“I was so afraid,” Sammie Jo said. “He lied to me and said horrible things about my daddy.”
“It’s all right.” Colt patted her back with his eye on Thatcher Lee. “I’ve got Thatcher Lee, and your mama is right behind me.”
“I’m sorry for all the things I said and did to you.” Sammie Jo cried the way he’d seen Nancy do that day in the tree.
“No matter.” He heard Anne thrash through the brush and head for her girls.
Colt shook his head at Thatcher Lee. “You are one stupid man. Now you’re going to find out the hard way what it means to break the law.”
“I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re playing up to Anne for the money.”
“There’s no money,” Colt said. “I don’t know where you got your information, but Will Langley didn’t leave a cent behind when he died.”
Anne touched Colt’s back. Her hand felt soft and warm, and he intended to get used to having this woman around.
Epilogue
Papa Colt, I don’t want to go back East to finishing school.” Tears brimmed Sammie Jo’s sky blue eyes. She was so pretty that he wanted her to pack a derringer.
“Yes, you do,” Colt said. “You’re going to learn how to be a fine woman. Oh, I know you can ride and shoot like a ranch hand, but your mama and I want you to learn all the things that will make you a lady.”
“But who will take care of little Stephen and Nancy and Clancy?”
“It’ll be hard, but we’ll manage.”
“But I’m scared.”
Colt stifled a chuckle. Since the incident with Thatcher Lee, Sammie Jo had found more than one thing that scared her. “Nancy’s growing up just fine. Your little brother has me and your mama, and Clancy would never want anyone else to take care of him.”
Sammie Jo reached up and hugged him tightly. “Take care of everyone while I’m gone.”
He laughed. “We’ll just pray the good Lord gives me wisdom.”
Colt felt an arm around his waist and knew it was his beloved Anne. How he could be blessed with the love of this fine woman still amazed him.
“Let her go, honey. She needs to catch the train,” Anne said.
Colt took a deep breath and escorted Sammie Jo to the train steps. “I love you, little lady. We’ll see you soon.” He waved and watched the train until it disappeared out of sight.
“You have tears in your eyes,” Anne said.
“Yes, Papa Colt, big ones,” Nancy said with a giggle.
“Oh, I just love my family,” he said and winked at Anne.
“And we love you,” Anne said and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Strange how he amounted to nothing until the good Lord slapped a wanted poster on his hide and taught him how to love. Life was good. Very good.
OUTLAW SHERIFF
by Kathleen Y ’Barbo
Dedication
To my nephews Daniel, Brian, and Ben Y’Barbo,
DJ Holman, William and James Heintschel, Jeremy Bodden,
Craig and Blake Adams, and Brant and Drew Goss.
May God bless you in mighty ways!
The Gentiles shall see thy righteousness, and all kings thy glory:
and thou shalt be called by a new name,
which the mouth of the LORD shall name.
ISAIAH 62:2
Chapter 1
Dime Box, Arizona—March 1881
Caleb Wilson tilted his hat down over his eyes then thought better of it. No, he’d ride into town head held high. If the Lord saw fit to give him a clean heart and a new start on life at the age of twenty-seven, the least he could do was act like it.
Even if it might get him thrown in jail—again.
He tasted trail dust and smelled the result of two straight weeks of going without a decent scrubbing. The heat of summer wasn’t yet upon them back in Texas, but out here in the Arizona Territory there seemed little change between the seasons.
In the past his westward wanderings wouldn’t have taken him any farther than Tombstone, where he would find a spot at the Crystal Palace Saloon and drink his dinner before encountering trouble, usually in the form of a woman. Not wishing to come across any of the Clantons, his former partners in crime, Caleb pushed farther west until he found the tiny town of Dime Box. He’d never heard of the place, and he hoped they’d never heard of him.
A trio of respectable folk looked up from a wagon filled with supplies as he passed the mercantile. Caleb hesitated before tipping his hat at the men.
