Chapter One

 

Once upon a time, on a fair October day in 1869, a little girl and an old man worked side by side. The two lived in the tiny community of Rio Hondo, which squatted between the Spring, Hondo, and East and West Berrendo Rivers in the southeastern corner of the New Mexico Territory,

An old rag doll, clad in a dress made of the same material as the little girl’s, sat on a stump beside them. Her jolly embroidered face gave made her an amiable expression, and she seemed to be supervising their activities. She looked as though she’d been loved quite hard during her days on earth.

A sound caught the little girl’s attention, and she glanced up from the rope she’d been coiling into a tidy stack. “Listen, Mac. Somebody’s comin’.”

Alexander McMurdo, proprietor of McMurdo’s Wagon Yard, favorite stop-over of cowboys trailing herds from ranches in the Pecos Valley and Seven Rivers country, took the old briar pipe from his mouth and looked. He smiled when he saw a solitary man, slumped slightly in his saddle, riding across the plains toward Mac’s wagon yard. Mac had been expecting this. About time, too.

“Looks like we got us a visitor, Maddie, m’lass.”

Five-year-old Maddie Richardson jumped with joy and clapped her hands. Visitors were a rare and welcome experience for the girl. She lived, after all, in the only—and very small—oasis of civilization within a two-hundred-mile radius. The land stretching between Rio Hondo and other seats of society was as bare and unspoiled as her own heart but much, much harder.

Rio Hondo sat in the middle of southeastern New Mexico Territory like the hub of a spoked wheel, with trails leading east and south into Texas, west to the Arizona Territory, and north into Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and the Colorado Territory. Fort Sumner and Fort Stanton resided within that two-hundred-mile radius as well, and provided what passed as protection for the citizens residing in this part of the territory. There weren’t many of them. The army had rounded up most of the Indians in the early sixties, so that nowadays the most trouble settlers and ranchers could expect came from one another.

Maddie shaded her eyes and squinted through the harsh, cold sunlight at the stranger, now slowly making his way through the wide-open, double wagon-yard gates. “He’s on a pretty horse.” Excitement vibrated in her voice.

“That he is, lass. Let’s you and me go see what the fellow needs. He’s lookin’ a little trail-worn.”

“He’s all dusty,” Maddie agreed.

“So’s his horse.”

Maddie grabbed up her dolly and clasped the gnarled old hand Mac held out to her. Mac peered down at her, clucking softly when he noticed she wasn’t wearing her sunbonnet. That meant she’d slipped outside in spite of her mother’s vigilance. He grinned around his pipe.

She was a charmer, Maddie was. Almost as charming as her mother, but a great deal less bowed down by life. Which figured, as the wee lass had scarcely had time to collect burdens. With luck and his own help, Mac trusted that Maddie would grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother—and that her mother’s heart would heal at last. He matched his stride to hers, and they walked over to where the stranger had pulled his tired horse to a stop and was dismounting.

Mac shook his head as he studied the newcomer and felt a little sad. It appeared to him as though the poor fellow had made it here just in time. Another year or two, and not even Mac’s magic could touch him.

# # #

Noah Partridge was almost as tired as he’d ever been in his life. He was sure sick of riding. This was the place for him, though; he knew it in his bones—all of which ached as if he’d been in a brawl. The countryside around Rio Hondo was as barren as Noah’s soul, as bleak as his past, as desolate as his future, and as hard as his heart. The wind blew across it like a demon from hell, sometimes so stiffly that the dust and grit could tear a man’s skin off his face. Noah shook out the bandanna he’d worn over his mouth and nose to protect them from blowing dust. The cloth was stiff with dirt.

The only sign of life Noah had seen for at least twenty miles—until he rode into Rio Hondo—was low-growing grama grass and a few scrubby bushes. Greasewood, mesquite, yucca, and cactus dotted the landscape here and there. Every time Fargo, Noah’s horse, had stepped on a clump of greasewood, the tangy odor of creosote nipped at Noah’s nostrils. He kind of liked the smell—as much as he liked anything, which wasn’t much.

