by Anna Zogg
No telling what her son would do when he saw Jeb Hackett.
He and two of his men thundered into the yard, their horses kicking clods of mud high into the air. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, rosy light painted the mountains to the west and the grassy plains in the south. Someone had let the chickens out already. Cole? The hens that had wandered to the rutted road scattered and squawked as the riders approached. Somewhere in the distance, Blister began to bark.
“Halloo.” Jeb reined his dappled gray beside the corral in the middle of the yard.
“Morning.” She wove a thread of politeness into her tone as she remained in the open doorway. No sense irritating him unnecessarily. Another reason she kept the rifle out of sight.
“Well, ain’t you a sight to behold.” Jeb smirked. “Your hair is done up real purdy. Like you was expecting me.”
Tightening her lips, she hoped it resembled a smile.
He pushed back his hat. “Looks to be a fine day, ’Nora. How about you come a’riding with me and the boys?”
Her jaw clenched. Over the last five years, he’d used that horrid nickname. Every time she’d bristled, Amos had told her it meant nothing. Jeb was merely teasing.
That only proved her husband had no backbone. Not only was he a thief and a liar, he fraternized with thieves and liars. Jeb Hackett was the biggest one of all.
No doubt many a woman had fallen for his handsome face, curly blond locks and icy blue eyes. His handlebar mustache might disguise the cruelty of his mouth, but nothing could hide the wickedness of his heart.
“You know I can’t, Jeb. I’ve work to do.”
“Well, now, we can solve that today.” After swinging one leg over his horse’s neck, he hooked his bent knee on the saddle horn. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his leg. Like he had all the time in the world. “Since we’re neighbors an’ all. We could join our property and have a nice-sized ranch.”
His friends guffawed, one punching the other in the arm.
“Frank Hopper is thinking of buying me out.” She kept her tone level. “You paying more than him?”
“F’sure.” Jeb grinned as he twisted the end of his mustache. “What I’m offering is better than money.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Why you low-down—”
“Ma,” Toby’s voice called. “Ma!”
Lenora tensed as her son ran across the yard. How much of the conversation had he heard? From inside the barn, Blister continued to bark up a storm.
With clenched fists, Toby stationed himself in front of her. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pulled him closer. If need be, she could yank her son into the house and slam the crossbar into place. There they would be safe.
For a little while at least.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the little man himself.” Jeb sneered. “I was wondering when the itty-bitty cockerel would show up. That your mangy dog I hear? Thought he’d be dead by now.”
Toby stiffened. Jeb’s buddies chortled.
Her mouth went dry. Was Jeb confirming that he’d lassoed Blister?
Her son spoke first. “What’d you want, Hackett?”
“Hain’t you learned to speak respectful to your elders, boy? If you were mine, I’d teach you to hobble your tongue.”
“Well, I ain’t yours.”
Jeb’s scowl deepened.
“That’s for certain,” snickered one of his men. The two laughed. The instant their leader glared at them, they quieted.
Lenora took an unsteady breath. “I appreciate you all coming by. I’m sure you have to be on your way now.”
Jeb squinted. “Not going to invite us in? Or feed us? We rode all this way to discuss some business.”
Business? A chill nipped her bones. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t have anything prepared.”
“We can wait, can’t we, boys? Y’see, I’m thinking you’ve been without a husband long enough, ’Nora. How ’bout you and me getting hitched?”
Marry Jeb? Her heart chugged to a stop as the sun burst over the horizon, spotlighting his handsome face.
“If I don’t suit ya—and I don’t see why not—you could always pick Charlie here. Or Dandyman. They’d do you right fine.”
Identical leers passed over the faces of all three men.
Dear Lord... Lenora didn’t know what to pray.
Instead of warming, the sunlight grew brittle, spearing the air with shards of yellow crystal. She could hear nothing but the whistling wind and the horses as they stamped and blew. Even the morning birds stopped their happy chirping. Her chest tightened until she feared she would faint.
The barn door slammed, drawing her attention.
Cole walked across the yard with studied nonchalance. Like he lived there.
Is he in with them? Lenora choked down the panic that rose in her throat as she shoved her son behind her.
Cole pulled up short as though surprised by the men on the other side of the corral. Thumbing back his hat’s brim, he glanced between them. “G’morning.”
Jeb’s eyes squeezed to slits. “Who’re you?”
He smiled as though oblivious to the man’s rudeness. “The name’s Cole.”
Jeb shot Lenora a glance. “You didn’t tell me about him.”
“I...” She coughed and tried again. “I didn’t have a chance.”
As Cole rested a boot on the fence’s lowest rung, the polished gun at his hip flashed in the morning light. “The lady’s been kind enough to let me rest up my horses.”
“Is that so?”
“My mare stepped in a hole yesterday. Hopin’ she won’t be lame long.”
Irritation erupted on Jeb’s face as though he had no idea how to respond to small talk.
Lenora piped up. “You can stay as long as you like, Mr. Cole.”
Jaw jutting, Jeb glared at the stranger. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack up the minute your horse recovers and move on.”
