Blood and Iron Ch. 02

Faint wonderment, shaking his head again. "The man demanding answers was first down. The other did not have his shotgun ready, having placed it on the ground to examine his friend; it was clutched only sideways in his hands as she pointed her own revolver at him, told him to drop it." Another slug of tequila. "I could see him hesitate. Unwisely - any half-competent gunfighter could fire before he could bring his weapon to bear, and it was plain to see by now that she was more than competent. But perhaps he thought himself exceptional. Perhaps he was driven into madness by the deaths of his fellows. Or perhaps he simply could not bear the thought of surrendering to a woman...he raised his gun, and the bullet came swiftly after. Another body on my carpet. The men who had taken so much from me were dead, and it was by the hand of this girl to whom I had promised nothing, whose help I had never even requested."

His gaze shifted, looking past James again as delight poured into his expression. "And who now returns! Welcome, please, sit!" He gestured to the empty spot with the waiting glass of tequila, rising respectfully to his feet while James glanced behind. No surprise at seeing Alice there, returned from her excursion, standing a trifle diffident at the outskirts of the square. A little grimace before she did as he suggested, settling down next to her father on the splintery wood - only once she was properly seated did Javier return to his own position, wearing a charming smile. "I was just telling your companion of your heroics on my behalf."

"That a fact," she muttered vague and unfriendly into her drink, already snatched up to her hand. Her eyes turned to the glass, hidden away from both men as she took a quick and heavy slug.

"It is, indeed." A slight uncertainty to his tone, his brow lifting with faintly injured surprise at the coldness of her response. But it was patched back to his prior amiability by the time he spoke again, glancing back at James. Continuing his story. "All this...it seemed something from a story one would tell a child. A tale that would be unbelievable, if told around the cantina. I offered her a reward for what she'd done, of course - but she refused, asking me only if I'd heard of a particular man. Of you, Señor Blake." His eyes solid on the other man, respectful and faintly curious. "I was unhappy to tell her that I had not. But I asked her to return to my villa in a few days, so that I might find some way to repay her."

He smiled wryly, eyes flickering back over to Alice still sitting tense and moody. "She never did. It seemed, from what I gathered later, that after asking around much of the town for you, she simply departed. And that, until now, was the first and last I ever saw of her. I almost wondered if she were truly real, if she had not been some guardian angel sent in my hour of need - though why my guardian angel should be asking after a stranger, I could not begin to say." Chuckling lightly then, with an air of finality that said the account was over.

"Well," James nodded slowly. "'ts quite a tale, Señor."

"It was quite a thing to live through as well, I assure you," he agreed dryly. "And it has been a point of shame for me that I have not in any way repaid the debt I owe the young lady. If nothing else," his gaze crossing back to her again, warm and hopeful, "I hope that you will remain for the festival. It is a silly thing, perhaps, merely an anniversary of the town's founding, but it is a pleasant tradition nonetheless. I would ensure that you - that the two of you - are treated as guests of honor. And it would be my pleasure as well to put you both up at my villa tonight...or longer, of course, if you should wish it."

Alice was shaking her head through a small and vigorous arc even before he finished speaking. "Mighty kind of you, Señor Hernández," her voice coming tight, with little of the gratitude the words implied, "But we got a place to be. Can't afford to stick around here too long."

"I understand," he nodded gamely. "I'm certain you are busy. More people to save, yes?" His lips faintly quirked with a resilient humor. "I do have, in that case, a small sum of American dollars from a deal in the States - if you would simply give me a few minutes, I can fetch it for you. I would not feel right, letting you leave here again empty-handed."

"No," she refused hardly an instant after he finished speaking, her features fixed in a mask of frustration, itching to escape. "Like I told you then, I didn't do it for no reward. I just..." Her gaze flickered over to James as she trailed off, and his questioning eyebrow only magnified her upset. She took stiffly to her feet, springing up with one hand held awkward at her side, the other clutching at her remaining tequila. "We got to go." Gulping down the drink in a single swallow, the burning of the liquid in her throat helping to distract her from that on her cheeks. No more farewell than this - just the loud report of the glass slammed back down upon the table. Then she spun round neatly on her heels and trod swiftly for the horses, leaving James to gesture faintly apologetic as he, too, pulled away, and scrambled after.

