Amy’s brow showed consternation, and Dent supposed he wasn’t making much sense. “Packett had to get that money from somewhere. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man with rich relatives. He’s in a gang. And they’ve been there, to the Packett place, recently.”
“They’re robbing the bank!” a man bellowed.
“Stay here.” Dent didn’t know who yelled, or from where the voice came. Women screamed, men gasped, and he bolted, gun drawn, in the direction of the bank. The JHK Lumber Company’s warehouse, hosting the fall festival, was one street over from Main. Dent cut down a dark alley, and emerged beside the bakery, directly across the street from the bank. A full moon lost in the clouds cast only the slightest light, but enough that he could make out shadows milling in front of the building, and hear the disgruntled grumbling from the horses. A stampede of footsteps came up behind him. Before he could wave everyone to a stop, the bandits started firing.
“Get down!” Dent yelled over the thunder of guns as he threw himself up against the bakery’s wall. He peeked around the corner, and fired into the group of men now mounting their horses and shooting in every direction. The fire from their guns lit up the night.
Coker dove to the ground in front of Dent. Using a barrel for cover, he fired at the men. “They’re getting away!”
Dent and Coker continued firing as the outlaws spurred their horses. One mount reared, its rider flipping head-over-heels to the ground. The bandits kept up a barrage of gunfire as they thundered out of town, never even slowing down for their fallen comrade. Dent reloaded, raced into the street, firing, but the robbers were gone.
Accepting it, he rushed over to the man lying in the street.
“Who is it?” Coker asked, coming up behind him.
Dent knelt down and rolled the man over ... and his heart sank.
“Israel Packett.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When the shooting stopped, Amy followed the rest of the crowd and several bobbing lanterns out to the street. She arrived in time to see someone hold a light up for the sheriff. He had a man by the arm and pulled the lantern closer.
Amy’s hand flew to her mouth and she rushed over to Dent and his prisoner. Yes, in the amber glow, she saw the boy’s face clearly. “Oh, Israel, please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.”
He kept his gaze on the ground and his mouth clamped shut.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” Dent whispered as he pushed Israel past her then stopped and raised his voice to the crowd. “If you saw anything, anything at all, come by the sheriff’s office as soon as you can. I’ll need your statement.”
“I—I think I’m shot.”
Amy heard the man’s voice from somewhere in front of her, but didn’t know him. Doc scrambled past her, pushing through the crowd, like a bear thrashing through tall weeds. “Somebody help me get him to my office.”
He grabbed the man around the shoulders as he collapsed. Two other men helped Doc lift him, and they hurried away, like some odd, injured centipede.
Amy stood there in the street, lost in her despair, heartbroken over this last choice of Israel’s, a choice that would most likely have devastating consequences.
“Come on, dear,” Susan draped an arm around her. “Let’s get you home.”
Unable to sleep, but not quite ready to walk in the dark by herself back to the sheriff’s office, Amy paced the floor in her cabin until dawn. But she prayed. She prayed over Israel as if he were her own brother … or son. Father, somehow let this all be a mistake, that he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Please …
When the world outside had transformed from night to day, she grabbed her coat and rushed to the sheriff’s office. She found Dent standing on the boardwalk out front, rubbing his eyes.
“Can I see him?” she asked softly.
He froze then slowly lowered his hands. Dark circles shaded the area beneath his eyes. Worry creased his brow. “Somebody needs to. He’s putting a noose around his own neck, Amy. He needs to tell me something, anything to help him. All he’ll say is that he was holding the horses.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Dent gently clutched her arm as she reached for the door. “Mr. McGyver got shot last night. He died a little while ago. If Israel doesn’t talk, I’m going to have to charge him with murder.”
Amy leaned on the bars and regarded Israel with gut-wrenching grief. She felt his spirit dying right in front of her, and she prayed he would do the right thing. He sat on the cot against the far wall, gazing up at the window. His face had barely healed from the last beating, and now there was dirt smudged on his cheek and all down the side of his shirt. From tumbling out of the saddle. Does he know he’s fortunate to even be alive, what with all those bullets flying?
