Calico Spy

by Margaret Brownley

  Katie joined them, weapon still in hand, and fell to her knees by his side. “Is he all right?”

  “Seems like it.” He glanced over his shoulder. The cabin showed no sign of life, and Clayborn hadn’t moved since falling to the ground.

  “Stay with Andy,” he said.

  He heard her intake of breath. “Be careful.”

  Touched once again by her concern for his welfare, he was tempted to take her in his arms. But the sound of galloping horse hooves made him leave her side and dash into the clearing.

  The horseman had a good head start, and Branch decided not to give chase. Was there only one gunman? The horse tied to a sapling was most likely Clayborn’s, but he wasn’t about to take a chance.

  With an anxious glance at the cabin door, Branch knelt beside the fallen man and rolled him over onto his back. He’d been shot and his shirt was soaked with blood, but he was still breathing.

  Hooking his arms beneath the injured man’s armpits, he raised him to his feet. He grabbed hold of Clayborn’s right arm and thrust him over his shoulder. Clayborn’s head and arms trailed down his back.

  Staggering away from the cabin, Branch entered the grove of trees, choosing a place away from Andy and Katie. The boy was scared enough without seeing all that blood.

  He laid Clayborn down in a soft patch of leaves.

  Clayborn’s eyes flickered open. “Andy?” he whispered. He wasn’t breathing as much as panting. “Is he…?”

  “He’s fine,” Branch said. He ripped Clayborn’s shirt open and pressed a handkerchief against the wound on his chest in an effort to stop the flow of blood. “You saved his life.”

  The whites of Clayborn’s eyes showed, and his lids came down.

  “Hold on,” Branch said, slapping him gently on the cheeks.

  Clayborn’s eyes flickered open, and his mouth moved silently before he was finally able to find his voice. “Done a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

  “Better save your strength till I get you in town.”

  But once started, Clayborn couldn’t seem to stop. “Took money that didn’t belong to me. Cheated at cards. Drank too much.” His voice was so faint Branch had to lower his head to hear. “Shouldn’t have left Dottie. Never should have done that. Maybe she’d still be alive if I’d stayed.”

  Branch shook his head. The man had enough reasons to feel guilty, but Dorothy’s death wasn’t one of them. “There was nothing you could have done. The tornado… There was nothing any of us could have done.”

  “Do you… think taking the bullet for… for Andy put me in good stead with G–God?”

  “I’m sure it did,” Branch said. His confession no doubt helped, too. “God’s grace knows no end.”

  “Take… take care of him.”

  “You have my word.”

  Clayborn studied him from beneath half-closed lids, his pale face etched with the gray of impending death. “Dottie always said that special prayer when someone was sick or dying. Don’t remember the words.”

  “Do you mean the Lord’s Prayer?” Clayborn gave a slight nod, and Branch began, “Our Father…” He recited the prayer from beginning to end. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” Clayborn whispered and coughed. He had a hard time catching his breath. “What… what are you gonna tell Andy about me?” he asked.

  Branch pulled the kerchief from around his neck and wiped away the trickle of blood from the corner of Clayborn’s mouth. “I’ll tell him that in the end his father—his real father—gave himself to the Lord.”

  “That’s good. Th–that’s real good.” Clayborn’s body shuddered once, and his head fell to the side.

  Branch checked Clayborn’s pulse, but the vein told him only what he already knew.

  Chapter 41

  Where’s Pa?” Andy asked.

  “He’ll be here soon,” Katie said. She craned her head around the trunk of a tree. Branch had disappeared in the woods with Clayborn and she hadn’t seen him since.

  Her legs trembled and her mouth felt dry as old parchment paper. The bullet had missed Branch, and that was a miracle. If something had happened to him… to his son…

  The thought almost brought her to her knees, and she quickly banished it. Mustn’t think about that. Have to stay alert. Protect Andy. That’s what she had to do. The boy had gone through a terrible ordeal. She must remain calm for his sake.

