Chapter Two

"Oh, my head." Jess' groan finished with a rumble in his belly, hard enough that his vocalized grimace could have been used as an extension.

"Well, you should've stopped at the second drink instead of downing ten. It was ten wasn't it?"

Jess lifted one eye. "I stopped counting."

"Figures," Jonesy said, wringing out a cloth before draping it over Jess' forehead. "And you should've also stopped before you were walloped by those oversized galoots in the saloon."

The eye tried to rise again, but with being covered with the compress, Jess' hand fished for the cloth's edge to peel it far enough away from his lashes to meet Jonesy's expression. Maybe he should have kept it down, since Jonesy's returned glare was closer to amusement than sternness. "Thanks."

"Oh, my stomach."

"Well, you should've stopped sampling all of Mrs. McGruder's fudge."

"I couldn't help it. Mrs. McGruder's makes wonderful fudge." The small hand pressed against his belly button, the gurgle underneath heard around the entire room. "But I think what did it was Mrs. Wesson's chicken gizzards and livers."

"I wondered why that platter of hers was always on the empty side. How many of those did you swallow?"

Andy's fingers raised upward, first tucking the thumb in and then popping it back out. "Not sure. Wasn't counting."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Jonesy said, giving Jess' flushed cheeks a side-eye before returning his gaze back to Andy. "Sit up a moment, boy, so you can take some ginger tea. It'll help soothe the inner pound."

His mouth kept the contortion as the taste lingered, but then as Jonesy guided the thin shoulders back to the mattress, the expression changed to being closer to calm. Lifting the blankets up to Andy's neck, Jonesy brushed a few of the hairs away from his forehead, grateful that there was no fever to go with the rest of his complaints.

"Go back to sleep, Andy."

"Oh, my back."

"Well, you should've stopped tossing those Brown brothers every which way. You know Scottie must weigh greater than two-fifty and Bailey isn't much less."

"Like I could just stand still in a barroom brawl," Slim said, both hands pressed into the small of his back, swearing, not in the profane kind of words, but in an actual swear that he could feel the indentation of the bar chair that had struck him.

Jonesy's lips quirked upward. "Didn't bother me to just watch."

"Me either." Andy piped in.

Jonesy's tongue snapped against the roof of his mouth. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"And you both were supposed to stay clear from the batwings," Slim said, trying to stand, but pain's forceful grip pulled him right back down to the bed linens.

"Lay back down Slim before you blow another hole through your head. Of course having a vent for all that built up steam won't hurt."

"I'm not steamed."

Jonesy worked the quilt back up toward Slim's chest. "Of course not, you're as soft as a pansy petal. But in case you're closer to the first assessment, take it easy, Slim. Of all of you I figured you'd kick the least, but you're making out as my worst patient here."

"All right, Jonesy. I'll behave." Slim sighed, letting his eyes drift toward the place of darkness.

Arms across his chest, Jonesy stood in the bedroom's center, while his three charges remained flat. "I guess I'm the only one that came outta Jubilee unscathed. But what am I boasting about? That means all the chores belong to me."

.:.

Well, there was one consolation being the only man able to swap teams when the stage rolled through. Jonesy could freely gossip with Mose without hearing an overly exaggerated throat clearing behind him. And since the shotgun rider had already consumed the local tidbits, he could lend his muscles to the horses, especially when the front left was acting up. The extra work might not wind up being so bad, as the wheels would be stilled long enough to get the entire scoop.

Leaning over the swishing tail closest him, Jonesy's eyes sought the usual pair of elderly twinkles. Surprisingly they weren't there, just shadows. "Jubilee still going on or has all the rabble-rousers gone?"

"Everybody but them Browns."

"Still howling, are they?"

"Yep, I hear tell that the Brown brothers are worse than yesterday's steaming pot of leftovers. Especially that Bailey." The shadows deepened. "He's got it in for Jess, that's for sure."

"He can't be that stupid, Mose. If Jess didn't miss his mark when shooting at cans, how does Bailey think Jess's gonna miss if he's standing right in front of him?"

"He won't be standing right in front of him. At least that's what I heard."

"Aiming to back-shoot him, is he?"

Mose's arms spread away from his sides, the hands going upward. "Dunno."

