Little Sam's Angel (15 page)

The sheriff went with Morey to track the men with the dogs, Hedges stayed at the house, and Gabe fell back to sleep.

"Don't give a damn," Hedges whispered secretly to Sally. "Like he was sometimes when he first got here. Just give up and don't care what happens anymore."

"He's still in shock," she said, worrying if that was the thing she couldn't see that was dragging Gabe down.

Gabe slept, the others worried, and then Danny started to cry. It was late, and he was sleepy. It was the time of evening when Gabe usually held him, only Gabe couldn't, and they wouldn't let Danny see him.

* * *

Gabe heard Danny crying and a soft voice telling him to be still, or he'd wake his papa.

The title twisted a knife in Gabe's soul. He figured it was a twist that would torture him till the day he died. He'd never considered marrying, never thought of himself as a man who'd be a husband much less a father. He never thought of himself having a child until Brenda told him the child she carried was his. He was surprised to find that he liked the idea, but the circumstances, how she told him it happened, the thing she claimed he'd done, tormented him. The other things Brenda told him afterward added more anguish. He'd never be able to claim the baby, for the baby's sake. Brenda said they had to think of the baby, not themselves. If Gabe told the truth of his parentage, everyone would know Danny was a bastard. Brenda's husband would rightfully disown him, and Danny would be left with nothing.

Gabe never felt it was right any more than he could completely believe he'd ever forced himself on any woman. The thought that maybe he had sickened him, and the fact that he'd been sick that night, out of his head with fever, didn't ease his mind much as an excuse to forgive himself the way Brenda had said she did. He had remembered finding Brenda that day. He'd been on his way to town to have the Doc treat his arm. The cut wasn't much, but it looked to be poisoning up, and he'd felt feverish.

Brenda was so pretty and had looked to be so helpless, he figured he could take the time to get her on home, show her the way anyway. He told her so. Instead of being happy about it, she'd went to crying.

She told him her husband beat her, that she was scared of him, and that she was running away. She wanted Gabe to take her, not back to her ranch, but to the line shack he'd come from to hide for the night and then through the mountains to where the railroad ran.

Gabe didn't figure he ought to do either of those things. It was wrong to interfere between a man and his wife, and Gabe knew he was too sick anyway to do what she wanted. He told her so, and she cried more, swearing she wouldn't go back. If he wouldn't help her, she'd go on alone.

"It's going to rain. All you'll get is wet," he remembered telling her. "There's a train goes through town. You'd be a whole lot better off taking it."

She jerked her horse's head and ran the other way. He watched her, thinking she was almighty foolish, right up till the time her horse reared and threw her. He wasn't feeling well enough to fool with her, but he couldn't leave her out there alone and on foot.

Shows she was right with the names she called him later, he had been a fool. He'd put her on his own horse, and he'd walked, taking her to town. It was slow going, and when the rain came, he got wet and cold. The fever got worse, and he'd started to shake. That's where his memory got hazy.

When she'd told him little Danny was his, she also told him they stopped at an old shack that night, and he'd taken her by force. She said he'd been like a drunk man or crazy, demanded that she give into him. She'd sworn she didn't hold him to blame, knowing it was the fever, but he had forced himself on her just the same.

"Gabe, take some of this," Sally said, breaking into his thoughts.

She lifted his head, holding a cup of water to his mouth. She didn't derive any great relief from the small amount he took. With coaxing, he took a little more, but shook his head at the offer of food of any kind.

Danny still whined in the other room for Gabe to hold him. "Bring him here, Sally," Gabe told her weakly.

"You're in no shape to be holding him."

"Bring him to me, Sally."

Sally didn't like it. She didn't like the thought of what a squirming youngster could do to him if he hit Gabe's hands or damaged ribs. Even worse, she didn't like the sound of Gabe's voice, insisting on holding the child as if it was his last chance to do it.

She held Danny away from him long enough to warn the child, "Your papa is hurt. You sit still so you don't cause him pain." She sat him on the edge of the bed, trying to hold his weight away from Gabe, but Gabe fought her.

