Through The Eyes of Teresa O'Brien
Chapter Three
Teresa watched as three pairs of eyes suddenly turned her way. Scott jumped to his feet, his Boston manners apparently inbred. "Miss O'Brien," he said. She saw his eyes flicker from her opened shirt to her eyes. Anna May said men were men, no matter where they came from. Her best friend was a year older and a decade wiser then Teresa and told her things a young woman would never find in a book. If only Murdoch knew what they talked about when she spent the night at the Phelps house. He'd ban her from ever seeing Anna May again.
Johnny, on the other hand, seemed to have no manners. He made no pretense that he didn't see the soft mounds of her breasts peeking out of her shirt. She felt herself blush. He didn't seem at all bothered that Murdoch was standing right there. He just nodded, almost imperceptibly, before slowly raising his eyes to her face. "Teresa," he drawled softly.
It only took Murdoch two long strides to step in front of her, blocking Johnny and Scott's view. "We were discussing business," Murdoch said, his voice not hiding his displeasure. "Why don't you help Maria with dinner…after you change your clothes," he added.
"I was going to check out the new palomino. Frank said he was one of the nicest horses he's seen in a long time. I won't be long." She turned to leave but Murdoch's hand swung her back to face him.
"I don't want you anywhere near that horse until it's been broken. That may not be for some time. We have other things to worry about besides breaking horses. And Teresa..." Murdoch leaned down close to her ear. "If I see you in that outfit again I'll tan your britches, you understand me?"
Teresa heard a soft snicker and craned her neck around Murdoch's chest to see laugh lines appearing around Johnny's eyes. She felt her blush turn tomato red. He would pay for his insolence. She flung her head back, jutted her chest out and started walking toward the stairs when the fire bell suddenly started ringing outside. She spun back to look at Johnny and Scott who were both staring at Murdoch.
"Fire! Come on!" Murdoch yelled and flung both French doors open. Teresa fell into line behind Johnny and Scott. Horses were being hitched to the buckboard with men and women climbing into the bed carrying shovels and axes and empty sacks. Johnny and Scott helped Murdoch climb onto the wagon and Johnny reached down to swing her up beside him. Another wagon, loaded with barrels of water, was already pulling away from the courtyard.
She could see the plumes of smoke rising into the blue sky, the acrid smell of it beginning to reach the house. Scott's arm encircled her waist as the wagon lurched forward, the driver yelling at the team to pick up speed. It seemed to take forever to reach the fire. Men on horseback sped past them, yelling and shouting. Johnny and Scott jumped down from the wagon before it had come to a stop. They both grabbed shovels and axes and disappeared into the smoke. She jumped down and grabbed a sack, dunked it in a barrel of water and began slapping it against the flames. The smoke stung her eyes and burned her throat, and she was not even in the worst of it like the men were. As the wind shifted directions, she caught glimpses of Johnny, his jacket left behind somewhere, shoveling dirt onto the fire. Scott stood beside him, breaking the ground with an axe.
The fire seemed to take on a life of its own. It roared like a freight train, crackling and spitting out embers that started new fires.
"Let it go!" Murdoch yelled, pulling her close to him, watching as the fire marched up the hill. She could feel him trembling, not from the exhaustion alone, but from the loss of another field. "Let it burn up to the ridge."
"Isn't there something we can do?" she pleaded. This was her field too.
Murdoch squeezed her shoulder. "No, the field's gone, darling. It'll burn itself out by nightfall."
Everyone stood watching the flames as they climbed the hill leaving blackened earth and charred cornstalks in their wake. Tears, not just from the smoke, billowed in Teresa's eyes. This was her home, her future. She would not see it destroyed by a gang of outlaws. She would do everything she could to defeat Pardee.
"Take a good look at it!" Murdoch said looking from Johnny to Scott. "It's the third field that Pardee has destroyed. I told you, you would have to fight to hold onto this place. What do you say?"
