by Jo Goodman
Kellen started to rise; she waved him back. “Mrs. Berry.”
“I escorted Rabbit and Finn back to the station. I just returned from there.”
Kellen nodded. That explained the deep pink color in her cheeks. Bitter Springs breezes. It had been tempting to flatter himself that he might be the cause.
A small crease appeared between Raine’s eyebrows. “I spoke to Mr. Collins. He told me there was a murder on the last train that went through here.”
“So I understand.”
“You were on that train.”
“I was.”
“He offered the name of the murdered man.” She pursed her lips. “You could have said something downstairs.”
“I could have, but why would I?” Kellen shifted in his chair, drawing his legs from under the table and stretching them out in her direction. He set his forearms against his midriff, threaded his fingers, and lightly tapped the pads of his thumbs together. He regarded her with an absence of expression as she struggled to rein in her frustration.
“I should think that would be obvious. You heard me mistake you for Mr. Church.”
“Yes, I did hear that.” Kellen did not think her level gaze could cut more sharply, but it did. Her green eyes glittered brilliantly. He added, “And I was supposed to say…?” He let the question hang for a long moment. When she did not respond, he said, “I regret to inform you, Mrs. Berry, but the man you’ve taken me for is dead. Would that have satisfied?”
Her nostrils flared slightly, and for the first time since entering the room, her gaze moved to the guns. It quickly returned to him. “Did the Burdicks hire you?”
Kellen didn’t answer right away. He cast his thoughts back and tried to remember how he knew that name. The clear, youthful tones of Finn’s voice came to him suddenly. Unless you already signed on with the Burdicks. That’d be a shame.
“What is it you really want to know?” he asked her.
“Did you murder Mr. Church?”
“I think you know the answer to that. I take you for a woman of reasonably good sense. I imagine you already put that question to Mr. Collins, and he told you I wasn’t the killer. I had to satisfy the conductor of the train as to my innocence before I could leave the train at Bitter Springs. I would be surprised to learn if that wasn’t communicated to Mr. Collins when he received word about the murder.”
Raine’s fingers curled into the stiff fabric of her gown. “Who are you?”
“Kellen Coltrane. I signed the registry.”
“I know. I watched you.”
“Then I am afraid I don’t understand the question.”
“I take you for a man of reasonably good sense,” she said crisply. “Do not give me cause to regret it.”
His lips quirked once and then he was sober. “All right, Mrs. Berry, but you must answer a question first.”
“We’ll see.”
“Mr. Collins spoke of you as the Widow Berry.”
“Widder,” she corrected.
“Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what he said.”
“It’s Finn’s fault.”
Kellen’s chuckle stayed at the back of his throat. “I’m sure it is.”
“It stuck.”
Although she continued to keep her gaze leveled on him, he had a sense that she wanted to look away. He watched her draw a shallow breath and release it slowly. “Are you, in fact, Mrs. Adam Berry?”
“Is that your question, Mr. Coltrane? The one I must answer?”
“It is.”
“Then, yes, I am Mrs. Adam Berry.”
Kellen drew his legs back and stood, slowly unfolding out of the chair so as not to give the impression he meant to launch himself at her. He was impressed that she held her ground as he approached. He stopped when he was within arm’s length and extended his hand.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Adam Berry. Nat Church sends his regards.”
She did not put her hand in his. Her hands flew to her open mouth just in time to stifle a sob. Kellen reached for her when he saw her begin to buckle, but she caught herself without his help and stepped back so she could lean against the door. He waited to see if she would slide down the length of it. She didn’t. She stayed pressed to the door, hands at her mouth, eyes closed, and Kellen had the impression she was praying or giving thanks for a prayer answered. In time, she straightened. Her hands fell back to her sides, and she returned to searching his face, unaware or uncaring that her stare had been made softer by the wash of unshed tears.
“Is it true?” she asked on a thread of sound. “He’s really dead?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“You were there?”
“I was. Not when the knife was slipped into him, but later. He sat with me.”
“You knew him, then.”
“Better than most, I suspect.”
She nodded. “It’s my fault that he’s dead.”
“I doubt that. He certainly didn’t blame you. The truth is, he held himself responsible.” Kellen turned slightly and indicated the chair he had vacated. “Won’t you sit down?”
She hesitated. “I think I will, yes. Thank you.”
He stepped aside to let her pass. Her skirt brushed him as she went by, and the fragrance of lavender lingered pleasantly. “I have a flask of whiskey. Would you share a drink with me?”
She shook her head.
Kellen went to one of the bedside tables and opened a drawer. He took out a silver flask and poured a small measure of whiskey into the glass beside the water carafe. He did not return the flask to the drawer but laid it on top of the table. He sat on one of his trunks in his guest’s line of sight.
“You should have asked for two chairs,” she said.
“I think Miss Hage was overwhelmed by the request for one.”
A smile touched her lips. “I’m sure she was.” The smile vanished as quickly as it came.
“And I don’t make it a practice to entertain guests,” said Kellen. “One chair discourages them.”
