The Beholding, page 21
If not for the courage of that little girl, it would be her own son looking so pale and limp. Tess’s hug became fierce until Tommie yelped. “Forgive me, love,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
Luke held the door open for the family and stepped back. Indian women waited beyond the picket fence. Anglos gathered in force as uncertainty rippled over the gathering. Would the tribe take vengeance if the girl died? If so, Indians outnumbered Anglos four to one.
Screeching Bird stretched out his arms and held his daughter for all to see. His words caused a stir among the whites who understood, but red men and women alike merely parted to allow Screeching Bird and his wife a clear path to their village. All, even to the last toddler, followed the wounded child.
“What did he say?” Tess could hardly believe the swiftness of their departure.
“She lives,” Meade informed her.
“Oh, Luke, how wonderful!” Tess wanted to hug him but resisted, instead hugging Tommie.
Luke whistled a long, slow breath, the cords in his neck and the hard sinews of his back easing.
“Oh, boy!” Tommie shouted. “Her can play!”
“Not for a while, son,” Tess reminded. “But thank the Almighty, she will play again one day soon.”
“Get out of town, Reeves!” an angry yell reverberated from the crowd.
“Yeah, and take ‘at swindling cardman with you.”
Tess linked her arm through Luke’s to lend support. “Leave him alone,” she demanded. “Screeching Bird and his people don’t blame Luke. Why do you?”
The townsfolk insisted upon carrying out Screeching Bird’s demand, taking away Luke’s option to stay. Obscenities littered the air as one man took courage from another and lashed out with words.
“Go back to where you came from, bounty man!”
“Do the woman a favor and leave her here with us.”
Tommie started sniffling, tugging on Luke’s leg. “How come they don’t like you, Mista Luke? Runs-Too-Slow ain’t gonna die no more.”
He patted the boy on the back to reassure him. “Grownups sometimes aren’t as forgiving as you children are, son.”
“That’s right, bounty hunter, so it’s best you and that there gambler get on outa Wichita before we show you both how unforgiving we are … ‘specially if them Injuns get riled and take it out on us.”
Though several were brave enough with words, none challenged Luke gun-to-gun … no one noticing that he no longer wore it.
Chapter Twenty-two
Cracking his whip, Frank Ragmorton swore at the horses. He deliberately rattled the coach, bouncing along the rutted road at breakneck speed. A damn shame the gambler and the other gent rode in the back with the bitch and her boy who got his brother killed, but that was their misfortune. Frank spit a wad of tobacco into the wind and leered as it flung past him, hoping the stream sluiced through the window the lady had opened for air.
The rapid bob of the hat he’d tied around his neck and hung against his broad back kept time with the coach’s gait as it raced into the next stage station. A surge of satisfaction jostled through Frank. He might owe Meade more than this son-of-a-bitching ride, but he sure as hell didn’t have to make it easy on the sow. It burned Frank’s butt that Reeves rode escort on that big dun instead of hitching his mount to the back like the gambler did.
Frank mulled over the idea of flipping the stage on purpose. It would be worth the trouble to see the bounty hunter’s face when he pulled out that gal and her young’ un to see if they got stoved up or dead. The idea quickly passed. Reeves’s hawk eyes missed nothing, and the bounty hunter would kill Frank if he figured the flip had been planned. Not a gunning man himself, the only thing left to him and Rag was the reputation they had built as owners of a swift stageline. A safe one, at that. Already Terry and Company from back East looked to buy him out for a sum larger than he and Rag ever dreamed. Even Rag wouldn’t want to put the future of Ragmorton’s Stage and Freight Line in jeopardy by having Reeves seek revenge.
Besides, the idea of his and Rag’s company becoming the Kansas Stage Line appealed to Frank’s sense of destiny. He didn’t particularly care to do the tall-hatted gentleman in the coach any harm, neither. Mr. Wideacre paid him months in advance and frequented the line often enough to be one of Frank’s best customers.