The nearest to him, a skinny fellow not far out of knee britches, called out a “howdy” while a man of a few more years lifted his hand in a wave. The look on the older gentleman’s face, however, reminded him he was a stranger here.
If he were still a drinking man, he’d be reaching for his flask about now. Instead, Caleb tightened his grip on the reins and reminded himself that a healthy dose of the Good Book was better for him than a round of gut-burning refreshment.
His mount trotted easily down the rutted road, oblivious to lesser horseflesh whose tails fought the flies and dust without success. The livery loomed ahead, and Caleb aimed the horse in that direction. The animal had done him proud on the trail to this place, and tonight she’d be rewarded with a better place to rest and a pail of oats. It was the least he could do considering she’d saved his life more than once in the past month.
His bad leg ached as if it still had a bullet in it, and he grimaced as he sat up a little higher in the saddle. Soon as he got where he was going—wherever that was—he’d have to give some serious thought to ending his trail-riding days.
Caleb sighed. If only it were that simple.
From a fellow inmate in Texas he’d heard tell that Reuben was looking for him, no doubt to put the gang back together. Well, he’d have none of that.
Even if Mama had gone on to Jesus, he still had the thought of her disapproval weighing hard on his mind. If only he hadn’t gone back to see her one last time. Hadn’t made the promise that led to his meeting the Savior and taking Him to heart. Oh, he was grateful the Lord met him at his mama’s bedside back in Raider’s Crossing, Wyoming.
Nothing could compare to the moment when his mama led him to the Lord.
He’d promised her then that he would make something of himself. That he wouldn’t come back to Raider’s Crossing until he’d become a new man, someone she could be proud of.
So far the only part of that promise he’d fulfilled was the first half. Some days he’d wondered how things were faring with his brothers. More often than not, he wondered about little Benny. He’d be a man now, having grown up with no men to show him the way unless the Lord had intervened.
Yeah, and you put him in that spot, Caleb. You and your brothers.
That knowledge pricked his conscience. Dropping him off at Miss Sadie’s place had seemed the right thing to do at the time. Looking back with the eyes of a new believer, Caleb knew differently. But then that went for most every decision he made before he started involving the Lord in his business.
If only he could go back in time and make the changes he longed to make. If only he could start everything over.
The scent of greasy meat beat out the other odors that trailed him, and Caleb’s stomach complained. Scratching the spot where his beard itched him most, he gave a full minute’s thought to parking his mount in front of the source of the grub and satisfying his belly before he cleaned his hide.
He gave the source of the smell a second look. Set between a dry goods store and a doctor’s office, the building looked as if it were about to fall down under the weight of the dust and grime it wore. Blistered paint was peeling from warped boards, and the front door listed to the left. Second-floor windows were half-covered with shutters that were missing most of their slats, and a tattered curtain covered in faded roses hung from the one in the middle. Just below, a hand-lettered sign proclaimed the place as Ma’s Kitchen.
If the woman standing in the doorway was Ma, he’d have to pass. Mo
re than a few years past her prime, she wore faded calico and a frown and carried a black iron skillet like a prized weapon. From inside came the faint sound of breaking glass followed in quick succession by a man’s raised voice and a barking dog. Ma, however, never flinched.
As Caleb rode by, the woman lifted the skillet in his direction. Whether in warning or greeting, he couldn’t say. Just so as not to get on her bad side, he called out, “Top of the mornin’, ma’am.”
She responded with a shrug before disappearing inside. So much for charming the ladies.
At that thought Caleb had to chuckle. The first thing he’d asked the Lord after his baptism in Cane Creek was for Him to take away the skills he’d possessed at wooing women. Wouldn’t you know He’d answer that prayer right away?
He reached the livery and turned the mare over to a boy of no more than nine or ten. Thoughts of Benny returned, and he shook them off as he tossed a coin in the lad’s direction.
“I’ll double that if she’s fat and happy with a good brushing when I return,” Caleb told him.
“Thanks, mister. I’ll take good care of her.” The boy took the reins and tipped his cap before turning toward the stable.
