Heresy Page 8

  Sheriff Luke Rhodes, roughly my height but as stout as a bulldog, is the only man in the whole of Brown’s Hole whom Ulysses Valentine is afraid of. But I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to rely on a man to fight my battles. I’ve managed to keep my intimidation hidden from Valentine, which makes him hate me all the more. I know when he stops hating me, I’ll lose the upper hand. So I stared him in the eye, knowing that Valentine would get what was coming to him, and probably sooner than he realized. God willing, by my hand.

  I scratched the match along the livery wall and puffed my cigarette alight. I inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs, take the edge off my pain and infuse me with a sense of well-being and invincibility. I looked up at Valentine’s heavy face and blew a steady stream of smoke into his flattened nose.

  —You’re free to travel to Rock Springs to get your whisky yourself. But it takes a helluva lot of effort to get there, and you and I both know you’re a lazy bastard.

  I kept my gaze level, but heard him growl deep in his throat.

  —One day …

  —You’ll beat me to death like you did your wife?

  —That was your fault.

  I couldn’t let Val see it, but a part of me wondered if he was right. Her final beating came when he found the money I’d been carving out of Val’s take and giving directly to her, in hopes she would use it to escape.

  —Keep telling yourself that, Val.

  Valentine kept his eyes narrowed on mine, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him ball his fists.

  —I look forward to cleaning your plow.

  —You touch me, or mine, and I will kill you. You’ll do well not to anger me, Val.

  —Just wait till Spooner returns.

  —Unless he’s bringing you a mail-order bride, he’s not going to be much help.

  —I could kill you with my bare hands.

  —Yet you never have. Because you need my money.

  —When Spooner returns I won’t.

  —Spooner’s been gone for nearly two years. He’s probably dead. Until another gang comes along willing to pay for your whisky, you’re stuck with me.

  I walked through the livery and said over my shoulder,—Jehu probably won’t be back for a couple of weeks. Might want to portion out your whisky till then.

  —Newt!

  I turned and walked back to the giant.

  —I sent him to the creek to water my horse. He’ll be back directly. And if I see another bruise on his face …

  Valentine moved close enough to me I could smell the liquor on his breath over the smell of my smoke.

  —You’ll what?

  —Valentine?

  We both turned to see the outline of Sheriff Luke Rhodes in the middle of the wide livery door. Val backed down.

  —Sheriff, what can I do for you?

  Rhodes walked into the barn and out of the shadow. He wore his sweat-stained hat low on his head, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows. His forearms are brown and ropy, his hands are scarred with lasso burns from his previous job as a cowhand turned cattle rustler, his fingernails are rimmed with dirt from his current job as a cattle rancher and vegetable gardener.

  Rhodes touched his hat.

  —Mrs. Parker.

  —Sheriff.

  —Need you to make me a pickle barrel, Val. Think my cucumbers are going to come in good this year.

  Valentine nodded.

  —Will do, Sheriff.

  —Remember what I said, Val. Good day, Sheriff.

  I walked out of the livery and down the wide, nameless main street. The muddy ruts from the spring runoff were hardening in the dry June sun. Soon driving a wagon down the street would be an uncomfortable, bumpy proposition.

  I finished the cigarette, enjoying the slight floating sensation it gave me, and put the stub out on the heel of my boot. I entered the shebang to the tinkling of a little brass bell, a small, innocent sound that brought to mind the bustling main street in the village next to my grandfather’s Somerset estate. This little general store in the back of beyond was a faint image of the store of my youth.

  Rebecca Reynolds looked up from her books, and a smile broke across her face. She came around the counter, hugged me, and told me she was glad I was safe.

  —I always come back safe.

  —There was the one time.

  —Hattie tricked me, told me snuff wasn’t any stronger than a cigarette. If you’ve ever had snuff, you know full well I couldn’t help falling off my horse. And it’s awfully ungenerous of you to remind me every time I come back.

  Rebecca shrugged and smiled.

  —Someone’s got to keep you modest.

  —You’ve taken it upon yourself, I see.

