Just Her Type

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Luke’s on the bucket brigade, Ma,” Douglas said. “Can I help?”

  Wearily, Mackenzie nodded. She tried to stand, but collapsed. Someone attempted to assist her to her feet. The fire disappeared. The street disappeared. The voices and the fire disappeared. Everything vanished into a well as dark as the smoke pouring from the broken windows.

  SIXTEEN

  Mackenzie stared at the blackened ruins of the print shop. Reverend Manning had wanted her to stay in bed at Miss Howland’s house until she recovered from whatever had made her faint. Without a doctor in town, he had had to accept her word she was fine.

  She would not be recovering soon, however. What had been a suspicion for the past week was becoming certain. It had been almost eleven years since she last had suffered the dizziness and lack of appetite, but she could not forget the symptoms. That she and Cameron had had no other children had lulled her into believing her son would be an only child. She had been wrong.

  She had not told Luke. She would not until he was back East. Then it would be his decision whether to return or not. After seeing him with Douglas, she knew he would be the best father he could for his child.

  The Bentonville Bugle needed to be rebuilt, but she was not sure how to manage it. Connolly controlled the mercantile and would not let her buy lumber on credit. Maybe she should ask Baker what he would charge for using the livery’s tack room.

  She heard a curse and smiled as Luke came around the corner. He left a cloud of gray ashes in his wake. “Here,” he said. “I brought this out last night, and Horace looked after it.”

  Mackenzie took the framed photograph. The glass was cracked, but Cameron’s picture was unharmed. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But you shouldn’t have risked yourself for this.”

  “I wish I could have saved more for you, sweetheart, but this was all I had time to grab before Douglas came down.”

  She held out her hand to him. “Don’t sound so forlorn. We’ve had to start from scratch before.”

  “This is all my fault.” He stroked her hair.

  “It’s partially your fault and partially mine and all Connolly’s.” She sighed as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You missed your train this morning.”

  “Carter will have to understand that I have to help you get back on your feet before I leave. Knowing you, Mackenzie, I’m sure you won’t miss too many editions.”

  She went to stand by the downed sign. “We won’t miss a single issue. I have paper. I have type. I have ink. I have the press. At least I won’t be lacking for news for Wednesday’s edition.”

  Luke smiled. There were depths to Mackenzie Smith which even he had not discovered. In defeat, she was stronger than before. Such strength awed him, especially when he remembered how the Independent had missed two editions during the Great Blizzard.

  “Where’s Douglas?” he asked.

  “At the Benton House.”

  “The Benton House?”

  She smiled. “An anonymous benefactor has reserved two rooms and arranged for our board at the Benton House for the next week.”

  “Can I join you there?”

  He regretted his teasing words when new tears glittered in her sapphire eyes. “For as long as you want, Luke.”

  Putting an arm around her, he walked with her toward the hotel. It did not matter who was footing this bill. They needed a place to rest and heal the wounds inflicted on them. He did not pause to admire russet carpet and ornate wallpaper. As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Mackenzie leaned on him.

  “Rooms three and four,” she whispered. “Douglas has staked claim to room four.”

  “So that leaves us number three.” Luke opened the door and led her to a settee by a hearth. The scent of past fires lingered, but that might be just from his senses which had been clogged by smoke so long. He watched as she stood and propped her husband’s photograph on the mantel. Smiling, he wondered if she would think he was insane if he told her he was glad that Cameron McCraven was continuing to watch over her.

  “This is lovely,” she murmured as she reclined on the settee.

  Luke walked past the wide bed covered with a crazy quilt and the marble washstand. He drew aside the brown drapes and looked at the street. Men swarmed in and out of Stub’s. Sighing, he glanced at the blackened skeleton of the Bugle.

  He opened another door to see Douglas asleep on the bed in the next room. When he saw Douglas clutching his beloved baseball to his cheek, he smiled. He shut the door and sat next to Mackenzie.

