Before Jesse even had both arms in his coat sleeves, the half-pint had all his buttons fastened and reached for the door. Jesse flicked his partner’s ear. “Remember your promise.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy raised his right hand. “May I wait outside? I’ll stay where you can see me.”
Jesse nodded, and his little partner ran out the door. The cold air gushed in, and Jesse quickly buttoned up tight. No sooner had he stepped onto the porch, the door not yet closed behind him, than snowballs pelted the front of Jesse’s coat. His arms shot up like a shield. That ornery little cuss laughed and ducked behind the gate after throwing his last one.
Jesse ran and jumped off the porch, scooped up a handful of snow, and pitched the quickly packed ball. Smack! Right square in the middle of the rowdy pup’s back as he fled toward the barn. The next one flew over Nathanial’s head. Jesse chased after and tackled him. The two of them tussled in the snow. Laughter and breathless fun filled the quiet morning.
“Uncle, uncle, I quit. You win.” It had only been a few days since Jesse’s fight with Dutch, and his ribs stabbed at him a bit. “Give me a hand up, ya brat.” He grinned as his partner stretched a mitten-covered hand. Jesse grabbed and pulled him face-first into the thick inches of cold wet stuff. The boy popped up with a white mustache and beard and a big fat smile.
Jesse stood while brushing the flakes off his pants and coat, then walked into the barn with Nathanial on his heels. “Go play in the loft or something while I milk the cow.”
Nathanial climbed into the back of the wagon and sat on the rocking chair Jesse had brought from the cabin.
Jesse had pulled up the milk stool and squatted. “I didn’t git you out of the house to sit in a rocker. Are you an old lady?” Jesse thumbed for the boy to get out of the wagon. There were a few things he didn’t want broken. Nate rolled his eyes. Idle time for a boy that age could mean trouble, and there was plenty of work to be done. “Why don’t ya fork some hay down from the loft to feed the horses?”
The boy climbed the rungs of the ladder into the loft. There sure was lots of rustling around going on but no hay coming down. Nate must be playing rather than doing work. Jesse gave Matilda’s teat a squeeze. The bucket was half-full already.
A sprinkle of something touched down on Jesse’s shoulder. Then a dump of loose hay fell over him. He stood and brushed the strands off his coat, then smacked his hat against his leg to get rid of the hay on the brim. “That ain’t funny. You’ll ruin the milk.”
“The bucket is under the cow. I doubt I got any in the milk.” Nate pitched another scoop teasingly close but not onto Jesse. “Oops, sooo sorry.” Breathing all the fresh air must have stirred up the kid’s orneriness.
“I’m gonna come up there and throw you out the loft window into the snow.” Jesse smirked.
“I dare ya.” His partner stuck out his tongue, then laughed about it.
In three quick long strides, Jesse grabbed the ladder and stepped off the rungs by twos. Nate screamed, ran faster than a jackrabbit, and pitched himself into the loose mound. A gopher couldn’t have dug any quicker. Jesse snagged hold and tugged on his partner’s boot. Squeals and giggles floated up, and Jesse pulled Nate the rest of the way out. His fingers tickled mercilessly all over the kid.
Laughter bounced off the beams above them. Nate tried wiggling free. “I promise I won’t throw any more hay on ya.”
Jesse wasn’t done yet. This was too much fun, and he hadn’t chuckled so hard in a long time. He scooped up the kid, tossing him into the mound. Nate bounced up and pounced, and Jesse flipped the boy over his shoulder. His partner hung with his feet dangling down Jesse’s back.
He stopped dead and stiffened. Playtime was over.
Who the hell was that out there? Jesse squinted and watched close for a minute. The kid began to shake all over. Jesse couldn’t tell from the distance if the single rider was Tipsy, but he aimed to find out.
He gently slid the boy off his back. “You hide far back in the corner under the hay. You don’t move, and you don’t make a sound.”
Nathanial’s eyes had welled up, and his stare seemed frozen on that rider.
“Partner, you understand me?” Jesse had to shake the kid to make him look away.
