Читать книгу The Marshal's Mission - Anna Zogg - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“So are we friends now?” As US Marshal Jesse Cole settled his saddle in one corner of the barn, he spoke to the yellow dog.

With a grunt, Blister rested his head on his front paws like he was apologizing for his earlier hostility.

“’Bout time, after all I did for you.”

Earlier that day, he had come across a howling and frantic animal, tangled in scrub pine in the middle of nowhere. The moment Cole cut him free, the dog took off in a dead run. That should have been the end of the story. But what if the rope snagged on something else? He had followed to make certain Blister reached safety. Foolish decision. In his worry for the dog, he had not stopped when his mare stumbled. Had she stepped in a hole?

Running his hands over Sheba’s fetlock, Cole decided it felt a little swollen. Nothing broken, though.

He straightened as footsteps splashed toward the barn. The woman’s son? The earlier torrent had died down. Now rain tapped the roof in a gentle staccato.

The door creaked open. “Hey, mister. Y’hungry?” Dark hair plastering his forehead, Toby stood just inside. He carried something wrapped in a towel, held close to his chest. Food?

Cole smoothed his hand over the mare’s still-damp rump. “Tobias Joseph, right?”

“Yessir.” The youngster’s chest puffed up. “Named after my ma’s pa.”

When his gaze shot to Blister, he seemed to forget Cole. “Hey, boy. How’re you doing?”

The dog’s tail thumped on the dirt floor as the youngster loosened the cloth and dropped a meaty bone.

Cole grinned. His assumption that the towel-wrapped item was his meal proved unfounded. Or was it? Either way, he was glad he hadn’t agreed to supper. The sooner he sacked out, the earlier he could get started in the morning. This ranch held too many a mystery—starting with the lassoed dog. Although Cole admired his gun-toting hostess, he had already spent too much time dwelling on the endearing way her hair fell across her cheek. And her lips, pursing in fabricated determination.

Did he believe her comment about her husband? Not in the least.

“There ya go, boy.” Toby backed away. After grabbing the bone, the dog retreated to a corner. Despite the sleepy purr of the chickens, Blister kept a wary eye on them.

Cole studied the youngster who looked to be somewhere between nine and twelve. His lean frame took after his mother’s. She appeared to have dark eyes whereas Toby’s were light. Green? Difficult to tell in the shadowy barn. Likely the boy would sprout up and pass her in height, but his shoulders would never be broad. His pensive forehead mirrored the woman’s gentle nature.

Cole cleared his throat. “I was named after my grandpa too.”

Mouth puckering, the boy toed the straw at his feet. “Ma said he died before I was born. Same time as my grandma. Back east a’ways.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Stepping closer, he pointed at the mare. “D’ya mind my asking what kind of horse she is? Never seen a blood bay like her before.”

“You got a sharp eye. Sheba’s a Morgan. I’m hoping she’s the beginning of a great line of horses.”

“Wow.” Without fear, the youngster approached the mare. He let her nose him before stroking her neck. “And she’s pregnant?”

“Yes, but she’s not far along. I expect she’ll foal late August.” Cole again questioned his decision to bring her with him. However, his mare was the perfect cover for his Wyoming Territory mission.

“She sure is a beaut.” Toby studied her with a critical eye.

“What’s different about her?”

The boy stepped back and scratched the top of his head. “Her muscles seem kinda bunched. And the arch in her neck is unlike others I’ve seen.”

“Good. What else?”

He planted fists on his hips. “Her eyes have a look about ’em. I could almost tell what she’s thinking.” He stepped closer to rub her soft nose. “And she’s good-natured. Not like Chuck and Midge’s horse. She was always mean.”

“Who’re Chuck and Midge?”

“Our hired help. Well, not anymore. One day, they just up and left.” The youngster ran his hand over the mare’s shoulder. “I love her dark mane and tail.”

Cole grinned at the boy’s horse sense. Reminded him of his brother, for some reason.

“Sheba,” Toby repeated, smoothing his hand across her. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “So what’s your name, mister?”

“You can call me Cole.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cole.”

“Nah, just Cole. Been that ever since I was your age.” He tilted his head and studied the boy. Something seemed to be weighing him down. Cole knew he didn’t have to pry. Folks volunteered all sorts of information if he remained quiet.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“Thanks for helping Blister. He means the world to me.”

“Glad to.” He paused, yielding to his curiosity about the dog. “You give him that name?”