Grinning, Cole leaned his left elbow on the fence. He casually hooked a right thumb in his belt, directly above the butt of his revolver. “Actually, I’m thinking of settling down around here. Maybe you could recommend a good location. I plan to breed horses. Fine stock.”
Cole couldn’t be in with the Hackett gang. Not with Jeb’s open hostility.
Convulsively swallowing, Lenora glanced between the men. How would Cole fare if it came down to shooting? The sun at his back would be no advantage with one man against three. Besides, no one ever stood up to Jeb. His father, Eli Hackett, was rumored to own half of Laramie County. Time and again, his outlaw son had weaseled out of trouble. Regardless of how heinous his crimes, Jeb had not spent one night in jail.
He scowled at Cole. After swinging his leg back over his horse’s head, he thrust his boot through the stirrup. “I ain’t done with you yet, ’Nora.” He jerked the reins and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Not until the men were out of sight did she sigh in relief.
With narrowed eyes, Cole stared after them, mouth flattened into a grim slash. Only when he looked in Lenora’s direction did his expression relax. After a nod, he turned on his heel and headed back to the barn.
“I’ll send Toby when breakfast is ready,” she called.
Cole turned. “Sounds real good. I’ll clean up.” He squeezed the brim of his hat.
Still shaking, Lenora breathed a prayer of thanksgiving aloud. “Thank You, Lord.”
Perhaps God had sent him.
Toby came from behind her. “Jeb Hackett won’t come back, will he, Ma? Leastways not while Cole is here, right?”
“I hope not.” She passed the palm of one hand across her heated neck.
What if Cole stayed for more than a couple of days? Would Jeb take that as a personal insult? He woul
d think nothing of having ten of his cronies thrash any man who dared challenge him.
Perhaps it would be best if Cole left as soon as his horse recovered.
But what would happen the next time Jeb dropped by when she and Toby were alone?
* * *
“Meal was excellent. Thanks.” Cole leaned back in his chair. When had he last eaten that well? He vowed to split a cord of wood in payment. The stack leaning against the house seemed low. It might last a mere week or two.
“Another biscuit? They’re best fresh.” The woman Hackett called Nora extended a plateful.
He declined with one hand as he patted his stomach with his other. “No, ma’am.”
After Toby wiped his mouth with a napkin, he grinned. “Told ya Ma is the best cook in the county.”
“Sorry I doubted it.” Cole regretted skipping supper.
Determined to be on his way, he had arisen long before sunup. However, his mare had limped just enough to warn him they shouldn’t travel another mile until she rested a spell. In the predawn, Toby had surprised him by showing up at the barn. Together they had led the three horses into the back pasture. Sheba had rolled in the grass, apparently happy to stay put. The geldings had bucked and played.
If Cole had left at first light as planned, he would have missed the arrival of the three visitors. When Toby had whispered Jeb Hackett’s name as they peered through the barn’s slats, Cole couldn’t believe his ears.
Hackett was the very man he sought.
And had Cole left, he would have forfeited this incredible meal. Fried potatoes, eggs, bacon, beans, fresh coffee and hot, flaky biscuits—what more could a man want?
Sighing again in pleasure, he contemplated a nap. Nah, he had wood splitting to do.
“Can I take this to Blister, Ma?” Toby scraped leftovers into the slop bowl.
“Certainly. But you keep feeding him like that, he’ll get fat and lazy.”
When Toby laughed, his adolescent voice cracked. She glanced at Cole, hand pressed to her chest as a soft smile graced her lips. Because her motherly heart swelled at the proof that her boy was growing into a man?
Grinning, Cole watched the youngster hasten out the door.
Once they were alone, he met Nora’s dark eyes. A slow blush crept up her cheeks. Light coming from the window glanced off her honey-brown hair, braided and pinned up. She smoothed a stray strand into place.
Realizing he’d been staring, he cleared his throat. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“Minneapolis. My aunt ran...well, used to run a restaurant. Before she moved back east. After my parents died. But that was a long time ago.”
He considered the obvious discomfort in her tone. “She’s one...incredible teacher.” He took care to mind his words. It had been a long while since he had spent time in the presence of a lady. This woman’s gentle ways and modulated speech left no doubts about that.
How had she ended up in the wilds of Wyoming Territory without a husband? And why hadn’t she yet remarried? Any man would count himself blessed to have a wife who was not only talented, but beautiful.
Truly modest, Nora inclined her head. Another mark of one gentle born.
He glanced around as he sipped his coffee. Nice house—not the usual soddy other homesteaders lived in. They sat in a large open room with two windows that faced north and west—so she could see who was coming up the road? Pegs lined a space by the door where he had hung his hat and coat. A pump poised above a large basin—another extravagance in a frontier home. Two chairs clustered by a fireplace. A built-in ladder lined the back wall, leading to a loft. Where Toby slept? The only other door likely led to a bedroom.
Dragging his gaze away, Cole focused on the blue and white dishes that lined the mantel. “My mother has bone china similar to yours. Where’d you get them?”
“My great-grandmother. She brought them from England.”
He finished his coffee. “Nice to see so many in one piece.” A few had chips, but most were intact.
