All I Need Is You (5 page)

That was all Kid said. It was his expression, or total lack of one, that had Vince backing down with a low grumble. You simply couldn’t tell what the kid was thinking or feeling, couldn’t tell if he was a cold-blooded killer or
just a scared young boy who hid his fear remarkably well.

Damian, on the other hand, couldn’t manage to conceal his anger. There had been just one too many surprises for him that morning, not to mention the threat of harm to him and his young savior. He was very strong, and his fist connected with Vince’s nose. Vince didn’t even see it coming, and was out cold before he hit the ground again.

Damian was immediately contrite. He hadn’t resorted to physical violence since he’d been fifteen. That had been when his broken-nose count, on other boys, had reached seven, and he’d received one of the worst blistering lectures his father had ever delivered—about his large size and the unfair advantage he had over other boys his age, who all tended to be much smaller than he was. And his size hadn’t evened out with others when he reached manhood. At six foot three inches, he was still taller and bigger than most men.

Kid eased his guilt by saying, “Nicely done, Mr. Rutledge. Now if you’ll finish up there, I’ll have these flapjacks ready in a few minutes so we can eat and be on our way.”

Just like that, said so calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had disturbed the morning. The boy must have nerves of steel, or none at all. But Damian nodded and did as had been suggested.

K
id had hunkered down by the fire again and was concentrating on dropping some very thin dough into a skillet, flipping it, then sliding it onto the single plate before he repeated the process again. At least Damian assumed he was concentrating on his cooking.

He’d reholstered his gun, but then, it had already been established how fast that could be brought into action if necessary. And those catlike eyes, more golden than brown, which Damian had first thought, seemed to see things that normal eyes didn’t. There was no doubt that this kid was an impressive fellow. Damian was starting to believe Kid had caught five outlaws.

Damian took advantage of Vince’s unconscious state to bind his wrists behind him extra tight. He then left him on his side. The man’s nose was still bleeding and that position at least let it drain. Billybob remained silent, watching Damian warily.

With the robbers immobilized, Damian took a moment to retrieve the coat he’d removed and
folded so neatly last night, as well as his shoes. It was when he was about to stick his feet into them that he realized Kid had been unobtrusively keeping his eye on more than his cooking.

He called out, “You really ought to shake those a bit before you put them on. You never know what might consider them a real fine bed for the night.”

Damian, quite naturally, dropped the shoes as if they had snakes coming out of them. Billybob started snickering and got Damian’s first glare. The boy managed to hide his grin before Damian’s eyes swung to him, so all he saw was his usual bland expression. And he simply couldn’t help being hesitant about picking his shoes up again, did so by their very tips, and shook them violently before he brought them to the fire to try and peer inside them as well.

Kid said, “I’d say they’re safe to wear now.”

Damian glanced down at the boy suspiciously. “You weren’t pulling my leg, were you?”

“’Fraid not. Don’t know if they’ve got scorpions in these parts or not, but in some areas—”

“You needn’t elaborate.”

Damian scowled and stomped off to fetch his bag and a fresh pair of stockings. He hadn’t planned to be walking around the camp this morning in his stocking feet. But then, getting robbed again, or having it attempted, hadn’t been planned for either.

And he soon found that he should have left the dirty socks on. Removing them disturbed several of his blisters to the bleeding point. And
getting his shoes back on after that was pure hell.

As he limped back to the fire, he seriously hoped that Kid’s one- or two-day estimate to Coffeyville was closer to the one-day mark. If he never saw another campfire, it would be too soon.

Reaching the fire, he was handed the plate stacked full of flapjacks and a jar of honey with the remark, “My butter went rancid yesterday, so that honey will have to do you. And it kind of spoiled my appetite, having to dish out violence so early in the morn, so you go ahead and finish that, Mr. Rutledge. I’ll gnaw on some jerky later if I need to.”

Damian spared a glance toward Vince and Billybob. “We’re not feeding the other guests?”

“Hell, no. If they had wanted breakfast, they should have kept their guns holstered.”

The disgust in his tone and expression was the first emotion Kid had shown that day. At least he felt
something
. Just damned sparing of sharing any of his feelings, apparently.

