Contracts of the Heart

Chapter 1: Sarsaparilla

Westtown was hot. The sun was hot on the dusty streets and through the dusty windows. Inside it was hotter.

At the second-best saloon in Westtown, Jackson Miller wiped a damp spot on the oak bar. The cloth was worn.

From under the brim of her weathered hat, she watched a stranger. He sat at the end of the bar. He was dusty.

She walked over. The floorboards creaked under her boots.

-So what'll it be for ya, newcomer? she asked.

The stranger looked up.

-You got sarsaparilla?.

Jackson stopped wiping.

-Sarsaparilla? she asked. Ain't heard anybody order that since the last greenhorn came through three summers back.

She leaned forward.

-We got whiskey. Good whiskey. Or beer so thick you could stand a spoon in it. That do for ya?

The stranger smiled weakly.

-You tryna get me drunk, woman?

Jackson laughed.

-Honey, if I was tryin' to get you drunk, you'd already be face down in the sawdust, she said. That's just standard hospitality.

-But no sarsaparilla, he said to himself.

She poured a shot of amber whiskey. She slid it across the wood.

-Drink up before the dust settles in it.

The stranger looked at the glass.

-I'll take 'er with a beer, he said.

He downed the shot. He slammed the glass on the bar.

Jackson chuckled. She pulled the tap handle. The mug filled with froth.

-Thirsty fella after all, ain'tcha? she said. That'll be two bits. And try not to break my glass. Sheriff's got enough to deal with without addin' vandalism to his list.

He pulled coins from an inside pocket. He stacked them on the bar. Five bits.

-One more shot, one more beer, he murmured.

He chugged the first beer. He wiped his chin with a dirty sleeve.

Jackson poured the second shot.

-You drink like a man tryin' to drown somethin', she said. Her voice dropped. The Newcombe Boys ain't payin' you enough to die in my bar, are they?

Her hand rested near her waist, near her holster.

You were out of sarsaparilla, the stranger said. Don't nobody pay me to die nowhere.

I'll keep on living if it's all the same in the balance of things.

Jackson studied his face. Ugly.

-You drink like you got nothin' to lose, she said. That's either real brave or real stupid. Which is it?

-Is there a difference? he asked. Every scar, every knot and bump on me was brave and every one was stupid.

Jackson stopped moving.

-Now that, she said. That might be the truest thing I've heard all week.

She poured herself a half-shot. She clinked it against his glass.

-To the brave stupid bastards, then. May we live long enough to regret it.

He downed the second shot.

-They call me Tiny, he said. He burped.

Jackson laughed.

-Tiny, huh? Well Tiny, I'm Jackson.

She grabbed the empty glasses. Her fingers lingered near his for a moment.

-You best slow down though. Even brave stupid bastards gotta ride home eventually.

-My horse knows the way, Tiny said23.

-That's what they all say 'fore I find 'em sleepin' in my stables, Jackson said. Don't get any ideas. My husband's the sheriff, and he ain't fond of findin' strangers in my hayloft.

Tiny feigned indignation.

-Not the sheriff's wife, he yelled. You gonna tell on me, little girl?

Jackson slammed the bottle down. The glasses rattled. She leaned over the bar.

-Little girl? she growled. I once shot a man for sayin' less.

She snatched his glass away.

-Hey now, no Indian giving, Tiny protested.

He grabbed the glass. He grabbed her hand.

She fixed him with a look.

-That's my whiskey, and that's my hand, mister, she said. You're makin' a habit of takin' things that ain't yours.

-Little girl, Tiny said. It's just what they call a "term of endearment," the book word for it.

Jackson twisted her wrist.

-Book word manners don't play too well out here, she said. Out here, we say what we mean. And I ain't little.

Tiny looked her up and down.

-No, I suppose you ain't, he said. And I ain't tiny, he said, but here I am.

She pulled her hand back and let him keep the glass.

-Fair enough, Tiny, she said. Now drink that proper before I charge you for it.

He finished the drink. He stood up. He tipped his hat.

-I reckon I will, ma'am, he said.

-You ride safe now, Tiny, she said. And next time... maybe we'll have sarsaparilla.

She watched him push through the swinging doors.

-Damn fool better not get himself shot, she muttered.

Jackson poured herself another shot.

-That one's gonna be trouble, she whispered.

The door creaked open behind her.

-Who was that stranger you was talkin' to, darlin'? Mike asked.

Jackson didn't turn. She stared out the window.

-Just another thirsty cowboy passin' through, Mike. Called himself Tiny, she said. Nothin' to worry about.

Mike leaned against the bar. His badge glinted. He spat tobacco into the spittoon.

-Didn't look like nothin' from where I was standin', he said. Saw you pourin' him the good stuff. Free of charge.

He leaned closer.

