by Susan Lower
Maybe they killed the wrong Dean. Then it strikes me, and I stop. Ella Mae walks on a few feet before she realizes I’m not there. She turns back and says, “What’s the matter?”
“What if this was all a plan?”
“Plan? To go to the Jensen’s for supplies?”
I glance back at the saloon. “They had to kill him.” I step up and lower my voice, “Don’t you see. Kill Earl, and marry me, and you get control of the entire deed for our claim.”
Okay, maybe the thought crossed my mind already. Speaking it out loud causes a chill in my bones.
Who would do that?
“Then you can rule out the gambler for sure,” Ella Mae says.
“You like him, you marry him.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I have got Lincoln. Maybe we can have a double wedding. Oh, Jo, wouldn’t that be so nice?”
“No.”
And she frowns. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. “The gambler won’t stay in town for long. He’ll cash out and move on, that’s what they do.”
“Then on second thought,” Ella Mae picks up her skirts to avoid a scraggly mutt laying in front of the bank, “we’d best find you a way out of having to marry him. I don’t want you to go.”
The only place I plan on going is back up to the mountains. I hope Chitto took my advice and left town before anyone discovered him.
We don’t get to speculate any further, for Ella Mae bumps against me. She nods ahead and I bite my lip. My stomach twists, this time in a good way.
Leaning against the side of the mercantile with a boot against the wall and his arms crossed is the bounty hunter.
“Ladies,” the bounty hunter tips his hat and gives me a long stare with those penetrating slate-colored eyes.
“Good afternoon.” Ella Mae grins. “Have you decided to stay a bit, Mr. Townes? Father mentioned wanting to ask you over for supper.”
Is she crazy? Does she know the bounty hunter tracks men for money?
She bats those lashes, and I know she’s up to something. I step away from them and head into the mercantile. “Sorry, but I’ve got business to attend.”
Ella Mae waves her hand. “You’ll have to excuse my best friend. She was raised in the mountains alone with her father.”
My ears burn as I bite down the words forming on my tongue.
Inside the mercantile, Jensen is busy packing a young woman’s basket with can goods and a sack of sugar and flour. Around her skirt is a chubby-cheeked little darling, blinking up at me with the prettiest blue eyes.
The woman is younger than me. A mail-order bride, perhaps? Those who ride into Dakota Territory looking for gold stay but a few winters and head for the mountains or further west.
Her faded red hair matches the rosiness of her nose and cheeks. Apparently, no one told the woman to keep her bonnet on.
“There you are, Mrs. Duncan. You need any help to get back to your wagon?”
“No, I’ll be fine, thank you,” she stammers, glancing as the door opens and the bounty hunter’s wide frame fills the doorway. He’s a sight, my bounty hunter.
Thinking of him that way warms my insides. I glance away, afraid soon my face will show it’s getting too hot inside my clothes. It’s spring and the weather’s warm. Soon, it’ll get hot, and I’ll be back up in my stream wading and catching fish.
With Earl gone, Chitto won’t let me live alone. Seeing Mrs. Duncan and her little one head toward the bounty hunter sends a yearning inside me I never thought I’d have. Children. What kind of mother would I make not having one of my own?
As if he could read my thoughts from my face, the bounty hunter raises an eyebrow. He steps out of the way and scoops up the basket before Mrs. Duncan can protest.
“You don’t have to,” she teeters on the edge of a giggle.
“Always happy to help a pretty lady.” He reaches down with his other arm and scoops up that pretty blue-eyed baby.
He’s never called me pretty. I fume, grinding my boot heel in the floor as he leaves with Mrs. Duncan at his side and a baby in his arms. For a man who hunts outlaws, the picture of him being a family man suits him. Maybe too much.
Behind the counter, Jensen clears his throat.
My nostrils flare as Ella Mae comes around the aisle with lace in her hands.
“What can I do for you?” Jensen asks.
“I’ve come to pick up my order you’ve been so kindly holding for me.”
