9

Margaret Parker’s Journal

Saturday, June 16, 1877
Heresy Ranch
Timberline, Colorado

Thank the Lord, Jehu has returned. I can always find an ally in Jehu. As much as I love Hattie, she’s not one to condole with. Her shoulder is hard and bony and she has this irritating habit of telling it to me straight, especially when I don’t want to hear it. Her gruff advice is always sound, goddammit.

Jehu rolled in about midday today, his wagon filled to the gills with supplies for the town. Usually we’d all ride into Timberline with him, but since we’d all just made a spectacle of ourselves the night before, we said no. Except Grace. I think she’s finding our company a little taxing. Not sure I blame her.

First, though, Jehu went straight to Hattie, got in her face, and cussed her out good for the knife in his crotch at the robbery. She didn’t flinch, or show any sort of remorse, which just made Jehu angrier. He’s not one to take and hold a grudge, but it’s been nearly three weeks since the holdup and I’ve never seen him so angry. She asked him if he was done with the tongue-lashing, he said he suspected he was, and Hattie took his hand and led him to their bedroom. They were in there for quite a while, making up.

Grace was shocked to see Jehu drive up. We’d never mentioned him in front of her because of Hattie’s distrust. I guess Grace and Hattie came to an understanding during my days in the mountains. They aren’t quite thick as thieves (ha), but Grace does look to Hattie for answers instead of me. I’m a little put out by it, if you want to know the truth.

I wish Grace could have seen the expression on her own face when Hattie led Jehu into the house and they started with their enthusiastic and noisy making up.

I asked her if it was the sin she minded or the color of their skin.

—It’s against the law.

—Yes, we are especially concerned with not breaking the law around here.

Grace turned bright red realizing how ridiculous she sounded, but I could tell her opinion against them being together hadn’t changed.

It’s uncomfortable when you know what people are doing behind closed doors, so Grace and I went for a ride. She’s made amazing progress since she jumped on back of Old Blue. (I need to ride back to Horace’s and save Old Blue from that ignorant miner. No telling what he’s putting my horse through.) She and Rebel have bonded, and I’ve caught her giving him sugar cubes and talking sweet to him when she grooms him. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat animals, and Pinkerton or not (that’s Hattie’s suspicion), Grace isn’t a cruel person. We’d barely gotten out of sight of the ranch when Grace asked if I was serious about Spooner’s challenge.

I admit, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind last night to head to the saloon and see Spooner for the first time in two years. I was hurting because I’d completely run out of hashish and laudanum, I was trying to keep my pain from everyone, and I was angry at Luke for following me up the mountain and not letting my refusal stand as a final answer. Of course, that was after he’d seduced me to lay with him one more time, goddammit. No reason we can’t keep enjoying each other, he said, and I believed him. All he wanted was to try to get my guard down so I would fall into his arms and accept his proposal. I’m not sure what makes me angriest about the whole thing, but I’m pretty sure it’s the fact that he thinks I’m weak willed enough to fall for it.

Take a deep breath, Garet. Finish your story. You can stew later. Maybe do some target practice and pretend the cans are Luke’s bald head.

Grace and Joan were the only ones of us in a fine fettle to see the boys, not that we had any idea who “the boys” would be by now. Men drop in and out of the gang, some by their own desire, some at Spooner’s urging, and some by being propped up in a casket in front of a sheriff’s office. Who the hell knew what Jed and his boys had been up to in Mexico for the last two years, or why he’d finally decided to come back, or if he intended to stay and take back up his Lord Bountiful routine? Stella, Hattie, and I knew that if he did, we’d be out of the outlaw line whether we liked it or not. Everyone would expect us to go back to a woman’s place.

The thought of it gets my blood up. I want out, but I want out on my terms, not terms set by a man. So when Grace asked me if I was taking the challenge, I said hell yes I am.

Grace was especially anxious to meet a “true outlaw gang.” That earned her a glare from Stella and Hattie, but she was too busy adjusting her fancy traveling clothes to make them more festive to notice or care.