  The cabin was hidden behind the trees. Was the gunman still inside? She thought she heard a horse gallop away earlier, but it could have been a trick.

  Her hand tightened around the Colt pistol.

  Andy was occupied with watching a spider dangle from a tree branch on a silver thread. “I wasn’t afraid, you know,” he said. “I pretended—like you do.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You know how you pretend that beans are bullets and the dark is just muddy air?”

  “And spiders are just—”

  “Eight legs on a hoof.” He giggled before growing serious. “Well, I pretended that I was brave like Mr. Robinson.”

  “Who is Mr. Robinson?”

  “The father in Swiss Family Robinson.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. I remember reading that book many years ago. I wasn’t much older than you are now.”

  Andy abandoned the spider and picked up a stick. “Do you ever pretend to be someone you’re not?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sometimes.”

  He gazed at her with curiosity. “Like who?”

  “Let me think.” She thought about all the disguises donned as a detective through the years. Each one had stolen a piece of her until she’d hardly known who she was. Then she met Branch, and somehow he put her back together piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle. He made her aware of the woman inside, a woman who needed to love and be loved. The woman God had meant her to be.

  Aware suddenly that Andy was still waiting for an answer, she said, “Once I pretended to be a pirate.”

  He laughed. “Next time someone tries to take me away I’ll pretend I’m a pirate and make him walk the plank.”

  “What’s all this talk about pirates?” Branch stepped into the small clearing, and Katie’s heart leaped with relief and something else. Something she was afraid to name but that felt as deep and wide as an ocean. Her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms. She might have done just that had Andy not beaten her to the punch.

  “Pa!”

  Branch lifted Andy off the ground and whirled him around before setting him down again.

  She held out his pistol, grip first. He took it from her and shoved it in his holster. His gaze locked with hers.

  “Sure you don’t want it?”

  “Want it? I’m still trying to recover from firing it.” The blood on his vest made her gasp, and she reached for his arm. “You’re hurt.”

  “Not me,” he said with a meaningful glance.

  Andy waved his stick about like a sword. “Miss Katie pretended to be a pirate.”

  Branch put on a good show for his son, and no one could guess the ordeal he’d just come through.

  “A lady pirate, eh?” Branch afforded her a wink.

  “Clayborn?” she mouthed.

  He answered her silent question with a shake of his head. That was one problem solved, but there was still the gunman to worry about.

  As if to guess her thoughts, he said, “The cabin’s empty. Whoever fired that shot is gone.” He slanted a nod at her blood-covered hand. “Go wash off. We’ll meet you at the horses. You and Andy can ride back to town while I finish up.”

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said and started for the cabin.

  Behind her Branch called to his son, “Come on, Pirate Pete.”

  The cabin door creaked as she pressed against it. She stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her.

  The cabin was built from adobe brick, and a floor-to-ceiling rock fireplace commanded one wall. The room was sparsely furnished. She walked through to the kitchen and prime
d the pump at the sink until rusty water trickled from the spout.

  She rinsed off her hands and, having no towel, dried them on her skirt. A cup on the counter caught her attention, and the nine o’clock position of the handle made her think of orange pekoe tea. The Harvey House code had now become so ingrained that “reading” cups seemed as natural to her as reading tea leaves was to a medium.

  Shaking her head at the incongruity of thinking of cup codes at a time like this, she glanced around.

  Except for the cup and a dirty ashtray, the counters were bare. A quick check of the kitchen cabinets revealed a stash of neatly stacked tinned goods. The gunman had stayed in the cabin for a while but would probably not come back. Who or what was he hiding from?

  Out of habit, she checked the bedroom. Rusty bed springs occupied one side of the room and an old chest of drawers the other. A window was open, and she leaned on the sill and peered outside. That must have been how the gunman made his escape.

  She closed the window and returned to the front room. A bedroll was laid out flat and ashes piled up in the stone fireplace.

