Bittner, Rosanne (10 page)

"Bend
down, Mr. Hawkins. You're too tall for me to reach."

John
knelt, noticing the dress she had found to put on was too big for her. He
suspected a lot of things were too big for her, she was such a small thing.
"Jesus!" He shouted when the whiskey hit the wound.

"Don't
use the Lord's name in vain, Mr. Hawkins. I don't mind cussing of other sorts.
I know men do it. But there is no excuse for using the Son of God as a
curse."

John
was beginning to wonder what he'd gotten himself into. Was it going to be like
this all the way back to Texas? "That depends on what God you believe in.
I don't believe in any, so it doesn't matter what I say."

Tess
began wrapping a strip of cotton slip around his head. "It does if you are
in the presence of a Christian. Believe me, Mr. Hawkins, I have not even
considered the possibility that
you
could be Christian." She tied
the strip, noticed it was already bloodstained. "I hope that helps slow
the bleeding."

Sure,
John thought. Heaven forbid something should happen to me before I get you
back. After that, if I dropped dead at your perfect little feet a woman like
you could not care less.

"Thanks
for your concern," he said with a note of sarcasm. He grabbed hold of her
shoulder to help himself up, and Tess noticed it took great effort for him to
mount his horse. She picked up her bundle of clothes and plopped it on the rump
of the horse she would ride, then tied it with rawhide cording that already
held a few supplies still on that horse. It took all her own strength to also
mount up, and she wondered what had come over her, this sudden necessity to
pretend she was just fine. She was not fine at all. She wanted to just sit and
scream until she had no voice left.

What
an ungodly situation. Now she would be in the hands of this puzzling stranger
who had already shown he was hardly any different from the men he'd just
killed. She was going home to nothing... nothing. There was no home left, no
father, no husband, nothing. Again it struck her that she also
felt
nothing,
except for one thing, an awakening of gratitude for what John Hawkins had just
done. "I, uh, I suppose I should thank you," she said. She saw the
quick hurt and anger in his dark eyes before he just shook his head and turned
his horse.

"I
suppose you should."

"Really,
Mr. Hawkins. I am very grateful. I'm just—"

"Quit
talking. From here on don't talk. Voices carry on the night wind." He rode
away, leaving the bodies behind for the buzzards and wild animals. It seemed
sinful to Tess to do that, but what choice did they have? And she knew without
asking that John Hawkins wouldn't bury these men even under the best of
circumstances. He probably figured they didn't deserve it.

She
urged her own horse into motion and followed the man on the golden horse. She
had no choice now but to trust him.

They
rode through the shallow riverbed for close to a mile, using bright moonlight
that reflected on the water to guide them. No one spoke, until John finally
said they would have to wait until sunrise to go any farther.

"It's
dangerous riding at night. We can't afford to have one of these animals break a
leg stepping into a hole. I just wanted to get a little distance between us and
the mess we left back there."

We?
Tess
thought how she had at least wanted to bury the men. She guided her horse up
the bank behind John.

"We
won't make a fire," he said as he dismounted. "We're in a lot more
danger around here from renegade Apache than outlaws."

"Doesn't
matter much where I am concerned," Tess answered wearily. Everything that
had happened was beginning to set in now, weighing on her like cement.
"Nothing much worse could happen to me than what has already
happened."

"You
don't know the Apache."

She
sat down in some grass. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

John
handed her a blanket. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I never even asked if you
were hurt. I mean, do you need any kind of medical attention?"

She
was glad for the darkness, embarrassed at the question. "All I need is to
be left alone."

He
turned away. "Fine." He took the horses off to tie them, then
returned with a blanket of his own.

He'd
put on a shirt, and Tess was grateful. After her ordeal, it upset her to have
to look at his bare chest.

"We'll
have to make do tonight. We won't get any real rest until we reach that
cave." John spread out his blanket and lay down on it. "Try to
sleep."

Tess
lay down on her own blanket, not sure just how to behave around him. This man
had saved her from being taken off to something worse than death, yet overall
she saw hardly any difference between him and those who had taken her, not even
in looks, except that John Hawkins did not seem gritty dirty like the others.
What made all this so hard was that this man knew everything that had happened
to her. He'd seen her stark naked himself, had lain on top of her, touched her
intimate parts with his own, yet he was still this mysterious stranger. How
humiliating! From now on, every time she saw John Hawkins in town, she would
feel like he was seeing her naked. "Will you please do something for
me?" she asked aloud.

John
stretched out, looking up at the darkening sky, thinking if he took one more
blow to the head anytime soon, it would probably kill him. "What's
that?"

"Please
don't... don't tell any of your friends or any Rangers or whoever that... how
you found me... that you've seen me... you know. Maybe you could even convince
people I wasn't raped. The thought of everyone knowing... I just don't know how
I'll face people."

"You
didn't do anything wrong. I told you that. As far as I go, I never say
anything. But I'm afraid people will draw their own conclusions about the rest
of it. Sometimes people can be pretty damn cruel about things like that. At
first you ought to be around women who would really understand. I told you
before, I know a lady who would be glad to take you in for a while.

"Lady?"

"In
my
book she's a lady."

