Slocum and the border wa.., p.10
Slocum and the Border War, page 10
“I will try, Ralph.”
“There,” he said, almost tenderly. “You called me Ralph again.”
“I suppose I did,” she said with a tiny smile.
After a long walk in the sun-kissed garden, Pablo Valdez sat down for a leisurely meal with his beautiful wife, Salma. Servants brought in course after course, while Salma kept him pleasantly occupied with trivial conversation.
He did not take in much of what she actually said, preferring to let the sound of her lilting voice wash over him like some kind of angelic shower. Finally, halfway through the entrée, something she said sank in. “Preoccupied, darling?” she asked. “Is it that fence business?”
“No, my dear,” he replied. “In fact, I had almost forgotten about it.”
In truth, he had. The afternoon had been very pleasant and distracting.
“Good,” she replied. “I am glad of it. I believe that this fence is a very good idea.”
His brow furrowed. “You do, my dear? Why is that?”
“I lived in France for my first ten years,” she said.
“I know.”
“Well, in France, everything is fenced with wood or stone. Each man’s livestock remains his. There is no wandering. Here, it is always MacCorkendale’s cattle who cause the problem, or Antonio’s or Esteban’s. With fences, you will have no more problems. I cannot imagine why you did not think of this before.”
Pablo simply stared at her. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. Not that was fit for a woman to hear, anyway.
She picked up her fork. “I think it is very wise, this fence.”
He couldn’t stand it any longer. He shot to his feet, gripped the edge of the table, and shouted. “How little you know, my Salma!”
And with that, he simply thumped out of the room, marched to his den, and slammed the door behind him.
Slocum licked and nibbled at Maria’s earlobe and felt the quiet little rumble of her giggle travel through his chest. “You like that, baby?” he whispered.
“I like whatever you wish to do,” she said with a sigh. “You know that, my Slocum. Now, do it again.”
He did, then worked his way down her long neck to her collarbone, then lower to the valley between her lush breasts. His hands he placed upon her breasts, cupping their fullness while he toyed with the nipples, already hardening and beading to pebbles as her excitement rose. He licked the sides of her breasts, then traveled lower, until he reached the flat of her belly and the tiny pelt of hair that covered her mounded delta.
He heard her sharp intake of air when he brushed the edge of that boundary with his tongue, then the flats of her palms on both sides of his head, urging him upward again.
“Take me now, Slocum,” she breathed. “You are driving me wild.”
He kissed her parted lips, and while he did, he entered her with tongue and cock simultaneously. She made a purring noise against his lips that vibrated his tongue and teeth and zigzagged down his spine.
As he began to move, her thighs slid up to hug his sides, only now growing slick with sweat, and she began to meet his every thrust and parry.
Faster and faster they moved, matching each other thrust for thrust, want for want, need for need. He felt her nails lightly rake his back, her teeth chew gently at his lip, then his shoulder.
And then, as they neared completion, her caresses became wilder, more intense. Her teeth raked his chest, his shoulders, and her moans became more urgent and fervid. He began to move harder into her, and faster, and not long after he did, she stiffened, back arched, neck craned back.
He pumped into her two, three times again and came with enormous force and fire.
They collapsed, still joined and panting in unison, in each other’s arms.
“My Slocum,” Maria managed to get out between puffs.
“Baby,” he whispered and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Baby doll.”
15
The next morning found Slocum and the men heading south again, toward their work. It also found him overhearing the conversation taking place behind him, between Juan and Carlito.
“Why you want to mess around with that whore?” Carlito was saying. “She only wants your money!”
“She is no whore,” Juan said firmly. “Do not call her that again. And she can have all my money. I do not care. I love her.”
There came the sound of Carlito spitting, then saying, “Love! What do you know about love? It does not exist!”
“I know more than you, Carlito,” Juan retorted. “I know more than you ever will.”
“You are a fool then, Juan,” Carlito said and kicked his horse into a gallop, passing Slocum and Jorgé and moving rapidly ahead into the distance.
