Jesse did fall off his horse. Three times to be exact.
“You’re a slobbering fool drunk.” Sheriff Crosson cursed him each time he had to be picked up off the ground and tossed back on the Appaloosa. The sheriff wasn’t snatching him out of the snow again, or so he’d threatened more than once.
They rode into the ranch yard with Jesse’s hands tied to the saddle horn. Sheriff Crosson jerked up on the reins outside the picket fence. Jesse was untied and then yanked out of the saddle. The sheriff, though he was red-faced and cursing under his breath, did shoulder most of his weight as they stumbled into the house.
Kate jumped up all wide-eyed from where she sat on the floor, spinning a top with Elizabeth. “Are you okay?” She hurried to Jesse’s side.
“Not exactly.” He gave her a weak grin for reasons he couldn’t explain. Shame wasn’t the only cause for him feeling like hell. Kate could probably figure some of it out on her own since he reeked of cheap whiskey, and the odor of old vomit hung on his clothing. Likely, it stunk up the air in the room.
His stomach turned. He was going to lose it again. “Ma’am, could I please quick have a bucket?”
Kate, with stern motherly eyes, looked him up and down, frowned, and then shook her head in what he believed was disappointment. “Young man, I hope you have a good explanation for this? I’ll get ya a bucket, then make some strong coffee.” She turned on a heel and marched into the kitchen.
Jesse felt as if he’d gone back some years and was a boy again, being scolded. Being so doggone sick was punishment enough, but if all he got out of this was a lecture from Mrs. Crosson, he was getting off easy.
Jesse focused on the sheriff, who still looked like he wanted to kick his ass up between his shoulder blades. Sheriff Crosson had given him a badge because he’d seen potential, and Jesse might have screwed that up big time. Getting fired wouldn’t help him restart his life in Gray Rock, and this was the first job he wanted to wake up and go to. Even after blowing a hole through that doc, that calling of enforcing right and wrong hadn’t left Jesse.
He’d lost sight of his duties for a short time, and Tipsy had slipped from his mind. That would not happen again. Protecting Nate was most important, and that would be more difficult without Sheriff Crosson’s guidance.
Jesse looked toward the kitchen. “Where’s Nathanial?” He managed to slur out the words and keep his stomach down.
“In his room,” Kate called back and picked up a bucket out of the dry sink.
That same sweating feeling Jesse got each time before he retched came over him now. His stomach flipped, and he grabbed the bucket as Kate reached out with it. He dropped to his knees while hugging the tub and letting loose the contents of his gut.
After wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve, he looked up, and the same silent but stern glance passed between the sheriff and his wife that Nathanial had gotten a few times when he’d been in trouble. Jesse was feeling more like a naughty kid every minute. What if Sheriff Crosson didn’t give him another chance, thinking him too immature or plain stupid? Should he say he was sorry or just keep his mouth quiet so as not to make matters worse?
He didn’t have to think too long. Sheriff Crosson all but threw Jesse over his shoulder and hauled him up the stairs. Jesse moaned the whole way and honestly believed he might die. The sheriff rolled him into bed, and his eyes fell shut. A hard tug on his foot had his eyes fluttering open. Sheriff Crosson stood bent over the bed and yanked at Jesse’s boots until both were off.
Kate came into the room, carrying the puke bucket. “I washed it out.” She placed it on the floor next to his bed. “Let’s git that stinking coat off. Can you sit up?”
He couldn’t move, but before he could answer, Sheriff Crosson yanked him up by the arm. The two of them worked and got Jesse’s coat off. As soon as they let go, he fell back into the soft pillows and closed his eyes.
The door to his room slammed.
Nate’s boots quickly filled, and the weight of the soaking layers sank him deeper. He kicked and fought being pulled farther into the depths. His head broke the surface where the busted ice chunks floated. There was a thicker ice shelf just within his reach. He clawed wildly, but his fingers kept slipping.
His lungs hurt from gulping the mixture of frosty air and frigid water as his head bobbed in and out. Between gasps for breath, he caught glimpses of his friends. Phillip inched closer on hands and knees, but not fast enough. As Nate struggled to stay atop, every bone in his body, down to the marrow, stiffened more and more. Hang in there for a few more minutes, was the inward chant that kept him treading. Phillip reached a little more, his mitten-covered hand outstretched. The ice groaned. The tip of Nate’s blue fingers barely touched the red wool.
“Come on, Nate. Git ahold. You can do it. I can’t git any closer.” Phillip leaned anyway. Up rose a splintering protest from under the ice, and the two of them slipped apart as Phillip quickly scooted back.
A boom filled the air. Something cut through the water and splashed Nate’s face. Tipsy! Nate’s heart pounded. The ice creaked loudly. Not a second later, a thunderous crack shook them and sent Phillip scurrying toward the bank.