Jensen goes pale. He wipes his hands down the apron around his waist.
“You leaving town?”
“I don’t believe that’s anyone’s business but mine. I’ll have the horses hitched and the wagon ready to go in an hour. That should be enough time for you to get my supplies ready for loading.”
“I didn’t think you’d be coming this soon to get it. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the supply wagon comes back into town.”
“What do you mean? I paid for those supplies. You had them here when I bought them.”
He holds up his hands. “I did, but I sold them to the railroad for the men camped on the other side of the mountain pass.”
“You sold my supplies!” My heart thuds like a team of wild horses. No! My eyes flick around, trying to find something to latch on. I’m about to reach over and grab Jensen by the shirt collars, when a hand firmly, but gently goes around my waist and pulls me back. “What matter of trouble are you causing, Dimples?”
“Dimples?” I croak. How could he call me that? I told him not to do that! Didn’t I? And in front of everyone in the entire store? Okay, Jensen and Ella Mae. I whip around, his arm keeping his hold on my waist. Lord have mercy on me, I pray. If the town wasn’t gossiping before, it will now. Jensen and his wife are good ones to get it started.
“What’s the problem?” the bounty hunter ignores me and asks Jensen.
“She wants supplies I don’t got.”
“I paid for them.” I ball my hands into fists.
Ella Mae gasps but stays out of it.
“Is this right?” the bounty hunter asks.
“It is. She couldn’t pick them up when I had them ready, said she’d come back for them when she could leave town. I sold them to the railroad. She’ll have to wait until the next supply wagon comes.”
“And when is that?” The bounty hunter flexes his fingers against my pant clad hips. It’s distracting and I try to swat his hand away. His grip tightens. A warning.
I bite my lip and glare at Jensen.
“Next supply wagon comes next month, but I imagine the railroad will wipe me clean again as long as they’re working on getting the track laid. Once the railroad comes through, though,” Jensen scratches his balding head. “Deliveries will come more frequent and new stuff from the east.”
“I don’t care about the east.” I grit my teeth between each word.
“Is there anything here of the order you can fill?” The bounty hunter remains calm, poised, and I’m wound like a cougar about to spring.
Jensen rubs a hand down the side of his face, looks behind him, and around, then snaps his fingers. “I got some flour and sugar and canned beans. I wouldn’t let the railroad take it all, you know, folks around here need to eat.”
“Tobacco. I need the tobacco.” I strain to hold in the words and say them politely.
Jensen shrugs. “Figured your pa died. You wouldn’t need it anymore. I sold the last to Glen over at the saloon. Imagine you could see if he’d sell it to you. Never known a woman to need tobacco.”
I don’t, but I can’t tell him that. Jensen gives me the once over, takes in my pants, my boots, and of course comes back up to my hat.
He mutters something under his breath, and the bounty hunter moves me to the side.
“She gave you money for supplies.”
Jensen pulls out his ledger and gets even more pale. “Well, yes. I recorded the credit for her right here.”
“Pay the lady.” The bounty hunter reaches into his long coat and pushe
s it back to allow the butt of his gun to show.
“I’m afraid there isn’t any credit left,” Jensen’s voice goes hoarse.
“What do you mean, ‘there isn’t any credit left?’” My hand pounds down on the table. “What happened to my money?”
“Your husband’s been coming in the past few days charging against the account.” He points to the numbers going down the column.
“I don’t have a husband.”
Ella Mae steps up beside me. “Jo isn’t married.”
Jensen goes almost white. “But you married Mr. Weston. He came in buying cigars and traveling supplies.”
“I knew it,” I seethe out loud. “That worthless, swindling, no good…”
“You already said that,” Ella Mae points out.
“Calm, Dimples.” The bounty hunter gives me a stern look.
“He’s guilty.” And here I’d been giving him the benefit of doubt. “Why else would he be leaving town?”
