Читать книгу Family on the Range - Jessica Nelson - Страница 13

Chapter Five

“Take me into Burns.”

James ignored Lou’s demand, bending over the bed to check his pulse and blood pressure. Before coming to the ranch, James had been a physician who’d succumbed to the lure of alcohol and lost all he held dear. He’d recovered from his addiction but never practiced medicine again, except for times like this when his skills came in handy.

All night Lou had studied the telegram he’d received, ready to take action as soon as he could rise without being beset by dizziness. Or guilt.

Had he made the right choices? He wasn’t sure, but changing the things he’d set in motion didn’t seem possible now.

James set his stethoscope on the bed, frowning at Lou.

“What?” he asked shortly, temper rising at the look.

“Going into Burns is a foolhardy task.”

“I’ve got things to do. Get the truck ready to go.”

“Trevor say you could use it?”

“Grab the car, then.”

“I ain’t drivin’ your fancy Ford.” James’s whiskers bunched in a scowl, but his eyes were keen.

James seemed to know what was going on but wanted to stop Lou anyhow. Odd. “I need to telegraph the Portland office and arrange for travel.”

“Can you stand yet?”

“I can.” He’d tried last night and succeeded, if only for a few seconds. Not James’s business, though. “In a few days’ time I’ll be ready for the trip. My vitals are fine, and I’m going stir-crazy in this house.”

James nodded at the telegram, which he’d propped on the side table. “That the reason?”

“They have a lead on my shooter.”

“What about Mary? The girl?”

“Mary stays here. I’ll take the girl—” A crash interrupted him, shaking the house with its force.

James jumped up. “Hoo boy, that girl is in some trouble.”

“Where’s Mary?” His pulse notched up. Crazy child causing all sorts of trouble.

“She went to town. Stay in bed.” On that command, James shuffled out of the bedroom as fast as an old man could hobble.

Determination filled Lou. Mary was in town, leaving the child here? With little protection? No, sir. Not on his watch. He might be have difficulty being around kids, but that didn’t mean he’d ever let something bad happen to one. He swung his legs across the mattress. They felt heavy and unnatural; his vision swam, but he pushed through until his legs hung over the side of the bed and his hands were planted against the edge of the mattress. Head hanging, he closed his eyes and fought dizziness.

He could do this. Although his stomach bucked against the movement, he waited the feeling out, allowing his body to readjust to his change in position. The wound in his chest throbbed dully, but the pain wasn’t incapacitating.

Hadn’t he made it through the war? Memories crashed through him: the noise and the smoke, the gut-searing terror of knowing tomorrow might never come for him. And yet he’d completed various espionage activities, shadowed criminals, hunted killers. Only to come home and get gunned down at a low-level speakeasy. The irony was ridiculous.

Very slowly he opened his eyes. The first item he focused on happened to be Mary’s Bible, resting on a folded blanket near the door. Groaning, he looked away.

God and Lou hadn’t been on speaking terms in a long, long time. Not since God had failed him, taking his child and his wife. Leaving him alone. Unaccountably, his gaze flitted back to that silent black book. Its pages had once been a lifeline for Lou.

No longer. Now they dredged up a past he resisted, a past he thought he’d buried.

Years-old grief clogged his throat.

As his eyes stung, little feet pattered into view, stopping right next to the Bible.

“Mister Lou, I brought you something.”

He lifted his head. Josie looked a mess this morning, her hair a frightful nest of twigs, snarls and... Was that paint clinging to her forehead?

“Leave me,” he said, but when the little girl’s face crumpled, he immediately felt regret churning his stomach. Or maybe it was the swaying floor. “What do you want?” he managed to say.

“I brought you cookies. Sweets make me feel better, and you’re looking awful peaked. Sometimes I hear you yelling, but you don’t sound mean, just sad.”

Lou eyed her, noting the brightness of her eyes beneath the clumps of goo and mess straggling around her face.

“Here.” She stepped forward, thrusting a cookie beneath his nose.

The scent rose to greet him, a thick mix of chocolate and some kind of nut. Praline, maybe? He took the cookie, watching Josie as he did so. “Mary’s a good cook, isn’t she?”

“Yeppers. Much better than Doris.”

“Who’s she?”

“My old cook.”

Maybe sensing Lou’s change in mood, the little girl hopped around his room, her dress flouncing. It was a mass of pink ruffles and ribbons, a frothy creation that under normal circumstances should give anyone a toothache.

Munching on the cookie, he slowly straightened and was relieved when the room didn’t shift around him. Maybe a little sugar did the trick. Could be a trip into town would happen after all.

“Where’d you leave James?” he asked, watching as Josie twirled in front of his bed.

