In a Handful of Dust (17 page)

“I don’t know there’s anything wrong with him so much as he just likes big words,” Lynn said quietly to Lucy.

“Ladies, I understand your apprehension. I walked into your camp unannounced, and for that I apologize. Two women traveling alone have the right to be suspicious, but I swear I am a good man.”

“Only good men I ever knew are dead or behind us,” Lynn said, rifle raised again.

“I didn’t figure I’d overcome your misgivings on the spot,” he said, sliding one hand up and down Brown Horse’s muzzle. “How about you let me administer to this here horse and give her back to you. Would that inspire some trust?”

Lucy’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you? A wandering, cracked-in-the-head, free horse doctor?”

“No, girl,” he said, his smile touched with a hint of sadness. “I’m what I claim to be—a good man.”

The women were silent for a moment, so still their rifle barrels rose and fell with their breathing.

“What do you think?” Lucy asked Lynn.

“I think he has honest eyes,” Lynn said quietly, lowering her gun. “But don’t think I won’t blow ’em out of your head if I change my mind,” she said to the stranger.

“I’ll remember your stipulation,” he said, already holding Brown Horse’s hoof over his bent knee.

Lucy kept her gun in her hand but stepped closer to see what he was doing. “Do you think you can help Brown Horse?”

“Brown Horse, eh? You girls adhere to descriptive nomenclature. Brown Horse . . . Crazy Free Horse Doctor . . .”

“What’s your real name, then?” Lucy asked, unsure whether she was being mocked.

“Fletcher.”

“Fletcher?” Lynn repeated, watching Lucy close the distance between herself and the stranger. “What kind of name is that?”

“The kind my mother liked,” he replied, running his fingers over Brown Horse’s hoof. He glanced up at Lucy. “You’re not horsewomen, are you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Mmm.” He gently set Brown Horse’s leg back down on the ground and patted her. “From the condition of her, I’ll assume you don’t have a hoof pick?”

“A what?” Lynn called over the distance.

“If you’re interested in overhearing our conversation, you’re welcome to join it,” Fletcher said. “Feel free to bring your gun.”

Lynn hesitated before coming over to stand next to Lucy.

Lucy could feel every muscle humming in Lynn’s body, ready to erupt into action if necessary.

“Your mare is experiencing thrush in her frog,” Fletcher explained, kneeling back down and pulling up Brown Horse’s foot to illustrate.

“A what in her what?” Lucy asked.

“A fungal infection in the soft part here,” he said, pointing to illustrate. “Find me something I can use to clean out this hoof and I’ll show you.”

Lucy looked to Lynn for approval before moving away and breaking a dead branch off a stunted cottonwood clinging to the bank. Fletcher snapped it in two when she handed it to him, and gently pushed the tip into the filth caked around Brown Horse’s hoof. She made a low grunting noise as he pried at the inner section of her hoof, and a large chunk of clotted dirt fell away.

“Might want to cover your noses, if you’re the delicate type,” Fletcher warned.

“Why’s that?” Lucy asked, and then the smell hit her and she had to close her mouth before she gagged.

Even Lynn’s stoic mask slipped. “Hell’s bells,” she muttered, backing away with her hand over her face. “Is she rotting?”

Fletcher looked down at the hoof still laid across his knee. “Nah, it’s an infection is all. Happens sometimes if they get an irritant up in that soft spot, or a burst abscess from lack of proper hygiene.”

Lucy’s brow creased. “So it’s our fault then?”

Fletcher shrugged and set Brown Horse’s hoof down on the ground gently. “You didn’t know any better. Even from a distance it’s clear neither one of you can sit a horse.”

“They’re kind of hard to come by in Ohio,” Lucy said, catching Lynn’s glare at the last second.

Fletcher’s forehead crinkled. “Ohio? You might not be horsewomen, but I’ll call you well-traveled nonetheless. How do two midwestern gals come to be in Kansas?”

“Uh . . .” Lucy glanced at Lynn, but the stony look she found there wasn’t helpful. “Sightseeing.”

“You’ve seen some sights, coming that far. Of that I can vouch without inquiring.”

“What’s your interest in it?” Lynn said, cutting through his lackadaisical pace of speech. “You wanted to look at Brown Horse, now you’ve seen her. You go on your way now. We’ll be on ours.”

