by Kit Morgan
Amon nodded slowly. “I just try to do what’s right, sir, that’s all.”
“That goes a long way with this family. Why, look at Duncan – he took his new wife and traveled halfway across the world just to do the right thing. We sure do miss him, though, and Cozette too. Heck, I even miss Mr. Berg.”
Amon smiled. “Oh yes, Mr. Berg. He was a presence, wasn’t he?”
“At his size, son, he was a lot more than that!”
“Has anyone heard from him?”
Jefferson shook his head. “We hear from Duncan now and then, of course, but none of us have heard from Mr. Berg and Maddie. We did get a letter from Mrs. Duprie, though.”
“The Countess?”
“Yeah, wasn’t that somethin’? To find out that woman was a countess and her daughter a princess? At times I still don’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe I took Harrison and Colin’s offer …” Amon shook his head.
Edith came out of the house. “Here’s your coffee, and I brought some cookies too. Now if you men will excuse me, I need to go help get supper ready. Shall I set another place?”
Jefferson looked at Amon. “You’re here and supper’s only an hour or so off, you might as well stay.”
Amon smiled and took the cup from Edith. “Thank you – don’t mind if I do.”
“I’ll let Sadie and Belle know we have company,” Edith told them, then left Jefferson and Amon to themselves.
They chatted about nothing much until Harrison and Colin rode into the barnyard. “Mr. Cotter!” Colin said as he reined in his horse at the porch steps. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Well …” Brace yourself. “… I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”
Harrison and Colin exchanged a quick look. “Splendid!” Harrison said and jumped off his horse. “Glad to hear it, man!”
“Yes,” Colin agreed. “Our wives will be ecstatic.”
“I haven’t seen any sign of them since I arrived.”
“They were out back in the vegetable garden, weedin’, when you arrived,” Jefferson informed him. “Now they’re likely workin’ on supper. They probably won’t even know you’re here until Edith tells them.”
“He’s quite right,” Colin said. “Once they get busy in the kitchen, there’s no stopping or distracting them …”
Sadie suddenly ran onto the porch. “Mr. Cotter! Oh, thank Heaven!”
“… though I could be wrong,” Colin quipped.
Sadie hurried to the porch swing. “I’m so glad you changed your mind!” she said as she took one of his hands and shook it. “I’m sure Mr. Whitman will be pleased.”
“He was agreeable enough,” he said.
“Agreeable? You mean you’ve already spoken with him?”
“Yes. It’s all arranged.”
“What!?” Everyone except Jefferson said at once.
“Yes, I spoke with the man earlier and we came to an agreement. So I decided to come out here and tell you.”
“Well, I must say, this is a pleasant surprise,” Harrison chuckled.
“And to think we planned another trip to town to convince you,” added Colin.
Sadie smacked him on the arm and turned to Amon. “We think you and Miss Whitman will make a fine match. When’s the wedding?”
“Wait, wait,” Amon said, holding up a finger. “We’re not that far along.”
“You mean you haven’t set a date yet?” Sadie asked in surprise.
“We’ll court first and see if we suit. We may not.”
“Oh, that’s all right then,” Harrison said before his wife could object. “After all, our other cousins courted their intended, why not Amon and Nettie?”
“What about chaperones?” Sadie asked.
“Let’s work out the details later,” suggested Colin. “Right now I think we need to wash up for dinner.”
“All right,” Sadie agreed reluctantly. “Won’t you come inside?”
Jefferson and Amon stood and followed the others into the house. But Amon was already pondering two questions – which one of them was going to ask what made him change his mind? And what would he tell them when they did?
Seven
Cutty went into the hotel dining room, stopped, stretched and yawned. Seth Jones had been kind enough to let him spend the night, but after breakfast he’d have to figure out where he should go. Out to Ryder’s place? Up into the hills? Of course the real question was, should he? Or maybe could he? If he did, he’d be labeled a coward, even if only by himself.
“I was wondering when you’d show up!” Mrs. Upton said as she made her way to his table. “How’re you feeling, sunshine?”
