next. He understood Billie's bitterness and pain more than he could say. It had taken him nearly two years to pick himself back up after burying Lily and his three little girls. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for a woman left to fend for herself, at the worst possible time in her life, pregnant, her husband shot in the back by a heartless outlaw set on making a name for himself.

“Well?” Billie said, a questioning look falling across her face. “You surely ain't bashful, are you?”

“No, no.” Josiah stepped forward, remembered the pain, and limped over to the chair, pushing any thought of his family—living and dead—as far away from his mind as possible.

Billie rolled up his pant leg. “It needs cleanin' out and bandaging up real tight-like. I got some salve that Charlie brought back from the war that ought to stop the infection from spreadin', if'n it shows up. Don't look to be too much trouble. You're a good healer, Josiah.”

Only on the outside
, Josiah thought, but he didn't say it. “I don't think there's any lead in there.”

“Don't look that way. I couldn't help you if there was. We'd have to wait for Doc Foley.”

“That might be too long.”

“Ain't a concern. He won't do nothin' for you I can't.” Billie stood up, walked over, pulled a pot off the wall that was hanging just above the stove, then headed for the door. The water pump sat like a lonely sentinel just outside.

“I'd like to be on my way before the doc shows up,” Josiah said.

Billie ignored the comment. “Go on, get yourself somethin' to eat. You need to regain your strength.” She seemed reenergized now that her attention was focused on someone else. Any pain she might have felt before was minimized as she prepared to take care of Josiah's wound.

Josiah thought she had the makings of a good mother.

Billie grabbed the sack coat off the peg and threw it over her shoulders. She pushed out the door, unconcerned about the weather or anything else—like somebody watching from a distance. But Josiah was concerned. He scooted back against the wall, out of the line of sight from the doorway, eyeing the Spencer that he'd stood in the corner, just next to the door.

He couldn't resist any longer and took a deep swig of coffee. It was hot and strong and had the flavor of Arbuckle's, for which he was glad. He breathed deeply after the first swig, then took another drink. The coffee was nearly gone by the time Billie came back inside with a pot full of water.

She had barely dried herself off from being outside in the first place, and now she was soaked from head to toe all over again. The rain didn't appear to bother her.

“Not lettin' up out there. I think it's gonna be a long storm,” Billie said.

“Looks like you all needed some rain.”

“The land's been pretty much on its own since Charlie died. Not gonna be long before one of the outlying ranchers moves in and takes it. Probably come spring. Baby'll be here anyway, and I can't keep up with it the way it is. Can't imagine runnin' after a young'un and tryin' to do all of Charlie's work, too.”

“I'm sorry,” Josiah said.

“Just the way it is. I couldn't just stop, not with my belly growin' every day. Maybe if'n I would've been without it, then I could have.”

Josiah fidgeted in the chair. “I understand.”

“I imagine you do.” Billie put the pot on the stove to boil. “You look like a man who's seen more than his fair share of ugliness. You was in the war, wasn't you?”

“Yes, ma'am. The Texas Brigade.”

“I figured. Looks like you came back all in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“That's what Charlie would've said, too. I knowed him since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but I sure didn't know him when he came back from that fight.”

“War changes a man.”

“Ugliness does. Sure does. Charlie softened some after we married. But some nights he'd scream out, tremble like a scared little feller. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Josiah said. “I do.”

“I 'spect bein' a Ranger is a lot like still bein' at war.”

“Not so much. It's a different war, at least.”

“They're all the same.”

Josiah nodded in agreement.

“You got family?” Billie asked.

“A son, in Austin. He's two.”

“No momma?”

Josiah shook his head no. “Her and my three daughters died. Fevers took 'em.” He wasn't about to tell Billie that Lily had died giving birth to Lyle.

Billie took in a deep breath. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute or so. A long minute. Time enough for the drafts to push much of the sadness and death out of the house—at least as much as was possible.

“You drink all of your coffee?” Billie asked.

“Nearly.”

“Not hungry?”

Josiah nodded his head yes. “I was waiting for you.”

Billie smiled. “You go on while I get out of these wet clothes.”

“You sure?”

“I appreciate you bein' a gentleman and all, Josiah Wolfe, but I'm not much for food at the moment. Now, go on, eat.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Josiah didn't need to be told twice. He dug into the plate as if he hadn't had a decent meal in a year, like he had upon returning home that first day from the War Between the States.

Billie disappeared into the same room Josiah had changed clothes in. The house creaked as a gust of wind pushed against it. Rain pelted the single window, and for a brief moment, Josiah felt safe.

He lost himself in the meal, in the warmth from the stove, in Billie's kindness. He nearly forgot about everything. The pain in his leg. O'Reilly's presence in Comanche. Scrap's fate . . . And most of all, Lyle and Ofelia, waiting for his return in Austin. He was only supposed to be gone two days.

It was a moment to savor, just like the bacon, the fried bread, and the beans . . . because just as soon as he finished eating the meal, Josiah heard a loud thump in the other room and felt the floor shake.

A scream that matched the wind and the storm outside echoed inside the house, and without thinking, Josiah was on his feet, knowing full well what the tone of the scream meant.

Billie lay on the floor motionless. Her face was
drained of color, and there was a huge puddle seeping out from underneath her. The room smelled wet and sour.

“Somethin' broke,” she whispered, her eyes flickering in pain—or maybe fear.

Josiah nodded, and exhaled deeply. “I sure wish Ofelia was here,” he said, looking to the ceiling. He was kneeling at her side.

They never had got around to bandaging his leg, but that seemed to be a distant concern at the moment. The wind outside whistled as loud as a locomotive, and rain hit the roof like stones dropping from the sky. Josiah sure hoped the house was built solid.

Billie put her hand on her belly and tears began to stream down her face. “Damn you, Charlie. Damn it all to hell. Why ain't you here? You promised you'd never leave me.”

Josiah ignored the plea. There was nothing he could say to her to ease her pain and he knew it. Neither of them had the ones they loved in their lives to call on, to lean on, when they needed them the most.

“Come on, let's get you some dry clothes on and get you in bed. That baby's gonna come whether the doc's here or not,” Josiah said, standing up.

It was a struggle, but with Josiah's help, Billie pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, groaning softly, her hand never leaving her stomach.

“You've done this before, ain't you?” she asked, her mouth wide as she breathed in quick bursts.