“Run, Phillip.” Nate barely had a voice to scream, hoarse and his teeth chattering. What if Tipsy mistook Phillip for Nate? Tears stung his eyes, and he wished he had stayed home.
Nate’s head surfaced again. Another boom rippled across the lake. He felt a harsh tug on the collar of his shirt. He was numb all over, so if he was bleeding, he didn’t know it. Tears streamed down his face. Death meant to have him by way of drowning or gunshot. He was quickly tiring and couldn’t keep his head up much longer. A repeat of gunfire sounded before he slipped under. Had he caught sight of Pa on the bank with his friends? With what little strength remained, he fought his way to the surface and sucked in a big gulp of air. Pa, he wanted to shout, but it hurt too much to breathe. Could Pa get to him in time?
Pa hurried toward Tipsy and blasted away. Phillip stood on the ice not far from the edge, swinging a rope. When it landed, splashing water, Nate only had to reach a few inches.
He fumbled because of his frozen fingers but somehow managed to snag hold. With a tug, his friends began to pull. With each draw closer to shore, across the ice, Nate still wasn’t sure if he was safe. Where was Pa? No more gunfire, and Nate couldn’t look around for Tipsy either. Keeping his eyes on his hands was the only way he knew for sure he held the rope, and still, it slipped away. He was done. He couldn’t move and didn’t want to. His friends ran forward and dragged him the rest of the way.
“Is he dead? He’s blue,” Norman wailed.
Nate stared blankly up at his buddies, who were all huddled over him. His thoughts were too slow, and he couldn’t seem to form words to speak. No one answered or blinked, and they were all teary-eyed and pale.
Pa appeared, scooped Nate off the ground, and took off running. He was too frozen to cry, but he wanted to let it all out. Cradled in Pa’s arms, he was safe from Tipsy, for now.
“Johnny, untie my bedroll. You boys git on your horses. Shorty’s ranch is the closest. Now go!”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff.” Johnny’s voice quivered.
Pa wrapped Nate inside the blanket. He must not have thought that was enough and shucked his wool-lined coat and covered Nate with that too. He whimpered because of all the jostling, and Pa looked down with a shine in his eyes.
“Hang in there, boy.” Pa stepped up into the saddle while holding him tight.
Nate just wanted to slip into a deep sleep, but every time his eyes fell shut, Pa shook him awake.
“Stay with me, Nathanial.” Pa gave him a jiggle.
Nate fussed, but Pa kept shaking him. Where did he think Nate was going? Pa jerked on the reins, the bay abruptly stopped running, and Nate’s eyes rolled open a slit. Lenny and Norman’s house. A soft moan slipped out. Nate wanted to go home and go to bed. But Pa hadn’t understood and hurried toward the house with him. Shorty threw open the door. All Nate’s friends bunched inside, and in a tangle of teary voices, they rushed through what had happened. A glimpse of Mrs. Short and Kristy, then Nate’s eyes closed. A big rough hand rubbed hard at his chest, and he came alive, crying.
Pa stood over him. Nate was laid out on a table like a centerpiece. Mrs. Short and Kristy stripped him down. Pa stayed close and watched while Nate was rubbed down with towels.
Mrs. Short rolled him onto his side, her eyes wide. “Good heavens. What’s this?” She dabbed at his stitches. Her stare flew directly over him and straight at Pa.
“Another time, ma’am. Just git him taken care of.” Pa gave Nate’s hand a squeeze.
Mrs. Short picked up a shirt from a stack of clothes that Hattie had hurried into the room. Without delay, Nate was dressed in some of Norman’s things. The pants were too big, and the shirt hung off his shoulders. The wool socks felt nice and warm, and Mrs. Short massaged his feet until he could wiggle all ten little pigs.
Kristy wrapped him up in a thick quilt. Shorty hollered for her from the next room. Pa picked Nate up and followed. His friends had tear streaks on their faces and sat in a huddle next to the fire. Mr. Short tucked a blanket around Lenny’s shoulders, and Kristy went straight to work helping her pa. Nate’s friends had quieted down a little, but after being shot at, who would blame them for still being fussed up? There was no safer place than Pa’s lap, and Nate liked being held close. He stared off into the flickering flames. His friends had come too close to his trouble. Ma had been hurt just a day ago, Elizabeth scared badly, and all because of him. He didn’t know what happened to Jesse.
Nate’s awful past had chased him down. Since the day of his adoption, he hadn’t had life any better. But he’d been born under the name of trouble, and trouble always found him. Now there were too many people that he cared about and didn’t want to see hurt or killed. Pa had Ma and Elizabeth to look after. Nate’s folks didn’t so much need him. Did they still have Jesse? If anything had happened to him, then that would be Nate’s fault too. Everyone was in danger, and he could fix that.
He looked up at Pa. “Don’t go after Tipsy.”
