Page 85 of Spring's Arcana
She dreamt the acrid scent of gunsmoke, too, lingering among the lowing of terrified animals and thin threads of blood from gaping wounds; somewhere in the night a man with gentle hands was riding while the storm brushed hard against the prairie, and anyone out in the dark taking what they shouldn’t felt a cold barrel-end pressed to the back of his skull.
NO HELMET
Freezing rain turned to sleet and then to a cold, driving drizzle that took the edge off the ice before sunup. It was uncharacteristically warm for near-Christmas on the prairie—but only by a few degrees.
Dawn rose bloody through freezing veils; a black car growled up a long paved driveway with gravel at its edges, sliding sideways to a tire-smoking stop before a trim blue ranch house and its big red barn. A sleek dark shape rose from the driver’s side, and as the gangster slammed the heavy door he lit one of his cigarettes with a fingertip flicker, exhaling a cloud of perfumed smoke.
The barn door was open, and there was a gleam in the hay-scented dimness that resolved into Ranger, his gray hat tipped slightly back as he pushed a gleaming, low-slung black motorcycle into a chilly winter morning full of thin gray light. Chrome gleamed on handlebars and exhaust pipes, but even the most ardent historian of two-wheeled beasts would be hard-pressed to name its make or model.
Dmitri leaned against the black car’s trunk, a sardonic smile lifting one corner of his thin mouth. “Nowthisthe kind of horse I know all about.”
“You ain’t gonna ride him, sport.” Ranger heeled the kickstand down with a heavy click and straightened, wiping his lean dark hands on a bright red shop rag. Behind him, an equine mutter rose, animals scenting something inimical on the breeze. “Have yourself some fun last night?”
Dmitri’s shrug was loose and catlike; still, he made sure both his hands were kept plainly in view. “Where is she?”
“Probably finishin’ her coffee.” Ranger folded the rag, neatly and exactly, and used its pad to buff an invisible speck of dust from the motorcycle’s shining flank. “Nice girl. Nicer than Maria, that’s for damn sure.”
The gangster’s nostrils flared slightly. The cigarette’s burning tip, pale in fresh daylight, brightened as he inhaled.
“Only gonna say this once,” the cowboy continued. “You do that lady any harm, horsethief, and your kind won’t be welcome anywhere I have a say.”
“Not welcome in cowshit country anyway,Ranger.” Heavy sarcasm tinted the last word. “You think you dazzle little Drozdova into giving you a pretty jewel, eh?”
“I wouldn’t take that gewgaw if you paid me.” Ranger finished his cleanup, tucking the rag in his jacket pocket. “Not worth the belly-gripe, and not worth the effort either.”
Dmitri straightened, dark eyes burning coal-hot and his shoulders swelling like a cobra’s hood, but there was a faint sound and the blue house’s door opened.
Nat Drozdova stepped onto the white wraparound porch, buttoned into the too-big woolen coat, her green knit cap pulled firmly over shower-damp buckwheat-honey hair and her wide, slightly cat-tilted eyes glowing. Her ever-present backpack was snugged high on one slim shoulder. There was a faint happy flush on her smooth cheeks, but it faded when she saw Dmitri, and her mouth drew down at each corner. Her breath touched winter chill, a gift given to the world, and the raw edge of the northern wind, meeting no obstruction as it poured for miles across saturated prairie enjoying a sudden thaw, softened just a touch more.
Just enough.
“Hey.” She hopped down the steps, light as a linnet, and gave Ranger a tight smile as she edged in his direction. The cowboy even tipped his hat, a slight reflexive movement. “The dishes are drying. I seasoned the cast iron, don’t worry.”
“I done told you not to worry about that.” The cowboy shook his head slightly, and half his mouth tilted up in a smile. “Come on over and meet this fellow; he’s ready for a run.”
“Wow. He’s gorgeous.” The sight of the motorcycle brightened her, but she still observed a cautious distance from Dmitri, clearly gauging his mood while he stood very still, the cigarette loosely cupped in his right hand. “Good morning, Dima. Did you find a hotel?”
The gangster’s lip twitched, lifting slightly. “It was a good night,zaika. I think I take you inmycar today, though.”
“Can’t.” Ranger trailed his fingertips over a handlebar, a gentle, calming touch. “This fellow will take Miss Drozdova where she needs to go. That was the agreement with Maria. Nothin’ in it about no horsethief hitchin’ a ride.”
“It’s what he agreed to with my mother.” Nat stopped dead, watching Dmitri’s face. “And what you want isn’t there. It’s just the next piece of the puzzle.”
“You expect me to believe that pile of—”
“Horsethief don’t believe nothin’, since he can’t be trusted.” Ranger eyed the gangster, narrowly. “You watch your mouth, Konets.”
The gangster’s gaze rested on Nat. She hugged herself, a little girl lost in that coat—a man’s jacket, blurring her outline. It probably felt like protection; growing up in that little yellow house with Maria, she’d need all the safety she could find. Oh, there were no marks on the girl, certainly.
Not physical ones. But a thief’s gaze was sharp, especially when there was a secret to be ferreted out or a treasure discovered.
Dima stalked away from his car, bearing down on her with catlike, weaving steps. Ranger tensed, but Nat stood very still, chin lifted, the breeze warming as he approached.
A long drag on the incense-smelling cigarette, and when he spoke, the words rode stinging smoke. “You think you escape Dima, huh?”
“My mother did.” She shook her head, a quick flicker of movement. “But I wouldn’t try right now, Dmitri. It would be stupid, and I’m not.”
“No. You are smart littlezaika.” His nose wrinkled slightly. Bright clear dawnlight showed traces of bloodshot in his gaze, and his jaw was rough with dark stubble. “Lots going on behind those big eyes,neh?”