As he’d neared the community of Rio Hondo, he’d noticed a stunted shinnery oak that looked as if the wind had sculpted it. It leaned to the northeast, bowing against the prevailing winds as if it had given up the struggle to stand upright. The very air Noah breathed was hard, the water was harder, and Noah had a gut feeling he and they belonged together. He was harder than both of them put together.

Hell, even the animal life out here was sinister. Scorpions, rattlesnakes, coyotes, cougars. Wild Indians even, he supposed, unless the army’d gathered them all up. He’d seen about a million buzzards too, although he imagined they’d be gone soon. They’d all fly south to winter in the sunny climes of Mexico and wouldn’t show up again until the springtime. Which only went to show that Noah Partridge was tougher than a buzzard. He grinned a small internal grin that didn’t make it to his lips. Yup. This was the right place for Noah, all right.

He turned when he heard footsteps. The greeting he’d been about to pronounce withered and died when he saw a child walking with the old man whom Noah presumed was Alexander McMurdo. Hell, Noah hated kids. He hated kids almost as much as he hated adult men and women.

“Howdy, stranger,” the old fellow said.

His voice was cheerful and faintly tinted with a Scots burr. It grated on Noah’s nerves like a metal file. He tipped his hat. “Hello. You McMurdo?” His voice was leathery and cracked with disuse.

“I am.” The proprietor’s eyes twinkled like stars. Noah didn’t appreciate the effect.

“Understand I’ll have to put up in your wagon yard while I take care of business here. You have room for me and my horse? I don’t have anything but what’s on the old boy’s back.” He gestured to his bedroll and saddle bags, which carried all his earthly possessions. Everything else he’d ever owned was gone now. Bitterness twisted though him as he thought about it, so he stopped thinking.

“Oh, aye, I expect we can handle you and your horse.”

The old man chuckled. His teeth were as white as pearls and were clamped around what looked to Noah like it must be the oldest pipe in the universe. Because he could no longer tolerate the presence of merriment, he turned and took longer unfastening his pack than he needed to.

When he turned around again, the little girl who’d walked up with Mr. McMurdo had let go of the old man’s hand and stood about a foot away from Noah himself, her raggedy old doll dangling, evidently forgotten, in her right hand. She peered up at him as if she were looking upon something strange and foreign. Which she probably was. She undoubtedly hadn’t met up with too many hollow men in her day.

Since he didn’t know what to do with her, he resumed his work. He glanced at her once or twice out of the corner of his eye and wished she’d go away or that Mr. McMurdo would do something with her. The kid made him nervous.

After a couple of very long moments, McMurdo did as Noah had wanted. “Maddie, me wee lass, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Noah Partridge. Mr. Partridge, this here sweet bairn is Miss Maddie Richardson.”

“Partridge?” Maddie broke into a huge smile. “Like in the pear tree?”

She was just a kid. Noah reminded himself of that when he had the urge to holler at her. How could a little kid understand that while Noah hated men, women, and children, he abominated Christmas and everything associated with it, including the blasted songs. Christmas was a season of sentimental hogwash, filled with sappy music, perpetrated by greedy merchants, and geared to pacify fools. Christmas was the season during which Noah’s own personal life, which hadn’t been a whole lot of fun to begin with, had gone straight to hell. He’d loathed it ever since.

He said, “Yeah,” in a voice as hard as the local water.

Mac seemed unaffected by Noah’s aloofness. He put a hand on the little girl’s bonnetless head. Noah knew his eyes were suffering from the territory’s harsh sunlight when dots of diamond-like sparkles seemed to flood from Mac’s hand and diffuse in the air around them. “Maddie is turnin’ six years old next month, Mr. Partridge.”

“In November, eh?” said Noah, for the sake of saying something.