Alice only slowed her pace, settled the annoyingly cheerful jangle of her spurs, once she rounded the corner. Once she was no longer in sight of that too-thankful cattle merchant who couldn't keep his damned mouth shut, once she could no longer feel the eyes of those who'd been around for her attempt to play hero. Her idiocy, childishly imitating stories that had never been real...she hated herself for it. Still more, for the satisfaction she'd once taken from the affair, thinking she was following in her father's footsteps.

Not that it helped, of course. Getting away. Now he knew the truth, the whole humiliating tale she'd tried to hide. He'd think her a fool, a child still playing make-believe in the dirt. And rightly so. She could hear him coming, feel him hurrying up behind as she drew near the horses, the sinews wound up tight inside her. His voice in her ear, firm and serious. "Alice-"

"I know, all right?" The response exploded out of her, sharp and strangled. Still facing away, her spine, her body stiff with a bitter blend of misery and anger. "It was a fool thing to do. I know. I coulda been killed, easy." She shut her eyes, permitting herself a moment's self-pity before continued. "Didn't even get nothin' for it. I shoulda just kept walkin', let the law or whoever take care of it, if they was gonna."

"Alice," he repeated close behind her. Quiet, earnest - a spark of lively gladness in his voice. "I'm proud of you."

She could not believe the words. "What?" It came out a whisper, spinning round to face him. Looking up with uncertain urgency into his eyes.

"Damned proud," he answered forcefully. A breathless shiver deep inside her, seeing his lips curved into that familiar bushy-moustached smile. Seeing the warmth that flowed now from his gaze, the affection soft in his sun-wrinkled features. Her heart beating faster, conscious of his nearness before her. Remembering the feeling of a father's love. "I fill your head with all them tall tales, stories about me savin' folk, settin' things right...and you turn around and do it all for real. What you done here..." He shook his head lightly - wondering, admiring. "I know I can't take hardly any credit for how you turned out. But all the same, I don't figure a man could ask a better legacy than to have a daughter like you." His eyes on her were gentle, strong. Her pa's eyes.

Pink lips parted, shocked and wordless, struggling to shape the great mass of emotion that rose up inside her, lodged aching in her throat at this affirmation. Thick with longing, with joy, with the anxious trembling of heartbreak long suppressed. The sight of his weathered features blurring before her as fervent feeling bloomed hot and tingling at her temples, pounded dizzy in her ears. The little girl inside, delighting in the approval which was so long denied her...it was forever ago, and he stood before her again, as tall and handsome and inspiring as he had ever been. The smell of the trail on him, sweat and dust, strong and enchanting. Her pulse pounding quick and deep as her lips formed words without a sound...

His smile tugged up wryly at her silence, a mild chuckle loosed from his throat. "Anyhow," he turned away to untie the reins of his horse. "Like you said, we got a place to be. Maybe it ain't gonna be so bad a thing, dyin'."

That was another feeling altogether, a jangling of protest through the moment's happier harmonies. Yes. She'd promised to kill him, to make him pay for what he'd done. To gun him down, just as she had those crooked bodyguards in the rancher's villa. He deserved it still, surely - none of his crimes undone by this moment passed between them. But just now...she could scarce imagine going through with it. The thought of it, of ending his life with a slug of lead, of the gun smoking in her hand afterward as he slumped to the cold earth, bled his last...it was a queasy tightness in the pit of her stomach, her fingers curling up with anguish unendurable.

"Wait." A murmur. He turned round, looking at her with a question in his gaze...she couldn't do this, couldn't aim for it. Not right now. Her cheeks faintly flushed, voice low and tentative in this reversal. "Maybe we ain't gotta head out just now. Maybe we can...take a day. See this festival of theirs."

Silence from James, one thick eyebrow slightly lifted. His eyes probed curiously at hers, gently, taking in the conflict that struggled in those pools of murky green. A few moments, a tiny nod, before he spoke. "Well, I ain't inclined to argue, if'n that fits your fancy." The question came quieter. "You all right?"

"Hell," her flush deepened as she tried to shake off the query. But even in this refusal, her voice was softer than it might have been, a day or two ago. "I'm holdin' you prisoner, remember? You ain't got to ask after me like I'm a child. Ain't been one a long time now."

