Sweet Cherry Ray Page 14

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  There was a knock on the jailhouse door, and Billy Parker’s voice hollered, “I brung yer pa, Cherry!”

  As Doc Milton placed a strip of cloth over the wound at Lobo’s leg, Cherry felt suddenly more hopeful knowing her pa had arrived. Leaping to her feet, Cherry drew the bolt and opened the door, collapsing into her pa’s strong embrace.

  “There now, darlin’,” Arthur Ray said.

  “They shot him, pa!” she cried. “Just rode out onto our ranch and shot him cold in the back!”

  “I know, honey,” Arthur said. “I know.” He held Cherry away from him, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and asked Doc Milton, “Is he gonna live?”

  “I think so. He lost a lot of blood though. He’s gonna be too awful weak to be gunnin’ for outlaws for a time, I’m afraid.”

  Cherry watched as Arthur turned to Billy. Bracing himself on one crutch, he said, “You run on home, Bill. But you make sure you do what I said, all right?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ray,” Billy said. The boy looked to Cherry and frowned. “We all shoulda known it, Cherry—that he was a lawman.”

  She only nodded and wiped more tears from her cheeks.

  “I brung my wagon,” Arthur said. “I figure we best take him home with us. Word’ll be out soon enough he’s a Ranger gunnin’ for Black Jack…and that won’t set well with Jack’s boys.”

  “I agree,” Doc Milton said. “I dug out them bullets,” he said, nodding to the five bullets lying on the floor next to Lobo. “I think he’ll be fine, but ya best move him quick so he can start into healin’.”

  “There ain’t no commotion in town yet,” Arthur said.

  “Where’s the sheriff?” a large red-haired man hollered, bursting into the room. “Where’s the sheriff? That outlaw done shot my brother!”

  Instantly, Cherry recognized the man as one of the men that had shot Lobo.

  “Pa,” Cherry breathed. “He—he’s one of the ones that shot Lobo.”

  “That’s him! That’s him right there!” the man shouted. “And that’s the girl that was with him!” The man started to draw his gun but was rendered unconscious as Arthur Ray struck him hard in the head with the butt of his pistol.

  Tommy and Miles Baxter stumbled into the room then. They looked to their father, sprawled out on the floor near Lobo.

  Arthur Ray leveled his pistol at Tommy’s head. “You boys the ones that was bullyin’ them kids out on my ranch today?”

  “That outlaw done shot our uncle!” Miles said, pointing an index finger to where Lobo lay still unconscious.

  “That there’s Texas Ranger Lobo McCoy,” Arthur said. “And if that other feller on the floor is yer pa, he’s in a heap a trouble.”

  “Lobo McCoy?” Tommy whispered. “Ain’t…ain’t he got a brother?”

  “Jefferson McCoy,” Miles mumbled. “That Ranger that was gunned down in San Antonio ’fore we left.”

  “Gunned down by Black Jack Haley,” Arthur said. “Lobo’s here to bring ol’ Jack to justice.”

  Arthur pushed the barrel of his pistol firm against Tommy Baxter’s head. “My name’s Arthur Ray—Texas Ranger Arthur Ray—and I’m wantin’ to know which one of you boys roughed up them kids today. Which one of you was it that touched my daughter here?”

  The still bloodied and bruising Baxter boys stood silent and trembling—terrified in the presence of a man the likes of Arthur Ray.

  “Doc,” Arthur began, “why don’t we stick these boys in a cell ’til I can get back here and deal with them proper.”

  “You bet,” Doc Milton said. Wiping his hands on his shirt, Doc Milton headed to the back of the jailhouse. “Cherry already locked up that coward Gibbs.”

  “Cherry, help the Doc drag this piece of horse—help Doc drag this other old boy back there as well,” Arthur said.

  “Yes, Pa,” Cherry said, brushing tears from her cheeks.

  “This ain’t what I wanted for ya, Cherry,” Arthur began. “Fallin’ for a lawman—it ain’t what I wanted.”

  “But a good lawman, Pa…ain’t that the best kinda man there is?” she asked, forcing a smile.

  Arthur reached up and brushed a smudge of blood from Cherry’s cheek.

  “I suppose,” he said. He glanced at Lobo. “Jack’s boys are ridin’ in one at a time, Cherry. Won’t be more’n a day or two ’til Jack’s back too. We gotta get Lobo home and make sure no one knows we have him—least ’til he’s good enough to face Jack proper.”

  She held her breath and looked to Lobo as he groaned low in his throat.

