Burning Daylight Page 6

  The bottomland along the creek looked like it could be cultivated, and enough grass grew on the rolling terrain nearby to support a limited amount of livestock. It was far from the best country Luke had ever seen, but with enough hard work, a man could make something of it.

  A man . . . and his family.

  On the other hand, maybe it was the prospect of that never-ending hard work that had driven Jack McKinney to ride off and disappear and eventually turn outlaw, Luke mused as he rode along the creek’s south bank. No matter what McKinney might do, his spread would only ever be so good and no better. If he knew anything at all about what he was doing, he would be aware of that, and the knowledge could have been too much for him to accept.

  Those thoughts were running through Luke’s head as he approached a cluster of boulders surrounded by some scrubby mesquite trees. He looked them over, purely out of cautious habit, and suddenly pulled rein as he spotted a glint of sunlight from metal among the rocks.

  The next instant, a rifle cracked and a bullet kicked up dirt and pebbles twenty feet in front of him.

  As the shot’s echoes died away, a voice called, “That’s far enough, mister! Come any closer and the next one won’t miss!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Holding the reins in his left hand, Luke raised both hands to shoulder level and replied, “Hold your fire, son. I mean you no harm.” He could tell that the voice belonged to a boy and had a powerful hunch that boy was Aaron McKinney. He didn’t say as much just yet, though, preferring to let the youngster proceed at his own pace. If Aaron felt like he was in control of the situation, he’d be less likely to start throwing lead around wildly.

  “You’d better be more worried about me intendin’ harm to you,” the boy said from his hiding place in the rocks. Luke could tell that he was working hard to put plenty of bravado in the words, but the faint tremor in his voice told a different story. “You’re trespassin’.”

  “That wasn’t my intention, I assure you.”

  “You talk like a schoolmarm!”

  Luke laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but I don’t believe a schoolmarm was ever one of them. Is it all right if I lower my arms? I give you my word that I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Well . . . all right, I reckon. But don’t you try nothin’. I can shoot the eye out of a Gila monster at a hundred yards!”

  “I believe you,” Luke said as he brought his arms down and rested both hands on the saddle horn. “My name is Luke Jensen. Why don’t you come out where we can see each other and you can introduce yourself, man to man?”

  For a moment, there was no response to that, but then brush rustled a little and mesquite beans rattled as the boy pushed through the growth around the boulders and stepped out into the open. The somewhat ragged brim of an old felt hat shaded lean, freckled features. Rust-colored hair stuck out from under the hat. If this was indeed Aaron McKinney, Sheriff Collins had said he was twelve years old. Luke judged the youngster to be a little tall for that age, and on the gangly side, to boot. He wore boots, canvas trousers with crossed suspenders, and a homespun shirt of faded red. All the clothes looked slightly too big for him, which made Luke think they probably were hand-me-downs from that older brother. The ease with which the boy held an old Henry rifle told Luke he was accustomed to handling the weapon.

  It was still aimed in Luke’s general direction, so he said, “I’d be obliged if you’d point that somewhere else, son.”

  “Ain’t your son,” the boy snapped, but the Henry’s muzzle sank toward the ground. Not so much that he couldn’t raise it again in a hurry, though.

  “What’s your name?” Luke asked.

  “Aaron,” the boy said, confirming Luke’s hunch. “Aaron McKinney. You said your name’s Jensen?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t know any Jensens, and I don’t reckon you got any business on my spread.”

  “This range is yours, is it?”

  “Mine and my ma’s. You feel like arguin’ about it?”

  Luke had to laugh again. “You really do have a burr under your saddle, don’t you, Aaron? Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I’m just passing through. I’m not a rustler or a road agent or anything like that.” He patted his horse’s neck. “I think my friend here could use a drink, though, if your place is close by.”

  “There’s the creek,” Aaron said with a nod toward the stream. “Nobody stoppin’ you from usin’ it.”

