Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (7 page)

Night came earlier as the winter season drew nearer and nearer. If a norther blew south from the plains, then the temperatures could drop to the high twenties at night. But that was rare, just like the sight of ice or snow in the state capital. Josiah had only seen snow once or twice in Texas in his life, and those were just flakes spitting from the sky and melting before they hit the ground. Snow was more common in his memories of when he was away at war, but he tried to forget those times.

Most of the time, the breezes in winter blew up from the ocean in the south, keeping the afternoons nice and comfortable. The winter season was short, generally two months, and then spring colored the land with hope and opportunity. That season seemed pretty far off, out of reach. All of the hope had been drained from Josiah's will. He was just plumb wore out, so tired he was almost staggering.

As it was now, a norther
was
blowing straight down on Austin, dropping the temperatures to their lowest depths in recent memory. Once the sun dropped below the horizon, it was like everything that held any hint of warmth in the world had vanished.

Josiah had left Pearl and the coach about a mile from his house and walked home, staying in the shadows as much as possible.

He hugged his arms tight to his chest to stay as warm as he could and was glad to see a thin snake of smoke rising from the chimney of his house as it came into sight.

He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be within a block of home.

It was still a struggle for Josiah to consider the city anything other than the place he lived, the place where he slept when he was riding with the Rangers. But Lyle waited inside the tiny house, and that made the city, and the house, as much the idea of a home as was possible for Josiah. Wherever his son was, then Josiah considered that place home. Period. He wasn't permanently attached to his first home place, Seerville or Tyler, by any means. Not anymore.

Walking slowly, Josiah could not get Pearl out of his mind. There was no question that he was attracted to her, longed to touch her, hold her, and found himself lucky to be in her presence. He felt even luckier that she acknowledged him, felt something for him in return, wanted him physically, too.

The worlds Pearl and Lily walked in were a million miles apart, and somehow, if Josiah was going to court Pearl, he needed to figure out how to bridge those miles. He had little money, little prospect for fame or wealth, and even less desire for a house as big and overwhelming as the place Pearl called home.

Josiah could never see himself as a gentleman, a politician, or a man of means. He couldn't see himself as anything other than a Texas Ranger, and now even that vision of himself was in extreme jeopardy. It took all he had just to provide for Lyle and Ofelia.

How then
, he wondered, almost out loud,
is a man like me supposed to show a woman like Pearl Fikes his love
?

The thought stopped Josiah in his tracks about a half a block from his house.

A gust of wind whipped around his face, stinging his eyes, forcing them to tear up. He wasn't sure whether it was the weather, the cold slapping his bare eyes, or his heart that was causing the tears. He tried with all of his might to make them vanish immediately.

Did he really love Pearl? Truly? Madly? Like he had Lily? And what did that say of his love for his dead wife? Was that love over, gone, or lesser somehow? Was it ever real in the first place, if it could be replaced?

The questions were immense and not ones that Josiah liked to consider—ever—but the ruminations would not go away, would not leave his thoughts. It was as if they were caged like some vicious animal, unable to break free.

Life had gone on after the death of his family. Life with only Lyle, a little boy being raised by a wet nurse who loved him more than her own life, but a boy just the same, who deserved the same kind of family as other normal children. One with a mother, a father, brothers and sisters.

Josiah's mouth went dry at the consideration of more children to feed, clothe, and care for.

Did Pearl want a family? Was he rushing things to even consider such a thing? Pearl had led him to believe she wanted a future with him. Only him. How could he not let his mind focus in on those places and embrace the idea, the realities, or be frightened, scared to death of losing everything again? That is what life had shown him more than once: Love something and lose it. That's the way it is. Why should it be any different now with Pearl, especially when he was on the very edge of losing his livelihood?

Pearl was the only woman Josiah had allowed himself to feel anything for since burying Lily almost three years ago. He had had a brief tryst with a woman, Fat Susie, nearly a year ago, but she was dead now, killed by her brother. That relationship could have never worked anyway, since Fat Susie ran a whorehouse. And then there was Billie Webb, a girl who'd helped him escape Liam O'Reilly's grasp not so long ago, but Josiah just wasn't sure how he felt about her. She seemed to want more than he could give. Besides, Pearl was always on his mind.

It was all crazy thinking, as far as Josiah was concerned. Regardless of what had happened and what was going to happen, courting Pearl was going to be difficult, if not nearly impossible. Especially when he considered the changes that might occur if the Widow Fikes lost her estate. What would happen then? It was hard to say, hard to even fathom, and not something Josiah felt any responsibility for, even though Pete Feders had.

Certain that he couldn't solve any of the problems bouncing around inside his head, Josiah pushed forward toward home, toward the warmth of the house he'd found some comfort in anyway.

It wasn't until he was two houses away that Josiah saw someone standing on his porch.

He thought about stopping, about turning the other way, but he didn't know if the person meant him or his family any harm, since he couldn't tell outright who the person was.

The only weapon Josiah carried was the knife in his boot, and that was just going to have to be enough if it was someone who had come to look for trouble. He'd had enough of fear and mobs for one day, and it wouldn't surprise him if somebody like that damned reporter was waiting for him, or a madman set on his revenge for the killing of a Ranger. It was not that hard to imagine, considering the viciousness of the crowd outside the state capitol earlier in the day.

He kept walking, and it only took Josiah a minute to realize that the person waiting on the porch was Scrap Elliot, his head hung low, pacing back and forth like he had done something wrong. Josiah exhaled heavily, relieved there was no threat, if only for a second or two.

“Damn, am I glad to see you,” Scrap said as Josiah walked up to the porch.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waitin' for you. What the Sam Hill does it look like I'm doin', sittin' here whittling away the time?”