Wait a minute. When had he told McMurdo his name? He couldn’t remember saying anything at all except that he wanted a place to stay in Rio Hondo while he conducted business. Noah’s eyes narrowed, and he watched McMurdo closely. Something was odd here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Whatever expression he had on his face seemed to amuse McMurdo. He grinned like Father Christmas himself and said, “Give Mr. Partridge a curtsy, Maddie, like your mama taught you, and shake his hand to welcome him to Rio Hondo.”

“All right.” Evidently as happy as the proverbial lark and much more obedient than any kid Noah’d ever known, Maddie executed a curtsy that would have looked charming to anyone but him. Then she looked up at him and gave him the sunniest smile he’d ever seen. Her smile struck him like acid, and he grimaced before he could stop himself.

Because he figured he should—after all, even though he hated kids on principle, he didn’t necessarily want to wound one of them—Noah smiled back. It had been so long since his last smile that this one damned near fractured his cheeks. He took off his worn leather glove and shook her hand. It was as soft as silk and as undamaged as a fresh peach. Noah hadn’t been around anything undamaged in a month of Sundays.

Maddie released his hand and stepped back. She looked up at Mac, and her small face took on a confiding, somewhat sorrowful expression. “Mr. Partridge isn’t used to smiling, Mac. His insides must hurt, like Mommy says hers do sometimes.”

If he hadn’t been holding his gear, Noah might have stuck a finger in his ear to clean it out. Had that kid just said what he’d heard?

He didn’t have time to relish his astonishment. The patter of running feet caught his attention, and he turned to see a woman racing towards them, her skirts caught up in her hands, her apron ribbons flying, headed away from what looked like it might be a small mercantile establishment. Good. He needed supplies. He ignored the woman, again on principle.

“Oh, Maddie! There you are. I was looking all over the place for you.”

The woman was breathless. Noah tried to continue ignoring her, but it was tough when she breezed right past him and knelt before her daughter. At least he assumed Maddie was her daughter. They had the same honey-colored hair and blue eyes; Maddie’s hair was a little lighter and brighter than the woman’s, but not by much. As she passed him, a faint scent of something sweet, like roses, assailed his nostrils. He turned his head brusquely away from it. Damned woman was wearing some kind of perfume. Reminded him of home, and he hated it.

He set his gear on a stump Mac indicated. Now how the hell had such a big stump managed to get itself out here, in Rio Hondo? Near as Noah could figure, there wasn’t a tree as big as that within seventy miles of the place. He didn’t ask, because he didn’t really care.

“Me and Maddie were just meeting Mr. Noah Partridge, Grace. Mr. Partridge plans to stay a spell in the wagon yard whilst he takes care of business.”

“In Rio Hondo?” Grace looked up at Noah, surprise written all over her face.

Her eyes were clear and wide and as blue as the sky, and framed by dark lashes. Noah noticed them. He hadn’t noticed a woman’s eyes for a long, long time. But Grace Richardson’s eyes were very like Maddie’s. That’s the only reason he’d noticed, he was sure. Most women’s eyes didn’t have that unspoiled quality he detected in Grace’s. At least the women back home in Virginia didn’t. Of course, they’d lost everything, including their innocence, during the war that had ripped their homes to pieces and killed their men.

Anyway, he was probably wrong about this female. She most likely only looked unspoiled and was rotten underneath. Lots of women had that trick about them, and used it to beguile. Too bad for this one that Noah was no longer capable of being beguiled.

“Yeah. Thought I’d look for some land to raise cattle.” His voice cracked again. He’d have to oil up his vocal chords since he’d probably be doing a lot of jawing until he found what he wanted. Then he could shut up again and stay shut up. Good thing, too.

“Well, there’s lots of that around here, I guess.” She stood and took up her daughter’s hand. Noah had a feeling she did so because she was nervous and needed something to hold on to. If so, she was being foolish. If there was one thing Noah didn’t have any designs on, it was a female. Any female. Of course, she couldn’t know that.

“Grace Richardson, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Noah Partridge. Mr. Partridge comes to us from the grand old state of Virginia.”

Noah’s gaze sharpened upon McMurdo again. Dammit, he knew he hadn’t told this old devil where he was from.

