Nobody's Darling

Esmerelda glanced skyward. The sun still hung in the afternoon sky, blazing like a merciless orb. Oh, dear God, she prayed, don’t let it be too late.

Her despair only deepened when they finally reached the horse. The mare might as well have been twenty feet tall. Esmerelda had no choice but to try and heave Billy into the saddle using any means available.

She pleaded and ordered, cajoled and shouted. She even slipped in a few of the swear words he was so fond of, hoping the shock would prod him into motion. She almost had one of his long legs hooked over the pommel when the mare shied away, spooked by the coppery scent of his blood.

Billy fell heavily, sprawling to his back in the dust. His eyes struggled to focus, once, twice, then rolled back in his head and fluttered shut.

Sadie sank to her haunches, threw back her head, and began to bay as if her heart were broken. Esmerelda longed to do the same.

Instead, she dropped to her knees beside him. Tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping from her chin to his face. She gathered him into her arms and gave him a ferocious shake. “Don’t you die on me, Billy Darling! Do you hear me? I won’t stand for it!”

She pressed her mouth to his, hoping to force some of her own precious breath into his mouth, but even that desperate kiss failed to stir him.

She buried her brow against his, utterly defeated. She never heard the jingle of a harness, the clatter of wagon wheels, the dull thud of a massive pair of boots striking the dirt.

She didn’t hear anything at all until a lumbering giant, his sandy hair haloed by the sun, reached down and took Billy from her arms as if he weighed no more than a child.

Tenderly cradling his brother’s limp body against his formidable chest, Virgil winked at her, the twinkle in his eyes dimmed by concern. “We Darlins’ might fight and scrap amongst ourselves, ma’am, but we’re still bound by blood.”

As he gently laid his brother in the back of the wagon, the beast in the harness swiveled around to honk at her and bare its yellow teeth. Esmerelda cupped a hand over her mouth to capture her grateful sob. She’d never seen such a welcome sight in her life as that cantankerous old mule.

Part Two

It matters not, I ’ve oft been tol d

Where the body lies when the heart grows cold.

Yet grant, oh grant, this wish to me:

O, bury me not on the lone prairie.

Traditional Cowboy Song

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The moon dangled over the valley, a brittle cameo against the black velvet bodice of the sky. The shimmering pearl drained all the color from the sweeping plain of grama grass, leaving nothing but ash and silver in a skeletal tableau as beautiful as it was bleak. It also drained what little color was left from Billy’s cheeks, leaving them pallid and gaunt.

Esmerelda leaned over him, relieved to hear the faint whisper of his breath against her cheek. He hadn’t uttered a sound in several hours. She knew she should be thankful that he’d finally escaped the rough jostling of the buck-board by losing consciousness, but his unnatural stillness was somehow more frightening than all of his thrashing and groaning.

She pried the lid from the battered tin canteen and dribbled a few drops of water between his parched lips.

Although his eyelids never even fluttered, he roused enough to manage a half-hearted swallow. She dampened her handkerchief and dabbed at his brow, then splashed a handful of water on her own face, afraid the rocking of the wagon might lull her into a doze just as it had Sadie.

Last night Billy had watched over her. Tonight she would watch over him.

Reaching around to massage her aching neck, she tipped back her head to gaze at the stars. In all the years she’d spent in Boston, she’d never dreamed the sky could be so vast. Or so lonely.

But at least she wasn’t alone in her vigil. Enos drove the wagon while Sam, Virgil, and Jasper rode ahead of it, slouched low in their saddles. Esmerelda shook her head, bemused by the irony. Only twenty-four hours ago, she would have been terrified to have been left alone with the Darling gang. Now they were her only hope.

Virgil had already used his pocketknife to dig the bullet out of Billy’s chest. Only time would tell if it had pierced any of his essential organs. Muttering all the while about wasting perfectly good liquor, Jasper had poured a stream of rotgut whiskey into the angry wound. Billy’s inert form had twitched in agony. Esmerelda had forced herself not to turn away, one hand cupped over her mouth to muffle her guilt-stricken sobs.

They’d escaped Eulalie without incident. No one had even bothered to stop them. After all, there had been no money stolen from the Eulalie First National Bank, no crime committed. Except for the one committed against Billy by her brother. But Esmerelda couldn’t bear to think about Bartholomew right now.

The buckboard shimmied to a sudden halt.

“Enos, trot your bony ass over here!” bellowed Virgil from somewhere up ahead.

Enos swiveled around and shyly tipped his hat to her. “Pardon me, ma’am. I do believe my p-presence is required at yonder fork in the road.”

He hopped nimbly to the ground and went loping off into the night. Esmerelda climbed to her knees to look over the wagon seat. The four men were indeed gathered at a fork in the dirt road. They appeared to be arguing. She caught snatches of profanity and glimpses of wildly gesticulating arms.

Of course, it was Virgil who lost the ability to whisper first. "We ain’t got no choice, boys!” he roared. “He’ll die if we don’t!”

“But if we do, he’ll wish he had,” Jasper replied grimly.

Sam shot the wagon a furtive glance. Esmerelda tried to duck, but it was too late. She’d been spotted. Responding to Sam’s nudge, Virgil stretched out his colossal arms and gathered his brothers into a secretive huddle.

A few minutes later, Enos came trotting back to the wagon. As he bounded into the seat, Esmerelda asked, “What is it? Is there a town nearby? Your brother still needs a doctor, you know.”

Enos pulled his hat down low, shading his eyes from her probing gaze. “Don’t you worry yore p-p-pretty little head about a thing, ma’am. We ain’t g-gonna let him die.”

Then he slapped the reins on the mule’s back and tugged with all the strength in his wiry arms, turning the buckboard toward the left fork.

Despite her noble intentions, Esmerelda dozed off with Billy’s head cushioned by her lap. Some time later she awoke with a start. The wagon’s motion had frozen to eerie stillness. Billy’s pallor had deepened to an unhealthy flush. She gave his brow a tender stroke before carefully wiggling out from under him.

Sadie whimpered as Esmerelda climbed to her knees, knuckling her bleary eyes. Clouds had smothered the moon while she slept. A violent gust of wind scattered them across the sky like giant tumbleweeds.

Moonlight streamed down, revealing that the wagon had come to a halt at the foot of a deeply rutted dirt track that wound up a shallow slope. Billy’s brothers sat silent and motionless, gazing toward the top of that hill.

Unsettled by the dread in their expressions, Esmerelda followed suit. All she saw was a ramshackle barn and a rickety structure that looked more like a shack than a house silhouetted against the night sky. A crumbling stone chimney clung to one wall of the house like a withered vine. A sagging tin roof sheltered the narrow porch. A dead oak stood sentinel at the crest of the hill, its once-mighty trunk split into a jagged fork by some ruthless bolt of lightning. A melancholy air of abandonment hung over the entire place. If it had been a piece of music, Esmerelda thought with a faint shiver, it would have been played in D minor.

“Is this our destination?” she whispered to Enos’s back.

Enos nodded grimly.

Esmerelda didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. But she did know she was growing impatient with their dawdling.