Читать книгу The Bounty Hunter's Bride - Victoria Bylin - Страница 11

“Have a seat, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Beau was tired enough to sleep on his feet, but he planted himself at the window and focused on the ice-cream parlor. The odds of Clay Johnson walking down the street were slim to none, but Beau refused to let down his guard.

He also had doubts about Miss Baxter. Ever since he’d walked into the kitchen, she’d been giving him the evil eye. Her judgment of his character irked him. Time had tarnished his manners, but he’d tried to be considerate. He’d tossed blankets in the wagon for the girls, and he’d bargained with the livery owner for Miss Baxter’s refund. A long time ago, simple courtesy had come naturally to him. So had conversation. He’d gone to church socials and asked pretty girls to dance. That’s where he’d met Lucy. Miss Baxter reminded him of that happy time…and the hard time that had followed. She’d grieve for Patrick as he’d grieved for Lucy. Staring through the glass, Beau watched as she and the girls circled a small table.

Trevor Scott cleared his throat. “I have good news, Mr. Morgan.”

“You’ve found a school?”

“Not exactly. I’ve located another relative, a Miss Harriet Lange.”

“Who is she?”

“A great-aunt on Elizabeth’s side of the family.”

Beau frowned. She sounded old. “Where does she live?”

“Minnesota.”

“It’s cold there.”

“There’s another problem,” Scott said.

“What’s that?”

“She’ll take Emma but not the younger girls.”

The offer rubbed Beau the wrong way. He could see his nieces now, licking ice cream from glass bowls. Each one had impressed him. This week had been the worst of Emma’s life, but she’d stepped up like a grown woman. He’d seen Ellie carrying a bucket of water to her daddy’s grave. He didn’t know what kind of flowers she’d planted, but she’d come to the house with muddy knees. And Esther…she’d never stop sucking her thumb without her sisters.

“Why Emma?” he asked.

Scott leaned back in his squeaky chair. “Miss Lange is an elderly spinster. I assume she wants companionship.”

Or a servant, Beau thought. It made sense, but he knew he’d become cynical. He had a talent for spotting weeds but rarely noticed flowers, even when they filled a meadow. Maybe the woman had a kind heart but couldn’t feed two more children. “Does she have an income?”

“She clerks at a bank.”

A job that paid little money. Beau hooked his thumbs in his belt. He earned top dollar and saved most of it. “If money’s the problem, I can solve it.”

“With the sale of the farm?”

“No, that’s going in the bank.” He wanted the girls to have a nest egg for later in life. “I’ll pay for what they need.”

“It’s generous of you.”

Maybe, but Beau felt no pride. What the girls needed most, money couldn’t buy. They needed a home, parents who’d love them and tuck them in at night. He couldn’t do those things.

Scott shifted in his chair. “If you’d like, I can present an offer to Miss Lange.”

“Do it,” Beau said. “Tell her it’s all three or nothing. If she agrees, we’ll discuss a monthly allowance.”

“And if she says no?”

“We’ll look for a school.”

“I don’t envy you, Mr. Morgan. The situation calls for the wisdom of Solomon.”

Beau knew the story. Two women claiming the same child went to the Biblical king to resolve their differences. When he’d threatened to cut the baby in half, the real mother had given up the fight to save her child’s life. Beau felt the same pressure. He’d do anything to keep the girls together. Anything except stay in Castle Rock. Peering through the window, he saw Miss Baxter wiping Esther’s face with a white hankie. Someday she’d make a good mother. He hoped Harriet Lange would be as kind.

The attorney cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse my boldness, Mr. Morgan, there’s another solution.”

“What’s that?”

“You could raise the girls yourself.”

Beau laughed out loud. “Not in a million years.”

“Why not?”

The duster covered his Colt .45, but the weapon weighed heavy on his hip. Even if he’d felt inclined to settle down, he couldn’t do it until Clay Johnson had taken his last breath. Beau turned from the window and glared at the attorney. The balding man had spectacles, but that didn’t mean he could see. One look at Beau’s worn gun belt should have answered his question.