“How do you do, Mr. Partridge?”

His gaze slid to Grace Richardson. She was holding out a hand as if she expected him to shake it. He looked at it for a second, before he took it and said, “How to you do?” It was automatic. He didn’t really care how she did. Or anybody else in the world, for that matter.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for in Rio Hondo, Mr. Partridge.”

Noah let go of her hand when he realized she was exerting some pressure to get it back under her own control again. Jesus, what was wrong with him? Sparkles in the air, people knowing things he hadn’t told them, him holding a woman’s hand. Maybe he was losing his mind. He might as well God knows, he’d lost everything else. Sure as hell, his mind hadn’t been of any use to him for years now.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

Grace gave him a puzzled look and a faint smile and peered down at her daughter. “Come into the mercantile with me, Maddie, and let’s not bother the men. You can help me stack the canned goods, all right?”

“All right.”

Noah’d never seen such an obedient child. Of course, he was no expert on children. He remembered Julia’s younger brother, though, and he’d been a real brat. A spurt of fury shot through him for thinking about Julia, and he slammed the door shut on his memories.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Partridge. I hope you enjoy your stay in Rio Hondo.” Grace seemed almost shy.

Noah didn’t believe her. He nodded and didn’t feel obliged to speak.

“Bye, Mr. Noah,” Maddie said with another one of her sunny smiles.

He nodded at her too.

The two females turned towards the little store. “You forgot your sunbonnet again, Maddie. You know I want you to wear a sunbonnet outside so you won’t get sunstroke in the warm weather or frostbite this time of year. That’s why I made you and Priscilla matching sunbonnets.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Noah shook his head. They looked like a couple of animated statues to him, one a miniature of the other. For a split-second, he was almost curious as to who Priscilla was. The doll, he supposed. Then he took himself to task for caring.

As Maddie and her mother walked away from him, he heard Maddie say, “Mr. Noah looks just like the man in my dream last night, mama. The one who brought you the reed organ for Christmas.”

“Does he? My goodness.” Grace gave a little laugh and didn’t look back.

As for Noah, he stared at the kid’s back and experienced an urge to rush over to her, pick her up, shake her hard, and ask her what the hell she meant. How the devil had she just happened to pick reed organs out of the air as if organs were as common as dirt and people dreamed about them all the time?

He shook his head again, hard, and turned to Mac, frowning. Mac gazed at him like some kind of benevolent gnome, as if he understood the source of Noah’s unhappiness and confusion and pitied him. Noah resented him for it.

He decided to skip the reed organ issue. “How the hell did you know I was from Virginia?” The question was probably too sharp, but Noah hadn’t had to use company manners for a long time and was out of practice.

Mac winked at him. “Accent, Mr. Partridge. Accent.”

“You recognized my accent as being from Virginia?”

“Sure. We get us lots of folks from different states back east. ‘Cause of the war and all,” he added as if imparting a confidence.

The coldness that had engulfed Noah several years before suddenly turned a degree frostier. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure that’s true.”

“Well, now, Mr. Partridge, let me show you where you can stow your gear, and where to stable your horse. The two of you could use a bath, I reckon, even though the weather’s nippy.”

“I reckon.”

“Over here’s the wash house.” Mac gestured to a small shack of a building. “There’s a pump in there, and Mrs. Richardson keeps it supplied with soap and towels. She changes ‘em every week, too, so we manage to stay pretty clean here. You know women.” He laughed a jovial laugh.

No. Noah didn’t know women. Not any longer. The only women he’d ever known were dead. Even Julia was dead now, and so was the baby she’d been trying to give birth to. Not that Noah cared about that. Hell, it hadn’t been his kid. She hadn’t bothered to wait for him. Not that there was much to wait for by the time he got back from the war. He gave himself a shake, irritated that he’d allowed bitter memories to crowd into his head. He thrust them out again, feeling vicious.

He said, “Yeah.”

