Golden Feather Press
EMERALD VALLEY

CHAPTER 2

He crouched down and lifted the man's head. It was then he noticed breathing. Gently laying the wounded man back on the ground, he charged into the house and shouted, "Anybody here? The man outside's been shot!" Hearing no answer, he rushed through the parlor to get the lay of the place. He ran into a hallway. The door in front of him led into the kitchen, and the one on his left opened into a messy office. He turned to his right and bounded up the stairs. He found a hallway and four bedrooms with a central water closet. Only one room on the northeast corner of the house looked used, and it was in worse disarray than the office. Realizing the wounded man lived here alone, he leaped down the stairs and back outside. He gently picked up the unconscious man, carried him up the stairs to the cluttered room and nestled him in the unmade bed.

After stripping off the man's shirt, he saw the bloody wound. The bullet, mangled by the wooden trough, had raggedly gouged the man's side. The finger-length gash bled profusely. Using the man's shirt, he quickly wrapped the wound tightly to slow the bleeding, then bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. At the grimy, dish-cluttered sink, he grabbed a large agate-iron bowl, pumped water to rinse it, then half filled it. He looked around, then set the bowl of water on the grimy floor. He rinsed out two cleanish cloths, twisted them loosely and dumped them into the bowl to reduce the water's sloshing. On his way back to the stairs, he grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey and two empty flour sacks from the cluttered table. He carried the items to the foot of the stairs, clunked them on the first step, then ran outside to Killer. He slid off one set of his saddle bags, tossed it over his shoulder and rushed back into the house. Carefully picking up the items on the step, he bounded up the stairs, spilling some of the water down his arm.

When he entered the bedroom, he stopped. The injured man leaned on his elbow and pointed a pistol at him.

"Whoa, pardner! I'm only tryin' to help. You'd best put that piece away b'fore you bleed to death."

"Who are you?" the man rasped.

"Name's Chase. Kyle Chase. Heard them shots an' seen four men ridin' off. I come to see what's goin' on. Put that gun away an' let me fix you up."

Noticing the basin and Kyle's wet shirt sleeve, the bottle of whiskey and the saddle bag draped over his shoulder, the wounded man lowered his gun, felt his side and groaned. He dropped the Smith and Wesson pistol to the floor and fell back on the bed.

As Kyle worked on the wound, he couldn't help looking at the man's muscular chest sparsely covered with light brown hair. His arms were almost as brawny as his own, but city-like soft. Kyle glanced up at the babyishly handsome face. The man's brown hair, matted with mud on one side, still dripped droplets that streaked his cheek and around his left ear. Greenish-blue eyes, failing to hide the pain, held a masked sparkle that Kyle knew could easily capture him.

Kyle diverted his eyes back to cleaning the man's wound. Not again! He was never going to fall in love again! After two years, he still wasn't over leaving Lake in Montana. He loved Lake more than any human alive. The day he'd left, he'd turned back and looked at Lake one last time. The man he loved had been draped across the kitchen table dead drunk. Again!

"You got a name?" Kyle asked, not looking at the man's face. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey.

"I'm Dix Logan. I'm obliged to you for helping me. What are you doing here?"

"Lookin' for work. You got anything for me to do besides bein' your nursemaid?"

Kyle doused the wound with whiskey, which made Dix groan. "I know it burns, but it helps." He handed Dix the bottle. "Take some swigs." After Dix took three swigs, Kyle grabbed the bottle and plunked it on the floor. He held out Dix's bloody shirt. "Press this over the wound and hold it tight 'til I'm done."

Seeing Dix complying to his order, Kyle quickly opened one side of his saddle bag. He pulled out an oilskin packet and carefully unwapped it. A stack of large dried leaves sprang into readiness. Kyle lifted off the top two leaves and immersed them in the basin's bloodied water. He gently compressed the remaining leaves, carefully wrapped them, then repacked them in his saddle bag. As he poked at the two submerged paper-like leaves, they seemed to revive and took on the appearance of rich brown leather. Kyle applied the supple leaves directly to the wound, then slowly wrapped Dix's body with the knifed-up flour sacks. He savored the feel of Dix's body.

"What are those leaves you put on me?" Dix asked.

"Kiowa medicine. Don't fret about it. They'll stop the bleedin' and help you heal." After tying the last knot in the bandage, he picked up the bottle of whiskey and held it toward Dix. "Take a few more swigs'a this. It'll ease the hurtin'."

Dix took a few more swallows, then held the bottle toward Kyle.

Shaking his head, Kyle said, "Don't touch booze much, leastways not while I'm lookin' for work. You got anything for me to do 'round here?"

Dix set the bottle on the floor, slumped back to the bed and sighed. "I inherited this land from my uncle and I've only been here two weeks. Sure I need help. With everything." He eyed Kyle up and down and liked the look of the man with a three-day growth of stubble. His dark brown hair stuck out around his black leather hat and framed a sun-leathered, handsome face. Kyle was either a tough cowboy or a killer. Dix raised an eyebrow. Maybe he was both?

