Ace's Wild (Hqn) Page 7

  There was that word again. Ace smiled ruefully, checked his own weapons and led Crusher out of the livery. Yeah, they were. They’d achieved something none of them ever thought they would when they’d stood side by side as boys in the aftermath of the Mexican Army’s attack, hands blistered from digging graves for their loved ones and made a promise to follow Caine Allen on the path of revenge. They’d almost starved that first year, all their promises vanishing with them, but they’d found Tia, and she’d healed them body and soul. Over time, they’d settled those debts, become Texas Rangers. And now, respectable.

  Ace stubbed out his smoke on the sole of his boot once outside, shaking his head as Luke winced. “I’m making up for the rest of you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Luke leaned over and ground his out in the dirt before dusting his fingers off on the saddle blanket. “So what are we planning on doing if Winter meets us at the door with a shotgun?”

  “Whatever the hell we want.”

  Luke smiled that easy smile he trotted out when he was contemplating mayhem. “More fodder for my next book.”

  Ace shook his head at the nonsense. Luke had a penchant for nice clothes and pretty words, but there was no one else Ace would want more by his side in a fight. Luke might dress fancy, but he fought like a cornered badger, with no quit and no mercy.

  “What do you think would happen if people actually knew you lived what you wrote in those damn novels?” Ace asked.

  Luke shuddered. “We’d be drowning in the frills and bows of all those prim Eastern women who’d want a piece of the real thing.”

  “What’s with the we? You can keep all those fancy Eastern women for yourself.”

  “Oh, hell, no!”

  Ace couldn’t help but smile. Luke did like his women wild.

  He waved toward the fancy vest and coat Luke was never without. “You’re dressed for it.”

  “Clothes don’t make the man. And under all this I’m the same no-account desperado I’ve always been.” He swung up on Buddy and picked up the reins. “No lady can handle that.”

  That was the truth. Ace couldn’t imagine anything worse for Luke than being tied up with something all prim and proper.

  He wheeled Crusher around to the north. “Then you best not be saying that too loud. You know fate has a sense of humor.”

  Luke shuddered again and kneed Buddy into step beside him. “Even fate wouldn’t be that cruel.”

  They passed Pet’s little house next to the school. There was no class on Friday. She was probably inside planning a lesson. Or sleeping. The thought of her all sleep warm and ready made him hard. Fuck.

  Shaking his head he muttered, “Don’t bet on it.”

  * * *

  THE WINTERS’ PLACE was little more than an overgrown mud wasp’s nest, consisting of sawed sticks and logs packed together with dirt to make a home. From somewhere around back came the irregular sound of an ax hitting wood.

  Luke pulled up and spat. “You’d have to take a step up to make this a hovel. No wonder Terrance is never clean.”

  Ace looked around with the same disgust. “It would be hard to wash this filth off.”

  And it wasn’t the filth of the surroundings that Ace was talking about. It was the utter lack of self-respect the home reflected. Brian Winter didn’t think much of himself or much of his prospects. “Might explain why he was at the gambling table every night looking for a miracle.”

  “And every morning taking out his disappointment on his son. This place isn’t fit for a hog to live in,” Luke said, kicking a nail-studded board out of his way before he dismounted. “Whatever we do, we can’t be leaving the boy in this.”

  “It’s not our responsibility.” The words sounded hollow when he looked around. It shouldn’t have taken Pet coming to town to bring this to his attention. He might have been walled up in that saloon too long.

  Luke spat. “It’s got to be someone’s.”

  “He’s almost the age we were when we were on our own.” It wasn’t the challenge Luke took it as.

  “You forget we almost starved to death till Tia took us in hand?”

  He didn’t forget much, least of all the hunger, the pain of knowing his parents were dead and that he had nowhere after the massacre to go except with the other boys of Hell’s Eight. Then there had been Tia. Tia, who’d taken on the role of mother, guide, disciplinarian. She’d saved their souls, shaped their anger, given them a purpose.

  “We had each other.”

  “He’s got no one.”

  Terrance had better than one. He had Pet.

  Ace made the call. “He’s got us now.”

  Luke nodded. “Amen.”

  They cleared around the little hovel, and they could see Terrance in the back splitting wood. The ax was bigger than the boy. Too small, too skinny. Those were the words that jumped into Ace’s head. Hell, even his shirt draping off his thin shoulders made Ace feel guilty.

  “He’s going to cut off a foot,” Luke muttered.

  There was something in that boy’s swing that told Ace there was more to him than the disappointment that life was handing him. “I don’t think so.”

  Just then, Terrance looked up. The only word Ace could think of to describe his expression was terrified.

  Luke must have seen it, too. “We’re not going to hurt you, boy.”

  Terrance didn’t put the ax down. Ace turned to Luke. “Must be your sour face that he’s reacting to.”

  “Ha-ha.” His gaze was locked on the bruise on Terrance’s face. It was hard to look at. Harder to believe a man would do that to his own son.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Terrance said, glancing anxiously at the house.