“Israel, why won’t you help Sheriff Hernandez?”
He slowly swung his face around to her. She saw his fear, but a ferocious determination as well. “He’s my pa, Miss Tate.”
Though she’d assumed Tom Packett had been involved, to hear Israel say it was a difficult blow. “Of course, I understand. But could you give the sheriff other names?”
He didn’t answer, and shifted back to staring out the window.
“Israel, please … a man has died. I’m sure you didn’t shoot him. You probably didn’t even have a gun.”
“I was just holding the horses.”
“And they left you behind. You don’t owe them any loyalty.”
She waited, but Israel said no more. Desperation clawed at her. Why wouldn’t this boy try to save himself? Oh, God, help me to say something, anything, that will get him to value his own life. “Please, Israel ...”
He moved his face away a bit more, enough to let her know he was done.
Stunned, grieving, Amy slipped her fingers beneath her glasses and wiped away the tears. She took a moment to pull herself together, and stepped back outside. Dent was still on the boardwalk, and he turned when he heard the door. Their eyes locked and all the hopelessness in Amy burst like a dam, along with a sob.
Dent folded her into his arms and she wept against his chest. “Why is he being so stubborn?”
“Shhh.” Dent hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head. “It’s gonna be all right.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I’ll figure something out.”
Amy sniffled and fought the tears back. Yes, Dent would think of something. She knew he would. He could save Israel.
“Did he say anything to you? Anything at all? Any names?”
“Only ...” she straightened her glasses. “ ‘He’s my pa, Miss Tate.’ ” The beautiful, sacrificial offering of himself in his father’s stead tore another sob from her. “He loves his father, Dent. That’s not wrong.”
Lovingly, gently, Dent caressed her back, running his hand slowly up and down her spine. “No, that’s not wrong. But he’s protecting a murderer. I’m pretty sure this gang robbed a rancher over in Ten Sleep and took his payroll. That’s how Packett paid off his mortgage.”
“So depositing it in the bank didn’t matter,” Amy finished, “because they were going to steal it back. Oh, I could strangle that father of his.”
“Maybe I’ll get the chance.”
Right or wrong, and no matter the cause, Dent could have stood there all day with Amy in his arms. Never had holding a woman made him feel so ... peaceful. Like he’d come home. He hated she was in agony, and would do anything to fix that, but she had fallen into his arms in her pain. She made him feel connected again to the world around him. For so long, he’d felt like a ghost, an avenging angel, floating through life, dealing out death, ignoring life, intent on his eventual revenge.
He rested his cheek on her hair. As soft as rabbit fur, the amazing mix of colors reminded him of chocolate, caramel, and new copper pennies. He let himself get lost in the perfection of how she felt pressed against him. She fit him, molded to him, like a hand in a glove. If only she wasn’
t in his arms because of a tragedy.
Footsteps at the end of the walk brought his head up. Mayor Coker’s scowl snatched Dent back to reality, but he didn’t let Amy go.
“Am I interrupting?” Coker asked, scowling.
Amy gasped and stepped out of Dent’s arms. She was embarrassed, but Dent wasn’t. He returned Coker’s scowl. “Israel is her favorite student. She’s understandably upset.”
The mayor’s face softened as Amy hurriedly wiped her tears and straightened her glasses. “Then I’m sorry to bring her more bad news.”
Dent stiffened. What now?
“With McGyver’s death, you well know that the stakes on this crime have escalated. It just so happens the circuit judge will be here in two days, and there’s nothing on his docket more serious than a deed dispute. He wants to start the boy’s trial.”
Dent’s heart dropped to his stomach. “I’ve got to find Tom Packett. He’s more guilty of McGyver’s death than his boy in there. I need time to bring him in.”
“I don’t think you’ve got it.”
