“We have no time for games up here—not when it comes to life and death,” Gwen replied. “Harvey was very sick when my father found him. He didn’t have a cent to his name, and my father paid for the doctor and medicine to treat his pneumonia.”
“He had no money?” Hank found that so hard to believe.
“None. I suppose if he did take the things you believe him to have stolen, he must have sold them in the year before coming to us.” She turned and stopped. “I assure you, Mr. Bishop, Harvey came to us with very little.”
Hank still wasn’t convinced. There was something about the entire matter that just didn’t make sense. The company from which the stocks had been issued had no record of their being sold. A sale or transfer would have been recorded. Someone had to have those stocks, even if the jewelry was long gone.
“Gwen!” Lacy called as she bounded across the yard. Her long hair flew out behind her in waves of dark red. She looked more like a girl than a woman. Only her height suggested otherwise. Well, that and the slight curve to her figure here and there. Hank thought there was something rather wild and untamed about the young woman, and from the look on her face, she was about to unleash it on them.
“You look madder than a wet hen,” Gwen commented. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s that lazy Dave Shepard,” she declared, her hands going to her hips. “He’s not doing a thing to find Pa’s killer. I’ve just half a mind to ride over to the sheriff’s and confront him about the entire matter.”
“Lacy, you can’t do that. I need you here. There’s too much work to do. We have many stages and freighters due through, and I’ll need your help. Even now we need that new cord of wood chopped.”
The younger woman pushed her hair back and blew out a long breath. Her expression told Hank she had barely heard her sister’s words. “Someone has got to do something. The longer we wait, the better chance it is that the killer will get away. If he’s one of those Texas cowhands, he’ll be heading south for the winter by September, and then what will we do?”
Gwen spoke with a great deal of patience. “Lacy, God has it under control. You do trust Him to make things right, don’t you? If there is a truly guilty party, the Lord will reveal it.”
“But of course there’s a guilty party! Pa’s dead, isn’t he?”
With a sigh, Gwen put her arm around Lacy and began to walk toward the house. Hank followed behind, watching as Gwen spoke in words too soft to hear. She cared a great deal for her family—that much was clear. The thought made Hank ache inside as he remembered that Harvey had never even mentioned him to Gwen. How could he have forgotten his brother? Did he truly care so little for Hank that the memories weren’t worth sharing?
“Well, if Deputy Shepard and Sheriff Cummings don’t plan to interrogate any suspects,” Lacy declared, pushing away from Gwen, “then I’ll just do it myself.” She closed the distance to the house and disappeared.
Gwen stood watching her and shook her head. “Believe me when I say I know what it is to have a troublesome sibling, Mr. Bishop.”
Hank smiled, but she never looked back at him.
Later that night, Hank returned to his room. He had hoped for a quiet evening of reading, but when the stage rolled in and ten men crawled out from every possible place on the conveyance, it was clear that such ideas were merely dreams.
He left the hall door open long enough to light the lamp by his bed. The golden light shone in an almost eerie manner, and had Hank believed in ghosts, he might actually have found himself spooked. Sitting on the bed, he pulled off his boots and tossed them to one side, and that’s when he spied his white shirts.
Only they weren’t white anymore.
They were red. Blood red. Red like the side of a barn.
“Beth.” He muttered the name almost like a curse.
CHAPTER TEN
“She did what?” Gwen asked. She was mortified at the thought that Hank was telling the truth. Surely this was a joke.
“As you can see, Beth dyed my shirts red,” Hank announced the next morning at the breakfast table. He stood at one end, arms crossed and a scowl on his face that left little doubt that his answer was genuine. In fact, his face was nearly the same shade as his shirt.
Gwen looked to her sister, who sat innocently at the opposite end of the table. “Is this true?”
“It happened. I guess red dye got into the water with the shirts,” Beth said, shrugging. “It was too late to do anything about it afterwards. Besides, I think the red looks quite nice.”
