Gunslinger’s Lullaby Page 5

  “Hey,” she whispered while softly stroking his face.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, the strong planes of his face softening to a satisfied smile. “Hey, yourself.”

  “Don’t you think we better be gettin’ back to the ranch?” She looked up toward the sky. “Looks like the sun’s goin’ down. It’s done past suppertime, you know. The others might be gettin’ a little hungry by now.”

  “Supper? Now that you mention it I could go for a big plate of red beans and cornbread. Got anything like that in that kitchen of yours?”

  “Would Southern Fried Chicken do as well?”

  “Sure would,” he said as he pulled her up with him, and then held her close as they walked arm-in-arm back to the ranch. As the sun sank below the horizon, an impression of four beautiful bodies embellished the bank.

  * * * *

  Supper that night was a strained silence until suddenly they heard something outside. Reno quickly leapt up and looked out. “It’s an Indian!”

  Easy went to the window and saw an old Indian with braids down to his waist. He was old, his shoulders stooped as he waited on his horse.

  “It’s just old Charlie comin’ by for table scraps. He usually comes by after supper, but since supper’s late tonight—”

  “Charlie?” Reno said questioningly.

  “Well, Charlie’s what I call him. He’s got some Indian name I can’t ever remember, so I just call him Charlie. He don’t mind.” She looked over at the table. “Y’all got anything I can give him?” she asked as she quickly grabbed a paper sack and put several things in it. When she’d gathered up everything she could spare, she carried it out and handed it to him. “Here you are, Charlie.”

  After he made gestures of thanks and rode on, she noticed movement in some bushes upon a rise just beyond her house. She stood looking to see if she could see anything, but it was dark and hard to see.

  “Some kind of animal, I guess. Might be trapped in those bushes. Poor thing, maybe I should go up there and see if I can…” And then the bushes moved again. She knew if it was an animal it ought to make some kind of sound, but she heard nothing. She felt a chill and knew if she was smart she’d leave it alone. “Might be a coyote, or a wolf stuck up there—or worse.” She looked toward the barn where her chickens were roosting and hoped the chicken wire that closed them in was strong enough to discourage any animal that had it in his mind to attack them. Slowly, while rubbing the chills down on her arms, she turned and walked back into the house.

  “What kept you?”

  “Oh, nothing. I thought I saw…” Her words faded, deciding she didn’t want to bother anyone with her problems. “Just talkin’ to Charlie.”

  “How did you ever learn to read his hand gestures?”

  “It’s not hard. His gestures are crude. Anyone can tell what he’s saying. Sometime I have what he wants and sometime I don’t. If not, he just rides on and comes back the next night.”

  “Strange,” Reno muttered.

  “You know, now that I think of it, we haven’t had any Indian attacks around here for ages.” She looked at Reno. “I just wonder if old Charlie’s the reason for that?”

  Chapter 5

  Later on that night Easy woke up to some distant chanting and got up from her bed to look outside. The sound was beautifully haunting and seemed to somehow draw her toward it. As if she were sleepwalking, she followed the sound to a grove of trees in back of the house where she worked her way through the shrubs until she came upon Cheyenne, dressed in Indian garb, and war paint on his face. She gasped as she saw his magnificent body shining with sweat beneath the moon, and dancing around a pile of sacred items. His voice was smooth and deep, and the mystery of it seemed to sink into every pore, forcing her to stop and listen.

  From the south the enemy comes.

  From the north, the east and the west, they come.

  Send us brave birds, warlike birds

  that will come swiftly and save us.

  I wish to join the heroic warlike birds

  And throw my body in the strife…

  As Easy listened, she was almost in awe. The beauty wasn’t in what was said, but in the delivery, the passion, the faith that she felt in the air about him. Apparently Cheyenne was praying to his God for victory over their enemies. But something wasn’t quite right.

  Gunslingers praying for victory?

  Gunslingers that shot other men?

