Forget Me Not (33 page)

J.D. had seen the dismal breakdown of Eugenia's independence. It wasn't something J.D. wanted to repeat. He didn't care at all about what a woman had of value. Though he was no baron, he was doing all right financially and didn't need a thing from anyone, much less his wife.

“And your folks?” J.D. inquired. “What did your father do?”

Josephine licked her lips. “My mother was the chairwoman of numerous charities. My father was a Wall Street speculator.”

“I read about the market crash some months ago.” The mere got copies of the
Laramie Press
when the train came through, but J.D. couldn't recall the details of the fallen market, as it hadn't directly affected him. “Paper said it put Wall Street under obligations only Fifth Avenue could repay.”

“Yes,” came Josephine's far-off reply, and her profile took on a thoughtful set. She said nothing further, and he had no opportunity to continue the conversation.

They reached the crest of the knoll. In a verdant valley below, spots of brown and white cattle grazed on rich grass. A broad streambed cut through the greenery. Ace, Seth, Dan, and Orley rode through the herd, Toby and the other dogs chasing after strays.

Josephine shaded her gaze against the blaring sun as it popped out from behind a solitary cloud. “It's lovely. I almost wouldn't mind being a cow.”

J.D. laughed. “You want to go down there for a better look?”

“All right.”

Kneeing Tequila, J.D. started down the incline, Josephine keeping to his right. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching her. He had no business staring at her the way he was, but he liked the Josephine he was getting to know. He liked having her around more than he ought to.

“You know—” he began, but the rest of his words vanished in a jolt to his body. In the next second, his reins went slack in his hands, and his feet were out of the stirrups. The air was full of the acrid smell of burning hides.

When he looked up, Josephine was sprawled on the ground with a vacant look on her face. Peaches was still bucking, hooves kicking up tufts of grass.

Knowledge flared through J.D., and he swept his gaze in a quick circle. He caught sight of a pile of dead cattle, a horse minus its rider, and Toby running frantically to and fro in front of a prone object.

J.D. couldn't remember hearing any sound, but he knew what had happened.

“Are you all right?” he quickly asked Josephine.

“Y-yes . . .” Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips quivering. “What happened?”

“Lightning strike.” J.D. sat up in the saddle and swerved left to capture Peaches's reins. Without dismounting, he drew Tequila close. “Whoa . . . whoa . . .” He was able to calm Peaches enough to quit bucking, then he wrapped the reins around his saddle horn. Calling over his shoulder, he hollered, “Crawl over to that short scrub and stay over there. You hear?”

She nodded mutely and started inching her way on her behind.

J.D. hunched over Tequila's neck and took off in a fast lope to get to the man on the ground. Lots of cowpunchers had been killed by lightning. J.D. had been knocked off his horse several times because of it. The first time he'd ever seen a ball of fire coming toward him, it had hit him like a blow on the head. When he'd come to, he was lying under Tequila while the rain poured down on his face.

A soreness instantly spread from the top of J.D.'s head to the bottoms of his feet. He figured the only reason he and Josephine had been spared was that they'd been spread out. The cows were close together, and they'd generated the heat that had attracted the lightning. Dammit all, but the rider had been in the thick of those cattle. It had looked to be Orley.

Lots of times J.D. had ridden around the herd, with lightning playing and thunder muttering in the distance, when the air was so full of electricity that he could see it flashing on the horns of the cattle, and there would be balls of it on the horses' ears, and even on his beard—little orbs about the size of peas.

But J.D. hadn't seen any of that today. The strike had come from a harmless-looking cloud.

The frightened cows bawled and scattered as J.D. reined in and dismounted just as Dan and Seth came barreling over on their horses. J.D. knelt in front of Orley, who was on his side, his hair mopping his temple, his face lopped over and pressing into the moist earth.

Dragging off his rawhide gloves, J.D. placed a hand gently on the cowboy's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Across his face and neck, the skin was burned like toast. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack and opened.

J.D. felt for a pulse but got none. His own heartbeat was roaring through him; his fingers trembled.

Dan crouched down and laid a palm on the cowboy's shoulder. “Orley?”

Seth took Orley's gloved hand into his and gave it
several sharp pats. “Orley, partner, no time for beauty sleep.”

J.D. left his fingers on the column of Orley's neck, hoping to feel the beat of life through the man's veins. But nothing.

“Orley, come on now,” Dan yelled to his swing partner. “You get the hell up.”

Ace Flynn was the last to ride up, fling himself from the saddle, and hunker down to assess the cowboy. “Orley, boy, it's Ace. Pick 'em on up. Time's a-wastin'. Cattle to move.”

But all their talk was to no avail. Orley Woodard lay as still as the Stetson by his side.

•  •  •

The mood at the line camp was somber. Orley had been laid to rest in the back of the chuck wagon. J.D. had said tomorrow they would take his body to the nearest train stop and arrange to send him home to Sienna where his family would be notified.

Josephine had been too stunned to weep, but inside she was falling apart. Just last night, she'd tossed the good-natured cowboy an extra biscuit. And now . . .

Sniffing quietly, Josephine opened the fiddler's case and took the instrument out.

Everyone had gathered outside by a large bonfire. Dusk had come, and the night sky was lit up by the flames that rose toward its blanket of stars. The cowboys stood in a circle around the fire, their hats held in their hands. Even Boots had been solemn when J.D. had told him the news.

