“Come with us, and see for yourself, Wolfe. Or are you too busy playing wet nurse instead of acting like a Ranger?”
Josiah’s doubt fell away as anger flashed up his spine. “Watch yourself, man.”
Donley smirked then said, “Come on, fellas, the governor’s waiting. He surely knows we’re coming by now.”
Both Larson and James nodded. They seemed fully in line with Donley’s intent, sitting up straight in their saddles, ready to follow.
They started to move away slowly, Donley finally breaking eye contact with Josiah.
Josiah stepped back, his own intention clear: that he wasn’t going to join in on Donley’s game. There was no way Josiah was going to bust into the capitol with a Comanche in tow. He had enough trouble to consider.
Larson slowed and spoke directly to Scrap. “What about you, Elliot? Comin’ along?”
Scrap glanced over at Josiah, trying to show no emotion one way or the other. “Nah, I think I’ll hang back.”
“Suit yourself, but you’ll be missin’ a spectacle,” Larson said.
“I’ve had my fair share of those, thanks,” Scrap answered.
Josiah was relieved but said nothing. He would wait until the trio was out of earshot to tell Scrap he thought he’d made a wise decision.
The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Josiah’s stomach did not fade as Donley pulled ahead. He still had to face Big Shirt.
Big Shirt had heaved himself up off his knees once he realized that Donley was on the move again. It looked like the Indian had spent plenty of time facedown in the dirt as it was.
“I’ll kill you, Josiah Wolfe,” Big Shirt scowled, “if it’s the last thing I do.”
Josiah stood his ground, let his eyes and stance say everything that needed to be said: I know that, and I’ll be ready when the time comes. He slipped his hand down to his gun and let it rest softly on the grip.
Lyle tucked himself behind Josiah’s legs, hanging on tightly to his pants. Now was not the time to discourage fear, and Josiah knew it.
After Big Shirt passed, and Josiah breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to ease back into the crowd, then B. D. Donley brought the black stallion to a quick stop. He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Wolfe, I have something that belongs to you.” He reached down to a scabbard and pulled a familiar Winchester ’73 out of it. “This is yours, if I ain’t mistaken.”
Josiah nodded. “It is.” He started for Donley, but stopped once he realized that Lyle was still attached to his leg. “You go stand with Mr. Scrap while I go get my rifle.”
“Do I have to?” Lyle asked.
“Yes.” The farther away from Big Shirt he kept his son, the better it was for them all.
Lyle let go of Josiah’s leg. “All right.”
“What do you say?”
Lyle looked up at Josiah, confusion on his little face until he realized what his father wanted from him. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s more like it.”
There was smoke rising from the chimney of his house, and for a moment, Josiah was confused and concerned—until he saw Ofelia walk out on the porch as they approached.
It only took Lyle, who was sitting in front of Josiah in the saddle, a second to realize that it was Ofelia he saw, too.
“’Felia, ’Felia, hola, hola!” Lyle yelled, waving madly.
Josiah was afraid the boy was going to jump off of Clipper’s back right then and there. He pulled him closer, tighter.
Lyle looked up at Josiah, scrunching his forehead. “Go, Papa, go faster.”
Ofelia waved back, a wide smile growing on her face as she recognized Josiah on his own horse, Lyle cupped in the saddle.
“You can wait,” Josiah said.
“Don’t want to. Missed ’Felia.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Lyle squirmed in the saddle, and Josiah finally gave in, urging Clipper to move along a little faster. Scrap wasn’t that far behind them, and Josiah didn’t need to turn around to know what kind of look was on Scrap’s disapproving face.
There was no question that Scrap’s views were right, that Josiah needed to live without Ofelia—but to be honest, having his trusted rifle back in his possession and seeing Ofelia on his porch were moments akin to stumbling on a vein of gold right in the middle of Austin. It was about as much happiness as he could take.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to live without Ofelia, and he hoped, for the moment, he wouldn’t have to. He hoped they could work something out that suited them both—a solution that would never leave Lyle in the hands of strangers again.
Josiah brought Clipper to a stop, and before he could get a grip on Lyle, the boy had already slipped out of the saddle and jumped into Ofelia’s waiting arms.
“Allí está mi niño,” Ofelia said. “There’s my boy.”
Lyle buried his face in Ofelia’s neck, telling her over and over again how much he had missed her. “Allí está mi Ofelia,” he answered.
Tears welled up in Ofelia’s deep brown eyes. She was short, squat, about as tall as she was big around, and was dressed simply, as always, in a brightly colored cotton dress she’d sewed together herself. This one was yellow, and looked even brighter in contrast to her smooth dark brown skin in the beaming sunshine.
“It is good to see you,” Ofelia said to Josiah, still clutching Lyle tightly. “I feared I would never see you again.”
“It is good to see you, too, Ofelia. I’m glad to be home,” Josiah answered, sliding off Clipper. “And I’m glad you’re home, too.” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for an answer.
Ofelia nodded her head. “Sí, I am glad to be home, señor.”
“Bueno! Bueno!” Lyle clapped his hands and giggled loud enough to overcome Scrap Elliot’s grunt of disapproval at the whole scene.
CHAPTER 28
Josiah stood at the end of the lane staring at the house. It glowed in the darkness like a giant honeycomb bathed in bright sunlight.
Every lamp in the large mansion was filled and lit on the highest turn. Torches stood burning under the portico, lighting the entire front of the house. Shadows made from darting insects decorated the front of the house, as the bugs sought out heat on the cool November night.
For Josiah it was hard not to feel a tandem kinship with the insects. He understood the desire of a mere moth drawn to the torches and light in every window, curious, in need of warmth, sustenance, and the hope of a life beyond the darkness. The hesitant human being that he really was ached to turn and go home.
All of the light did little to excite him. The dinner at the Fikes estate was obviously a bigger affair than he had anticipated or thought about, but he should not have been surprised.
The smell of burning hardwood drifted up out of the chimneys and mixed with the unmistakable smell of beef roasting on a spit. Music from a fine piano eased out of the house, a soft ballad sung by a sweet female voice floating carelessly on an unseen breeze. Josiah didn’t have to wonder who was singing. He knew it was Pearl, entertaining a house full of guests, waiting for his arrival.
Leaving was on his mind more than staying. But the light held him in sway, and he knew he was drawn to Pearl in a way he did not understand, even though he was smart enough to know that she was a flame that could leave him wounded or worse.
An impressive collection of buggies, coaches, and wagons sat in front of the house, some manned by drivers sitting, waiting, lazily holding their spots, enjoying a smoke or a nip of whiskey to stave off the boredom and coolness of the night.