The kid had set a blistering pace. After eighteen hours in the saddle on that first day, Rawlston felt every one of his thirty-nine years. His only consolation was that he was better provisioned and in better shape than the younger man setting the pace up ahead. He had expected the turn of events, even provoked the outcome. Hadn't expected Barkley to hit the road as soon as he had, but the letter he had left with the jar of venom had provoked the intended outcome.
But even Barkley's unexpected departure would work in the schemer's favor. He had to be just about done in after two days of hard riding. And bareback, Rawlston chucked to himself. He'd have sore muscles where he didn't even know he had muscles. When the kid finally stopped he would probably stay put for a while.
Rawlston had taken most of the night shifts guarding around the ranch house the previous week. His keen eyes had seen what they had expected to see. The youngest Barkley boy had been making plans of his own. Rawlston had been tipped off when he heard rustling near Heath Barkley's window. Checking later that night, Rawlston found where the kid was stashing provisions for a clandestine escape.
In town on Saturday night, Rawlston paid off a kid to bring what looked like a faked telegraph message that his mother in Clarksburg had taken ill and needed him. It was priceless, just priceless that Nick Barkley had been sitting at the table playing poker with them. The magnanimous rancher had told him to "take all the time you need, Lance."
"Right kindly of you Mr. Barkley. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Take you time and take care of you mother. And make that Nick. This Mr. Barkley stuff makes me feel as old as the hills."
Rawlston tipped his hat in mock appreciation and once out of earshot laughed to himself all the way back to the ranch. He was not disappointed. Heath Barkley left that very night. Now if he settled for a spell, Lance thought he'd have enough time to head back to the Barkley ranch, pass out the appropriate invitations to the party that he was holding and then come back and pick up the guest of honor. Rawlston believed that all this could be accomplished without tipping his hand and so far - he'd been right.
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
Facing a cranky old lady with a sawed off Greener was not exactly how Heath had hoped he would end the day's ride. Keeping a grip on the saddle horn with one hand in clear view, he tried to telegraph his intent to keep his hands as far away from his sidearm as he could manage. Heath knocked his cream colored Stetson back on his head exposing a lick of golden hair. He hoped that his relaxed bearing would convey the innocent-cowboy-up-to-no-harm impression that worked well for him with the ladies in the past. From the grim set of her mouth and the unwavering shotgun barrel still pointed in his direction, Heath was fairly sure that the this woman, at least, was immune to the famous Barkley charm.
"What's your business here, boy?"
"Howdy ma'am. Been riding quite a way and I was hopin' that I could put up my horse and maybe sleep in the barn for the night." Gesturing to the rickety fence, Heath added. "I could use a job. I'm good at mending fences. Looks like your roof could use some work too."
"Never you mind what needs fixin' 'round here." Motioning at his horse with the barrel of the shotgun, she added, "You steal that horse?"
Realizing for the first time how it looked for a cowboy to be bareback, Heath was unsure what to say next when Charger came to the rescue. Swinging his head to take a playful nip at his rider's knee, Charger nickered softy and accepted a rub along his neck from a grateful Heath.
"Naw, Ma'am. Charger and I are old friends. I had a parting of the ways with my old saddle and need to work for the money to buy a new one." No sense in providing too much detail, thought Heath. Let the old girl draw her own conclusions. Which is exactly what she did.
"Playing demon poker, I imagine."
Sounded likely. Heath tried to look ashamed to set the story.
"I've got no work for you to do, so it's best you move along."
"I'd work for room and board ma'am. Charger and me don't need much. I could bunk in the barn with him."
"I said git!" The shotgun moved from where it was planted on her hip to her shoulder and it looked like she meant business as the old woman sighted down the barrel.
Heath was surprised that she wouldn't even let him bunk in the barn for the night before heading out again in the morning. Western hospitality was fairly ingrained in the folks west of the Mississippi. You never knew when you'd be the one in need. Tired, sore and frustrated, Heath looked around at the ramshackle ranch. What the hell was of such value that she's pass up on his offer.
Heath did not have long to wait for his answer. He heard them before he saw them. For the first time, the old woman's shoulders slumped in defeat as the song carried from somewhere behind the house.
Lavender's green, dilly, dilly
Lavender's blue,
You must love me, dilly, dilly
'Cause I love you.
Down in the vale, dilly, dilly
Where flowers grow,
And the birds sing, dilly, dilly
All in a row.
A brisk young man, dilly, dilly
Met with a maid,
And laid her down, dilly, dilly
Under the shade.
I've heard them say, dilly, dilly
Since I came hither
That you and I, dilly, dilly
Might lie together.
