New West (2 page)

His life was fine. He didn’t need change and this letter, it meant change.

He finally let his eyes focus on the major words, the ones scratched deepest into the paper. Jesse would bet Ez had no idea how hard he leaned on the pen on words like help and family and dead.

God, everyone but Ezrah’s mother was gone. Dead. Killed by neighboring ranchers.

He was up and packing a bag before his brain caught up with his body. What was he doing? Where was he going? Over to the Goodnight-Loving trail? At least he wasn’t having to make the trek across the Isleta tribelands, the ABQ ruins. Death lived there, with fires burning, the nomadic tribes fighting each other for food, for water. Still, he had to cross the Sandias and then head toward the Mexicalis and the badlands.

Jesse took his permanent dataport jack, hardwired into the mass of cables exposed at the lowest levels of the house, and held it in his hand. There were places, all around the country, where a man could jack in, get underground and tap in, but a precious few were permanent and protected. He’d traded years’ worth of food, information, and a couple of strips of skin for this set up, here at his home, and now he was grateful for it. He needed information, needed directions. Transport.

He slid the port jack into the slot under his ear, the click familiar and comforting, the bag of clothes falling from his other hand as the world went to full speed. Yes. His vision went inward, his addiction just as real as if he injected it into his veins.

Information flooded him, just as wild as the monsoon rains down a wash, picking him up and carrying him into a mad swirl of information, other minds clashing with information that was centuries old and being constantly dredged up from the bottom.

Hello! I’m here!

His mind chased one thread after another, Ez’s letter fading into a soft nagging whisper, right at the base of his brain. He had to get transport. Had to.

An offer for sex slid by, then an image of a new weapon, one easy to build, was followed by a job. Did he want to transfer information for access to a protected line? Interesting. Wait. Focus.

Soon.

If he followed the ridge of mountains down as if it were a dragon’s spine, he could meet up with the damned cattle drive… Somewhere.

Ez, why aren’t you here? He knew the answer to that question, but a million threads caught the thought and tried to answer him.

Here. Here. Here. Maps of the New West appeared, the badlands. Yeah, he’d head south, following the line just east of the fault. He’d meet Ez where the border used to be, maybe a bit north in the llano estacado.

There was a man with a wagon, willing to take passengers, no questions. Perfect.

Perfect.

That was a hell of a lot better than walking, and he hadn’t had his own mount in two years. Ez would have a remuda. Goodie. Saddle sores, ho. Jesse had never been a good rider, even as a ranch kid.

Another string caught his attention, and he was following it, chasing a bright light. He could just stay here, forever. He so could. There was a whisper about Denver, about how falling rock was smashing down from up in the passes. He could listen, and it would keep him safe, informed.

Except that Ez needed him. Genuinely needed him.

Why else would the man have written? Ezrah was proud, and surely had other people who were better suited to cattle drives. That meant Ez needed his particular set of skills.

“I’m coming, Ez. I am.” The words fell from his lips into the silence of his home, sounding huge and loud to his ears. He hardly ever spoke aloud anymore, and he was rusty.

He almost broke into hysterical laughter. He had no idea what he would do to help, but he would.

Hell, maybe he could be a target. He was bright, shiny, with his red hair and decorated skin. He could draw fire.

Oh, drawing fire.

He wiggled his fingers, watching the lights on the ends of his fingers. This was damned fun. If he added his bead clacking, it was as if a dance. God, why wasn’t the real world this amazing?

He guessed he’d have to find the wonder in it, though, because he was about to be out among the real. A lot.

Goddamn Ez and that letter anyway.

Chapter Three

Ezrah held it together the best he could.

The drovers, though, they were starting to rumble. Cookie was down to beans and old biscuits, and the water was getting scarce. They needed a settlement, or the river, soon. Something. Anything to raise morale.

He didn’t have an ounce of raising left to him. Half of him was buried behind them, and he felt lost in the winds. He looked for Emmett at night when he fell into his bedroll, looked again when he woke in the morning. His whole life had been Emmett and the ranch, and he’d never been so alone. Ever.

“Boss, boss, there’s a wagon train up ahead.”

“What?” He blinked at Dooley, worried he was hearing things.