Mac led him to the back of the yard where a row of stables stood, protected by corrugated tin roofing material. The stables looked like stout, sturdy soldiers, standing side by side at attention. “Now, here we have a grand stable for your horse, lad. There’s curry equipment, a grain bin, and a water trough, so the poor beast can recuperate from ridin’ you out here. I’ll bring ye some oats if you’re low on horse fodder.”

Noah frowned, and wondered if Mac expected him to apologize for putting his horse to the use God—if there was a God, which Noah doubted—had intended for horses. The old fellow was smiling as if he found life a grand joke, so Noah didn’t snap back at him. Noah considered life a joke too, but he didn’t find it an amusing one.

“Looks fine,” he muttered. “I’ll take the oats. Thanks.”

“Aye. I’m sure old Fargo will be right as rain in no time at all.”

Noah tried to recall when he’d told Mac his horse’s name, then gave it up. The old fellow just seemed to know things; things Noah’d doubtless forgotten he’d mentioned. Hell, he was unused to talking to people. His silent thoughts and his spoken words were probably getting all mixed up since he was accustomed to the one and out of practice at the other. Besides, he really was crazy; he’d known it for some time now, although the knowledge no longer had the power to hurt him.

He grunted to show Mac he’d heard him.

“You can sleep in this stable next to your horse if you’re of a mind to, Mr. Partridge. We don’t have any other visitors at the moment. They mostly come in the spring and fall, you know, when they drive the cattle to Fort Sumner or up north. Don’t get us too many strangers this close to Christmas.” His merry blue eyes took on a confiding sparkle. “Folks like to be with their families at Christmas time, don’tcha know.”

Yeah. Noah knew. His guts felt like somebody’d‚ tied a knot in them. He grunted again, not trusting himself with words.

“Now it hasn’t been awfully cold lately, but I expect it’ll begin to frost any day now. If you get too cold out here, you just knock on the door of my house.” Mac gestured to another tidy building, situated right next to his store. “Ye can bed down on the floor of the parlor in front of the fireplace, if it starts to freeze these nights.”

Because he figured he should, Noah said, “Thanks.” In truth, he looked forward to the cold. It suited his temperament.

“And if ye get tired of fixin’ your own grub, I always have a pot of stew bubblin’ on the stove.” He winked again. “My own receipt, and it’s tasty stuff. Ye can get yourself a bowl of my famous stew, a slab of my famous cornbread, and a cup of coffee or a glass of beer for a nickel.”

Noah nodded. He wondered how Mac’s stew had come to be famous. Hell, there couldn’t be enough people living out here to make anything famous. Which was encouraging.

“Of course, Mrs. Richardson cooks for little Maddie and me, and I’m sure one more mouth to feed wouldn’t be a burden on her. She and Maddie would welcome the company, too, I reckon. It’s mighty lonely out here, especially for a lady with a little girl to care for.”

Yeah. Sure. Noah would perish fifty ways from Sunday before he’d be taking meals with Mrs. Richardson and her daughter. The mere thought made him tense up like a spring.

“And if ye ever get a mind for the company of another feller your age, and maybe a drink or two, there’s the Pecos Saloon across the way.”

Noah didn’t bother looking where Mac pointed. If there was one thing he couldn’t imagine a use for, it was company. Whiskey he could buy and use on his own if he ever got snake-bit. Otherwise, he didn’t care for whiskey any more than he cared for the company of his fellow man.

Another one of Mac’s chuckles brought Noah’s thoughts back to his companion. “Aye, there’s whiskey over there, and one or two pretty girls, too. The Pecos Saloon is where the cowboys go to have a drink after they’ve bought their supplies from me and before they go back to the ranches where they work. Poor souls. It’s a solitary life out there on the plains.”

This time Noah looked—in the direction of the plains. His tension lessened a bit. “Yeah.” That’s exactly what he’d hoped for. He craved solitude like other men craved money, whiskey, and women.

