Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws)

by Leone, Sarita

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do,” she replied with more conviction than she felt. The hoop felt heavy in her hand, a scrap of fabric filled with examples of all the things she had said not to do. If Kristen had wanted to create a hands-on rendering of just what she hoped her pupils would avoid, it would look exactly like the piece she held.

  “I feel like I’m all thumbs with a needle and thread,” Julia confessed. She held out her right thumb for inspection. It was pinpricked all over, with tiny scabs on the top of some of the marks. The woman had bled over her handwork.

  Kristen recognized the look of the thumb, having seen it on other handwork pupils. She had never struggled with stitching when she had been learning, at an age far younger than Julia’s, but she remembered other girls whose thumbs bore scars from the sharp tip of a stitching needle.

  “There’s no shame in having difficulty learning a new craft, Julia. In fact, I love it that you’re asking for some extra help.”

  “I’m willing to pay you for this,” Julia said quickly. “I don’t want you to work for nothing.”

  “You mean, ‘Work without compensation.’”

  “Right—without compensation.” When Julia smiled, her dimples showed. “Compensation sounds fancier than nothing, doesn’t it? Anyway, like I was saying, I don’t want you to think I want this special attention for—without compensating you. I don’t make it my business to dance for free, and that’s an awful lot easier to do than this stitching, so I sure don’t expect you to teach me on the side for—oh, without compensation.”

  “I understand. But I don’t mind helping unravel your stitching, and the compensation will be watching you master the stitches. Now, let’s get to it.”

  Leading Julia toward the empty parlor, Kristen put the thought of the walk she had been hoping to take out of her mind. For the next hour or so, Julia and her embroidery should take priority over her own wishes. Maybe afterward, though, there might still be time for a short stroll. She hoped so; there was someone she looked forward to—if she was fortunate—“accidentally” bumping into. It had happened before, it might happen again!

  But first, Julia’s embroidery.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re just the man I was looking for.”

  As much as Jack wanted his family’s deed back, and to quickly conclude his business with Brown, he wished the man hadn’t found what he was looking for. Leastways, not at this precise moment. Couldn’t the land grabber have waited for a better time?

  Slowly, Jack turned toward the bank where Brown stood smiling from the front step.

  “Is that so?” He took his time walking back to Brown. The banker must have seen Jack pass, probably through the glass window in his office, and come after him.

  You weren’t here when I came by a second ago. Must’ve crawled out from under your rock and into the sunshine.

  His granny would have smacked him had she been privy to his unkind thoughts. But she wasn’t, so he was free to think what he wanted, when he wanted to think it. And now, dislike as thick as tar covered his feelings—and thoughts—regarding the frontier banker.

  “It is.” Brown wore no overcoat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. The tanned forearms and wrists once again seemed out of place. How could a man so obviously accustomed to being outdoors stand to be cooped inside a musty old bank all day long? No amount of money could entice Jack to the job—especially when it involved swindling honest people.

  He reminded himself why he had come to this middle-of-nowhere town. Randall Brown was a crook—and it irked Jack that the land thief stood smiling smugly down at him.

  They couldn’t talk this way, not out in the open on the street like a pair of gunslingers. And standing ten inches lower than his opponent was out of the question.

  Jack nodded toward the bank’s empty lot.

  “How about we discuss matters beneath that…” He cast a dubious eye on the scraggly, forlorn elm tree. “…ah, that sorry little tree? I think it might throw enough shade for us to both stand out of the sun. Then again, maybe not.”

  Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Jack walked to the tree. He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his damp curls, then placed the Stetson firmly back onto his head. If he had been back at his office at the mill, and about to begin a business conversation, he would have straightened his tie and shot his sleeves inside his jacket. But here, adjusting his hair and hat was as good as it got.

  When he was done, he turned. Randall Brown stood right behind him. They were close but there was no help for it. The canopy of sun-scorched leaves was barely big enough for one man. Two was a squeeze.

