The Reading Garden - Historical8
Important notice: All excerpts have been submitted by the author.
Author: Bonnee Pierson
*Author's note: This is the
first turning point of IMPOSSIBLE SILENCE. Cody Martin is a gunfighter
who's looking to end his career, in whatever way he has to. He's come to
town to meet a friend, hoping Liv can supply him with a new direction.
There he meets Victoria Fitzgerald, a woman who's married to a man who
takes his frustrations out on her... with his fists. Having never been an
honorable man, Cody doesn't want to get involved in other people's lives.
Yet there's something about Victoria that haunts him.....
Chapter Three
Strathmore's words echoed in Cody's mind as he watched Victoria
Fitzgerald dry her face and return to her job. Yes, he wanted her, but he
wouldn't kill for her. Once, he had killed because of a woman, shot a man
down because of a woman's tears. Her anguish had begun the journey that
had brought him here. He liked to think he wouldn't make that same mistake
again, but it was a lie he never quite believed.
He'd seen a river of tears, a flood of sorrow from women with hard
men. Men who cared more for their horses and their livestock than the
women who loved them. The West required a hard man. His livestock kept
him from starving. His horse was the tool that kept his livestock moving
and fed. A woman could be replaced. . . or so Cody had convinced himself
until he met a pair of eyes like dark, rich chocolate and flame-highlighted
hair.
Victoria came back from the kitchen, placing his breakfast in front
of him, quickly trying to hide the tremors in her hands. But he saw and it
gnawed at him. He looked up at her and recognized the same defeated
despair he'd seen in his mother's eyes. And the rage burned hotter, as
dark as the bruise that marked her perfect cheek.
"Why did he hit you?" He should bite his tongue off. It wasn't
his business.
Her eyes darted to the door behind him as though looking for
salvation once more from the cook. A shudder of pain crossed her features,
then she smoothed her expression into a mask of distance.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, but my marriage is not your
concern." Her cold tone would have stopped any man from prodding. She'd
had practice.
But he wasn't any man and, before he could stop himself, the words
slipped out. "A woman's tears are hard to watch."
She shrugged. "And there are women who use tears because they know
that."
"Are you one of those women?" he asked.
She paused, her gaze finding his. A small flicker of emotion
shifted her lips, melting her expression. "No."
His appetite fled, and he stood, digging into his pocket for a coin
that he placed on the table. She was close enough that he could touch her,
reach out and stroke her bruised velvet skin, break the illusion of
insecure perfection he had created in his mind and make her real. But he
knew, if he crossed that distance, closed the gap and touched her, made her
flesh and blood, no longer an illusion of perfection, he'd become involved.
Unwillingly, he stroked her cheek, watched her flinch, releasing the
ancient ghosts inside him. Dragging his hand back to his side, he swept
past her without a backward glance.
He didn't think where to go, just let his feet carry him away from
her before he gave in to the taunt of Strathmore's offer. But there was no
where else to go, not in this ragged town. He found himself standing at
the bar, his boot nestled on the bent brass rail.
Fitzgerald was already sitting in his corner, hugging a bottle of
whiskey to his chest. He'd downed a quarter of the bottle and his glass
wasn't yet wet.
Cody took his time, scanning the room from old habit, watching the
eyes of men like Fitzgerald turn away. Things wouldn't get interesting in
the saloon until tonight when Strathmore paid his cowhands and they came to
town, waiting outside the whore's room for their turn.
The dust was the same, settled in scuffed boot prints. The bar was
clear, but the tables were stained with round prints from countless glasses
and smeared from cards that often raced across their surface. Smoke hadn't
had a chance to build up yet, but the smell of it was there, hidden behind
the stale scent of old liquor.
Cody settled himself at the bar and pulled a small pouch of tobacco
from his shirt pocket. He didn't often smoke, only when he was waiting for
something to happen, but he always carried the pouch with him just in case.
Taking his time, he waited for a glass and actively kept his mind clear,
ignoring the ache inside him.
"Jimmy." The man's head came up sharply at Cody's call. He
probably hadn't expected a gunman to remember his name. Too bad, because
Cody was good at names. He could roll off the name of every man he had
ever met, especially those he'd killed. It was an important detail in his
business. "Give me a short one."
Jimmy moved, scampering to find a clean glass and pour Cody two
narrow fingers of whiskey. Then the bartender backed away, not wanting to
attract any more attention. He was a smart man.
Sipping, Cody let the liquor burn its path down his throat and into
his belly. He hated drinking, but knew it was a necessary evil. Most of
his targets were found in saloons and information came easier from tongues
loosened by alcohol. He'd spent years acquiring a tolerance for whiskey.
On occasions like this, it came in handy. A drunken man made mistakes and
Cody did not intend to make any mistakes. Not like he had when he'd
deliberately baited Fitzgerald in the restaurant.
