Chapter Three
Callie Parker held her gun on the old woman, while Welles and the one called Jess lifted Hawk onto the feather mattress in the wagon bed. By then blood was running freely from the wound in Jess's forearm, dripping off his elbow and staining his shirtfront and his rolled up sleeve.
"Please," the old woman said. "Let me at least bandage him up."
"Go on," Hawk said, breathless after being moved.
"Don't do me any favors, Scott," Jess spat.
"Go on, Callie. Let her go. Jess here's got a night's work ahead of him. No use him bleeding out."
Callie stepped back a little, and the woman ran to Jess, her eyes full of tender concern. Soft-minded old biddy. Still Callie couldn't quite blame her for fawning over the man. He was definitely something to look at. Not a scrawny beanpole like Stan Welles. Not a thick-headed slab of beef like Hawker Scott. Jess had the sleek grace of a mountain cat and eyes like a mountain spring. At least those impossibly blue eyes would have been like clear mountain water if they hadn't been smoldering with cold fury. She had to force herself not to smile. Hawker wouldn't at all like what she was thinking.
She watched the old woman tear off another strip of her petticoat and then, once she had cleaned Jess's arm with what was left of the hot water, bandage the wound.
"Thanks, Daisy," he said low, squeezing her arm.
Daisy put her hand to his cheek, saying nothing and everything.
"All right," Callie said, waving the woman toward the wagon. "Come on. Hawk needs you more than he does."
"And we've got work for you, boy," Welles said as Daisy went back to Hawk. "You get them horses over here."
"We don't have any saddles," Jess said.
"That's all right. Callie and me can ride bareback. And you'd do just as well walkin' anyhow."
"You can all walk," Hawk said while Daisy fussed with his bandages. "I ain't havin' any of those horses bust a leg steppin' in some hole in the dark. If we're gonna get out of here in one piece, we're gonna need 'em."
"But, boss—"
"It's only eight mile back where we caught up to the deputy. You'll make that with time to spare before there's light enough to track by. Now, you take Jess here and get along."
Callie sneered as Daisy hurried over to Jess again, clinging to both of his hands, looking at him as if she'd never see him again. Well, it might end up that way, true enough, and that might be kind of a pity, but things had to be the way they were sometimes. And if Hawk finally ended up with this money, things would be a sight easier than they had been. And maybe she'd finally be able to have some ladies' things to wear, instead of an old coat two sizes too big, a ratty old flannel shirt that Welles was too tall for, and jeans and boots stripped off a dead boy. Then that cold-eyed Jess wouldn't look at her like she was dirt, not when she was cleaned up and dressed like a lady
"Come on," Welles said, looking more than a little disgusted, and he and Jess and Callie began walking toward the road.
"And don't you forget, boy," Hawk called out after them. "You give them a hard time or all three of you don't come back 'long with the money, this lady here won't last long."
Jess looked back over his shoulder at him, eyes like ice. "I ain't forgettin' anything, Scott. Not anything."
Hawk laughed low in his throat and then motioned to Callie. "Come here, girl."
She went to him.
He squeezed her hand. "Don't you forget who that money belongs to."
"I won't."
"Or who you belong to."
His grip on her hand tightened until she wanted to cry out, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Finally, he laughed again.
"I know you won't forget, girl. You know you ain't got anything better comin' anytime soon."
He lay back and closed his eyes, and Callie followed Welles and Jess into the darkness.
"We ought to tie him up," Welles said once they reached the road. "We don't need him running off on us first time he gets a chance."
Callie looked Jess over, and he stared her down the whole while.
"He won't," she said. "His 'ma' is back there."
Jess kept his mouth shut tight.
Welles gave her a hard look, wary and uncertain, but she only glared at him and moved on.
They walked a long while, and then Welles slowed to a stop, squinting in the faint starlight.
"This is the place."
Callie looked around. "It looks like every other place we been. How do you know?"
"'cause that's the ditch we left the deputy in."
Jess walked over to the side of the road and then knelt to look down into the dark rut. He bowed his head for a moment, and then he looked up at Welles, eyes blazing. "You could at least'a buried him."