Tess
sat up. "Just because I've been raped, it doesn't make me a whore!"
she said defensively.

"I
never said that, and keep your voice down!"

"You
think I should be
around
whores! Isn't that what you're saying? That's
the same as saying I'm not worthy to reenter decent society!" She spoke in
a rough whisper.

John
sighed. "I never said anything of the kind. You're inventing things in
your own mind, already sure about what people will think of you. Most will
understand. I was only saying that
some
won't, and if you need to talk
about it, which you damn well
will
need
to do, no common woman
who's never been through it will be able to help you. Women like Jenny
Simms—"

"Jenny
Simms! She's the most notorious prostitute in west Texas!"

"How
would you know?"

"Well,
I just... I know, that's all! Everybody says—"

"Everybody
says!"
John
sat up. "You see? You're worried about what
people will say about you, making up things that aren't true, coming to wrong
conclusions. Yet you're doing the same thing about Jenny, without knowing a
damn thing about her. She just runs a saloon, that's all. And she's never taken
money from a man for sleeping with him."

"Oh,
she just sleeps with them for
free?
How nice for the men!"

"You
don't know anything about her background."

"And
people don't know anything about
my
background! They don't know what I
went through in the war! They don't know what hell I've just been through...
the... horror..." She sensed the tears finally wanting to come, and it
made her angry. "They don't know... about my husband... how much it hurt
to see him... see him..." She broke down then, realizing Abel's
cowardliness actually pained her more than his actual death or anything else
that had happened. She wept bitterly, not even aware John had come over to
kneel beside her.

John
just watched her, suspecting this was a woman who did not cry easily. He felt
sorry for her, knew himself how hard it was to have to show true feelings. God
knew he did his best never to show his. "Hey, I didn't mean to yell at
you," he said, feeling awkward. He never did quite know what to do with a
crying woman, always wished he'd known how to help his own mother when she'd
cried. "I was just trying to tell you I know people who can help you. I'm
sorry about your husband and your father."

"Don't
be... sorry for my... husband," she sobbed. "He... he hid under the
bed! He hid under the bed!" She curled up, keeping her face covered.
"I kept... calling for him to come... help me fight... but he just hid...
in the bedroom! He was too much of a coward... to risk his life for... his own
wife! My pa... died for me. But my husband... just hid under that... damn
bed!"

"My
God," John muttered, raging inside that a man would do such a thing. He
thought how if this brave, redheaded beauty were
his
wife, he'd risk
everything for her. Oddly enough, he'd already done just that, and he didn't
even know her. He'd been around this woman hardly a full day, and already there
were things about her he greatly admired, even if she was basically a bossy,
stuck-up little thing who under normal circumstances probably drove a man nuts
with orders and demands.

"Do
you know... how hard that makes it... for me to mourn him?" she sobbed.
"I should... be mourning him. I
should
be! But I can't."

John
started to reach out to touch her, then decided it was best if he didn't.
"I expect that's a natural feeling," he told her. "God wouldn't
blame you for that. Now it's your husband who has to face God with what he's
done, but you have nothing to be ashamed of or to answer for."

She
sniffed, forced to wipe her nose with the sleeve of her dress. "I need...
a handkerchief."

John
left her and came back with a clean bandana. "Here." He knelt down
and handed it to her, and she blew her nose.

"I
thought... you didn't believe in God," she said.

"What?"

"You
said my husband... had to answer to God."

Lord.
He'd slipped up. Damn the woman! She had brought out all his sympathy, made him
talk about God like he actually believed in such things. "I was only...
Well, I know
you
believe in Him. I'm just saying that if there
is
a
God, your husband has more to answer for than you ever will."

Tess
wiped at her eyes, trying to remember how this whole conversation got started.
She'd asked him not to tell anyone he'd seen her naked. How in the world had
they gone from that to this? "Just go lay back down," she told him.
"You don't know anything about God or me or feelings or anything. Now
you've made me cry. I
hate
crying! I hate any kind of weakness!"

John
rose, shaking his head. And to think a moment ago he'd felt sorry for her.
"My mother cried a lot," he said bitterly, "and she was the
strongest woman I ever knew."

He
walked back to his blanket, and Tess thought about the words. Maybe John
Hawkins
did
understand some things. Why couldn't she bring herself to
say anything kind to him? She sat up on one elbow and looked over at him. He
was turned away from her, lying on his side. "Are you... are you all
right, Mr. Hawkins? Has your head wound stopped bleeding?"

"Forget
it," he said coolly. "Just try to get a little sleep. We have some
riding to do tomorrow."

She
watched him a moment, wondering about his mother. She realized she truly knew
absolutely nothing about this man. What drove him to risk his life for a total
stranger? Suddenly she wanted to ask him about such things, but it was obvious
he would not want to talk about them. And what did it matter, anyway? Once he got
her to El Paso, he would go on about his dudes and she would probably never
even see him again. She had enough of a dilemma of her own in deciding what she
was going to do with herself now. There was no sense worrying about this total
stranger on top of all that. She meant nothing more to him than someone he'd
helped as part of his duty as a Ranger.

She
lay back down, and it hit her then that she felt no fear, in spite of lying out
here in this wild land so full of danger. John Hawkins lay nearby.