  “Or maybe his father’s,” Luke muttered before calling out, “Miss Wayfield sent us.”

  He only looked more terrified. “She didn’t say nothing about you coming here.” The kid looked at the house again. It wasn’t hard to imagine why.

  “Is your father home, son?” Ace asked, trying to think how one talked to a kid. Shit. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

  Terrance nodded.

  Ace wanted to spit. “Is he still drunk or is he awake enough to move?”

  From the fact that there weren’t any fresh bruises on the kid, Ace was guessing that his father was probably still sleeping off last night’s bottle.

  Shifting the ax in his hand, Terrance gestured to the measly woodpile. “I’ve got to finish my chores.”

  “That didn’t answer the man’s question,” Luke said.

  “I’ve got my answer.” Ace nodded to the woodpile. “You finish your chores, and we’ll go talk with your pa.”

  “If we can wake him up,” Luke muttered, disgust in his voice as he looked around again.

  “It would be better if you didn’t.”

  Ace dismounted and stood beside the boy. “Better if I didn’t have to come out here at all, but neither one of us is getting what we want in that.”

  “Why did you come here?” the boy asked, resentment in his eyes.

  “I lost a bet.”

  Terrance blinked. “You never lose.”

  “I know. It’s not an experience I’m enjoying.”

  A shout came from the house. Terrance jumped and dropped the ax.

  Ace put his hand on his shoulder. All he felt was bone. The potential of muscle too undernourished to grow pissed him off. Luke was right; they had only been a year or two older than this boy when they were set loose on the world, and they’d been heading for wreck and ruin until they found Tia, who’d stepped out of her own grief to put a rein on theirs. Who’d fed them and cared for them and made them slow down and learn. A widow dealing with her own loss who’d given them a home. They owed it to Tia to help Terrance.

  “No matter what happens, you st
ay out here, you hear me? You don’t go in the house.”

  “You won’t hurt my pa?”

  Ace couldn’t promise him that. “I just need to talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, gentling his grip immediately when he felt the fragility. He should be a sturdy kid at this age. He had the build of a boy who was going to be a big man, but he was far too thin.

  “He’s got something I want.”

  “What?”

  “Just stay here and finish your chores.”

  “I got to bring water to the house next.”

  “Don’t.”

  “But...”

  Ace looked over to Luke. “Keep him here.”

  “Will do.” Luke took off his coat and neatly draped it over his saddle, before smiling at Terrance. “I’ll help you with your chores while we wait.”

  Ace headed for the house. From behind he heard Terrance say, “You’d better go with him,” followed by Luke’s “Why?”

  “My pa can be mean.”

  “Ace can be meaner,” Luke retorted.

  Ace smiled and tugged his hat brim down just a bit. That was the truth. As Winter was about to find out.

  The inside of the house wasn’t much better than the outside. No, it was worse—the stench of dirt and molding sod fermented with the reek of vomit, drunkenness and stale cigarette butts.

  Ace stood just inside the door. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see Winter sprawled on the only bed in the room. To one side of the door was a pallet of blankets on the floor. Christ, he treated the kid like a dog.

  “Where the fuck you been, Terrance?” the man called, before moaning, “Where’s my goddamn water?”

  Winter fumbled blindly around the bed. Ace stepped forward and picked up the whiskey bottle Winter was searching for, and poured the contents over the man’s head.

  “What the fuck!”

  Winter came flying out of the bed, arms flailing, shirttails flapping, stumbling as he got to his feet, clearly still drunk.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Ace grabbed the bucket from the floor, threw the last of the water in his face. “Sober up. We need to talk.”

  Brian dragged his hands down his face, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I don’t have a goddamn thing to talk about with you.”

  “You owe me money.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Ace made a point of looking around as Winter sat back down on the bed and grabbed the dirty sheets and rubbed them across his face. It didn’t help. The two day’s growth of beard on his face caught the rough fabric leaving threads attached. Christ, he was a mess. How did the man sink this low?

  “I told you I’d get you the money.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ace took a seat at his table. The chair rocked under his weight. He caught himself before he could tip over.

  “Leg’s loose,” Brian said.

  “So I see.” He nodded at Brian. “If you don’t stop reaching under that mattress for that shotgun, I’m going to put a bullet in your shoulder.”

  Brian froze, his eyes going to the gun still in Ace’s holster. “I heard you were fast.”

  “And I heard you were stupid. You keep reaching for that gun and we’ll both know no one was lying.”

  “You got no right to be in my home.”

  “Nope. I don’t, but I’m here anyway.”

  A cunning expression crossed his face. “You must want something.”

  “I told you, we need to talk.”

  Brian got up. The stench and sight of him made Ace’s stomach heave. Luke was right. They weren’t leaving the boy here.