  A pulse throbbed in the banker’s temple.

  Jack wondered if his adversary was excited—or nervous, perhaps? He hoped it was a combination of both. Nervous excitement sometimes threw men off, and gave their opponents the upper hand. Jack never minded having the upper hand—in any game, particularly one where the stakes were so high.

  “Well?” Jack knew his attitude was surly but he didn’t care. A man who stole from widows and honest families didn’t deserve courtesy. “What drew you out of your—” He stopped himself before he said “hole”. Taking a deep breath, he finished, “office?”

  “I told you, I wanted to see you.” Brown rocked back on his heels. His spurs dug crescent-shaped depressions in the dust behind his feet. He shrugged. “When I saw you walk by, I figured it’s as good a time as any to have a word. It’s not as if I hunted you down with a posse, Sterling. You were in plain sight, you know.”

  “So I was.”

  Although the other man’s words were genial, without even the slightest undertone of malice, Jack still didn’t trust him. How could he? Somewhere inside that bank building, in the vault most likely, hid the deed to his Kansas home. Even with Brown acting chummy, there was no way in heaven or…well, there was just no way at all he was going to let his guard drop.

  He’d have sooner turned his back on a hungry black bear than on a smiling banker. It was another of his grandfather’s lessons he’d learned early; trust those who seem to be seeking approval the hardest the least. They were the ones, Granddad had admonished, who most often had an ulterior motive.

  “Now that you’ve waylaid me, what’s on your mind?”

  Brown chuckled. He didn’t wear a hat, so his eyes were unshaded and, as such, it was clear how much he was amused by Jack’s manner.

  Amusement? It was nearly an insult. The hair on the nape of Jack’s neck rose, and his trigger finger formed a curl around his holster fastening. He’d killed men for less during the War. Who was he kidding? During the War he had killed because he’d been ordered to do so, or he had feared for his own life or the lives of innocent people. But wartime was over, and in this day of reason and somewhat peaceful times, any man could show amusement without having his head blown off.

  Jack relaxed his hand, and in particular his finger. He grit his teeth and waited for the other man’s answer.

  A mule brayed in the distance. Further off, the sound of a train whistle, mournful against the mundane sounds of Main Street.

  “When we last spoke, you promised you would get what was rightfully yours back. Now, I don’t ever mind a man keeping what’s his. Why, it’s the American way, don’t you think? We all work hard for what we’ve got. We’ve got a right to keep what’s rightfully ours. Don’t you agree?”

  Disagreeing would have been ridiculous. Jack agreed with every word out of Brown’s mouth—so far—so he nodded.

  “I thought you might be a reasonable man.”

  “I’m reasonable all right. Reasonable enough to want what’s mine returned to me.”

  The banker paused. He and Jack locked gazes, standing so still and silent they looked carved of stone.

  “I can understand that.” Brown shrugged, as if the matter was settled. “But I don’t see how that concerns me. Not one bit.”

  “You’ve got the deed to my family’s place. I w
ant it back.” A muscle worked in Jack’s jaw. His teeth closed tightly around every word as he fought the anger swirling within him. “I mean to get it, one way or another. You’ve got something that’s mine, and I have no intention of letting you keep it.”

  “Well, that’s where you and I take different forks in the road, I’m afraid. I don’t believe I’ve got anything that belongs to you, or your family.”

  Jack swallowed hard. Bile rose in his throat.

  It took a hard man to steal, and then smile at the person he had stolen from.

  “You’re denying you’ve got the Carroll Junction deed to the Sterling homestead? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Randall Brown shook his head, but he didn’t look away. He stared into Jack’s eyes and said, “I don’t deny that I do. In fact, I checked and I’ve got the Sterling deed, as well as several others. All located in and around Carroll’s Junction, Kansas.”

  The audacity of the man! “You admit it, then?”

  “Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I admit I’ve got them? They are, after all, mine.”

