The Reckoning Read online

  Buster chuckled behind Lorraine.

  “So Doc thinks I’m gonna live. Is that pretty much it?”

  “Sure. You ain’t hurt bad, he says.” But her face said otherwise. “He said the bullet went right through some muscle and some other stuff a body don’t need much of. That, plus when he was lookin’ you over, he said you been shot before and survived, so you’ll probably live this time too.” A small grin spread across her face, then quickly disappeared. She broke eye contact and pulled the white sheet covering Ike a little higher on his chest. “Now I got to get back to work. I got more important things to do than spending all day nursing you.” She dabbed at his forehead again and got up, her dress spotted with blood.

  Ike smiled at her as she started down the hall toward the kitchen. He heard her yell back, “And Buster, you see that our patient don’t get up now, hear?”

  “Yes’m.”

  ****

  Last night when he heard the shots, Buster hurried over from the stable and searched the ground outside Ike’s window. Now that it was daylight, he saw how the shooter set up. Buster pulled his chair close to Ike’s bed and leaned over the patient.

  “Likely it wuz just one shooter, and he weren’t the best shot, neither. He wuz likely aimin’ for your head, and in the dark just missed, hittin’ you in the shoulder instead. If he’d a laid his gun—because that’s what it wuz, a gun, it weren’t no rifle—if he’d a steadied it on the window sill and waited for the clouds to clear, he’d have done you in.”

  Ike looked over at him. “Sounds like you’re almost sorry he didn’t.”

  “Why, fiddle dee dee, you know better’n that. I was just—what’s the word—refiggerin’.”

  “I think you mean recreating.”

  “That’s the word, I was just…recreating…the incident. The coward run off back behind the Wildfire and left some boot marks, but there’s hardly anyone in town whose boots wouldn’t leave the same prints, so that ain’t gonna do us no good.”

  “So, it’s us again, is it?”

  “That’s about right, Mr. Porter.”

  “Why don’t you call me Ike, Buster?”

  “Well, thank you, sir, I’d like that. Care for a little drink?” Buster pulled out a short glass bottle of whiskey about half full.

  Ike smiled and nodded. “Reckon I will.” Buster helped him sit up a bit. He took a small sip and coughed. “Thanks, Buster, but would you mind? I’m gettin’ a little sleepy.”

  “Sure thing there, Mr. Ike. You go on and get some shut-eye now. I’ll be around to see you later.” As Buster got up to leave, the cat came in, jumped on the bed, and curled up by Ike. “Ain’t that somethin’. Never seen that cat partial to nobody.” In the hallway, Buster met Walnutt coming toward him. He put a hand out and stopped the professor short of Ike’s bedroom. “Ain’t nobody goin’ in there ’cept me and that cat right now, understand, Professor?”

  “My good man, I just wanted to pay my respects.”

  Buster said, “He’s got all the respects he needs right now.” And with that, he turned the Englishman around and pushed him back toward the front of the house. Before he escorted Walnutt out the front door, Buster peeked into the kitchen. Lorraine was standing by the sink, leaning on the basin, head hung low.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Lorraine returned to Ike’s bedroom, he had just woken up from another nap.

  “I’m movin’ you upstairs, in the room next to me,” she told him. Ike started to object, but she put a hand up. “Don’t be fussin’ back at me none now. That’s just the way it’s gonna be, and you’re too played out to do anything about it anyway.”

  Ike said, “I’ve heard there’s two theories to arguin’ with a woman, and neither one works. So I guess what you’re really sayin’ is you think I’ll be safer a floor up.”

  “Maybe, but the way I figure it,” said Lorraine, “if they want you bad enough to climb up to the second floor to bushwhack you, they can have you.” She started directing Buster and the professor, who had followed her into the room. The two men helped Ike up off the bed and supported him as they went down the hall and up the stairs. Lorraine gathered Ike’s few belongings in one hand and his rifle in the other. It was a relatively new Winchester repeating rifle that Walnutt kept glancing at.

  Upstairs, she settled Ike in the professor’s former bedroom. When she first told Walnutt she was moving Ike to his bedroom, he had protested, but Lorraine stood firm, telling him, “If you want to stay here any longer, you’re downstairs from now on. Take it or leave it.”

