Jesse grumbled to himself while following along behind Sheriff Crosson and all the others. Hadn’t he been punished enough? He hadn’t done anything wrong. If he spoke his mind, he might piss off the sheriff and end up in more trouble.
They rode up to a fine two-story white house with a porch that wrapped around all sides. There were two big barns with corrals and a bunkhouse. Cowpokes wearing chaps lounged about all lazy like under the covered porch. A horse whinnied, and another answered.
Jim was off his horse and tossed the reins to another man to tend. Jesse couldn’t hear the words, but his mouth was running fast. The men on the porch all huddled and appeared to be leaning in with an attentive ear. A few of them glanced in Jesse’s direction. He had no doubt what was being said and did the only thing he could. He turned his back. There was something much bigger to worry about than what Jim was saying.
How long would Sheriff Crosson keep him locked behind bars? Honestly, what was the sheriff’s reason? Jesse had been acquitted, so how was this considered justice? If he was innocent, as the sheriff had said, why then had he lost his right to go and explain all about how he’d been caught with stolen cattle before rumors crowded into Mr. Wallace’s ears.
A dark-haired woman with a full round figure and a big grin to match stood on the edge of the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. That must be Mrs. Short. Jesse wasn’t feeling social. Hard to be chummy with these people when the sheriff was escorting him to jail. All he could think about was sitting a sleepless night in the pokey. Not once did he picture being locked in a cage for any reason. Why else would the sheriff have him follow if not to arrest him?
Three rowdy grasshopper-size boys tussled in the yard. All their squealing was making Jesse’s headache worse. The tallest brown-haired boy was the spitting image of the cattleman. The other dark-haired boy had a plump rosy face with a splattering of freckles like Mrs. Short. Hm … Jesse couldn’t place the little towhead with the sky-blue eyes.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on Nathanial. Didn’t think we’d be gone so long, or I would’ve sent him home.” The sheriff watched the snowy-haired kid get thumped to the ground and bounce up wearing an ornery smile.
The stout woman kindly waved off the sheriff’s words. “We enjoyed having him, especially the boys.”
Jesse hadn’t known the sheriff had a son. Of course, when he went to town, it was usually on a Saturday night to drink a few beers. Pete’s saloon wasn’t much of a family place.
Nathanial Crosson tackled the smaller round-faced boy. Both youngsters hit the dirt with a thud, giggles rose up, and Jesse smirked. The boys were rolling across the grass in a tangle of arms and legs.
Mrs. Short shook her head. “Norman, Nathanial, stop that fooling around before one of ya gits hurt.”
Neither boy was listening. The sheriff’s little ruffian seemed to be getting the best of Norman, who was bigger. The taller boy then pounced on the sheriff’s tiny son and rubbed the blond head into the dirt. Jesse couldn’t help but smile. He and his brothers had some good fight matches back when they were all youngsters.
“You boys behave yourself now. Lenny, git off Nathanial and let ’im up.” Mrs. Short scolded all three rowdy heathens and sounded just like Jesse’s ma had, even wagging a finger.
Sheriff Crosson leaned forward on his pommel and laughed. Truth be told, Jesse was enjoying the commotion in the yard. It took his mind off jail. The sheriff glanced over his shoulder, eyed him for a minute, then turned around. Jesse wasn’t about to run away, not on that nag anyway. He was stuck.
Shorty walked up and stood on the porch next to his woman and watched the brats still throwing each other around.
Sheriff Crosson gave a sharp wave. “Nathanial, come on an’ git your horse.”
The half-pint stood while brushing the dirt off his coat front and pants. “See ya later.” He shot off at a run toward the corral.
The grasshopper crawled up the tail of a muscular buckskin gelding and slid easily into the saddle. What the hell? That certainly was a unique way of mounting up. Jesse chuckled to himself. Without the help of something to stand on, the half-pint wasn’t lengthy enough to get a foot up into the stirrup. Nathanial could’ve just used the corral fence. Instead, he seemed to have found his own way and must’ve done it before since he hadn’t gotten his head kicked off. Smart kid.
Jesse couldn’t keep from taking in what the boy was going to do next. The half-pint gathered up the reins, spun his horse about, and gave the mustang a hard kick. The buckskin ran right for the fence and leaped it. That horse hadn’t even nicked a hoof.
Damn, Jesse never saw a youngster ride that well. He knew men who couldn’t jump a horse that high without breaking their necks.
Sheriff Crosson jerked the reins of the bay so he squarely faced his son. The man was steaming red, his jaw clenched. Jesse reckoned if he could have read the sheriff’s mind, the words “you know better” would have been in there somewhere. Had the full weight of that horse fallen on the half-pint, he would have been crushed. The jump had been impressive, but that’s not how Jesse was raised to treat horses.
