Leather and Lace

Chapter 8

Three weeks after Morgan cheated death, he saddled his horse and said good-bye to Doc. He fought the pain in his chest and leg to climb out of Doc’s bed, tug on his boots, clean his rifle, and continue his unrelenting search for the outlaw. The hate was like a fire threatening to consume him, for now he had another reason to stop Jenkins: Casey O’Hare.

Morgan realized how Jenkins’s evil mind worked. The thought pierced what little bit remained of his heart and soul, while confusion about his staggering feelings for Casey left him frustrated. It’s because she’s a woman, that’s all. Can’t protect herself from a whole gang of outlaws. So he vowed to push on, but sometimes he wondered where it all would end.

“I’ll wire you money as soon as I get to a bigger town,” Morgan said to Doc as he saddled his horse.

“Seems like you and Casey are more concerned about paying me than getting well.” Doc stood wide-legged in the middle of the stable with his arms folded across his barreled chest. “You don’t have your strength back yet.”

Morgan avoided the big man’s stare. “I need to move on.”

“To find Casey?”

“Maybe.”

“You think that’s smart?”

Morgan flipped his saddlebag over the saddle and faced Doc. “No, but I can’t seem to talk myself out of it.”

“Are you after the woman or still bent on getting Jenkins?”

“If I had the answer to that, I’d still be sittin’ on your front porch talking about heading home to Texas.”

“So it’s both. God help you, Morgan. Does Casey know?”

Aggravated to the point of hollering, Morgan hurried through his last preparations. Doc was his friend, not his enemy. “I didn’t tell her.”

“She’s a good girl, not what other folks think,” Doc said. “Oh, I know she’s got herself mixed up in a few messes, but she deserves a chance to live a good life.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ve looked at this thing inside out, and I know I have to find her. Not sure why. But I know why I have to stop Jenkins.”

“Hate’s trying to kill you, and it almost did this time.”

Morgan pulled himself up onto the saddle. His upper leg ached, and the effort strained at his chest.

“I see the pain on your face. Rest up two more weeks. By then, we might hear from her.”

“Can’t. I have to find them both.”

“Then where you headed?”

“Arizona. Got me a hunch.” Morgan reached down and shook Doc’s hand. “You saved my life, Doc. I owe you.”

“Then find Casey before Jenkins does.”

What would I do if I did find her?

*****

Casey closed the Bible and then her eyes. So much she didn’t understand. The words and ideas all jumbled together into one huge puzzle, almost like a map that had been torn and some of the pieces lost.

The train rumbled on. Its rhythmic sound lulled her to near sleep. West Texas was as hot and dry as Arizona and New Mexico. No place looked like where she wanted to settle down. Money ran low, and she didn’t want to spend it all for fear she’d have to find refuge in a hurry. Trains were expensive. Buying food was expensive. She’d make better time traveling by horseback, and she’d long since regretted the store-bought dress and wrapper. Decision made, Casey took a deep breath and patted the derringer in her pocket. Someday she’d throw it away. But not today. Probably not tomorrow.

Rifle fire pierced the air. She startled and peered out the window. Nothing. Had she been thinking about the gang and thought she heard gunfire? Two more rifle shots echoed. Visions of the past blew past her mind like a dust storm. The train pulled to a grinding halt, like a powerful horse snorting and pawing at the bit. Two dirty men boarded the train from the rear, both wearing bandannas and carrying Winchesters. They wore the mean look of hunger, not for food but for those things that belonged to other folks. One poked his rifle barrel under a man’s hat, then lifted it into his hands. Realization hit her hard. For the first time, she was on the receiving end of outlaws. She stole a quick glance at the two. They didn’t look like any of Jenkins’s men. Would they recognize her?

“Jewelry, watches, and money,” one of the outlaws said. “No one gets hurt as long as we get what we want.”

She’d pinned her money in the lining of her dress, except for a small amount in her Bible. That should suit them. When the two walked by, she avoided peering up into their faces. The second man told a woman to stop her sniveling. He sounded familiar, and then Casey remembered. He’d ridden with Jenkins for a short while before joining up with the James gang.

“Put it all in here.” The man held his hand open.

Casey opened her Bible and pulled out the small amount. Her heart thudded like a scared rabbit. He snatched it up and kept walking. She inhaled sharply. No more chances. She’d not ride another train.

Once the outlaws left, her thoughts turned to the people around her. A woman cried. A mother clung to her baby. The faces of men paled. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t robbed anyone or stuck a gun in someone’s face. She knew the kind of men who’d rather take from hardworking folks than get an honest job. Greed spurred them on just as she grasped for peace and freedom.

