Forty-Four Caliber Justice (9 page)

She hadn’t missed the animosity that had passed between the two young men.

“I reckon. Though I’d rather hear about Lynn’s day.”

Lynn laughed and said, “Cotton, my days are so much alike, I’m sure it wouldn’t be near as interesting as Clayton’s.” She laid her hand on Clay’s arm. “We’d love to hear about you.”

Though she left her hand on his arm only momentarily, Clay could still feel the warmth through his suit jacket. He marveled at the feeling. It was as if her hand were still there.

Between eating and writing, the evening passed quickly. Cotton spoke seldom, obviously irritated that Clay was receiving all of the attention from those at the table.

Sadness, tears, and occasional gasps from the ladies, accompanied Clay’s writing out of his story. He left out the gruesome details of his parents’ murder for the sake of the ladies. Though they were genteel women, they were familiar with this country and easily pieced together the awfulness that he had discovered. Mr. Killganan sat quietly, eating slowly, listening as Mrs. Killganan read, out loud, each of Clay’s descriptions.

Clay was thankful that she was reading his notes. Some of the questions he could answer with just a nod or the shake of his head. It allowed him to enjoy the food that had been set before him.

Mr. Killganan directed an appreciative glance at Clay when he explained his arrangement with Adam Hewitt for the running of the ranch.

Clay also explained how Mr. Tropf had allowed him to accompany the freight train.

Mr. Killganan commented that Mr. Tropf was a good businessman.

When he explained how he had received his neck injury, Cotton barked a harsh laugh. “Reckon he sure fooled you. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Clay turned his icy gaze to Cotton, whom he had ignored through most of the evening. He held Cotton’s stare, until Cotton coughed and looked away.

“Cotton, that is an awful thing to say,” Lynn snapped, coming quickly to Clay’s defense.

JT winked at Clay, turned to Cotton, and said, “You reckon you could’ve done better?”

Cotton turned red. “I woulda sure searched him better. I wouldn’t have missed that knife.”

JT laughed. “Cotton, yore bones would be out there feedin’ the buzzards right now. Hayes is a known man. He’d a had you when he first saw you.” JT laughed again and went back to eating.

Cotton’s face turned a more brilliant red.

Mrs. Killganan broke the tension quickly. “Clay, what does Dr. Dixon say about your throat?”

Clay hated not being able to talk. Everything took longer when he had to write it down. He wrote,
Dr. Dixon says that he doesn’t know if I will get my voice back, but he thinks there’s a good chance when all of the swelling goes down.
He handed the pad to Mrs. Killganan.

As she read it, Lynn’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Clay, I do hope you get it back. It must be so frustrating to you, having to write everything down.” She picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

He turned to her. He wished he could tell her how much her understanding meant to him. It was, for a moment, as if they were the only two in the room. Then Mr. Killganan cleared his throat. Clay felt embarrassed for Lynn. He glanced at Cotton. The young man’s face was filled with hurt and jealousy. Reckon I’d better be on the lookout for him, Clay thought. He wanted to turn the attention from himself and Lynn. He wrote on his pad,
How long have you folks lived in
Brackett?

“We moved here to start the bank,” Mr. Killganan said. “It’s been five years now. September, and Lynn will be off to Macon, Georgia, for school.”

“Father, you know I don’t want to go to school back East. I want to stay in Texas. I can learn just as much here as I can in Georgia.”

“Lynn,” her father said, “we have spoken of this before. There are no girl schools here that I would deem appropriate for you to attend. I want you to broaden your education and return to help me run the bank.”

“Father, you know I enjoy working with you in the bank. But I will not go so far away for my schooling. There is a new school starting this year in Thorp Springs. I believe it is the Addran College. It is a christian school that will allow both men and women to attend. That is where I want to go.”

Mrs. Killganan, with her soft, persuasive voice, brought calm back to the dining table. “My dears, can’t we discuss this later? There is sufficient time to work this out before school starts.”

Mr. Killganan smiled at his wife. “Of course, my dear. Shall we have coffee?”

Lynn smiled at her mother’s peace-keeping efforts as well and said, “Yes, Mother.”