  “And I certainly wouldn’t turn down a cup of coffee,” Luke went on.

  “You just invite yourself to have coffee with folks?”

  “I can pay.”

  Luke saw the temptation in the youngster’s eyes. If everything he had heard was true, Aaron and his mother were just about broke. Even a little bit of money could be important to them.

  To reinforce the offer, Luke reached slowly into his shirt pocket and took out a silver dollar. The coin flashed in the sunlight. “What do you say, son?”

  Aaron scowled. “I done told you, I ain’t—No, never mind. Put your money away, mister. My ma raised me right, and that includes bein’ hospitable. Our place ain’t far from here, and I reckon you’d be welcome to sit and rest a spell. Ma will have a pot of coffee on the stove, too.” The Henry’s barrel came up a little. “But if you try anything funny, I’ll blow you right to hell, and don’t think I won’t.”

  “Nothing funny,” Luke promised. “I give you my word.”

  “Wait there a minute, then.” Aaron went back into the rocks and emerged again a moment later leading a rangy mule that had plenty of years on him. The boy stepped up onto a boulder and from there climbed onto the mule’s back. He held the reins in his left hand and carried the rifle in his right. “Come on,” he said to Luke as he turned the mule to follow the creek.

  They rode for about half a mile along the stream’s winding course. The farther west they went toward the river, the more trees and grass grew along the banks. Luke saw about a dozen rather scrawny cows grazing along the way and asked, “Your stock?”

  “That’s right,” Aaron said. “They may not look like much, but they’re ours. See? They’ve got the MC brand on ’em.”

  Luke couldn’t help but wonder if those dozen head were the entire MC herd these days.

  They rounded a bend in the creek and Luke saw a log and stone cabin built near the base of a hogback ridge with stunted pines growing atop it. To the right of the cabin and even closer to the ridge was a barn with a pole corral next to it and beyond that a garden patch. Across the creek was a field that appeared to have been cultivated at one time but was lying fallow. An orchard of fruit trees stretched along the creek beyond the field. The trees were clinging to life but didn’t look healthy to Luke’s eyes, although he was far from an expert on such matters.

  As the two riders came closer, a woman stepped out of the cabin onto a porch that sagged a little from disrepair. Her hair was red, too, although a darker shade than the rusty thatch on Aaron’s head. She had a square-shouldered determination about her that Luke could see even from a distance. The shotgun she held reinforced that impression.

  “That’s your mother?” Luke asked the boy.

  “Yeah, and you see that scattergun she’s got? She knows how to use it.”

  “I never doubted that,” Luke murmured.

  The two of them drew rein in front of the cabin as the woman asked, “Who’s this?”

  “Says his name’s Jensen,” Aaron replied. “Just a saddle tramp passin’ through, or so he claims.” The boy paused. “But he’s got at least a dollar, and he says he’ll pay for a cup of coffee. I told him he didn’t have to.”

  “Good. This is a ranch, not a café. Western folks don’t put a price on hospitality.” The woman’s jaw was square, like her shoulders, and her face seemed permanently set in stern lines. It softened a little, though, as she looked at Luke, nodded, and went on. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Jensen. Get down from that horse and come inside out of the
sun for a spell.”

  Luke swung down from the saddle and twisted his reins around a hitching post.

  “I’m obliged to you, Mrs. McKinney, and like I told your son, I really don’t mind paying—”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it,” Amelia McKinney interrupted him.

  “Well, in that case, maybe I could split some firewood for you. Or if you’d like, I could try my hand at shoring up that porch. I’m not really a carpenter, but I’ve done a little work along those lines, here and there.”

  “Now, we might could talk about that. But after you’ve had that coffee. Come in, please.”

  Luke stepped up onto the porch, took his hat off, and smiled.

  Amelia McKinney said, “Aaron, did you check on those cows?”

  “I was doin’ that when I heard Mr. Jensen ridin’ along the creek,” the boy said. “They’re right where they’re supposed to be, Ma.”