“If you jump Buck like that again, I’m gonna spank ya.” Sheriff Crosson gave the half-pint hell, but the boy didn’t seem bothered.
Nathanial was twisted around in the saddle, waving goodbye to his friends. The brazen child appeared to have turned off his ears to the scolding, as if the sheriff wasn’t bitching and shaking a finger. At that age, Jesse would have gotten a belt taken to him. He didn’t fault the sheriff for chewing the half-pint’s ears about how to treat a good horse, and the buckskin gelding was a fine-looking animal. Thank goodness the half-pint hadn’t gotten himself hurt, but Jesse surely did enjoy seeing that horse fly.
“If the mustang breaks a leg, you’ll be the one to put him down.” Sheriff Crosson wasn’t done reaming out the boy.
Jesse stiffened. The sheriff’s sober face was proof that he meant it. Tears sprang into the boy’s eyes. Jesse couldn’t have put a bullet in his horse at that age. He’d guess Nathanial to be maybe eight. Plus the twiggy imp probably couldn’t hold the full weight of a ready and aimed rifle.
“I couldn’t ever shoot Buck!” the boy fired back with some serious huff.
Damn, that kid had stones. Jesse snickered. He hadn’t ever bucked his pa until the day he left home. This little cuss had real fight in him to go yelling like that. Not that Jesse was really afraid of any man, but he’d done every word of what the sheriff had told him for the past two days. Of course, almost getting hanged and the sting of a whipping were far different. And judging by how quick the boy had lipped off, Jesse sensed the sheriff’s belt and Nathanial’s backside had at some time already met. Though the kid, with his face wrinkled all mean, wasn’t backing down.
The sheriff overlooked the little scowl. “Then treat the horse right!”
Jesse silently agreed. Jumping a corral fence for no good reason and risking the mustang breaking a leg was just plumb foolish. Though Jesse had done lots of fool things as a boy.
“Let’s go.” Sheriff Crosson spurred his horse.
Nate patted Buck on the neck, swearing he’d never shoot his horse because Buck wouldn’t ever break a leg. The mustang was a good, sturdy horse with sound feet. Nate knew what he was doing. He’d jumped the fence at home lots of times when Pa wasn’t home.
Nate glanced back. Pa’s face wasn’t red anymore. And why was that other fella following them home? Nate cocked his head. The young man was tall and looked like he’d fallen off his horse and into a pile of dirt. His hands weren’t tied to the saddle horn, so he must not be going to jail.
“Nathanial,” Pa called, then nudged the bay and trotted up. Pa pointed at this person with them. “That thar is Jesse Adams. Jesse, this is my son, Nathanial.”
“Hi.” Nate smiled. This Jesse fella must have been important for Pa to introduce him. Nate’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! Look at that burn around your neck. Did someone try an’ hang ya?”
“Nathanial, watch your mouth.” Pa frowned, then looked at Jesse, who hastily pulled up his coat collar, but Nate could still see that sore-looking mark.
“What happened?” Nate wanted to hear the whole story. Pa had probably helped this fella out of some sort of pickle.
“Jesse got himself mixed up with some not-so-good people, and that was the result.” Pa hadn’t given much of an explanation.
“Did ya get the bad guys?” Nate couldn’t remember a time when Pa hadn’t captured his man.
Pa didn’t answer, staring right over Nate’s head, looking concerned. That worried him, and he turned.
Jesse rubbed at his temple under the brim of his hat. His face looked blanched and his eyes a little teary. Nate hadn’t meant to upset him. Perhaps it was those pale eyes, but Jesse Adams didn’t look as if he’d ever committed a crime other than maybe spitting on the street. He certainly didn’t have that mean, chiseled edge that lawless men had.
Jesse wore chaps the same as all those men who worked for Lenny and Norman’s pa. This dusty, nag-riding fella was nothing more than a stinky cowpoke with crud on his boots. Nate found it hard to believe that Jesse got himself mixed up in the hanging kind of trouble. Sometimes though, life had a way of just throwing you into the middle of things that you wanted no part of. Nate had learned that lesson a long time ago.
“Sorry. Sometimes I poke my nose where it don’t belong. If I pissed ya off, it wasn’t on purpose.”
One corner of Jesse’s mouth turned up just a hair. “It’s okay, kid.”
Pa grinned. “It’s been a hectic two days for Jesse. I think he could just use some quiet, so no more questions.”
Pa hadn’t explained the details of why Jesse was with them, and it sort of irked Nate. Something was going on. Pa was keeping a soft eye turned on that big boy, and he didn’t just take to anyone.