A Wolf in the Fold

“Oh, Reverend,” Daisy gushed, and threw her arms around my neck in gratitude.

My skin grew warm and prickly. I held her loosely, afraid to pull her close for fear of how my body would react. “ ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, ’ ” I mumbled.

Daisy kissed me. Not a chaste kiss, either, but the kind of kiss a woman gives a man when she has a certain kind of hunger deep inside her.

Damn me for being human. Double damn me for not having any more willpower than any other man.

“I’ll take your advice,” Daisy said huskily in due course. “Ty and Clell and me will sneak off and tell Ma to wait until we hear from you.”

It was dark enough that they should be able to slip out of Whiskey Flats undetected, but I insisted on going ahead and having her follow me, signaling when it was safe with a wave of my hand. In that way we made it down the hall and down the stairs and out the back door. Once we reached the street, I had her walk on the inside, her shoulder to mine, her head bowed.

Ty and Clell came out of deep shadow to meet us.

“We were getting worried,” the oldest said. “Another ten minutes and we’d have torn this town apart looking for you.”

Daisy relayed my promise to help, which prompted Ty into grasping my hand in both of his and pumping my arm as if he were dying of thirst and I were a water pump.

“We’re counting on you, Parson. Ma says without your help, this whole mess will get worse.”

“She’s right,” I said.

“You are our only hope of avoiding bloodshed,” Clell said.

Daisy nodded. “We trust you, Parson. You inspire confidence.” She touched my cheek, then climbed on her mount.

I smiled and watched them fade into the dark, thinking to myself, The poor, pitiful fools.

Chapter 8

The four cowboys were buried on a hill in the shadow of the Fair Sister. I liked doing funerals. I did not have to make up sermons. All I did was read from the Bible and say a few words about how the dear departed were the salt of the earth and how much their friends would miss them.

The Tanners were there, of course, along with every last puncher on the spread. I counted sixteen plus the cook. Four servants Gerty employed and half a dozen townsfolk rounded out the mourners.

Calista Modine came. After the bodies had been planted and everyone was standing around looking sorrowful or pretending to look sorrowful, I remarked that it was a shame more of Whiskey Flats’s good citizens had not shown up.

Calista glanced around, then leaned close and said so only I could hear, “The LT outfit is not all that popular in some quarters.”

“Care to explain?”

Tugging gently on my sleeve, she drew me out of earshot. “For one thing, Gerty is not well liked. She is too high-handed with everyone.”

“Imagine that.”

“She behaves like she is a queen and the people are her subjects, and they rightfully resent it.”

At that moment the lady in question was scolding one of the cowboys filling in one of the holes for flinging dirt recklessly with his shovel and getting some on her new shoes.

“The other thing is that the LT’s hands tend to become rowdy when they come to town on Friday and Saturday nights. They shoot out windows and lamps, make people dance to a six-shooter serenade, that sort of nonsense.”

“Gerty permits that?”

“The owner of the general store and some others have complained to her time and again. She always says how sorry she is, but men will be men, and there is only so much she can do.”

“When should we talk to her about the Butchers?” I asked.

“The sooner, the better.”

The mourners, such as they were, began drifting down the hill. Townsfolk climbed into their buggies. Cowboys swung onto their horses. The Tanners lingered. Lloyd and Phil were arguing in hushed voices while Gerty waited in disgust.

I nudged Calista and went over. “Miss Modine and I would like a few words with you, if we may.”

“Save your breath,” Gertrude said.

“But, Gerty—” Calista began.

“But nothing. Do you think I don’t know what you’re going to say? That I must not be hasty. I must not jump to conclusions. There is no evidence the Butchers were involved. I should hold my men in check and not exact revenge.”

“You missed one,” I said. “Let the law handle it.”

“Texans don’t run crying to a badge every time someone steps on their toes,” Gertrude declared. “We handle our own problems, and the Butchers are mine.”

I was proud of myself for the quote I remembered. “Have you not heard, sister? ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ ”

“The Almighty can take his vengeance whenever He wants. I’ll take mine when I want.”

There was no reasoning with her, as I knew there would not be. But a real parson would not give up, so neither did I. “You will be damned for all eternity.”

Gertrude looked at me and grinned. “I already am, Reverend Storm. So I might as well make the most of the time I have left.”

“Oh, Gerty,” Calista said.

“Don’t ‘Oh, Gerty’ me. If you had my responsibilities, you would do the same as I am doing.”