“More like a rain cloud,” he grumbled. “What of it?”
“You don’t have to be so crabby about it – I was just asking.”
Cutty frowned as he crossed the room to his favorite table. “Well, yeah, I know that. But everybody else is gonna be askin’ me the same darn question today unless I get outta town.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “And I don’t feel like talkin’ about it all day.”
Mrs. Upton laughed and followed. “I guess I can see that.” She reached the table and waved a hand at him. “Wait right there and I’ll bring you some breakfast.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen.
Cutty sat back in his chair. “Much obliged,” he sighed. He glanced around the empty dining room. There weren’t any guests in the hotel – except …
… he didn’t even want to think about it. But wasn’t that why he was there? Hadn’t he finally succumbed to his own overwhelming curiosity? Didn’t he want to see them?
Yes and no. He wanted to see them – but he didn’t want them to see him.
“… it’s no small matter as far as Mr. Whitman is concerned. We’re going to have to figure something out.”
Cutty looked up to see Sheriff Hughes and Deputy O’Hare stroll into the room. “Howdy,” was all he offered.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Cutty,” Bran said with a smile. “Are ye feeling better, then?”
“As well as can be expected. Now I’m just hungry.”
“We’ve come in for a bite ourselves,” Sheriff Hughes said, patting his stomach.
“Mrs. Upton’s just gone into the kitchen to fetch whatever she’s made this mornin’,” Cutty informed them. “She’ll be out in a jiffy.”
They each took a seat at his table. “Sounds fine,” Sheriff Hughes commented. “I could do with a good breakfast this morning.”
“We could do with a solution to this Moresy problem,” Bran said. “That man’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
“Clinton Moresy? Is he back in town?” Cutty asked in surprise.
“Yep,” Sheriff Hughes grunted. “Keeps coming back like a wart.”
“Why?”
“He caught wind there was a woman in town,” the sheriff said.
Cutty’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? And what does he think he’s gonna do, marry her?”
“Aye, the poor girl,” said Bran. “Of course, the lady has no interest in him.”
“Of course,” Cutty muttered, wiping his brow. He didn’t like Clinton Moresy, probably because he reminded him of how he used to be, only worse. It often made him wonder how many people there were that hated his old self.
“They’ll have to be chaperoned,” the sheriff said to no one in particular. “More than chaperoned, really – guarded.”
“I agree,” Bran said. “But who? The Cookes haven’t the time – they’re too busy with the ranch.”
“I know,” the sheriff said with a nod. “And we can’t expect their wives to, not with Belle carrying one baby and Sadie chasing after another.”
“Apple wouldn’t mind a turn or two,” Bran offered, “and Eloise would be willing. But neither one is exactly a bruiser. And the women who are, they all live out of town.”
The sheriff looked at Cutty. “What about your friend Imogene, the tiger hunter? Would she like to do some chaperoning?”
“Chaperoning?” Cutty snapped. “Who in tarnation needs chaperoning?”
“You haven’t heard the news, then?” Bran asked with a grin. “Amon Cotter has fallen, God rest his soul.” He put his hat over his heart in mock mourning.
Cutty’s brow puckered. Amon Cotter? He hadn’t had much to do with that man. All he knew about him was that he was a really good woodcarver. “Who’s he going to marry?”
“The woman that came to town, who else?” Bran said with a chuckle.
“Woman?”
“Boy, you really aren’t yourself today, are you?” Sheriff Hughes asked, concerned. “Don’t you remember the young man and woman that got off the stage the day you got sick?”
Cutty scratched his head, feigning ignorance. “I don’t recall much from that day.”
“Well, they’re brother and sister,” Bran informed him. “Identical twins, if you can believe it. The story is the brother brought the sister all the way from England to marry her off. Duncan Cooke’s idea, it was.”
Cutty’s mouth dropped open in shock. Real shock. Even though he already knew, to hear someone other than Imogene tell him drove it home. “Do tell?” He then remembered the subject of their earlier conversation. “And that sidewinder Clinton Moresy is trying to move in on her?”
