Trying to ignore the tightening around her heart didn’t make the pain go away. She couldn’t blame Sullivan one bit, but her heart didn’t agree. It was time he moved on; it would be hard being married to a woman such as her, one convicted—albeit wrongly—of killing a child, one who had been sent to prison. The fact that it had taken him as long as it did surprised her, seeing as he never visited her or answered any of her letters. She’d been nothing but foolish thinking it had been a once in a lifetime love. The type of love that poets wrote about.
She took one of the blankets and wrapped it around her, then belted it like a coat. With that little protection, she went into the forest. She stopped at the stream that was nearby, and when she saw her reflection, she wept. Finding shelter had done nothing to help her physical condition. It was a wonder she’d been able to walk the whole way back home. She looked as though a fierce wind could knock her over.
She dried her eyes and went on to her traps. Three rabbits! A good haul. She’d smoke the meat of two of them and cook the third. She kept her eyes open and found wild onion. It would make a nice addition to the rabbit.
How long had it taken to build the house? It was beyond anything she would have thought of building herself. And one day it would be where Becca would live. As long as Sheila could stop the nefarious plans of Able and that woman. No, when she stopped them, she told herself sternly. When, not if. A few carpenter tools had been left in the barn. If the right tools were there, she’d carve something lovely on the mantel. Becca would have something from her after all.
As she approached the house, she stopped short and stared at the two horses tied outside. One was Zealous! Her heart raced. The other horse must be Gail’s. She dropped back into the woods and waited. It drained the rest of her energy, sitting and waiting. The pain was too much to bear.
The Lord is my Shepherd…
She repeated it over and over, and then she walked away from the house. She couldn’t bear it if Sullivan saw her again. Maybe she could get a note to him telling him about Gail. That she could do. She’d have to use charred wood as a pencil, but there were scraps of paper in the attic. Now, how to get it to him?
* * *
It took a while for her to decide what to write. If she wrote from her heart, he’d know she was out of jail. If it sounded like a rumor, he might just ignore it. After she wrote it that evening, she slipped through the woods and tied the note to the clothesline with a piece of twine. Dolly would see that it got to Sullivan.
She had to get back and sleep. Her strength needed replenishing. Prison had been a nightmare, especially the hard labor they’d been forced to perform. Of all the work in the world, it had been decided women needed to work in the rock quarry to be punished. It was beyond the bounds of humanity. At least she’d been young enough and strong enough to lift the rocks, but many of the women didn’t even get that far. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she’d still hear the screams of the women being beaten. Many of the prisoners were in there because of a man. But the tales were so outrageous, she’d become hard and jaded listening to them, only believing about half she heard. Some of those women were born evil.
Her lungs hurt trying to breathe in the cold air. She hadn’t had time to gather her roots for medicine. She pulled the makeshift coat tighter around her. She’d be just fine in the morning.
* * *
Sullivan watched Dolly’s eyes grow wider and wider as she stared at a piece of paper in her hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I need to talk to you alone when you have a chance.”
He smiled at Gail and Becca. “I have time now. Shall we go into Dad’s office?”
She led the way, and he followed. What had her so upset? He closed the door behind them and was bowled over when Dolly poured two whiskeys. She downed hers and handed one to him. The note must be really bad.
“We should—”
“Read it.” She shoved the paper into his hands.
Dolly, I know you’ll find this first, and I ask you kindly to pass it on to Sullivan. He needs to know about what I just found out. It’s important, though it might be hurtful, but I can’t spare him the hurt. The woman he has asked to marry him and Able Langton are working together. They talked about her wedding to Sullivan. Able wants Gail to be found in a compromising position to move the wedding up. The plan is to marry and then kill Sullivan, leaving Gail as Becca’s guardian and a rich widow. The whole thing is about money. Becca can’t fall into Able’s hands. Please ask Sullivan to protect her. I know he thinks of her as his own. She needs him now more than ever.
It wasn’t signed. He read it three times and still couldn’t figure out who might have sent it except for maybe the widow who had lived near Sheila and Becca years ago.
“I think a woman wrote it,” Dolly said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think poor Sheila had written it.”
His heart started beating double time. “But we do know better,” he said in a husky whisper. He sat down and swirled the amber drink around in the glass, watching it and thinking. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Gail has never given us reason to doubt her. She’s been here over a year for crying out loud. Maybe this is from someone who wants to marry me. I mean, I can’t think of anyone, but who knows? Maybe someone just doesn’t want me to be happy. I’ll have Donnell investigate it, he’s good at that stuff. We need to act normal.” He sighed. “I’m no good at acting normal.”
“You’ll have to do your best.” Dolly put her hand on his shoulder. “We both will.”
“I will protect my daughter with my life.”
Chapter Twelve
“No one I talked to knew much about her background except that she’s from St. Louis,” Donnell said a little more than a week later as he and Sullivan sat in the office before a flickering fire. “You say she claims to be a widow, but according to my sources in Missouri she was never married. She uses her mother’s last name. I’m working on finding her father’s name. I believe her parents are dead, but there’s nothing nefarious about her except for not using her real last name.” Donnell crossed his feet at the ankles and relaxed. “She’s a decent young lady who works as a nanny.” He took a sip of his coffee and then he frowned. He put his finger to his nose and nodded toward the closed door.