Mac went on, his voice friendly, as if he were in the presence of somebody who cared. “Got several ranchers in the area, though. There’s the Blackworth spread, and a couple of lads recently come here from Texas—Cody O’Fannin and his cousin Arnold. Chisum, of course, has the biggest spread hereabouts and runs the most cattle.”

Noah had heard of Chisum. “Sounds like a lot of people,” he murmured. He hoped to flinders all the good cattle land wasn’t gone already. Hell, the territory had barely opened up; it couldn’t be settled already, could it? Damned humanity always horned in where nobody wanted it to. Sometimes Noah wished he’d been born a cougar or a coyote himself. Out here, where there was nothing for hundreds of miles but—nothing.

Mac’s laugh rang out, hearty and loud. “A lot of people? Bless your soul, Mr. Partridge, there’s land enough for thousands out here, and not a one of ‘em would ever bump into another one unless he was of a mind to.”

Thousands. Cripes. Noah hoped not. He tried to smile at the old man, but couldn’t get his mouth to perform the unfamiliar exercise. “Know of any unsettled parcels of land hereabouts that I might buy or settle on, Mr. McMurdo?”

“Call me Mac, laddie. Everybody does.”

Although he didn’t want to get on nickname terms with anyone, Noah conceded the point. “Mac.” It was easier than arguing.

The old man chuckled. It must be Noah’s imagination that made this chuckle sound particularly canny, as if Alexander McMurdo knew Noah through and through—had known him for years, in fact—and therefore, knew exactly what it cost Noah to unbend enough to call anyone by a pet name. He examined the old man keenly, but couldn’t detect anything familiar in his face or manner. He was sure they’d never met before. He shook his head again, chalking this latest fancy of his up to exhaustion—or his soldier’s heart. And what a fancy name for lunacy that was.

“Aye,” Mac continued. “I reckon I can take you out and show you all sorts of properties that might appeal to ye, laddie. Best give yourself and your horse a day to rest up, and we can set out the day after tomorrow.”

That sounded all right with Noah. Although he wasn’t keen on having the chatty old man for company as he looked at land, his aims could be achieved with greater facility if he had a guide to show him around. He nodded. Since Mac wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see his nod, he was forced to say, “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“Glad to help, Mr. Partridge. It will be my pleasure.”

He sounded like he meant it, too. Noah didn’t understand, so he didn’t respond.

“Ye can build a fire here.” Mac gestured to a small, soot-blackened, sheltered fire pit that had been dug in front of the stable Noah’d be sleeping in. It had been lined with rocks, and boasted a corrugated tin shield on three sides and above it, and a serviceable iron spit upon which a man could roast meat or hang a pot. “But don’t forget ye’re not obliged to take your meals out here by yourself.”

By himself was exactly the way Noah wanted it. He only nodded again. This wagon yard of Mr. McMurdo’s was a right nice place; just in Noah’s line. It sounded like Mac could help him find a place to settle too. In the meantime, he could camp out in this little stall in Mac’s wagon yard and still have the solitude he craved. He hoped that little kid wouldn’t turn out to be a nuisance.

“Need any help getting yourself settled, lad?”

Noah’s imagination—an item that hadn’t been called upon to work much in recent years—made Noah believe he heard compassion in the old man’s voice. He shot him a sharp, quick glance. “No.” That sounded too curt a response to a civil question, so he added, “I’m fine, thanks.”

Noah was positive Mac was taking stock of him. The old fellow, pipe clamped between his teeth, a grin on his face, looked him up and down as if he were inspecting a side of beef. It made Noah uncomfortable. Damn it, what was the matter with this old man, anyway? He looked away and pretended to study his sleeping stall again. There wasn’t much to study. At least the straw looked clean.

“Aye, laddie,” Mac said after a moment that seemed to crackle. “I expect ye’ll be fine one of these days, at any rate. I’ll leave ye to your horse and your own thoughts now. I’d surely like to know where ye expect to find a reed organ for Mrs. Richardson out here, though.”

And, while Noah gawked after him, Mac walked away, leaving a trail of smoke rings and chuckles in his wake.