Downrigger Drift Page 11

  It could very well be a good life, but it wasn’t the one for him. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever. Ryan wasn’t given much to introspection, but he knew himself well enough to realize that this sort of existence was, in reality, a trap. Although he could adapt to their simple existence well enough, it would chafe at him, the sameness of it, day in and day out, with nothing new over the horizon but the sun, rising and setting as it put another endlessly similar day to rest. No thanks. While he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, he knew this wasn’t it.

  The musicians finished the waltz with a flourish, and the dancers clapped in appreciation. Doc led Krysty back to the table, his eyes gleaming with what Ryan thought might be tears, but the old man quickly looked away.

  “Thank you, Krysty. That was…that was wonderful. For a moment, I fair thought I was holding my dear Emily in my arms again as we did a turn around the floor.”

  “Oh, Doc—” she began, but he cut her off with a sniff.

  “Never you mind, my dear, you should forgive the ramblings of a senile old fool.” He straightened and cleared his throat with a phlegmy rumble. “I believe I shall take a brief constitutional down by the river.”

  Krysty nodded, and Ryan spoke up. “Don’t go too far. Never know what animals might be out after dark.”

  “Your friend should be safe. We’ve taken care of any large predators in the area. If he stays near the river and town, he’ll do all right,” Brend said.

  Flourishing his walking stick, Doc strode away. The musicians were about to strike up another tune when a loud voice cut through the night.

  “Horse shit! I’m tellin’ ya, no one can do that!”

  Heads turned at the words, including Ryan’s and Krysty’s, to see Jabe, the young man who had come out with Brend at the bridge, pointing an accusing finger at Jak, whose pale ruby eyes glittered in the firelight. “I don’t care what ya say, yer a shit-eatin’ liar!”

  Brend was on his feet in a flash. “Jabe! How dare you insult our guest!”

  His son—for only a father would speak to kin that way—turned at the sudden silence, his feet shuffling on the dirt. He had one of the small mead cups in his hand, and Ryan figured it had been filled and emptied more than once that evening. He lifted his own cup at Jak in a silent question, and got a quick shake of the albino’s head.

  “Not liar. Said can do it, and can.”

  “Do what?” Ryan asked.

  Jak nodded at the other teen. “Towhead said not hit thrown piece wood with knife. Said could.”

  Ryan draped an arm over the back of his wooden chair. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

  Now both youths turned to him. “What’d ya have in mind?” Brend asked.

  “I imagine your boy is a fair shot with a blaster.”

  The other man’s chest puffed out. “None better. He can put out the eye of a chicken at one hundred yards.”

  “All right, then. Each gets one chance. Jak with his knives, Jabe with his blaster. Whoever hits the target wins. To keep it fair, one of you will throw for Jak, and one of us will throw for Jabe.”

  “Let’s find a suitable target for these two,” Brend ordered, his voice carrying across the square. Townspeople hastened to comply, some heading to the firewood pile, others scanning the ground for something that would fit the bill.

  While they searched, Krysty leaned close to Ryan’s ear. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Hell if I know. I’m sure Jak’ll can win, no matter how good his kid is.”

  “Yeah, but Jabe seems to be spoiling for a fight, and he’s been drinking, probably more than he should.”

  “Which gives our boy the clear advantage. Too bad these folks aren’t the betting kind. I reckon we could clean up here.”

  “Ryan!” Krysty smacked his shoulder in mock disapproval.

  Several people had returned carrying a variety of pieces of wood. Brend sorted through them, discarding any the unsuitable ones, and finally coming up with a piece about the size of his hand. “All right, we have a target. If no one objects, I’ll throw for young Jak.”

  Ryan looked around, but no one raised a voice in protest. Hefting the chunk of oak in his hand, Brend stepped around to the front of the table. “Are ya ready, Jak?”