He'd seen the jealousy in the older man's face when he found Cody
talking to his wife. Cody should have dismissed her silently, left things
alone, but the bruise on her cheek had stirred emotions he'd thought dead.
Lunch time came and a few more men filtered into the saloon,
looking for a head start on the evening ahead after a week of hard work.
There were times he wished he was one of them, back working on his
stepfather's ranch. He'd been happy there, able to ignore the humiliation
of being the only reminder of his mother's embarrassment. Hector had
treated him well and Elena had loved him. He'd earned the respect of the
others and pulled his weight. But he hadn't been able to escape his father
any more than his mother.
Knowing the situation of the woman in the restaurant would torment
him if he didn't do anything, he pushed away from the bar and walked over
to Fitzgerald's corner. Red-rimmed eyes rose to glare at him.
"Don't hit her again." There. He'd said the words, praying
Fitzgerald would ignore him.
"Ain't none of yer damn business." Fitzgerald's words slurred with
the false courage of whiskey, his head weaving slightly.
Cody clamped down on his response, reminding himself he wasn't
getting involved. He'd said his piece, now it was time to walk away.
"She's mine, and I'll do whatever the hell I wan' with her. You
wan' a woman, you take that sorry-assed whore over there." Fitzgerald
pointed to the woman in the corner, the one Cody had turned down yesterday.
"The only one gonna crawl between Victoria's thighs is me."
Heaven. It would be sheer heaven to have a woman like Victoria
Fitzgerald to keep his home and warm his bed. Didn't this misguided idiot
know what he had under his roof? Was he fool enough not to recognize her
worth?
"I don't want her," Cody said, immediately chastising himself for
being dragged into any kind of conversation with Fitzgerald. The only
thing this man could do was make him angry, angry enough to remember things
best left in the past. "But she deserves better than to be hit."
Fitzgerald laughed, a sharp-edged sound that carried to the corners
and brought heads in their direction. His arm flew out in an
all-encompassing sweep of the room, throwing his balance off his seat and
onto his feet. "What do you know 'bout wha' she deserves? She been wi' me
seven years now, bought when she was sixteen years old."
Jesus Christ! Cody shook his head. He didn't want to hear this
but he couldn't get his feet to move.
Fitzgerald continued, staggering closer until his face was inches
away. "First wife was one cold witch. Hadda beg t' get her skirts up t'
her knees. But not my Victoria. No sirree, she does what I tell her--"
"--because you give her no choice, you bastard!" Cody finished,
rage flaring deep within him. He needed to walk away, leave before he
thought of the tears on her cheeks. Leave before he forgot that he didn't
kill anymore. Why wouldn't his legs obey?
Kill her husband and she's yours. Hell, she might even be
grateful.
Fitzgerald continued like he hadn't heard a word Cody said. "She
does wha' I tell 'er cuz she's my property. I own her! The law sez it."
"Stop it!" Cody's voice was harsh, lined with a threat he hadn't
intended. She wasn't his problem. If Fitzgerald wanted to talk about her
like she was a farm animal, it wasn't Cody's business. Except he couldn't
let him. He'd touched her, felt the porcelain fragility of her skin and
saw the vulnerable innocence in her eyes. She was no longer a dream he
could hope to achieve some day, but one he'd touched and smelled.
His feet itched to run before his anger got the best of him. His
hands itched to reach for his gun so he wouldn't have to listen anymore.
His mind begged to shut down before it was too late. His long-dead sense
of morality required justice.
"I'm tellin' you m' wife ain't none of your fuckin' business,
Mister. Ain't no one here talks t' my wife. They don't look at her, they
don't touch her, they don't talk t' her!"
"Goddamn you," Cody ground out the words, shoving Fitzgerald away
from him. He saw the loneliness and the fear his mother had lived with
after she had left his father. She'd been too afraid to speak without
Hector's permission, trained by Jack to be exactly what she was told to be.
He hadn't been able to save his mother, he couldn't save Victoria. Or
could he?
It wasn't his problem! He mentally shouted, turning, drawing the
strength to walk away. Hatred churned in broad strokes, painting his
vision in red, his soul in black. The memory of his father waved before
him, the voices of the past rang in his ears. Blunt, brutal descriptions
of what Jack had done to his mother, taunts of what he would do again.
Fitzgerald blocked Cody's path, licking his lips. Then he raised
his hand, the bottle missing and a revolver in its place. Cody had been so
busy looking at Victoria, he hadn't even noticed whether Fitzgerald had
worn a gun. "You been talkin' t' her, ain't ya? You been over in Shorty's
and you been makin' plans." The fire of jealousy blazed in the man's eyes.
"I'll kill 'er. I tole 'er not t' talk t' no one, but she done it anyway.
I'm gonna kill 'er just as soon as I kill you."
Cody's mind raced. How had things gotten so far out of control?