“I am more of an intruder than guest, I think.”
He didn’t contradict her and commented instead on the worry that shadowed her expression. “You look as if you’re wondering if you made a mistake.”
“I don’t know you,” she said quietly. “Not at all. ‘Nat Church sends his regards’ is hardly a calling card. I think I might have assumed too much.”
Kellen carefully set his glass beside him on the trunk lid. He reached into his vest pocket and took out the badge. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he held it out for her to see. “Better than a calling card, I think.”
She sank her teeth in her bottom lip and nodded jerkily. Kellen kept the badge extended until she found her voice. “He said I would know him by the badge. He would show it to me, and I would know him. He described it in detail so there could be no mistaking it.”
Kellen gave no indication of the relief he felt. When Mrs. Berry wrote that she would appreciate a manner of identifying the man she was hiring with something besides his name, Kellen wondered what Mr. Church might have proposed. He left the Colts on the table to see if they were Nat Church’s other calling card, but the Peacemakers engaged more suspicion, not trust.
“Would you like to examine it?”
She leaned forward and put out her hand but couldn’t quite reach it. Kellen stood and closed the distance. She thanked him. He remained standing while she looked it over, turning it onto its face almost immediately. She ran her forefinger lightly across the length of the bent pin.
“It’s his,” she said and gave it back.
Kellen returned the badge to his vest pocket before he sat. “I want you to be certain.”
“I’m certain. He told me the pin was bent.”
“Did he tell you how?” he asked. A smile edged his mouth, as if he might know something she didn’t.
“As a matter of fact, yes. His wife bent it when she tried to tear it off his vest.”
Kellen tried t
o recall what Nat Church had said about his wife. Wife would’ve tried to stop me. “She wanted him to be done with the life he’d chosen.”
“That is not surprising. A woman chooses her man. Her man chooses their life. In her place, I might have stomped on the thing.”
Kellen didn’t doubt it. There was no vehemence in her voice, just the stiff backbone of resolve. “He was a widower. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell him you were a widder.”
Her smile was a trifle crooked. “No, I didn’t tell him that.” She absently brushed away a few fiery strands of hair that fluttered across her cheek. “I wrote that I was the owner of the Pennyroyal. I thought that would be enough.”
Kellen was not prepared to reveal that the letters she wrote to Nat Church were the source of almost everything he knew.
Whatever Nat Church’s intentions, Kellen had been charged with going to the Pennyroyal. Should find her…tell her…she’s waiting. And now that he knew the content of the letters, it seemed clear that the she in wait was Mrs. Berry. Perhaps Nat Church had only ever wanted him to tell Mrs. Berry that he wouldn’t be coming.
Except that it didn’t settle right with him to leave it there. He still wanted to know why a man was dead and a woman was in so much pain she could wound you with a look.
“I wasn’t sure you were the owner when we met,” he said. “I knew we would figure it out eventually, and so we have. You can appreciate my caution. Nat Church is dead for lack of it.”
She lowered her head and stared at her folded hands. “I didn’t think I had to warn him. No one knew he was…” Her head snapped up; suspicion narrowed her eyes. “Tell me again how you know what you know.”
“He wanted me to know. He made sure I did.”
“Why?”
“I can’t speak to his reasons. He wasn’t one for explaining things like that. He trusted me.”
“He never wrote that he was bringing anyone with him.”
“Perhaps because he didn’t want you to know that he thought better about doing the job alone.”
“So he chose you?”
Kellen smiled again. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” The smile disappeared. He picked up his glass, emptied it, then leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He rolled the glass between his palms. “You played your cards close.”
“Not close enough. He’s dead. Bringing you along didn’t keep him safe.”
“He didn’t ask me along to keep him safe. The job, as I understand it, is to keep you safe.”
She flushed. Her folded hands tightened. “I never asked for that.”
“You asked for protection for the town. You’re part of the town, aren’t you?”
Her flush deepened, but she did not respond to the rhetorical question. “Someone found out that he was coming here and killed him.”
“You have to consider the possibility his murder had nothing at all to do with the reasons he was coming here. He was a lawman.”
“Retired.”
Kellen had suspected as much.
“Retired, yes, but not without enemies. Not everyone hangs, you know. Not everyone is shot dead. Some go to prison, some of them get out, and some of them who get out go looking.” He thought he saw her shiver. He stopped rolling the glass. “Should I start a fire in the stove?”
She shook her head. “No, not on my account.”
He moved the glass to the table as he stood. “Then on mine.”
“Where are you from?” Before he could answer, she said, “And please don’t say you’re not from around here. There is no point in being obtuse when that much is certain. I put your accent east of the Mississippi. Northeast?”
“I didn’t realize it was still obvious. I haven’t lived there for years.” Kellen set about lighting the tinder and nursing the fire. “New England, generally. New Haven, specifically.”
“New Haven. Isn’t there a college there?”
“Yale,” he said. “You’re thinking of Yale.”