After staring for a bit, Beau stated the obvious. “I’m not inclined to settle down, Mr. Scott.”

“Why not?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You can’t blame me for asking,” the man said. “I knew Patrick well. We served together as elders at the church. He’d want his girls to be raised in Castle Rock.”

“That’s not possible.”

Beau thought of Daniela Baxter but dismissed the idea of allowing her to adopt his nieces. Someday she’d marry and have babies of her own. Besides, what did she know about running a dairy farm? Since he’d been doing Patrick’s work, Beau had come to respect farmers in a new way. The cows had no mercy when it came to being milked on time. Exhausted or not, Beau pulled himself out of bed at dawn, headed to the meadow to fetch the first cow, then milked them one at a time until he’d finished all ten. At night, the cows came to the gate bellowing precisely at five o’clock.

The milking started the day and ended it. In between, the driver from the local cheese factory picked up the milk cans and replaced them with empty ones. Beau had buckets to scrub and horse stalls to muck out. He also had a new field of alfalfa to plant. Patrick’s first field, the one he’d planted seven years ago, would die out in a few years and no longer meet the needs of his growing herd. The cows had all given birth in March. Patrick had kept four heifer calves and sold the rest. The herd needed more forage, so he’d made plans for a second alfalfa crop. Beau had seen the half-plowed field and the seed bags in the barn. After just two days of work, he’d taken his hat off to his brother’s dedication.

Hardworking or not, Patrick had died, leaving the work unfinished. In a blink the Almighty had cut him down. Beau turned back to the window. Instead of four blond heads, he saw four bowls of melting ice cream.

“What the—”

He scanned the boardwalk and saw Miss Baxter shepherding the girls to the wagon. When she glanced at the window, Beau saw the fear of a fugitive and bolted for the door.

“We’re not done!” Scott called.

“Write to Miss Lange,” Beau shouted from the stairwell.

“Do it today!”

He raced through the door to the street where the wagon sat empty. He looked to the left but saw nothing. He snapped his eyes to the right and saw a pink skirt whipping around a corner.

He broke into a run, but the females had a two-block lead. When he reached the alley where they’d turned, he saw nothing but empty stairs, trash and piles of wood. Muttering an oath, he strode between the buildings, swiveling his head to look down each street and alley for another flash of pink.

He spotted them on Cantril Street. Miss Baxter and his nieces had slowed to a fast walk, a pace that would look hurried to bystanders but not panicked. Beau didn’t know what to make of their flight. He didn’t know much about little girls, but he’d tried to be pleasant. He hadn’t raised his voice, and he’d cussed only once when a cow had stepped on his foot.

With Miss Baxter and the girls in plain sight, he followed at a distance, staying close to the buildings and ducking into doorways whenever the woman looked over her shoulder. He had to admire her instincts. She took numerous turns, blended with strangers and kept the girls at her side. Beau had no idea where she was headed. They’d passed the Garnet Hotel, the sheriff’s office and the courthouse. He figured the girls had friends, but the houses in Castle Rock lay mostly to the east. Tired of the chase, he lengthened his stride. With his coat flapping and his boots thudding, he didn’t have to maneuver around folks on the boardwalk. They jumped out of his way.

At the corner of Lewis and Sixth Streets, Miss Baxter glanced over her shoulder. Instead of taking cover, Beau stayed in plain sight. “Wait up!”

Her eyes rounded with fear. Breathless, she lifted Esther and ran with Emma and Ellie flanking her sides.

Beau broke into a run but stopped. He couldn’t stand the thought of Miss Baxter catching a heel in the boardwalk. If she fell, she’d twist an ankle or worse. He’d also figured out her destination. The fool woman could have saved herself a lot worry if she’d stayed and finished her ice cream. Beau, too, had business with Josh and Adelaide Blue. With his hat low, he followed the females to the parsonage.

