Her Cold Revenge

by Erin Johnson

  “Joe? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”

  “Didn’t mean what?” he replied tightly, grabbing his buckskins from the mantelpiece. “Don’t worry, Grace. I know how important your job is to you.”

  “It’s just —”

  “I understand. It’s fine.” Joe’s tone was a cross between hurt and upset. He cleared his throat and his gaze seemed to soften a little, the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Uh, fair warning here. I’m going to drop the quilt to put on my pants now.”

  Grace sucked in a sharp breath and whirled around so her back faced him. When he stamped to the other side of the hearth, she was tempted to peek before he put on his shirt, but she clenched her hands and teeth and willed herself not to look. She only turned when she heard a low mumbled curse escape his lips.

  “My shirt’s still wet.”

  “Oh. But it was hanging by the fire all . . . night . . .” Her voice petered out as she saw him, standing in his buckskins, chest bare, staring up at the roof.

  “There’s a leak in the roof. Rain must have come in all night. It ran down this side of the mantelpiece,” he muttered, kicking at the tin bath almost directly beneath his shirt. “Guess that’s why this is beside the hearth. It’s almost full.” He shook his head and looked up at the hole. “Maybe I could come by and fix it for Widow Burns before it gets worse. After you catch your bounty, that is,” he added, shooting Grace a look filled with frustration. “If you can bear to have me around town that long.”

  “Oh, Joe,” Grace said, holding out a pleading hand. “It’s not that I don’t want you around. It’s just that I need to —”

  “Get revenge.”

  Grace shook her head. “No. Justice.”

  “Call it what you will, but I can’t help worrying.” Joe glanced down. “About you. About your safety. About whether you’ll come out of these encounters alive . . . I understand why you want revenge — or justice, as you call it. But I’m afraid of what it might do to you.”

  He looked over at her earnestly, so much care in his eyes that her lower lip began to quiver.

  “I really did listen to what you and the Ndeh said. I’m trying not to let darkness overwhelm me.” Her voice shook. “Sometimes it’s so hard when I’m alone.”

  Joe swallowed hard. “You don’t have to be alone. I’ve offered to —”

  “I know. It’s just that every time we’re together, I forget about what I need to do.”

  “Maybe that’s just as well?” he said hopefully.

  She shook her head. “I can’t let anyone else suffer the way I have.”

  “The sentiment’s admirable, Grace, but don’t you think that’s the sheriff’s responsibility?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter now. It’s my job too. And if that means I’m also in a position to try and track down the Guiltless and get justice for my family, then all the better.” She set her jaw. “The deputy had no men to protect these women. Someone has to do it.”

  “Why do you think that someone has to be you?” Joe’s voice was sharp.

  When Grace glowered at him, he raised his hands in surrender. “Before you get all worked up, you should know,” he began, stepping closer to her, “I do admire what you’re doing. But I can’t help worrying about you.” His voice grew softer as he stood in front of her.

  “I’m the best tracker and shot around, thanks to my teacher,” Grace murmured. It was hard to concentrate with him so close.

  Joe grinned. “I did a good job, didn’t I?” Then he sobered. “Sooner or later, though, you could run into someone who’s a better shot.”

  Grace stuck her chin in the air and pretended to be offended, but deep inside she had to admit a fear that one day she just might meet her match . . .

  Joe sighed and hung the damp shirt back up away from the leak. “I think I have another shirt out with my other things in the barn.” He brushed his lips to hers lightly, sending her head into a spin, then headed for the door. “I’ll get going. I’ll feed the horses and let Bullet out.”

  When Grace started to protest, Joe waved a hand. “Least I can do after you took me in during the storm.”

  After the touch of his lips, she couldn’t help wanting him to stay a bit longer. “Well, it’s only just dawn. I’m sure we have a little time. While you do that, I’ll make breakfast for both of us before you head out to set up camp.”

  “No need. I have supplies in my saddlebag.” Joe’s words were stiff and his muscles tense. He was obviously still hurting.

  “Least I can do after you helped me through the storm this morning,” Grace said with a smile, though her words were laced with emotion.

  Joe’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. Then a warm half-smile formed on his lips as he realized she meant her crying spell. “In that case . . .”

  By the time he returned, disappointingly wearing a shirt now, she had the meal ready. She set the bowls of hominy on the table, and Joe sank into the chair across from her, his hair still damp from washing at the pump. Grace forced herself to concentrate on dipping her spoon into the bowl. If she kept glancing at Joe, she’d be tempted to forget about breakfast.

  He seemed to be avoiding her eyes too. “Mmm. This is delicious, Grace,” he murmured. He ate hastily though, and as soon as he scraped the last spoonful of hominy from his bowl, he pushed back his chair. “Thanks for the meal, but I’d better get out of here so I don’t scare off your quarry.”

  She fought back her disappointment. “I don’t expect he’ll arrive until after nightfall. All the women said he waited until after dark . . .”

  “In that case, I’ll go check on the Ndeh. They may need help repairing their kuugh’as after last night’s storm. But I’ll be back to set up camp by sunset.”

  “Okay.”

