Читать книгу The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption - Janet Dean - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCarly gave a shove and the door rattled shut behind her. The desk was cluttered with stacks of paper, a pair of shiny handcuffs and a coiled rope, but the office chair sat empty.
“Sheriff Truitt?”
The lawman stepped from the back, a holster riding his hips, a tray in his hand. “Why, howdy, Mrs. Richards.” His gaze landed on the spotless dishes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a dog lapped these plates clean. Reckon the Harders brothers appreciated the stew, Miss Sarah’s special today.”
Max used to say food was good at Sarah Harvey’s café, but one look at the cook gave a man heartburn. Max had a jab for every man and woman in town.
“Shore did, Sheriff,” a voice called.
Through the open door, Carly caught sight of the Harders twins peering at her from a cell. Even as they sat side by side on the bunk, Carly couldn’t tell Lloyd and Lester apart from here. The two went everywhere together, getting into one scrape after another. Their latest escapade—using the sign outside her shop for target practice.
“Food’s way better’n Ma’s, but don’t you be telling her I said so, ma’am.”
Carly had tasted Mrs. Harders’s cooking at church potlucks and couldn’t disagree. “I’d never hurt your mother’s feelings.”
“We’re right sorry for shooting up your sign, Miz Richards.”
“Yep, plumb ashamed of ourselves.”
“I sometimes suspect you two get into trouble just to get some decent victuals,” Sheriff Truitt grumbled. “Well, your feet will be under your ma’s table by suppertime.”
“Aw, can’t you keep us another night, Sheriff?”
“This ain’t no hotel. I aim to make your lives so miserable you’ll think twice about another drunken shooting spree.”
The sheriff closed the door to the brothers’ groans and turned toward Carly. “They’ll spend the month doing chores for you, Mrs. Richards. Work ’em hard. The nastier the job the better.”
Carly gave a nod. But had no idea what they could do. The Harders brothers didn’t appear to be good at much except carousing.
“They should pay for a new sign, but money’s scarce and their ma—”
“Sheriff, I’m here on another matter.”
“What’s that?”
Carly met the sheriff’s inquisitive gaze. “That bounty hunter paid me a visit.”
“From the look on your face, I’d say he didn’t come to apologize for killing your husband.”
Anyone who hunted down outlaws for the bounty was surely driven by greed. “Could he have gone after Max for the reward?”
“Nope, no time for Max to make the wanted posters.”
“Well, he’s looking to make money from Max’s death.”
“How so?”
“He claims his sister’s husband—the man Max killed in Kentucky—won the deed to my shop in a poker game. He says his sister has the deed and that makes her the owner.”
The sheriff frowned. “Do you believe him?”
“No! I don’t trust the word of a killer.” Carly sighed. “But I checked. The deed’s not in my safe.”
“Then he could be speaking the truth.”
“Well, yes. But Max could’ve moved the deed.” She paced the room, then turned to the lawman. “Sheriff, I want you to do something. You can’t let some stranger ride into town and take my property,” she said, unable to keep her voice from trembling.
“No need to get worked up, Mrs. Richards. No one is taking anything while I’m around, leastwise not illegally.”
Carly breathed in. Out. In. Out. Until her racing pulse returned to a steady rhythm. “If the bounty hunter has the deed, he could’ve stolen it, even killed Max for it. Max can’t accuse him from the grave.”
“If Max anted the deed and lost—”
“He had no right to risk our livelihood and the roof over our heads!”
“No moral right.” The sheriff rubbed his nape. “Not sure about his legal right.”
“Are you saying I could lose the shop?” Carly shoved each shaky word from her mouth, barely louder than a whisper.
“No point borrowing trouble. Time will tell.”
Easy for the sheriff to say. “I have no legal recourse?”
“If you were asking about horse stealing, I’d know the law. Property rights ain’t my specialty.”
The door to the sheriff’s office opened. Nate Sergeant stood in the opening. Tall, broad-shouldered, a six-shooter strapped to his hip. Even from across the room, Carly could feel the power radiating from him.
He removed his Stetson and gave Carly a nod. “Sheriff, I suppose Mrs. Richards has explained the situation.”
