A Match of Sorts

by Lucette Nell

  “Are you awake?” Libby whispered.

  “Hhmm.” Grace pushed up on her good elbow. “Can’t sleep?”

  “I had an accident.” Libby twisted the handkerchief in front of her.

  Grace sat up and swung her feet over the bed’s edge. “What happened?”

  Libby sniffled and hugged herself. “I wet the bed.”

  Grace stood. Soiled sheets weren’t something she’d expected to face in Cedar Grove. “Where’s Abby?”

  “Here.” Abby peeked around the jamb.

  “I’ll go pull off the covers. Both of you can share this bed with me. It’s plenty big.” Grace patted the warm spot she’d abandoned.

  Abby took Libby’s hand and they toddled over to the bed, nightshirts brushing the floor, inching themselves deeper into her heart.

  Grace changed Libby into one of Caleb’s undershirts and lifted the covers. The girls clambered in and relaxed against the feather pillows, Grace covered them with the quilt and inhaled the faint fragrance of jasmine.

  “Will you kiss us good night?” The moonlight washed over Libby’s delicate features.

  Grace’s heart dropped to her toes.

  Abby gripped the blankets beneath her chin.

  “Of course.” Grace brushed her lips against Libby’s brow, and then Abby’s, the jasmine taunting her. Not trusting her own voice, Grace whisked out of the room and flattened against the wall to suck in a deep breath. This wasn’t fair. It was as if God was punishing her, reminding her of dreams she’d buried. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing tears into submission.

  The bed creaked and vague whispering ensued.

  Maybe changing bed sheets would whip her emotions into order.

  10

  Caleb gritted his teeth and held his hands in line with his shoulders. Mud squished beneath the soles of his boots. Air laced with cigar smoke and the stench of urine burned his nostrils. Grimacing, he opted to breathe through his mouth. His gaze flitted from the two men.

  “Keep your hands where I can see ’em.” The man with the heavy beard barked.

  Hard steel probed against Caleb’s ribs. This was exactly why he refrained from helping people. Aside from Grace, it usually ended in disaster, for him. Yet he’d hurried to lend a hand when the call for help caught his attention.

  The pinch in his spine turned vengeful, and he shifted his stance slightly in an effort to minimize the discomfort. Overpowering them simply wasn’t an option. Two broad shouldered, towering youths against one cripple was asking for trouble. And with the weapon in the hand of the jittery one, it seemed viable.

  Last thing Caleb wanted was to be discovered in a muddy alley in a pool of blood. His best tactic was to reason with them.

  “Living this way will only get you both locked up.” Even dead.

  “Does it look like we care?” The hairy fellow’s gaze flitted to his friend.

  Soiled Cap snorted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing over his shoulder for the third time. “Let’s hurry.”

  “Hand over that pocket watch.” The gun jabbed into Caleb’s ribs. “And anything else you have that’s valuable.”

  Pocket watch? A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched and his shoulders tensed. They knew about the pocket watch. His suspicion escalated as he frowned at Soiled Cap.

  “Do it.” Whiskers pointed the gun at Caleb’s head. “Unless you wanna die because of a lousy watch.” The click resounded in the reeking alley.

  “And don’t try anything stupid.” Turning away a little, Soiled Cap dipped his head and removed his hat to run his fingers through a riot of rust colored coils.

  “Seamus?”

  Eyes widened and the cap slammed on the red mass and pulled low to his eyebrows.

  “Seamus O’Brien what are you doing?” Caleb knew the fellow—barely nineteen if he recalled correctly—struggled after his father’s sudden death, but he’d never have expected this.

  “Shut up! Do what we say or would you rather I put a bullet in your head.” To add weight to his threat, Whiskers aimed at the spot right between Caleb’s brows.

  “What will you tell your Ma, Seamus?” Caleb narrowed his eyes at the young man. Red hair like that was a rarity.

  Seamus avoided his gaze. “Let’s go.”

  “What?” Whiskers shook his head and waved the weapon at Caleb. “I ain’t leavin’ without that watch. Toss it.”