Pa raised a brow. Nate had witnessed the path of death brought forth by Tipsy’s gun. The notches on the handles of the Colts weren’t bragging on the number of flowers Tipsy had picked for his mother on Sunday mornings before church. Was Pa faster with a gun? Nate wasn’t going to chance being wrong. There was one way he, and only he, could get Tipsy to go away.
“Are you afraid to stay here with Mr. and Mrs. Short? You don’t want me to leave ya?” Pa snugged Nate in closer.
Nate turned just his face away from Pa. His friends were all wrapped in blankets next to the swaying flames while listening to Kristy’s soft voice as she read a story. Mrs. Short served mugs of hot cocoa. Nate shook his head, and Mrs. Short eyed him. It wasn’t like him to turn down sweetness of any kind, especially chocolate.
“Maybe later.” Pa spoke for Nate, and Mrs. Short went back to the others.
Pa lifted Nate’s chin. “I won’t go after Tipsy, not tonight.”
Nate sniffled and tucked his head into the front of Pa’s shirt. He must have drifted off for a while. When he woke, he was sitting on the bay with Pa behind him and Mrs. Short’s quilt tucked all around him. He peeked out from the blanket. The coach road was familiar to him. They’d passed through Gray Rock and were almost home.
The wind kicked up. Nate squinted and shrank back farther against Pa, who wrapped an arm around him and held tight. He wished for summer. Only, he wouldn’t see the hot July sun and warm blue sky. This was to be his last season. Tipsy would get what he wanted and so would Nate. His family would soon be safe.
Pa stepped down from the saddle with Nate on his hip and carried him into the house. Ma jumped up from the rocker and ran toward them with arms wide open. She threw herself around both of them and kissed all over their faces. There was a glassy shine to her eyes. Those tears had been ever present the past couple of days.
“Don’t worry, Nathanial. These are happy tears. You’re both safe.” Ma smoothed his hair.
He was the cause of all the damn fretting, and he hated it. Nate pushed away from her loving on him and squirmed until Pa put him down. “Let me alone.” Nate shuffled away and up the stairs.
He dropped Norman’s ill-fitting clothing on the floor, dug through his chest of drawers, and pulled out a long nightshirt. Ma walked into the room, wiping at her red eyes, and like always, she reached as he stretched the nightshirt over his head.
Nate ducked away. “I don’t need your help to git dressed.” He hurried, jumped up onto the bed, and burrowed deep into the middle under all the quilts.
“Nathanial.” Ma’s sweet voice quivered. “You know your pa and I love you. That’ll never change.” She sniffled.
He didn’t want to hear the soft words, nor would he return them. He didn’t like hurting her, but he saw no other way. That kind talk would only make his leaving to find Tipsy even harder. Nate had tracked down the bastard once. He would do it again, and then this would all be over.
Nate kept his head under the quilts, yawned, and his eyes drifted shut.
Nate woke to loud voices yelling at one another. He tossed the quilt off his head.
Ma sniffled. Was she crying? “Nolan, stop! What happened wasn’t Jesse’s fault.”
“Oh yes, it was!” Pa shouted. “His self-pity sent Nate right into Tipsy’s path.”
Jesse stammered. “I’m sorry!”
Jesse was back? He was okay? Things didn’t sound okay. Nate could hear clearly through the open doorway.
“Nathanial is okay. That’s all that matters,” Ma pleaded in a choked-up voice.
“Nathanial ain’t okay, Kate! The boy ain’t puttin’ himself back together!” Pa had exploded, and the house shook. “There’s a defeated look in our son’s eyes that I ain’t ever seen before. Nathanial has always been a fighter. He didn’t want me to go after Tipsy. The boy’s done fightin’. Today something broke, an’ he has given up.”
“What did happen?” Jesse’s voice quivered.
Nate couldn’t listen to any more fighting. He wiped the tears off his cheeks and threw back the quilts. When he got to Jesse’s doorway, he abruptly halted, facing Pa and Jesse. Both men turned and stared. Their fighting words stopped. Pa had Jesse’s badge in his hand. Jesse had been proud to wear that badge, just as Nate never wanted to unpin the star from his shirt.
Ma took a step, and Nate backed away, tears dripping off his chin. “I wish I’d never been born!” None of them would be fighting and Tipsy wouldn’t be out there, maybe going to hurt one or all of them. “I ain’t no good!” Nate whipped around and sprinted down the steps.
Spurs jingled behind him. At the bottom, Nate glanced up. Pa and Jesse were coming fast, faster than Nate could run. He threw open the front door, racing toward the corral.
The icy snow on the ground stung his bare feet. He whistled for Buck before reaching the split rail fence. Slipping through, he whistled again. Behind him, snow crunched under the weight of running boots. Nate threw a quick look over his shoulder. Pa and Jesse both gained ground.