“She has.”
“I’ll be bringing my sister to Gnaw Bone tomorrow, along with the deed to Mrs. Richards’s shop.”
“If you’ve got that deed, I’d like to see it. Better yet, I’d like to keep it here in my safe until the circuit judge can straighten out this mess.”
Nate Sergeant gave a nod. “Any idea when that will be?”
“Depends on the number of cases he’s hearing.”
“Sheriff,” Carly said, “can you check his itinerary?”
“I’ll send a wire and see what I can find out, Mrs. Richards.”
“Thank you.”
Carly said goodbye, then strode toward the exit. Sheriff Truitt had been no help. She heaved a sigh. The sheriff wasn’t the troublemaker in town. That label belonged to Nate Sergeant, the man holding the door for her as she strode through, and then followed her out.
“Mrs. Richards...” he said.
Carly stopped and turned toward him, steeling her spine against whatever he had to say.
His gaze was surprisingly soft, gentle. “I’ve brought harm to way too many. I surely don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his eyes filling with despair so wretched Carly couldn’t look away. “I wish things were different, ma’am.”
Carly had an urge to try to ease his torment, to offer absolution. She reached a tentative hand toward his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth from his skin.
At the gesture, his pupils flared into smoldering pools of black.
Carly’s breath caught. She jerked her hand away.
Without a word he turned on booted heel, strode to the wagon out front and clamored aboard.
As she watched him drive off, her stomach tumbled. How could she have connected with a man determined to ruin their lives? Nate Sergeant might regret harming her, but that wouldn’t stop this driven man accustomed to getting his way.
Inside her gloves, Carly’s hands chilled. He had appeared confident, as if he’d known the law was on his side and she was destined to lose her shop. If the judge agreed, she’d have to move, start over. Leave everything she’d worked hard to build.
Lord, why did You allow a new threat? Hasn’t my son been through enough? Why?
Well, she would handle this. Henry would be home from school soon. No time to search. After she tucked him in tonight, she’d look for that deed, proving the bounty hunter was lying through his even, white teeth.
* * *
Carly sat on her son’s bed. Across from her Henry tugged his muslin nightshirt to his knees, his head bent low, revealing his slender nape and the curve of his velvety cheek.
With a grin Henry scrambled up beside her and cuddled close, gazing up at her. “Mama, is that nice man coming back?”
“What nice man?”
“The man that promised to help you. When you was asleep.”
Henry thought that bounty hunter was nice? Nate Sergeant would most likely show up tomorrow with his sister in tow and try to toss them out.
Well, she wouldn’t budge. “I expect he will.” I expect he will help us to the street. But she couldn’t say that without scaring her son.
She gazed into his guileless blue eyes. “Why do you call Mr. Sergeant nice?”
“You fell down and he caught you. He looked scared. Not scary like Pa.”
Uninvited images surfaced in Carly’s mind, of a full head of dark hair, the shadow of beard along his chiseled jaw, gray eyes laced with regret, the pupils rimmed in charcoal. Those pupils had enlarged, and she’d felt the strangest pull.
Ridiculous.
Nate Sergeant might be handsome, manly, even uneasy about snatching her shop, but that wouldn’t stop him.
“I thought you was dead, Mama. I was afraid.”
“Oh, sweet boy, I’m sorry I frightened you.”
His chin trembling, Henry clutched her arm. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m healthy and strong. Why, I could wrestle a grizzly bear and win.” Carly tugged him onto her lap.
He smiled up at her, his fear forgotten. “I’m strong, too,” he said, fisting his right hand and gazing at the tiny swell beneath his sleeve. “See my muscle?”
“You are strong. Now climb into bed, my little monkey.”
Henry grabbed the stuffed elephant she’d made for him, its trunk bent and droopy, and scrambled under the covers, pulling them up until only his eyebrows stuck above the quilt. “I’m sleepin’, Mama.”
“Is that so?” Carly leaned forward and peeled back the edge of the blanket with one finger. “Well, I don’t see a sleeping boy. I see a pretending boy.” She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Henry’s forehead, pausing long enough to inhale his sweet, innocent fragrance. He filled her heart with joy, made her world complete. “I expect a story will make you sleepy.”
