McKenzie (19 page)

Zach assisted McKenzie from the wagon at their first stop—the mercantile. An unfriendly-looking man stood behind the counter. “I’m Zach, and this is my wife, McKenzie,” Zach began. “We’re looking for a woman by the name of Kaydie Kraemer. We’ve heard that she’s living in this area with her husband, Darius Kraemer.”

“Don’t know nobody by that name,” the man said. His shifty demeanor made McKenzie suspect that he did know something but was hesitant to tell them anything.

“Are you sure?” Zach asked. He must have sensed the same thing.

“Like I said, I don’t know nobody by that name. You callin’ me a liar?”

“No, sir, I’m not. Thank you for your time.” Zach led McKenzie out the door and into the street.

“Shall we try the blacksmith?” Zach asked.

McKenzie nodded. It was difficult not to be in tears about the lack of information they’d received so far.

“Remember, that was only one person. We’ll find out where she is; don’t worry.” Zach gave her hand a squeeze, and they walked toward the blacksmith’s shop.

“We’re looking for a Darius Kraemer,” Zach said when they entered the run-down building and saw the blacksmith at work.

“Ain’t everybody?” the man asked. “What is you, the law?” He continued with his work without even glancing up to see who might be inquiring about Darius.

“No,” answered Zach, “we aren’t the law. But, tell us, have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t.” With that, the blacksmith turned his back to Zach and McKenzie and walked through a door and into the attached building, as if to dismiss them from his presence.

***

Not a person could be found in the livery, leaving only one more choice. “Let’s try the saloon,” Zach said. He didn’t want to say anything to McKenzie, but his hopes for finding Kaydie were diminishing by the second. “I’ll take this one alone, McKenzie. It’s not the kind of place for a woman.”

“I want to come with you, Zach. Please.”

Zach stopped and turned to McKenzie. “It’s a rough place, McKenzie. This whole town is rough. I used to work on a ranch a mile from town. It became so bad that the owner of the ranch packed up and left. The saloon, especially, is no place you’ll want to see.”

“I know that, Zach, and I know you’re trying to protect me, but please. She’s my sister.”

Zach sighed. “All right, McKenzie, but stay right by me.”

“I will,” McKenzie promised.

Even before they reached the saloon, the noise of rowdy drunkards could be heard from the street. Zach pushed through the swinging double doors and into the gloomy tavern, McKenzie at his side. The smell of cigar smoke and spittoons filled his nostrils, and he thought for a moment he would lose the breakfast he’d eaten only an hour earlier.

“We’re looking for a Darius Kraemer,” Zach said to the bartender.

“What do you want with Darius?” the bartender asked. He was a short, balding man with a black mustache that curled on the ends and rose up and down when he spoke.

“My wife is the sister of Darius’s wife, Kaydie. We’re been looking for her.”

The bartender sneered. “Ain’t no one saw much of her. Don’t know Darius’ whereabouts. You might ask Bulldog over there if he knows anything.” The bartender pointed to a large man in the corner.

“Much obliged,” Zach said.

McKenzie covered her mouth. “Zach,” she whispered, “did that man just say something about a man named Bulldog?”

Zach nodded. “I think it’s that man over there,” he said quietly, not wanting to draw more attention to McKenzie and himself.

“Zach, I need to talk to you for a minute,” said McKenzie.

“Right now?”

“Yes. It’s about Bulldog. Something I remember Kaydie telling me in her letters.” She glanced over at the corner and shivered, then looked back at Zach.

Zach led McKenzie to the opposite corner in the saloon. “What is it?” he asked, making sure he stayed aware of their surroundings, in case anyone posed a threat.

“Kaydie said that Bulldog was this scary friend of Darius’s, and that he would watch her every move. Surely, he must know where Kaydie is!”

Zach held his finger up to his mouth to quiet McKenzie. “Shh. He should know where she is, but whether he will tell us is another thing.” He shook his head. “This Bulldog sounds like a dangerous man. Would you reconsider waiting outside, McKenzie?”

“I’m sorry, Zach, but I need to stay here with you. Please?”

Against his better judgment, Zach again agreed. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go talk to Bulldog.”

As Zach and McKenzie were making their way to the other side of the saloon, Zach nearly ran into another man, who stumbled into his path. “Excuse me,” Zach muttered, attempting to veer around the man, who was almost two heads taller than he. But his efforts were in vain.