Dent rubbed his temple, frantically trying to think. “I wired for a couple of U.S. Marshals to come help me hunt for this gang, or Packett, or whoever.” He walked over to the mayor and poked him firmly in the chest. “You tell ’em to meet me at the head of Bridle Trail. Wednesday at noon.”
Coker’s lips tightened and he pushed Dent’s hand away. “And what about the judge?”
“Delay this trial.” Dent spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re a politician. Talk him into it.” He rounded on Amy and softened. “I’m going after that gang. I’ll find Tom.”
She clutched his shirt. “You can’t go after them alone.”
Holding her gaze, he asked, “Mayor, has this town ever raised a posse?”
The pause answered Dent’s question before the mayor actually spoke, “Never needed one.”
Dent touched Amy’s face, wishing ... wishing for the first time since he was eighteen that he wasn’t a lawman. “It’s what I do. I’ll be all right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Amy slid the plate of fried chicken, peas, and cornbread through the cell door. Israel took the food and she touched his hand. “I’m praying for you, Israel.”
Trying to hide behind a fall of chestnut hair, he ducked away toward his bed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Oh, how her heart ached for this misguided boy trying to be a brave man. “Tell me about your father, Israel.”
He was about to sit down on the cot and froze. “Why?”
“Because he can’t be all bad to have a son like you. And, clearly, you love him to death.” She flinched at the unintentional pun. “I’m sorry.”
Israel sat down, shaking his head. “It’s all right. I do love my pa.” He played with the green beans for a minute, his stare far away. “Pa was happy and always humming when Ma was still here. He built things, too. Furniture. He had some tools out in the barn, and was teaching me to turn spindles.” He cleared his throat and blinked back some tears. “Gah, he was busy all the time, too. He sold cattle, corn, and sometimes the furniture he made.”
His face sagged, heavy with sadness. “Then Ma died, and Pa just kinda quit on life, I guess. He drank up all the money he made. I think that was what got him so angry. Then he fell in with Watson and—”
Israel bit off the sentence, but too late. Amy heard the name. “Who is Watson? Is he one of the men your father knows, from over in Rawlins?”
Israel started shoveling food into his mouth. “I’d like to eat now, Miss Tate.”
Dismissed. She nodded and stepped away from the bars. At least she had a name to give Dent.
That afternoon, the mayor stopped by the schoolhouse as Amy stood in the doorway, dismissing the children. This time, she didn’t have Israel to use as an excuse for occupying her time. At least, now, finally, she didn’t need one. She didn’t like Mayor Coker, didn’t appreciate being left alone with him, but she wasn’t afraid of him. God and Dent had helped quiet her fears.
Little Greta Degraffenfreidt tossed a wave at Amy and dashed from the school, her flaxen braids bouncing behind her. The mayor pulled the bowler from his head and followed Amy back inside. “Good afternoon, Mayor,” she said coolly as she began collecting slates.
“Miss Tate, I’ve got news from the judge.”
She clutched a stack of the tablets to her chest and turned to him. “Is he granting a delay?”
He ambled forward. “He said he’d take two days to interview witnesses, and then make a determination.”
“You don’t sound encouraged.”
“I’m not, very.” To his credit, Mayor Coker seemed honestly concerned about Israel’s situation. “We have a town full of witnesses who saw Israel’s horse get shot out from underneath him as he and the robbers were making their getaway. He’s admitted to being the lookout.”
“He said he was only holding the horses.”
The mayor dipped his head in reproach. “And he couldn’t warn the gang if he saw someone?” Amy didn’t argue further and he continued, “Now a man is dead. A good man, well-liked in Evergreen. Yet, Israel still refuses to give us any names of the gang members. That will not sit well with Judge Swain.”
Disconsolate, Amy sat down at a desk. Oh, God, please help this boy come to his senses. He’s got to turn his father in, give up those names. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Amy studied the paisley pattern in her dress, hoping the mayor would leave. His feet shifted and he stepped closer. “Miss Tate, I know this isn’t any of my business, but ...”
“But, what?”
