Chapter 22
Tempest was shocked at herself.
She'd never dreamed she could be such a wanton. At Lucky's first touch, she'd lost any shred of decency. Now she couldn't get enough of him. Whatever he wanted to teach her, she wanted to learn. Whatever he wanted to do with her, she wanted to do. Maybe somehow, sometime, somewhere she would change her mind. But right now, she felt as if she had come out of a long, dark night into the Sun.
And Lucky was her Sun. He'd said so himself. She'd discounted his words, but now she believed him. She wanted to bask in his sunlight. And she wanted to be his Moon, so he could bask in her silvery glow.
Everything else seemed far away and unimportant. She'd like it to stay that way. She even understood why folks would want to live on the edge of Texas and in Indian Territory. You could forget your past, your name, your difficulties, and create your present and your future. No wonder over the years so many people from all over the United States had scrawled
G.T.T.,
meaning
Gone to Texas,
on their doors and made tracks for the huge republic, and later state, to start new lives.
She could still taste Lucky in her mouth, smell him on her skin, and feel him on her body. He'd marked her just as surely as if he'd taken a branding iron to her. And just as shocking as her wanton behavior, she felt excited about it. She only hoped that he felt branded by her, too. If not, she'd find a way to do it.
For now, she was lonely. She wished he'd hurry back with the water. She worried that more rattlesnakes and ghosts lurked about the creek. He might get bitten or carried away or anything. She felt uneasy, as if trouble or danger or the past was catching up with them.
She shivered, pushing those thoughts away. She'd best not borrow trouble. She pulled on his shirt and tugged it together in front for warmth. She glanced at the campfire. It had burned down and wasn't giving out much heat or light. He'd have trouble finding his way back if she didn't do something.
She moved over to the campfire, picked up a stick from the pile Lucky had gathered earlier, stirred up the embers, and dropped the wood on top. As she was about to build up the fire, Lucky ran out of the darkness holding her blanket.
He tossed her bar of soap and the canteens at her feet, and then kicked dirt over the fire, putting it out. When smoke spiraled upward, he quickly smothered it with the blanket.
“What is wrong with you?” She grabbed the blanket off the campfire, shook it out, made sure it didn't contain sparks, and set it aside.
“Be quiet,” he hissed.
“Why?” She picked up her bar of soap and tucked it in her saddlebag.
“We've got company coming down by the creek.”
“What?”
“Shhh.” He pulled on his blue jeans. “Get dressed.”
She felt fear spike her heartbeat. She might have known this idyllic interlude was too good to last for even a single night.
As she watched, he quickly buckled on his gun-belt and adjusted it on his hips. She took off his shirt and tossed it to him. She hurried after her own clothes. As she slipped into each piece, she felt as if she was putting on one more layer of restrictive civilization and taking away one more bit of freedom. But for now, it was the only smart thing to do. She quickly pulled on her socks and boots.
On the outside, she knew she appeared to be the same lady who'd set out for Indian Territory. On the inside, she was a different woman. And she would never allow anyone or anything to stuff her back into her old life again.
She was ready for trouble and ready to ride, no matter how stiff and sore from the saddle. She only wished she was wearing her new .32 like Lucky wore his six-shooter.
About that time she heard a commotion at the creek. A wagon creaked to a stop as one man cursed his mules while another murmured complaints. Soon they quieted down and she couldn't hear them.
Lucky put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
“Are we in danger?” she whispered.
“They don't know we're here.”
“Should we leave?”
“I want to find out what they're doing.”
“How?”
“I'll go down and investigate.”
“Not without me.”
“Stay here where it's safe. Better yet, I'll take you out to the horses. And leave the saddlebags with you.”
“No.” She kept her voice low but intense. “I'm not being left behind. Anything could happen to you and I wouldn't know it.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead. “You'd worry about me?”
“How could I not?”
“Sorry our night had to end this way.”
“You'll make it up to me, won't you?”
“Yes.” He placed a warm kiss on her lips. “Follow me. Make as little noise and as small a target as possible.”
She tried to step exactly where he stepped, but his strides were too long. Instead, she concentrated on staying up with him while keeping watch and listening for strangers. Fortunately, the waxing Moon was riding up over the treetops and washing the landscape in gray, so she could see fairly well.
Soon Lucky angled upstream away from the voices. She wondered where he was going until he headed for a willow tree with a wide trunk and branches draped over the creek. It'd provide good cover.