The boy’s lip quivered as he nodded and hesitated to let go of Jesse’s sleeve. Jesse spun him around and gave him a little shove. There wasn’t time to waste. He climbed quickly down the ladder and hightailed it toward the house.
Kate must have seen him from a window. She threw open the door. “Where’s Nathanial?” She wrung the towel in her hands.
“I told him to hide.” Jesse strapped on his pistol. “Go fetch my rifle from my room.” How dumb. How could he have forgotten his guns? What the hell had he been thinking? It was pure luck that he’d seen the rider before the man, maybe Tipsy, got too close.
Jesse turned toward the window, hoping that was Tipsy and this ended here. Kate handed him the Winchester. He quickly checked his load. “There’s a single rider coming this way. You bar the doors and git the Henry from the study.”
“I don’t like Nate being in the barn alone.” An instant shine magnified Kate’s eyes.
Jesse wasn’t the man of that house, but Kate needed to listen. That horse and rider were coming at a fast trot. He needed to get out there. “I didn’t want him crossing the open ground between the barn and house. Whoever the rider is would have seen him. Nathanial is safe, or I wouldn’t have left him there.”
The door lock clicked behind Jesse. He ran to the barn and saddled Dapple. “I’m riding out,” he hollered into the open loft. “You don’t stir till I come for ya, and if I don’t come back, then you stay hidden till your pa finds ya.” Jesse led the Appaloosa from the barn, then swung a leg over the saddle. He spurred his horse toward the single rider, keeping his rifle ready across his lap.
Jesse squinted as he rode closer. The man was wearing a brown coat. Tipsy’s coat was gray and long. Whoever that was, the fella wasn’t trying to hide himself. The damn trees and skift obscured Jesse’s view. Was the rider holding a gun? Jesse kept his finger on the trigger. The horse wasn’t gray, but Tipsy could have switched rides.
The tightness in Jesse’s gut eased up with the sense that the man riding straight at him wasn’t Tipsy. A slight tug on the reins slowed Dapple’s pace, now trotting on the same path to cut off whoever that fella was. Fifty feet was all that separated them.
Jesse reined in, as did the stranger. Working within the boundary lines of the Seven-C or out on the trail driving cattle for the past few years, he wasn’t familiar with all the folks who lived around Gray Rock. The red hair and beard wasn’t common. If this fella was a neighbor, then Jesse hadn’t ever seen his freckled face in town.
Jesse eased back just a hair on the trigger.
“What’s your business?” He wasn’t being friendly. He couldn’t be sure this wasn’t one of the men who rode with Tipsy.
The fella’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “You the new d-d-deputy, a-ain’t ya?” He blubbered his words and twisted the reins in his hands. It was doubtful that fella was a killer.
Jesse didn’t answer but held his glare on the man. There was something slightly familiar the more Jesse studied that face.
“I’m Sheriff Crosson’s neighbor, Eugene Baker. I live some ten miles that way.” The man waved a hand in the direction. “I fell off my barn roof a few weeks back and have been laid up for a spell. We haven’t had much meat on the table since. I thought I’d do some huntin’. Hit a deer but didn’t kill it. Been tracking blood over three miles.”
Jesse glanced at the ground. Red drips every so many feet formed a trail.
He recalled the evening that Doc Martin had taken supper at the house. Doc said he had treated a man that had fallen off a barn roof. Jesse believed the wan-faced Mr. Baker was telling the truth. The fella also kept his hands away from his weapon. This wasn’t a slant-eyed gunslinger. Then it came to Jesse. The day Jesse and Sheriff Crosson had ridden to Shorty’s to hear the deal, he had seen this redheaded man loading nails into a wagon. That fit with fixing a barn roof. The man hadn’t had a beard then. No wonder it hadn’t come to him right away.
Jesse tipped his hat and backed off his horse. Mr. Baker nudged his and passed by with his gaze on the blood spots. Jesse wheeled the Appaloosa toward the ranch. It had been only minutes since he’d left the barn, but Nate must be terrified out there all alone. Jesse loped his horse.
