happen.”
There was a hesitation before Checker agreed.
“I think you ought to go outside now,” Rule said, removing his hand and looping both thumbs into his gun belt. “I think a certain young lady would like that. A lot.”
Checker stared at Rule, then frowned. “Rule, I can’t. This isn’t the time. You know what we’re up against.”
The gunfighter took a step back and looked out the window. He could see Morgan watering her flowers.
“Don’t figure she sees it that way, John. The heart doesn’t carry a watch.” He smiled. “I only know life started for me when I met Aleta.” He turned away and headed back to the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he yelled, “You do what you think best, John.”
Checker shook his head and chuckled. The time for mourning was over. He put down his cup on the table and headed outside. Taking a deep breath, he eased toward Morgan, who was pretending not to notice his coming.
“Flowers do something special to a place,” he said, shoving his hat back on his forehead.
Glancing at him and smiling, Morgan said, “Wouldn’t think someone like you would notice.”
“You don’t think Rangers like flowers?” His returning smile equaled hers.
Their eyes met and danced briefly.
“I—I w-wish things were different,” he managed to say. “I’d do things different.”
She stood and stepped closer to him. “How different, John?” Her voice was soft.
Putting his hand on her arm, he pulled her to him.
Their mouths met.
As they kissed, the silhouette of a rider appeared from the west. Their moment of intimacy interrupted, Checker and Morgan stepped back from each other. Their hands held each other’s arms to keep the instant from fleeing.
“That’s got to be London. Otherwise Rikor would be warning us,” Checker said.
“Something’s wrong! Mr. Fiss has been hurt!” she yelled, and headed for the incoming figure.
The black man reined up; his left arm hung at his side.
“Mr. Fiss, what happened? You’ve been shot.” She pointed at his bloody sleeve.
Rule and Emmett joined her with Checker a few strides behind.
The three men helped him from the saddle and he told them what had happened in town.
Checker’s face matched Rule’s in intensity.
“Rode south out of town. Like I was scared, headed for the border. Left plenty of tracks,” the black man said, trying to catch his breath and ignore the steady ache in his arm. “They quit following me. Saw them turn back. An hour out, I’d guess.” He took a deep breath. “One of them was Dimitry. I’d recognize that old Navajo coat anywhere.”
“So Jaudon and Lady Holt are both in town,” Checker said.
“And Tapan Moore and Luke Dimitry,” Rule added.
“Let’s go inside. We can talk there,” Checker said. “Morgan made a fine stew for us. Maybe I’ll have some, too. I’m getting hungry.”
Rule grinned to himself.
Holding the reins of Fiss’s horse, Emmett said, “If’n you don’t mind, London, I’ll borrow yur hoss an’ ride down to Rikor. He’ll be a-wantin’ some o’ that stew.” He shook his head. “Fact, you boys better git yur fill afore he comes. That boy kin eat somethin’ fierce.”
The black man warmly agreed. They continued walking to the house while the old rancher swung into the saddle and headed back. Checker looked at Morgan and smiled. Her return smile made him want to take her in his arms right there. Her eyes said she would like that, too.
As they walked into the house, Rule asked Fiss if he had seen Eleven Meade. The black man hadn’t seen him.
Fiss looked at the three men and the woman walking beside him. He should feel strange. White people didn’t like being around black people. For any reason. But not these four. They thought of him as a friend, an equal. And he wasn’t just a colored man, he was a former convict. It didn’t matter. Not to them. It hadn’t mattered to Morgan, either; she respected his skills. Of course, he lived in the special bunkhouse built from the barn, which was empty except at roundup when she hired short-time riders. At her insistence, his meals were always taken in the main house.
Inside, Morgan insisted she should clean his wound.
“There’s no lead in there. I checked. And it’s my left arm. It’ll have to do.”
“Better let her have a look anyway,” Checker said.
“Look who’s talking,” Fiss replied.
Morgan took his arm. “Hold out your arm, Mr. Fiss.”
“Sure. Sure.” He shook his head, but complied.
Checker handed him a fresh cup of coffee.
She began to cut away the bloody sleeve, pulling slowly on the garment where it had embedded itself in the wound.
“I’ll get some hot water going.” Rule headed for the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he yelled, “Where’s a big pot, Morgan?”
After the wound was treated and wrapped with a white bandage, Fiss finished a second cup of coffee. Morgan returned with a new shirt.
“It was my husband’s. I think it’ll fit, Mr. Fiss.”
In spite of his suggestion that she call him “London,” she always insisted on the more formal designation.
“I can’t wear that, Mrs. Peale.”
“Put it on. Now, how would you like some stew?” Morgan asked.
“Thanks, Mrs. Peale. I’m hungry as can be.” He looked at his left arm; it was stiff and hurting badly. John Checker wouldn’t stay in bed with a wound much worse than this; he couldn’t show any sign of weakness. He removed the old shirt with Rule’s help and put on the fresh one. It was a dull brown. It fit.
“And you, John, are you ready…for some stew?” Morgan smiled.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.” Checker sat down next to Fiss.
Quickly, she brought iron utensils and cloth napkins that had once been bright blue. Rule moved close to the table and touched the silver cross and medicine pouch around his neck.
“How do you want to play this, John?” he asked.
Checker watched Morgan set the white ironstone bowls in front of both men and asked if they wanted more coffee. They did and she left to get the pot.
“Not sure, Rule. Except they’ll come,” the tall Ranger said. “Most likely tonight. I think they’ll head here first, move on to the Carlson Ranch, then to Emmett’s. Their objective will be to destroy us. All of us. Time isn’t on their side. The state of Texas isn’t going to let Jaudon stay a Ranger captain.”
After watching Morgan in the kitchen, Checker looked at Rule. “There are some big ranchers who’ll scream about no Ranger help along the Rio Grande. That’ll end Jaudon’s time as a Ranger captain.” He licked his lower lip. “It’ll come too late to help us, though.”
“I don’t like waiting for trouble,” Rule said.
Checker put a spoonful into his mouth, savored it and swallowed. “Me, neither. What say you and I ride to town.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I like that idea.” Rule put both hands on the back of the end chair.
Returning with the coffeepot, Morgan raised her free hand to signal a halt. “Wait just a minute. This is my fight. Mine and Emmett’s. Not yours.” She poured fresh coffee, took the pot back to the stove and returned, standing in the kitchen doorway. Her arms were at her sides, her legs spread in defiance.
Checker thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and wanted to tell her so. Her earlier kiss lay on his lips—and mind—like a butterfly on a flower.
“I ride with Mrs. Peale,” Fiss said, not daring to bend his wounded arm. He shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth to emphasize his commitment.
