Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (8 page)

Scrap gave Josiah a hard time about the upbringing the boy was receiving, but Josiah ignored him. Mostly. Maybe not so much lately, as he considered the long-term effects of his absences on Lyle. There was no question it would be better for the boy if Josiah had a job in Austin that didn't require him to be away for long stretches at a time—as a tailor, or a blacksmith, a trade that involved less danger than being a Ranger. But that was not the life that Josiah had been born into, nor was it the life he had chosen. A Peacemaker on his side, a Winchester in his hand, on the back of Clipper, making a difference in the world, whether it was hunting down outlaws or facing down Comanche, was the only life that Josiah knew—or wanted, as far as that went. But want and need were two different things. Especially when there was a child to consider.

The time was drawing near when Josiah knew he would have to make a decision about his life: whether it was time to court another woman again—or not. But, with his own freedom, and future, up in the air, that was a hard decision to make. He didn't like it, but his fate was in the hands of three men, who, rightly or not, had to consider their own futures, political and otherwise, when they considered whether Josiah should stand trial for the killing of Pete Feders, or had just been doing what was right and necessary.

“
Sí,
señor
.
Lyle is fine,” Ofelia said, drawing Josiah back to the question he'd asked about his son's welfare.

“Good.” Josiah shoveled the stew into his mouth as quickly as he could swallow.

“A lady came here today looking for you, señor.”

Josiah stopped chewing. “A lady? Pearl Fikes?”

“No, no, señor. I have never met this lady. She had a
bebé pequeño
, um, a small baby, with her. She was very direct and said I should tell you right away that she was here. She said to tell you that Billie Webb had moved to Austin if you cared to know.”

“Billie Webb,” Josiah repeated, “you're sure?”

“
Sí,
señor, I am sure that is what the lady said. She said she is staying down the street from the St. Charles House, in Mary Morgan's boardinghouse, and had seen the newspaper with your name in it, about all of the troubles, and she was very concerned for you. If you need her to tell the
alguacil
, the sheriff, how you helped her in Comanche, she would be glad to, she said.”

“Thanks, Ofelia. I'll try to get by and see her tomorrow.”

“I got the feeling, señor, that she will be back if she doesn't see you soon.”

“That would be Billie,” Josiah said, pushing the halfeaten bowl of
menudo
to the other side of the table.

“I'll go home now, señor,” Ofelia said.

Josiah nodded and watched as Ofelia went and checked on Lyle, then gathered up her belongings—a shawl, and a canvas bag that held her own plate and eating utensils among other things that Josiah had no idea about—then walked out the door without saying another word.

 

 

The morning train woke Josiah up. Even though the rails were a block away, the house shook, and the noise was like thunder rumbling up from the ground instead of clapping down angrily from the sky. It was chilly, but Josiah was sweating, his dreams too dark and too far away to grasp and hold on to. Something told him that he didn't want to remember them anyway—they were most likely nightmares, born in loss and pain, the future foreboding instead of happy and trouble-free.

The smell of fresh coffee hit his nose, and when he looked over to see the empty little bed that Lyle occupied in the small bedroom they shared, he jumped up, hopped into his pants, and hurried out to see where Lyle was.

The boy was sitting in the middle of the floor while Ofelia puttered around the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as she could.

Josiah stopped, letting his panic subside, glad to see Lyle, and Ofelia, too. She was as consistent as the rising sun and just as dependable. Guilt struck him upon seeing the two of them, then he pushed it away, assured by Ofelia's own admittance, more than once, that she was only there because she wanted to be.

Still, he didn't know how much longer he could expect the Mexican to be the sole woman in his life, responsible for raising Lyle and tending to Josiah when he was home.

“Papa!” Lyle said, running to Josiah, tackling him at the knees and hugging him tightly.

Josiah had never been the kind of man who was openly affectionate to his children, but he had grown to be more so with Lyle. After the loss of his three girls, and nearly losing Lyle himself to the despicable outlaw Charlie Langdon, Josiah had found the value of a hug to be far greater than he'd ever thought it would be.

He reached down and hoisted the boy upward, settling him comfortably on his hip. Lyle favored Lily, had her eyes and facial features, and some days it was like looking at a ghost, seeing a glimpse of the woman he'd loved so dearly. Other days, there was no question that Lyle was a Wolfe and then he reminded Josiah of his father with his stubbornness, or his mother with his gentleness.

All in all, the boy was a fine mix of everyone Josiah had ever loved, and that in itself was more than enough reason to treasure every moment they shared—and why every moment away was becoming harder and harder to take as the boy grew older, into his own person.

“How's my boy this fine morning?” Josiah asked. The train had passed, and the rumbling had ceased, leaving the house calm and peaceful.

“
Bueno
,
Bueno
,” Lyle said.

“Lyle,
hablan Inglés
,” Ofelia ordered, her back turned to Josiah and Lyle.

Lyle sighed. “I like to speak Spanish, 'Felia.”

“Not here, not to your papa, we have talked about this.”

Josiah did not interfere. He had mixed emotions about Lyle speaking Spanish. On one hand, it would be a great benefit to the boy when he grew up.

There was no question that any Anglo who could speak both languages had an upper hand, wasn't cajoled or lied to by translators, or left to sign language. But there was also the need for Lyle to mix with Anglos as easily as he mixed with Mexicans. If he got too used to speaking Spanish, the boy could be an outcast when it was time for school.

Ofelia knew more than anybody that Josiah himself did not speak Spanish, and had never taken an inclination to learn, though they had never spoken about it.

