Lucas felt his face heat up, and fury burned like hot coals inside him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep calm. He’d learned the hard way that if he hoped to be looked on favorably by the sheriff and others in the community, he must pretend to agree with them, whatever the cost.
“Any idea how I could find her ’fore she spends all I got?”
“If your niece had money, she might have taken the stage to Pine Falls or on to Denver,” the sheriff said. “Or she could have taken the stage to Cold Springs. Who knows?”
Slim Perkins sat across from the sheriff. He set his mug on the table. “Since Ben Kraken sells stagecoach tickets down at the livery, he might know.”
Why hadn’t Lucas thought of that? “Thank you kindly, Slim.”
Lucas glanced toward the door. His absentmindedness appeared to be growing by the minute. He swallowed, wishing for a drink. “I best go on over there and see what Ben can tell me, then.” He looked back. “And I’m much obliged to all of ya.”
Nobody at the table made a comment. They merely watched him go like they all had a secret they weren’t willing to share with him. Lucas turned, clenching his jaw. If he hoped to find Honor, he’d better just walk away.
Lucas brushed through the swinging doors, but he stopped before stepping off the covered porch in front of the saloon. Snowflakes were floating down, melting before they hit the ground. The chilly air and the refreshing sight of falling snow lifted his spirits. He straightened his shoulders and turned up his collar against the wintry breeze. If he expected Ben to provide him with answers, he would need to look composed.
Glancing up and down the street, he took in his town. Until now, he’d seldom seen the place in daylight.
Falling Rock reminded him of Cold Springs, the town he grew up in. He had never realized the similarity until now. Trees lined both sides of the street, and snow-tipped mountains towered in the distance. Neatly dressed people strolled in and out of the hotel and the general store.
Looking down at the gray suit he’d worn since Harriet’s burial, Lucas wished he’d cleaned up a bit before leaving the cabin. A week ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he did. He should look respectable if he expected folks to give him the information he wanted.
Lucas started down the street and turned left at the corner. He’d almost forgotten he would have to pass by the church to reach the livery. He considered turning back, selecting a different route, then decided he just wouldn’t look at the little church with its whitewashed walls and stone porch. Not this time. As a child, he’d had his fill of church and religion.
Yet when he reached the small structure, he found himself peering inside the open doorway. Harriet had once been a member of that church. He guessed she must have been considered a member until the day she died.
A middle-aged man in a dark suit came out and stood on the porch. The preacher? Lucas didn’t want to find out. He stepped up his pace. Hurrying down the street, he didn’t look back.
By the time Lucas reached the livery stable, his breath was coming in gasps. Then he coughed.
The room used for blacksmithing jobs smelled of smoke. Ben Kraken stood in front of a heavy anvil mounted on the stump of a big oak tree. He was hammering a piece of iron into a horseshoe.
“Good afternoon,” Lucas said from the doorway.
Ben must have heard him, but he kept on working. His hammer hit the metal again. Whop! The metal glowed red-hot.
Even on such a cold day, the room was sweltering. Lucas unbuttoned the top button of his jacket and stepped inside. Ben raised the heavy hammer again. When it came down against the soft metal and the anvil, another loud metallic bang rang out.
Lucas stepped closer. “I said hello.”
“I heard ya.” Ben glanced at Lucas out of the corner of his eye. “Good afternoon. Or it will be—if you came in to pay what you owe me.”
Lucas felt his temper rising, but he feigned a pleasant expression. “My niece run off with all my money, and I come lookin’ for her. What else could I do?”
Ben Kraken lifted the hot iron with a pair of long-handled tongs and dropped it into a tub of water. The water sizzled. A puff of gray smoke spiraled upward.
Lucas took a step back from the tub. He had a deep need to punch Kraken in that big nose of his until it bled. Hearing Ben speak in mocking tones and with such a lack of respect was galling. Nevertheless, to get what he wanted out of the man, Lucas would hold back. For now. He could settle the score later.
