Dorothy Garlock (12 page)

“Don’t you ever talk to each other in a normal tone of voice?” Willa asked, then realized she hadn’t even been heard by the two glaring at each other.

“Don’t ya talk bad about Starr,” Jo Bell screeched.

“Stop yelling,” Willa said firmly. “Voices carry. We don’t know who is within hearing distance.”

“I’m hungry. Ya best get to fixin’ supper,
ma’am.”
Jo Bell jerked a stool out of the back of the wagon, walked a distance and sat down.

Willa looked at Charlie and shook her head.

“I’m making coffee. Mr. Byers gave us some smoked deer meat, biscuits, and a jar of buttermilk.”

“I hate buttermilk. Ain’t ya cookin’ eggs? Mr. Byers gave us some.”

“No.”

“I want eggs.”

“Charlie, I noticed that worn leather collar has made a sore spot on the grey mule.”

“I saw it. I figure to put somethin’ on it after supper.”

“I want eggs,” Jo Bell said in a shrill voice. “Where’s that Mr. Smith? Ain’t he comin’ for supper?”

“I’m kind of sore,” Charlie said, turning his back on his sister. “I ain’t used to ridin’ five, six hours straight.”

“Ya ain’t ridin’ Papa’s horse no more. Papa’d want me to have that horse. I’m sellin’ him for cash money.”

Willa glanced quickly at the boy to see if his sister’s words had provoked another shouting match. To her surprise, he looked at her and winked.

“We’ll be in the foothills tomorrow.” Grasping the handle of the coffeepot with the end of her apron, Willa pushed it over the flame, then stood.

“Damn you! Listen to me! When I tell ya to do somethin’,
do it. I said I want eggs!” Jo Bell grasped Willa’s arm and spun her around.

Willa reacted instinctively as she had done in the past when she had been grabbed by rough hands. Jo Bell had scarely time to blink her eyes before Willa’s balled fist landed squarely on her jaw. The girl staggered back a few steps and fell heavily to the ground. Willa stood over her, anger making her breathless when she spoke.

“Don’t ever put your hands on me again. Understand?”

“Why . . . why—”

“Do you understand?”

“Charlie! Charlie!” Jo Bell’s eyes found her brother leaning against the side of the wagon, his hand in the fur on Buddy’s neck. The dog’s fangs were bared. “She . . . she hit me!”

“Yeah. She packs quite a wallop. Ya had it comin’.”

Jo Bell looked at him with disbelief. “Ya’d let her . . . beat me?” She turned, buried her face in her bent arm and burst into tears. She rolled in the dirt, racking sobs shaking her shoulders.

Anger left Willa as quickly as it had come. She looked down at the girl, then at Charlie. The boy was looking off toward the foothills, whistling through his teeth in order to appear unconcerned. Willa went to him.

“I’m sorry I hit her. It’s just that I’ve been grabbed so many times in so many different towns that I just reacted—”

Charlie looked directly into her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. She needed it lots a times, but I didn’t dare. Fact is I’m shamed that she acts so.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Something in his voice and the sad look on his face caught at Willa’s heartstrings.

“Just do the best you can. It’s all any of us can do.”

*  *  *

High on the ridge overlooking the campsite, Smith looked down on the scene. In spite of a splitting headache, his lips twitched in a grin. The nasty-nice woman wasn’t so nasty-nice after all. She’d knocked the spoiled brat on her ass. Something, in his judgment, that should have been done long ago.

Smith tried to remember the woman’s face, but all he could conjure up was blond hair, a funny color of blue eyes and a boyishly thin body with small pointed breasts. He chuckled out loud. It was a strange sound, one he hadn’t heard for a long time. He had thought the woman fragile. She was about as fragile as a string of barbed wire. Hell, she had exploded into action like a cat with its tail on fire.

He went back to his campfire, where the blackened pot was sending up a plume of steam. A grin still crinkled the corners of his eyes.

8

I
t seemed to Willa she had just closed her eyes when she felt a hand on her ankle and heard Charlie’s whisper.