-That fella ain't just some drifter. Had the look of a man runnin' from somethin'. Or toward it.

Jackson gripped her glass.

-Trouble walks into this saloon every day, she said.

-That fella, Mike snarled, he had the look of a man who's already chosen his side. And it ain't ours.

-His side ain't my business, Jackson said. He drank his whiskey and rode out.

-I hunt what needs huntin', Mike said. And right now, the Newcombe Boys are itchin' to make a move. Your Tiny rode out alone, straight into their territory.

The door banged open.

A young boy ran in. Jesse. He was out of breath.

-Sheriff! The boy yelled. That man! The one that just left!

-Where? she demanded. Where did they take him?

-They dragged 'im into the abandoned livery, Jesse said. Saw 'em myself.

Mike looked at the boy.

-What are you gonna do about it mister? Jesse asked.

-I'm gonna do my job, boy, he said.

Jackson was already moving. She snatched her shotgun from under the bar. The barrels gleamed.

-You do your job, Mike, she said. I'll do mine.

Chapter 2: To the Rescue

Jackson moved fast.

The heavy door swung shut behind her. The bell jangled.

Her boots stomped on the dusty boardwalk.

The boy, Jesse, scrambled after her.

-Which way? Jackson asked.

Jesse pointed a trembling finger toward the edge of town. Toward the abandoned livery.

-They dragged 'im in there, Miss Jackson, he said. Saw 'em myself.

She broke into a run.

She skidded to a halt outside the gaping doorway. She pressed her back against the wall.

-Stay here, she hissed to Jesse.

A low groan echoed from a back stall. Three figures were hunched over a crumpled form.

Moonlight glinted off brass knuckles. The largest one. Hank Newcombe.

Jackson stepped into the light. She cocked both hammers.

Tiny wriggled on the ground. His face was a mess. One eye was swollen shut.

-Jackson? he groaned.

Hank turned. He wiped bloody knuckles on his pants. He grinned.

-Well lookee here, Hank said. The sheriff's little whore came to--

The shotgun roared.

The blast filled the livery. Hank's right knee exploded in a spray of blood and fabric.

He screamed like an animal and collapsed into the hay.

Jackson pumped the shotgun. The spent shell clattered on the floorboards.

-The next one takes your head off, she said. Now get the hell out of here.

The other two froze. They backed away and whimpered toward the rear door.

Jackson dropped to her knees beside Tiny. Her hands trembled.

-Damn fool, she whispered. Told you you'd get yourself shot.

-They ain't use no guns, ma'am, Tiny grunted. He spit blood.

She scanned his body. Beaten like a dusty rug.

She ripped a strip from her skirt. She pressed the clean cotton against his brow.

-Stupid, brave bastard, she said.

-Just stupid ma'am, Tiny said. I reckon I had it coming.

-Reckon you did, she said. But that don't mean I let 'em finish the job.

She shifted closer.

-Mike's the law, she said. I'm somethin' else. Can you stand?

-If you tell me to, I got the strength.

She hauled him up. He was heavy but he could walk.

-You said something 'bout a stable a fella could pass out in? Tiny asked.

-My stable's full of horses that mind their manners better than you, she said.

She adjusted her grip.

-There's a storeroom in back of the saloon. Got a cot. And a lock. You can stay there 'til you heal.

-Spitting out blood makes it look worse than it is, Tiny muttered.

-You're not gonna be spittin' blood on my clean floor, Jackson declared.

They made it to the saloon.

-How 'bout a shot of whiskey?

-Whiskey's the last thing you need with a head wound, she said.

She brought him to the storeroom. She eased him onto the narrow cot.

She uncorked a dark bottle. It smelled clean. Carbolic acid.

-This'll sting like hellfire.

-Don't life sting all the way through? Tiny asked. Slap it on.

She dabbed the rag on his split brow.

The burn was savage. Tiny gritted his teeth.

-Breathe through it, she murmured. Ain't nobody here to impress but me.

She finished. She tied off the bandage.

Tiny looked up at her.

-I've no way to pay for this, he said. Your sheriff squeeze gonna throw me in a cell?

Jackson laughed.

-Mike ain't my squeeze, he's my husband, she said. And he don't need to know a damn thing.

She looked him in the eye.

-Consider it an advance. You're gonna earn your keep swamping out my bar once you're back on your feet.

-Nothing in life ain't free, Tiny said.

-Everything's got a price, she agreed. But sometimes the bill don't come due right away.

She turned to leave.

-Rest, Tiny. We'll settle accounts later.

The door clicked shut.

Jackson stood in the hallway. She wiped her hands on her skirt.

She thought of Mike. She thought of the Newcombe boys.

The balance of things was getting mighty uneasy.

Chapter 3: Confession

The next morning, Jackson eased the door to the storeroom open. She carried a tin mug and fresh bandages.

