Читать книгу Fury's Love - Tess Mathews - Страница 8

Mrs. Alston, may I get you some lunch?" asked Milly Nelson, the housekeeper.

"No thank you, Milly," replied the older woman." I am not hungry."

"I know you are grieving, ma'am, but you need to keep up your strength. And, ma'am, if you don't mind me saying, who is gonna take care of your granddaughter when they bring her home?"

"My Belle," Kate Alston whispered to herself. Her thoughts were broken by a rapping on the door.

"Do you want me to send them away?" Milly asked.

"Yes, please do; I do not want to see anyone."

Milly opened the door to find a handsome man with dark hair and kind, green eyes standing on the front porch. He towered over Milly, and the sight of his toned muscles made her wish she were a younger woman.

"Sorry," Milly said before Travis could speak, "Mrs. Alston isn't seeing anyone today."

Travis caught the door as it began to close. "Wait. Wait, ma'am. I'm a Texas Ranger; my name is Travis Parker, I am investigating the Alston murders and the disappearance of their daughter. May I please come in and talk to Mrs. Alston?"

He pointed to his badge, and Milly nodded.

She ushered Travis into the foyer. "Wait here, please."

Milly entered the parlor to see Mrs. Alston sitting in her favorite overstuffed chair, staring blindly out the window.

"Mrs. Alston, I'm sorry, it's a Texas Ranger by the name of Travis Parker. He would like to…ask about…what happened to—

"My family?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Alston took a deep breath. "Show him in, Milly."

Travis entered the parlor, carrying his hat in his hand. His heart clenched when his eyes met the lone figure sitting across the room. Except for her black dress, most people would not know she was grieving. Travis studied her, a habit born from being a lawman. Mrs. Alston was not a large woman nor was she frail, her silver hair gathered into a tight bun. Her eyes were similar in color to Belle's but not as violet. He observed the stiff way she held her body, the proud way she held her head high, but he also noticed the glimmer of tears in her eyes and how she clutched her hands together to keep them from trembling. Even in her grief, she maintained an image of controlled elegance. Travis knew he needed to remain professional. He would keep his own emotions in check and not tell Mrs. Alston he knew Belle.

"Please sit down, Ranger Parker," Mrs. Alston said as she pointed to the floral sofa across from where she sat.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Travis dusted the back of his jeans with his hands, hoping not to get the fine furniture dirty.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Alston, thank you for meeting with me today. I will try to be as brief as possible."

"Thank you; now how can I help you?"

"I am here to ask you questions about your granddaughter. Sometimes background information helps us find missing persons."

"What kind of information?"

"Well, to start with, tell me about your granddaughter, what kind of girl she is, what are her likes and dislikes, who are her friends, anything you think might help us get a better picture of who she is."

Mrs. Alston sat quietly for a moment that seemed an eternity to Travis. She reached for a stack of papers on the table next to her and handed one to Travis. Travis stared at the picture of the young girl. Her grandmother, desperate to find her, had printed the handbills with Belle's picture and a caption, Have You Seen This Girl?

Grief girded Travis' chest as he gazed at the image of Belle. "She is a special young girl, isn't she?" His voice tightened.

"Yes, very special."

"Tell me about her."

"How do I describe Belle? Her name is Belle. Belle is the kindest, gentlest person you could ever meet. I have never heard her say a harsh word about anyone, always is concerned with the wellbeing of others. Anytime someone was sick, Belle would make them soup and homemade bread and take it to their home. She is a good daughter, never gave her parents trouble. Well, she does have a bit of a temper. But Belle is a good girl."

Travis scribbled on a pad of paper. All right, Travis, ask the routine questions, even though you know the answer you still have to ask.

"Mrs. Alston, could you give me a detailed description of Belle—how tall is she? What color is her hair—anything like that?"

"Belle is not a tall girl, but not short, either. I guess you would say average height. She has a small frame; some might say delicate but not sickly. She is ethereal in her movements and soft in her touch. Her hair is long, chestnut brown, with streaks of reddish gold when she spends too much time in the sun. Her eyes are violet-blue."

Travis wrote on his pad. Average height. Small build. Brown hair and violet-blue eyes. Ethereal. (whatever the heck that means—look that one up)

"Does she have any identifying marks, like a scar or birthmark?"

"Yes, she does, a bell-shaped birthmark on her right forearm; it is how she got her name."

Travis smiled and added the birthmark's description to his list.