  “See if you can get him up on his own feet long enough to get him in the wagon,” Arthur said. “I’m gonna talk to them two boys and that coward Gibbs.”

  Cherry nodded, noting the way her pa twisted his pistol in his hand. He meant to whip every one of them with the butt of his gun—both Baxter boys and Sheriff Gibbs. He’d see Lobo back to the ranch house and safe before riding back to town to deal with the men in the cells.

  Another groan from Lobo and Cherry dropped to her knees beside him.

  Stroking his hair, she leaned forward. His eyes opened—narrow slits and only for a moment.

  “Lobo? We’ve got to get ya outta here. We gotta take ya someplace safe.”

  “That sheriff’s a fool,” he mumbled. “Jack’ll be ridin’—ridin’ in any day and I—I gotta…”

  “We gotta get you up and into the wagon, Lobo…before too many folks start millin’ around town again.”

  Lobo winced and lifted his head off the floor. Cherry helped him as he struggled to sit up.

  “Ow!” he exclaimed, grimacing. His frown deepened as he looked at Cherry. “Don’t cry, darlin’,” he breathed, obviously in great pain. “I been shot before.”

  “Five times at once?” she asked, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Five times?”

  “Doc Milton dug five bullets outta ya,” she said, pointing to the bloody bullets on the floor.

  Lobo reached out, gathering the bullets into one hand. “Here,” he said, holding his hand toward her. “Drop ’em in yer pocket. I wanna put them with the other ones I got.”

  She frowned as he dropped the bloody bullets into her hand. “Go on,” he said. “Don’t lose ’em now.”

  She shook her head, astonished. Dropping the bullets into the pocket that already held his badge, she stood, taking hold of his arm and helping him to stand. He swore several times and put his hand over the wound at his hip.

  “This one hurts worse than the rest of ’em do,” he mumbled.

  “Let’s get you into the wagon. I’ll make sure nobody’s wanderin’ around out there.”

  Lobo stumbled but braced himself on the edge of the sheriff’s desk.

  “You best hurry and get me out there, Cherry,” he said. “This room’s spinnin’ like a top.”

  Cherry opened the jailhouse door and peered out into the street. No one was about—not a soul.

  “Come on,” she said, draping one of Lobo’s heavy arms across her shoulders. “Let’s get you in the back of the wagon.”

  It was a difficult chore. Lobo was weak and struggled to climb into the wagon. Still, somehow Cherry managed to get him in. Easing him gently onto the wagon bed, she helped him lie down under an old quilt her pa had had the foresight to bring along.

  Moments later, Arthur Ray climbed into the seat of the wagon and slapped the lines at the backs of the team.

  “Stay down, boy…Cherry,” Arthur said. “I don’t want to draw no attention to us.”

  Cherry stretched out in the wagon bed. She turned to her side—turned to face Lobo as they traveled.

  “Did you help that doc dig them bullets out of me?” Lobo asked. He was lying on his stomach—his warm, brown, pain-filled eyes intent on Cherry’s frightened blue ones.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “All five of ’em?” His eyes were narrowing. She knew he would be unconscious again in a matter of moments.

  “All five of ’em,” sh
e confirmed, smiling at him and brushing the perspiration from his forehead with the back of her hand.

  She grinned when he grimaced and swore under his breath.

  He was unconscious again, and Cherry let more tears trickle from her eyes. He had to be all right! He had to be! He had to heal up and spit cherry pits with her—drag her home to her pa and tattle on her—hold her in the strength of his arms and kiss her.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how much.”

  Brushing the tears from her cheeks, Cherry rolled onto her back. Gazing into the pink sky of early sunset, she tried to erase the memory of the shooting—tried to remember only the blissful moments before, the moments when Lobo McCoy had held her in his arms, thrilled her with delicious, cherry-flavored kisses.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Shot him square in the back without a hint of a warnin’,” Arthur Ray told Lefty Pierce. “Way I heard it, Lobo was up north trailin’ some other outlaw when Black Jack and his boys rode into San Antonio. Jack shot Jefferson McCoy and them two deputies.”

  Lefty shook his head. “So Lobo rode into Blue Water to bring Jack in.”

  “I shouldn’ta let it go so long,” Arthur said. “I know how scared folks are ’round here—how they think the worst of any stranger that rides in, instead of the best. Still, I could tell Lobo didn’t want folks a-knowin’ he was a Ranger.”

  “He wanted ol’ Jack to ride on into town thinkin’ Lobo was plannin’ on joinin’ up with him and his boys,” Lefty said.