“We’ll deal with the leaving town later,” the bounty hunter says. “But right now, there is a matter of Miss Dean’s account. Whatever purchases Mr. Weston has made, you’ll need to record a new column in your accounts book and remove those charges from Miss Dean to Mr. Weston.”
“I don’t give credit to strangers,” Jensen bristles.
He didn’t mind giving someone else my money; I want to say, but I don’t. I bite my lip and try to find my calm.
“Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding,” Ella Mae chimes in.
“Yes, like taking the word of a stranger over someone who's been coming here for years.” Pretty much my entire life.
The bounty hunter raises his hand for me to quiet. I scowl at him, crossing my arms, as my gaze lands on the butt of that six shooter he’s got strapped to his thigh.
My oh my, the man has thick thighs. I would do well not to look at them. I divert my gaze to Ella Mae. She smiles, faintly.
“Everyone in town has been talking about you wed’n, Mr. Weston,” Jensen huffs.
“Shame on you, Mr. Jensen, listening and believing gossip,” Ella Mae says.
“Fix the accounts.” The bounty hunter is running thin on patience. I can see it in the way his jaw has gotten tense.
Mr. Jensen twists his lips and scrunches up his face, making his brows come together in an ugly manner. Finally, he agrees.
“Now, about those supplies?” the bounty hunter asks.
Without them, I can’t pay my debt to Tail Feathers. Chitto will come back and the other few families waiting on supplies will come raiding our claim in retaliation.
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
I look to the ceiling. Why, oh why, Lord, is this happening to me?
I got nothing. No money, no supplies, no father, and soon, no choice other than marrying the gambler.
I let them all down. Chitto. Tail Feathers. Earl. Even the woman who abandoned me as a child. It’s raining pity and this time I’m the one about to get buried if I can’t find my father’s killer soon.
I follow Ella Mae out on the porch. It’s getting past the time her mother will want her home to help with preparing for supper and she’s skipped out on her chores most of the day to spend with me.
It comes as no surprise when Reverend Carter crosses the street and tells her they’re going home.
At least I should be thankful Earl never treated me that way, a woman should be able to do what she wants when she wants. Especially, since she’s marrying age. Maybe someday.
The bounty hunter steps back outside. I look over at him and my hat slides down the back of my hair.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll talk to Glen, see if he can throw in a few bottles of whiskey to smooth things over.”
I crinkle my nose at hearing the word whiskey. I have no doubt Tail Feathers will be happy to accept some firewater in compensation for his wait. “But I don’t have any money.”
“How are you staying at the boarding house?”
I roll back my shoulders. “I do kitchen work and clean rooms.”
The bounty hunter nods. “I wondered why you had such a small room tucked away from the rest. No matter. Glen can settle with Jensen; I’ll make sure of it.”
He sounds like he would, and it did this funny thing inside me. I like the way this man talks. He takes charge, and it tickles my bones. I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have him give me a few sweet commands. My eyes land on his lips, and they grimace.
He walks around me. “Stay out of trouble tonight, will you?”
“I’m having dinner at the hotel.”
That stops him in his tracks. He glances back. “With Weston?”
“Of course.” I smooth my hands down over my pant clad hips to wipe the guilt sweat away.
The bounty hunter narrows his gaze. They’re not intense like the gambler. They don’t sparkle and flirt. Oh, no. The bounty hunter is all business. The way he’s looking at me, I’d say I’m in his scope of business. It does a funny thing to a girl. It heats my insides and I lick my lips. I’m as bad as Ella Mae is over Lincoln. No. Not quite. Ella Mae’s in love, and I… well, I’m just admiring the view.
Besides, I’m bound to marry another, thanks to a piece of paper and the law of the land. I have to get rid of one suitor before I can think of another.
And thinking of suitors, I need to get back to the boarding house and fix me up a dress before dinner at the hotel.
The bounty hunter gives me an odd look. Down the way comes several ladies carrying baskets and heading to the mercantile. A wagon goes down the street, and for a moment there, the world has stopped.
