Chapter Seven

Jess

The B Bar H ranch was a sight to behold. Brad Huddleston owned over fifty thousand acres of prime grazing land and almost half that many head of cattle and fancied himself a baron. The property had doubled in size since Jess worked there two years prior. A massive gate stood at the entrance to the long, fence-lined road leading into it. Two armed guards manned the gate and let them through. The main house, its stucco painted a blazing white, was built hacienda style, long, low, and sprawling, with at least a dozen rooms.

Jess scanned the place as they rode in and counted two gunmen atop the house that he could see and knew there were likely more.

"The place is more heavily guarded than the prison I just vacated, Utah. Why the private army?"Jess asked as they approached at an ambling pace.

"Boss is building him an empire, and empires need protecting, or so the man says."

"Fair enough," Jess replied almost absently, wholly occupied with the grandeur of the place and how heavily it was armored. Milo was right; it would take a platoon of horse soldiers to bring Huddleston down. He tried to keep his mouth from hanging open while gazing around at the impressive place. It was the biggest spread he had ever seen.

'Bunkhouse' was far too rustic a description for the mens' quarters that was big enough to house a hundred men or more. Barracks was a more apt description. The building sat situated several hundred yards down from the main house and catty corner to the long stable and corrals.

They pulled up at the bunkhouse, and Utah, filling him in on a few details, told him that he would have some time to get situated before chow.

"All this in two years?" Jess queried. The awe in his voice was genuine.

"Wait 'til you see how many cowhands, alone, make up this place, not even countin' the gunmen. The boss really does have himself an army, each one hand-picked and loyal," Utah said from the saddle as Jess dismounted beside him.

One foot still in the stirrup and distracted by the sheer magnitude of the surroundings, Jess was utterly unaware of the threat from above: the pistol butt angling down at the back of his head until it made contact. A spark of violent pain he felt all the way in the roots of his teeth and the world went black. He crumpled to the dirt like a buck downed from a bullet lodged between the eyes.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed when he eventually woke up but taking a morbid guess, it had not been very long, maybe a few hours. Although his head pounded in a way that made him nauseous, he was almost immediately fully awake and struck with a sense of panic. He could not see, but within seconds realized that the inkiness was due to a blindfold tied around his eyes, incredibly disconcerting but still a better alternative to being blinded by the blow to his head. His arms refused to obey commands, tied behind him as they were. Instinct kicked in, and he fought with the ropes, but the effort was useless; there was no give in the coarse, abrasive coils. His hands alternated between feeling tingly and numb while he lay on them and attempted to squirm loose.

It took effort, but he managed to roll to the side with a groan, and his stomach convulsed. He remained there, still and unmoving, trying to breathe through and swallow down the nausea that threatened to spill up and out with any further movement.

With his face cheek-side down against the floor, he inhaled little bits of dust and straw and tried to make sense of where he was. Utah had hit him as he dismounted. Why? Another wave of fear ran its course as he made the snap conclusion that this must mean they were intending to kill him. The whole effort to bring him here was just a dodge for Huddleston to put a bullet in him for bailing on the job and the expected loyalty all that time ago. The alternative to that theory was that the man suspected him of the truth. The boss was wickedly smart and had not grown this empire without being shrewd and careful. It only made sense that Huddleston knew exactly what he was doing here, and that was, of course, to infiltrate the operation and bring it down. Milo had warned him of how suspicious the man would be and how fully he vetted anyone brought into his employment. Thus, the entire reason behind bringing Sheriff Talbott in to make Jess appear, legitimately, a freshly released convict with no ties, no agenda, not a spy, just a broke drifter, skilled with a gun.