"Maybe we'll let you dig him a grave," Welles said with a smirk, "and make it deep enough for two."
Jess clenched his jaw. "What now? It's too dark to track yet."
"I'm gonna get some sleep," Welles said. "What do you think, Callie Beth?"
"Yeah," she said. "All right. You want to take first watch or me?"
"No reason we can't both get rested up. Big man here will do just as well tied to a tree for the night." Welles nodded toward a fair-sized oak about ten feet off the road. "That one'll do, boy. Go on and sit down."
"I'm not gonna try anything," Jess said. "Not as long as Scott has Daisy."
Welles grinned. "I don't care."
Jess sat with his back to the tree. Welles pulled some leather thongs from his coat pocket, wrenched Jess's arms backward around the tree trunk and swiftly tied them. Then he pulled some jerky from his other pocket and handed Callie a piece.
"You might as well eat now. We won't have much more till we get back with the money. And they don't have much anything to eat back at the camp but another can of beans."
Callie wanted to throw his offering back into his face, but she knew better. She ate what she could when she could. There was no knowing what she might get any other time.
"What about him?" she asked with a nod toward their prisoner.
"He and the old lady had their supper. Rabbit, as I recollect." He shoved Jess's bandaged arm with the toe of his boot. "That's how you cut yourself, isn't it, boy."
Jess clenched his teeth and said nothing.
With a snort, Welles moved a few feet away and stretched out on the ground, using his coat to pillow his head.
"You're welcome to come over my way, Callie Beth," he said with the lift of his eyebrows. "It'll be a lot cozier that way."
"You'll be cozy with my knife between your ribs," she said sweetly.
"Go on then." He smiled and lowered his voice, a sly look in his eyes. "You might wish you'd been more agreeable if we get back to Scott and I tell him about how you were looking at pretty boy there."
"You're out of your mind." She put both hands on her hips, making her own voice soft. "We both know he'll be dead before it gets to be night again, no matter what Hawk told him. Besides, I'm Hawk's woman. He takes care of me, and I don't need anybody else."
Smirking, Welles closed his eyes and pulled his hat down over his face. Soon he was snoring.
Callie sat herself on a fallen tree, her blood boiling in her veins. How much she hated the sniveling little weasel. If she thought Hawk wouldn't mind, she'd have slit his throat long before now. But, as it was, she had to put up with him. She had to put up with living hand to mouth and never having anything to call her own and running. Always running. If she could only—
She felt those icy blue eyes on her and she lifted her eyes to meet them. The man despised her. She knew the look all too well.
She smiled coldly and went over to him, running one hand through her long blonde hair and letting it fall like silk. "Like what you see?"
He looked away, and then looked back again through his thick black lashes. Her mouth turned up a little at the corners. She knew that look, too. Plenty of men thought she was trash and still looked at her that way.
"Or maybe you're just tired of spending your time with little old ladies."
He pressed his lips into a thin line, and she thought he would again not answer, but instead he looked her up and down, his eyes coming to rest on the thick rope of hair in her hand.
"Where'd you get hair like that with them dark eyes?"
She laughed softly. "Where'd you get eyes like that with that dark hair?"
His eyes flashed and he looked away.
"You think you can really track that money?" she asked after awhile, more to hear his low, husky drawl than to find out his opinion.
"Yeah," he said, and for once there wasn't scorn in his eyes or his voice. "I do. Too bad you're gonna give it to Scott."
"We're the ones who got it in the first place," she said with a belligerent lift of her chin. "Who else ought to have it."
He shrugged. "All I want is shed of the three of you."
His eyes met hers again and then as swiftly moved away.
"Why?" she asked him.
"I just want to get back to the ranch."
"Why?"
He looked up again, this time annoyed. "Why? It's where I work."
"Doing what?"
"I'm the town mayor," he snapped. "What do you think? I'm a ranch hand, that's what."
He didn't seem too happy about that.
"Do you like it?"
There was a tinge of bitterness in his laugh. "What's not to like? It's the nicest, dullest, cleanest spread this side of the Mississippi. Nothin' but cows and chickens and chores and workin' from sunup to sundown while my boss rakes in all the money. Yeah, I like it fine." He scowled and looked away again. "I wouldn't be here now if I hadn't been ordered to nursemaid the old lady to Cheyenne and back."
