Winding Creek Pt. 05 - Pragmatic

"When Tiff returned home in the middle of the night, her eye blacked, J.D. were hard pressed not to go n kill that man. He had right... But you knew J.D. Hard to forgive and then blaming her like he did Luis. She were to be yours in his mind. J.D. planned and expected that. He hated himself for not saving her for you."

Lucas rolled her words through his mind, this ways n that.

"B-but we're married..."

"So? I was too... Times are hard Lucas. You know that better than most anyone. You do what you have to, to make life the best it can be for you and yours. J.D. wanted a son. Linda Jean wants her family. All of it. You'll father John like he's your own. That's a hard fact. What kind of man are you going to 'allow' Tiffany to fall in love with and father that boy?"

Debra Ann half smiled letting her breath slip through pursed lips.

"Jack Season's is dead Lucas. Linda Jean sees what the future is for her sister and John. She can let it be or she can make damn sure she'll never lose her sister again. She is going to see to it that Tiffany is never hurt again; that her sister n nephew will always be safe as long as you live."

Miss Debra drained what were left in her teacup.

"Linda Jean knows you love her... There's no denying that. She's living her dream, Lucas. In her mind, it's only fair she let Tiffany live hers too."

Debra Ann rose from the table, went and rinsed out her teacup. With out turning to look at him, she spoke softly but as firm as Lucas Blake had ever heard her.

"You mind you never put Tiffany Ann above Linda Jean Lucas."

Lucas set in the quiet. When his mother-in-law never looked back at him, he slipped quietly from the house. Luis Tee were settin' on the porch, the fired clay jug restin' next to 'im.

"She okay Lucas."

Luke looked at him, not sure how he felt let alone his mother.

"I'll be headin' back now."

Luis rose n squeezed Luke's shoulder. The younger man stept off the porch, tightened the cinch strap on Patch n gathered his reins.

"Your a good man Lucas Blake. You'll figure it out."

Takin' his sun warmed hat off the saddle horn n slippin' it on, he mounted the blue-black gelding.

"Luis... How do ya know your doin' what's right?"

A long-time mentor and now his father-in-law half smiled.

"Son, from all I seen, I should be askin' you that question."

Luke were halfway home when he recolleted the wrapped box in his saddle bag fer his mother. It would wait. He weren't gonna interrupt Luis n Miss Debra ag'in. As he rode home, 'pragmatic' was the only word gave Lucas Blake comfort.

'Sides, he could neer see the twinkle in Charles Taylors eyes...

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Irish Mike McCarthy eyed the tall, lean man standin' near the end of his bar in the Rusty Nail. He had his long-fingered hands wrapped around some beer n an empty cup rested next to 'im. His rolled-up sleeves showed arms that favored a man that worked hard by the well-defined muscle movin' under his dark skin. Plain mostly, wool britches n a red linen shirt stained with dust n sweat. A worn leather vest did little to hide the blue-black pistol with a polished wood grip. He didn't carry the weapon on his hip like most he'd seen. It were jist above the man's hips, holstered to a wide, plain leather belt, the barrel pointed more to the side then down. The man had purpose etched into his dark face under tite black hair. The hat restin' on his right were derby like 'cept havin' a wide brim to shade it's wearer from the sun.

Always searchin' fer a man that might be good with a gun, he took a bottle of his better rye whiskey n walked the length of the heavily scarred bar.

"Afternoon stranger."

The man didn't look up. Irish Mike refilled his cup with the rye before extendin' his hand.

"Mike McCarthy. I own this place n the hotel..."

The red headed man nodded toward the closed double doors on the strangers right.

"...n a small restaurant at the other end of this establishment."

The man met Mike's eyes offerin' an ever so slight nod. Mike dropped his hand.

"Fresh cut steak, beans n crushed potatoes with gravy be todays special. Got me a great German cook... Six-bits."

The mans hooded eyes returned to his beer.

"Good to know."

"Just passin' through?"

The tall man straightened a bit, looked into the Irishman's eyes as he picked up the offered drink n swallowed. With out a word, he set the cup down n fished a quarter from the pocket of his vest n laid it on the bar.

"That were on the house friend."

The man turned n went towards the doors leading to the hotel.

"Bath?"

Irish Mike felt the blood fillin' his face.

