A/N: I had no idea this would be done so soon - I couldn't sleep last night, and next thing I knew, I'd written practically the whole chapter! I hope you continue to enjoy as we learn more about the mysterious Jack Harper.
Chapter Four
"When'll Jess be back?"
Lingering on his bookkeeping a moment longer, Slim scrawled a few more numbers in neat script on a scrap of paper. He checked his figures once, nodded curtly, and finally allowed himself to look up. "What was that, Andy?"
"I asked you when Jess is comin' back." Wide brown eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the elder Sherman, waiting for a reply.
Slim shrugged, rhythmically tapping his pencil against the old desk. "Tuesday morning at the very latest, I'd imagine. Why, are you in some sort of hurry to get him back here?"
The boy's leg bounced impatiently, palms rubbing against his jeans. "Well, yeah... Jess was s'posed to take me fishin' tomorrow, and now we've gotta wait 'til next week."
'Maybe if Jess hadn't gone and gotten stone drunk, you'd be having that fishing trip'. Pushing the cynical thought from his mind, Slim stuck by his decision to keep Andy in the dark concerning Jess's episode in Laramie the night before. Jess meant the world to Andy, and Slim couldn't bring himself to taint his reputation in his little brother's eyes.
A year ago, he'd have had Jess pack up and move on after a wild night like that. He'd been wary of the drifting gunman who'd found a place in their lives, especially after seeing how Andy practically worshipped the ground Jess walked on. Just over a year later, Slim was no longer coldly skeptical of his quick-draw ranch hand. He'd trust Jess with his life any day; there was no one else he'd rather Andy admire and model himself after. Jess Harper had proved himself honorable and loyal.
So Slim refrained from sharing any information with Andy, at the risk of pulling Jess down off his coveted pedestal. He told the truth - that Jess was gone to Green River for a cattle auction - without any explanation as to why the job was passed to the younger man when Slim had been planning to go himself.
"He'll be back before you know it." Slim tousled his brother's dark hair affectionately, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "It's coming up on nine o'clock, boy. Past your bed time."
Andy's brows drew together, and for a moment Slim thought he was going to argue... but dutiful submission smoothed the scowling lines in his forehead, and his shoulders rose and fell with a tired sigh. "G'night, Slim. Night, Jonesy." Andy lifted a heavy hand to the elder man, which was distractedly returned.
"Good night, boy," Jonesy answered, his eyes never leaving his book.
"G'night, Tiger." Slim inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly as he watched his brother drag his feet the whole way to his room. The corners of his mouth slightly upturned, and he looked to Jonesy. "S'pose we oughta be turning in, too."
"I reckon." His tone carried a note of agreement, but Jonesy made no effort to put his book down.
Faint amusement lightened Slim's expression as shook his head, standing to stretch his tired, stiffened limbs. "Good night, Jone-" he broke off suddenly, cocking an ear toward the door. "You hear a rider coming?"
Only then did the book close and come to rest on the table. Jonesy rose from his rocker and pulled the window shade aside, squinting into the night. "Can't tell who it is, but they're ridin' hard."
Anyone riding out in this kind of cold had to have something tremendously important to say. Slim's fingers worked against each other anxiously, rubbing warm. A few long strides had him on the porch; frosty air immediately bit at his fingertips, and he neatly tucked his hands under folded arms.
"Mort? That you?"
"Yeah, Slim!" Polished tin on the sheriff's chest caught yellow lantern light again, confirming the rider's identity a half-second before the shouted reply came. Mort Corey's dark mare pulled up restlessly in front of the house, and her rider dismounted, reaching into his jacket. He withdrew a crisply folded piece of paper. "Billy Lawrence over at the telegraph office brought this down to the jail. It's for you."
Something in Mort's tone set alarm bells to ringing. An ominous feeling akin to dread tugged at Slim's insides, settling rock-hard in his stomach. "You sound like you've read it."
"Billy was awful worried by it, and asked me if I thought it oughta be delivered tonight, instead of tomorrow morning." Mort twisted the paper slip between his fingers. "I figured you'd want to see this right away. It came in about an hour ago."