“Yep.” The boy grinned. “A man in town didn’t want him no more. ’Bout three years ago. Pa said I could have him, if I wanted. I had a blister on my hand that looked the same color as his fur. Seemed only natural to call him that.”

“It’s a good name.” Cole leaned against the stall’s column and crossed his arms. “Tell me, do you know how he ended up with a rope around his neck?”

Had someone tried to hang the dog? Somehow Blister had escaped, only to get tangled up in scrub pine.

Toby’s mouth compressed. “Nope.”

“Y’sure? I can’t abide cruelty to animals.”

The boy wouldn’t meet his gaze as he stroked Sheba. Because his mother had schooled him about what to say? He managed a tight shrug. “Blister’s always roaming. Ma thinks he wandered too far.” He turned. “She would’ve cut the rope off him if you hadn’t come along.”

Should Cole ask about the boy’s father?

When he had first arrived and banged on the door to the house, no one answered. After seeing only the woman and Toby in the barn, he concluded the boy’s father was drunk, dead or absent. Which was it?

Given the woman’s overreaction earlier, he settled on her being a widow. One way to find out for certain.

As Cole spread his bedroll, he chose his words with care. “Wouldn’t your pa have helped?”

The youngster’s expression grew stony, fingers tangling in Sheba’s long mane. “I reckon.”

So, he and his mother are alone.

No sense pushing the boy for the truth. Besides, it was none of Cole’s business. By morning he would be on his way. He wanted to reach Silver Peaks before noon. After he found a place to stable his horses, he would check into a hotel and call it home for a spell. Should he reveal he was a US marshal to the town’s sheriff? Cole again weighed his options. Best to get to town first and check out the lay of the land.

“Are your geldings Morgans too?” Toby climbed a stall’s lower rung to rest his arms and chin on the stall’s top board. “I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark.”

“Nope. They’re not.”

“They’re pretty gentle too. Except one tried to bite me.”

Cole chuckled as he settled against his saddle. “That would be Nips. Sorry I didn’t warn you about him. I haven’t been able to break that bad habit.”

“And the other?”

“The sorrel’s Rowdy. He can get his dander up pretty quick, but overall he’s steady.”

“Toby.” The woman’s voice called over the gentle patter of rain. “Toby, where are you?”

He ran to the door. “Coming, Ma.” The youngster swiveled. “So are you coming up for supper, Cole? Ma saved over some stew from dinner.”

“Nah, I’m more tired than hungry.” Besides, he didn’t like being beholden to them any more than he already was. A worry pebble had lodged in his gut. What about them troubled him?

Toby grinned, his expression betraying wisdom that exceeded his age. “Too bad. Ma’s the best cook in Laramie County. And she makes a fearsome pie.” He took off across the sodden yard.

When Cole’s stomach growled in protest, he looked down at his concave abdomen. “Oh, hush.” Jerky and hardtack would suit him just fine.

Before first light, he would hit the road and distance himself from this place. Nothing and no one would distract him from his mission.

* * *

“What?” Aghast, Lenora’s grip tightened around the large serving spoon. “You invited him for supper?”

“I thought that’s what you said.”

“I told you to ask if he was hungry.” If so, she would have sent Toby to the barn with a bowl of stew. She wasn’t quite ready to have a stranger come into her house, no matter how friendly he had been.

“Don’t matter.” Her son rested an elbow on the table. “He said he was tired.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She finished serving leftovers into his bowl. “Please don’t use slang. You know I can’t abide it.”

“Yes’m.” He leaned his head against his fist as he slumped in the chair. “Cole sure has some nice horses. Especially Sheba.”

“Mr. Cole.” She finished laying out the remainder of the meal.

“He said to call him Cole. Without the mister.”

Lenora frowned.

“I’m sure, Ma.”

“Very well. Since he insisted.” She slid into the seat next to him. “Please don’t slouch.”

As her son straightened, he grimaced—displaying his thinking face. “Do you like Cole, Ma?”

The direct question took her aback. How much could she say to her ten-year-old? Though he sometimes acted grown up, she couldn’t forget he was still a child.

“I like him just fine. But we can’t forget he’s a stranger.” She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. “And now that your pa’s gone, we have to be cautious. That’s all. Remember what we talked about?”

Toby fingered the spoon beside the bowl. “I s’pose.”

The nearest town was located several hours away. No doubt her son was lonely. But she didn’t want him to latch on to the first stranger who had ridden onto their ranch since Amos’s death. Though something about Cole tugged at her to trust him, she resisted.

