Dance Hall Road Page 4

  He frightened Petra—could see it in her eyes and in the way she held herself, all tense, and ready to pull back.

  He recalled she had a knife. It occurred to him she might take a notion to stick the shiv in his heart or slit his gullet with it some night while he slept. She sure didn’t want him touching her baby. Funny thing—he wanted to hold the little mite. He’d been disappointed she wouldn’t let him. It surprised him, made him shake his head.

  “Take a good look at yourself. Stands to reason, doesn’t it, no woman in her right mind should allow a hairy old bear like you anywhere near her kid.”

  Petra didn’t want him to touch her kid or her. Of course he touched the whores he kept. They didn’t seem to mind, at least they never let on they did. He liked to think of himself as a generous and fair man. He didn’t work the girls too hard. He made sure they had good food, did his best to protect them from the rough boys, and when they weren’t working, they’d all go down to the hot spring for a bit of fun and frolic.

  Growling at his reflection, he thought it a good thing none of the whores were here right now to catch him studying his face in a mirror. Absently, he picked up the scissors he had on the shelf above his washbasin and snipped at a few stray whiskers around his lip. If they could see him preening himself, he didn’t doubt they’d laugh their fancy bloomers off.

  The sounds of jangling harness took his mind off his grooming. Cursing the interruption, forcing him to delay his reading, he reached around and pulled his gun belt off the hook inside his wardrobe. Buckling it on his hip, he made his way to the front door, adjusting it for balance before he stepped outside.

  Standing at the threshold of the open door, he sensed the tension vibrating down through the floorboards above his head. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her up there, standing back from her window, her pretty lips drawn up in a worried pout, her dark brows puckered over her beautiful lake-blue eyes. He hoped she could keep the kid quiet. Good thing she’d taken all her laundry down off his front porch rails. Nobody needed to know he had a woman stashed away upstairs.

  “Hey, Buck,” Smiley Cummings the driver of the wagon called out, as he sprang down off the seat nimble as an elf. “I got somethin’ here for yah. It come in the day you left town. Too bad I missed yah.”

  Smiley delivered the mail between Baker City and Halfway. He usually didn’t stay long, but Buck thought he better offer the man a cup of coffee and a few moments of gab to keep him from becoming suspicious. “You want a cup of coffee? It’s colder than Billy-blue hell out here.”

  “I’ll take time for one cup. But I can’t diddle around here too long. I’d like to make it to Halfway before nightfall. I don’t like the looks of this sky. I’d say we’ll have a foot of snow by morning.”

  “Thanks for bringing this,” Buck said as he took his package.

  “You sure get a lot of books. You read’em all?”

  Buck grinned and led the way into the house, speaking over his shoulder, “Yeah, I sure do. Winter’s the best time to read. Not much else to do.”

  Smiley stood just inside the doorway as Buck went into his room and over to his stove to pour the man a large cup of Petra’s coffee.

  “You’ve been home a few days, I reckon?” Smiley muttered, then took a long drink from his cup.

  “Yeah, I’ve been back over a week.”

  Looking down into his cup, Smiley shook his head, “This ain’t your usual mud. What did yah do to it?”

  Buck grinned and gave the man a refill.

  After tossing it down his throat, Smiley wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve and handed Buck the cup. “So, did yah hear about the explosion out near Sumpter?”

  Buck shook his head and took the coffee cup back over to the counter, keeping his gaze down.

  “Maybe you lit out before we got the word in Baker City,” Smiley said, still standing in the doorway. “There’s a lot of excitement in town.”

  “What excitement would that be?” Buck asked with a nonchalance he hoped hid the tension he felt between his shoulders as he poured himself a cup of Petra’s coffee.

  “One of them mines up near Sumpter. A pair of brothers hit a gas pocket or somethin’ and a spark set off an explosion. Caused one hell of a cave-in.”

  Buck raised the cup to his lips, looking down into his coffee, seeing his eyes reflecting back at him, he told himself to keep his wits about him.