There was a long pause. Teresa waited for an answer. Yes meant there was new hope that Lancer might have a chance to beat Pardee and his men. No could mean all her dreams would go up in smoke just like the field she watched being consumed by the fire.
"I've already given you my answer," Scott said, rolling down the shirt sleeves he had rolled up to fight the fire. There was no doubt what his answer had been. The set of his shoulders, the defiant look in his eyes told her that he was ready to fight.
"What about you, Boy?"
Johnny looked up at the fire nearing the crest of the hill. "I hate to see my property go up in flames."
"Our property," Scott amended.
No, Teresa thought. In the end, Lancer would belong to only one person: her.
As the wagon slowly pulled away from the burning hill, everyone huddled together in defeated silence. She prayed that Johnny and Scott's presence would be enough to turn the tide. Pardee was beginning to win, picking away at Lancer like a man felling a mighty oak. A cut here, a cut there, until the tree could no longer support itself.
Johnny and Scott were the strength Murdoch needed to fight Pardee. After Lancer was again secure, she would set father against son, brother against brother. She knew she didn't have the strength to fight Murdoch and his sons physically, but she would wage a war that none of them could win.
As the hacienda came into view, she felt a confidence she had not felt since her father was killed and Murdoch almost died. Her dream was again within her grasp.
The smells emanating from the kitchen reminded Teresa just how hungry she was. Maria had been planning Scott's first dinner since Murdoch got word that his son was coming for a visit. The son of the patron deserved only the best. She'd been beside herself when she learned that the man climbing down from the back of the buckboard earlier today was Murdoch's younger son, Johnny.
What must have gone through her mind when she saw her little nino, now grown and a dangerous gunslinger? Maria often spoke of the two-year-old Johnny, how he filled the hacienda with the kind of joy only a child could bring. Then the sadness that followed when his mother had taken him away.
Teresa knew she had to tread carefully. If she allowed Maria to get too close to Johnny she could have a formidable adversary. From what she and Murdoch had said, it was Maria who raised Johnny. His mother never had the time or inclination to take care of a baby. Those kinds of attachments ran deep.
Walking into the great room she found the dining table set. Maria had brought out the fine china and the crystal wine goblets. The silver candelabra sitting in the middle of the long table was buffed to a mirror finish. In keeping with tradition, the cook had set a place for the patron's sons to the right and left of his seat at the head of the table. At the other end was a lone service for her. Irritated with the implication that she was just Murdoch's ward, she picked up her setting and moved it next to the plate on the right.
She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, five minutes til six. Dinner was always promptly at six. It was one of Murdoch's ironclad rules. He had made a point of telling his sons not to be late.
Teresa heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and turned just in time to see Scott take the last step. He wore another three-piece suit, the white cuffs not quite as frilly as the ones he wore when she first saw him climb out of the stage. He was clean shaven, his hair still wet from his bath. There was nothing to suggest that just an hour ago they had returned from fighting the fire.
"Miss, O'Brien," he said, nodding politely. He was so different from the men she had known all her life. Her father and Murdoch, the ranch hands - even the boys she had gone to school with. None of them had the…polish…Scott had. She felt special when he looked at her, despite her dislike for him. Maybe someday, when Lancer was hers, and she wanted to travel, she would visit him in Boston or New York and see what life was like among the rich and influential.
"You're right on time," she said, feeling the moment deserved a proper curtsey. She had changed to a simple light blue dress that still flattered her figure, cinching in her tiny waist and defining her breasts. Murdoch could say nothing about it since she had worn it to the church dance just last month.
Scott smiled. "My grandfather's views on dinner are not dissimilar to Mr. Lancer's. Dinner was always at eight, not a minute before and not a minute after."
"Eight o'clock? That seems so late for dinner."
"In Boston we tend to retire much later than you do here…and…I'm sure, get up much later."
"Much later."
