Brokken Yesterdays

by Lynda J. Cox

  Without betraying him, there wasn’t any way to tell Isaac how she knew Jon wouldn’t quit. She minutely shook her head. “I just know. He won’t quit.”

  “Who is he?”

  Victoria lifted her head and forced herself to meet the older black man’s intense but gentle gaze. She licked her lips, swallowed to bring some moisture to her dry mouth, and firmly said, “He’s my husband.”

  “But, he’s not Jonathan.” Isaac’s expression softened further.

  “He’s my husband,” she repeated.

  Chapter Eleven

  Since she had left the Brokken Arrow that morning, Victoria fretted and stewed. Even the overstuffed chair she could usually find solace in didn’t offer such now. The mantel clock softly chimed ten times. Victoria bolted out of the chair and paced the floor. This was the latest Jon had ever been at the Brokken Arrow. What if Isaac had confronted Jon with what he suspected? If Isaac confronted him, would Jon just cut and run?

  As much as she tried to tell herself Jon wouldn’t do that, she couldn’t make her heart believe it. And if he did run, would she even mount up a serious pursuit, or would she let him go? That was easier to answer. If he ran, she wouldn’t pursue him.

  His slow steps, stumbling with what she knew had to be exhaustion, sounded on the back porch. Her relief overwhelmed her momentarily before she gathered herself and ran to the kitchen.

  Jon stood at the sink, elbows braced on the countertop, bent nearly double. He held his head between his hands. His shirt and one sleeve hung in tatters and was bloodstained. The lantern light she kept pitched low anticipating his return made the stains appear rusty.

  Her heart leaped into her throat. “Jon?”

  He didn’t move, other than to slowly rotate the heels of his hands against his temples. She recognized the attempt to relieve the pain of a headache, as she’d often done the same thing. Every breath rasped from him as if even that was an effort.

  “Are you all right? What happened?” She managed a single step closer to him. Where the shirt wasn’t ripped, it clung to his form with dried sweat.

  “Just scratched up. About ten posts down from where I was stretching that new barbed wire, the wire snapped off the post and coiled back on me.” His head bent closer to the sink. “I’ve never seen anything move that fast. I barely had time to throw my arm up.”

  “I’m going to get Mathew.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.” He shook his head and with an effort, partially straightened, though his elbows still propped him against the counter. “I just need to clean up, eat something, and get some sleep. At least, Iverson told me to take tomorrow off.”

  Something she said had reached Isaac. She would take that small victory. Victoria closed the distance between them and curled her hand over his forearm. “Jon, you can’t keep doing this.”

  He bent his head until his chin was on his chest. “Yes, I do. I need this bone-deep exhaustion, because without it, it’s impossible to remember I’m not really your husband.”

  The deepened timbre of his voice found a response deep in Victoria. Her heart quickened, and the warmth filling her started in her belly and spread throughout her whole frame. She drew her hand up his arm. “Unless you or I say something, to everyone else, you are Jonathan.”

  Mentioning Isaac’s assertions wasn’t anything she planned to do, and she quelled the small voice reminding her this was a dangerous game they both played.

  He slumped further. “Do you know how much I hate Jonathan? Hate him for everything he stood for? Mostly, I hate him for how he hurt you and no matter what I say or do, there will always be that small suspicion that I just don’t look like him, but I could act like him.”

  Victoria slipped her hand along his cheek and turned his head to her. “Being suspicious is part of the job, but here, between you and me, you will never be Jonathan English. Given time, people will forget how he was and will just remember the changed man.”

  She trailed her hand down the side of his neck, startled when he caught her wrist and pushed her hand away from him.

  “Don’t, Vic.” His voice rasped on his shortened breath. “I’m exhausted, not dead. And, we aren’t married. I won’t jeopardize your reputation if this ruse is found out.”

  “My reputation would be the least of our worries if this ruse is found out.” She pressed her palm to his heart. The steady rhythm increased in tempo. His breath caught when she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss on his mouth.

