Bittner, Rosanne (13 page)

Tess
actually smiled a little, realizing that from a man like John Hawkins, that was
probably a high compliment. He wasn't a man to tell a woman how beautiful she
was. Such things probably didn't matter much to him. Strength was more
important. How different he was from Abel Carey. "You do what you have to
do to survive. Now I guess I'll have to do it again."

"I'm
sure you will."

"You've
done the same."

"I
guess."

Tess
watched the glow of the cheroot as he took a deep drag from it. "Thank you
for talking to me, Mr. Hawkins. It helps shake the nightmare out of my
head."

"Just
call me John. Or Hawk. My partner calls me Hawk."

"Partner?"

"Most
Rangers have one. I came on down here alone because we'd just finished an
assignment." He wondered what she would think of him blowing up those men
back in Texas. "He had to go on to El Paso and report in. I figured there
wasn't any time to waste coming after you, so... here I am... and here we
are."

Tess
wondered when she was going to say something to make him angry again. She spoke
the next words carefully. "So, you really did come down here just for me?
Not for the chase? The challenge?"

Again
he waited to answer. "I have a need to kill men who abuse a woman. There's
no greater crime in my book."

Tess
was actually beginning to like him a little. "Because of your
mother?"

"I
guess."

Well,
well, well. The man actually had a conscience, a heart. At least he'd loved and
respected his mother. It was obvious they had been very close. "Have you
ever been married, Mr.—John?"

He
snickered. "No, ma'am. I've been too busy to look, and no decent woman
will give me the time of day. People have a certain opinion of me because they
don't really know me."

I
can understand why, Tess mused. "I have to admit I remember my father
saying something about you once, said he'd seen you in town," she told
him. "He said he'd heard you were the meanest son-of—well, you know—that
ever rode as a Ranger."

He
laughed lightly. "See what I mean?"

She
was actually enjoying this talk. "I suspect he wasn't far wrong."

"He
wasn't."

She
poked at the logs, which were just beginning to flare up a little. "I
think I remember seeing you in town."

"You
did. Or at least I saw you. You glanced my way, but not long enough to really
look
at me and remember me. You looked away again right away—like all decent
white women do."

"They
do?"

"Of
course they do. You did it yourself."

She
lay back down. "I am sure, Mr. Hawkins... I mean, John... that I did not
do it out of rudeness. I am not like that. Perhaps I was preoccupied about
something else. Besides, you are quite a handsome man. Surely you know
that." Why in God's name had she told him that?
Now
what would he
think of her? She was glad he probably could not see how red her face was.

"I've
been told a time or two."

By
Jenny Simms, I'll bet, she thought.

"Never
by a proper lady," he added, as though to read her thoughts. "Most
women think it's a sin to even look twice at a man who obviously has Indian
blood. When you're a bastard, that makes it all worse."

Bastard.
That had to sit hard on a man, especially one with his pride. "I am sure
most women don't even know that part of your background. How could they?"

"Oh,
word gets around, believe me."

She
was almost surprised that it appeared to really bother him. He seemed like a
man who could not care less what anyone thought of him. This was a side of John
Hawkins she suspected few people saw. "What kind of Indian did you say you
were?"

He
shifted again. "Lakota. Most whites call them Sioux. Hard to tell, isn't
it? We all look alike to whites. Sioux, Apache, Comanche, Shoshoni, Crow—they
can't tell the difference. But there
is
a difference among the Nations,
if people would really take the time to notice."

Tess
decided to end the conversation before she delved a little too deeply and he
got mad about something she said. She could already tell he was getting
defensive about his Indian blood. "Thank you for talking to me, John. And
you may call me Tess. It's short for Theresa."

He
thought a moment. "Seems a little too personal the other way around.
You're a lady and a widow. I'll call you Mrs. Carey—or just ma'am. And when we
get back to El Paso, I'll do what I can to convince people you were never
raped, if that's how you want it"

She
felt her cheeks going crimson again. "Yes. Thank you, John. And in front
of others I will call you Mr. Hawkins. It would probably be better that
way—bring
you
a little more respect."

"Don't
worry about me. I've got pretty tough skin. None of those things bother me much
anymore."

The
heck they don't, John Hawkins.
"Just the same, I'll call you Mr.
Hawkins." She turned over, pulling a blanket over herself. The cave was
cool and damp. "I'll try to sleep again so
you
can get some sleep
tomorrow."

"Fine."
John smoked quietly, thinking what a fine woman she was at that. Maybe she
wasn't the stuck-up snob he'd thought she was. Feisty, though. He was surprised
he hadn't said something to set her off.

Thank
goodness I didn't make him angry about something, Tess was thinking at the same
time.

Tess
watched the lovely morning from the cave entrance. They were high enough that
the view was quite magnificent, and she wondered at how this land could be so dangerous,
the elements so unbearable at times, yet it was all so beautiful. The sun shone
down on a wide scattering of colorful boulders, rising cliffs in the distance.
Patches of blue and green grass woke the otherwise flat and pale ground, and
the entire panorama spoke of wrenching isolation that stretched to far-off,
jagged lines which in turn stretched into nowhere.

She
wondered sometimes why God even put people in a land like this. Surely it was
meant only for the rocks and the few animals that could subsist here. She
looked over at John Hawkins, realizing God
had
thought wisely about who
he put in this land—people like John. It was people like herself who did not
belong here, but her father had wanted to get as far from Georgia as possible.
He'd wanted to leave the horror behind them, and he had taken advantage of the
free land Texas had offered to Confederate veterans, although most of Texas
could not compare to Georgia for rich soil and easy farming.