  Lorraine stood by the side of Ike’s bed and shooed the two men out. “Go on, go now. Ain’t nothin’ here you can do that I can’t do better. Now get!”

  Before he left, the professor said, “I hope you will let people know that it is me downstairs in that bedroom now, and not Mr. Porter, because I will certainly be spreading the word.”

  Lorraine fixed him with a flinty stare. “If you do, then you won’t have to worry about some cowboy shootin’ you by mistake, because it’ll be me doin’ it, and it won’t be by mistake. And you won’t have to wait long for it to happen.” She poked a finger in his chest. “Got it?” The professor’s silence spoke volumes.

  After Buster and Walnutt disappeared down the stairs, Lorraine drew a chair up and sat next to her patient.

  “Now you tell me true. Why’s somebody after you?”

  Ike grimaced as he shifted on the bed. “Don’t really know, but I’m thinkin’ it must have somethin’ to do with Sue.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, the only reason I’m here is to find her, and most people know that by now. I’m not interested in anything or anybody else, so the way I figure it, if someone’s makin’ a target out of me, it’s because they want to stop me from findin’ out about what’s happened to her. Couldn’t be nothin’ else.”

  Lorraine leaned in, lifted Ike’s head, and fluffed his feather pillow. “Could be, I guess. By the way, when Doc was fixin’ you up, he wanted to know where you’d gotten all those scars. Told him I didn’t know. So…where’d you get ’em?”

  Ike paused for a second. “In the war. Mostly.” Then silence. The sounds of battle that rattled around in his head these days weren’t as loud as they used to be.

  “That’s all? That’s all you’re gonna say? After my feedin’ and takin’ care of you, that’s all you have to say to me? Why, I never!”

  “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Miss Lorraine. There just ain’t much about me that’s interesting, but if there’s somethin’ in particular you want to know, shoot.”

  “For starters, tell me what you did in the war.”

  “I was a cavalry sergeant in the Union Army. With General Stoneman in General Sherman’s Corps. We were fightin’ mostly in the West, and I got nicked up a time or two. Never bad enough to put me out of the war, though. Turns out, I’d have been better off if I’d been stove up worse and got sent home. Then my folks would still be alive.”

  “So that’s where you got the bad leg? In the war?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “So, how?”

  “Got it after the war.” Lorraine stared at him until Ike finally said, “Chasin’ bad guys.”

  She nodded. An image of Tucker in her kitchen flashed through her head.

  “Didn’t know the limp was that noticeable.”

  “Well, when I see you comin’, walkin’ like you’re on a ship that’s heavin’ to and fro, it’s hard not to notice. So, one of the bad guys shot you?”

  Ike shifted again and didn’t answer.

  Lorraine changed the subject. “Those raiders who killed your pa, were they Confederates?” She saw him hesitate, but she wanted to know more about her mysterious boarder. She’d never met anyone quite like him. Certainly not around Cottonwood. Her better judgment told her to tread easy though. “I’m sorry. I’m gettin’ into things I got no business gettin’ into.”

  Once she backed off, he opened up. �
��They always bragged they were, but they were just killers and thieves who didn’t believe in nothin’ but themselves.”

  “Why’d they kill your pa?”

  Ike’s jaw clenched. “Evil men don’t need a reason for killin’. When my folks weren’t on the farm, they ran a weekly newspaper in Lawrence, and they didn’t have much good to say about the raiders or the Confederates. So when the raiders swept through town, they targeted my father, burnin’ and killin’ as they rode through. They killed a lot of other innocent folks too.”

  “I heard you went after them after the war.”

  Ike’s eyes grew hard, and his cold stare sent a shiver through her.

  He propped himself up in the bed. “Who told you that? Tucker’s the only person who might…” He stopped.

  “You mean Tucker’s the only person in town who might know that, don’t you? Well, is it true? That’s what I heard.”

  Ike looked at the ceiling for a long time. “We did what we had to do, and I’d do it again. There’s still more ‘doin’’ ahead.”

