Читать книгу The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption - Janet Dean - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Where am I?

Carly closed her eyes, giving her head a little shake, and then opened them again, the scent of soap, leather and peppermint filling her nostrils. Shadows slowly came into focus.

She peered into gray eyes. Gray eyes rimmed with charcoal and filled with concern.

Intriguing eyes. Who was—?

A small face popped into view. Henry. Tears spiking his lashes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying?

Her son’s lower lip trembled. “Mama.”

“I’m all right, sweetie,” she said, though she had no idea what had happened.

Then the memory came rushing back. Those eyes she’d gazed into, those eyes she’d found intriguing, belonged to Nate Sergeant. Max’s killer. A dangerous man out to seize her shop.

And yet she lay nestled in the varmint’s arms, thinking how good he smelled. As if his touch burned her flesh, Carly jerked upright and gathered her son close.

“You’re not dead!” Henry beamed up at her.

She kissed her boy’s wet cheeks. “I’m fine, Henry,” she said. “Just fine.”

But she wasn’t fine.

Carly had poured her life’s blood into this shop. Found satisfaction in the work. Earned a living here. She’d made a life for herself and her child in the four small rooms at the back. Without this shop, how would she manage? Where would they go?

“I won’t give up my business,” she said, her voice high, thin, almost a screech.

“Don’t worry, Mama.” Henry pointed at Max’s killer. “The man said he’d help you. He promised.”

Carly’s eyes darted to Nate Sergeant. Under the force of her gaze, he all but squirmed. He’d help her, all right. Help her lose her shop and everything in it.

Still, she’d lashed out at the man, not a good example for her son. “Let me up, Henry.”

Her son scooted out of the way.

In one fluid motion, the bounty hunter sprang to his feet. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and helped her rise. The startling warmth and gentleness of his touch felt nothing like Max’s cold, hard grip.

Chiding herself for falling for such trickery, Carly pulled herself erect and faced her enemy.

Broad-shouldered, feet apart, he towered over her, expression closed, gaze firm, as if trying to squash her with a mere look. Well, she wasn’t some helpless bug.

Not with her pistol buried in the deep pocket of her skirt. She’d bought the Smith and Wesson and learned to shoot, determined to do whatever she must to protect her son.

She bit back a sigh. No matter how strong the temptation, she couldn’t shoot this sidewinder for claiming her business.

Still, no one was going to take away that security. No one.

“I want you to leave,” she said. “My son has had a scare. I won’t allow you to subject him to more.”

His brow furrowed. “We have to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about. Come, Henry,” she said, guiding the boy toward the back. “Go to your room and close the door. I’ll be right there.”

Henry complied with lagging steps and backward glances.

She waited until she heard the door to their quarters click shut, then rounded on him. “The only person I will be speaking with is Sheriff Truitt. Max’s name may be on the deed, but as you well know, my husband is dead. As his widow, everything he owned is mine. He had no right to gamble his son’s future.”

“I agree with you, Mrs. Richards, but the fact is he did.”

“If you actually have the deed, you’d show it. I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

“I left the deed with my sister for safekeeping. Her husband hid it so carefully, took me a month to find it.”

“So you claim.” She flung out a hand, pointing her forefinger at him. “I will fight you! This shop provides our living and our home. I’ll do whatever I must to protect that.”

“Sorry to bring more trouble to your door, ma’am, but—”

“I’ve faced trouble, Mr. Sergeant. All a man could throw at me.” She straightened her shoulders and slapped hands on hips. “I’m not intimidated.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to make you understand the outcome is beyond your control. Your husband lost the deed to my brother-in-law before he died.”

“How convenient he can’t deny your claim. And you—” she raised a hand and pointed a steady finger at him “—did the killing.”

“I had no choice. It was either him or me.” Jaw jutting, face flushed, the bounty hunter clamped his hat on his head. “The law will decide who owns this property.”

“Gnaw Bone doesn’t have a lawyer, much less a judge—”

“At some point, a circuit judge will pass through. In the meantime, I’ll bring my sister—and the deed—to town. She’ll be the one running this shop. You might want to look for someplace else to live.”