“Say, there,” Caleb called. “What’s your name, young fellow?”
The lad stopped short to give Caleb a toothy grin. “Edmund, sir. Edmund Francis Thompson Junior.”
Caleb returned the smile. “Well, Edmund Francis Thompson Junior, my horse and I thank you.”
He watched them until the horse disappeared into a stall at the back of the stable. A moment later the boy emerged, then quickly returned with a brush, a blanket, and a bag of feed.
Satisfied that his horse was cared for, Caleb headed for a bar of lye soap and a shave.
Caleb walked out of the barbershop a good while later feeling like a new man. His complaining gut was the only remnant of the man who had ridden into Dime Box, and he could fix that in no time.
The barber told him about a boardinghouse a block off the main road where a man could fill his belly and rest his head on a clean mattress for a reasonable price. The proprietor, he’d been told, ran a respectable place. No drinking and no carousing. And no tobacco.
As he stepped onto the broad boards that made up the porch of the nameless rooming house, Caleb noticed an old shingle hanging next to the front door.
“No drinking, no carousing, and no tobacco.” Caleb chuckled. “Least I was prepared. Not that any of that would be a problem.”
“Well, I’m glad t’hear it. I run a respectable place. Don’t cotton to no one but law-abiding citizens.”
Caleb’s grin was genuine as he met the gaze of a red-haired woman. She looked to be around his mother’s age, with laugh lines etched at either end of her broad smile.
“The name’s Wilson.” Giving thanks for having such a common name, Caleb reached out to shake the woman’s hand, surprised that she grasped his fingers in a strong grip. “And I reckon I qualify as a law-abiding citizen. I haven’t broken a law in nigh on to two years. Does that pass muster with you?”
She looked him up and down, and for a minute he felt like a prized piece of horseflesh. “Pleased t’meet you, Mr. Wilson. Round here they call me Widow Sykes. Now come on in here and set yourself down. That growling stomach of yours is bad for business.”
Caleb tipped his hat and followed his hostess inside. The dining room was sparse but tidy with a long table down the middle and benches running along each side. He estimated that during mealtime the place could easily seat two dozen hungry folks. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, Caleb was the only diner.
When the widow came through the door with two platters of food, Caleb rose to help her. “Set yourself down, young man. I’ve been doin’ this since before you were even thought of.” She met his gaze, and her expression softened. “I do appreciate it, son. Your mama ought to be proud she raised such a gentleman.”
Caleb swallowed hard and rubbed his freshly smooth jawbone. Well, he’d fooled her, hadn’t he? “Thank you, ma’am,” he managed as he tied the red-checked napkin around his neck.
Twenty minutes later Caleb had feasted on beef stew and rock-hard biscuits and was contemplating whether to wash his pie down with cold milk or buttermilk when the door swung open. The man who walked in looked as if he’d ridden longer than Caleb and hadn’t quite met with the soap bar yet. Of course he planted his dusty bones within spitting distance of Caleb.
“Howdy,” the fellow said, and Caleb responded with a tip of his head.
He stabbed at the pie with his fork and kept his attention focused on the plate. Last thing he needed was a confrontation with a stranger. Caleb knew he’d probably be run out of town on a rail once the good citizens of Dime Box got wind of his past. He just hadn’t expected it would happen before he had a good night’s sleep.
The Widow Sykes came back through with buttermilk and poured him a glassful without asking. When she disappeared into the kitchen, Caleb set down his fork.
“Me, I hate the stuff,” the stranger said. “I hear tell they make it from sour milk. Now, you tell me who wants to drink sour milk when there’s fresh to be had.”
Just to be ornery, Caleb took a healthy swallow. He’d gotten used to the vile drink at his mama’s table. Now he had it for old times’ sake. Never, however, had he learned to like it.