A shadow of someone standing outside the door was apparent, and Sullivan’s gut clenched. He started to stand, but Donnell shook his head and gestured for Sullivan to sit back down.
“I’m sorry I investigated your bride-to-be, but I wanted to look out for you,” Donnell said in a loud voice.
“I know all I need to know, and no I’m not mad. Perhaps before the war I might have slugged you, but we need to have each other’s backs. I’m thinking about talking to Gail and setting a date. I want many more children. Hopefully boys to run the ranch.” After a brief pause, he added, “I just wished I’d saved my money.” Then he winked at Donnell. “I can’t afford much of a house, but I can fix up one of the line shacks and we’ll live on love for a while.”
“What about Becca’s house?”
“Too many memories. I’ve left those all behind.” Sullivan fell silent after that. His throat burned as he said those last words. He so loved his wife, but he had never had a chance to show her. He longed to remember her touch, but they’d touched so few times, it was hard to remember anything.
The shadow disappeared.
Sullivan sat forward. “Who do you think it was? I can’t imagine anyone of our family would listen in on a conversation.”
“I’m sorry, but I think it might have been Gail,” Donnell said.
Sullivan nodded and slumped back into his chair. “What is going on? I swear I’m going mad. My mind even has me seeing Sheila in the woods at times.”
“You mean when you’re sleeping?”
“No, not a dream. It’s more like a ghost, but I always thought ghosts were floating or something. She looked awful, so worn and so thin, like she’d be
en sick for a long time. Maybe she was sick for a while before she died. They’d refused to answer any of my questions.” He felt as though the entire world was sitting on his shoulders and he was about to be crushed.
“We still don’t know who wrote the note,” Donnell whispered. “I keep thinking of the possibilities, and I come up blank.”
“Same here. It’ll be another sleepless night for me.”
“I’m sorry, Sullivan. If there is anything I can do, just ask.”
“I appreciate it. I’m going to tuck Becca in. Good night.”
He heard Donnell say good night as he walked out of the office. He should just escort Gail off the property, but in the long run that wouldn’t protect Becca. It might be best if he took Becca to another part of Texas and started over. He just didn’t know what to do. Nothing had been right since Sheila had been arrested. Nothing would ever be right again.
As far as he was concerned, Becca was his daughter. Their shared grief had made their bond very tight. He loved her so. Why would Able do this now? He’d made a couple of half-hearted attempts to take Becca when Sheila had first been taken away, but he’d given up early on. He must have met Gail and talked her into his scheme. Gail must have come to the ranch to be close to Becca. But why wait a year? Things did not add up, but he would get to the bottom of it for both Becca and Sheila’s sake.
The next morning Sullivan rode to Widow Muse’s home. The place was overgrown. He hadn’t given the woman a second thought since he’d collected Becca from her when Sheila had first been on the run, but perhaps he should have. Sheila would have expected him to look in on her.
He knocked, and a burly man answered the door. “Whatcha want?”
“I was hoping to see Widow Muse. Does she still live here?
The man turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Ma! There’s someone here to see you. Want me to send him on his way?”
“For heaven’s sake Lawrie, who is it?” A spry Mrs. Muse came to the door. A grin spread over her face. “I remember you. You’re Sullivan, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if I could talk to you about Becca.”
She pushed her son aside and gestured for Sullivan to come on in. “I have some tea made. Come and have a cup with me. I love that little one and I have missed her dearly. That no good Able came here after the sentencing looking for Becca. I didn’t contact you; I thought it to be better if I stayed away.” She hurried ahead of him and offered him a seat at the table. She quickly had a cup of tea before him.
Sullivan came right to the point. “Mrs. Muse… Someone left me a note telling me that Gail and Able planned to take Becca once Gail and I married.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes… Able has been lying low with plenty of time for his hate to fester. He can be a real sweet talker, and he probably persuaded that poor woman Gail to help him. Sullivan, you can’t be married to two people at the same time. You do know that, right?”
He almost choked on his tea. “What are you talking about? I’m a widower. I have been for a long while now.”
The widow frowned. “No, Sullivan, she’s not dead. I’ve received a letter or two from her. The last one said she was getting out soon. That one came maybe four months ago.” She tilted her head and appeared to be considering something. “Or was it six? She should be getting out now or maybe she’s already out.”
His jaw dropped as anger filled him. “At first no one would tell me where she was. I sent telegrams to the judge demanding to see her but was told I had to wait three months. Once I found out her location, I went there immediately, and I was told by the warden she was dead. I wasn’t even allowed to see her grave. It tore at me, not being able to be at her graveside to say goodbye. They never notified me of her death. Becca refused to leave my side for the first two years and finally I hired Gail when she came to the ranch looking for a job.”
