Comanche Rose (15 page)

He had to get out of there before the walls overwhelmed him. Holding onto the bedstead, he made his way to the door and let himself out. The store was deserted now, and like everybody else, Harper was probably somewhere huddled by a fire. Hap's gaze traveled over the shadowy barrels, the counter, the sacked hams hanging from the ceiling, to the bottles lined up like soldiers along shelves against the wall. He could just help himself to another one, but it wasn't going to help. What he needed was Texas.

He went back through his rented room and out the back way. Cold, raw air slapped him in the face, taking his breath away. And the alcohol hit him then. He reeled, then steadied himself. For a moment he stood there, looking up at that big moon, then started across the open ground. He walked unsteadily, working to keep his balance, trying not to favor the gimpy leg. Before he realized it, he was standing in front of the Sprenger house. And he knew why he'd come there.

Pulling himself up by a post, he pounded on the door, shouting, "Annie, Annie Bryce!" at the top of his lungs. When there was no answer, he went around the side of the house and stood outside her window. "You want to go to Texas, Annie?" he yelled. "I'm going that way! By God, you want to go—I'll take you!"

At first she thought she was dreaming. Then as his shouts penetrated her consciousness, she recognized his voice. She groped for a match, struck it against the bottom of the night table, and lit the kerosene lamp. About that time the clock in the parlor struck three o'clock. Throwing back the covers, she padded barefoot to the window and opened it a couple of inches. She confronted a disheveled Hap Walker.

"What in the world—? Captain, what are you doing out there?" she demanded in a loud whisper.

"I'm damned drunk." As he spoke, he weaved slightly, and it looked as though he would fall. But he caught the edge of the house and held on. "I'm taking you to Texas, Miz Bryce," he declared, slurring his words. "All you got to do is say you want to go with me."

"Can't this wait till morning?"

"I'm going. Soon as I can, I'm going."

"Well, you'd better sleep off the liquor first," she told him severely. "Go on, before you wake up the Sprengers."

"You coming with me to Texas?"

"We'll discuss it tomorrow."

"I'm taking you. As soon as I can get a wagon, I'm taking you there," he insisted.

"You won't even remember this in the morning," she muttered. "You'll have the worst headache of your life."

"You think the damned leg won't hold me? Go ahead, say it," he challenged her almost belligerently. "Say it."

"You're standing on it. Please, the major needs his sleep, and so does Mrs. Sprenger."

She was too late. A door opened and closed on the front porch. Then a lantern cast his shadow up the wall as Cora, still tying her flannel wrapper, peered around the corner.

"Captain Walker! What on earth—? What's the meaning of this, sir?"

"Going home," he mumbled. "Going to Texas."

"He says he's drunk, and I believe him," Annie told her through the window.

Cora moved the lantern, illuminating his face, then the rest of him. He was coatless and his clothes were badly wrinkled, as though he'd just got out of bed. He blinked bleary eyes, trying to focus on the light. He looked about ready to pass out.

"Obviously," she agreed. "And he has no business walking around on that leg." Half turning, she called out, "Will, come out here. It's Captain Walker, and he needs help!" Afraid Hap would stumble, she caught his arm and held on. "Will!"

"I'm all right," Hap said thickly. "Just taking Miz Bryce home, that's all. Going to Texas."

"What's the matter, Cora?" Will Sprenger mumbled sleepily. "What're you doing out there?"

"Holding Mr. Walker, and you're going to have to give me a hand. Otherwise, he's going to fall down and break something."

"What?"

"He's drunk, Will!" she snapped in exasperation.

He passed a hand over his eyes, then took a better look. "Hap, where the devil are your crutches?" he demanded.

"Threw 'em away," Walker muttered. Turning back for another look toward Annie's window, he stumbled and almost took Cora Sprenger with him.

"Will! He's falling!"

But the major was quick on his feet. "I've got him. Come on, Hap, you'd better get inside before you take pneumonia," he murmured, throwing a shoulder under his patient's arm. "Take it real easy on that leg."

"You coming, Annie?" Walker called out.

"Mrs. Bryce isn't going anywhere in the middle of the night, Hap. Come on."

Half walking, half dragging the drunk man, Will managed to get him up the steps and through the door. Her lips drawn into a thin line of disapproval, Cora followed them inside.

