He kicked off the covers and stood up, padding on bare feet to Harriet’s bedroom, where he silently opened the door. Harriet had left the curtains open, and a pale shaft of moonlight played over her. She slept curled on her side like the kitten he called her, one long braid draped over the cover.
At the sight of her sleeping safely, something tight in his chest eased. He wanted to look some more, breathe in her presence, but he didn’t want her to wake and see him looming in her doorway. He’d probably frighten her straight back to the Cobbs. He needed her here where he could protect her.
Experiencing Harriet’s death in the dream had ripped the heart out of him. Odd, considering how since Isabella and Emily’s deaths, Ant hadn’t thought he had a heart—except for David.
He shut the door and went to the next room to check on his nephew, who slept with his back against the wall. Still not that little boy sprawl he used to have. Will he ever feel safe while he sleeps?
I’m going to keep him safe.
He shut David’s door.
You can’t be with him every minute, a voice in his head chided.
Ant walked across the front room to check that the door was barred and the latchstring pulled inside. He flopped into his chair, sliding down until his head rested on the back. His eyes burned from tiredness, and his whole body ached. But he doubted he’d be able to get back to sleep. He’d tossed and turned most of the night before dropping into sleep and the nightmare had seized him. He had no desire to go back to bed and give it another chance at him.
He’d stay put and think through what he needed to do.
At first light, I’ll track down Lewis and kill him.
Then he would figure out what to do about the petite schoolmarm who’d mystically woven herself into his dreams.
* * *
Extra ammunition in a saddlebag, Colt at his hip, rifle in its scabbard, Ant rode Shadow over the hill to the Sanders ranch. This time he didn’t pause to admire the early morning beauty. In spite of the lack of sleep and an on-the-edge feeling that had propelled him out the door before Harriet and David had woken up, he had a sense of calmness.
He’d left two letters for Harriet. One, telling her he’d gone to town early, which he’d left on the kitchen table. The other he’d placed on his bed, leaving the door to his room closed. She wouldn’t see it until there was need. In it, he’d made out a will, asking her to bring up David if anything happened to him.
Nick Sanders stood at the corral, engrossed in a conversation with John Carter. John wore a gun belt with a Colt at each hip and carried a rifle.
Good. I can talk to both of them at once.
The men turned toward him showing serious faces. Ant had an idea he knew the subject of their conversation.
He rode up to them and dismounted, tossing Shadow’s reins around the middle rung of the corral.
Nick nodded at him. “Glad you’re here, Ant. John was just telling me about the theft of the mule, and that you think it could be the boy’s father?”
John took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Could be a regular horse thief.”
The two men exchanged glances. “Either way,” Nick said. “It’s not good for the town.”
John put his hat back on his head. “Left two of my hands guarding my family. Sent the rest out searching the property.
Nick jerked his head toward the house. “Let me warn Elizabeth. Get my guns. Set someone to guard the house, then we can head over to the workers’ camp. I’ll have someone see to your horse.” He headed toward the house at a trot.
John reached up to stroke Shadow’s nose. “Times like this make me wish I’d put more effort into a search for a new sheriff. But we’re generally a peaceable place, and, after Rand left, there wasn’t a sense of urgency. Had other things on my mind.” His thin face looked drawn.
Ant gave him a curious look.
“Lizzy’s illness took all the starch out of me for a while. When you almost lose a child, it’s hard to think of anything else. Then the focus was on helping Nick build his house and marry Elizabeth. Wasn’t until winter slipped by and we had the trouble with the boys setting fires that I realized this town needed a sheriff. But I don’t want just anybody. Some lawmen are as bad as the lawbreakers.”
Ant had to agree with him. “A corrupt sheriff could control the town. You’d want a man of character to wear the badge.”
“That’s essential! Sent some letters out to folks in other towns seeing if they could recommend any candidates. So did Reverend Norton and Banker Livingston. Should hear back soon.”
“But not soon enough.”
“No.”
