Do Not Forsake Me (19 page)

Hash Bryant looked around at others in the restaurant. “You hear that? A lawman who executes his prisoners.” He turned back to Jake. “Maybe that's somethin' my Marty is willin' to risk.”

Jake stiffened even more. “Where is he, Hash? Where is Marty?”

“I got no idea.”

“The hell you don't! I'll find him, and if I find you with him, you'll die right along with your son! It would go easier on you if you owned up right now where I can find Marty.”

“Find him
yourself
, Harkner,” Hash sneered. He glanced sidelong at Randy. “And keep your family in town where it's safer while you're at it.”

Jake stormed toward him and ripped the shotgun right out of his hand. “Get out, Hash! You are truly pushing your luck. I am real tempted to change my mind about not leaving body parts all over this restaurant!”

The look in Jake's eyes was enough to make a snake crawl back into its hole.

Hash Bryant backed up. “I'll go, but only because I aim to have it out with you when you're healthy, so's people know who the better man
really
is.”

“Fine with me, as long as it's face-to-face and not behind my
back
!”

Jeff heard footsteps on the boardwalk then, someone running. Lloyd came charging through the door.

“Stay there!” Jake ordered. “It's all right.”

Hash turned to glance at Lloyd. “Well now, ain't it nice how loyal the son is to the father.”

“Pa isn't healed yet, Hash, and there are innocent people in this restaurant, including my
mothe
r
!” Lloyd seethed.

Hash turned his gaze back to Jake. “Oh, I'll leave for now. I'm savin' your pa for when he's better, so's I can rightfully beat the life out of him. I might not be able to take him in a gunfight, boy, or you either…but I damn well can take him another way.” He glanced at Randy. “There's plenty of ways to take a man down without a gun.” He turned and walked to the door. Lloyd stood in his way.

“Let him leave, Lloyd,” Jake told him. “The sooner he's out of my sight, the better.”

Reluctantly, Lloyd stepped aside.

“Ain't you just the lovin' son?” Hash sneered at Lloyd before walking out.

Jeff felt Jake's rage. It filled the room.

Jake turned and pulled some money from his pocket and threw it on the table. “Let's go.” He took his hat from where he'd laid it on an extra chair and put it on.

“Jake, maybe this isn't a good time to go see Peter,” Randy objected, still clinging to Jeff's hand.

“There will never
be
a good time, so let's go before I go after Hash Bryant and bleed to death beating the hell out of him!” He headed for the door, still holding Hash's shotgun. Lloyd followed him out.

Randy finally let go of Jeff's hand. She pulled on her gloves and rose.

Juan grasped her arm. “
Señora
, it is all right. That Hash Bryant, he is a bad
hombre
. Everybody in here, they understand that.”

Randy nodded. “His being a bad
hombre
is what worries me.” They left the restaurant. Outside, Jake was leaning against a porch post lighting a cigarette while Lloyd paced angrily.

“If I'd known he came into town this morning, I never would have let him look you up, Pa!”

“I know that. I just had better not see his face in town again anytime soon.”

“Maybe you'd better go back home and cool down a little,” Lloyd suggested.

“No! I have more to talk to Peter Brown about than Jeff's book or a trust fund. I'll be fine.”

“You're not fine at all, Pa! I know you. You're so damn mad, you want to hit something, or better yet, go after Hash Bryant. Go home before you open that wound up all over again or do something to get you fired and thrown back into prison.”

Jake pushed back his hat and rubbed at his eyes. “I'm not canceling this appointment. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I couldn't sleep because of Marty Bryant's escape…and I'm worried about Mom.” He glanced at his mother, who remained silent. “I got dressed and went down to the jail and found out Hash had been there, and came looking for you.”

A few people came out of the restaurant, moving away from Jake, knowing what he was like when angry. Juan, however, walked right up to him.

“
Señor, Dios se encarga de todas las cosas. Él los protegerá a usted y su familia. Confía en él, señor.
”

Jake nodded and seemed calmer.

Lloyd walked closer to Jake. “What
did
Brian say? Is Mom all right?”

Jake glanced at Randy. “She just might need some surgery, that's all. She'll be fine.”

Lloyd looked at his mother. “He's lying, isn't he?”

Jeff just stood there listening in wonder and worry.

“We don't know for sure, Lloyd. I have to see Dr. Rogers first.”

Lloyd suddenly looked like a lost little boy.

“Go talk to Brian,” Jake told him. “He'll explain.”

Lloyd kept watching Randy. “Mom?”

“I'll be all right, Lloyd. Your father is right. Go talk to Brian.”

“How long have you been sick?”

“Lloyd, it's most likely something that can be fixed.”

Lloyd looked back at Jake. “I'm here for both of you. You know that.”