She
watched John Hawkins, thinking what a big, wild man he was, yet he lay there
sleeping so quietly. It was hard to imagine him as a little boy, suffering the
insults he must have suffered for having no legitimate father. She suspected
he'd gotten himself into plenty of scrapes defending his Indian mother, which
was probably what had made him so mean and tough as a man. Having to kill a man
at fourteen certainly didn't help.

She
looked back outside, and that was when she noticed him, a lone rider in the
distance. "Oh, dear!" She got up and walked over to John, kneeling
down and touching him. "John." She shook his arm, then jumped back
when he bolted upright, coming fully awake much quicker than she thought he would.
He looked around.

"Something
wrong?"

"There
is a lone rider out there in the distance."

Immediately
he leaped up, grabbing his rifle and darting to the cave entrance. He watched
for a moment, then stepped outside and yelled something akin to a war cry. Tess
moved to the entrance to see him standing there with the rifle in the air.
"What on earth—?"

"It's
my partner!" he answered, still watching. "His name is Ken Randall.
He's a tough old crust and we argue a lot, but you couldn't ask for anybody
more dependable. We've got some help now if we run into more trouble."

Tess
doubted a man like John Hawkins ever needed help, but she was still glad a
second man would be along.

John
let out another shout. Ken had halted his horse on the first yell, and now he
headed for the cave. It took him several minutes to reach them, and Tess
watched the two men embrace after Ken dismounted, a gesture that surprised her.

"You
all right?" Ken asked. "What the hell is that on your scalp?"

"Dried
blood. One of the bastards decided to put a new part in my hair. I'm all right,
and so is the woman. She's inside."

"You
got her out of there by yourself?"

John
laughed. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

Ken
scowled. "Hell, no, I guess not. You didn't use dynamite on them, too, did
you?"

Tess
wondered at the words. Dynamite? John Hawkins sometimes blew men up?

"Hell,
no. Didn't have any left, and I had to watch out for the woman. I just dirtied
myself up, took off my shirt, and rode in as just another renegade looking for
someone to ride with. They bought my story all the way. I waited till they were
asleep, got their leader drunk, and landed my knife in his heart. That's when
the shooting began." He turned to Tess. "This little lady here shot
one of them herself. Saved my life, I expect."

Tess
was embarrassed. She'd shot at the outlaw out of pure reflex, hardly aware of
what she was doing. The man called Ken sobered as he approached her. She
noticed this Ranger was all white, a short, stocky man compared to John. He was
older, and he needed a shave, but he was otherwise decent looking, wearing a
flannel shirt and leather vest, six-guns on his hips. His boots were caked with
dust, to be expected out here. He removed his floppy, leather hat. "Ma'am?
I'm Ken Randall, Hawk's partner. I'm damn glad he got you out of there, sorry
for what you've most likely been through. How are you doing?"

She
folded her arms. "I'm fine, Mr. Randall," she lied. "Thank you
for coming along to help."

Ken
glanced at John, and he could tell by John's eyes the worst had happened, but
this woman was not the shriveling, weeping thing he'd expected to find.

"Mrs.
Carey is a tough lady," John told him, setting his rifle aside.
"She'll be okay. She uses her wits and knows how to shoot."

Ken
nodded, turning back to Tess. "I'm sorry about your loss, ma'am. You got
folks back East you can go to?"

"No."
Tess turned to the fire. It hurt to think about it... Abel... her father. She
didn't want to talk about it or face reality yet. "Would you like some
coffee, Mr. Randall?"

"Yes,
ma'am, I'd appreciate that." Ken glanced at John again, still surprised at
Tess's calm nature.

"My
mother and brother were killed in raiding after the Civil War," she told
Ken as she used her skirt as padding to grab the handle of the coffee pot. She
poured some of the liquid into a tin cup. "I have an aunt and uncle
somewhere in Georgia, but I haven't seen them in so many years I wouldn't feel
comfortable going to them. I don't even know them." She handed out the
coffee. "I'll figure something out," she told Ken. "I still own the
land my father farmed. I can sell it if I have to, sell whatever is
salvageable, maybe find work in town. I don't want to just up and leave Texas
right away. I've been here ten years now, long enough to call Texas home. My
father brought me here when I was twelve. We lived near San Antonio for a
while, came to west Texas three years ago to farm free land given to us by a
Colonel Hewlett Bass. That's who we worked for near San Antonio. My father rode
with Colonel Bass in the Confederate Army during the war."

"Bass!
I remember that old codger. He gave a lot of land away to Confederate friends
before he died." Ken turned to John. "Say, I think that's how Jim
Caldwell got all that land he ranches. He was friends with Bass."

Tess
noticed a look of disgust in John's eyes. "Caldwell likes to brag he built
that ranch all on his own."

"Well,
he didn't," Tess verified. "Colonel Bass told us about Mr. Caldwell,
who was a lieutenant who served under him. He once owned a huge plantation in
Virginia, lost everything in the war and moved to Texas with Colonel Bass. Bass
gave him most of the land he owns now, asked him to go there and work it for
him, as well as take care of the surrounding land, including what is now our
farm." She poured herself some coffee. "The trouble is, Jim Caldwell
thinks he ought to own every bit of the colonel's land, resents those of us who
also were given some of it. He's already bought out several other
veterans—forced them out is more like it. But he couldn't make us leave."
She stared at the coffee, her heart aching for her father again. "Lord
knows he'll certainly try to get the farm again, now that I'm alone, thinking I
won't be able to take care of the place."