“Yep,” Sheriff Hughes said as Mrs. Upton came out of the kitchen balancing a tray laden with cups, saucers and a coffee pot.
They watched as she set them on the table. “Good morning, Sheriff, Deputy. Your usual?”
“Aye, thank you, Mrs. Upton,” Bran said. She poured them each a cup of coffee, then returned to the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, he leaned his elbows on the table and turned back to Cutty. “I hear the Cooke brothers went out to the men’s camp to talk with Amon, ask him if he’d agree to the match.”
Cutty was all ears. “They did? When did this happen?”
“A couple of days ago. Amon turned them down flat.”
“No!” Cutty replied with a gasp to rival any gossip.
“He did,” Sheriff Hughes affirmed. “Then the next day he up and changed his mind.”
“What made him change it?” Cutty asked.
“Clinton Moresy,” Bran said in disgust. “The cac ar oineach made up his mind the woman was his and that was that. Nor would he take no for an answer.”
Cutty’s back stiffened. “What did that lowdown, no-good, worthless … er … what did he do?”
Bran eyed him for a second. “Harassed her is all, if you could call it that. All he could do, with her brother and Amon there to protect her, and both of them a head taller than him. I think that’s when Amon decided to take the Cookes’ offer. No woman deserves to be tied to the likes of Moresy.”
Cutty sat back in his chair with a sigh as his shoulders slumped. “Well, whaddaya know? Cotter’s gonna marry this gal just to protect her?”
“That’s an honorable man,” Sheriff Hughes stated.
“Are ya sure he didn’t want to get hitched?” Cutty asked.
“Sure as it’s daylight outside,” Sheriff Hughes told him. “Amon and the woman’s brother had a meeting and came to an agreement. Amon rode out to the Triple-C right after and told Harrison and Colin that he’d agreed to it. Problem now is finding chaperones tough enough to keep Clinton at bay. He’s bound to cause trouble, and I’d hate to have to lock Amon up while he’s courting.”
“Lock him up?!” Cutty sputtered.
“For giving Moresy the beating he deserves,” Bran said with a grin. “Amon’s a peaceful man, but he’ll do it and a lot worse if he thinks Moresy’s threatening the woman, I can tell ye that for a fact.”
“Who needs protection then?” Cutty asked. “Amon or my … or that gal?”
The sheriff stared at him a moment, then shrugged. “Both. Propriety dictates they be chaperoned anyway. Common sense says someone needs to be with them in case Clinton gets Amon so mad he lashes back.”
“Who ‘round here has time to do that?” Cutty huffed. “Tarnation, you’d have to have somebody who could be at their beck and call. Don’t folks around here work for a living?”
Sheriff Hughes raised a single eyebrow. “Most folks do …” He looked at Bran and grinned.
Bran studied Cutty as well. “As you say, Sheriff. But you’re not one of them, Cutty.”
Cutty's eyes widened. “Just what are you implying? That I don’t work?”
“No, no,” Sheriff Hughes said. “We know you do your share for Ryder. But right now you’re here in Clear Creek and we have a job opening.”
“Job opening?”
“You’d be the perfect chaperone, man,” Bran said.
“What?! Me? But … but …”
“Look, Cutty,” the sheriff said, “no one has the time except you. I can talk to Mr. Whitman and arrange the whole thing. It’s not like you have to be right there next to them. Just be in the same room and keep an eye out.”
“Aye,” Bran agreed. “But your real job would be to keep that Moresy away. He’ll try to break it up, I’m sure. I know you can handle a tussle if it comes to it.”
Cutty stared at the table and rubbed his chin with a hand. If he chaperoned the woman, he’d get to spend time with her, get to know her … and maybe gauge their reaction as to what they’d do if they found out his true identity. He turned back to the men. “All right,” he said with a decisive nod, “I’ll do it! How much does it pay?”