Nate bolted farther into the pasture and whistled again as flurries whirled around him. What if Pa had stabled Buck in the barn? Nate would be caught.
The ground rumbled in the dark, and Buck came into sight with his legs stretched. Nate grabbed the black tail and swung up onto the mustang. Together they were off. He kept the mustang running, spinning both Pa and Jesse out of the way. Buck leaped over the fence and raced through the ranch yard.
Ma dashed down off the porch. “Nathanial!” she called out, and tears clouded his vision.
Jesse ran and retrieved his coat and guns out of the house. Back through the door, he fast-stepped it on the heels of the sheriff, off the steps in one jump, and neither of them bothered with the gate. Jesse hurdled the picket fence right behind the sheriff. He fetched the Appaloosa from the corral and led the horse quickly into the barn. Grabbing his saddle, he threw it onto the gelding’s back and yanked the cinch strap tight. The sheriff hurried and did the same. Jesse slipped the bridle into place.
Sheriff Crosson shoved his rifle into the scabbard alongside his saddle. “You head into town. If Nate ain’t nowheres around, then ride as far west as Shorty’s place. After that, check the south canyon trail, then loop around and make your way back through town. We’ll meet here again in a few hours.”
“Yes, sir.” Jesse understood.
When he’d crossed the bridge into town, he slowed his horse to a pounding trot. A quick look around at the houses of Nate’s friends found them all dark, just as the jailhouse. Jesse had a key and could double-check, but that was too obvious a place for the boy to hide. Nathanial was too smart for that.
There wasn’t a light on anywhere. Everyone was asleep, warm in their beds, exactly where the kid should have been.
Why had Jesse picked up that bottle? He hadn’t figured on causing all this trouble. Not in a million years would he have thought Nathanial—who, up until a day ago, did all he could to get rid of Jesse—would sneak out and put himself in danger for Jesse’s sake. And that said a lot. After Jesse had shot it out with the doctor, he should have returned to the Crosson ranch and talked his trouble over with the sheriff. There was something else he needed to get off his chest, and to do that, he would have to find the boy.
Jesse turned Dapple toward Shorty’s with barely enough moonlight to see by. When he rode up, the house was dark. There was a soft flicker from a lantern inside the bunkhouse. It would be a good place to start asking questions. Those ranch hands would know every inch of that spread. Coming and going around the clock to check the herd, one of them might have spotted Nathanial or Tipsy.
Jesse knocked before easing open the door. The long end of a rifle stared him in the face. Ever so slowly he raised both hands. “I’m Deputy Adams.” He wasn’t wearing a badge, but he didn’t want to get shot.
“I know who you are. Sorry about that. We’re all a little jumpy.” The man lowered his rifle.
“Nathanial been around anywheres?” Jesse stepped inside for a little warmth.
“No, I’m sure of it. Everyone around here knows that boy. If anyone had seen him, they would’ve said, especially now with this serious trouble.”
Jesse tipped his hat. He’d hoped for a clue and got nothing. Damn, where was that kid? Jesse turned toward the door.
“Wait!” The ranch hand grabbed Jesse’s shoulder. “There’s a new fella working for Mr. Short. Hasn’t been here too long. Ben Miller’s his name. Quiet fella, keeps to himself. It’s doubtful that he would recognize the sheriff’s son. Might be that he’s seen ’im.”
“Where is he?” Jesse eyed the men sleeping in their bunks.
“Ben Miller, Jack Simms, and Nester Higgins are all working the number-three line shack. South of here, way the hell out near the smallmouth canyon, not far from the old trading post. Ever since all this cattle rustlin’ started, the boss been postin’ men everywhere along the property lines.”
Jesse nodded. Jack and Nester would be familiar with Nate even if that new fella wasn’t. The boy couldn’t have ridden that far in the dark in the amount of time since he’d left the house. It had to be at least fifteen miles. Maybe those men had seen Tipsy. That was the area he frequented, but Jesse wasn’t hunting Tipsy at the moment.
“Thanks.” Jesse shut the door behind him, not sure where to look next. He wouldn’t bother to wake anyone in the house. He knew from working the Seven-C and practically living in the saddle out on the range that Shorty’s working men were his best bet of finding some hint of Nathanial.
Jesse pulled his scarf up over his nose. That boy would freeze to death if he wasn’t soon found. When he’d run from home, he hadn’t been wearing more than a cotton nightshirt. He wouldn’t last long in this biting weather.
Jesse stepped into the saddle and turned his horse. The kid was smart, too smart to wait out the night somewhere in the bitter cold mountain, freezing himself. Jesse would wager the boy had holed up someplace that he could keep warm. A cave or any old place where he could hide and no one would think to look for him.
Jesse scratched his head. Where was the last place he would suspect Nathanial to be?
A grin slowly spread across his face. He hoped he was right.