A stall, maybe? It smelled like horses, and that was definitely straw beneath him. Straining his ears, he listened and could faintly hear voices and other noises over the sound of his heart beating, but there was no way he was inside the main barn. It was too quiet and still where he was. The rolling in his stomach eased somewhat. The stabbing in his head receding into more of a dull throb. A rope lashed around his ankles immobilized him, tight enough that no amount of shifting or scraping the coils across the floor allowed for any give. A familiar panicked feeling took another gallop through his insides. The same reaction that always accompanied the knowledge that he was helpless and trapped. That unwelcome sensation had freshly had its frightful way with him for eight months straight. He was no stranger to it, and he hated it desperately, so he battled with the ropes for another winless round.

Exhausting his efforts, finally, he lay there for a long time, trying to bring scattered thoughts together and form plans for the different scenarios that might develop. Although, the cold, hard truth was that, ultimately, he was at the mercy of whatever it was these men intended to do with him.

After inching across the straw-strewn, dirt floor, he finally gave up on trying to reach a wall to prop himself up against or find maybe a nail to use and try to loosen the ropes. Instead, he rubbed his aching head against the floor to try and shift off the blindfold. All movements came to a heart thudding halt when he heard voices and the sound of several sets of footsteps preceding the grind of a sliding door opening.

"Aww, Jess, I hated to have'ta hit you like I did, though I'm glad to see I didn't hit ya too hard. Bossman gave the order to do it, see?"

Utah.

"I'll just bet you're achin' with guilt, Utah. I ought to have known I had a water moccasin in my hip pocket riding out here with you," Jess growled, trying to peer up blindly and feeling altogether helpless and angry, stretched out and trussed up on the floor as he was.

"Come on now; we're still pals, ain't we?"

"Oh, sure, if we was any better friends I could hardly stand it. I'm mighty tired of eatin' hay and dirt here, pal," and Jess said the word with a sneer, "I'd like to rub yer face in it one day soon."

"Get him to his feet, fellas. Careful, though, he'll stomp yer head off if you give him half'a chance," Utah said through a chuckle. "The boss says bring 'im up pronto."

With that, Jess was unceremoniously yanked upward. The movement was too fast, and dizziness would have cut him down at the knees if it were not for the tight grips of the men holding onto his arms. Someone cut the rope around his ankles, and his feet felt prickly and unresponsive as he was dragged forward.

"Step lively, old friend. The boss ain't a patient man."

"Is he aimin' to kill me, Utah?" Jess asked as the outside air hit his face, and he tripped over the unseen, uneven ground beneath his numb feet. Those bruising hands steadied him once more.

"I truly hope not, Jess, on account of old time's sake. I'd not like to see a bullet in your head. Though, I reckon whether you end up stretched out lengthwise depends on what Mr. Huddleston thinks yer really doin' here and how quick and sure you can come up with an explanation."

A stab of alarm worked its way through Jess at that.

He was dragged forward for what seemed like forever before finally being brought to a halt. There was a strong smell of roses and cigar smoke, and the ground beneath his feet had changed, although they were still outside. It was a terrible thing, not being able to see.

"No, not there. Over on that rug, gentlemen, if you please," the falsely cultured voice of Brad Huddleston commanded. "It does not seem to matter how much the women scrub this tile; they never can seem to get the bloodstains out of it," he added with a flippant tone.

Jess hardly had time for his pulse to kick up a notch at hearing those ominous words before he was hauled about six paces to the right and disconcertingly felt the ground beneath him change to what was unmistakably some type of rug. A sudden ire rose in him above the fear he felt. "Now that you got me standin' on my danged funeral shroud, Brad, you gonna tell me why you're aimin' to waste me?" He fully expected a fist in the gut or some other type of painful retaliation for the spat out remark but was surprised to hear Huddleston's laugh instead.

"Ah, Jess, as the day is long, I have missed you. You never were one to show the tiniest flicker of fear, nor did you ever know when it was time to tuck your tail and roll over. Your little stint in prison did nothing to tame that tongue of yours, I am happy to see."

"Yeah? Well, my eyes ain't changed color, neither, and if you'd take this dadburned blinder off, I could prove it to ya." That time the hit came, but at the back of his legs and his knees hit the ground hard. He was left untouched after that as he struggled to straighten while hearing the padded footsteps of the two who had dragged him take a step back. From where he kneeled, it was impossible not to crane his neck in a futile effort to tilt his head to try and see out from beneath the blindfold.