“Keep going!” Dani said between breaths. “We’re almost there.”

She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. She’d spotted Beau Morgan near the bank but hoped they’d lost him by zigzagging through the grid of streets. The church rose in the distance, a wood frame building painted white with a bell and a tin steeple. The sun struck the metal, reminding her of the swords in the Bible. The Lord had told his people to turn some into ploughshares. Others were used for battle. As the steeple glinted in the sun, she thought of the sword of truth, a two-edged blade sharp enough to separate flesh from bone, truth from lies. Mr. Morgan hadn’t been overtly dishonest, but neither had he been forthcoming. With three girls in her care, Dani couldn’t take chances. If Pastor Blue and his wife would watch the girls, she’d go in search of the town judge. She’d show him the letters and—

“Oh, no,” she mumbled.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“Your pa’s letters are in my trunk.”

The girl whimpered. “That’s the proof he wanted you to adopt us.”

“That’s right.”

“Can we get them?” Emma asked.

“Not easily.” Dani’s plan to take the wagon had changed the instant she’d locked eyes with Beau Morgan through the window. She’d told him about Patrick’s letter with good intentions, but now she wished she’d been more reserved. If he wanted to play dirty, he could destroy the letters. A custody battle would turn into a war of words.

Please, Lord. I need your help.

With mud sticking to her shoes, Dani focused on the house across from the church. Red curtains hung in the windows and flowerpots lined the railing on the wide porch. Behind the slats, she saw a hodgepodge of chairs. A large wooden spool, probably used for telegraph wire, served as a table, and a lantern sat on a barrel. The house called out a welcome.

Come and sit. Share your burdens.

Patrick had considered Reverend Blue a good friend and he’d spoken well of the man’s wife. They’ll help you get settled, Dani. Pastor Josh tells stories that make the Bible come alive, and no one’s kinder than Adie. Looking at the chairs, Dani imagined pouring out her heart to a serene man of the cloth and his gentle wife.

“There she is!” Ellie said.

A red-haired woman in a green print dress and white apron stood in the doorway. At the sight of Dani and the girls, her eyes sparked with recognition, then clouded as she spied the man following in their steps. Leaving the door ajar, Adelaide Blue slipped out of sight. Clinging to Esther, Dani ran faster, praying she wouldn’t stumble. Emma stayed at her side. Unburdened, Ellie outdistanced them. They had a hundred feet to go, then seventy, fifty…Dani could see the lilacs by the front door, the checks on the gingham curtains.

When they reached the yard, Adie waved them inside. The girls sped past her and collapsed on the floor. Dani spun around and saw the minister’s wife facing the yard with a shotgun pressed against her shoulder. Dani went to the window, peeked through the curtains and saw Beau Morgan striding down the dirt trail parting the grass. With his hat pulled low and his duster flapping, he stirred the blades like gusting wind.

“Hold up, stranger!” Adie called.

He stopped and raised his hands over his head. Dani pressed her temple against the wall so she could see the front of the doorway. The shotgun barrel pointed steady and true.

Adie’s finger rested on the trigger. “Who are you, mister?”

Laughter rumbled from Beau Morgan’s chest. It struck Dani as sinister, but Adie lowered the gun.

“I don’t believe my eyes,” the woman said.

“Hello, Adie.”

“Beau Morgan? Is that really you?”

“It sure is.” Beneath the brim of his hat, his mouth widened into a roguish grin. “Are you gonna shoot me or ask me to supper?”

“What do you think?”

Gripping the curtain, Dani watched in shock as Adelaide Blue ran to Beau Morgan and hugged him like a long-lost brother.

Beau had thought of Josh and Adie Blue as family ever since he’d stumbled into the church Josh had started in a Denver saloon. The Blues had taught him a simple truth. Even the mangiest of dogs liked good cooking and a clean bed. A few kind words and the meanest cur lost his growl. Add a little love—a good scratch, a woman’s laughter—and that dog turned worthless. That’s why Beau avoided good cooking and clean sheets. Until he brought Clay Johnson to justice, he had to keep his edge.

