Backlands (11 page)

With his back to Patrick, Vernon pulled the pistol from the gunnysack, turned, and felt his head explode. He fell to the floor dead.

Patrick dropped the ball-peen hammer. He'd smashed Vernon's skull wide open and done murder. There was blood everywhere: on the saddles, the wall, the old Mexican cabinet, the dirt floor, and the bed. He could feel blood on his face, see the splatter on his hand.

He couldn't say a word about what had happened; it would ruin the best time Emma and Matt had ever had at the ranch and probably expose him as an ex-convict. He needed to hide Vernon's body fast. He cleaned his hands and face, emptied the trunk, stuffed Vernon inside, and doused the lantern. After everybody went to bed, he'd come back, wipe up the blood, move Vernon's body, and search for the pardon.

Outside, Miguel, Teresa, Evangelina, Emma, and Matt were sitting on the veranda, the lamplight shining through the living room windows casting them in silhouette.

“Join us,” Emma called merrily. “We're telling Matt stories about the ranch, and it's your turn.”

“I'll be there as soon as I clean up,” Patrick replied.

A
fter midnight, when all fell quiet at the ranch, Patrick saddled Calabaza, tied Vernon's body to a pack animal, and made rapid horse tracks for more than two hours. He stopped at a low mesa that jutted abruptly onto the barren alkali flats, remote and far away from any trail and road. He hid the body in a shallow cave at the foot of the mesa that he'd found years ago while tracking a marauding mountain lion that had been killing his calves.

He returned home at first light to find Evangelina alone in the kitchen, starting breakfast. A fresh pot of coffee boiled on the stove. Dog tired from his all-night effort, he eased into a chair at the table.

“
Buenos días,
” Evangelina said pleasantly. She handed him a cup of coffee and glanced at the kitchen door. “Does your hired man want breakfast?”

“He quit me last night and left as soon as I paid him,” Patrick answered wearily.

Evangelina shrugged and turned back to the pot of beans simmering on the stove.

“No loss,” Kerney added, reading her reaction.

Evangelina gave him a quick smile over her shoulder.

“I didn't like him much either,” Patrick added, and wished he'd held his tongue. Seeing as he'd killed Vernon, saying anything scornful about him wasn't very smart. He didn't need to talk himself into trouble.

Evangelina laughed. “You will hire someone else?”

“Eventually. When do we eat?”

“I can make breakfast for you now, if you don't want to wait for the others.”

Patrick shook his head, finished his coffee, and stood. “Teresa and Miguel are leaving for home today, so I'll wait and break bread with them. Give me a holler when it's time.”

“As you wish, señor,” Evangelina said gaily.

Evangelina seemed downright pleased and happy to be cooking and caring for the place. It made Patrick wonder if her life in Tularosa wasn't very agreeable.

Back at the barn, he fed Calabaza some oats, gave him fresh water, rubbed him down, and put him in his stall. He did the same for the pack pony before turning it out in the horse pasture. He carried his saddle into the tack room, mulling over what still needed to be done to make all traces of Vernon disappear. He couldn't risk the unlikely chance that some pilgrim lost on the basin might stumble upon Vernon's body. He decided to return to the cave later in the day, bury Vernon deep, burn all his belongings, collapse the opening with dynamite, and make the rubble look like a natural rock fall. Once that was done, he doubted Vernon's remains would ever be found.

He had killed the man in self-defense, but if he reported it and got let off scot-free, the truth that he'd been a convicted felon was sure to come out. He couldn't abide that, couldn't stand the idea of neighbors and folks knowing he was once a common thief. He had only his good name and the Double K to take pride in, and he wasn't about to lose either.

He took his army locker out of the trunk, set it on the floor, wrapped up Vernon's bedroll, mattress, and gunnysack in a horse blanket, stuffed the bundle in the trunk, and closed the lid. Calabaza's soft whinny from his stall made him turn just as Matt stepped into the room.

“Morning,” Patrick said.

“Morning, Pa,” Matt said, glancing at the bare and empty bedframe. “What happened to the hired man?”

“He didn't like it here, so he quit me last night and struck out for Texas, where his sister lives.”

“Ma said Tía Teresa didn't like the look of him at all,” Matt said.

“Well, Teresa always has had a good eye when it comes to reading folks. When did she take you on as a nephew?”