Madness! Nothing made sense anymore except the buzzing in his ears, the
small circle of black at the end of the gun's barrel, the red mist of
hatred he'd fought down for fifteen years.
He felt the hesitation in the old man, felt the cold fingers of
death reach for his heart. A flash of light, the thunder of an explosion
threw Fitzgerald back several feet as pain tore through Cody's side. The
bullet passed clean through his waist, a minor injury. A flesh wound that
had missed anything vital. Now he was angry.
He reached for his Colt, felt the warm steel beneath his fingers,
felt his best friend fill the empty spot in his palm. Then his mind
rebelled. He wouldn't kill for a woman. Fitzgerald didn't know what he
was doing. It would dawn on him in moments, and he'd stop.
Thunder and lightning roared again, searing agony slicing across
the top of his shoulder. His nostrils flared with the acrid scent of black
powder as the old man struggled with the Colt, trying to keep his hands
from shaking.
Alarm rose, screaming and clawing, in his brain. He wasn't ready
to die and this man had no intention of stopping. Over a pointless
argument that made no sense, Fitzgerald was going to shoot him down like a
dog.
Hearing the dreaded sound of the hammer locking into place again,
Cody reacted, absorbing the familiar recoil as a hole opened in Edward
Fitzgerald's forehead. A haze of smoke swirled over the table, filtering
through the room, the only movement in the saloon. A small trickle of
blood seeped down Fitzgerald's face before he fell, slumped over the table
behind him, the revolver still in his hand, the hammer cocked.
Damn, damn! Shit! He never should have come here. He should have
sent word to Liv instead of coming to meet him, unasked. He wanted peace,
he wanted an endless night without guns, without arguments, without death
stalking him in the silent forms of young kids looking to make a name for
themselves. He wanted Mad Dog dead, but he didn't want to die for it.
Silence echoed through the room for several minutes before someone
muttered a harsh oath and voices exploded all around him. A body flew
through the front door, and Cody replaced his revolver in its holster,
wincing as the movement rolled his shoulder.
Breaking under the pain wasn't an option. Not yet though his
stomach churned. He returned to his place at the bar and grabbed his glass
of whiskey, swallowing it all and relishing the heat burning his throat to
combat the sharp ache in his side and over his shoulder.
There was no sheriff in a town this small, no marshal. The next
person who'd come through that door would be Victoria. He didn't want to
see her cry, couldn't stand it if he found out she had loved the bastard in
some twisted way. He should collect his Colt and leave before she came in,
but his curiosity refused to cooperate.
He stared at the glass in his hand, memorizing the pattern of
scratches, ignoring the pain until he caught her scent above the metallic
odor of fresh blood and acrid gunpowder. He looked up to where she stood
in the doorway, over the light mist that sang across his vision, seeing a
terrified calm slowly close down her sad expression. She took in the
spattered blood that arced across the tables and floor, her husband's body
with the gaping, bloody mess where the back of his head should have been.
Her eyes centered on Cody, breezing over the blood that soaked his shoulder
and ran down his side, then she stilled into a deadly calm Cody understood.
"Why?" Her small voice covered the distance despite the excited
voices filling the empty space between them.
Cody set his glass down on the bar, fighting the nausea that
threatened to keep the whiskey from staying down. He crossed the room to
stand mere inches away from her, feeling the heat from her body soak
through the light cotton of his blue shirt. It complemented the soft lilac
of her dress -- not that he would ever see them hanging on a doorknob
together, but the sentiment was there whether he liked it or not.
"He made you cry." It was as good as anything he could think.
Easier to understand than the truth. Oh, hell, he didn't understand what
had happened here in this room. But it would be better for her if she
hated him. He could give her that much.
She stood in silence, taking in his words. Her dark gaze was
bottomless, drawing him in as she absorbed what he'd said. Her eyes were
liquid, filled with unshed tears as she struggled to maintain her
composure. Just when he expected her to break, to fling herself over the
dead body of her husband like so many other women he had seen, she
shuddered and straightened, tilting her chin back in defiance as a single
tear slid down her cheek. One lone drop of sorrow, much like he'd seen
that morning in the restaurant.
Knowing there was nothing more he could say or do, Cody cut his
losses and left the saloon, knowing he would carry the memory of that tear
to his grave.© 1996
***
*About the author: I'm the President of the RWA Online chapter and the Forum Manager of the Romance Forum on Compuserve. I made the Golden Heart finals last year in
the short historical category with IMPOSSIBLE SILENCE. When not on my
computer, I'm a stay-at-home Mom who fights fires with the volunteer Fire
Dept in her hometown in her spare time (as if such a thing exists ).
I've been a member of RWA for 3 years and have learned that writers and
readers are the best friends a person could have. This excerpt is the beginning of my first chapter of INTO THE LIGHT, my GH entry
for this year in the paranormal category. Write to Bonnee Pierson. Visit Bonnee Pierson's home page.
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