Slocum and the horse kil.., p.15
Slocum and the Horse Killers,
p.15
Magic had been everywhere.
After a day spent principally in calling upon her grandmother’s spirit to help with the devising of some very satisfying curses to cast over the dead men’s graves, Carmelita stood on the porch.
The setting sun was at her back and her fingers absently worked a dishrag while she watched the men slowly come in with the buckboard.
Berto hopped down on the way past and greeted her, taking off his hat. “It’s a fine evening, Carmelita.”
“Good evening, Berto,” she replied. “Is it all taken care of? The horses, I mean?”
“Yes,” he said with a curt nod. “We burned what we could, and buried what was left. There will be no more killings now, thank God.”
He paused and thumbed back his hat. “I hope Slocum will stay, Carmelita. I hope he will marry our Miss Miranda. He is one hombre I would be proud to work for.”
Carmelita shook her head. “That is my wish, too, but I don’t think it is to be. Miss Miranda, she says he has the itching feet. I don’t know what this is, but she says it means he is always wanting to be someplace else, someplace he isn’t.” She shrugged. “I do not understand.”
“I’ve heard of men like that,” Berto answered. “Sometimes, they call them saddle tramps.”
Carmelita shot him one of her nastier looks, but he wasn’t watching.
“And sometimes they call them knights in shining armor,” he added. “Gallant men.”
“I like that defining better,” she said.
Berto nodded. “So do I.”
He moved on, and once again, she thanked her lucky stars that her grandmother had been a powerful bruja, to give her the power to forever curse those men to hell.
Miranda woke on cool sheets, behind drawn drapes, and it took her a second to get her bearings. She was at the hotel, she decided. And Slocum must have brought her here.
“And I’m rich, too!” burst from her lips.
She heard Slocum’s chuckle coming from the far corner of the room, then his baritone rumble. “Yes, darlin’, that you surely are.”
He stood up in the shadows and came closer, until she could see him.
“How’s it feel?” he asked, grinning.
She sighed gleefully. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Fantastically, magnificently wonderful!”
“And that’s just how it should feel.”
She pushed herself up into a sit and held out her hand to him. “Oh, Slocum, I’m so happy, but I feel . . . guilty, too.”
“About?”
“Uncle Abel. He had his good moments, too,” she said. “He used to take me fishing after Papa died. And he helped me train Sundancer. All kinds of things, big things and small things you wouldn’t think to mention. I don’t understand . . . I mean, I just don’t . . . Right after I killed him, I felt so justified, you know? But now . . .”
She began to cry—for a lost childhood, for all the lies she’d believed, for everything. And then Slocum’s broad arms came around her, filling her with hope for the future and faith in people.
And with need.
“Abel was a bad man, darlin’. He killed your papa, and others, too, and tried to cheat you out of your ranch. Your birthright. A few good deeds don’t change that, not a bit,” he whispered.
He was right, and she knew it with all her heart. She looked up at him, blinking away the tears. “Why’d you do it?”
His expression turned quizzical. “Do what?” he asked.
She said, “Put those two gold pieces back. They were yours. I gave them to you.”
He smiled at her, and brushed away a new tear with his thumb.
“Didn’t know it was yours to give me at the time.” He shrugged slightly. “Figured what with you givin’ up so much, the least I could do was pitch in forty bucks.”
She grinned up at him. “You’re getting it back, you know.”
He returned the grin. “Rather take it out in trade, you little minx, you.”
She giggled and kissed him.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE BORDER WAR
330th novel in the exciting SLOCUM series
from Jove
Coming in August!
Jake Logan, Slocum and the Horse Killers
