He uncinched the saddle, tugged it off, and set it on a saddle block. And what about Sarah? The girl had to have gone willingly. Sapphire couldn’t have carried that runt of hers and wrestled Sarah into going along, too. But why would the girl leave? Hadn’t he treated her well? Taken her from her dying mother and given her a warm place to live?
As he strode to the house, Badger shook his head. He’d never understand females. Give them a nice house to live in, good food, pretty dresses—and they still weren’t happy. He opened the back door and stepped inside, shedding his duster and hat.
Stoney’s door jerked open, and the man stepped out looking half-asleep and half-ready for a fight. His posture instantly relaxed. “Oh, it’s just you, boss.”
“Who else were you expectin’?”
Scrubbing a hand across his face, Stoney shrugged. “Never can tell. Might be another of them hussies trying to sneak off.”
Badger straightened. “Has that happened? Who left?”
Stoney swatted his big hand in the air like a bear toying with its prey. “Naw. No one else is gone.”
Blowing out a sigh, Badger strode to the kitchen. He needed coffee—and food. He paused and turned back toward Stoney. “Did I get any telegrams? Any word of Sapphire or Sarah?”
Stoney shook his head and yawned.
It might be morning, but Badger would be willing to bet the man had only been asleep for a few hours. “Go on back to bed. I’ll holler if I need ya.”
Half an hour later, his belly satisfied, Badger sat at his desk, an idea for a newspaper ad spinning through his mind. He glanced down at what he’d written.
Missing wife, son, and half-Indian girl. Suspected to be victims of foul play. Substantial reward. Contact …
He leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger on his lips. Was that the best angle to use? Sapphire could easily deny being married to him. And the boy certainly didn’t favor him, so there was little chance of proving her wrong, if push came to shove. But then, he really didn’t need to do that. He just needed to find her. Once he did, bringing her home wouldn’t be hard, not even if he had to knock her out and tie her to the back of a horse. Sarah would come along quiet-like as she had before. With Sapphire subdued, she wouldn’t have the gumption to fight him. One thing was for certain, they wouldn’t be bringing that boy back with them. If need be, he’d drop the kid off on someone’s doorstep.
He stared at the ad then ran his pen across the words. He needed something more emotional. Grieving father searching for missing family.
Baron muttered amen to the pastor’s prayer as the Sunday morning service came to an end. He found the man’s message encouraging and inspiring and felt this would be a church he’d enjoy attending while he remained in Guthrie. He rose and nodded at the man across the aisle and waited until the man’s family had exited their bench; then he stepped into the aisle. His gaze instantly landed on a blond woman in the back row who’d turned into the aisle with a darker-skinned girl beside her. Behind them, Gabe Coulter followed. Gabe nodded at Baron then stepped outside with a boy with curly blond hair following close on his heels.
He wanted to push and shove his way out to get a better look at the blond woman, who he felt sure was the mystery woman who’d come to his store, but the aisle was blocked. As he reached the door, he shook the pastor’s hand and mumbled, “Good sermon,” all the while searching the crowd of people talking in small groups. Others were heading toward their buggies.
He found Gabe talking to Elmer Baxter. A short ways past him, the blond woman stood beside a buggy with her back to him while facing the girl. He pushed through the crowd. “Excuse me. Pardon me.”
Baron bypassed Gabe, who still faced away from him, and headed straight for the woman. The girl, who looked to be part Indian, widened her eyes, and the blond turned as he neared them. He noted two things at once—she was the same woman—and she held a young child in her arms. Her expression turned frantic, and she looked as if she were searching for a place to hide. Stunned, he pulled to a quick stop. What reason did she have to fear him?
The girl climbed into the buggy’s rear seat, and the blond handed her the sleeping child and turned to face him, her expression neutral. He studied her, and except for a fleeting flick of her eyes toward the baby, her fearful expression had surprisingly fled. She offered a soft smile. “So, we meet again.”
How had she managed to hide her fear so quickly—or had she mistaken him for someone else at first glance?