“Willa. Wake up.”

“What is it?” She sat up quickly and crawled to the end of the wagon.

“Somebody’s prowlin’ around out there. Buddy keeps looking off toward the creek. Look at his tail. It’s standing straight out.”

“It could be a coon or skunk.”

“I heard a horse whinny a while ago. At first I thought it was ours, but it didn’t come from the right direction.”

“I’ll wake Jo Bell. If it’s those men, I don’t want to get cornered in the wagon. Jo Bell,”—she shook the girl— “Jo Bell, wake up. We need to get out of here and hide.”

“What?”

Willa explained quickly, surprised that for once the girl didn’t argue. They dressed and climbed out of the wagon. Willa felt the comforting weight of the Derringer in her pocket. As they passed the side of the wagon, she lifted the heavy iron skillet from the hook. Holding it close to her side,
she and Jo Bell followed Charlie and Buddy into a dense stand of sumac that grew along the bank of the stream.

“Stay here,” Charlie said. “I’m goin’ to the other side of the road.”

“Be careful,” Willa whispered. “Go with Charlie, Buddy.”

“He’d better stay with you.”

“No, he’ll warn you if he hears anything.”

Behind the screen of scrub and brush, Willa strained her ears for a foreign sound. The night was so black she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Her heart was whamming, but it didn’t seem to be pumping enough air into her lungs. She grimaced in self-disgust at the frightened fluttering of her heart and waited while the minutes went slowly by.

Behind her Jo Bell was breathing heavily. Willa hoped and prayed the girl wouldn’t burst into tears and give away their hiding place.

Down the creek an owl hooted and was answered from nearby.
Indians!
Didn’t they use bird calls to signal one another? Frogs croaked nearby, then far, far away a coyote lifted its nose to the sky and howled for a mate. The lonely cry sent a chill shimmering down Willa’s spine. Jo Bell moved so close to her back she could feel the girl’s breath on her neck.

“Why’d Charlie—?”

“Shhh . . .”

Willa’s keen ears had heard a faint sound. She cocked her head to the left and heard it again. With her left arm she swept Jo Bell farther behind her. Her right hand gripped the handle of the iron skillet while her eyes tried to penetrate the darkness around them.

Suddenly, without a sound, a man was beside them. Seeing him and acting was simultaneous. She swung the skillet. The man’s hand went up to ward off the blow.
Ping!
She heard the sound of iron striking metal. Before she could draw a
breath she was wrestled to the ground. Rough hands jerked the skillet from her grasp. Then a string of obscenities spewed forth that would have made a bartender blush.

“Damn you! I ought to break your neck,” he hissed.

Break your neck!
The words registered in Willa’s mind.
He was going to kill her!

“Hel . . . lp! Bud . . . dy!” Willa kicked and tried to get her fingers in position to scratch his face.

“Shit! You crazy damn woman!”

“Char . . . lie! Bud . . . dy! Run . . . Jo Bell! Run!”

“Grrr . . .” Suddenly the dog was there. He sprang onto the man’s back. Ferocious growls came from his throat. “Grrr—”

“Call off the goddamn d—” Willa’s fist connected with the man’s mouth. “Shit! Yeeow! Charlie! Son of a bitch!” he cursed. “If the damn dog don’t kill me . . . she will.”

“Mr. Smith?” Charlie grabbed Buddy at the scruff of the neck and pulled him away.

“Stupid, featherheaded, brainless woman! Of course, it’s me. She broke my hand and drove my ring right into my head. Jesus, deliver me from hair-brained females.”

“Oh, Lord. We’re sorry. Buddy heard something and—”

“He probably heard me. I was keeping an eye out for Coyle and Fuller.” Smith got to his feet waving his injured hand. “It isn’t safe to be within ten feet of this . . . this wildcat. She ought to be in a cage.”

Willa stood as fear left her and anger blossomed into full bloom. “You got just what you deserved. You had no business sneaking up on us.”