"Well, I'm surprised that Mort Cory's even let them out of jail yet. Why, they should've stayed indoors for at least a solid twenty-four. Longer, even."

"They's still in jail, all right."

Jonesy's hands connected to his hips. "Then how can you've heard all that you've heard?"

Mose tapped his temple. "I know where to go to get the stories, but in case you're still doubting, I heard it direct from Davey Marsh."

"The kid that does the sweeping for Mort?"

"Yup. He got the earful this morning when he was tidying up and then let the rest of us in on it at the diner just as my bacon and eggs was set before me. Nothing aids digestion like taking in the town's news, so I e't both right up."

"Well, I don't know."

"What don't you know? Bailey's got the right temper to make that kinda threat toward Jess turn into the real deal."

Jonesy nodded, his eyes taking the trail to the bedroom window. "That he does."

"You gonna tell Jess, Slim mebbe?"

No. That Jonesy knew as a fact. Maybe everything that Mose was handing him was a bunch of hogwash, but even if it was true, he wasn't about to drop a mountain load of rocks in the middle of the floor. Jess just might use a stick of dynamite to get through it, and Slim just might use another stick to put Jess back behind its sturdy wall. He hated the thought of cleaning it all up.

"I'll wait and see if the story sticks first. I'm not one to carry the mail, I only like to read it."

"Suit yourself," Mose said, his head shifting to see that Hank had finally sweet-talked the ornery mare to staying in the proper position. "Looks like I've gotta go. See you the next time around. And if the yarn's the same, you best pass it along to Slim and Jess."

Jonesy shrugged, the shoulders still in a slight rise when the dust took the position of where the coach had sat. Considering the Browns were still locked on the safe side of an iron wall, he wouldn't tell them unless the threat was spread by Bailey's own two feet. But maybe there was one he should have extended the warning to. Andy.

.:.

The gun had come out of its hiding place rather quickly, almost silently, as Andy's entire body flinched when he tried to tap the lid back in place and it wouldn't settle in its exact position. He knew he was alone, yet Andy's eyes crawled across the room to make sure that all of the ears outside of the house didn't latch onto his disobedience.

His caught breath released in a rush, Andy tucked the gun behind his belt buckle, the same place he had seen Jess insert his own weapon several times when the holster wasn't there. His next step was to the desk drawer. When the box of shells entered his hand, Andy shoved the palm and its contents behind his back. Not that this was a good hiding place, what with the white handle of the gun sticking out in plain sight at his middle. But any form of security kept his heart from hammering like a woodpecker gone mad.

The final step in this scheme was to make his exit. Slim and Jess were inside the barn shoeing a horse. That would keep his waywardness out of their sight, but Jonesy was just out spreading chicken feed. The chickens doing their usual peck and squawk would silence his footfalls, Andy just needed the older man's back facing the shower stalls and he could get away just fine. He took the peek that made hands and feet tingle.

The opportunity was wide open.

Grinning should have come much later, but Andy's face was fixed with the spread as he hurried across the road and into the brush-covered hillside. Once up and over, he was free. He felt its strength surge across his middle, somehow jouncing the gun that he wore hard enough that Andy took it in hand. He smiled even brighter. The gun felt better here, like it belonged, something that Andy figured was exactly how Jess' fingers reacted to having an iron poised in his clasp.

"Like it's right at home." His voice sounded strange with no one else to hear it, and Andy's feet stilled, turning his head to the land that spread out behind him.

No one was there. But even the stillness gave Andy a nudge to put some more distance between his body and the ranch. He didn't want to crane his neck every time his breath hitched. The south fence should do. Blocked by the row of hills, the noise shouldn't bounce off of every one, roll into the barn and grab Slim by the ear. At least that was what Andy hoped when he was set to fire the shiny iron that had given Jess a name.

Oh, how he wanted to be like Jess. Seeing him perform at Jubilee put such a desire in his core that he even dreamed of standing alongside him, stances the same, eyes the perfect squint, and then firing just as accurately as Jess did. The wondrous finish before Andy's eyelashes fluttered opened to daylight might have been the best part. Rising the hot pistols in unison, their mouths puffed over the dark hole, blowing the smoke away while the crowd around them cheered.