“Do you know if Honor took the stage somewhere?” he asked in a calm voice.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Lucas stepped forward again. His hands clenched into fists, and his wrath grew, but he held his tongue. Looking Kraken right in the face, he glared at him. “Why won’t ya tell me, Ben?”
“Word gets around.” Ben looked down at his work, ignoring the rage that Lucas could hear in his own voice. “The whole town knows how you treated your wife and that poor girl.”
Ben pulled the horseshoe from the water with the tongs, then turned and thrust the metal into the forge. The blaze licked the iron, crackling and popping. Red and yellow sparks flew.
Lucas jammed his hands deeply into his pockets to prevent them from flying out as fists. “But if I don’t get my money back,” he pointed out, “how was you expecting me to pay ya?”
Ben dragged the iron from the fire. “Knowing you, I doubt I’ll get paid anyway.” The metal had turned a bright red. Heat radiated from it. Ben took the horseshoe back to the anvil and reached for the hammer. “Besides,” he said, “if I can help that girl a little, I will.”
Lucas gritted his teeth. Kraken was asking for it. He counted to ten, trying to calm down. Then twenty. At last he asked, “Did a stage leave for Pine Falls early yesterday morning?”
“As a matter of fact, one did. And somebody robbed it,” Ben said. “I had to send out another coach to take the folks on to Pine Falls.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“If they were, I don’t know about it,” Ben said shortly.
“I guess I’ll ride over to Pine Falls, then, and take a look around. See what I can find out. And thanks for your help.”
“The best thing you can do for me, Scythe, is to get out of my livery stable. And don’t come back without my money.”
Lucas stood in the doorway, glowering at the back of Ben Kraken’s head. He fought the desire once more to punch him and keep on hitting until Kraken cried for mercy.
Lucas turned and headed to the saloon. He really needed a drink now. If necessary, he wasn’t too proud to wash dishes.
When he’d saved enough to buy a bottle of whiskey, he would ride on over to Pine Falls. The trip would take a day or two—maybe more. If he took it slow and easy, his mare should be able to make it all the way.
Maybe he would post a “Wanted” sign in the saloon. He thought for a moment. What should a sign like that say?
Pondering, he scratched his right ear. Twenty dollars. Thirty. That’s it, thirty.
WANTED
Miss Honor McCall for stealing from Lucas Scythe. Thirty-dollar reward for information on her whereabouts.
Lucas spent the rest of the day and most of the night working at the saloon. When the bartender wasn’t looking, he snatched a few drinks. During his supper break, he printed a sign on a piece of wood with some black paint he found in the storeroom.
He kept a close eye on Mitch. When Lucas saw the bartender escort a rowdy drunk outside, Lucas took a hammer, nails and the wooden sign, and sneaked to the pine wall at the front of the saloon where other signs were posted, looking for an available spot. A vacant square of discolored wall was right in front of the door.
Lucas nailed his sign to the wall with one whack of the hammer. Then he crept back to the kitchen and started washing dishes.
When the saloon closed for the night, Lucas stepped up to the bar to get his pay. Mitch handed him a few small coins.
“Is that all I get?” Lucas asked
.
“Sorry, Scythe. I saw you steal drinks when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.”
“Have a heart, Mitch, and give me a whole bottle. I reckon I’ll do anything to get it,” Lucas wheedled. “Why, I’ll promise to come in early tomorrow and work until closing time again if you’ll give me a bottle of whiskey. Is that a deal?”
“You think you know how to get what you want, don’t ya.” Mitch shook his head like someone who didn’t want to believe what he’d just seen and heard. “All right, I guess I could give you one bottle. But you better be here tomorrow. Early.”
“You can count on me.”
Lucas rode home, chugging down whiskey as he went. He finished the bottle before falling into bed. With nothing in his belly but liquor, he fell asleep immediately.
