Audrey and the Maverick (15 page)

Dulcie turned just her head, peering forward though the sweep of her dark hair. She straightened and brushed the hair from her face. She made as if to jump off Julian’s lap, but he caught her. He dismounted and set her on the ground. The wind was ripping at them now, loud enough to cover any noise they made. Dulcie ran forward, plowing into the boy’s embrace. Julian approached them, perhaps faster than he should have, for the boy shoved the little girl behind him and confronted him.

“Easy, boy. Audrey sent me. Sager and Malcolm are looking for the others. What’s your name?”

“Joey.” He wiped his cheeks with his hand, glaring at Julian a minute longer. He looked around at Dulcie for confirmation. She nodded at him. Julian knelt down, knowing he was intimidating towering over the children. Dulcie went back to her spot on his neck. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You got to go help them, mister. It’s bad. It’s real bad. They got Luc and Kurt. They’re hurtin’ ’em. Please. Please.”

“Where are they?” Julian asked.

Joey looked back. His shoulders heaved with a sob. He pointed toward the creek. “There.” The creek was still a half mile away.

Julian lifted Dulcie and Joey onto his horse, then mounted behind them on the horse’s rump. “Joey, do you know how to ride by yourself?”

“Yessir.”

“When I stop, I want you to stay here with Dulcie. If I don’t return in an hour, I want you to turn around and ride back to town. Not to Hell’s Gulch. Go back to town. You got that, son?”

“Yessir.”

“You watch out for Dulcie. Dulcie, you do what Joey tells you, okay, sweetheart?”

Dulcie nodded.

They had reached the spot. Julian didn’t want the kids any closer than they had to be. And this far away from the creek, there sure as hell was no cover, no trees, no bushes for them to hide behind. At least Joey could ride. If they had to get out fast, they could.

Julian dismounted and took his rifle out of its scabbard. He looked the kids over, seeing how small they appeared on his big bay gelding. “Do you know how to get back to town, if you have to?”

Joey nodded. “I been watching landmarks. I can find it. But we’re waiting on you.”

Julian shouldered his rifle and walked toward the creek and the stand of cottonwoods at its perimeter.

Long before he could see into the clearing, Julian heard a sound that cut through the wind, sliced through time and spun him back to his worst memory. Leather slapping flesh. A cold sweat chilled his skin.

Thwack!

He broke into a jog, hurrying the final few yards to the edge of the shrubs and trees bordering the creek. There the nightmare became reality. The two older boys were stripped to the waist, hands tied and stretched over their heads by ropes looped over a branch.

He saw the two men who had been threatening Audrey at the ranch. Zeke was laughing and drinking long draughts from a whiskey bottle while Howie whipped the boys. First one, then the other. It was so like that other time, when Julian was lashed to a tree, watching his tormentors lay open the flesh of his cousin, waiting for the time they would turn on him.

Julian stepped into the brush, casting a look about for the other children. They’d found only two of the kids—four counting the boys being whipped. Had Sager or Malcolm found the others? Had they gotten free? Though the men would be easy to pick off with his rifle, he couldn’t risk a gunfire exchange when he didn’t know where the three other kids were. The wind stirred up the leaves, kicking up a roar in the treetops that sounded like fast-moving water. Julian moved carefully through the brush, not wanting to give himself away before he was ready to be seen.

Thwack!

The scars on Julian’s back ached like fresh wounds. He pushed his way into a skeletal old cottonwood and found a child crouching within its bare branches. Kneeling silently behind the kid—another girl—Julian covered her mouth even as he turned her to face him. Her eyes went wide with fear. He could feel her scream against his palm. He shook his head, hoping she would recognize him from town. When she quieted down, he leaned close and whispered, “Be still now. I don’t want them to see us. Audrey sent me. Joey and Dulcie are beyond the woods with my horse. Do you think you can go quietly to them?”

The little girl nodded. Julian helped her out of the sharp branches, setting her in the right direction and watching to make sure she cleared the brush unnoticed.

Thwack!

Julian stood and walked into the clearing. Zeke paused with the bottle midway to his mouth. Julian caught Howie’s wrist, stopping him before he could hit either of the boys again. He yanked the strop from his fist and hit Howie with it, slapping his face, over and over, then tossed it aside and slammed his fist into the bastard’s nose, laying him out.

Zeke broke the bottom of the whiskey bottle against a rock and came toward Julian, wielding the razor-like surface as he would a knife. Julian caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Sager do just what he’d hoped he would—cut the boys free.

Zeke lunged, Julian moved to the side. Zeke slashed backward with his arm. Julian caught his arm and bent it up to scrape the underside of his chin with the teeth of the jagged side of the bottle. Zeke cursed and jumped back, blood running down his chin.

Howie came to his feet. Julian pictured him cornering Audrey, touching her, and was glad the bastard wasn’t finished. Howie charged toward Julian at the same time Zeke lunged forward. Julian yanked Howie’s outstretched hand, spinning him around so that he took the cutting slash of Zeke’s bottle. Zeke recoiled in horror. Julian took hold of Howie’s shoulder and chin and gave a sharp twist. He let Howie’s body fall from his grip as he focused his attention on Zeke.