Clay laughed inside.
Mr. Killganan, you don’t stand a chance.
He glanced around the table. Lynn was smiling as if only she knew what the results of this argument would be. Her father looked as if he felt he had won another argument. Cotton looked lost, but JT appeared supremely pleased. Mrs. Killganan was in complete control.

Mrs. Killganan and Lynn served the coffee. Clay had lemonade. Every so often, Clay would steal a glance at the black-haired girl. He had never seen such a beauty.

Clay had a rest from writing as Mr. Killganan discussed his day. Killganan talked about how good Lynn was with numbers, not Clay’s strongest suit. It said a lot that Killganan wanted to bring her into his business to work at the bank. He even mentioned her taking it over in the future. Clay enjoyed being a part of this family conversation. It reminded him of home. With the thought of home, his demeanor darkened, thrusting his immediate goal back to mind. He would bring those men to justice, or die trying.

“Clay,” he heard Lynn saying, “are you all right?” Again, her hand was resting on his left forearm.

He came back from the dark place and smiled at her. He wrote,
I’ve really enjoyed this
evening.

She smiled back at him. “I have too. Maybe we can do it again.”

Mrs. Killganan said softly, “Lynn, would you like to invite Clay to your birthday party?”

Lynn smiled, and her violet eyes shimmered in the lamplight. “Would you come, Clay? It’ll be great fun. You could meet my friends.”

Clay tore his eyes from her face and wrote on his pad,
When is it? I’ll be leaving
soon.

“It’s day after tomorrow, May nineteenth. I’ll be seventeen. Oh, and maybe you’d like to go to church with us tomorrow?”

Clay thought for a moment. He should stay in Brackett until Colonel Mackenzie and Doctor Dixon returned. Colonel Mackenzie had said that they should be back either the nineteenth or the twentieth, so he would still be here.

Before he could answer, Mrs. Killganan said, “Oh my, look at the time. Cotton, shouldn’t you be getting home? Your folks will be wondering where you are.”

Cotton Davis jumped like he had been stung by a scorpion and stood up. “Why, uh, I guess, ma’am.” He looked at Mr. Killganan as if he might get a reprieve.

No reprieve came. Mr. Killganan glanced up at Cotton. “Goodnight, Cotton.”

Mrs. Killganan rose from her chair. “Let me show you out, Cotton. It was so nice to have you visit for supper. Please tell your mother that we must get together soon.” She continued talking, guiding the young man to the front door, out and down the porch steps.

She returned quickly and seated herself. “Did I miss anything?”

“Andrea, you’re as sweet as your mama, and just as controlling,” JT said.

Mrs. Killganan turned to JT with feigned shock. “Papa, why would you say such a mean thing to your only daughter?”

He lifted an old, wrinkled hand and affectionately patted her arm.

She smiled into his eyes, and then turned to Lynn. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, ma’am. I’m waiting for Clay’s answer.”

Clay wrote on his pad,
I’d like to come to your birthday party and go to church with you tomorrow.
He slid the pad over to Lynn.

She read it and said to no one in particular, “He said yes, to both.” She then turned to him. “The party will be at three in the afternoon, on the front porch and under the big oak in the front yard. I’ll plan on you being here. Church will be at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Papa,” Mrs. Killganan said, “isn’t it time for you to be headed home?”

“Now don’t you be trying to manage your old papa, girl. But yep, it is getting late. Thanks for a mighty fine dinner. Elmer, I enjoyed it, which don’t happen too often.”

Lynn jumped up and ran around the table to give her grandpa a kiss. “Goodnight, Grandpa. Love you.”

He hugged her and cleared his throat. “It’s good that you do. Night, Clay. Reckon you can find your way to Fort Clark.”

Clay smiled at the old man and saluted with a forefinger. He turned the page on his pad and wrote,
I should be going. Thank you folks for a fine dinner and great company. I’ll see you all in the
morning.

He handed the pad to Mr. Killganan. “It was our pleasure, Clay. Tomorrow it is.”

“Not so fast, young man,” Mrs. Killganan said. “Why don’t you two young people go out to the swing? It’s a beautiful night. I’ll bring you both a piece of cobbler.”

Clay and Mr. Killganan looked around with surprise. Clay didn’t need much urging. He stood up and held the chair for Lynn. She took his arm, smiled up at him, and they walked outside to the swing.