Matt's expression clouded at the thought that maybe Pa didn't like the notion. “She said I should call her
tía.
Ma said it was okay; she said that Teresa was like a sister to her.”

Patrick smiled. “No need to worry on my account, boy. If your ma and Teresa made a private treaty, then you're part of the Chávez family clan for certain.”

Matt's expression cleared. “I never had an aunt before. Next to Ma, she's the nicest lady I know.”

“I agree with you there, old son,” Patrick said.

Matt stared at the footlocker with Pa's name and rank painted on the lid. “Ma told me about how you fought in the Spanish-American War as a Rough Rider.”

“I did.”

“Can I look inside?”

“Sure.” Patrick unlocked the box and opened it. “There's nothing important to see, just old army stuff.”

Matt sat on the floor, carefully picked up Patrick's squashed campaign hat with the crossed-sabers insignia, and put it on his head. It sank below his ears.

“It's a mite big,” Patrick said as he hunkered down. “But it looks good on you.”

Matt took out the folded uniform shirt, the pants, the boots, and the leggings and inspected each item before picking up Patrick's medals. “Ma gave me CJ's medals to have,” he said. “I keep them in my room.”

“You can have mine if you like.”

Matt grinned with pleasure. “Thanks. That's swell.” He turned each medal over in his hands and studied them. “I'll put them on my dresser with CJ's.” He looked at Patrick with wet eyes. “Sometimes in my bedroom, Jimmy and me would pin CJ's medals on our shirts and pretend we were brave soldiers getting decorated by a general. I miss him a lot.”

Patrick nodded. “I know how that is. I lost a pal in the Rough Riders and I still think about him to this day.”

“You do?”

“Yep.”

“I'm gonna go into the army when I grow up.”

“I figured as much, but don't tell your ma that.”

Matt nodded wisely. “I already know not to. She'd scalp me. Are we going to work Patches some more today?”

“We will, later on. With Vernon having quit me, I've got some range work that needs doing that can't wait.”

“Okay.”

From the veranda, Evangelina called out in Spanish that food was on the table and people were waiting for their company.

“What did she say?” Matt asked.

“Breakfast is ready. Best you start learning Spanish if you're gonna have a
tía.
”

“Who taught you?”

“Your
tía
Teresa,”
Patrick replied. “Put those medals in your pocket and let's go get some grub.”

“Can I wear the hat?”

“You sure can.”

***

A
t breakfast, Patrick announced Vernon's sudden departure from the Double K and it caused nary a stir. No one raised an eyebrow, asked any questions, or showed the slightest remorse about his leaving, which relieved Patrick of the need to make up a tall tale about his going.

Emma was downright high-spirited at breakfast, making plans with Teresa to travel to Tularosa for Miguel's wedding later in the year and arranging for Teresa to visit her and Matt in Las Cruces before the wedding. She had a glow that put color on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Patrick hadn't seen such a frisky, happy look about her in years, leastways not when she was in his company.

“Miguel will be the last of my children to marry, so you must come help us celebrate,” Teresa said to Patrick.

“You must,” Miguel echoed. “It will be a grand fiesta. Many friends and relatives will be there. It will seem like the old days in Tularosa.”

“I reckon I can't miss it,” he answered, glancing at Evangelina as she circled the table, clearing away dishes. Her smile didn't hide her sad eyes. “Are you ready to hitch up your team?” he asked Miguel.

“
Sí,
my friend,” Miguel replied. “It is time to take my mother home so she can pester me about all that I must do before the wedding.”

“Can I help with the horses?” Matt asked eagerly, putting the Rough Rider campaign hat on his head.

“Come along,” Patrick replied. “We'll show you how to hitch a team to a wagon.”

Matt looked at Ma for permission.

“Go on, gentlemen,” Emma said with a smile, and she shooed them out the door.

***

S
oon after Teresa and Miguel departed, Patrick announced he had work to do out on the flats and made horse tracks to where he'd buried Vernon. Once at the cave, he worked hard and fast but carefully. When he was finally certain no one would ever suspect a body had been buried at the foot of the mesa, he started for home. He'd covered all the bases save one: the missing Yuma Prison pardon. He had to find it.

He dozed in the saddle on his return to the ranch, turned Calabaza out to pasture, and spent a fruitless hour searching the tack room. He pulled everything away from the walls, looked under the trunk and the bunk bed, searched shelves, cubbyholes, and saddlebags, and stopped looking when exhaustion and frustration took over. The pardon could be hidden anywhere on the ranch headquarters. He would make a more thorough search after Emma and Matt returned to town.