“There’s a wagon train, with a wagon headed our way,” Dooley repeated.

“No shit?” Maybe they could trade a cow for some sugar and coffee, some bacon.

Dooley nodded, and he headed up to the rise to see what he could see. Sure enough there was a trail of them, picking their way through the dust and dirt and broken pieces of old road. One wagon had broken off from the pack and was bumping right toward them, ripped up cover like a bunch of ragged flags.

There was a man climbing out the side of the wagon, scrambling to the top of the rise. “Ez! Ez, it’s me!”

Ezrah blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. There was no way that dreadlocked, raggedy sprite was Jesse. Right?

“Jess?”

“Yep. You wrote, I came!”

There were tattoos on all the skin Ezrah could see, and blue eyes blazing at him as Jesse climbed toward him. The man looked as if he were…John the Baptist or something. Like a crazy desert hermit. Nothing like the skinny, pale, freckled kid who’d left all those years ago, headed out to the desert.

Dooley stared, eyes wide. “Boss. Boss, that’s one of them Grounders. They ain’t good.”

He snapped at Dooley. “I’ve known him since we were in diapers. I need his help. You just hush.” Ezrah stepped down out of the saddle, waiting for Jesse to reach him.

“Look at you! All grown up.” Jesse came to him, wrapped him in a hard hug. The soft, murmured, “Sucks about Em. Sorry.” damn near did him in, making his knees wobble.

“Thanks.” He hugged Jess right back, the skinny little bastard feeling and smelling familiar, even if he looked completely different, like a damned tribesman, all wearing his hair in braids and dressed in skins and patchwork broadcloth. It felt good to touch someone. God, he missed Emmett.

“So, I brought things, but not a horse, because you know, I don’t have one.”

“We have plenty. Or you can ride in the wagon with Cookie.” Ezrah chuckled. “I know you don’t love to ride, but it’s better than eating dust all day with the chuck wagon.”

“Or smelling beans for hours. I know how not fun that is.”

“Exactly. Looks as though you remember something from your cattle days.” He clapped Jess on the back, the beads on the ends of the man’s braids clacking together. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“Wish it could be for something better. How can I help?”

“Well, for right now, we need to keep the herd moving.” He glanced back at the two drovers who looked on with less-than friendly interest. “Dooley, go see if you can work a trade for some provisions, huh?”

“You got it, boss.” The man gave Jesse a long look before turning away.

“I have the urge to wiggle my fingers and go ‘boogala boogala’.”

“You’d probably scare him to death.” Dooley was fairly-new to anything outside the ranch.

“It’s too bad you need the help.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming. I’ll talk on why after we settle tonight.”

“You know it.” Jesse’s eyes moved over everything, touched on every bit of brush and rock, one after another, as if the man were hungry to see. Didn’t make a lick of sense. This ground looked the same for weeks and wouldn’t change much for days on days, leastways until they gained some altitude.

Still, if Jess was up there in the high desert, living wild and lawless, maybe the prairie grasses looked fine.

He shook himself when blue eyes landed on him, Jesse’s bright red eyebrow arching. “Cool. Let’s get you a mount ready.”

“Sure. Sure, Ez. Whatever you need. I’m yours.”

“That’s a dangerous promise.” There’d always been something he’d wanted from Jess, but he had never been able to say it or act on it. A promise such as that could give a lonely man ideas.

Jess fascinated him, drew him, made him want things he shouldn’t oughta wish on. Hell, if nothing else, those things would be right dangerous on a trail drive. Ezrah made himself turn away, made himself get moving.

He could feel Jesse’s eyes on him, following him, trailing along behind him.

It was as comforting as it was itchy.

Jess had come. Out of his little hidey-hole and into the sun. For him. That was damned crazy. Ezrah was grateful, even though he hated being beholden. Still, it was the only way to get an advantage over the bastard who was trying to kill him. A secret weapon.

He didn’t know what Jess would need, or how it worked, but he knew it worked. That Flow thing. Jess had found him, hadn’t he?

They walked to the remuda, Ezrah leading his mare to the herd. It was time to change her out anyway. “Pick your horse, man.”

“Is there one that isn’t murder on the ball sac?”