Zeke, thinking better of making a stand, turned to flee and stopped short when he saw Sager blocking his way, his hand hovering over his still-holstered Colt. Zeke tossed the jagged bottle away and pulled a knife from the cuff of his boot. Julian smiled, glad to give Zeke the fight he was looking for. Zeke came toward Julian, slicing at the air. For all the whiskey he’d imbibed, he was fast and agile. His forward thrust sent Julian backward, into the brush. Zeke slashed out once more, and Julian swiped his legs out from under him, landing a kick in Zeke’s ribs before he could roll to his feet again. Julian held his position with his back to the woods, wanting to keep Zeke between him and Sager. Where was Malcolm? With the kids, he hoped.

Zeke was on his feet again. He threw a fistful of dirt into Julian’s face. The grit burned his eyes, blinding him temporarily. Zeke lunged forward again and Julian felt the knife slice into his upper arm. Zeke laughed and leapt forward, certain of his victory. Julian caught his wrist between both hands. Zeke pulled at Julian’s grip to free his knife hand. Julian tripped on a cottonwood root and went over backward, bringing Zeke down with him. They rolled in a death embrace, Julian on top, then Zeke, the knife still between them. Julian’s eyes were tearing, clearing the dirt away. He could see the two boys standing next to Sager. He shoved Zeke’s hand forward, into the dirt, and laid a fist hard into his jaw. In the brief second that Zeke was incapacitated, Julian yanked the knife out of the ground and shoved it into Zeke’s ribs, ending the fight with a sharp upward thrust.

He pushed Zeke’s body from him and came to his feet, wiping his forearm across his face to clear the grit. He met Sager’s hard look, battle fury still raging in his blood. He took several calming breaths, then looked at the boys. He turned and went to the creek. Kneeling at its edge, he washed the gore from his hands. He filled his hands with water and sloshed his face. Gradually he began to hear the world around them, the wind roaring in the trees, the creek’s mild gurgling.

He straightened and went to Sager and the boys. “What about the others? Did you find them?”

“Malcolm got them. He’s with them over by your horse.”

Julian nodded. He shoved a hand through his hair as he drew a ragged breath. “Come to the fire, boys. I want to look at you.” They quietly followed him to the small fire the outlaws had started. Their backs were red and sore looking, but there was no blood. Julian was thankful that it was just a strop Howie had used. It must have been too short and flat to slice the skin, unlike the bullwhip that had been used on him.

The boys faced him. “You’re gonna be sore awhile,” Julian predicted. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

Sager retrieved their shirts and handed them to the boys. “McCaid, you’re bleeding.” He pointed to his arm. “Better let me look at that. Audrey won’t like that we bring you home with a lame arm.”

“It’s fine. Leave it be.”

“No. It needs to be bound. Get your shirt off so that I can wrap it up.”

Julian looked at the boys, then back at Sager. His friend had seen his scars long ago, but Julian didn’t know how the boys would react. He took his vest off and dropped it on the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders, unbuttoned his cuffs and the top few buttons of the shirt, then drew it over his head. He took a knife out of its sheath at his waist and cut a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, which he handed to Sager. The wound on his arm was not terribly deep, but bled profusely.

He sat on a log so that Sager could tie the material around his arm. His back to the boys, he heard their combined gasps. Kurt cussed. And then two cold hands touched the ridges crisscrossing his skin. “What happened, Mr. McCaid?” Luc asked, looking around to see his face.

Julian frowned. “I wasn’t much older than you two. I tried to help someone. I wanted to help him leave a bad situation, but his owners didn’t take a liking to that. They whipped us.”

The boys had come around in front of Julian, and now stood staring at him with pity and worry. Luc still had a hand on his shoulder.

“The boy I tried to help died from wounds he received that night.” Julian hated telling the story, hated the cost his cousin paid for Julian’s choices.

“His owners?” Luc asked. “He was a slave?”

“He was. He was also my cousin.”

“Are you black, Mr. McCaid?” Kurt asked.

“He’s white, you idiot,” Luc answered. “He’s as white as you or me.”

“My grandmother’s great-grandmother was a black woman. Some places that makes me black, some that makes me white.”

Sager glanced up, giving them a hard look. “Boys, a man’s past is just that—his past. He’s got no control over who his parents are.” Sager finished the makeshift bandage and faced the two kids. “You’ll come to judge a man by his actions and the quality of his word. What you learned here, about McCaid, it ain’t for sharing. It’s his story to tell or not, as he sees fit.”

The boys nodded. “Yessir.”

“Where’d you get that scar?” Luc asked, pointing to a jagged mark just under Julian’s right collarbone.

“A bayonet, in the war.”

Kurt cussed again. “And that one?” he asked, pointing to a long scar that crossed Julian’s chest diagonally, right over his heart. Julian looked at his chest. Every scar he bore came from those bastards whose family had owned his grandmother and her kin.