She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said she's like a ma to you."
"She's housekeeper for my boss. She likes it when I treat her nice." He curled his lip. "Those lemon drops Welles there stole from her purse, she bought 'em for me special. Like I'm her own son. Like somehow I can take the place of the one she lost in the war."
That was pretty cold, Callie had to admit, but it wasn't nothing she didn't understand. Nothing she hadn't done herself.
"The more I make up to the both of them, her and my boss, the easier I have it." He looked her over coolly. "You know how it is."
Maybe she ought to have slapped him for that, but he was right. She did know.
"I guess with Scott your chores are some different," Jess said, his voice softer now and more bitter, "but it all boils down to the same thing. The man who owns the fiddle calls the tune and the rest of us dance whenever he says."
She sat on the ground facing him, watching his expression. He only looked out toward the road, and they were both silent for a long time.
"You have a last name, Jess?" she asked finally.
"Harper," he said, his voice very low now. "What's yours?"
"Parker."
His left eyebrow curved up. "Parker? Not Scott?"
She didn't know why, but her face turned flaming hot. "Not Scott."
He nodded a little, and she thought there was a touch of sympathy there.
"We don't need a preacher to make us what we are to each other!" she cried, and then she looked fearfully over at Welles, but he was snorting like an old sow.
"Sure," Jess said. "Makes it easier to kick you over when somethin' he likes better comes along."
She whipped her knife from its sheath and held it to his cheek. "You think you're all that, don't you. I can real quick make it where no woman will ever look at you again."
"And that won't make Scott treat you any better than he does."
She looked into his eyes. They weren't cold now. They weren't disdainful. They were just sorry. Sorry for her.
She glared at him, but she moved the blade away from his face. "Don't you pity me. I'm about to have more money than any two-bit cowpoke'll ever see in his whole life, so don't you dare pity me. Like you said, we both eat some dirt to get along." She laughed a little. "Won't Hawk think it's funny when he finds out you don't care if that old lady lives or dies."
"He's gonna kill us both no matter what," Jess said, "so what difference does it make?" He blew out his breath and looked up at the sky. "I'm tired of it all anyway. Grubbing for every cent, taking orders from some hidebound Sunday-school rancher who gives orders like he's the all-fired Almighty. If I ever had a stake, I'd shake off the dirt from that ranch so quick, he'd choke on the dust storm." He glared at her. "Now I gotta take you and Happy over there to the money and end up with a bullet for my pains."
She looked over at Welles again and then moved closer to Jess. "And what if you didn't have to turn loose of it? What if you could get it and keep it?"
"Don't be stupid." The scorn was back in his eyes. "Welles ain't gonna let that happen. Neither are you."
"No. I'm not." She put her knife back into its sheath. "But I was wondering."
He frowned. "Then I guess I'd be free. I could do what I wanted and never answer to anybody. I could—"
He looked away again.
"You could what?"
His eyes met hers, and his frown deepened. He was angry again.
"What could you do?" she pressed. "Why are you mad?"
"No reason," he muttered.
"Why?"
"I don't like being pushed is all." The blue depths of his eyes smoldered again as they met hers, and she could feel the tenseness in him. "I don't like being pushed to do anything." He swallowed hard, and his voice was suddenly husky. "Especially something I mighta liked otherwise."
Her stomach tightened and she felt the heat rise in her face again. There was something wildly inviting about the hard downcurve of his mouth.
"You're a liar," she breathed.
"Yeah," he said, cold again. "And I'm tired. If you and Welles expect me to find that money once it gets light, you'd best let me get a little sleep."
He closed his eyes, and she cursed at him. Then she moved away from him again and went back to sit on the fallen tree where she could watch him.
She didn't sleep.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Jess just might be playing with fire. What do you think?
I appreciate you all letting me know what you prefer regarding how stories are posted. I've decided to continue posting chapter by chapter, but I'll make sure and mark the story complete when it's done so any of you who would rather wait to read will know. I'll update as quickly as I can. Thanks for your patience.