"And don't forget her eyes."

"Her eyes?" Travis asked.

"Why, yes, they are quite remarkable, don't you think?" Mrs. Alston pointed to a portrait that hung over her fireplace.

Travis looked up at the painting. A younger, maybe from two or three years ago, Belle stood in the painting. She wore a white dress with a violet sash. He thought she looked like an angel.

Travis, how in the world did you miss that painting? Some ranger you are. You didn't even notice a portrait of Belle. Travis shook his head. And her grandmother is right. Who could miss those eyes?

"Ranger, Ranger Parker?"

Travis roused from his daydream. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Alston. How about friends? Is there anyone she would go to if she were in trouble?"

"Well, there is Darcy Pendergrass; her father manages the Faulkner bank. They live outside of town, not too far from my son's home. Belle has other friends, but they would be the ones she would go to for help. But that is doubtful, Ranger Parker. Mr. Pendergrass would go straight to the sheriff if Belle showed up at his home."

"Even if Belle did not go to them, her friends may still be some help. Thank you, Mrs. Alston."

Travis stood up and turned to leave.

"I will see you to the door, Ranger."

"Thank you, Mrs. Alston."

Travis reached for the doorknob and turned the knob.

"Wait! I just thought of another person she might go to."

"Who?" asked Travis, his hand resting on the doorknob.

"Hank Black Hawk. He and my son were the best of friends. Hank and his family live in a cabin on a piece of land my son gave him. Belle could have gone to him for protection, especially since he would be the closest person for her to go to. Give me your pad, and I will draw you a map."

Travis took his pad out of his vest pocket and handed it to Mrs. Alston. She sketched a map to Hank's cabin and handed the map to Travis.

"Oh, Ranger, be careful when you approach Hank's cabin. Let him know right away that you mean no harm, so he does not shoot you."

"Thanks for the advice."

As Travis opened the door, Mrs. Alston reached out and grabbed his arm. "Please find my granddaughter."

He gazed at the picture of the girl clutched in his hand. "I will."

Travis surprised himself with his answer. He never told a family member he would find their lost loved one; he would only say he would try, but this time everything was different, this time, he needed to believe he would find Belle.

Everyone in Black Hawk's cabin went to bed early, but no one slept.

"I don't know what to do," said Hank as he lay in bed next to Little Dove.

"Hank, if you don't teach her what she wants to know and send her back to live with her grandmother, do you think she will try to run away and go after the murderers?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"And do you think she would succeed in running away?"

"Yes."

"So, if you do nothing, she will go after those men and be killed."

"I know. I will have to teach her."

Hank watched the sunrise as he drank a cup of coffee. He contemplated his decision and felt its weight. He could be sending his best friend's daughter to her death. Knowing the fear dancing in his gut would work against him, he gripped his emotions and put them away.

Hank drank his last gulp of coffee and said a silent prayer for wisdom and guidance.

He heard Little Dove clanging cookware as she prepared to cook breakfast. Hank took a deep breath and went inside.

"Good morning," he muttered to his wife.

"Good morning, Hank. Pour yourself another cup of coffee and sit down; breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

Hank did as his wife asked.

"Can I help?" Fury asked as she walked into the kitchen.

"No, thank you," Little Dove answered, "breakfast is almost done. You can get a cup of coffee and sit with Hank."

Hank's eyes followed Fury. He watched as she fought to control her shaking hands as she poured her coffee. She took a sip then sat down next to him.

After breakfast, Hank left the house, leaving the women to clean up.

The ladies were stacking the dishes in the cupboard when he returned.

"Little Dove, if you don't mind, I need to talk to Fury."

"Sure. Fury go ahead with Hank; I can finish up."

"Let's go for a walk," Hank said to Fury.

She nodded then followed him out the door. They walked in silence until they reached the back of the barn. Fury saw bottles lined up atop a fence rail.

"So, you have decided to help me."

"Yes, God help me, I have. Show me how well you shoot."

Hank handed Fury a gun.

She aimed and shot at the bottles, hitting most of them.

"You are a good shot."

"I know," Fury replied with a slight tone of smugness in her voice. "Papa made sure I learned how to shoot."

"Don't be so sure of yourself. I said you were a good shot, but to go after murderers on the run, you need to be a great shot."

Fury swallowed her pride; she knew he was right.

"You've practiced enough for today."

"But we've only been out here an hour."

"I know, but you need rest. You're still on the mend."