“Nice when the whole crew gets on so well,” Slocum remarked around his quirley.
“It makes life the pleasure,” Jorgé retorted with a straight face. “How many miles will we string today, Slocum?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Slocum said. He was hoping for three, at least, because he’d changed his mind about staying out here for the night. He didn’t want to miss any chance to be with Maria, and that meant going back into town come nightfall.
Jorgé shrugged. “I think maybe we string three more. It is a good goal. We might even make four if we are lucky and the water holds out.”
“True,” Slocum muttered. His shoulder was feeling a good bit better today, but Jorgé had already decreed that posthole digging wasn’t going to be on his work list today, so he had a hot day of stringing and stretching wire to look forward to.
Juan rode up next to them. “Did I hear right? We go back to town again in the evening?”
“Yeah,” said Slocum. “That’s the plan, anyhow.”
Juan smiled. “Good. I am glad.”
“You have got a girl, Juan?” Jorgé asked, then quickly added, “We couldn’t help overhearing that little conversation you had with Carlito.”
“Yes, I do,” he said proudly. He leaned over in his saddle and said softly, “I think I will ask her to marry me. A good idea, no?”
“A fine idea!” crowed Jorgé.
“Congratulations,” Slocum said, grinning. “Who’s the lucky gal?”
“She is Conchita Elena Alba,” Juan said. “You know her, Jorgé. The sister of Maria Anna Lopez.”
Slocum started. “Maria’s sister? If she looks anything like Maria, or even cooks anything like she does, you’ve got a catch, Juan.”
Juan simply grinned from ear to ear.
Jorgé piped up, “You know about her little ones, Juan?”
“Sí, of course! They are my darlings!”
“What about Paolo Alba, Juan?” Jorgé asked, obviously playing devil’s advocate. “What if he should return? What if he should want his wife again?”
“That is just it, Jorgé,” Juan said happily. “He is not coming back. Not ever. Conchita, she got a letter from her cousin in Phoenix yesterday. Her cousin said that he saw Paolo shot dead in the street.”
“And her cousin, he saw this himself?” Jorgé asked warily.
“He swears it by the Blessed Virgin.”
Jorgé nodded. “Then it must be true. My best wishes for you, Juan.”
Juan bowed his head quickly. “I thank you both. And I will work with Slocum today, with the wire. Carlito has the broader back for the fence posts. And today, the temper for digging the holes, I think.”
“I cannot disagree with you on that account, Juan,” Jorgé said with a laugh.
Slocum just grinned.
His mood still affable, Ralph MacCorkendale made ready to ride down to the south of his ranch, to help with the fencing. Somehow, it didn’t matter so much anymore, this nonsense about open range. Of course he was still annoyed at Valdez for not being a good neighbor and returning his cattle, but what the hell. He had a son coming! Well, maybe a daughter. He could do what Helga wanted, just this once.
He took Bill with him, and Curly, too, figuring that six more hands would help that much more than his two, and they rode out of the yard at about ten in the morning. He took a last look up at his bedroom window.
Helga stood there, still in her nightclothes, and waved good-bye to him.
Christ, it was like he was seventeen again! Everything was good, everything made him feel cocky, everything gave him a rush of adrenaline!
He waved back, feeling pride swell his throat, and then cleared it. He said, “Race you to the halfway mark, boys!” and lashed his horse into a gallop.
Bill and Curly followed on his heels, but were careful to stay there.
They were well aware that you didn’t beat the boss at anything, if you knew what was good for you.
Meanwhile, Pablo Valdez was leaving his rancho, as well. And in his company were also two men: Pepé, the luckless fellow who had ambushed Slocum and succeeded in winging him in the shoulder, and Ramon, a man who had been hired as much for his skills with a gun as those of a vaquero.
Valdez was still angry from the night before. He was angry that he had let his lovely wife distract him from more pressing matters, and also that he had actually listened to her for a moment, actually considered that this fence was a good thing! That any fence was good!