  Since Branch was waiting for her to take Andy back to town, she walked to the door. Hesitating, she glanced around the room again. A strange sensation came over her. A thought tiptoed on the outermost part of her mind like a forgotten name or half-remembered dream.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t bring it to the fore. It continued to plague her as she walked outside to join Branch and Andy.

  Something…

  Chapter 42

  The late-afternoon sun still felt warm as Katie rode back to town. Andy, seated behind her on the bay horse, held on tight, arms clamped around her waist as if to never let her go.

  “We’re almost home,” she said.

  Reverend Bushwell spotted them first. With a wave of his hand, he vanished inside the church, and seconds later church bells rang out the news of Andy’s safe return. The pealing chimes brought people running from all directions to greet them.

  Katie tugged on the reins, and the minister helped Andy from the back of the horse.

  Just as Katie dismounted, Mary-Lou, Tully, and Abigail rushed up. “Thank God you’re okay,” Mary-Lou cried, throwing her arms around her.

  “I’m fine.”

  Mary-Lou released her, and Katie looked around in bewilderment. “But what are you all doing here?”

  “We heard about what happened to the sheriff’s son,” Mary-Lou explained.

  “And we came to the church to pray for his safe return,” Abigail added.

  Miss Thatcher, Buzz, and Culpepper, along with at least half of the railroad workers, had turned out. Mrs. Bracegirdle stood leaning on her cane.

  Even Okie-Sam was there, a knapsack flung over his shoulder. He slid a hefty arm around her shoulders. “Don’t go scaring your brother like that, you hear?” He withdrew his arm. “If anyone hurt my sis…” He pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. “He’d have me to contend with.”

  She gave him a wan smile and tossed a nod at the canvas bag. “Going somewhere?”

  “Just for a few days or so. My pa…”

  “Hope it’s nothing serious,” she said, but already he had turned away and her attention was caught up by the other well-wishers.

  Katie blinked away the burning in her eyes. Oddly enough, it felt like she was surrounded by family.

  “What I don’t understand is why you got involved,” Tully said.

  Mary-Lou frowned. “Really, Tully. This isn’t the time—”

  Just then Branch’s housekeeper barreled up to them and Andy all but disappeared in her ample arms. “Lawdy, I never prayed so hard in all my born days. Whatcha taking off on me like that fur, boy? I swear, I’ve turned two shades lighter. My husband won’t recognize me.”

  “I didn’t take off,” Andy protested. “That man stole me.”

  The housekeeper released him. “Well, let’s get you home where you belong.” She hustled the boy away, her mouth flapping like a broken shutter. “Looks like you could use some soap and water and…”

  No sooner had Andy and the housekeeper departed than the crowd began to disperse.

  Miss Thatcher gave her hands three sharp claps. “Come along, girls. We have less than forty minutes until the five-twenty-five.” She hustled them back to the restaurant like a drover herding his stock.

  Minutes later, Chef Gassy met them at the kitchen door. “Hurry, hurry, the zain due in soon.”

  While the others ran ahead, Katie stayed behind. Something snapped inside, and laughter bubbled out of her like water from a spring. Not mirthful laughter, but uncontrolled guffaws that brought tears to her eyes. Gassy stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, but she couldn’t help it.

  Andy had been kidnapped, a man had died, and Gassy’s only concern was the next meal. Crazy as that sounded, she found it comforting.

  “I love you!” she said through her tears and threw her arms around the startled man, knocking off his toque. And yes, it really did feel like she had come home.

  Releasing him, she dashed from the kitchen and…

  Crashed headlong into Pickens. Judging by his red face he was fit to be tied.

  Andy fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow that night. Smiling to himself, Branch set the unread book on the table next to his bed. It had been a long, hard day for all of them.

  Thank You, God. Thank You for bringing my boy back to me. And forgive me for ever doubting You.

  He reached over to turn off the light and quietly left the room.

  In the parlor, Miss Chloe looked up from the rocking chair where she sat reading the Bible.

