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  The harmonica music grew louder--a pretty song he played.

  She figured they'd been riding for a long time, perhaps days, and were tired, hungry and in need of a place to sleep. Her view of them lightened by the second.

  Since Aila was a God-fearin' woman, she didn't mind being a little neighborly, if the need arose. But she prayed to the Lord above that they wouldn't take advantage of her, a solitary woman who lived alone and way out in the middle of Wyoming, if she gave them food and shelter.

  She cocked the rifle. "Hold it there, boys. If you come any closer, I'll shoot you straight through the heart." They stopped; one of the cowboys drew the harmonica down from his mouth and slid it into his pocket. "You see, I got dead aim and ain't afraid to pull the trigger. State your business or turn those horses around and head back into Sheridan." It had better be good for their sake, she thought.

  The man to the right, the one who seemed dark-skinned like a Mexican pirate, frowned. He had a stubby cigar parked in the corner of his mouth. Under different circumstances, he probably could be rough as a grizzly that just came out of hibernation. He took off his black ten gallon hat and used his sleeve to wipe the road dust and sweat off his forehead. The cowpoke said a friendly, "Hi there Ma'am. You wouldn’t be Aila Carver, Joe Carver's wife?" He reached down and patted his horse.

  “Maybe I am and maybe I ain’t.” A man who was good to animals appealed to her, though his greeting took her back. How do they know my name? A brow rose. “Just who are you?" she asked in a neutral tone.

  "Well, Ma'am, I'm Bo Rodriguez," said the man as he put his black hat back on his dark mane, "...and this here's my sidekick, Silk Bennnett." He grinned and took the stogey from his mouth. "We don' aim to hurt you none, Ma'am."

  "Oh. Of course you won't. I have this." She raised her rifle.

  "I'm originally from down Mexico way. Northern Mexico. My friend here's from Canada. It's nice ta meet you, Miss."

  She didn't bite at their friendliness...not just yet. "How come you don't talk like you're from Mexico?"

  "Because of my mother. She's from Tyler, Texas...a white woman. My dad's from Durango. He's from Mexico."

  "What's his story?" She asked, frowning with gruffness in her tone.

  His brow wrinkled; he touched his shirt pocket. "What's whose story? My dad's?"

  "No. His over yonder," she said bluntly then nodded toward the man with the straw-colored hair who looked rather handsome.

  "He's Silk. Like I said, he's Canadian. He's like me. Lookin' around tryin' to make himself some money, I guess. Like me, he's a bronco buster out of Calgary. But I'm from Texas. His kinfolk all died of the fever here while back. We don' mean no one no harm to you or no one else. But we've brought some information you'd most likely want to hear." He frowned at the barrel of her rifle and tossed the cigar into the dust. "Can ya lower that rifle a bit, Ma'am? It's makin' my horse nervous."

  "Your horse?" She considered his plea and bit her lip, not wanting to smile.

  "Yeah." He paused thoughtfully; his tone changed. "It's not good, Ma'am. The news ain't...so you might want ta brace yourself. If you're Aila Carver...are you really her?"

  “I'm her."

  She raised a hand to her brows and studied the bronzed, obviously strong-backed men as they introduced themselves. They seemed her age--thirty years, or so. For better or worse she took her finger off the trigger and lowered the gun. The men looked instantly relieved.

  These men can be swindlers, thieves or worse, killers. Are they being truthful?

  She clucked her tongue. Men who looked like them probably had women friends all along the trail. They probably even made a baby or two. Real scoundrels.

  They looked decent enough, not like murderers or thieves. They talked in a kindly tone...soft. Right or wrong, she took a chance and invited them in for supper and to sleep in the barn overnight. That was the way her husband would do it. It seemed good having company, she guessed. A woman can get a might lonely living out in Wyoming country. She had no desire to look at them in any other way than drifters along the road who needed a bath, a bed and food before they went on their way, hopefully at sunrise.

  Though she didn't say anything, she desperately needed a couple of men to help her with the chores. She thought about asking them if they wanted to work, though she didn't have any extra money. But, she could give them a place to sleep and food. Her regulars had taken off because she couldn’t pay them. Aila didn't blame them for going.

