Christine Dorsey (19 page)

“Who’s Landis?”

“My brother.” Ab’s expression seemed to indicate he thought Jake should know that. “He takes care of me. He and Bundy, and—”

“Bundy Atwood?” It was more than the back of his neck that was prickling now.

“Yeah.” Ab backhanded his mouth. “He’s my friend. Killed hisself a lot of damn bluebellies, he did. Now he’s going to kill more. Gonna take care of his woman too, bloody bitch.”

Ab delivered his obscenities with the same causal tone he talked of killing. The lack of emotion was unnerving. Jake tried to match his tone. “What woman is that?”

Again the expression of disbelief. “Damn Samantha Lowery, the bitch.” He spoke the phrase as if they were all part of Samantha’s name. Jake supposed he’d heard it often enough to believe it. “But Bundy’s going to take care of her. Said I could help. I like that, sticking my poker in women. You like to do that, Jake?”

It took a moment for Jake to control himself enough to answer. He had the strongest desire to plant his fist squarely in Ab’s flabby jaw, to pull his revolver and plug him full of holes. Instead he forced himself to remember whom he was dealing with. He was spared answering as Ab went on telling how Landis took him to town to see Miss Betsy sometimes. But he thought he was going to like doing it to the Yankee bitch more, ’cause she was prettier.

“Course, Bundy, he says everyone will get his turn. Bundy’s nice. He’s my friend.”

“Listen, Ab.” Jake stood. “I’m going to be on my way now.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. I don’t think you should.”

“But Landis says I ain’t to go nowhere by myself. He says I might get into trouble.”

Jake stared down at the hulk of a man and felt something close to pity. An emotion the situation didn’t warrant, he assured himself. “Where’s your brother now?”

“That way.” Ab pointed one ham hock of a hand in the direction he’d come. When Jake followed the motion, he noticed a small group of mounted men coming down the road, headed in their direction.

Reaching for his gun was second nature.

Ab noticed the reaction. He rolled over to his knees, following Jake’s gaze. A big grin spread across his face. “It’s Landis,” he said, hefting himself up. “You ain’t going to need that. You’re my friend.”

Jake was unprepared for the shove Ab gave his hand, but he managed to hang on to his revolver. He also decided holstering it might be his best course at the present. The mounted men had seen his camp and were wasting no time descending upon it. And Ab was ambling off to meet them. Jake slid the gun down his hip and waited.

“Landis!” Ab reached up, grabbing the bridle of the lead horse, and Jake got his first look at Landis Moore. He was small-framed, especially in comparison to his giant of a brother, with gray-washed black hair curling down his neck and a broad pockmarked face. His eyes were blue, pale, almost silvery in the early light, and they were leveled in anger at Ab.

“What the hell you think you’re doin’, boy, running off like that?”

“I weren’t running, Landis.” Ab’s head was bent close to the horses, and he continually rubbed the reins nervously. “It’s just that I was up early and went out ridin’. And I found a friend.”

Ab swirled around toward Jake, and for the first time Landis seemed to notice him. Not that Jake had gone unobserved during the conversation between the Moores. Jake had seen the scrutiny of the two other riders.

But now Landis Moore’s eyes were on him, cold and steady. Jake met his stare and couldn’t help thinking of the fear Samantha felt for him. That icy glare would frighten anyone.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“His name is Jake, Landis, and he’s my friend.” Ab’s head was bobbing up and down as if it sat on a loose spring.

“That right?” Landis demanded.

“What? That my name is Jake, or that I’m Ab’s friend?” Jake kept his eyes on Landis, but he could sense the two other men, neither of whom he’d ever seen before, moving toward their leader.

Landis studied him a moment, and then a smile crossed his face that in no way softened the frigid stare. “Both.”

Jake shifted, his hand resting against his gun. “I’m Jake Morgan. Your brother here wandered into my camp this morning.”

“He’s a Reb, Landis!”

“I can see that, Ab.”

Jake had pulled on his gray tunic to help fight off the chill of the previous night. When Jake had ridden off from Appomattox at the end of the war, it hadn’t occurred to him to toss out his clothes. Pants and coats had been hard enough to come by during the four years of war. They weren’t something to be taken lightly. Nor, Jake had discovered, were they something to be worn lightly.