The mayor shoved his hands in his pockets, then rubbed his neck, finally sat at a desk across from her. “You and Dent seem to be getting pretty close.”
Her back stiffened. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re right. That is none of your business.”
He regarded her with pity, as if she were a naive little girl. “Miss Tate, you and I both have a responsibility to this town. Gossip can have a detrimental effect on a person’s reputation, on a teacher’s reputation. We entrust our children to you. I merely ask, in the event that if people talk, I know the truth ...” He shifted uncomfortably. “Dent’s made no secret of his intention to leave Evergreen as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t want you to ... get hurt, personally or professionally.”
Amy rose and started slowly picking up slates again. Had she already gotten too deeply involved with Dent? Everything the mayor said was true. Appearances had to be considered. He was implying that Dent was ... insincere. Though she couldn’t be sure, Dent struck her as a man who was trying to figure out his next steps. The choices would be dictated by his priorities. She hoped chasing his father’s murderer wasn’t at the top of the list anymore, but he had said he loved being a lawman. Could he be happy wearing a badge in Evergreen?
“Mayor, I don’t believe Dent is dallying with me, if that’s what you’re implying.” She faced him then, her chin up. “And I would not be unhappy if I could convince him to stay in Evergreen, but I don’t know if I can.”
Mayor Coker’s face didn’t twitch a muscle, but Amy would have sworn she saw something dark and angry there, but he hid it well. He stood and gave her that same cool, insincere smile. “Well, Dent is no fool. I’m sure if anyone can convince him to stay in our little town it’s you.”
Dent had run out of time. His two days were up. He reined Ginger in and surveyed the great, rolling sea of sage and grass framed in the background by snow-covered mountains. If he had more time, he could find Packett and the others, but he would have to follow more trails, ask at more stage stops and roadhouses, dig up more reliable contacts.
If he had more time.
If he had more desire.
He was cold, he was tired, and Amy pervaded his thoughts. He was none too happy to admit he might be willing to try Evergreen for a while.
Might?
Tired of lying to himself, he leaned o
n the pommel. He thought about a different path a lot these days. He could imagine Amy, his sweet, willing wife, in his arms. He could run a small herd on Ben’s spread, and work as a peace officer in this mostly peaceful town, only riding out and sleeping on the ground as an exception, not the rule. The classroom visit rose in his mind, and he smiled. Evergreen’s charm, the life it represented, had grown substantially more tempting.
If Israel’s trial was delayed, Dent would go back on the trail and do all he knew to do to find the boy’s father. But, for the first time, the hunt didn’t excite him.
He still had to meet the deputies at Bridle Trail, and he hoped to make Evergreen before midnight. Recalling old paths, he cut across Bud Sayer’s place then crossed onto Ben’s property. I have to quit calling it that. Ben left it to me. It’s my place now.
He kicked Ginger to a lope and followed the fence line for a quarter mile, headed for a little creek that formed a small pond. He’d get his girl a drink then push her a little harder the rest of the way.
Another hundred yards, he came to the dribbling water and grimaced at the smell. Puzzled, he and Ginger walked along the low bank for a few feet, and then he saw it.
Black, greasy oil seeping into the water.
So stunned was he by the oil, he nearly missed the rifle lying in the grass on the other bank. Instantly, he dismounted to make himself a smaller target. Warily, he surveyed the ocean of rocks and waist-high grass. Nothing. He tied Ginger to a sage bush, crossed the creek to retrieve the rifle, and saw the blood on it ... on the ground, too.
A trail of it, dried brown. He hunkered down and followed where it led. In a hundred yards, he found the man, curled up in a tight ball on the ground, holding his bloody midsection. Dent knelt down and rolled him over.
“Aaagh,” the man groaned. His dead, gray eyes flew open, and he clutched the lapel on Dent’s coat with a bloody hand. “Help me, Mister, please.” Agony strangled his voice. And no wonder. Gut shot. “Oh, Lord, you gotta help me.”
Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1) Page 12
