Dorothy Garlock (39 page)

Jo Bell’s thoughts went to Smith. He was looking out for the old woman. There must be something in it for him. If the two of them were out of the way, there would be no stumbling block at all to getting control of this place. With the money she could get for it, she thought with a feeling of elation, she could even buy a fancy town house on Jackson Square in New Orleans. She sighed and indulged herself in dreams of the kind of life her papa had planned for her.

Jo Bell had given a lot of thought to Vince Lee during the past week. She knew he was handsome even though she hadn’t seen him close up in the light of day. He had trembled like a leaf in the wind when she had kissed him and rubbed her breasts against him during the time they had sat on the ground behind the bushes and talked far into the night. After telling him about their trip from Louisiana and that she and her brother were the only living blood relatives of Oliver Eastwood, she had let him kiss her and even let him put his hand inside the neck of her dress, but that was as far as she’d let him go.

She had enjoyed using the power she had over him. But he was poor. All he owned was his horse, saddle and gun. Her papa would call him piss-poor. In order to get him to do what she wanted him to do, she would let him kiss her and might even do
it
with him, but she’d not marry him. No sirree. Papa had said for her to set her sights high and that’s
what she was going to do. She was going to marry a
rich
man.

The clock downstairs struck ten. Jo Bell moved from the window to the bed and picked up her coat, a scarf for her head, and the bundle. The lamp had been put out long ago so that her eyes would become accustomed to the darkness. She opened her door without making a sound and stepped out into the hall. Only the faint creaking of the floorboards told of her passing. She hurried down the stairs and let herself out onto the front veranda. Going quickly to the end, she saw the shadow of a man, and jumped into Vince Lee’s arms.

“Thought you’d never come,” he whispered and kissed her passionately. “I wondered if I’d dreamed you.”

“Ya didn’t, sweet boy. I’m here.” Jo Bell wrapped her arm about his neck and kissed him back with an open mouth. She pushed her breasts against him, moaned softly, and gently bit the tongue that slipped between her lips. He backed her against the side of the house and ground his hardness against her. She waited until he began to tremble violently, then pushed him away.

“Not now, sugar—”

“Little tease,” he whispered, breathing hard. “You make me horny as hell.”

“We got lots a time for
that.
We gotta get away from here first. Guess what?” she said, straightening her dress. “Somebody shot Smith.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. I thought it might’a been you. I was hopin’ it was you.”

“It wasn’t me. I came in last night, laid the stones, and then beat it back up to the hills.”

“I wish they’d a killed him. He ain’t no good for nothin’ but causin’ us a heap a trouble.”

“Has he bothered you?” Vince asked sternly.

“He would’ve, honey, but . . . I held him off.” Jo Bell sniffed prettily. “Vince, sugar, there ain’t nobody here but Smith, a old man and a crazy Indian. Maybe we ought to get rid of Smith now. He’ll not be easy to handle later.”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“He’s down in the bed. Got shot in the leg. We could wait for the old man to leave and we could . . . we could . . .”

“Kill him?”

“Would it be so hard?”

The moonlight shone on her upturned face. She was the prettiest woman Vince had ever seen. He hadn’t been able to think of anything but her since the night he met her. Surely she wasn’t asking him to shoot an unarmed man who was already down.

“Honey . . . I couldn’t—”

“P-please—”

“You don’t mean that, honey. It could get us into a peck of trouble. Once this place is yours, we’ll have the right to run him off. If he don’t go, I’ll call him out.”

“And . . . shoot him?”

“If I have to. I’ve not run up against anybody yet who’s slicker than me with a gun.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you. Come on and point out your horse so I can saddle him. We don’t want the sheriff out hunting us for horse-stealin’.”

“Smith can be plumb mean, sugar—” Jo Bell insisted.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle him when the time comes.”

“Is it a long way to Sheridan? Can we find it in the dark?” she asked as she walked along beside him.

