Dead Man's Corner

Chapter 1-2

“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?”