  “That’s right—but I shoulda said somethin’, at least to that fool Clarence Gibbs. I’m lucky Lobo and Cherry ain’t both lyin’ out in the boneyard east of town.”

  “Well, whether them Baxters knew Lobo was a Ranger or not…they still went gunnin’.”

  “And Clarence Gibbs set ’em out to do it. As far as I’m concerned, Clarence can rot away in them cells with them Baxter fellers even if it takes a week for the law to get here from San Antonio.”

  “It’s a good thing ya brung him here,” Lefty said. “Jack’s boys woulda finished him off if you’da left him in town to heal.”

  “Do ya think they know he’s here?” Mrs. Blakely asked. “Could be they’ll come for him if they do.”

  “They’re too afraid of Pa, even if they do know he’s here,” Cherry said.

  “Well, I hope so…but I ain’t certain,” Arthur said. “I wouldn’t have our boys ridin’ back and forth all day keepin’ watch if I was certain.”

  “Naw, they won’t buck Arthur none,” Lefty said. “Not without Jack anyway.”

  Cherry had tried to sit still—tried to keep herself from Lobo’s bedside—but she’d tried long enough.

  Rising from the parlor chair she’d been sitting in for the last hour, she said, “I’ll go peek in on him…just see if he needs anythin’.”

  “He needs his rest, Cherry,” Mrs. Blakely said. “He’s never gonna heal if ya don’t leave him be.”

  Cherry frowned and looked to her pa for support. She had to be with Lobo! Certainly she’d sat up with him through the first night, changed his bandages, given him water when he was conscious enough to drink it. Still, Mrs. Blakely had sat with him the second night—after Cherry’s pa insisted she needed her rest as well.

  “Oh, he oughta be doin’ fine by now, Fiona,” Arthur said. “None of them bullets hit bone. If he’s the ol’ wolf I think he is, he’ll be fightin’ us to get outta bed by noon today. It won’t do no harm to let Cherry look in on him for a while this mornin’. Might even lift his spirits.”

  Mrs. Blakely raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Lift his spirits, indeed,” she mumbled. “And speakin’ of old wolves,” she continued, “I just can’t get use to that thing over by the hearth, Cherry. Can’t ya take it out to the barn or somethin’?”

  Cherry looked to the old dried-up red wolf still curled up in restfulness by the hearth.

  “He’s fine where he is, Mrs. Blakely,” Cherry said. “Look how peaceful and comfortable he is.”

  “Peaceful?” Mrs. Blakely exclaimed. “Comfortable? He’s dead, Cherry Ray! He’s up chasin’ rabbits in heaven.” With an exasperated sigh, Mrs. Blakely turned and stormed toward the kitchen, all the while muttering complaints under her breath.

  “Go on in there and see if Lobo’s got everythin’ he needs,” Arthur said. “Let him know I got his horse out in the barn…his riggin’ too.”

  “Thanks, Pa.”

  Hurrying to the spare bedroom where Lobo had been convalescing since being shot, Cherry opened the door quietly. He was sleeping. His eyes were closed and his broad chest rose and fell with the slow rhythm of slumber.

  She smiled and entered the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She was almost glad to find him asleep; it meant she could study him without him knowing.

  Carefully, she sat down in the chair at the side of the bed, hoping the soft rustle of her petticoats hadn’t disturbed him. He’d rolled onto his back, and Cherry winced, wondering if the weight of his body on his wounds against the mattress would cause them to start bleeding again.

  Oh, how wonderful he was! Cherry bit her lip, delighted at having another opportunity to stare at him for as long as her heart desired. He was ever so handsome, especially with his hair tousled the way it was. It gave him a rather relaxed appearance. His shoulders and chest were so broad—so perfectly formed and so muscular. Cherry shook her head at the three round scars visible on his left shoulder. Her eyes filled with moisture. Merely from the waist up, it was apparent Lobo had taken at least seven other bullets—seven more than the five he’d taken the day Mr. Baxter and his brother had tried to gun him down under the cherry tree. Even Cherry’s pa had been astounded by the amount of bullet wounds visible on Lobo’s torso.

  Cherry brushed the tears from her cheeks and thought, You have to give this up! You can’t go on bein’ shot at without a bullet findin’ your heart one day!

  Shaking her head to dispel the frightening thoughts, she continued to study him. She would never tire of looking at Lobo McCoy. Never!

