“So Darcy killed him?”
“His men did, but under his orders. He’s too yellow to do his own killing.”
“I’m disliking this Darcy more and more. In the letter Joth wrote to Wildhorse, he said the sheriff wouldn’t help.”
“Nope. He and my pa had been friends for years, but once Darcy placed him on his payroll, their relationship changed. After the killing, Sheriff Hatcher said my pa’s death was an accident, probably caused by a stray bullet from our own guns.”
“What did he mean?”
“There was a terrible storm that night and it caused a stampede. We were all shooting and riding trying to make the herd turn. To this day, I believe Darcy’s men started that stampede. My father saw one of Darcy’s men that night aiming a rifle his way right before he was shot in the back. He was picked off like a crow on a fence.”
Jessi set aside the still painful memory, then took a good long look at her immediate future. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she could carry on this war indefinitely; Darcy had money, men, and time on his side. He’d often boasted that all he had to do was wait her out, and unfortunately it was the truth. She had very little money, and even less food, and she faced desperate times ahead. Were she alone in this, she’d defy him until hell froze over, but she had Joth’s future to consider. Blake’s remark about the effects of this fight on Joth still resonated. Joth didn’t deserve to live his life under siege any more than he deserved to have to fend for himself were something to happen to her. She was his only family, and she needed to start acting that way. “You ever worked cattle, Mr. Blake?”
“Nope.”
Jessi wanted to throw up her hands. “Do you think you can learn?”
“That an invitation to stay?”
His topaz-colored eyes were glowing.
Jessi’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve already said I don’t have a choice. I’m just trying to determine whether you’ll be totally useless around here, or just partially.”
Griff winced. “Not too many men come courting around here, do they?”
“Meaning?” she answered coolly.
“When was the last time you smiled? You’re as ornery as a she-cat with a thorn in her paw.”
“I am a she-cat with a thorn in her paw, Mr. Blake. It’s called Darcy. And now I have another thorn—you.”
Griff grinned. “Oh, we’re going to have fun, you and I.”
“No, we’re not,” she contradicted him. “If you’re planning on staying around here, there won’t be time for fun. There’s too much work to do.”
Griff decided he liked bantering with her. He enjoyed the way her dark eyes flashed. “Does Darcy have to deliver your land by a certain date?”
“Yes, first of September is what I’m hearing.”
“So you’re expecting him to step up his campaign against you.”
She nodded.
Griff sensed she was on the verge of accepting the judge’s plan, but it was hard to tell. Women were as much a part of Griff’s life as robbing trains, and he prided himself on his knowledge of both; however, this one didn’t seem to fit any of the patterns. She was beautiful enough to be mistress of a Mexican emperor, yet she didn’t seem to be the least bit aware of her beauty. He could see how rough and chapped her hands were as she cradled her cup. Granted, she was fighting for her life here and had precious little time for tea parties and the like, but what was she like behind closed doors?
Jessi had come to a decision. “Okay, Blake, although I don’t see how much help you can be if you’re not real partial to guns and have never worked cows, I’m going to reserve judgment and let you stay. When it’s over, I want you gone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, flashing that smile.
Jessi thought he looked mighty comfortable sitting at her kitchen table with his arms folded across his chest so confidently. His topaz eyes seemed to be glittering with amusement, or was it challenge?
“You’re one stubborn woman, Miss Clayton.”
“Thank you.”
A smile played across his lips. “Ever met a man that could handle that stubbornness?”
She studied him closely for a moment, and felt the aura of him touch her in spite of herself, then said, “No.”
“Well, I’m one of the stubbornest men I know.”
“I’m sure that’s something you’re very proud of, Mr. Blake.”
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, Miss Clayton.”
“How old are you?” she asked. He looked to be fairly young. Too young.
“Be twenty-six in October, and you?”
“Thirty-two this past February.”