“I will do nothing of the sort.” She stalked to the door, opened it. “I suggest you make other arrangements for your sister, Mr. Sergeant. Good day, sir.”

As the door closed behind him, Carly wilted into a chair. “Why, Lord?” She spoke aloud. “Why, after all we’ve been through, have You allowed a new threat? Do You even hear my prayers?”

* * *

Nate strode out, the widow’s sarcasm in the “sir” and the slamming door behind him ringing in his ears. He’d let his temper get the best of him. Still, the widow had all but called him a liar and had pointed that dainty finger at him like a gunslinger taking aim.

He unwound the reins from the hitching post, swung into the saddle and rode toward the livery he’d seen earlier. Each clop of Maverick’s hooves thudded against his conscience. Why should the widow trust his word? He’d killed her husband. Claimed he had a deed he hadn’t produced. When he came back with that deed, she’d fight him tooth and nail. Carly Richards wasn’t a woman to take things lying down. No doubt life with that scoundrel of a husband had made her hard, tough.

If a husband’s property belonged to his wife as much as to him, a judge might rule Richards had no right to gamble away shared property. But from what Nate had seen, even if that property belonged to his wife, a husband had the authority to do with marital assets as he saw fit.

Once Carly Richards realized Nate had no intention of backing down, she’d give up the fight.

Where would she and the boy live then? How would she earn an income? Who would look after them?

Nate clamped his jaw. He couldn’t get soft about the widow’s plight. Anna had no other means to make a living. Carly Richards was able-bodied; a good housekeeper and cook from the tidy appearance of her shop and the robust look of her son. Surely she had numerous skills to find another job in Gnaw Bone. Perhaps she had family nearby.

He had to focus on his sister, the one person he owed everything. Anna was depending on him to make things right, which he would do.

Then he’d settle the score with Shifty Stogsdill, the outlaw he hunted.

At the thought of hitting the trail, Nate’s stomach twisted. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was tired. Tired of huddling near a campfire and eating lousy food. Tired of sleeping under the stars on the hard, cold ground. Tired of endless hours in the saddle chasing lawless, brutal men.

As weary as he was of his life, he was a skilled bounty hunter. Bringing Stogsdill to justice would silence his loved ones calling to him from the grave.

The reward money, along with the proceeds from the shop, would set Anna up for life. Then he would have kept his promise to his parents and repaid his debt to his sister. No amount of money would compensate for the handicap she would live with her entire life.

Stogsdill’s trail had gone cold, but rumor had it the outlaw was sweet on a woman living in the area. The reason Nate had ridden this way, planning to bunk with Anna and Walt while investigating the rumor.

If only he’d arrived four hours earlier, he might have saved Walt’s life. One more if-only Nate couldn’t fix. A long list of regrets that plagued him.

But he could move his sister to Gnaw Bone. It meant hiring a wagon to haul her possessions. Not all that many, certainly nothing of material value, but she’d never leave family keepsakes behind.

Outside the livery Nate looped Maverick’s reins to the rail. A hand-painted for-sale sign caught his eye. If the lettering over the doors meant anything, how did the proprietor, Morris Mood, hope to sell this run-down property?

Hmm, the small print indicated the sale included a vacant house. If it was habitable, perhaps Nate could work out a deal with the owner. Now that he’d met the pretty widow and her small son, he couldn’t stomach the idea of evicting them from their home.

Inside the stable, he inhaled the scent of hay, leather and manure; heard the soft whinnying of horses, easing the tension in his neck and zipping him back to the time he’d wrangled horses on a Texas ranch. The pay had been lousy. Not nearly enough money to provide for Anna, but that year had taught him plenty about horses.

Maybe, just maybe, he could do this: run a livery and settle in one place. He tamped down the silly notion. He was not good at staying put, but he was good at his job.

Still, with Walt dead, Anna had no one to look after her but him. He couldn’t ride off as he’d done many times before, leaving his sister behind with the hope his inept brother-in-law would make a decent living. This time he had to stay long enough to see Anna find her place in the community. Once she was settled in the rooms behind the seamstress shop, he’d be on his way.