He stepped back from Adie. “You’re as pretty as ever.”

She smiled. “And you’re just as ornery.”

“Where’s Josh?”

“Looking for Miss Baxter.” Adie put her hands on her hips. “Would you care to tell me why that girl’s running from you like a scared rabbit?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you’re blind.” She looked him up and down. “You need a bath and that’s the least of it.”

“I haven’t had a chance.”

“It’s more than your looks that frightened her,” Adie said.

“What’s got you in a twist?”

Beau lost his smile. “I got word that Clay Johnson’s in the area. I’m still hunting for him.”

“Oh, Beau.”

“I was closing in when I stopped to see Patrick.” Beau shook his head. “I ended up with a farm and a bunch of cows.”

“And three little girls.”

Adie’s voice held a lilt. Beau appreciated her kindness but feared the glint in her eyes. Orphaned at the age of twelve, she’d suffered frightful abuses before settling with Josh and their adopted son. She treasured her family and wanted everyone to have the same joy. Until Lucy’s death, Beau had felt the same way.

Adie cut into his thoughts. “Those girls need a home. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You could stay here and raise them.”

“Forget it. I’ve got a call on my life and I’m following it.”

Adie’s face hardened. “You’re talking about Johnson.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Beau.”

“What?”

Her eyes misted. “You’ve got to set that burden down.”

How could she say such a thing? She’d laid out Lucy’s body in the house he’d rented because his wife had liked the porch swing. That morning, Lucy had tossed up her breakfast and had gone to the doctor. Later Beau learned she’d been carrying their child. She’d put on the pink dress—his favorite—to tell him the news. Behind Adie, he saw Miss Baxter in her pink dress peeking through the red curtains. The colors turned his stomach.

Adie wrinkled her nose, then playfully fanned the air. “Go take a bath. You smell like a bear in April.”

Beau grinned. “That good?”

“Worse!”

He appreciated the change in tone. “I’ve got business in town. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Keep an eye out for Josh,” she added.

Beau wanted to see his old friend but feared what the Reverend would say. The man dug deep, pulling up weeds by the roots and laying them bare for a man to see for himself. Adie had a different way. She planted seeds and expected flowers. If a man was thirsty, she gave him sweet tea. If he was hungry, she filled his belly. Beau had never known a more generous woman…or a more dangerous one. Watching Adie love the whole wretched world made him want a garden of his own.

Beau tipped his hat to her, saw that Miss Baxter had left her post at the window, turned and headed to town. As he trudged along the path, he thought of his early years in Denver. He’d been a deputy sheriff when Joshua Blue had ridden into town with a Bible and an attitude. Before he knew it, Beau had been sitting in a saloon that doubled for a church on Sunday mornings. A year later, he’d met Lucy and married her. After her passing, Adie had fed him meals until he couldn’t stand another bite and had lit out of town.

He wanted to leave now but couldn’t. Patrick’s girls needed him and so did Miss Baxter. What drove a woman to travel a thousand miles to marry a stranger? Beau didn’t know, but he knew how it felt to hurt.

As he stepped onto the boardwalk, he caught a whiff of himself. Adie was right about that bath, but first he had to visit the Silver River Saloon. With a little luck, he’d pick up news about Clay Johnson. Beau disliked visiting saloons, but it had to be done. Men like Johnson didn’t hang out at the general store, nor did they go to church on Sundays, or to socials where men and women rubbed elbows and made friends. Neither did Beau.

With his duster flapping, he strode to Scott’s office to fetch the wagon, then drove back down the street, crossed the railroad tracks and found the saloon between a second mining office and a gunsmith. He stepped inside and surveyed the dimly lit room. Empty stools lined the bar. A poker table sat in the corner with a battered deck of cards but no players. He had the place to himself, so he stepped to the bar where a man with graying hair was wiping the counter.

“What’ll it be?” the barkeep asked.

“Coffee.”