  When he looked up, he hoped he gave the impression of someone with a mild interest in the latest mining disaster. “Nope, I guess I missed that news. Nothing much happened while I was in town. So, anybody killed?”

  “It took’em three days, but they dug the poor buggers out. I guess they don’t call’em the Lucky Laski Brothers for nothin’. Kurt and Beau Laskie, you know’em? Both of’em are all busted up, half alive. Still breathin’ though. The word is they hit it big. There’s all kinds of talk. Everybody’s all excited, gettin’ the itch to go minin’. You know, there for a while, I thought the gold might’a petered out. But it looks like the rush is still on. You must’a heard of the Laski brothers? I heard they was twins—Swedes or some such foreigners.”

  Buck was glad he hadn’t done what he’d been thinking of doin’. He was glad he hadn’t shaved his face or Smiley might see too much. At the moment, his jaw felt so tight his ears ached.

  Beau Laski, the son-of-a-bitch. Buck would never forget the man. He’d nearly killed one of his regular girls, Doreen. Beau tied her to the bed and started in on her. Buck had stopped him, but not before Laski had given Doreen a black eye and some broken ribs. That little incident had put Doreen out of commission for nearly two weeks.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know Beau Laski, never met Kurt. Didn’t know Beau had a brother. Thought Beau one Laski too many,” was all Buck would admit to Smiley. “Twins, you say?”

  “Yup. Well, thanks for the coffee, Buck. Pretty good stuff this time. You must’a washed out the pot or somethin’, my gums ain’t bleedin’. I’ll use the privy and be on my way.”

  Buck tried to laugh, sound normal. He had to keep his head, or he’d punch a hole in the wall.

  “I got some flapjacks here. I’ll fix up somethin’ for the road and meet you out by the wagon.”

  “Thanks Buck. Would you look at the size of those flakes? Yup, I bet we get at least a foot, maybe better.”

  »»•««

  With his chest about to burst open if he didn’t shout or curse, Buck held himself together long enough to see Smiley pull out of his yard, then he headed for the barn. He had to think.

  Before he could think, he had to kick a few things, like several buckets, a couple of feed pans and some half-eaten mounds of hay before he settled down on a milking stool to scrub his head and massage his brain.

  It fit, it all fit together. The woman’s story and the Laski brothers mine. “Well, hellfire—ain’t that just dandy. I’m giving shelter to the private property of the devil himself. She didn’t lie about it. That’s what she said, he was the devil.

  “Real funny,” he said to the beams above his head, his gaze heavenward. “You got a real funny sense of humor. I suppose this is your way of destroying the life I’ve made here. I’ve suspected for some time you don’t approve.”

  Oh, yeah, Buck remembered Beau Laski. He had a twin, well, how sweet. Not one but two spawns of Satan disguised as two golden-haired gods, each one black-hearted mean and rotten all the way through.

  Poor Doreen, she’d fallen for Beau, the son-of-a-bitch, the minute she’d laid eyes on him. Buck hadn’t liked the way the pecker-wood laughed. His raffish grin didn’t reach his eyes. The man deliberately encouraged the girls to fight over him. Laski took some kind of sick pleasure in making Doreen jealous. Buck broke up several cat-fights that night. When Beau finally decided to take Doreen upstairs, Buck thought his troubles were over.

  When it came to the inevitable fight, he and Laski were an equal match. Buck had the advantage of sobriety, and a good thing, or he might not have succeeded in subd
uing the man, tying Laski to his horse, and sending him on his way. Buck hadn’t seen Beau since that night, and he’d hoped to hell to never see him ever again. But right now, Buck had to think fate hadn’t finished playing around with him.

  He went to the opened barn door and looked out to find the ground covered with a couple inches of snow, and snow still coming down hard. Again, he thought about taking the woman somewhere, getting her off his property and out of his hair. But where could he take her?

  I should’ve sent her down the road with Smiley, let her hide out at Halfway.

  Nah, Smiley’d gossip. He’d have the word out in no time, tell everyone about the strange woman he’d found hanging around Hoyt’s Hot Spring and Whorehouse. Hell, Smiley might even figure out who she was. The old fart couldn’t be counted on to keep his mouth shut. If word got back to the Laski boys, she’d be dead in no time.