He shook off his concerns, just glad to talk to her again. “Yes. It’s a pleasure to see you.”
She didn’t repeat the comment, he noted.
“Did you need something, Mr., uh …?”
“Hillborne. Baron Hillborne.” Why would the mention of his name cause her to wince?
“As in Hillborne’s General Store.”
He nodded, searching for a polite topic of conversation. “Good sermon today.”
There it was again—that quick spark of fear or apprehension—and just as fast, it was gone. The woman seemed a master at controlling her emotions, which made him wonder about her background. He grappled for something reasonable to say, wondering why it had been so important to talk with her.
The baby wiggled, fighting the girl, and then let out a screech. The blond spun toward him. Did the baby belong to her? If so, she must be married, and he had no business lingering, much to his disappointment. A sudden thought struck him. Was this Gabe Coulter’s wife? He’d only met the man once, so it was possible. But she didn’t look old enough to be the mother of the eight- or nine-year-old boy who now leaned against Gabe’s side. And hadn’t Gabe said she was having a baby soon?
He needed to leave. “Um … well … I just wanted to say good day.” He tipped his hat and stalked away, wishing he’d never approached the woman.
Halfway back to his house it hit him—she’d never said her name. Had that been an oversight or on purpose? Was she always so secretive? He turned, looking back toward the schoolhouse, but could no longer see the buggy. He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t made an idiot of himself.
Although he didn’t have Mark’s charm, he’d never had a problem getting women to talk to him, and the fact that this one wouldn’t made him more determined to discover who she was. If it turned out she was married, so be it.
He kicked a rock, sending it skittering down the street. He’d never married because he hadn’t found a woman who intrigued him enough to make him want to pursue her—at least he hadn’t until he noticed the quiet blond sneaking around his store.
There was something about her that drew him. But he had no idea why—or what he was going to do about it.
Glen Haven, Texas
Jack Jensen closed the church doors, relieved he’d made it through another Sunday service. Preaching to a different group of people each week as he had as a circuit rider was much easier than preaching to the same folks every Sunday. In Glen Haven, he felt like everyone was watching him each day, just waiting for him to make a mistake.
His belly grumbled as he walked down the street toward Comstock’s General Store. Some folks objected to Abel opening up on Sunday, but Jack thought it was a nice thing to do. Some people who came to town for church also needed supplies, and it saved them a trip if they could shop after church.
Since Abel was only open about an hour, he should be ready to close up shop and eat Sunday dinner. Dining with his parishioners was one perk he didn’t mind. As he reached the door to the store, Jack heard a scuffling sound and a squeal. He rushed inside and halted. A stranger held a knife to Mrs. Parnell’s throat. Jack held up one hand, mentally searching for a peaceful way to disarm the man. “I’m one of the local ministers. Glen Haven is a peaceful town, and we don’t want any trouble.”
“I don’t want to hurt nobody, but my kids gotta eat.”
Jack studied the knife held against Mrs. Parnell’s throat. “Take whatever food you need, and I’ll pay for it. Just let the woman go.”
Mr
s. Parnell whimpered and shook so badly Jack feared she might cut herself by moving too much. Behind the man with the knife, the store owner, Abel Comstock, had slipped from behind the counter and held his rifle trained on the stranger. Jack shook his head.
He tried to calm the frightened woman with his gaze, beseeching her to hold still. “Mrs. Parnell has five children, and they need their ma. Like I said, I’m the parson of the small church down the street, and my word is good. Let her go, and we’ll see you get some food.”
“You promise, Parson? My little’uns ain’t had nothin’ to eat in more’n two days. I can’t stand their cryin’ no more.”
“I promise, and you can trust my word. Let the woman go.”
The man stared at Jack for a long moment then lowered the knife. Mrs. Parnell cried out and rushed to Jack’s side, wrapping her arms around him and weeping on his chest. He patted her shoulder. “I know you’ve had a fright, ma’am. Why don’t you go outside and sit on the bench while I help this man and his children?”
