KeepingFaithCole (15 page)

* * * *

Blinded by both fury and tears, Lucille fled from the
house, desperate to get away. How could Charlotte sit there as she’d done, nice
as a sunny morning, making polite conversation, then suddenly turn into a
madwoman? She was a lunatic! The crazy bitch had come after her once before
with a twelve-gauge—and that was when she’d been stone-cold sober. No telling
what the woman might do while drunk.

Thank goodness Lucille hadn’t brought Faith with her.

Trembling from head to toe, she struggled to get aboard
the wagon. She reached for the reins, but she couldn’t unknot them. Her hands
shook too badly. Too frightened to look back, she stared straight ahead, her
gaze fixed on the grassy ridge.

When she saw the horse and rider appear at the crest,
she pressed a hand to her heart and bowed her head. Never in her life had she
been more grateful to see anyone as she was to see Tom astride his big roan,
cantering toward her.

He waved his hat in greeting, oblivious to her distress.

Lucille’s knees nearly buckled when she jumped down from
the wagon. The moment he dismounted, she rushed to him and grabbed his arm.

“You’ve got to do something about her!” she cried out,
not bothering to lower her voice. With Tom at her side, her fears had flown.
Now she felt brave and bold. “Your mother is dangerous. It’s not safe to be
around her.”

“Dangerous?” Tom repeated, scratching his chin. “What
are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about her drinking.” She fisted her hands
on her hips and shot a hard glare his way. Her tears had stopped. “It’s
affected her brain. Whenever she gets upset, she starts drinking again. You
need to put a stop to it.”

“I got rid of all the
whiskey.”

“Well, she must have had a
bottle hidden away. She’s in there now guzzling it down.”

Tom glanced toward the
house. “She’s trying to stay sober, but nobody wants to give her a chance.
Everybody thinks the worst of her.” He pushed his hat back on his head and
stared down at her. “Did you bring Faith today?”

“No.”

“You said you would. Want to
tell me why you didn’t?” Before she could answer, he shook his head. “No need
to explain. I already know. You didn’t think it would be a good idea. You
worried about what Ma might do.”

 
“I was right
to worry,” she countered. If Tom meant to play on her sympathies, he’d made a
huge mistake. She had none where Charlotte was concerned, and she wasn’t about
to back down. “You’ve got to stop making excuses for her.”

He shifted his weight, planting his feet wide apart. He
wasn’t backing down either. “What gives you the right to tell me what I’ve got
to do? Truth of the matter, Miss McIntyre,” he said, his nostrils flaring,
“you’re a big part of the problem.”

“Me?” Lucille croaked, leaning back as Tom stared her
down. “I’m trying to help. Can’t you see that?”

“If you and your mother and all those high-minded,
self-righteous church ladies had kept your noses out of my business, things
would have been just fine. It’s because of your meddling that we lost Faith—”

“You asked me to look after her.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” Now he took a step
toward her. “If I’d brought her home, if Ma and I had tried to take care of
her, every one of you fine ladies would have been on our doorstep watching
every move and making one threat or another.”

“Stop it,” she said. “You’re doing it again, don’t you
see?” Even though he took another step toward her, she didn’t give an inch.
“Yes, I’m sure your mother is all broken up about me taking care of Faith, but
when are you going to open your eyes? It’s just one more reason for her to keep
doing what she’s done all along. All she wants is a chance to feel sorry for
herself so she can get another bottle of rotgut whiskey and drink herself into
a stupor.”

He started to say something, then stopped. His mouth
worked, and he was obviously chewing hard on his thoughts. Lucille remained
quiet and waited. Finally he spoke again.

“Maybe there’s some truth in what you’re saying,” he
admitted, staring down at his boots. “But it’s not her fault. Not completely.”

“Tom! You’re doing it again.”

His head snapped up. “Damn it, it’s
Abner’s
fault, don’t you see? Ma’s been hanging out with him. They’re a pair, I swear.
He’s probably the one who brought her that whiskey.”