The barn was dark inside, and the timbers creaked and moaned against the wind, which gave Nate the willies. He fumbled with the match and finally lit the lamp. He had thought he might get lucky and end this fight tonight. Tipsy had come to warm himself in Jesse’s cabin before. But there hadn’t been any tracks in the yard, and the chimney wasn’t puffing smoke.
Nate led the mustang into a stall. He would go hunt Tipsy in the morning when it wasn’t dark. A wolf howled not far away, and the mustang’s ears perked up. Nate patted Buck’s neck. “It’s okay, boy. You’re safe in here.”
“But you ain’t,” a voice hissed behind him.
Nate twisted around. Tipsy had appeared out of nowhere, covered in a quarter-inch of snow that made him look like a ghost in the glow of wavering light. Only, that Colt in his hand wasn’t any illusion. Nate’s heart banged in his chest.
“Nice-looking horse. I’ll enjoy riding ’im.” Tipsy sneered, and Nate caught a whiff of foul whiskey breath. Tipsy could kill Nate, but it would be a cold day in hell before that son of a bitch ever touched Buck.
Nate threw the lantern at Tipsy’s head and dove into Buck’s stall as Tipsy’s Colt cracked and glass shattered everywhere. Hay on the floor went up in flames and fanned out within seconds. Buck reared and kicked. Nate couldn’t get ahold of the tether line because Buck was jumping, which smacked Nate against the planks of the stall wall, and he fell. Above, flame streaked along the crossbeam and lit the ceiling. Almost half the barn was engulfed.
Smoke funneled up around Tipsy, who stood just out of striking range of Buck’s front hooves as the panicked horse tried to break free, and he aimed at Nate. A thick gray clouded the air, and Nate coughed while he tried to get Buck loose. Tipsy’s Colt barked. Nate yelped and dropped to one knee, grabbing his leg. Blood oozed through his fingers. Buck lunged, jerking the line tight and clamped his big teeth down onto Tipsy’s arm, shaking him ten ways from Sunday.
The timbers above them crackled louder than Tipsy’s screams, and a fiery board fell behind him. It wouldn’t be long before the roof caved. Nate had to get Buck out of there.
Jesse could smell the thick smoke in the wind, and the dark sky had a strange orange glow to it. He fiercely kicked the Appaloosa into a fast run, rounded the bend, and charged into the yard. Part of the burning barn fell, spitting embers above the treetops. My God, was Nathanial in there?
A man ran out—gray Confederate coat, head down, handkerchief over his mouth—just as Jesse jerked up on the reins. He grabbed his Winchester, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.
Tipsy fell forward on the ground. Jesse’s finger was still on the trigger, ready to plug him a second time, when a horse screeched wildly from inside and a desperate, high-pitched scream for help followed. Nathanial was alive.
Jesse jumped off his horse and dashed into the barn. He coughed on the thick smoke and squinted to see anything, but he could hear the horse acting up. A timber fell, and the embers burned into Jesse’s coat. He covered his mouth with his hand and hurried farther in.
The boy was yanking on Buck’s line and begging the horse to follow. Jesse ripped off his coat and tossed it over the horse’s eyes, the only way to get the animal past the flames. Nathanial’s eyes widened at the sight of Jesse as he scooped up the kid and the rope and got them all out of there.
Behind them, the roof crashed down with a roar. Jesse turned and stared.
A boom rang out. Jesse grabbed his shoulder, dropping the kid. “Get under that wagon.” He gave Nate a shove.
Jesse swung his rifle around and popped off a shot. Covered behind the smokehouse, Tipsy returned fire, and Jesse dove behind the water trough. Gunfire volleyed across the yard. The kid was curled up in a tight ball behind one of the wagon wheels, rocking himself. Dirt kicked up near him. Jesse sprang up and unloaded straight at Tipsy.
Two horses charged into the yard. It was Jack Simms and Nester Higgins, Shorty’s ranch hands, their guns blasting. Tipsy jumped on his horse and took off into the dark, Jack following.
Nester trotted his horse over and stared at what was left of the burning barn. “He the one who took a shot at all the boys?”
Jesse nodded.
Jack returned. His horse was breathing heavy. “He disappeared in the dark.”
Nate whimpered under the wagon. Jesse hunkered down and looked. Tears streamed down the kid’s face.
Nate wiped at his eyes. “Is Buck okay?”
Jesse grinned. “Come here, and we’ll go see.”
The boy crawled out. The mustang stood not far off with Dapple.
“We’re on our way back out to the number-three line shack. Needed some supplies. Guess we just missed ya at the bunkhouse. We could ride with ya back to the Short ranch.” Jack Simms still held his pistol ready.
Jesse picked up his coat from the ground where it had fallen off the mustang, then wrapped it around the kid, who was looking his horse over. Nathanial’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth chattered badly. Kate and the sheriff would be worried with them missing. In his mind, Jesse could see their strained expressions all over again, but what could he do? Nate was in no condition to ride that far in the cold. Jesse had little choice.
