Dead Man's Corner

The cloud of dust on the horizon warned Eliza of imminent danger. She grabbed her gun, a heavy pistol with a cracked butt, before hurrying John Brownstone from the garden to the barn. “What’s going on, Miss ‘Liza?” John asked, confused but compliant, as she pushed him up the ladder to the loft. “Somebody’s coming. He’ll be here soon, and I don’t want him seeing you, whoever he is,” Eliza explained. “Here, get under this hay.” John burrowed into the hay, tossing more over his back. “How long ‘til I can come out?” “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to water his horses. Maybe he’ll want to stay the night.” Eliza shook her head. “I’ll try to get rid of him.” “I can pretend to be your boy, Missus. Just tell ‘em I belong to you,” John said, looking at her with concerned eyes. “No. You know I couldn’t do that John. Besides, I’ve seen posters with your face. What if he’s seen them, too? I can’t risk it. You can’t risk it.” Eliza kissed his forehead, fresh fear crawling up her throat. “Stay here until I come in for you.” John nodded. “Yes’m.” Eliza backed out of the loft, still clutching the gun in one hand. She knew how to shoot, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to aim and fire at a living man. Most likely, the stranger would just ask for a bucket of water and be on his way. But there was always the chance that a bit of water wouldn’t be enough, and nobody could defend the homestead except Eliza herself. The cloud of dust grew larger as it approached, but Eliza could tell it was just one man and not an entire gang or stagecoach. She settled in the shade of the front porch, shielding her eyes with her hand to better gauge the stranger’s arrival. It took just minutes from the first sighting for the large, gray stallion to gallop into her yard, startling the dogs lazing in the shade. A battered hat obscured the man’s face, shading his eyes. He seemed to be looking at her, but Eliza couldn’t tell. She pulled herself to her full five feet, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “What do you want?” she demanded. The stranger didn’t answer. Instead, he dismounted from his horse and led it to the well. She watched silently as he dipped the bucket into the clear water, drinking from it liberally before allowing the horse to drink from the pail. “What do you want?” Eliza asked again once he straightened. “I’m looking for a man,” he said, his voice gritty despite the cool water. He approached her, loosely holding the horse’s reins. “Have you seen any strangers around here?” Eliza tensed, tightening her grip on the gun. “There are no men here. There’s nobody here but me.” He spat from the side of his mouth, squinting. “Is that a fact?” Eliza realized her mistake, her heart skipping into double-time. “Except my husband, of course.” He pulled a thin cigar from his saddlebags, chewing on the end as he spoke. “Where’s your husband? Perhaps he knows who I’m looking for.” Eliza hesitated, understanding she had made her second mistake when his eyes drifted past the house to the barn. “What’s in there?” he asked. “Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I take care of my horse? It’s been a long ride for both of us.” His eyes dared her to turn down his request. She nodded, taking up his challenge. “You’re welcome to feed and water your horse. He looks tired.” Eliza led him to the barn, trying to force her heartbeat to return to normal. It wasn’t just fear that made it race; there was something in the stranger’s eyes, in the way he looked at her. He was a starving man—starving for food, for companionship, and for something else. Perhaps the man he sought had something to do with the hunger that lined his face and clouded his eyes? “I think I’ll have a look around,” he announced once his horse was safely tethered. “No.” Eliza pointed the gun at his chest, waiting until he had his hands in the air before continuing. “Now, you’ve got your food and you’ve got your water. I told you there was nothing else here.” He smiled, a sour yet amused action. Without warning, he drew his gun and shot the wall above her head. Eliza didn’t even have a chance to blink before he replaced his gun in his holster. “That’s your warning shot.” Eliza slowly lowered her gun. “Why didn’t you just shoot me?” “I’m not here to kill random women,” he said, eyeing the ladder. “I’m looking for a man. If he’s here, then I’ll leave without further trouble.” “And if he’s not?” Eliza asked, watching him climb to the loft, her heart now in her throat. She had promised John that she would keep him safe, hide him from the bounty hunters, even at the risk of her own life. But