  “Was Sue still with you then?”

  “She was, but after a while, she wanted us to stop. But we didn’t. Couldn’t. About that time is when she came out west.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Me and my brother Rob.”

  “So that’s when you hurt your leg? Chasin’ after outlaws after the war?”

  A slow, “Yes.”

  Lorraine kept on. “So you stayed after Sue left, to hunt down more—”

  Ike raised a hand. “Let’s just say we stayed, me and Rob. After a while, the raiders started scattering. Some went to Texas, some went east, and some went west.”

  “Tucker says you’re hidin’ out here because of what you did after the war.”

  “There’s no hidin’ out to it. I’m right here, never tried to hide from anybody. I’m just tryin’ to find out about Sue.”

  Lorraine sighed. “I wish I knew somethin’ about what happened to her. Anything.”

  Ike grimaced and lowered himself back down on the bed. “I’ve already run off at the mouth today more than I do in a month—why don’t you tell me somethin’ about you? How’d you get to be here?”

  “Not much to it. I grew up on the plains out east. My daddy was a rancher, and when I was old enough to decide for myself whether to stay home or leave, I stayed.”

  “What brought you up here to Cottonwood?”

  “My husband, Frank, was a cowhand, and after the war he was lookin’ for work. But there wasn’t any to be had in Julesburg, even though it was a big cattle town. That’s northeast of here on the plains. The major had just come through there with his men, buyin’ cattle and headin’ west, and lookin’ for a foreman.”

  “You sure he bought ’em? I heard different.”

  “Don’t know, that’s the story I heard.”

  “So, Frank was a top hand for Tompkins?”

  “Yes, on the Emerald Valley Ranch.”

  “When was that?”

  “Well, we came out here with Tompkins what, three years ago? He’d just bought the ranch, so it was about then. He’s built it up quite a bit since.”

  “Bought it, huh?” Ike scrunched his brow. “But Kelly is Tompkins’ top hand.”

  “He is now. Back then, my husband was.”

  “I reckoned you were a widow. If you don’t mind my askin’, what happened to your husband?”

  She looked down at her lap. “He got himself killed a couple of years ago. Out on the range. Tompkins’ cattle stampeded, and Frank got trampled in it. Simple as that.” She clenched at the cotton apron she wore and stood. “I got to go get dinner ready. You get some rest now,” then she hurried out the bedroom door.

  The cat jumped on the bed and curled up next to Ike.

  ****

  Early the next morning, Ike limped into the kitchen before anyone else was up. He searched the wall on the other side of his former bedroom. He fingered a hole there, then looked down at the kitchen floor. He spied a deformed bullet by one of the stove’s black iron feet and slipped it into his pocket. He dropped some scraps for the cat, and there was a sound behind him. He turned to see Lorraine bustle into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Porter, what are you doing? This is my kitchen, and I don’t need any busted-up cowboy messin’ it up. And what is your cat doing in here?”

  “I’m sorry about the cat. She just looked hungry. I’ll take her outside.” He got up, and Lorraine said, “Don’t bother. The cat’s already here. And those scraps aren’t good for her. You’re going to poison her with that. Sit down now.” Lorraine went to her cupboard and took out a couple of eggs and mixed them with bread crumbs from a bowl she kept on the sink.

  Ike limped over to the small kitchen table and sat. The room spun slightly. He said, “I didn’t mean to mess anything up. I was just lookin’ for somethin’ for me or the cat to eat.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “You sit right there and don’t be gettin’ up ’til I tell you to.”

  “Yes’m.” He didn’t have the energy to protest. His hands shook slightly, and his arms were heavy.

  Lorraine said, “You look paler than those white sheets of mine you probably got all bloody again last night. We got to get some food into you.” She went over to the icebox and pulled out a bottle. Here, drink this.” She held out a glass of medium cool milk.

  Ike sat with his good arm on the table. While he took several sips, Lorraine furtively placed a small bowl of milk on the floor and stood back up.

  “I’ll be fine, just need to rest for a minute. I figgered maybe I could help out a little around here while I’m laid up.”

