Chapter 3
Despite his better judgment, Lucky felt sorry for Tempest. She was trouble, but he was beginning to suspect that she was his trouble . . . at least for the moment.
He watched Big Jim and Mrs. Bartholomew focus on Tempest like two vultures waiting for supper. As the disgraced lady walked up to them, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She was courageous, but a jutting chin fairly begged to be clipped.
He’d like to know her background. She wasn’t off some hardscrabble farm or from a wild town like the Bend. No matter her current actions, she was obviously born and bred a lady. She reminded him of the pampered belles they still turned out in New Orleans or over in Jefferson in East Texas. At one time, the two cities were connected by riverboats, cotton, gamblers, and their complementary Mardi Gras and Queen Mab festivals.
Belles like Tempest could turn a man hot and needy with one look. He could testify to the fact that she had honed that skill to a fine art. His blue jeans had shrunk a size since he met her. He needed relief from the pressure of his prick, but he doubted he’d get it any time soon.
He knew for a fact that belles expected to be respected, appreciated, and obeyed. He grinned at that idea. Around here, no self-respecting man or woman was much inclined to grant those particular favors without a damn good reason.
Big Jim didn’t have a damn good reason, or any other one, to go easy on Tempest. She was about to find out that he gave as good as he got.
If pride didn’t get in her way, she might be able to talk her way out of her situation, but he wouldn’t bet on it.
Lucky stepped off the boardwalk, noted a few bystanders roused from their saloons by the ruckus, and ambled toward the group of blackbirds clustered around Big Jim and Mrs. Bartholomew. Tempest faced them alone, her back to the Red River Saloon. He didn’t much care for her odds. Even more, he didn’t care to see judgment called by the many against the few.
He stopped just behind and to the right of Tempest, so his right hand was free, warning the blackbirds not to get too rowdy with their hatchets.
“Lucky, this ain’t your quarrel,” Big Jim said. “You saw what she did to my bar. She ought to be glad I’m willing to take recompense from her group and not send her to jail.”
“I didn’t know the Bend had a jail.” Lucky glanced up and down Main Street, wondering how he’d missed something like that. “Or a town marshal.”
“Don’t. Not official like. Marshals come and go, mostly go. Got a room over at the Lone Star Hotel that Saul keeps as a jail. Men who imbibe beyond their limits can sleep it off there.”
“I never heard of a jail in a hotel,” Mrs. Bartholomew said. “If he’s coddled, how can a man learn to right his ways?”
“Outlaws don’t stay in the Bend,” Big Jim said. “First sign of trouble, they hightail it to Indian Territory.”
“Nevertheless—”
“I stand by my actions,” Tempest said, “jail or no jail.”
“I’m backing Tempest’s play.” Lucky spread his feet to gain more balance in case one of the blackbirds flew at him or Big Jim threw a punch.
“This is none of your concern.” Tempest tossed him an irritated look.
“You shock me.” Mrs. Bartholomew heaved a loud sigh. “I’ve treated you as my own daughter. Now I learn you are acquainted with a gunslinger.”
“I’m not,” Tempest said.
“Then why is that man standing beside you as if he’d as soon shoot us as look at us?”
“I have no idea.”
“This is ridiculous.” Mrs. Bartholomew adjusted her black hat. “I do not care to be lied to. If he is not your friend, you must have hired him.”
“Let’s just say I like to even lopsided odds.” Lucky twitched his hand beside his S&W .44. “Comes with my heritage.”
Mrs. Bartholomew’s eyebrows went up in surprise, and then she looked him up and down. “Surely you’re not, and I mean no disrespect, a Redskin?”
Lucky smiled, letting her wonder like he let a lot of people. He usually passed for French out of New Orleans, which was true, but the blood of the vanquished Atlahtaw Nation, as well as the Choctaw, also ran strong in his veins. He shared the heritage that mattered most to him with few outside his clan, and certainly not with strangers.
“If so, you poor dear man. I thought the Indians had all been run out of Texas. I want to assure you that not everyone has forsaken the tribes to demon drink. After Delaware Bend, we’re going to cross the Red River into Indian Territory and bring awareness about the illicit whiskey being sold to those too weak in mind and body to resist the temptation.”