"Blue," Huddleston said and paused for a while. "Your eyes are blue, Jess. I remember them well. You know, from when I wiped your fevered forehead and cared for you for days on end, bringing you back from the very precipice of death? You would stare at me wide-eyed and scared senseless, screaming about fire, your family burning, about a whip on your back, and the war. Oh, I heard it all, Jess, while you stared unseeing at me, out of your mind with fever, and I never left your side. Loyalty, Jess, because I was loyal to you. That is a word… a concept that it seems is foreign to you."

"Wish you'd save some'a that breath fer breathin', boss," Jess spat out, interrupting, the final word spoken with heavy sarcasm.

The comment earned him a smack on the back of the head from someone behind, almost knocking him over.

Jess shook his head, and straightened, hearing the scuff of a match over a thumbnail followed by the smell of sulfur and cigar smoke before Huddleston continued, wholly undaunted by his taunt.

"Why did you leave, Jess? After all, I did for you. Saving your life, giving you a job, helping you, just a boy really, fine-hone and tune using a gun. Just look at the mess you made of yourself. Prison? You could have been at my side this whole time instead. Building this… this empire alongside me. You are nothing; you are no one without me; a convict, jobless, futureless trail drifter, now."

Huddleston's voice stayed level and calm throughout his rant. As Jess listened to the ego-driven man, his mind raced. It was time to try a different tactic, and he was going to have to eat crow, swallow his pride, and do a fair amount of acting to sway the tide in favor of him surviving this. It took reminding himself that this was not just about him, but about saving lives and putting a stop to this man and his evil doings.

"Look, Mr. Huddleston..." Jess said after a big swallow of his pride.

"Ah, there is the respect we were all missing. No one calls me Brad anymore, except maybe my closest friends. You used to be one, or so I thought."

Jess ducked his head, an effort to look apologetic. "I'm sorry. Truly. Look, I shouldn't've left the way I did. I was young, ya know? Dadgum, I was just a wet-nosed, nineteen-year-old kid and not thinkin' straight in the head yet. Felt like I had some livin' on my own to do. Can't ya see that? Make my own way with a gun. I realize now how dead wrong I was, 'cause look what it brought me. The last year of my youth in prison, and now the man I used to call a friend, and saved my life t'boot, is aimin' to put a bullet in me. I know I messed up, but I learn't my lesson. If you'll give me another chance, I'll prove to ya how loyal I can be."

"Well, that's a little more like it, Jess. You nearly have me convinced," Huddleston's voice sounded oily and smooth. "However, there's just one more little matter in need of clearing up, I'm afraid."

The distinct sound of a gun chamber being spun and the metallic whirring it made reached his ears. Jess raised his head to look up; what little good it did him with the inability to see.

"What if I called you a liar, Jess Harper?"

"I reckon you can call me whatever you want to, though sayin' it don't make it true," Jess said as he felt and heard the man come to a stop in front of him. His insides iced over when the business end of a pistol pressed against his forehead, a cold, metallic harbinger of finality. He gulped down the fear he felt. "I always thought that if it were meant for me to die execution-style, I'd ask to not be blindfolded. Can't ya at least grant me that before you end me? I'd like to have my eyes open at the end."

"Let's not get too hasty, Jess. I'm not going to kill you until I ask you a few more questions. And let's just say that the execution you seem a bit in a hurry for depends exactly on how you answer what I am about to ask you."

Heart pounding hard, Jess struggled to control the fear that made his breaths quicken and his body start to tremble. "I'll do my best, but I never was too good at book learning. Hope them questions ain't too hard. I ain't anxious to be a corpse," he quaked out, and the quip sounded a lot braver than he felt with the deadly metal pressed against his head.

"Sarcasm and bravery to the bitter end, aye, Jess?"