He strolled down the aisle between the stalls, studying the horses. Unlike the dilapidated barn, the animals looked healthy, their coats groomed, their bedding clean, water buckets full. Clearly the owner cared about his horses.

Nate passed the tack room, then stopped outside the door leading into the office. A stoop-shouldered man with grizzled hair hunched over a ledger, his spectacles sliding down his nose. A broken bit and two shabby halters lay scattered on the desk, alongside a tattered saddle cinch and a rusty horseshoe. The owner and his office looked as frayed as his business.

“Mr. Mood?”

With a startled squeak, the elderly gentleman jerked up his head and then staggered to his feet, his face tinged with pink. “Didn’t know anyone was about. Need a horse? Rig?”

“A wagon.” He motioned toward the entrance. “And information about that sign out front.”

“You’re new in town.” The old gent tugged at his suspenders. “Looking to buy this place?”

Why would Nate do that? “Nope, don’t have the money. But in exchange for a place to live, I could work here.”

The owner chuckled. “I don’t have the money to pay you a wage, neither. Reckon that makes us even.” He pointed to a bale of straw. “Take the weight off,” he said, plopping into his desk chair with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be looking to sell, exceptin’ my wife needs a dry climate. If I can find a buyer, I’d take Betsy to Arizona. Good weather for consumption.”

“I’m sorry your wife’s sick.” Nate sat, his gaze roaming his surroundings. “I could restore the place. Make the livery more attractive to a buyer.”

“I can’t keep up with repairs. Reckon it’s as run-down as I am.” He drummed knobby fingers on the desk. “All that hammering and sawing could spook my horses. You know how to handle ’em?”

“I spent a year as wrangler on a spread in Texas.”

“That don’t mean you’ll treat ’em right.”

“I’d never mistreat a horse—any animal.”

Yet only minutes before, Nate had mistreated a woman. The truth of that gnawed at him. No matter how tough she’d tried to appear, he’d seen the fear beneath Mrs. Richards’s bluster. She’d reminded him of an abused horse, alert and skittish, ready to rear and kick, expecting trouble, prepared for battle. His stomach clenched. Had Richards abused his wife?

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Mood said. “I could use the help, but as I said, I can’t afford to pay a wage. What if I applied what you should earn toward buying the place?” He pointed over his shoulder. “And throw in the living quarters behind the livery? Me and the missus live a few miles out now, so the house sits empty. Has two bedrooms, kitchen, small parlor—nothing fancy but it’s livable and furnished.”

“I’m not interested in buying the livery, but I’m moving my sister to Gnaw Bone. We’ll need a place to bunk.” His gaze roamed the cobwebbed corners, the glass in the window caked with dirt. “Anna is, uh, persnickety.”

“The house is in better condition than the stable. I’ll spiff the place up, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Mood’s plan didn’t fence Nate in. He could make improvements until the judge settled the shop ownership. Nate offered his hand. “I’m willing to try each other out, see if the arrangement fits.”

The old codger reached a blue-veined hand and shook, his grip surprisingly strong. “Gives us both time. You might like working here and change your mind.” He gave a nod. “If I like you, trust you with my horses, you could finish buying the livery on contract, a set amount each month.”

Nate wouldn’t be changing his mind. He had no interest in staying in this two-bit town tethered to a livery and half a dozen horses. Nate had spent much of his adult life wandering. He had no idea how to handle that kind of permanence. The one time he’d tried to settle down had ended in disaster. A moving target was safer for everyone.

Nate paid the rate for a wagon and team. “I’ll return the rig tomorrow,” he said, following Mood toward the stalls.

Anna wanted him nearby. Nate would give her that for now. He had enough money to ignore the wanted posters in his saddlebags. If the circuit judge ruled in Anna’s favor, as Nate expected, she’d have a solid income to handle her bills. Then he would leave the good folks of Gnaw Bone before Stogsdill came looking for revenge and someone got hurt.

