Blood and Iron Ch. 02

James, beside, did not manage quite the same intensity - but in this quiet early night, he permitted himself a shadow of hope, reflecting on her half-formed words. And as something near a minute passed still silent, still with her thin fingers clutched strong but delicate around his hand, he ventured to speak first. "You mean that, Alice?" For the first time since their reunion, his voice carried a trace of hesitation, of uncertainty. "Callin' me 'pa?'"

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say. In a single movement, his hand was released from her grasp, shoved aside as she rose stiffly once more to her feet. Her stance tight, torn, trembling, looking still away from him. "Why?" Accusation, shot through with bitter self-reproach. Furious at herself for the slip, for the weakness it revealed. "You hopin' to get off the hook? Think I'll just...I'll just forget all you done, let you go?" Her head shook quick and vicious in the darkness. As though she were fool enough to forgive that easy, for just a held hand, a kind word. As though she'd let him be her father, after all she'd learned.

But she'd already said it. She could not take back the word once spoken - all she could do was deny its power. "Anyhow," her tone tried for ferocity, while James sat in stony silence. "It don't mean nothin'. Ain't no kind of credit to you, bein' my pa." She strove to mean it, to ignore the feeling that shivered down her spine as she again invoked the word. "Just a fact, like the way the sun rises."

"I s'ppose," he acceeded quietly. His voice once more flat and low, and her muscles tensed with the restlessness of upset. Wishing again the vain desire of a child, that things were not as they were. That he'd truly been all that she'd thought he was, that she could hope to live the dreams which had consumed her in the endless days and nights of searching. That she could have been his little girl. His little rose.

---

Sleep did not come easy for either of them that night, unspoken thoughts and emotions gnawing inside like termites at an old house. The bare ground, too, a poor bed for James' tired bones; the morning was well underway when he finally began to wake, roused slowly by the sun's increasing glare. Alice was already up, sitting on a rock by the side of the trail, her legs kinked back beneath her as she stared down the path that awaited them with an air of almost anxious irritation. Barely glancing backwards when he stepped up behind her, rolling away the stiffness of his neck with an uncomfortable crack.

"Got a problem?" He spoke without preamble, his voice a quarrel between the faint lilt of curiosity and the slurring of a yawn suppressed.

"What?" She looked back more solidly then, eyes narrow with distracted suspicion.

Shrugging amicably. "Got a look on your face like you're expectin' the devil hisself to show up on that road, hollerin' for us."

She snorted sharply - but he was gratified to see a moment's amusement quirk at her lips. "Ain't that." The words emerged slow, almost grudgingly. "Just thinkin' what a fool I been. This route," a quick jerk of the head pointed down the road they'd yet to travel, "Takes us through Las Cintas next."

A beat passed as James waited for her to elaborate. As she looked away, back down the road. Finally he responded, his tone gently probing. "Afraid I don't quite see how that makes you a fool."

"No," she sighed softly. "I don't reckon you would." Another lingering quiet before she continued, words measured and carefully chosen. "I ran into some trouble passin' through there, two years back. Ended up shootin' a few men."

Her gaze drifted back over to James as she said it, taking in his restrained surprise, one bushy eyebrow slightly lifted. Giving no more detail than this bare revelation, until at last he cautiously answered. "Well...what I seen, I figure if you shot'm, then they must'a done something to deserve it."

"Maybe." She shrugged listlessly, looking away again. Not meeting his eyes.

"Anyhow," he continued firmer, his voice reaching for the reassuring, "People got a shorter memory'n you might expect for that sort of thing. Less'n you shot the sheriff in plain view of the whole town, they probably already forgot."

"You think so?" Hope rang in her tones, high and melodic as the chime of golden bells.

"I surely do," he nodded solid and serious. Dry humor tugging at his lips. "I got some experience in this area, recall. Most folk, they're just happy it ain't them got put under. Glad to let it in the past, not make waves, so long as you don't go braggin' what people you killed."

"Well, I ain't inclined to that," she muttered quietly. Inhaling deeply before she rose to her feet, determination surging back into her expression, if now somewhat marred by unease. "We got plenty more miles to cross - best be on our way."

It was just a few more hours before they reached the outskirts of Las Cintas, a medium-small town along the border. James had passed through a few times himself, but never developed any lasting impression of the place - it was just one of the innumerable habitations that dotted the West, eking out an existence from the soil and catering graciously enough to whatever travelers happened through.