Nick hurried over to them, a revolver in a holster at each hip, a rifle in his hands. “Elizabeth has her revolver. Left Jed in the kitchen for extra protection.” He set his free hand on the handle of his Colt. “Let’s go check out the camp.”
Ant fell into step on one side of him, John Carter on the other. The camp sat level with the house, although about a hundred yards away. Higher ground than them. If Lewis was on the lookout, he’d clearly be able to see trouble coming his way. Ant’s skin itched, and he wanted to stride forward with his gun in his hand. But he knew most, if not all of the men were honest laborers. Didn’t need to scare them out of their boots.
But Lewis could pick us off easily. Ant quickened his step, wanting to put himself ahead of the men. He figured Lewis would aim for him first, anyway. Not that he’d draw on the three of them with a camp full of men around him. But he could see them coming and slink off by himself to do the dirty deed.
Ant halted. “If anything happens to me, I’ve left a will for Harriet, asking her to bring David up. Will either of you help her?”
Nick looked as if he was about to deny the possibility of Ant’s death, then changed his mind. “They could live with us. We’ve got the room, and I guess my baby would like an older brother.”
“Or with us,” John said, his tone serious. “Mark would like a brother, too.”
“That’s settled, then.” To avoid twisting himself in knots with his imaginings, Ant strode around the tents.
The tent town straggled in an uneven circle around a campfire. The smell of coffee and frying salt pork drifted over to him. About fifteen bearded men sat on the ground or stood with tin plates in hand shoveling food into their mouths. They wore shirts in varying states of cleanliness, tucked into their pants, with suspenders to hold them up. Others moved slowly and avoided food, obviously having indulged too much at the saloon last night.
Before Ant moved into their line of vision, he took a quick glance around. No Lewis. But he could be in a tent or around somewhere. Ant didn’t relax his watchfulness.
John and Nick caught up with him.
One man, more clean than the others, with neat side whiskers and no beard, detached himself from the group and came to meet them. He shot a nervous glance at their guns and rubbed his hands together. “Is there a problem, Mr. Sanders?”
Nick glance at Ant. “Harrison, here, is the foreman of the crew.”
“We’re looking for a man named Lewis March.”
The foreman shook his head. “No man of that name’s on my crew.”
“You take on any new men in the last two weeks?” Ant asked.
“No, sir. My men have been with me for a long time. Hard workers. Know their jobs.” He waved toward the house. “As you can see.”
Ant nodded in acknowledgment. “Could someone be hiding out here without you knowing?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Don’t think so. But come over to the fire and I’ll ask.”
They moved closer to the men, who stopped eating.
“Do we have a new man hanging around here?” Harrison asked.
Ant gave them a quick description.
A slight wiry man with big hands stood up and gave a couple of slaps to his legs to dust off his pants. “Ya, boss. Sounds like Fred Smith. A group of us found him down-river a few weeks ago. Battered and bruised w
ith a broken leg. Sid...” he pointed to a stoop-shouldered man, “set the leg with some splints and leather strips, and we brought him back here. He’s been in Sid’s tent ever since.”
Ant wanted to grab the man and shake him until his head fell off. They’d saved the murderer instead of letting him perish.
The boss turned red. “You didn’t think to tell me, Groening?”
Groening looked down. “He promised us money for keeping quiet. Said he’d be coming into some soon. Didn’t say how, though. Said while he waited, he just wanted some peace and quiet to heal. Nothing wrong with that.”
The boss shook a finger at him. “It is if you’re feeding him our grub. You’re as good as stealing from Mr. Sanders.”
Groening gave a quick shake of his head. “No, sir. About ten of us gave him a little of our portion. Made enough for a grown man.”
“Ten of you knew and didn’t tell me?” Harrison gave the men a long, hard look. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Where is he?” Ant growled, deliberately taking advantage of the fearful effect he had on people who didn’t know him.