  —Yes. You can’t be the best outlaw, the best horsewoman, and the most handsome woman in Brown’s Hole to boot. It’s not fair.

  —I am not handsome.

  —You can wear pants all you want, Margaret, but you can’t hide that face.

  —These are jodhpurs, I’ll have you know, and I wear them because it makes riding easier. I bet you’d like pants if you wore them.

  Rebecca scoffed.

  —But I wouldn’t like it.

  Harvey Reynolds emerged from the back room with a smile barely visible through his thick beard. Harvey is a good-humored man, despite the fact that his left arm was thrown on a head-high pile of limbs outside the Gettysburg field hospital.

  I greeted Harvey and handed Rebecca the pouch containing their take. Harvey intercepted it, hefted it in his hand, and raised his bushy eyebrows.

  —A little extra for your little one. I nodded toward Rebecca’s swollen belly.

  —Thank you.

  —Don’t tell anyone, especially Valentine.

  —Of course not.

  There was a flush just visible on Harvey’s neck below the edge of his ginger beard. I knew that soon enough his entire face would be aflame, and his shame would be complete. It’s why I prefer giving the take to Rebecca. She’ll leave it on his desk, and Reynolds can ignore the fact that his business, and his family, are being kept afloat by a gang of women.

  —You’re too good to us, Margaret, Rebecca said.

  —I wish you’d call me Garet.

  I looked around the store. The shelves looked significantly emptier than when I left three weeks ago.

  —Been busy?

  —There’s some rustlers camped out where Beaver Creek flows into the Green, rebranding about a hundred fifty head. They’ve been in a few times.

  —Cause any trouble?

  —Not a bit. They’re friends of the sheriff, so they know better, Rebecca said.

  I hid a smile. We all call Luke Rhodes the sheriff, and gave him a dented tin star to wear, but he has very little law to enforce. In Brown’s Hole there’s only one rule you don’t break. Everything else is fair game. Something that Rebecca Reynolds would like to change. If Timberline has any chance of getting civilized, it will be down to Rebecca Reynolds.

  —Jehu should be here in a couple of weeks with supplies.

  I watched Rebecca and Harvey for any sign of disapproval—an exchanged look, a tightening of their mouths, the aversion of their eyes—and was rewarded with enthusiastic smiles, proof that Valentine is alone in his resentment. Jehu is everyone’s favorite, and not just because he brings everyone’s supplies and news of the outside world. I figure if anything ever happens to me, the town would mourn the end of their gravy train more than the loss of my company. But Jehu? If anything happens to him, the entire town’ll be out for blood. Hell, I can’t blame them; I like Jehu more than myself, too.

  —Is it true you kidnapped a woman? Rebecca said.

  —Stella tell you that?

  —Joan. Stella looked pretty put out about it.

  —When is Stella not put out? Harvey asked.

  —Truthfully, Grace asked me to bring her along.

  —I can’t believe you obliged her, Rebecca said.

  —Nor I. She’s back at
the ranch, sleeping. Struck with soroche on the way back. I’ll bring her to town soon enough to meet everyone. Better be moving along. I’ve got Hattie getting a pale stallion ready for me this afternoon.

  —Oh, be careful, Garet.

  —I haven’t been beaten by a horse yet.

  —Except that one time …

  As I left, I pointed at Rebecca Reynolds and told her she was an ungenerous woman. Then I walked down toward the Blue Diamond.

  Luke Rhodes was leaned against the wall of his office, waiting for me. I smiled, knowing Luke had missed me as much as I’d missed him. I’d never admit it to him, though.

  I greeted him, and he opened the door to the sheriff’s office and followed me in. I dropped my saddlebags on his desk and his arms were around me, pulling me back against him, his lips on my neck, his luxurious mustache tickling so that I shivered.

  —Does this mean you’ve missed me?

  —Would you please wear a dress when you come to town? These pants are a genuine nuisance.

  I turned around and wrapped my arms about his neck.

  —Will you wear a dress for me as well?

  —Not funny.

