The Story

Pine Bluffs, Wyoming
1890

"What do you want from us?" Hannibal Heyes looked intently at the gentleman in the hand tailored suit who was seated in his front room as he waited for an answer.

"Just your story, Mr. Heyes. I'm prepared to offer you five hundred dollars."

"Our 'story' isn't for sale. Not for five hundred dollars. Not for any price."

"I am authorized to negotiate, Mr. Heyes." The visitor sighed and looked at the array of books that lined the shelves of the former outlaw's home. "Surely you can understand the public's interest in a good story. People are intrigued by you, Mr. Heyes. They want to read about the adventures of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. They want to know what being an outlaw was really like."

Heyes let out a short laugh. "There must be a hundred dime novels that tell that story and not one of 'em is worth the paper it's printed on."

"That's my point, Mr. Heyes. I want to print the true story—how it really was."

Heyes studied the other man for a moment before responding. "No, Mr. Spencer, you want to turn my ranch into a three ring circus because you think you can make a lot of money. I like my life just the way it is, nice and private. "

Private might not have been the right word for his life in Pine Bluffs. When he and the Kid first moved to Pine Bluffs after being granted amnesty, they had been the talk of the entire town. Over the years, they had gained acceptance and even respect from most of the townsfolk. When Heyes married the local school teacher, none of the residents had objected.

Ten years after receiving amnesty, the former leaders of The Devil's Hole Gang had almost become average citizens. That was, until a gang of murderous outlaws began robbing trains and killing passengers. That gang, dubbed "The New Devil's Hole Gang" had terrorized the region and eluded local law enforcement until Heyes and Curry had been able to stop them. Upon returning to Pine Bluffs, they'd been proclaimed local heroes, and received far more attention than either had expected—or invited.

"The public wants a story," the man in the tailored suit continued, "and they will get one. I'm offering you the opportunity to make some money on the deal." Spencer picked up the glass of brandy that Charlotte Heyes had poured when he first arrived. "It's your choice," he added, then took the last sip of amber liquid and set the glass down.

"You're all finished," Heyes said dryly and stood to show his guest to the door.

After the man had left, Heyes stood on the porch, looking out over the land that was his ranch, his and the Kid's. Charlotte joined him after a few minutes.

"You heard?" he asked, continuing to look straight ahead while his wife slipped an arm around his waist.

"I heard," she replied quietly. "I don't know why it bothers you so much. You are rather famous you know."

"It bothers me because of you, and because of him." He rested his hand on her swollen belly. "In six weeks our baby will be born. I don't want to be known as an outlaw, or even a former outlaw. I want this baby to be able to respect his father."

"Or her father," Charlotte added with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Right, or her father," Heyes smiled as he ran his hand over his wife's formerly slender waist.

"He or she will be proud of you just like I am," she said firmly, as she wrapped her arms around the man she loved.

"I just want him to have a decent start in life. A chance to grow up without a cloud over his head; without being ashamed of his own name or of who his, or her—" he smiled, catching himself "—father is."

Charlotte sighed as she pulled her husband close and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You could always go back to being Smith."

"What?" Heyes pulled away and the look on his face caused Charlotte to break into laughter.

"Oh," he said, his shocked expression melting into a look of chagrin.

"Face it, you will always be Hannibal Heyes whether you like it or not," Charlotte grinned. "And I for one, happen to like it."

0000000

"What's that?" Jed Curry asked, studying his daughter's expression as she read the letter she had just opened.

"It's a letter Pa, from my grandparents."

He arched an eyebrow and his eyes narrowed in a question.

"Ma's folks back in Kansas," Catherine clarified.

Jed felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The last words he'd had with Eliza's father had been far from agreeable. "Have you kept in contact with them much?" he asked, trying to mask the panic that was rising.

"No, not really. I lived near them until I was five, but I don't remember them very well. Ma wrote to them after we moved to New Mexico, but they only wrote back once. They said they were real sorry that my pa…I mean Jake, was dead and they wanted her to move back to Kansas. She didn't want to though, and she didn't talk about them much after that."

Catherine looked up at her father with an almost panicked expression. "They say they're coming here to visit—they'll be here," she glanced at the letter again, calculating the date, "in three days!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. How—how did they know where to find you?"

"I'm not sure." She thought for a moment. "Ma must have written and told them. Or maybe someone in New Mexico contacted them after Ma and Joseph were killed."

