Samantha stopped folding Will’s shirt. It fell from her trembling fingers. Somehow she’d made it through last night without the nightmares hounding her. But here, in the light of day, she couldn’t stop them.
Moore had dragged her father away and hanged him. Samantha closed her eyes but could not shut out the sight of her father’s body hanging from the cottonwood tree.
And now Will. He’d come so close to meeting a similar fate. How could she let Jake go up against Moore?
~ ~ ~
“I’ve seen worse.” Jake stood in the doorway of Samantha’s hotel room and glanced around. Truth was, he’d seen better too. A lot better. But this was the best hotel room the town of Hager’s Flats had to offer. The mattress sagged, the dresser had a broken handle, and the porcelain pitcher on the washstand bore chips from past occupants.
Samantha shrugged: “It will have to do until we can get home.” She pulled a dress from her carpet bag and shook out the wrinkles.
“How’s Will doing?”
“He’s asleep next door.” Samantha turned back toward Jake and their eyes met. “I think the ride tired him out some.”
Jake leaned against the door jamb. “I took care of the horses and your cow down at the livery stable.”
“Thank you.” Their trip into town was slow because Samantha had insisted upon bringing Faith with them, tied to the back of the wagon.
“Sure.” Jake pushed his hat off his forehead. “I came to tell you I’m going over to the sheriff’s.”
Samantha dropped the gown across the bed. “Whatever for?”
“Hell, Samantha! Someone came out to your farm, left your brother for dead, set fire to your field, and you wonder why I’m going to see the sheriff.”
“You needn’t yell.” Samantha crossed her arms. “I just thought you learned your lesson the last time you met with our illustrious Sheriff Hughes.”
“This time I have a witness.” Jake strode in the room, kicking shut the door behind him. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted everyone in the hotel to hear. “And as you so rightly pointed out, I need help to go after Moore’s men.”
“I hope you don’t expect it from him. Excuse me.” Samantha brushed past Jake.
“Well yes, as a matter of fact I do. And I intend to see he does something about this. What are you doing?”
“Putting on my hat. If you insist upon seeing Mr. Hughes, I’m going with you.” Samantha settled a faded blue bonnet over her pinned-up braid.
“There’s no need for that.”
She patted the bow after tying it under her chin. “I’m going, Jake.”
“Suit yourself. But that’s going to leave Will here alone.”
“Mrs. Tew will watch him. She owns the hotel. The Tews came to Kansas back in ’fifty-five, same year as my parents. She’ll be glad to do it.”
“All right. Let’s—” Jake’s gaze caught on the silk gown spread across the bed. Its deep blue color shimmered in the light streaming through the dust-caked window. He trailed his finger down the fabric. “I never saw you wear this before.”
“It’s not mine. It was my mother’s,” Samantha answered the unasked question in his eyes. “I thought I’d make it over for Peggy Keane. I’m not certain she’ll like the color, but it’s the best I can do.”
“Make it over for yourself.” The absolute last thing he should be thinking about right now was Samantha Lowery’s wardrobe. Still he hated to see her give up the gown. Though she seemed to find the idea of her keeping it amusing.
“I don’t have any place to wear a dress like this. Besides... I need the money.”
“Damn. We aren’t going into this again, are we?”
“We most certainly are.” Samantha’s chin rose a notch and she folded her hands about her waist. “I said I wouldn’t be beholding to you and I meant it.”
“I told you before to forget it.” Jake followed Samantha out of the room and down the narrow, ill-lit hallway.
“And I told you I have no intention of doing any such thing. I should be paying you for the work you do.” She picked up her skirt before treading the steep stairs. “Not the other way around.”
“Paying for your hotel room is not the same as paying you.”
Samantha stopped in front of the oak desk in the lobby, smiling when an apple-cheeked older woman looked up. “Mrs. Tew, Will is asleep upstairs, and—”
“How is the dear boy?”
