Tilly’s always braggin’ about the great dishes she can make. But I’ve had her cookin’ some now and then and her food ain’t got nuthin’ on Ma’s,” the boy declared loyally.
There was always some bad apple at a workplace making trouble for others because they were jealous or spiteful, Thorn thought. And that was not counting the problems that came from an overly particular boss. As much as he disliked his current task, he was glad he had some independence in the way he made his living. It would drive him loco to work in an office somewhere and have some boss always looking over his shoulder.
From what little he had seen so far, Thorn judged Daisy Henderson to be a proud woman, not a complainer—especially in front of her son, for whom she seemed to want to set a good example. So if the boy had surmised that much about her workplace problems, Thorn suspected she was ill-treated indeed. Which went further to explain the woman’s careworn expression, and once again he wished he were in a position to do something about it.
“Tell me ’bout the outlaw life, Mr. Dawson,” Billy Joe pleaded around a mouthful of eggs. “Bet you’ve had some great times.”
Thorn winced inwardly. There it was, the very thing Daisy had voiced a fear of: her son thinking that being an outlaw was glamorous and exciting. Maybe the one thing that he could do for her would be to nip that idea in the bud and turn Billy Joe onto a better path.
“A few,” he said. “A very few good times, and a lot more times when being an outlaw was dangerous and dirty and we were hungry and cold—or hot—and tired of running and hiding from honest folks.”
The boy’s eyes clouded with suspicion. “Ma told you to say that, didn’t she? She don’t want me to be an outlaw, but wants me to grow up to be a clerk at a stuffy ol’ store, or somethin’ like that.”
“But that’s not what you want,” Thorn said, dodging the question.
The boy screwed up his face. “Naw, what kinda life is that?” he asked, his voice disdainful. “I’d rather be out ridin’ free, with no one to tell me what to do. Like you do.”
If the boy only knew. “But whoever led the outlaws would tell you what to do,” Thorn pointed out.
“Yeah, of course. Somebody has to be the leader,” Billy Joe agreed. “But if I was the bravest and fastest and smartest of the gang, pretty soon I’d get to be the leader, right? And all the men would have to do what I said.”
“Maybe...” Thorn said, picturing Griggs, the head of the gang he’d been riding with for the past two weeks, who was easily the laziest and most cowardly, selfish man he’d ever met. Griggs never risked his own hide if he could order one of his men to do the chancy jobs. Smart, though—he definitely was that. As cunning as a snake, and every bit as mean. His men didn’t necessarily look up to him or respect him, but they did fear him, and he used that fear to keep them in line—for now.
“Usually someone has to die before there’s a new leader,” Thorn murmured. “And until you were in charge, what about having to steal from a nice lady like your ma? You’d have to do it if the leader said so,” he added, when he saw doubt creep into the boy’s eyes.
“I’d never let no outlaw steal from my ma,” the boy insisted. “Not ever.”
“But you’d steal from someone else’s ma? Any lady you robbed might have a boy of her own, waiting for her to bring that money home. What are they to do if you take that money away?” Billy Joe didn’t have an answer for that, so Thorn let him chew on it for a bit before attacking the argument from another angle, one he hoped would be even more persuasive.
“I reckon you’d like to get married someday, wouldn’t you? Find a nice lady like your ma and have sons of your own? Daughters, too.”
“Well, sure. I’d settle down some day, after I’d had enough outlawin’... Amelia Collier at school, one of the twins, said she’d marry me when we grew up if I stayed around Simpson Creek,” he said proudly. “She’s pretty and sweet, and her father owns a big ranch outside of town.”
“You think Mr. Collier would let his daughter have anything to do with a man who used to be an outlaw? A man with a price on his head, who’d robbed folks, maybe killed someone?”
Billy Joe was quiet. “I’d never kill no one, ’less they were bad. And I wouldn’t hurt nobody here, anyway. I’d go away somewheres, and have some fun where there ain’t nobody I know to stop me, or to tell my ma mean stories of what I done an’ make her sad. I’d be far away, till I’d had my fill of outlawin’, and then this here town is where I’d come home to. But I ain’t ready to be stuck here for the rest of my life just yet. I wanna get out and see the country—maybe the world, even.”
Thorn couldn’t argue with that hunger to see what the world looked like outside of the place where you were born and raised. He’d been eager to escape from his home and his father’s bitterness, though he’d stayed in Texas and protected the state against the Indians during the war years.
Other young men he knew had gone to the army, eager to see a bit of the country. He’d heard many a sad tale of what they had encountered from those who returned—and of course, there were many of them who had never made it home to boast of all that they had witnessed.
During Thorn’s own travels, he’d seen many different places, and found that the world outside of his hometown wasn’t so very different from what he’d known before. No matter where he went, some people were kind and others were cruel. Some spots were beautiful and others were ugly. Some folks were happy and settled, while others were restless and sad. That was just life, no matter what scenery surrounded it.
The only thing that truly made one place more special than any other was having people there who loved you, and who you loved. That was what made a place a home—and it wasn’t something Thorn had had in a long, long time. Billy Joe had that right here, with a mother who would clearly do anything for him, but he was too young to really appreciate it. The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side of the fence, but Thorn would never convince this boy of that.
“You could serve in the army for a spell,” he pointed out. “You’d see some sights that way, then you could come home and marry your Amelia, knowing you had your good name and something to be proud of.”
“Join the army? Then I’d have to take orders all the time,” Billy Joe said, his voice scornful. “Besides, I’m a Texas boy—no way I’d join up with a bunch of bluebellies tellin’ me what to do.”
Thorn couldn’t suppress a wry smile. “Billy Joe, unless you’re the president or a king or something, you’re always going to be told what to do by someone,” he said. Come to think of it, he doubted even presidents or kings really got to do whatever they wanted; they had too many responsibilities on their plate for that. “That’s part of living, and being a man.” But he could tell the boy wasn’t convinced.
While he was still wondering how to persuade Billy Joe that being an outlaw wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he heard footsteps outside. Tensing, he reached for the Colt he’d left under his pillow—and found it was no longer there. Had Daisy Henderson disarmed him, while he was under the powerful influence of laudanum? He couldn’t exactly blame her for taking the precaution, but it left him feeling entirely too exposed. As injured as he was, he couldn’t fight his way out of trouble with his fists. He needed his gun. Foolish, to have let his desire to be free of pain put him in such a vulnerable position.
He hadn’t long to wait to see who it was. A moment later Dr. Walker pushed the creaking door aside and stepped into the stall. But he wasn’t alone. A tall, well-built man with a tin star on his chest followed.
Thorn stiffened. He’d hoped the doctor would keep his presence here a secret, as he had requested, but Walker hadn’t. Evidently his concern for the town’s safety overrode his promise.
Thorn couldn’t argue with the man’s priorities. In Walker’s place, he’d have done the same.
Billy