She’d given him a straight answer, something he rarely received in reply to what some women considered to be a highly personal question. He didn’t know why he was surprised, though; he already knew she didn’t fit the mold.
Jessi had no decent place for him to bunk except in the house with her and Joth, so she showed him to her pa’s room. She usually avoided the room. Even though Dexter Clayton had been dead over a year now, the space still held his spirit. Every time she entered, the grief would rise again, as would the memories of their bittersweet relationship.
They’d not gotten along well, she and her father. Standing between them had been her mother’s adultery and subsequent tragic death, and the role Dexter Clayton had played in Jessi’s own liaison with Calico Bob. “This was once my pa’s room, but you’re welcome to it, unless you prefer the porch.”
Griff looked around the book-lined room. It was the first room he’d had to himself in quite some time. “No, this is fine—as long as you don’t feel I’m crowding you.”
“As long as you don’t believe I’m going to be part of your pay, we’ll do fine.”
Griff smiled inwardly. Tough as rawhide, and sharp as a bed of nails.
She looked up at him and asked quite plainly, “Do you get my meaning?”
He nodded. “I do,” adding, “I know I’m a stranger, and you’re a woman alone, but you have my word: I’m no danger to you or the boy.”
“The word of a train robber?”
“The word of an honorable train robber.”
Jessi looked skeptical. “Stash your gear and I’ll give you a tour of the place. Joth won’t be home for another two hours or so.”
Griff noted that she sat her horse like a man and rode with an easiness that denoted much experience. She conversed only sparingly as she showed him as much of the place as the time allowed. He saw broken down fences, burned range shacks, and some of the prettiest land he’d ever laid eyes on. There was fat pasture grass for her milling herd of lowing cattle, and a wide ribbon of crystal blue water that tasted cold and pure. He could see why Darcy and the railroads wanted this land, and why she was fighting to keep it.
She explained, “My sister Mildred and I grew up here. For a long time we thought Papa owned the whole world.”
Griff wondered what she must have been like as a child. “Where’s Mildred now?”
“Dead. Childbirth.”
“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.
“Thanks,” she replied. “Joth and I are the only Claytons left.”
“Marshal Wildhorse said you were a widow.”
“I am. My husband’s buried back east.”
Griff sensed he’d pried into her personal life enough for now. “How’d those range shacks get burned?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Darcy’s men,” she replied bitterly. “They burned all six in the last month. Since there was nothing I could do to stop it, I just let them have their fun.”
“How many head do you have?”
“There were thousands five years ago, but at last count only a hundred or so are left. Darcy’s men began butchering them the day after my father was gunned down.”
She reined her horse around. “We need to head back. I don’t like Joth coming home to any empty house.”
They arrived about t
hirty minutes before Joth did. The boy, now sporting a healthy black and blue shiner behind his spectacles, broke into a grin upon seeing Griff standing on the porch beside his Aunt Jessi. “You’re staying?”
“For a short while.”
“Hot dog!”
Jessi steered the conversation back to more mundane matters. “Where’d you get the black eye?”
“Russ McCoy called you a whore so I whupped him. Mr. Trent says I’m expelled for three days. Here’s the note.”
“Jotham!” she exclaimed, taking the note from his light brown hand. “How many times must I tell you to ignore people like Russ McCoy?”
“Aunt Jessi, he called you a whore and my mother a whore too. I had to whup him.”
Jessi sighed tiredly. Joth had taken to defending her honor more and more lately. The proud Clayton blood flowed in his veins almost as fiercely as it did in her own. “Did Mr. Trent send work for you to do while you’re expelled?”
“Yes.”
“Then leave it on the mantel. Get started on your chores. No riding tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He went on into the house.
Griff wanted to suggest she go easy on the boy. After all, he’d just been defending his womenfolk, but Griff kept the observation to himself; he doubted she wanted to hear his opinion. He hadn’t been sent here to offer her advice on raising her nephew.