  He caught her upper arms and while he gently pushed her back, he also drew away from her. The silence between them grew so much Victoria was certain he could hear how fiercely her heart pounded.

  “If you really want to continue this,” he said, breaking the tableau, “let me get cleaned up.”

  Victoria nodded and then watched him walk into the small bathing room off the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around herself, debating the wisdom in her actions. Her mother would say she was jumping into it with both eyes shut. A snort broke from Victoria. Her mother would also tell her to follow her heart. Which is it I should be doing, Mother?

  The door connecting her bedroom to the bathing room squeaked. All her bravado vanished, and she couldn’t make her feet move toward her room. She paced the floor, pausing to place the clean dishes in the cabinet. The counter required a wipe down. As she realized she was doing everything that came to mind just to avoid the bedroom, her gaze turned to the closed door.

  Stop being a ninny. She pulled her hands down her side and then reached to the back of her head and removed the pins and combs holding her hair in its usual, loose chignon. A quick shake of her head and a run of her fingers through the lengths removed the last of the twist.

  She crossed the floor and pushed the bedroom door open, halting in the doorway. Jon sprawled flat on his back, one foot on the floor, sound asleep. As she studied his sleeping form, she leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. How had she ever mistaken him for Jonathan? Superficially, yes, he looked enough to pass as a twin. But that was where it ended.

  Jon’s shoulders weren’t as broad, and he was taller by at least two inches. The blue of his eyes was darker and warmer. The partially closed front of his shirt drew her attention. Her cheeks heated as she noted the dark, curling wisps escaping the confines of the fabric.

  A deeper breath lifted his chest. With a sigh, Victoria pushed off the doorjamb and crossed the room to the quilt rack in the corner. She pulled the quilt off the rack and then carefully draped it over Jon. He didn’t even stir when she cautiously brushed the starburst pattern smooth over his chest.

  For a long moment, she debated sliding into the bed next to him, and almost as quickly, negated that thought. He had slept for the past weeks on the chesterfield. She could manage to sleep in the parlor for one night. She lifted her holstered revolver off the nightstand and made her way to the parlor.

  A LOUD BANGING ON THE front door woke Victoria from a restless sleep. No matter how she positioned herself on the overstuffed cushions, she hadn’t been able to get comfortable.

  The grey light of the approaching dawn lit the space. She stumbled across the room, cursing whoever was at the door. If that banging woke Jon, she’d have a few choice words to say.

  Lavender Lilly stood in front of the door, clearly distraught, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” Victoria dragged both hands through her hair, pulling the mess from her face. A quick twist and tuck tamed the lengths into a loose gathering at the base of her neck.

  “They’re missing.” Lavender almost sobbed. “No one has seen them. They never came home last night.”

  The immediate concern coursing through her fully woke Victoria. “Who’s missing?”

  Lavender twisted her hands around the other, a new sob breaking from her. “Scraps and Rags. They never came home last night. I know something terrible has happened to them.”

  The two smallest dogs of Lavender’s assorted menagerie...Victoria barely contained an exasperated si
gh. “I’m sure they’re fine. They probably got on the scent of something in the woods, wandered too far, and slept the night out there. Leave a bowl of their favorite food out and they’ll be back.”

  “No.” Lavender shook her head, dislodging more tears to slide down her cheeks. “Something terrible has happened to them. I just know it.” She slapped her own chest, over her heart. “I feel it here. You’ve got to help me find them.”

  “I’m—”

  “Victoria, please.” Lavender grabbed her hands in a fierce grip. “Please help me find them.”

  “Good morning, Miss Lavender.” Jon’s deep voice rumbled behind Victoria. The tone changed in an instant as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “My babies are missing,” Lavender wailed. “I can’t find them anywhere.”

  “I didn’t know you had—” He broke off, and then stepped around Victoria, closer to Lavender. “How long have they been gone, and do you remember what they were wearing? Is there any place they like to go we should look first?”