"I'm all right, Hank."

"Fury, let me give you some advice. If you want to stay sharp, you need to take care of yourself. Being exhausted will get you killed."

Fury sighed," All right, you win."

"Good, but before we go in the cabin, I want to show you a couple of things."

"What?"

"Follow me."

Fury followed Hank to a fence that ran along his pasture. He propped his arms on the top rail.

"Look there," Hank said to Fury as he pointed to a painted horse running in the field.

"Nice horse."

"It's yours."

"Mine? Hank, I can't take your horse."

"You can, and you will. You asked me to help you, and getting you a good horse is part of the deal. Watch her run."

Fury watched as the horse galloped in the tall grass.

"Mighty fast, isn't she?"

Fury's eyes were glued to the horse. She was amazed that an animal that fast could move with grace and agility.

"What you want to call her?"

"Huh?" Fury's attention focused on the horse. "She is swift."

"All right, Swift it is?"

"Wait. What?"

"Her name—Swift."

"I didn't mean that to be her name, but she is the fastest horse I've ever seen, so, yeah, I'll call her Swift."

"Well if you can tear your eyes away, I have something else to show you in the barn."

"You don't need to give me anything else," Fury said. "The horse is more than enough."

"Remember what I said. If I'm training you, you take what I give you, no questions asked. Anyway, what's in the barn is already yours. Come on."

Fury nodded and treaded her way to the barn with Hank.

"All right, Hank, what do you want to show me?" Fury asked as they walked into the barn.

"This way." Hank led her to a stall.

"See there." He pointed to a black and white dog being tormented by a scrawny brown pup. The mother dog lay patiently while the pup attacked her ears.

"Oh, him," Fury's voice dropped.

"What do you mean, 'oh, him'? Your parents gave him to you for your birthday."

"I know, but that was before. What am I going to do with a dog when I'm tracking murderers?"

"Don't be so quick to judge; a dog, a good dog, can help you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, he would be a watch dog. He will hear things long before you do. He also can be trained to protect you. He can sniff out people. There are a lot of things a dog can be trained to do."

"You think that dog can help me?" Fury nodded her head toward the pup, who was now hopelessly chasing his tail.

"Yes, I do. His mama is the smartest dog I've ever owned."

"Sally is a smart dog, but that doesn't mean he will be, and I don't have the time to train him."

"Give him a chance. You've worked with me and your father, training hunting dogs. As I recollect, not only did you train them to hunt, you taught them to do tricks."

"I don't think dog tricks are going to help me hunt killers."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying you are a natural when it comes to training animals. Work with him for a while, and if you don't think it's worth it, then leave him with me."

"All right," Fury sighed as she watched the pup bark at his own shadow, "but he doesn't seem very bright."

"Come on; he's a pup. You gotta give him a chance. What are you gonna call him?"

"I named him when I was here with Papa. His name is Max."

"Good, you stay here with Max for a while and get acquainted. I'm going in to clean our guns."

Fury watched as Hank disappeared into the cabin, then she turned her attention back to the runt of a pup. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

Max looked at her and whined.

"Hey, don't take it personally."

The pup sat back on his haunches and cried.

"Oh, come on," Fury said as she entered the stall.

"It's not like I don't like you," she said as she picked up the pup. "I just don't think it's a good idea to take you with me."

Fury chuckled when the pup began to lick her chin. "All right, Max, I'll spend a little time with you, but that doesn't mean I'm taking you with me."

From Mrs. Alston's description of Hank Black Hawk, Travis expected a dilapidated shack not a quaint cabin nestled in the serene countryside. He envisioned broken windows and holes in the roof, not flowers and a porch swing, not smoke billowing from the chimney, not a home. Travis hoped the man would be as inviting as his homestead.

Travis needed answers, his visit with the Pendergrass family the prior evening proved fruitless. Darcy sobbed the entire time and her parents were filled with self-recrimination. Travis hoped his visit with Black Hawk would make up for the precious time he lost, time he needed to find Belle.

Travis remembered what Mrs. Alston said about Black Hawk, he was cautious as he approached the door. He knocked on the door.

He heard the rasping sound of a chair scraping against the floor. The door opened and Travis was greeted by a rifle.

"Whoa!" Travis shouted, as he raised his arms, "Put your rifle down, mister. I'm a Texas Ranger I need to ask you some questions concerning Belle Alston."

Hank slowly lowered his gun.