Mood tramped toward him, leading two draft horses. Nate joined him and they moseyed to the open end of the livery where a wagon waited, its green paint peeling. While in Gnaw Bone, Nate would scrape and repaint that wagon.

Perhaps if he kept busy enough, he could hold memories at bay.

A yellow, shaggy dog crawled out from under the wagon, his tail giving a slow wag.

Mood reached a hand. The dog stepped into his touch. “She’s got me pegged as a softy.” He raised the dog’s chin. “Soon as I get this team hitched, I’ll share my lunch. But I’ll be moving West, too far a trip for you.” Mood glanced over his shoulder at Nate. “She’d make a fine watchdog, if you’ve a mind to keep her.”

The mutt couldn’t harm a flea. “I’ll be moving on, too.”

“She’d be good company for your sister.”

A dog underfoot might trip Anna. Mood would see that soon enough.

With slow, patient motions and gentle words to the horses, the old man hitched the team to the wagon. “This here is Mark. The other is Matthew. Named ’em after the Gospel writers. Feed, water and rub them down tonight.”

As if Nate hadn’t the faintest idea how to care for horses. “Yes, sir.” Nate tied Maverick to the rear of the wagon. “Once we’re settled in, I’ll start making repairs.”

“Your coming proves the Good Lord is watching over me and Betsy, that’s sure.”

Mood wouldn’t believe Nate was the answer to his prayer if he knew the trouble he was bringing Widow Richards.

With a nod, Nate climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and drove down the alley behind the livery, passing the cabin where he and Anna would live.

Across the alley, what had to be the backside of the seamstress shop, a female dashed out the door and across the yard as if chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

Ah, Mrs. Richards. Where was she going in such an all-fire hurry? She caught sight of him, slowed and dropped her skirts, then strode on, her mouth set in a grim line.

He hauled back on the reins. “Is something wrong?”

She gored him with her gaze. “Perhaps. I’m on my way to speak with Sheriff Truitt. About you.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

“So you say.” She motioned to the wagon. “Glad to see you’re leaving town. Don’t let me hold you up.”

“Only be gone long enough to bring my sister and her possessions back to Gnaw Bone.”

Mrs. Richards’s cheeks paled. “Morris wouldn’t rent you that wagon if he knew your intentions.”

“Mr. Mood has hired me to make improvements to the livery. Anna and I will be staying in his vacant house.”

Chest heaving, she plopped dainty hands on her hips. A female version of David pitted against Goliath. The stones in her sling of the verbal variety. Yet the fire in her eyes made her a formidable foe. She’d stop at nothing to protect her child’s future.

Nate had dealt with violent men, cagey men, the vilest of men, but he had no idea how to handle this tiny woman’s colossal loathing. Of him.

What did she despise him for most? Killing her trigger-happy, back-shooting husband? Or threatening ownership of the shop? Well, he wasn’t here to win anyone’s approval, especially a woman trying to stand in the way of his sister’s new beginning.

“If you think by working and living under my nose, you’ll bully me into giving up what’s rightfully mine, you’re wrong.”

“The judge will decide who’s entitled to the shop. Until then, my sister and I need a place to live.”

“In that case, I suggest you keep your distance.”

She hustled off. A woman on a mission, no doubt hoping Sheriff Truitt would ride him out of town, tarred and feathered.

Well, he had no desire to remain longer than necessary. The life of a bounty hunter suited him. He had two purposes; locking up violent men who preyed on the innocent and seeing Stogsdill pay for his crimes.

“Move on, Mark, Matthew.” As he turned onto Main Street, a strange, unsettling awareness sank to his gut. In the livery, for the first time in ages, he’d felt at home, at peace. The prospect of staying put dredged up a long-buried desire to belong somewhere, filling him with a yearning he didn’t understand.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the foolish notion. To stay meant settling down, letting others in. The mere idea tightened an invisible band around his neck.

Once he’d been complacent. Had believed he could be a small-town sheriff and have a wife and children. Whenever he got close and cared about others, people got hurt or...died. He’d never again take that risk.