“And again, you’re doing nothing about it.” She drew
herself up and shook a finger at him. “You’ve got to put a stop to it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He pushed his hat back.
“I’ve got a job to do. I work long hours, and I work damned hard. I can’t be
watching over my mother every minute of the day.”

“Which proves my point, don’t you think?” Lucille gave
him a triumphant smile. “You can’t watch over your mother, and neither can you
watch over a child. You can’t be responsible for Faith.”

It almost hurt to see the way Tom seemed to crumple
before her eyes. His shoulders sagged beneath the heavy weight of her scorn,
and a long, low sigh escaped from his throat.

“You’re right. About everything.” He leaned against
Lucille’s wagon. “I don’t deserve Faith. I’ve got too many strikes against me,
too many things I need to change. I’ve got too much to learn, too much to do.”

His speech moved her, but she stiffened her resolve.
This wasn’t about Tom. “It’s admirable that you want to be a better man, that
you want to make something of yourself. You can do it,” she added, giving him
the encouragement he warranted. “But it won’t mean anything, Tom, if you don’t
deal with your mother.”

“I can’t be responsible for her actions.”

Lucille’s last hope faded. No way could she reach this
man with logic or rational thinking. “You need to do something, and you need to
do it fast. Don’t you want to help her? She nearly died from pneumonia. Is that
what you want?” she challenged. “Are you hoping maybe next time she gets drunk
she
will
die?”

“You can’t talk to me that way.” Tom’s anger surged
forth anew. “Ma needs help, damn it.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’ve got to
stand up to her, make her understand that she’s hurting herself. She’s hurting
others, too. Until then, no judge in this fine country would allow you to bring
Faith here.”

“What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fix
everything that’s broken?”

Lucille reached out to him. She placed a hand on his arm
and gazed up into his blue eyes. “I know this is hard for you.”

“I don’t want her to die. I want to help her.” His arms
closed around Lucille, drawing her into an embrace. “I want so much,” he
whispered. “I want to be a good man. I want a home of my own, a piece of land
where I can raise horses and make a future for myself…and for Faith, too. Dear
God, I want Faith.”

He pressed his body against hers. At once, desires
stirred within her. Lucille rested her head against his broad chest, thrilled
by the closeness as the powerful beat of his heart pounded in her ears. She
licked her lips and closed her eyes, lost in thoughts of his sweet kisses.

He reached down and lifted her chin in his hands,
tilting her face up toward his.

He bent down, bringing his mouth close.

Realization came quickly. It wasn’t her kiss he sought
but only her compliance. Aware of his manipulative intentions, Lucille
stiffened and pushed away.

“It won’t work.” She studied the confusion in his eyes.
Maybe he hadn’t intended to sway her thoughts. No matter. Kissing Tom—then and
there—would still be wrong. “We can’t do this,” she said in a quiet voice. “We
can’t allow our personal feelings to get in the way. It will only complicate
things. I’ve told you that before.”

“You have feelings for me?” he asked, reaching out for
her once again.

“Yes, of course, I have
some
feelings.” She didn’t dare let him know how strong those
feelings were, how often she lay awake at night thinking of him, all the times
he slipped into her dreams. “Why else would I agree to take care of your
mother? Why else would I be willing to take time to help you learn to read and
write? But I won’t be at your beck and call. I’m not here for your pleasure.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken,” she replied, maybe too quickly. All
the while she kept staring at his mouth, wishing he might try kissing her
again, but knowing if he did, she would have to push him away once more. She
breathed deeply and forced her thoughts away from kissing, back to more
important matters. “I’m making a rule.” She lifted her chin. “As long as
there’s a drop of whiskey in that house,” she said, gesturing toward
Charlotte’s abode, “I won’t set foot inside it. I won’t be bringing Faith here,
and I won’t come back to stay with your mother.”

Shaken by the turn the day’s events had taken, and
shaken, too, by Tom’s appearance, Lucille couldn’t get away fast enough. She’d
called his mother a madwoman, but hadn’t she gone mad, too?

Mad with crazy desires for Tom, mad with wanting him,
desperate to please him.