Jake nodded. “I know.”

“So is Evie. You keep that in mind. I mean if—”

“Don't say it,” Jake warned. “Everything will work out. Let's take one thing at a time. Right now I have an appointment with Peter, so you go do whatever you have to do, and we'll talk later.”

Lloyd turned to his mother again. He seemed to be at a terrible loss to know what to say or do. He walked up to her and embraced her. “You get yourself well. I don't want to have to deal with that sonofabitch of a husband of yours if something happens to you.”

“I'm sure I'll get better, Lloyd. Do what your father says and just go take care of whatever you need to do today. Jake will be fine.”

Lloyd pulled away, glancing at Jake again.

“Go on. We'll talk later.” He handed Lloyd Hash's shotgun. “This belongs to Hash. Unload it before you give it to him. I'd prefer it if you just aimed it at him and gave him both barrels, but we have to obey the goddamn law!” He turned to Jeff as Lloyd took the shotgun. “I left my duster in there. Go get it for me, would you? This leg is starting to give me some real pain.”

“Sure, Jake.” Jeff went back inside to retrieve Jake's coat.

A frustrated Lloyd glanced at Jake once more. “This thing with the Bryants and Buckleys won't end anytime soon, will it?”

Their gazes held. “Probably not. But there is nothing we can do about it today other than make sure Hash leaves with Brad. Go make sure that happens, and remember you're a lawman, Lloyd.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Lloyd reluctantly left, and Jake sighed, moving beside Randy and putting an arm about her waist. “Come on. Let's keep that appointment with Peter.”

“Be nice.”

“I will.”

Jeff hurried out after them to see Jake suddenly lift his wife with one arm and carry her across an alley.

“Jake Harkner, put me down! You'll break that leg open.”

“My leg is fine.” They reached the next boardwalk, and Jake leaned down to give his wife a quick kiss.

You
don't fool me, Jake
, Jeff thought.
You
just
don't want your wife to worry. You've got plans for Hash Bryant. Or maybe you're just worried that Hash Bryant has plans for you…or your family.

He followed them to Peter Brown's office.

Jeff felt sweat breaking out under his shirt as they entered Peter Brown's office. Suddenly his tweed jacket and silk vest seemed too warm in spite of the morning's chill. He entered first to see the very dapper Peter Brown sitting behind his desk, his slightly gray hair perfectly combed, his suit obviously well cut and expensive, his blue eyes fixed on Randy when she entered. The man rose to greet all three of them and put out his hand to Jake.

“Jake, it's good to see you up and walking around.”

Jake shook his hand. Jeff watched. A firm handshake, but not the painful one Jake had given Brown after church that first Sunday. “Still a lot of pain, but I'll survive.”

“A little laudanum should help. Surely your son-in-law can give you some.”

“No, thanks. I don't drink around my wife, and laudanum is even worse. It's just whiskey mixed with opium. I don't intend to find out what
that
mix might do to me. I'm mean enough sober.” He glanced at Randy. “Is
that
what Brian gave you last night?”

Randy gave him a warning look but grinned at the same time. “Stop it.”

They both laughed lightly, and it was obvious to Jeff they were sharing a very personal joke. He turned his attention to Peter, who watched the two of them with a painful sadness.

“I told your wife we could put this off a few more days,” Peter told Jake. “I'm not that busy this week, and I'm guessing you really shouldn't be walking on that leg yet.”

“Convincing Jake to stop doing something he shouldn't do is like talking to a wall,” Randy commented. “We have a grandson who also does not like to be told no.”

Peter looked back at Jake, and Jeff could feel the tension between the two men. “Yes, well, that stubborn little grandson created quite a ruckus…when? It's been over three weeks, I think. You made all the local headlines, Jake, and by now you've probably been featured in stories in newspapers in a lot of other towns, probably even other states. I'm glad you and Little Jake are all right. I mean that. Seeing that kid out in the street had to be awful for you.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Jake answered, a hint of sarcasm in the remark. “Little Jake is apparently aptly named. He's stubborn and determined.” Jake turned to Jeff. “Peter, this is Jeff Trubridge,” he added, “the reporter from Chicago.”

Peter put out his hand and Jeff shook it.

“Actually, I met Jeff right after the shooting,” Peter told Jake. He looked Jake over. “I didn't come on the scene until after the fact, but I saw a tremendous amount of blood still in the street.”

Jake removed his hat. “Yeah, well, of all the wounds I've experienced, this one really put me down. It was the loss of blood that nearly did me in this time.”

Peter glanced at Randy again. “I think it nearly did your wife in too.”