“We’ll go to Buffalo tonight and take the stage in the morning.” He flung an arm about her shoulders. “You scared of the dark, honey? Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”

Willa was sitting in the rocking chair in Maud’s room when she heard the creaking of the floorboard in the hall. She opened the door of Maud’s room in time to see Jo Bell, her coat over one arm, a bundle in the other, going down the stairs. Anxious to know what the girl was up to, she slipped out the door and watched as Jo Bell let herself out onto the veranda and softly closed the door.

With Buddy beside her, Willa moved quietly down the stairs to Inez’s room and rapped on the door.

“Yeah?”

Willa opened the door. “Are you asleep?”

“Not now. Somethin’ wrong? Has Maud—?”

“No, nothing like that. Would you mind staying with Mrs. Eastwood while I go out for a while?”

“Has Smith took a bad turn?”

“Not that I know of, but—”

“Run on and see ’bout him. I’ll go up and stretch out on yore cot. Is Maud still sleepin’?”

“Yes, but after her attack today, I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“Take yore time, I’m a light sleeper. I’ll hear Maud if she wants somethin’.”

Willa went through the dark kitchen, feeling her way along the table to the door. She had let her hair down earlier in the evening, and now she wished she had something to tie it back with. Having nothing, she looped it behind her ears and let it fall down her back.

It was strange, but she had been thinking about what to do about Jo Bell when she had heard the noise. Surely the girl would not be foolish enough to leave the ranch in the middle of the night—unless she had someone to go with her. But who?

Willa paused on the porch to listen. Her eyes probed the darkness and saw nothing unusual. Buddy’s eyes and ears
were better than hers. She looked at him. He was calmly waiting. She patted his head and together they went down the walk to the gate and headed for Smith’s house.

How could she rouse Billy without waking Smith? She paused beside the bunkhouse where she had stood the night she heard Smith playing the guitar. Buddy stood close beside her. The house was dark, as she had expected it to be at this time of night. Uncertain as to what to do next, Willa suddenly realized that she was on a fool’s errand. How could she and Billy stop a foolish girl like Jo Bell from doing what she was bent on doing? And why should they?

She leaned to touch Buddy’s head to let him know she was going back. The dog was moving away from her toward Smith’s house, his tail swishing back and forth in a happy greeting.

“Buddy,” she hissed. “Come back.”

The dog continued on. Willa ran a few steps to grab onto his neck fur and drag him back.

“Willa. Over here—” Smith’s low voice came out of the darkness.

She stopped in her tracks. “Smith?”

“I’m here . . . by the house.”

On a bench beside the door, his injured leg extended out in front of him, Smith was scratching Buddy behind the ears when she reached him. The dog was delighted to see him. His wagging tail shook his entire body and little whines of pleasure came from his throat.

“What in the world are you doing out of bed?” she whispered urgently.

“Shhh . . . sit down.” He reached for her arm and pulled her down onto the bench beside him.

“I can’t believe you’re out here. You were shot only this morning, lost a lot of blood and passed out. You’ll get a fever—”

“You’d care?” The question was accompanied by the gentle squeeze of his fingers on her arm.

“What a stupid thing to say! Of course, I’d care.”

“Plenty brought me a crutch we had lying around and helped me get out here. I didn’t strain your stitches so nothing popped loose.”

“You don’t even have on a shirt.” There was exasperation in her tone.

“I didn’t have time to get one. Were you worried about me? Is that why you came out?” he asked hopefully.

“No. I knew Billy would take care of you. I came to tell him Jo Bell is up to something—” she whispered.

“Why didn’t you come to tell me?” He looped his arm over her shoulders so his lips could reach her ear.

“Because you’re in no condition to do anything. I think Jo Bell’s leaving.”

“I know. Plenty told me.”

“You know? What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Plenty is watching to see they take only the sorrel Charlie rode in on.”

“She’ll get lost out there.” Then, “You said
they
.”

“She’s hooked up with a young kid who was here with the buyer for the railroad. He’s come back for her.”

“How do you know that?”

“Plenty Mad. He sees in the dark like an owl. He spotted a horse back behind the corrals and recognized it as the one belonging to the kid. Then he found him hunkered down by the veranda. He figured he was waiting for Jo Bell because he had seen them together the night before the men rode out. He’s watching them now.”