Frank imagined Rag starting the whole mess. His brother stayed drunk half the time. The second half, he liked to spend in bed with a comely woman, and the Harper woman was definitely one fine-looking piece of petticoat. Besides, Reeves wasn’t the one who plugged Rag. The fact the Indians took no other blood than Rag’s testified to the bounty hunter’s innocence. Next run down to Wichita, Frank swore to look up Rag’s killer. His brother hadn’t been aiming at the red devil’s papoose on purpose. Since that little squaw lived, Screeching Bird must answer to him now. The red bastard had no call finishing off Rag. Should’a just maimed him, like Rag did his daughter.
There wasn’t much he could do now to ease his anger at the Cherokee, but he would rattle this coach a mite and wreak hell on Contessa Harper’s rear end.
Rousing from a wobbly sleep beside Tess, Tommie awoke and began to whimper. “I hurt, Mommie.”
“I know, son. We should be stopping soon,” she assured him. Unable to make out the kaleidoscope of rushing prairie in the gathering dusk, she leaned back and closed her eyes against the oppressive heat captured in such close quarters. Luke had ridden back and said Fort Hays could be seen in the distance, which meant they would halt soon.
Tess’s teeth rattled. Every bone in her body felt jarred from its joint. She had bruises where there should have been enough padding to prevent them from forming. Tess wished now she had taken Luke up on his offer to ride Jim’s roan an hour or so ago. But the white muslin dress seemed unsuitable for riding, and she hoped to protect its hem from brambles and burrs stirred up beneath the team’s hooves and the wheels. Now she wondered if sitting here cramped and hot was any better. Perspiration dampened her skin in a sheen that threatened to stain the beautiful dress.
“May I?” A gentleman across the seat from Tess took off his fashionably tall hat and offered it to her. “I see you have packed away your fan. Please feel free to use this as you may.”
“Thank you, Mr…. ?”
“Wideacre. Phinneas T. Wideacre.” He offered a card from the pocket of his handsomely tailored coat. “Of Denver formerly. Georgetown of late.”
Tess looked at him with interest, then read the card. DEVELOPER. HOTELS. RESORTS. MINING. “Georgetown? How exciting. That’s where my son and I are going.”
“How lovely.” The man’s blue eyes offered welcome as he arched one graying brow. “And who may I call upon when you’re settled? I’d like to introduce you to our fine townspeople … if I may be so bold?”
Extending her hand, Tess ignored Jim’s glare as his gaze swept over the man to estimate his worth. “Why, thank you, Mr. Wideacre. It’s very kind of you to offer. I’m Contessa Harper and this is my son, Thomas James.” Motioning to the gambler, she added, “This is Jim Daggert, a close family friend and Tommie’s namesake. He and Luke Reeves, the man riding escort for the stage, were guiding us to Georgetown when our wagon burned.”
“How unfortunate, my dear. I do hope your husband is well.” The man’s face wrinkled in sympathy, revealing the tell-tale lines of age that matched his graying Van Dyke and mustache.
“I’m newly widowed, sir, but my husband has holdings in Georgetown. Tommie and I decided we would make our home there. It’s a place called Harper Hall. Do you know of it?” Excitement radiated through Tess.
“I hardly think a man of Mr. Wideacre’s … experience, would know anything of Harper Hall,” Jim quickly interjected.
Tess was puzzled by Jim’s sudden declaration. Did he mean to insult Clifton by implying he couldn’t possibly match Phinneas Wideacre’s station in life, or was the gambler simply being kind and offering the man a gracious way not to answer in the event he disapproved of their home?
“Harper Hall? I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Seeing her disappointment, Wideacre quickly added, “But then I’m away so much. Business, you know. Hardly a moment for pleasure, my dear.”
He’s being kind, she feared, or actually hasn’t ever heard of it. This simple fact assured her that Clifton’s holdings weren’t in the better part of town. Feeling a stab of disappointment, Tess squared her shoulders. Whatever Clifton left them, she would make it home. She had to.
“Did you say the man riding alongside the stage is Luke Reeves?” Phkineas nudged back the curtain with the handle of his cane. “Seems I’ve heard that name somewhere.”
His face became thoughtful as the gold-handled cane once again rested in front of him, and he crossed his gloved hands on its crest.
With a cape at his shoulders and the fashionable hat, Tess wondered if the cane was for vanity or truly a necessity.