“No, thanks. We’ll hole up here for the night. This kid needs to get warm.”
“One of us could stay if you think you might need a hand.” Jack pushed his gun into his holster and nodded toward Jesse’s bloody shoulder. “Shorty won’t mind.”
“I doubt Tipsy will return tonight. He’s definitely bleeding, but I’d hate to take that chance and be wrong.” Jesse pointed to the knoll, cast white now that the moon came out from behind a cloud. “Whichever one of ya’s best with a rifle, get up there. It’ll be hellish cold ’cause you’ll catch all the wind, but you’ll be able to see all sides of the cabin as long as the moon don’t hide. If Tipsy does come back, he’ll probably have his eyes on the cabin and not expect an attack from out in the dark.”
Jack and Nester both nodded, then rode out of the yard, and Jesse felt a tug on his sleeve.
Nathanial’s face where he’d wiped his tears, was smudged with soot. “Buck’s only a little singed.” The kid quivered, stared briefly at the red on Jesse’s coat, then looked down where blood had soaked through his pants. “My leg hurts.”
Jesse grabbed him up and took off. A few long strides and he kicked the door open. He made quick time of closing all the interior shutters and barred both the front and rear doors. He got the fire jumping good and hot so he could see well, then went to the boy, who had found a quilt and curled up in Ma’s old rocker.
Jesse hunkered down and pulled back the blanket. The boy winced before he even touched that leg.
“I don’t want stitches.” Nathanial began to cry.
“Maybe it ain’t as bad as it looks. Let me get that scratch cleaned up. Then maybe I can just bandage it up tight and not have to poke ya with a needle.” Jesse straightened and headed for the door.
“Where ya going?” The half-pint popped out of the chair, holding his leg.
“Settle down, partner. I gotta get water from the well to clean your leg, and I’ll put the horses in the corral while I’m out there. I’ll only be gone a minute, but you keep this door locked.”
In short time, Jesse was back in the house. He set the water to boil, then fetched a cot from the other room and brought it next to the fire for Nate to stretch out on. Less than a half hour later, Jesse had the boy all fixed up and he was nearly asleep. Jesse then took a minute and looked at his arm. Nothing more than a bullet burn over the top of his shoulder.
Something creaked outside. Jesse twisted around, swung up the rifle, and aimed center at the door. The porch boards had groaned, hadn’t they? Was it Tipsy? Two steps and Jesse stood with his back against the wall and turned so he could peer out the window through a crack in the shutter. There was no one in the yard, but there were lots of dark places for a man to hide and keep a bead on the door should the half-pint or Jesse walk out.
Jesse watched a few minutes. Nothing. Must have been the wind.
The half-pint sneezed. “Is Tipsy out there?” Nathanial’s little voice was awful sleepy.
Jesse shook his head.
“Do you know why I came here?” The half-pint sniffled, and there was something apologetic about those glassy blue eyes.
“Yeah, I do. And I oughta kick your ass for it. Did you really think your ma and pa would be better off without ya?”
“They like you better.” The kid wiped his sleeve across his face.
“What are you talking about?” Jesse pulled a chair over next to the cot. “I know you think I’m tryin’ to steal your pa away, but I ain’t. I only ever wanted his friendship and maybe to work under his mentoring. Them larger-than-life men that keep you turnin’ the pages of those books at home—that’s how I’ve always seen your pa. So maybe I was a little selfish and hogged up some of the time he could’ve been spendin’ with you. I am sorry.” Jesse tucked the blanket in around Nathanial’s shoulders. “Come spring, I’ll be leaving Gray Rock.” He’d decided. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it seemed best for the kid.
Nathanial’s eyes fluttered as he studied Jesse, and judging by the dark circles, he was obviously exhausted from everything he’d been through that day. Jesse had thought the half-pint would be thrilled at the news. Instead, his face was sober. Jesse suspected that Nate didn’t want him gone, and Jesse did some studying too while the boy just stared.
Nathanial looked washed out, and that glassy shine wasn’t tears. Jesse laid a hand flat against the small, sweaty head, and fear raced through him from the touch.
“I’m cold,” the kid whined and said nothing about Jesse leaving come spring.
Jesse fed wood to the fire while Nathanial took a coughing fit. He didn’t have the faintest idea how to nurse a sick kid. The half-pint rested his head against the pillow, and just that fast, his eyes were closed.
Jesse grabbed a chair and sat against the far wall. In his line of sight were both the front door and the rear. If Tipsy tried sneaking through either place, Jesse didn’t have to shift position to shoot. He got comfy and waited.
It would be dawn in less than two hours, and the only thing so far that had tried to burst through the door was the wind. Jesse was tired, and the warmth of the room made his lids heavy. He stood and stretched. Coffee would wake him, if there was any left in the house.