He opened the barn doors and led Dapple inside. “Partner.” The loft was quiet. “Nathanial!” No answer. Damn, that boy couldn’t listen for anything. What had that little fool been thinking? Not doing as he’d been told could have cost him his life had that fella been Tipsy. A good, hard tongue-lashing was what Jesse aimed to give him. Maybe a firm shake to go with it.
He unsaddled and stalled the Appaloosa. All the while, he inwardly cursed that reckless child up and down. Likely, the kid had gotten too scared, ran to his mama, and was hiding in the folds of her skirt. Jesse closed the barn door and hustled toward the house, carrying his rifle. Kate probably was worried with him gone and the sheriff out on the trails. Tipsy had attacked at the house before.
Kate flung open the door and searched past Jesse. “Where’s Nathanial?”
Jesse stopped in his tracks. “I thought he had come inside.”
Kate shook her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t see him leave the barn. I never left the window, not for a minute.”
Jesse returned quickly to the barn and climbed the rungs into the loft. Nathanial had curled up in the hay and stared out the open door across the snowy valley. Tears streaked the boy’s face, dripping off his dimpled chin.
Jesse sat down next to the kid and nudged Nathanial to look at him. “Thought we were partners. Why didn’t you answer me?” Never had he seen such deep-rooted pain in a child’s eyes.
“Tipsy will git me.” The kid shook from head to toe.
“Your pa and I won’t let that happen.” Jesse would throw himself in front of Tipsy’s Colts first.
The boy sniffled. “You can’t keep your eyes on me every minute of the day and night. Nor can Pa. You’re just puttin’ off what’s comin’ to me.”
How did that boy figure he deserved a bullet? For some stupid reason, his little partner was already crediting himself as another notch and giving merit to Tipsy for being a savage killer. Didn’t Nathanial know that he was well worth saving? Surely by Ma’s doting and that proud gleam in his pa’s eyes, the kid comprehended how much he was cared about. Hell, Jesse could hardly say no to that little rascal.
He slipped an arm around his shoulders. Nathanial leaned into him, and more tears spilled.
“I was just a baby.” Nathanial choked on his sobs.
Jesse almost wanted to chuckle because the boy was only eight.
“My old pa picked me up by the scruff and carried me to his horse. Ma had just died, and Pa had left her to rot in bed. At the time, I didn’t know how to fight back. Pa dumped me on the ground before he stepped into the saddle. Guess he had second thoughts about keeping me, so he was gonna just leave me to die.
“There had been another man with him, a vicious-eyed mongrel, unshaven and hard-boned. Without saying a word, he’d curiously watched from under his flat-brimmed hat. When Pa had turned his horse away, that wolfish fella grabbed me up. Big, cruel hands shoved me in one side of a pair of saddlebags to ride. I’d been so tiny that the fit was good. If I fell out, he’d leave me for the coyotes to eat.
“Sometimes I wish them two, who were more like one, would’ve left me. Would’ve been more decent of them. Instead, trouble had its ruthless hands around my neck. I’d been stuck. Learned trouble, became trouble, breathed it in day and night till all I knew was trouble, and I ain’t nothing but trouble. Trouble follows me everywhere.”
Jesse gave the boy a little squeeze around the shoulders. “That ain’t true, and I don’t wanna hear ya talk like that no more. Whatever you learned then, them days are gone. You’re a Crosson. That’s a mighty proud thing. There ain’t a name that stands taller in this territory, maybe beyond. And your pa and ma, they care so much about you. Everyone knows it, can see it plain. Even beggar Joe who stands on the corner with a tin can. His spectacles got to be four inches thick, but I’m sure he ain’t blind to the bond between you and your pa. Nobody is. And nobody calls you trouble, least while I’m around.”
The half-pint sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, though the tears kept on flowing. He stared at his feet as if he were too timid to say what was on his mind. When finally he did speak up, the words were barely a whisper. “Do you care about me? I mean … when you were wearin’ a badge, it was your job to go after Tipsy, but you don’t have to risk your neck anymore.”
