To his surprise, he found his mother out of bed, dressed in a loose-fitting calico, and sitting in one of the kitchen chairs.
“Mother, what are you doing up?”
“I noticed you and Candy got home late and that you slept in the barn last night. I didn’t want to miss you this morning.”
“I’m a little too old to be worrying about.”
“I wasn’t worried about you getting harmed. I was worried that you might leave before saying good-bye.”
Looking at her more closely, he noticed something in the way she was sitting, the way she was holding herself so still and structured that made him realize she meant what she’d said. She’d feared she’d lost him again.
He was stunned.
It had been seven years since anyone had worried about him. Seven years since he’d had to be accountable for his actions—the Walton Gang had proved that his time, body, and even thoughts belonged to them and only them.
Not a single man would have been distressed if he had gotten hurt. He doubted any of them would have even mourned his death. Injuries would be seen as a minor inconvenience. They would have viewed his death in terms of how much trouble it would take to bury his body. Him dying in the winter would have only caused more grumbling because the ground would be hard.
“Sorry you were worried.”
“I didn’t mean to . . .” Her voice drifted off as she gathered her thoughts. “But I guess it couldn’t be helped. Some things can’t be helped.”
Russell knew if he didn’t volunteer any information, she wouldn’t press. But he reckoned if he was truly intent on repairing their relationship, he needed to share some of what he was thinking. “I went to the mercantile.” He hesitated, then decided to share everything. “Then I paid a call on Nora.” He looked down at his boots. “Then, well, Candy and I took a ride in the rain.”
She blinked, then seemed to decide to ignore commenting about his ride in the storm. “You saw Nora? Was she home?”
“She was, though she was entertaining her beau.”
“Mr. Hardy.”
“Yes’m. His name is Braedon Hardy. Claims to be an itinerant preacher. What do you know of him?”
“He stopped by here once. It . . . it was a charity call.”
The humiliation in her voice rankled him. It also led him to ask the next question, though he knew he had no right to feel anything on her behalf. “What did you think of him?”
She bit her lip. “I can’t rightly say.”
“You didn’t form an impression?”
“I’m afraid I felt his demeanor and actions left much to be desired,” she hedged. “Of course, what really matters is what Nora thinks of him. And her aunt, of course.”
“There was something about him I didn’t trust.”
“How so?”
“He seemed too slick. And awfully full of himself to be a man of the cloth.”
She looked long and hard at him, then wearily shifted. “Is it because you haven’t been around godly men much?” She swallowed. “Or have you?”
“I haven’t been around too many preachers,” he confessed. “But I have been around men who I’ve admired.”
“Like who?”
“When I was with the Walton Gang, there was a man by the name of Will McMillan.” Russell glanced at his mother, half afraid of seeing a look of derision on her face. If it was there, he wouldn’t continue. He’d known far too few men to admire, and he couldn’t watch his mother malign the best man he’d ever met.
But instead of dismay or derision, she gazed at him with such yearning that he was struck by it. Making him realize that she was so hungry for his stories that probably anything he told her would be welcome information.
That acceptance buoyed him, encouraging him to be even more honest. “I didn’t know it at the time, but Will was a Texas Ranger working undercover.”
Her eyes widened. “Gracious.”
“When I discovered that, I realized why I’d admired him so much. Because he was an admirable man. But before that, when I simply thought he was Mr. Walton’s second in command, I knew there was an honesty and a goodness about him that shined through.”
“What did he do?”
Thinking back, Russell said, “Once, when Mr. Walton had targeted a train, a woman had been kept aside as a hostage. Will put his life on the line to not only keep her from getting hurt, but to keep her from being too scared.” Remembering how betrayed he’d felt by Will, because he’d chosen a relationship with the woman over his promise to continue to look out for him, Russell added, “Will left the gang in the middle of the night in Kansas. He jumped from the train with her.”
She pressed one palm to her chest. “Did they survive?”
“Yeah. He later married her.” He swallowed hard. “But that wasn’t the only good deed he did, Ma. See, he looked out for me when I first joined.”
“How old were you when you joined?”
“I’d just turned seventeen.”
Her expression grew more pained. “Too young.”
“I was beyond green. So innocent. He helped me become a man.”
“You were blessed to know him.”
Russell nodded. “I was. He was the best man I ever met, and I have met a couple of those over the years.” He thought of Scout Proffitt and how he was later willing to come out of hiding to help his brother. It had been a selfless deed. Honorable, even.
But he refrained from mentioning Scout. He was too famous and the stories about him too distorted to share with anyone who hadn’t been in his company. “I knew from the moment I met Will that something was honorable about him. Just like with some men I know within seconds that their characters are as oily as the pomade greasing their hair.”
“Which is how you feel about Mr. Hardy.”
He nodded. “I don’t want Nora to marry him. I can’t help but feel that he’ll break her heart and then slowly ruin her spirit.” He stared down at his clenched hands in silence, trying to organize his thoughts into something of worth. “Ma, I know I have no right to worry about Nora’s future.”