“Resting comfortably. I wonder if you could stay with him until I get back. I won’t be long. And it’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Samantha.” Mrs. Tew called into the back room for her husband. “You and your young man just do whatever it is you have to do.”
Samantha opened her mouth to deny that Jake was her “young man,” then thought better of it.
Mrs. Tew would believe what she wanted. Instead, after thanking Mrs. Tew, Samantha led the way out into the bright Kansas sunlight.
Turning up the street, they walked along the boardwalk past the false-fronted buildings toward the jail. As they crossed in front of the mercantile, smells of apples and vinegar mingled with the pungent odor of horse droppings drifting from the street.
Jake glanced down at Samantha’s straw bonnet and plain brown dress and, in spite of himself, thought about the blue silk draped around her lovely body. “About that dress—”
“Oh, no.”
“What?” Jake felt Samantha stiffen as he took her elbow to guide her across an alley.
“It’s Peggy Keane,” Samantha sighed. “She... well, she’s a talker and I don’t have time right now.”
“Who? The woman in purple coming toward us?”
“Yes,” Samantha said around a grimace. “And for heaven’s sake, let go of my arm.”
“Samantha. I didn’t know you were in town.” Peggy Keane’s words were for Samantha but her eyes never left Jake.
Samantha’s smile was forced. “There was some trouble at the farm. Will was hurt,” she added, wondering if that would stop Peggy’s visual feast of Jake. It did.
“Hurt? My goodness, is he all right?”
“Yes.” Peggy’s concern seemed sincere and Samantha had a pang of guilt for purposely worrying her. That is, until she saw Peggy’s gaze slide back to Jake. “He can’t walk. For a while anyway,” she added when Peggy gasped. “We’re going to see the sheriff... Jake and I.”
Still nothing but silence, as Peggy gazed up at Jake. He’d taken his hat off and the midday breeze played with strands of his sun-lightened hair. Samantha had to admit he made a handsome picture standing there in his loose checked shirt and snug pants. But Peggy’s reaction was ridiculous.
And Jake, judging from the crooked grin he was sporting, didn’t seem too anxious to move on.
Sighing, Samantha began the introductions. “Peggy, this is Jake Morgan. He works for me... as a field hand,” she added, stretching the truth a bit.
“And Jake, this is Mrs. Peggy Keane.” Samantha hadn’t realized she’d emphasized the Mrs. so much until they both looked at her with equally astonished expressions. Samantha gave them both a small smile. “I guess we should be on our way.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you. Are you going to be in town long, Mr. Morgan?”
“I’m not sure.” For someone who’d insisted he let go of her arm a minute ago, Samantha sure was pulling on his.
“Well, if you’re here Saturday night, you’ll have to come to the town dance... Oh, you too, Samantha.” Peggy let her hand drop on Jake’s sleeve. “I always try and get her to come, but... you know Samantha.”
“Actually he doesn’t know me. At least not very well.” Again both sets of eyes were on her. “I’m sorry, Peggy, but we really are in a hurry. I don’t want to leave Will for too long.” With that, she hauled Jake along the boardwalk.
“What’s gotten into you?” Jake forced Samantha to slow her pace.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.
You act like the whole Confederate Army is after you.”
Samantha slanted him a look. “Very funny.” She paused. “I thought you wanted to talk to the sheriff and then go after Moore.”
“I do. But you know I was thinking. That’s where you could wear it.”
“Wear what?” Samantha stopped in front of the pine-planked jail. Several posters fluttered in the breeze and she caught a whiff of Sheriff Hughes’s foul-smelling cigar seeping through the boards in the door.
“The dress. You could wear that blue dress to the dance.”
“The dance?” Samantha reached for the latch, then let her hand fall. She faced him, her eyes as large as saucers, and again Jake was reminded of the blue silk. “My brother’s been hurt, I’ve abandoned my farm, not to mention the fact that I need money, and you want me to go to a dance?”