  Her beloved husband Joe had traipsed off to God knew where to earn money--maybe out California way. He was supposed to return and pay off a couple of years' mortgage to the First National Bank in Sheridan. He didn't come back; damned if he didn't even write one lousy letter. Working the ranch took every ounce of strength she had; some chores didn't get done.

  The cowhands couldn't seem to keep their eyes off her clothed breasts, and it was all she could do to not turn away. Probably they looked at her that way because they hadn't been near any women lately. Looking never hurt, she guessed.

  "So where're you boys headed to?" she asked, keeping her voice firm. She pressed a hand over her brows and peered at the rifles sheathed on their saddles.

  "Well, Ma'am I think we're ridin' toward Nevada after we leave here. Don't rightly know for sure. We're a-needin' to hole up somewhere for the winter mebbe."

  "There or Sante Fe. We don't know yet," Silk finally chimed in. "We were figuring it out as we rode."

  "There's not much to see in Nevada," Aila said, pausing thoughtfully. "Been there once and 'm sorry I went ever since. Ain't nothin' but a bunch of tumble weeds and funny birds. You sure you wanna go to Nevada? There ain't much in Sante Fe either."

  "There's gold we heard," the man called Silk mentioned. "I'd like to take some riches up to Canada and settle one of these days. Maybe have a spread, like you have here. Maybe Bo'd go up and help out."

  The darker man raised a hand making a simple gesture. "Mind if we get down and stretch our legs a bit? We're kind of saddle sore. My horse needs water."

  At least he asked permission. "I guess so. Help yourself."

  "I'm rightly thankful Ma'am."

  Bo Rodriguez, tall and obviously proud, dismounted and led his dun to a watering trough. "We came to talk."

  "To me?"

  "Yes 'm."

  She peered at Bo skeptically as he led the horse to the water. "You do?" Their tones and attitudes seemed sincere.

  She held one arm to her waist and the rifle barrel down, for the sake of politeness. She was totally disarmed by Bo's charm and Silk's boyishly good looks. Silk didn't talk much, but he seemed friendly.

  "Joe wanted us to come and clear up some things, if it's all right with you."

  Joe? How do they know Joe?

  Silk turned away and stuffed his fingers slightly under his belt as if it hurt to hear what Bo was going to say.

  "Don' beat 'round no bush--level with me if ya don't mind."

  Maybe it was his soft tone that alarmed Aila, sort of a warning, but she feared he was going to tell her something she didn't want to hear...something really, really bad. So she braced and looked at him through a haze of unwanted confusion. Damn Joe. Where are you?

  "I need to get my words together first for I say anything. Is that okay?"

  "Well, all right. We'll eat at five. But before nightfall I'd like to know."

  * * * *

  They ate supper at the table quietly and still hadn't told her the secret. After she finished washing dishes, she retired to the porch where Silk played the harmonica. In the distance the dog gave chase to a small varmint. She sat on the steps three or four feet away from the men.

  Bo whittled on a stick then blew the shavings onto the ground, while their horses looked on from the corral.

  Though they didn't confide in her right away, Aila appreciated and admired their unobtrusive demeanor.

  "Do you mind if we make us a pallet in the barn?" asked the dark, handsome Bo, whose voice sliced into th
e solemnity of the evening.

  Experiencing a strong, negative wave of suspicion, Aila peered up and away from Bo's dark penetrating gaze. She glanced at the barn, seeing, but not seeing its splintery boards, as she considered possible implications that may arise. Once she'd made a decision, she peered toward their way and said, "No, you go right ahead." She raised a finger and opened her mouth to speak again, stopped then finally the words came. "I think you were gonna tell me somethin' earlier...if you're afraid to say it, please...don't be. I'm ready, whatever it may be. I just want to know."

  Bo glanced Silk's way, then looked down. Bo put his knife and wood down. Silk quit playing music.

  Yes. The message will be news I dread to hear. Maybe it’s why I haven’t seen Joe for a long time, 'nigh over a year. That moment she didn't know how, but she knew he'd died. She felt it. Her knees liquified; she weakened and strange ideas became clear and then fogged in her mind. How can Joe do this to me? Damn his hide.