Well, she was half French, and therefore half crazy. He had known that when they wed. He liked it in some ways—especially in the bedroom—but not in others. In business, she was no good whatsoever.
And the same went for her feelings about this boundary they were constructing.
He had not even gone to bed last night but had stayed in his study and slept on the couch. He was afraid her nearness would make his heart soften.
Even, he thought, if it would make other parts of him hard as iron.
He smirked to himself, then straightened his face before looking toward his men.
“Let us ride, vaqueros!”
“Ye-ha!” screeched Ramon, and cut out ahead of them.
Pepé, having actually seen Slocum, was a bit more restrained. He said, “Sí, patrón,” and pushed his mount into a canter.
Fools, Valdez thought as he galloped along, quickly catching and passing Pepé and gaining on Ramon. I am surrounded by fools.
Slocum and Jorgé had moved another mile down the fence by noon. Carlito was no easier to work with, but Juan was cheerful. All in all, Slocum thought, they were doing pretty well.
While they took a break in the shade of a lone cottonwood, passing the jerky and resting their tired bodies, Slocum said, “You think we can make another two miles before we call it a day, there, Jorgé?”
Jorgé finished chewing his jerky and swallowed before he said, “Oh, sí, sí! It is smooth land from here on. For a while, anyway.”
They had been stretching wire up and down rocky slopes so far today, and this was good news to Slocum. Anything flat was good. And anything without rocks would likely be welcome news to the posthole diggers.
He wouldn’t have sworn to it, but he thought he saw a glimmer of a smile cross Carlito’s face at the mention of flatlands.
Having finished his share of the jerky, Slocum took a long drink of water, then got out his fixings pouch. He just about had the quirley rolled and ready when he heard hoofbeats approaching from the south.
Jorgé heard them, too, and stood up. “I wonder,” he said, “has Valdez sent more help?”
The question was answered when Valdez, along with two hands, appeared on the top of the hill overlooking them.
Jorgé grinned and waved. “¡Patrón!” he called. “Welcome!”
Valdez didn’t wave back. Neither did he shout an answer. He simply rode down the slope, his men behind him amid clouds of dust.
Slocum frowned and tossed his quirley aside. He rose, standing next to Jorgé. “I think we’ve got us some trouble,” he said in a low voice.
Juan had scrambled to his feet, also, and looked a little frightened, but Carlito said quietly, “I hope you are right, Señor Slocum.”
“Shut up, Carlito,” snapped Jorgé.
Carlito bowed his head in a mock apology. “Pardon,” he said sarcastically.
Valdez and his men rode down around the last wired post, giving a wide berth to the reels of wire set out on the ground, and up to the cluster of men under the cottonwood.
“Stop this,” he said.
“Que?” asked Jorgé, and he appeared stunned.
“You have heard me. Stop this fencing. It is an abomination!”
Slocum said, “Now, hold on there, Señor Valdez. You yourself said it was the only thing to—”
“I do not care what I said!” Valdez broke in. He waved an arm in anger and spooked his horse in the process. He got it under control again and shouted, “This is what I am saying now!”
“Pablo . . .” Jorgé soothes, “can we not—”
“¡Silencio!” Valdez boomed, then gestured to the men with him. “Tear it down.”
“A-all of it?” ventured Pepé.
“Every last post!”
“Patrón, what harm is there in letting what is there stand?” Jorgé asked in a calm voice. Slocum couldn’t figure where that calm came from, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.
“These boys have worked awful hard,” Slocum added.
“And Slocum, too, especially considering that he works with only the one good shoulder,” added Jorgé, and threw a pointed glance at Pepé, who flushed and looked down.
“I do not care,” Valdez snapped. “Carlito, Juan, get back to the rancho. You, too, Jorgé.”
Jorgé frowned, and Slocum knew him well enough to know that when he frowned like that, everybody’d just better back off. Apparently nobody else caught this expression but Slocum, and he said, “Jorgé, just let it go.”