"Do you want me to make coffee?" she asked.

"I want to get him down first."

Annie threw a dress over her nightgown and came out to the parlor. The big clock said seven minutes past three. "I'm sorry, truly sorry," she told the Sprengers. "I cannot think what got into him."

"Rotgut," the surgeon muttered. "How much of the stuff did you drink?" he asked Hap.

"Not enough."

"Half a bottle?"

"No."

"More?"

"Yeah. It's all gone."

"You had the whole pint by yourself?"

"More'n that," Hap muttered.

Sprenger turned to his wife. "Must've been a fifth. You'd better get some milk—and bread and butter."

Hap blinked, trying to focus his eyes on her. He lifted his hand, then let it fall. "I'm all right—just going home."

"It's a good thing you put away all that fried chicken," the doctor told him. "Otherwise, you'd be poisoned. You trying to kill yourself?"

"No." Slumping on the settee, Hap ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. He was beginning to feel sick. "I got to get home, Doc," he mumbled.

The surgeon laid a hand on Hap's arm and said soothingly, "Why don't you lie down right here, and we'll throw a blanket over you? We'll talk about this in the morning."

"Feel like hell." Shaking off Sprenger's hand, he looked up at Annie. "Got to get a wagon—can't—can't ride m'horse." He combed his hair again with his fingers. "Can't think right now."

He looked more like an unruly boy than a man in his thirties. Yet in spite of his bleary eyes, he was obviously sincere about taking her with him. As Annie studied him, one corner of his mouth turned downward, making a silly, crooked smile.

"Well? You coming?" he asked her. "You going to answer?"

Cora returned with a tray and set it down on a table. "What is she supposed to say to a drunk who shows up at three o'clock in the morning?" she countered tartly. "She probably thinks you've lost your mind."

His eyes still on Annie, he promised solemnly, "Take you to San Saba. Want to do it."

"Annie, he's drunk," Cora said. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

There was no question he'd had too much—or that he might not even remember the offer come morning. Still, she found herself nodding. "All right, as soon as you can drive a wagon."

The smile broadened to an outright grin. "Good."

"Annie, have you taken leave of your senses?" Cora demanded. "What if something happens? If an axle breaks or, well, neither of you is in any condition to deal with any kind of trouble. You are better advised to take the mail. Will, tell her—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Cora! Let her humor him," he snapped.

"No, I meant it," Annie said quietly. "When he's able, I'd like to go."

"Will, this is nonsense."

But her husband seemed to be mulling over the notion without discarding it outright. "Think you can handle a team of oxen, Hap?"

"Yeah."

"Will, he doesn't even know what you're asking him!"

The major rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I'd wait until mid-week at least, but I suppose if you'll take it easy—and if the weather doesn't turn bad again—you can make it. You'll have to stop and move that leg every now and then."

"Will! He can barely walk. What if something happens?"

"If I have to, I can drive a team of oxen," Annie spoke up. "I've done it once before, when Ethan bought me a piano in Austin. We took turns on the way home."

Cora rounded on her. "And you've not regained your full strength, so I don't see how you even think you could control the beasts."

"Leave her be, Cora. She knows her mind, and so does he."

"Not right now he doesn't. Indeed, I'd be surprised if he knew his name," she countered archly. "Besides, there'll be talk. One female alone with one man—well, it just won't look right! At least with the mail, it could be said she bought passage."

"There'll be talk, anyway. But right now you'd better get some of that milk down, Hap. And then we'll cover you up and let you sleep it off. Come morning, we can talk."

It was too late for any milk. The whiskey was already roiling in Hap's stomach, and if he didn't get out of there, he was going to be sick on Cora Springer's floor. Clenching his teeth shut, he managed to mutter, "Thanks." Desperate now, he lurched from the settee and bolted for the door as fast as the leg would let him.

"Will, you'd better go after him. He doesn't even have a coat!"

"Leave him be, Cora. A man don't like to be bothered when his whiskey's coming up."

"But—"

"I'm going back to bed, and so are you. And if Mrs. Bryce has any sense, she'll follow the example." With that, he headed for their bedroom. "He'll be all right," he flung over his shoulder. "He's a damned fool, but he'll be all right."