Today, though, it seemed in the midst of preparations for some great celebration. Gaily colored ribbons were tied to all available surfaces, mostly draped sullenly downward in the stillness of the air but occasionally fluttering as they were caught by a momentary breeze. Streets that would normally sit empty in the noonday sun instead bustled with activity, sweat dripping freely from men's faces as they wrestled furniture into position at the town center, and the air was thick with chatter - mostly Spanish, but bits of pidgin English sounded, too, here at a crossroads of culture.

At first, the tumult seemed a blessing for their unobtrusive passage - with all the other horses and burros hauling around carts and barrels, no one seemed to pay much attention to two more riders trotting quickly through. Until they passed near a well-dressed man with a neatly-waxed moustache observing the activity from the sidelines, whose idle glance in their direction turned into a double-take, and then a questioning call. "O'Connor?" Faint astonishment in his voice as he faced them directly, stepped closer. "Señorita O'Connor!"

Alice was not the sort to frighten. If James could say anything about her, he knew, he could say that. Fearless from childhood, unflinching even when she stood against two armed men. But the look that flashed across her face as this stranger approached with her name on his lips - it was near to panic, eyes darting fruitlessly for escape. Turning away so as not to see him, to retreat, to hide away. James could only turn his horse awkwardly around, move between her and the approaching figure before he could come too close. Try to defuse the situation before whatever she feared could come to pass. "Listen, Señor," he intoned quick, firm, somewhere between bargaining and demanding. "We ain't here to cause no trouble. We're just passin' through."

"Trouble?" Surprise again in the man's voice, coloring his mild Spanish accent. He was close enough now that James could see the cheer on his cheeks, the small and honest smile carried like a new gift. He hardly had the look of a man out for revenge. "Why would there be trouble?"

"I ain't..." James trailed off uncertainly, glancing over at Alice in perplexity. Pointlessly, as she still faced silently away, staring off at distant mountains. "Well, if you ain't worried about her makin' trouble, what do you want her for?"

"Why, to thank her!" The man chuckled brightly, lips parting to show teeth well-maintained and white. "To thank her properly, that is. She left so suddenly when last she was here, and with all that had happened, I..." His head shook, brief and dismissive. "But I forget myself, yes? My name is Javier, Javier Hernández. I own some of the ranching operations here, and in a few of the towns to the south. You, you are a traveling companion of the young lady?"

"Aye," James nodded slowly, cautiously. "I s'ppose you could say that..."

"And she has not yet told you of what she did here?" Amused wonderment flashed in his eyes, with another shake of the head. "Well, perhaps it is common enough for her as to be beneath mention. Myself, I tell the tale to most everyone who happens by...but come, I do not wish to speak like this, with you upon your horses." His gaze flickered between the pair, Alice still turned away. "You will stay a time, yes? Much of the town is busy, you can see, preparing for the festival, but I am certain I can still arrange some hospitality. Drinks, or food if you are hungry - whatever you like. A friend of the señorita is most assuredly a friend of mine."

"I reckon we could prob'ly stick around a spell," James agreed, carefully reserved. "Just got to check with the lady." An understanding nod from the man as he tugged at his reins, wheeling the horse around once more to pull up alongside Alice. His voice dropping low, neutral, observing the frustrated tightness of her jaw as she still failed to look at him. "I ain't got too much notion what the story here is, Alice, but the man seems nice enough. And to be frank, that drink sounds mighty fine right now." A pause. "What're you thinkin'?"

Her head shook swift and silent, as though to refuse, to deny everything. But when she spoke, it was with the sourness of grudging acceptance. "Fine. Fine, I gotta stock up on supplies again, anyhow."

"All right, then." Another beat, a moment's respectful hesitation. "You want to tell me what happened? Man's actin' like you saved his hide."

"Nothing happened." Ferocity surging high and tight in her voice, burning inexplicable in her gaze as she finally turned to look at him. "Nothin' worth mention. We oughta just..." Trailing off. No conclusion to the thought. Just anxiety, wound up inside her like a coiled spring as she dropped down off her horse, hiding again her eyes. James could only shrug, dismounting likewise to tie his reins to a nearby post. Watching for a few seconds as she stalked off to the general store they'd passed a short while earlier, before he turned again to the enthusiastic stranger with a half-hearted smile of greeting.

