Jodi Thomas - The Lone Texan

A half-grown kid stood between the desk and the stove. Fear and worry blended among the streaks of tears on his cheeks. The captain put his arm on the boy's shoulder and told him he had to eat and drink something, or he'd never make the ride with them. The boy nodded and dropped on the chair behind the desk, but he didn't seem to notice the food before him. He stared at the men in the room, searching each one's face as if looking for one who might save his family.

The Rangers collected their gear. Not one spoke to Drum. He wasn't one of them; he never had been. They respected him, spoke to him when they had to, but not one invited him to join them. He was an outsider they sometimes needed. He signed on for the same dangerous missions they did. He risked his life, like each one of them, but not one would mourn him if he didn't come back alive.

Drum told himself he didn't care. Friends had never been a luxury he could afford. Words like family or friend or loved ones were not part of his world. He'd do this job and be paid well if he lived. Then he'd go on with his life the only way he knew how: alone.

After the captain dismissed them, Drum slipped through the back alleys of Galveston unnoticed. If he only had a half hour left in town, he didn't want to waste it. The moon sliced between the buildings, leaving most of the alley in total darkness. He didn't slow; he knew his way well in the shadows and moved without a sound.

Within minutes, he'd stepped out onto the roof of the Patterson Grand Hotel and swung along the ledge to Sage's room. He knew where she'd be: the best room in the place. Not because she'd asked for it but because her brothers would have demanded it.

All the lamps were out, but there was enough moonlight to guide him through the window to the only third-floor room that faced the gulf. He stepped into what looked like a little living area. Trunks and scattered clothes lay atop most of the furniture.

Drum swore he could smell Sage in the air: the hint of honeysuckle she used in her hair, the lavender soap. He crossed the room, the rug muffling any sound.

The tall woman who'd been traveling with Sage slept in the first bedroom. He could see the top of her head with hair twisted into rag knots. Her clothes were neatly organized in rows on the other bed in the room. A huge black cat slept on one pile.

Drum silently moved on. A washroom came next, with porcelain glowing in the light and ladies' underthings hanging on thin strings crisscrossing the room.

He walked on down the hallway. The door to Sage's room was open only a crack, but he could see her asleep.

Moving silently closer, he drank in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. She wore the same kind of white nightgown he'd seen her wear when she was eighteen. It buttoned all the way to her throat and had puffy sleeves that covered her as completely as a nun's habit. Her hair was braided in one long braid resting over her shoulder. As always, she slept soundly and at peace.

He grinned, remembering how she used to sleep with her hair free and wild all over her pillow. After he'd met her. he'd returned from time to time to Whispering Mountain just to check on her. He told himself it was just to see her, to make sure that the girl who'd let him outrun the law when he'd been fifteen was still safe. In truth, he risked his life just to stand near and watch her sleep. If her brothers had caught him, they would probably have taken turns killing him. But it had been worth it. Sage looked like an angel when she slept.

In those years, when he felt like he fought against all the world, those few moments watching her sleep were the only calm he'd known.

Drum fought the urge to touch her now. She'd always been a sound sleeper. Would she wake if he just brushed her cheek?

When she'd left for Boston he'd still been a boy; but he was a man now, and Drum knew touching her cheek would never be enough. He leaned over Sage and kissed her softly on the lips.

She moaned as if talking in a dream.

Smiling, he kissed her again, this time letting his mouth explore the curve of her lips.

She opened her mouth and sighed. Every muscle in his body fought to pull her up to him. "Someday.” he whispered in promise. "Someday we'll finish this kiss." He'd made up his mind a long time ago that they'd go slow, drinking in passion a drop at a time, so they'd never get their fill. He planned to still be making love to her when both their hair had turned gray and their grandchildren were sleeping upstairs. He didn't want to own her, or take her, or have her, he wanted to be with her so completely that one of them couldn't fall asleep at night without touching the other.

He frowned. It wasn't easy telling a woman how he felt about her when she was busy yelling at him.

A movement in the corner caught his attention.

When he stepped away. the dog she'd saved slowly stood from his bed in the corner. Drum knelt and patted the mutt. "Take care of her until I get back," he whispered to the dog.

He crossed the little room and slipped out the same window he'd entered. For a few minutes his mind was at peace. Sage was close. He knew he meant nothing to her, but it didn't matter. His thoughts were on her as he saddled up with the half dozen Rangers and rode out along the shoreline. For once, he didn't feel the loneliness of the ride. He had the taste of Sage on his lips, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't cold as stone.

They rode until almost dawn before anyone said a word. Drum knew they were close when Captain Harmon pulled his huge bay up beside him.

"Work in as close as you can, son” he whispered to Drum. "You have to take out both the leaders, or we'll have a full war on our hands. There aren't enough Rangers within riding distance to fight all the raiders if they get pissing mad and have someone to direct them in a fight. Our only hope is to take out Franky Bellows and the man they all call Scar, then hope the others aren't smart enough to organize before we have them rounded up and tied down.”

Drum nodded. Captain Turner Harmon was a law-abiding man; he wouldn't order a man to shoot someone if there weren't other lives at stake. Drum had enough details about each man that there would be no question who his targets were.

Turner hesitated. "If the other border raiders fight, there's a chance you'll be caught in the crossfire. I'm hoping the hostages will huddle down, but if we hit them as the sun comes up, the boys won't be able to tell you from the raiders”

"I know” Drum had been in this situation before. The Rangers needed a good shot to start the battle-a very good shot-but if he were close enough to shoot the leader in the middle of his men, he'd be among the raiders when they started to run. "Don't worry about it. Cap." Drum grinned at the captain. "Just take care of my horse. I don't much like the idea of having to walk back to Galveston."

"I've got to make sure the boy stays well out of the fight. Holding your horse should keep him busy." The captain nodded and moved on to the other men.

Ten minutes later, the sky was about to color when Roak slipped silently around one of the outbuildings and climbed into the rafters of a lean-to. He had a clear view of the rundown settlement. The homestead looked more dugout than ranch house. A few small sheds, maybe slave quarters for a dozen men, maybe smokehouses, and the skeleton of a barn still smoldering from the raid that probably happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

He pulled his weapons, checked his loads more from habit than need, and waited.

The place reminded him of a few camps he'd stayed in when he'd been little. His mother traveled with outlaws. He'd been born in one of the camps, though she'd never said where. She'd had several miscarriages and stillbirths after him. He'd often wondered if the babies had died or if she just hadn't bothered to wake them up at birth. She couldn't take care of herself or him, much less another child.