He used his arms, rather than hands, to draw Danny close, settling his little head on his shoulder. Danny wasn't his. He'd recognized the truth of those words when Brenda screamed them because it had been hard for him to believe the lies of raping her. Yet during the time she'd sworn Danny was his, while Gabe had been unable to think of a reason for her to be lying, he'd learned to love Danny then and even more since Brenda had dumped the baby in the yard. He'd started thinking of him as his own. Those weren't feelings he could turn off. Nor did he want to, but he was no good for Danny.

Danny chattered to Gabe, words he couldn't understand. He mumbled back, sounds as indistinguishable to Sally as Danny's chatter, but they seemed all Danny needed to hear. He went to sleep there, content again to be with Gabe.

When Sally carried him back to his crib, Gabe watched till she was out of sight. Then he closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk to her, not anyone, and slid back into the memories of that awful time after Danny had been born and after Brenda's husband died.

He and Brenda's different opinions on how to deal with the threat of the homesteaders turned ugly when Gabe told Brenda he wouldn't stand for useless bloodshed even to keep the ranch for Danny. He wouldn't leave his son that kind of legacy whether he could ever claim him as his own or not. She called him a coward first, saying he was afraid to fight. She said he was too proud and jealous to let Danny have more than he could ever give him. Gabe told her those things weren't so, but he couldn't make her understand. He tried explaining to her that it wasn't right to cover Danny's inheritance in blood, not when it wasn't necessary. He did want more for his son than he could give him, but he wanted it to be something Danny would be proud of as a man. He tried every way he could to get her to file on the land, said he'd file for her on some of it, but she wouldn't listen. When she'd finally accepted that he wouldn't kill for her, she'd started to laugh and called him a fool. That was when she admitted to the lie about Danny's parentage, screaming that she was too good to bed with a saddle tramp like him and that all he'd done that night was pass out.

Gabe did what he thought was best; he left. He took a job on an off season trail drive that promised not only a reason to get away from the building violence, but the chance to earn more money than he could make at a dollar a day. Two weeks out, he knew he couldn't just walk away. He really thought that by going back, with him knowing what Brenda was up to, he could do something to head off an open war. Her greed and her ability to twist men around to do her bidding had been too strong. He'd been a fool then and still was. He'd trusted another woman.

Chapter Nine

"I can't find anything more than Sally did," the doctor said. "He's had a bad shock. It'll just take him time to get over it."

"Don't act like he gives a damn about anything," Hedges grumbled from the table.

"He cares for Danny. Insisted on holding him last night," Sally said, showing her worry with her fingers twisting tight in her apron.

"That's a good sign. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything more," the doctor said, gathering his bag and hat. "Just keep him quiet, no strains on him, and get him to eat as much light food as you can. I'll try to come back over in a few days."

"No need. You done said you cain't do any more than we are," Sally said gruffly.

"All right, but if he looks to be getting pneumonia, you send word to me." He tipped his hat to Sally and Sammy on his way back to his buggy for the long ride home.

Sammy, sitting at the table with Hedges and Morey, had stayed quiet until then. "Sally?" she asked timidly, wanting assurances from her.

"He'll be all right," Sally answered briskly. "He ain't the kind to be kicked down and not get up again."

"Sometimes a man gets kicked down enough times, he don't want to get up again," Hedges said sadly while Sammy got up from the table. "Wish I knew who done it."

"And why," Sally said as Sammy drifted across the main room to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

Gabe didn't look any different than he had the day before, still pale, still deathly quiet. Sammy choked down a sob, and Hedges came up behind her, hugging her tightly.

"Gabe's got up before, girl. Sally's right; he ain't the kind not to get up again."

"Hedges, why?"

"Don't know. Maybe it has something to do with before. Lot of them thought they had reason to hate him for it, but something like this…" He broke off and shook his head. "I don't know any cowboy that would do something like this."

"I don't believe he don't know who it was," Morey said from the side to take their attention. "Thought at first it was just of some hard-cases drifting around, but they didn't take his money."

"Maybe they couldn't find it," Sammy suggested, not having the slightest idea of where Gabe kept his money or if it would be hard to find.

"Nothing was disturbed that wasn't from the fight. Didn't search for it, didn't search for nothing," Morey told her. "If they were owlhoots looking to steal, they'd have torn the place apart, taking anything of value."

"You think he lied about them being masked," Sammy accused.

"No, not that. We found a mask, all covered with blood."

"Then how—"

"Dag-nab it, Sammy. Men don't do a thing like that without saying something. They don't just bust into a man's home, torture him like that, and not say something."