  She stood too, and Joe walked over and tilted her chin up a little with his finger. “Like you said before . . . if I don’t leave now, I might find it hard to go at all,” he said quietly.

  Grace nodded. She wished Joe could spend the day, but he was right — if the outlaw was staking out the cabin and saw a man, he’d move on. “You’ll stay hidden when you come back?” she asked reluctantly.

  “Don’t worry. Remember that great teacher who showed you tracking skills? I think he can sneak up without being heard or seen.” Joe grinned, then leaned over and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek.

  Hungry for more, she reached up and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips to his, and Joe’s arms tightened around her, their kiss deepening. When they finally broke apart, he stared down at her with such love in his eyes that Grace’s breath hitched. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he stepped back and swallowed hard.

  “If you keep kissing me like that, woman, I will certainly never leave.” His words came out unsteadily as he edged backward to the door. His hands fumbled behind his back for the door latch, his longing gaze still on her.

  After the cabin door shut behind him, Grace touched one finger to her lips, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on hers. She opened the door and watched as he mounted Paint and rode off into the distance.

  * * *

  The lonely day stretched before Grace. To keep her mind off Joe, she cleaned the stables, exercised the horses, and even polished the saddles, but by lunchtime she had returned all the horses to their stalls. All except Bullet. With clear skies overhead, she left him in the paddock and then headed back to the house.

  She had just closed the front door when she heard hoofbeats sound in the distance. Joe wouldn’t announce his presence that way, she was sure of it. She was surprised that the thief would arrive in broad daylight, but Grace nevertheless eased the revolver from the holster at her side before she latched the door. She moved to the vantage point she’d picked out the day before, her body tense and alert as she peeked out the window.

  Through the trees, she spotted flashes of brown — a ho
rse, mane and tail flying, with a black-coated rider astride. Partway up the hill, the horse slowed and picked its way over the fallen tree limbs from last night’s storm. The rider’s head was tipped so his hat shaded his face. He had the right build, but she couldn’t tell if his features matched Emily’s description of Black Coat.

  The rider reached the top of the trail and turned his horse toward the cabin. This was not a random stranger passing by; this man obviously knew where he was heading. Straight toward the cabin. Grace’s stomach clenched. She hoped her trap would work. If only Joe were around to provide backup. His earlier comment about meeting her match someday only increased her apprehension, and she conjured up memories of other, successful bounty hunts to bolster her courage. She could do this. This man deserved to be taken down. She hadn’t come all this way to be scared by a weakling who preyed on lone women.

  The man dismounted and turned toward the cabin . . . Grace exhaled hard when she recognized him. It was John Byington, the preacher. She muttered in irritation under her breath. He’d spoil her plans, surely.

  Grace slid her gun back into the holster and opened the door. “Reverend. What are you doing here?” Her words sounded unwelcoming, so she quickly added, “It’s good of you to check up on me.”

  Reverend Byington looped the reins over the porch railing and mounted the steps. “I’m actually here to take you back to town. It is much too dangerous for you to be here on your own. I just got word of you coming out here —”

  “I have a job to do, Reverend, and I have a plan. I will be fine. This is the only way I know to flush that thief out of hiding.”

  The preacher’s brow creased. “From what I understand, he’s not just a thief. It’s not safe for a young girl to be isolated out here.”

  “Someone has to catch this criminal! The women can’t stay in town indefinitely.”

  Reverend Byington’s eyes held a deep skepticism. “That’s true, but it’s a job for the sheriff.”

  She folded her arms. “I told you — he has no man power. The posse and all the bounty hunters are busy.”

  “I admire your dedication to helping others, Grace, but we talked before about being foolhardy —”

  “Thanks for your concern, but like I said, I’ll be fine.”

  The preacher lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Grace was reluctant to invite him inside — she needed to send him on his way before dusk, which was approaching fast. And before he scared off her potential target. But how could she refuse him a drink and a rest when he was so hot and dusty? She gestured quickly toward the pump. “Would you like me to draw some water for you and your horse?”

  The preacher smiled. “I’d be most grateful.”

  When Grace handed him the water, he said, “I promised Mrs. Burns that I’d check on the leak in the roof. She worried that the storm might have made it worse.”

  “Uh . . . it’s fine.” Grace edged around until she was blocking the entrance. She didn’t want him coming in and staying too long tinkering with the roof. “All the water flowed into the tin bath she had there. I’ve been using the rainwater for washing. It’s real handy.”

  Reverend Byington strode toward her. “Nevertheless, a promise is a promise. I must at least check it with my own eyes.”

  “Like I said, all is well.”

  The preacher gave her a curious look before moving past her to open the door. Grace hurried through the door first, suddenly remembering — Joe’s shirt was still hanging on the mantelpiece. What would the preacher think of that? She moved in front of it, hoping to block his view. She gestured toward the table and the chair where she and Joe had eaten breakfast.

  “Umm, would you like to sit down? Have a cup of tea? I could —” She stumbled to a stop when the preacher glanced over her shoulder, his eyes widening.

  “Grace, is that a man’s shirt?”