"You might not want to work here," Dix said. "I walked into a war when I took over this ranch. It's over water. I think those men who shot me are the same ones who killed Uncle Bill. They work for Mason Coby, the largest rancher in the area. Coby made it clear that he wants this land. He wants to divert the river onto his own land farther west."

"Mason Coby?" Kyle squinted at Dix. "He a big fellow that limps with a cane?"

"That's him. You know him?"

"I gave 'im the limp. But he weren't into ranchin' then. Weren't nothin' but a crooked gambler when I shot off his kneecap."

"Why did you do that?"

"Caught 'im cheatin' at cards. He laid down the same three aces I was holdin'. Shot his knee under the table. While he was on the floor bellyachin', I took his cheatin' winnin's an' left."

Dix chuckled, then groaned in pain. "I guess you don't want to work so close to a man who has it in for you."

"You offerin' me a job? If you are, I'll take it. It wouldn't set well with me to leave a good lookin'...er, a good man like you alone with Mason Coby wantin' his ranch."

Dix squelched a smile at Kyle's slip of the tongue, and felt a stirring in his crotch knowing he thought the same thing about Kyle.

"You're hired," Dix said. "Do you know anything about ranching? I grew up in Denver and only visited this ranch a few summers after I was out of school. I mostly herded the cattle from one pasture to another, fixed fences and did odd jobs. I never dreamed my uncle would will me his ranch."

"A city boy?" Kyle got to his feet and put his fists on his hips. "I cut my teeth ranchin'. Spent my teens on cattle drives from Texas to Dodge an' Wichita. Later, I worked ranches in the Dakotas an' Montana but…I got tired of...the cold. I come to western Colorado hopin' to find work. Never thought I'd run across a place with only one man runnin' it."

"What do you mean by that?" Dix asked.

"Don't go frettin'. Most places I worked for had at least three hands." He frowned. "An' most had grown daughters always hangin' 'round us hands. We'd always have to be on best behavior. Couldn't do no cussin' or rompin' naked together in the river. Oft times, a man has to do men things. Some of us jumped at the chance to work at the far reachin' line cabins to get away from them man-hungry women."

Dix grinned. "Well, it'll be just you and me here. If you want to swim naked in the river, I might join you."

"Not 'til you're healed, you won't!" Kyle snapped. "An' now that I'm workin' here, I'm gonna fix us somethin' to eat. I ain't had a decent meal in three days." He bent slightly, folded his arms and hard-stared Dix. "You laid in supplies?"

"I brought enough to last two weeks and they're almost gone."

"Where's the nearest town?"

"Grand Junction. It's six miles north. But Mason Coby has a house there. It wouldn't be safe for you there."

"Safe? How safe're you here? B'sides, Mason Coby don't scare me. I scare Mason Coby." Kyle let his eyes roam freely over Dix's body. "I'll take stock of what you got an' fix us somethin' to eat. Later, I'll make a trip to town an' get supplies for a month." He squinted. "You got a pack horse?"

Dix scanned the tough, handsome man standing in front of him who wasn't wearing underwear. "Take the roan mare. Maggie's a good horse for carrying loads."

"How you set for money?"

"That's the biggest problem. Uncle Bill left over a hundred thousand dollars in a bank in Grand Junction, but that bank is owned by Coby. They told me it's tied up until the will is read. I can't get to it. All I have left of my own money is three hundred dollars."

"If you make me foreman, I'll get that money. You willin' to do that? After all, you hardly know me."

Dix grinned. "I trust you. Not many men would patch me up and offer to help me out." He tried to sit up but groaned and grabbed his side. "I'll make you my foreman if you help me to my office downstairs. I'll write up the paper verifying it."

"You ain't goin' nowhere. You're stayin' in that bed three days. Let them leaves work. I'll get paper, pen and ink an' bring 'em here."

Kyle left the room. When he reached the kitchen, he looked around more carefully and frowned. For a city boy, Dix sure didn't know how to keep a clean house. Dirty dishes covered the table and filled the galvanized sink under the hand pump. In his haste getting water, he hadn't noticed. Kyle turned right and walked into the narrow pantry. He folded his arms and shook his head. The flour canister had fallen on its side, and the lid was in the dust on the floor. White mouse tracks led from the spilled flour to all parts of the room. A ragged hole had been chewed at the bottom of a box of hardtack and mouse droppings soiled the top of a lonesome can of peaches. Dusty canisters of tea and a few bags of spices behind spider webs and half-empty bottles of tonics added to the bleak emptiness.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to eat in town," Kyle grumbled.

He grabbed the can of peaches, walked to the pump and doused water on the top to wash away the mouse droppings. A search for a can opener proved fruitless. He opened the can with his knife and bent down the sharp edges. Finding a spoon, he rinsed it and dumped it into the can. Sticking his thumb into the can to pick it up from the top, he walked down the short hallway and into the office.

Stacks of papers covered the large desk, most of the dusty floor and two overstuffed chairs on either side of the desk. He shoved papers aside and set the can of peaches down, sucked the peach juice from his thumb, then rummaged through the stacks of paper to find one that hadn't been written on.