“Oh my! I wish I had known. I could have saved you from grieving. Oh, my poor Becca. If I see anything out of the ordinary, I’ll let you know.”
“I seen that Able meet with your woman Gail at the house near here. It’s an eerie place. I went there once and heard noises, but I never found anyone,” Lawrie said. “I’ll keep an eye out too. I just moved back here. The army was my life and most recently the Cavalry, but I didn’t have the stomach for hunting down Indians.”
“Your mother has great grazing land. If you ever need a few heads of cattle to start a herd, stop on by the ranch. I’m going to Becca’s house to check things out. I can hardly believe my wife was alive—I mean is alive.” He stood and touched the tip of his hat before he left.
He quickly jumped up on Zealous and rode toward the house they’d built for Sheila and him. He’d taken Gail there recently. It hurt too much to be there. He stared at the house for a while. How could she be alive, and he not know it? His stomach clenched and he felt heartsick. Over three years and he had never gotten a letter from her. It hurt. Sighing, he tipped his hat back. Catching sight of what he thought could be a shadow moving by the upstairs window, he stiffened. He might as well check it out.
The leather of his saddle creaked as he slid off his horse. The widow must be mistaken. She was getting on in years, maybe her mind had begun to go feeble. He opened the door and walked inside. Just as he’d expected, it was empty and silent. He had tried not to get his hopes up, but his eyes glistened. It didn’t much matter what the widow said or thought she knew. Sheila was dead. There was no way Sheila would be alive and not be with Becca. He hated this house. He’d love to just set a match to the place, but it didn’t belong to him. It was Becca’s.
It was much bigger than the house Sheila had before. She would have had much more room to dry her plants. But her talent had gotten her killed and for naught. After they took her away, people started coming forward in her defense. Where had they been when they were needed? No one had stood up for her. For a long time, he refused to go to church until Gemma reminded him that the church didn’t belong to other people, it belonged to God, and she was sure he was invited to be there. He went, ignoring the people gawking at him, and he prayed. The third time he attended, he had finally felt God in his heart, and it had amazed him.
The house sounded empty; he’d forgotten to tell Donnell about the broken window. It still needed to be repaired. He might as well check the upstairs. The steps creaked near the bottom. Then he heard something moving above him and he took off at a run. He ran to where he thought the noise came from, but no one was there. He noticed the door to the attic was open.
* * *
Sheila stayed as quiet as possible. She covered her mouth as her heart pounded. It sounded so loud to her. Could he hear it? He was right next to where she was hidden. Turning her head, she looked up and saw his astonished expression as he met her gaze.
She slowly and painfully stood, her body shaking. Did he recognize the old hag before him? She still didn’t fill out her dress properly and her pitiful hair…
“Sheila?” He stood there staring.
“Yes, I—I know I look different.” She shook uncontrollably. “The last three years and then the last month took a toll. Well, surviving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Few women ever leave prison.” What more was there to say? He had never visited or sent a letter. She’d written him often, but she had never heard back. He’d abandoned her. It happened to every prisoner eventually she had discovered, so although it tore her heart out, she hadn’t been surprised.
He jumped over the stacked lumber and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down. He must pity her. Tears sparkled in his eyes.
Sheila shrugged out of his hands and took a step back. “Hello, husband… or did you have the marriage annulled?”
His brow furrowed. “Annulled? No, of course not.”
Looking at his handsome face so close to her was harder than she thought it would be. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” Turning, she slowly made her way down one set of stairs and then another. She took her blankets an
d held them tight, and then she walked out the door and into the woods.
Sullivan made no attempt to follow.
He must think her stupid. A man didn’t marry a woman when he already had a wife. It wasn’t legal. He probably didn’t need an annulment. He could just tear up the papers. They never consummated the wedding.
She shuffled on through the woods until she came to a tree that was empty inside, at least at the bottom up to just past her head. Anyone walking by would never notice it if they weren’t looking for it. Once inside, she drew the blankets around her and sat.
He’d looked surprised to see her. She’d thought release notices were supposed to be sent to the prisoner’s family. No matter. She drew the blanket closer around her. It was getting damp inside the tree, and her body wouldn’t stop shivering. To take her mind off the cold, she gave some consideration to her circumstances. The only thing she owned was the house and the supplies and money she had buried long ago. If they were still there. She’d be a fool to leave the house in her condition. Perhaps if she changed her name, her presence wouldn’t affect Becca.
It buoyed her spirits a bit. She climbed out of the tree and walked back to the house. It might be interesting to have a new identity. She’d make one up in case it was needed. A name, something that would blend in. Marta Bauer would fit. There were a few German settlements around, and Bauer seemed to be a popular name. Marta Bauer. It was a pretty name. Of course she’d never fool most, but if she went back to her hermit style of living, she should be fine.
Chapter Thirteen
Sheila turned in a circle, admiring her house. It looked good. She hadn’t been able to buy much, but she had the basics. Lawrie Muse had been a big help; going to town and then delivering the items to her.
Sullivan: Cowboy Protector: The Kavanagh Brothers Book 4 Page 8