Clay could hear Mr. Killganan say to his wife, “What the blazes are you doing?”

A soft voice answered, “Nothing, dear.”

Lynn sat first in the swing. The swing was built for two people, but Clay was a big man. Because of his size, their arms touched as they sat.

Clay could think of nothing to say. Then he laughed to himself—he couldn’t say anything even if he could think of something. He lightly propelled the swing, and it drifted forward and back in the nighttime breeze. The fragrance of the honeysuckle floated in the night air. He could smell her hair, the lilac scent intoxicating.

“Isn’t this lovely?” she said. “I think this is the best birthday present I’ve ever had.”

He got out his pad. In the faint light escaping through the front windows, he wrote,
Your birthday is
Monday.

She read it and laughed, the sound like tinkling bells, then said, “It doesn’t matter, silly. It’s still my best birthday present.”

Mrs. Killganan brought out two bowls of her peach cobbler. “Don’t stay out too late, Lynn. Your father expects you at the bank in the morning.”

Clay took the cobbler in one hand. Mrs. Killganan took his other hand. “It was very nice meeting you, Clay. Don’t be a stranger.” With that, she walked back into the house.

Clay found himself hoping this evening would never end. He was happier than he had been since his folks died. He couldn’t describe it, but he felt like he’d found another home. Mr. Killganan hadn’t been as bad as he had expected.

The peach cobbler was delicious, but it couldn’t take his mind from the girl sitting next to him. He reminded himself that he had plans that couldn’t involve her, shouldn’t involve her. If things were different, he might even think about taking her back to the homeplace. But there was too much death ahead of him. If she really knew what he planned, she would probably have nothing to do with him.

He turned to look at her, and she gazed up into his eyes. She leaned toward him expectantly. He stood up.

A surprised look crossed Lynn’s face. “Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” Tears were welling up in her eyes.

He set the bowl on the swing and took out his pad.
Sorry, Lynn. I’ve got to be going. I’ve really enjoyed this evening. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.
Clay reached out and touched her cheek, then spun around and marched out of the yard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had some pretty rough things to do, and she was going off to college. She had a bright future ahead of her. His future could include a six-foot plot of real estate. He couldn’t ruin her life.

He was halfway back to the fort when he realized he had left his rifle. He shook his head with disgust. If this was what happened when you got to thinking about a girl, then he was going to be a dead man. He had to keep his focus, keep his mind on the work ahead. He couldn’t let anything, not even a lovely, smart, sweet-smelling girl—

The rapid footsteps closed on him quickly. He spun, just in time to count three attackers, and Clay wasn’t armed. He was even without a knife. He had left the Boker at the general store. As the three closed on him, he could see they wore sacks over their heads with cutouts for their eyes. He felt the rush of anger flowing over him. He’d done nothing to these men. He’d give them what they were looking to dish out.

The three men were running at full tilt, intent on tackling him and then beating him to death. When they were almost on top of him, he knelt and drove his fist, with all the might of his massive shoulders and arm, into the first man’s groin. He felt the contact and knew from this point on he would be fighting only two men. As the second one came in and jumped at him, he ducked lower, until the man’s hips were sliding over his left shoulder. Grasping the man’s thighs, he stood and thrust upward as high as he could, lifting his assailant to over eight feet. The man’s momentum carried him over, then he fell almost straight down, landing on the point of his right shoulder. There was an audible snap. The man screamed and lay writhing on the ground.

The third man had slowed and was circling him, now cautious, realizing that he was alone. Clay saw the glint of steel in the man’s right hand. Surprised, he saw how the man was holding the knife, like he was going to make an overhand stab. This was no knife fighter. Clay circled him, watching and waiting. The man raised the knife over his head and lunged forward. Clay thought back to all the lessons that Pa and Slim had given him. He remembered them telling him that if he was ever in a knife fight to make up his mind he was going to get cut, so it wouldn’t be a surprise. He also remembered how he had been taught to handle an attack such as this. But his opponent gave him such an opportunity, he couldn’t resist. As the man’s momentum carried him forward, Clay aimed a kick right between the man’s legs, striking with all of the stored power in his body.