Runabout (32 page)

}Blue Turley's room was in the upper floor of the stockyards' office building. The outside stairway was dark and narrow, but Blue and Emma might well have been better able to negotiate it had the cowboy not been carrying his tack and saddle, and had he not celebrated his victory over Luther Briggs by imbibing nearly half a jug of corn liquor on the way back to town.

}"Emma, sweet Emma, I've been waiting for this day for many a moon," he told the woman at his side drunkenly.

}She made no reply. From the moment she'd seen Luther lying on the ground, she'd known that her bargain had been stupid. She'd felt no elation, no vindication at his defeat. She'd felt only strangely sad for a friend who was hurt. A friend. That's what Luther had always been to her. They had shared some laughter, some happy times, and some pleasure. But there had never been love. Luther had been her friend. Perhaps she hadn't realized that because she had so few.

}"The first day I seen you," Turley continued, clearly delighted by his turn of fortune, "I said to Ferd, 'I'm gonna have me a little taste of that one.' That's what I told him, sure as the world."

}Emma shuddered with distaste. She had lain with Luther just for the pleasure of it. Could she lie with Blue Turley for services rendered? Somehow, for all her sordid reputation, this seemed worse, much worse, than anything she had ever done.

}"This is it, this is it," Turley said as they reached the top of the stairs. He pushed open a weathered and scarred door. The mingled smells of horse sweat, leather, and old boots was unpleasant. "Welcome to my little home-sweet-home."

}Emma hesitated at the threshold for only an instant. Turley slung an arm around her waist and pulled her inside. She glanced around nervously as she freed herself from his grasp. The center of the room held nothing but a worn cot covered by a disreputable-looking, moth-eaten blanket. On the left, a couple of crates had been hammered together to form a washstand. And a cracked mirror was nailed to the wall above it. On the far side of the room, Turley carefully laid out his tack. Saddle, bridles, lariats, and horse blankets were stored with some care. Turley's own clothes lay around on the floor in casually thrown heaps. The cowboy walked right across his dirty laundry as if it were rugs.

}"It ain't much, but it's mine."

}Emma began to feel as dirty as the room looked. "Blue, I've been thinking about this and—"

}With a hearty laugh, Turley pulled Emma roughly into his arms. "I've been thinking about it too. Been thinking about it so much, I cain't even sleep good at night."

}"I'm not really—"

}"You think you've been having fun with Luther Briggs. That metal-heap wrangler don't know half the moves and tickles I can show you. Wait till you see how a real cowboy can scratch what's itching ya."

}"Turley, I—"

}"Damn." Turley laughed as he ran an eager hand along her backside. "It's gonna be a real pleasure to pleasure you. Ha! I made a joke. But sticking it to you ain't no joke. I bet you like it real good, Emma Dix. Now, don't you worry. When it comes to lovin', I'm real, real good."

}Emma began struggling in his arms. His breath was fetid with stale whiskey and he smelled of dirt and sweat and blood.

}"Don't!" she protested. "You're hurting me."

}Turley loosened his grip only slightly. "I ain't aiming to hurt you, Emma Dix. I'm just aiming to
fuck
you." He whispered the offensive word close to her ear.

}"Wait! Stop it now. Blue, wait, I—"

}Turley pulled her down on the bed and rolled on top of her. "Emma Dix. Oh, you feel right good to me, Emma Dix. Is your middle name 'Likes'?" He snorted with laughter. "I made me another little joke. Get it? Emma Likes Dix."

}The sound of ripping cloth was loud in Emma's ears as Turley grabbed at skirts.

}"Stop it!" she cried. "You've torn my dress. Stop it!"

}Turley wallowed over her, laughing and joking. "I'll buy you another rag, Sugartail. Something real pretty, all red with sparkly things on it."

}"Let me go!" She fought against him. "Let me go right now!"

}"Ooooh, damnation, Emma. I like a gal that shows a bit of spirit."

}As his grimy hand delved between her legs, Emma began to struggle back in earnest. "Leave me alone!" she screamed.

}Turley clawed at her drawers, unconcerned at her protest.

}She kicked. She scratched. She screamed. She struggled. But Blue Turley was much too big and much too powerful.

}Trying to fling him off her, Emma grabbed for the iron bedstead to get leverage. She was only trying to free herself when her hand encountered the bootjack Turley had left hanging on the bedstead. Grasping it in her hand, she didn't give herself time to think. With a powerful cry of fury, she brought it down with all her strength on his head.

}"Yeow!" Turley hollered.

}The sound was wild and angry. He grabbed for the bootjack in her hand, but she managed to evade him. There was no stopping her now. With all the strength she possessed, she slammed the makeshift weapon against his temple. This time he did not cry out. Again she brought the bootjack down on his head. And again and again and again.

}She was hysterical now, crying, trembling, shaking. He was still. He'd stopped holding her down. With shaky, labored breathing she pushed herself out from under him. She came to her feet at the side of the bed. Nervously she brought a hand to her brow, only to see it covered with blood.