  The sternness in Reverend Byington’s voice made Grace’s heart sink. When his disappointed eyes turned in her direction, a slow burn moved up her neck until her whole face felt aflame. “It’s not what you think. Joe got caught in the storm last night and needed to dry his clothes.” The words streamed from her mouth faster than the rain had fallen in last night’s storm.

  The preacher pursed his mouth, and deep worry lines appeared around his eyes. “So Joe spent the night with you?”

  “No! Yes . . . Well, not exactly . . .”

  “He’s keeping you company up here?”

  “Not the way you think.” Grace hastened to explain. “He’s hiding outside as backup, in case I get into trouble. He insisted. But with the storm last night —”

  The preacher’s frown deepened.

  “He needed shelter.”

  Reverend Byington shook his head. “You know what the Good Book says about staying away from all appearances of evil. It’s not wise to court ill repute.”

  “I’m not. I — we — didn’t . . .” Grace hadn’t thought her face could get any hotter, but her skin was as scorched as if she were standing inside a roaring fire. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The preacher exhaled hard. “I know you to be honest, Grace. But you must think of your reputation. If others find out . . .” He tapped a finger against his lip.

  “I understand.” She kept her gaze fixed on the irregular wood pattern of the floor.

  Byington glanced around. “Is he here now?”

  “No, he went to the Ndeh camp to see if they needed help. He’ll be back by nightfall, keeping a safe distance.” In more ways than one.

  “Well, it is good to know that Joe will be around for your protection, at least. But I still wish you would return to town.”

  “I can’t. Not until this man is caught. And frankly, Joe is better backup than the sheriff.”

  “It’s true he can outshoot most men I’ve met, but still . . .” Reverend Byington’s sigh seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

  She smiled a little. “No. I can’t let Caroline and Emily down. Or Widow Burns, or any of the other ladies.” She tried to keep the impatience from her voice. “I don’t mean to hurry you along, Reverend, but I’m afraid Black Coat won’t come if he sees your horse.” She hoped the preacher’s visit hadn’t already spooked the outlaw.

  He chuckled. “Fret not — if he does see it, he’ll recognize my horse. Everyone around these parts knows I travel to the remote cabins to call on widows and orphans to be sure they’re safe. No worries. I’m not blowing your cover.”

  Grace hoped he was right.

  “Still, seeing as how you’re impatient for me to be off, I won’t take you up on your offer for tea.” Reverend Byington stood and headed for the door, to her relief. He paused, and turned to look at her sternly. “Promise me you won’t take any foolish chances.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The preacher went down the porch steps and mounted his horse, tipping his hat. “May God keep you safe. I’ll be praying.” He clicked to his horse and they started off down the trail.

  Though Grace had longed for him to leave, a pool of loneliness swirled inside her as Reverend Byington rode away. She’d been alone in town, but out here with only the sound of the birds and Bullet’s occasional snorts, her sense of isolation seemed to increase tenfold. She tried not to think of Joe and the warmth and safety his presence brought.

  When trees hid the preacher from view, Grace hurried inside and latched the door. She knew she might have hours to wait, and perhaps even a lonely night to get through. For all she knew, it could be days or weeks before the man showed up. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case but decided the best thing to do was to keep busy. She laid the fire, scrubbed the table, and scoured the cooking pots. While she washed her clothes from the night before, she again imagined living here with Joe as husband and wife. Th
ey’d care for their horses together and spend their nights by the fire . . .

  A movement in the late afternoon shadows outside the window caught Grace’s attention. A man — dressed in a black frock coat — crept around the paddock fence, trying to get close to Bullet. Grace gritted her teeth and patted the revolver. Black Coat had arrived. Time to catch her bounty.

  Just then the man turned, and their gazes met.

  CHAPTER 12

  Grace broke eye contact and headed quickly for the door. She opened it wide enough to peer out but kept her gun concealed. Catching sight of her, Black Coat swaggered over.

  “I was just admiring that beautiful piece of horseflesh there,” he said, motioning over his shoulder with his thumb.

  The man’s smarmy voice grated on her, and the way he was eyeing her up and down made her furious, but she needed to lure him into her trap. She batted her eyelashes and added honey to her words. “Why, thank you. Can I help you with something, sir?”

  “Well, little lady, is yer ma or pa at home? Or are you the mistress here?” The snide way he asked the question indicated he knew that she was alone.

  “Oh, I’m not the owner. I’m just tending her horses until she returns.”

  “You? You mean your husband’s caring for them?”

  “Of course.” Grace followed her smooth answer with a small laugh, hoping she sounded feminine and fragile enough that he’d consider her easy prey. Behind the door, she tightened her grip on her gun. “He had to ride into town, but he’ll be back soon.”

  The man tipped his hat. “Earl Plimpton, here, ma’am. I apologize for intruding, but my horse injured his leg. I would be mighty obliged if I could let him rest a bit. Wouldn’t mind sitting a spell myself.” He twisted his hat in his hands as if he were nervous and shy about asking a favor.

  If Grace hadn’t known he truth, she might have been taken in by his play-acting. She hoped her performance would equal his. Making her voice soft and uncertain, she replied, “I’m not sure my husband would approve of me entertaining strangers in the house.” She gestured to her right. “Perhaps you could sit on the porch? I’ll bring you a lemonade.”