Heart of the Hawk (4 page)

She stood there for a long moment, pensive, pondering . . . and just a little bit vexed at the pall that had been cast over her exultation.

JOSH SMILED IN satisfaction as he slipped his poke into the pocket of his black frock coat and stood up from the table.

“Gentlemen, thanks for the game,” he said to the other three poker players, who looked just as happy to see him go. He’d stopped with the last hand because he’d seen a couple of the losers were on the edge of becoming testy about it, and he didn’t want to push them over that edge. He’d taken some of their money, but not a lot, not enough for them to complain.

It had taken longer than usual, nearly two days, since he’d been playing very conservatively in order to not draw any more attention than he already had in this town. He’d intentionally spread his winnings out over as many different players as possible, and not many townspeople, but men from the surrounding territory who were passing through and stopped to wet their throats. And he’d never won or lost big enough to cause any dissension. Occasionally, a player would begrudge his withdrawing from the game a winner, but they seemed to quickly remember who they were dealing with and withdraw the objection; he knew they were thinking that the paltry few dollars he was walking away with weren’t worth dying for.

But now he had enough for his immediate needs. Enough to pay for his own room at the rather rickety building called—facetiously, he had to assume—the Grand Hotel, a room given to him, he was sure, on the strength of his reputation alone. The clerk had been far too afraid to ask for the usual payment in advance. And he had enough now for Buck’s keep, and the reshoeing the smithy had done for him. Rankin seemed a good man, and Josh was glad he’d be able to pay him.

And he’d have enough left to lay in a few supplies. Enough to get him on his way out of Gambler’s Notch, a place he wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of. Maybe even enough to keep him going for a while, until he decided what to do with the rest of the life he’d had handed back to him. Next to that chore, winning enough of a stake to move on seemed easy. It would take one of Gramps’s allegories to show him the way. Or maybe that magical book, the one that was supposed to guide the Hawks, because this Hawk had certainly lost his way a long time ago. Probably the first time he’d taken a man’s money for the use of his Colt.

With a final nod to the men who were already dealing the next hand, he walked out of the dingy, dark building that served as a saloon. Someday, he thought, he’d like to see a building with real windows again, windows on all sides, to let in the light. He got mightily tired of the dimness of most of the places in the kind of town he frequented.

The afternoon sun sent the shadows of the buildings streaking from west to east across the wide dirt street. Soon it would drop behind the Rockies and be gone, but the warmth of the day would linger; in a few weeks spring would give way to the territory’s short, hot summer on the high plains at the foot of the mountains. Still, he felt the coolness as he stepped into one of the shadows. A tall one, and he knew without looking—he’d been working hard at not looking—that it was the shadow of the mercantile.

He’d learned a lot in the past three days. Mostly from Luke, the slightly wild kid who lived, at the grace of Art Rankin, in the loft over the livery stable. The kid who’d found that battered old Dragoon Colt behind the rain barrel, and who had been more than willing to tell his story again, especially to the famous man he boasted of saving from the hangman.

Josh no longer doubted that Luke had indeed found the weapon exactly where he said he had. He supposed it was possible Dixon could have had it in his hand and he hadn’t seen it. And he supposed in the aftermath of firing his own weapon, with the Peacemaker’s loud report, it was possible he might have missed hearing Arly’s weapon hit the back wall of the saloon and slide behind the water barrel. Possible, but not probable. His life depended on not missing details like that. True, he hadn’t been expecting an attack—no more so than he always was, anyway—but the likelihood of him not seeing the Dragoon in Dixon’s hand, not seeing it go flying when he was hit, and not hearing it land wasn’t very high.

But Luke had found it there.

And Mrs. Dixon swore she hadn’t lied for him. He believed her; when she’d stared up at him and said it, he’d known she was telling the truth. And Lord knew she had no reason to lie, not for his sake. No matter what kind of man Arly Dixon had been, life was hard for a woman out here without a husband.

“Mr. Hawk!”