  “I know Connolly wanted to halt you from reporting more about the rimrocking,” he said, “but I didn’t guess he’d burn you out. What you told him before is still true. If he runs for office, he can’t afford the blemish of closing down the local paper on his record.”

  She folded her fingers in her lap. “It may not have been because of the rimrocking article.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the note you found in the trash?”

  He cursed. “I’d forgotten that. Why haven’t you said something to Horace about that?”

  “I didn’t want you to end up dead like Cameron did.”

  “Mackenzie, come back to Albany with me. You and Douglas will be safe there.”

  “I won’t leave until whoever killed Cameron and Pa is brought to trial.” She smiled grimly. “Cameron was close to finding out who is rebranding. Boswell told me that. I know that Cameron was working with a trail detective.”

  “Trail detective?” His arm encircled her shoulders, bringing her head against his shoulder again. “What’s that?”

  “A cowpoke hired to find out how and where missing dogies have disappeared.” She looked at the photograph on the mantel. “If I can uncover the answers Cameron did, I’ll know who murdered my husband.”

  He rose and went to the washstand. Taking the bottle from it, he poured two glasses of wine. He offered her one as he said, “I think I’m going to pay a call on Rutherford. He is conspicuously absent of late.”

  “No, Luke! Don’t be foolish. They’ll kill you.” She shivered. “In fact they may be hoping for an excuse to do it.”

  “Then what do you suggest I do?”

  “Stay with us,” Mackenzie whispered. She set her wineglass on the table so she did not have to look at him as she said, “Luke, we need you more than we ever did.”

  “Stay? Here in Bentonville?”

  She stood. “It isn’t such an absurd idea. You’ve missed your train already. I’m sure you can convince your editor to let you stay”—she choked up, but went on—“a few more weeks.”

  “A few more weeks aren’t what you want,” he said, as he put his hands on her elbows and drew her against him. “You want a lifetime. I thought you understood that our love was for this time and for this place.”

  “That sounds like a convenient excuse to walk away without regrets!”

  His voice grew taut. “I’ll have regrets! More than you can imagine. I love you, Mackenzie. Whether or not you believe it, I love you, but I can’t stay in Bentonville when there is so much more I have to see and write about.”

  “And I can’t leave. We can’t leave.” She brushed her hand across her belly, then glanced at the door to Douglas’s room. “If my love is not enough to fulfill your dreams, Luke, then I can’t ask you to stay.”

  “And your dreams?”

  “Dreams are good only if they bring happiness.” She picked up a blanket and went to Douglas’s door. “Good night.”

  He caught the edge of the blanket. “Stay with me, sweetheart. You needn’t end this before I must leave.”

  “Haven’t you left me already?”

  Luke stared after her as she went into Douglas’s room. Didn’t she know he could never leave her completely? His heart would reside forever in this small town with the first woman who had touched it.

  He sat on the sofa. Folding his hands under his head, he peered through the open drapes. There was so much of the world he wanted to se
e. Strange places with queer names which he could make come alive to his readers. He wanted to sail on a tramp steamer to the doldrums. He had heard about the odd creatures populating Australia and of the pyramids in Egypt. He cursed under his breath. It should not be like this. After a lifetime of avoiding complications, he had become entangled in the very trap he had tried to escape.

  He loved Mackenzie. Her love was not binding, but had freed him to seek a joy he had not guessed existed before. He had considered love suffocating and jealous, but she gave it as a gift. And he wanted to give her love in return—but he could not give her the promises she yearned for. Not until he had fought his last battle and seen all he needed to see. If he stayed, he would be miserable and would make her miserable, too. Going, he broke her heart.

  Rising, he stomped to the door. In the hypocrisy of the saloon, he might find a way to forget the honesty of a love that wanted only for him to be happy.