“Hell, it was just a thought. Besides there’s nothing you can do now but sit and wait.”
Samantha stepped back as if she’d been slapped. She wasn’t used to doing nothing, and she didn’t much like the idea. “I can earn money,” she countered. “Altering and selling that dress to Peggy Keane.”
“Fine.” Jake turned toward the jail. Their conversation seemed to be attracting some attention from passersby. Samantha’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“You want to go to that dance, don’t you?”
“No.” Jake tucked his chin and stared down at her in surprise.
“You needn’t pretend otherwise. After all, Peggy Keane invited you. There’s no reason in the world that you shouldn’t go.” Samantha shrugged. “And have a wonderful time.”
“Well, there sure is one that I can think of.” Jake faced her, hands on hips.
“What?”
“I’ll be off hunting Landis Moore and his men.”
“Oh. That’s right.” Samantha bit her bottom lip, feeling embarrassment flow through her. What was she making such a fuss about? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Heat rose across her cheeks. “It’s just—”
Jake held up his hand. “It’s all right. Like you said, a lot’s been going on lately. It’s enough to make anyone cranky. Let’s just talk with the sheriff?”
“I wasn’t exactly cranky,” Samantha argued as she walked through the door Jake opened for her. Except that cranky was how she’d acted. Samantha had said she didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she had to admit it felt a lot like jealousy. And she wasn’t happy to be feeling it about the Rebel.
Well, now that she recognized the emotion, she could fight it. Because whether Jake Morgan thought so or not, she had important things to do. Squaring her shoulders, Samantha faced Sheriff Hughes, who still sat, his booted feet propped on the desk.
He eyed her first, then Jake, a scowl darkening his pock-scarred face. His sigh was noisy. “What do you two want?”
“A posse for starters,” Jake responded, crossing his arms and returning the sheriff’s stare.
“What in the hell for?”
“To bring in Landis Moore.” Samantha noticed that her pose, arms folded tightly under her breasts, mirrored Jake’s, and she dropped her hands.
“Aw, not that old shit again.” Hughes tucked in his chin and shook his head. “Lord, how long am I going to have to put up with this grudge you’ve got against Moore? Every time I turn around, you’re in here complaining and I’m getting damn tired of—Hey! What the hell you think you’re doing?” Hughes tottered on the back legs of his chair, trying to right himself after Jake had shoved his feet off the desk.
“I’m getting your attention.” Samantha gasped when Jake grabbed the sheriff by the front of his gravy-stained shirt, hauling him to his feet. On tiptoes he was still a half-head shorter than Jake, but that didn’t stop his sputtering threat.
“I’ve half a notion to lock you up for this, Morgan.”
“Moore’s the one you’ll be locking up. That is, after you help me find him.” Jake let loose of the sheriff, watching his face turn red as an October apple. He sputtered and swore, his hand inching down toward the revolver strapped to his fleshy hip. But his eyes moved faster, saw the way Jake fingered his gun, and though his anger was strong, discretion won out.
Hughes straightened his vest, and turned toward Samantha, obviously considering her the easier of his opponents. “All right, what trumped-up complaint you got against Moore this time?”
“He hurt Will and broke his leg.”
“Your brother, Will?” When Samantha didn’t deign to answer that, the sheriff went on, “Aw, Will probably done tripped over his own feet.”
“The boy was trampled by a horse ridden by Landis Moore’s brother and Landis ordered it. This was before he set fire to one of the Lowery cornfields.” Jake took a menacing step toward the sheriff. “Now what do you intend to do about it?”
Hughes’s ferret eyes skittered about, but there wasn’t much for him to see except Jake Morgan’s wide chest. “I suppose we could get some men together tomorrow and ride out to Moore’s place. That is, if you’re sure about this,” he added in an attempt to save face.
“We’ll start today, and we’ll check out more than the old Colt place. Moore’s from Missouri. We’re not over a couple miles from the border.”