}"I've killed him," she whispered as she stared wide-eyed at his still body.

}She moved away from the bed. She stared down at the bloodied bootjack in her hand. With a tiny cry of terror she dropped the makeshift weapon to the floor and gazed at it in horrific fascination as if it were a snake.

}Emma wrapped her arms about her sides as if suddenly seized with a chill. She turned away from the sight of the bed and found herself staring at her own visage in the mirror. Her hair was wild, her face paint smeared, and her hands were bloody.

}"Oh, Papa!" she said aloud. "I've finally done it. I've finally completely ruined my life."

}She turned back to stare at Turley for a minute. She couldn't feel sorry that she had stopped him, no matter the consequences. But she felt tremendous sorrow that only now did she realize how carelessly she had been throwing away her own life.

}Tears began to fall then, tears of sadness, of self-disgust and anger. She had made a mistake. One terrible mistake. But it had been long ago. She had said that the town would never forgive her, but, in fact, she realized now she had never forgiven herself. Turning over a new leaf and living an upright life had been just too hard to even try. She had thought herself unworthy of anything good or decent or fair. And now, she had killed a man. Now, she would no longer have a chance to try to redeem herself. Now, as a murderess, she never could.

}She covered her face with her hands and thought of her father. Willie had loved her through all her mistakes. He would even love her now, when she had killed. But he needed her love and care. He deserved to die in peace, knowing that she had found the life he'd wanted for her. But instead, his last days would be filled with the truth of her shame, her disgrace, her imprisonment.

}A low moan came from the bed. Emma screamed.

}With shocked disbelief, she looked back at Turley as he began to stir slightly.

}"He's not dead," she whispered. "He's not dead."-

}A wellspring of anxiety and hope surged inside her. If Blue Turley was alive, she still had a chance. She could still change her life. She could still give Willie Dix the peace that a loving father deserved.

}"Turley?" She spoke his name in little more than a whisper. She must keep him alive. If she was ever to have a life, a real, ordinary, honorable life, which was suddenly the only thing that she wanted, she must see that Turley lived. She must bind his wounds and make sure that he was all right.

}Emma stepped toward him. Fear and loathing filled her throat with nausea. She shuddered. She couldn't touch him. She couldn't touch him again, ever. But neither could she leave him here to die.

}When the answer came to her, the fear on her face melted. With a sigh of relief, she turned and raced out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. The night on First Street was noisy and boisterous, but here, near the stockyards, the only sounds were the bawling cows in nearby pens.

}The street was well lit and probably safer, but she skirted it anyway. Hurrying down deserted alleyways littered with garbage and refuse, Emma made her way without caution through the roughest and most dangerous area of Lowtown. She crossed the railroad tracks into Prattville proper. She didn't let up her pace. Running on, she ignored the street that led to her home where her father waited safely.

}Emma raced down the red-brick sidewalks of Main Street. The gas lamps glowed brightly to light her way. There were few people out and about, but she noticed none of them anyway. She hurried on. To Luther Avenue, through the city park where picnics were held and the townspeople took their Saturday promenades.

}"Please don't let him be out somewhere," she prayed aloud. "I haven't asked a thing in a long time, but I'm asking this."

}A light was still on in the study on the first floor of the Millenbutter Memorial Hospital. Emma could have cried with gratitude.

}"Doc Odie!" she called as she raced up the stairs. "Doc Odie, come quick!"

}Chapter 17

}A thoughtful silence had fallen between the young couple riding up Guthrie and River Road in the Model G Runabout.

}Luther's suggestion that they should discontinue their charade left Tulsa May feeling sadly bereft. She tried to remind herself that she was very lucky to have had these few weeks and that the sweet, wonderful memories would last her a lifetime. However, this was one occasion when Tulsa May's legendary optimism seemed to fail her.

}Luther himself didn't feel much better. Strangely, the idea of returning to his life before he started escorting his Tulsy all over town somehow seemed dismal and boring. But he could think of no other way. She stirred his passion. And he knew himself well enough that he seriously doubted the future of his self-control. Tulsa May was sweet and warm and welcoming in his arms. The safest way to handle that was to get as far away from her as possible. That, or marry her.

}Marry her. The fact that the notion even crossed his mind was slightly amazing. But somehow the idea did not in any way dismay or disturb him. He offered a shy glance in her direction. Could the old wives' tales be right? When a fellow got ready to settle down, did he really want a different kind of woman than the kind he'd chased?

}Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine next year and the year after that. Arthel would be in college. Luther would be struggling to afford to keep him there. There would be long days of labor and sleeping late only on Sunday. There would be no one to share his dreams, his hopes, or his failures. Briefly he thought of other women he'd known, which led him to Emma. No, he didn't love Emma. He liked her, but he didn't love her. He had never shared anything with her beyond a bed. He'd kept the inside of himself—the joy, the elation, the anxiety—to share only with the people that he loved. He had kept those things to share with Arthel... and with his, Tulsy.

