Over the Barrel (2 page)

"Nineteen?"

"Yes.
 
Another birthday come and gone,
unnoticed by you," Blair said bitterly.

"It is simply another day and has no
measurable value in life.
 
Amuse
me.
 
What decision would you make,
being mature and knowledgeable in the ways of the world as you are?"
 
Imelda asked sarcastically, setting the
teacup on the desk and leafing through a stack of papers with disinterest.
 
The old woman picked up the note that
sat on her desk, read it, placed it down and then lifted to read it again.
 
She crumbled it in her hand and then
tossed it into the fireplace behind her.

Blair swallowed nervously.
 
Imelda's calm demeanor typically meant
trouble.
 
"My decision,"
she said, "will not include marriage, children, or being some man's
servant.
 
Please, Aunt Imelda.
 
Try to understand that I am not like
these girls who are content with attending lavish parties and elegant
soirees.
 
I need to breathe!"

"The business of attending lavish
parties and elegant soirees is not one for you to be concerned with.
 
You are not meant to partake in society
affairs.
 
As for your need to
breathe, I shall remind you that breathing involves the use of your lungs and
exchanging air.
 
You can breathe
anywhere, including your room, Blair.
 
I will have your dinner sent to you."

"Locking me in my room will not
change who I am."
 
Blair's
bravado was quickly dissipating.
 
"I'm begging you to try to understand."

The elderly woman stared at her with
watery light-brown eyes.
 
"Your
mother wanted adventure.
 
She would
not listen to sense, and you saw the results.
 
She married a missionary!
 
A man without a cent to his name, who
promised her a life of excitement—a life that eventually killed
her."

"Father was a missionary physician,
and they helped people who were too poor to pay for medical help.
 
They loved what they did."
 
Blair's voice weakened as she fought to
remember her parents.

"Your father took that girl into an
ailing village, which cost both of them their lives and you, your parents.
 
I warned her, but she was a stupid
chit—stubborn and willful and unable to listen to reason, even if it was
right there in her face.
 
Stupid and
stubborn, like her father.
 
You are
just like she was."

"Wanting a life with some excitement
is not being stubborn or willful.
 
And I am not stupid!
 
You
never cared for Father because he wasn't rich.
 
Your selfishness and greed prohibited
you from seeing how many people he and Mother helped!"

"These tantrums of yours are
unacceptable, Blair Farbor.
 
You may
accuse me of whatever you desire; however, even your childish beliefs cannot
deny the truth.
 
I had a duty to
fulfill an obligation to the family.
 
I never wanted children," Imelda said sourly, "nor do I care
much for them, but I was not about to allow my flesh and blood to be placed
into an orphanage.
 
I housed,
clothed, fed and educated you, despite your parents' foolishness."

"I suppose you expect me to be
grateful for that," Blair said, unable to hide the seething anger in her
words.
 
"Was my presence so
repellant to you that it was better to keep me locked up as far away as you
could manage?
 
Is it because I
looked like my mother that you never permitted me to be seen in your house,
except for short, special occasions?
 
Did you tell everybody about your pathetic charity case to make yourself
appear as the good Christian woman?
 
You should have just sent me to Grandfather Malcolm and allowed me to
live in Colorado."

"My brother wanted to assume care of
you; however, it was not appropriate, given that he no longer had a wife.
 
This discussion is over.
 
Be gone with you now," the woman
ordered, ringing a bell next to her hand.
 
She snapped her fingers as the housekeeper entered the room and
curtseyed.
 
"Take Miss Farbor
to her room and make certain she is settled for the night.
 
She will not be dining this
evening."

Blair glared at her aunt.
 
"Sending me to bed without dinner
is not going to change my mind about you!
 
In fact, it only makes me hate you more!"
 
Her shrill words were accompanied with a
backlash of profanities and the stomping of her foot.

Imelda simply raised her hand.
 
"I have had enough of your horrid
disposition.
 
I have been debating
my course of action with you since you reached your majority and now have made
my decision.
 
Pack your
belongings.
 
You wanted to be
outside and have freedom?
 
Very
well, you can now be Malcolm's burden.
 
There you may have as much freedom as you wish, as well as share your
choice words with the ranch hands.
 
I am certain you will impress them regarding your extensive vocabulary
and deplorable behavior.
 
Madeline!
 
Take her
upstairs.
 
I do not wish to lay eyes
upon her ever again.
 
Blair Farbor,
you are dead to me."

Blair's mouth moved wordlessly as she
repeated her aunt's words.
 
Was this
finally happening?
 
She lifted her
chin proudly, determined to offer the last word.
 
"I guess then you will do to me as
you did to my mother and leave nothing on my headstone but my initials and the
date of my passing when that times comes as well.
 
Good riddance!
 
May God have pity upon your selfish,
evil soul!
 
Remember what you used
to tell me, Aunt Imelda?
 
Things
will always come back to haunt you when you've done evil."