  Gunslingers that killed daily?

  Would any God answer a prayer like that?

  She moved closer, but she stepped on a twig that sounded like thunder. Cheyenne quickly ceased his chant and turned quickly, his body in a crouch, his hands raised in offense.

  “Easy,” he said when he saw her, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, Cheyenne. I heard your chant from the house, and it led me to you.”

  Easy was entranced by his appearance. Her eyes raked over the rippling muscles in his broad chest and arms that before had been hidden beneath his western garb, never in his Indian get up. God, he was handsome. His hair was loose and thick as it hung around his face like a cloud, making him appear so mysterious. He had a colorful band around his head, and there were feathers and different kinds of objects all over him that she didn’t know the meaning of.

  Her eyes focused on his strong jaw, his lips, and the darkness of his eyes that were deep and liquid. She felt a jolt when those eyes looked up and saw her staring at him.

  While the shadows hung around him, he said, “Why do you look at me that way?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen you in your native garb before. For the first time I see you as you really are.”

  “Which appeals to you more? The cowboy…or the Indian?”

  “T-T-The…” She trembled. “I don’t know.”

  “Come here, Easy,” he said, his voice smooth and deep. “Perhaps it is time for the truth.”

  She stepped out of the brush and carefully walked up to where he was. He took her hand and led her to a rock and sat her down. As he crouched before her, he began to speak in a whisper, and looked deep into her eyes.

  “There is a rose that blooms at midnight.

  It blooms the whole night long.

  It’s fragrance is a mighty mist,

  It’s beauty like a song.

  The stars and moon hide their face in shame

  When the petals of this rose spread forth.

  For nothing in this world can equal its beauty

  When the hour of midnight comes forth.

  That is you, my love,

  That is you.”

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and when she couldn’t contain them, she began to cry. “Oh, Cheyenne, that’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Easy, I’m not a half-breed, I am a full-blooded Indian Brave, and my name isn’t Cheyenne.”

  “What? N-Not Cheyenne?”

  “I escaped from my reservation when I chose to live among the white man. My tribe would have killed me had they found me, so I changed my name to Cheyenne and have been hiding among Reno’s gang since. Reno is the half-breed. I am a full-blooded Apache.”

  The tears in her eyes drew the light of the twinkling stars. “If your name’s not Cheyenne, what is it?”

  “I am Cheveyo.”

  Easy gasped as she remembered a story in her Ten Penny Novel Book about an Indian Brave named Cheveyo. The stories were so exciting they took her breath away. There were colored pictures galore of an Indian Brave riding, fighting and even loving, but suddenly they stopped. The last story she read was all about his strange disappearance. The loss was almost devastating to those who kept up with his exploits. She was still waiting for his return when suddenly he was here—loving her. His love a little more wild than the others. His love more passionate and free. His love more serious—as necessary to the Indian as breathing. Now she knew why he seldom smiled. He felt deeply, making his love a savage kind of love.

  “It’s o
ur secret,” he whispered. “Now you tell me a secret, and when we have shared our secrets we become as one.”

  She was silent for a moment, almost afraid to speak, and then the halting words seemed to spill out of her mouth all at once. “I…I’m afraid of Indians.”

  He snickered, trying to keep from laughing. “Easy, you try to act so tough, but you are such a little fawn. Yes, that is your Indian name. Little Fawn. Again, this will be our secret.” He squeezed her hand. “And Little Fawn, you will never have reason to fear me. Unless, of course, you will not let me make love to you, in which case I would have to kill you.”

  They both laughed. “You know, you even speak differently. More like an Indian, frankly.”

  “Because I must pass for white, I speak like the white man.”

  “Oh, Cheyenne, you’re so different tonight than you are with the others. You’re sensitive, romantic, and so absolutely beautiful in your Indian getup.” She gazed at him, searching his dark eyes. “It must be terrible to live a lie, and yet you seem very religious.”