What? Jesse’s jaw almost smacked the floor. How could Nathanial believe such a ridiculous notion? “I care a lot, partner.”
The boy smiled through his tears.
“Tell me the rest of it,” Jesse gently urged. He wanted to know everything about this boy and finally understand why Nate was savvy in ways that most youngsters weren’t.
“After two or three days of hard ridin’ deep into the mountains, there was a cave nestled among clusters of aspen, thick underbrush, and more rocks where Pa’s gang of men were hidin’ out. I was taught, even at that young age, how to fight, how to survive. That had come after a rip-snorting mouth battle between Pa and his two brothers. They wanted shuck of me till the man who’d rode with me in his saddlebags calmly told of the benefits they’d all reap by trainin’ me for certain tasks that no grown man could easily slip in and out of without being seen. He then patted my shoulder and told me he was lookin’ out for me, and Pa and the others wore greedy grins. That man was Tipsy.”
Jesse stiffened. He hadn’t expected to hear that Nate had a drawn-out, bleak history with a notorious killer. Dear God, the horrors that boy must have witnessed. Jesse’s chest panged.
“Do you know my pa’s name?” The half-pint quivered from crying so hard. He didn’t mean Sheriff Crosson.
Shaking his head, Jesse’s gut tightened as he waited to hear. He couldn’t image the little boy’s backstory could get any worse.
“Jim Younger.”
Jesse’s eyes widened, and he might have stopped breathing. Nate buried his little face in the front of Jesse’s coat and sobbed.
It couldn’t be true. The Younger gang had robbed banks and trains and killed more than a few men. Worse than most hard cases. Not just a step or two above the common thief or killer, a whole flight above. Craftier, more precise in their execution, much meaner, and altogether deadlier. A lot of Nate’s behavior made sense now. His profoundly strong distrust of people was cultivated from cruel hands. One of those sons of bitches was Tipsy.
Jesse patted the kid’s back.
The poor reputation of the Adams name was nothing compared to what that boy was trying to throw off his back.
Jesse lifted Nate’s chin. “Your pa is Sheriff Crosson, and Jim Younger can’t hurt you no more. He’ll be in that prison till he dies.” If by some chance Jim Younger did escape, Jesse would gladly put a bullet hole in him, one for each day Nathanial had suffered.
The kid wiped his sleeve across his wet cheeks. “Tipsy’ll kill me. He’s always been a lucky man. Did you know that’s how he got his name? ’Cause the scales of luck always tip in his favor.”
Jesse snugged Nathanial in closer. “Don’t think like that, partner. Your pa and I will find him.”
He could tell by the boy’s teary, hollow stare that Nate didn’t believe it. Words alone weren’t going to convince the half-pint. He’d seen too much, understood Tipsy’s ways too well not to be scared.
Neither of them moved, quietly observing the peaceful snowy valley and hills. There would be no such harmony in the Crosson home until Tipsy was caught. This fight was still fresh, hard, and no one knew the outcome absolutely. Two sides, each clinging to its prediction of the end. Hardheaded, Tipsy wouldn’t give up, which meant he would fight until death. Jesse’s blood ran cold, a predatory instinct coming alive inside him. It fueled him with a carnivorous drive to rip apart his enemy.
“Are you mad at me?” The half-pint desperately stared at Jesse, and those sad eyes had filled with tears again.
“No, I ain’t … Why?”
“You look mad.”
“Not at you, partner. I best git ya into the house before your ma gathers a posse.”
“Jesse.” The kid clung to his arm, pleading with his gleaming eyes. “There’s one more thing I have to tell ya. Promise you won’t hold it against me. It’s real bad.”
“I swear.”
“Judge Prescott in Birch Creek pardoned me the day I was adopted. Said I was what the court called a minor. Laid all the blame on … Well, you know who.”
