Two for Home

by Tinnean

  “Oh, no. You see, there were papers in the pockets, so Sheriff Cottyn said he’d have no problem identifying the man. You’ll never guess who it was!”

  “Not unless you plan to tell us.”

  “Oh…er…Yes. You know that person who came to town a few days ago? Horace Weatherford? The man who ruined Willow Crick and who thought he could take over Woody Draw?” Phipps didn’t wait for anyone to acknowledge his description. “The body belonged to his friend, the man he was waiting to join him in our fair town.”

  “McCloud, who was sheriff of Willow Crick?” Steve asked.

  “Yes! Er…How did you know his name?”

  Steve gave him a hard smile. “I had the dubious pleasure of visiting his jail.”

  “Oh. Of course you’d recognize the name.”

  “Of course. Was there anything else you had to tell us about it?”

  Phipps seemed disappointed no one was more excited by his news. “Just that he and Weatherford will be buried in the town cemetery tomorrow. Pastor Ford will hold the service.” He frowned. “The sheriff and town council are annoyed, though. The town will have to bear the cost of both burials.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to contribute,” Sharps said.

  “That’s kind of you.” Phipps beamed at him, and Sharps gave a bland smile in return. He’d use the money from the pot he’d won from Weatherford. It was kind of fitting, and it would ingratiate them with the town, which wouldn’t hurt.

  “Does Sheriff Cottyn expect us to be there?”

  “No—” Abruptly he whipped off his hat. “Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Hall had joined them and linked her arm with her husband’s. Bart made the introductions. “Georgie, this is Mr. Phipps, the architect. Mr. Phipps, my wife, Georgiana Hall.”

  “Mrs. Hall, it’s a sincere pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mr. Phipps.”

  “He was telling us—”

  “No, no, no! You don’t want to bring up such a sordid topic before such delicate ears!”

  “Of…” Sharps caught Steve’s gaze then looked away quickly so he wouldn’t burst into laughter. “Of course not.”

  Desperate for a way to change the subject, Phipps looked around. “This is lovely, lovely land.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Hall said. “We’re very happy with it.”

  “I must say I’m surprised it went unclaimed all these years.”

  She tilted her head. “What makes you think it was unclaimed?”

  “Oh…but…”

  “My father filed for the title some years ago.”

  “I see. Then the land belongs to your husband, now that you’re married.”

  That’s the way it is, Sharps thought, even in this century. What belonged to the husband was the husband’s, and what belonged to his wife belonged to him as well. Sharps hadn’t seen it himself, since the people he knew lived mostly hand-to-mouth, but the more wealthy people—while he’d been recuperating, he’d overheard Colonel Sebring talking about such situations with his wife, both of them regarding it as unfair to the woman.

  Bart slid his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her close. “It belongs to my wife and her family,” he said. “I’m just lucky to be a part of it.” Bart’s tone was cold enough to make Phipps rethink his words.

  The architect cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, I’m sure. It’s just no one spoke of it in the time I’ve been here.” He offered Mrs. Hall a weak smile, then hurried on before she or her husband could say anything further, addressing Bart. “Suppose you show me where you’d like to have your house built.”

  Bart sent a glance his wife’s way. “Go ahead, querido,” she murmured. “You’re the carpenter.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. She watched as Bart, Phipps, and the architect’s assistant walked off to pace the land Bart had chosen for the Halls’ house.

  “Officious little man. What was that all about my delicate ears?”

  “They found McCloud’s body,” Sharps told her. “He and Weatherford are gonna be buried tomorrow.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s good for us to know. We won’t want to be there.”

  This time Sharps and the cap did laugh.

  She laughed as well, then said, “I’m going to take Salida out for some exercise, and my brothers will be joining me.”

  “Did you want me to saddle your mare for you?” While he’d been recuperating at Shadow Brook he’d sometimes saddle Mrs. Sebring’s mare when none of the stable boys were available.