"Shhh," Sally warned, tiptoeing to the door to pull it shut.

"Maybe it's too private to tell," Hedges suggested.

"It ain't private no more." Usually so easy going, Morey, snapped. "This was at our back door, happening to a friend. It ain't private no more. And there's something else worrying me. Doc say there's a powerful lot of drifters in Tree Town, too many for it to only be the usual cowhands looking for jobs, and they ain't cowboys from the look of them, not the way they're carrying their guns. That was the reason I was thinking as close as we are to there that maybe some hard-cases done this."

"Just what are you driving at?" Hedges asked.

"What did you mean by something from before?" Sally asked of Hedges.

"None of your business. It's his private affair," Hedges told her.

"Hedges, it might help us figure this out. If it's something bad you been holding back on me and Sally, we got a right to know."

"Sammy knows. If it was bad, she'd tell you," Hedges countered.

"Maybe not. She's in love with him."

"Morey!" Sammy exclaimed.

"You think we don't know? You ain't never looked at another man like you have him."

Sammy's eyes filled with tears, unable to deny it. Sally put her arms around her, consoling her as she had when Sammy was a child.

"You leave her be," Sally told Morey. "If Hedges says it ain't bad, it ain't."

"He said men had reason to hate Gabe for it. Like as not the same men that put them holes in him. Could be they followed him."

"Then they'd have killed him, not that," Sammy sobbed. "He didn't do anything bad, Morey. He wouldn't."

"Sammy, honey, I don't think Gabe would, but you got to see, if they ain't finished with him, they may come back," Morey said.

"You dang fool," Sally snapped at him for the increase of tears that fear produced in Sammy.

"I ain't going to have my hands tied. If I'm going to protect him, I got to know what I'm fighting."

"Oh, Morey," she sobbed, turning from Sally's arms to hug him tight.

"Someone coming," Hedges said, peering out the window.

"Oh," Sammy cried, rubbing at her face and running out of the house to keep anyone from seeing her like that.

"Who is it?" Morey asked, taking a place beside Hedges with his hand on his side gun.

"Just a man and woman. Ain't never seen them before." Deciding they represented no danger, Hedges went out to greet them. "Howdy," he said cordially.

The man nodded, asking, "Is this the home of one Gabriel Taylor?"

"It is," Hedges said, looking the middle-aged couple over carefully. He had never seen them before, but they had the look of some prosperity, good quality clothes, solid, new wagon, and a fresh, team of fair looking horses.

"Is he in?" the man asked, bristling under the close scrutiny.

"Is, but he ain't seeing no one. He's sick."

"We know of his sickness. We have something very important to speak to him about. We won't take long."

"Don't figure he's up to it."

"It is very important," the man repeated, stoically.

" 'Bout what?" Hedges asked bluntly.

"A private matter."

"Where you from?"

"Tree Town. We've come concerning something the doctor told us. We're quite sure we can be of help to Mr. Taylor."

Hedges figured they had to mean they knew something about what happened to Gabe. Sally must have too, the way she gave a nod of okay when he looked to her for advice.

"Okay, step down," he said.

* * *

Gabe woke easily to Sally's touch. His eyes seemed alert, but his interest was still lacking as she introduced the couple. Sally backed off, watching them warily.

"Mr. Taylor, I'm Eldon Davis. My wife," He indicated the woman standing slightly behind him, "and I wish to be of help in what must be a difficult situation for you. We know of the boy you're caring for. We're a couple getting on in years, Mr. Taylor. We have no children of our own, nor will we be blessed with any."

Mrs. Davis said earnestly, "We'd love him as our own, Mr. Taylor, and we can provide for him."

"It's difficult for any man to raise a child alone," Mr. Davis went on.

The way he said 'any' made Sally's eyebrow rise.

"We would provide a home with two parents for him."

"You're out of your minds, coming here to suggest that," Sally told them hotly.

"Let them talk," Gabe said quietly.

"Don't you be listening to this kind of thing. They cain't give Danny nothing you cain't."

"I am a man of means," Mr. Davis told him. "I've just sold a profitable business, and we're returning east, where the child would have the—"

"He don't need none of that," Sally said, taking them each by an arm to lead them out.

"He'd be away from all this sordid business. No one would ever think he was any but our own," Mr. Davis said in a rush.

