by Kaki Warner
“I prefer scatterguns myself,” Maddie said. “Angus took me grouse hunting once. I didn’t hit anything, of course. Well, really, how could I? They’re so pretty.”
Edwina made another circuit, then paused to check the day clock on the bureau. Two more minutes gone.
“He was an excellent shot, though. As a soldier should be, I suppose. He was a Rifleman with the Royal Green Jackets of the Light Division. A forward rider, which is very dangerous. Then he transferred to the Tenth Hussars. They’re cavalry and have the loveliest blue uniforms. I believe they use sabers as well as guns. Perhaps I should order one to keep in my gypsy wagon.”
“A soldier?” Lucinda quipped.
Maddie’s laugh sounded a bit forced. “A scattergun. What do you think, Edwina?”
Edwina thought she might scream.
Lucinda sighed. “Oh, do stop pacing, Edwina. This carpet is new and I’d hate to see a path worn in it so soon.”
Edwina opened her mouth to argue, then froze when she heard a footstep in the hall. She leaped into motion, following the plan they had made. Frantically waving for silence, she motioned for Maddie and her umbrella to take a position on one side of the door, while Lucinda took the other, pistol at the ready. She moved to stand in front of it, the pistol clutched in her hand.
They waited.
Visions of creeping Indians filled Edwina’s mind.
More footsteps. Muffled voices.
Edwina’s heart pounded so loud she almost missed the knock. Thumbing back the hammer of her father’s Colt Army pistol, she rested her finger alongside the trigger guard, then nodded to Maddie to open the door.
As soon as she turned the knob, people burst into the room, almost knocking her off her feet. Declan, Pru, the children, and three other men crowding the hallway.
“Ed?” Declan shouted, shoving past the others.
“Here.” On shaky legs, Edwina moved forward.
Relief flashed across his face, then faded when his gaze dropped to the pistol aimed at his chest. His hand shot out. In a single motion, he grabbed the barrel, shoved it toward the ceiling, and jerked the gun from her grip. “Good God.” Then he saw the palm pistol in Lucinda’s hand and the umbrella still clutched in Maddie’s, and said it again.
Laughing and crying, Edwina bobbed up and down, trying to hug one elusive child, then Pru, then another child, then Pru again, until finally Declan pulled her to him. “Are you all right?”
She blinked up at him, steadied by the strong hands gripping her shoulders, wanting to hug him, shake him, burrow into his chest and be safe forever. “Y-Yes.”
“Then why are you crying?” Brin asked at her elbow.
Swiping the back of her hand over her watering eyes, Edwina smiled down into the dirty face that stole a little more of her heart every day. “Because Pru is safe, and you and your brothers are safe, and your papa is safe and because I was so worried that—”
“Got anything to eat?” Joe Bill cut in. “Pa said he would bring something back, but he didn’t, and my stomach is starting to suck on my backbone.”
It was late. Thanks to the Hathaway woman, his children had been fed and were now settled in a three-room suite, the boys in one bedroom, Ed and Prudence and Brin in the other, while Amos sat guard in the connecting sitting room, his rifle loaded and ready.
It was past midnight when Declan returned to relieve him. After assuring him that Chick would recover, he sent him downstairs to join the Parker ranch hands who were watching the entrances to the hotel, then locked the door behind him.
This suite had no balcony, but Declan made certain the sitting room window was securely locked, then pushed back the curtains. No moon, and only a few stars. Maybe that was good. Maybe not.
Not wanting to make himself an easy target in a lit room, he turned down the lamp as far as it would go, which left just enough light for him to see what he was doing. Then positioning one of the chairs so he could see both the window and the door, he settled in to wait out the night, one rifle resting across the armrests, another propped against the windowsill, and two handguns loaded and ready on the chair table. With a weary sigh, he rotated the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.
He’d been gone most of the evening, walking through the town with Tom Hamilton—the new groom and soon-to-be ex-sheriff—making sure shooters were on the roofs behind the storefronts and lookouts were posted at strategic points in and out of town.