“I wanted white shirts. I like my shirts white,” Hank said, his stern gaze never leaving the young woman’s face.
“Well, white is nice, but out here red will hold up better,” Beth said. “White will show every stain.”
“I don’t care!” Hank roared and took a step toward Beth.
Gwen hurried to put herself between Hank and Beth. Just then Lacy came in carrying a stack of pancakes.
“What’s all the hollering about?”
“Mr. Bishop is unhappy with the way I do laundry,” Beth said.
Lacy shrugged and put the plate on the table. “Let him wash his own shirts next time.”
Gwen put out her hand as if the motion could shut her sister’s mouth. “Enough is enough. Mr. Bishop,” she said, turning to face him, “if you bring me the shirts, I’ll bleach them back. I’m sorry that Beth was careless. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“Thank you. I suppose I will have to continue wearing this one, as I have no other shirts available to me. My remaining white shirt is quite dirty.”
“That’s all right. After we get the others bleached back to white, you can trade me out and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Hank seemed appeased and walked back to the place where he generally sat at the table. He said nothing more, but Gwen got the feeling the matter was far from resolved. Why did things have to be so difficult where this man was concerned? And why, why couldn’t her sisters just leave him alone? Couldn’t they see that their agitating him did no good?
“We have a stage coming through for lunch, then nothing this evening,” Gwen announced. “Since I’ll be working on Mr. Bishop’s shirts, I would appreciate it if you two would prepare everything for the meal.”
“Of course,” Beth said sweetly. “I’d be happy to.”
Lacy nodded. “Me too.”
Neither would look at Hank. Gwen didn’t feel much like looking at him, either. She was embarrassed by what had happened. She did agree with Beth, however. The shirt looked quite nice. Red seemed to suit Mr. Bishop’s sandy brown hair and complexion. Not that he would care about such things. The man clearly had no interest in Gwen’s opinion.
She ate her breakfast in silence, then dismissed herself to tend to Hank’s wash. Four hours later, with only minutes before the stage was due in, Gwen was fit to be tied.
“Can’t you just bleach them again?” Lacy asked as Gwen held up the now-pink shirt.
“No. I’ve already bleached them three times.”
Hank chose that moment to come investigate the matter for himself. He took one glance at the shirt in Gwen’s hands and shook his head. “Don’t tell me that’s mine.”
“All right,” Gwen said, putting the shirt into the basket. “I won’t tell you.”
He grimaced. “Pink? My shirts are now pink?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bishop. I’ve done what I could. The color is just not bleaching out.”
“Can’t you try again?”
Lacy interceded. “She can’t. She’s already bleached them three times. If she keeps it up, it will eat the material clean through.”
“And I’m afraid the bulk of the color was bleached out with the first try. The last two have resulted in very little change.”
“I can’t wear pink shirts.” Hank’s blue eyes pierced Gwen with a stare that gave her a shiver.
“I have an idea,” Lacy said. “Why don’t we dye them again? This time use blue. Surely you can’t objec
t to blue.”
Hank looked at the girl as if she’d lost her mind, but Gwen noticed that his features softened just a bit. She took this as an encouraging sign.
“We could dye them blue,” she told him. “I’m certain it would cover the pink completely. Then if you like, I can have Lacy ride to Bozeman and buy you new shirts. At our expense, of course.”
Hank shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I can buy my own shirts.” He looked at the basket of pink and nodded. “Dye them blue.”
Hank had endured all he was going to take. If the Gallatin girls wanted to make his life miserable, he could play that game. He could easily mete out just as much trouble as they could.
With the ladies busy making last-minute lunch preparations, Hank went forward with his plan. There was a routine the girls followed with every stage and meal. He knew it by heart, as he had been with them long enough now to observe it on many occasions. With that in mind, Hank knew exactly how best to get back at Lacy and Beth Gallatin. They’d think twice before dyeing any more of his things.