  "Well, Ma'am...this ain't easy."

  "Please...go ahead."

  Bo cleared his throat nervously, it seemed. "Well Ma'am, we met your husband long before we boarded the Maria Q."

  "And..."

  "That's a ship ya know."

  "Okay."

  Bo made a simple hand gesture toward Silk. "Anyways, Silk, myself and Joe, we were friends. We'd been shanghaied and taken aboard a ship that'd been moored in Frisco Bay. We'd all been given knock out drops in our drinks in a damned..."

  "Bo..." said Silk shaking his head.

  "...'er sorry for my cussin'. Well, this Captain. He was not a good man. Not a-tall. Anyway, he needed mates to work, so he resorted to druggin' and shanghaiin' men like us outta saloons. A real, real bad sort, the likes of which you never want to meet. The more I think of it, the more I think he paid the saloon owners off for lettin' him do it. Well anyway, me and Silk here happened to be there when the Capn' murdered Joe."

  "Ohhh," grief stabbed at her like a sharp saber.

  "Sorry Ma'am. We took it real hard too. 'Cause Joe was a friend. We were together a lot before..." Bo swallowed hard. "...'fore Joe fought the Captain."

  "Joe wasn't a man who'd stir up a fight just to be doin' it!" Aila said.

  "How well I know. With words he fought the bastard. Joe didn't actually fist fight 'em; though he wanted to then. I just know that Joe wanted to get back here with you. It seems he loved what he had here with you. He wanted you and this more 'n anything."

  "Well, why didn't he stay?" Pools of unshed tears filled her eyes making them seem luminescent, her heart aching.

  "He even told us how to get here. Drew a map even. Well, Joe got busted up bad inside several times by the Cap'n who beat 'em mercilessly. He hated your husband. But b'fore he died, he told us all about you. How special you were. Everything. He knew he was dyin' and told us he wanted us to come and help you out so you could keep the ranch." Bo's voice broke up considerably. "Twice more this damned bear of a man beat Joe but kept it up until he died. The whole while it went on, a matey held a gun on your husband and Silk and me. Ma'am, the Cap'n took all the money he had saved for you and the ranch. The no good bastard. We were locked up and couldn't do a damned thing. For this we feel real bad."

  Her brow rumpled as she let the information sink in, not wanting to believe them. They looked honest, talked in an honest tone and used honest expressions.

  Bo stopped, let her experience the expected shock, grief and pain.

  Aila sank to the ground at Bo's feet, cursing and throwing dirt. Screaming with a fist to her mouth, she asked, "Why take Joe, God? Why my husband?"

  The men leaned and took each of her arms. They brought her to her feet and guided her to the house, while she wailed in aching grief.

  Later, when she composed herself, Joe's story continued. "Your husband, the whole time he was aboard, fought with the Captain," said Bo as he took a swig of coffee at the table in the kitchen. "And it got plainer and plainer that the Cap'n hated him with a mean and wicked passion. It was all a matter of time, we thought. In the beginnin' we all knew the Captain would end up killin' him. So nights after everyone went to sleep 'cept us, Joe talked privately to Silk and me. After awhile we knew all about you 'fore we ever met."

  "Everything?" she asked trembling.

  "All of it."

  Silk looked away at the distant tree line. "Ma'am, he wanted us to come and see if you were okay and tell you, I guess. Actually, he wanted us to take care of you, but--" Silk's voice trailed off as he took off his hat. His adam's apple bobbed as he continued. "But Ma'am, that Capn' beat him so hard that he tore up his innards."

  Later, numb, Aila looked out toward the sunset until the sun completely dipped below the dark tree line. Tears came and so did the heartache--weeks of it would come, she could tell.

  Bo rose from the front porch before sunset and kicked the dirt. "Also, I need to tell you somethin' else. We got loose 'cause we mutinied." Bo's jaw line tightened before he continued. "Just to let you know, Ma'am, we--you got justice. That man's dead, I'm glad to say...we threw his body overboard and fed the sharks with him."

  Nodding, she felt a little better because Joe could rest in peace, since his killer was dead.

  "But before the Captain killed Joe, he asked me and Bo to come and help you out, if we ever came ashore. He gave us a map to this ranch, so we'd know how to get here."

