Beautiful Bad Man (19 page)

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“I’ll tell you what’s true. No one’s running cows over those fields, not now, and not in the middle of the damn winter.”

“How are you going to stop them, shoot them?”

“Whatever it takes. It’s nice to know you feel the same way, partner.”

He paused long enough to take his Winchester down from where it hung by the door. He might need the Sharps before this was done, but not yet.

S
HE HAD NEVER
seen a man so angry. The day he’d gotten nasty when she’d said ugly things about prostitutes was nothing compared to this. Yelling and throwing things would have been better than the low voice, twitchy jaw muscles, and hard eyes.

Norah put her own fork down and rose to clear the table. Caleb had slammed the door in Early’s faithful face, and the dog sat there, whining under his breath. Scraping her own leftover food and Caleb’s into Early’s battered tin dish, Norah ran her fingers through the rough white hair on the dog’s neck, then tugged gently on one velvety black ear.

“It’s me he angry at, not you, although mostly he’s angry because he knows he can’t stop them. He can’t shoot hundreds of cows.”

Except maybe he could. He’d been with buffalo hunters for years, and they shot hundreds a day. If only she could be sure cows were all he’d shoot.

Through the window she saw him lead Forrest out of the corral, saddle up, and head west toward Mr. Van Cleve’s land. Of course it was V Bar C land in every direction except the creek now, but the main ranch lay west. He’d be going to see if they really were gathering hundreds, holding them in a herd, and getting ready for the invasion.

She prayed he’d find nothing, that this year it wouldn’t happen. Except for the attempt on the horses and the poisoned carcass, Mr. Van Cleve had been strangely quiet since she and Caleb married. At first she’d hoped the rancher was afraid of Caleb after all and would leave them alone. She knew better now, but even so she forgot the threat for days at a time.

If Caleb shot hundreds of Mr. Van Cleve’s cows, or heaven forbid, any of the cowhands, the sheriff would come out from Hubbell and arrest him. The same sheriff who wouldn’t do anything about Joe’s murder would do anything Webster Van Cleve wanted.

Caleb wouldn’t let anyone arrest him. He’d fight, and they’d kill him, or hurt him and drag him away. If only she could make him stay home and safe. Foolish wish. Stopping the cattle would be easier.

When had Caleb become more important than the land or anything on it? She didn’t know when and didn’t know how, only that it had happened. She couldn’t explain it to herself and had failed abysmally to explain it to Mabel Carbury when they’d visited last month.

“He’s good looking in a mean way,” Mabel had said, “but you’ve let female feelings get the best of you. What does it matter how he makes love if he’s got the devil in his heart?”

Norah had never before heard that term used for what happened in the night. She liked it better than coupling or mating or breeding or any other way of thinking about it.

Of course there was no love between her and Caleb. She cared about him, cared more than was wise, but he cared more about the horses or Early than he did about her. He still referred to Joe as her husband, and almost always called her partner, not wife. No matter. She’d never say it out loud, but she liked thinking it. Making love.

She’d tried to tell Mabel all the ways Caleb was a good husband, better than Joe, but gave up when her friend argued. “It was an accident, Norah. Surely you can forgive him now that he’s dead.”

No, she couldn’t forgive Joe, and even if she ever did, Caleb Sutton was a better husband. He was a hard man, but she preferred it to indifference. He shared the kind of plans with her that she considered dreams, and she could tell he believed he could make those dreams come true by the kind of work he did and the way he did it.

Once in a while he mentioned how they’d have goats or a cow and chickens when the trouble with Mr. Van Cleve was over, but he didn’t whine about the rancher as if no one else had to move back into a soddy, as if losing a house was worse than losing....

She finished the dishes and hurried out to continue with the laundry. Caleb couldn’t mean to shoot hundreds of cows. He couldn’t mean to shoot the cowhands who pushed them. She didn’t want him arrested. She didn’t want him hurt. She wanted him
here
.