  “No.” Caleb clenched his hands. The gold timepiece was the only thing he had of his father.

  “Let’s go.” Seamus gripped Whiskers’ shoulder.

  “I said toss it!” Whiskers barked.

  A pain sliced from the side of Caleb’s skull and his knees buckled. As he crumbled to the ground, he grabbed the affronted spot. A kick landed on his ribs. Several more followed in short succession. Caleb rolled into a ball and covered his head with his arms to protect himself against the assault.

  “Willie, leave him alone,” Seamus’s voice barely penetrated the confusion in Caleb’s head.

  Vile curses filled the air. With a growl, Caleb snatched the closest boot and tugged, sending his assailant toppling backward and smashing into the dirt with a thud and a grunt.

  On trembling hands, Caleb pushed up and swiped the mud from his face. His surroundings swirled. The red dots dancing along the edge of his vision cleared enough for him to see Seamus helping Whiskers to his feet. Whiskers tackled Caleb, but Caleb swung his fist. The blow connected with Whiskers full in the jaw, sending the man stumbling back a step.

  From beside Caleb, a bark reverberated through the alley. Then a blur of white shot forward. Jewel sank her teeth into Whiskers’ calf and a pain-filled scream followed. A gunshot sliced through the air. Jewel yelped and crumpled on the spot just as the two men dashed away.

  “Jewel.” Caleb crawled to the lump of whimpering fur. With trembling hands, he prodded the dog’s side until his fingers found the sticky wetness he feared. He pulled his hand back and his heart sank. Blood.

  “It’ll be all right, girl.” The air evaporated in his lungs, and he gathered the collie in his arms and pushed to his numb feet. Ribs screamed in agony, far surpassing the usual dull ache in his spine. With staggering steps, Caleb hurried to the street, screaming Luke’s name.

  

  Caleb kicked the door open, and Luke jumped to his feet, his hand on his holstered gun.

  “Clear the desk.” Caleb gritted his teeth and stumbled across the room, cradling Jewel against his chest as if the dog were one of his daughters.

  Luke pushed everything on his desk aside. Papers fluttered in the air. Cups and a plate clattered to the ground. Black coffee splashed on the stained and scarred floor.

  “What in tarnation happened?” Luke raked his hands through his hair, his gaze flitting from Caleb’s face to the dog as Caleb lowered the animal onto the desk.

  “Jewel was shot.” Caleb winced and wrapped an arm around his ribs. No wonder Luke acted like a baby when he’d cracked his rib breaking up a brawl in the saloon last year.

  “What about you? You need the doctor.”

  “We need to help Jewel.” Caleb tightened his grip on the edge of the desk to keep straight. “She was shot when she pounced on the men.”

  Luke jerked up his head, eyes wide. “What men? Tell me what happened!”

  “Luke! Jewel is all Grace has. If something happens to her dog, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  The dog whimpered on Luke’s desk. The red stain had grown with every step Caleb had taken.

  “You’ll be fine, girl.” Caleb buried his fingers in the silky fur.

  Luke yanked the drawers of his desk and ruffled through the contents, tossing several trivial items onto the floor and muttering inaudibly. “I’ll need whiskey.”

  Caleb started to the door, every step jarring his injured ribs. Even his fingertips ached.

  Luke dashed by. “I’ll go. It’ll be quicker.”

  With a nod, Caleb returned to Jewel and lowered to his
knees, capturing her head between his hands. “You’ll be fine, all right?” His voice cracked and Jewel licked his face. He leaned in, burying his face in her fur that was permeated with blood mixed with earth. His breakfast rebelled in his stomach. “Luke’s dug out more than one bullet in his life. He’ll help you.”

  The door opened, and Luke stomped to the desk, shrugging out of his coat and discarding it on the chair. He frowned at Caleb. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Take care of Jewel.” Every breath Caleb took knifed his chest.

  “All right.” Luke snatched the blanket from one of the vacant bunks in the cell. Using the knife he always kept in his pocket, he sliced the blanket into wide strips and draped them across his chair’s back. He opened the bottle of whiskey, the stench filling the small room, and poured the liquid onto some of the strips. “Inside the drawer you’ll find thread and a needle. Can you thread it?” He jerked his head toward the drawer.