"What you want to know about Belle?"

"May I please come in?"

"No! Ask your questions."

Travis let out a frustrated sigh.

"I am investigating Belle's disappearance and I understand you were close to the family. Did Belle come here after the murder of her parents?"

"Belle is not in my home." Hank hoped saying Belle was not in his home would save him from a lie. He valued honesty.

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

"Sorry, can't help you with that either. Look, son, John Alston was my best friend and I considered his family, my family, if I knew where Belle was, right now, I would tell you."

Again, he took his honesty to the limit, technically Hank did not know where Belle was 'right now'.

"I have nothing else to say," Hank added.

"If you think of anything please inform the sheriff and he will pass on the information to me. Thank you for your help Mr. Black Hawk."

He extended his hand to shake Hank's but was met by a closing door.

Travis did not know that the girl he searched for was just a few feet away in the barn.

After six months, the search for the Alston murderers and for their daughter faded away. Only two people held on to the hope that Belle lived—Kate Alston and Ranger Travis Parker. Although the official search for Belle had ended, Travis continued to look for her. No matter what assignment, Belle remained ever present in his mind.

Over the months, Fury trained with Hank. They began every day early and ended every day late. Under Hank's tutelage, Fury improved her shooting and riding skills. He also taught her to track and fight. In the evenings, they sat by the fireplace as Hank shared his knowledge as a deputy with her. When she was not with Hank, she could be found training Swift and Max. But training with the animals was not always work; sometimes she would play games with them. They loved playing a kind of horse and dog hide and seek. Fury cupped her hands like blinders over the horse's eyes and commanded Swift to find Max. Usually, the horse found him in no time. Fury wondered if he wanted to be found. The pup proved to be as smart as his mother, and Fury was pleased at how quickly he learned.

The walk back to the cabin was silent, and Fury knew something was on Hank's mind.

"Hank, what's going on? Did I do something wrong today? Is there something you want me to work on?"

"No, you've learned everything I wanted to teach you, Fury." Hank's voice hitched. "You are ready to leave if you still want to go."

"Yes, I do."

Hank nodded. He hung his head as they plodded along in silence. They were almost to the cabin when Hank stopped and turned to face her. "Fury, what will you do to support yourself?"

"I been meaning to tell you that." Fury shifted her weight. "I'm going to be a bounty hunter."

"What?" Hank yelled. "Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Yes, I do, Hank, but hear me out. I want to find my parents' murderers, and I need information. Who better to get information from but other criminals?"

"You think some criminal is just gonna spill his guts to you?"

"No, I know it won't be easy, but you taught me well. I know I can do it because I have to do it."

"What about the fact you are a girl; that will bring you a world of trouble, especially if you are hunting criminals," Hank growled.

"I've thought of that. I'm gonna pass myself off as a man."

Hank almost laughed. "A man! You could barely pass yourself off as a boy."

"I believe if I dress in loose fitting clothes and a jacket, no one will know I'm female. And I will have to cut my hair off."

"Cut your hair off?" Sometimes Hank could not believe how much she'd changed. Belle would have never cut her hair, but as she said, she was not Belle; she was Fury.

"It has to be done, Hank. Also, Hank, there is something else I want you to do for me."

"Let's hear it."

"I want you to spread rumors about me, about Fury."

"What?"

"Hear me out, Hank. You start telling the right people about a new bounty hunter named Fury. You could give me a reputation the criminals will take seriously. Warn them. Tell them there's a new bounty hunter, only goes by the name Fury. You heard people say don't let his age or size fool you. Hank, you could tell them things like that, and it might make things easier for me."

Hank was silent. He thought about what Fury said and knew she was right.

"All right," he answered," but you need to stay here a bit longer, to give time for the rumors to get around. And, Fury, remember, I didn't help you so you could get revenge. I helped you so you could get justice."

Fury nodded. "Thank you, Hank."

Hank told his tall tales of the bounty hunter named Fury at saloons and general stores. He went anywhere he knew people gathered to gossip. The name Fury soon became a name to be respected.

"Don't judge Fury by his size," he heard people say. "He is the best shot around and can fight like a grizzly bear." It didn't take long for the stories of Fury to spread and become embellished with each retelling.

When Fury believed enough time passed for the rumors to take hold, she announced she was leaving. Hank and Little Dove gave nervous goodbyes, and Fury thanked them, promising to do her best to keep in touch—a promise she knew she would break.