"You will be staying, then, I take it?" Javier quirked an eyebrow, glancing past the other man at Alice's retreating form. "The señorita, she is...?"

"She's got a bit of shopping to do. Be back soon enough, I'm sure." His expression tugged crookedly, hoping he was right. "And yeah, we'll be stayin'. Long enough for a drink, anyhow."

"Ah, splendid, splendid." His hands wrung effusively together, smile glinting brightly as he ushered James forward to one of the tables already set down in the square. "Let me see what I can do about that, yes? Antonio!" Javier's voice rose suddenly, looking back over his shoulder, calling out across the din - and in response, a little boy soon scampered up expectantly. Perhaps six or seven, dark-haired, his finely-tailored outfit filthy from playing around in the dirt. "¡Ay, usted es un desastre!" Chiding affectionate in the man's voice, addressing the child before turning his attentions back to James. "The owner of our little cantina serves a very fine tequila, if I were to recommend something, señor...?"

"Blake." James answered the unspoken question, glancing around the busy square. "And that sounds more than fine. Ain't gonna turn up my nose when another man's payin'."

The man nodded pleasantly in acknowledgement, gaze shifting once more with a trace of uncertainty to Alice in the distance. A moment's hesitant pause before he turned back to the child. "Antonio, por favor vaya a Ortega. Dile que necesito una botella de tequila y tres vasos, ¿de acuerdo?"

The boy was off like a shot, hardly pausing to intone an obedient "¡Sí, papá!" before kicking up clouds of dust on his way across the square. Javier watched him go for a long few moments; when he turned back to James, his smile was bittersweet. "My younger son." Words of explanation. "A fine boy. I wish that I had half his energy...but. Señor Blake." A thoughtful expression crossed into his features, drumming his fingers reflectively on the rough timber of the table. "I have heard that name before, have I not? Where..." And hardly had he glanced past James, again down the boulevard, than he snapped decisively. "Yes, of course! The man she was looking for! James Blake...so she finally found you, eh?"

"Could be." The smirk sat thin and sardonic on his lips, conscious of the complexity of their reunion...and uncertain of what this man's involvement was, what he knew. Instinctively averse to the notion of revealing anything important, even to so affable a stranger.

"Well," Javier's smile, by contrast, seemed quite open, honest. "You are either a lucky man or a very unlucky one, I would think, to be sought after by a woman such as she." Slight humor tugging at its corner. "Since you are still alive, I imagine it is the former."

"I reckon," James agreed distantly, reserved. Still thinking of his daughter's strange behavior, her panic and resistance at this man's approach. It made so little sense. He seemed altogether benign - clearly well-off, the trappings of wealth apparent in everything from the cut of his clothes to the refined and careful elocution of his speech. But welcoming, unlike most men of his station. Friendly. Perhaps a trifle fond of her, from the ease of his flattery...

A touch of alarm, of worry, thinking that. Men can be friendly in many ways, and not all of them are kind. "Mind if I ask," the sudden rise of his suspicion kept largely hidden from his voice, "Just what happened, with you and the little lady?"

If Javier thought him uncouth to so brusquely change the subject, he showed it with no more than a quirked eyebrow, settling smoothly back into his mild, indulgent smile. "Of course. It is nothing unsavory, I assure you. Something of a sad tale, in fact, for me. But..." He shrugged expansively. "Well. I will not bore you with the telling of how I came to think myself in need of bodyguards. Suffice it to say that, at times, one man's honest deal is another's unforgivable offense. When threats were made, I thought it best that I should have more protection than what my own hands could manage...three men, compañeros, were among those who answered the advertisement I placed. Two Americans, and one of my own countrymen. For all of them together, they offered a price hardly more than any of the others alone, five pesos a day. 'Plus expenses.' And they had a dangerous look, one that in my naïveté I thought would work to my benefit, to my security. Like a fool, I hired them."

His firm, dark moustache drooped downward, reproving as he shook his head. "They were beasts. Conniving, vile...I found soon enough that their idea of 'expenses' included visits to the cantina, to the brothel, which they made with a most revolting frequency. And they did not accept a refusal to pay. Within a week, their own threats began - against me, against my family. Little subtlety to them, saying that it was a dangerous world for men who lost their 'protection.'"