"If you say so, Mr. Huddleston. Ain't ya gonna ask me them questions? What's holdin' you? My knees are achin' kneeling like this." The cocking of the gun sounded to him like a nail driven into his coffin.

"Never one for patience. Well, I'm inclined to oblige you. I've no patience, either, especially not for anyone who might be working for the law in exchange for getting out of prison… oh, just about two years and two months early, or is it three years with time added to your sentence for those ill-advised escape attempts? See, Jess, I've been keeping tabs on you. Furthermore, I know there is a U.S. Marshall trying to bring me down, and he is not the only one; there are several of them working together and conspiring, maybe even the army. I do not put it above their tactics to bring in someone like you, someone they can bargain with, who knows me and can get close to me."

His folded legs felt weak at exactly how close Huddleston was to the truth. It was time to prepare for that bullet. The man had him pegged. "Wait! I swear, I don't know what you're talking about," Jess rushed out, sounding desperate. "Utah knows I was let out legal, no bargain made. Didn'tcha ask him? Utah! You still here? Tell the man, I ain't lyin'." He twisted his head around as though to look for the man in question.

"Well, Utah?" Huddleston queried smoothly as though he were asking for the man's opinion about a horse.

"Like I told ya, boss. I heard Sheriff Talbott read off his papers. I'm sure he's got 'em in his pocket still if you're looking to see for yourself. Jess was let out free and clear, just like he says. And I told you the sheriff dragged him to his jailhouse. No way are they in cahoots together, don't hardly seem likely that Jess is workin' for the law. Not the way I see it, anyway."

A wave of relief and gratitude washed through Jess at the man's words that might very well have just saved his life.

"Well, Jess. Now there's a loyal man—a true and loyal friend. Utah, here, could teach you a few things about loyalty. That is, if you survive the next, oh, about a minute and a half." He paused as though to let the words sink in.

Jess immediately began a mental count of the seconds he had left before the rug beneath his knees soaked up the gray matter from inside his skull. Heaven forbid his blood should stain the tile, he thought morbidly, feeling sick to his stomach.

"I am counting down from fifteen. I will give you exactly that long before I pull this trigger and end your short, miserable life. Unless, that is, you answer what I am about to ask you with a name. That's it. You fail to give me a name, and you die, understood?"

Jess didn't even respond. He just kneeled there frozen.

"Give me the name of the man either paying you to be here or just gave you a pass on the two years prison time you still owe in exchange for spying on me. The name, Jess. Or should I call you Judas?

"I'm sure as blazes sorry I won't be able to oblige you," Jess ground out, preparing for the end because he would never give up that name, even if it were someone he revered half as much as Milo Malone.

"Oh," the man laughed, "I think you will. A man will say just about anything if he's properly convinced his head is about to be blown off his neck. Your count starts now. Fifteen… fourteen… thirteen…"

Through short, adrenaline spiked breaths, Jess remembered The Lord's Prayer and recited in his head the small portion he could recall. God forgive me, he prayed and thought of his family, whose faces were blurred memories. His heart ached.

"Seven… six… five…"

That coldly mechanical voice ticked away the seconds of his life, and his mind sped forward to a place he had yet to visit but somehow felt so real. A place with green grass and a lake of blue water. A place that felt like home.

"One… times up, Jess. I hope you've made peace with your maker."

Jess took in a final deep breath.

Click.

The gun didn't fire.

A bluff! The empty sound was followed by a hand on either side of his head. "Good boy, Jess," the hand patted his cheek. Tremors of relief shook him, and he fought hard to stay in control. He had known it was the end of the road, and the sudden reprieve was overwhelming.

"Go to blazes, Huddleston," Jess croaked out in a knee-jerk response, breathing hard.

"That's the spirit. Now, you are either the most stoic, bravest fool to grace this fair land, or you are telling the truth and have no other agenda for being here other than exactly what you have been telling me. Either way, I can use a brave man who's fast with a gun. You're hired, Jess. Congratulations."