Texas Blood Feud. Dusty Richards

Jack out of the brush and down the hill.

      Marla Porter came to the door and holding the facing, she rested her forehead on the hewed wood not looking at him. She was tall, willowy, in a wash-worn blue dress that flared over layers of slips. On the top of her head the prematurely gray-streaked dark hair was braided and put up. Her lips at last broke into a knowing grin as if she was pleased he’d come by. He could see the glint in her blue eyes from the late afternoon light, and then she turned away to stare at the facing again.

      “I thought maybe you were mad at me,” she said, not looking at him.

      He dismounted and hitched Jack at the rack. “I had some business to tend to.”

      She looked mildly at him and shrugged. “Who am I to ask? I’m Jake Porter’s wife, huh?”

      “I sure can’t help that.” He stopped at the stoop.

      “Yes, you can,” she said, and rushed out to hug and kiss him. In her fury, she knocked off his hat and her hungry lips and tongue consumed his. He squeezed her hard against his chest and savored her mouth.

      “Come inside,” she said, sweeping up his Stetson. She checked around warily and then steered him into the house.

      “We better hurry,” she said, unbuttoning her dress.

      “He due home?”

      “I never can tell. Undress,” she said, impatient for him to move.

      Twilight was long set and night had settled over the hill country when he checked the girth on his saddle and prepared to mount Jack and leave. She stood with her back against his horse and fussed with the silk kerchief tied around his neck. “Why do you come see me?”

      “I guess ’cause we’re both lonely.”

      “You could have a wife. Why, I know a dozen women would jump up if you asked them to marry you.”

      He rubbed his palms on the front of his canvas pants. “No. I’ve got a ranch and family to run. Why don’t you leave Porter?”

      “And do what? Become a dove? A thirty-year-old shady lady don’t make the big money. They work on hog ranches.”

      “You could find another man and marry him.”

      She slapped him hard on the butt. “And then I wouldn’t have you—part of the time.”

      He swung his leg over the horse and checked Jack. “You need anything?”

      She put her hand on his leg and walked beside the horse. “For you to come back to visit me.”

      “I will.”

      “Don’t stay away so long.”

      He nodded in the growing darkness and rode off into the night. He made a wide circle using the stars and his knowledge of the land to guide him. He wanted to be sure that everyone was asleep when he got home. There’d be lots to do in the morning—finish the branding. Check fence, check cattle, and turn back strays that wandered on the ranch, break some two-year-olds—his list was as long as his arm.

      A coyote called to the stars. Another answered as he crossed the ford on Bowles Creek. Jack stamped his hooves to splash the water; Chet stopped him mid-stream and let him take a drink. He should do something about Marla, but what? She never acted like she’d really leave Porter for him—it was more like their illicit affair was the excitement in her life and she wanted to leave it like that. Jack finished slurping, raised his head, and water drizzled from his muzzle. Chet booted him on.

      It was that time. He needed to start lining up the ranchers who wanted their cattle driven north with his herd. Nothing ever ended in his life; it just led to more complications. Times he felt trapped in his own small world like an animal dumped in a deep pit.

      When he rode in, the home place was dark, save for a light in the kitchen. His boots hit the ground and his sea legs bent at the knees. Gradually, he regained his strength and undid the latigos, stripping off the saddle and pads that released the sour smell of horse sweat. Saddle on the rack, he led Jack into the corral and pulled off the bridle. The big horse went ten feet and dropped on his knees to roll.

      Chet stopped and watched him wallow on his itching back in the dust. Grunting, Jack rose and shook dirt like water in all directions.

      “Louise understands,” Susie said in a soft voice.

      He turned from holding the top rail and saw his sister’s silhouette in starlight. “You still up?”

      “Yes.”

      “Hell, girl, you ought to be in bed.”

      “I couldn’t sleep. You know,” she said, taking a place beside him and looking at the dark forms of the horses roused from their slumber by Jack’s return to the pen. “All Louise really has are those two boys. I think she’s afraid they’ll grow up too fast and leave her.”

      “Maybe I was wrong taking them, but they’ve got to know the truth. Life ain’t easy.”

      She nodded. “They’re your men all right.”

      “At times this job about drowns me and I want to go off and be someone’s drag rider.”

      She shook her head in despair. “I agree. Mom and Dad are no better. You know how that drags on me. May tries to help, but she’s overwhelmed by the baby and little Rachel. And Louise lives in her own world.”

      “I’ll hire you some help.”

      “Can we afford it?”

      He nodded. “You have anyone in mind?”

      “Maybe a couple Mexican girls.”

      “Hire them.”

      “Louise will be upset.”

      He looked over and blinked at her. “Why?”

      “She said we don’t need any putas around here corrupting our men.”

      “Oh, for crying out loud.”

      “It’s been seven years, I know, she should be over mourning him. She’s not.”

      He slapped the top rail with his palm. “It’s a crutch she beats us all over the head with. You hire them or I will.”

      “I will. Thanks, Chet.”

      “Get back up there to bed.”

      “What about you?”

      “I’ll sleep a few hours.”

      “Good night.” Susie departed, holding her skirts, and left him in the starlight.

      He went to his own room in the bunkhouse, thinking about Marla and wishing they were off somewhere in the Rocky Mountains by themselves. In bed, he imagined he could smell the pungent pines and feel her silky skin. The morning bell ringing rolled him out of the blankets. He splashed water on his face, brushed down his hair while looking in a fading mirror. Then he headed for the house in the cool air, knifing in his shirttail with his flat hand.

      “Chet?” Reg caught up with him on the porch. “How long before they find out what happened?”

      “A few days or a week. They may know already. We just don’t need to talk about it.”

      “I savvy that. I wanted to go see Molly Ash this Saturday at the schoolhouse dance.”

      “Should be no problem. Go with someone you trust and pack a gun even if it’s in your saddlebags.”

      “I understand.”

      The crew was coming into the kitchen after they washed up. Chet could smell ham cooking and fresh-baked sourdough bread. He went inside and nodded to his brother, already seated. Reg, J.D., and Heck piled in; then their father made his way in with a cane. The younger boys took their place and Susie asked Chet to give the prayer.

      “Dear Lord,