But Jorgé wasn’t paying any attention to him. Instead, he took a step toward Valdez’s horse. “Then I quit, Señor Valdez,” he said. “You are too stubborn and shortsighted a man to work for.” Slocum saw his gun hand twitch and cringed a little. He knew how much damage that hand could do with a pistol in it.
Seemingly, so did Valdez, and this, if nothing else, brought the man back to reality.
“No, Jorgé,” he said. “Do not quit. You have not yet been paid! And I have further plans for your services.”
“Sí,” said Jorgé. “I am certain you do. And I am also certain that I would find these services very unpleasant to complete. Therefore, you have my resignation, señor.”
Slocum knew just as well as Jorgé that Valdez was more than likely talking about his murder, and probably that of Ralph MacCorkendale, too. Why hadn’t somebody drowned Valdez when he was a pup? It would have saved everybody a whole lot of trouble.
He said, “I’d accept it, if I was you, Valdez. If Jorgé said it, he means it.”
Valdez said nothing but spat on the ground. Then he turned his horse around and headed around the end of the fence and up the hill. His two men went with him, and Juan and Carlito followed shortly. Juan appeared unhappy, probably because his chance to see Conchita again had just been bumped far into the future.
The poor SOB. Slocum vowed to tell Maria about it tonight. She could get word to her sister.
“Well,” said Jorgé, sitting down once again, “there goes the match to my final bridge.” He stretched his legs out before him. “Now Jorgé can do what Jorgé wishes.”
Slocum, still keeping his eyes on the crest of the hill Valdez and his men had disappeared over, said, “And what the hell does Jorgé wish? Want, I mean.”
Jorgé pulled his sombrero down over his eyes. “To take a siesta, Slocum. Just a siesta.”
16
Five minutes later, MacCorkendale and his boys came loping up, and Slocum kicked Jorgé’s boot until he woke up. They were both on their feet by the time MacCorkendale stepped down off his horse and asked, “What’s goin’ on? I thought Valdez loaned you a couple of men.”
“He unloaned ’em,” Slocum said.
“When?”
“Five, maybe ten minutes ago,” replied Jorgé, then yawned.
MacCorkendale muttered, “Well, that son of a bitch!” and then, in a normal tone, added, “We’re here to help you boys now. This here’s Curly and Bill.”
“I’m Bill,” said the wiry one.
“And I’m Curly,” the broader one said.
Slocum stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you both. We were just takin’ a break.”
“Take your time,” MacCorkendale said. “Us three’ll get started. You got wire pullers?”
Slocum handed his over. “Posthole digger’s over there,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Fair enough,” MacCorkendale said. He and his boys turned and went to work.
“Nice,” said Slocum, with no small degree of satisfaction.
“Bueno,” agreed Jorgé, and settled in again, pulling his hat low.
Slocum sat down and got out his rolling pouch again while he watched MacCorkendale, Bill, and Curly go to work. It was turning out to be a real peculiar day.
How could she be pregnant?
Helga told the doctor it had been at least six weeks since MacCorkendale had made love to her, but he said that did not matter. Of course, Helga’s menses had never been normal—according to her mother—but still, it seemed that she should have known.
Dr. Oaty’s examination had been thorough, though—embarrassingly so—and he was a real doctor. He would know these things.
Still, she had her secret doubts. Why was she not nauseous in the morning? Why was she not craving many odd foods?
She was having a very smooth pregnancy, Dr. Oaty had said. And when he had asked if she was finding that her skirts fit a bit tight lately, she’d had to admit that yes, they did.
But that could be explained, couldn’t it? Perhaps she had been eating a little more than usual. She had taken a second helping of this or that more often recently.
Especially desserts. Especially when she made Apfel Kuchen.
She stared at her hands, still soft despite the years of scrubbing floors and washing dishes. Would they still be soft enough to touch her baby and not hear it cry at the chafing?