"South end of town. Figured you mite've seen it on your way in."

The man never stopped.

"Thanks."

The stranger with square toed boots disappeared through the left door. Curly Joe hurried to the slow growin' mad Irishman.

"Been here less then an hour. Shot n a beer. Been nursin' that beer most of time."

"Say anything?"

"No sir. Barely blinked."

"You keep an eye on 'im. When he comes back, you damn well better let me know."...

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Quick, takin' a well-earned break from pitchin' the fresh cut n dried hay deeper into the loft, seen Lucas in the distance first. He dropt down onta the near empty wagon jist below the wide-open loft door. Rushin' inside, he rinsed his face 'fore runnin' a small towel over his face n shoulders. It been a blessin' that Smoke Garcia had taken to keepin' his face shaved n never wearin' a shirt more in two days.

He'd learnt early on to blend in with the folks he workt for or with. Smokes new attention to his look favored Quicks habit from the past. Mr. Blake were most always clean shaved, a fresh, hot ironed shirt under his brushed coal black coat n wool pants...

Quick's mother would often scold him when he let his look be less than clean n tidy. They mite 've had less then what most did, but she always expected him to be clean, study hard n keep close ta home. Those were Quicks best years, livin' with his mother n when Shawn Andrews showed up with his mom, he had a friend that shared 'is circumstance. Both their mothers were whores, livin' in a small house near the edge of town. It weren't to far to school from there n the other kids mostly stayed clear after Shawn showed up. Together, the two boys were allowed to be boys, safer in each other's company. To say the two were close would be an understatement. They were fifteen n fourteen when Quicks mother were beat to death. He'd snuck out of town n struck out on his own two days after the man that did it were hanged... Right in the center of town... No trial needed.

Some thought her bein' a whore, it didn't matter much. But they were in Texas n any slight to any woman was hard dealt with. He knowed Shawn's mama would try n care fer 'im, but it wouldn't be fair to Shawn. It were a teary-eyed departure when he left... Quick still remembered their last kiss after their last time together.

He wandered a bit, doin' what he could fer meals n a possible roof over 'is head. He'd hired his self out as a hand at several farms 'fore he were sent on his way when the harvestin' er plowin' n plantin' ended: eventually endin' up in Independence. He'd taken what jobs he could, muckin' out stables, cleanin' n polishin' spittoons... He even went to hotels to haul away n empty their ceramic er painted metal commodes used fer their guests. Things were startin' to look up when two older boys put a whoppin' on his ass tellin' 'im to move on, he were stealin' their work.

As luck would have it, or not, a kind man with a wooden leg chased 'em off 'fore they did more n blacken 'is eyes n stomped 'is leg a bit.

"You'll stay with me til you heal boy. I might have a fix fer your troubles."

Jack Jenkins were a well-dressed but worn man. He run his own medicine show, sellin' elixirs he made when he were camped outta town. It didn't last much more then it took Quick's left eye to open enough so he could see ag'in. Seems Mr. Jenkins had swindled a mother outta what she had, then left the town of Davenport under the cover of night. Her sons eventually tracked Jolly Jack to Independence n then way laid him on his way to Winding Creek as they'd be headin' south fer the winter.

After a sound beatin' n then some, they took what Jack had, gave the boy a silver dollar n a half-starved mule with promise if they ever seen 'im ag'ain, he'd suffer jist like Jack were doin' now.

He'd swapped the mule n three months labor to Three Fingered Mike in Winding Creek fer a young, neer broke mustang n learnt the livery business. When there were the ruckus at Sherrif Rivers jail, Mrs. Tiffany Seasons were callin' fer a man who knew Luis Tee n the way to south ranch. Quick had been there once, followin' a hand writ map to collect two mustangs n a mule fer Three Fingers: so he offered the teary-eyed woman 'is help.

Proved to be the best thing the boy ever did.

After he gived Mr. Tee the message, 'Debra Ann needed him now', he were told to go inside, eat his fill n git 'is rest. He'd could go back to town when he were ready. Luis Tee would square it with Three Fingers.

It were shortly after that Three Fingers up n skedaddled. Quick knew he weren't old enough to run the livery n was replaced by the man's son who were hired to run it. Once ag'in out of work, Quick wondered what was next. He were better off now, a worn saddle n rope bridle n reins n Cherry, the pink eyed, red speckled mustang. But horses eat, same as he did. It were late one evenin' with a hollow belly when he saw Luis Tee n asket if he mite know of anybody hirin'.

