Crossroads

By M.L. Bushman

Slowly, the boy pivoted, hands in plain sight.

"So, why'd that old man send you to me?" I asked.

Dave's reluctance to answer was written all over his hangdog face.

"What?" I demanded. "What'd he say?"

"You sure you wanna know?"

I slapped leather.

The boy gasped and spit, "Never see this coming. Not in a million years. And something about irritation and," he winced and grimaced, "arbitrary bastard."

Must've been the face I made, or maybe that sharp intake of breath prior to.

"No," Dave cried, showing his palms. "Don't shoot me, man. I was just waiting for you to get back and the door was open, like that guy said. Didn't mean to fall asleep on your couch."

I holstered my weapon in a flash, pressing blood from my lips until it hurt.

"All right, all right." He waxed even more pitiful, like a pissing puppy. "I found a biscuit and ate it. I'm sorry, man. I'll leave now, right now."

I said, "Put your hands down," and grit my teeth. "So, where were you headed when you ran into him?"

"That old guy?"

"Well, who we been talking about here?"

Dave recoiled and snapped, "How the hell would I know?"

I glowered, the boy backpedaled a step, neither of us saying a word for two drawn breaths at least.

"Can I go now?" Dave said. "I don't like the look on your face."

Right then, Sarah burst through the kitchen entry. "What the hell're you doing here?" she cried.

I looked from Sarah to Dave and my lungs deflated.

Perish the thought.

"What's that supposed to mean, Eli?" she spit harshly. "Perish what thought?" She eagle-eyed Dave into a wincing cringe and said, "I know who you are."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jigsaw Press
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781934340066

M.L. Bushman

A single mom, Ms. Bushman divides her time between her child, her horse, three cats and writing/editing for Jigsaw Press, not necessarily in that order. She is a novelist, a former newspaper reporter, a blogger, and a rabid patriot, again, not necessarily in that order. At present, Ms. Bushman is working on the Two Bit Western series Eli Stone. She and her small herd make their home just outside the tiny historical town of Sun River, Montana.

Book preview

Two-Bit Westerns presents...

Crossroads

by

M.L. Bushman

Crossroads© copyright 2014 by M.L. Bushman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—including, but not limited to, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, audio or video—without express written consent by the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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This story is dedicated to Connie Coil, my sister by another mother.

No better compadre will ever be had, this or any life.

Sharp metal clang from the kitchen carried on the hot, dry air.

From a lawn chair on the porch, that old Lakota Sioux adjusted the red bandana keeping his long gray hair at bay, then grinned right at me and said, Go on now, Eli. You're late.

Couldn't help but snap, How can I be late for anything? Weren't we just talking about timing in Life?

He only snickered and looked away, to the barn.

Sure-certain, I went right through that screen door into the heat of Sarah's glare.

Took you long enough, she said tersely. Want to feed him or what?

Well, sure.

She turned back to the stove, hammered that cast iron frying pan to the burner, muttering under her breath. A new side of Sarah, one I'd never seen before. So, naturally, I said the first thing that came to mind in an effort to smooth over the situation.

And what, pray tell, has angered milady?

Ever hear anything so dumb? Me neither.

Sarah whirled around to face me, spatula in hand. I know what kind of talk that is now, she said. Shakespeare.

Mystified, I squinted. How you figure that?

Just popped in my head the other day. That's the second time you called me that. She aimed that spatula at my chest. Now you've got me thinking about shit all the time, Eli, and I don't like it. I was good in school, I know that. Even if I couldn't remember how to read. I did the math, too. Been at least ten winters since I even looked at a book, before John P gave us some.

I grinned and started toward her. You're the smartest girl in this room.

That's right, she said emphatically, turned a quarter, then suddenly frowned. You're joking me? Now?

I took her in my arms with slight resistance. You weren't afraid to tell me, were you?

She looked hard at me. He doesn't know anything.

Who?

Yeah.

I loosened my arms. What?

She broke free. No, dammit. That Who Knows guy out there.

We must've gotten loud.

One Who Knows hollered from the porch, Just call me One. Lot less confusing from where I sit.

Sarah's frown didn't quite mask her fear. She murmured, I don't care what his goddamn name is, I don't like him--at all.

But you're pregnant, right? Like he said?

No. She scowled, a