“I used a scandalous amount of straw to pack them.” She nodded to his plate. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?”
“Yes, thanks again.” When she rose, he jumped to his feet and grabbed some dishes. “If you don’t mind, Nora, I’d like to repay your kindness by doing some chores.”
White petticoats flashed as she spun to face him. He didn’t understand the sudden hostility that flared across her face. Before he could react, she grabbed her rifle and shoved it in his chest.
“Whoa.” Cole froze.
What had he said? Or done? This was nothing like the night before when she had held her shotgun like a shield.
Knuckles white and mouth set, she looked every bit like she would use the rifle. “What did you call me?”
“I...” His mind went blank. “Nora, I believe.”
“You’re in with Jeb.” Her teeth clenched. “Is he outside now? Laughing?”
“Lady, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Arms still extended, he clutched the dishes between tightening fingers and thumbs.
Fury seared her face. He sucked a sharp breath when she cocked the rifle.
“He better not’ve touched a hair on Toby’s head, or I’ll shoot you dead right here as you stand.”
A she-bear with cubs would be less intimidating.
“Just a minute.” Understanding dawned. “I heard Hackett call you Nora. Remember? Isn’t that your name?”
Her eyes narrowed. The tension in the room eased not one bit.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip. If Toby came running back into the house and startled his mother, her twitching trigger finger would end Cole’s life.
She seemed to take even more careful aim. Like she would make certain not to miss.
“I’m setting these down now. Slow like.” He lowered the plates to the table. With two fingers, he lifted his Colt Single Army Action revolver from its holster and set it on the table within her reach. “I’m unarmed. Except for a knife in my boot. The one I used on Blister last night.”
Her gaze darted to his gun and back.
He again raised his hands and leaned away from the rifle’s muzzle. “I had no idea what your name was. We never quite got around to introducing ourselves.”
Chest heaving, her fingers tightened on the barrel.
He tried a different tack. “I got that pistol from my father who fought in the war between the states. Because of his exemplary courage, he was awarded this gun. Before Pa passed away, he gave it to me. That’d be two years ago next month.”
“What about your mother? And if you lie...”
“She lives in Dodge City, Kansas. I regret to say I haven’t visited her in about seven months. But I hope to see her after...” He stopped before saying, After I put Hackett behind bars. Or swinging from a rope. This woman would assume he was lying—trying to get into her good graces considering her obvious abhorrence of the man. Instead, Cole amended, “After I settle and start my horse ranch. I plan to send for my mother. Now that it’s only me and her.”
At least that was the whole truth. The woman’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“Like I told your son last night, m’name’s Cole. Ma called me that because...” He paused, confounded at his desire to confess. “Well, it is my family name. But when my little brother got shot...” He stopped yet again. Would the guilt continue to burn for the rest of his life? “Andrew was about your son’s age. I was fourteen. That’s when Ma stopped using my first name. I think it hurt too much to call only one son to dinner. So that’s when I became just plain ol’ Cole.”
Her mouth quivered ever so slightly. The rifle in her hands lowered an inch. “How’d your brother get shot?”
Surprised at the question, he took a moment to answer. “We were playing behind the
mercantile when we heard a ruckus. Andrew ran out of the alley to find out what was going on. A man was robbing the store, saw my brother out of the corner of his eye and fired.” The painful memory stuck in his throat. “He died in my arms.”
He relived the memory of sand soaking up his little brother’s blood. The sickening smell of copper. The whole street, a river of red, still drowned Cole in nightmares.
That was the day he decided to become a lawman. He’d never looked back.
Until today, he had withheld the details from everyone. How had this woman so easily lulled him into sharing?
Mind apparently made up, she returned the gun to its spot by the door. She licked dry lips and spoke in a stilted voice. “My name is Lenora Pritchard.” She lifted her chin. “As you’ve probably guessed, I don’t have a husband. He died last year. Buried out back. Along with two of our babies that...” She tilted her head in the direction behind the house.
Cole clamped his jaw shut when he realized it hung open.
Lenora Pritchard?
It couldn’t be...
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Amos Pritchard was your husband?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “What if it was? What do you know about him?”
He slowly sank into a chair. “I heard tell of an Amos Pritchard in Cheyenne. At the Inter-Ocean Hotel. Quite a gambler if memory serves.”
All true, although Cole only knew about him secondhand. Rumors abounded about the six-member gang—and Amos Pritchard was Hackett’s right-hand man. Their leader was a gambler, cheat, liar and womanizer among other things.
Amos’s widow had gone white. “He didn’t cheat you, did he?”
“What?” Cole momentarily forgot what he’d told her. “No, ma’am. I don’t gamble.”
She frowned, clearly uncertain about what to do with his tale. Though Cole disliked hiding the truth, he decided to keep his US marshal status secret. For now. Perhaps remaining undercover while he ferretted out the secrets of the Hackett gang was the best plan.
If so, he might to live to tell the tale.
Two other lawmen had come to Wyoming Territory on the same mission. Neither had been heard from again. Cole had no intention of disappearing like them.