  That brought a mild rebuke. “Thank you anyway, but I don’t need your help. Besides, you can barely sit in that chair, much less help with the chores. Buster and me take care of things hereabouts pretty good, Mr. Porter.”

  “Yes’m. If you would, I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d call me Ike, though.”

  Lorraine paused and a flush spread over her neck. “Yes, well, I suppose I could do that. Fine.” While Ike sat, she took command of the stove and cooked up a large breakfast of ham and eggs. He’d wolfed down a plateful of the same the other morning, but after a few bites today, he’d had enough and put his fork down. “This sure is good, ma’am.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “You gettin’ picky about what you eat?” Lorraine looked hurt.

  Ike sat up straighter. “No, ma’am, it’s real good. I’m just not real hungry right now.”

  Lorraine turned back to the stove and said over her shoulder, “Well, I suppose you better call me Lorraine then, because…well…I…just because!”

  There was a knock on the front door. “That’ll be Buster.” Lorraine headed toward the front porch. Ike heard her talking to another woman—Margaret Pinshaw.

  ****

  Without missing a beat, Lorraine looked up at her visitor. “Margaret Pinshaw, what are you doing here?” and straightened up as tall as her five-foot-three frame would allow.

  “Well now, can’t a body make a friendly call on a neighbor?”

  Lorraine arched an eyebrow. “Sure they can, but you ain’t been over here in a couple years, I’m guessin’.”

  “Oh, it couldn’t have been that long, Mrs. Blanchard. Why, I remember sittin’ right there in the parlor with you chatting away like it was yesterday.”

  “Well, you were nice enough to call on me after Frank died, but that was a couple of years ago, Margaret.”

  “Has it really been that long? I have been remiss, Lorraine. Where does the time go?”

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Won’t you come in? I was just finishing up breakfast.” She stepped aside to let the shopkeeper in.

  “Well, I don’t want to be a bother, but maybe I will stay for just a few minutes. And thank you for your condolences when my George died. You know, he was never right after the war, just had a hard time making sense of things. I wish you could have seen him before that awful conflict.�
��

  Lorraine swept away a stray lock of hair and eyed Margaret closely as they stood in the foyer. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence she rolled her eyes and said, “He’s in the kitchen. This way.”

  Ike sat poking at his barely-touched plate of food. He tried to get up but sagged back into his chair.

  Lorraine said, “Ike Porter, you already know Margaret Pinshaw. She says she’s come to pay her respects to me. But it’s quite a coincidence that on her first visit here in years, you’re here too.”

  Margaret broke in. “Why, Mr. Porter, how are you? Did I hear something about you being shot? Who would do such a thing?”

  Lorraine stood guard near the table, disapproval written all over her face.

  “That’s right, Miss…er, Mrs. Pinshaw. Don’t know who it was—yet.”

  “I’m surprised to see that you’re already up. Mrs. Blanchard must be taking good care of you.” Lorraine squinted at her. “It happened just the night before last, didn’t it?”

  Lorraine brushed at her hair again. “You know it did, Margaret. Mr. Porter was quite lucky, according to Doc.” The woman was wearing on Lorraine.

  Margaret took a seat at the table in a small chair next to Ike. “It’s good to see that you are going to be all right, sir.” She paused. “As long as I’m here, I wonder if I might ask you about something.” Lorraine stared at her for a moment, then broke eye contact and grabbed at a broom nearby, twice knocking it over before getting hold of it. “Damn! Slippery broom. I reckon I got some housekeepin’ to do…upstairs. Out of earshot.” She squinted at Ike. “Your room’s probably a sight after the way I heard you tossin’ and turnin’ last night.” She turned and looked directly at Margaret. “I had to tend to you several times.”

  As Lorraine strode out of the kitchen, she passed the professor. “Breakfast is on your own, but right now, stay out of the kitchen.”

  ****

  Ike turned to Margaret. “You must have somethin’ important on your mind to be over here this early.”

  “Yes, I do. I heard you visited the place where George was killed.”

  “That’s right, Buster and me did,” Ike said with a slight grimace as he shifted on the chair. “He thought there might be somethin’ important to see out there.”