“Pastor Jack, I was so—”
“I know.” He patted her arm. “We’ll talk later.” He gently set her aside and gave her a nudge toward the door. He wanted her out of the way should the stranger get desperate again.
But when he looked back, the stranger had sheathed his knife and looked defeated. Jack eyed the store owner and indicated with a shake of his head that the man should put the rifle away. Mr. Comstock backed quietly into the storeroom and then reappeared without his weapon.
Jack smiled. “So, what’s your name, sir?”
“Ralph Beatty.”
“Nice to meet you. Folks call me Pastor Jack.” He held out his hand, relieved to have the confrontation over with no one getting hurt.
Mr. Comstock slid back behind his counter. “What can I get for you, Mr. Beatty?”
As if nothing had happened, Mr. Beatty moseyed around the store. “I don’t cotton to takin’ handouts, but my boys is starvin’. Ain’t got no choice. I reckon I should get a five-pound bag of flour for starts. My biscuits ain’t too bad.”
Jack glanced at Abel, glad the man had backed down and seemed ready to help. Abel plucked a bag from under the counter and started filling it with flour.
Mr. Beatty set several cans of beans on the counter then went back and stared at the sections of smoked meat hanging near the window. “A hunk of ham would be nice. I’ve gone hunting for several days and ain’t had no luck.”
Abel set the flour bag on the counter with a thud then strode over and took down a smoked ham shoulder and cut off a sizable chunk. He wrapped it in brown paper, tied it, and then rehung the meat.
Mr. Beatty stood in front of the coffee, eyeing it, then shook his head and walked away.
“How many children do you have, sir?”
“Just two boys. One’s ten and the other is four. Had a couple of pretty daughters, but they and their ma died of yella fever last year. Them was sad days. Me and the boys left Louisiana after that to get a fresh start in Texas, but we’ve fallen on hard times.”
“You’re not the only one. I have others in my church who are struggling.” But none of them had resorted to violence. Jack pursed his lips. The man’s children needed food, but it bothered him to reward Mr. Beatty’s misguided actions. Still … he wasn’t the judge. That was up to God. “Abel, will you wrap up a half dozen peppermint sticks for the boys?”
“Yes, sir. I can do that.”
Mr. Beatty paused in front of a pair of overalls then moved back to the canned goods and pulled several more cans into his arms, including a tub of lard, then set them on the counter. “I reckon that’ll get us by for a while.”
Jack’s pockets weren’t too deep, but he wouldn’t have any trouble paying for the small amount of supplies Mr. Beatty had selected. He pushed away from the counter and walked down the coffee aisle and selected a pound of Arbuckle, some cornmeal on the off chance the man caught some fish, and a pound of bacon that Abel had wrapped previously, and added them to the pile.
Mr. Beatty’s eyes watered, and he smiled for the first time that day. “That’s mighty generous of you, Parson.”
Jack shrugged. He’d been hungry plenty of times in those early years, when he first left his family, and no one but the good Lord knew what he’d done to survive.
Abel totaled up the supplies and quoted a surprisingly low cost. Jack looked at him and lifted one eyebrow. Abel’s neck reddened, and he shrugged. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt for me to offer a discount, all things considered.”
Jack nodded his thanks and paid for the items. “You got somethin’ to carry all this in?”
Mr. Beatty glanced down and shook his head.
“I’ve got some burlap bags that should work.” Abel went to his storeroom and returned with one; then he filled it three-quarters full and tied it off, leaving enough up top for a handle. “That should work.”
Jack walked toward the door with Mr. Beatty. “If you need anything, you can check with me or one of the other churches in town.”
“I reckon it’s best I move on. I feel awful bad for scarin’ that woman. If my wife was still alive, I shudder to think what she’d’ve said to me.”
“Everyone faces troubles now and then, but it’s how we deal with it that matters. God loves you, and He can help if you call on Him.”
“I reckon I gave up on Him after losing so much I care about.”