"Can't say I agree." She took some relief as he turned around to retie his horse, reprieve from his eyes, and from the emotion that stirred powerful at her breast when they met hers. "Everyone's somebody's child. That don't go away just on account you get a little older." Humor pulling gently upward at the lines of his face, glancing back at her. "Thirteen years don't change which way the sun rises."

---

Javier proved happy to welcome them back once more, politely refraining from any questions as to what had prompted the change of heart. And before an hour had passed, the festival was begun - food piled high on wide stoneware platters, spiced ground beef worked into almost every dish. Those children who weren't running shrieking through the streets were gathered entranced around a puppet show; the older townsfolk chattering gaily with one another while in the background, a small band played norteña with greater enthusiasm than skill. As the man had promised, it was an altogether pleasant affair - disarmingly so, between the friendly smiles of passers-by and the humble jollity of the decorations. A day, a moment, when the normal dull suspicion of life on the frontier could fade away, and the brightness of humanity beneath shine forth.

Beyond a quick and awkward bow from Alice when Javier called her out in a speech at the start of the festivities, she and James stayed mostly on the sidelines of the afternoon's activities, content to feast upon the bottomless piles of food arrayed around the central tables, and to leisurely imbibe from the bottles which now lay scattered about like bread crumbs. And between the cheerful music and the warm fuzz of alcohol, the immediacy of anger, of worry and of guilt, seemed somehow to retreat. The weight of the past lighter on their shoulders, tongues loosened enough to speak of distant things - the catastrophe in Chicago, Grant's fight against the Klan in the still-resistant South. There was comfort here, in sitting close beside him. Near enough that their arms would sometimes brush together as they ate and drank, that even when she looked away she could feel his presence there at her side...and feel as well the quiet tingle that presence sparked. The slow, smoky burn down beneath her stomach, deep and urgent as the tides.

"Pa." She spoke the word slowly, letting it linger on her lips. Testing it. Tasting it. Feeling along her spine the power in the simple syllable, used again after so many years. The question that followed was almost an afterthought, an excuse. "Pass the bottle?"

He knew better this time than to comment on the address. But a certain quiet cheer still tugged at his expression as he obeyed, mixed with tolerant admonishment. "You best watch how much of this stuff you drink."

"Why?" Her mouth dropped into a moue, a playful pretending at offense. "You sayin' I can't hold my liquor?"

"Hell," he chuckled lightly. "Most everything else you're a wildcat, I figure you can prob'ly handle it better'n anyone else your size." A pause just long enough for her to smirk with satisfaction, before he looked pointedly downward at her, concluded, "'Course, that ain't sayin' much." Amusement in his eyes, pointing out her stature, and the slenderness of her youthful frame.

"Hmph." She snorted sharply, tried to glare back up at him - but the expression vanished as their gazes met, evaporated by the warmth in his steady brown eyes. A faint smile all that remained, and her tongue suddenly short of words, fled like crows before a rifle shot. Looking up at him, so close now before her. Fine furrows in his features, worn by time and feeling and the endless desert heat. Grey-streaked hair unkempt beneath his hat, at least as long as hers. The faint, familiar quirk of a subtle humor at the corner of his mouth...and a quickening of her heartbeat, staring at those sun-cracked lips. Color creeping onto her cheeks, as memory and imagination swirled in her mind.

Seconds passed like this, piled on to one another while eyes stayed locked in silence. It was James who eventually turned away, stiffly returning to look out across the table - and freeing Alice to scramble again for words, for purchase in the conversation which had escaped her. The bottle of tequila still clutched in her hand; she lifted it to her lips and took a large swig, not bothering with her glass. A bid for time, as the harsh liquid burned down her throat, warmed her belly. By the time her eyes stopped watering, she felt confident enough to speak. "Th' Hallaway Cattle Company don't have no regulations about employees drinkin' on the range, so long as they're fit to work." A bit of the theatrical in her voice, dramatic and firm. "There was gen'rally a bottle or two passed around the fire every night - I got plenty practice, holdin' my alcohol."

"That's one easygoin' bunch you work for." He laughed again, lightly, glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Seems risky enough just havin' a woman out there."