“He ran outside yelling. His face was purple, like a flower. He needs cookies, too.” She cocked her head, fingers trailing over the silk of her dress. “Do you think I look like a princess?”

Lou choked on his cookie.

Hacking and coughing, he brushed the crumbs off his knees while he tried to regain his senses. He’d never heard something so preposterous. A princess? Yet, as he studied her, with the morning light streaming in ribbons across her features, highlighting her hair, making her eyes twinkle with hope, a strange emotion clutched at him.

He cleared his throat. “You’re the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen.”

A grin wider than the desert outside his window spread across Josie’s face. Before he knew what to expect, she launched herself at him. Pain radiated through his upper body, and he felt useless as she entrapped him. His hands rested on his knees while she hugged him, her little-girl arms feeling impossibly frail as they wrapped around his neck.

Before he could stop himself, he realized his hands were patting her back. Hugging her back. He dropped them to his legs.

“Josie,” he said, spitting a wayward hair from his mouth and pulling away, “you stink.”

She stepped back and, folding her arms, pouted at him. “Princesses don’t smell.”

“They do when they mess with things. What’d you do downstairs?”

“She knocked over a can of paint from that big case I’m trying to move.” James stood in the door, glowering at Josie. “You’d best come clean up before—”

“Do I have to?” She wheedled a pretty smile toward Lou.

The stinker. Unbidden affection surged through him. “A princess always takes responsibility for her mistakes.”

“Oh, fine.” She stomped out the door, her little shoulders ramrod straight.

James chuckled. “You need anything before I follow that whippersnapper?”

“When is Mary returning?”

“Soon.”

“Send her up. We’ve things to discuss.”

James nodded and left. Lou stared at the door, hating how the empty feeling in his stomach got worse when everyone was gone. He rubbed at his neck, almost feeling the imprint of Josie’s arms around him. Would his little Abby have been so affectionate? Yes, because hugs had been common in their home.

Love and warmth and family. All gone.

The hollow in his chest deepened into a gaping void that wrenched through him, a chasm in his soul he could never escape. This pain worried him more than any shoulder wound. Why did Mary have to be so stubborn? Even more, how could he have let himself get shot?

He wanted to blame Mary.

He definitely blamed the shooter.

Because of them, he was starting to remember what he’d fought so hard to forget.

And the memories burned worse than any bullet ever did.

* * *

After Mary left the Burns general store, she paused on the walkway to let the morning sun warm her. Around her, people nodded at her as they ran their errands. No one stared. This was a good town.

She let her head drop back a bit so the summer rays could touch her cheeks and chase the chill from her soul. After the few errands she’d finished, she’d yet to find a flyer with Josie’s name or face on it, let alone someone who could share information on the homeless child. No response from the Portland police, either.

It seemed the girl had appeared out of nowhere, with no kin to claim her. Except that man with the violet eyes.... She hadn’t the courage to ask if anyone spoke with him. Shaking the shudder away at the thought of him, she resumed walking toward where she’d tethered her mare.

“Mary. Mary, wait!”

A woman’s voice broke Mary’s walk. She whirled and grinned as Alma Waite bustled over.

“Oh, you dear girl. How have you been?” Miss Alma’s bright hazel eyes winked up at her before the elderly woman gathered her in a honey-scented hug.

“I’m well, thank you.”

“You should visit more. I’m in need of pies and cookies for the Independence Day celebration.”

“I shall make you some. I’ve been a mite busy lately.” Mary released Miss Alma and moved beneath the shade of a storefront. Might Miss Alma know of Josie’s parentage? While the woman who’d brought Mary to faith years ago knew everything about everyone, she wasn’t a gossip.

“Well, we’ve missed you.” Miss Alma tittered as she dug through a bag at her side. “I bought yarn and threads for you. That Grant woman has finally left the sewing circle and we’ve a hole now...one we’d like you to fill. Ah, here they are.” Triumphantly she shoved the bag at Mary.

She took it, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. “Thank you. I shall think on your kind offer. How much are these?”

Miss Alma waved a hand. “Pishposh. They’re a gift. I worry about you. Alone on that ranch.”

“I have James and Lou—”

“No female companionship at all. It’s not healthy. At least we used to meet for church....” Miss Alma trailed off as Mary shifted uncomfortably.

Since Lou had gotten shot, she hadn’t been to church. Was it two Sundays she’d missed?

“My sweet girl, is there anything I can do for you?” The elderly woman, who had more fire in her than a rowdy pony, sported a soft look upon her face.

Mary hugged her again. “We’re fine. I’m actually looking for some information, though.” She thought of the man who’d come calling and decided to hedge a bit. “My mother found a child, and I’m having trouble locating the girl’s parents.”