Blair groaned as the steam engine buckled
over the tracks, jarring her neck as she tried to sleep.
 
After over ten days of brutal travel,
she was tired, irritable, and left with no patience.
 
She had been able to bathe only twice,
which was, by the ripe redolence of sweat around her, twice more than anyone
else on the train.
 
Across from her
sat a new passenger—a middle-aged man smelling of whiskey and cigars,
whose favorite topic of conversation was himself.
 
What was worse than his endless, dull
descriptions of his home, dead-end job and adventures to the marketplace was
his untidy, unwashed appearance and accompanying stench.

Spittle ran down the corner of his mouth
as his dark, beady eyes studied her.
 
"You meeting your husband?"

"My Grandfather.
 
He has a ranch outside Manitou
Springs," Blair answered politely.

"I hear there is gold up
there," the man said casually.
 
"What type of ranch does your Grandfather hold?"

Blair shrugged.
 
"I know nothing of gold.
 
Grandfather Malcolm raises bison and
cattle for sale to locals.
 
That is
all I know."

"I'm hoping to find me some color up
in the Peak.
 
One good vein and I'm
rich."

"There is more to life than
money," Blair stared him down.

"That is an easy thing for a little
girl to say when she has been given everything she has ever wanted.
 
Your dress might not be flashy, but it
is of good material and your shoes are of quality hide."

Blair grimaced.
 
The one thing she wanted, love, was not
something money could buy.
 
She
lifted her chin.
 
"Money cannot
purchase health, happiness, or a sense of accomplishment.
 
I would give every cent I had for either
of those."

"A cent that you have neither earned
nor deserve is easy to spend, isn't it?"
 
Blair reddened, reminded of her aunt's
similar words.
 
She turned her face
to look out the window as the man continued, "A woman like you needs to
settle down with a respectable man and give him babies to carry on his
name.
 
You probably don't even know
how to cook, do you?
 
Those hands
have never scrubbed a floor, hung laundry, or even milked a cow.
 
You are pretty enough to carry on an
arm, but need someone to teach you how to be a proper woman.
 
Are you going to live off your
Grandfather's charity for the rest of your life?"

"I am not, nor have I ever been, a
charity case!
 
I have many skills
that are quite employable, thank you.
 
As for being a proper women—that is not for you or any other man
to decide," Blair snapped.

"I do enjoy taming a feisty young
lady, and you seem to be quite the challenge."
 
He surveyed her hungrily as he took a
swig from a small bottle that he had hidden inside of his coat.
 
"I wonder what your Grandfather
will ask to get you off his hands."

"I am not for sale.
 
I have no further interest in this
conversation.
 
Excuse me."

To her dismay, there were no more
available seats for her to relocate.
 
Swearing under her breath, she flipped open a book and fought to ignore
her companion.
 
She glanced up
hopefully at a stop, praying he would depart or that a seat would become
available for her to take.
 
Once
again, the car was full and she was imprisoned for the next several days,
before the next scheduled passenger exchange.

 
The heat accentuated the aroma of fried
chicken and biscuits in her food basket and she swallowed harshly.
 
She had not eaten since her departure
early that morning, but the prospect of dining was dismissed as her stomach
turned sickly from the sway of the train and the odor of the despicable man in
front of her.

"You might find me much more
desirable than the diggers around Pike's Peak," the man continued.
 
Blair cringed as he reached across to
touch her knee through her sky blue gown.
 
Drool dripped down the right side of his mouth.
 
"I can be very accommodating."

"Keep your hands off me, sir!
 
I have no desire for you to accommodate
me now or at any other time!" Blair raised her voice as she slapped his
hand away.

"Pardon me, Miss," a deep voice
spoke from behind her.
 
"Is
this gentleman bothering you?"

"He certainly is.
 
I do not appreciate being drooled
upon.
 
Or touched without
invite," she answered crisply, without turning her head to look at the speaker.

"It appears that the lady is not
appreciative of your gestures, mister.
 
How about you and I trade seats and avoid any, uh, unpleasant
dealings?"

Blair watched as the drooling man's eyes
widened and his head surveyed the height of her rescuer standing behind
her.
 
Slowly, she turned to view
him, herself.

The dark-haired man had pushed aside his
coat, revealing a revolver neatly tucked in a holster and a brass badge
identifying him as a Texas Ranger.
 
He was tall and sinewy, with broad shoulders and a slender waist.
 
His face, largely hidden by the
broad-brimmed cowboy hat, appeared to be hard and weathered by the sun and held
a slightly crooked nose that was the likely result of a brawl or two.
 
He waited in silence for the offensive
would-be miner to move and then gestured for Blair to take the unoccupied
seat.
 
With slow and calculated
movement, he lowered his body on the bench where she had been sitting.
 
Blair's throat went dry as she observed
his deadly grace.
 
Instinctively,
she knew that only a fool would cross this man's path.