Once again, that boy stared out at the hills with a faraway look in his eyes, as though he’d rather forget. “We held up a bank in a place called Northfield. I was done with my part. I hadn’t seen anyone with a badge hidin’ as a customer near the vault inside. So I walked out and gave the signal that all was clear. Made a big mistake, a life-changin’ one, and not just for me. That town knowed we were comin’.”
Jesse had read all about the attempted robbery. There hadn’t been mention of Nathanial’s involvement. A fact such as that would have stuck out, something not easily forgotten.
“No coaches had been due that day, but a stagecoach was sitting there. Good place to hide, keep myself out of the line of fire. I thought it was empty, so I crawled in when all the shootin’ started.” Sobs burst out of the boy.
“What is it, partner?”
“There was a woman with pretty dark hair, frantically clingin’ to a boy a few years older than myself. He was a bawlin’ mess. She must’ve mistook my glassy eyes for fright. I was scared, but more than that, I was envious. Wished I could take that boy’s place. Her arms protectively but kindly wrapped around me, holdin’ me close to her bosom next to her son. I hadn’t ever felt that safe or remembered ever truly weepin’ before that day.”
Jesse listened quietly with an ache in his chest for this boy.
“Booms rang from every direction. Seemed to be right on top of us. The coach shook a few times. Choking on thick gray gun smoke, we took turns coughing. More gunfire. I squeezed my eyes tight shut. Whispered were her sweet words that we’d be okay. I believed her, holding tight, dreaming of riding the stage out of there, out of my wicked life, as part of that family.”
Jesse grinned a little. “If you had, then the sheriff wouldn’t have found ya.” The half-pint being heartsick over having no family brought a mistiness to Jesse’s eyes that he could barely contain.
His partner emphatically shook his head. “The sheriff found me because I was on that stage.”
“What? I thought he found you after a wagon train attack?” Had Jesse missed a piece of the story?
“He did.” Nathanial nodded.
Jesse wasn’t following.
“The gunfire had stopped. I opened my eyes and smiled into the face of that pretty woman. Bullets had torn through the coach. She was dead. Her son too. For hours I cried. A man wearin’ a badge found me. First rule Pa had beaten into my hide was not to tell a lawman who I was, so I kept my trap shut. Wouldn’t speak, even after a week of sittin’ in a jail cell. So that sheriff dumped me with Mr. Harper.”
Jesse recalled that Harper had been the man killed in the wagon train attack. “How does the sheriff findin’ you with the wagon train relate to you being on that stagecoach?”
“Pa had scouted for the army before he became the sheriff of Gray Rock. He took to scoutin’ after his family was killed by a gang of outlaws.”
Jesse still didn’t see the connection.
“That pretty woman and little boy were Mary and Matthew Crosson.”
Jesse’s eyes stretched wide, and air flew out of his lungs as if Nate had walloped him in the gut. He hadn’t known the sheriff had a family before Kate and the children. Obviously, there had been some deep hurt to overcome, and Jesse believed that bond, as awful as it was, must have drawn the two closer as father and son.
“I’m no good. Told ya I was trouble,” the half-pint wailed.
The boy wasn’t looking for pity, nor was Jesse’s mind fixed to give any. “There ain’t a thing wrong with you. I think you’re a brave kid.” Jesse nudged his partner until he grinned a little.
The kid wiped at his eyes. “So you ain’t gonna git a new partner?”
Jesse shook his head with one hundred percent confidence. There was no chance of that.
Telling it all must have been too much. Nate trembled and gasped between each snivel. No words of comfort came to Jesse’s mind, so he just held tight to the little guy. It was some time before he stopped whimpering, and twice, his tired eyes had drifted nearly shut and his head bobbed.
Jesse stood, trying not to shuffle the kid too much. The poor boy was exhausted. Those peepers fluttered open. Jesse hoisted his partner higher on his hip. “We best git to the house before that posse shows up.”
Nate wiped at his red eyes, not squirming in the least to be put down. Out of nowhere, he hugged Jesse around the neck for a long minute. “Thanks for tryin’ to save me.”