The stage arrived with three men and the driver Hank recognized as Ralph. The girls laughed at the stories and exploits Ralph shared, all while efficiently seeing to the luncheon meal.
“I thought that mama skunk was sure to get me,” Ralph said, digging into the pie crust that covered the creamed chicken and vegetables.
“I’m glad she didn’t,” Gwen said, bringing a bowl of applesauce to the table.
“You sure are pretty, ma’am, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so,” one of the strangers began. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone quite as pretty as you in the whole territory.”
“Then you haven’t met my sisters,” Gwen said, motioning to where Lacy and Beth were offering coffee and freshly sliced bread.
“Oh, they’re fine to be sure, ma’am, but I like your looks. You got a charm about you that appeals to me. And you look sturdy. Are you married?”
Hank frowned as the man reached out to put a hand on Gwen’s back. She sidestepped him, but the man wasn’t easily deterred.
“Why don’t you come on over here and sit by me. We can get better acquainted.”
“I have work to do,” Gwen countered.
“It’d be nicer if you ladies would join us,” another of the passengers said with a broad grin. He was hardly more than a boy, Hank thought, but apparently he was grown up enough to find Gwen and her sisters quite appealing.
“You gentlemen would do well to learn some manners. These ladies are not saloon girls,” Hank said, checking his temper.
“We meant no harm, mister. You their brother?” the third passenger asked. He had collar-length dark hair that had been parted down the middle and combed back. His suit was covered in dust and grime, but he acted as though he’d just stepped from the tailor’s shop as he reached up to grab his lapels. “We’re lookin’ for wives.”
“Well, you needn’t look here,” Hank said.
“Mr. Bishop isn’t our brother,” Lacy said, giving the man a most alluring smile.
Hank wondered if she had any idea the effect such a look could have on a man. She seemed completely oblivious to having done anything wrong. Perhaps she really didn’t understand.
“But he’s right,” Gwen added. “We aren’t looking for husbands. We’re just running the stage stop and feeding weary men such as yourselves.”
“Men who’d better get to eating if they know what’s good for ’em,” Ralph declared. “Stage pulls out in ten minutes, whether you’re done or not.”
This motivated the men to do less talking and more eating. When lunch concluded with thick slices of apple pie, Ralph nodded in approval, grabbed his piece in hand, and headed for the door. “I’m gonna see that the horses have been switched out. You’ve got three minutes, gentlemen.”
The men wolfed down their food while the girls offered more coffee with which to wash it down. Hank felt a sense of relief when the last of the pack headed out the front door. Already the girls were working to clear the dirty dishes left behind.
Hank toyed with his food. It was delicious, but the scene had left him rather unnerved. He’d watched the passengers, most of whom were men, flirt with the Gallatin women before, but this time he felt rather protective of them.
“I’m going to get water,” Lacy announced.
Hank had nearly forgotten what he’d done earlier to get back at Lacy, but her comment brought it all back.
“Bring extra hot water up,” Gwen announced. “I’m going to dye Mr. Bishop’s shirts blue.”
Lacy nodded and grabbed several buckets in the kitchen. “I left the cart down by the springs. I’ll make a couple of trips.”
“I suppose I should get to work wiping up,” Beth said. “Do you want pie?” she asked Hank.
“No,” he said, trying to sound as pleasant as possible. Miss Beth was in for her own dye job. Hank could hardly wait to see the mess she created. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to sit here and finish my coffee.”
“That’s just fine, Mr. Bishop,” she said in a sugary voice. “I’ll just start at the other end of the table.”
Gwen got up. “I’m going to see what can be done about your shirts, Mr. Bishop. Hopefully, they’ll be done by evening.” She left quickly, without waiting for him to respond. Hank knew Gwen wasn’t responsible for the shirts—of that he was certain. Where Beth and Lacy were pranksters, Gwen was far too serious. She knew the value of free time and would never have caused herself more work. She was too sensible for that.