"Think about it, Mr. Taylor. We can give him so much more," the woman cried.

"No," Gabe said, and her face fell only to brightened when he finished. "Take him now."

"No, Gabe, you cain't do that," Sally cried.

"His clothes is in the trunk in his room. Take him now," Gabe said, ignoring Sally and pointing the way with one bandaged hand.

Sally started to the bed to argue with Gabe. The couple hurried out. Sally shifted direction, running to keep the woman from taking Danny. Danny screamed when Mrs. Davis ran to the crib and snatched him up. Mr. Davis grabbed up the trunk.

"You don't know what you'll do to him. You cain't take him," Sally pleaded, trying to pry the woman's hold loose to gain possession of Danny as their struggles took them to the front room.

"Sally, leave them be!" Gabe yelled from the other room, pushing himself up to his elbows.

"Gabe, you cain't do this," Sally cried, running to his bedroom door.

"Leave them be," he repeated. What little color he’d regained drained out of his face from the stress he was putting on his injured ribs, and his voice was strained.

"Gabe, you just don't realize—" Sally argued, only to have him cut her off again.

"I know what I'm doing," he told her coldly. He rolled away from her, pressing his arm to his side, turning his back to her and the sight of Danny, screaming and fighting, his arms outstretched to where he knew Gabe was as the woman carried him out.

"Gabe, you're making a bad mistake," Sally said, tears in her eyes.

"Leave me alone, Sally," was his muffled reply.

All Sammy knew was she heard Danny screaming. She ran back to the house, arriving just as the wagon drove away. Sally cried openly, while she, Hedges, and Morey stood at the door watching the wagon get smaller and smaller in the distance.

"What is it?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

"He gave him away. Just like that, he handed him over to strangers," Sally sobbed.

"No, not Danny, no!"

Sally turned back to the house, her shoulders shaking. Hedges and Morey looked at the ground.

"He cain't do it," she cried, pushing through them, she dropped to her knees beside the bed. "Gabe, you cain't do this."

"Better for him," he mumbled without turning his head to look at her.

"Gabe, you don't understand how…how…much you mean to him." Her words were jerky, sobs in between, as she tried to explain. "Sally didn't tell you all, for fear you'd…worry. Gabe, you cain't…tear him out…of your life. Please."

"Better for him," he repeated.

"It isn't, Gabe. It'll kill him. Please…let me go…after him."

"No. Better for him."

His back was a solid wall between them, his bare shoulder hideously scarred by the bullet that had smashed it—a grim reminder of the past. Sammy reached out to touch him, saying his name again.

He recoiled, saying, "Go away. I don't want to see you."

Hedges was there, coming in without her knowing it. "Come on, girl. He don't feel like company," he said softly, lifting her to her feet.

She ran from the room, rushing from a pain that wouldn't stay behind. She ran through the kitchen, making Sally sob harder at seeing her misery as she passed her. Morey started after Sammy, only to stop next to Sally. Nothing he could say or do would help.

Gabe was cutting all his ties with the living. He had a fever, and Sally told them if he didn't fight it, it could carry him away to his death. Gabe had nothing now to hold on to to keep him from it.

* * *

Sammy cried the whole time she saddled her horse, sobs that shook her so hard she had trouble threading the cinch strap through its ring. Her high emotions made the horse nervous, and he jumped around, giving her something to curse with every cowboy word she'd ever heard.

She sprang to the saddle and sank her heels into his flanks. Unused to that kind of treatment, the startled animal nearly bolted from under her. She held tight, kicking him again and again into a full, wind whistling, dead run. She couldn't see where he was going and didn't care.

The horse went the same place any horse would go, given his head: home. When he slowed to an easier pace, Sammy let him, still not caring as long as she was moving away from a man she was sure hated her.

When the buildings came into sight, she didn't slow and neither did the horse. He wanted in his corral where he knew he was safe from senseless riders. When he slid to a stop in front of the gate, she jumped off, noting the other horses in the corral and not caring that her crew was back from the drive.

She ran to the house, leaving him with his head hanging and covered in lather for one of the men to take care of and nearly screamed when the man stepped out to grab her by the arms and stop her.

"Where have you been," Pierce demanded.

"None of your damned business," she retorted, jerking away from him and pushing to move him out of her way.