“Oh, my.” Miss Alma’s hand went to her ruffled breast. “Why, I haven’t heard a thing. Where did your mother find the child? Does she need a place to stay?”

“No, no, she’s safe,” Mary replied, flustered by the questions. “Perhaps you might keep your ear to the ground, as it were, and if you find out anything, let me know?”

“Of course I will.”

They said their goodbyes, and Mary watched the lady who’d saved her life bustle away. Not her physical life, but her emotional one. Childhood chaos aside, she’d been a mess when Trevor first brought her to Lou’s. Miss Alma had nursed her back to health and introduced her to God, to a Jesus who saw past skin and circumstance to the very heart of a person. Who loved despite a person’s flaws or parentage.

Feeling cozy from memories, she wheeled to the right and headed toward her horse. One more stop and then she could go home.

Home.

Humming her favorite hymn, Mary set out for the Paiute encampment. Sunlight warmed her shoulders and bathed the path before her in brightness. If only her own path could be so clear. With Lou injured and Josie running wild, she wasn’t sure what to do.

And there was that way Lou had looked at her the other day—intent, dark. Her belly flip-flopped at the memory. She shook herself.

No matter what occurred in the next few weeks, she must disentangle herself from Lou, from the ranch, from everything that made her dependent on him.

The encampment loomed before her, scents reaching her as she came closer. Her mother’s tent had no smoke, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t home. It was a warm day after all.

As she stopped before the tepee, an older man appeared from behind the tent’s flap. He peered up at her, eyes black in the light.

“I am looking for my mother. Rose.” That had been her name in the past, but Mary didn’t know if she’d kept it or reverted to a traditional name.

“Rose not here.” The flap fluttered closed as the man disappeared.

Around her, kids laughed and a dog barked. Sweat trickled down her neck as she roasted beneath the sun, trying to process the man’s words. Not there? Had she left on her own? Or had the man with the violet eyes found her?

Whatever faults her mother might have, Mary didn’t want harm to come to her. Maybe he meant she’d gone to a general store, perhaps to sell goods?

She debated pestering the man again or riding back to town. Her sense of decorum made the decision for her. Sliding the reins over her mare’s neck, she turned the horse back to town.

Once there, she discovered no one knew of her mother’s whereabouts. How strange. She glanced at the general store, where she’d caught up with Miss Alma, who’d reinvited her to the sewing circle. When she asked about her mother, the women in the store shrugged and said she’d been to town early in the morning to sell her baskets. They hadn’t seen her since.

Feeling a heavy sigh forming, Mary led her mare down the road going out of town and in the direction of the ranch. Ahead, a lone horse hitched to a pole stomped his hoof. The mare whickered and edged to the left, bumping Mary.

“Come on, girl.” She soothed her with a pat on the neck as they moved farther left, away from the nervous stallion at the post.

Raised voices ahead slowed Mary’s gait. Male voices, sharp and angry. She remembered that sound altogether too well. Cringing, she hugged closer to the horse, hoping to sneak past. It was her hope the men were too involved to notice her.

Here, at the outskirts of town, there was no telling what riffraff lingered. She wet her lips. She could always jump on the horse and gallop away, but that would certainly draw attention. Drawing a deep breath of horse, dust and sunlight, she trudged forward, wincing when one man’s voice rose particularly loudly.

From beneath lowered lids she scanned the area and saw nothing amiss. Tilting her head, she looked to the left. The space between two buildings resembled an alley. It was dark and deep, the perfect place for an argument. She shuddered and kept going. She’d just passed the opening there when the sound of a grunt followed by a thick thud startled her mare.

The horse jerked and the reins slipped through her hands, burning her palms. With a clatter of hooves and a flurry of dust, the mare left her standing slack-jawed in the road.

Instinctually her arms rounded her rib cage. Miss Alma’s gift bumped against her hip. She hurried to the opposite side of the road, hiding behind a stack of onion barrels. She glared at the speck of her horse on the horizon, no doubt heading home. She must find a new one, and soon, before the mare worried Lou and James needlessly. But who could she ask?

Miss Alma might still be in town. Surely she’d give Mary a ride for part of the way, or possibly send a message to the ranch somehow....

Mind made up, she stepped away from the barrels and promptly stopped. A man appeared at the edge of the alley across the street. He stood tall and narrow, and something about his posture sent a shiver of foreboding through her.

Pivoting, she headed toward town. Footsteps sounded behind her. She picked up her pace, knowing only a few yards farther the streets teemed with shoppers.

The footsteps increased, faster than hers, until she felt a presence beside her and smelled the overpowering odor of cologne. Pulse clanging in her ears, she looked up and met the gaze of the violet-eyed stranger.