Jake shifted, and Jeff suspected he was holding back an urge to tell Peter Brown not to be so concerned about his wife. “I'm aware of what it did to my wife,” he answered. “That's part of the reason I'm here, but we'll get to that later. Right now I want to discuss the book this kid here wants to write. In the short time I've known him, I've grown to like him a lot. I think he'll try to do an honest job of it, which is why I'm letting him follow me around like a damn shadow. This book needs to be from hands-on experience and personal stories, not hearsay. The only way to do that is to let Jeff talk to me and my family. I'm even taking him along the next time Lloyd and I ride out on our rounds.”

Peter glanced at Jeff. “Well now, Jeff,
that
will likely be an experience you won't forget. I hope you know how to ride a horse and shoot a gun. You seem like more of a city kid to me. We're both from Chicago, and I know not many men from there ride horseback and carry guns anymore.”

Jeff loosened the top button of his shirt. “I
am
a city kid, but I do know how to ride. As far as a gun—well, you saw me the day of the shooting holding Jake's guns. That's the first time I've even touched one. I'm sure Jake can teach me a few things when we head out.”

Peter laughed lightly. “Well now, that's an understatement, isn't it?” He glanced at Jake. “You couldn't ask for a better teacher, Jeff, when it comes to using firearms.”

“No, sir,” Jeff told him, watching the hint of challenge between Jake and Peter. He thought about what a powerful presence Jake was, the way he just filled up a room the minute he stepped into it. A commanding aura seemed to hover around the man. He knew Peter felt it too.

Peter surprised Jeff then with his next statement. “Jake is the best there is when it comes to using those guns.” He glanced at Jeff again. “And he's a good man, Jeff, despite some of the things you hear. If he wasn't, you'd see it in his wife's eyes, and she undoubtedly has eyes for only one man. If Jake was all the things others say he is, I doubt an educated, intelligent woman like Randy would still be with him.” He'd moved his gaze to Randy on that remark, then looked at Jake. “Put that in your book, Jeff,” he said, his eyes still holding Jake's gaze.

Jeff felt perspiration on his forehead. “I've already taken note of that, Mr. Brown. Mrs. Harkner is the strongest, most devoted woman I've ever met.”

Peter took up a legal pad and an ink pen. “That she is,” he commented, scribbling something on the pad.

“And both of you are embarrassing me,” Randy put in, reaching over and grasping Jake's hand.

Jeff wondered if she was afraid Jake would explode into words he shouldn't, but he said nothing. He just kept watching Peter Brown carefully.

“Well now, let's get down to why you're here,” Peter told them. “Jake and Randy, you want some kind of agreement with Jeff that indicates you have the last say in whether this book even gets published, right?”

“That's right,” Jake told him. He shifted again, wincing with pain. Jeff suspected he was really struggling to keep his mouth shut in front of Randy. “I want to make sure he doesn't exaggerate like they do in those damn dime novels. I'm just a man, like any other, who's a federal marshal because a judge forced him into it. Anything is better than prison, which is where I'd still be otherwise.”

Peter kept writing. “You underestimate yourself, Jake.”

Jake rubbed at his eyes. “I guess that's something for others to decide after I'm long gone, which I expect will happen sooner than later, with guns blazing.”

Peter kept his attention on the tablet. “I'm sure you want this book to justify why you did some of the things you did—”

“No. My past
can't
be justified. It can be explained, but it can't be excused or made right. A man makes his choices, and I made a lot of wrong ones. There's no changing that. I was raised among whores and outlaws, and that's all I knew. Maybe Jeff can explain how it all came about when he writes this book. The fact remains I have a family and grandchildren now who I'd prefer remembered me for the kind of father and grandfather I am. When I'm dead and gone, I don't want my tombstone to say ‘Here lies Jake Harkner, notorious outlaw.' I just want it to say ‘a good husband and father.'”

Jeff took out his own notebook and began scribbling. Peter looked up from what he'd been writing and held Jake's gaze. He slowly nodded. “And that's what you are.” He glanced at Randy, then cleared his throat and looked back at his notes. “I take it you want a trust set up that includes future grandchildren? After all, your son just took a new wife. And your daughter might not be through having children either.”

“That's right. Fact is, Evie is carrying again,” Jake told him. “This book might not even sell that many copies, but if it does, I don't want any of the proceeds from it. I want it all to go to my grandchildren.” Jake shifted again, rubbing at the back of his neck and, Jeff thought, still holding back. “God knows I don't have much else to leave them, other than knowing they carry my blood and will have to live with that—let alone the fact that they carry my
father's
blood. Maybe I got lucky and got rid of most of his blood when I almost bled to death after that last shoot-out.”

Randy closed her eyes and grasped his hand again. “Jake, don't go there. Please don't go there.”

Jeff could see Jake growing very restless.

“Jake, let's stay with why you're here,” Peter told him.