“He killed him a lot of Yankee bastards. Told me so,” Ab continued.

“Did he now?” Landis rose up in his saddle and glanced around. “Where’s your horse, Ab?”

“Left him back there, behind them trees.”

“Go get him.”

“Sure, Landis.” Ab shuffled to the side. “Where’s Bundy and Jimmy?”

“Off looking for you, Ab.” Landis kicked his foot free of the stirrup and dismounted. “We weren’t sure which way you’d gone.”

“Sorry, Landis.” Ab dropped to his knees in the dust at his brother’s feet. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Landis stepped aside as Ab shielded his head against a blow. “We’ll finish this later,” Landis admonished, bringing a derisive chuckle from the other two. “Right now I want to talk to Jake here.”

“He’s my friend.”

“I know. Now go get your horse.”

Jake watched Ab scurry off, followed by one of the men who were still mounted. The other sat, his hands crossed on the pommel, and waited.

Landis Moore glanced back toward where his brother had disappeared through some bushes, then back at Jake. “He’s slow.” He tapped a finger to the side of his head. “Been that way since he was born. Nothing to do about it but keep an eye on him. But sometimes he makes that hard. I appreciate what you done for him.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Jake walked toward his horse and unlooped the reins.

“Now there’s where we differ in opinion.” Landis moved between Jake and his horse. “No telling what might have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

Jake cocked his head and waited. Landis Moore was hard to read, but Jake was pretty sure there was more going on here than a simple thank-you.

“Where you headed?”

“Why?”

Again came that smile that seemed more like he was baring his teeth. “It’s not just idle curiosity, let me assure you. I’m Landis Moore.” He paused as if he thought Jake should recognize the name, but when there was no reaction forthcoming, he continued, “I’m sort of the unofficial head of the Reb soldiers in these parts.”

Jake shrugged. “I’m just passing through.”

“Too bad. We could have used someone like you. The South needs every man she can get.”

“Like I said—”

“Yeah, you’re just passing through.”

Jake gathered up the reins and nudged Moore aside. It was all he could do not to question the man about Samantha and Will. But he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to reveal what Ab had told him. Nor did he think he’d get anything resembling the truth for an answer.

Settling into the saddle with a soft creak of leather, Jake urged his mount forward. After a few steps he pulled back on the reins. “You know, Moore,” Jake said, twisting around to face the man. “I was under the impression the war was over.”

“Not by a long shot, boy. Not by a long shot.”

~ ~ ~

“Is everything satisfactory?” Samantha folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers till they were white. She didn’t like dealing with Peggy Keane, but there was no help for it. Still, she didn’t like the way the woman was examining the tiny stitches on the sleeve of the dress Samantha just brought her.

Peggy looked up, her brown eyes focusing on Samantha as if she’d forgotten her presence. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. She stood, holding the gown up to her ample bosom, and twisted, letting the skirt float around her. “I had hoped for a more pronounced bustle.”

Samantha bit her tongue to keep from suggesting she had more than enough of her own. Peggy Keane’s waist was tiny, but unlike Samantha she was well endowed in other areas. Areas that Peggy had once assured Samantha appealed to men. That had been before the war, before Samantha’s father’s death. The girls had attended school together, and though they hadn’t actually been friends, they had known each other.

Peggy was two years older, eons more mature, and thanks to the war, much, much wealthier. As Samantha looked around the parlor now, it was difficult to believe that Peggy used to live in a soddy. But Peggy had married a man twenty years her senior. And Thadeus Keane had grown rich delivering corn and other grain to the soldiers during the war. Rumor had it he didn’t much care which side he sold to as long as they paid in gold.

Samantha sat forward on the horsehair sofa. It was a deep royal red that matched the heavy curtains hanging at the windows, blocking the meager air. The room was stifling, and Samantha tried not to show her impatience. She’d made enough dresses for Peggy to know that this was as much a part of the selling process as making the dress. But Peggy paid well, when she finally got around to handing over the money. And she and Will sorely needed the money.

But today Samantha wasn’t in the mood to watch Peggy preen about, moving gingerly between the heavy pieces of furniture. She’d brought the wagon wheel to town, strapped on the side of the mule, and she wanted to get it to the smithy in time for him to fix it today.