  Jack’s left hand curled into a fist but he kept it tight against his thigh. The impulse to slug the banker on the chin made him see red, but not so red that he couldn’t at least give the man one more chance to come clean.

  “Those deeds are no more yours than this beetle-infested tree is mine!” He slapped the tree trunk so hard the tree shook.

  “Hey, watch that tree! My grandfather planted it when he founded Brown’s Point. I admit, it’s taken a while for it to grow but it’s a long way from Kansas.” He placed his hand on the tree trunk, then leaned his weight so he and the tree stood as one. “Transplants take time, Sterling. It might be stupid to some, but my family’s roots—and their transplants—mean a great deal to me. A very great deal. I’d appreciate it if you kept that in mind.”

  Had he heard right? Was the Brown family from Kansas, too?

  “Your grandfather brought the tree from Kansas?”

  Brown nodded. “He did. Planted it with his own hands, said it was going to take root in this red dirt if he had to spoon-feed it himself to make it grow. My grandfather’s long gone, but the tree, and the town he founded, remain. My heritage means a lot to me, and I’ll expect you to respect that.”

  “As does mine,” Jack countered. “And if you respected my heritage, I’d respect yours. But you haven’t bought the deed to my family’s home—you’ve stolen it. There’s no way I can leave this place without it. The way I see it, you can just hand it over and, being a Christian and not wanting unnecessary bloodshed, I’m willing to walk away. God knows, I’ve seen enough blood in my days to last a lifetime.”

  His days of fighting Indians were behind him. He never wanted to take another man’s life, or harm him in any way, if he could help it.

  “That’s mighty generous of you, Sterling, to offer not to fill my hide with shots. I appreciate the gesture, really I do, but the fact remains I have no intention of handing over what rightfully belongs to me.” Brown stared into Jack’s eyes, and Jack saw the same determination coursing through his veins reflected back at him from the depths of the other man’s eyes.

  It was a stalemate, and they both saw it.

  “It’s mine, I tell you.” Jack waved a fist in the air between them.

  “And I tell you, the Kansas property is mine. Bought and paid for, and all mine,” Brown insisted.

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  “I guess we will, although I don’t see how you can say the place still belongs to you when, for starters, I’ve got the deed in my wall safe.” Brown lifted his shoulders, then let them drop, the motion so slow and deliberate it was an unspoken challenge.

  Jack never turned from a challenge. He wasn’t about to start to do so now.

  “The stolen deed.”

  “I paid for that property, just like I did for all the rest of the Kansas properties I bought. I would think you’d be here to thank me, instead of to call me a liar and a thief. Really, Sterling, you should be shaking my hand and expressing bottomless gratitude.”

  “You must stay out in the sun too long without your hat,” Jack sneered. “Why in blazes would I thank you for stealing my property?”

  The banker shook his head, as if the whole conversation taxed him. “I keep telling you, I didn’t steal anything. Never have, never will. And frankly I’m getting tired of you saying that I am a thief. I’ve given you leeway on the point up until now but I don’t want to hear the insinuation again. Do you understand?”

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, and would have called the other man a liar and a thief yet again but Brown held up a hand and went on.

  “I paid good money for that property—real good money. Like I said, you should be thanking me for being so generous. I didn’t have to be, you know. But, as I keep telling you, I don’t make it my business to steal from anyone, so I was more than fair with the price offered on each and every one of those Kansas properties. And I can prove it.” Brown crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the tree trunk. A bead of perspiration slid down one cheek but that was the only indication he gave that he was in any way bothered by the heat.

  Would be hard for a crook to look so cool under pressure.

  “You say you can prove you ‘bought’ my place?”

  Brown nodded. A self-satisfied smile played around the edges of his lips. “I can.”

  “How?”

  “The receipts for every purchase are in my safe, along with the deeds. I can prove I bought them all fair and square, and show how much I paid for them.”

