Authors: Leaving Whiskey Bend
Dorothy Garlock
This book is a work of historical fiction. In order to give a sense of the times, some names or real people or places have been included in the book. However, the events depicted in this book are imaginary, and the names of nonhistorical persons or events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such nonhistorical persons or events to actual ones is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Dorothy Garlock
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: November 2008
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ISBN: 978-0-446-54341-5
Contents
B
OOKS BY
D
OROTHY
G
ARLOCK
After the Parade
Almost Eden
Annie Lash
Dreamkeepers
Dream River
The Edge of Town
Forever Victoria
A Gentle Giving
Glorious Dawn
High on a Hill
Homeplace
Hope’s Highway
Larkspur
The Listening Sky
Lonesome River
Love and Cherish
Loveseekers
Midnight Blue
More than Memory
Mother Road
Nightrose
On Tall Pine Lake
A Place Called Rainwater
Promisegivers
Restless Wind
Ribbon in the Sky
River Rising
River of Tomorrow
The Searching Hearts
Sins of Summer
Song of the Road
Sweetwater
Tenderness
This Loving Land
Train from Marietta
Wayward Wind
A Week from Sunday
Wild Sweet Wilderness
Will You Still Be Mine?
Wind of Promise
Wishmakers
With Heart
With Hope
With Song
Yesteryear
This book is dedicated to my good friend
Denise Hathaway Easley
RESCUE
I glimpsed you first in the lightning’s flare.
I heard you call above the thunder’s roar.
I stood alone, wet with tears and rain.
And you were there for me.
Now you stand alone beneath the cruel sun.
In mortal danger amid the graveyard’s stones.
Share with me your fear, regret, and sorrow.
I am here for you. . . .
F.S.I.
W
ITH A NEARLY
empty whiskey bottle swinging precariously from his limp hand, Caleb Morgan struggled to put one foot in front of the other as he stumbled down Bison City’s main thoroughfare. Every step, shuffle, or stumble was more wobbly than the last. A buzzing filled his head and his eyes swam in their sockets, but he somehow managed to stay upright.
Even though it was well after midnight, people milled about all around him as they continued to celebrate the Fourth of July holiday. Along the storefronts that lined the street, shouts, whistles, and laughter filled the air. Above him, fireworks exploded into a bright kaleidoscope of colors; reds, whites, greens, and blues lit up the night. Occasional gunshots further punctuated the festivities, rifles and pistols firing into the air.
“Evenin’ Caleb!” someone shouted.
“Evenin’ yourself!” he responded, his voice deeply slurred. He hadn’t even seen who had spoken to him and, to be honest, wasn’t even certain from the sound if it was a man or woman.
What the hell difference does it make anyhow?
Stopping in the middle of the street, Caleb threw his head back and stared up at the sky. In the inky blackness of the Colorado night, he knew that thousands of stars shone down on him, even though he couldn’t quite make them out. The moon, nearly a quarter full, shone in the west. A gentle breeze, a welcome respite from the sweltering summer day, rustled lightly against his face.
Doing his best to balance himself, he took a long pull of whiskey. The liquor burned a path down his throat and into his belly. What missed his mouth ran down his chin and added to the stains that littered his shirt.
Caleb could feel the effects of the alcohol pounding in his head. Doubtless he would be sick as a dog in the morning. He’d been drinking for hours—since well before the sun had set—and should have stopped much earlier if he were the least bit concerned about his own well-being.
Who knows how many bottles I’ve already had a hand in finishing?
Instead, he kept on, consequences be damned. After all, he’d found long ago that drink was the key that opened the lock to his prison.
And the ranch, as well as my father’s booted foot, is undeniably my prison.
At nineteen years of age, Caleb Morgan struggled mightily against the yoke that was his life. His father, Milburn Morgan, had come to Bison City decades earlier with but two things in mind: to raise a family touched by the grace of God and Country, and then to use the same determination to raise cattle. In that endeavor, he’d had mixed results. Nearly three hundred head grazed the grasslands from the family ranch to the south of town all the way to the Cummings River.
His family was another matter.
As the youngest of three brothers, Caleb hadn’t expected to have to shoulder the burden of carrying on his father’s legacy. His eldest sibling, Abraham, should have been the one, but he was . . . well, Abe was Abe, and there wasn’t anything that could be done about it.
Eli, only two years older than Caleb, had proven himself to be the Morgan boy blessed with true smarts. Good-looking, apparently wise beyond his years, and possessed of a strong work ethic, Eli seemed perfectly positioned to take over the family business from Milburn. The problem was that Eli wanted more out of life than Bison City could ever hope to offer him. To that end, he’d bided his time, doing all that he could to play the dutiful son. But it had all been an act. When he was ready, he’d opted for the first road that led out of town. In two days’ time, Eli was set to ship out on a troop train for destinations unknown, surely somewhere exotic, as a new recruit in the United States army.