He stood up then, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants, and approached Billybob. “You got horses hidden hereabouts?”

“A ways up the river.”

With a curt nod, Kid headed off in that direction.

Damian turned to keep an eye on the robbers while he ate his breakfast. He didn’t think Billybob would try anything with Vince still unconscious, but he wasn’t going to be surprised again either.

He was thinking about the extra horses and
the possibility of being able to keep his traveling bag because of them, rather than leaving it behind, when Kid returned with the two mounts. Both were about the sorriest-looking horses Damian had ever seen: One was limping, the other nearly so. But still, it was a surprise to see the boy head straight for Vince and give a hard kick to his backside. Not that it would hurt all that much, coming from moccasined feet, but...

“I
really
hate people who treat animals like this,” he said, glaring at Billybob, who was scooting back in case any more kicks were coming. “Which one is yours?”

“Neither,” Billybob denied, an obvious lie. “They both belong to Vince.”

“Well, one can’t be ridden, and the other won’t be doing any hard riding any time soon. Took a rock out of his foot that was beginning to fester. And look at them! They’re both ripped up bloody from your damn spurs.”

Billybob scooted back even farther, but Kid was done with his tirade and continued on to the fire. “Time to move out,” he told Damian. “We’ll be lucky if we make any more distance today than if those two were on foot. They’ll have to share the one horse. The other is going to go crippled if she takes any more weight before she mends. Damn, but stupid people annoy the hell out of me.”

That was pretty obvious. Under the circumstances, Damian decided not to mention his traveling bag again. He supposed he would be able to replace it as soon as he reached civilization again. Finding new clothes of good quality was another matter…

He helped break up the camp as best as common sense would allow, which for him was washing the dishes in the river. When he came back up the hill, the fire was completely buried and Kid’s horse saddled and packed up with the large saddlebags that carried his trail gear.

This was the first time he’d noticed the chestnut gelding, which had been staked off on the edge of the camp. It was a fine-looking animal, well-groomed and spirited, or at least it seemed eager to be on the move. It was comparable to the Thoroughbreds that Damian had seen when he’d occasionally gone to the races, and he was a bit surprised that the skinny kid would own such an animal.

The boy was in the process of trying to get Billybob mounted, and from the sound of it, not having much luck. “I tell you, I can’t do it, not with my hands tied behind me,” Billybob was saying. “And even if I get up there, I’ll be falling off without something to hold on to.”

“Good. Then you’ll spend all day thinking about staying in the saddle, rather than thinking up ways to cause me trouble. Now either you get up there or you walk, and it sure don’t make me no nevermind which you choose.”

It did look like an impossible task, which was why Damian came up behind Billybob and more or less tossed him up into the saddle. The man let out a “What the…?” before he concentrated on not falling off the other side.

Kid gave Damian a genuine grin. His look said,
Guess you’re not totally useless
, and then he glanced at the still unconscious Vince. “If he’s
still alive, you want to see if you can manage that again?”

The allusion to how hard Damian had hit the man had him blushing slightly. He nodded, and did manage to help Vince up into the saddle behind his friend after pouring half a canteen of water on him to get him awake enough to stay in it. But now that it was his own turn to mount, he was wishing someone was there to give him a hoist up as well—not that he could imagine anyone big enough to.

Living all his life in a large city, Damian had never had to deal with horses before, always having footmen or drivers to see to the carriage horses. Today would actually be the first time he’d ever been on the back of a horse, and he’d never realized what big animals they really were, particularly the spirited chestnut.

The boy, mounted and waiting, finally said, “You put your foot in the stirrup, Mr. Rutledge. Haven’t you ever ridden before?”

“Only in vehicles, not on the animals that pull them,” Damian was forced to admit.

He heard a sigh, then, “I shoulda known... Here, use my arm for balance, but push with your leg once you get your foot in the stirrup, then release it once you’re seated.”

It was easier said than done, of course, but Damian made it after the second attempt, and without landing them in the dust. His perch on top the saddle, though, was precarious at best, and he suddenly felt quite sorry for Vince, sitting behind Billybob with his hands tied behind him and no way to prevent a fall if he lost his balance.