“Not for long,” he said easily. “At least, not in the company of the aptly named Brown Horse. She’ll founder.”

Lucy watched as Lynn debated. The easy answer was they would leave Brown Horse to Fletcher, and their dust would be the last thing he saw of them as they took off on their healthy mounts. But Brown Horse could be used for trade if needed, and Lynn wasn’t one to part with an asset. Spatter was easily Lucy’s favorite, but the way Brown Horse was awkwardly holding her hoof cut through her soft heart.

“Can you fix her?” Lucy asked before Lynn could open her mouth.

“I can.”

“And what would you be wanting for it?” Lynn asked.

“I’d like to know what’s going on in Ohio that sends two women west alone, and hear the stories of those you’ve met on the road.”

“What’s it to you?”

There was a slight flicker through Fletcher’s eyes before he answered. “I’m looking for my wife. We’ve been separated.”

“For how long?” Lucy asked. Images of Carter alone in the moonlight sliced through her mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lynn said, smoothly intercepting Fletcher’s answer. “We only met one woman on the road between here and there, and I killed her.”

The look on Fletcher’s face twisted Lucy’s gut, and she was quick to reassure him. “She wasn’t anyone you would’ve wanted to be married to anyways.”

“What was her name?” Fletcher asked in a voice laced with fear.

“She said it was Joss, though I wouldn’t trust it,” Lynn said, rifle fully relaxed now. “The woman wasn’t much for telling the truth.”

“How long you been apart?” Lucy asked again, her mind far from Joss.

Fletcher looked up at the sun and wiped the sweat from his brow again. “It’s a long story, better related in the shade.”

“That may be,” Lynn said, “but I’m not overly inclined to take a rest with you just yet. You said you could fix the horse?”

“Oh.” Fletcher ran one hand lazily down Brown Horse’s neck. “Fixing her is the easy part, collecting the necessary accoutrements is the trick.”

“What do you need?” Lucy asked.

“Best remedy that comes to mind would be some apple cider vinegar. We might be able to find some left behind in cupboards here and there. It’s not exactly palatable.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucy said, wrapping her mind around the words she knew while trying to figure out the rest. “Think we can find enough?”

Fletcher shrugged, and the simple movement told her everything she needed to know about how life had treated him. “Maybe we will, maybe we won’t,” he said.

“You don’t need to be saying ‘we,’” Lynn said. “I’m not about to go running around willy-nilly with you cracking open cupboards, and neither is Lucy.”

“Willy-nilly is not a requirement, and it’s nice to meet you, Lucy.”

Lucy could see Lynn biting the inside of her cheek in frustration at Lucy having given away her name so easily.

“Might as well go on and identify yourself too,” Fletcher said to Lynn. “Otherwise I’ll be calling you Nice-Looking Lady Who Points Guns at Me.”

“Suits me,” Lynn said testily, but Lucy saw the whisper of a smile toying with her lips the moment before she looked down at the ground.

“She’s Lynn,” Lucy said.

“Well, Lynn and Lucy, I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, the easy smile cutting a white swath across his tanned face. “I do believe we can be mutually beneficial to one another.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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F
inding apple cider vinegar was much less of a challenge than Lucy had anticipated. Fletcher rode off astride Mister, his insurance they would stay put while he went searching for the vinegar. Lynn had taken his water jug to be sure he would come back. Which he did, a few hours later, whistling a tune, with a nearly full gallon jug of apple cider vinegar tied to the pommel.

Although Lucy didn’t know what
palatable
meant, she understood the second Fletcher took the lid off the jug that nobody in their right mind would even try drinking it. The smell swept up her nostrils and felt like it slid right up inside her skull. She backed away with watery eyes, covering her nose.

“Clears out the sinuses, doesn’t it?” Fletcher asked, his ever-present smile lurking around the permanently crinkled corners of his eyes.

“I’ll watch the horses closer when we’re in the mountains,” Lucy promised.

“The mountains? Why would you be taking them through the mountains?”

“We just are,” Lucy said, her chin jutting out in anticipation of being told not to.

Fletcher laughed and put both his hands up in surrender. “All right then, little lady. I learned a long time ago not to get in the way of a woman wearing that expression.”

“A long time ago? How old are you?” Lucy blurted out.

The surprise that crossed his face caused her to immediately apologize. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess that’s not something you’re supposed to ask people, huh?”