They stepped outside together, and Jack froze at the same time as Mr. Beatty. A group of more than a dozen men, including Zeb Parnell, faced them with rifles drawn. Glen Haven was too small to boast its own lawman, so the men of the town dealt out justice when needed. Jack stepped in front of Mr. Beatty. “What’s goin’ on here?”
Brody Johnson, owner of one of the town’s two saloons, stepped forward. “We don’t allow men to pull knives on our women. Step aside, Parson.”
“Look, no one got hurt. I realize Mrs. Parnell was badly frightened, but I don’t believe Mr. Beatty had any intent to harm her. He’s got two boys and they haven’t eaten for days.” He noticed sympathetic glances from the women, but the men’s faces remained hard.
“Most all of us got young’uns, but we don’t go knifing women. That man needs to be locked up until we can get a judge to come to town.”
Mr. Beatty paled and backed up. “I cain’t. My boys are waitin’ for me down by the creek. Who’ll take care of them?”
Jack held up his hands. Half of these folks just wanted to feel powerful. They didn’t really care about what had happened to Mrs. Parnell or that she’d been set free with no injuries. “Think about this. It’s the Lord’s day. No one got hurt. I bought Mr. Beatty some food for his children, so why not let him go?”
“Can’t do that, Parson. Next thing you know, every man in town will be bullyin’ women.”
That was a fine comment coming from a saloon owner who also had an upstairs area for ladies of the night. He couldn’t imagine any worse treatment of females than that.
Someone shoved Jack in the back, and he stumbled forward. His forehead collided with the porch post. Pain shot through his head and neck. He struggled to focus as he pushed up.
“No!” Mr. Beatty screeched.
A shot rang out. Jack jerked, watching in horror as Mr. Beatty clutched his chest. He dropped the bag of food as a crimson circle spread across his faded shirt. Beatty’s stunned gaze connected with Jack’s.
Though his head pounded, Jack struggled to rise. Giving up, he crawled to the man’s side.
“My boys.”
Jack swallowed. He was the last person who should be responsible for young’uns—not after he’d run away from caring for his younger sisters years ago. But he was a different person now.
Mr. Beatty’s grip on his arm lessened. “Please … find my young’uns.”
He nodded. “I’ll find them and make sure they are cared for.”
“Good …” Mr. Beatty’s eyes closed and his hand fell to his side.
Jack sat back, numb at t
he senseless killing.
“Looks like the pastor needs the doc,” someone shouted.
A doctor couldn’t fix the aching pain in Jack’s heart. The two Beatty boys were now orphans—and he’d promised to take care of them.
How could he tell them their pa was dead?
Chapter 8
Jo was halfway home before her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm. Mark’s brother had specifically sought her out after church, but why? He barely talked to her. At least one good thing—she hadn’t revealed her name to him.
Jamie fussed and gnawed on the fringe of a shawl Lara had loaned her. He was ready to eat, but she’d been so nervous about going to church, she’d forgotten to put a biscuit in her bag. She jiggled him. “We’ll be home soon, little man.”
Michael, who sat next to Sarah in the backseat of the buggy, stood and leaned over the front seat. “That’s what Ma calls me sometimes.”
Jo smiled at him. “That’s right. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Sit down, son.” Gabe peered over his shoulder at the boy then at Jo. “So, what did Baron want?”
“You saw that?”
He nodded, watching the trail up ahead as the horse trotted toward home.
“I don’t really know. He introduced himself, then stammered ‘nice sermon’ and then ‘good day’ and rushed off.”
“You must have shocked him when you told him your name.”
“Um … I never quite got to that part.”
His gaze shot toward her again.
She lifted a hand. “Ask Sarah, if you don’t believe me. She heard the whole stunted conversation.”
Gabe didn’t look over his shoulder and seemed to take her word.
“You can’t avoid him forever, you know. Sooner or later he’ll find out.”
“I suppose you’ll tell him?”
He shook his head. “It’s not my place. You need to be the one to reveal that information.”
“But I don’t want to.” She hated how she sounded like a spoiled six-year-old.
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