Good Lord, the man had driven her over the brink. She
had no idea how to get back to sanity.

Chapter Ten

As Tom
rode across the valley early the next morning, he put aside all thoughts of
Lucille, his mother, and the problems he faced with both of them. As always,
thoughts of Faith remained with him. He thought of her with each breath he
took, with each beat of his heart. All he did was for Faith.

It was
his love of Faith that had brought him to that valley, riding slowly alongside
Goose. They ascended one cedar-covered ridge—more of a foothill, really—then
came into a narrow, rough valley. Ahead of them rose a rocky crest, and beyond
it lay the mountains themselves. Tom loved this wild, untamed country. An
exhilarating sense of freedom coursed through him. For a moment, at least, he
could put aside all worries, forget the troubles that plagued him. Here, in the
high country, lay hope.

But
with each passing moment, those hopes faded. Goose swore there were wild horses
roaming in the valley. Tom had yet to see any sign of them.

They
rode on, climbing higher to get a better view of the valley that stretched out
below them. Still, no sign of wild mustangs.

Shortly after noon, Tom reined up. Resting his hands on
the pommel of his saddle, he leaned forward and threw a hard look at the man
who rode beside him.

“Tell me again about those horses, Goose. You sure
you’re not just pulling my leg.”

“Pull your leg,
señor
? What do you mean?”

“It’s an expression. If you’d take time to learn
English, you’d understand. It means joking around with somebody, saying things
that aren’t true.” Now that he’d grasped the rudiments of reading and writing,
Tom figured other folks ought to do their share of learning, too.

“
No, no,
señor
.
Yo
no
mendigo
.
He grinned up at his boss, flashing his white teeth. “If you’d take time to
learn my language,
gringo
, you’d
understand.”

“You don’t tell lies, I know.” Tom swung down from the
roan’s back, then dropped the reins to let the horse graze. “Reckon I might be
a bit smarter than you think,” he said as he opened the saddlebag and reached
inside. “I catch on to things real fast.” He pulled out a slice of cornbread,
unwrapped it, then looked toward Goose again. “I’m going to sit down and enjoy
a bite to eat, and while I do, you can tell me more about those
caballos
you
claim to have seen running wild in the valley.”

“You don’t believe me?” Goose slid down from the saddle.
He squared his shoulders and thrust out his chest. “I tell you nothing but the
truth, the whole truth.”

“How many horses did you see?”

Goose shoved his hands into
his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and appeared to be thinking hard. He
grinned. “A few. Not a lot. But a few is enough for a couple smart fellows to
make a bit of…” His lips puckered. “What you cowboys call it? Scratch?” He lifted
a hand and rubbed his stubby fingers together.

 
“Scratch,
dinero
,
moolah
.” Tom shrugged, and swallowed a drink from his
canteen. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t matter what you
call it. It all spends the same.” And any of it he could lay hands on would
bring him closer to his dreams, dreams that now included Faith. Maybe Lucille,
too. Dreams weren’t enough, though. “We need a plan,
hombre
. Catching a herd of mustangs can be tricky.”

“You really think we can we do it? I mean, you are not
going to pull on my legs, are you?”

“If it’s a small herd, we might be able to handle it.”
He frowned. With only the two of them, the odds would be against them. “Maybe
we should bring Caleb in on this. He’s a hard rider, and a good hand.”

“Nah, now that he’s sheriff, he’s too busy chasing all
the pretty women. I get my brother, Ignacio.”

“You think he’d be interested? All right,” Tom went on
when the other man nodded. “With three of us, we should be able to set a trap.
First, we have to know exactly where to find those
broomies
you claim to have seen.”

Broomtails.
Long,
bushy-tailed mares. That’s what Tom expected to find—if, indeed, they found any
horses at all. But even a lesser quality animal could fetch a decent price. A
well-trained mare might bring a hundred dollars or more. Between the soldiers
from the nearby forts, the hard-working miners, and the men who ranched and
farmed, there would be no shortage of buyers.