  Luke sighed as he closed his suitcase. If anyone had warned him of how empty his life would become in the past few days, he would have scoffed. Now he knew. He scowled at the connecting door. It had been locked since he had returned from Stub’s. When he had knocked on it in the hope of a reconciliation, he had been ignored.

  Astonishment wrinkled his forehead as he heard a key in the door. It crashed open, and Mackenzie rushed into the room.

  “Luke, have you seen Douglas? He wasn’t at his baseball game this afternoon.”

  He chuckled as he reached for the other shirt he had bought at the mercantile this morning. When he saw horror on her face, he began, “Mackenzie—”

  “Don’t.” Closing her eyes, she put her hands on the foot of the bed. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow at dawn.”

  “And when were you intending to tell me?” She looked across the room to see an envelope beside Cameron’s photograph. “You weren’t going to tell me.”

  He put his hand on her arm. When he tried to turn her to look at him, she resisted. “How can I explain to you what I don’t understand myself? I want to stay with you. Yet something calls to me. I know, if I find that the call was wrong, you might not be waiting for me.”

  She stared at the carpet. “We’ll be waiting.”

  “No, Mackenzie. Don’t wait for a man who may never come back to you.”

  “You make it sound as if I had a choice.” She laughed without mirth. “Maybe your heart is different from mine, but I can’t love you one day and love another the next.” With a sigh, she picked up the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket. Her fingers lingered on the cotton, then she straightened her shoulders and faced him. “Good-bye, Luke.”

  “Good-bye? I thought you’d come to see me off.”

  “I don’t know. Douglas is—he’s missing. He never went to the game this afternoon. That means he’s been gone for several hours.”

  Luke laughed. “You’re overreacting again.” He pulled her into his arms.

  “Douglas would never miss a baseball game, especially today. It was practice for the game tonight. I know he wanted to show off his hitting for you. It’s the most important thing to him now.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When he was waiting downstairs for you last night, he was talking about Cameron’s death. I should have listened more closely. He was so excited he was willing to talk to me about some clue he had. That’s what he called it. A clue. He said he could prove who had killed his father, his grandfather, and the Langhornes.”

  “The Langhornes? He thinks Cameron and Pa’s murders are connected to that? But how …?” Her eyes widened as she dropped onto the chair by the bed. “Luke, we have to stop him before he talks to Aaron.”

  “O’Grady? What makes you think O’Grady killed Cameron?”

  Mackenzie rubbed her aching head. “Boswell, Connolly’s foreman.” She quickly explained what she had learned at the saloon.

  “And you believe him?”

  “I don’t know. Connolly may have sent him to lie to me.”

  Taking her hands, he sat next to her. “And what are you lying to me about? You look like death, Mackenzie.”

  She met his eyes squarely. “Luke, I’m pregnant.”

  A smile brightened his face. Putting his hands on her cheeks, he kissed her gently. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart! Let’s find Douglas. Then I’ll wire Carter for an advance to pay for two more tickets. We—”

  “No!” She drew his hands away and stood. “I’m not leaving Bentonville. I’m needed here.”

  “Our child needs a father, too!”

  “And it will have one. A good one.”

  “Mackenzie, I—”

  She shook her head. “Luke, I don’t have the time to argue about this.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded as he stepped in front of her.

  “After Douglas, of course!”

  He gripped her arm. When she tried to tug away, he whirled her against him. “You’re going nowhere! O’Grady is a fool, but he’s not a murderer. Douglas may be heading into a trap, or someone may be setting him up as the bait to get us—to get you, sweetheart.” He released her and upended his new suitcase on the bed. Pushing his clothes aside, he reached for something that glittered in the setting sun.

  Mackenzie glanced from the pistol in the gunbelt to his rigid face. “Where did you get that?”

  He hooked it around him and settled his long coat over the holster. “I bought this at the mercantile this morning to replace the gun I brought with me. That one burned in the fire.”

