CHAPTER FIFTEEN No Chains Between Us #3
Jude had washed at the pump and changed into a clean shirt. He held his arms slightly away from his sides while Gideon passed the wide leather around his hips.
The belt was one Gideon had commissioned in Santa Reina after Jude received his federal appointment. Dark leather, reinforced stitching, two cartridge loops left deliberately empty near the buckle where Gideon’s fingers naturally rested.
Gideon drew the belt tight.
“How is that?” he asked.
“Higher.”
Gideon raised it.
“Too high.”
“You have worn a gun belt for fifteen years.”
“I have rarely had a marshal dressing me.”
“You could do it yourself.”
“I could.”
Jude made no move to take over.
Gideon smiled against the back of his neck.
He fitted the buckle and smoothed the leather flat over Jude’s hip. His hands remained there, palms curved around Jude’s waist.
Jude leaned back against him.
“Something else?” he asked.
Gideon pressed his mouth below Jude’s ear.
“Several things.”
“We have work.”
“We own the work.”
“Marisol believes she owns it.”
“Marisol believes she owns the tomatoes.”
“She planted them.”
“So I have heard.”
Gideon’s lips moved along Jude’s neck.
Jude tilted his head, giving him room. One hand covered Gideon’s at the buckle.
“Tonight,” Jude said.
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
Gideon turned him around.
“Then say the rest.”
Jude looked at him with exasperated fondness. “Tonight, after the horses are fed, the accounts are finished, and Marisol has been prevented from entering without knocking, I want you in our bed.”
“How?”
“Unhurried.”
Gideon touched his face. “Yes.”
“And perhaps less careful with the shirt.”
“I like this shirt.”
“You can buy another.”
“I will consider it.”
Jude caught Gideon’s lower lip between his teeth and released it.
“That is for the gate.”
“You left the gate open.”
“I am aware.”
A horse approached at speed outside.
Both men turned.
The rider came through the gate wearing the blue shirt of the Santa Reina telegraph office. Dust covered his hat and shoulders. He reined in hard near the porch and reached into his satchel before the horse had stopped moving.
“Marshal Shaw?”
Gideon stepped outside.
The rider looked at Jude beside him.
“And Mr. Calder.”
“That depends on the message,” Jude said.
“Federal priority from Judge Ainsley.”
The envelope bore the judge’s seal.
Gideon signed the receipt and carried the telegram inside.
His hand passed near the original cuffs hanging beside the front door.
They occupied a plain wooden peg beneath their hats.
The steel had been cleaned, though scratches remained across both bracelets. The short chain hung loose between them. Neither cuff was closed. Gideon had left the key in one lock and turned it far enough that anyone could see the mechanism remained open.
They were not displayed as a trophy.
No flowers surrounded them. No story had been invented in which their imprisonment became destiny or the pain became necessary because it had led to love. Gideon would have chosen a thousand gentler roads if any had been offered.
The cuffs remained because forgetting would have been another kind of lie.
They were the iron Gideon had once placed around Jude’s wrists under authority of a corrupt warrant.
They were also the iron he had removed before asking Jude to choose him freely.
Jude had worn them again at Santa Reina because they established the conditions together, and he had thrown them empty at Harrow’s feet.
The object had not changed.
They had.
Travelers sometimes asked about the cuffs.
Gideon answered plainly.
Jude answered according to his mood.
Proof, he called them on good days.
A warning, on others.
Once, when a former deputy remarked that handcuffs belonged in a locked drawer, Jude had said, “That is where men put history when they hope to repeat it.”
The deputy left before supper.
Gideon opened the telegram at the kitchen table.
Jude read over his shoulder.
SHAW AND CALDER STOPPRISON TRANSPORT SEVENTEEN FAILED TO ARRIVE SANTA FE STOPWAGON LOCATED BLACK GLASS CROSSING NEW MEXICO TERRITORY STOPDRIVER AND GUARDS MISSING STOPBLOOD FOUND DRIVER SEAT STOPSIX PRISONERS UNACCOUNTED STOPFEDERAL CHAIN RECOVERED INSIDE WAGON brOKEN BY TOOL FROM EXTERIOR STOPROUTE AUTHORIZATION USES CUTTER CIPHER C-SEVENTEEN STOPSIMILAR TRANSFERS IDENTIFIED COLORADO NEW MEXICO TEXAS STOPREQUEST INVESTIGATION IF ACCEPTED STOPAINSL—
The final letters disappeared where the telegraph clerk had run out of paper.
Jude read the message again.
“C-seventeen,” he said.
The same cipher had appeared on the kill order recovered at the hidden spring.
Gideon set the paper flat.
“Harrow was not buying only Arizona routes.”