“I’m going to go into town—take a look around and see about some supplies,” he said instead.
She looked up from reading the teacher’s reprimand. “Do you know the way?”
“Yep, rode through last night on my way here. I’ll be back before dark.”
Jessi almost told him about Darcy’s decree forbidding any of Vale’s merchants to sell to the Claytons, but decided to let him find out for himself. Instead she watched silently as he mounted up and rode off toward town.
After his departure, Jessi gutted the fish she’d caught for dinner and spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Joth, but her mind kept straying to the man Joth called “Oklahoma Red.” From the Wanted posters Joth had brought for her to see, Jessi learned that the outlaw deputy marshal had been wanted all over the West for myriad misdeeds, but train robbing seemed to be his specialty. The cash bounty the railroads had placed on his head would’ve fed the Clayton household for years. Add to that the rewards offered by numerous banks, the army, and the post offices, and you had the makings of a small fortune.
One poster told of him escaping from a jail in Colorado with the help of two women. Jessi didn’t doubt it. His handsomeness had probably drawn many a woman to commit a variety of crimes. Jessi didn’t believe she’d have to worry about him turning his charm her way, though. He looked to be a man who preferred his women young and attractive. Since she was neither, that suited her just fine.
She wondered what would happen when the road got rockier? Would Blake stay, or turn tail? According to rumors, Darcy had until September to close the deal. If he couldn’t deliver all the properties by then, the syndicate bosses were promising to move on. Four months…if she and Joth could hold out until then, life might return to something akin to normal. She still didn’t think Blake would be much help, but if he did stay, maybe his past reputation alone would be enough to make Darcy think twice about increasing his efforts to force her out.
On Griff’s initial ride through the town last night, it had been very late and he hadn’t seen anyone. Now however, it was mid-afternoon and the place bustled with life. He rode down the street at a nonchalant pace. He saw that every building seemed to bear Darcy’s name, from the bank to the general store to the funeral parlor. He spied the small, flat roof building with the words “Vale Sheriff” painted above the door. Beside it stood the rather impressive Darcy Hotel.
There were quite a few wagons and horses tied up to the posts lining the plank walks framing the dusty street. Even though he tried not to draw attention to himself, he could see the curious glances coming his way as he tied his big gelding to a post outside the general store. He wondered if anyone recognized his face.
Inside, the wide eyes of the middle aged clerk told the tale. The dark-skinned man sputtered, “Aren’t you—?”
“Griffin Blake.”
“No, Oklahoma Red.”
Griff sighed. Why fight it? He’d hoped Joth would be the only one to know his true identity, but that did not appear to be the case. Word was bound to get out sooner or later, and he decided sooner suited him just fine. Maybe his reputation alone would make Darcy lower the guns drawn on the Claytons.
The clerk’s greeting seemed to kindle the interest of some of the store’s other patrons. Griff could both see and feel their eyes. One particular young woman, a brown-skinned beauty in a yellow silk dress that seemed far too costly for such a backwater town, made no effort to hide her smiling gaze. The well-dressed man on her arm viewed Griff coolly.
The clerk behind the counter asked, “What brings you to Vale?”
“Business.”
“What type of business?”
“I need supplies.”
Griff handed over his list and the clerk’s eyes widened. “All this?”
Griff nodded beneath the brim of his hat.
The clerk began filling the large order, saying, “This is an awful lot of stuff for a traveling man. You plan on staying around a while?”
Griff knew the nosy clerk was fishing for answers. “Possibly.”
Griff sensed the ear of everyone in the store waiting for more details. The clerk piled up tarps, a rain slicker, jerky, canteens and a blanket or two, while Griff took a stroll over to the firearms available for purchase. The Winchesters interested him the most. He saw two that would be needed additions to the Clayton defenses, so he walked them back to the counter. The clerk blinked. “You’re not planning on robbing the bank here, are you, Kid?”
“If I were, do you think I’d tell you?” Griff asked softly.