I knew everyone in town would be at the Blue Diamond. Being small and remote, Timberline doesn’t much truck with the notion of women not being welcome in the saloon. There is little enough social distraction in the Hole, no one sees any point in keeping the women from enjoying Opal’s accordion playing. Though I imagine if the Hole ever gets civilized, we’ll be shoved back into parlors to play bridge. Eli keeps a bottle of sherry behind the bar for just such occasions, but it was dusty from disuse. We all drank whisky or beer, depending on what our mood was. Last night, I was in a whisky mood.

We got to the Blue Diamond after dusk, and the party was already well on its way to being rambunctious, and Stella tried to take Joan back to the ranch. Joan ignored her sister and sashayed through the door as if she’d walked into a saloon a hundred times. Stella needs to understand that Joan is a woman now and can’t be treated like a defenseless little girl. All the same, I kept my eye on her, and I’ll continue to. She’s green in the ways of men, that’ll happen when you’re surrounded by women all the time, and these men use, abuse, and toss aside women like her on the regular.

Ruby sat on the arm of Jed’s chair. In one hand he held his poker cards, the other was up high on Ruby’s thigh. Ruby saw me come in before Jed did, and she look chagrined at draping herself over the man everyone thought was mine. (It’s amazing that no one besides Ruby has picked up on what Luke and I have been up to for the last year. Even Hattie and Jehu are ignorant of it, as far as I know.) Ruby took the empty whisky bottle and headed to the bar. Luke Rhodes leaned against the bar, watching the room.

The stranger, Salter, looked up from the cards he held, lifted the corner of his mouth not occupied with a stubby cigar, and nodded at me in acknowledgment. I was glad to recognize some of Spooner’s men: Domino Jones, former riverboat dealer turned cardsharp; “Sly” Jack Fox, the best fingersmith in the territories; Scab Williams, powder monkey for the Union navy and a gold-mining company until Spooner offered him the same job in less dangerous circumstances and a bigger return; Hank “Ought-Not” Henry, peterman, whose constant entreaty that “we ought not to do that” kept the gang from being reckless; and I was glad that a couple weren’t there. Then “Dead-Eye” Deacon Dobbs walked in from the back, holding his Bible and wearing a priest’s collar. Hattie said what I was thinking.

—Shit. When did that bastard hook up with Spooner?

—I don’t know.

Deacon Dobbs looked like an outlaw priest with his black suit and white collar, but he wasn’t a Catholic. He is a Methodist, or was, I should say. Spooner’d told me Dobbs had been run out of the church when he took too much of a liking to purifying wayward women through a violent ritual that was an amalgam of all the worst teachings and impulses of a variety of religions. Dobbs’s reasoning that what he did to the women was nothing he hadn’t done to himself to cleanse himself of sin only horrified his congregation more.

Dobbs had come to the Poudre River Ranch with Angus King’s gang back in ’71 and, though a mite strange, had been quiet enough. He worked hard and said little, but he had a tendency to stare with a dead-eyed expression at Hattie especially. Hattie’d had plenty of experience giving men like Deacon Dobbs a wide berth, but the young woman staying with us, a young whore from Cheyenne, had not. Spooner, whose gang was lying low after a job, had caught Deacon at the beginning of his ritual, thank God, though not soon enough to keep the girl from having scars on her breasts for the rest of her life. We ran Deacon off the ranch, threatened to kill him if he ever came back. Spooner told Angus King he needed to find another hideout. The last couple of jobs that King had pulled had been violent, and Spooner didn’t truck with that at all.

Which is why we were shocked to see Deacon with Spooner. I couldn’t imagine what a mean old rip like Dobbs was doing riding with him.

Dead-Eye saw us and said,—Hello, Margaret. He ignored Hattie, which I knew was fine with her.

—Deacon Dobbs. It’s been a long time. Is your evening self-flagellation over, or is that later?

—Later. Would you like to borrow my whip for your own recrimination?

—I have nothing to repent for, but thank you for the offer.

Spooner looked up about then and spotted Joan. His eyes sparked with a look I knew very well, and I edged over next to the young woman. I didn’t care a whit about Spooner not noticing me—Luke Rhodes’s eyes were doing enough of that on their own, and Dead-Eye looked at me as though imagining my bare back being riven by the end of his whip—but I wanted Spooner to see that Joan was protected by not only her sister.

