Читать книгу Outlaw Hunter - Carol Arens - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Melody stood in the center of the hotel room wearing her clean, new shift. She clenched her toes against the smooth wood floor, listening to the storm that howled under the eaves.

Unlike Libby, Pansy and Flynn, curled in a cozy tangle in one of the beds, she could not sleep. Even a simple doze was beyond her reach tonight.

Sleet hit the window with a quiet splat. She checked on Seth tucked into his crate. With his little belly full, he ought to be asleep for a few hours.

Quiet breathing, heavy in sleep, sighed through the room. There would be none of that for her tonight.

Nothing, it seemed, could ease the anxiety she felt over finally going home tomorrow. She wanted it, as much as her next heartbeat, but she dreaded it, too.

How would her parents receive her? And not only her parents, what about the rest of the town? Some might see her as a victim, but others might believe that as an outlaw’s wife, she was tainted.

Perhaps she was. She was certainly not the carefree girl who had run away with Ram, her hopes and dreams as fresh as sunrise.

Life had hardened her, and yet motherhood had made her more compassionate.

She hated to think it, but her parents might not even recognize their little girl. They would love her, still. She knew that. Maybe once she fell into their embrace, something of that carefree girl would return.

In the end, all of the hoping in the world was not going to allow her to sleep. Nerves jittered inside her until all she could do was pace from the window to the door, from the door to the window.

It was late, eleven o’clock. The clerk downstairs had told her that they kept a fire going in the lobby all night for restless guests and folks coming in at odd hours.

She paused in front of the hook on the wall where her new dress hung. She took it down and put it on. It smelled fresh. She doubted the day would come when fresh-smelling clothes would go unappreciated.

Not feeling like making a fuss over her hair, she combed her fingers through it and let it fall loose about her shoulders. She put on her new shoes then bent over Seth’s crate to make sure his breathing remained deep and slow.

Good, it would be safe to go downstairs for a short time.

She closed the door behind her with a quiet click then walked down the hall to the stair landing.

From where she stood she could see most of the lobby. The scene was cozy with stuffed chairs placed in a half circle about the fireplace. Lamps on side tables were turned low for the night. They cast the parlor in a pretty amber glow.

She heard the ticktock of a grandfather clock but couldn’t see it.

At the foot of the stairs, she paused, faced with a pleasant decision. Should she pass these quiet moments in front of the fire, or sit beside the window and watch the storm blow by?

It had been an age since she felt this secure.

It occurred to her that she didn’t have to make a choice. She could do both.

She would start with the window.

All of a sudden the front door opened, blowing in a gust of sleet and Reeve Prentis.

“Evening, Melody.” He removed his slush-dampened hat and coat then hung them on the hall tree beside the door. “I wondered if you’d get any sleep tonight.”

Lamplight and fire glow certainly flattered Reeve. The warm light cast his eyes a deeper shade of green. A shadow brushed the cleft in his chin and highlighted the curve of his smile.

If she were a different person, at a different place in her life, she would reach out and touch his cold, ruddy-looking cheek.

“I tried but...” She shrugged. “What are you doing out so late and in this weather?”

“Town marshal’s down with a fever. I told him I’d make his rounds.”

“That was kind of you.”

“Just part of the job.”

“That was dedicated of you, then.”

The smile he flashed gave her heart a skip. That would not do. Last time her heart gave a skip... Well, she did have her boys.

“Would you care to sit for a while?” he asked.

“By the fire or the window?”

“Window. We can enjoy the storm and keep warm at the same time.”

He enjoyed storms? So did she. There was something so snug about sheltering inside while everything raged outside.

“Would you like some tea, Reeve? Maybe I can find some in the kitchen.”

“I’d be grateful.”

Those long fingers of his looked as if they needed to be wrapped around something warm. For an instant, she imagined being that something.

What, she wondered, would those big calloused fingers feel like, touching the curve of her...? That was a thought she would not indulge in. Someday she might be able to think of a man that way, but not yet.

She hurried away, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the blush heating her face.

* * *

After ten minutes, Melody walked into the parlor carrying two cups of fragrant, steaming tea. Reeve was almost sorry that the blush had faded from her cheeks. She looked pretty with that high coloring.

He took the cup Melody offered. She sat down on the chair across from him.

A mixture of rain and snow dripped down the window. Wind whistled and moaned.

“I wonder if the weather will keep us from leaving the hotel in the morning,” she said with a sidelong glance outside.

“Would you want it to?” He studied the delicate pucker of her brow, wondering about the troubles that had to be churning her mind. It would only be natural for her to worry about what would happen tomorrow.

“No!” She looked out the window again. “Well, maybe...”

“Things might not go easy at first.”

“I’m used to hard, Reeve.” She snapped her gaze back to him. “I can handle that for myself. But my babies, and the other children... I want things to go easy for them. Libby and Joe have only known hard.”

“I reckon your folks will need some time to adjust. That’s only reasonable, but they’ll come around.”