After J.D. had left her to ride toward the cattle, Josephine waited for him, her body aching so badly she thought she would never walk again. Every nerve ending seared with pain as she'd struggled to get to the place where J.D. had told her to go. She'd scooted and half crawled, in shock over what had happened yet still not understanding what had hit her. One minute she'd been on Peaches, the next instant she'd been on the ground.

With shaky hands, Josephine held the fiddle. Firelight played off the gloss of the wood as she ran her fingertips across the strings. Everyone was waiting for her to play a farewell song to their fallen partner. Josephine didn't think she could do it. Her emotions were unsteady, her legs just as weak. She stood in front of the wagon, it now serving as a makeshift tomb for one of their departed.

Surprisingly, it was Boots who began the Lord's Prayer. The others followed—all except J.D., who stood with his feet spread apart and his hat dangling in his fingers from arms that were behind his back. When the prayer was finished, a round of “Amens” came from the group, then eyes fell to her.

Josephine swallowed the thickness from her throat. Slowly, she raised the violin to her chin. Closing her eyes, she envisioned Orley's weather-beaten face. His smile. His humor. His expressions. She put them to memory, then began a tune that she had learned long ago. She knew no name for the piece. It was something she had picked up somewhere along her life, but the melody had haunted her then. And it haunted her now. The notes were not overly sad, but they were touching and gentle. They carried a lullaby sound, of high and low octaves. A special beauty that she had found in no other song.

When she was finished with the piece, she lowered the fiddle to gaze at the boys. Several wiped their eyes of unabashed tears with bandanas that got wadded back into pockets. A few loud sniffs filled the night. Boots even blew his nose. Everyone seemed to have a place to put Orley's memory.

Everyone except J.D. He was lost, and she knew why. Having no faith was like living without hope. He stood alone, his height tall and proud. Not a single sound came from him; not a single emotion showed in the glow of the fire.

Josephine put the fiddle away, then closed the lid. She looked up once more, caught J.D. watching her,
then she fled. She had to get away. She knew she was going to cry, and she didn't want anyone to see her.

Running blindly behind one of the shacks, Josephine pressed her back to the rough wood and buried her face in her hands. Oh, why did everything out here have to be so harsh and violent? Why did Orley have to die?

Firm hands touched her shoulders, and Josephine's eyes flew up from her palms to see J.D. gazing at her.

She could have easily fallen into his embrace, but she held back. “You don't even care that he's dead. I know you don't believe in God anymore, but—”

“At night, when I ride alone on Tequila with just the cattle for company, I look at the high and bright stars. And I get to thinking about heaven . . . about my brothers being up there—if there is a
there.
I don't doubt such a place exists, but I'll never see it. William and Lewis are going to have to do without me and Boots in the hereafter.” J.D.'s voice was laden with a broken whisper. “I do care, Jo. I care more than you know. But death is a way of life out here, and people part ways. You have to accept it, or you can't move on.”

“I don't want to accept Orley is dead,” Josephine lashed out. “It's not fair.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She could taste them on her lips. She took in a gulp of air, and J.D. pulled her closer to his chest. She leaned into him, unable to help herself. Being held by J.D. and kissed by him was something she couldn't deny. He was different, and she knew that by his touch and the way he looked at her. She didn't need anything more to prove it to her at the moment.

It felt good to be in his arms, and she wanted to stay there until the ache in her heart went away.

18

H
enry Tascosa owned the Wampum Saloon in Bircher. There wasn't much to the town—if a person could call it that. Just the saloon, a livery, an abandoned U.P.R.R. boxcar that served as a post office and trading post, and a set of railroad tracks that ran down the middle of the only street. There was no depot house, only a solitary bench that looked over the double row of rail irons. If rain fell, a person got wet waiting; if the sun beat down, a person was cooked well done by the time the train showed up.

The Wampum had started out as the trading post but grew into a hangout for the ne'er-do-wells—mainly the buffalo runners who still roamed these parts. Having reached its maturity, the town now had a colorful past to boast. Bircher's youth had been gaudy, with liquor, gunfights, and the fast-growing cemetery that had begun with the deaths of the railroad track layers, the troops that had pushed through, and the first hide men.

None of the original so-called founders came back this way. Mostly, Bircher was born out of the hide men's need and had matured into the sordid place it was today because of their fondness for liquor and
squandering money. The inhabitants were a wild, reckless bunch.

If J.D. could have sent Josephine someplace else, he would have. But there was nothing settled up for miles, and the Wampum was familiar to him. He knew how it operated and what to expect from Henry.

J.D. and the boys headed for the Wampum after putting up their horses and the mules in the stable. Rio had turned the remuda out in a ramshackle corral adjacent to the trading post. The chuck had been rolled into the livery's faded, whitewashed building until the morning train rolled through to take Orley to Sienna. Boots had volunteered to ride back with the young man's body.

Grief had kept the group solemn this morning as they'd broken camp. After breakfast, Jo had asked if she could use the old hip bath in the shack, and J.D. had had Rio fill it up. J.D. had gone down to the river and washed the trail dust off him; a few of the boys hoping to impress any women that might be in Bircher had done likewise.