Lucky sighed. He shouldn’t have alluded to his Indian heritage. It could set off do-gooders. Too often their goals turned into control of others, particularly Indians, and in the process gained them money and power.
“This has nothing to do with Lucky,” Tempest said. “Who cares if he’s Indian or German or freedman? We came here with hatchets and I used mine.”
“My dear,” Mrs. Bartholomew said gently, “I don’t know how you could have gotten the wrong idea. We are demonstrators, not destroyers. Our hatchets are symbolic. Others may use extreme measures to get their word across to the public, but we’re not barbaric in Texas.” She glanced around the group. “At least, not anymore.”
“Now that the Indians are gone?” Big Jim asked, frowning.
“If I have been insensitive in any way, and for all the wrongs that have been done to the Red race, I apologize.” Mrs. Bartholomew dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief.
“You got the wrong idea,” Big Jim said. “We get full-bloods and mixed-bloods in the Bend all the time. Why do you think this place is called Delaware Bend?”
“I don’t know.”
“Delaware Indians founded the town. They started the ferry between Texas and Indian Territory.”
“Good for them.” Mrs. Bartholomew smiled. “Give credit where credit is due, I always say.”
“Don’t get us any closer to fixing my bar. Pay up.”
Mrs. Bartholomew shook her head, appearing regretful. “Tempest, you have acted in a headstrong manner without approval from the Texas Society for the Promotion of Temperance.”
“But I thought—” Tempest started.
“As that is the case, the TSPT will not pay for the damage you caused to this man’s bar. If a night in jail will satisfy him, then that is what you must do.”
“What!” Tempest appeared stunned.
“My dear.” Mrs. Bartholomew clasped Tempest’s hand. “This hurts me more than it hurts you. Yet I must not weaken. This is your opportunity to learn prudence and to listen to your elders.”
Tempest jerked her hand free.
“I also regret that it is my duty to inform you that due to your actions, and the sanctity of our cause, you are no longer a member, or secretary, of the TSPT.”
Lucky doubted a federal judge would have handed down such a stiff sentence. He glanced at the others to see how it was affecting them. Tempest leaned back as if from a blow. Big Jim appeared shocked. The Blackbirds looked frightened.
“I stand by my actions, even if the TSPT doesn’t support me,” Tempest said.
“I’ll pay for the damage.” Lucky doubted there was any chance of fixing Lulu, so payment would be more symbolic than helpful to Big Jim.
“No, thank you.” Tempest glanced at him, her violet eyes full of anger and hurt.
“If you apologize, I’ll let it go,” Big Jim said.
“I did what I believe is right. I’ll serve jail time for the sake of my righteous cause.”
“This is getting out of hand.” Big Jim stomped a boot. “I’ve got a saloon to run. I don’t have time for this foolishness.”
“Neither do we,” Mrs. Bartholomew said. “Do you agree that a sincere apology from the TSPT and an overnight jail sentence by the perpetrator will satisfy your sense of outrage and settle this matter once and for all?”
“Doubt the Bend’s ever put a woman in jail,” Big Jim said. “I don’t like it, not one bit.”
“Are we in agreement?” Mrs. Bartholomew demanded.
“Will the TSPT be leaving town?” Lucky asked.
“Immediately. Minus one former member.”
“I’d agree to her terms,” Lucky said. “Get it over with before it gets worse.”
Big Jim nodded.
“The TSPT regrets any inconvenience or monetary loss our former member caused you. As president, I sincerely apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” Big Jim said.
Mrs. Bartholomew turned to Tempest and held out her hand, palm up. “Please return your hatchet.”
Tempest slapped down the flat side of the ax head.
“I am sad that we must part this way. I suggest you return to your family and think on your actions.” She put her hand in her pocket, pulled out a silver coin, and held it out. “Here is a dollar to see you safely home.”
“I don’t take charity.”
“You earned it.”
“No.”
“In time, I hope you come to understand my actions.” Mrs. Bartholomew put the coin back in her pocket, then picked up a corner of the dusty, crumpled banner.
Other TSPT members helped raise their banner, and then they resumed their march down Main Street. Only this time, they moved silently and solemnly toward the Red River.
Lucky watched them go. He shook his head. There was no telling about folks. He just hoped he never had to hear another word about temperance.