"You're the boy that come to my ranch."

"Yes Sir."

"Go ask Smoke what he needs done. Tell 'im I sent ya."

The young man, eyes wide, wondered a bit. He'd seen Smoke Garcia. The bull like man were not the type you asked anything of. Luis Tee chuckled.

"You want work, you got it. Now go ask my foreman what he needs done."...

Quick settled near the end of the corral, keppin' only a half eye on Miss Tiffany, Miss Linda n Miss Luna settin' on the porch. They'd still not noticed Mr. Blake as he eased slow to the house. It were Choo-Choo that announct his homecommin', breakin' towards the end of the porch from the center of the ladies sittin' with their paste board fans.

Luna snatched the boy up by 'is arm as Tiff n Linda both stood...

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The widow Billings were settin' the just made sour dough to rise as her sister finisht with the last of the chicken fryin fer dinner. Jist pickt green beans had been cut n boiled n ready to set with a mountain of fried potatoes. Tom were in the new barn, washin' his face with the other three hands after a long day's harvest at the Seaons place.

The Trombley/Seasons side of the family were finally settled in the new two-bedroom house Lucas Blake had promised. Jim Crawford's crew had already callt it a day after neer finishing the small bunk house: the two apprentices walkin' the three n four miles back to their own small homes 'fore returnin' in the mornin'.

Gretchen dusted the flour from her apron 'fore washin' her own face n hands. Droppin' her head n quick brushin' her hair, she knotted n pinned it up. It were to hot to keep it down like she mostly did when the Judge were about.

"I'll set the table; you go n finish makin' yurself pretty sis."

Gretchen lookt at her sister.

"I'll be settin' the table. You finish up in here."

The younger Seasons sister jist nodded, seein' Gretchen was in a mood.

"Tom sayin' anythin'."

"You know Tom. He ain't one to pry."

"Mmm-huh. But he likes the Judge."

"He does, but figures you know what yur doin'. He'll stay clear of it."

"Good... All I want is Lucas Blake dead; don't care how n I don't care who. Horace won't even hear that man's name outta of my mouth Sis. I'll fuck every one of those three men n if one of them won't do it, I'll keep lookin' til I find a man that will!"

Gretchen's younger sister deep sighed. Like Tom had told her, 'Won't no amount of words that'll change Grechens mind. You jist let it be.'...

The sounds of four hungry men ready to eat soon reached the two women. Tom as usual were listenin' to the two brothers poke fun at one another. Bacon, the shortest, yet thickest of the four, eyes were lookin' for Gretchen.

"Lets git to it boys."

The smilin' older sister teased as she set tin plates on both sides n ends of the fresh made long table. Tom had it set in the shade of the house near the porch; jist in case it rained. He saw no reason the men should be in their home.

Gretchen brusht up ag'in Bacon who were smilin' his broke tooth smile as she rounded the table settin' the three tined forks next to the plates. Her sister, after kissin' her husband on his sun reddened cheek, were busy with cups n the large pot of coffee. It were Gretchen that set the over filled platter of chicken in front of Tom, castin' her promisin' eyes on Bacon. The two brothers took note, a light elbow shared twixt the two.

Green beans n fried potatoes n bread followed, the men fillin' there plates after Tom had his. Then there were mostly sounds of men eatin': fork on metal, the occasional grunt of satisfaction, the suckin' of gnawed to the bone chicken. Bacon would drain 'is coffee n point at the cup in 'is hand so Gretchen could show him favor by refillin' it.

When Tom finished, he called to his wife.

"Thank you Darlin'... It were a damned fine dinner."

The others, some with food still in their mouth, called out their thanks too...

Tow was enjoyin' a rare smoke after failin' once to make it smooth rolled. His work damaget hands jist weren't made fer it, but it were a rare self-indulgence. He watched the sun as it slow settlet in the far off. The reds n pinks n golds n slow dimmin' blues were jist a bit different than what he'd watched from the Seasons n before that, the home he were raised in.