He put everything back where it belonged and found Matt astride Patches at the hitching post, impatiently waiting to start the next session.

“Where's Calabaza?” Matt asked as Patrick approached.

“We don't need his help today,” Patrick replied. So far, everything he'd done with Matt had been purely to see how the boy sat a saddle and handled his pony. He was a natural on horseback, but pleasure riding was vastly different from working a top cow pony. The real training of the horse and rider was about to begin.

“Head on over to the corral,” Patrick ordered as he stepped off toward the big circular corral bordering the pasture.

“What are we gonna do?” Matt asked.

Patrick stopped and explained to him that Patches was about to start learning three things: how to keep his head down; how to turn with his head, not his shoulder; and how to back up.

“That's all?” Matt asked, hoping for more cattle chasing.

“For today.” Patrick opened the corral gate and waved Patches inside. “It takes plenty of time and schooling to finish a top cow pony. You best be sure this is something you really want to do before we get started.”

Matt nodded. “You bet I do.”

Patrick swung the gate closed. “Okay, then. Gallop him around the corral until I say stop.”

Matt spurred Patches into a gallop. It didn't take but a half dozen turns for Patrick's campaign hat to fly off Matt's head. Patrick retrieved it and called for him to rein in.

“What do we do first?” Matt asked as he drew rein. He looked over Patrick's shoulder and waved.

Patrick turned to see Emma smiling and watching from the closed gate.

“Back him up slowly,” Patrick said, happy to see Emma standing there with the sun on her face, looking so alive and healthy.

He worked with Matt and Patches for an hour, and Emma stayed to watch the whole time. She opened the gate for Matt, and he rode through, beaming down at her as he trotted his pony to the barn.

“I don't think I've ever seen him happier with you,” she said as Patrick latched the gate.

“He'll make a hand, if ranching is something he decides to do.”

“Is that what you want for him?” Emma asked.

Patrick hesitated. “I don't know. But the Double K will belong to him someday, if drought and the bank don't take it from me before I die.”

“We should talk about his future. I've made some plans for him.”

“Haven't we already gone through that?” Patrick asked.

“Not completely. When I pass, you're going to have to take him in and be his pa until he's grown.”

“I know that, but your passing isn't a subject I care to discuss much. What else have you got up your sleeve?”

“Can we take a moonlit ride together tonight and talk about it then?”

Patrick smiled. “Now, that's something we haven't done in years. Are you still able to sit a horse?”

Emma laughed. “Why would you doubt it?” She touched his arm. “This has been our best time at the ranch since we started coming. Matt hasn't groused once about missing his friends in town, and I'm totally spoiled having Evangelina here to take care of everything. Thank you.”

“No need to be thanking me,” Patrick said, thrown off stride by her warmth, remembering how tender she could be. Unwilling for Emma to see his longing for her, he turned quickly on his heel and headed for the barn. “I've chores before dinner.”

“Pick out a gentle saddle pony for me,” Emma called after him.

“I already got that figured,” he called back to her. He'd put her on Stony, the twelve-year-old gelding he had given Miguel Chávez to ride.

***

W
ith the moon as clear as crystal and the sky awash with stars, they rode first to the small family cemetery on a hill overlooking the ranch so Emma could visit for a spell. Patrick hung back to give her time alone for private thoughts.

Four graves with markers, enclosed by a picket fence, overlooked the basin. Here Patrick's father, John Kerney, was buried along with his best friend and partner, Cal Doran. Next to him was Cal's friend and hired hand, George Rose, and in the smallest grave, Baby Molly, Emma's firstborn.

Emma had never known John Kerney, who'd carved the ranch out of wilderness, but she knew the story of how he'd searched and found his young lost son and brought him home to safety. What he did for Patrick had always touched her heart. Cal and George were family to her: Cal dearer than flesh and blood, the wisest and truest friend; George steadfast and kind, whose friendship never wavered. And Molly, beautiful Molly, born out of so much pain and suffering.

Knowing what he knew, would any other man but Patrick have taken up with her and Molly? She gasped at the thought that perhaps she'd been too unfair, unyielding, unforgiving, with him. With tears for all the good and bad memories, she returned to Patrick, who waited with the horses.

“You've kept it very nice,” she said as he gave her a leg up.

“That's our history.”