  The white-haired teen stood so still he might have been carved from alabaster, his face completely neutral, the imitation of a statue broken only by the tiniest nod. Ryan knew exactly what that utter stillness portended, and leaned back in his chair. More than once he’d wondered where the frail-looking albino youth had learned his incredible fighting skills, but couldn’t come up with any martial discipline or military program that would turn a teenager into such a devastating fighting machine. One thing he was sure of—he was damn glad Jak was on their side.

  With a touch of the theatrical, Brend made sure all eyes were on him before continuing. “All right, I’ll count to three, and throw. One…two…three…go!”

  With a heave, the town leader pitched the piece of wood high into the air, sailing almost out of sight in the darkness. The throw was perfect, a steep arc rising over Jak’s head. For a moment he just stood there, tracking it as it rose into the night sky. Every single person watching in the square seemed to hold their breath as well. Then his hands blurred, and a faint thunk could be heard as the chunk of wood fell back to the ground.

  Brend walked over and gasped in surprise. Bending, he picked up the wooden lump and held it aloft for everyone to see.

  Not one, not two, but three leaf-bladed throwing knives were stuck in the wood.

  Gasps and whispers started at several places in the crowd and swelled, the men and women murmuring in stunned disbelief. Ryan, watching Jak’s reaction, saw him frown, but the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Brend seemed shaken himself, but held up his empty hand for quiet. “Ever’one settle down now! That was—that was some kinda marksmanship, young Jak. A fine display.” He removed the knives one at a time and handed them to the albino teen, who made them disappear with three twists of his wrist. “However, now we will be treated to a shooting ex’bition by one of the finest sharpshooters in Toma! Jabe, step forward.”

  The hometown boy polished off the last of his mead and walked out into the empty square to loud applause and cheers. Most the girls were cheering for the lad, but Ryan noticed one slim, dark-haired beauty had eyes only for Jak. He nudged Krysty, who nodded to indicate that she had seen it as well.

  Brend let his son bask in the accolades for a few seconds, then raised both hands for silence again. “And who among our guests this evening will throw for him?”

  “I will.” Ryan was already standing, and he strode around the table to enter the square. Brend handed him the chunk of wood and retreated back to the table. Ryan hefted the oak in his hand, getting a good feel for it. He looked at Jabe, alone in the center of the square. “You ready?”

  The young man nodded, already sliding his blaster, a well-maintained matte-black Ruger SP100, out of its holster. “Just make it a good throw, One-eye.” His boots shuffled in the dirt, as if he was a bit unsteady on his feet.

  Ryan’s answering grin was tight, and he resisted the urge to chuck the wood at the kid’s head or lobbing it so far into the night that no one would be able to see it. Instead, he leaned down and heaved the chunk into the air, straight up, the piece turning lazily end over end as it flew.

  Jabe’s blaster was up and tracking the wood as soon as it left Ryan’s hand. His first shot split the night, and the wood lurched in the air, a puff of splinters bursting from it. A second shot followed as it reached the apex of its flight, but the wood only wobbled a little bit this time. A third shot came right after the second one, but now the piece was falling faster back to the earth. Ryan looked over at Jabe, who still had the piece in his sights.

  At that second, Ryan realized the problem. In his zeal to beat the outlander, Jabe was either unaware or uncaring that his next shot would come perilousl
y close to the people on the opposite side of the square. Certainly much too close for Ryan’s comfort.

  He launched himself at the other boy, but before he could lay a hand on the kid, a white-haired blur appeared under Jabe’s outstretched arm and levered it up just as the youth triggered another shot, the bullet passing over the heads of a tight cluster of villagers on the other side of the square, making them all duck away, several of the women screaming in fear.

  “Son of a— Goddamn mutie made me miss!” His words slurring, Jabe wrested his blaster arm out of Jak’s hands and tried to bring the butt down on the albino’s head.

  It was his last mistake of the night.