Then the bounty hunter breaks the silence. “If he tries to get you to go upstairs, don’t. Or better yet, have dinner with Ruby tonight at the boarding house.”
I have no intention of going anywhere private with the gambler. I know how sly the man can be. He swindled my father, and he’s been up to no good trying to swindle others around town. Or maybe just me.
“I would, but the gambler left me a note and invited me. Besides, I want to talk to Jed Warner. He might know something about my father’s killer.”
“The sheriff has already talked to him.”
“But he might not have told him everything. I’ll hear it for myself. You worry about getting that tobacco up the mountain, as is our deal.”
His lips twitch and for a second, I see a glimmer in those slate-colored eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.” He tilts his hat and is on his way.
Down at the telegraph office, I spot Mr. Davenport and the gambler. Hurriedly, I make my way back to the other side of the walk and to the boarding house. I’ve got to prepare myself before I can confront the gambler.
Mrs. Weston. I would laugh, but my stomach sours and a mixed feeling of regret and longing strike me at once. Odd. I can’t explain it more than that, but it has me practically running for Ruby’s place.
13
“Pierce Weston,” I say, standing in front of the mirror. I pull my hair up, trying to decide what to do with it. “Mrs. Pierce Weston. Jo Weston.”
There’s a lift of a smile there as I give in and dream for a moment about what it would be like to marry the gambler. My heart skips as I envision those emerald-green eyes staring back at me. Men like the gambler are looking for wives more like Miss Davenport. I let my hair fall down my back, feeling less exposed this way. The dress Amaryllis gave me is daring and beautiful all the same. It dips as low in the back as it does in the front. My poor sisters squish together in the front, lifting them to attention. Thank goodness Grace gave me sewing supplies. Ruby dug in her stash and came up with a bit of lace to keep the sisters from being exposed.
It took almost all the rest of the afternoon to help her in the kitchen and find the lace.
I sigh, turning to the side. I’m no grand beauty. Not like my mother. I glance at her picture. All I can feel for the woman is the sourness thoughts of her leaves in my mouth.
Would she even care to
know Earl was gone?
Obviously, she never cared about me. I take the photo and turn it away, so I no longer see her face. Earl always said I reminded him of her. I don’t see it. Her nose is too slim and her lips too full. I can’t remember the color of her eyes, but Earl always said they were the color of a viper.
With that, I grab a piece of ribbon, another find in Ruby’s stash. I tie up my hair and pull the shawl around to cover myself.
There’s a tap at my door. My stomach about bottoms out as I hear, “Your gentleman caller is here.”
“Be right down.”
I look back in the mirror, but it’s not those emerald eyes I’m envisioning staring back at me. They’re stone cold grey, and they make me shiver. Why is it I have such a reaction to both of these men?
Maybe I’m more like my mother than I want to admit. But not tonight.
I’m on a mission and I can’t let either man distract me. Guilt creeps up as I leave my room and pass the one where I know the bounty hunter sleeps. I pull back my shoulders, careful not to trip on my skirt on the stairs, and find Pierce Weston, the gambler, waiting for me.
It looks like he’s got a shave recently.
“I had expected to see you in the traveling dress.”
“Is that a problem?” I ask, very much aware of the way he’s looking at me. He tugs on his suit lapels, and he’s in the same pin striped one from the first night when my father was alive.
“No.” He steps closer to me in the foyer. Behind him, the light of the late evening sun sends shadows across the wood floor. “When I thought you couldn’t look any prettier than the day before. What’s this?” He touches the ribbon holding my hair up. “You might not be my wife, yet, Jolene, but you are far from a schoolgirl.”
My breath catches in my throat as he pulls the ribbon and releases my hair. As the gambler gets closer, I can smell the rich scents of aftershave, but beneath, there’s something softer, more feminine. Jasmine. Where else have I caught that scent? Perhaps the bathhouse, I think as my hair cascades down my back. The gambler tucks the ribbon in his pocket and holds his arm for me to take.