  “What are you doing with needle and thread in your drawer?” Caleb rounded the desk. When he found the items, he closed his eyes in a quick prayer and pulled a length of thread through the needle’s eye. Had circumstances been different he’d be impressed at his own efficiency.

  “Sometimes my prisoners need stitches after a brawl. I don’t see the sense in bothering Doc when Pa taught me how to do it.” Luke handed Caleb a broader strip of blanket. “Wrap her muzzle with this in case she bites.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Luke will help you.” Jewel didn’t fight him as he wound the material around her nose.

  Luke moved in and started cleaning the blood away from the wound. He grumbled. “I’ll need to dig out the slug.”

  

  “Bluebonnets!” Grace stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth. This was a waste of time. No wonder she preferred tracking men with bounties on their heads instead.

  At the hearth, Ellen grinned and lifted her gaze. Her needle moved in and out of the fabric at a steady rhythm. “If that material wasn’t red, it would’ve been the way you’re going.”

  “I’m no good at this.” Grace strangled the stupid bow in her lap. At the rate she stitched, they’d have one for every five Ellen finished. And her pathetic bow would be distorted.

  “The more you do it, the better you’ll get at it.”

  “I don’t need to know how to sew. It doesn’t put food in my belly.” Grace snorted and rested her head against the back support of the rocker. Even as a girl, she’d found whatever her brothers were doing a lot more interesting than what Mother preferred her to do. To everyone’s disappointment, Grace’s passion simply didn’t include knitting and sewing.

  “You’re still thinking about leaving?”

  Grace lifted her head and swallowed hard. The air in Ellen’s comfortable parlor turned stifling. “My plans haven’t changed.”

  Ellen lowered her own sewing and observed Grace with narrowed eyes. “Nothing’s changed?”

  Everything had changed. “Why would it?” Had Caleb mentioned something to Ellen? Those blasted butterflies returned to her stomach. Grace squirmed in her chair, and she lifted her stitching. A sharp sting caused her to hiss at the drop of blood swelling from the pinhole on her index finger—the newest among hundreds already dotting her flesh. Years as a bounty hunter hadn’t scarred her flesh as often as one morning’s sewing.

  She glanced up and found Ellen had resumed her own stitching. Sunlight glinted on the needle she pulled through the fabric and Grace wished Ellen was sewing her thoughts onto the fabric instead of tiny and precise stitches.

  “I don’t know.” Ellen shrugged, her voice lower than usual. “I do know there are many devices in a man's heart; nevertheless, the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand.”

  Grace bit her lip. “You’re hoping I stay?”

  Ellen smiled. “Of course. The only person too blind to see how much Caleb and the girls need and enjoy you, is you.”

  Grace bounced her foot on the floor. “It’ll never work.” The girls deserved someone worthy of being their mother. If she stayed, he’d be stuck with her and their sham marriage, and they would never have a proper woman like Ellen for a mother.

  “You don’t think you’ll be able to form feelings for Caleb?”

  Grace crossed her ankles in front of her. It could possibly be too late already to prevent that. “Caleb deserves to marry a nice lady.”

  “You are a nice lady. And if you don’t stay, where does that leave you, Grace? Tracking outlaw after outlaw, never belonging anywhere?”

  “When you say it like that…”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Ellen dropped her sewing into the basket at her feet and scooted toward the edge of her chair. “I know you’re frightened. We all get frightened when we face change.”

  “If we chitchat we’ll never finish the decorations before caroling tonight.”

  

  Grace opened the door and her insides turned to cotton.

  Caleb’s one eye was purple and swollen shut, his cheek sported an ugly bruise. Dried blood crusted his nostrils and the corner of his lips. His thick hair was tousled, plastered against his scalp. Blood and mud stained the front of his shirt, and every button seemed to be missing. His trousers might have been tossed in front of a stampeding herd of cattle.

  “What happened?” She gripped the jamb. Her stomach rocked and she swallowed the dust that formed in her mouth.