Securing his feet to the preferred width, Andy put Jess' gun up to his lips and he blew, the grin at its widest, but then every single feature hardened. Enough with practice. He was ready to make his dream a reality.

Jess had already taught him how to shoot. "Don't aim, point." The most basic instruction, but Andy had yet to perfect it. Today was going to be that day. Except Andy didn't know it took most men hundreds, if not thousands of bullets to come out of their gun before a professional's label lived inside of the holster with the man's gun. He had about twenty.

The first going in, Andy pulled the hammer back. Tongue against his top lip, he lined up the dirt clod that would be his target and let his finger do the aim. He missed. Frustrated, but not the least defeated, he tried again. On the fifth he hit it, not square, but the clod of dirt lost some of its circumference when it leapt into the air and then back to the ground where it had come from.

It was enough of a victory to make Andy shout, and this note, along with the rest of the reports he made, was able to stretch out toward the Laramie road where a pair of horses were feeling a tug on their reins.

Scottie Brown pointed to the street's bend. "Someone's shooting ahead."

"Kinda sounds like they're out target practicing."

"Harper, you think?"

"Could be." Bailey's hand circled the iron's butt that he wore. "I'd imagine he's heard the talk by now."

"You aiming on making it more than just talk?"

"You know I am!"

"Then why not out here? If that really is Harper, and if he's alone, then you'll have no quarrel with Sherman."

"They that thick?"

Scottie nodded. "From every angle I've seen they are. You'd do best to take Harper on all by himself."

"Well, I suppose it won't hurt to have a look, and if it is Harper…" Bailey's mouth twitched wide as he brought his rifle into his clasp. "…likely he won't even know what hit him."

No man with the intent to kill would keep himself in the open. A ditch being close by, vacant of water as the spring's thaw had already dried out for the year, was the kind of hiding place to prepare for a bullet's flight. Their horses seeing a tie a short distance away, Bailey and Scottie crept into position, the man with the desire for Jess' demise taking the most prime slot.

The rifle going up to his eye, Bailey zeroed in on the thin back. "What do you think? That Harper?"

"Well he's on Sherman land. I kinda doubt Sherman would allow any yahoo on his place to trigger-point, but then again, he invited Harper to live under his roof. So maybe Sherman's got more daffodils growing in his head than I first thought."

"It's gotta be Harper. He certainly has a taste for the gun that he's firing. Can't see what he's shooting at though."

"I don't know, Bailey." Scottie rubbed his jaw, the headshake coming quickly after. "Kinda small to be Harper."

"Harper's lean, though, and he can't compare to Sherman's height. I think it's him, all right."

"I'm not sure, Bailey. I mean, if it is, this is the perfect opportunity, but if it ain't…"

Bailey pulled his eye away from the straight line that was his rifle's point. "I'm not opposed to pulling triggers and finding out the details later."

"And I suppose you're not opposed to a noose that might come later, either."

"What noose?" Bailey asked, but all he had to do was follow his brother's nod. "Sheriff Cory!"

"Yeah, and if he catches even a whiff of your intentions I doubt you'll be seeing daylight anytime soon. Come on, Bailey, that jail bunk only let go of my backside yesterday, I don't wanna feel that sore spot all over again. Let's get outta here."

.:.

The curtain raised by his hand, Jonesy's eyes wandered into the darkness on the window's other side. He had heard the horse's approach, didn't flinch when the hooves stopped, but when he saw the flash of the star in the lamplight's glow, he couldn't help but cringe hard enough that gooseflesh popped up underneath his shirtsleeves.

He had hoped for a different taste out of the morning's cup of gossip-brew, but the news hadn't changed in the day that it had first been delivered. Taking another look at the badge that was lowering out of the saddle, Jonesy couldn't help but wonder if those sticky words were the cause of the sheriff's ride this night. If it were, Jonesy wanted to be the one to do the greeting. After all, he was the only one in the Sherman house that had burned his ears on the details already. Opening the door, Jonesy stepped out for the proper handshake and what would come next. It was only thirty seconds later when Jonesy's slight shuffle brought him back in.

"Sheriff's outside, Slim. Says he wants to talk with you alone."

He closed the book softly, but as Slim rose from his chair, the clap against his chest was as loud as if he had slammed it instead. The evening's light dulled, it was close to bedtime. Too late for a friendly call. This was business, a warning, or the longer definition, something that Slim didn't want to hear.