The blanket inched down until she could see mischievous blue eyes, an impish grin. “I love stories.”
Book in hand, Carly slid into the space beside her son. “That’s good, because I love reading you stories.”
Head cradled on his hands, Henry curved toward her, a sixty-pound bundle of energy that brought infinite happiness to her life. Moments like these were what mattered. Moments like these filled her life with meaning. Moments like these had gotten her through the worst days with Max and had her counting her blessings twice over.
Henry listened intently to every word, only interrupting to mimic the sounds made by the animals in the story.
Carly tucked the book on the nightstand. “Time for our bedtime song.” The nighttime ritual reminded Carly of her mother’s faith and the memories of the happy times they’d shared.
Carly cupped her son’s cheek in her palm, and then sang, “Father, we thank Thee for the night and for the blessed morning light. For food and rest and loving care and all that makes the day so fair.”
Lying back on the pillow, his features sweeter than a rosy-cheeked cupid on a postcard Valentine, Henry tilted his face to the ceiling, as if singing for God Himself. “Help me do the things I should and be to others kind and good. In all I do in work or play to grow more loving every day.”
Henry rolled his head toward her and smiled. “Does Grandma hear us singing?”
“She might. If she does, she’s proud of her grandson.”
“She’s proud of you, too, Mama.”
What had Carly ever done to deserve this precious boy? Her throat knotted. She was all that stood between Henry and the ugliness of this world. Was she up to the task of guiding her son to become a man who loved God, a man who thought of others, a man who lived the words of this bedtime song?
To protect Henry and ensure that happy life she wanted for him, she must first save their home and livelihood.
Help me, Lord. Please, save my shop.
She kissed Henry on both cheeks, and then walked to the door. “Sleep tight.”
“’Night, Mama.” Henry’s eyelids were already lowering, his mouth opening in a wide yawn.
Once satisfied her son was asleep, Carly began her search for the deed. In the attic, Max’s trunk was tucked in a dark corner of the back wall, off by itself. Much like the man. During the eight years of her marriage, Max had dwelled on the fringe of her life. What did she know about him, really?
Inside the trunk under a pile of photo albums, Carly found Lillian’s Bible, the binding wobbly, the pages worn, verses underlined. Stuck beside the Twenty-third Psalm was an envelope addressed to Max, the flap open. She pulled out and unfolded a single sheet of paper, the words written with an unsteady hand.
Dearest Max,
I pen this letter knowing my time on earth is coming to an end. I love you, son. I will die with a prayer for you on my lips, that you will return to the Lord and one day we will meet again.
Your loving mother
Tears stung Carly’s eyes. From what she knew, Lillian’s prayer had gone unanswered. If she’d tried harder, could Carly have led Max to the Lord? Or would she have paid dearly for suggesting he needed God and should attend church?
The choice had been Max’s to make. The consequence, his doing, yet Lillian had also paid a price for her son’s rebellion.
What would Carly do if Henry made bad choices, turned his back on God? To be both father and mother to her son weighed heavily on her, but better to rear him alone than to expose him to another bad influence, another heartless man.
“I’m sorry, Lillian. So very sorry.” With a sigh, Carly returned the letter to the envelope and closed the flap. If only she could shut out her regrets as easily.
Life was never that simple.
Please Lord, if the deed is here, help me find it.
Filled with a surge of energy, Carly scoured every nook and cranny, then left the attic. She would turn the house inside out and upside down, search every drawer, clothespress and cupboard. The deed had to be here somewhere.
* * *
What could Nate say to convince his sister that her future depended upon that deed lying on the table in front of her?
Dressed in black, her tidy bun perched high on her head and her mouth set in a stubborn line, Nate knew all too well that Anna was prepared for battle. Yet Nate knew he would win. He had logic and necessity on his side. Even his softhearted sister would see she must accept reality.
Still, that deed would force another widow from her home, from her place of business. Who would help Mrs. Richards move her things? What would happen to her and her son?
Nate steeled his spine. The widow was able-bodied and strong-minded; like a cat, she would land on her feet.
“Are you ready, sis?” he said, reaching for the deed.