Teresa whirled around at the sound of Murdoch's voice. He closed the French doors behind him as he walked into the great room. "By the crack of dawn breakfast is over and the men have their assignments. It's no different for me, and it won't be any different for you and Johnny." Murdoch looked toward the picture window behind the huge mahogany desk. "I won't lie to you, Scott, ranching is a hard life. You'll spend long hours in the saddle. Some days you'll fry in the heat and others you'll freeze in the cold. But once it's in your blood, when the land means more to you than just dirt grass and trees…when you've put every ounce of sweat and blood into every acre…" Murdoch suddenly stopped. Teresa felt an uncomfortable silence descend over the room. She couldn't imagine how either of them felt: father and son… both strangers to each other. Would she feel the same way if her mother had not died, if she walked through the door one day after so many years?
The sound of the grandfather clock chimed six times and Murdoch cleared his throat looking around the room. "Where's Johnny? I told him dinner was at six sharp."
"I'm sure he'll be down when he realizes the time," Teresa jumped in. She needed to handle this just right. She didn't want Murdoch and his sons fighting each other already. They had to defeat Pardee first. But she didn't want them to feel too comfortable with each other either. What she needed was advice. She needed to talk to Anna May. She would have to find a reason to go into Morro Coyo tomorrow.
"There is no excuse," Murdoch growled. "I told him…"
"You told me what, Old Man?"
Everyone was startled as Johnny walked down the stairs. Like Scott, his hair was still damp from washing, but unlike his new found brother, he wore a faded white shirt that had seen better days and the same pants he had worn while fighting the fire. Teresa realized that he probably only had one change of shirt and socks in his saddlebags. The other thing she noticed was that he was wearing his gun.
"I told you dinner was served at six sharp," Murdoch snapped back. "And… you're in my house now, not a flea bitten room above some saloon. You won't need that gun."
Teresa caught her breath. She saw the look of surprise cross Scott's face. What did he know about Johnny?
Johnny snorted and dipped his head. "I'm not used to watching the clock. My belly told me it was time to eat. And this gun, well…it's just about the only thing that I trust in this life."
Murdoch stood silent, studying Johnny. Teresa waited for the explosion that never came. Instead Murdoch said, "I hope in time you will find that you can trust your family just as much as that gun."
Johnny shrugged and then looked back toward the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but that food smells good, and I ain't had nothing but hardtack and beans for a month of Sundays."
Teresa saw Murdoch's face pale. What did he know about Johnny that she didn't? Was there more than what she read in the Pinkerton report? "Then," Murdoch said, "I will tell Maria to start serving."
Teresa sat to the right of Scott, Johnny across from them, leaning over his plate, using his fingers to shovel food onto his fork. Emptying his plate once, he was on his second helping. He'd hardly said a word since they sat down at the table. Scott, on the other hand, used both his knife and fork and ate slowly while carrying on a conversation as he ate.
"My compliments to the chef," Scott said as he set his knife and fork down on his empty plate and sat back with a satisfied smile. "I didn't expect to find food like this here in the so called 'wild west'. The ham…I have never tasted it prepared better."
Teresa felt a blush of pride. Somehow, despite the fire and Johnny's unexpected arrival, Maria had outdone herself. All the dishes she had planned to cook for Scott were perfect, and in the short time she had, she had also prepared special dishes for Johnny.
"Your mother brought her cookbooks with her from Boston," Murdoch said, his voice catching, even after so many years. "Catherine of course intended to return as soon as the trouble here was settled, and you were old enough for the long trip…"
Was that a spark of anger Teresa saw in Scott's eyes? Why would he be mad if it was him who hadn't tried to keep in touch with his father? Whatever she thought she saw was gone as quickly as it came and Scott looked across the table at the dishes sitting in front of Johnny.
"If you would come up for air long enough," he grinned, "I'd like to know what kind of dishes you are eating there. I must confess, I have never seen anything quite like it. It smells very pungent."
"Pungent?" Johnny asked around a mouthfull of enchilada.
