Little Sam's Angel (9 page)

"Now, boy, don't get yourself up in a lather over gossip. It's enough that they know that Cargin woman was lying."

"How do they know that?"

"She got herself a bad reputation coming into town saying you gave her that babe then deserted her. Made herself a fallen woman with them lies," Hedges said, walking off.

Gabe followed, but he wasn't satisfied with Hedges' answer. He had such a stormy look on his face that Burns stayed away from him while he tried on boots and gathered up his packages.

Gabe waited until they returned to the hotel, then he cornered Hedges again. "It sounded like Mrs. Jones knew what happened out there."

"She makes up what she don't know," Hedges countered evasively.

"Only one person besides me would know. She didn't tell it, did she?"

"No, only a few hints here and there to send Mrs. Jones in the right direction. It was all that was needed to set things right."

"She told it! It wasn't bad enough she was exposed to it, she had to shame herself telling it? That Mrs. Jones thinks there's something between us now. That's why she kept asking about me seeing Little Sam. Damn it, Hedges, why did you let Sammy do that?"

"Sammy ain't been shamed none."

"I've done nothing but shame and humiliate her from the first time I saw her," Gabe said in a voice gone hoarse from trying to keep it down so no one would hear him.

"Sammy don't hold it against you," Hedges told him in a vain effort to calm him.

"I cain't stay here now, Hedges. It'd shame her more." Gabe stormed out of the hotel without his saddle.

Hedges grabbed it up, staggering under its weight, to follow him. If Gabe hadn't had to take the time to tie his bundles onto the horse, Hedges wouldn't have caught him at all.

"Gabe, do one thing for me, just one thing. Talk to Sammy before you do anything."

"I cain't talk to her." He swung up to the back of his horse, reached down with one hand to take the saddle from Hedges and was gone.

Hedges only had one consolation. "He's got to get by Sally before he can pull up stakes," he muttered hopefully. Then he grinned. Gabe had been so mad and upset, he forgot about calling Sammy Miss Mentrol. That meant that was how he thought of her, as Sammy. The grin faded though. Gabe was also so mad, he might just do what he threatened, leave there immediately. What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to that little boy?

* * *

If not for Danny, Gabe would have kept on riding right out of Crossings. He'd made a fool of himself before, over and over again. Burns had almost said what a no account he considered him, but Burns didn't have to put it into words. Gabe knew what folks thought of him based on the way he'd looked when he arrived in that town, even before Brenda had maligned him.

Sure, three hundred dollars would mean a lot to him. The only place he'd ever called home his whole adult life was the bed in a bunkhouse and three meals a day that came with his dollar-a-day wages. When did a thirty-a-month cowhand ever see that kind of money at one time to call his own? He was a cowhand and nothing more, nor would he ever be.

He didn't have much education to brag on, and if it hadn't been for Hedges staking him in that poker game that started it all, he wouldn't have anything but a bad fit hand-me-down town suit and a stage ticket to take him as far north as possible from the people who did know what he was, not to mention believing he was a raping, cold blooded killer.

Thinking of the suit and the pious-mouthed people who had given it to him, he jerked the horse to a stop. Without much caring if anyone saw him, he stripped out of the suit and threw it away. He ripped open the package he had bought at the store and dressed the way he was accustomed to, in a cotton shirt and pants.

Next he stripped the saddle Morey had loaned him off the horse and put his own saddle on. His horse, his saddle, and as soon as he got Danny, they were getting away from there.

When he rode up in front of the house, Sally came out to greet him. "You sure look some different now," she said with approval.

"Where's Danny?" he asked gruffly as he swung down and tossed the old saddle to the porch.

"Takin' a nap. What's eating at you?" she asked, barring the way to keep him from going through the door.

"Nothing that ain't been eating at me from the start," he growled, trying to push her aside.

Sally was like a rock, using a hand on each side of the doorjamb to hold her place. "You stay away from that boy till you calm down some. You'll spook him, jerking him up out of bed, mad as you are."

"I'm leaving here," Gabe declared, daring her to stop him.

Shocked, with no way of knowing what had set him off, she said, "Fine and where are you going to sleep, on the ground using the stars for a blanket?"

"I got a blanket," Gabe said, backing off to glare at her.

"That babe needs a bed and a roof over his head."

"We'll make do, both of us. Just get out of the way so's I can pack."

"You better pack plenty, and when you get done with what you need, that horse will be so loaded you'll be walking. Takes lots of things to care for a babe."

"I'll get a wagon, a covered one so's he can have a roof over his head and a bed."

"When you get that done, you come back. You may be cooled down by then."

Without physical violence, she was an impassable obstacle, and to make matters worse, Gabe knew she was right. He headed for the woods.

Gabe swung the ax until sweat soaked his new shirt and poured down his face. Chips flew, even if there wasn't much firewood being cut. He demolished the length of wood until it was nothing but chunks. When he stopped, it was to peel his shirt off to keep the newness of it from chafing him.

Nothing makes a man madder than having someone tell him he's wrong when he knows he is. Gabe had to work that mad out before he started thinking straight. He couldn't go off half-cocked. Those days were over now that he had Danny to care for.

The fact that he had always been level-headed and rather slow to anger before that night in Crystal Creek didn't seem to enter his head. Even with the lies Brenda had been telling about him, he hadn't gone crazy mad then every time something crossed him. He knew he couldn't keep acting the way he had been. Danny was depending on him, and sleeping under the stars—no matter how many blankets he had—wasn't for a baby.