  —Do you want to talk, or do you want to …

  Luke and I have been … intimate … for almost a year. Not regularly, and not publicly, but occasionally. When I seek him out. He is too much of a gentleman to do the same, which only makes me seek him out more. I resisted for months after Spooner left, but I have my needs, same as a man, and I couldn’t resist the urge to feel if his mustache was as soft as it looked.

  It is.

  Luke and I have been friends since we rode into town, and it was easy to see that he wanted me. His reticence and respect for me helped heal my poor opinion of men. He reminded me there were plenty of men—honorable, just men—worthy of my respect, and, like a moth to a flame, it drew me in. I’d felt much the same way about Thomas when I fell in love with him. Spooner was an anomaly, a love affair built on desire, not affection, a relationship that required nothing of me so I could focus on my family and my ranch. Luke, though—I think we could have had a good life if Lou Valentine hadn’t died the same week I found out I was dying of cancer. When Luke, as sheriff, didn’t arrest Valentine for beating his wife to death, I quickly snuffed out the thoughts of the future that had started to worm their way into my brain. Hattie was livid with Rhodes; all the women in town were. But what we thought or wanted didn’t matter, because Lou was considered Val’s property.

  I stayed away from Luke for two weeks to show my displeasure, but eventually went back. I didn’t want to die a celibate, and options for companionship are thin on the ground in the Hole.

  I’ve tried my very best to keep my feelings on a … I cannot even find the word for it. We are well beyond platonic, and disinterested is laughably incorrect. When we are alone, Luke makes it difficult not to let my mind wander to what it would feel like to wake up with a warm body next to mine.

  When we finished, and I was dressing, Luke said he was thinking of getting into a new sideline.

  —Already gone sour on the pickle business?

  —Now see, that was funny.

  —Yes, well, the British wit and all. What business? Going back into rustling?

  —No. The horse business.

  I stared at my lover. His black handlebar mustache is shot through with gray. Today it was unwaxed and looked especially silky hanging down past the corners of his mouth. Right then, though, his mustache barely masked a teasing smirk. I was half-tempted to punch the smugness off his face. Instead I smiled.

  —You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

  —Afraid I might be a better hand than you?

  —No. I’ve seen you ride.

  —You really know how to charm a man.

  —You were pretty well charmed a minute ago.

  Luke stood and made himself decent enough we could talk without me being distracted. He knew me and my appetites too well. I was holding on to my irritation at his nerve in challenging me.

  —You really are beautiful when you get your dander up.

  —I don’t take kindly …

  He stopped me, pulled me close. My God, I love that mustache.

  —Settle down for just a minute and remember not every man on earth is out to get you. Especially not me. I want to work with you, Garet. Not competition.

  —You help us every summer.

  —You know what I mean.

  Now he’d done it, made the subtext text. I wished he hadn’t. I was forced to hurt him, to push him away, which I do not want to do.

  —What will Ruby think?

  He reddened a little. I’ve made it clear that he is free to find companionship where he wants, as am I. He wasn’t aware until today that I know about his occasional visits to the whore.

  —Or Spooner?

  Luke’s bright blue eyes darkened at the outlaw’s name.

  —Spooner left the field over two years ago.

  —Left the field? Is that what I am to you? Some sort of military objective to be achieved, instead of a woman to be won?

  —That’s not what I meant.

  —I’m not the only one who needs to work on their charm.

  I went to my saddlebags for Rhodes’s take and handed the folded clutch of bills to him.

  —I like our relationship just fine as it is.

  He stared at me, ignoring the money.

  —I want more, Luke said.

  —I can’t give you more money.

  —I want more of you.

  —I can’t give you any more of that, either.

  —Why not?

  —I don’t have to give you a reason, Luke. You don’t own me, and you’re perilously close to not having any part of me at all.

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest.

  —You shouldn’t antagonize Valentine.

  —Maybe he shouldn’t antagonize me.

  Luke laughed.

  —I think all your success has gone to your head. If you don’t watch it, Valentine will teach you a lesson one day when I’m not around.

  —Put me in my place, you mean? Show me who’s boss? Like he’s doing with Newt?

  —I warned him to stop.

  —Or what, Luke? Are you going to throw him in jail?