  “Luke, let’s go to Horace. Let him handle it. You aren’t—I mean, you can’t—shouldn’t—”

  “You’ve protected this greenhorn enough, sweetheart.” When she started to protest, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Stay here. Promise me that.”

  “If you think I intend to let you go alone, you’re crazy. I can shoot. I can—”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Listen, Mackenzie, this is no time for heroics. You need to guard what’s left of the Bugle.” His expression gentled. “And our baby.”

  “I’ll wait two hours. That should give you time to ride to the OG Star and back twice. If you haven’t returned then, I’m going to Horace.”

  “Let Horace handle it if he must. Stay here, Mackenzie. I want you here when I come back. I want you both here when I come back. I love you, and”—he plucked the letter from her pocket—“if you think I’m going to let that child grow up without a father, you’re wrong.”

  “Not now, Luke. Douglas—”

  He kissed her, swiftly but with fire. “I’ll get him. Then we’re going to talk. All of us!”

  As he hurried out the door, she closed her eyes. There was no one in the world she trusted more than she did Luke. Maybe … She stared at the letter he had tossed onto the bed. She did not dare to think of the future.

  Mackenzie burst into the sheriff’s office. Horace was scrubbing the floor of the cell.

  “What’s wrong, Mackenzie?” He pulled out his chair and, holding her elbow, lowered her into it.

  “Horace,” she whispered, “I need help. Now.”

  “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

  “It’s Douglas … and Luke … and …” Her voice broke as she fought her terror.

  “What’s wrong, Mackenzie?”

  “They’re gone.”

  Ruts lined his forehead. “Gone? Where?”

  “To Aaron’s.” Quickly she told him about Douglas’s disappearance and Luke’s vow to find him. “It’s been almost three hours, Horace! I couldn’t wait any longer. We have to find them.”

  “Why didn’t you and Luke come to me right away?” He swore. “All right. I’ll head out—”

  “I’m coming, too!”

  “No!”

  Rising, she glared at him. “What do you expect me to do? Sit here?”

  “Yes!” He checked his pistols. Slipping them into their holsters, he strapped
them around his hips. He met her scowl with his own. “Until I have some clue as to what’s going on, you’re going to stay right here.”

  “No. I won’t. If you leave, who’ll be here to protect me? Maybe that’s what they want. If they can draw the rest of you away, I’m alone and unprotected.”

  Horace grinned. “Why can’t you just be hysterical like any other woman would be? All right. Come on. I’ll get you a horse at the livery.”

  “I have one. I told Baker to keep an eye peeled for anyone trying to get to the printing press.” She touched the knife she had in the waistband of her skirt and smiled.

  He chuckled. “You’re all prepared, aren’t you?”

  “I should have been better prepared. If I had been, it might never have come to this.”

  He did not reply to the obvious. Taking her arm, he hurried her out the door. He paused to lock it. She wondered if he suspected, as she did, that, if this night’s work went unanswered, trouble was only beginning for Bentonville.

  SEVENTEEN

  No stars shone in the cloudy sky. The shadows made familiar sights unfamiliar. Although Mackenzie had traveled this way many times, an eerie sensation trickled through her bones, leaving ice in its wake. She urged her horse closer to Horace’s.

  “Are you all right, Mackenzie?” he asked quietly.

  “Just worried.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find them. Probably meet them on their way back.”

  “I hope so. I …”

  “Stop! Put them up!” Shadows exploded from beneath the trees.

  She watched Horace raise his empty hands in answer to a snarled order and tightened her hold on the reins. If the horse bolted, the men might shoot them.

  A dozen men surrounded them. Their dusky eyes glistened between their low hat brims and the kerchiefs raised to conceal their faces. Her fingers itched to reach for the knife in her belt. She did not move, knowing she could be slain before she drew it.

  One rider edged his horse closer. With a laugh, he tipped her bonnet back off her head. “You picked a bad night to come riding, Mackenzie. And with the sheriff, too! What would your tenderfoot lover think?”