Groening shifted away. A nervous expression crossed his face. “Smith was feeling well enough, Boss. Could walk with a stick. We took him with us to town. Had us a rip-roaring time at one of the saloons. Said he was going to the other saloon. Never saw him again. Didn’t remember much ’til now, either. Too damn drunk, the lot of us.”
Ant stepped closer to the man. “He’s a dangerous murderer.”
“Who’d he murder?” Sid said in a disbelieving tone.
“My sister,” Ant snapped. “If he returns, capture him.”
“Uh, that might be a problem,” Groening wouldn’t meet their eyes.
Nick snapped out, “Why is that?”
Groening scuffed his feet in the dirt, puffs of dust rose on the morning sunbeams. “Noticed I had an empty holster this morning. Think Smith might have taken my gun?”
Damned fool. Of course he took the gun. And no telling who’d see the business end of the weapon pointed right at them. Made Ant’s blood run cold just thinking of it.
* * *
Sitting at the table in the kitchen, his slate in front of him, David wrote the letters of his name. Miss Stanton had printed David Gordon across the top of the slate, and he had traced the letters, and then started writing on his own. At first, his lines wobbled and he’d rub them out and try again, but soon his fingers caught on, as if dimly remembering performing this same task many times before.
Miss Stanton stood at the sink, drying dishes she’d washed earlier, looking out the window. She wore a long white apron over the gray dress that David liked because it made her eyes so pretty. She hummed, almost under her breath—a happy sound—that made him feel content.
As soon as his lesson was finished, Miss Stanton promised he could go out to the barn where Pepe worked. Uncle Ant had said in the note Miss Stanton read him that Pepe from the livery was making the barn nicer for the horses and that he’d show David how to groom Chester and muck out his stall.
David sat up straighter. Chester was his responsibility, Uncle Ant had said. A man always took care of his horse before himself, although Miss Stanton must not think like a man because she’d already made him wash his hands, face, and behind his ears, eat breakfast, and do some school work before he could attend to Chester.
He wrinkled his nose. Didn’t have to wash when I lived with Pa. Probably the only good thing about that time. But he wouldn’t trade his new life for anything.
Bending back to his task, David dredged up the letters from his memory and wrote them out. David March. He stared at the words for a long moment. Then with a resentful swipe of the rag, he wiped out the hateful name and began again. David Gordon. He made each letter as big and precise as he could.
I’m David Gordon now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ant rode Shadow home. His eyes burned from fatigue. He was hot, sweaty, sore, and frustrated. Hunger growled in his stomach and made him lightheaded. John and Nick had insisted on riding out with him to the Addison’s ranch and then to the shack in the mountains. Too eager to finish their search, they hadn’t taken provisions, nor rested at the Addison’s ranch. They’d talked to dozens of people—many had already heard the news and been on the watch—but the men had found no sign of Lewis.
Now with the sun heading to the west, Ant had given up the search. For today.
His gaze swept the house and barn, yard and outbuildings. All seemed peaceful. Already the place looked more like a home with the weeds gone and flowers bursting into bloom. The puppy bounded across the porch, down the steps and waddled over to him, barking like a miniature fiend, plumy tail thumping. Ant kept a firm hand on Shadow’s reins, but he sensed the horse was becoming used to the latest addition to their family.
Pepe stepped out of the barn, body tense, shotgun in hand, then relaxed when he saw who’d ridden up.
Ant felt a surge of relief. He’d done well in his choice of guardians to protect the two he loved. With the vigilance of the Mexican and the puppy, Lewis wouldn’t have had a chance to sneak near the house.
But the relief didn’t ease his frustration. He still needed to wrap his hands around Lewis’ neck and squeeze the life out of him. He needed to make sure the man was dead this time.
He rode to Pepe and dismounted. “All clear?” The pup frisked at his heels, and he crouched for a head rub, which had the dog wiggling in ecstasy.