Casey’s mouth went dry. She massaged her arms. The wanted posters were right. She deserved whatever happened to her—either at the end of a rope or a bullet. Maybe she should turn herself in and rid this country of one more outlaw.

At least working for Rose wasn’t against the law.

Rose Meadows. Casey doubted if that was her real name, but it sounded good to the men who stood in line for her and the other women who worked for her. Rose said she once worked at the Bird Cage in Tombstone, and that’s where she learned her trade.

“Come see me when you’ve had your fill of Jenkins,” Rose said. “Don’t worry about him. If he gives you any trouble, I’ll cut him a percent of what you make.”

The idea of Jenkins and Rose getting a share of her pay while she worked her backside seemed no better than riding with the outlaws. But at sixteen years old, after he’d blackened both of her eyes for refusing him, she’d agreed to Rose’s business arrangement.

One night was all it took. Rose painted Casey’s face and lips, then dressed her in a blue sleeveless “gown” that dipped low in the front and was tight across the middle. Casey came down the steps with the rest of the girls into the smoky bar only to hear the lewd remarks and applause of drunken men. One paid the price for her, and she led him upstairs. When the door closed and she took a whiff of his breath and unwashed body, she grabbed her old clothes and headed back to the gang. That’s when she taught herself how to throw a knife with her left and right hand. From then on, a knife rested in both boots.

Now at twenty-one years old, she’d only been with one man—Jenkins—and each time he forced himself on her, she hated him a little more.

As the days and weeks continued, her mind lingered on Morgan, the man who had nearly died to save her life. He’d captured a part of her that she believed could never be caught—her heart. Had he healed? Was he safe? Many a restless night she wrestled with his identity. If she knew the truth about him, she could deal with it. But wondering about where he came from and his reasons for tracking down Jenkins occupied too much of her time.

After the train robbery, Casey got off at the next town and headed straight to the livery. The owner had a fine-looking zebra-dun stallion for sale. She rubbed her hands over his legs, all the while talking to him softly. No horse could ever replace Stoney. The gelding seemed to sense her moods.

“You sure you can handle this one?” the owner said. “A fine looking lady like you should have a gentle horse. I’ve got a good mare in the back.”

“Oh, I can handle this one. Does he have a name?”

“Stampede.”

“Good name.”

The livery owner laughed. “I gave it to him ’cause when he takes a notion to run, he doesn’t leave anything behind but dust—and sometimes me.” He scratched his chin. “Sure hate for you to get hurt.”

She patted Stampede’s neck. “I’ll be careful.”

A little dealing and the man threw in a saddle, blanket, and bridle. She rolled up her dress and other lady’s clothes and stuffed them into a leather bag. Some would have said keeping these things was foolish, but having them made her feel that she’d wear them again. She wrapped them around her Bible.

Before she headed out of town, Casey made one more stop. At the local mercantile, she bought jeans, a shirt, a soft roll hat, a blue scarf, socks, and a pair of boots.

“Do you need anything else?” the slightly graying woman said. “Provisions?”

Casey mentally counted the pitiful amount of money she had left. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

A portly man with a balding head shuffled from the back room of the mercantile. “Maude, we need to get that last shipment unloaded.”

“That and a whole lot of other chores.”

He looked up. “Excuse me, miss, didn’t see you there.”

“Try using your spectacles. No wonder the drawer comes up short.” Maude shook her head. “We need some help for a couple of weeks, Hank.”

“I’ll ask around. Can’t pay much.”

“Hush about such things,” Maude said.

A thought raced through Casey’s mind, and she slowly turned to face the older gentleman. “Did you say for a couple of weeks?”

“Yes. Do you know of somebody?” He reached in his shirt pocket and placed his spectacles on his nose. He peered at her. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Casey’s pulse quickened. “No, sir. I’m passing through, but I could use a job for a few weeks.”

“It would be hard work going through boxes and putting things on the shelves,” Maude said. “And most everything is dirty.”

“I’m not afraid of the work. Is there a boardinghouse in town?”

“My brother owns the only one,” Maude said. “Although since my sister-in-law died, the cooking isn’t so good.”

She wondered if what little money in her pocket would pay for a room and food.

“Maybe this gal could help out with a few things in exchange for a place to stay,” Hank said.

“You trying to work the poor girl to death? Mercy, Hank, the good Lord needs to hit you up alongside the head sometimes.”

“That’s all right,” Casey said. “I’ll do whatever is needed.”

“If you’re willing, we can get you started right away.” Hank stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “I think the Lord is smilin’ on us today, Maude.”

Maude pressed her lips together. “Let’s hope it’s not at the expense of working this poor girl to death. What’s your name, miss?”

“Shawne. Shawne Flanagan. Thank you for helping me. I’m beholden to you.”