“Lucky bastard,” Caleb muttered as he took another drink.
When he’d begun drinking, Caleb had told himself that he was toasting his brother’s departure, but in truth he knew himself to be green with envy. It wasn’t just that Eli was leaving, but that he’d had the
strength
to defy their father. Even in the face of Milburn’s rage, Eli had held his ground, refusing to give up his own dreams and wants, even if it cost him his father’s love. Deep down in Caleb’s stomach, drowning in the booze he’d consumed, he knew that if he had been standing in his brother’s shoes, he would have surrendered to his father’s will. The very thought of his weakness made him want to puke.
All that he could do was to strive to be more like Eli. Maybe, in a year or two, he could follow his brother into the army. Maybe he could find a way to get out from under his father’s thumb. Maybe he could escape.
“My day will come,” he promised himself.
Until then, he’d continue to do what he had always done to escape his prison; he’d drink himself into a stupor.
So far, the night had been a success. There had been as much laughter as there had been drink.
The only downer had been running into that son of a bitch Seth McCarty!
Caleb had been stumbling down the steps of the saloon when he’d bumped shoulders with the man. There had been the exchange of tense glares, a hint of violence in the air, but, thankfully, the encounter had ended peacefully.
The crack of a gunshot interrupted Caleb’s thoughts. He turned to the noise and peered through the gloom and haze of alcohol to see a heavily bearded man raise his rifle to the sky and fire off three more quick shots. Lowering his weapon, the man grinned through a mouth haphazardly filled with chipped teeth. “And God bless America!” he shouted.
“Amen, brother!” Caleb added enthusiastically.
Stumbling on down the street, Caleb was filled with the sudden urge to empty his bladder. Weaving between gaggles of revelers, he managed to make his way to the darkened space between the mercantile and the hardware store. Steadying himself with one hand planted firmly against the wall, he sent a stream of warm urine spattering against the wall and down onto his boots.
“Damn!” he cursed, trying to move his feet without pitching over onto his face. Even as drunk as he was, he was clearheaded enough to know that he’d be mighty angry at the rank smell of piss on his boots come morning.
If I could . . . just move . . . a bit . . .
“Stay away from me, you brute!”
“Come on now, darlin’!”
Looking over his left shoulder and back out into the street, Caleb watched as a young woman squealed with delight, her hands lifting the hem of her dress, as a man chased her. With every step, his hands snatched hungrily for her bottom, hoping for a piece of flesh. While the woman’s words were fearful, the look on her face was one of pleasure. It was a ritual of courtship, such as it was in Bison City, on display for all to see.
“Well, I declare,” Caleb said softly. “What an idea!”
In that moment, Caleb knew that that was just what the festivities still needed: a warm body to lie against through the night. While he wasn’t quite the looker that Eli was—his brother more resembled their mother than father—he certainly wasn’t without charms of his own. Besides, at this point in the celebration, he wouldn’t expect any of the women he’d encounter to be very choosy. After all, he still had whiskey, so . . .
“Caleb!” a voice whispered from behind him.
Turning quickly at the sound, Caleb’s head swam with dizziness and he nearly toppled over. Once he’d steadied himself, he peered intently into the depths of the alley but could see nothing but blackness. He’d just about convinced himself that he had imagined the voice when it came again, louder and more insistent.
“Caleb! Come here!”
“Who’s there?” Caleb asked hesitantly as he managed to push his pecker back into his pants. Rubbing his fingers over his blurry eyes and his stubbly cheek, he stared at where the voice had come from, but he was still as unseeing as a blind man. Behind him, another volley of gunfire rose into the sky, but he paid it no mind, his attention fixed before him. “Who’s calling me?”
“I need your help!” the voice said in answer.
In his drunken haze, Caleb was dimly aware of something tugging at his thoughts, although he wasn’t sure what it was trying to say. Behind him, laughter and shouts called to him. Before him, something unknown and unseen waited. He didn’t know which way to turn.
As he stood in the alley, racked with indecision, a moment of clarity passed through his alcohol-clouded head.
This situation is much like my life!
Unlike Eli, he was always willing to run to what he knew, what was safe. His brother embraced adventure and even conflict and, because of these virtues, he’d managed to obtain his freedom. Maybe this was a test. Maybe he was destined to be right here, right now.
Maybe . . .
“Hurry, Caleb! Hurry!”
“I’m coming!” he managed with as much conviction as he could muster.
Dropping the whiskey bottle at his feet with a clatter, Caleb stumbled forward into the darkness, his eyes searching for something, anything that would explain what was happening. Suddenly, a shape appeared before him; he couldn’t even tell if it were large or small, man or woman. Before he could say even a word, another gunshot lit up the night.