Outside, Hap caught the bar of the hitching post and hung his body over it. His head down, he retched, heaving as wave after wave of nausea hit him, emptying his stomach. Exhausted, he stayed there, sweat pouring from his face, until he was sure there was nothing left to come up. Finally, he caught his breath. Leaning down, he scooped a handful of dead grass and ran it over his face. When he straightened up, he felt like he might live a little longer. Come morning, he'd probably wish he hadn't.

Shivering, he hunched his shoulders and limped unsteadily back to his room. Anne Bryce was probably thinking he'd lost his mind, but it didn't matter what she thought of him as long as she let him take her to San Saba. He owed her that much.

CHAPTER 10

After he sobered, it took him nearly two days to get rid of the hangover of his life. It was another sign he was getting past his prime, he supposed. There'd been a time in the not very distant past when he could have drunk a bottle down, then been up at dawn to follow a trail. Not anymore.

He'd have felt a whole lot better if he hadn't made a damned fool of himself in front of Anne Bryce and the Sprengers, but despite his aching head he remembered most of what he'd said, enough to know he'd committed himself to taking Mrs. Bryce back to Texas. Not just committed, either—he'd insisted. All the way to San Saba. And San Saba was one hell of a long way from the Ybarra.

But the weather remained mild, too warm for the latter half of November, and it hadn't snowed or rained since the norther twelve days before. And since he'd made up his mind to go, he figured it'd be better to make the trip sooner rather than later. The roads, even when dry, were hazardous—badly rutted and filled with stumps. When wet, they were damned near impassable. He knew seasoned bullwhackers who'd lost whole loads when they hit a bad place.

On Wednesday he rode Old Red a mile or so down toward the reservation, making a final check of the road. It was a sort of trial for him, a test of whether he could sit the horse if he had to. Satisfied he could, he came back and told Annie they'd be leaving the next morning at dawn. That afternoon he proceeded to fit out a wagon for the hundred and twenty-three miles to Richardson, which was just the beginning. After that they still had to get to Griffin, then to Concho, following the military supply routes. For a man who could barely walk, he'd cut out a big job for himself.

She'd questioned whether he was up to a journey of such distance, pricking his pride. Despite his own misgivings, he declared he was going to Texas with or without her. Satisfied, she packed up, promising to be ready when he came for her.

It hadn't taken her long to throw two donated dresses, one of Cora's old chemises, a petticoat, three pair of drawers, and the ugly red flannel nightgown into the borrowed carpet bag. With a hairbrush, toothbrush, a square of homemade soap, and a washcloth, they represented everything she presently owned.

Setting the carpet bag by the door, she retired early, then tossed and turned much of the night because she was too excited to sleep. For the first time since her capture by Two Trees, she felt truly free. She was finally going home. She'd see those things she'd clung to in her dreams—her piano, the brand-new cooking range, the heavy oak furniture, the lace curtains she'd crocheted, the quilts she'd made while she carried Susannah.

The horses, two cows, and her chickens she'd left behind wouldn't still be waiting for her, she realized, but the barn and coop probably remained. She'd have to go into Austin, take stock of her money, then probably get a loan for enough supplies to get through the rest of the winter, but she didn't foresee any problems there. The money she and Ethan had borrowed to buy the place had been paid back early.

Come spring, she'd have to make up her mind whether to sell or not. A lot depended on whether she could persuade the authorities to search for her daughter. If they did, she wanted to keep the place. Susannah had been born there, after all, and surely she'd remember it. She'd need that anchor, that tie to her past, after spending nearly half her young life with the Comanches.

When the clock struck four, Annie gave up trying to sleep. Shortly after, she was dressed and creeping into the Sprenger kitchen to fix herself coffee and a hard-boiled egg. Not that she was hungry. She had to force herself to sit at the table and eat, and then the egg lay like a rock in her stomach.

Her thoughts turned to the Sprengers. They'd both been kind, Cora even more so than the major, and she was going to miss them. But it was time to move on, to look forward instead of back. Without Ethan she had to focus on making a life for herself so she could make one for Susannah. But that didn't make parting from Cora any easier. It was going to be like leaving her own mother again. She was still at the table, staring into nearly cold coffee, when the older woman found her.