The man set down a mug. Numb to the bitterness, Beau took a long drag of the overcooked brew. It splashed in his belly but didn’t give him the usual jolt, a sign he was more tired than he knew. Grimacing, he set down the half-empty cup.

“You’re a stranger here,” the barkeep said.

“Sure enough.”

“In town on business?”

“Just passing through.” Lonely men liked to talk. Beau hoped this man was one of them.

The barkeep lifted a shot glass out of a tub and dried it with his apron. “If you need work, the mines are hiring.”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“His name’s Clay Johnson. He’s about six feet with dark hair and a crooked nose.” Beau wished he’d been the one to break it.

When the man raised a brow, Beau slid a coin across the counter. The barkeep slipped it into his pocket. “I’ve seen that fellow.”

“In town?”

“About two weeks ago.”

Before Patrick’s death. “Any idea where he was headed?”

“None. He bought five bottles of whiskey, opened one here and walked out with the rest. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Anyone with him?”

“Two men.”

“What did they look like?”

“I didn’t pay much attention. I noticed Johnson because of his nose.” The barkeep set down the glass and held out his hand. “I’m Wallace O’Day. I run a clean business.”

Beau shook the man’s hand. “Beau Morgan.”

“Bounty hunter?”

“I’m not in it for the money.”

Wallace picked up another glass. “This Johnson fellow. Is he wanted?”

“Yes.” By Beau for Lucy’s murder and the U.S. government for stealing horses. Of the two, the government would be kinder.

The barkeep glanced at the dregs in Beau’s cup. “Want some more?”

“No, thanks.” Beau slapped down a sawbuck. “If you hear anything about Johnson, remember it.”

Wallace folded the money. “How do I find you?”

“I’ll be back.”

Beau left the saloon with thoughts of Johnson rattling like broken glass. He saw Lucy again, felt the wetness of her bodice and smelled the blood. He blinked the picture away, but the rage stayed in his blood, swimming like a thousand fish. Needing to get rid of the slithering, he walked two blocks to an emporium where he bought fresh clothes, then headed back to the bathhouse across from the Silver River.

As he neared the splintery building, one of the oldest in Castle Rock, he smelled steam, soap and dirt. The mix reminded him of a simple truth. He could get clean on the outside, but the inside was another matter. Until Clay Johnson met his end, Beau’s hate would grow with every breath he took.

Weary to the bone, he stepped into a drafty building with a high ceiling. He paid a Chinese man to fill a tub, then undressed and slipped into the hot water. As he dunked his head, Beau thought about Clay Johnson. They’d been playing this game for a long time now. At first, Clay had run hard and far. Beau had nearly trapped him in Durango, but he’d fled to the Colorado Plateau and into the desert. Beau had picked up the man’s trail later in Raton but had lost him near Cimarron. A year had passed before he’d gotten word of an outlaw gang raiding ranches in Wyoming.

Beau had taken a train to Laramie. He’d arrived in time for a trial that didn’t include Johnson. In exchange for prison in place of the gallows, one of Clay’s cohorts had told the authorities where to find him. Beau had ridden out that day, but Clay had already vanished into the mountains.

With the memory haunting him, Beau raised his head out of the water and wiped his face. He’d been so close. A day sooner and his search would have ended. Instead, Clay had gotten word of Beau’s presence and left him a message at the local saloon.

It should have been you, Sheriff. You know it. Leave me alone.

Beau had that note in his saddlebag. He had other things, too. A bullet etched with an M for Morgan, presumably from Johnson’s gun belt. Other notes. Other tokens. Every time Beau got close, the outlaw taunted him but didn’t stand and fight.

Beau wondered why.

What stopped Johnson from setting up an ambush? For five years, Beau had slept with one eye open and for good reason. In a game of cat and mouse, no man liked being the mouse. Someday Johnson would be sick of the chase and become the cat. The man would show himself and Beau would be ready. Dunking back into the scalding water, he hoped that day would come soon.