  “How come you’re still here?” he asked. “It’s late. You should be home.” His housekeeper closed the Bible. Giving the leather cover a loving pat with a large, capable hand, she set it on the table. “Wanted to make sure you and the boy had no need for me.”

  “Not tonight,” he said and sat. He was too wound up to sleep. Maybe it would help to read for a while.

  “You look like you fell off yer horse and was dragged to kingdom come,” she said.

  “Feel like it.”

  Miss Chloe hauled herself out of the chair and gathered up her gloves and hat. She then hesitated.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “I feel bad about what happened. It’s my job to take care of Andy, and I failed.”

  “You didn’t fail.” If anyone was to blame it was him. Fear of losing Andy had muddled his brain, and he’d handled the matter all wrong. He should have known Clayborn would pull a stunt like that. That’s how he operated. Things got tough, the man took off.

  Miss Chloe arranged her hat on her head and pulled on her gloves. Even a five-minute walk to her house required a certain ritual. “I promised Andy a treat in town if he done good on his schoolwork. He couldn’t wait and ran ahead of me. I should have made him hold my hand.”

  “Andy’s a big boy now.” He hadn’t realized how big and brave until today. He came out of the ordeal better than any of the adults involved, himself included. “He doesn’t need us holding his hand. He just needs us holding him in prayer.”

  “That I do, Sheriff. That I do.” Her forehead creased. “Just want you to know I’ve enjoyed workin’ here. You’re the best employer I ever did have.”

  He frowned. “You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?” What would he do without her? What would Andy do?

  “Not by choice,” she said. “But it’s been my experience that a home has room for only one woman at a time.”

  He pinched his forehead. He must be more tired than he thought, for suddenly she was making no sense. “What are you talking about? One woman.”

  “I saw how you look every time that boy of yours mentions Miss Katie’s name.” She gave her head an emphatic nod. “I sure enough did.”

  Branch moved his hand away from his face. Miss Chloe didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Katie… Miss Madison was a big help today,” he said. �
�I’m grateful to her.”

  “I don’t have much in the way of school learnin’, but I know gratitude when I sees it and I know when a man sets his cap for a woman. I’d say you have it bad, real bad.”

  He stared at her. “You better go home and get some shut-eye. That’s crazy talk.”

  “All I’m sayin’ is that when the time comes, there’s no call to worry about lettin’ me go. I’ll be fine.”

  “Far as I’m concerned, you can work here till the cows come home,” he said.

  Her teeth flashed white against her dark, glistening skin. “Those cows might not be as far afield as you think.” She headed for the door. “Night, Sheriff.”

  “Night,” he muttered as she let herself out. He reached for his book but, after rereading the same paragraph several times, finally gave up.

  Was Miss Chloe onto something? He couldn’t deny his attraction to Katie. One look into that pretty round face and he’d felt strangely alive, like he’d been walking around all these years half-asleep. He liked her—no denying that. Liked the way she walked and talked and even smiled.

  He even liked working with her. He shuddered at what might have happened had she not been there to warn him of the rifle.

  He couldn’t make up his mind what affected him more: her strength or vulnerability. True, sometimes her willingness to put herself in danger made him want to wring her neck, but the other part—the vulnerable part—made him want to hold her. Hold her like he did the night they danced by the light of the moon. Hold her like he did that night in the alley.

  But that didn’t mean he’d set his cap for her. A lady detective, of all things. A Pinkerton detective.

  A small-county sheriff like him had nothing to offer a woman like her. She lived a life of excitement and adventure. No one in her right mind would give up a life like that, especially for a man whose idea of adventure was settling down with a good book.

  Miss Chloe was wrong. What he felt for Katie wasn’t love. Couldn’t be love. Because if it was, he was in a whole peck of trouble.

  Katie stared at the paper in front of her, blank except for a spot of ink that had leaked from her pen. The house was quiet late that night. She sat at the kitchen table with only a lit candle by which to work.