The fellow watched Caleb set the glass back on the table, then shook his head. “Name’s Thompson.” He stretched across the table to shake Caleb’s hand. “Ed Thompson. When I’m not on the trail, I’ve got the Lazy T Ranch just north of here. Oh, and I’m the mayor around these parts.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mayor Thompson. You wouldn’t be kin to the young man at the livery, would you?”
Ed chuckled. “Depends on what he did. Oh, and call me Ed.”
“He’s a fine young man.” Caleb removed the napkin from his neck and took a swipe at his lips. “Good with horses, too, far as I can tell.”
“Well, I’m right glad t’hear it. I never know if he’s gonna behave for his mama like he does when I’m around.” He glanced down at the trail dust on his shirt, then back at Caleb. “I apologize for the way I look. I’m hungry as a bear, and wouldn’t you know I’d come home the day of my wife’s quilting bee? I’m not about to show up to a hen party. Better I fill my belly here, then slide in the back door once the ladies are gone.”
Caleb muttered an agreement, then reached for his hat.
“Hold on there, stranger. I don’t believe I caught your name.”
Caleb froze. His breath caught in his throat. His name? As with the Widow Sykes, he said, “The name’s Wilson.”
For a moment Ed said nothing. Then something akin to recognition seemed to cross his face. “Did you say Wilson?”
“I did.” Caleb took a step back, eyes narrowed. If the Lord saw fit to allow trouble with the first man he met in Dime Box, then so be it. He’d just have to take it as a sign to move on and start his new life elsewhere.
Ed rose and rounded the table to grip Caleb’s shoulder. “You’re Cal Wilson?”
Cal Wilson? He did ask the Lord for a new name just as it said in the book of Isaiah. Still, setting the man straight seemed the right thing to do, even if it meant having to hightail it out of town before sunset.
“Well, my mama named me Caleb, but you got the Wilson part right.”
Ed Thompson took him by the shoulders, all the while grinning like he’d just found gold. “Well, now this is a surprise. I been looking for you nigh on a week.”
Caleb swallowed hard. So there was another bounty on his head. By turning himself in back in Texas, he thought he’d gotten out from under all the trouble he’d put himself in.
“You don’t look nothin’ like I expected. You sure you’re Cal Wilson?”
“Like I said, Mama named me Caleb, sir. That’s generally the name I go by.”
“Guess I got it wrong then, but you’re definitely the one we been lookin’ for.”
Caleb
thought a minute before responding. “What for?”
“You’re an odd fella, Cal. It’s all in the telegram from Dodge City. I believe I’ve got it somewhere back at the house. You want me to fetch it and show you?”
He exhaled a long breath and set his hat back atop his head. “Reckon we ought to mosey on to the jailhouse and get this over with then.”
Ed Thompson shoved the last of his biscuit into his mouth, then washed the crumbling mess down with a healthy swallow of coffee. When he finished, he rose and swiped his palms on the front of his shirt. With a nod in Caleb’s direction, he said, “Reckon so.”
The man spoke with such happiness that the old Caleb would have slugged him for sure. But then the old Caleb would have been on the fastest horse out of town. Rather, Caleb found himself slowing his stride to keep pace with the sheriff as he headed willingly to jail.
Again.
Chapter 2
New Orleans, Louisiana—May 1881
Lydia Bertrand glanced around her room one last time, then allowed May, her mother’s maid and now hers, to help her down the stairs. Were she capable of tears at this moment, she might have shed them.
If only Papa were here. Surely he would stop this madness. Surely he wouldn’t allow Mama to ship me off as if I were some package headed for the Western frontier.
They stepped into the courtyard. The fountain gurgled, and the leaves dripped with sparkles of raindrops from a rain shower Lydia hadn’t even noticed. Beneath her feet, the centuries-old bricks shone as if freshly painted. It seemed as if God had washed the courtyard clean in anticipation of her arrival.
She stopped short and grasped May’s hand. “Mama said Papa’s in New York.” She whispered lest Mama be nearby. “What say we turn in our tickets for passage north? I’m sure once he hears what Mama has done he will overrule her.”
Texas Brides Collection Page 44