}But marriage? It was a big step. Especially so for Tulsy, he thought. Only weeks ago she had been planning to marry Odie Foote. There was no way a woman like her could make a lifetime choice so easily. And despite the passion in her kisses, he was sure she thought of him as a passing fancy. Someday they'd simply be friends again. Her response was merely innocence, he assured himself. Tulsa May simply didn't know she was supposed to act coy.

}Just when he thought the long, silent drive would never end, they arrived back in Prattville. Tulsa May, her hat pinned perfectly in place, was steering the Runabout down Main Street en route to the parsonage. She was quieter than usual.

}He had been stupid to kiss her again, he thought. She was probably shocked and embarrassed. Shocked and embarrassed and confused. His excuse of being too full of moonlight and river was an unsatisfactory explanation. Nor was it much of an apology. But he hadn't felt much like apologizing. He tried to wish that he hadn't kissed her. But that regret just wouldn't come.

}Main Street was warm and welcoming in the glow of its new gas street lamps. It was after ten o'clock and the bright yellow flame turned the bright brick sidewalks an attractive mauve and reflected into the glass storefronts.

}"Look, it's Haywood Puser." Tulsa May's puzzled tone made Luther look up.

}The man was hurrying toward them down the street.

}"He's calling for us to stop," she commented with surprise.

}Luther shrugged. "I wonder what in the world he wants?"

}Tulsa May slowed the Runabout until it came to a halt directly in front of the older man.

}"Good evening, Mr. Puser," Tulsa May said politely.

}"What's wrong, Haywood?" Luther asked.

}The old man's face was lined with concern.

}"What happened to your face, boy?" he asked.

}"I ran into a door."

}Puser nodded. "He must have been a big one. Luther, where's that brother of yours tonight?"

}"Arthel?"

}"You got any other?" The old man folded his arms across his chest impatiently.

}"Why, he's at home, I suspect," Luther answered carefully.

}Tulsa May could hear the lie in his voice, but apparently Puser didn't notice.

}"Are you sure about that?"

}"Well, no, I can't be certain," Luther admitted.

}Haywood put his lips together in a thin line of worry and disapproval. He heaved a sigh. "I certainly hope that is exactly where he is."

}"What's happened?" Tulsa May asked. Fear niggled at her and her heart began to palpitate nervously. "Is someone hurt?"

}Puser didn't immediately answer, but scratched the back of his head thoughtfully.

}"No, no one's exactly hurt," he said evasively.

}"Then what has happened?" Luther demanded.

}"Well." He cast an uncomfortable look in Tulsa May's direction. "You know Ebner Wyse, that old fellow who lives next to the Sparrows' little honeymoon cottage on the edge of town?"

}Luther nodded silently, looking concerned.

}Tulsa May felt a hard pit of fear form in her stomach.

}Puser rubbed his hands together in a nervous gesture.

}"Ebner cain't sleep too well these days. Age does that sometimes. And when he cain't sleep, well, he just sits outside on his porch or walks around his yard."

}"So?"

}"So he couldn't sleep tonight and he was just out in the moonlight minding his own business." Haywood glanced once more at Tulsa May before continuing. "He thought he heard noises over at the cottage. That place has been deserted since Cora moved out to the farm with Jedwin. Ebner thought somebody might be trying to steal something or up to some mischief. Sure enough, he went to check about it and flushed out a young couple." Haywood glanced red-faced at Tulsa May. "My humble excuses, Miss Tulsa May, but Ebner says those younguns was as naked as the day they was born."

}"Oh!" Tulsa May's wide-eyed exclamation earned her another apologetic look from the older man. She glanced with growing concern to the man beside her. She could see Luther's jaw tighten.

}"Ebner didn't get a look at the gal at all," Haywood said. "But he swears the fellow was an Indian."

}Luther was silent for a long minute. When he spoke, his voice was deliberately calm and casual. "My brother and I are certainly not the only Indians in Prattville."

}Haywood nodded in agreement. "That's exactly what I said myself," he admitted. "But old Ebner went a-tattling to the preacher and now a gang of menfolk is meeting at the parsonage. They've been looking into who is where they's supposed to be and who is missing. One of them menfolk is Titus Penny and he ain't all that sure where little Maybelle is right now. She apparently snuck out of her room after supper. Penny thinks she went to meet Arthel."

}Luther nodded.

}"It don't look good," Haywood said solemnly.

}Clearing his throat with dignity, Luther smiled down at the undertaker with feigned confidence. "I'm sure I can convince them that they are mistaken. Arthel and Maybelle hardly bother to speak to each other these days. And I doubt that either would be involved in anything so foolish."

}Haywood shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Younguns that age are almost always unbelievably foolish."

}Luther secretly agreed, but didn't dare to say so. "It's probably some lawless young couple from across the tracks," he assured Puser.

}"I sure hope so," Haywood answered. "But you two better get up there and put out the fire just the same."

}"That we will," Luther told him.