She’d considered stopping there first, but even though Samantha had carefully wrapped Peggy’s gown in sheets, she didn’t want to take any chances on soiling it.

“Well, what do you think?” Peggy obviously was tired of waiting for Samantha’s compliments. “Won’t this be the most beautiful gown at the town ball?”

“Yes.” Samantha swallowed her pride and smiled. What Peggy really meant was won’t I be the most beautiful woman at the ball. Not really a ball, Samantha reminded herself. The town of Hager’s Flats wasn’t the place for a ball. But they did have dances now and then, which Peggy seemed determined to call balls.

Samantha had to admit she probably would be the prettiest woman there. At least the men would think so. But then Samantha never went so she really didn’t know.

A sudden vision flashed into her mind. She was dressed in a gown of shimmering silk, soft as a whisper, with her hair piled high. She was dancing, her head thrown back in laughter, her eyes on only one man, her partner.

Jake.

A smiling Jake, like in the daguerreotype.

Samantha grimaced. She’d worked so hard to purge him from her mind, and there he was, tall and handsome, and... Samantha felt tears sting her eyes and glanced toward the clock ticking loudly on the mantle. She would forget about him. She would!

“I really need to be getting on my way. So if you’d—”

“You aren’t staying for tea?”

“I can’t.” Samantha lowered her lashes. Peggy was angry and would likely pay less for the gown because of her snit. Samantha rushed on to explain. “I need to take a wheel over to the blacksmith’s and have it fixed before I go home. Will’s there alone, and I don’t like leaving him too long.” She didn’t mention Landis Moore or Bundy Atwood. Samantha had spoken to Peggy about them once before and been chided for exaggerating.

“Oh, pooh. Will’s near grown.” Peggy flopped down in a plush chair, tossing aside the gown Samantha had spent so much time on. “I counted on you visiting for a while.”

“I’d like to, really,” Samantha said to convince Peggy. “But I can’t. Not this time.”

“When are you coming back to town?”

“I don’t know,” Samantha answered honestly. “We have to be harvesting soon, and...” That was something else she had to do today. See if Jim Farley would come out and help with the corn.

“All you ever do is work,” Peggy complained.

There was nothing to say to that, so Samantha only stared. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity for Peggy, though Lord help her, she didn’t know why. The women of the town seemed to avoid her, even though she had the biggest and only brick house, and her clothes were the finest. And it couldn’t be much fun married to old Thadeus. But then Samantha had heard talk that Peggy didn’t let a little thing like marriage keep her from her flirtations.

Be that as it may, Samantha had things to do, and limited time to do them. She walked over to where Peggy sat pouting in the chair. “I really do have to go.”

“Oh, all right.” Peggy flounced up and yanked out a drawer in the dark oak secretary. “Here’s the money for the dress.” She plunked some coins into Samantha’s outstretched hand.

Samantha closed her fingers, too proud to count it. “Thank you. Let me know if I can make anything else for you.”

“I don’t know.” Peggy tossed her sable ringlets. “I’ve been thinking of sending to St. Louis for my clothes.”

Samantha only nodded as she saw herself to the door. She didn’t really think Peggy would go through with her threat. She enjoyed flaunting her wealth in front of Samantha too much. Still, it would be nice if Samantha could get some more steady customers for her sewing. The trouble was, most of the women sewed for themselves.

The sun bore down on Samantha as she descended the steps from the Keane home. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided it really was pretentious. Especially with the rest of the town so primitive by comparison. Samantha shook her head as she untied Prudence, the mule, from the fence post and led her down the dust-choked street.

She shouldn’t be so hard on Hager’s Flats. There was a hotel, two churches, and a school. Not to mention the bank and mercantile. Several saloons, quiet now in the middle of the day, opened onto the main street. Hager’s Flats had definitely grown since she’d come here as a child of twelve. Samantha caught sight of the sheriff leaning against the hotel porch post. He touched his hat in greeting, and Samantha nodded. Sheriff Hughes didn’t work at hiding his Southern sympathies. But most people didn’t realize how strong they really were. If it hadn’t been for her father’s death, Samantha wouldn’t either.