“Let’s pray.” After they clasped hands, Lenora bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May we truly be grateful.” She paused, suppressing a barrage of anxiety-riddled requests. “Thank You for returning Blister. In Your Son’s name. Amen.”

“Amen.” Toby scooped a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

Before she took three bites, he finished one bowlful. She served him more while he wolfed down a hunk of bread.

“I declare, you eat more than your pa...ever did.” She smoothed his dark, damp hair, hoping he didn’t notice her slip of the tongue.

Grinning, Toby ate two bites in quick succession. “After I’m done, can I go check on Blister?”

“I’d rather you didn’t disturb our guest. He’s probably sleeping by now.”

Scraping the spoon across the bottom of the bowl, Toby frowned. “Think he’ll stay, Ma?”

“Cole?”

“Yeah.” Eyes hopeful, her son looked up.

Her cheeks warmed as she considered that possibility. “I expect he’s on his way somewhere important. Probably be gone first light.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Oregon Territory. Or California. People are still crazy with gold fever.”

“Couldn’t you ask him to stay? Maybe hire him? Seein’ as how Chuck and Midge are gone.”

She took care answering, not wanting to raise his hopes. “I’d have to think on that some.”

Should she confide to her son that she planned to sell the ranch? Frank Hopper, their nearest neighbor, had not yet responded to her proposition.

Toby scratched the top of his head with his knuckles. “Why do you think Chuck and Midge left? They didn’t even say goodbye.”

Debating how much to speculate about their sudden and secretive departure, Lenora chewed her lip. “I’m sure they had a good reason.”

Last fall, Amos had begun building a small place for the couple. The frame of a building stood across the corral that was in the center of the yard. He’d even carved Midge one of his rocking chairs for which he was famous. Had Jeb Hackett bribed or threatened them? With them gone, she and Toby couldn’t manage the ranch by themselves.

In silence, she and Toby finished their meal. The fire popped and crackled, the damp logs hissing. The sound reminded her she’d have to chop more wood soon. Their winter stacks were almost gone. As soon as Lenora entertained that worry, a dam broke of all their other needs. They not only had the garden to tend to, but the cow to milk, pig to slop and chickens to feed.

The weight of each concern grew heavier.

New seedlings were just poking their heads up through the rough soil. Had she planted too early? The freezing rain may have damaged them. Then their cow was drying up. Could they hold out until their other one calved? The pig was getting so big, he would have to be slaughtered soon. But which neighbor could she call on to help?

Staples were running low as well as their smoked pork and venison. She pushed aside the unpleasant thoughts of shooting, then gutting a deer. How could she process all the meat by herself? Toby, of course, would be a great help, but the two of them didn’t have time to do everything.

She wouldn’t even begin to consider the bigger needs of the ranch—the calves that had yet to be branded and castrated, the fences that needed mending and a host of other chores. After Chuck and Midge had disappeared, she reconciled herself to selling out while she could. Though she hated the thought of taking Toby away from his home, he would eventually adjust to city life. At least he would no longer be lonely.

Appetite gone, Lenora rose and scraped the remainder of her stew into the slop bowl. Her shoulders hunched as she sighed. “You can take this to Blister in the morning. And don’t forget the pig.”

Toby slipped his arm about her waist and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. My, but he was getting tall!

“It’ll be okay, Ma. You’ll see.”

“I know.” Her chest heaved as she considered moving away.

“I been praying every night that God would send help. Do you think He sent Cole?”

Had He?

“That’d be nice.” When her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “But let’s not make plans until we find out what Cole intends to do.”

Her son squeezed her waist before turning away to clear the table.

Later as she lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, she dared to whisper, “God...?” Her plea stuck in her throat.

How many times over the years had she begun a prayer, then stopped? Because she asked the same things over and over?

The nights Amos didn’t return home, she fervently prayed it wasn’t because he was thieving or gambling. When she smelled whiskey on his breath or cheap perfume on his clothes, she refused to let him kiss her. But no matter how hard she prayed, he never turned from his wicked path. He still rode with the outlaw gang.

As tears slipped down her temple, Lenora brushed them away. With a rueful heart, she thought of her husband buried in the backyard, a simple tombstone marking the spot. Under his coffin rested a satchel of stolen money.

That terrible and dark secret would remain entombed—not only with Amos, but in her heart.

As Lenora pulled the blanket higher, the same plaintive questions whispered in her mind. Why did he get shot robbing that bank? Why hadn’t Jeb Hackett been killed instead?