  “If ya think I didn’t hear ya come in…yer wrong,” he mumbled unexpectedly. Cherry’s heart began to hammer in her bosom! She was so delighted by the sound of his voice, the warm brown of his eyes as they opened and looked at her, that she thought she might never draw another calm breath in her life.

  “H-how are ya feelin’?” she asked. The color had returned to his face, and even though he grimaced when he bent his arm and fisted his hand to test his strength, she could tell he was mending.

  “Stiff as a wagon board,” he said, frowning as he clutched his right shoulder with his left hand and continued to move his stretch. “I don’t know why, but it always seems to take me a day or two to get to movin’ around good after I been shot.”

  Cherry felt her eyebrows arch in disbelief. Was he joshing? Surely he was.

  “You were shot five times, Lobo. I’m sure it will take a while before you’ll be up and around again.”

  But Lobo shook his head. “Can’t take no longer than it already has,” he said. “Black Jack will be ridin’ in any day, and I gotta bring him in. He’s goin’ back to San Antonio to stand before a judge.” Lobo tried to sit up but grimaced and let his head fall back against the pillow. “Give me a minute or two…then I’ll be up.”

  “You ain’t gettin’ up in a minute or an hour!” Cherry scolded. “You’ll stay right there and rest.”

  “Where’s my gun?” he asked, looking over at her frowning. “Did you have it?”

  “It’s under the bed,” Cherry began, “But ya don’t need it just now.”

  “Hand it up here to me, would ya?” he asked. “I’ll sleep better holdin’ it in my hand than I will knowin’ it’s so far away as under the bed.”

  “I don’t think you—”

  “Please, Cherry,” he interrupted. He looked worried, tired—plum worn out—and she couldn’t refuse him.

  Shaking her head, she reached under the bed and retrieved Lob
o’s gun belt, holster, and Colt. She pulled the gun out of the holster, laying the belt and holster on the bed at Lobo’s side as she studied the gun.

  “Peacemaker,” she mumbled, reading aloud the engraving on the brass plate of the gun grip. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the markings carved into the grip. “Twenty-five,” she breathed in a whisper. It was true then—what she’d overheard Remmy Cooper and Mr. Murphy saying the day she’d hidden in the barrel.

  “That’s right,” Lobo said, holding his hand out to her in a gesture she should give the weapon to him.

  “You’ve killed twenty-five men?” She’d never heard of a Texas Ranger notching his pistol.

  “Nope,” he said as she handed the pistol to him. “This ain’t my gun. It was Juan Gutierrez claimed he notched it. My brother…” He paused and looked at her, deep pain evident in his eyes. “I’m guessin’ yer pa’s already told you my brother Jefferson was gunned down by Black Jack in San Antonio.” Cherry nodded and felt renewed moisture gathering in her eyes.

  Lobo frowned and studied the pistol in his hand. “Anyway,” he continued, “there was this feller—an outlaw come up to Texas from Mexico, Juan Gutierrez—and he was a bad one. Killed hisself three Texas Rangers, four sheriffs, five deputies, six or seven farmers, and one or two ranchers…and that’s just the ones we know fer sure. Well, Jefferson and me were trackin’ him after he’d gone loco in a saloon over down in Buffalo Gap—gunned down a couple a gamblers and two saloon girls. One of his stray bullets hit a little girl out in the street, and she died too. So Jefferson and me, we tracked old Juan down, but for some reason…he just didn’t wanna hang.”

  Cherry smiled when he grinned at her and added, “Though I can’t imagine why not.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied the gun again. “We had him held up in a dry creek bed outside of San Antonio and were gonna just wait him out…figurin’ we had more supplies between the two of us than he’d managed to haul away from Buffalo Gap when he run. Well, we was waitin’ him out when this other feller, Pepe Ortiz—he rode with Juan sometimes—this Pepe Ortiz comes outta nowhere and shoots me twice in the back. Jefferson shot Pepe, and knowin’ I needed to get back to town—bein’ that I was bleedin’ all over his favorite shirt I’d borrowed the mornin’ before—Jefferson just called out to ol’ Juan and told him if he didn’t give hisself over to us, he’d wake up sproutin’ maggots. Ol’ Juan thought, with me wounded, he’d take Jefferson down easy. But it wasn’t so. Juan come runnin’ at Jefferson, and Jefferson’s hollerin’ at him to stop or he’ll drop him. So Juan stops cold and so did Jefferson. They eyed each other up a bit…but Jefferson was a quicker draw than Juan and shot that mean ol’ outlaw right between the eyes.”