Tiny lay still on the cot. His eyes were closed.

She set the mug down.

-I know you're awake, Tiny, she said. Coffee's gettin' cold.

Tiny didn't move.

-How much for the coffee? he asked.

Jackson sat on the edge of the cot.

-Price went up overnight, she said. Now it'll cost you the truth.

Tiny opened his eyes. He sat up slowly.

-Why'd the Newcombe Boys want you dead so bad they forgot to use their guns? she asked.

Tiny crossed his arms.

-I don't reckon that's fair, he said. You did a good turn yesterday. But my business ain't nobody's but mine.

Jackson leaned in.

-Ain't nothin' fair in Westtown, she said. That's the first damn lesson.

She pushed the coffee toward him.

-You know 'em? Personally? That ain't a detail you leave out.

Tiny sighed. He took the mug.

-Ain't one of the boys, ma'am. It's the Newcombe girl.

Jackson stopped moving.

-Not Bertha, Tiny added. The other one.

Jackson's breath caught. Her eyes narrowed.

-Annie Newcombe, she whispered.

She stood up abruptly.

-You tangled with Silas Newcombe's daughter? You got a death wish painted on your back.

-She tangled with me, Tiny said. I treated her right and gentle.

Jackson laughed dryly.

-You fool. You sweet, stupid fool. That girl is poison wrapped in petticoats.

-She's my little flower, Tiny said.

-She's a viper, Jackson snapped. Her daddy would burn this whole town to the ground if he thought she'd been slighted.

Tiny shook his head.

-We been seeing each other town to town. Fixing to run away together. The cousins found a note.

Jackson stared at him.

-The cousins didn't find a note, Tiny, she said softly. She left it for them.

-No, Tiny said. She runs with me.

-Annie Newcombe don't run with nobody but her own, Jackson said. She was settin' you up. Makin' you the excuse for her daddy's rage.

The door banged open.

Jesse ran in. He was pale.

-Miss Jackson! he yelled. Annie Newcombe is down at the sheriff's office.

Jackson spun around.

-She's raising high hell, Jesse said. Wants to file a missing person's report. Says her cousins kidnapped a man.

Jackson looked back at Tiny.

-You hear that? she hissed. She ain't lookin' for you. She's makin' sure Mike finds you first.

-She loves me, Tiny said. She thinks they took me.

Jackson grabbed his chin. She forced him to look at her.

-She wants you nice and legal. Wrapped up in a cell where her cousins can finish the job.

Tiny looked at the boy.

-You tell Annie, kid, Tiny said. Tell her her Shetland pony is recovering.

Jackson's hand clamped over his mouth. She shoved him back against the cot.

-You say one more word and I'll gag you myself, she snarled.

She looked at Jesse.

-You didn't hear that. You tell Annie nothing. You understand me? Nothing.

Jesse nodded. He ran out.

Jackson released Tiny. She was breathing hard.

-You wanna die? Is that it? she asked

-Annie's heart is true, Tiny insisted. She's loyal.

-Loyal? Jackson laughed. She laid the trap and walked away smilin'.

She slammed her hands on the cot rails. She caged him in.

-Open your damn eyes, Tiny. The only woman who ain't lied to you is the one stitchin' you back together.

Chapter 4: The Sheriff's Stamp

Tiny sat on the cot. He rubbed his bandaged head.

-You never told me why you were the one came to stop the assault, he said. Not the sheriff. He could make an arrest.

Jackson stood by the door. Her hand was on the latch.

-Mike's a good man, she said. A lawful man. He'd arrest 'em. And Silas Newcombe would burn this town to ash before the jury was even seated.

-That don't answer the question, Tiny said.

-Because the law don't always keep folks alive, Jackson snapped. Sometimes it just gives the vultures a legal excuse to pick the bones clean.

-That don't make a lick of sense, Tiny said.

-This ain't about sense, she said. It's about survival.

-I'll burn all four territories down if it's what it takes for Annie and me to be together, Tiny said.

Jackson stared at him. She stepped back.

-Then you're a damn fool, she said. And you'll burn alone. Get out of my saloon. Take your death wish somewhere else.

Tiny gathered his things. He limped out. The door creaked shut.

Jackson watched through the window.

Outside, a woman screamed.

-I thought you were dead!

Annie Newcombe ran up to Tiny. She hugged him hard. She lifted him off the ground.

-My Shetland pony! she shouted. I'll kill the rat varmint that told my cousins!

Jackson turned away from the window. She reached beneath the bar. Her fingers closed around the cool metal of her derringer. She slipped it into her pocket.

She walked to the door. She kicked it open.

-Well now, she drawled.

Annie and Tiny looked up. Annie was clinging to his arm.

-Sounds like y'all are fixin' to start a whole mess of trouble.