"Mort." His hand went into the opposite, almost as strong as his own.

"Evening, Slim."

The eyes across from him had so little color that Slim didn't want to wait too long to discover what was muddling them. "What's wrong?"

"Well, hopefully nothing, at least I want it to be nothing. But I couldn't just ride back to Laramie without telling you what I saw this afternoon."

"What'd you see?"

The sigh was heavy, prolonged further by the rub of his hand across the back of his neck. But Slim's face was growing more pinched. He had to get this out and over with. "Andy. He was along your south pasture, shooting a gun like he was target practicing."

"Was he using Jess' gun?" Slim's voice had the effect of thunder's distant rumble.

"That I couldn't tell, but it was a pistol, all right, and bright in the sunlight."

Slim's eyes closed. When his belly called him inside just before suppertime's gong sounded, he had noticed the lid being askew, but when Slim gave the wood a slight rise, the fancy piece of Jess' past was there inside. Yet if the sun was high enough in the sky to make what was in Andy's hand blink, then Andy could have easily taken the gun, turned the insides into fire and smoke, and then returned it without anyone finding out. Except there really was someone watching him.

And Slim was about to find out that statement went a whole lot deeper than where his mind first addressed.

"I'm not sure I'd tell you this, Slim, if it was just the boy out pretending to be a man, but there's more to it."

The growing anger in Slim's core turned sharply toward fear. "What?"

"Slim, there was a rifle pointed at Andy's back. There was a lot of brush, but I could see it in the way the sun was hitting the barrel. What I couldn't see was who was on the other side. My first instinct was to get my own rifle in position, but Andy would've been caught right in the middle. And so I rode straight for the ditch where they must've been watching."

Slim wasn't sure what he had just swallowed, but it bore the caliber of a boulder as it knocked around in his stomach. "They?"

"I saw two different tracks. By the time I got there, they were gone. As was Andy. When he saw me riding up, he hightailed it for home so fast he could've been direct kin with a jackrabbit."

Slim's throat turned into a desert. He needed a drink. Coffee, water, or whiskey, maybe all three put down in a rush. But without liquid's aid, all he could do was rasp. "Who in the world would put a gun on Andy?"

"I already made my first guess. Bailey and Scottie Brown. But when I rode over to their place, their pa insisted they both were home all day. Said something about bronc breaking, but I wasn't about to make them drop their pants to check for truth's tell-all bruises."

"If the Brown's are mad enough to aim a gun, it should be at me or Jess. Or in Bailey's case, just Jess. Not Andy."

"I know, Slim. But the reason I started riding toward your property line was because I was hearing the gunfire and wanted to see what was happening in your back corner. Even from a distance when I saw the silhouette, I thought it was Jess out honing his skill. I think even you'd be surprised at how perfected was the stance. It wasn't until I got close enough to see his full outline that I knew it was Andy. With the sun at an even worse disadvantage to their viewpoint, if whoever the gunmen were had a grudge toward Jess, they could've thought the same thing I did."

Slim's belly was already teetering on the edge of an abrupt sickness. He risked the added pitch. "How close do you think they came from pulling the trigger?"

"I don't know, Slim. I really don't. But having a rifle's aim on the boy's back was already too close."

That it was. Way too close. And Andy would have never been in such a vulnerable position if he wasn't trying to turn into a man that could do no wrong, except that was only how Andy viewed Jess. With stars where his pupils should be. At the moment, Slim's view was closer to the devil's backyard.

He reached the hand back outward, this time the clasp on his side of things was weak. "Thank you, Mort, for letting me know. Have a safe ride back to town."

His wait stretched beyond the silencing of Mort's hooves. Standing with one hand nestled against the back of his neck, the other in a tight ball at his side, Slim's eyes cast upward. If someone had asked him for the time, he wouldn't have been able to answer with any form of clarity. The darkness, the moon and its surrounding stars were all absent. All he could see was Andy with Jess' gun attached to his hand. And someone else lining up on his brother's back.

He blinked as if his eyelashes were afire. There was no use taking that image even further. The very worst hadn't happened, praise be, but still a significant worst case scenario had happened. And it couldn't be ignored.

The door heavy underneath his hand, he gave it a harder push than necessary.