By nightfall, Norah jumped at every bird call outside or thump when Early stopped pacing and threw himself down for a short break. When the dog jumped at the door, tail waving, she followed him into the yard at a run. At least the dog got a greeting and a pat on the head. She hung on the corral fence as Caleb unsaddled and rubbed the horse down.

She walked to the house beside him. “Are you still angry with me?”

“No, but we have to talk.”

In spite of his words, he showed no inclination to talk while she served a late supper and they ate. She filled the silence with nervous chatter, about how the dog missed him and how she had forgotten how it felt to be alone in the house after dark and other things so trivial she couldn’t remember them seconds after they left her mouth. He looked so grim.

“What did you find?” she asked finally.

“You were right. They had about fifty bunched up when I first found them, and they added more all day. If you’re right about hundreds, we’ve got no more than two or three days before they come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Being sorry is the problem. I’m going to town tomorrow for supplies, not staying over but turning right around and coming back. If you want to stay at Carburys’, I’ll leave you there. If you want to come to town and stay with your friend until you find a place of your own, I’ll give you what I was going to pay you for the land in the first place.”

She gaped at him until words came. “No. I live here as much as you do. I won’t leave unless you do. We could both go. You admitted you could find other land as good.”

“Nobody is running cows across land I plowed and planted, and nobody is running me off land I own. I’m going to fight them. I’m not going to fight them and my own partner at the same time. You people, all of you, you sit on your land like rabbits, hoping the coyote will fill up on some other rabbit. Van Cleve will stop when he’s dead or when he’s convinced the price of this land is more than he’s willing to pay. I’m going to convince him, or I’m going to kill him.”

“You can’t kill people over land.”

“He killed your husband. Had it done. He killed Henry Sutton and probably a few others. Over land. Wake up, Norah. We’re in a war.”

“I know what they did, but they’re....”

“Evil? So am I, remember? Devil’s spawn. You pack what you need, and I’ll take you to town.”

“I won’t go.”

“I’m not asking.”

Norah lay awake beside him that night, her mind in chaos. “What are you going to do?” she whispered finally, knowing he was awake too. He told her.

Sick fear flooded through her. She squelched every urge to tell him couldn’t or shouldn’t. They were beyond that. “I don’t want to go. I won’t fight you.”

“Will you help?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Fair enough. No arguing and no getting in the way.”

“No arguing and no getting in the way.”

She knew they wouldn’t be making love tonight or for many nights, but when she reached out and grasped his hand, he let her take hold. It helped, but nothing felt right until he pulled her into his arms and against his chest. Her fear subsided enough she slept, waking at first light alone.

“
Y
OU WANT TO
stay at Carburys’?”

Norah shook her head and climbed onto the wagon seat. Early hopped into the wagon, tail waving happily. The scent of the horses drifted back on the cool morning air as the big animals moved the empty wagon effortlessly.

Dew sparkled on every plant in the morning sun. Not for the first time, Norah marveled at how little the world around them cared about the problems of humans.

“Are you sure they’ll have it in town?” she asked.

“If they don’t, I’ll steal it from Van Cleve. They use it in his quarries up north, and I’ve seen more than I need stored at the ranch. The drawback to that is someone might notice it’s gone and start to thinking.”

“I suppose they keep it right next to that handy supply of fence posts,” Norah said tartly, and then wanted to bite her tongue. No arguing she’d promised. If he left her in town, she could find a way home but not quickly.

With no load one way and a light load the other, they made it to town and back in record time, arriving home in the early hours of the next day.

“What are you going to do first?” Norah asked.

“Plow.”

“The horses are tired.”

“So am I. So are you. You get some sleep.”

She lay on the bed and stared into the dark until it lightened to day, then stared at the ceiling until sunlight pouring in through the east window painted that bright square on the soddy wall. If Caleb’s plan worked, the men pushing those cows would be in danger. If it didn’t work, Caleb would be in danger.

Norah gave up on sleep, dressed, cooked breakfast, packed it in a pail, and set off across the fields to find her husband.