  Victoria didn’t know if she should be angry with him for taking immediate charge or amused by his change in demeanor. This was a man who claimed he didn’t want the sheriff’s badge. Isaac was correct when he said Jon needed to be the sheriff. Before Lavender could answer Jon’s questions, Victoria said, “Her babies are her two littlest dogs, Rags and Scraps.”

  “Oh.” Jon didn’t draw away from Lavender with that revelation. “We don’t need to be concerned about what they were wearing the last time you saw them. When did you see them last, Miss Lavender?”

  “I let them out about nine last night.” Lavender turned her watery gaze to Jon. “I wasn’t worried when they didn’t come right back in, but when they weren’t home at midnight...” She trailed off, dashing tears away. “I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find them.”

  Jon offered his arm to Lavender. “Show me where Scraps and Rags like to run. Maybe they just followed a wonderful smell and got lost. We’ll find them.”

  Lavender slipped her arm through Jon’s. “Thank you.”

  Victoria shook her head, stamping down the sudden surge of jealousy. The exact same thing she said to Lavender brought about calm when Jon said it. Was it because he was a man? She was the sheriff, wasn’t she? Her sight turned again to Jon as he carefully guided Lavender around potential hazards to the hem of her skirt. They navigated toward Lavender’s house and the woods on the west side of town.

  The jealousy fired higher. It wasn’t as if she had needed his assistance to cross the street and stepping in horse manure wasn’t an issue in boots and trousers. If she donned a skirt, he’d show her the same courtesy he gave to Lavender. He was just being a gentleman.

  While she dressed to go to the jail, Victoria continued to battle the jealousy raging in her. This was Jon, not Jonathan. She hadn’t once seen him flirt with any woman. He seemed to reserve that behavior for her. Jonathan kept his philandering a deep secret, or are you forgetting that, too?

  She dragged a brush through her hair, pulling it harder through a tangle at the base of her skull, welcoming the burning pinch of hair separating from her skin. Feel anything other than this jealousy and doubt. Anything, even if it reminded her of how much her scalp would hurt after Jonathan grabbed a fistful of her hair to prevent her escaping his fists.

  A COMMOTION DREW VICTORIA to her feet and out the door of the jail. Jon led a screaming and distraught Lavender through the open area between the jail, the hotel, and the doctor’s house. Lavender staggered more than she walked, her sobs heart-rending. Victoria ran across the dusty ground, her boot heels pounding as fiercely as her own heart.

  “What happened?” Victoria asked as she fell in step with Jon and Lavender. Jon met her gaze, his eyes dark and troubled. Lavender seemed to crumble and only continued forward when Jon’s arms tightened around her and drew her with him.

  “They’re dead. They’re both dead.” Lavender sobbed.

  Jon nudged his head toward Knight’s home forestalling any question Victoria wanted to ask. She tucked into Lavender’s other side, adding her support to the hysterical woman.

  Her loud wails drew Abigail and Mathew onto the front porch. Within a few minutes, she and Jon maneuvered Lavender into the front parlor and onto a small love seat. Abigail sat next to the distraught young woman, an arm around her shuddering shoulders, murmuring indistinct words of comfort.

  Jon backed out of the room and said, “I’ll be on the front porch.”

  Victoria gestured to Mathew, relieved when he joined her in the foyer. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “Hysteria. Most times, I’d prescribe laudanum but lately, I defer to the calming abilities of my wife.”

  “Should Abby be doing this in her condition? She’s almost two weeks past her due date, isn’t she?” Victoria didn’t know who held most of her concern—Abigail, Lavender, or Jon.

  A grin tugged the doctor’s mouth, and he leaned closer. “Do you really want to try to tell Abby she shouldn’t be assisting me?” His amusement faded, and he asked, his voice little more than a whisper, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going onto the porch to ask Jonathan.”

  Jon sat on the top step, his back to the door. He came to his feet when Victoria and Mathew emerged from the home. His gaze skipped from Mathew to her. “I told Miss Lavender I’d go back and bury her little dogs.”