“Sí, Señor,” Pepe said. “The boy, he came here to the barn. After we feed Chester, I tied the gelding outside. The boy, he groom the horse where I can watch the house too. Miss Stanton feed the chickens and the pigs and work in the garden. Then she call the boy back inside for more lessons. The dog’s been quiet till now.”
Ant straightened. “Thank you, Pepe. You’ve done well.”
The young man drew to his full, although short, height. A proud smile crossed his round, dark face. “You want I watch this night again?”
Ant almost dismissed the man, thinking he’d be able to protect the house by himself. But what about the barn? He wouldn’t put it past Lewis to steal Chester. Shadow wouldn’t let the man near him, but Chester might. And a bullet would take care of Shadow. The thought sickened him.
“I’d be obliged if you’d sleep in the barn tonight. Protect the livestock.”
“Sí, Señor. I will be here tonight.”
“I’ll bring some food out for you.”
“Gracias, Señor.” Pepe indicated a straw bale he’d hauled next to the entrance of the barn. The dusky shadows would hide his watchful figure.
Ant touched his hat in an acknowledgment.
Pepe propped the shotgun against the bale and collected Shadow’s reins. “I take care of him, Señor. You go inside.”
Too tired to argue, Ant thanked the man. He took his rifle, turned, and trudged toward the house, his back to the setting sun, thinking about what to do about Lewis. The pup followed him.
As the search had dragged on today, Ant had realized he’d made a mistake by planting himself in Sweetwater Springs. Now with his fortunes tied to the town, he couldn’t just pluck David from his surroundings and escape. He couldn’t leave Harriet vulnerable. Lewis might punish her for getting in his way, for taking David, for siding with Ant. He didn’t need another woman’s death on his conscience.
Harriet will just have to marry me. I’ll take her and David to Europe. Lewis won’t follow us there. I know she loves another, but he’s roped and tied. She’ll be safe with me. With so much of my capital invested here, we’ll be on tight rations but everyone will be safe. That’s what’s important.
As his boots clunked on the steps of the cabin, he prepared himself for the argument. Can’t just launch into asking her to marry me. She doesn’t know Lewis is still alive. We will have to discuss everything after David’s gone to bed.
Ant took off his hat and rubbed his arm over his face. How can I be so exhausted, yet so wound up? He knew
the answer. He’d experienced enough dangerous times when pursuing news stories. But I didn’t care about the people around me, only about the story. Now he cared. Cared deeply.
Ant opened the door and stepped inside. He hung the rifle on the rack next to the door. The pup sniffed his boots before trying to gnaw on the toe of one. He did a fancy shuffle to save the boot, unbuckled his gun belt, and hung it on a hook underneath the rack holding the rifle.
Harriet’s voice echoed from the kitchen. The cadence sounded as if she was reading out loud. The words seemed familiar.
With a flash of recognition, Ant realized that he was hearing one of Emily’s poems. Anger burst within him, ancient and bitter. Without stopping to think, he strode through the house and into the kitchen.
* * *
Harriet had discovered a book of poetry on the bookshelf. It stood next to Ant’s other books that looked as well-worn as hers. Delighted, she’d paged through the book, stopping here and there to read a poem. She sighed with envy. These are much better than mine. She turned the book over, looking for the author. Emily March. Isn’t Emily the name of Ant’s sister?
Harriet had found David in the kitchen, hunched over the table in the dwindling shaft of sunlight from the window, brow furrowed with concentration, writing out his numbers. She held the book out to him. “Do you recognize this?”
He looked up, eyed the book and shook his head.
“The poems are by Emily March.”
His eyes widened.
“Your mother?”
He nodded, looking fearful and scrunching down in his chair.
She pulled up a chair next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. “Nothing to be afraid about, David. Let’s try reading them and see what happens.”
Harriet opened up the book, turning the pages until she came to one with a bookmark. She glanced at it, noting that the poem seemed different from the other work, not of the same caliber. More like a ditty really, about a boy playing with his boat. “David, I think this is for you.” She read the verses out loud, enjoying the catchy refrain:
Debra Holland Page 23