Honor opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a bed in a clean room, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. A sharp pain in her head and a wave of nausea caused her to consider lying back down, but she didn’t want to give in to the discomfort.
Rose-print curtains framed the windows, and a cool breeze came into the small bedroom. A cast-iron stove stood in one corner, with a stack of wood nearby, but no warming fire blazed in it to take the chill from the air.
Glancing around, Honor noted a carved, wooden headboard, and a rose-cushioned chair with oak arms, placed beside the bed as if a guest was expected. A middle-aged woman of average build suddenly appeared in the doorway. She had salt-and-pepper hair and wore a white apron over a dark blue dress.
“Good morning,” she said in a welcoming tone. “I’m Regina Peters, the reverend’s mother.”
Honor blinked. “Is it still morning?”
“It’s morning, all right,” came the cheerful reply, with a sunny smile. “But you arrived yesterday around noon.”
“Yesterday?” Honor pressed a hand against her forehead and felt some sort of bandage. She wanted answers—explanations, though she barely felt able to ask questions.
“What happened to me?” She lay back against the soft pillow.
“You were on the stagecoach coming from Falling Rock when the stage was robbed,” the woman said. “Afterward, they brought you to Hearten, to my boardinghouse to rest up, and I dressed you in one of my nightgowns.”
Although she’d never seen Mrs. Peters before, there was something about her that reminded Honor of Aunt Harriet. Maybe it was the warmth in her gray eyes and the way the edges of her mouth lifted when she smiled. There was kindness in the woman’s face—just as there had been in Aunt Harriet’s—and Honor felt drawn to her.
At the thought of her late aunt, a wave of sadness swept over Honor. Her beloved only relative had died, and Honor had run away from…
Lucas. She sat up in bed again, her heart pounding.
Mrs. Peters came to the bedside and pressed her hand gently on Honor’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing,” Honor answered quickly. “Has anyone been asking for me?”
“No. But if you’re upset, I can’t blame you. Bumps on the head are no fun. Being robbed isn’t, either.”
“Robbed?” Honor’s hands began to shake. “Was I robbed?”
Mrs. Peters nodded.
Honor remembered getting out of the stagecoach, but nothing after that. She’d planned to mail whatever money she had left back to the church in Falling Rock, but now she had nothing and no way to begin to repay what she’d stolen.
“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Peters said softly. “And I’m sure my son will answer every one of them just as soon as he gets back to the house.”
“Where is Reverend Peters?”
“He went over to our church to check on things. A preacher’s work is never done. But he’ll be back before you know it. The church is just down the road.” Mrs. Peters patted Honor’s shoulder again. “Why don’t you lie down and try to rest until he gets here? Or would you like something to eat? I have warm chicken soup in the kitchen. Would you like some?”
Honor shook her head. “Maybe later. But thank you for asking.”
“You know,” Mrs. Peters said, “according to my son, you’re a very nice person.”
“Me?” Honor put her hand to her chest.
Mrs. Peters nodded. “My son is a pretty good judge of character, and I just know he’s right about you.”
What would Mrs. Peters say if she knew Honor had robbed the collection plate from a church? The preacher might think he was a good judge of people, but he wasn’t. Nobody knew that better than Honor.
Chapter Four
Honor woke the second time that day to the scent of roses. A white vase filled with flowers sat on a table at the end of her bed. She guessed that Mrs. Peters had brought in the arrangement while she slept. When she heard a noise in the hallway she turned her gaze to the doorway.
Jeth Peters entered the room. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked warmly.
“Fine.” Honor tried to return his smile, but all she could think about was how stiff he looked. With his hands behind his back and his legs planted apart, he reminded her of a toy soldier—one of the tin men she played with as a child.
She liked the look of his dark curly hair and his blue eyes, but he seemed so self-conscious and uncomfortable in her presence. Could it be that all preachers turned into toy soldiers when alone in a room with a woman? Honor pulled the covers higher on her neck lest he become even more embarrassed.