Spooner’s entire expression lit up with pleasure when he saw me, and my vanity was pleased. I hadn’t bothered wearing a dress because I didn’t want to bed any of these men and wearing a dress into a saloon you might as well be waving a red flag, so Jed looking at me with appreciation helped smooth the feathers that Luke Rhodes had ruffled a few hours before.

Spooner stepped out from the table, opened his arms wide and said,—Duchess!

I was in a quandary. I didn’t want to hug Jed. I looked at him, and he looked well—brown faced and stout, as if he’d been working with his arms for a while—and I could tell that he expected to warm my bed that night. But I felt nothing for him. Not even a little spark. But Rhodes was watching, and I didn’t want to give him a hint of hope, so I waltzed right up to Jed Spooner and kissed him like he was my long-lost husband. He still tasted like the mint he likes to chew and the whisky he likes to drink, and I might have felt a little something just then.

The men whooped and catcalled as Jed and I reacquainted ourselves. I heard Hattie say low in my ear,—You’re gonna stir up the others and there ain’t enough to go around, so I pulled back before I wanted to. Jed, the rascal, winked at Hattie and slapped me on the ass. Jed hollered to Eli he was buying a round, and a cheer went up. He told Domino to deal him out of a round or two and ushered me to the bar, where Eli had our whisky waiting. Out of the spotlight Spooner was always different, gentler and less of a braggart. We’d shared some conversations after lovemaking that I’m sure he’d rather I forget. It was one of the reasons I kept inviting him to my bed. I missed the closeness of a man as much as I missed the touch. Spooner had given me that for years. Of course, Luke wants the job full-time.

But the man leaning against the bar was harder, and there was a different gleam in his eyes.

—Good to see you, Jed.

—And you.

—You’re looking well. Mexico agreed with you?

—Stayed in Texas, mostly. Ran into the James boys. They were cooling their heels after a bad Minnesota job. Don’t know why he insists on staying back east. Outlawing is much more lucrative out west. As I guess you’ve learned.

—It is. I definitely understand the appeal of the outlaw life. I guess I learned a few things from listening to your tales over the years. I lifted my whisky.—Thank you.

Jed drank his whisky and gave a tight smile.

—How much have you pulled in?

I shrugged. Something held me back from giving specifics, which turned out to be a good instinct.

—Enough to help out the town, give money back to people Connolly cheated.

—You only went after Connolly?

—Yes.

—You didn’t learn that from me. Never become predictable, Duchess.

—They haven’t caught us yet.

—No, because you’ve been giving me credit for your jobs, I hear. I suppose I should thank you. You’ve burnished my reputation.

—Only for a couple. We’ve been riding unmasked for the last three. Still, no one wants to give us credit.

—Hell, Margaret, that’s a damn blessing, not being in the papers. With that voice, how long until someone puts two and two together? There ain’t many Englishwomen in Colorado.

—I lose the accent. Anyways, it doesn’t matter now. We’re done. Did our last job up by Marshall Pass a few weeks ago.

—Now that I’m back.

—No, that had nothing to do with it. I just, um … want to take it easy for a bit.

Spooner’s eyes narrowed, but lost the hard glint.

—You feeling all right? You look a little peaked.

—I’m fine.

He motioned for another whisky, and a muscle pulsed in his cheek.

—How long have you been fucking Rhodes?

—What?

—Why else would he be glowering at me from underneath that stupid hat?

—I hate to break it to you, but Luke has never liked you.

Spooner laughed.—And why do you think that is, Duchess?

Spooner lifted his glass and nodded at someone behind me, which I knew without looking was Luke.

—Why would you care one way or another? We’ve never had that kind of relationship. Or have you been faithful to me while you were down south?

Spooner motioned for another drink.

—I didn’t think so.

Over Jed’s shoulder I saw Valentine walk into the saloon. His bloodshot gaze roamed over the room until it settled on me and Jed. He grinned and came our way.

Before Valentine got halfway across the room, Jed lifted his glass to me and said,—To Margaret Parker, the best …

He paused, and there was a brief moment when I thought he was going to toast the gang’s accomplishments. I’d given him credit for inspiring us, after all. But the pause was fleeting.