  —I can, for a couple of days.

  —Then he’ll get back out and go at him even worse.

  —Garet, what do you want me to do? Valentine has every right to discipline his son.

  —But he has no right to discipline me, which is what you were implying. If you stand by and let him …

  —I would never stand by and let him hurt you. You know that. This would be moot if you’d marry me.

  —That’s your proposal? Marry me so Valentine won’t kill you? That’s a terrible proposal.

  —Well, you’ve got me all flustered. I had it planned better than this. I love you, and I want to take care of you. And don’t get your dander up again. I don’t want to control you, not that I could if I tried. You’re the finest goddamn woman I’ve ever met, the way you take care of your family and everyone in town, and my God, you’re a hand with a horse. You’re pert near perfect, and I’m gonna be selfish for a minute and tell you the real reason I want to marry you. I think you’d make me a better man.

  I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see my tears. I hated God in that moment, for finally giving me a man almost worthy of taking Thomas’s place by my side, only to not give me the health or the time to let it happen. As if to remind me of my mortality, a pain shot through my stomach.

  He asked me if I was crying and I told him I was, then I told him why. He tried to talk me out of my decision, saying that the way he saw it, that was more reason than ever to get married, so we could spend time together before the end. I respected Luke too much to tell him outright that I would never take the chance he would claim my ranch after I died. Take it from the girls. I didn’t think he would, but there is a germ of mistrust that I just cannot get rid
of. Luke is a new addition to my life, and I felt the stirrings of the nascent stage of love, when you want to spend all your waking hours with this new, exciting person, revel in the possibilities. But Luke is lost possibilities; Hattie, Jehu, Stella, and Joan are reality. We are carved into one another’s lives and futures like the elaborate designs in a finely tooled saddle.

  —I’ll forever be grateful for your offer and, if things were different, I might take you up on it. But it’s unfair to you, to me, and to my family. I know you and Ruby have a …

  —Garet …

  —She can offer you a future, Luke. I can’t.

  I cradled Luke’s face and kissed him for the last time.

  When I got to the door, Luke called out to me in a gruff voice, telling me to stay away from Valentine and warning me about the one hard-and-fast law in the Hole.

  I was glad he did; it reignited my anger and helped diminish my grief at turning him down.

  —Everything but killing. I know. Funny how that law didn’t apply to Val beating Lou to death. But that was her fault, right? Justified because she went against her husband by dreaming of being free of his fists. Not the kind of escape she was looking for, death. But Lou knew well enough that there are worse things than death. All women do.

  I walked down to the creek to cool off for a bit before seeing Ruby and Opal. I took off my boots and waded into the cold water and smoked another cigarette, wishing I’d cut the tobacco a little more generously with hashish. It helped my physical pain, at least, and the cold water quieted my flush of anger until I was relaxed enough to see the Gem Sisters without showing too much emotion.

  The Blue Diamond Saloon is the only whorehouse in Brown’s Hole, and Ruby and Opal Steele are the only whores. They say they’re sisters, but everyone knows that’s a lie. They’re both dark haired, of a height and coloring, with one big difference: Ruby is a Celestial, though probably only half, which is why people don’t care overmuch. Ruby knows that she’s always one mean drunk away from being a scapegoat, so she keeps on the straight and narrow. No one knows where they came from or how they hooked up together. They came into town with a few of Spooner’s men and decided to stay on and open the Blue Diamond.

  They had the door to the saloon propped open to take advantage of the nice breeze flowing across the cold river and into town, and I could hear Opal playing “Sweet Betsy from Pike” on her accordion. I walked in and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. The Blue Diamond is clean and serviceable, but simple in the extreme. The Gem Sisters, as they call themselves, see no point in fancying up the place. If a randy cowboy doesn’t like the surroundings, he’s welcome to make the hard journey up the steep, rocky pass to get to Rock Springs to the north or go through the treacherous Lodore Canyon to the south and travel a couple hundred barren miles to get to civilization. Or he could take an easy ride along the Green River through the wide, flat box canyon to Timberline. Most choose the Gem Sisters.