  The world tilted beneath his boot heels. Was it possible that there was a bill of sale for Granny’s place? And if there was, and the place had legitimately sold, where was the money?

  More importantly—by far—were the questions flying through his mind faster than a runaway stallion. Was Granny Sterling losing her mind? Surely she couldn’t have forgotten she had sold the place…could she?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Look! I did it! No one can say that this here ain’t—uh, isn’t—one beautiful French knot, can they, Kristen?” Geraldine, clad in a rose-colored wrap that matched her skin tone perfectly, looked up in triumph. Six or seven inches of embroidery thread—rose-colored, as well—hung from her lower lip. She carelessly blew it away, and held up her handiwork for the other women to inspect.

  Kristen reached over, took the woman’s hoop from her hand and examined the pink knot. It was firm and tight, and close to the fabric without pulling the weave unevenly. The knot, one of the most difficult stitches to master, looked like it had been done by a professional.

  She raised one eyebrow. “It is a perfect French knot. Geraldine, are you sure you’ve never worked a needle before? This doesn’t look like a beginner’s knot—not by any stretch of the imagination.”

  Kristen handed the hoop back. The dancer had already begun to rethread her needle, this time with sky-blue floss, and seemed anxious to get her fingers working again.

  When she had poked the needle into the fabric, Geraldine looked up and said, “Oh, I didn’t say I’d never worked a needle before, remember? I said I never tried any of this fancy stitchin’ you’re teaching us, that’s all. But, land sakes, I sure enough have held a needle more than I care to confess.” She held up the tiny silver sewing needle before her eyes, examined it, and then smiled broadly. With a shake of her curls, she stuck it back into her fabric and said, “But I never did see a needle this puny. No, never.”

  Puny? The needle? It was a standard embroidery size. In fact, the needles Kristen had chosen for the beginners’ class had larger-than-customary eyes, so that they would be easier for unfamiliar fingers to hold.

  Kristen sighed. She had never meant for the afternoon to drag on the way it had, with her being stuck indoors on such a beautiful day. But once she and Julia straightened out the mess in Julia’s hoop, Geraldine had woken and stuck her head in the parlor. Delight at the unexpected sewing less
on had made her dash upstairs for her embroidery. What had been a one-on-one session had turned into a full-blown sewing circle. Kristen saw no polite way to extricate herself from the affair.

  “Just what kind of needle are you more familiar with?” Kristen patiently asked.

  Grinning, Geraldine looked up from her needlework. She already had a row of blue French knots surrounding the first rose colored one, and Kristen saw the beginning of a free-style flower taking shape. The woman’s creativity was admirable, as was her ability to pick up embroidery so quickly.

  “Why, the kind farmers use on livestock, of course! My daddy is a Mississippi farmer, remember? And since he and Momma only had girls, we all farmed right along with him. So I ain’t no stranger to a livestock needle, but that’s the only kind I ever held before this one. And, you’ve got to believe me when I say a livestock needle puts this little feller to shame.”

  There were many things in life that aroused Kristen’s curiosity. Livestock needles? That was a question that was much, much better left unasked.

  I don’t want to know…

  Just as Kristen got a mind picture of what she thought a livestock needle might look like, Julia changed the subject. Thank goodness!

  “There’s a new preacher in town. Hear tell he’s planning to start up Sunday services again over at the church.”

  Kristen looked over at her friend, but Julia kept her head bent low over her embroidery.

  “I came in on the same stage as Pastor Godsend. He’s a gentleman, and was excellent company on the long ride.” She leaned across the arm of her chair, and then smiled in satisfaction at the enchanting clusters of “petals” taking shape on Geraldine’s flower. She sat back, resting against her chair and watched the two women at their sewing. They had taken to the skill like ducks to water, and it did Kristen’s heart good to feel her presence in some small way impacted life in this rugged town. She went on, “He is, of course, incredibly knowledgeable about Scripture, but he’s got a number of other intriguing interests as well. We spoke at length about all sorts of things…”