  “Caleb?” Ellen gasped at Grace’s elbow.

  “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, I need you to put on a shawl and come with me.”

  “Abby and Libby—”

  “Go. I’ll take care of them.” Ellen snatched Margaret’s shawl and shoved Grace through the door.

  Grace settled the wrap around her shoulders as she hurried down the steps, cursing her trembling body. Most of the snow had melted, leaving mud in its place.

  Caleb headed toward Main Street, his stride measured, his jaw hard, and his arms wrapped around his chest. His steps slow and measured, were as if he trudged through quicksand.

  “Caleb, what happened?”

  He glanced at her without stopping. Wind whipped and tousled his hair. “Jewel’s been hurt.”

  Grace swayed.

  He caught and steadied her. “She’s fine. The bullet’s out.”

  “Bullet!” Grace grabbed the front of his torn shirt. “Where is she?” She hated the tremble in her voice.

  “In Luke’s office.” Caleb winced.

  She fisted her hands at her rioting stomach. “What happened to you?”

  “I was attacked in the alley. Jewel was there. The thugs shot her when she attacked one of them.”

  “You shouldn’t be prancing around while you’re injured.” She moved to his side and slipped her arm around his waist. Tall as she was, they were eye to eye until she dipped her chin. Sweat, blood, and dirt burned her nostrils. “Have you seen the doctor?”

  “I’ll see him later. I need to take you to Jewel.”

  “I can go see Jewel on my own. You should sit—”

  “Stop arguing.” He pressed a finger against her lips, stopping her from completing her sentence.

  11

  How is she doing?” Caleb rubbed his eye, avoiding the bruised one. If the blackness beyond the window was any indication, he’d slept much longer than he’d planned. The row of buttons on his shirt stymied him and his aching hand and with a huff he crossed his arms. The bandages wrapped around his chest along with the heat from the hearth removed some of the chill in the air. He wiggled his fingers. Whiskers had a jaw made out of stone. Turning pages and wielding the occasional hammer never strained his hand.

  Grace sat Indian-style at Jewel’s side near the hearth, her hair escaping from a messy bun-like creation at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t fair that her looks messed with his head. Turned out, he wasn’t that much different from most other men. A pretty face reduced him to a brainless fool. He pulled the quilt from the rocker and strangled it in his grip.r />
  She made an odd sound but didn’t move. To prevent from startling her, in case she didn’t hear him, he cleared his throat.

  “Grace?”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Caleb inched closer, avoiding the obnoxious board that groaned under the slightest of weight. “Can I get you something?” He settled the quilt around her shoulders.

  “No.”

  Ellen’s excessive chatter might drive him loco, but pulling words out of Grace was akin to his gardening talents, which were abysmal.

  A…sniffle? Yes. It was definitely a masked sniffle. Past experiences taught him that his heart turned to mush when his woman cried. His woman! Where did that come from? Best he returned to the storeroom at the church. Avoided and limited the chances of awkwardness between himself and Grace.

  He sat down beside her. His knee brushed against hers, but she remained motionless. With a deep breath, he covered her hand buried in Jewel’s fur with his own.

  Grace pinned him with a narrow-eyed glare. Her puffy eyes, blotched face, and red nose subtracted from the fierceness he imagined she planned to level on him. The fire crackled in the silence. Her hand remained beneath his.

  “Do you want to lie down a little while? I’ll watch over Jewel.”

  She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. I won’t be able to sleep.”

  He understood. Since moving Jewel here, her breathing had deepened, the familiarity of the house somehow soothing her.

  “Where are the girls?”

  “They went to bed a little while ago.” Grace wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. When the quilt slipped, she grabbed it in a tight grip.

  “Thank you.”

  “You needn’t thank me. You shouldn’t even be out of bed.” She removed her hand from beneath his, and drawing up her legs, propped her chin on one knee.

  Caleb’s heart clenched, but he schooled his features to remain impassive.

  “Where did you get her?”

  Grace swallowed. “She was tied to a tree at the side of a road. Only a few weeks old.” She ran her hand along Jewel’s side. “We’ve been together ever since.”