Old feelings stirred in Jed Curry. Guilt, remorse, anger...

"Catherine," he said finally, "Do you think they know I'm your pa?"

"Oh, they've known that for a long time," she said quickly. "Ma said they figured it out right after I was born. No one said anything to me though."

Curry thought he heard a tinge of resentment in the comment.

"Well, then I guess we'd better get the place ready," he said evenly.

Catherine smiled and relaxed slightly, comforted by her father's steady composure. Shaking her head, she added, "Ma always said they liked Jake and thought he was a real good husband." She looked her father in the eye. "But they were wrong about that, weren't they?"

Jed let out a breath and gave his daughter a reassuring smile. "Well, sometimes folks just see what they want to see. Your grandparents were fine folks. I remember they treated me real well when I worked for them that summer. Whatever happened after that, well, I reckon that was all my fault." He looked down, ashamed.

"What did happen, Pa?" She looked at him with unanswered questions in her eyes.

"You know what happened. I left," he said softly, not meeting his daughter's eyes.

"I know you didn't leave because of me. I know she didn't tell you that she was going to have a baby. But you never said why you did leave."

"I didn't have a choice," Curry said quietly as he reached out and wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her close into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder.

"Please tell me what happened," she pleaded. "Before they get here."

Jed Curry gave her a squeeze and lowered his voice. "Honey, there's just some things…" his voice trailed off.

She pulled away and folded her arms, suddenly looking cross. "What? Some things you don't like to talk about? You know I never ask you the things those newspaper people and city folk do. "She glared at her father. "What's it like to rob a train? What'd you do with all that money you stole?" She continued to stare at him defiantly. "How many men have ya killed, Kid?"

"Catherine!" he jumped back and looked as shocked as if she'd slapped him in the face.

"Well I don't, do I?" She stood her ground.

"No," he conceded. He wondered how truthfully he would answer her if she ever did ask for real answers to those questions.

"I know what you did—who you were, and who you are now. I just don't know who you were when you met my mother. Or who she was then. What did you do together? Well, I mean other than…that," she added quickly.

Curry smiled. "Yeah, I guess 'that' is pretty obvious, since you're here."

"I know you loved her. I can see it in your face every time you talk about her."

"What happened, Pa? Why'd you leave?"

0000000

Eighteen years earlier

"You got a wild streak in you, Jed Curry. I can feel it."

"Oh yeah? I'll give you something to feel." She squealed with delight as he pressed against her and ran his hands down her slim waist.

"Stop it Jed, I'm serious."

"So am I," he said, huskily.

"I mean it," she said, soberly, and pulled away.

With a frustrated sigh, he folded his arms and sat back on the prairie grass.

"What?"

"We have to talk about where this is going." She gave him a pensive look.

"The hay loft?" he asked, with the hint of a smile.

"Uuh, Jed Curry, you're incorrigible!" she exclaimed and tossed a tuft of grass at him. "Do you really want to settle down on a farm? I know you've got bigger dreams than that."

"All I dream about is you, Eliza."

"I want a home, Jed. I want a little garden where I raise vegetables for supper, and cellar filled with canned preserves that I've stored up for the winter. I want to raise my children on a farm like this. Is that what you want?"

He blinked. "I don't know. I was raised on a farm too, but I don't know if that's what I want."

"Don't you think we should talk about it? Instead of just…what we're doing?"

"I guess. I don't know. I just know I feel so good when I'm with you, and wherever you are, that's where I want to be."

"Jed, we have to talk to my father. If you really want to marry me, you have to ask him."

"I know. I will, just as soon as I get back."

"Back? Where are you going?"

"Remember I told you I was waiting for my cousin? We split up last spring and we were supposed to meet up this fall after the harvest."

"I remember, but that's not until next month."

"Well, I think he's in Sweetwater, and he might be in some trouble. I have to go find him. After I know he's alright, then I'll come back and talk to your father."

"But why can't you talk to him first?"

"It's hard to explain, I guess it's because he's my only family. We were there for each other when we didn't have nobody else. I just have to know he's alright before I can settle down here with you. Besides, he has to be at the wedding."

"How long will that take, Jed? I told you my father wants me to marry Jake Walker. He's been working all summer down in Wichita for his uncle, but he's due back in a few weeks. I know he's going to ask me when he gets back."

"Just tell him no," Jed said with a shrug.