-Listen Jackson, Tiny said. This is Annie. She's got something to tell you about your

husband.

Jackson's eyes narrowed.

-You're bringin' a viper to my doorstep to whisper poison about my husband? she asked.

-Your husband is trying to use me and Bill to squeeze my daddy out, Annie said, squeezing Tiny's arm.

-Mike's too damn stubborn to play games, Jackson said.

-If your husband followed the law, Tiny said, it'd have been him at the livery last night. He hasn't so much as checked on me.

Jackson froze.

-Mike's a good man, she whispered weakly.

-Facts ain't about belief, Tiny said.

-Come with us to the office, Annie said. We'll file the report.

-No, Jackson said sharply. If Mike is tangled up in this, you two walkin' in there is just givin' him a reason to make you disappear.

She grabbed Tiny's arm. She pulled them inside. She bolted the door.

-Talk, she said. And it better be the truth.

Annie took a deep breath.

-The note, she said. It wasn't a love letter. Last week, Tiny and I filed for a joint deed for land in Southtown.

-My Easttown lawyer done said it was a heckuva deal we'd flip, but...

-It connected our names, Annie finished.

-It made its way up here to Westtown, Tiny continued. The bureaucrats in Southtown sent off duplicates. It's not like that in Easttown.

Jackson stared at a knot in the wood grain.

-Mike handles the mail, she said quietly. Every damn piece.

She swallowed.

-He'd have seen that duplicate. Would've known your names were tied.

-The story adds up, Tiny sighed.

Jackson pushed off the bar. She paced.

-It adds up, she said. God help me, it does. He's been distant. Tired. I thought it was the job. Turns out he was buildin' a cage.

-What do we do? Tiny asked.

-We need proof, Jackson said. Something solid.

-The note, Annie said. It's got the sheriff's stamp on the copy of the deed. I reckon my cousins still got it.

-Where? Jackson demanded.

-They'd keep it close, Annie said. Probably on Eli. He's the sneaky one.

Jackson's eyes narrowed.

-He drinks here, she said. Gets sloppy.

-You want to take that risk? Tiny asked. I can pummel him twice as good as the three of them did me.

-No, Jackson said. You're limpin'. This is my play. Eli's got a weak spot for whiskey.

And a softer spot for me.

She grabbed a bottle.

-Eli'll be in by sundown. Thirsty and full of himself.

She herded them toward the backroom.

-You two stay out of sight, she said.

She locked the door.

She turned back to the bar. She checked the derringer in her pocket. She adjusted her blouse.

She waited.

Chapter 5: Leverage

The sun dipped low and the shadows stretched over the floorboards.

Jackson leaned against the bar. She adjusted the neckline of her blouse.

She checked the derringer in her garter one last time.

The batwing doors creaked.

Eli Newcombe swaggered in. A smug grin plastered his face.

He looked over at Jackson and stared.

She smiled.

-Evenin', Eli, she said. You look like a man who's had a productive day.

Eli dropped onto a stool. He smelled of cheap tobacco.

-Damn right I have, he slurred.

Jackson poured him a double. She let her fingers brush his.

-Oh? Do tell, sugar, she purred. Ain't nothin' I love more than a good story.

Eli downed the bourbon. He slammed the glass.

-Ain't no story, darlin'. It's a fact. Got myself a paper that's gonna bury a certain loudmouth.

He patted his vest pocket. A crisp edge of paper peeked out.

Jackson's eyes locked onto it.

She poured him another.

-Sounds powerful important, she said.

She leaned forward.

-Maybe you oughtta let me take a look. Keep it safe for you.

Eli hesitated.

-Now why would I do a thing like that? A man's leverage is his own business.

Jackson smiled.

Her hand shot out.

She snatched the folded paper from his vest.

She stepped back. The deed was in her fist.

-Because your leverage just became mine, you slimy bastard.

Eli lurched to his feet.

-You goddamn bi--

Jackson grabbed the bourbon bottle. She brought it down hard on his head.

Glass shattered. Whiskey sprayed.

Eli crumpled. He hit the floor with a thud.

The saloon went silent.

Jackson breathed hard. She smoothed her skirt.

-Nobody calls me that in my own damn saloon, she said.

She uncrumpled the paper.

The Sheriff's official stamp was clear as day.

The backroom door burst open. Tiny and Annie rushed out.

Annie looked at Eli sprawled in the puddle of liquor.

-You let him live, she said. She gave Eli a light kick on the head.

-Wasn't about killin', Jackson said. Was about sendin' a message.

She shoved the paper into Tiny's hand.

-Here. It's all there. His stamp. Your names.

-Now what? Tiny asked.

Jackson's jaw set.

-I'm gonna look my husband in the eye, she said. And I'm gonna ask him why he chose a nest of vipers over his own wife.