He barked a laugh, which made a couple of the boys turn and stare. He hadn’t had much to laugh on lately. “Queenie. The big gray mare? She’s slower, but it’s as if sitting in a rocking chair.”

“That works. I’m not the best rider on earth, you know.”

He knew.

God, he knew. No matter how much Jesse had practiced as a kid, riding was a physical skill he just hadn’t picked up. “She’ll do right by you.” They had a few easy mounts in the remuda in case a man got injured.

“Not everybody is a cowboy. Some of us are…special.”

“You’re special, all right.” His grandpa would have called it touched in the head. Jess had always been different from anyone Ezrah knew.

Jesse’s laugh rang out, weird and birdike.

“Just let me get her saddled up.” They’d get a move on, and he’d fill Jesse in after supper.

“Sure.” Jess went up to Queenie, started talking to her, and that eased him, that Jess hadn’t decided to be scared of horses. The man might not ride well, but he’d always loved animals.

The man’s momma had been crazy over them—raising rabbits and dogs, caring for every injured critter on earth. He guessed Jess came by it natural.

Queenie nickered and pranced, showing off. He made sure to love on her, too, when he got her saddled up. She’d be tired by the end of the day.

“You’re all set.” He patted Queenie’s neck.

“Thanks, Ez.” Jesse launched himself up into the saddle, awkward as all get out.

Ezrah hid a grin, unsaddling his mare to get a new mount.

The drovers were going to have a field day with this nonsense. It was worth it, though, just to have a friend here, someone who cared enough to drop everything.

Now he just had to keep Jesse, and himself, alive long enough to utilize his newfound assistance.

Good thing he liked a challenge.

“So, how was the trail down?” They had to go back up roughly the same way Jess had come, so intel would be good.

“Bumpy. Cold, up high. Not much access for me at the top.”

“No, I guess not.” He’d never understood how Grounders tapped in, not really.

He was pretty sure he didn’t trust it, long-term, but he needed to use it now. He had to get these cattle to Denver, sell them, and then get the money home to Momma. Then he could let Jess go back to his weird life, he reckoned.

“And then the chicken said, ‘bawk-bawk, motherfucker’.”

“Huh?” He stared at Jesse, wondering what he’d missed.

“Pay attention, Ez. We’re having a moment.”

“Are we?” That stupid grin was back on his face. Jesse had always made him smile. Except when the man had left. Then he’d wondered what the hell he’d done wrong for a year. “Oh, good to know.”

“I figured you might have missed it.” Jess winked at him, playful.

“I do that sometimes.” He let himself stare just a moment, noticing how Jesse’s eyes were still just as blue, even if everything else had changed. They were the only part of his friend he knew now.

“You always have. That’s why you have me.”

“Right. Me brawn. You brains.” His face tried to crumple, his chest trying to cave in, too. Emmett had always said he was the translator, the one who connected with both brains and brawn. And he was gone. Just gone.

“Stop it.” Jess held his gaze. “Not here. Here you’re the boss. These boys will eat you alive. You want to mourn him, you wait ‘til it’s night.”

Ez shook himself, the ferocity of the words reminding him that a rogue posse had taken Jesse’s sisters, his mother, and done unspeakable things to them before gutting them for the coyotes. Jess knew about mourning, just as well as Ez, and Jesse didn’t have any reason to trust drovers or law, either. Looked as if the man had found himself a place with the tribes, at least.

He nodded, his head on fire, his eyes burning. “Cowboy up, then. We’re wasting daylight.”

A weird, huge floppy leather hat crashed down over Jesse’s face, casting a vast shadow. The brim was decorated up with beads smaller than a bug’s eye, the design fascinating Ez. “I’m ready.”

Ezrah stared, feeling as if he’d be doing that a lot. “Yeehaw.”

“You know it.”

They started moving, heading toward the sun at a slow pace. The rocking of the saddle and the constant low of cattle was familiar, comforting.

Dooley came riding up, grinning ear to ear. “I did good on the trading, boss. Sugar, bacon, flour, and some ammo.”

“Good man.” He clapped Dooley on the shoulder as the man moved close. “Did you let Cookie know?”

“Yessir. They’re heading east, the wagons are. Going to try and cross the New Divide.”