Josiah could smell tobacco smoke as he stopped a few feet in front of Scrap, and he thought he could smell the hint of a beer, too. Scrap was not a big drinker, but he'd been known to spend a little time in some saloons, just like a lot of boys his age.

There was a soft light on in the house, and Josiah was certain that Ofelia was still up and about, just as he was sure that Lyle was asleep for the night. He motioned for Scrap to step off the porch and walk out to the street so their voices wouldn't disturb anybody. The last thing Scrap would think about on a good day was waking a sleeping child.

“What did you do?” Josiah asked.

“I didn't do nothin', I just got a bad feelin', that's all.”

“About what?”

“What the hell do you think it's about, Wolfe? You shootin' Feders. Those three stuffed shirts grilled me pretty hard.”

“I figured they would. As long as you told them the truth, then there's nothing to worry about. Now, go back to the boardinghouse you're staying at, get a good night's sleep, and maybe we'll find out tomorrow what's going to happen.”

“I told them I thought you did the right thing,” Scrap said, the words almost tripping out of his mouth.

“That ought to be good enough,” Josiah said, eyeing Scrap warily.

“I couldn't be sure, Wolfe, don't you see. I told them I couldn't be sure that Captain Feders was goin' for his gun when you shot him, though. But with him bein' with O'Reilly, and the lighting in the dark sky, and all, well, I just couldn't be sure.”

Josiah nodded. “It's all right, Scrap. Really. I've questioned that moment a million times over. If they've got reason to cast doubt on the right or wrong of my actions, then maybe it is best that I face a trial.”

“You can't mean that,” Scrap said.

“You saw that crowd outside the capitol today. This thing isn't going away anytime soon.”

“You're no killer, Wolfe.”

“I killed my first man when I was younger than you, Elliot. Pete Feders was not my first, you know that.”

“You was in the war. You had no choice.”

“I didn't. But I also had to learn how to live with killing a man over the years. It's not easy. Wasn't then, and sure isn't now, either.”

“I don't like what you're sayin'.”

“Maybe I'm not that much different from John Wesley Hardin, Liam O'Reilly, or Charlie Langdon. Maybe I can pull the trigger and walk away like I just killed a skunk and not think a thing about it. Maybe I meant to kill Pete Feders all along.”

“That's crazy talk.”

“Just a bit of my thinking coming off of the tip of my tongue, Elliot. I can't control what happens. I had a choice not to kill Pete. I could have wounded him and let him stand for his crimes. Now I have to stand for mine, whatever they are, in the eyes of the law.”

“You aim a gun at a man, you best use it to kill. That's the first rule every shooter learns.”

“True enough. Now, you go on, get back to the boardinghouse. No matter what you did or said, I know it was your own version of the truth. We're right as rain. No need to worry none about me holding a grudge however things turn out, you hear?”

Scrap nodded, then turned and started to walk away, but stopped before he got a few steps. “I'm damn sorry, Wolfe, I sure am,” he said, then broke into a slow trot and disappeared quickly down the dark street.

Ofelia sat in a rocking chair just inside the door. She wore a long brown skirt and a plain white blouse that bore a few stains on it, obviously from the day's work. Her skin was dark brown, and her face was starting to bear happy wrinkles. She was squat, nearly as wide as she was tall, with a few gray streaks beginning to show prominently in her thick black hair that was bound in a woven braid so it looked like a small wheel on the back of her head.

“I am glad to see you, señor. Señor Scrap was pacing back and forth on the porch for hours. I invited him in, but he would not hear of it,” Ofelia said, standing up. Lyle was nowhere to be seen, obviously in bed just like Josiah had assumed.

“Did you offer him any food? That usually works to get him from one place to another.”

Josiah stood in the center of the small living area, with the kitchen just adjacent. A pot of
menudo
sat atop the cooling stove. The smell of the spicy stew filled the house, but Josiah barely noticed it since his nose was accustomed to Ofelia's cooking.

“Señor Scrap said he didn't want to eat no damn Mexican food.”

“I'm sorry, Ofelia, that's just how Scrap is.”

“I know, señor. I just smiled at him and said, ‘
Usted no podia saber comida buena si dio una palmada en la cara
.'”

Josiah shrugged.

“I told him he wouldn't know good food if it slapped him in the face, but I didn't explain it to him. He just twisted up his lip and stalked off like a mad donkey and started pacing on the porch.”

Josiah laughed out loud, surprising himself. Ofelia laughed, too, watching Josiah's every move. There was no question that she was concerned about him but was obviously glad to see he could still laugh.

After the brief laugh, Josiah walked over to the stove, opened the pot, and took a big whiff of the stew. “I've really made a mess of things, Ofelia,” he said.

Now it was Ofelia's turn to shrug. “You'll work this out, señor. You always do.”

“I'm not so sure this time.”

Josiah's stomach roared to life, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since early in the day. He grabbed his bowl that sat on the counter next to the stove, ladled out a generous helping of the
menudo,
and sat down to eat.

“Lyle is okay?” Josiah asked in between bites.

Ofelia was busying herself stowing away the day's dishes in a small cupboard that sat next to the stool she usually occupied when she watched after Lyle. Most days it was as if Ofelia lived in the small house, too, but she didn't sleep there, choosing instead to sleep at a small place of her own in Little Mexico, not too far away. She appeared before the sun came up and did not leave until Josiah came home and was in for the night. When Josiah was on the trail with the Rangers, she stayed in the house and often took Lyle to Little Mexico with her, which explained why, at three years old, the boy could speak and understand Mexican far better than Josiah could.