Anna thrust out her hand, palm up. “I don’t want anything to do with that shop. Walt lost his life over that deed, same as his killer. And you could’ve been killed.” She shook her head as if trying to rid her mind of such ugliness.
“I didn’t want to kill Richards. He forced my hand.”
“You’d never kill anyone unless you had to,” Anna said, her tone gentle without a speck of condemnation. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want any part of that deed.”
Nate tapped his forefinger on the document. “Anna, this piece of paper means you’ll have a place to do your stitching, a business with customers ready to pay for your efforts. God’s bringing good out of bad, giving you a fresh beginning.”
“I know God’s in control and I need to trust Him, but I hate change, you know that. I’d much rather stay here.”
“The new tenants are moving in tomorrow.” He grinned. “Doubt they’re expecting a boarder.”
Anna fiddled with her handkerchief. “What if things don’t work out in Gnaw Bone? Just the name of the town makes me think twice. I’ve never run a shop before.” She shoved the deed away. “This could be a mistake.”
“Or an opportunity. Last I knew, you were mighty good with a needle. Did you make that dress?”
“Yes. I had enough black fabric to make a couple dresses and a skirt.”
“To own a dress like that would give any woman confidence. Think what your talent could mean to ladies living in a town with the name of Gnaw Bone.”
Anna chuckled. “You should consider becoming a salesman.”
With a wink, Nate scooped up the deed and slipped it into his saddlebag before Anna changed her mind, then helped his sister to her feet and out the door.
All morning Anna had dithered here and there, cleaning nonexistent dirt from the corners and under the bed. Scoured the sink, watered the flowers and garden, straightened the curtains covering the windows, putting off the inevitable.
Nate understood it was hard to leave memories behind. “Thought we’d stop at the cemetery on our way past so you can say goodbye to Walt.”
“He wanted only to give me an easier life...” Anna fell silent, blinking back tears. “Now he’s gone.”
The pain in Anna’s soft gray eyes told of her love for Walt Hankins, a gentle, unassuming man, but not much of a provider. He’d risked and lost the family farm. Then year after year, he’d toiled on this tenant farm for half the crop, barely scrimping by. Whenever Nate earned a reward, he’d sent Anna money. Money that Walt soon lost on one fool scheme after another. More than once Nate had been tempted to knock some sense into Walt. If he had, perhaps his brother-in-law would be alive today.
He inhaled the cool morning air and let his gaze travel the shed and barn, then on to the rolling fields and budding woods beyond. The nearest farm was barely visible over the next rise. With Walt gone, Nate would rest easier knowing Anna lived in town surrounded by people. Had a doctor nearby.
At the wagon, Nate tugged the brim of his Stetson low to block the glare of the rising sun, then shoved the last trunk further into the back crammed with every item Anna owned.
She turned to him, disquiet in her eyes. “I won’t know a single person in that town.”
No doubt reeling from the sudden changes in her life, his sister had grown timid, not at all like her. Once they were settled, Anna would handle the move as she’d handled every hardship in her life, with strong faith in God.
“Won’t take you long to get acquainted.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be there ready to step in should an unhappy matron complain you made her hem too short.”
A gentle smile riding her lips, Anna laid a palm on Nate’s cheek. “My protector,” she said. “You’re always looking after me. How can I thank you?”
“Make me a cherry pie, sis, and we’ll call it even.”
“A cherry pie it is.” She accepted a helping hand onto the wagon seat. “Now, if you had a wife, she’d make all the pies you could eat.”
“Why bother, when you make the best pies anywhere?”
Nate tied Maverick to the back of the wagon, then tossed his saddlebag on the seat and clambered aboard.
He shot his sister a grin, to keep her from seeing how much the responsibility for her weighed on his shoulders. Not just for her, but for all the defenseless. He’d seen firsthand how quickly life could make a detour, how quickly life could end.
He had promised God he would do whatever it took to protect Anna.
Walt had left her with no home, no money, in a mess. Nate had spent his life cleaning up the messes others left behind.
This time he’d clean up the mess created by Max Richards and see that Anna got the future she deserved.