Therefore be kind, dilly, dilly
While here we lie,
And you will love, dilly, dilly
My dog and I.
A child's voice interrupted the
song. "Would she really have to love
his dog too, Mama?"
A gentle chuckle followed the question.
"Maybe - but only if it was a very fine dog. A girl should have her standards."
Heath couldn't help a smile of his own upon hearing this interesting insight into the female psyche. A child's giggle joined with a younger woman's gentle laughter and the two rounded the corner from the back of the house. A child of about four was being carried piggyback style. The young woman wore a plain gingham blue dress. The little girl wore a simple blouse of the same material and pants. Heath could remember wearing many a shirt made of the same material as that of his Mother's and Aunt Rachel's. In a poor household, no scrap was ever wasted.
Turning back from his thoughts to the young mother and child, Heath's breath caught in his throat. No wonder the old lady was wanting to chase him off as quickly as possible. The treasure she'd tried so hard to protect stared back at him in the guise of two pairs of stunning golden amber eyes. The child's face was still open and guileless. The young woman, however, looked wary, letting the child slip down from her back. Sensing her mother's unease, the little one clung warily to her mother's skirts but eyed him with unabashed curiosity. Heath looked over to the woman standing on the porch, still feeling the younger woman's gaze on him.
With an understanding smile, Heath sought to ease the situation and make a graceful exit – or at least one that was not punctuated by double aught buckshot.
"Well ma'am, I think I can understand your concern about strangers hanging 'round your homestead now. I'll be heading out right away. I'd just ask if I could draw some water from your well to give to my horse and fill my canteen. If you'll allow it, I'd be much obliged."
Obviously relieved, the older woman dropped the shotgun from her shoulder and used it to motion toward the well.
"Help y'orself, but be quick about it, boy. We're wasting daylight."
Heath swung his right leg over Charger's neck and slipped off, both feet hitting the ground together. Heath grabbed a handful of Charger's mane as he steadied his tired legs and started to walk over to the well.
Agnes kept the old Greener aimed at the boy. He'd sounded sober – but he sure was walking like a drunk that was trying too hard to look sober. She stomped down on her natural inclination toward concern. Her care should be focused on the two that were left in her care and not some saddle tramp. Or, in this case, saddleless tramp.
The cowboy was pulling up the well bucket when nerveless fingers let go of the crank, letting the bucket fall back with a splash. One hand reached unsuccessfully to steady himself on the side of the well. The next thing Agnes knew, the blond had slid down to side of the well, his rear end hitting the dirt in an unceremonious puff of dust. The canteen rolled out of his hand and his head rested back with eyes closed as he leaned back against the well for support.
Expecting to be shot at any moment, instead Heath heard, "Look mama. The man fall'd."
That's just great, Heath thought. Trying to control the dizziness and rebellious stomach, he couldn't bring himself to care what happened next. He was so embarrassed. Heath thought for a moment that he'd rather have pitched head first into the well, rather than let that those two women see him as weak-kneed as a newborn colt. The silence was broken by running feet – the hollow sounds of footfalls on the porch boards and the closer light pounding of feet on dirt.
Taking slow measured breaths, Heath heard the bucket cranked back up to the top of the well once again. He heard water poured in a container. Soon he felt a little finger poke him in the chest.
"Mama. I think he's dead." Two more pokes followed in quick succession. "Yep, mama. He's dead." Heath marveled at the little one's matter of fact delivery until her finger hit a still sensitive spot on his ribs. Heath couldn't help a soft involuntary grunt to escape. He felt his face flush with embarrassment. Cracking one eye open, he was greeted by two sets of eyes just a bit closer than he was ready to focus on just yet.
"Not dead, lil' bit. Just awful embarrassed to have…" Heath's voice trailed off and he simply motion to the ground around him.
"Are you alright mister?"
Heath's other eye opened and for a moment he felt a little lightheaded again. But it had nothing to do with long rides, sore muscles or lack of sleep.
The young woman in front of him looked as pretty as the first wildflower of spring. Fey and fragile looking, with her hair - a slightly wild' dark cloud around her face - she appeared to me more of a wood sprite than the wife and mother she obviously was.
And then he realized he hadn't heard a word she said.
"What?"
"Mister… are you alright? I said I have some water here for you."
"Yeah… Uhhh…Thanks, Miss. My name is Heath, Heath Barkley"
Taking a long swallow of the cool water gave him a chance to clear his head.
"I'm fine ma'am. Had a little accident last week and maybe bit off more than I could chew."