“You tryin’ to start somethin’?” the man snarled. He reached his hand forward and grasped the front of Zach’s shirt, pulling Zach toward him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run into you,” Zach said.

“I don’t buy that for a minute. You’re tryin’ to start a fight, is what you’s doin’!”

“I’m not trying to start anything. I need to speak with Bulldog, and I was just trying to get around you.” Zach’s pulse quickened. He knew he was tough—tough from years of hard ranch work, and equally tough from natural strength. His own father, although wiry and thinner than Zach, had been naturally strong, as well, and easily had been able to take on men twice his size. Still, Zach had no desire to fight this man—or anyone else, for that matter. It wasn’t in his character.

The man pulled a gun from his holster. “I should just shoot ya!”

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Zach said, his heart racing at the thought that he could be putting McKenzie in danger. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

“You may not be lookin’ for trouble, but you found it, and I ain’t excusin’ nobody!” The man took the butt of his gun and attempted to whack Zach in the side of the head. But, because of his drunken state, he was slow, and Zach was able to block the attack easily.

“Yah, Sly don’t excuse nobody!” someone in the saloon shouted. Zach took his focus off of Sly and turned to see who had made the remark.

“Zach, look out!” McKenzie shouted. But it was too late. Sly punched Zach in the nose.

Zach teetered, but he slowly regained his footing. “I’m not looking for a fight,” he said again, holding his nose to stop the bleeding.

“You ain’t, but I am. I could kill you right now and make your woman my woman,” Sly said, eyeing McKenzie. “I could use me a wife, you know.”

“Zach, let’s go,” McKenzie whispered, shivering visibly.

“Zach, let’s go,” one of the men in the saloon mimicked in a high-pitched, mocking fashion.

“Mebbe you need another punch, just for good measure.” Sly hit Zach again in the ribs. “I really need a wife, and your little lady is right pretty.” He leaned toward McKenzie and stroked her cheek with a filthy thumb. McKenzie flinched and tried to move away from his unwelcome touch.

Zach didn’t mind what happened to him, but Sly had no business touching his wife and making insinuations. He could see McKenzie’s fear, and he was enraged by the man’s uncouth, lewd behavior. He regained his composure and, with all the strength he could muster, punched Sly square in the jaw. To mess with him was one thing, but to mess with McKenzie was quite another. He would always fight for her honor, no matter what the cost.

***

McKenzie gasped. She’d never been in a saloon before. She’d never seen a real fight before. She’d never been a spectator to violence. She felt helpless as Zach and Sly wrestled on the floor and traded jabs. Lord, she prayed for the first time, please, keep Zach safe. Please, don’t let him get hurt. Please, help him! Zach was at an advantage because he was sober, even though Sly had the advantage of size. She continued to watch as Zach gained the upper hand over and over again.

From nowhere, a large man stepped toward Zach and Sly. He broke up the fight and shoved each man into a separate corner of the room. “It’s too early for fightin’!” he shouted. He walked toward Zach and shoved him out the door. McKenzie hurried to follow. She watched as blood dripped from Zach’s nose, and she panicked.

“What’s your business with Darius Kraemer?” the man asked once they were outside the saloon.

“Kaydie, Darius’s wife, is my wife’s sister, and we really need to find her,” Zach answered, wincing and holding his nose.

As difficult as it was to do, McKenzie held her tongue and avoided adding her input. Although she felt anything but calm inside, she knew that the investigation would take a certain degree of professionalism—even among the unprofessional.

“I know a Darius Kraemer. Can’t say as I know his wife’s name—might be Kaydie, might not be. Don’t know.” The man shifted his weight. “Name’s Bulldog.” He extended an enormous hand toward Zach.

“Zach Sawyer,” Zach said, shaking his hand.

“Why do you want to know about Darius?” Bulldog asked. His face was covered with scars, adding to his unattractiveness, and his height was close to seven feet, McKenzie estimated. His girth was large, as well, made of muscle rather than fat. His long, stringy, dark hair hung in clumps around his ears, and his chin housed what looked like two days’ worth of stubble. One of Bulldog’s hazel eyes faced permanently to the left, while the other darted about, as if to compensate for his stationary eye.

McKenzie’s heart raced with a surge of hope, and she grabbed Zach’s arm. “Can you tell us where he is?” Zach asked.