At once she felt the pleasant fuzz of comfort fall away, hackles rising as disappointment blended with a frustration too familiar. "Why's that?" An edge to her voice, sharp and faintly accusing.

"Oh, ain't cause you can't manage it," James swiftly explained, soothing a little the irritation in her gaze. "I got a feeling you can work them cows as good as any man. It's just, well..." He looked aside, downed another quick belt of his own drink. "Trifle indelicate, understand, but most of the cowboys I known, if they wasn't girl-crazy at the start of a drive, they certainly was at the end of one. If they'd had a woman workin' alongside'm...hell, I don't know what they'd've done."

"Ah," she acknowledged quietly. Slightly self-conscious now of how swiftly she had turned to bitterness, to offense. Feeling the weight of the chip on her shoulder, knowing how often she'd had to fight, threaten, bluster just to be taken even half-seriously... "Well, I can't say that ain't ever been a concern." She smiled, weakly, reaching back for the warm content she had inhabited just moments prior. "Seems like every year there's a new hand I gotta explain to how I ain't the entertainment." She snorted once, fiercely, before adding in a softer tone, "Been better the last couple years, though. The old-timers, the trail boss, they're used to me now. They help make things clear to the new folk so I ain't got to get too nasty. Plus..."

Hesitation for a moment, reaching backward to rub uncomfortably at the back of her scalp before she continued. "Well, seems a mite improved, too, since I decided to cut my hair short." A tinge of embarrassment touched to her cheeks, as though this were a shameful admission. Or at least a hypocritical one, after her so-strident earlier denial that she dressed like a man. "I figure maybe it's easier for the menfolk to keep their heads, if I look more like one of'm."

James laughed at that, low and amused, prompting a little frown. A question, faintly aggravated. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothin'." He lightly shook his head, still carrying on his lips the curl of humor. "Just...well, short hair or not, I don't reckon any man with blood in his veins could mistake you for bein' nothin' but a woman." And while she processed this, his gaze rose up over her shoulder, looking behind. A speculative tone, still touched with amusement. "Matter of fact, it looks like you've got an admirer right now."

Surprise. Alice turned swiftly around to see what he was talking about - a young man, perhaps twenty years, standing awkwardly a few yards away against the wall of the blacksmith's shop. Skin like mocha, dark of hair, wearing the inexpensive finery of a hardscrabble family; he'd clearly been staring in her direction, but his gaze dodged nervously away as she faced him. Only gradually did it return, with an uncertain sort of smile.

"Somethin' you need, partner?" If her tone was not particularly inviting, at least it was not especially fearsome, either. A commanding kind of inquiry, firm and assured now in the relative ease of dealing with a stranger.

"Sí. Yes, ah..." Enough, at least, to bring him closer. The youth stepped up to their table with confidence visibly teetering, his gaze on Alice but avoiding her eyes. His expression fixed with a slightly apprehensive smile as he spoke in halting, thickly-accented English. "Hello. I am sorry, I did not want to break your talking. I - my name is Diego. I have seen you - when you were here, before, we talked. A little. And after, Señor Hernández told me of what happened, what you have done. I wanted to say that...it is nice, to see you now. That you..." Frustration touched to his eyes, trying to remember the proper words. "That you are looking nice. It is good that you are here today, with-"

"Whoa, hang on now," she interrupted, not unkindly, before he could struggle too much further. "You ain't got to tell me no history. Just get to the point. What can I do for you?"

"Ah." One could almost see him screwing together his courage. "Yes. I have thought that - that maybe you would want to dance?" His hand gestured swiftly over to the floor of packed dirt, where couples twirled and skipped to the music, and his smile tugged up ever so briefly into a hopeful grin.

There was hardly a pause before a dismissive snort made her answer clear. The steely words that followed only driving home the point. "I look like the dancin' type, do I?" A slight, scornful shake of her head, as his smile faltered. "You best find yourself some other girl, compadre."

"I am sorry." Disappointment in his voice, injured and somewhat taken aback. A new heaviness of upset upon his brow as he moved to withdraw, giving her a stiff little bow of apology. "I did not mean offense." Her lip just curled with irritation, watching him walk back uncomfortably towards one of the larger clusters of people, hiding himself away in the crowds.