Beth returned to wipe the table. She took up the wet cloth that Hank had seen her reach for a dozen times before. The girls kept a small tub on a table between the dining and kitchen areas. The rag was always wet and ready to wipe up spills or clean away messes after meals. Hank was counting on routine to keep Beth from noticing that he’d poured an adequate amount of black ink into the center of the folded cloth.
The rag hit the table and Beth began scrubbing for all she was worth. Within seconds, the problem was quite evident. She shrieked and pulled back as black ink stained the wood of the table.
“What in the world!” She held up the cloth and then looked back at the mess.
Hank wanted to laugh out loud and make some snide comment about her getting her just desserts, but instead, he drank back the last of his coffee and put down his cup.
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked, racing into the room. “I heard you scream from outside.”
“Look. Just look at this mess.”
Gwen cast a glance to the table, then to Hank and finally back to Beth. “Looks like we may have to dye more than the shirts.”
Beth looked at the table and then fixed her stare on Hank. He smiled and got to his feet. “You and accidents seem to be old companions, Miss Gallatin. At least it looks better than red.”
Beth looked at him for a moment, then realization seemed to dawn. She frowned and squared her shoulders. Storming off to the kitchen, Beth muttered something under her breath. Hank couldn’t help but chuckle, but then his gaze locked with Gwen.
“I suppose she had it coming, but you do realize . . .”
A scream from outside sent a look of panic across Gwen’s face. Hank watched as she ran for a rifle situated near the stove. He followed after her as she ran for the backyard. Beth was already out the door. She’d grabbed up a shovel from the back porch and preceded Hank and Gwen down the stairs.
“What happened?” Gwen asked, lowering the rifle. “I thought maybe a bear had attacked.”
“It would have been easier to deal with,” Lacy said, picking herself up from the dirt. “The wheels on the cart just came off and sent the water flying and me with it.” She dusted her backside, then tried to wipe off the water from the front of her blouse and skirt. It resulted in muddy handprints up and down the front of Lacy’s outfit.
“Oh bother.”
Gwen looked at the cart and the buckets of spilled water. Hank couldn’t be certain, but he thought a slight smile touched t
he corners of her downturned face.
“Well, those wheels have been loose for some time,” she said. “I guess now we have no choice but to get the Lassiters to fix them.”
“You ladies seem quite prone to problems,” Hank said.
“Yes, especially when we have help,” Beth replied. She looked at Lacy and back to Hank before bending to retrieve a bucket. “Come on, Lacy. I’ll help you bring up the water.”
Hank watched Lacy’s eyes narrow as she took him in. She seemed to understand quite clearly what had happened. The truth of it put fire into her gaze, but she said nothing.
When the girls had picked up the empty buckets and headed off to the hot springs, Hank turned to Gwen. “You were saying?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just before we came rushing out here, you started to say something. You told me you guessed Beth had it coming, but I needed to realize something. I just wondered what it was you were talking about.”
Gwen blew out a hard breath. “I started to warn you. I started to tell you that you needed to realize the girls would see this as a declaration of war. Now it’s only worse. I don’t envy you, Mr. Bishop. My sisters can be quite the pests when they want to be.”
He laughed. “I have dealt with entire factories of unpleasant workers, as well as businessmen who sought only to destroy what I had created. I think I can handle your sisters.”
“Yeah,” Gwen said, shaking her head and giving him a smile, “you keep telling yourself that.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Purple?” Hank looked at the shirts and shook his head. “Purple?”
“Well, it’s really more of a lavender,” Beth replied.
“No, I think it’s lilac,” Lacy offered.
“Maybe a pale violet,” Beth countered.
Gwen wasn’t pleased that her sisters had to be a part of this bad news. “I didn’t have much of the blue dye, and I guess there were just too many shirts to absorb it all. I’ll get some more dye in Bozeman and try again.”
A Promise to Believe In Page 10