The pot sat on the cookstove and a small coffee tin on the shelf just above. He popped the top and was in luck.
Nathanial groaned a little but never opened his eyes. The poor boy restlessly turned.
The pot hissed. Jesse set aside the Winchester and poured himself a cup. He watched the sun come up as he kept an eye out for Tipsy. Nothing but flurries stirred outside. Jesse yawned. Maybe a second cup of mud would keep his eyes from falling shut.
The half-pint coughed hard from time to time, fussed, then settled into rest.
The bright light overhead beamed down a great glare on the snowy ground. Jesse figured if Tipsy was still out there, he would have come after Nathanial under the cover of darkness. But he didn’t trust getting some shut-eye when he was the only one in the house guarding the half-pint.
Food. That would fix him. It took a minute of rooting in the cupboards until he found the makings for a faint midmorning meal.
Jesse had just sat down at the table, scooping his first heaping spoonful of beans into his mouth, when Nathanial’s eyes fluttered open.
“What smells good?” The boy pushed himself up slowly and sat with the blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders.
“Surely it ain’t my cooking.” Jesse chuckled. “You want some? I’ll get ya a plate.”
Nathanial nodded, and Jesse hopped to it, butter on the biscuit and everything. He handed the boy a full plate. The half-pint didn’t touch it, just stared.
“You worried it’s gonna bite ya or what?” Jesse had half a biscuit shoved in his mouth and crumbs all over his shirt. “If you ain’t gonna eat it, I will.” He licked his fingers.
“My throat hurts.” Nathanial’s voice sounded like he’d rubbed it over a horse comb.
“Here.” Jesse reckoned a shot of hot mud might soothe that raw bark and handed over the few swallows of coffee left in his cup.
The boy’s face disappeared behind the rim, and he guzzled it down. It must have helped some, because Nate picked up his biscuit and nibbled. Now that the kid was alert, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Jesse to go check on the horses and feed them. He could look around for Tipsy too.
Jesse donned his coat. “I want you to lock this door behind me.” He pulled on his gloves, then picked up his gun.
“Did you hear a noise or something?” Nathanial’s eyes were wide.
“Don’t fret, partner. I’m just gonna take a quick gander, and if it looks to be safe here, then I’m gonna pack up the wagon with all of what I want.” He knew the mustang and Appaloosa weren’t team horses, but they’d have to do. “I think I can pack stuff around you to block the cold and git you home.” Jesse finished buttoning his coat.
Nathanial nodded, though he wrung his hands.
Jesse heard the lock click behind him. He stayed within sight of the cabin but saw no fresh sign of Tipsy. The horses had been fine when he’d checked on them.
Jack Simms gave a wave and rode toward Jesse. The scruffy-bearded fella with him wasn’t Nester.
They pulled up reins in front of Jesse. “How’s Nathanial doing this morning?” Jack sincerely asked.
“Tuckered, but he’ll be fine. Who’s your friend? I don’t believe I’ve seen him before.” Jesse was vague about the boy on purpose. There was something about that bearded fella’s slant-eyed look that Jesse didn’t like at all. No ranch hand that he knew wore his pistol tied down.
“Deputy Adams, this here’s Ben Miller.” Jack looked over at the fella, who seemed to be eyeing the cabin. “Ben, Deputy Adams.”
Jesse wasn’t feeling friendly, but he gave a nod and got a half-assed one in return.
“Unless you need us, we’re gonna head to the line shack with Nester.”
Jack’s offer was appreciated, but Jesse didn’t want Ben Miller too close to Nathanial. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. He didn’t have a good reason to. It was just that his gut was tight. “Nope. I got all the help I need.” Jesse patted his Winchester.
They turned their horses and rode off. Miller glanced back over his shoulder.
“Partner, let me in.” Jesse stomped the snow off his boots before stepping inside. The boy looked a little perkier. Still pale, but Nathanial no longer had that sickly glassiness in his eyes.
Jesse closed the door and headed to the fire to warm his hands.
“Who was that man with Jack? Seemed familiar, but I didn’t get a good look.” The kid must have been sneaking a peek out the window.
“Some new ranch hand of Shorty’s. That’s probably why he’s familiar. Could’ve seen him there.” Jesse shrugged. “Maybe I should take you home, then come back. I bet your folks are awful worried.” He wasn’t asking but more talking aloud to himself.
“I’m okay. I’ll keep watch while you pack.” The half-pint grinned.
“Good thinking, partner.” Jesse tickled Nate and got him to giggle. Packing would give the sun more time to warm up.
“How mad do ya suppose Ma and Pa are that I ran off?” Nathanial’s chin dropped toward the floor.
“Reckon they’ll just be glad to see ya.” Jesse wasn’t sure how the kid’s folks would react to the fact that Tipsy had come close to killing Nate again. Not that getting shot was the kid’s fault, but he shouldn’t have run away.