He turned his head to see Luke running toward him. The boy had taken to following him around, and although he recognized the signs of incipient hero worship, Josh hadn’t had the heart to send the boy away.

“You headed for the stable?”

Josh nodded. “I owe Mr. Rankin some money.”

“Aw, he don’t care if you’re late, s’long as you pay him. He’s a nice man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I like your horse. He’s a real good ’un, isn’t he?”

“He’s got enough bottom for any man,” Josh agreed. “Thought I’d give him a little attention this afternoon. Think you could round me up a brush, maybe a currycomb?”

“You bet!” Luke yelped and headed off at a run. By the time Josh reached the stable, the boy was already haltering Buck in the big corral.

He found Rankin, a man who had a strength in his powerful chest and shoulders that belied his short stature, out back at the forge, working on a pair of metal hinges. Josh paid what he owed for the work and Buck’s board, plus another day in advance. The quiet man took the money and his thanks with a nod and nothing more; he was a man of less than few words, Josh had discovered.

He walked over to where Luke had tied the big buckskin up to a post at the side of the barn. The horse craned around to look at him, and whickered softly.

“Hey, you old sugar eater,” Josh said, grinning as he did so; Buck was a long way from a pampered animal. He was tough, strong, fast, and loyal, and a man couldn’t ask for more than that from a horse. He patted the golden-brown neck, then rubbed up under the shaggy black mane. Buck whickered again.

Josh shrugged off his coat and pulled off his string tie. Luke was there in an instant to take them and lay them carefully over the fence railing. Josh smothered a grin, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and picked up the currycomb Luke had found for him. He began to run it over the golden-brown coat, thinking rather inanely that it was nearly the same color as Mrs. Dixon’s unusual eyes. Shaking off that foolish thought, he worked his way down to the buckskin’s muscled rump. He didn’t speak, teasingly curious about how long the voluble Luke could stay quiet. Not long, he soon found out.

“You’re not leavin’, are you?”

“Not today,” Josh answered.

Seemingly relieved by this, the boy chattered on for a while. Josh only half listened as he curried the horse, at least until Luke started in about the widow.

“I don’t see why a lady can’t run a store, do you? Miss Kate’s a lot smarter than old Arly was. She was usually the one workin’ in there anyway. An’ she’s real good with numbers; does all kinds of addin’ in her head.”

“Did someone say she couldn’t?”

“Aw, just ol’ Reverend Babcock. He’s always goin’ on, telling people what they should or shouldn’t do.”

“I think that’s what a reverend does.”

“Well, he does it too much, if you ask me. He shouldn’t be botherin’ Miss Kate, not with her husband just dead and all.”

Josh went very still for a moment, but Luke didn’t seem to find anything odd in bemoaning the widow’s state to the man who had put her in that circumstance. When the boy didn’t go on, Josh resumed his task.

“Is he . . . bothering her?”

Luke shrugged. “Nah, not really. Just talking big words at her, like he does.”

“Big words?”

“Yeah. Tellin’ her the town’s givin’ her some time, because of her recent beriv . . . beave . . .”

“Bereavement?”

“Yep, that’s it. But that it wasn’t proper work for a lady to be in business. Old goat.”

Josh managed not to laugh at Luke’s sniffingly disdainful assessment, but he couldn’t stop his grin.

“She told ’em to go do their business elsewhere,” Luke said as he handed Josh a brush to take to the buckskin’s legs. Josh smiled at the pride in his young voice; obviously the liking between the two was mutual. “Said she’d either run the place or sell every bit of stock and close it up forever, and they could go all the way to Rock Springs for their coffee and tobacco. That hobbled their lips right quick.”

“Sounds like a determined woman.”

“She’s got more sand than most of the men around here,” Luke said.

“Most women do,” Josh said softly, fighting off another host of memories he tried to keep locked away. They’d been harassing him a lot of late, and he didn’t know why. He supposed it had something to do with nearly meeting his maker—and having to account for his no-account life.

“She had a tough time with ol’ Arly. He was a mean one. Really mean.”

