The Cowboy and the Angel | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Have you seen him lately?" whispered the tattered man over his bottle of whiskey.

"Who are you talkin' 'bout, Carl?" the other man across the table asked, his voice louder than his partner's.

"Shhhhh!" Carl scolded, froth flying from his lips. "Keep your voice down, Doug. I'm talkin' 'bout Abel."

"The man that broke into Steve's house?" Doug asked, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

Carl gave a nod, taking a swig of his whiskey. "I've been seein' him ridin' by my house and past that big cactus every evenin' a'fore dark for the past few days. Reckon he's hidin' somethin'?"

"Who knows?" Doug shrugged. His voice was a little slurred. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "But I ain't gonna find out."

"Aww shucks. You mean you ain't gonna see what he's up to with me?" Carl swirled the liquid in the dark brown bottle.

"The only thing I'mma 'bout to do is go have a lil' fun with Lucy," Doug chuckled as he curled and uncurled his grubby fingers.

"Guess we'll never know what Abel's up to." Carl drained the last of his whiskey with a grimace. He stood up and stretched, swaying on his feet. "I'm headin' home. See ya around."

Smoothly sipping his sarsaparilla, Jason inconspicuously watched as Carl and Doug made their exit. He'd gotten exactly what he was looking for. Information. Now the quality of the information was to be desired, but he'd check it out nonetheless. He wanted to talk to this Abel fellow, and see just why he'd broke into to his uncle's house in the first place, if he was truly the burglar. Despite the thrill of gathering information, a spark of unease flickered in the corners of his mind as the words of the threatening note he'd woke up to replayed in his thoughts.

If you stay, you die.

Well, he had news for whoever left those words. He was staying, and he wasn't dying. Lord willing.

"Want another, shuga?" the saloon girl asked, tearing Jason away from his thoughts.

Jason gave a small smile. "No, ma'am. Thank you though."

"Anytime," she winked in reply.

Jason gulped down the last of the sarsaparilla and stood. He'd already paid, so he didn't have to worry about that. He put his hands on his hips and gave his torso a small twist, popping his back just enough to feel good. Two steps into his walk out, he found the same brutish man from the Mexican infested church the day before. He knew it had to be the same man, he recognized that white scar on the man's cheek. Those small, dark, beady eyes were giving him such a glare that Jason knew if looks could kill, he'd be six foot under.

"Oops! I'm sorry darlin'. Didn't see ya there," another saloon girl apologized after backing into Jason, some of the beer from the mugs splashing onto both him and the floor.

Jason grabbed a rag from the nearest table and squat down to wipe up the mess. "It's okay, ma'am."

The girl quickly slid the glasses she was carrying on to the table and procured another rag. She got on her knees beside Jason. "You don't have to help me, sir."

"I know, but it's partly my fault." Jason replied, pulling his beer-soaked plaid shirt away from his body. Tiny, cool droplets of booze trailed down his chest under the shirt. If it were water he'd enjoy it, but since it wasn't he'd be a sticky mess.

The pleasantly plump saloon girl jammed her hand on her hip. "You must not be from here. None of the men here would've even glanced my way if I'd dumped beer on them."

Jason eased up from the floor with a grin. "I'm just here visitin'."

"Figures." The lady blew strand of her dark hair from her face. She extended her hand. "I'm Sarah."

"Jason. It's nice to meet you, Sarah," Jason shook her hand with a friendly smile.

Sarah shook her head as she took the soiled rag from him. "The pleasure is mine. Have a good night, Jason."

"You too, miss." Jason nodded his thanks. He looked up, but the man with the death-stare was gone. A small chill shimmied up his spine. There was something about the man that unsettled him.

Once outside, Jason was met by an antsy Raven. He reached out to steady his horse, but something white at Raven's hooves stopped him. He bent carefully, straightening up with a scrap of paper in his hand. A tingling feeling spread over him as he read the words scrawled on the paper in the same handwriting as the one he'd found that morning.

You've had your warning.

Jason crumbled the note in anger. He probably should be wary, but all he felt was rage. For all he knew, it could be some rowdy kid with a sinister sense of humor. He raised his arm to throw the crumbled paper, but thought better of it. Instead of chunking it, he stuffed it down into his saddle pack. His fingers hit something that crinkled, instantly curbing his anger. It was the package from Dixie. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten it.

Quickly opening the brown paper package, Jason pulled out a peppermint stick and a note. Never had he loved notes so much than right then.

"Sugar for when I'm not around. Much love, Dixie," he read aloud. He could just hear her saying those words. Right there in front the a saloon, he burst out laughing before he realized what he was doing. He missed Dixie so much he didn't know the words to describe it, but he loved her even more. Becoming her husband could not happen soon enough, he decided as he stuck the stick of candy into his mouth.

***

The sun was well into setting when Jason found what he thought had to be the big cactus the drunkard was talking about.

He stared at the tall, thorn-clad plant in the distance. According to what he'd heard from Carl, Abel should've already passed by the cactus. Riding closer, he found a fresh set of tracks on what looked like the starting of a trail. He grinned. He must've found the right cactus after all.

Jason glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his uncle's house. He knew Micah would go there after he finished work, and he hope the place would be safe for the boy. Breathing a prayer for Micah's safety, he rode his way down the small trail.

The further Jason rode from town the darker it got, and the more jumpy he became. The trail, once in the open, now curved through brush so thick it could easily hide a man or even a horse. It was that fact that made him edgy.

A rustle in the brush a few steps away had Jason pulling out his revolver. He watched Raven carefully as they eased up to the brittle bush the movement and noise came from.

Raven's nostrils flared. He paused, body quivering. His ears swiveled toward the direction of the brush, flickering to catch the slightest of noise.

Jason saw the signs Raven was giving. Something was closer than it should be. He gave the stallion a pat, staring into the brush with baited breath and revolver at the ready.

The leaves swished loudly, and out run a furry raccoon. It scurried right between Raven's legs and out of sight into the bracken on the other side.

Jason gave a low laugh, the fear he felt vanishing. He rubbed Raven's neck. "Just a coon, old boy."

A swift movement in the brush changed Jason's attitude instantly. A blast from a gun echoed in his ears as the force of the bullet knocked him out of the saddle. His back hit the dirt, and he struggled to breathe. Pain, white-hot and tear-jerking, blazed in his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't get enough air. Dixie's face flashed before his eyes and her voice filled his ears, jerking a tear from him. He had to hang in there. Just had too. But he hurt so much, and his sight was dimming. "Lord help me," he gasped weakly. "I need You now."

He had so much to do, so many plans. He couldn't die, not right now. Not in the middle of nowhere with lead in his chest. Not where no one would ever know what happened. Not when he had so many depending on him.

"Let her know I love her. Please. . ." he whispered with all the strength he had. He shut his eyes, a image of Dixie playing in his mind as clear as day before it slowly faded to darkness.