“I hope so.” Her mouth firmed into a look of conviction. “I believe so.”

“So do I.” He took a gulp of his tea then smiled at her. “Thanks for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything, Reeve.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. Something in her eyes told him that the gesture did not come easily. “I can never pay you back for all you’ve done for me. And don’t tell me it’s just your job. I won’t hear it.”

“You’re welcome, Melody. You and the children have been refreshing traveling companions. It’s criminals that I normally escort.”

Not one single person that he’d escorted had ever touched his hand in friendship.

“It must be lonely, spending so much time away from your kin.”

Lonely and necessary.

“I see them when I can...holidays and such.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough. You speak so fondly of your nieces.”

Being away so much wasn’t right. He knew it. But he had a living to earn for his mother and his youngest sister—and a sin to atone for while he did it.

“You’re right. It isn’t enough.”

“Surely you could take more time off.”

Did he want to confide in her about his past? The night seemed right for private talk, with the storm wailing like a forlorn ghost and the two of them safe behind the glass. So late at night, it seemed that they were the only people alive with just the tick of the clock and their voices to fill up the night.

What had happened, what he had done to his family, was no secret, but he rarely spoke of it and they never did.

After tomorrow, it was unlikely that he would ever see Melody Dawson again. Sometimes, it was easier to talk to someone just passing through your life than it was to your own kin. At this time of year the guilt gnawed at him hard.

“I can’t take the time off for a pair of reasons.” He set down his tea, leaned back then folded his arms across his chest. If anyone could understand his sin, it would be Melody. “I’m the sole support of my crippled mother and my youngest sister. The reason that I am is that I trusted someone and it ended up getting my father killed. It put my mother in a wheelchair.”

If she was revolted by his confession, it didn’t show. Her gaze softened and she set down her tea. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her folded hands.

Melody Dawson was an exceptionally becoming woman, with her golden-blond hair falling softly over her shoulders and her warm, caring eyes looking at him with understanding.

“I’m so sorry, Reeve. Would you like to talk about it?”

He didn’t want to talk, but somehow he needed to unburden himself. Given her own past mistakes, she might be the one person to understand.

“Growing up, I was the oldest. I told you about my three sisters. The girls were always up to mischief. Ma and Pa were busy making a living. My folks were jewelers and had a shop in town so they were gone much of the time. It fell to me to keep the girls in line.

“But I was eighteen and didn’t want to stay in line, myself. One day I met a couple of fellows who were my age and full of the dickens. I admired them because they were free to do the things I could not.”

She nodded her head but did not comment.

“They took me in, acted like I was one of them. I wanted their respect so badly that one day I began to boast. How could it hurt if I confided a secret? So I bragged and told them there was a safe full of money in the store. I realized later that the only reason they befriended me was to get at the safe. It was December tenth. Our family was supposed to go to a Christmas music recital that night, but Ma and Pa stopped by the store first while I went on with my sisters.”

Melody bit her lip. She gave a slight shake of her head, probably guessing where the story was going.

“Pa went after the intruders with a gun. My bravado cost my father his life and my mother her legs.

“The criminals disappeared and my family was broken.”

There was her touch on his hand again, hesitant at first but gaining courage as her fingers warmed his skin.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she had gone through to make a simple touch so difficult. For all that she flinched at the contact, her touch was powerful in its emotion. It gave him the strength to finish his story.

“I worked odd jobs to see Ma and the girls fed and sheltered, but those were hard times. When I came of age I became a lawman, in part so I could find those men.”

“And did you?”

“Within that first year. The two of them will spend the rest of their days behind bars.”

“I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have just shot them. Maybe the Traverses got to me more than I know.”

“I wanted to...almost did. The gun shook in my fist, I wanted to do it so badly.”

“What stopped you?”

“It would have been one more betrayal to my folks. They had tried to raise me to be law-abiding and honorable. Those fellows lured me from that path once. I wasn’t going to let them do it again.

“Besides, over time I’ve found that justice lasts longer than revenge.”

She nodded, then turned her face to watch the sleet slide down the window. It was a moment before she spoke.

“Have you been able to forgive yourself, Reeve? I’m not sure that I can, for what I did.”

“I don’t know that I’ve forgiven myself. But I have learned to get on with my life and live it in a way that honors my parents. Whenever I lock up a criminal, I’m doing that. It’s a hard life, on the move. I don’t think I’ll ever have the comfort of settling down in one place, but I reckon that’s my penance.”

“Someday, Reeve, I’m certain that one of my boys will act in a way I wouldn’t choose. But I’d be sick at heart if he paid for that by sacrificing his own happiness.”

“Serving up justice makes me happy.” It did. It filled the crater that his transgression had carved in his soul. As long as he could do that and provide for his mother and his sister, he would be content with his life.

His nieces would stand in for his own children. And as far as never having someone of his own—a wife? Well, that was also part of his penance.