The clerk sputtered, “No—no, of course not. Let me get the rest or your order, sir.”
While the clerk totaled up the bill, Griff took a discreet look around and saw the other customers frozen in place, staring his way. He touched his hat politely at a few of the ladies, especially the one in yellow silk, before returning his attention to the clerk.
He and the clerk were just about done when the scent of gardenias floated across his senses. Griff turned to see Miss Yellow Silk and her escort standing nearby. Mr. Escort did not seem pleased, but spoke, “My wife insisted we come over and introduce ourselves. I’m Roscoe Darcy. This is my wife, Minerva.” His voice was a bit slurred. Griff wondered if he’d been drinking.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Are you the Darcys on all the buildings?”
Minerva replied with a smile, “They’re named for my husband’s father and grandfather.” She then said, “My husband tells me you are a dangerous outlaw. What brings you to Vale?”
Griff didn’t miss the steel behind the velvet voice. She would be one to watch. “Business.”
“And you’re staying where?”
“I’m out at the Clayton place.”
The alarm that flashed across her face made Griff curious about her reaction.
“Jessi Clayton?” she choked out.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How do you know Jessi Clayton?”
“Through a friend.”
“Outlaws say that about her all the time. Did you know that?”
Griff was a bit taken aback by Minerva’s venomous tone. “Meaning what?”
“Jessi Clayton is a whore.”
Griff found the description angering. He looked around at the other people in the store. They all dropped their eyes under his direct stare. He turned back to Minerva. “Is that how Miss Clayton is known around here?”
She trilled a little laugh. “Of course. The good women in this town cross the street rather than walk near her.”
Griff looked at Roscoe Darcy. He wouldn’t meet Griff’
s eyes either.
Minerva then informed him, “You’re keeping company with a fairly sordid woman, Mr. Blake. Her mother was an adulteress, her sister a whore. The Clayton women have bad blood I’m guessing, but let’s change the subject. Are you in need of a job?”
“Someone around here hiring?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. My father-in-law’s always looking to employ skilled men such as yourself.”
I’ll bet he is, Griff said to himself. It still angered him that Jessi Clayton would be looked upon with such derision. Even though he knew very little about her past, she’d impressed him with her fire and her determination. “Thanks for the information, but I’ve already hired on someplace else.”
“Where, might I ask?”
“I work for Miss Clayton.”
Minerva managed to keep her alarm well hidden this time, but Griff knew the news had shaken her. When she composed herself, she turned to the clerk behind the counter and said, “Mr. Thomas, you may as well re-shelve his order. Everyone knows the Claytons and their people aren’t welcome to trade here.”
Griff kept his face void of all emotion. “Why not?”
“Jessi Clayton refuses to sell her land to the railroad.”
“If it’s her land, it’s her right.”
“Not when her stubbornness keeps everyone else from exercising their rights.”
“I don’t understand,” he lied.
“Every landowner in the valley stands to make a tidy profit selling his land to the railroads, but they all have to sell. The railroads want the land intact, not in pieces.”
“And Miss Clayton is the fly in the ointment?”
“Exactly.”
Griff turned and surveyed the store’s other patrons. Were they all lined up against Jessi and Joth? Did they all call her a whore? If so, was it because she’d been Calico Bob’s woman? He then looked to the clerk, Thomas. The man appeared to be very uncomfortable. Griff wondered why. “Well, Mr. Thomas, guess I’ll have to give all this gold to another merchant.”
Griff took a small leather pouch from his shirt pocket and emptied the coins out onto the counter so the clerk could get a good look. Griff didn’t miss the way Thomas’s eyes widened. On his way to Vale, Griffin had stopped off in Denver to visit a pretty saloon girl named Sally who’d been graciously holding some of his stashed gold. Even though Griff had spent a good portion of it outfitting himself for the journey here, he still had small caches of railroad gold hidden with friends, mostly females all over the West.