— … the best fuck I’ve ever had.

He threw back his shot, his eyes never leaving my face, which I’m sure was a mask of astonishment. That turned to anger in a flash. In the silence that followed, Opal stopped playing, and I heard Luke Rhodes’s boots scrape the floor as if he was coming to intervene on my behalf. Even Valentine stopped in his tracks, a stunned expression clearly visible on his hirsute face. I lifted my glass higher and said in a strong voice,—To Jed Spooner, the second- or third-best outlaw in three territories.

I slapped the glass upside down on the bar and glared at my former lover. Grace appeared, and damn, Luke Rhodes was right there behind her. I introduced her to both men, told her she could mark meeting an outlaw, a cattle rustler, and a sheriff off her list with one go, then went to the poker table and took Jed’s seat. I swept his money off onto the floor and pulled out my own coins. Salter smiled in appreciation, and Domino and Ought-Not stared at me wide-eyed.

—What’s wrong, boys? You never seen a woman play poker?

—No one so pretty, Ought-Not said.

—Since when did you become a charmer, Ought-Not?

He blushed.

—I’ve always been a charmer. You’ve just been immune to them.

—Much to my detriment.

—He was quite the favorite of the señoritas down south, Domino said.

Ought-Not’s face darkened.

—Shut up and deal the cards.

Ought-Not wasn’t a handsome man. In fact, he was fairly unmemorable all the way around. Average height, brown hair, brown eyes, thin lips, but a strong jaw. Soft-spoken and polite to a fault, he was the conscience of the group. Spooner got all the credit, but Ought-Not was his right-hand man, watching Spooner’s back and looking out for the pitfalls. But there was steel in Ought-Not’s jaw, and Spooner respected the Missourian enough to heed his counsel. I suspected Ought-Not was behind the outlaw code that Spooner had followed, which made it so difficult to imagine Dead-Eye’s riding with the gang sat well with a man like Ought-Not. Sly Jack came over, plopped a chair down backward next to Domino, sat, and leaned his arms on the back.

—Good to see you, Margaret.

—You, too, Jack. How was the South? I asked.

—Hot.

—Me, Jack, and Ought-Not didn’t get south of Fort Worth, Domino said.

—Got on with an outfit west of there. Cowboying. Did a couple of drives to Abilene.

—And Spooner?

—Met up with the James boys and Dobbs in Fort Worth. He and Scab went south in search of a better-paying job.

—Did they find one?

Domino and Ought-Not exchanged a wary glance, and Domino said,—Yep.

They clammed up after that.

I’ll finish tomorrow. My hand is cramping up and Cassiopeia has traveled too far across the sky. Sun will be up before I know it.

Sunday, June 17, 1877

It’s dawn, and I’m sitting next to Grace on the gallery that circles the house, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise over the mountains behind the barn. I just finished helping Jehu tend the horses, but he’s still out there, piddling. I retreat to the mountains when I get back from being away, Jehu retreats to the barn. He’s angry at me, but it won’t last long. It never does.

A few months ago, on the way home from my doctor’s appointment in Cheyenne, Jehu and I had made the decision to stop outlawing, and we were going to tell everyone together after the last job was done. Then Spooner had to go and bait me, to belittle what the girls and I have accomplished as luck or tall tales (he used both reasons, though they contradicted each other) and the next thing I knew we were in each other’s faces, throwing down the gauntlet. Our gangs were ranged behind us, some offering more vocal support than others. Ought-Not, Domino, and Jack’s support of Spooner was tepid at best. The rest of the town was on the edges of the room—though Valentine was behind Jed as if part of his gang—watching with mixed expressions. Rebecca and Harvey were concerned, Valentine looked at me with murder in his eyes. Luke Rhodes was nowhere to be found.

The challenge was quickly agreed on: One job before the first snow. No killing or violence. Biggest take wins. Winner gets the ranch. My ranch. Loser leaves the area and finds another place to outlaw.

Let me tell you right now: we’re going to win this bet, we’re going to shut Jed Spooner’s mouth, and we’re going to finally get the credit for the jobs we’ve done.