At least Damian had Kid’s reassuring “Hold on to me if you have to. We’re not going to do any hard riding, so you shouldn’t have any problems staying put.”

They set out immediately, but it wasn’t long before Vince started his complaints, and not just about being forced to ride with his hands tied. He was quite loud and extremely insulting with his choice of swear words in telling Damian what he thought of his broken nose.

But Kid finally put a stop to it with a yelled “If you want to eat tonight, shut up,” and Vince shut up.

Damian smiled to himself. He had to admit, Kid had a no-nonsense style to be admired—at least under some situations. Actually, he was forced to revise his original opinion of the boy. Despite his less than perfect grammar, Kid was obviously intelligent. He was also extremely competent for his age, and had strong, if somewhat bossy, leadership qualities. He added up to a very intriguing, if disturbing, young fellow. Damian wished he could figure out what exactly
did
disturb him about the lad, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Considering the ease with which he had taken care of the two stage robbers, and his intent to bring them in to the law, he obviously hadn’t been bragging or lying about his profession, or the number of men he’d personally brought to justice. He was damned young to be a bounty hunter, but Damian had to suppose that his skill with a weapon made the job rather ideal for him—dangerous, but ideal.

His personal habits, on the other hand, could
definitely use some improvements. He had just camped by a river that had offered usable, if barbaric, bathing opportunities, but he hadn’t taken advantage of them. Or if he had before Damian showed up, it certainly wasn’t noticeable. Under such close proximity, Damian soon became aware of the odor that permeated the kid, and it was far from pleasant.

When they stopped for a short period around noon to rest the horses and stretch their legs, Damian was quick to fetch a handkerchief from his bag—he’d been so pleased when he looked back and noticed it strapped to the saddle of the horse that was being led. But the handkerchief, pressed unobtrusively to his nose so as not to give offense if the kid happened to glance back at him, helped only minimally.

Normally, Damian would never have broached such a personal subject, but toward late afternoon, after smelling that odor all day, he couldn’t keep back the question any longer. “Do you live in those clothes?” he asked bluntly.

“Pretty much,” came the easy reply. “Keeps the critters away at least.”

Damian couldn’t tell if the boy was joking, so he didn’t bother to ask what critters he was referring to. He sighed, figuring he’d have to live with it until they reached town, which was another question...

“Will we see this Coffeyville by tonight, do you think?” he asked hopefully.

The kid didn’t bother to look back to answer. “We might have, without those two owlhoots
slowing us down, but now? I seriously doubt it, Mr. Rutledge.”

Another sigh; then, merely to continue the conversation, Damian said, “Considering our close, if temporary, association, why don’t you call me Damian? ‘Mr. Rutledge’ sounds rather—out of place out here, don’t you think? And you
must
have something else that you’ve been called during your short lifetime other than Kid?”

“Well, I use ‘K.C.’ when I have to sign things legallike, if that’s what you mean.”

“What do the initials stand for?”

“Stand for?” There was a shrug. “Nothing. I was just making my mark the first time I had to sign for a reward, when the sheriff who saw me make it figured he was reading a ‘K.C.,’ and it kind of stuck after that—leastways, that particular sheriff doesn’t call me anything else.”

“K.C., eh? That’s actually a nice name, if you take it in that context, rather than as initials. Mind if I call you Casey?”

The kid noticeably stiffened for a moment, then just as noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me no nevermind,” was all he said.

That wasn’t quite true, but Casey obviously wasn’t going to make an issue over it. Damian smiled, imagining the boy objected to a name that was known to be used by either boys or girls. And boys his age did tend to get sensitive about such trivialities.

They fell silent again after that. For the most part, it had been a long and boring day on the trail, which Damian supposed he could be grateful for. Boring meant nothing else unfamiliar
and dangerous catching him off guard and making him feel so totally out of his element.

About an hour before sunset, Casey headed back toward the river to make camp. He had a fire going in just a few minutes and quickly prepared some dough and set it aside to rise. But then he mounted up again as Damian was still seeing to getting their guests settled.

Damian was alarmed for a moment, thinking he was being abandoned, until Casey said, “Try not to break any more noses while I’m fetching dinner.”

Damian blushed furiously. Casey didn’t see it. He’d already ridden off.