  Mrs. Hall arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m aware you’re quite capable.”

  “Thank you. Would it be all right if Charlie borrowed your gelding?”

  “I have no objections, and Sorrowful seems to get along well with him.”

  “Thank you. In that case, I would appreciate if you’d saddle him. Right now he’s a bit tall for Charlie. However, Chris can take care of Socks.”

  “And Thomas?”

  “He can ride up in front of me.” She tugged on her lower lip. “He’s reaching the age where he should have his own pony. I did when I was his age.”

  “When we return to town, I’ll look into it, if you like.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” While he saddled Sorrowful, Mrs. Hall and Chris took care of their own mounts, and once everyone was on horseback, Sharps watched as the siblings rode out to explore their valley. If he couldn’t find a mount for Thomas in town, he could track a wild horse herd and see what he could come across. It would be a good cover for his mission east.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Phipps and Bart returned to camp, Phipps’s assistant trailing behind, busily scribbling in a notebook.

  “The spot you chose is ideal, as are your suggestions,” the architect said. His assistant handed him the notebook, and he glanced through it. “Indoor plumbing, and you intend to include a toilet and tub, with the heated water for bathing piped in from the laundry room? Clever, clever idea.” Phipps smiled at him and tucked the book into a pocket.

  “Thank you. I was a carpenter back east, and I saw some things I think will make life easier for my wife.”

  The architect winked at him. “It’s always a good idea to please the little lady.” His brow furrowed. “Although I must say Mrs. Hall isn’t exactly little. In fact, she’s rather tall for a woman. No offense, I assure you,” he hurried to add when Bart scowled at him. “She’s very attractive.”

  “She is. I’d be lost without her.”

  Sharps wondered if Bart was laying the groundwork for the time they lost Mrs. Hall in a cattle stampede and George Pettigrew, a “distant cousin,” replaced her.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Phipps,” Sharps said. “If I could have a word with you?” He didn’t wait for the architect to nod. “Captain Marriott and I are planning to go in together on a little spread a few miles south of here, and I wonder if you’d be interested in planning our ranch house.”

  “You are? You’re rather young, aren’t you?” He coughed and rushed on to say, “Sorry, not my business. I’d have to see the lay of the land as I did here,” he said cautiously. “But yes, I might be willing to do that.”

  “That would be swell. We wouldn’t need a large house.”

  The architect nodded. “I’ll return to town, and once I’ve completed the design for the Halls’ house, I’ll start on a rough draft for Captain Marriott’s, subject to land conditions.”

  Sharps let it go. He wasn’t going to get into an argument with the man regarding the ownership of the Double S.

  Phipps climbed onto the buckboard and shivered. “You might want to come to Woody Draw soon,” he said to Bart. “We’ve already had snow, and although it was early in the season and a very light fall, it promises to get worse as the months progress.”

  Sharps could believe that. The temperature had already dropped in the
past day or so.

  “That’s an excellent suggestion,” Bart said. “My friend, Frank Thompson, has ridden into town to see about renting houses for us.”

  “Very good.” Phipps extended his hand, and Bart shook it. “I look forward to working with you, and you also, young man. All right, Cheavers. Get us home before we freeze.”

  * * * *

  Not long after the architect left, Frank came galloping into camp. He yanked his gelding to a sliding halt and stared around. “Where’s Bart?” He sounded tense.

  “Here I am.” Bart strode up to him. “What’s going on?”

  “I rode into town to look into renting a house, remember?”

  “Yes, I do. Any luck?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes. I told the landlord we’d come by tomorrow to sign the papers. As long as you like the house.”

  “I’m sure we will. Now tell me what’s going on?”

  “Well, while I was getting ready to ride back to the valley, the telegrapher found me and asked if I was the man who’d ridden with you.”

  “And…?”

  “I told him I was, and he said he had a telegram for you from back east.”