“Does he make his living as a bounty hunter?”
“Yes.” Tess’s curiosity peaked. “Do you know Luke?” The two men hadn’t acknowledged each other when they met at Wichita.
“Know of him, my dear. I knew his mother, Olivia, quite well, you see.”
Tess looked away. She did see. The admiration in Phinneas Wideacre’s eyes she read too easily. Tess had seen it far too often from men hoping to seduce her. It disturbed her that he and Luke’s mother may have been lovers in their pasts. Did Luke suspect?
Coach springs halted with a scraping of brakes and a great cloud of dust billowed through the open window. Tess gasped and Wideacre moved in front of the window to block any further attack.
“I don’t suppose one ever grows accustomed to this mode of travel, does one?” He coughed. “Makes a man want to go out and purchase more railroad stock.”
The coach door swung wide and the driver gave them a tobacco-stained smile. “We’ll sleep here for the night, Mr. Wideacre, and change out the team. The first cot near the front door has the best mattress. Might want to stake a claim before any of the others.”
The leather straps cradling the heavy coach creaked as Wideacre stepped to the ground and turned to help Tess. His nostrils flared in an arrogant snub, as if in sympathy with the steaming, blowing team. “Mrs. Harper and her son should have the choice, Ragmorton. Courtesy in all circumstances is a man’s obligation.”
“Just wanted to make you feel to home,” Frank complained. Figuring Tess Harper had enough willing jackasses, pompous and otherwise, to help her out of the coach, Ragmorton headed into the station.
Tess’s legs buckled beneath her as she stepped down. Before she could crumple to the ground, Phinneas’s cane thumped to the earth and two strong arms lifted her into his embrace.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, staring up into caring blue eyes. “Everything swayed a bit and my stomach turned. I just need some coffee or tea, perhaps. Something to settle my nerves.”
“Are you certain, Mrs. Harper? I wouldn’t want you to faint.”
He lowered her feet to the ground, allowing a test of leg strength. Was she being braver than good sense permitted? “I’m fine, really. Thank you for your trouble.”
The men working the station had already unhitched the team. Each station offered a new set of horses, usually harnessed within minutes to keep the coach driver on schedule. But this was the last stop for the night, and the passengers would be given a four-hour reprieve from the coach’s rock and sway.
A thin man, split-toothed and stringy-haired, barked orders. He introduced himself as the station manager and gestured toward the building. “Go on in, folks. Supper’s awaiting. Rest your bones awhile and I’ll bring in some fresh sheets.”
Tess knew she must eat something. She had no idea when their next meal might be. But what she wanted most was a walk in the fresh night air. She would get Tommie settled in and take her food outdoors.
The long building was drafty and dusty; but offered a buffer to the wind that seemed to endlessly ripple over the Kansas grasslands. Rancid grease assaulted Tess’s nose as she followed Wideacre into the primitive interior. Raising a glove to block the pungent odor, she surveyed six cots lined side by side in the east section of the logged cabin. A large dining table stood at the west end. Jim claimed the cot the driver had mentioned, stretching his long frame out without bothering to shed his boots.
Food boiled and bubbled in a skillet. In the center of the table, the station manager had already served up a tin of fried wild onions and potato patties that swam in dark grease. Baskets of cornbread rested at each end of the table. Tess’s stomach churned, dreading the cramps she would suffer in rhythm with the coach wheels tomorrow.
Luke took one look at her and reached for Tommie. “I’ll see to the boy. He’s so sleepy I doubt he’ll eat much anyway. Maybe the station manager can round you up some bath water.”
With a wan smile of gratitude, Tess turned and stumbled through the doorway. Once outside, she sucked in a deep breath to fill her lungs, only to choke on the dust the team had kicked up earlier. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she ran toward a building about fifty yards from the station. Tess reached the back of the spring house and rested against the clapboard wall. She took in deep breaths of fresh night air until her head quit throbbing and the stars stopped blinking in and out before her eyes. Ever so slowly, her stomach steadied.
Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped away from the wall and tested her footing, making certain she no longer felt dizzy. Tension bunched her shoulders. Tess stretched the kinks from them, giving way to a rather loud, unladylike yawn that eased the tension coiled in every muscle. The wind caressed her face. She took the pins from her hair and let the curls fall past her shoulders. As Tess shook the day’s dust from their thickness, she wondered where the station manager bathed and if there was someplace private allotted to women passengers.
Tess enjoyed the first moment of solitude she had experienced in days, letting it flood her with a sense of calm. She sighed, knowing she shouldn’t linger here too long. The others might worry, and four hours seemed little enough time to rest. But the return to the awful-smelling station house and the inevitability of washing by bowl and pitcher seemed even less appealing.
Suddenly two arms encircled her waist. For a moment she thought it was Luke come to share a moment of solitude with her. But these were not Luke’s arms! The difference made her whirl, attempting to break free. To scream.
“Don’t say a word, pretty bitch, or I’ll make it bad on your son.”
Frank Ragmorton laughed into her ear. His hot breath brushed over her neck as one hand cupped off her scream and the other gripped Tess back against his chest.
“I can make the ride easy on the boy or hard. You gotta decide which way you want it.”
Luke sauntered around the corner of the spring house. He blinked once, twice, disbelieving the sight before him. Fury blazed through him, propelling the bounty hunter into a murderous run toward Tess.
“Get your hands off her, Ragmorton, or I’ll gut you!” Luke shouted the warning a moment before his fist smashed into the side of the stagecoach driver’s face.
Ragmorton bellowed, flinging Tess away so hard she sprawled on her hands and knees. Instinctively Luke reached for her to make certain she wasn’t hurt. “Are you all right?”
Ragmorton took advantage of Luke’s distraction and retaliated.
Out of the comer of his eye, Luke glimpsed the massive fist aimed for his jaw. He ducked, jamming a left hook into the driver’s stomach. Then he followed with a right to his chin. The driver stumbled and fell.
Luke saw the moment as an opportunity to help Tess stand. Offering his hand, he urged, “Hurry, before he gets up for another round.”
Tess swatted away his helpfulness and scrambled to her feet. “Why didn’t you let me handle this myself?”
Ragmorton attempted to rise. Tess reacted before Luke could get over his surprise at her irritation. Cupping both hands together, she swung as hard as she could and cuffed Ragmorton in the nose. He shouted, his arm swinging out only to miss and send him off balance again. He landed in the prairie grass with a grunt, gripping his nose.
None too gently, Luke grabbed Tess’s arm. “What do you mean, why didn’t I let you handle this? That man tried to molest you!”
Anger blazed through Tess as she jerked away from Luke’s grasp and balled her fists against her hips. “Do you think I would let that happen—” She started to say again, but didn’t want to disclose such information to the likes of Ragmorton. “I told you I wanted to take care of myself and I meant it.” With a look of disgust, she glared at the driver. “My son and I will walk to Georgetown before I cower to your threats, mister!”
Luke stepped between the two combatants and glared back at her, equally furious. “Fight with him later. You’re arguing with me now. What happened to ‘thank you, Luke. That was mighty nice of you to rush to my defense’?”
Her chin lifted indignantly. “Maybe it went with ‘Don’t do me any favors. You’re not going to be around the next time I need you, so I better learn how to handle these things myself.’“ She gathered her skirts and marched past the spring house.
He wasn’t about to let her get away so easily. Temper fueling his stride, Luke caught up, grabbed Tess’s elbow and spun her around. “Did you expect me to stand there and just watch while he mauled you?”
“Did it bother you so much?”
Her breath rose and fell rapidly, distracting him. Challenge sparked in her eyes.
“I suppose it’s unthinkable that I could handle this without you?” she demanded.
“No. You can be formidable when you want to be. But what if it hadn’t worked?” Worry crept into his tone even though he attempted to hide it.
“What does it matter? You’re leaving, remember? You have a job to finish.”
These were words of hurt, not anger. Maybe he’d been too quick to argue with her. Luke brushed back a wisp of hair and pushed it behind Tess’s ear. “So that’s what this is all about. You’re angry because I said I couldn’t stay with you in Georgetown.”