Gustavo’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Wild horses move
around. Hard to say for sure where they are now.”

“But you’d swear on your mama’s grave there’s horses in
the valley, right?” Tom’s patience was growing a bit thin. He wanted to believe
all that Goose had told him, but the wiry Mexican had a reputation for playing
tricks.

“No,
señor
, that I cannot do.”

“No? Then why the hell are we out here traipsing over
these rocky hills?”

“My mama is very much alive,” Goose said with a
white-toothed grin. “But if she were dead,
si
,
señor
,
then I would swear it.” He raised a hand as if making a solemn
vow.

“You love your mother?” The question came out of
nowhere, surprising Tom. It must have surprised Goose too. His dark eyes drew a
bead on Tom.

“What kind of
loco
talk is that? Of course I love her. Every man loves the woman who brought him
into this world. At least, he ought to love her, ought to show her respect.” He
turned up the collar of his jacket. The air had turned chill, and a crisp wind
rippled through the tall pines. “Maybe it’s different for you. You probably
don’t have much love for that whore who gave you life.” He shrugged.

In a blur of motion, Tom’s arm swung out. His fist
plowed into the man’s face, knocking him to the rocky ground.

Gustavo didn’t stay down. Like a sinewy black panther,
he jumped to his feet. He clenched his hands and raised them in front of his
face, ready for a fight. “Come on, white boy. You want a piece of Gustavo? You
want to prove what a man you are?”

Each kept a wary eye on the other as they circled.

“Don’t ever talk like that about my mother,” Tom warned.

“I said it before,
hombre
.
I don’t tell lies. I only speak the truth.”

“Just keep your damned mouth shut.”

Tom jabbed at the man with his right fist, followed up
with a blow from a left hook. Gustavo ducked and turned, all the while throwing
a few punches of his own. One caught Tom on the shoulder and sent him reeling
backward. He fell against a huge, rough-edged boulder. Loose bits of dirt and
debris flew as he tumbled onto the ground.

His opponent lunged at him, but Tom rolled out of the
way. “Damn it, Goose! What the hell are we doing?” Tom scrambled to his feet,
brushed at his leather jacket, then held a hand out to help Gustavo up.

“When a man picks a fight with me, I fight back.” He
took hold of Tom’s hand and pulled himself up but didn’t let go. He clenched it
in an iron-like grip. “You started it, I mean to finish it.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” Tom said, thankful when Goose let go
without any further attempts at fisticuffs. “I know what my mother is, and, for
whatever it’s worth, yeah, I love her. That’s how it is. You’ve got no right to
talk bad about her.”

“Guess I deserved that punch in the face.” He rubbed his
jaw then looked up at the taller man. “Your mother would be proud of you. Proud
to know her son would fight for her honor.”

Tom nodded. He hadn’t thought of it in quite those
terms, but Goose was right. He would, indeed, fight to defend what little honor
his mother possessed. Wouldn’t any son do the same?

“Come on,
amigo
,
let’s go find us some horses.”

They traveled on in silence. The higher into the hills
they rode, the colder the air became. Wind whipped over the craggy rocks and
boulders, whistling through cracks and crevices with an eerie, ghostlike voice.
It swept through the tall brown grasses that clung to life even as winter
approached.

Tom pulled his hat down low on his head, thrust his
hands into a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves, then glanced over toward
Gustavo. The other man nodded, and they kept on riding.

An hour passed, and then another. Still, no sign of any
wild horses in the valley below.

Moment by moment, the sky grew darker. Thick gray clouds
threatened to unleash a cold, icy rain. Most likely snow would fall before
morning. A light dusting of snow, of course, would make it easy to track a herd
of mares.

If they found them.

It didn’t look too likely. Discouragement settled over
Tom like a heavy weight. It pressed against his chest and made it damned hard
to keep believing in all those dreams he’d talked about. Those dreams meant too
much, though. He would not let them die.

“I think maybe we better turn back.” Gustavo jerked his
head upward toward the ominous clouds scuttling through leaden skies.