“We’re Hank and Maude Stevens. You’ll be working mostly in the back. Won’t be much opportunity to meet other folks,” Maude continued.

“I do fine by myself.”

Casey struck up a deal with the owner of the boardinghouse. She’d cook breakfast each morning before going to work at the mercantile and clean up the kitchen after she finished in exchange for her room. And the livery man could keep Stampede until she was ready to leave town.

For the first time in Casey’s life, she had a respectable job. A warm feeling rose up inside her. Was this what decent felt like? She hoped Maude and Hank wouldn’t ask personal questions. Casey caught her breath. The name of the town . . . Deer Creek. Odd name for a place in dry West Texas.

A week later found Casey helping Hank stock the shelves and put the items in “departments,” as Maude called them.

“Where you going once you leave town?” Hank stood and huffed. His rounded stomach seemed to get in the way of lifting the bags of flour from the storage room to the shelves behind the counter.

Casey sensed her face reddening. “St. Louis.”

“Got kin there?”

“I think so.” She knew he meant well, but the questions pounded at her conscience. Lying broke one of the Ten Commandments.

“Me and the missus been talking. Are you running from a husband?”

Casey offered a faint smile. “Something like that.”

“I knew it. Is he after you?”

She nodded and set a jug of molasses on the shelf. Hank, please stop.

“I’m sorry. You gonna be all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Maude and I’ve been praying for you.”

A can of beans slipped from her fingers to the floor. “Thank you.” The thought of deceiving these good people made her feel dirty, the kind of filth that lye soap couldn’t scrub off.

Hank snatched up the can of beans and righted it on the shelf. “Would you like to go to church with me and Maude tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, but I have work to do at the boardinghouse.”

“The owner needs a lesson on his Christian duty.”

“Maybe I can go next week.” Not even Jenkins would think to look for her in a church. She could see the newspaper headlines now: CASEY O’HARE STEPS INSIDE CHURCH. The roof would likely fall in.

A few days later, Casey stepped back from the shelves to admire how nice the store looked. The containers were stacked neatly, and she loved the smell of spices and coffee. In one corner were tools. Beside those were pots and pans. In another corner, ready-made clothes, boots, and shoes stood crisp and inviting. Casey tried to imagine the type of people who’d buy them. She’d be content to spend the rest of her life working for Hank and Maude. Even the cooking and cleaning at the boardinghouse weren’t too hard.

The past no longer stood foremost in her thoughts, because other decent things took over. If only she could rid her mind of Morgan.

“Shawne, dear, would you take these yard goods back with the others?” Maude said.

Casey gathered up two bolts of what Maude called “calico” and made her way to the middle of the store. One bolt had a pretty blue pattern, but Casey favored the green color of the second bolt. The bell above the door jingled. Two men walked in. Both wore gun belts and the hungry look of greed. She recognized both of them.

Stepping back into the shadows, she turned, straightened the bolts, and listened.

“Howdy. How can I help you?” Hank said.

Tell ’em to leave.

Heavy boots thudded across the wooden floor. With the click of a revolver’s hammer, Casey turned back around.

“You can empty your money into this bag.” The gunman shoved a leather bag into Hank’s face.

Casey eyed the gunman at the counter while the second man kept vigil at the door.

Maude gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Hank said and patted her hand. He opened the cash register and began pulling out bills.

“You get over here.” The man at the door wielded a Smith and Wesson with an ivory grip in Casey’s direction. He eyed her strangely.

He recognizes me. She inched forward in the hope she looked too frightened to move. Maude’s face paled, and Hank didn’t look well either. They’d been nothing but kind to her since the day she walked into their mercantile. She moved closer to the counter and the gunman. Twelve feet. Six feet. Four feet. The man at the door continued to stare a hole through her.

Reaching into her dress pocket, Casey whipped out her derringer and sent a bullet into the man’s wrist. Blood spurted on the counter and onto Hank’s shirt and suspenders.

The gunman dropped his revolver, and Casey snatched it up. She tossed the derringer to Hank. Shock crested the outlaw’s face. In a split second she turned to the man at the door and sent a bullet into his shoulder.

“Casey O’Hare.” The man grabbed his shoulder and lifted his revolver.

She sent another bullet into the man’s firing arm, just below his elbow.

“I knew I recognized you.”

“A lot of good it did. You won’t be robbing anyone for a while.”

“You’re as good as dead. Jenkins will find out about this.”

“Then you’d better get out of here fast, because this gunfire will have the sheriff here real quick.”

“Then we’ll tell him who you are,” the gunman at the counter said.

Casey laughed. “Guess we’ll all hang together.” She lifted the revolver. “Get out of here, before all you’ll need is the undertaker.”

The two made their way to the door, and she slammed it shut. With a deep breath she faced her friends.