  “That’s good. We can’t afford to have them wandering off.”

  She ushered Luke into the cabin. The walls were thick enough to make the air pleasantly cool inside. The trees on the ridge provided some welcome shade, as well.

  The curtains on the windows were faded, as if they hadn’t been replaced in quite a while. The furniture was still sturdy. It looked like a fairly comfortable place to live, although it was far from luxurious. On the other hand, Luke mused, anybody who settled in such an isolated part of Arizona Territory probably wasn’t all that interested in luxury to start with.

  Amelia nodded toward the table with a blue-and-white-checked cloth on it. “Have a seat, Mr. Jensen, while I get that coffee for you.”

  Having already taken his hat off as soon as he stepped inside, Luke placed it on the table and sat on a ladderback chair. Taking a tin cup from a shelf, she filled it with coffee from the pot on the big cast-iron stove. She set it on the table in front of Luke.

  He said, “You’ll join me, I hope?”

  “Well . . . there’s always more work to get done around here than there are hours in the day to do it . . . but I suppose a few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything.” She poured a cup for herself and sat down at the far end of the table.

  Aaron stood in the doorway and leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “Pa ought to be gettin’ back any time now, shouldn’t he, Ma?”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s right.” She smiled at Luke. “My husband should be riding in soon, Mr. Jensen. I hope he gets back in time for you to meet him, but I understand if you’ll need to be moving on.”

  “I hope so, too,” Luke said as he returned the smile. He understood why the two of them had lied about the possibility of Jack McKinney showing up.

  They didn’t want to admit that they were out in the middle of nowhere with no grown man around and none likely to be there any time soon. While it was well known that most Westerners, even the most hardened outlaws, wouldn’t harm a respectable woman, especially one who was married, that didn’t extend to every drifter who came along. Some of them could be dangerous.

  “What are you growing over there in the orchard across the creek?” he asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen fruit trees.”

  Amelia brightened a little at the question. “We have apple trees and peach trees. Keeping them alive has been a challenge, I’ll admit, but I think we’re going to have a good crop this year.”

  “I hope so. Nothing much better than fresh apples and peaches.”

  “We didn’t get the corn and beans and potatoes in, but from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t hurt anything to let fields rest for a spell. We’ll have a good harvest next year, and until then, we have our cattle.”

  Luke had seen those cattle and knew they weren’t going to amount to much, but he didn’t say that. All he had to do, though, was look around the spread to know that Amelia and her son were fighting a losing battle, especially with just the two of them to keep the place going.

  If he went after Jack McKinney, it wouldn’t do a damned thing to help them. He wasn’t sure why that idea had been in the back of his head ever since he’d seen that homemade wanted poster. Nor could he have said what drove him to ride out and find McKinney’s family, other than sheer curiosity. Why would a seemingly happy man suddenly disappear and then turn outlaw? True, keeping the spread going would be a hard row to hoe, but McKinney had had an attractive, seemingly pleasant wife and a couple of strapping sons. Luke could only assume that the older boy was like Aaron. As a man who had lived life on the drift as a bounty hunter for the better part of two decades, Luke knew that he never could have settled down to such an existence, but most men would have welcomed a life like that, even if a lot of hard work came with it.

  One thing he knew: Aaron ought to be helping his mother, instead of making wanted posters that served no real purpose and riding all over the countryside tacking them up.

  “Aaron, you should go out to the barn and check on Fanny,” Amelia said. “I think she’s just about ready to calve. We’re liable to have a busy evening.”

  Aaron frowned at Luke. “I don’t know, Ma, I think I ought to stay here—”

  “No, you go on and make sure she’s comfortable. Mr. Jensen and I will be fine.”

  Clearly, Aaron didn’t like it, but he picked up the rifle he had leaned against the wall and turned to leave.