“No, I was thinking of Harvard.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone except students and graduates much cares if you confuse them.”
“I think you might be a graduate of one of them.”
“Well, I am.” He closed the door on the stove and held out his hands to warm them. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, “Yale, if that’s your next question. My father is a professor there. Humanities.”
“Humanities,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”
“He studies and lectures in disciplines that elevate humankind. Ancient languages. History. Philosophy. Religion. He enjoys literature above all the rest. Ancient Greek literature.”
“I see.”
He saw her eyes dart to the guns. “I don’t share his interests. It’s a disappointment to him.” He briskly rubbed his hands together and returned to his seat on the trunk. “What about you? I seem to recall that you’re a newcomer to Bitter Springs. Am I remembering that right?”
“I wrote to Mr. Church that I was.”
“Then he might have told me. I still have Finn’s voice rattling in my brain, so it’s difficult to recall where I heard it.”
“Yes, well, Finn knows something about everyone in town. Rabbit knows the rest.”
“They take after their grandfather.”
“Their grandmother. Heather Collins knows it all, and if you forget that, she’ll remind you. I’ve spoken to the boys about the guns. They gave me their word that they won’t tell anyone else what they saw in your bag.”
Kellen was not confident he could trust the boys, but it was clear to him that she did. “Good to know.”
“I came here from Sacramento.”
“With your husband.”
A brief hesitation, then, “After Adam, not with him. He wasn’t my husband until I got here.” Her glance swiveled to the empty glass on the table. “I think I will take that drink if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Let me see if I can find another glass.”
“There should be one in the bathing room.”
He returned with it in short order, splashed it with a good measure of whiskey, and handed it to her. “How long ago did you arrive in Bitter Springs?”
“Six years ago. Adam won the Pennyroyal in a card game.”
Kellen’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ve heard of things like that. Never knew them to be true.”
“This is true. He won it in a poker game that lasted three days. It came down to Adam and Mr. Israel Dunkirk of the Pacific Coast Railway. They had already cleaned the lint from the pockets of every other man at the table. The Pennyroyal was just one of the holdings he took away.”
“The game was here?”
“No, Sacramento. Adam had no business being at that table, except that he parlayed a small stake into a bigger one and eventually bought himself a seat.”
“He was a gambler?”
“Not as a rule.”
“Lucky then.”
She shrugged. “Not as a rule. I’ve always assumed he cheated.”
Kellen laughed.
“I’m serious,” she said.
“I know you are.”
She laughed then, too, and sipped her drink. “This is good whiskey. Very smooth.”
“Better than the stock in your saloon?”
“Buy a few drinks and decide for yourself.”
“I might.”
“I’ll reimburse you. Room and board. Your drinks. Whatever you like.”
“You’re hiring me?”
“Yes.”
“The same arrangement you offered Mr. Church?”
“I don’t know your experience. Perhaps you aren’t as practiced.”
Kellen refrained from pointing out that he was alive while Nat Church was very much not. Standing, he picked up the Colt with the ivory grip, hefted it once, and then expertly spun it clockwise, then counter, and finally pretended to holster it at his side. After a pause, he set it
back on the table.
“That’s all well and good, Mr. Coltrane, but nimble fingers don’t necessarily mean a steady hand. I want to know if you can shoot the eye out of a chicken hawk when he’s circling the henhouse.”
“Probably not. Did Nat Church say he could?”
“No. But it might be useful.”
“If we were after chicken hawks. But we’re not, are we? I was thinking you were after larger prey. The Burdicks, for instance.”
“I’m not after anyone,” she said.
“Protection,” he said. “A peacemaker.”
“Yes.”
“There might be a price.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I am not naïve.”
Kellen was not certain he agreed. “Someone else has to make the first move.”
She nodded.
“I thought that had already occurred. Didn’t you tell Church there were men already dead?”
“I did, but every circumstance is different, and except for…” Her voice trailed away. She cleared her throat and finished. “The proof of fault has not been established.”
“Except for?” he asked. “It’s what you don’t say, Mrs. Berry, that holds real meaning. Except for what?”
“Not what,” she said. “Who. Except for Ellen Wilson. I know which Burdick murdered her.”
The name was unfamiliar to him. He had to ask, “Who is Ellen Wilson?”
“My sister.”
Chapter Three
“What will you have tonight, Charlie? A whiskey or a shot of the white lightning?” Raine held up a bottle in each hand and cocked an eyebrow at Charlie Patterson as the cowboy stepped up to the bar. “If you’ve been out no more than three days, I recommend the whiskey. Longer than that, the white lightning.”
Charlie grinned. He had a wide smile and eyes about as large and brown as the calves he drove to their mamas. He was sweet on Sue Hage, but like Emily Ransom, he didn’t know how not to flirt. He winked at Raine. “Give me the white lightning. I was out in the cold all day. It felt like four.”
She laughed and poured. “Take it over to the table by the piano. I’m watching the door tonight, and even if I weren’t, I think Walt talked Sue into playing.”
