Читать книгу His Secondhand Wife - Cheryl St. John - Страница 8

Prologue

Copper Creek, Colorado April 1890

A sick feeling dipped in Noah Cutter’s stomach as he studied the approaching rider. He dropped the wire cutters and rolled his sleeves down over his arms, snatched the hat he’d hung on a nearby fence post and pulled the brim down to shade his face.

His brother was the only person who ever came to Rock Ridge unannounced, and though Noah hadn’t seen him for months, the man on the horse was definitely not Levi.

The horse slowed. Noah raised a palm. “That’s far enough.”

“I have a telegram for ya!” the rider called in the breathless voice of a young man.

“Stick it on the fence there and ride off.”

“The sheriff said it was important you read this. You might wanna send a reply.”

“Leave it on the fence then and back off.”

The youth slid uneasily from the horse’s back and loped to the fence. The breeze whipped the paper for an instant, but he flattened it, found an exposed end of wire and poked the missive over the point. He glanced nervously at Noah.

Noah observed in silence.

The lad grabbed the reins and led the animal a considerable distance away.

Slowly, Noah covered the expanse to the flapping paper and plucked it from the fence. Unfolding it, he read the telegram addressed to Sheriff Mc Hargue.

Holding body of man in mid to late twenties, fair hair, blue eyes. Gunshot. Pocket watch engraved: “All my love, Adrienne.” Saloon patrons claim owner from Copper Creek. Advise.

Matt Mc Hargue had added his own note at the bottom, two lines in black ink.

Maybe you’d better go see the body. Let me know if you want me to tell Estelle.

Noah stared at the words until they blurred and his stomach knotted. The pocket watch didn’t mean anything to him; his brother owned several and some had probably been gifts from any of the number of women he drew so effortlessly.

The word “gunshot” leaped out with frightening clarity. The description sounded like Levi, but it probably sounded like a hundred other men in the Rockies, as well. Blond hair and blue eyes didn’t have to mean the dead man was his brother.

The message didn’t sit well, but he wouldn’t bet that this couldn’t possibly be Levi. It could very well be. Noah had feared something like this for as long as he could remember. Levi’s reckless philandering was bound to get him into trouble sooner or later.

As much disdain as his stepmother held for Noah, he couldn’t let the sheriff be the one to give Estelle such alarming news. The dead man might not be her son, but if he was, his mother deserved more consideration.

Noah looked up. “Let the sheriff know I’ll tell Mrs. Cutter myself,” he called. “I’ll set out for Masonville at first light tomorrow.”

From where he stood, the lad raised a hand. “I’ll tell ’im.”

He climbed onto the back of his horse, gave Noah another quizzical glance and lit out.

Losing Levi would be like cutting away another piece of himself. An oppressive sense of dread weighed upon his chest as Noah watched the horse’s hooves kicking up dust in the distance.

Don’t let it be Levi. Please don’t let it be Levi.