"He means spicy," Murdoch offered.
"Why didn't ya just say that? Don't they speak English in Boston?"
Scott squared his shoulders. "I assure you, Johnny, I speak excellent English."
"Yes," Murdoch quickly agreed. "But this is not Boston. A lot of people here don't have formal educations. In fact, many can't read or write."
Teresa saw Johnny put his fork down and glare at Murdoch. "You trying to ask if I can read and write, old man?"
"No. I was just trying to explain to Scott that…"
"I learned to read from a bible salesman when I was thirteen. We were both in the same cell. He taught me to read and write and do my sums. I guess I would a learned some of those big fancy words of Scott's if he didn't get himself hanged."
"Thirteen? You were in jail at thirteen?" Scott asked, his voice echoing his incomprehension.
"Wasn't the first…or the last," Johnny said. "But I don't have the law looking for me either. At least not on this side of the border."
Silence descended over the table. Murdoch looked sad, as if he were responsible for the things that happened to Johnny. He wasn't and Teresa resented the fact that he was made to feel that way.
"I heard some of the women talking," Teresa said, looking across at Johnny. "They said you brought more danger to Lancer than the high riders."
"Teresa!" Murdoch slammed his hand on the table nearly upsetting his wine glass.
"No, it's all right." Johnny smiled at her. "The little lady has a right to be scared."
"I'm not scared of anyone or anything," Teresa snapped.
"Yes you are. Because you've been hearing all kinds of stories about me since we rode in here this morning. Some might even be true."
Teresa felt her face blush with anger.
"But…" Johnny's smile disappeared and he looked around the table until his eyes came to rest on Murdoch. "I've never back shot a man. Never killed a woman or a baby. Good folk might not like what I do, but they like it when I do it for them. They pay me good money and can't wait for me to get out of their sight. I remind them of who they really are. But I got to tell ya, I've never been paid with a third of a ranch before."
"You think this ranch is gun money?" Murdoch growled.
"Isn't it? You need help getting rid of Pardee and his men so you hire yourself a gunslinger. The only difference between you and the other ranchers I've worked for is that I got your blood running through my veins."
"I've looked for you for years, long before Pardee came along. I paid the Pinkertons money I couldn't spare to keep searching. Every time I got close, you were gone. By the grace of God, they found you this time."
"You still want my gun!"
"Of course I do! I need your gun and Scott's. I need all the help I can get. If Pardee wins he's not just defeating me…he's defeating you and Scott."
Johnny stood up, his hand resting on his gun. "You and Scott can have it. I got my listening money and a free meal."
"Johnny…." Murdoch looked up, his face ashen.
"I need a horse and I'll pay a fair price for one. Then I'll be out of here."
"Johnny!" Teresa jumped to her feet. What had she done? She needed both Scott and Johnny to help fight Pardee. "Wait. Those women, they also said that Johnny Madrid was a hero in Mexico and they were glad you were here. They know if Pardee wins that they lose everything. They all need you. We need you."
"Teresa's right," Murdoch said. "We need both you and Scott. At the end, if you still don't want your share of the ranch I'll buy you out. No questions asked. But we have to beat Pardee first."
"Please, Johnny."
She saw the hesitation in Johnny's eyes. "All right," he finally said. "I'll stay, for now." Then a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Besides, how could I walk away from cooking like this?"
Teresa felt like she hadn't breathed for hours. She'd almost ruined everything. From now on she had to be careful of everything she said and did. She definitely needed Anna May's help. She had to have a plan. A way of making this all work for her.
"Shall we have dessert by the fire? Maria made empanadas just for you, Johnny."
She saw the look on Scott's face as he slowly stood up from the table. He looked so confused. Not only was his father a stranger to him, he also now had a brother who was surely unlike anyone else he had ever met.
She knew she had to be careful. She couldn't lose Scott while she was trying to keep Johnny. Oh, she did need Anna May.
TBC