now she stood there, helplessly, trying to gather the courage it took to shoot a man in the back. “I’ll wait.” She held her breath as he moved around the narrow loft, bent low at the waist to keep from smacking his head against the beams. The only sound in the barn was his boots against the thick wood planks. Even the horse seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the stranger’s ultimate discovery. His fingers rested on the butt of his gun, a warning and a defense. Eliza had no doubt that if she leveled her gun in his direction again, he would turn and fire without thought, guided by instinct. When he reached John’s hiding place—and she understood now that it would have been smarter to hide him anywhere else, even in the house—he stopped, gripped his gun, and kicked the man hiding under the hay. “Stand up,” he ordered. Eliza watched as John straightened, his brown eyes wide with fear. She kept the tears at bay, but she couldn’t stop the bile from rising in her throat. “Come on, let’s go,” the stranger said, drawing his gun and waving it toward Eliza. John didn’t speak. He hurried down the ladder, then put himself between Eliza and the stranger. Eliza knew that he probably wouldn’t kill John—the bounty was higher if he returned the escaped slave alive—but that didn’t alleviate the terror slithering in her stomach. “What’s your name?” the stranger asked. “John Brownstone.” “Do you know a man that goes by Corbett?” John shook his head. “Never met a Corbett in my life.” The stranger looked to Eliza. “What about you?” “No.” The stranger still pointed the gun at them, but he seemed to relax. “Has anybody been here, looking for water and a bed? He’s a bit taller than me, rides a black horse, wears a beard.” “Nobody matching that description has been in these parts,” John answered. Eliza nodded. “We haven’t had any visitors in…months, I’d guess.” He holstered his gun, looking pleased. “Then I’ll be staying. If he hasn’t been here yet, he will be soon.” “How…how do you know?” Eliza asked. “This is the only bit of water in fifty miles, going any direction. He’ll be passing through. And when he does, I’ll be waiting.” He walked to his horse, pulling the saddle from its back and draping the saddlebags over his shoulder. Eliza and John watched him without moving, both still uncertain about the man’s plans and John’s future. He must have sensed their unease, because he added over his shoulder, “I’m not interested in the n***o. Corbett’s the man I’m after.” “Go on back to work,” Eliza said softly. John hesitated, clearly unhappy with the thought of leaving her to fend for herself against the stranger. “I’d like to stay here.” “I’ll be fine, John. That garden won’t weed itself.” He glanced at the stranger, then back to Eliza. She nodded with a forced smile, trying to assure him that she would be fine. He finally sighed with a slight tilt of his head. “Yes’m. I’ll get right to that.” “Why don’t you come to the house, Mr…?” “You can call me Ford.” “I’ll have supper on the table soon, Ford.” He nodded, falling in step behind her as she hurried across the yard to the house. She felt slightly better—she did believe him when he said he wasn’t interested in John. But the apprehension hadn’t completely departed. Who was this Corbett? Why was the stranger…Ford…tracking him? What would happen to her and John now that they were effectively trapped in the middle? * * * * “I’ll take some coffee if you have it,” Ford said, settling at the table, the bags dropped at his feet. Eliza nodded. “Yes, there’s still some warm from lunch. Unless you’d like a fresh pot?” Ford waved his hand. “Whatever you got.” He looked around the richly decorated kitchen, whistling softly. “Where did you get all this finery?” “England. I brought it all with me.” Eliza finally had a chance to study his face when he removed his hat, setting it on the table beside his hand. His hair, bleached almost white from the sun, was slick against his skull, giving his thin face a rather severe appearance. His face was marred with wrinkles, but it wasn’t from age—she could see the sun, wind, and rain on his leathery skin. His cheeks and chin were covered with at least a week’s worth of dusty, sweaty hair. His eyes were a steel gray, his mouth a thin line, his nose crooked from countless fights. “And where’s your husband? Did you forget to bring him?” Ford asked, accepting the coffee from her. She noticed his hands were as rough as his face, lined with hard calluses and scars. She watched him sip the hot liquid, oddly fascinated by each small movement. “Dead. A riding accident. It’s been a year now.” “So it’s just you and the n***o?” “John,” Eliza