  “From Ma?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bart looked sick. Sharps didn’t need to exchange glances with Steve. Everyone knew telegrams were the harbinger of bad news.

  “What did it say?” Bart asked. Everyone held themselves still and waited.

  The response was anticlimactic. “I didn’t read it,” Frank said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s addressed to you.”

  “Damned priest’s son,” Bart growled as he thrust out his hand. Frank surrendered the piece of paper, and Bart read it over carefully. He burst into almost hysterical laughter.

  “Bart?” Mrs. Hall, who’d returned to camp a short while before with her siblings, went to him, drew his head to her shoulder, and stroked his hair. “Oh, querido.” Sharps could see she also felt things weren’t well.

  “How bad is it?” Frank asked, the nerves in his voice making it obvious he regretted not reading the telegram whether it was addressed to someone else or not.

  “Fine, they’re all fine. Ma just sent the telegram to let me know she’d received mine, and to thank me for scaring her out of a year of her life, thinking I was sending her bad news.” He raised his head. “Well, she got me back.”

  “Did she say anything about my parents and my sisters and brother?”

  “She’s gonna send a letter with all the current news, but she did say to let you know they’re all in good health and waiting for a letter from you.”

  “Oh, tarnation. These past weeks…So much has happened it completely slipped my mind.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll telegraph her again and remind her it takes a while for mail to reach New York from California.”

  “California? What’s that about?” Sharps murmured to Steve.

  “Frank’s father was inadvertently responsible for the children being taken away from Georgie, and Lewis St. Claire was aware of this. Well, the son of a bitch was behind it. If he knew Frank was traveling with Bart, he’d assume Georgie and Noelle were as well.”

  And St. Claire wouldn’t care a fig about the other two little ones.

  “Because of this,” Steve continued, “Frank couldn’t let his family know he was traveling with his friends, so he told his folks he was sailing to the west coast to practice law in San Francisco. If St. Claire discovered where his niece was, he’d move heaven and earth to get his hands on her again.”

  “But Cap…” Sharps tipped his hat back on his head and met his captain’s gaze. “St. Claire already knows. That was why he sent the Wilson brothers to grab her and bring her to him.”

  Steve swore. “I didn’t think of that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, we’ll just have to stay alert.”

  “We will.” Sharps gripped Steve’s hand, hoping it would give him some comfort. He wouldn’t tell his captain that he planned to deal with Lewis St. Claire himself.

  Meanwhile, Bart was saying, “Ma wanted to be sure I knew the telegram had reached her.”

  Mrs. Hall stroked the hair back off her husband’s forehead and kissed his cheek. “I always loved your mama. She’s a wonderful woman who raised a wonderful son.”

  Bart wrapped his arms around her. It was a very private moment, and Sharps was interested to note Frank looked away. “I’ve…uh…got to put up Athos.” He dismounted and led his gelding to the corral.

  Sharps let his fingers twine with Steve’s. “Come on, Cap. How does venison sound for dinner?”

  “I’d say it sounds right good.”

  “All right, then. If Charlie can find a deer, I reckon we can, too.”

  Chapter 36

  Sharps found it interesting that the arrival and death of the two men from Willow Crick turned out to be nothing more than a nine days wonder in Woody Draw. Even after all the time since Sharps had shot Weatherford, Sheriff Cottyn still hadn’t come to pay them a visit, so Sharps hoped it was safe to assume the man wasn’t suspicious about the cause of Weatherford’s death.

  Although if anyone ever did ask him, he’d widen his eyes and let them fill with hurt that anyone could think such a thing of him. And if they pressed him, then he would flat-out deny it.

  * * * *

  Autumn drifted into winter, and Sharps kept his eye on the people who’d become like family to him. Mrs. Hall, her husband, and her brothers moved into a larger house just outside town that suited the five of them, while Sharps, Steve, and Frank shared a house a little distance away. Both properties had stables large enough for their horses and the mules Bart and Mrs. Hall planned to keep to till the land.

