Chapter Thirty
What would go down in Dromore family history as the Battle of the Pecos River was over and the victory won. The butcher’s bill was eleven Mexicans dead and none wounded. Two vaqueros were shot, but would live. Jacob had burned ribs and Patrick’s head had been grazed by a flying bullet that rendered him unconscious for a while.
“Did Castillo put up much of a fight, Jake?” Shawn O’Brien asked in the Dromore parlor as he handed his brother a snifter of brandy.
“He was game. He died fighting with a gun in his hand.”
“Please, no more talk of fighting and killing,” Lorena said. “It’s over. Let’s put it behind us.” She smiled at Patrick. “How are you feeling?”
“Just fine, Lorena. If the bullet had been an inch to the left I wouldn’t be here.”
“You poor thing,” Lorena said. “Can I get you an ice bag for your head?”
“No, I think I’ll be just fine, Lorena, thank you.” Patrick gritted his teeth as though he was bravely fighting his pain.
Jacob, whose ribs were hurting like hell, said, “Next time you go butterfly hunting—”
“Collecting, Jake, collecting,” Patrick said.
“Make sure you’re wearing a gun. I thought Luther taught you better than that.”
“Jacob, Patrick isn’t feeling well. Please don’t chide him.” Lorena’s brows gathered. “And since we’re on the subject of chiding, please tell your cat to stay out of the kitchen. She stole poor Patrick’s bacon sandwich this morning, you know.”
“I’ll tell her, Lorena, but she doesn’t heed me much.”
“Obviously,” Lorena said, icing the word.
Shawn grinned. “Calico cats are like Baptists. They raise hell, but no one can ever catch them at it.”
“Come to think about it, you could say the same thing about Luther,” Patrick said.
“Talking about Luther, what are we going to do about him and the colonel?” Samuel said. It was a question open for anybody to answer.
Jacob answered it. “I’m heading down to the Playas.”
“When?” Shawn asked.
“I plan to leave at first light tomorrow.”
“You figure they’re in trouble down there, Jake?” Samuel questioned.
“I know they’re in trouble.”
“Do you sense it?” Patrick wondered.
“I sense something,” Jacob said.
His brothers exchanged glances, and then Patrick said, “I’m going with you.”
“Good to have you, Pat, if your poor head can handle it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my—”
“We’re all going.” Samuel ignored the look Lorena threw at him.
Jacob considered that briefly. “Sam, with the gather not even half done, your place is here at Dromore.”
“If Pa is in danger, my place is at his side.”
“Sam, you acquitted yourself honorably on the Pecos this afternoon,” Shawn said. “You have nothing to prove.”
“I can prove my loyalty and my love for my father and for the man who reared me.”
“If the colonel was here, he’d order you to stay,” Jacob said.
“Of course he will stay,” Lorena said. “We’ve got two wounded vaqueros who will be abed for weeks under a doctor’s care. Samuel, your presence is needed at the roundup and I will brook no argument on that point.”
“Lorena, will you have me turn my back on Pa when he’s in danger? What kind of son would I be?”
“I will not have you turn your back on your duty,” Lorena said. “And the colonel would tell you that your duty is here, out on the range for the gather.”
“You’re staying, Sam,” Jacob said. “Let there be no argument.”
“Jacob, that was a most singularly sensible thing to say,” Lorena said. “You and Patrick are quite able to assist the colonel in his endeavors.”
“What am I, invisible?” Shawn put in.
Jacob smiled. “Shawn, you’re not the best puncher in the world and we could sure use your gun.”
“As to your first point, Jake, I don’t concur,” Shawn said stiffly. “But as to your second, I do agree. Sam talked about duty, and it’s my duty to make sure you and Pat don’t get your fool heads blown off.”
“I still think I—”
“No, Samuel, it’s settled.” Lorena rose to her feet. “Jacob, if we retire to the parlor would you play some Chopin for us?”
Jacob nodded. “My pleasure, Lorena.”
The woman smiled. “Good, I enjoy the company of O’Brien men with my Chopin.”