Josiah pushed off the door, sliding the Spencer up under his arm, his finger on the trigger. He knew Billie was right. O’Reilly would come back for certain, so there was nothing to do but take advantage of the rain or face the consequences.
Billie waited for him to catch up and then walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him to the door of the small house.
The grounds around the house were barren, save a towering live oak, reaching into the unruly sky like a giant pole as thick around as three whiskey barrels tied together. The gnarly branches looked like arms reaching up in need of something unseen. They, too, were thick and barely moving in the steady wind. The tree was not a threat, unless lightning took a liking to it, and would no doubt offer immense shade and comfort on a long, hot summer day. Pleasure of that type seemed a luxury at Billie Webb’s house.
Mostly, though, Billie’s place looked plain uncared for, neglected for some time. Goatbush and hackberry had about taken over the switchgrass beyond the barn. A gate to the pasture had come off its hinges, blocking entrance or exit for any creature, man or beast, and making it difficult to come and go. Even the barn itself was in need of serious repair. Most notably, the roof had holes, as big as a dog’s head, peppered on both sides of the steep incline.
Josiah could not restrain himself from noticing the condition of the homestead. He had spent nearly all of his life on a similar piece of land in East Texas, just outside of Tyler, and he knew, firsthand, the trials of keeping up with one thing after another on a farm—especially when you were alone. And making that assumption about Billie didn’t set well with him, considering her current physical condition and quick temper. There was more going on in her life than he knew . . . and he wasn’t sure he was in much of a hurry to find out all of the details of her reality.
He had other things on his mind at the moment—but had no choice but to take refuge inside the small house.
Josiah stopped at the stoop and let Billie lead the way into the house. He scanned the gloomy horizon for any sign of the sheriff, O’Reilly, or any other riders, and saw nothing. Not even a cow or a horse. The weather wasn’t welcoming for a duck, or bird of any kind, either.
Billie slid out of the oversized sack coat, hung it on a peg just inside the door, then made her way to the woodstove.
“I’ll get that,” Josiah said, shaking off the rain.
He was soaked to the bone. If his boot had been full of blood earlier, then it certainly had washed away by now. Still, he felt cold and shriveled. The heat from a hot stove would be a welcome development.
Billie ignored Josiah’s offer and slid a healthy piece of wood into the stove. Orange embers filled the bottom of the stove, and the heat rushed out into the small interior, filling it comfortably. The wood caught fire immediately, the crackle of it the first happy sound Josiah had heard in nearly a day.
“There’s a trunk in the next room. You’ll find some britches and socks there. Help yourself,” Billie said.
“I can just stand by the stove and dry out.”
“This ain’t no time to be nice, Ranger,” Billie said, pausing, a curious look passing across her face. “What’s your name, anyways?”
“Josiah. Josiah Wolfe.”
“I’m Billie.”
“Billie Webb,” Josiah said, nodding his head.
“Guess you already figured that out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A slight smile replaced the curious look on Billie’s face. “Been a while since anyone’s called me ma’am. I haven’t been out much since Charlie . . .” She stopped, cut the sentence off with a tongue sharp as a knife, then turned away from Josiah and threw another log into the stove. “Well, go on now, don’t just stand there like there’s nothin’ to do. Get out of those clothes so I can take a look at your leg. I don’t figure we have much time to get you cared for.”
The inside of the two-room house was just as unkempt as the outside. Clothes were tossed about on the floor like rugs kicked in fury, and the bed in the other room looked like Billie had just rolled out of it. The floor had not seen the touch of a broom in a good while, and cobwebs in the corners certainly held insect nests, they were so thick. It was a welcome environment for scorpions and spiders, among other creatures that could cause the girl harm.
The trunk Josiah had been instructed to open was easily found sitting in a corner undisturbed, and the inside was as neat as any military locker Josiah had ever seen.
For a matter of privacy, Josiah slid against the wall, propping himself up as he peeled off his wet clothes.
The wind outside found its way through the walls and wrapped itself around Josiah’s ankles. A chill ran up his leg and didn’t stop until it reached his ears.
His leg was bloody, and the wound was still seeping, the wetness preventing complete clotting. Josiah touched the graze, pressed it, and slid his finger around the upper edge just to make sure there wasn’t any lead to be found inside. He didn’t think so, even though it hurt like hell, almost as much as the stab wound in his shoulder.
There was no question he needed to be bandaged. All things considered, his whole body hurt. He caught the first whiff of coffee boiling on the stove and realized how hungry he was, too. He quickly discarded the rest of his clothes and found a pair of trousers, socks, and a simple tan cotton twill shirt. He dried himself with a wool shirt that had been eaten up by a cadre of unseen moths, and changed into the clothes. They fit like they had been made for him.
When Josiah walked back into the room, Billie was standing over the stove with her back to him. She was frying up some bread and bacon. She must have heard him come in. She turned to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Nothing came out of her mouth but a surprised cry, followed by tears bursting out of her eyes, cascading down her full cheeks as if a dam had been breached after a devastating storm.
CHAPTER 10
“For a second, I saw Charlie standing there,” Billie said, wiping her face dry. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Josiah stood a good ten feet from Billie, across the room, and had his own visions of ghosts. There was no way Josiah could not have thought of his wife, Lily, silhouetted against the window, her stomach swollen with child. They’d had four children together. He was no stranger to the beauty of pregnancy—and the tragedy of it, too. “I take it Charlie Webb was the one John Wesley Hardin killed in the spring,” he said.
“Shot him in the back is what he did. The coward.” Billie hesitated, scowled, and looked away, fighting back even more tears. “Don’t ever mention that man’s name in this here house again, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. But I won’t rest till I hear tell that son of a bitch is dead and buried. I’d’ve gone after him myself if I’d been able, but I’d figured out that me and Charlie was gonna have a young’un to look after right before then.” She exhaled heavily. “It’s not your problem.”
“You don’t have a family to go to, I take it? No one to help you out?”
“None that’s worth the powder and lead to blow to hell. Charlie was my family. All we ever wanted was a little piece of land and a family to look after. He took to bein’ Roy’s deputy to make a little extra money. I never figured he’d get kilt.”
“I’ve questions about the sheriff.”
Billie let out a quick laugh that originated deep in her chest. “That man’s scared of his own shadow. My guess is he let the fools into the jail that pulled out Hardin’s brother and started all this meanness. Look at what it’s done. Nobody feels safe. You’re a Ranger, can’t you do something?”