  They all found things to keep them busy during the long winter months, including exercising the animals.

  Bart found some odd jobs as a carpenter and began building a reputation for himself. His wife helped Mrs. Fox with her students. The widow’s pregnancy was hard on her, and there were days she wasn’t able to teach at all, so Mrs. Hall took over. When Sharps heard tales of how easily she kept the bigger boys in line and how amazed the townsfolk were by this, he had to chuckle.

  Steve wound up accepting the position of Cottyn’s deputy with the understanding as soon as their house was built, Steve would leave to become a rancher.

  Frank Thompson hung out a shingle and began practicing law, and his first client was Steve. A rancher’s spoiled son had ignored the ordinance of no guns within the town’s limits. Cottyn intended to use kid gloves because the young man was from one of the prominent local families—but before the sheriff could relieve him of his gun, the kid had shot him. It might not have been done on purpose or with malice, but it was done nevertheless. While Dr. Hale pulled the bullet from Cottyn’s arm, Steve went hunting for the little pissant, who was drinking at the Silver Slipper—the owner of the Diamond Garter had banned him—and bragging about what he’d done. Steve whaled the tar out of him in front of the entire saloon full of men before throwing him into jail. And of course his father had objected and insisted Steve be arrested for assault and put on trial.

  “You got yourself arrested again, Cap?” Sharps had sighed and shook his head.

  “Only in a manner of speaking. They need me as deputy, so they didn’t put me in jail.”

  “Not during the day, but that’s where you have to spend your nights.” And Sharps didn’t like sleeping alone. He’d grown used to having his love beside him.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Me? Nothing.”

  “Sharps.”

  “All right.” He’d given Steve a slight smile. “I reckon I’ll go find the kid and read to him from the book.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk about kids when you look even younger than him. Look. Don’t do anything stupid.” The words might have sounded like an order, but Steve’s tone had been pleading.

  Which was strange. When had the cap come to realize Sharps could do more than throw a rock at a ma
n’s head? No, Sharps had to have that wrong. He was probably just hearing things.

  “I’m serious, Sergeant. He won’t be able to sit for some time. Leave Frank to take care of it.”

  He’d shrugged and given Steve a salute. “Sure thing, Cap.”

  Steve had growled, ground his teeth, and gone out to patrol the town, but they’d both let it go. Sharps would always do what his captain asked of him. When he could.

  And Frank had taken care of it, although afterward he’d grumbled, “I really didn’t have much opportunity to demonstrate my capability.” The jury hadn’t even had to deliberate. The sheriff was well-liked, the rancher’s son was known to be a troublemaker, and they’d decided Steve had shown forbearance in only paddling the menace. Steve had been found not guilty and released, while the rancher’s son wasn’t allowed in Woody Draw for the next six months.

  He probably wouldn’t have obeyed the order, but for a change his father had put his foot down, thanks to a visit from Sharps—Steve hadn’t wanted Sharps to confront the kid, but he hadn’t said a word about Sharps not visiting the rancher—and the son had been sent back east to visit relatives, and probably rain havoc on them.

  As for Sharps…He tended to spend the evenings playing cards in either the Diamond Garter or the Silver Slipper, building up a tidy nest egg while he waited for the weather to break so he could head east himself and deal with Lewis St. Claire.

  * * * *

  Shortly after the start of the New Year, Mrs. Hall invited them to come over for supper. They dressed neatly—stealing kisses while they could—slicked back their hair, and stepped out into the lightly falling snow.

  “If this keeps up, I’ll take Bertie out to build a snowman tomorrow,” he told Steve.

  “Would you mind if I joined you?”

  Sharps tipped his head back and smiled into his captain’s eyes. “Not in the least.”

  “Good.”

  They arrived and knocked on the door. Charlie opened it. “Hi, Steve. Hi, Sharps. Come on in!” There was an air of subdued excitement about him.

  They entered and stamped the snow off their boots.