  “Was it the cougar?” Victoria asked, though she already knew the answer. A thread of unease tugged at the base of her spine, tracing chilling fingers up her back.

  Jon shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He turned away, his head bent, shoulders slumped. “Doc, I know this isn’t your area of expertise, but will you come with me when I go back to bury those two and let me know for sure if it was a cougar kill.”

  “If it was a cougar kill, there shouldn’t be much left,” Mathew said.

  “They’re all there, mostly.”

  The chill deepened over Victoria. “Mostly?’

  Again, Jon nodded. “The buzzards and crows were already on them. I had to get her away from that, so I couldn’t do much of anything to protect what was left.”

  Bile rose in the back of Victoria’s throat. Her heart wrenched for the pain such a sight must have caused Lavender. “Where did you find them?”

  “Along Blueberry Creek, about an eighth of a mile north from the west bridge.”

  Mathew took a step back. “I’ll go check on how Abigail is progressing with calming Miss Lilly, and then I’ll get the spade out of the shed. I’ll meet you there.”

  Victoria waited until Mathew was out of earshot before she said, “I’m coming with you.”

  “No.”

  The harshness and curtness took her back. “I’m the sheriff. If this isn’t a cougar doing all of—”

  “No.” Jon’s voice broke on the word. He audibly swallowed and took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t want to see this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Talk to Mathew when we get back. Trust me when I tell you that you never want to see anything like this.”

  Victoria pulled her sight from his troubled expression and scanned the heavy pine and live oak woods that surrounded the town. The sheltering protection of the thick woods seemed more of a threat, as if every move she made was being watched, weighed, and measured, looking for a weakness. She dropped her hand onto the grip of her revolver and thumbed the leather loop off the hammer. “Take this with you.”

  “No.” He shook his head, slowly. “You keep it and you keep it close.”

  The implicit warning in his words clenched her heart. “The key to the rifle rack is in the center drawer of the desk. Stop at the jail and take a carbine with you.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Victoria flung her arms around him. Jon levered back without breaking her embrace and caught her face between his hands. He brushed a slow kiss across her forehead, and then said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful.�
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  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re certain it wasn’t a big cat?” Jon scanned the dark woods, every nerve on edge. The silence in the copse of trees only added to the tension humming through him.

  “Positive.” Knight stood, brushing humus, crumbling leaves, and dirt from his knees. “This was done with surgical precision.”

  A twig snapping in the thick stand of live oak and pine made both men turn. Jon brought the carbine up at the same time. The sound didn’t repeat. The oppressive silence deepened and held until Knight picked up the spade. “You keep watch. I’ll bury them.”

  “I’ll bury them. I promised Miss Lavender I would.” Jon pulled his gaze from the thick woods.

  “I can’t shoot a rifle,” Knight pointed out, raising his left hand. “As long as they’re buried, that’s what she would want.”

  Jon nodded. Knight wouldn’t be the prudent choice for manning the carbine. He scanned the woods, leading his survey with the muzzle of the rifle. His gaze didn’t linger on any one spot too long, knowing if he did, the shadows would begin to play tricks on his sight, making him see things that weren’t there.

  The horses snorted and shuffled uneasily. An almost inaudible rustle of fallen leaves from somewhere behind him lifted the hair on the back of Jon’s neck. He slowly pivoted, trying to keep from peering too intently into the dark shadows and letting his sight recognize the few, tiny dapples of sunlight penetrating the copse. A single glint that didn’t belong shoved his heart into his throat.

  “Doc, are you done?” he asked, even as he jacked a round home and sighted the rifle into the dense growth.

  “Done enough.” Knight tamped a last shovelful of dirt down on the small grave.

  “We need to get out of here.” Jon held the rifle steady, his finger curled around the trigger. That glint continued from what he suspected was the unblinking stare of the cougar.

  Knight untied his horse and swung up, shifting the spade to his left hand. He reached behind himself, under the tail of his frock coat, and withdrew a heavy revolver. “I’ll cover you.”