Still holding the shotgun, but with it now pointing at the ground, the older woman didn't seem as all fired up to drive him away. No, now it looked to Heath like she was inspecting him as one would some exotic bug. Looked to Heath like the jury was still out about whether she wanted to squash him or not.
Agnes was annoyed to find that she had actually been concerned when she saw the boy hit the dirt. Dang blast it, if he didn't seem to have an honest face. Those blue eyes of his seemed so guileless. Seeing him up close, she could believe that he'd been ill recently. Several inches of belt were pulled through the loop and knotted to hang down from the cowboy's slim waist - obviously a stopgap measure in the absence of a hole that would hold the belt tight enough to keep his britches up. Agnes felt herself softening up to the boy - against her better judgment.
Speaking up, she said not unkindly, "Looks to me like you haven't bit off much to chew lately."
"Yes ma'am. But I'll have plenty once I get to Markleeville…"
The young woman looked alarmed, replying, "But that's fifteen miles away and it's getting late." Turning to the older woman she entreated. "Agnes, Mr. Barkley could stay the night in the barn, couldn't he?"
Obviously, her daughter-in-law had been won over by her own inclination to take in strays and the gentleness she saw in those blue eyes. Gruffly, so as to hide her own weakening resolve, Agnes replied "Take him to the barn so's he can get his horse settled. I'll warm up the leavings from dinner. Come back to the house and you can take it out to him, Lily." Pinning the blond with a mock glare, Agnes added, "But come morning, Mr. Barkley, you are hitting the road."
Looking up, Heath replied, "Yes Ma'am, and thank you ma'am." Getting up awkwardly, since his left shoulder was sore and stiff, Heath straightened and took hold of Charger's reins and followed the young woman to the barn.
Hollering after the retreating pair, she added, "And stop with all the ma'am this and ma'm that. Name's Agnes Stuart."
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
Lily led the way to the barn a couple paces ahead of the blond cowboy. Rose had been insistent about going along with her mother. She could tell by the unnatural quiet from her daughter, that Rose was as intrigued with the stranger as she was herself. Lily's daughter tugged at her mama's skirt.
In a whisper that was just shy a shout, Rose asked, "He's kind a pretty mama, don't you think?"
Heath almost laughed but he couldn't help wanting to hear Lily's response.
"Men are handsome. Ladies are pretty," was the uncomfortably whispered response.
Rather noncommittal, Heath thought.
"Well I think his eyes are pretty, not that 'some thing you said, mama."
Well he'd defiantly won over at least one of the Stuart ladies.
Entering the barn, Lily turned to Heath.
"You'll find our tack room on the other sided of the barn. We used to have a hand that stayed there. There's a cot and washbasin."
"It's a bunch better than I could have expected on the trail, Mrs. Stuart. Are you sure this will be okay with your husband?"
Seeming to ignore Heath's last question, Lily replied, "I'll be back with leftovers and clean blankets. Make yourself to home."
Reaching down to take Rose's tiny hand, she turned to shepherd her daughter out of the barn.
That was that, or at least that was what Heath thought until Lily paused in the doorway. Without turning around she did finally answer his question.
"My husband died almost four years ago. If your staying here is okay with Agnes, than that is good enough for me."
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
Lily was distractedly stirring the kettle of stew on the cast iron stove. Agnes watched her with the same concern that she would hold for one of her own. Paul had found a wife that became the daughter of her heart. When her son had died suddenly, it was Lily and her granddaughter that came close to filling the space that his death had carved out of her heart.
Lily had been so young when Paul had married her and brought her out west from their home in Illinois. Going out to California with her son and daughter-in-aw, Agnes had been worried about being a third wheel. Instead, Lily had clung to her as the mother she had not known. Though Lily rarely talked about her family, Agnes knew that she had lost her mother at a very early age.
Men had passed through the ranch on the way to somewhere else. Lily had never given any one a second glance – though more than a few had been attracted to her. One man's violent intentions a couple of years ago had given birth to Agnes's fierce protectiveness she had displayed to the boy in the yard tonight.
Now Lily's sympathetic reaction and distraction after meeting that cowboy gave Agnes pause. For the first time, she realized what their solitary existence might mean for a young'un like Lily. She' been a widow now longer than she had been a wife. She was too young to sentence herself to a solitary life. Agnes's concern had melted some at the boy's polite ways and lopsided smile. Watching Lily absent-mindedly stirring the stew made her think that those gentle blue eyes might have driven a small chink into the armor Lily had erected about her heart.