Lettin' his mind wander a bit, he thought of his wife. Plain in most every way 'cept her rare violet eyes, the woman brung him peace... Made all the hard work worth it. It were now the last time he'd have to start fresh ag'in. Plowin' unbroke land, scrathin' n clawin' at the new weeds that growt everywhere. He'd done it fer his momma n daddy... He'd done it at the Seasons place that were to be partly his... Now he'd done it here.

He held no ill will toward Lucas Blake. He did what most any man would; killin' Jack for what he'd done to Tiffany n his... He'd dig 'em up n kill 'em ag'in if he knowed all of it. Jack had been foolish, fallin' in with the Judge n Irish Mike n the rest of 'em... Thinkin' he mite rule over what were more then his. Now he were dead n Mathew n Sheriff Rivers too... Tom weren't fer certain, but he figured Lucas hed a hand in Berts dee-mise.

Luke had ben wicked smart in school. He never took to others, preferrin' to read everything he could put his hands on when he weren't shepardin' Tiff n Linda Jean.

Tom knew there were reason he up n disappeart. He heard the talk but like most other things, kept clear of it. Then when he came back...

Gretchen's laughter floated like the Devil's own breath to 'is ears. Lookin at his sister-in-law walk slowly with Bacon to who knowd where, he had a better than good thought of what she were up too. He'd seen it with Mathew when she wanted somethin'. He'd seen it with her own brother when she had need. He'd witnessed it with the Judge.

Sittin' back, he thought about standin' aways back from the window in the small house, her standin' nekid n ramrod straight as the Judge took liberties with her. She were only the second woman he'd ever seen with all her clothes off.

He shifted in his chair a bit, notin' the O'Hara brothers were lookin' at the small, neer finished bunk house.

Leanin' back, he thought of her big tits, white as 'is own wife's, but so much bigger. Their nipples were the same 'cept Gretchen's were swelled up hard as the Judge rollt n tugged at 'em. The old man would run 'is hands everywheres over the smooth, pale skin. Lingerin' on her breasts, the slight pouch left by the birth of his niece, twixt her parted thighs. He recalled the hiss n soft moan Gretchen made as his hand slid lower n lifted up... How her body would tremble and her arms would tighten over her locked tite together hands behind her. He'd whisper in her ear as his hand moved twixt her legs n her head laid back a bit.

Then he'd stop, move in front of her. He lifted her chin n kissed her 'fore makin' her kneel in front of 'im with jist his eyes. She slowed looked up at 'im, loosened his belt n opened his britches. She kissed both sides of the open wool 'fore reachin' inside n takin' his hard cock from inside. She always kept lookin' up 'im... Lickin' n kissin on the old man's pecker: rubbin the leakin' tip over her cheeks n nose n eyes 'f fore slippin' it inta her mouth.

As her face slow moved up n down, she'd move her hand with it as her other hand tugged at pants; lowerein' each side a little at a time. When the wool britches finaaly slipped to his kness, she'd reach up, fillin' her hand with his gray-haired balls. She'd cradlem a bit, liftin' em n kissin' 'em n such like the Judge did with 'er titties.

Tom let a long slow sigh slip from between his lips. He were jist remberin' Gretchen's tongue snakin' outta her mouth n lickin' at the low hangin, hairy skin...

"Thomas. It's time fer bed. I kin see that you'll be needin'. I'll get cleant up a bit fer ya."...

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Lucas took note of Quick lingerin' by the corrals end. Seein' the near empty hay wagon under the open loft door, he figured the young man had seen 'im comin' home. Handin' Linda Jean the gelding's reins, he waved Quick to him. Swingin' his leg off over n off Patch, he kissed his wife's offered lips 'fore givin' her a hug. He ma'be held onta her a bit longer til he heard Quick's hurried footsteps stop. Easin' her away, he looked over his shoulder.

"After you take care of Patch, I need ya to find a gentle, broke ride for Miss Tiffany. It's 'bout time she seen life from the back of a horse ag'in after the family has breakfest first thing in the mornin."

Lucas kissed the forehead of his slack jawed wife n took note of the sparkle slow fillin' her eyes. Two steps n he were extendin' his hands fer John to jump into his arms 'fore steppin' up n onta the porch. Leanin' close n kissin' Tiffany on the cheek, he leant closer still.

"I'd favor that same color on your lips as you had this mornin'."...