Read Online Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) by T. K. Lukas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. K. Lukas
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vibrant. Nothing would ever be fine or vibrant again. Something died. It was the death of yellow.
*****
“My God, Leighselle. I want to kill him.” Hughes pushed back from the table, knocking his chair over as he moved to her side, crouching down next to her. “Tell me where this monster is. I’ll put a bullet into his black heart. That son of a bitch is a dead man.”
Leighselle coughed into her handkerchief, patted each corner of her mouth clean, and then took a sip of lemonade. “If I recall, defending a woman who had been brutalized by a man was what led you to flee New Orleans in the first place.”
“That wasn’t a man who brutalized Monique. That was an animal. So was the creature who attacked you.” Hughes dropped his fist hard down on the table, the silverware clattering. “Nothing tightens my jaw faster than seeing a man hurt a woman. I had a gut full of that as a kid, seeing my mother cower from her own husband.”
“What happened to me seems a lifetime ago. I do have an idea as to where Seamus Flanders lives, if indeed he’s still living, but it’s not him I want you to find. It’s my daughter.”
“Your daughter would be close to my age, then, or a few years older,” Hughes said.
“Oh, no. That despicable incident didn’t result in a pregnancy. Seamus is not the child’s father. He’s the child’s grandfather. I fell in love with Seamus’s son, Henry, but I wasn’t aware of the connection. Henry had just arrived in America at the Port of Orleans from Ireland. I told you it was complicated.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Hughes righted his toppled chair, taking a seat close to Leighselle.
“Indeed. And, all that I just told you is the easy part of the story.”
“The easy part? Good God.” Hughes shook his head and gave Leighselle a long, hard look, his eyes moving slowly over her thin face.
Her emerald green eyes were jaundiced, sunken, and accentuated by dark circles underneath. The angular sharpness of her cheekbones protruded from parchment paper skin. Lips, once supple and pink, were drawn into a thin, pained slit in an attempt at barring the coughs from escaping.
“Did you ever marry or have a family of your own?” she asked, uncomfortable with how he studied her with such intense concern. She knew she was dying—she had hoped it wasn’t that obvious.
“In my line of work, it’s better not to.” Hughes waved at Jameson, indicating more lemonade. “Having a wife would leave her vulnerable. If someone, an enemy, wanted to get to me, all they’d have to do would be to threaten the woman I loved.”
“Do you have many enemies?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“A hired gun always has enemies. It’s my aim to never leave one standing.”
Leighselle shuddered, pulling her shawl tighter. “Concentrating on a job would be near impossible, I would guess, if you had someone at home to also worry about.”
“I don’t have a permanent home, anyway. Another reason to stay single.” He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“There are many reasons men choose to remain single. Yours sounds like one of the better ones.” A small cough tickled the back of her throat, lingering, never erupting into a full spasm. She waited, expecting it to explode, but the moment passed, leaving only the metallic aftertaste of blood.
C HAPTER F OUR
T UESDAY , O CTOBER 16, 1860
Journal Entry of Bar Flanders:
“A boy straddles a saddle differently than a girl” were the parting words Aunt Winnie called to my back when I rode out of Hog Mountain this morning. She’s right.
In my mind’s eye, I see my papa sitting tall in his saddle, reins in his left hand held loose between his fingers, a lariat gripped in his right, his preferred hand for shooting, too. He sat a saddle with a confident, casual attitude given to men born to ride. Given to girls born to ride, too.
I must remember to ride, sit, dress, eat, laugh, spit, talk, walk, and
*****
“My God, Leighselle. I want to kill him.” Hughes pushed back from the table, knocking his chair over as he moved to her side, crouching down next to her. “Tell me where this monster is. I’ll put a bullet into his black heart. That son of a bitch is a dead man.”
Leighselle coughed into her handkerchief, patted each corner of her mouth clean, and then took a sip of lemonade. “If I recall, defending a woman who had been brutalized by a man was what led you to flee New Orleans in the first place.”
“That wasn’t a man who brutalized Monique. That was an animal. So was the creature who attacked you.” Hughes dropped his fist hard down on the table, the silverware clattering. “Nothing tightens my jaw faster than seeing a man hurt a woman. I had a gut full of that as a kid, seeing my mother cower from her own husband.”
“What happened to me seems a lifetime ago. I do have an idea as to where Seamus Flanders lives, if indeed he’s still living, but it’s not him I want you to find. It’s my daughter.”
“Your daughter would be close to my age, then, or a few years older,” Hughes said.
“Oh, no. That despicable incident didn’t result in a pregnancy. Seamus is not the child’s father. He’s the child’s grandfather. I fell in love with Seamus’s son, Henry, but I wasn’t aware of the connection. Henry had just arrived in America at the Port of Orleans from Ireland. I told you it was complicated.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Hughes righted his toppled chair, taking a seat close to Leighselle.
“Indeed. And, all that I just told you is the easy part of the story.”
“The easy part? Good God.” Hughes shook his head and gave Leighselle a long, hard look, his eyes moving slowly over her thin face.
Her emerald green eyes were jaundiced, sunken, and accentuated by dark circles underneath. The angular sharpness of her cheekbones protruded from parchment paper skin. Lips, once supple and pink, were drawn into a thin, pained slit in an attempt at barring the coughs from escaping.
“Did you ever marry or have a family of your own?” she asked, uncomfortable with how he studied her with such intense concern. She knew she was dying—she had hoped it wasn’t that obvious.
“In my line of work, it’s better not to.” Hughes waved at Jameson, indicating more lemonade. “Having a wife would leave her vulnerable. If someone, an enemy, wanted to get to me, all they’d have to do would be to threaten the woman I loved.”
“Do you have many enemies?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“A hired gun always has enemies. It’s my aim to never leave one standing.”
Leighselle shuddered, pulling her shawl tighter. “Concentrating on a job would be near impossible, I would guess, if you had someone at home to also worry about.”
“I don’t have a permanent home, anyway. Another reason to stay single.” He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“There are many reasons men choose to remain single. Yours sounds like one of the better ones.” A small cough tickled the back of her throat, lingering, never erupting into a full spasm. She waited, expecting it to explode, but the moment passed, leaving only the metallic aftertaste of blood.
C HAPTER F OUR
T UESDAY , O CTOBER 16, 1860
Journal Entry of Bar Flanders:
“A boy straddles a saddle differently than a girl” were the parting words Aunt Winnie called to my back when I rode out of Hog Mountain this morning. She’s right.
In my mind’s eye, I see my papa sitting tall in his saddle, reins in his left hand held loose between his fingers, a lariat gripped in his right, his preferred hand for shooting, too. He sat a saddle with a confident, casual attitude given to men born to ride. Given to girls born to ride, too.
I must remember to ride, sit, dress, eat, laugh, spit, talk, walk, and
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