The Ghost of Apache Creek

Chapter 11

A man treads on dangerous ground when he casts even a hint of doubt on a woman’s charms, and Jess Leslie was no exception to that rule.

“What the hell do you think he wanted me for, Sammy?” she said.

Pace recognized his mistake and tried desperately to undo the damage.

“I . . . yes . . . I understand. I mean . . . you being such a pretty woman an’ all. Any man would . . . I mean . . .”

Her point made, Jess let him off the hook. “The preacher’s name was Deacon Santee and he wanted to make me his seventh wife.”

Suddenly Pace was interested. “Would that be Deacon Santee from down El Paso way? Rides with four tetched sons just as ornery as he is?”

“You called that right, and when he’s in the mood he lets them share his women. I learned that much the hard way.”

“I thought Deacon Santee had been hung by the Rangers a while back.”

“You thought wrong, Sammy.”

“And you managed to escape from him? That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Well, I did, me and another of his wives. But in the dark we stumbled into swamp country and she either drowned or got caught, but I got lucky and made it to here. Then the coyotes came at me and the rest you know.”

Jess stepped to the window beside Pace. “What do you see out there that’s so damned interesting?”

“Just Requiem, and the morning light. It lies easy on the town, kinda like a blessing, but later, when the sun is full up, everything changes.”

“Changes how, Sammy?”

Pace’s smile was almost shy. “She shows all her scars and warps and wrinkles and it makes her look old and neglected and . . . sad.”

“You’re a strange one, Sammy,” Jess said. “I don’t think you’re as tetched as you say you are, but you’re a strange one. No doubt about that.”

Pace’s eyes caught and held the woman’s gaze. “You don’t think I’m tetched in the head, like them Santee boys?”

“No. You’re nothing like them.”

Jess looked around the office. “You got anything to eat, Sammy?”

“Yeah, a lot of cans back there. Jed Heaver, feller who owned the general store, just up and left with his wife and kids after the cholera started killing folks. He rode out in the middle of the night and left everything behind.”

“And you’ve been eating from cans ever since?”

“This three year.”

“No wonder you’re as skinny as a lizard-eating cat.” The girl stepped away from the window. “Let’s take a look.”

“Maybe you should rest,” Pace said. “I’ll get you something.”

“Somehow I don’t think I’d want to eat what you gave me, Sammy.”

A jumbled pile of canned food was stacked up in a corner to the right of the cell door.

Jess kneeled and picked up the cans one by one, studying the labels that were still intact.

“Armour beef and gravy,” she said. “A puncher told me about that.”

Pace nodded. “It’s not half bad. A little tough sometimes.”

“Tomatoes.”

“Kinda mushy.”

“Beans.”

“I eat a lot of those.”

“Peaches.”

“I like peaches.”

Jess looked up at him. “Where do you do your cooking, Sammy?”

Pace was puzzled. “Cooking? I don’t cook. I just open the cans and eat.” He took a folding knife from his pocket. “Here, let me show you.”

“Later, Sammy,” Jess said.

She gave Pace a long-suffering, female look, then said, “Get some wood for the stove in your office.”

“Damn, it’ll get hot in here.”

“It’s already hot in here. We’ll only keep the fire lit long enough to heat the food and bile coffee.” She frowned. “That’s if Jed What’s-his-name left coffee behind?”

“Yes, a few sacks. I don’t drink much coffee.”

Jess shook her head. “They don’t come much stranger than you, Sammy.” She rose to her feet. “We’ll have breakfast, and then I’ll be moving on.”

“You’re leaving?” Pace said.

“That comes as a surprise to you?”

“Yes—I mean, no. I just thought you’d rest up some.”

“Maybe you planned on having your wicked way with me, Sammy?”

Pace was shocked. “No, no. I never even thought about such a thing.”

“Hell, I must be losing my touch,” Jess said. “I saw you look at my tits, you know.”

“Well, I mean, you’re a very pretty woman.”

“If you don’t study me too close, Sammy. Now get me some wood and bring a sack of coffee. It’ll be stale, but any kind of coffee is better than no kind of coffee.”

Pace stepped to the office door, stopped, and turned. “You can stay, if you want.”

Jess smiled. “Thanks, Sammy. But Deacon Santee will come after me, him and his sons. I reckon you’ve got enough problems of your own without adding mine.”

“I’m still the law here.”

This time the woman smiled like a mother who’d just listened to a boasting child.

“Get the wood, Sammy,” she said.