"It's not just Jake, it's my father. I can't tell Jake 'no' if I don't have a better offer."

Jed grinned. "So I'm better?"

"You know what I mean." she punched him playfully. "I'm not in love with Jake. And…there is something else." Her gaze drifted toward the horizon.

"What?"

"Not now, I want to wait until you've talked to my father."

Jed pulled Eliza into an embrace and squeezed her tightly as his lips found hers for a deep kiss.

"I'll be back," he whispered. "You can count on that."

0000000

Present Day

"So why didn't you go back?" Catherine prodded. She had remained quiet while her father was relaying the story, but now she wanted to hear more.

"Something…happened," he said simply.

She was about to ask what, when the door burst open.

"Ki—Jed, you won't believe what just happened!" Hannibal Heyes was talking fast and loud as he entered Curry's newly built one-story ranch house.

The partners had shared the original ranch house since buying the property eight years before. After the murder of her mother and step-father, Catherine and her half-brother Joey had come to live with Curry, so he had decided it was time to build his own place. It had only taken three months, with the help of neighbors and the cooperation of the weather, to make it a suitable for moving in. Catherine had inherited her mother's talent for sewing and had already finished curtains, table cloths, and a quilt for her baby brother.

"What is it?" Curry asked, anxiously.

"It seems everybody wants to know our story—the 'real' story they keep saying."

"Tell me about it," Curry mumbled.

"Did he come over here first?" Heyes asked, surprised.

"What? Who?" Curry looked back blankly.

"That publisher fella."

"What publisher fella?"

Heyes sighed, exasperated. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Would ya listen to me for once? I tell you Ki—Jed, it's not like the old days when all I had to do was give an order and everybody jumped."

"They did?" Catherine asked, and Heyes suddenly noticed she'd been sitting quietly in the room.

"Well, yeah, most of the time. And if they didn't, your pa made sure they did," Heyes grinned.

Curry rolled his eyes. "Thanks Heyes, that's just what she needed to hear."

"Hey, where's little Joey?" Heyes asked, glancing around the room to see who else he might have overlooked in his excitement to relay the recent event.

"He's napping, so if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your voice down," Curry warned, in his former outlaw voice.

"Ah, right, cranky toddler stage. I guess I'll have to learn about that."

"Yeah. So, who's this fella you said came over?"

"He's some big publisher from back east. New York City. He says he wants to write a book all about the 'real' west he calls it. The true stories about outlaws and lawmen, gunfights and range wars, and all that."

"Maybe he should," Catherine broke in. "Maybe people want to know the real story, not just the exaggerated stuff in the dime novels, and the things people write in the newspapers."

"You don't understand, honey, your pa and me—we like our privacy," Heyes told her, attempting to keep his voice low.

"Your privacy? Every time someone hears your names in public, all they have to go by is the dime novels and the outlandish tales. Is that how you want people to see you?" Catherine gave her father and her 'uncle' Heyes a pointed look.

"Now you sound like Charlotte." Heyes looked to Curry for support but received only a resigned shrug. "You want your life story in some book?"

"Nope," Curry replied, emphatically. "But, if we don't tell it somebody else will, and no tellin' what wild claims they'll make."

"He offered five hundred dollars," Heyes said with a disgusted laugh. "As if we could be bought."

Catherine raised her eyebrows at the last comment, but Heyes continued to pace and shake his head.

Curry pondered the idea for a moment. "How high do you think he'd go?"

"You're not serious?" Heyes stared at his old friend.

"Ooh," Catherine squealed. "We could buy that new stallion you want, or fix up the barn, or…"

"Or, we could send you to college. You know they have that new school in Laramie—teaches men and women side by side, not like those fancy schools in the east."

"I know Pa, we've talked about it," Catherine smiled. "I'm considering it."

"Nobody's selling anything. Least of all my life story," Heyes declared. "I've got to get home, Charlotte may need something."

"Charlotte's fine, Heyes, if she needs anything she knows where to find you. Catherine's right about the horse, and the barn. We could do a lot with that money—and get our story told right too."

"I don't know what's gotten into you," Heyes gave an exasperated sigh.

"Think about it Uncle Heyes, please," Catherine implored.

"Okay, honey. For you," he leaned over and kissed her on her forehead after scowling briefly at his cousin.

"Sell our story," Heyes scoffed, as he stood to leave.