“Okay,” Lyle said. “I'm good, Papa. Happy to see you.”

“That makes two of us,” Josiah said, hugging Lyle a little closer and a little tighter than he had the day before. “That makes two of us.”

The cool air carried the smell of freshly cut lumber, but the sound of hammers was yet to be constant, like an invasion of angry woodpeckers in an unseen forest. It wouldn't be long though, before the carpenters and laborers began their daily work.

At almost every glance there was a building in Austin under construction. Some of the buildings neared completion and others were stalled due to the current financial collapse, but mostly there was still a sense of reasonable prosperity up and down Congress Avenue, thanks to the arrival of the Houston and Central Texas Railway three years earlier, in 1871, and the demand for cattle north, and then, ultimately, in the east.

Josiah had hoped the early morning would be easier to navigate, offer less chance that he would be recognized and accosted. It was a risk stepping out into the world when you were the lead story in the newspaper, but he didn't want Billie Webb to get caught up in the shenanigans of the day, pulled into his troubles, when she had plenty of her own.

Billie hailed from Comanche, a small town north of Austin. A few months back, John Wesley Hardin, the outlaw and gunfighter, had visited some kinfolk of his in Comanche and was celebrating his birthday at the local saloon when a deputy recognized him. The deputy was Billie Webb's husband, Charlie.

John Wesley Hardin killed Charlie Webb in cold blood. Shot him in the back and left town in a hurry, ran like the coward he was, as far as Josiah was concerned. Billie was left a widow, at nearly nine months pregnant, in a sorrowful spot in her life.

Josiah had met Billie purely by accident, taking refuge in her barn, running from two Indians who had captured him, intent on getting a bounty from Liam O'Reilly. The bounty was a ploy to get Josiah out of the way early, so Pete Feders and O'Reilly could carry out their bank robbing and cattle rustling plans.

Billie had put Josiah up after finding him hiding in her barn, and in the end, he helped deliver her baby, a healthy little girl, then he borrowed Charlie's clothes, gun, and horse, so he could take care of what needed to be done. It was from there that Josiah tracked O'Reilly and Feders and ended up in the mess he was in now.

The last time Josiah had seen Billie was when he returned Charlie's horse and gear. By that time, she had recuperated from the birth of her baby, and had hinted that she was interested in Josiah in more than a friendly way, which Josiah had ignored, then rebuffed, saying he was interested in a woman back in Austin. Which, was true, but when Billie asked Josiah if he loved this woman—Pearl, of course—he couldn't answer her. Still couldn't as far as that was concerned. When he left Comanche, he figured that was the end of his relationship with Billie.

It wasn't that Billie was not attractive. She was not classically beautiful, not like Josiah thought Pearl was, but Billie was pretty in an earthy sort of way, and she was younger than both he and Pearl by about ten years. Billie already had a hard edge to her, one that Josiah understood and recognized immediately.

Loss shatters some people, and they never figure out how to put themselves back together. Billie looked to be the kind that was ready to pick herself up and dust herself off and get back to living life—though with some hesitation when it came to trusting people. That in itself made Josiah curious as to why Billie Webb was in Austin and why she had sought
him
out.

The offer to talk to the sheriff and serve as a character witness would do little to help Josiah's situation, as it was. He feared the newspaper would draw Billie into the story, and that's the last place she needed to be. He intended to thank her for her offer, then ask that she stay as far away from him as possible until everything was settled.

Josiah passed by the Jacoby-Pope Building, a brand-new structure that had gone up at the same time as the building next door to it, the Hannig. The two buildings looked to be from two different worlds. The Jacoby-Pope was a simple building, just a regular storefront, stick-built from the ground up to serve a simple purpose: sell dry goods and add another mercantile to Congress Avenue. The Hannig Building, on the other hand, was an architectural marvel, an expensive proposition with a facade carved intricately from Texas limestone and fitted with ornate wood-framed doors and windows. It smelled new, just walking by, the stain on the trim not completely dry.

The difference in the two buildings was a perfect reflection of the growth in Austin, one Josiah had a hard time not noticing. All of the movement in the city was new to him, and honestly, since he'd spent very little of the time he had lived in Austin actually in Austin, he still felt more like a visitor than a resident. Maybe, someday, he would feel like an Austinite, but he didn't expect that to happen anytime soon. He wasn't sure he wanted it to.

He hurried past the Hannig Building and pulled his wool Stetson down to cover half his face. There were law offices on the top floor of the building, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a spectacle there, meeting face–to-face with an attorney set on making a name for himself, or anywhere else as far as that went.

The morning was still young, the sun barely poking up over the horizon, but there were horses on the street, and a few people on the boardwalks heading from one place to another. Sometimes, Josiah wondered if there was ever a time when there wasn't somebody coming and going on the streets of Austin.

He hurried down East Sixth Street, not running, but walking as fast as he could. He could easily have been mistaken for a bank robber or a criminal of some other sort on the run if he picked up his pace, acting as nervous as he was. Still, he wanted this chore over with.

It didn't take long to come up on the St. Charles House. It was more of a building than a house, built to service the passengers from the railroad, three storeys tall with a flat roof, and a fine restaurant on the main floor. Josiah could never afford such an extravagance, but he knew Pearl had visited the restaurant often. She had raved about the salads, steaks, and fine dishes in a way he could never understand. Food was food to him. Beans and biscuits, on the trail, were more suitable to him than the fanciness of a real restaurant where you had to act formal and wonder what fork to use. Manners were just another gulf that existed between Josiah and Pearl.