Quiet fell for a long few moments, Javier's eyes dropping down heavy to the rough wood of the table. "My elder son, Miguel, was seventeen when all this happened. Brash with the fires of youth - I'm certain you know how young men can be. He was furious with these creatures in our house, with me, that I was permitting it to continue. He said that if I did not get rid of them, he would have to do so himself." His expression low with sad solemnity. "I...did not take that promise as seriously as I might have. As I should have. I was distracted, you see, with my own attempts to call in someone more reliable than our local law, who by this time had already demonstrated their reluctance to involve themselves in 'matters of employment.'" The smile that drifted past his lips was wan and empty. "One night, Miguel took a shotgun and snuck into their rooms. I do not even know if he was hoping to kill them, or only to drive them off...either way, he did not succeed."

James maintained a respectful silence in the still that followed. Presently, Javier spoke again. "Understand, Señor Blake, that I am not a violent man. But after that, even I would have tried to kill those...monsters, and damned the consequences - if it were not for my wife, and for Antonio. I could not risk following my son, and leave the rest of my family to the tender mercies of those barbarians. I remained, instead, now as nearly a prisoner in my own home. Trying to find some way out of this trap, now that they no longer even permitted me to send letters." He snorted briefly, mild and decorous outrage.

"But. It was perhaps a week later that a knock came at my door. A strange traveller indeed - a girl, dressed as a vaquero." A little smile as he said it, still faintly amazed. "She asks to see me. Says that, while passing through, she has heard whispers from the people of our town of the death of my son, of the...trouble I was having, with my men. All of this, mind, in plain sight and hearing of the one who was there in the room watching over me. There was little that I could say openly, but I tried to caution her away, not wanting to find the death of this young woman on my conscience. Hinting of the danger here, that the person of whom she spoke was right there with us. That she should leave, and swiftly. Instead...instead, once I had finished, she went up to the man, demanded in no uncertain terms that he gather his friends and depart."

Dark eyes sparkled with the recollection of quiet wonderment. "I thought she must be mad. This slip of a girl, fearless before a demon. She had a gun, of course, but I did not imagine she truly knew how to use it. And neither did he, I do not think - he just laughed, and moved to grab her."

"Didn't let herself get caught, did she?" James inquired, fascinated.

"No, indeed not." Javier shook his his head lightly. "She dodged back, and said...let me think, I wish to get this right. She said, 'If your next move ain't for the door, it better be for your gun.'" The smile on his lips sat somewhere between amusement and admiration. "Quite a statement, no? Were I him, I think that is the moment I would have begun to take her seriously. He, though, was less careful. Just snarled something one ought not say to a lady, and lunged for her again. This time, with even less success." A glitter of bloody satisfaction in his gaze, at the memory of injustice avenged. "Her hand was ready at her holster - she did not even bother to move away. Just drew, as swiftly as I have ever seen, fired...the man was dead by the time he hit the floor, a bullet through his heart. Surprise, the last expression he ever wore."

Silence held at this denoument, until Javier's eyes darted aside, a wide grin spreading on his lips. The story's tension draining swiftly away with the approach of a serving-girl in a colorful, ruffled dress, a bottle in one hand and a small stack of glasses in the other. "Ah, our drinks!" he exclaimed brightly, turning to take her burdens as she drew up close. "Gracias, Adelita. I had begun to think perhaps Antonio had become lost along the way!" His boistrous tone belied the words, and as the girl curtsied her farewell, he poured out a small measure of alcohol into each of the glasses, pushing one invitingly across to table to James, and another to the empty space beside him.

"Now," he swirled his own drink thoughtfully in his hand, as James downed half of his in a single go. "The gunshot, of course, attracted the attention of the other two men - I believe I told her as much, that they would surely be approaching soon." He took a drink himself then, a satisfied grimace flitting across his features at the strength of the alcohol. "Ahh...she placed herself cleverly against the wall, behind my wardrobe, out of sight of the door; when the others burst in, they did not see her. One of them knelt down to check on their companion, while the other kept his revolver trained on me, demanding to know what had happened, what I had done. Both facing away from her. I imagine that, in her place, I would have taken the opportunity to simply shoot them. But this young lady - she barked something first, caught their attention so that I was not threatened myself. Fired only once they had turned in her direction."