Death Mask by Cotton Smith

gray. But growing older had taken away none of her sensuous charm.
    A wide grin took control of her wrinkled brown face. It forced the old scar across her high cheekbones and wide nose to move up and down. The scar was a reminder of a long-ago battle between the United States Army and a band of Mexican guerrillas near the border.
    “ Buenas tardes, Senor Beeg Thunder and mi hijo Senor Time,” she exclaimed. “Angel ees mucho lucky. Adelante ! Come in! Come in!”
    Her dark eyes sparkled and her long lashes batted their welcome to Kileen. A stained tan leather skirt, accented with a row of tiny bells sewn around the bottom edge, flared wide at her knees. Carlow was certain it was the same outfit she had worn when they had stayed three years ago.
    She wrapped her arms around the big Irishman and gave him a warm kiss on the mouth. He returned it with the same enthusiasm.
    Talking quietly to Chance, Carlow tried not to look at their special moment. He privately hoped to be greeted the same way by Ellie Beckham.
    “And mi hijo, you have come back to me,” Angel declared and gave Carlow an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on the cheek. She stepped back from him, her hands still holding his shoulders. “Et ees so bueno. You ees strong, mi hijo. You ees warrior.”
    Carlow told her that she, too, looked wonderful, knowing that “ mi hijo ” was Spanish for “my son.” He was the same age as her oldest son, Miguel, who had died years ago. She had helped heal Carlow after an awful battle in Bennett when the Rangers had fought the infamous Silver Mallow Gang. Kileen had brought him to her house, more dead than alive, a safe haven, he hoped, from the Mallow gang. Carlow’s best friend and fellow Ranger, Shannon Dornan, had been killed in that same fight.
    “Me lass, some fine Irish whiskey, I be bringing,” Kileen declared. “An’ pipe tobacco. An’ some other surprises an’ such. Good things to eat, they be.”
    Carlow retreated to his own saddlebags and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper and a sack.
    “I never thanked you…for all you did,” he said, holding the gifts toward her. “Fact is, I wasn’t very nice, seems to me.”
    Her smile was gracious and warm as she accepted the gifts. “ De nada, mi hijo, you ees a warrior. They no like not being in ze fight. Eet ees their way. I know.”
    In a moment, her brown hands revealed the contents of his gifts: a pad of drawing papers and a sack filled with pencils, ink pens and two bottles of ink. Her face became a wide smile once more. Her drawing skills were exceptional; Carlow knew that firsthand.
    “Ah, you know what Angel wants,” she exclaimed. “Thees ees wonderful! I have used up all that I had from Beeg Thunder’s last trip.” She looked past him momentarily. “You steel have the bueno hoss. Shadow, no?” She walked over to the black horse and stroked its nose. “ Si, you ees like mi Cuchillo, run like ze wind and ask for more.”
    “Good memory, Angel.” Carlow smiled back and added, “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll be riding on. Got to go to Bennett and wire the captain. There’s a certain young woman there I hope will remember me, too.”
    “If she not, she ees not a woman worthy of mi hijo. ” She grinned wickedly. “Then there be a house at the edge of town where a young man weel be treated well.”
    Carlow blushed.
    She hugged him again and he returned to his black horse. He grinned to himself. So far she had made no attempt to ask him to stay. Good, he thought. She will be good for my uncle. He wondered if they would marry when his uncle was ready to settle down. Maybe they both should do that. Maybe retire to ranching like Mirabile had just done.
    Leaping into the saddle, he said, “I’ll be back in two days. Sooner if Ellie doesn’t remember me.” He made no mention of Angel’s reference to visiting one of Bennett’s cribs. He had been to a whorehouse once in El Paso, years ago, at Kileen’s insistence. Never