Slim calmly accepted the proffered telegram, restraining himself from snatching it from Mort's hand. His baby-blue eyes ran over the staccato message, clouding with worried confusion.
"In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother... Jess." Slim's jaw clenched, accompanied by a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "He's in some kind of trouble sheriff, but I can't make any sense of that last part."
"As long as I've known him, I've never heard Jess talk about his family. Did he ever tell you anything about a brother?"
Running a hand through his hair, Slim frowned and looked back down at the slightly wrinkled telegram. "He doesn't like to talk about it, but his folks and most of his brothers and sisters were killed in one of Frank Bannister's raids. The house burned down around them, and only three got out – Jess, and an older brother and sister."
"So his brother's in trouble, and Jess got himself involved," Mort concluded, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt. "Simple enough."
"No."
Confusion clouded the sheriff's shadowed face, his eyes fractionally narrowing. "No? What's wrong with that?"
"Jess's brother and sister are both dead." Slim's hand tightened around a support post at the edge of the porch. "He has no living relatives."
"His telegram said he was in trouble... maybe he's run into some folks that don't know his brother's dead?"
Slim nodded, swallowing the tight fear in his throat. "Could be. Jess can usually handle himself – he must be neck deep in trouble to have wired me for help. Thanks for bringing this out, Mort – it wouldn't do me any good to ride out now, but I'll head to Creston before dawn tomorrow."
"No problem, Slim." Getting a firm foothold in his stirrup, Mort swung himself into the saddle and touched the brim of his hat. "I'll be seein' you. You want me to ride out to Creston with you?"
"I know the sheriff there," Slim assured him. "He'll help me in any way he can, I'm sure."
Mort nodded. "If that's the way you want it. Do me one favor?"
"Anything, Mort."
Lantern light bounced off the tin sheriff's badge, and Mort offered his friend a small smile. "Bring Jess home safe."
Jess Harper's return to the land of the living was blissfully slow. Awareness crawled over him like a slow burn. Starting with his pulsing jaw, an ache made itself known with sluggish deliberation.
Fighting the heaviness with innate determination, he willed his body to move – realizing his mistake a moment too late. The merest shift set his shoulder ablaze with pain, and through the fog, Jess remembered the sickening pop; the sparks that had sprayed across his vision. His shoulder burned anew, tearing a weak moan of half-sentience from his lips.
"Harper's comin' 'round."
The voice sounded far away, echoing as if spoken from the far end of a tunnel.
"Did you hurt him anywhere but the shoulder, Casey?"
"No, no, we followed your instructions real good. Tried awful hard not to hurt 'im at all, but he fought like a caged raccoon."
Jess felt as if his head was stuffed full of cotton. His mind struggled to register thoughts and sounds that drifted in and out of the fog of consciousness, but his grasp on reality was lost.
The back of a hand stung like fire across the whole right side of his face, coming out of nowhere. Warm copper spread across his tongue, and Jess forced his heavy eyes open. Dark lashes rose and fell as he struggled to bring the room into focus; foggy silhouettes tilted dangerously.
"He's goin' back under. Should I hit 'im again?"
Those five magic words gave Jess the ounce of incentive he needed to suppress the burn in his shoulder and open bleary blue eyes. Blinking once, twice, he managed to clear the black fringing his vision, focusing on the leering face before him.
"Jess Harper." Amusement lightened the hollow, black stare that met Jess's pain-glazed glower. "I'm Charles Ansem. It's nice to finally meet you." A calloused, work-hardened hand was extended in a gesture of mock congeniality. Ansem's lips pulled into a gloating grin, his gaze dropping to take in the secure bindings holding his prisoner to a straight-backed chair. The hand withdrew, disappearing into a pocket. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."
Swallowing once to ensure his voice wouldn't fail him, Jess returned Ansem's smirk. "I 'spect your men already told you," he rasped, "I only just found out Jack was alive. I don't know where he is."
"I didn't expect you to." Ansem didn't miss the lined surprise that creased Jess's forehead. His grin widened. "Jack's going to come to us."