“Cutter sold prisoners across four territories.”
“Perhaps.”
“Six men vanish, their guards disappear, and a federal chain is cut from outside. That is not an escape.”
“No.”
“Someone opened the wagon.”
“Or transferred the prisoners to another one.”
Jude pulled out a chair and sat. His earlier warmth had sharpened into concentration.
“The blood is on the driver’s seat,” he said. “Not the floor or prisoner benches.”
“The attack began from the front.”
“Unless the driver helped.”
“And was killed by whoever met him.”
“Where is Black Glass Crossing?”
“Northwest of Santa Fe. Volcanic country. Broken ridges, lava fields, old wagon roads.”
“Good place to hide a labor camp.”
“Or bodies.”
Jude looked toward the door.
Beyond it, the ranch yard moved through its ordinary noon. Eli carried feed toward the stable. Rose argued with a horse buyer beside the corral. Marisol had returned to the garden and was attempting to determine whether the remaining tomatoes could be saved.
Home continued around them.
Six months ago, Gideon would already have been gathering ammunition. A federal request would have become an order before he considered what following it might cost anyone riding beside him.
Now he folded the telegram.
“Do you want to investigate?”
Jude’s gaze returned to him.
“You have to ask?”
“Yes.”
“You know the answer.”
“I know what I believe the answer will be. That is not the same.”
Jude studied Gideon for a long moment.
The question meant more than the case.
Gideon would not transform partnership into another kind of chain. Jude’s federal appointment did not give Gideon ownership of his courage, time, or body. Every road remained a choice, even when Gideon knew Jude would probably take it.
Especially then.
Jude stood.
“I will need the New Mexico survey maps.”
“In my office.”
“Four days’ food.”
“Five.”
“Two rifles.”
“Three.”
“Why three?”
“You have a habit of throwing yours from moving horses.”
“It has happened once.”
“It happened twice.”
“The mine rifle did not belong to me.”
Gideon folded his arms. “Do you want to investigate?”
Jude walked past him.
He took his hat from the peg beside the open cuffs and placed it on his head.
Then he went to saddle the horses.
Gideon smiled.
They prepared in less than an hour.
Rose assumed management of the ranch accounts.
Eli was given responsibility for the north pasture and ordered to inspect the gate every evening.
Marisol announced that she would remain until they returned, then immediately began moving more clothes into the west bedroom while insisting she did not live there.
Gideon packed the federal warrants, spare ammunition, medical supplies, and Judge Ainsley’s telegram.
Jude selected the rifles and examined every inch of the broken cipher’s route on the New Mexico maps.
They worked around one another with the practiced efficiency built through months of shared investigations.
Gideon knew how Jude packed the saddlebags, which items he wanted nearest the opening, and where he concealed emergency ammunition.
Jude knew Gideon would forget food if occupied by evidence, so he placed dried meat and biscuits in both coat pockets.
Before leaving the bedroom, Gideon stopped beside the broad bed.
Morning sunlight no longer touched it. The blue quilt had been pulled straight, though one corner hung crooked where Jude had left it.
Gideon corrected the corner.
Jude leaned against the doorframe.
“You believe it will remain that way while we are gone?”
“No.”
“Then why fix it?”
“Because we are coming back.”
Jude’s expression softened.
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
In the front room, Gideon buckled on his gun belt.
Jude approached and pinned the federal badge to his coat.
The gesture had once been performed before they entered Santa Reina with a chain stretched between them. Then, Jude’s fingers had lingered over Gideon’s heart because both men believed the gallows might take the future before they touched it.
Now Jude adjusted the badge, frowned, removed it, and pinned it again.
“Crooked?” Gideon asked.
“No.”
“Then why move it?”
“I preferred it there.”
“It occupies less than an inch of difference.”
“It is my inch.”
Gideon caught his wrist.
Jude waited.
Gideon pressed his lips to the scar the cuffs had left.
“You changed the way I wear it,” he said.
“The badge?”
“The authority.”
Jude’s fingers touched his cheek. “It looks better on you now.”
Gideon kissed his palm.
Outside, the horses waited.
Gideon’s mount was a tall bay gelding Jude had named Judge because, according to him, the animal possessed grave eyes, an unreasonable opinion of its own importance, and a habit of stopping work precisely when needed most.
Jude rode a blue roan mare called Mercy.
The name had begun as a joke after she threw him into the creek on their first ride. It became less amusing when she did it again.
Both animals were saddled for distance.
Jude checked the cinches while Gideon loaded the final bags. Gideon then inspected Jude’s saddle. Jude inspected Gideon’s inspection and tightened a strap Gideon had already tested.
They met between the horses.
“Ready?” Gideon asked.