  "He was right..." started Bo.

  Wandering, lost in her own thoughts, she swallowed hard, feeling a night of crying coming on. Something about Bo's partial statement brought her back to the here and now. "About...what?"

  "You're a fine woman, Ma'am. Least you seem to be. We're not here to cause you one bit of trouble. And we couldn't find Joe's money."

  "All right. I'm not worried about the money."

  Chapter Three

  Bo and Silk chatted as they helped her out by mending a fence in the morning sunshine near the house. Bo looked at his newly clean shaven, square-shouldered friend as he took off a broken bottom rail of the fence. "You think we ought to be movin' on from the Rocking C?" Bo asked as he threw the thin log aside.

  "Hell, I don't know," Silk said as he shook his head and shrugged. He pulled a handkerchief from around his neck and wiped his tanned forehead. "Why?"

  "I don't want to leave her way out here...you know...alone. We owe it ta Joe to look after her."

  Silk nodded. "I dunno. I s'pose," said Silk as he dragged up a new rail and dropped it in the dust. "Hell, maybe she wants our asses out of here."

  After Silk finished driving a nail, they looked over and eyed her as she carried wet clothes to the clothesline and hung them out in the sun to dry. Nearby the horses whinnied and overhead a hawk screeched, banked and soared, but neither of them noticed.

  "I kind of like it here. This reminds me of the place in Canada I want to buy someday," said Silk as he looked around yard. "It's like home."

  "I wouldn't mind stayin' on a while. I think she needs a couple of strong hands for a while...to get on her feet."

  "Sounds okay. I don't have any place to be goin' right now."

  "Me either, amigo, if she happens to ask."

  Bo peered over at the buxom blonde. The sight of her gentle curves made his dick go hard the minute she came into view. Squinting into the sun he watched as she raised a gray shirt to the line and pinned it so the wind wouldn't blow it away. Her long calico skirt flowed and ruffled like a flag in the hot wind that breezed in from a ridge of mountains that lay to the west. Bo yearned to have his way with her and had felt that way since he first laid eyes on her. He didn't remember ever bedding down a woman as beautiful as Aila. He'd bedded down a few señoritas down Mexico way--beauties whose skin was dark. They were soft and hot. He liked all women, he guessed. But this one was special; she was a hard-working, soft spoken, strong woman.

  Silk cut into his thoughts. "Want some water?"

  "Huh?" Bo blinked and looked at Silk.

  "Water. Want a drink?" he asked, holding up a
canteen.

  "Sure."

  Joe knew what he had and asked Silk and Bo to take over his ranch and help out his woman. Bo remembered the nights they lay awake in the bowels of the Hannah Q. It was well known that the ship's Captain would kill Joe eventually; Joe merely protected his wife and property by requesting help from Silk and Bo--men he trusted.

  "It's her that's on your mind, isn't it?" Silk took a few long swigs and handed the canteen to his partner.

  "Thanks," Bo said as he lifted the canteen to his lips. He poured the cool water down his face and wet his shirt then handed it back to Silk. "Yeah, I don't know what it is about her, but I like what I see."

  "She's really somethin'." Silk sniffed then said, "I get hankerin's at night for her. My cock gets bone hard. I get to thinkin' what it'd be like to push all of my nine inches into her. But it's more than that I like. She's strong and honest."

  "I wonder what she'd do if both of us courted her?"

  "Both?" Silk chuckled. "She'd probably take aim and shoot us."

  Bo laughed and reached for his tool. Before he began hammering off the next rail up he said, "Probably so. But think about it...there's two of us and one of her."

  * * * *

  That night while laying in his bunk, hearing the drone of insects outside, Bo remembered Joe’s account of how hot-blooded and receptive Aila was in bed. His dick went hard so he reached under the covers and grasped its thickened length. Sometimes she liked it rough. Sometimes she liked Joe to kiss her pussy then fuck her in the ass. He probably shouldn't have told Bo and Silk all the intimate details of their bed life. But, he did. The harm had already been done. Bo wondered if it had been the truth. Up and down he moved his hand, creating glorious friction, causing blood to engorge his veined cock while Silk slept.