Probably so, but Tom couldn’t stop now. “You worried
about a little rain? I thought you were tougher than that.” He put a big grin
on his face.

Goose wasn’t grinning. His face wore a grim expression.
“
No
,
señor
,
it is not the rain that worries me. It is not the wind.” He drew
back on the reins, halting his horse. “I worry about getting stranded up here
in these hills.”

The Mexican was no fool. He knew all too well the
dangers of the harsh, unforgiving landscape. Tom recognized the risks, too, but
they’d come so far. Too far to simply turn around and go back with nothing to
show for their efforts.

Tom pushed his hat back and stared down at his
companion. “You cutting out on me, Goose?”

“Yep.” He wheeled his horse around, ready to head back
the way they’d come. He jabbed a thumb toward himself. “I got too much life
left in me. I don’t want to lose it to these cold, rocky mountains.” Leaning
back, Goose smiled faintly. “I got me a girl now, you know.
Lupita
.
She is truly the love of my life, and she needs me. If I get myself hurt, what
would I have to give her? Or worse, what if I get myself killed?”

“Hell, she’d just take up with somebody else.” Tom
laughed, hoping to ease the escalating tension. As one of the girls at the Red
Mule,
Lupita
entertained more than a few fellows. But
she loved only Gustavo, which in some way, was supposed to make it all right.

“
Si,
señor
,
probably my brother, Ignacio. I can’t let that
happen.
Lupita
is my girl. She belongs to me. I’m
going back.”

Tom sighed. Goose was in love, all right. He’d never set
much store on it, but he’d always heard that once love got hold of a man, no
use fighting it.

“All right, fine. Ride out if you want, but I’m not
going back yet.”

“You’re
talking
loco
.” Goose’s voice seemed
to waver in the wind. “We need to get back. No jokes,
hombre
. No pulling legs.”

“I’m
not joking. I’m going to keep riding. I’m not going back until I’ve found those
horses.”

“Good
luck, you crazy son-of-a-bitch. I hope you make it back alive.”

Without
another word, Gustavo laid the reins against his horse’s neck and set off down
the narrow trail.

* * *
*

Two hours later, Tom called it quits, as well. As he
turned toward home at last, he cursed his own foolhardiness. Where he’d once
thought his efforts to become a better man had given him a strong sense of
determination, he now saw it for what it truly was—a stubborn streak that could
do more harm than good in the larger scheme of things.

The storm that had threatened earlier finally broke only
moments after he turned back. A bitterly cold rain washed down over him,
leaving him to wonder why everything in creation always seemed to conspire
against him. Maybe his unfortunate birth had brought a curse down upon his
head.

It didn’t seem fair. All he wanted was a chance to make
something of himself. Wanting to rise above one’s meager beginnings and improve
one’s lot was part of human nature, wasn’t it? He didn’t consider himself
selfish, but counted it instead as ambition, and without it, a man would never
amount to anything more than that hill of beans people spoke about so often.

He wanted a good life for himself. Even more, he wanted
it for Faith.

His thoughts broke off as a ferocious wind tore through
the hills. The full force of the storm moved in, making travel dangerous. He
skirted the steep ravines, the wild and craggy trails strewn with rocks and
mountain ash and late-blooming wild flowers. A raw, savage beauty gripped the
land as the heavens unleashed their rains.

Frustrated and angry, he pulled the collar up on his
jacket and rode onward, doing his best to ignore the downpour and the raging
winds. So much of life was like that. A man just had to toughen up, ignore the
pain, and keep going. Lightning jagged through the skies.

“Whoa, fellow, easy—” Tom muttered as
Dandy
pranced
sideways after a rumble of thunder shook the earth. “Steady, boy.”

His eyes scanned the landscape, seeking shelter. Through
the growing darkness, he saw only a nightmare of craggy rocks and rough brush.
Broken limbs lay scattered about like used matchsticks. A fool, indeed, to be
out in a storm.

But he wasn’t the only damned fool, he realized, as
another burst of lightning lit the skies, illuminating the figure of a man on
horseback a short distance ahead.