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
Lily spooned some of the reheated stew onto a tin plate and cut a generous hunk of bread. She placed the plate on a pile of blankets and a pillow and carried them out of the house. Rose had gotten up to go with her, but one look from her mama had sent her back to her grandma with a pout.
Confused at her reaction to the cowboy, Lily had decided that her state of mind was somehow his fault. Frankly, she would be glad when he left so everything would go back to normal again. She was deep in her own thoughts when she entered the tack room. Lily stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his state of undress. Though his right arm was still covered by his blue shirt, his left arm and shoulder were exposed. Water in the basin attested to the fact that he had been washing up. But right now his right hand was trying to reach his back with little success. Her eyes were drawn by this action and were shocked at what she saw.
There was no question that, though he looked like he had lost some weight, he was one very well put together man. At this thought, Lily blushed fiercely. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist. Muscles rippled as he moved - their sun-kissed tone and definition attesting to the fact that this man was no stranger to hard outdoor work. She took this all in and one more item that drew an involuntary gasp. The barely healed scar on his right shoulder could have been made by nothing other than a bullet. Black stitches stood out in marked contrast to the wound they mended.
Alerted to her presence when he heard her gasp, the cowboy swung around quickly, trying to awkwardly pull the shirt over his shoulder.
Taken off guard, Lily stammered almost in accusation, "You've been shot."
Heath searched her face, the possible conclusions that she could draw making him cautious of his answer. He decided not to volunteer too much – give himself time to think.
"'bout ten days ago."
"By the law?"
"No reason for you to believe me, but no."
He was right. She had no reason to believe him – but in a way she didn't quite yet fathom – she did. The stitches were all quite regularly spaced and neatly tied. She doubted that a criminal would find such good care if he was on the run. But he obviously was running from something, and just as obvious, he wasn't about to volunteer the information.
As he had turned, Lily noticed that the wound on his back was mirrored by a smaller one in front. He'd been taking the stitches out himself when she arrived, and not very carefully. Twin rows of pinholes looked an angry red. Nearby them were several nicks, which were explained by the pocketknife in his hand.
"That's no way to take out stitches."
"Sometimes you have to make due with what you have."
"Sometimes you might try asking for a little help."
"Been to that well a couple times today. Didn't want to overstep my welcome."
Lily realized that she was unreasonably annoyed with the cowboy, but she was not yet ready to analyze the reasons why this would be so. Instead, she thrust the plate of stew and blankets into his hands.
"Eat this. I'll be back with a pair of scissors so I can take out the rest of your stitches."
"You don't have to go to the trouble."
"Right, so than I get to worry about you getting an infection while your out on the trail."
Heath's teasing words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to take them back.
"Really? You'd worry about me?"
The smile was wiped off Heath's face with Lily's smug reply.
"Why, no, Mr. Barkley. I'd be worried that word would get out that Agnes and I associate ourselves with someone that lacked the good sense to ride a horse using a saddle and take stitches out of himself without creating the need for more."
It was Lily's turn to flash a smile of victory as she walked out of the barn.
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
When Lily returned to the cabin, she was muttering to herself. Agnes was surprised at Lily's obvious annoyance. Maybe she had misjudged her daughter-in-law's attraction to the newcomer. Then again, she reminder herself that no one could get her goat faster or more thoroughly than her dear departed husband. She smiled as much at her fond remembrances of Simon as she did at Lily's poorly hidden annoyance.
"Problem Lily?"
"He doesn't have the sense to come in out of the rain. Likely dropped on his head as a baby."
"Oh, I don't know, Lily. He seemed well spoken to me."
Searching through her sewing basket, Lily found her scissors. "He was trying to take out some stitches with a pocket knife."
"Not very efficient, but I can't see why that would bother one over much."
"Not stitches in material. Stitches in his smug, arrogant, overbearing hide."
"So when he got dizzy today, he wasn't just saddle weary?"
"No. He'd been shot."
Agnes's amusement turned to alarm. "What?"
"He said it was about ten days ago and that it wasn't the law."
"You believe that?"
"I'm beginning to believe that he is too pigheaded to lie."
"Oh, honey, men are like that. Paul and my Simon were just the same. They'd cough up a lung before admitting that they needed to see a doctor. But when they get the sniffles, they're hanging onto your skirts like you were the only thing between them and the pearly gates."
"Well then, Mr. Barkley is a perfect example of his gender."
"Lily, if they all looked like him, there'd be fewer spinsters and lot more nurses."
Lily stomped back to the barn, with Agnes's knowing laughter in her ears and the scissors clutched like a dagger in her hand.
Heath Barkley better watch his step or he'd be needing a nurse.
TBC…