  “All Indians have a sacred spirit that guides them, protects them. I pray for everything. Rain, food, safety in my travels. It’s the way I was brought up.” He caught her hands in his. “Easy, what you have seen here tonight is what I truly am. Now that you know you must never tell.”

  “I never will, I promise.”

  “I would love to make love to you right here, right now, but during prayer I must stay pure.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Now go back to the house and try to sleep. Morning will come sooner than you expect.”

  With his mouth close to her face, she could feel the hot breath of his race on her skin, but instead of trying to seduce him into making love to her, she showed respect for his beliefs. “Goodnight, Chey…Cheveyo,” she whispered.

  “Good night, Little Fawn.”

  * * * *

  I want to be your woman.

  The words reverberated in Reno’s head over and over again as the morning sun warmed his back. Shots rang out one after the other as he practiced drawing his six gun and shooting tin cans off a fallen log. The cans flew right and left as the whizzing bullets hit them. His arm was stiff so he worked it, trying to limber it up. He felt like an amateur as he continued to curl his finger around the trigger and squeeze. Since he’d taken a bullet in the shoulder his aim was off a little, but he knew all he needed was a little target practice.

  I want to be your woman.

  While he stopped to re-load, the words still played along the edges of his mind, refusing to give him any peace. Sure, he’d wanted her, so he took her. Reno always took what he wanted, but he never dreamed that she would take their relationship so seriously. She didn’t understand. Reno was not someone who could ever offer a woman marriage.

  His lifestyle was just too damned dangerous. He had women when he wanted them. A saloon girl, an occasional brief affair, a woman he had tucked away somewhere, but it was always a quick hello and goodbye as he crawled in and out of her bed. He’d never considered marrying any of them. He hated to say it, but it would have to be the same with Easy. She was young. She probably had ideals about this romance and marriage stuff, but to him, sex was just sex. It was something he indulged in when he needed it, like food and water. He drank when he was thirsty and ate when he was hungry. Sex is an appetite like all the others, and every man satisfies it when necessary, and when it’s time to move on there are no regrets.

  That is—until Easy.

  He could tell that his men liked her. Maybe a little too much. He could tell because he felt the same way. None of them wanted to leave. The four of them were like brothers. They shared everything, even women. They’d almost hit a rut in the road the day he woke up to find them all over her. His first thoughts were that they were taking advantage of her. He leapt in trying to save her virtue only to find out that she’d been a willing partner in their little ménage. He managed to hide it well, but the truth was, it just about blew his mind when he discovered that she wasn’t what he thought she was. He’d told her he was disappointed, but it was a lie. If anything, she looked even better to him. He’d never cared for fluttery women. Women who seemed weak and frightened all the time. He’d always liked them tough, and that’s what Easy was. She was young, hot, and always ready. But he knew the day was coming when he would have to break her heart.

  Trying to keep his mind on his target practice, Reno began doing some daring moves. He stood with his back to the fallen log, and then whirled around and blasted the tin cans. Next he rolled on the ground stirring up dust until he came to a stop on his stomach and shot three or four tin cans that made a hollow sound when they were hit.

  As he practiced, his aim became better, and the tin cans flew in all directions. During his re-loading, a blast sounded, and a bullet that just missed him got lost in a tree trunk. Reno whirled around, his gun pointed, but no one was there.

  “Reno!” a strange voice shouted out. “Reno Hudson!”

  “I’m Reno,” he shouted in return. “Come out where I can see you, you coward.”

  Slowly a tall, lanky cowboy stepped out of the bushes with his gun trained on Reno. “I’m Rio Judson, and I’m gonna kill you.”

  “The line forms on the left,” Reno said sarcastically.

  “I been watchin’ you. I see you got a bum shoulder there.”

  “A little set back. Nothing much,” Reno said, casting a hard look toward his visitor.

  “We’ll see about that come sunup tomorrow. I predict you’ll be layin’ dead on the dusty street of Red River.”