Except for spotting the occasional huge footprint of one of the draft horses, she would not have had the courage to venture so far onto Van Cleve’s land. Caleb had to be plowing virgin prairie at least two miles beyond the property line, and furrows running across the slight dip in the land had to be a quarter of a mile long.

He saw her long before she could distinguish his features, stopped the team, and waited. From the distance he had looked glad to see her, but maybe she had imagined it. When she drew close, his face was set in the same hard lines as the past two days.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, lofting the pail.

“Starved.” He left the plow and the horses and came to sit beside her on the grass.

“I couldn’t carry anything to drink.”

“I brought water in the wagon.”

“Can you finish by dark?”

“Not as much of a firebreak as I’d like, but if they don’t come tonight, I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“I want to help.”

He took another bite of biscuit, chewing slowly as if he hadn’t heard her.

Finally, “Why?”

“I can’t stand the thought of you out here alone against hundreds of cows and a dozen or more men.”

“You think two of us changes the odds?”

“It changes things for me. You’re my husband. I want you home in one piece, and if you really can turn them back.... I want to help.”

“You can’t heft those cans of coal oil, I don’t want you touching dynamite, and you sure can’t plow.”

“I thought I could use the pail to spread the coal oil a little at a time. I could lay the fuse cord if you show me how.”

He finished the last piece of bacon, stood, and offered her a hand up. “It’s a deal, partner.”

Long before sunset, Norah’s back ached so viciously she wondered if she’d ever stand straight again. She didn’t wonder but knew she’d never get the stink of coal oil out of her nostrils.

Caleb leaned on the shovel and looked the whole trap over with satisfaction. “It should turn them. If it doesn’t, it’s the Sharps, and I don’t like shooting things in the dark.”

Norah levered herself upright with a hand at each side of her lower back. “I suppose you like cows better than people too.”

He gave her a wider smile than usual. “Better than some people. I might make an exception for a woman in blackface.”

Rubbing a sleeve over her forehead, Norah looked at the smear of oily dirt with loathing. “I’m not going to wash this dress. I’m going to burn it. I’ll save the scrubbing for myself.”

“Don’t go tossing that on the fire, bury it. I never liked it anyway.”

With horror, Norah looked at herself and remembered that she hadn’t put on one of her old dresses. She had on Mrs. Tindell’s gray dress. Of course it had started to resemble the old ones even before this. She said a word most men didn’t use around women, and Caleb laughed out loud.

“Come on, partner. We need to get all this equipment put away and get back here.”

“What if they don’t come tonight?”

“It will still be here the next night. Until it rains, it will stay good.”

But they did come that night.

C
AL HAD NEVER
been in a fight where he cared what happened to anyone except himself. Small wonder men left women home when they went to war. Norah was quiet beside him, her hand in his small and vulnerable. He should have tried harder to make her go back to the house and leave the rest to him.

Her help could make a difference in achieving the effect he wanted, and she’d argued ferociously, but he shouldn’t have given in. Right now he ought to pick her up, carry her back to the house and tie her there. She’d promised three times to follow directions exactly, yet the urge to risk her being angry at him for a year or two and take her home wouldn’t die.

Too late. The sound of cattle drifted to him on the still air. His worry switched to his own calculations. The fuses would burn one foot every thirty seconds. They’d rehearsed, tried to time how long it took from lighting the first to the last, calculated the length for each one. The end of each fuse sat atop a square of white cloth so as to be visible in the dark, Norah’s idea, and a good one.

No use worrying about any of it now. She was beside him, determined to do her part. The fuses were laid. The approaching sound became sensation, the rumble of hundreds of hooves background for the occasional bawl. Shadows separated from the night. Good. They were coming slow, not too tightly packed as they ambled along.

“Go.”

He struck the first of his matches, touched the fuse at hand and moved to the next, trying to concentrate, forget ideas of snatching Norah up and running. He could see matches flare as she moved away from him, lighting her half of the fuses.

Go, go. Finish up. Get on that horse and get away.
For the first time since he was a boy, he did something close to praying.