He did need a wagon, and to get a wagon he needed money. That meant cutting wood and that meant staying put. He'd cut wood until he got the money, and then he'd get them an outfit fixed up. He still didn't know what he'd do after he left there, but if it was never anything but chopping more wood somewhere else, they'd get by. He could even go home, he figured, back to where he had family to help him no matter how much that might hurt his pride.

He may never ride a horse again for a living, but—horse! Lord, he'd left that horse lathered and hot with a saddle still on it. He grabbed up his shirt, running to get back to care for it, and ran right into Sammy.

Avoiding her and avoiding town were the two most important things on his list if he figured on staying there. First thing out of the hat, he ran into her, and without a shirt on.

"Don't you ever let anyone know you're around?' he snapped, scrambling back into his shirt.

"You are not going to make me mad," she yelled at him, sounding furious despite her claim to the opposite.

"Good," he snorted, stomping off the way he had been going.

She spurred her mount to come up next to him. "Mr. Taylor, I want to talk to you."

"We ain't got nothing to talk about."

"Damn you, turn around and look at me."

With a jerk of astonishment, he did.

"Oh, don't look so shocked. I've cussed all my life, and I'll keep right on cussing until the day I die."

"Don't sound right coming from a lady."

"I'm not a lady. I'm Little Sam."

She so confused him, he forgot all about how he was dressed, asking, "How's that make any difference?"

"Why, that forgives all transgressions," she said sarcastically. "You'd never expect any better from a female raised like a boy, and…" She pointed her finger at him for the next bitter words. "…I'm Big Sam's daughter. That puts me in a class all by myself."

"You don't sound like you like it none."

"I have to live with it," she said sadly.

Gabe pondered that as he tucked his shirt down his pants absently, until he realized what he was doing and jerked his hands up quickly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor. I keep on embarrassing you. I really don't mean to," Sammy told him.

"It ought to be me saying that," he said glumly. "And lots more. I never meant to shame you, ma'am. There ain't nothing I can do to change the talk, and you don't deserve it."

"What talk?" she asked, sliding off the horse and causing him to back off a few steps.

"I cain't repeat it."

"How will I know what you're talking about if you don't tell me?"

"It ain't for a lady to hear from the likes of me," he said stubbornly.

"I'm not a lady, remember? I'm Little Sam."

"I don't see no difference."

"Mr. Taylor," she said, blushing beautifully, "that is the kindest compliment I've ever had."

That perplexed him further. He stood there feeling for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"I've embarrassed you again, haven't I?"

"No, ma'am, I just don't understand why you talk yourself down like that. I've heard folks talk about you, and it was always respectful."

"Where, Mr. Taylor? In the saloon at night? Are ladies talked about in a saloon?"

"They did it respectful-like," Gabe said, remembering that the first talk he'd heard was in a saloon, and it'd been said in a way he'd never realized that Little Sam was a woman. Even talking with Hedges, he had assumed Little Sam was a man until after the fight.

"They always do, but did you know that I was a woman?" she asked, almost as if she could read his mind. "I've heard them, Mr. Taylor. It's always Little Sam this and Little Sam that, never she or her. You'll understand it better after you've been here awhile."

"They respect you," he said, remembering what Hedges had said about her not being shamed in talking to Mrs. Jones.

"Of course they do, as Little Sam. Not as a lady or even as a woman," she said bitterly.

"You're a lady, ma'am," Gabe said earnestly. "I forgot that more times than I care to count, on account of I get so mad I just stopped thinking. It's those things I wish I could take back."

"Cain't we just forget about them?"

"I cain't."

"I can, Mr. Taylor, simply because I understood what caused them. I'd like to be friends."

"I ain't fit to be your friend," he exclaimed. "No, ma'am," he went on when she opened her mouth to dispute the point. "You're a fine lady, owning a nice spread of your own, and I'm nothing but a near-broke cowhand. It ain't proper I'm even talking to you."

"Well, if that isn't the silliest thing I ever heard. If I cared about that, which I don't, the fact that you own this ranch would change that."

"I don't own this. You do."

"I don't until I pay for it. Just because you agreed to sell it to me, doesn't make it mine."

"It was always yours. What's silly is you not taking that deed right now. You shouldn't have to pay for what's rightfully yours."

Sammy sighed with exasperation. "Don't start that again. You won it fair and square, and you aren't even bound to sell it to me."

"I agreed when I took it, 'cause Smith didn't have no right betting it."

"It was his. He worked the claim out, and I owed him for it. I'm grateful he wasn't so drunk he didn't think to set a price on it, but it legally was his to bet, and it is yours now. You're a ranch owner, whether you like it or not."

"Ma'am, it—"

"Would you stop arguing with me?" she shouted in frustration. "You do this every time I come near you. All I want to do is be able to talk to you without it ending in a fight."

"Ain't no reason for us to talk."

"We're neighbors and in business together. There's reason," she said coldly, "and I'd like to be able to do it without ending up screaming at you."

"I don't mean to make you mad," he said, his own exasperation clear in his voice.

"Well, you do," she snapped, glaring at him. Then she burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, but I just realized why you make me so mad, and it really is funny."

"Well, maybe you can tell me so's I can stop doing it," he retorted sharply.

"You treat me like a lady. I'm not used to it. I thought you just plain hated the sight of me."

"I know my place," he said stiffly.

"I'm sure of that, but you've got your places mixed up. Really, Mr. Taylor, you have no idea how grateful I am that you won that deed. Please," She held her hand out to him, "as one rancher to another, can we just be friends?"