  “Is that supposed to worry me?” Reno said as his face took on a hard look. “I don’t scare easy, kid. I’ve been threatened and forced into gunfights with the best, but I came out of all of them still alive. What makes you think you’re any different?”

  “For one thing, you’re all shot up,” he said, pointing toward the sling that lay on the ground. “You don’t really think you can beat me with a bum shoulder, do you?”

  “Don’t let that sling fool you,” he said, aiming his gun and shooting one can after the other before the kid could blink his eyes. “It only takes one hand and one draw to shoot a little coward like you. I’ll be sittin’ down to a cold beer five minutes after this little shootout ends.”

  “You got one hell of an ego, don’t you Reno? It’s that ego that’ll put you in your grave. You just remember this one thing. You’ve met your match in me, and tomorrow while they’re diggin’ your grave, I’ll be the one sittin’ down to a cold beer while I’m countin’ my bounty money.”

  “I doubt you’re even old enough to drink.” Reno hesitated, a concerned frown on his face. “Look, kid, believe me when I say you don’t want to be in my shoes. I’m not famous, I’m feared, dammit! I can’t go nowhere that I ain’t recognized. I ain’t done one damned thing, but I’m blamed for half the crimes that are committed. I have to stay hid most of the time, and for what? The glory of being famous?” Reno snorted. “Believe me, it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. If I do show up in a town somewhere, some young punk like you is always challenging me to gunplay in the street, and some sheriff is frantically looking through wanted posters. Dozens just like you read them stupid magazines, and plan for the day they can put me down. Well, I’m fuckin’ tired of it!”

  “I don’t care what you say,” the kid yelled, pointing at him threateningly. “I’m comin’ for you tomorrow, so you be ready.”

  “You wanna die, kid? All right, but remember when that bullet blasts you in the belly, this was your choice, not mine. Now get out of my sight until tomorrow at sun up, because your time is up! Got that? You’re dead!”

  “Them’s mighty harsh words.”

  They both whirled around, and there stood Easy all decked out in her tight jeans and six guns.

  “What the hell are you doin’ up here?” Reno barked.

  “Well, the dishes were done, and laundry day ain’t until tomorrow. I don’t know, I th
ought if I come up here you’d show me a few of your tricks. Might even get a little practice in myself.” The men stepped back as she lifted a gun out of its holster and began twirling it around her finger. She quickly stopped it when it pointed toward them. “A woman alone needs to know how to handle a gun—” She gave them a teasing smile. “—wouldn’t you say? By the way, what’s all this talk about killin’ somebody?”

  “Nothin’,” Reno snapped. “Get on back to the house.”

  “Listen here, Reno Hudson, I ain’t no snivelin’ female you can order around. You seem to have a hard time rememberin’ that. I’d work on it if I was you.” She looked over at the tall, lanky cowboy. “Now who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Rio Judson, ma’am.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember you now.”

  “You know this snake?”

  “Found this animal hidin’ in the bushes last night,” she told Reno. “Wasn’t sure if it was a coyote after my chickens, or some lame kid tryin’ to get a look at the famous Reno Hudson. I thought you left. What are you doin’ still hangin’ around?”

  “I couldn’t leave without him and me working up a little business deal.” He looked over at Reno, sending him a signal with his eyes. “Right Reno?” As his sharp gaze dug into Reno, his next words were bathed in a threat. “See you at sun up tomorrow.”

  Easy and Reno watched as the cowboy walked toward his horse and untied it, mounted it, and then rode off.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Nothin.’ The less you know, the better off you’ll be.”

  “What’s this ‘business deal’ he was talkin’ about?”

  “Nothin,’ just…”

  “Reno, talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to get you involved, Easy.”

  “I’m already involved, for God’s sake. I’ve given you shelter, I’ve fed you…my God, I’ve even slept with you. How can you say I’m not involved?”