Jesse picked up a picture of him and his brothers off the mantel. It was hard not to ponder over his life growing up in the cabin. So many memories came to mind, and there was too much that he didn’t want to part with now that he was really looking around. He couldn’t forget Ma’s fancy painted dishes that she had loved so much. They’d been a gift from Pa to his bride on their one-year anniversary. Maybe Kate would want them.
Jesse used both Ma’s blanket chests and some wood boxes that he’d found in the kitchen and packed everything from the quilt Ma had made for him when he was little to the lamp that had been his grandmother’s. He walked between rooms and fetched more things that held a valued memory. There was a deep pang in his chest while he packed letters from Ma’s family back east and her wedding dress into a chest. It made him recognize how much she’d meant to him.
It wasn’t hard to picture Kristy wearing that beautiful gown. He definitely would miss Ma not being there on his wedding day.
He closed the lid and looked at the clock. It was well past the lunch hour. He glanced over at the kid, who yawned loudly. Nathanial was slumped forward with his elbows propped on the windowsill, resting his head in his hands and those blue eyes drifting ever closer to closing.
He couldn’t make the long, cold ride to the ranch dressed only in a nightshirt.
“Here.” Jesse tossed a ball of wool socks. Nathanial missed the first pair, and the second bounced off his noggin, making him giggle. Jesse chuckled too.
“I’m almost ready to go.” Jesse had everything packed. He just needed to get it into the wagon, which shouldn’t take him long.
Nathanial had pulled on one pair and worked at tugging on the second. “Do I really have to wear two pairs?” The boy’s bottom lip thrust out.
Jesse didn’t want to hear it. Thick flakes of snow had begun to steadily fall, and that wasn’t a joke. It was too cold not to have some kind of proper footwear. “Git ’em on.” Jesse wasn’t fooling around. “Put this on too.” He held a man-size shirt open while the half-pint punched his arms into the sleeves.
“I look silly,” the kid grumbled with an ugly frown on his face.
“Gripe all you want. I don’t rightly care. Those things are warm, and you will wear them.” Jesse wagged a finger.
The boy huffed but made no move to doff the big hanging shirt. When Nathanial had every button fastened, Jesse wrapped the scarf that Mrs. Crosson had made for him around Nathanial’s neck.
“Wipe that pout off your face. I got a surprise for ya, if it didn’t get thrown out. Wait here.” Jesse disappeared into the other room, leaving the boy to wonder. He returned carrying a heavy cobweb-covered chest. Hard to believe it had been there after all this time. He’d almost forgotten.
At Nathanial’s feet, Jesse placed the load. “Open it.”
“A gift for me?” The kid raised a brow and studied the box for a minute.
Jesse gave him a nudge. When Nathanial flipped open the lid and peered inside, his blue eyes brightened. It was great to see the kid so full of life.
“Let’s have a look.” Jesse reached in and picked up Oliver Twist. He blew off the dust, making the half-pint sneeze. “I’ve always liked to read. A good adventure just stirs somethin’ in me, and I can’t stop leafin’ through till I find out the end.”
The kid nodded, a grin on his face. He must have related.
“Which one should I read first? The Swiss Family Robinson, The Three Musketeers, David Copperfield, Rip Van Winkle—there’s so many. I should give this one to Elizabeth.” Nathanial took a breath from rattling off the titles and held up a faded copy of Goldilocks.
Jesse pulled Grimm’s Fairy Tales from the stack the kid had piled on the table. The cover was worn from the many times it was opened. He set it down and picked up another tattered hardcover with the binding nearly torn off. “This story has always been my favorite. It’s about a boy and his dog that git themselves lost at one ocean and somehow find their way through town and wilderness, storm and calm to see the shores of the Pacific. The end always troubled me. I figure that’s why I like it. I won’t tell it all, but that dog is the boy’s best friend and lays down more than just loyalty.”
Nathanial playfully snatched the book out of Jesse’s hands, flipped open the first page, and began to read.
“Hey now, partner, you’re my lookout.” Jesse ruffled the boy’s hair.
“Oh yeah.” Nathanial clapped the book closed and, for safekeeping, tucked his new treasure inside the quilt that blanketed his shoulders.
Jesse chuckled.
“Can I read it to you when we git home?” The kid bounced up and down as he asked. There was now a flush to his partner’s cheeks. Maybe it was all the layers, or perhaps that pesky fever had reared its ugly head for round two.
“We’ll see.” Jesse needed to get the kid home where his ma could care for him proper.
Listening to his partner read would be nice, but Jesse wasn’t sure he’d still be welcome in the sheriff’s home. After all, Sheriff Crosson had screamed until he was blue in the face, stripping Jesse of his badge.
Jesse took hold of the knob. “I’m going to hitch the horses up to the wagon. Keep this door locked.”