“You care about her. That’s enough of a reason, I think.”
Russell took a fortifying breath and made another confession. “I don’t know how to make things right.”
“I do. You need to get busy and formulate a plan.”
“How? I don’t know anyone.”
“But I do.” She smiled, then pointed across the room. “Get me a pen and paper. I need to write a note that you will need to deliver.”
He did as she asked. “Who are you writing to?”
“Mr. Talbot.”
Russell recalled that someone in the mercantile had mentioned the man in passing. “He’s a banker, right?”
“Yes. I haven’t had much cause to see him, but I visited with him one evening after church about a year ago. I think he’s a good man.”
Russell was trying to find a way to tell his mother that one conversation did not make a good man when she continued.
“Russell, I think Mr. Talbot might be able to help you. See, Mr. Hardy told me some things during his visit that struck me as odd. He said that he grew up right in San Antonio. And that he came from money. But if that was the case, why is he traveling? Most wealthy landowners help set up preachers.”
“That is curious.”
Looking pleased that she could be of help, she added, “He also kept asking me about Nora’s parents. He wanted to know how old they were when they succumbed to the fever, how many acres had been left to Nora. I thought his questions were far too intrusive.”
“I agree.”
“That’s why I think you should pay a visit to San Antonio and ask some questions.”
“Ma—”
“He’s hiding something. If you want to help Nora, you’ve got to go figure out what that is.” Looking like her suggestions were as easy as pie, she said, “Then you can tell Mr. Talbot.”
“No banker is going to see me.”
�
��He will, once he realizes who you are.”
Russell feared his identity was the exact reason the banker would refuse to see him. “Things aren’t that easy. Furthermore, even if he does agree to see me, he’s not going to take my word about anything.”
“He will. You’ve simply got to have faith.” She bent down and wrote out a short note to the banker. “Go visit San Antonio, then go see Mr. Talbot.”
He took the note because he didn’t have a better idea about what to do. “I’ll follow your advice, but I’m gonna feel like twice the fool when Mr. Talbot has someone escort me out the door.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, his ma’s eyes glowed. “From what you’ve told me, I have a feeling that if you do get kicked out it won’t be the first time.”
“No, ma’am, it won’t.” And with that, he slapped his Stetson back on his head and marched out to the barn.
Candy whinnied and pawed at the dirt in her stall.
“You’re in luck, girl,” he said as he buttoned up his duster and pulled out his saddle. “We’re going for a ride and it ain’t even raining.”
With any luck, they’d be in San Antonio by noon.
The return to the open fields energized his horse. Candy practically flew across the grassy plains, her hooves navigating the terrain easily.
They rode into San Antonio just before noon. They passed the livery, the jail, and a couple of saloons. Russell had decided to go to the Menger Hotel first. The Menger was well-known, and the men who frequented the hotel’s famous bar were reputed to be some of the most famous and influential men of the area. Russell figured if he hung around there long enough he would eventually find someone willing to talk to him.
It turned out he didn’t have to wait even an hour. A pair of cattlemen bellied up to the bar on one side of him while the sheriff slid onto his other.
At first Russell felt a familiar wave of panic, sure that they were approaching him about his past. But instead, they proved to be a loquacious bunch. After learning that Russell was from Broken Arrow and was merely in town to ask about Braedon Hardy, the men slowly smiled.
They began to talk. And then they told him everything he needed to know.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NORA WAS STANDING IN LINE FOR THE BANK TELLER LATE IN the afternoon when the front door opened and Russell strode in with a rush of sweltering air and red dust.
All twelve people in the building froze, then unabashedly eyed him as if he were the devil himself.
Russell stiffened before starting forward, diligently keeping his gaze focused straight ahead. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the attention.
Her heart went out to him. And because he looked so terribly alone, she stepped out of line and crossed the lobby to get to his side.
When Russell noticed her approach, his eyes widened, making her think that he hadn’t even realized she was there too.
“Hi, Russell.”
He swallowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Hudson.”
“It is good, isn’t it?” she said rather inanely as she watched him move forward, patiently waiting for the person in front of him to finish his business outside Mr. Talbot’s office.
His gaze warmed. “My day has recently taken a decided turn for the better.”
“Oh? What have you been doing today?”
“I rode out to San Antonio,” he murmured before glancing at the secretary.
Nora was still standing at his side when he tipped his hat to Miss Jennifer, Mr. Talbot’s spinster secretary. “Ma’am, if you could pass this on to Mr. Talbot, I’d be obliged.”
As Miss Jennifer read the note, Russell looked Nora’s way. His gaze slid across her features before skittering downward. She shivered as he studied her rather plain dress, worn kid boots, and faded bonnet. Oh, but she wished she looked more fashionable!
“What are you doing here, Miss Hudson?”
Though she knew he was talking about her standing by his side, she played dumb. “Oh, I simply had a little bit of banking to do.”