  Brian picked up the battered metal coffeepot by the well-tended fire. Terrance’s work, no doubt. He shook the empty pot. “Where the hell is that lazy boy with the water for my coffee? Terrance!” he hollered.

  “Terrance isn’t coming.” It felt good saying that.

  Brian turned. The sweat stains on his faded red long johns stood out even in the dim light. “What the hell do you mean he’s not coming?”

  “He’s helping Luke.”

  “With what?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Ace shoved the adjacent chair over with his foot. It caught on the uneven floor and fell over. “Sit your ass down.”

  Brian picked up the chair, still staring at the door. “I want my coffee.”

  “What you want is whiskey. You’re not getting either until we’re done, so the faster you sit, the faster you can get on with your life.”

  “What the hell do you want? Spit it out.”

  “Terrance.”

  The truth lay between them.

  Without batting an eyelid, Brian asked, “For what?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “So that’s how it is.” Again that cunning expression slid over his face. “The boy will cost you.”

  With a push of his foot, Ace tipped the other man’s chair over backward. When the swearing stopped he said, “You make another insinuation like that and I’ll gut you. You hear me?”

  Brian got up. Ace grazed the butt of his revolver with his fingertips.

  “I hear you.” Brian grunted, righting the chair. “Still going to cost you, though.”

  Ace wanted to drive his crooked teeth down his throat. “I figured.”

  “What’s the boy worth to you?” Winter asked as he sat down again.

  Ace just wanted this over with. “I’ll cancel your gambling debt from last night.”

  A shrewd look entered Brian’s eyes. “That’s not enough.”

  You won’t hurt my pa? Fuck, it never paid to be the good guy.

  “What debts do you owe around town?”

  Brian named a number that made Ace blink. Fortunately, most of those debts were to him or people who owed him, so it wasn’t going to take much out of pocket to even Brian’s score.

  “How about I settle all your debts? Including the ones to me and in turn I take the boy?”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that will be a help but a man needs a stake to start over, and a man needs help to run a place like this.”

  Greedy bastard. “Plus two hundred.”

  Brian’s eyes widened. “You got the money?”

  “You’ll get it.”

  “You’re not getting the boy until I get the money.”

  Oh, that wasn’t going to play. “I’m taking the boy when I leave here.”

  “I’m just supposed to go on your word?”

  “Either you take my word, or I take your life.”

  Brian blinked. Ace waited for his booze-soaked mind to absorb that.

  “Make up your mind. I don’t have much time.”

  “You in a hurry for something?”

  “I’m always in a hurry for something.” He just never knew what it was that he was searching for, but he always had that nagging feeling that it was coming. That something good his mom had always promised him was waiting just around the next corner, the something good that always turned into something bad. “Do we have a deal?”

  He didn’t particularly care whether Brian agreed or not. When he left here Terrance was going with him, but it would be cleaner if the ties were severed.

  Brian held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

  It’d be a cold day in hell before Ace shook the hand of a man who’d sell his son. Especially for the reasons Winter implied. Just thinking about how easily he’d done it pissed Ace off. Until on a “What the hell” Ace punched Winter in the face, knocking him over backward. The man went down hard. When he didn’t get up, Ace prodded his still form with his boot. He didn’t move. Winter was out cold. Leaving him lyi
ng on the floor, Ace stood and strolled out of the hovel masking his anger and disgust. Worthless bastard. Not worth one bit of the concern in Terrance’s expression.

  With a slight nod of his head, he answered the question in Luke’s eyes. With Terrance he was a bit more vocal. “Your pa and I had a talk.”

  Terrance nodded. His fists clenched.

  “He’s not feeling good right now.”

  “He isn’t?” It was a credit to the optimism children held that the boy thought his father must be sick. “He needs his water for his coffee. He doesn’t feel good until he has that.”

  “I’m going to go to town and get Doc.”

  “I’ll stay with him.”

  Ace caught his arm. When the boy looked up, Ace bit back the harsh truth that nothing was going to help the man. He was so steeped in his greed and his booze that his morals were all off.

  “You’re going to come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “Miss Wayfield’s.”

  “The schoolmarm?” He looked horrified.

  Ace couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t think of a much worse fate for an eight-year-old boy than to be stuck with a schoolteacher. But then again, he couldn’t think of a much worse fate than for a schoolteacher to be stuck with an eight-year-old boy. He smiled to himself. “Yep, she’ll know what to do with you.”

  The boy took a step backward out of his reach. “Why does she have to do anything with me?”

  Luke came up behind him, stopping his retreat. “Because you’re eight, because you can’t take care of yourself, but mostly because people care about you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Just saying it doesn’t make it true, son.”

  “I can!”

  Luke shot him a warning glance. “We know you can but remember Ace telling you he lost that bet?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, he lost it to Miss Wayfield.”

  The boy blinked. “Miss Wayfield gambles?”

  With every breath she takes, Ace thought. The woman had a daring side that nobody but him seemed to see.