* * *

Cottonwood Grove had not changed in three years. Melody stood in the wagon bed gazing down upon it from the hilltop north of town.

From up here, one could see that the town was designed like a wheel. Grove Circle, the business district, formed the hub of the wheel and the center of town. Radiating out from it, like spokes on a wheel, was the residential area.

Come spring, the whole town would be shaded by huge leafy trees. The open land spreading away from town consisted of miles of lush grassy hills cut by three creeks lined with cottonwoods.

Cottonwood Grove was a world away from the Broken Brand.

This late in the afternoon, smoke rose from chimneys all over town as folks got ready to settle in for the evening. The familiar scent of burning wood floated up the knoll.

Melody’s heart squeezed so tight she thought she might bawl out loud. The sights and sounds of home made her want to leap from the wagon, run down the hill and hug the first person she saw, stranger or not.

Did the boardwalk in front of Miller’s Dry Goods still squeak? She spotted Mary Weller coming out of her bakeshop. Did she still bake the most delicious cinnamon muffins in the county? A hammer striking an anvil told her that the blacksmith was working late, as had always been his custom.

And there, the last house on the spoke of town leading due west, was the home she had grown up in. Its three stories gleamed white in the late-afternoon sunshine.

It was odd that no smoke rose from the chimney. Mama loved nothing better than a cozy fire, and Papa loved nothing more than pleasing Mama.

“Are you ready?” Reeve’s voice snapped her away from a dozen memories that crowded her all at once.

She glanced toward the side of the wagon. He sat tall on his big horse, peering at her under the brim of his Stetson. She was going to miss Reeve once he went on his way.

She’d had many friends growing up, most of them she’d known all her life. But she had never taken to one as quickly as she had Reeve.

Was it foolish to trust him so quickly? Possibly, but he was everything a man ought to be and not like Ram in any way at all.

She could not deny that with Reeve, it was almost as though they were kindred spirits with the common bond of a guilty past. He was struggling to make amends, and she would be in just a few minutes.

She watched him move ahead of the wagon, riding tall with his broad shoulders and narrow hips rocking with the horse’s gait. He was a rare man, and she would be a long time forgetting him.

“As ready as I’m going to be,” she whispered under her breath.

“I’m worried, too,” Joe said, then jiggled the reins and clicked to the team. “It won’t be a secret that we’re outlaws’ kin.”

“These are good folks.” She clutched the back of the wagon seat, too nervous to sit down. “We might be a surprise to them at first, but they’ll come around.”

“Can we attend school?” Libby knelt behind her, close to her knee.

“Mama will insist upon it.”

“I think I’m going to like your mama.”

“And she is going to adore you.”

“’Dore me, too, Meldy?” Pansy asked, hugging tight to her sister’s arm.

“Especially you, little flower.” Melody turned about and ruffled the little girl’s curly hair.

Then, all of a sudden, she was home. The large white house came into view. A sob tore from her throat.

She couldn’t help it. She leaped from the wagon, picked up the hem of her skirt and ran.

“Mama!” she cried, opening the gate of the faded picket fence.

That was odd. Papa never let paint fade.

She ran up the walk. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t care. She was home. She was safe. “Mama!”

She tried the doorknob. It was locked. She pounded on the door. Paint chipped against her fist. She pounded some more.

“What do you think you are doing?” a shrill voice called from the other side of the road.

She spun about to see a woman charging forward from the house across the street. She was not the round and cheerful Mrs. Cherry whom Melody had known all of her life.

This woman was tall, lean and pinch-faced. Her eyes snapped with indignation, as though Melody were an intruder.

The woman wore a dress that looked as if it had come from Paris, France. She had rouge on her cheeks and even a dash of kohl around her eyes.

“Who are you?” the woman barked, snapping her skirt as she stomped up the walk.

“Melody Irene?” Thank the Lord! Her father’s voice came from the right, near the corner of the house. She spun toward it.

“Papa?” she gasped.

He took a step toward her and she dashed into his arms.

“Papa!” She sobbed and hung on to his neck. He seemed shorter than he had, thinner, too, but she hugged him as if he was her lifeline.

“Is it really you?” He cupped the back of her head, holding her close. “My little girl?”

“It’s me.” Relief flooded her. She was home and Papa held her in his arms. Everything would be all right now.

“We gave up hope.” She felt his chest heave then cave.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I can’t tell you how sorry.”

They hung on to each other for a long moment, hugging and weeping.

“Mama!” Flynn called.

At last she pulled away. “Papa, there’s someone I want you and Mama to meet.”

She gazed into eyes that didn’t seem like her father’s. They used to be snapping blue, his expression always on the verge of a laugh. Now they were clouded... It was all her fault.

“I’m sorry, baby...truly, truly sorry, but your mama...she passed on two years ago.”

Papa turned her about by the shoulders. Her heart had stopped. Surely it had. Through a dizzy haze she faced the neighbor who looked as though steam might spout from her ears.

“And this is your stepmama, Dixie.”