He bent down, eased up to the tree trunk, and then motioned for her. She glided in near him, felt him draw her to his side, and nestled against his warm chest. She glanced downstream. As far as she could tell, there wasn't much to see. Two men wearing hats even at night had unhitched four mules so the animals could drink from the creek. The wagon carried a load of wooden barrels.
Any fear she'd felt slipped away. The strangers were just a couple of farmers or traders and would soon be on their way. She relaxed against Lucky, enjoying being close to him. She nuzzled his chest to inhale his familiar scent. Instead, she sniffed the sweet aroma of violets. She chortled silently, chest heaving in mirth.
He noticed, grinned, and squeezed her in response.
She could hardly wait for the men to continue on their way so she could drag Lucky back to their blankets. She'd think of something new for him to do. It'd involve his mouth or his hands or his shaft. Any and all of him would suit her just fine. As she was contemplating his clever fingers roaming up her inner thighs, she heard a familiar voice rise loudly in anger out by the mules.
She froze as her world tumbled to a complete stop. And then it started spinning madly backward day by day, month by month, until it reached one year ago, the day of her wedding.
Haig Colbert, as she lived and breathed. He stood on the creek bank. She'd never forget his voice, a sultry sound that resonated like molasses and cream. Until the day he'd walked out on her, she'd thought he had the finest voice in the world. Now it sounded coarse and strident.
And she'd thought he'd be hard to find. Instead, he'd come right to her. She reached down and plucked Lucky's six-shooter out of its holster. She'd get Grandma's money back right this minute.
As she took a step toward the creek, Lucky clamped one hand across her mouth and jerked the .44 out of her hand. Shocked that he was trying to spoil her plans, she elbowed him in the ribs. He didn't seem to notice as he quickly holstered his six-gun, put an arm around her waist, and lifted her off her feet.
“What the hell's got into you?” he hissed in her ear as he corralled her against the tree.
She bit his hand and felt satisfied when she heard his muffled yelp, but he didn't let go.
“Calm down!” he hissed again. “You're going to give us away.”
She shook her head, still trying to break loose.
“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you quietly explain?” he whispered.
She nodded, but she was so mad she could spit. If she wasn't careful, Haig would get away.
Lucky slowly lowered his hand.
“That's Haig!” she hissed. “He's going to escape.”
“Who?”
“My groom!”
Lucky looked toward the men, then back at her. “One of those two is the man who needs shooting?”
She nodded.
“Sure that's him?”
“I know his voice.”
“Okay. But look at the wagon.”
She shrugged, not getting his point.
“Whiskey barrels. Didn't you say he's a peddler?”
She nodded again.
“Illegal. They get caught? No choice. They'll fire first and never ask questions.”
She felt deflated. “But we can't let him get away.”
“Let's move closer so we can hear what they're saying. But don't you dare take a chance and rush them.”
“I won't.” Yet she felt tempted to do that very thing.
“If nothing else, we can pick up their trail in the morning.”
She hated the thought of letting Haig out of her sight again, but for now, she must trust Lucky's experience.
When Lucky crept out from behind the tree, she followed, anxious to get closer to the man who had abandoned her.
Chapter 23
Lucky clenched his fists. He wanted to beat the hell out of Haig Colbert. The scoundrel deserved anything he got for causing Tempest and her family one moment of trouble. But he couldn't go off half-cocked any more than she could, not with so much on the line.
Even as he fumed, he wove his way around trees and shrubs to get in a better position to monitor the men on the other side of the creek. Tempest stayed right behind him, hardly making a noise. He didn't often trust somebody at his back, but she was earning that type of respect.
He finally found a place that suited their needs behind a huge downed tree trunk overgrown by thorny blackberry vines. He crouched down behind it and reached up to her. She sat beside him. They couldn't see much from their position, but they could hear fine. He clasped her hand and settled on the ground, prepared to wait.
He didn't hear much at first except mule stomping, harness jingling, and wagon creaking.
“Consternation! Rusty, don't piss upstream. We're drinking water down here.”
Lucky felt Tempest squeeze his hand. When he glanced at her, she nodded in the direction of the speaker.
Now he knew Haig's voice. He focused on the man and reached out with his senses. He was surprised when he picked up the same sensation that he'd gotten from the three men as they'd left the Bend. Something about the connection, or the spiderweb, still felt familiar, but he couldn't get a handle on it. He didn't like the fact that they'd run across it again. He didn't much believe in coincidence. The web was either unusually large or connected to him in some way. Maybe both. Either way, it couldn't be good.