“No, it’s all right,” he said quickly. “Too many things go unanswered these days. I’d guess I’m a little over forty.”

“You’d guess?” Lynn asked, sauntering over in the dying light. “You don’t know?”

“Certain things slip away from you, when you’re on the road as long as I have been,” Fletcher said. “You harbor any doubts as to your own age?”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Lynn said without hesitation, but Lucy was pretty sure she was actually twenty-six.

“I’m sixteen,” Lucy volunteered. “At least . . . I think?” She looked to Lynn, whose brow creased slightly.

“I thought you were seventeen?”

“Either way, your calculations disprove my assumption that you’re mother and daughter,” Fletcher said, glancing between them.

“Not by blood,” Lynn said. “But we are family.”

“Family is made all kinds of ways, especially now,” Fletcher said.

“What about your own?” Lucy asked. “You said you’re looking for your wife?”

“That story is best told setting down,” Fletcher said. “If Lynn here can take a leap of faith and trust me.”

Lucy held her tongue for once and looked to Lynn. The older woman was watching Fletcher intently, her eyes boring into his own as if she’d be able to discern his motives by staring him down.

“You come in here and doctor our horse when you could’ve taken a healthy mount. You hang around all day sneaking our names out of us, and where we’re from, though what good that is to you, I don’t know. Now you want to stay and tell us a bedtime story. Why?”

A flicker of a smile chased across his mouth, but Lucy saw Fletcher make an effort to squelch it. “’Cause I like you,” he said, which made Lynn flinch. “Both of you,” he added, including Lucy with a nod of his head, though he kept his eyes on Lynn. “And it’s not so much where you came from I’m interested in as your destination. No gentleman would allow two girls from Ohio to cross the mountains alone.”

Lynn folded her arms in front of her. “Who says we’re going over the mountains?”

“Uh . . .” Lucy almost felt intrusive breaking into the adults’ conversation; the tie between their eyes was so strong it was nearly palpable. “I think I might’ve let that one slip.” Lynn shot her a glare, and Lucy shrugged. “Sorry.”

“The little one could use some lessons on obfuscation,” Fletcher said.

“Be that as it may,” Lynn said so slowly Lucy realized she didn’t know what
obfuscation
meant either, “you expect me to believe you’re not looking for anything in return?”

All traces of humor slipped away when Fletcher answered. “I understand you’ve been on a hard road, and I don’t doubt my wife has seen the same trials. I’ll help you—one stranger to another—in the hopes that somewhere, someone is doing the same for her. If I can’t find her, the best I can do is believe in karma.”

Lucy and Lynn exchanged a glance, Lynn’s cold blue eyes flashing off Lucy’s brown ones and reading her answer in a moment. “All right,” she relented. “You can stay, but know that we’ll both be sleeping with our guns.”

“Wouldn’t expect any different,” Fletcher said smoothly.

“And keep the karma talk to yourself,” Lynn added.

Fletcher raised an eyebrow at Lucy, but she only shrugged and moved to help Lynn unpack their bedrolls from the horses. Brown Horse was favoring her tender hoof as she stood. The vinegarsoaked wrapping had turned the dust underneath her to a pungent mud. Lucy leaned against her, running her hand along the mare’s neck. Spatter took offense and jostled against her, vying for Lucy’s affection.

“Don’t mean anything by it,” she assured him, taking another yucca shoot from her pocket. She scratched Spatter’s nose absently while he crunched on it, her gaze drawn over his back to where Fletcher and Lynn were making camp. They moved in circles around each other, his slow and sure as he went about making food, hers erratic and nervous while she attempted to set their beds up while simultaneously keeping an eye on him.

Lucy smiled to herself and rested her head against Spatter, the warmth of his coat soaking into her skin. She knew Lynn didn’t want to believe in Fletcher’s talk of karma. While he might be doing good for strangers in the hope fate would be kind to his lost wife, Lynn’s own past was littered with bodies. And she was always on the lookout for whoever was coming to collect the debt.

“I wasn’t much older than Lucy here when the Shortage came about,” Fletcher said, the moonlight bouncing off the whiteness of his teeth as he spoke. “I was set up nice in Montana with my brothers and our parents until cholera wiped them out. I couldn’t trust our water source anymore, so I moved on, got it in my head that going south was the answer. No winters, right?”