“Sneaking! Sneaking!” he shouted.

“Yes, sneaking,” she shouted back trembling so violently that she could hardly stand. “Too bad your hand got in the way. Nothing could hurt that hard, stupid . . . pickled head of yours.”

“What the hell were you doing out here, anyhow?”

“We were . . . hiding—not that it’s any business of yours!”

“Hiding! Ha! A blind man could’ve spotted you in those light clothes. You stood out like a shithouse in a fog.”

“Can’t you carry on a
decent
conversation?” Willa asked haughtily.

“If I want to,” he answered back, his tone mocking hers.

“Are you all right?” Charlie asked anxiously, still holding onto the growling dog.

“Yes, but no thanks to your . . . Mr. Pickled-brain Smith,” she said scathingly as she brushed the dirt and leaves from her shoulders and arms.

“Be thankful you’re a woman,” Smith growled menacingly. “If you’d been a man, I’d have shot you.”

Willa produced the Derringer and pointed it at him. “And I’d have shot you right back.”

“Godamighty! Put that thing away. If I’d a shot you, woman, you’d a been dead before you hit the ground.”

“Well, you didn’t, so that’s that.” Her voice was calm, but her stomach was threatening to revolt, and her heart was racing like a wild mustang. She returned the Derringer to her pocket. “Come on, Jo Bell. There’s no need to let him ruin the rest of the night. I’m thinking he wants to get back to his . . . bottle and drown his sorrows.”

“You hurt him, ma’am.” Jo Bell’s voice was soft, caressing, intimate. She moved to stand between Willa and Smith. “Don’t mind her, Mr. Bowman. She’s just a fussy old maid. Come to the wagon. Let me bandage your hand.”

“Get away from me, you little brat,” Smith snarled. “I’ll take care of myself.” He stomped off into the darkness, leaving them to look at the spot where he disappeared.

“Well—” Jo Bell tossed her head, angry at being rebuffed. “I hope yore old hand rots and . . . falls off!” she yelled.

“I sure do hate it that we’ve made him mad at us,” Charlie said on the way back to the wagon.

“I’m not one bit sorry I hit him.” Willa suddenly burst into laughter. “Ping! I’ll never forget the sound of that skillet hitting his ring.”

“Buddy was going for his throat.” Charlie spoke quietly, and Willa sobered. “He could have killed him.”

“I suppose that’d be all right with you, ma’am,” Jo Bell’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “You think that old dog is so . . . grand.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been all right. I hate to see any living creature killed. The time may come, Jo Bell, when you’ll be glad to have Buddy’s protection.”

“I doubt that. I just doubt that.”

*  *  *

The next afternoon, when the heat of the day was making itself known, Jo Bell climbed into the back of the wagon to rest in the shade.

“I’m just not goin’ to sit out here and let the sun cook my face. Heavens! I’ll have freckles all over my nose.”

Willa was glad to be relieved of the girl’s senseless egotistical chatter. She removed her hat and placed it on the seat beside her and wished that all she had to worry about was a few freckles on her nose. Her level brows drew together in a puzzled frown, and once again she tried to think of what she was going to do after she had fulfilled her promise to Charlie to stay with them until they reached Oliver Eastwood’s ranch.

Emotion began to infiltrate the barrier with which she had protected herself when she thought of the days and weeks ahead. A wave of fear rolled over her at the thought of going off alone, penniless, in an almost lawless land where only the strongest survived. She was utterly alone without a person in
the world other than Charlie who cared what happened to her. Charlie and Buddy.

She was sick to death of stupid, ignorant people. The “good” people of Hublett thought Papa Igor evil because of the affliction that distorted his features and the hump on his back. They had not even tried to know him for what he was, a kind, highly intelligent human being. They had thought she brought bad luck to their town because she was his daughter. Heaven only knows what they would have done had they known her mother had lived with him all those years without benefit of marriage. Well, if she were a witch, she would snap her fingers and the whole town would go up in flames for what they had done to her papa.