  “I could take her myself. Get her as far as the Oxbow crossing.”

  That would be a hell of a thing to do to a beautiful woman, leave her and her kid stranded at the back end of nowhere to sit out the winter.

  Oh hell. Best they stayed right where they were at—shouldn’t be traveling in this weather, especially with a baby. The trek would kill both of them.

  He looked up to her bedroom window and caught her looking down at him, standing there with the curtain pulled back. They stared at one another for a few moments, and Buck could almost read her mind. She’d take the chance and run. He knew she didn’t think she had a chance at all if she stayed still for very long. She also probably thought it didn’t matter which Laski found her. If those boys were breathing, and if they intended to kill her, then they would do it. If they wanted to get the kid, then they would take him and Petra be damned.

  What Petra didn’t know, but now Buck knew, if the Laski boys ever got wind she’d taken sanctuary here at the Hot Spring, they’d double their efforts to reap the bonus of killing Buck in the process.

  The question Buck asked himself—would Petra be safe anywhere? She wanted to go home to Missoula. But surely, if the brothers knew her at all, and Buck hated that at least one of them knew her really, really well, they would know she’d most likely try to get home. They’d follow her. What protection would she have in Missoula? No, she should stay right here. She’d been given unto his care, and here she would stay. Buck figured Petra his responsibility now, no matter where she went. Runnin’ wasn’t good, no way to live, not for a woman and a baby, not for anyone.

  Right then and there, with a veil of snow falling between them, Buck decided to get a look at the real Buck Hoyt. He wanted to see his face. He wanted to see all of his face, not just his eyes. The time had come to remove his disguise.

  Chapter Five

  Holding her breath, pulse pounding, Petra’s gaze shifted from Gabriel, still asleep, back down to the stranger in the yard. Drawing away from the window, instinct told her to grab Gabriel and run. Stopping herself, she put her wild impulse in check, reasoning Kurt wouldn’t arrive in an old wagon pulled by a couple of broken down nags. No, Kurt and Beau would charge into the yard, hootin’ and hollerin’ like a pair of wild Huns, blood in their eyes, intent on death and destruction. The knowledge she would never hear them coming sent the shattering hammer-blow of fear into the core of her heart.

  If she could keep still, keep Gabriel quiet, they wouldn’t be discovered. Gabriel squirmed in his bed, his little mouth scrunching up, about to voice his demand for more breakfast. Staying low Petra scooped him up, then, feeling lightheaded and shaky, sat on the floor with him. Her back to the bed, as the walls around her swirled in her peripheral vision, giving her the illusion they were made of fabric, she concentrated on the door. With Gabriel at her breast, she swallowed down the nausea. Willing herself to breathe, relax, she closed her eyes, and the dizzy feeling subsided.

  Her thoughts splintered off in a thousand different directions, none of them pleasant. She settled her mind on the question she’d asked herself a dozen times since Mr. Hoyt had come to her rescue. Where was she? She’d run, but she didn’t know how far. She’d deliberately stayed off the main trails and roads, so this place had to be off the beaten track, far from town.

  Something told her she’d stumbled on a hideout. She wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Buck Hoyt, if that truly was his name, had a price on his head. He hid his face behind a big thatch of hair. He didn’t want anyone around.

  Thinking back, the sky had been overcast, and she navigated by keeping the Wallowas on her left and the Blue Mountains behind her, heading east toward the Snake River.

  Her luck had held right after the explosion. Jumping into the back of a freight wagon and hiding beneath a tarpaulin, she made it clear down the mountain without being discovered. At the end of the second day, after walking all day, going up and down one barren hill after another, she remembered thinking she wouldn’t live to see another day. Exhausted, a dilapidated, abandoned barn provided her with shelter. Finding an old well out back of the barn in working condition had saved her life. She’d feasted on a mix of oats and corn mash in an attempt to fool her stomach into believing it had gotten a meal, then fell asleep on a bed of straw. Upon awakening before sunrise, disoriented, confused, and the weather affording her poor visibility, keeping her directions straight became the least of her problems.