“Shut your piehole, Haig. I gotta mind to piss, I'm gonna do it.”
“You're still riled 'cause you don't like working for a boss.”
“I'm dad-blame mad! You got no cause shooting a man for not selling you his whiskey.”
“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times, Crawdaddy won't allow independent whiskey dealers in Indian Territory. I had to make an example to keep folks in line.”
“And I say again, that was a decent man. And who the hell is Crawdaddy? What makes him think he can send gunslingers in here and steal folks' whiskey if they don't kowtow to him?”
A chill crawled up Lucky's spine. Crawdaddy was supposed to be dead. How could he have survived the fire that had turned the building that had housed his cottonseed-oil business into a raging inferno? Deputy U.S. Marshals in Fort Smith, Arkansas, had combed through the debris and concluded that the body had burned so badly it couldn't be found or recognized. He'd hoped that was the truth, but he'd suspected otherwise.
Now he knew Crawdaddy, or General Burl Crawford in polite society, was alive. Crawdaddy often said that he was a bottom feeder like his namesake because everything eventually fell to the river bottom where it was ripest and easiest to pluck. Crawdaddy was smart and ruthless, and he dealt in antiquities. That was one of the ways Lucky knew him. But he was also a Rattler, powerful, deadly, and dangerous. They stood on opposite sides of Indian artifacts. Crawdaddy supplied while Lucky preserved.
Now that he knew his old adversary was back in business, everything fell into place. No wonder the sensations had felt familiar. Crawdaddy must be casting a web over Indian Territory from illegal liquor to stolen horses to looted antiquities. He was trying to put a stranglehold on the most ornery, independent, dangerous outlaws anywhere. And if Crawdaddy got his hands on more power, he might just do it.
Haig was part of Crawdaddy's gang, but was he a lowly, expendable foot soldier, or was he a valuable lieutenant? How much or how little did he know? And could he lead them to Crawdaddy?
Lucky had to figure out how best to play the flush he'd been dealt. For the moment, he was one up in Crawdaddy's game and he wanted to keep it that way.
“If you don't toe the line,” Haig said, “Crawdaddy is the general who can and will make sure you curse the day you were born.”
“Bet he's all talk. Never heard of him.”
“Damn Yankees'll give you an earful. They were blue-bellies when they ran into him, but they were red-bellies when he was done.”
“He's
that
general? Everybody's heard of him.”
“Gives you pause, don't it?”
“He must be pretty long in the tooth by now, twenty-odd year.”
“He's got plenty of teeth left to chew you up and spit you out.”
“Could be. But he's not here.” Rusty loudly hawked and spit. “I say we take this wagonload to the widow up Denison City way. She'll see it gets in the right hands. She's got two little ones to raise on her own now and will need the money.”
“If you think that sad tale will touch my heart, you're wrong. We're taking this load to Burnt Boggy Saloon.”
“I sell in Texas, not Indian Territory.”
A pistol cock sounded loud in the night. “You drive this wagon, or I put a bullet in your head and I drive this wagon. Your choice.”
“Don't get all riled up. I'm driving, but you're selling.”
“Suits me. But that means you don't get a cut.”
“Don't make me no never-mind. I just wanna get home to Texas.”
“Pick your poison. I'll take a Deputy U.S. Marshal over a Texas Ranger any day of the week.”
“That's 'cause you ain't met up with neither yet.”
“And I won't. If you'd keep your trap shut and listen once in a while, you'd figure out that if you work with Crawdaddy, you've got protection.”
“If you was smart, you'd figure out a man's best protection is his Colt and Winchester. If you wait for help, by the time it gets there you're way past needing it.”
“Rusty, you got a small mind. I think big and I'm going places.”
“Go as far as you like, but Burnt Boggy is the end of the line for me.”
“Okay, if that's the way you want it,” Haig said. “Let's get some shut-eye.”
Lucky realized those two weren't going anywhere till dawn. They were also vulnerable without a guard. He could get the drop on Haig. He didn't figure Rusty would give him much trouble. He could even get them to the authorities on the Texas side of the Red River. But that would show his hand. If he waited, he stood a chance of learning more and stopping Crawdaddy.
He squeezed Tempest's hand, hoping she didn't decide now was the time to get her own back.
She leaned close to his ear. “You better tell me we're going to Burnt Boggy Saloon.”