“A roof over your head and three square meals a day,” the sheriff offered. “Can’t give you much more than that, it’s not in the town budget. Besides, I know that’s what you work for most of the time anyway.”
“True enough,” Cutty agreed. “When do I start?”
The sheriff glanced at Bran, who looked at the ceiling, then at Cutty. “How about today?”
* * *
What had he gotten himself into?!
Thackary Holmes – no, Cutty, don’t forget that, old chap! – trembled in his chair and watched as Sheriff Hughes and his deputy left the dining room. They’d said little more about his new duties. All he knew was they were probably heading upstairs to speak with – dare he think it? – his children.
But they weren’t his children, really, they were Thackary’s. And he no longer wanted to associate himself with that name. Heinous and vile things went along with it, and he, for one, wanted to forget they ever happened.
In his younger days he’d been as moral and full of integrity as a village vicar, and he pondered at times how he’d been so easily turned. He hadn’t always been greedy, or a liar or a cheat. But when he began to get invitations to parties and balls from some of the ton, it must have gone to his head. What else could have happened? Their greed and lust for power – one man’s in particular – had permeated his every pore.
But enough about his past – it was gone, over, done with. He was no longer Thackary Holmes the villain. Now he was simply Cutty, a one-eyed wanderer with no home, no family, no … but wait. He did have one thing in Clear Creek he’d never had in the past in England.
Genuine friends.
If he’d learned anything over the last year, it was that true friends were worth more than riches. To know there were folks who cared about him even when he had nothing (not hard to do when he had nothing to begin with) was something new. And he’d discovered he liked it, a lot.
However, it didn’t make his stomach quiver any less. He was going to meet his children in a few short hours, children he hadn’t even known existed until a few days ago. Days he’d spent trying to remember one Elizabeth Whitman. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember much. She was blonde, wasn’t she? Pretty, or he wouldn’t have taken her to bed. She was young, the daughter of a baron he remembered as being jovial yet stern. If he ever saw him, he’d have to thank him for not throwing his children into the streets or tossing them into an orphanage – common occurrences when dealing with by-blows.
But he’d raised Cutty’s bastards, and Cutty had to figure out a way to make things up to the
m for all the years he was never there. Not that he didn’t have a good excuse – he hadn’t known they existed. But the thought of going upstairs and meeting his son and daughter made him feel like … well, like swooning! He’d already done that once this week, and it had been embarrassing enough that he didn’t want to do it again.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, slurped the last of his coffee and rose from the table. Mrs. Upton would be coming to clear away the dishes, and he didn’t want to be there to talk with her. Right now he didn’t want to talk with anybody.
He shuffled out to the front lobby and saw Seth sitting behind the counter. Well, for him he’d make an exception. “Howdy.”
Seth looked up from his paperwork. “Good morning, Cutty. How was breakfast?”
“Can’t complain about Mrs. Upton’s cooking. Who can, ‘cept maybe that harpy Irene Dunnigan?”
Seth chuckled at that. “True enough. You heading out to my brother’s today?”
“Nope. Got me a job here in town.”
“You do?” Seth asked in surprise.
“Yep. Sheriff Hughes asked me to do somethin’ for him, so I’m gonna be neighborly and do it.”
Seth raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Did he deputize you?”
“Nope. I’m gonna do some babysittin’.”
“Babysitting?”
Cutty was about to answer when Sheriff Hughes came trotting down the stairs. “Cutty, come on up, will you?”
Cutty audibly gulped and hoped Seth didn’t notice, then headed for the stairs. Sheriff Hughes didn’t wait for him, but turned and went the rest of the way up to the hall.
By the time Cutty reached the top, the sheriff was standing in front of a door. Cutty had to stop and give his heart to chance to slow down, its sudden rapid beating having nothing to do with the stairs and everything to do with what was about to happen. He suddenly wondered if their mother had ever shown them a likeness of him, but the only portraits of the man he once was were hanging in his townhouse in London. A property that by now had probably been seized by Her Majesty’s taxmen and was his no more.