Josh stopped moving again, the brush poised for a moment over the black points on the buckskin’s legs. Then he straightened up. “How mean? Did he hit her?”

Luke dodged the question. “Mr. Rankin says he don’t hold with men hitting women.”

“He’s right. It’s a cowardly thing to do.”

Luke nodded. “That’s what he says.”

“He may not talk much,” Josh said, willing to let the boy avoid a direct answer for the moment, “but he’s a man to listen to when he does.”

“He looks out for me, since my folks died.”

“How long has that been?”

“I’ve been here since I was eight, an’ I’m twelve now.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “My folks died of the cholera.”

The boy had been alone since he was eight? Josh didn’t know what made him say it, but before he could stop them, the words were out. “My grandfather died of it, too.”

Luke looked up quickly. “Really?”

Josh nodded. “He was the only family I had left.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “You’re an orphan, too?”

Josh drew back a little. “I never thought about it like that, but I guess you’re right.”

“Guess we’re kind of alike, then, huh?”

The boy was looking at him so hopefully Josh nearly smiled. “Guess we are.”

Luke smiled, and Josh instinctively reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. Then he nearly laughed at himself. He’d hated that when Gramps did it, and here he was doing it in turn.

Josh went back to brushing Buck’s legs. He still wanted his answer, but he didn’t want to push the boy. He cleaned out the buckskin’s hooves, then straightened up again. Luke was staring across the street at the mercantile. The boy seemed to sense his gaze, and looked back at him. He seemed about to speak, then hesitated. Josh said nothing, figuring silence would encourage the boy as much as anything.

Gramps had known that, had known how hard it had been for him at this same age, to talk about the ugly things. He’d made it clear he was listening, then left Josh alone to talk or not as he wished. In the end, he’d always talked; it had been too much to hold in.

“She tried to run away once, a couple of years ago,” Luke finally said. “He caught her. Nobody saw her for a couple of weeks after that. Talk was they thought he’d killed her.”

Something in the boy’s tone caught Josh’s full attention. He saw it in Luke’s face, too. He might not have recognized it had he not been wrestling with it himself recently. Guilt.

“But he didn’t,” Josh prompted gently.

“No. He just beat her real bad. She could hardly move. Miss Deborah, she went in there and faced ol’ Arly down, made him bring Miss Kate to her place so’s she could nurse her.”

He didn’t doubt that, having met the redoubtable Miss Taylor. But that didn’t explain Luke’s unmistakable look of self-reproach. “What else, Luke?”

The boy’s towhead ducked, and when he finally spoke, Josh had to strain to hear.

“I . . . tried to help her. Got her a horse and hid it out back. She was always nice to me, let me come in the store when it was rainin’, snuck me hard candy now and then. She even gave me a pair of shoes one winter, said they were damaged and couldn’t be sold, but I couldn’t see nothin’ wrong with ’em.”

“And Dixon found out you helped her?” Another nod. “What happened?” Silence met his query. “Luke?”

The boy stole a glance at him. “He whupped me but good. Knocked out two of my teeth, but Miss Deborah said it was okay, they weren’t my real teeth yet. Ol’ Arly told me if I ever tried anything like that again, he’d kill me.”

The lingering guilt Josh was feeling about having killed the man was rapidly fading. A man who would not only beat a woman nigh unto death, but also a child who couldn’t have been more than ten at the time, deserved killing. But there was something he still didn’t understand.

“Why do you feel guilty about trying to help her?”

“Not that,” the boy said quickly. “It’s just that . . . he hit her more, because of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me that because of me, he was going to make her sorrier than she’d ever been in her life.”

Josh’s stomach knotted. The world was indeed a twisted, out-of-kilter place when men like Arliss Dixon flourished and boys like Luke carried burdens far too heavy for their young shoulders.

“Luke, it wasn’t your fault. He would have done it anyway, if he was that kind of man.”

Luke looked at him with wide brown eyes far too old for his young face. “That’s what she said. Miss Kate. Later, when she got well. I was afraid she’d hate me, but she just kept telling me it wasn’t my fault. And thanked me for trying.”