said sharply. “What?” “His name is John.” Ford nodded. “So it’s just you and John? Why not sell? Go back to your people?” Eliza stirred the stew simmering in the pot over the flames. Her face and arms burned, but it wasn’t the heat from the fire that made her skin turn red. For the first time since her husband died, she realized how much she missed him…how much she missed having him in her life and in her bed. She had thought that she was over such nonsense. “There’s nobody to go back to. Would you like a bath? You look about the same size as my husband, if you’d like a change of clothes. I have a razor as well.” “Perhaps after I eat.” Eliza dished up a large plate of stew, adding a thickly sliced piece of bread slathered in butter. Once she set the food in front of him, she refilled his coffee, then settled in the chair across the table. “You gonna watch me eat?” Ford asked, though he didn’t seem annoyed. He dug into the stew with enthusiasm, using his spoon and the bread to shovel food into his mouth. “I have some questions for you.” “Ask, if you think it’ll do any good,” he said around a mouthful. “Are you a bounty hunter?” Ford shook his head, but didn’t offer any more details. “Then what are you?” “Just a man.” “A man hunting another man. You tracked him this far, and you think he’ll show up here…” “He will show up here,” Ford corrected. “What’s this man to you if he doesn’t have a bounty on his head?” “Oh, I never said he didn’t have a bounty.” Ford sipped his coffee, leaning back in his chair. “He’s got quite a price, wanted dead or alive, but I’m not interested in collecting money.” Eliza laughed. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? The sheriffs pay in gold. Everybody is interested in gold.” “Oh, I’m not saying the money won’t be nice. But that’s not why I’m looking for him.” “Then why?” “He’s a very bad man, and you’re lucky I got here first.” He pointed to his empty plate. John stepped into the kitchen then, his eyes immediately drawn to Ford. “The garden’s done, Ms. ‘Liza. Doesn’t grow nothing but weeds and rocks.” “Sit down, John. I’ll get your supper.” John took the seat Eliza vacated, clearly uncomfortable in Ford’s presence. Eliza wished there was a way she could reassure him, reassure herself, that the stranger wouldn’t harm them. “I want to hear more about this Corbett fella,” John said, directing his comment towards Eliza, rather than the man sitting across from him. “I’m interested in hearing more myself. I think I have the right, if he’s heading here, like you claim,” Eliza said, setting the plate in front of John. She watched Ford out of the corner of her eye, waiting for his reaction to John’s presence at the table, but he seemed unperturbed. Ford picked up his coffee cup, motioning Eliza to refill it. “Corbett was a bounty hunter himself for a while, and he was a good one. Until he went after the wrong guy. Brought in an innocent man…things got ugly.” Ford shrugged. “He’s wanted for murder now. r**e, too. He’s trying to get to Mexico before I get to him.” Eliza carefully poured the coffee, focusing on the task rather than the fresh wave of fear. They were only twenty miles from the Mexican border. It did seem likely that this former bounty hunter and current murderer would make a stop there. “John, will you heat some water while I show Ford to his room?” Eliza asked when both men had finished. “Yes’m.” “What’s the story there?” Ford asked after John left with a bucket in each hand. “John knocked on my door one stormy night, looking for work and a place to sleep, shortly after my husband died. I needed the help, so I offered the spare room near the kitchen,” Eliza explained as she led Ford up the stairs. “I want a room facing the road.” “Oh, but the master bedroom is the only one facing the road and that’s…” Eliza’s words faded as she realized that he didn’t care. She eyed the gun on his belt, understanding that he would shoot her, or anybody, that got in his way, or stood between him and his prey. “That’s right around here. I’ll show you.” “I’m mighty obliged,” he said with the same sour, amused grin. He checked the view from the window as soon as he entered her bedroom, drawing his gun to examine the angle of the shot. Eliza was left to wonder if he planned to keep a vigil in the room, shooting Corbett on sight, but she didn’t ask for clarification. “John will be up in a moment with your hot water. There’s a mirror”—she pointed to the small, oval-shaped mirror on the wall—”if you want to shave.” Ford stood in the middle of the room, looking impossibly tall. Everything seemed to shrink around him as he dominated the space, made it his own, pushed