  Dodging the clumsy blow as if his attacker was swinging through honey, Jak stepped close and slammed his fist into Jabe’s solar plexus. The other youth, although he stood seven inches taller and outweighed Jak by at least sixty pounds, dropped to the ground like he’d been pole-axed right between the eyes. His blaster dropped from his hand as he concentrated on trying to draw air back into his spasming lungs.

  Jabe’s eyes fell to his weapon, which had landed in the dirt a few feet away. He rolled over to it, but before he could pick it up, Brend stood over him, leaned down and swept it up in his calloused hand in one smooth motion.

  “Dad! You saw! He tried to cheat—”

  “What I see is a brave man who prevented my son from making a very big mistake.” Brend turned to sweep the crowd with his piercing gaze. “And I’ll have words with anyone who thinks otherwise.” Opening the cylinder, he emptied the Ruger’s load into his hand, then tucked the blaster into his belt. “I’ll hold on to this until you get your wits about you. Right now, I’d suggest you git into the house and sleep it off. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  Turning, Brend stalked back to the table without a backward glance at his son. “Let’s have some music! Is this a cel’bration or what?”

  The quartet scrambled to comply with Brend’s order, and a sprightly tune filled the air. The brunette girl was the first to walk out onto the floor, coming up behind Jak and tapping him on the shoulder. The albino youth whirled, stilling his hands before they unleashed a flurry of blows. She held out her other hand, and Jak took it gingerly, his other one curling around her waist. When the next measure began, they danced along with it, tentative at first, but Jak kept his eyes on the other dancers, and quickly picked up the intricate moves, with only the occasional misstep.

  Rubbing his chest, Jabe had scrambled to his feet, all his attention on Jak, so much so that he started in surprise at the large hand that fell upon his shoulder.

  Ryan leaned in and kept his voice low. “A word of advice, son—don’t go looking for any more trouble tonight. You can go after that one all day long, and all you’ll end up doing is eating dirt every time—assuming he doesn’t grow tired of simply humiliating you.”

  The teen shrugged off Ryan’s hand with a grunt. “Fuck you, outlander. Course you’d take the mutie’s side. You travel with him, so you don’t wanna see him get hurt.”

  He started to walk after Jak again, but Ryan stopped him again, a bit more forcefully this time. “Actually, boy, it’s you I’m more concerned about at the moment.” He put his lips next to the kid’s ear. “Understand— I don’t give a shit if you keep breathing or take the last train to the coast the second I let you go. But your father has shown us nothing but hospitality from the moment we arrived in your ville, and I respect that. I’d sure hate to have any more trouble over this little…misunderstanding.”

  With each word, Ryan’s grip on his shoulder had tightened, until his large, calloused fingers had clamped down on the boy’s collarbone so hard Jabe’s clamped lips turned white with the pain. It was only with the greatest effort that he was able to remain standing. “Now the only thing I want to hear from you is a ‘yes, sir, I won’t cause any more trouble.’”

  He pressed even harder on the kid’s shoulder, eliciting a whimper of pain. “Yes, sir…I won’t cause…no more trouble.”

  Ryan let him go, and Jabe dodged away in such a hurry he almost collided with the nearest dancing couple, avoiding them only by throwing himself toward the outside of the square. Shaking his head, Ryan walked back around the table and sat next to Brend, who was nursing a small cup of mead. Ryan refilled his and clinked his glass against the other man’s.

  “I ’pologize for m’boy, Ryan. He’s at that age where he thinks the world should lie down at his feet, and though I try to convince him otherwise, it seems to be a lesson hard learned.”

  Ryan waved off his apology. “Boys can be trying at the best of times.”

  “You have children of your own?”

  Ryan sipped the fiery-sweet mead while checking behind him to see if Krysty was listening. When he saw she was talking to Mildred, he turned back to Brend. “One boy, about twelve years old now. He’s out west with his mother. I imagine pretty soon he’ll be as much of a hellraiser as your boy seems to be.”

  Brend’s smile was rueful. “That’s exactly what I don’t want for ’im. We need to educate the next gen’ration of men and women here, so theys can maintain and build what we started. I’ve worked too hard to see it all go to waste.”