“A knife, also in the war.” Same fight as well. Julian pulled his shirt back on and drew his vest on, though he left it unbuttoned.

Sager chuckled. “It’s good that weasel tonight didn’t cut your pretty face. It’s the only part of you not looking dog-chewed.”

Julian smiled. “I think we should feed these kids, then head back.” Sager nodded. “Boys, go get the others and bring them here. We’ll use the fire already started.”

“You think it wise to bring them here again?” Sager asked as the boys trotted off to get their foster siblings.

“If they don’t come back here, see it again without the bad guys, it will stick in their minds, grow into something horrible that haunts them.” They laid out the two dead men, setting their hats over their faces to shield the children from the harsh look of death. Sager retrieved some supplies from his pack and set about making a supper of beans and bacon, with coffee from boiled creek water.

Malcolm brought the kids into the small clearing. Julian had never seen such a lean, threadbare-looking bunch of kids. Their clothes hung limply on their thin frames. Their eyes looked huge in the failing evening light. They lined up, smallest to largest.

Julian clasped his hands behind his back, wondering what the hell to do now. Audrey needed help with these children. He wished she’d told him about them from the beginning.

“What were you kids thinking, going off like this?”

Luc, standing second in line, spoke up first. “We were heading out to your place. The sheriff’s up to something powerful bad. We had to warn Audrey. It’s just a four-hour wagon ride out there. We thought we could do it in a day, day and a half at most.”

“I assume Malcolm was caring for you. Why didn’t you go to him with your concerns?”

Luc looked at Malcolm and frowned. “Didn’t think it would do any good.”

Julian wondered at that cryptic remark, but chose not to pursue it. “Tell me your names.”

“Kurt.”

“Luc.”

“Colleen.”

“Joey.”

“Mabel.”

“Tommy. That’s Dulcie. She don’t talk. Not much anyway.”

Sager had the bacon frying. The children were anxiously watching the food cooking. “We’re going to have some supper, then head back. I imagine Audrey is beside herself with worry about you. Are you up to more travel tonight?”

They looked at each other and nodded. “Audrey’s not at your place?” Kurt asked.

“No. She’s back in town right now.”

Julian got the kids settled by the fire. Sager had only one set of silverware, so they all shared the fork and spoon, taking turns dipping into the beans, clearing through two pounds of bacon in no time.

After they ate, Julian cleaned the pots and banked the fire while Sager and Malcolm tied Howie and Zeke to their horses. Then they saddled up for the trip home. Joey and Mabel rode with Malcolm. Kurt and Colleen rode with Sager. And Luc, Tommy, and Dulcie rode with Julian. Julian had moved his bedroll to make a seat for Dulcie on his lap so that the saddle horn wouldn’t bother her. For the first half of the trip, it didn’t matter. She held on to him with a relentless grip around his neck. Julian found himself patting her back now and then, and once in a while, he even murmured words he thought would soothe her.

The trip home was accomplished in silence and seemed to take half the time it took to find the children. Little Dulcie’s grip slowly eased until Julian had to hold her to keep her from falling. He looped the reins over the saddle horn for a minute as he resettled the little girl on his lap, leaning her back against his chest. Tommy, sitting behind him, was softly snoring against his back. Luc was awake; Julian could feel him thinking. As if to confirm that, Luc spoke up, whispering a question that must have plagued him the night through.

“Mr. McCaid? What happened to those men who whipped you?”

Julian wasn’t quick to answer. His life was no model for a child. Violence had its place, but it was never a behavior to aspire to.

“I killed them.”

Audrey paced around Maddie’s parlor, too restless to sit. The hour was fast approaching midnight. Leah and the Kesslers had gone home. Maddie, kind soul that she was, fixed the two of them coffee and sat up with Audrey.

“Tell me, my dear, what are you going to do when Mr. McCaid brings the children home?” Audrey had told Maddie about Julian’s offer to make her his mistress. She let the curtain fall back in place. All she could see outside was darkness anyway.

“I don’t know, Maddie. I don’t know what to do.”

“What are your feelings for him?”

A warmth crept up Audrey’s neck, making her glad for the room’s dim light; she hoped her friend hadn’t noticed. Maddie set her coffee down.

“Audrey,” she sighed, “I’m going to give you some advice. Mind you, this is not the advice I would give Leah. You two girls are very different. I think you’re stronger than she is. And you are a more practical girl.” She paused and gave Audrey an assessing look.

“I’ve been thinking about your situation. It occurs to me, if a man were to come along who had a moderate temper, an honest soul, and a reasonable means of supporting himself and you—a man who would let you keep the kids, maybe even take others in—if such a man were to come along tomorrow and ask you to marry him, you would accept. No matter his age. No matter his looks. No matter his profession. I know you would. It would have nothing to do with love. Nothing even to do with friendship. You are mercenary in your practicality. It’s why you’re in this situation. You did what you had to do.”