“You took a big whack on the head,” Jeth said. “We’ve been worried about you.”
We? Who did he mean? Could Lucas have come here while she was sleeping? A chill ran down her back. “Who’s ‘we’?” she asked.
“Me, my mother, Mr. and Mrs. Carr, the stagecoach driver, and almost everybody else in Hearten.” He moved to the table at the end of her bed and pulled a pink rose from the arrangement. “Mama sure likes flowers. In the spring and summer her garden is full of them.” Jeth offered her the rose.
Honor waved a hand, refusing his gift. Lucas had given her aunt flowers whenever he’d wanted something in return. Honor had nothing to give.
As Jeth continued to hold out the pink flower, she saw that it was made of silk. So the scent she’d noted was rosewater. How had she not realized such an obvious fact immediately?
Honor looked back at Jeth. “Would you mind telling me exactly what happened? I still don’t remember much.”
Jeth returned the flower to the vase. Facing her, he again stuck his hands behind his back. “When you got off the stage, one of the outlaws caught you trying to hide your money and hit you over the head with the butt of his gun. Our entire congregation is praying for you.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
He shook his head, and she saw his shoulders relax a little. “The rest of us did exactly as the robbers said to do—especially after we saw what happened to you.”
Jeth paused, as though he expected her to reply. When she didn’t say anything, he stepped to the window near the foot of her bed and turned his back toward her.
Honor sat up. The pain in her head had faded slightly. “The elderly couple—Annie and Simon—” She swallowed. “Can you tell me…?”
He turned briefly, gazed at her, and then peered out the window again.
Honor wondered what he found so interesting out there. All she saw was brownish-green grass, trees, and a few clouds in a blue sky.
“What would you like me to tell you?” Jeth prompted.
She hesitated; she’d almost forgotten what she had planned to say. “Oh, about the Carrs. How are they?”
“They’re fine. Except that, like you, they lost all their money.”
When he turned back to face her, Honor flinched. It had happened again. For a moment, she had thought she was looking at her uncle instead of at Jeth. Why did she keep seeing a resemblance? The two men were nothing alike.
“The stage company honored the Carrs’ tickets,” Jeth continued, “and they caught another stage to Pine Falls.” He took a step toward her. “The
y sure hated to leave before they found out how you were doing.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “How are you doing?”
“My head hurts. Other than that, I’m all right.”
“Frankly, I’d be a little surprised if your head didn’t hurt—after the smack you got.”
A jumble of questions swirled in her head, but in her present state, she had trouble sorting them.
“You said the stage company honored the tickets of the other passengers?” she finally managed to ask. “Will they honor mine?”
“Of course.” White teeth gleamed in his smile. A lock of thick brown hair fell across his forehead. “In fact,” he added, “your ticket is waiting for you down at the stage office here in Hearten. As soon as you’re able to travel again, you can pick it up.”
“I’m ready now.”
“No, Miss McCall, you’re not.” He shook his head firmly several times. “Dr. Harris wants you to stay in bed for the rest of the week.” Jeth stepped to her bedside and touched her forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have fever.”
His palm felt rough on her skin. Weren’t preachers supposed to have smooth hands? The only real work they had was to preach a sermon on Sunday and preside over a funeral or wedding every once in a while.
He stepped back from the bed and adopted his soldier stance again, hands behind his back. “When you’re well enough, we’ll see about getting your ticket.”
“But I want—”
“No ‘buts.’ Doctor’s orders. In the meantime, try to enjoy your stay here—and my mother’s cooking.”
“I have no money to pay—”
“We know, and it’s all been taken care of.”
“How?” Honor felt a twinge of alarm. “Who paid for my room and board?”
“The Lord did,” he said.
That sounded too unlikely to be believed. “Would you please explain how God was able to do that?” she asked.
“The money came directly from the collection plate at our church,” Jeth explained. “But it really came from the Lord.”
Molly Noble Bull Page 4