her aside. Eliza swallowed hard, backing out of the room as gracefully and quickly as she could. “If you need anything else, just call…” He nodded, already pulling the suspenders from his shoulders. Dust billowed around him. She realized that he might look like a completely different man when he emerged from her bedroom, freshly shaven, in her husband’s old clothes. John passed her on the stairs, effortlessly carrying a large bucket in each hand. “He’s in my room,” she directed. “Miss?” “He claims it’s the best view of the road,” Eliza explained. She lowered her voice, “If he wants anything, just do it. Don’t question him. Don’t give him any reason to come after us.” “You think he’s dangerous?” John asked. “Well, of course he’s dangerous. But hopefully we’ll stay on his good side.” “Did he threaten you?” Eliza shook her head. “No, but then, he didn’t really have to threaten me. I don’t want to risk anything.” “Yes’m.” Eliza decided to wait near the landing for John to return, watching the closed bedroom door with anxious eyes. John emerged minutes later, frowning but unhurt. Of course he’s unhurt, Ford isn’t going to shoot him in my own bedroom. “How is everything, John?” He set down the now-empty buckets, resting one hand on the banister. “He wants you to shave him.” Eliza caught her breath. “What?” “He told me to tell you that he’d like you to give him a shave,” John said with a shrug. “Did you tell him that I’m not a barber?” Or his wife. “No, but I remembered you telling me to make sure he’s happy.” “You don’t think I should go in there…is he already…” Eliza blushed, feeling very much like the child she was when she’d married her husband. “I mean, is he indecent?” “Ayuh, he’s in the tub. He seemed pretty serious to me.” Eliza squared her shoulders. She’d shaved her husband every Sunday morning before church, even after he stopped attending church. She may not have been a barber, but she knew what to do with a straight razor. “Well, then, I guess I don’t have a choice.” “I’ll stand outside the door,” John offered. Eliza thought to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but she only nodded. She knew it would make John feel better if he was nearby, and honestly, it would certainly put her more at ease. She returned to the closed door, knocking on it. “Come in,” Ford called. John had positioned the large galvanized tub near the window, allowing Ford to have an unobstructed view from his position in the water. He was looking out over the flat desert, his face and arms light pink from the hot water and pressing sun. She swallowed hard, but his very presence seemed to suck the air from the room, making it difficult to breathe, or move, or think clearly. Eliza redirected her attention from him to the soap and straight razor sitting on the small table beside the bed. Without speaking, she began stirring the soap into foam, unable to ignore the sensation of him watching her. To her horror, she felt a slow blush climb up her neck, likely coloring the tips of her ears, even spreading to her scalp. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” she murmured. “I trust you,” he said, leaning back. He tilted his chin, his eyes closed, waiting for her. Eliza pulled her vanity chair to the edge of the tub, sitting as close to him as she could. She didn’t miss the way he inhaled when she leaned over him, or the soft smile when her breast brushed against his arm. She kept her eyes glued to his face, struggling against the impulse to check out his entire body—to see if it was as hard and rugged as his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good…shave.” Eliza nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the company of a good woman,” he continued. “Oh? I imagine you’ve been on Corbett’s trail for a while,” Eliza said, trying to keep the conversation focused on him, and not on her. She slathered his face with the foam, her knuckles occasionally brushing against his skin. “Too long. But I plan to end all that soon.” A sudden vision of this stranger laying limp on the ground, the life-blood draining out of a bullet hole into the parched soil, overtook her, making her jerk. She blinked, trying to clear her head, not noticing the real blood on his cheek until he swore under his breath. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He touched his finger to his face before studying the red tip. “I should be fine. Just pay attention to what you’re doing.” Eliza nodded, returning to her task. She worked as quickly as she could, eager to finish and escape the ever-shrinking room. He remained perfectly still, but she did catch a quick movement out of the corner of her eye; her blush deepened until she thought her skin would actually sizzle when she realized she could truly see every bit of him and he was fully aroused. Below the heat of embarrassment was the unmistakable rush of her own arousal, making her flushed and damp. Her stomach twisted around itself, bending and turning like an angry rattlesnake. It seemed clear to her now that he wanted more than a close shave from her, and a million shards of fear, excitement, anger, and confusion pierced her. What did he think she was? A w***e? But didn’t a part of her—a large part of her—want him? Wasn’t her mouth dry at the thought of him touching her? Her hands began to tremble. She paused, his right cheek still covered in soap, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm herself. He didn’t move or speak, perhaps sensing the battle being waged in her body—her mind against her instincts, her heart against her flesh. Eliza closed her eyes, counted to ten, and when she opened them, he was watching her. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a man?” he asked, his voice casual. Eliza jumped to her feet, backing away from tub as though he had hit her. “That’s hardly an appropriate…an appropriate question.” “How long?” he asked again, gripping the sides of the tub. She realized with faint horror that he planned to stand up. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” She set aside the razor. “I think you can finish up on your own…” He did stand up now, unabashed. Twenty years of good religious upbringing told her to cover her eyes, hurry out of the room, kick him out of the house, and repent for her dirty thoughts. Two years of loneliness and hunger told her to answer his question honestly. “Have you been with the…with John?” Ford asked. “No, of course not. I mean…I don’t…not outside of marriage,” she finished demurely. He stepped out of the tub, warm water glistening on his body, dripping from his legs as he approached her. Her eyes widened, and she meant to step back, but she couldn’t move. She tried to raise her hand to stop him, tried to call for John, tried to ignore the growing ache in her lower stomach, but she was powerless, paralyzed. Eliza thought he meant to touch her, but he stopped at the mirror and picked up the discarded razor. With narrowed eyes, he finished shaving his cheek, giving her ample opportunity to flee. Was he testing her? If so, she figured she’d failed, because she couldn’t take advantage of the long minutes stretching between them. She stood there, helplessly, watching his slow, deliberate movements. “I bet it’s lonely out here,” he said, his lips barely moving. “It can be.” “It’s a shame that a fine woman like you is stuck out here in the middle of nowhere…” Ford muttered, as though he was talking to himself. “I should go…” Ford wiped his face with a hand towel, turning to face her when his cheeks were clean. Her assumption had been right—he did look like a different man. Younger, somehow. He slowly approached her, like a cat approaches its prey. One touch, one kiss, that’s all. But a starving man can’t hold himself to one bite of food. When he touched the side of her cheek with his damp fingers, she realized her foolishness. She had allowed things to progress too far—he wouldn’t let her leave. She licked her lips, watching him watch her. He moved quickly, striking without further warning, claiming her lips before she had the chance to catch her breath. He kissed her with the same deadly precision he used to draw his gun. There was nothing playful about his mouth, nothing shy or hesitant about his lips. He knew exactly what he wanted from her, and with a single kiss, conveyed what she could expect from him. Her body flashed hot before turning numb, her toes tingling as goosebumps erupted on her neck. She understood he intended to push her to the bed, to finish what he’d started. Suddenly, he lifted his head, his eyes drawn to the window. “Did you hear that?” Eliza heard only the sound of her heart racing. “No, what…” “Miss Eliza!” John shouted, pounding on the door. “Somebody’s comin’. He’s almost here!” Ford pushed her away, grabbing his pants and gun belt from the edge of the bed. He pulled on his pants, looped the belt low over his hips, and reached for his boots, not bothering with his shirt or hat. His eyes were flints, all business. He barely spared her a glance before rushing out of the room, throwing over his shoulder a single order: “Stay out of the way.” Like she had to be told. “What should I do?” John asked, ignoring Ford. “We’ll go wait in the guest room.” she said. “At least a stray bullet won’t hit us if we’re back there, right?”