Jonesy immediately looked his way, and his wise, old eyes were able to catch enough. It was time to leave the room. The coffeepot could probably use a second going over with soap and water anyway.

The air around him silent, Slim stood for a moment among that stillness, eyes lifted, and then back down, finally settling on the bedroom door. Andy was on its other side, school book in front of him, or at least some kind of book perched on his knee. He felt an invisible spider crawl up his backbone, do a little dance and then settle between his shoulder blades. Trying to knock the hairy legs away from his back, he shivered. The sensation didn't disappear. The question was too cold, its answer even colder.

How close had he come from losing the little brother he pledged to his ma on her deathbed that he would protect and grow up proper?

He had already aligned that thought outside with Mort. Way too close.

He didn't know what he wanted to do first. Get down on his knees and thank God that Andy was there and whole, put the boy over his knee, or punch Jess in the jaw. Slim had a feeling the latter would have won if Jess hadn't ridden to the Dixon ranch late in the day to give the brothers a solid what-for. Jess' anger had put him in the saddle first when the Dixon's bull came wandering into the Sherman pasture sniffing for heifers too young for wooing. Slim had been angry enough when he heard the lovesick call, but the earlier emotion was just a candle's flicker compared to what roared over him now. Slim glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. If nothing hindered his trail to and from, then Jess should be home within the hour. That would give him plenty of time to firm up his fist. Or get on his knees.

But there was a span in between the last thought and the first. Andy. He was too old to see a trip to the barn. The strip of leather that had been used on Slim's backside probably hadn't been pulled from its nail since Slim was nine. He chewed on his lip long enough to retrieve the memory, not quite locked behind his childhood's door. Talking back to Ma was what had pulled it off in the first place.

Pa had stood in front of him, the strap getting a gentle tap inside his palm. "I don't have to use this very often, Son, which I'm rather proud of. But disrespecting your ma calls for its use. Bend over."

Strange that Slim couldn't remember the sting, but he remembered the hug afterward. And the way he sniffled when he apologized to Ma. His eyes strayed toward heaven, straining to a squint because he couldn't find what he was seeking.

Slim's lips barely parted. "How would you handle this, Pa?"

The embrace would be the conclusion no matter what happened inside of the bedroom's walls, but it was what would come before that had Slim stuck. Talk, and then listen. Perhaps putting his ears into action would be the actual key. Slim nodded, ready to push the door wide enough for his entry and get this difficult journey started, but Slim wouldn't get past the first step.

There sat Andy, a pencil stub stuck between his teeth, and then with two fingers split into a V, he pulled the pencil free and puffed the air from his lungs toward the ceiling, his mouth the perfect circle of an experienced smoker.

Everything disappeared from his mind, except for two of the original prods against his skull.

Slim really needed to get on his knees before he dropped to them. Or punch Jess in the jaw. And at that moment, the familiar clop of hooves entered the yard. That would suit him fine right about now. The mock cigarette had pushed him so close to the edge that Slim was ready to leap the moment the door became a crack.

He would have if the door's burst from the outside hadn't startled Slim, making both feet pedal backward.

Jess' excitement bubbled from his mouth, much too rich to be caused by whiskey. "Where's Andy?"

Slim couldn't even complete his nod before Jess found the boy coming through the door.

"Look what I brought from the Dixon's." One button at his waist already undone, Jess reached his hand inside to pull out a ball of fluff that had been nestled against his skin.

"Gee, Jess, it's a puppy!"

"It sure is. Those worthless Dixons had a whole litter to choose from, said I could take the whole lot for me dragging their bull back home, but I knew I couldn't tote all six. But I figured you'd like one. What do you say, Slim? Can Andy have a puppy?"

Slim crossed his arms over his chest. He would have rather been asked beforehand, but with Andy's hand getting a sloppy wash by a pink tongue, Jess' fingers massaging the back of the head and Jonesy standing alongside the two with a lopsided grin, there would be no shaking of his head. Nor his fist for that matter. Slim couldn't very well give Jess a bloody nose when he was once again the best thing that ever happened to the Sherman ranch.

"Sure, Andy. You can keep the puppy," Slim said, but he wasn't going to join the excited swells around him.

Since the other two options were gone. He really needed to get on his knees.