“For goodness sake. Doesn’t Jo Bell have sense enough to know it isn’t safe to go off with a strange man?”

Smith was silent for a few seconds. “You did,” he said softly.

“Well, yes, but that was different.”

“How different? It was dark then, too.”

“Yes, but you were . . . you were— It was different and you know it.”

“Sshh . . . listen— Buddy, stay here,” he said when Buddy stiffened and a low growl came from the dog’s throat.

“I don’t hear anything—” Then she heard the faint sound of horse hooves on soft ground. “Now I do,” she whispered.

“They’re gone,” Smith said after a few minutes of silence. “That fool kid will regret this night. The girl’s trouble. I hope he comes to his senses before she gets him killed.”

“Do you think she’ll be back?” Smith’s arm was still around her. Her shoulder, hip and thigh were pressed firmly to him. She was reluctant to move.

“If things go her way she won’t.”

“Charlie will be worried. He takes his responsibility seriously.”

“He’s got to cut her loose. Sooner or later she’ll get him mixed up in something he can’t handle.”

Smith turned his face. It was just inches from hers. She could feel his warm breath on her mouth. She strove to close her heart against the thrill of being close to his warm body and inhaling the very presence of him. When she was with him, his magnetism drew every speck of logic from her mind and all that mattered in the world was her own desperate need to belong wholly to him and to have him belong wholly to her.

“Ah . . . you . . . should have on a shirt.”

“I’m not cold.” He lifted her hand and placed her palm against his chest. “See—”

His skin was warm, but she felt the quivering of his flesh.

“You’re trembling—”

“Not from the cold.”

“Then weakness. Did you have a good supper?”

“Billy poked everything he could find down me.”

“I shouldn’t have come here, Smith. If I had any brains I’d run back to the house as fast as my legs would carry me.”

“Please don’t be sorry.” His fingers moved to push strands of hair from her cheek and loop them over her ear. “I hoped you’d come back.”

“I’m . . . just begging for more hurt.”

“I’d die before I’d hurt you or let anyone else hurt you.”

“There are different kinds of hurt.”

“I know. Oh, God! I know.” His fingertips caressed her cheek, then moved to her hair. “Remember when I dried your hair with my shirt?”

“I remember.”

“We were alone in the dark. I felt like I was in another world—a calm, peaceful world where there was only you and me. I feel that every time I’m with you.”

Slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to move away, he lowered his lips onto hers. He kissed her with slow deliberation. His lips caressed her mouth gently, sweetly, for a long time, being careful not to scratch her face with his whiskers. When he drew back to look into her eyes, they were haunted and dark with despair.

“Oh, Smith . . . I don’t understand myself. We’re wrong for each other.”

“I know. I can’t forgive myself; how can I expect you or anyone else to forgive me.”

The agony in his voice touched her heart in a way his words could not have done. She pulled her hand from beneath his and cupped his cheek. She could feel the pull of his whiskers against her palm, his lips against her thumb.

“We can’t turn back the clock. You said that.”

“Once in a lifetime, during one small speck in time, you get a chance to have everything you ever dreamed of having.
If you grab for it and miss it, you’ve lost your chance. I grabbed, I missed, I know what I’ve lost.” He turned his lips into her palm.

For a moment Willa couldn’t speak. Her voice was a pathetic croak when she spoke at last. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said tiredly. “I just wanted you to know. Having you know how I feel is like a . . . bond between us.”

“You’re a sweet, sensitive man like Papa Igor. He was small and deformed, but he, too, could say beautiful words.”

“I’ve never talked to anyone the way I talk to you.”

“You’ve talked to others through your beautiful music.”

They were so involved in each other that they failed to hear Buddy growl as Plenty Mad came around the side of the house.

“Hey, Smith. I boil that hell damn dog in pot someday.”

The Indian came to stand in front of them with his hands on his hips. Willa would have moved away, but Smith’s arm held her to him.

“Buddy is a different kind of dog, Plenty. He only growls at people he likes. He likes you.”

“That so?” Plenty Mad cocked his head to the side and looked down at Buddy. “Hell damn. Plenty Mad not know ’bout different dog. Me see now. He mighty fine dog.”