  “Course not.” Ryan shifted in his seat, unsure of where this was going. “You seem to be doing all right. Just keep a firm hand, and don’t let him get away with too much.”

  Brend digested this and nodded. “Good advice, Ryan. Thanks.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, except for a couple of glowering looks from Jabe at Jak, who was still hanging around the brunette. Ryan had realized the situation long ago, and when things started winding down, he gathered his people, thanked everyone for the good time, and retired back to the war wag. They were entreated to stay with families in the ville, but Ryan politely yet firmly turned down the offers, saying they were more than used to sleeping outside. The opposite was true—at least lately—but he had a feeling the evening wasn’t quite over yet, and wanted to be where he could prevent anything untoward from happening.

  The summer night was cool and peaceful, the oppressive heat of the day dissipated under the lavender-white moon. Ryan and Krysty walked back hand-in-hand, each savoring the quiet evening—and each other’s company—in their own way.

  “You see Jak come with us?”

  Ryan glanced around. “Damn it, he was here when we left. He’s probably sneaking off to see that girl he was dancing with.”

  “Could be trouble. Jabe could make things very uncomfortable if he gets more townspeople on his side.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that.” Ryan tried to hide his smile from her. “Jabe and I had a little talk after he nearly blew one of the townie’s head off.”

  “So that’s what that was. I should have known.”

  “Just didn’t want the kid getting himself killed over nothing, that’s all. Life is short enough as it is. Besides, if Jak gets into trouble with the locals, you damn sure bet he’ll be the one to come out of it in one piece.”

  “Speaking of the devil.” Krysty nudged Ryan and nodded toward the war wag, where Jak leaned against one dusty wheel, hands in his jacket pockets, attempting to look nonchalant—and failing miserably.

  “Where were you?” Ryan asked, his voice casual as he undid the main hatch.

  “Walking with Delia.” While he had to look twice, Ryan could have sworn the albino youth was blushing in the moonlight. “Not do nothin’.”

  “All right then, best get some sleep, we leave at dawn.” Ryan got out bedrolls and set up a rough camp, rigging two tarps as ground cover and a tent, then tossing their blankets on top. They were behind the wag, with J.B. and Mildred ensconced in a similar tent rig a few yards away, and Doc, already snoring stentoriously in the tent he shared with Jak. The burbling river was just a few yards away, its soft gurgle providing a gentle undercurrent to the peaceful scene.

  Ryan stretched out beside Krysty, taking the rare opportunity to sl
eep in just his shirt and pants. Still a bit too awake to close his eyes just yet, he bedded down next to Krysty and slipped a hand around her, his fingers exploring until they found her full breast.

  “Mmm, that’s nice, lover. Keep the slow hand for a while, will you?”

  Ryan answered by leaning down over her and kissing her deeply, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of not having to steal time for once, of being able to enjoy each other without having to look over their shoulders every minute, or worry about who or what might be coming after them. He slipped his hand under her jumpsuit, feeling Krysty’s plump nipple stiffen into hardness between his fingers. Her breathing quickened as he delved further, drawing the zipper down until her chest was uncovered, her white skin gleaming in the moonlight.

  Krysty, who hadn’t been idle either, stripped his shirt off, and the two of them roved over each other for a good, long time. When she was ready, Ryan took the lead, moving up her tantalizing body an inch at a time, enjoying the trip as much as he had when they had first made love. He sank into her and it was as if they were two halves coming together to make a whole being, perfectly aligned, perfectly synchronized. Her hips moved in unison with his for long minutes, until neither could wait anymore, and their shared, shuddering climax was released in a chorus of low, urgent gasps, capped off by their tight embrace.

  Afterward, Krysty lay with her head on Ryan’s chest, listening to him breathe. “Perfect way to end a perfect day, lover.”

  “Near enough to suit me. Almost seems too peaceful out here, like there’s a snake in the garden we haven’t seen yet.”