  On the third day, as the sun had set, she hunkered down behind a fallen tree to get out of the chilling cold. By gouging a groove in a thick, dried sage brush limb with her knife, rubbing a twig in the groove to get it to smoke, like Aunt Jean had shown her, and feeding it with dried twigs, she made a campfire. Next morning, with no fire, no food and no water, barely able to think straight, she staggered down into the canyon, looking for a place to die.

  Now, gazing down at the baby in her arms, it all seemed like it had happened in another life, or maybe it hadn’t happened at all; maybe she’d dreamt it.

  Gabriel, alive, healthy, came awake with a little jerk and began to suckle again as she rubbed her thumb against his velvety soft cheek.

  When she laid her head back to rest on the mattress behind her and closed her eyes, Petra let her mind wander. With a smile tugging her lips up at the corners, she wondered what Mr. Hoyt would look like without his beard. She thought of him as a giant, tall and broad of chest. Without his beard, she wondered, would he become more god-like? Maybe transform into a Hercules, or a Thor? She shook her head at the nonsensical turn her mind had taken, although her imagination took her mind off her fears.

  When Gabriel stopped eating again, she changed his diaper, then quietly got to her feet and stood back and to the side of the window, her son in her arms. The team and wagon stood in the yard—the stranger nowhere in sight. The stranger could be in the house, or he might be in the barn.

  Afraid to move, her pulse jumped when the stranger appeared directly below her window and headed around the house toward the outhouse. Mr. Hoyt appeared next, going to the wagon. Letting the curtain fall when the stranger reappeared, she stood back as Mr. Hoyt waved the man and his wagon out of the yard.

  Unable to resist, she pulled the curtain aside, willing Mr. Hoyt to look up at her window, but he marched over to the barn, his arms stiff at his side, taking long angry strides. She stood at the window to wait for him to reappear. When he came out to stand at the head of the ramp to the barn, he tipped his head up, his gaze going to her window. She wanted to cry out to him. He had to know trouble would soon find her. If she stayed, Kurt would kill him.

  “No,” she whispered down to him, “This is not your curse, it’s mine.”

  Rooted at her window, she watched him close the barn doors. With his back to the house, he shook the snow from his head and brushed it off his shoulders. He bowed his head against the blowing snow and headed toward the house. One step before stepping up onto the porch and going out of her view, he glanced up at her window. She knew the visitor, whoever he was, had raised more questions in Mr. Hoyt’s mind.

  Settling Gabriel in
his bed, she started for the stairs, meeting Mr. Hoyt before he reached the second step. He stopped and backed down, moving aside as she passed by to face him over the rough-hewn bar.

  He started to speak. His lips moved, then he slapped his arms to his sides in frustration and walked away. Bracing herself, she wanted to be ready for his questions. Screwing up her courage, she meant to ask a few of her own.

  He returned from his room with a pad of paper and a pencil. Before he could start writing, she opened her mouth to speak, forgetting she couldn’t hear her own voice, forgetting how much it hurt to talk. “Where am I? How far away from Baker City am I?”

  Glaring at her, his lips moved, and again he slapped his sides in frustration. Petra thought it just as well she didn’t know what he’d said—it probably wasn’t fit for a lady’s ears, anyway.

  He set pencil to paper and wrote furiously, My place is almost twenty miles due east and slightly north of Baker City. The main road is north of here about two miles. On foot, you must’ve headed straight east. You would’ve had to turn north to get to the Oxbow crossing.

  Leaning over his forearm as he wrote, Petra pulled back to take a good look at him. He had nice handwriting. She found it odd, and surprising. Everything about Mr. Hoyt confused her. He’d shown her and Gabriel kindness, generously shared with them, but grudgingly. He looked like a grizzly bear, and yet he had a library. And he growled a lot. Or at least, she thought he did; the scowl he wore on his face most of the time made him appear as if he were growling.

  I had a lot of teachers, he wrote.