“Not now, I can’t. If you would have come by last week or earlier, I could have—for a price. You see, it was my job to keep an eye on that wisp of a wife he had.” Bulldog laughed, his voice low and mean, as his shifty eye darted from Zach to McKenzie. “As a matter of fact, if you got some money on ya now, I might have some information. Then again, I might not.”

Zach reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, then handed them to Bulldog. “Please, tell us what you know,” he said.

“Darius owes a lot of people money. He’s heavy into gamblin’ and has lost one too many times. He ain’t a popular man in these parts. What’s more, he’s on the run from the law for some bank robberies he done committed years ago.” Bulldog spit on the ground, causing McKenzie to jump.

“Did he leave town?” Zach asked.

“Yep. Last week. He and that woman of his.”

“Do you know where they went?” Zach asked.

“If I knew where they went, I’d be a rich man, for sure. Everyone wants to know where he is. There’s even a reward for him—he’s wanted dead or alive. He owes pret’ near everyone in town, and he for sure owes the law some prison time. No, I don’t know where he went. He talked of going farther west, is all I know.”

“His wife—what did she look like?” McKenzie asked. Before they went after Darius, she wanted to make sure he hadn’t traded in her sister for another poor, gullible girl.

Bulldog squinted at McKenzie. “Didn’t look none like you. ’Course, Darius never let her buy no new clothes. She was about so tall,” Bulldog said, holding up his hand just below McKenzie’s ear. “She don’t look like she got enough to eat. Just a scrawny little thing.”

McKenzie nodded. “Her hair—what color was it?” She was almost certain that Kaydie was the wife Bulldog had guarded.

“I don’t know. Not as dark as his,” Bulldog said, pointing at Zach.

“The color of honey?” McKenzie asked.

Bulldog scrunched his nose, making him look even more like his namesake, and McKenzie could understand why Kaydie feared him. “I s’pose so,” he said.

“Then it was Kaydie!” McKenzie held her hand over her mouth. “You’re sure you don’t know which way they were headed? It’s so important that I find my sister.”

“Darius said he wanted to go farther west,” Bulldog said, narrowing his eyes. “That’s all I know for sure. Didn’t say how far west, or which part of the West, or nothin’ like that. I think he knew the law was catchin’ up with ’im. There’s been a lot of folks lookin’ for ’im lately. But, like I said, if you’d a’ come by last week, you might’ve caught up with them.”

“We’re much obliged for your help regarding Kaydie and for helping me in the saloon,” Zach said.

“You shouldn’t have been in there,” Bulldog said. “’Specially with her.” He nodded toward McKenzie.

Zach nodded. “I reckon I agree with you on that,” he said. “We’ll be on our way, then.” Zach tipped his hat at Bulldog, and he and McKenzie walked back toward the wagon.

“Are you all right, Zach?” McKenzie asked. He’d really taken a beating, but she couldn’t help feeling proud of his ability to stand up for himself—and for her.

“I will be. It’s nothing time won’t heal. I doubt they even have a doctor here.” Zach’s eyes searched the hopeless town.

McKenzie wished she were more like Rosemary. She would know what to do and not be afraid of the sight of blood and bruises. Still, McKenzie would do whatever she could in tending to his wounds—wounds that had been inflicted upon him because he had helped her. She felt guilty about the sacrifice Zach had made for the sake of finding Kaydie. Never had anyone done something like that for her.

For the first time, McKenzie realized she cared for Zach, not merely because of what she could get from him, but because she was attracted to him—his character, his integrity, his selfless compassion, and his wisdom. And that thought frightened her a hundred times as much as entering a rowdy saloon.

The idea came to her just as she heard the rooster crow one morning. She smiled to herself. Yes, it was time to make some changes to the interior of the house where she would be staying for a while. She leaped from her bed, excited at the prospect of asking if Rosemary would accompany her to town.

McKenzie pulled her dress over her head and sat down at the small desk in her room. Zach had given her a mirror the previous week so that she would have an easier time fixing her hair. Although it wasn’t a big mirror, and it had no frame, it was sufficient. Studying her reflection, McKenzie marveled at the fact that she’d been in Pine Haven for two months already. The time had passed so quickly, and so much had changed. Never would she have imagined that she’d come to enjoy living in the town she had initially detested. McKenzie leaned closer to the mirror. Her eyes seemed brighter and her smile more genuine. As a matter of fact, she realized for the first time that everything about her felt more authentic—her personality, her associations with others, and her concern for them.