“Now see here.” Hughes lifted his flabby jowls but had to back down when Jake didn’t give an inch. He tried reason. “I don’t have no jurisdiction across the border.”
“Then we’ll ride over there and find someone who does.” Jake turned and took Samantha’s elbow, leading her toward the door. “An hour.” Jake threw the words over his shoulder before he slammed the jail door.
Samantha blinked and shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?” His stride was long as Jake started back toward the hotel, and Samantha struggled to keep up. She’d seen him angry before—the time he found out who’d shot him came to mind—but she’d never seen him like this. His jaw was clenched and he flexed and unflexed his hand as if he longed to throttle someone. Samantha had a pretty good idea who that someone was.
“I can’t believe the way you got Hughes to go along with you.”
“He hasn’t yet,” Jake replied, glancing down at Samantha and slowing his pace.
“But I think he will. He seemed too scared not to.” Jake shrugged, and Samantha went on, “I wish to goodness you’d been around when my father was killed.” Samantha stopped short, realizing what she’d just said. Her father had died during the war at a time when Jake was in the Confederate Army. The last thing she wanted then was another Rebel.
“Why’s that?” They reached the hotel and Jake followed Samantha across the threadbare carpet in the lobby.
“Maybe the sheriff would have done something about Moore then.”
Jake faced Samantha at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, let’s see what we can do about bringing him in this time.”
Chapter Sixteen
The posse rode out of town, ten strong, on Monday afternoon.
Samantha stood on the boardwalk watching the Kansas dust swirl around the horses’ hooves as they pranced, ready to leave, wishing she could go along. What a pleasure to hunt Landis Moore, to see him sweat when he knew defeat, to see him finally brought to justice.
Her gaze swept over the men. She knew less than half of them, and by their looks, she considered herself lucky. They were a motley group, dirty and foul-smelling—except for Jake. While the others shifted about, spitting into the street, joking about what they’d be missing tonight, Jake sat, his jaw clenched, waiting for the sheriff.
When Ralph Hughes came out of his office, tugging at his pants, and mounted, the group rode off. Jake’s nod as he gathered up his reins was the only sign that he noticed Samantha’s presence.
Samantha retraced her steps to Tew’s Hotel. She couldn’t help the wave of sadness washing over her. Jake was gone, and he’d barely acknowledged her. But then what did she expect? Was he to reach down in front of everyone and drag her to him for a passionate good-bye kiss?
With a sigh, Samantha climbed the hotel stairs to the room Will and Jake shared, bracing herself for a long wait.
The posse rode out on Monday afternoon, ten strong. By Wednesday morning they were back. Nine of them.
Samantha was sitting in Will’s room, reading to him. The leg was healing nicely. Old Doc Shelton had stopped in after Mrs. Tew had told him of the injury. His hand trembled only a little and the words were not too slurred for understanding as he declared the boy on the mend.
“Nice even stitches you took there, Samantha,” he’d said, examining Will’s head. “See you used horsehair.”
“Yes, but I didn’t...” Samantha paused. If Jake didn’t want it known that he was a doctor, it wasn’t her place to tell. In the end she thanked Doc Shelton and sent him on his way.
“So what did Gulliver do then?” Will fidgeted in his seat, reaching out to rub his broken leg. It was propped up on a chair and covered with a woolen blanket.
“Do?” Samantha realized she’d stopped reading and scanned the page to find her place. She was glad Will was showing more interest in books—and she knew she had the Rebel to thank for that—but right now she didn’t feel like reading. And when she heard the commotion down on the street, she wedged a crocheted bookmark into the page and shut the book:
“What’s going on?” Will inquired, turning his torso toward the open window.
“It looks like the posse’s back.” Samantha pulled her head inside the room and smoothed the cotton curtains.
“Do they have Landis Moore?”
“It doesn’t appear so.”
Christine Dorsey Page 24