  “I might be able to give you a hand with that birthing, too,” Luke offered. “I’ve brought a few calves into the world, although I admit, it was back on my family’s farm in the Ozarks, before the war.”

  “Were you in the war, Mr. Jensen?”

  “I was,” Luke said. “It’s not something I speak of often, though.”

  “I understand. Neither did my father and my uncles. My husband was too young to have served.”

  “He didn’t miss much except a lot of hard times, on both sides.”

  “I hope something like that never happens again.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, ma’am.” Luke took another sip of coffee. “This is very good.”

  She smiled again. The expression transformed her face even more than he had realized earlier.

  “Thank you. I’d ask you to stay for supper, but we’re a bit low on supplies at the moment . . .”

  He held up a hand to stop her.

  “Don’t think a thing about it. A man like me, it’s mighty nice just to be able to sit for a spell at a table with a cloth on it and talk with a lady.”

  “I’m glad you stopped by—” Amelia fell silent as a heavy footstep sounded on the rickety porch. She looked at the open door and resumed, “Aaron, you’re back from the barn already—”

  The stocky figure that loomed in the doorway didn’t belong to Aaron McKinney. Sheriff Ross Collins stood there pointing a Colt at Luke. “Jensen, what the hell are you doing here, you bastard?”

  Amelia started to her feet, saying, “Sheriff, for heaven’s sake, you don’t need to—”

  “Miz McKinney, don’t you know what this man is?” Collins interrupted her again. “He’s a no-good bounty hunter after the blood money he can get for killing your husband!”

  CHAPTER 9

  “You don’t need that gun, Sheriff,” Luke said into the stunned silence that followed Collins’s words. “I don’t have any intention of causing trouble for Mrs. McKinney.”

  “No?” Collins snapped. “What do you think coming in here and lying about who you are is going to do?”

  “I didn’t lie.” Luke sipped from the cup and then set it on the table. “I told her my name is Luke Jensen, and that’s the truth.”

  Amelia found her voice again. “You didn’t say anything about being a bounty hunter.”

  “You didn’t ask me about my job. I suppose you might consider it a lie of omission, but even that is stretching the matter, in my opinion.” Luke looked at the lawman and added, “What are you doing here, Sheriff?”

  Collins flushed even more. “I like to check on the folks in my county. That’s part of my job. Thought I’d ride out here and see how Miz McKinney and the boy ar
e getting along. You put me in mind of ’em with that damn wanted poster you waved in my face yesterday.”

  “Wanted poster?” Amelia repeated, clearly surprised again. “Sheriff, has Aaron been up to that again? I’ve talked to him about not wasting his time doing such things.”

  Collins looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if he’s still at it or not. He put up enough of the things, and they’re still circulating around the county . . .”

  “Sheriff,” Luke said again, “please put that gun away. You’re going to frighten the lady.”

  Amelia looked at him. “It’s going to take more than the sight of a gun to frighten me, Mr. Jensen.”

  Luke inclined his head in acknowledgment of her point. He’d been able to tell right away that she wasn’t the sort of woman who spooked easily. Despite that, he didn’t cotton to the idea of the sheriff—or anybody else—waving a gun in his direction.

  Luckily, Collins didn’t aggravate the situation. He jammed the Colt back in the holster on his hip and said, “I still want to know what you’re up to, Jensen.”

  “Yes, I’d like to know that, too, considering I shared our coffee with you,” Amelia said. “Are you going to hunt down my husband? Is that why you came out here? To see if you could get a lead on where he might be? If you did, you’re wasting your time. I haven’t laid eyes on Jack in five years!” A little muscle twitched in her jaw as she added, “And it’ll be all right with me if I never do again.”

  “You don’t want him found?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care one way or the other.”

  Luke nodded slowly. “I didn’t come here thinking I would find your husband. If anything I was just trying to understand him, to get an idea of how his mind works. Admittedly, that might help me track him down, but really I was just satisfying my curiosity.”