Jake kept hold of Randy's hand. “I just want the truth told.”

Peter kept his eyes on the tablet, as though almost afraid to look at Randy again. “Well, let's begin with full names—you, your children, and your grandchildren.”

“Jackson Lloyd Harkner and Miranda Sue Harkner,” Randy answered. “You don't need my maiden name or my first husband's name, do you?”

“No.”

“There was a first husband?” Jeff asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Randy answered. “He was killed in the Civil War. I was only eighteen. I was married at seventeen, and we had all of two weeks together before he left and never came back.” She met Jake's eyes. “I've been terrified ever since that the same thing will happen with Jake. He'll go riding off into No Man's Land and never come back.”

Jake shifted yet again. “As long as I know you're here waiting, I'll always come back.”

Peter kept writing. “Full names of children and grandchildren?” he asked.

“Evita Louise Harkner Stewart,” Randy answered again. “Lloyd's full name is Lloyd Jackson Harkner, a reverse of Jake's name. Lloyd's little boy's name is Stephen Lloyd. Evie's little imp is Jackson Lloyd Harkner, like his grandfather.”

“In more ways than name,” Jake added.

“Dates of birth?”

Randy rattled off all the dates, until she got to Jake's birth date. She looked at Jake. He became very quiet. Peter glanced at him.

“I don't know,” he told Peter. “My birthday isn't exactly something that my”—he stopped as though something was stuck in his throat—“my parents…celebrated. I'm sure my mother would have liked to, but she, uh…” He shifted again. “I only know how old she
said
I was. Not long before she”—he cleared his throat, still clinging to Randy's hand—“died, she said I was eight. And for the record, her name was
Evita
Ramona
Consuella
de
Jimenez
.”

“Jake,” Randy said softly, “you're hurting my hand.”

He quickly let go. “Jesus,” he murmured.

Peter leaned back and rubbed at his temple. “So how old are you now?”

Jake just sat there.

“Jake?” Peter frowned.

“My mother died in 1844. The day she and my little brother”—he cleared his throat—“died…I wrote the year on a piece of paper, and my age. I was eight.”

“You had a brother?” Peter asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” Jake almost groaned the answer.

“And they both died at the same time?”

“Yes,” Jake answered emphatically. “I watched them die. Now let's move on to something else.”

The room hung silent. Peter closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Jeff waited with bated breath.

“Jake,” Randy spoke up softly. “You never told me about any note.”

Jake cleared his throat again, straightening and taking a deep breath. “Yeah, well, now you know. I've carried it with me for forty-eight years.” Jeff was astounded to see tears in Jake's eyes.

Peter started writing again. “Well then, we'll just make up a birth date and figure the year to be 1836. Surely there are records of your birth. Texas, wasn't it? I have your mother's name, although you'll have to spell it out for me. I'm not fluent in Spanish.”

Randy grasped Jake's hand again and he spelled his mother's name for Peter.

“Thanks.” He looked at Jake. “Now, if I know the town where you think you were born, and your father's full name—”

“No!” Jake barked. “You make up a date and leave it at that. I don't want my father's name mentioned in
any
way. Not in
any
way! Not in those papers and not in Jeff's book. If his name has to be mentioned, then I'm not doing this at all!”

Peter set down the ink pen and leaned forward. “Jake, although I am risking you putting a gun to my head for asking, I have to ask it.” He paused, weighing his words and swallowing before speaking. “How do you expect Jeff to write this book if he can't settle for once and for all what happened to your father? It's the one thing that hangs over your head…the one question everybody wonders about but is afraid to ask, as I am sure
Jeff
is afraid to ask. The book won't be complete until you clarify that one thing from your past. If that isn't settled, the book won't tell the whole story, and your grandchildren will never understand that part of their grandfather.”

Jeff wanted to crawl under the man's desk. Jake sat glaring at Peter, his dark eyes smoldering. The tension inside the small room could have been cut with a knife, and Peter kept a steady eye on Jake. Randy let out a little groan and looked away. Jeff wondered if Jake was going to speak at all, or if maybe he'd just pull a gun any minute and shoot Peter Brown.

“You know I'm right, Jake,” Peter told him. “This is man-to-man. I sincerely am not trying to upset you, and God knows I don't like upsetting your wife. I know I'm asking the forbidden question, but you really need to understand that all the other truths about you will do no good if that one little matter isn't cleared up. Everyone knows you killed your own father, but no one knows
why
. The why is all that's necessary to the truth, and you said that's what you want this book to be—the truth.”

“The truth is I killed him, plain and simple,” Jake nearly shouted. “And for a
damn
good reason!
I'll
be the one to decide if and when I tell Jeff all of it, so right now just let it go!”