During his search, he spied a ledger sheet and picked it up. It had been dated over a year ago. On it was listed the purchase of three hundred cattle, various supplies and a new wagon wheel. The sale of something was also written down, but Kyle couldn't make out what it was. The ink had been smudged like someone purposely did it with a wet finger. That item brought ten thousand dollars. And the smudged word hadn't been cattle or steers. It was too short and had started with a round letter. Kyle tossed the ledger to the desk. As foreman, he'd have to know the books, but that would come later.

Another paper caught his eye. It was a letter from a law firm in Denver and addressed to a Mr. William Lewis. William Lewis must have been Dix Logan's maternal uncle. Kyle shrugged and continued his search for a blank sheet of paper. He finally found a box of Osprey letter paper in the bottom drawer of the desk. He took two sheets, grabbed the ink bottle and the only penholder with a nib. He stuck the penholder in his pocket, picked up the can of peaches and went back upstairs.

Kyle found Dix in bed with his eyes closed. He quietly entered the room and looked at the handsome man with no shirt. He thought it strange that a city boy was so muscular. Kyle stared at the outline of the man's dick and balls under his filthy denim pants. He could easily fall in love with Dix...after a bath.

Kyle shrugged. He wanted to help Dix keep his ranch...and his life, but he wasn't going to get romantically involved. Not this time. But lovemaking would most likely happen. He'd seen Dix looking at his own crotch.

Without making any noise, Kyle set the can of peaches on a chair within Dix's reach, but the gentle sound of the can clapping on the wooden seat woke Dix. He tried to sit up, but groaned in pain and fell back.

"Yer gonna hafta sit up to write that I'm your foreman," Kyle said. He felt skin and muscle as he slid his arms around Dix's upper body, then gently lifted him into a sitting position. His cheek briefly touched Dix's during the encounter. The stubble on their faces scraped each other. It reminded Kyle of one time in a line cabin when he and his bunkie rubbed each other's faces raw during the long winter nights of lovemaking, years before he'd met Lake.

Dix groaned loudly as Kyle lifted him. He looked into Kyle's hard, steel-gray eyes that hid youthful mirth. He touched Kyle's stubble. "I haven't felt that for a while." He grinned. "You want to be my foreman or my--?"

"Foreman," Kyle said quickly, releasing Dix. "I gotta get that money for you, an' bein' your foreman gives me weight in a bank. An' I might think'a somethin' else that'll give me weight in town." He handed Dix the two blank papers, clunked the ink bottle on the chair, glanced around the room, then walked to the dresser and grabbed a cigar box that stuck out beneath a pile of papers. He set the box on Dix's lap as a flat surface to write on, then uncorked the ink bottle and handed Dix the penholder.

On one knee, Kyle watched the man write. Dix's elaborate penmanship made him glad he wasn't the one who had to write the document. Having been a ranch foreman several times, when Dix read it back to him, it seemed satisfactory and thorough. He signed his name at the bottom in his jerky writing. Dix initialed the signature. Dix wrote out a copy and Kyle quickly signed it.

With the copy folded and stuffed in his shirt pocket, Kyle made Dix eat the can of peaches.

Kyle got to his feet and said, "From the looks'a the kitchen, I'll need fifty or sixty dollars to stock up on food for a month. An' I'll get some bullets in case we get attacked again. What guns you got?"

"I've got my uncle's Greener shotgun, an 1886 Winchester rifle and my Smith and Wesson." Dix pointed to the dresser. "In the top drawer is what's left of my money. Take what you think you'll need." He looked at Kyle's crotch. "Buy yourself some long johns if you want."

Kyle snorted. "Never wear 'em except when I'm alone for a spell an' it's cold. If I want to get naked quick, I don't like fussin' with 'em."

"Why would you have to get naked quick?"

"Bein' a city boy, you don't know about cattle drives an' lonely nights."

"I still don't understand," Dix said, hoping to keep Kyle talking about him being naked.

"You stay in bed for three days and let that Kiowa medicine work. Later, I'll tell you about cattle drives. An' you'll surely see me naked."

Kyle pulled out his pocket watch. "It's eight-thirty. I gotta leave for town." He went to the top drawer of the dresser, counted out a hundred dollars and pocketed it. "I'll be back late. You got keys for the outside doors? I don't want nobody sneakin' in on you while you're sleepin'."

"The keys are in the locks. Take them with you. My uncle installed Rim dead locks on both doors, but I want my loaded guns here with me while you're gone."

Kyle got everything ready for his departure to keep Dix safe. He made Dix swallow a dose of laudanum, stolen from the last doctor he'd visited in Birmingham. He'd stolen it for circumstances such as this, and hoped the doctor had gotten an extra chicken from someone for what he'd taken.

Satisfied Dix was sleeping peacefully, Kyle kissed Dix's forehead. He slid his hand down Dix's body and grabbed his crotch before covering him with a blanket. He tiptoed out of the room and gently closed the door.

Dix opened one eye and grinned, then the room spun.