“Just a minute, Mr. Champion,” Miss Jennifer said before she stood up, knocked softly, then walked into Mr. Talbot’s office with his note.
“You know what I meant, Nora,” he said. “Why did you cross the lobby to come to my side?”
“I don’t know why.” She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t want you to be in here alone.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Maybe I think that’s a crying shame.”
Something intense filtered through his eyes before he tamped it down. “You shouldn’t worry about me. Don’t forget, I’m only staying for a few more days.”
For a moment she had imagined that her question the night before had changed his mind. “I understand.” Like an old friend, pain slid neatly into her bearing again. “What are you doing after your meeting with the banker?”
“I’m not sure. A lot depends on what Mr. Talbot has to say.”
“Oh good. I’ll wait then.”
Russell lowered his voice. “You can’t do that. I know what everyone thinks of me. You’ve got a reputation to consider.”
“I don’t care who sees me talking to you.”
He sighed. “I’ll grant you that I don’t think Hardy is good enough for you. But I would also be the first to tell you that you deserve better than me.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Knowing if she didn’t push, nothing would happen between them, she added, “If I choose to stay until your business is completed, will you see me home?”
“Of course I will. But that doesn’t mean us being together is a good idea.”
Unable to help herself, Nora threw caution to the wind and grasped his arm. “I’m afraid it’s too late to be concerned about something like that.”
“My reputation won’t do you any favors.”
“Maybe mine will do a favor for you.” Lowering her voice to almost a whisper, she said, “I was wrong to send you away, Russell. I’ve regretted it every day for seven years.”
Obviously shocked, he opened his mouth to argue.
But Miss Jennifer cleared her throat. “Mr. Talbot will see you now, Mr. Champion.”
“Thank you.” When Nora simply sat down, he stared at her. “I won’t be too long.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”
I’ll wait. Those words were the stuff of his dreams, and they rang in his head as he walked with measured steps to the banker’s office, then knocked.
“Come in, Mr. Champion. I’m anxious to hear what you have to say.”
When he stepped inside, Russell couldn’t help but show his surprise. Mr. Talbot was missing an arm, and it looked as if a knife had gotten the best of one of his eyebrows too. A thick, raised scar decorated a portion of it.
Immediately, he shook himself and presented his left hand in order to shake the man’s remaining arm.
That earned him a smile. “Heard you were back,” the banker said. His vowels and consonants sounded odd and clipped. The man was a Northerner. A Northerner smack-dab in the middle of a cow town barely two hours from San Antonio. “Looking forward to seeing why you needed my time.”
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“Take a seat,” Mr. Talbot said. Then, to Russell’s surprise, he took one of the two plain wooden chairs facing the desk.
“I have a question about Braedon Hardy,” Russell explained.
Talbot stiffened. “Any special reason you’re bringing his name up?”
Belatedly, Russell realized he’d let his natural inclination to protect Nora at all costs get the best of his common sense. Feeling the other man’s gaze on him as intently as if he had laid a palm on his shoulder, he said, “If you’ve heard of me, you’ve probably heard that I left for quite a while.”
Talbot nodded, giving away nothing else.
“Well, when I was here before . . . before I was forced to leave, I was close to Nora Hudson.”
“Yes?”
“Braedon Hardy h
as been seeing her. Her aunt seems real eager for a union between the two of them.” He took a fortifying breath before diving in. “However, I don’t trust the man.” He continued on, rushing his words when it became obvious that Mr. Talbot was going to refuse his request. “I’ve had the opportunity to be around a lot of men in my lifetime. Maybe more than most. I had to learn to judge quickly who was a straight shooter and who couldn’t be trusted. I feel in my bones that Hardy is in the latter group.”
“Because?”
“Because his appearance seemed fishy. That is why I rode over to the Menger in San Antonio and talked to some folks. They were happy to tell me that Braedon Hardy is a charlatan of the worst sort.”
Mr. Talbot sighed. “Even if I trusted everything you have to say, even if I wanted to help you, I cannot. My business depends on my ability to keep personal accounts private.”
“I realize that. I’m not asking for the details. I’m merely hoping you can find a way to tell Nora if the man she feels is independently wealthy is, perhaps, lying through his teeth.”
Russell knew he was on the right track because the banker’s eyebrows rose and continued to rise as Russell added more stories about Braedon’s lies back in San Antonio. About how he more than once befriended women, encouraged their trust, then fleeced their money.
“If you are so concerned about Hardy being unscrupulous, the better course of action would be to contact the sheriff.”
“With my reputation here, I doubt the sheriff is going to give me much of an ear.”
Looking regretful, Talbot nodded. “I hate to say it, but I fear you may be right. Though I doubt Sheriff Canfield is a fan of Mr. Hardy, most everything you told me is based on rumors.”
Russell stood up. “I figured this was a long shot, but I appreciate your time, sir.”
Among the Fair Magnolias Page 27