* * *
Up ahead, Nate caught a glimpse of a small white church, void of stained glass and steeple. Not much of merit compared to the grand churches he’d seen on his travels. Except here in this simple house of worship, at the age of twelve, he’d given his heart to Jesus. He’d been young, innocent.
No longer. The path he’d chosen stood between him and God.
He drove past the church to the cemetery, following the beaten-down grass winding between the rows of gravestones. Near the back, he stopped the team with a spoken word, set the brake and helped his sister down.
As he unhitched his horse to graze, a pair of cardinals darted into the evergreens surrounding the property. From the small barn across the way, a cow lowed. A reminder of his youth when he’d helped Pa milk their Holsteins twice a day, every day, all year long.
Nate offered his arm and Anna slipped hers through the crook. They climbed a small slope and stopped in front of the simple headstone marking their parents’ grave. Weeds grew at the base, tangling up and onto the engraved surface.
He knelt, ripped out the vines and tossed them aside.
“Who’ll do this when we’re not here?” Anna said, her voice as bleak as the black she wore.
“We’ll get back.”
Though he saw the doubt in her eyes, she gave a nod, then gathered the weeds and carried them to the compost.
As she walked on to Walt’s grave, seeking a private moment with her husband, Nate sat back on his heels at their parents’ headstone.
He traced the inscription, his fingers slipping over crevices forming the names Ephraim and Victoria Sergeant. Beloved parents. Good, hardworking, God-fearing people. They’d taken the first trip of their lives to visit Ma’s sister in Kansas. They’d never made it. Outlaws robbed the train, killing four passengers, his parents among the dead.
For what? A few dollars and a paltry sack of jewelry.
Shifty Stogsdill had been the leader of the gang.
Nate saw Stogsdill’s face in every fugitive he tracked down.
Before his parents had left, they’d asked him to look after Anna, always concerned someone would take advantage of her sweet, giving nature.
He’d tried. With everything in him, he’d tried.
A gust of air heaved from his chest. In truth, the very day Anna married Walt, Nate had left home, compelled to bring Stogsdill to justice. More than once, he’d come close to capturing the villain. But somehow Stogsdill had managed to slip away.
Then he’d met Rachel, a pastor’s daughter, a sweet, gentle young woman, and he’d gotten complacent, thinking he could trade the life of a bounty hunter for a small-town sheriff’s badge.
Until the day Stogsdill had come to Rachel’s hometown, gunning for Nate. As they’d crossed the street, Rachel had been chattering about their upcoming nuptials.
The thud of pounding hooves raised the hair on his nape. Drawing his gun, Nate whirled toward the road.
A flash of red, the glint of metal from Stogsdill’s hand.
A blast.
Nate fired just as a bullet whizzed past.
Rachel tumbled. Down, down, down.
Stogsdill’s aim had been off, a few inches to the right, and Rachel, an innocent young woman, lay on the street, her shirtwaist oozing red as life seeped out of her.
Tears stung his eyes. He’d been a fool to put aside the life of a bounty hunter for a sheriff’s job, enabling Stogsdill to track him to Rachel’s hometown. Even four years later, Nate could barely live with his failure to avenge her death.
If it was the last thing he did, Nate would see that Stogsdill got what he deserved. He couldn’t expect God to help him. Not when he had blood on his hands and vengeance in his heart.
A gentle hand pressed into his shoulder. “You okay?”
Nate slowed his breathing. “I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “And eager to see your handiwork walking the streets of Gnaw Bone.”
“Walking dresses?” Anna laughed. “That’s something I’ve got to see.”
The jingle of the horses’ harness brought Nate to his feet. “We’d better get going if we hope to reach Gnaw Bone by supper.”
As they walked to the wagon, a blue jay squawked from a tree branch overhead. Puffy clouds inched across the topaz sky. In this peaceful moment, the earth had righted on its axis.
Yet, out there somewhere, Stogsdill waited. Armed and dangerous. Nate had given up normalcy, peace, to protect the defenseless.
His grip on Anna’s arm tightened.
“Is something wrong?” Anna said.
“Everything’s fine.”
Or would be. Once Nate saw Stogsdill rot in jail or buried six feet under.