No one knew what to expect, or if the raid at his ranch had been an isolated incident or the beginning of a full Indian uprising. Tom had telegraphed the sheriff in Thomsonville, the nearest town, and Fort Lasswell, which was a day away, but neither place had reported problems. So for now, all they could do was be ready for anything. Hopefully, when Thomas came back from his scouting foray, they would know what they were up against. Then maybe Declan could figure out what to do next.
He didn’t want the sheriff’s job, but he couldn’t take the family home to the ranch as long as Lone Tree was running loose. They wouldn’t be safe out there so far from help. Assuming he had a home to go back to. Chick had said they’d torn up the place, which probably meant they’d slaughtered what they could and burned what was left. He’d know how bad it was when Thomas got back. But he sure hated the waiting.
Beyond the window, stars disappeared one by one as a cloud bank moved over the peaks. The air felt heavy and tasted of rain. Small, sharp bursts of light flashed between the clouds.
Slumping back, he stretched out his legs and wiggled his toes, smiling at the faint soreness along the bottoms of his feet.
Dancing. How many years since he’d done that?
Sally had been a tiny little thing and, because of their height difference, hadn’t liked dancing with him. Said it was like being dragged around by a carnival bear.
But Ed didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if her grin was any indication, she actually enjoyed dancing with him. But then, his energetic wife seemed to find enjoyment in most everything. And she never went at anything in half measures, either, whether she was threatening him with a pitchfork, or trying to manner his unruly kids, or dancing under the stars in a crusty little mining town. It drew people in, those high spirits. As if her exuberance might rub off on a person if he stood close enough, making him feel a little less lonely, a little less weary, a little less burdened. It worked that way with him, anyway. He just hoped those high spirits extended into the bedroom. Now that would be a treat, for sure. He smiled, thinking about it.
“What are you grinning about?” a voice whispered.
He almost jumped from the chair. Jerking the rifle up, he whipped around to see a ghostly white figure floating toward him. “Ed?”
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
Christamighty. Letting out an explosive breath, he slumped back into the chair. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I suspect you have plenty bejesus left.”
As she drew closer into the faint lamplight, he saw she wore a white robe that didn’t reach to her ankles and her feet were bare. Her hair was loose, hanging in dark waves down her front, hiding from his wandering gaze those attributes she was so worried about. Just thinking about them perked him up. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked her.
“Looking for paper.” She sank into the chair across from his, fluffing out the robe and carefully arranging it so that everything of interest was discreetly covered. “I wanted to make a list.”
He propped the rifle against the side of his chair, then settled back into the cushions. Her face was a pale oval in the dim light. He couldn’t read her expression. “What kind of list?”
“I have questions. But now that you’re back, I’ll just ask you.”
Not liking the sound of that, he tried to head her off. “Save it for morning. You should get some rest.”
“Who is Lone Tree?”
Hell. Thunder thumped in the distance, a single, muffled sound, like a shoe dropping on the floor above. “
Who said anything about Lone Tree?”
“Pru. She heard you and Thomas talking. Why is he after you?”
“I put him in jail once.”
“Why?”
“For fighting.” He could feel her impatience, heard it in the rhythmic tap of her fingers on the arm of her chair, and knew she would keep at him until she heard it all. “He has an aversion to closed spaces. I didn’t know that when I locked him in his cell.” Having his own demons to contend with, Declan would have devised a more humane punishment had he known. “He went a little crazy.” More than a little crazy. Wild. Like an animal. Howling. Pounding on the walls until his hands bled. Crouching in the corner, shivering and weeping and wetting himself. Declan had never seen anything like it. He just prayed nothing like that ever happened to him. “He wouldn’t eat or drink. Didn’t sleep.”
“What happened?”
“The circuit judge sentenced him to ten days. When I saw how hard it was on him, I shortened it to five. But he didn’t come out the same as he went in. During those five days, something broke in his head. He blames me for it.”
More lightning. Thunder. Wind rattling the windowpane like a cat trying to get in. He thought of Lone Tree out there waiting for his chance and hoped the rain would keep him hunkered down for the night.
“So now he wants revenge?”
Declan nodded. “But it should be the other way around. I think he’s the one who killed my wife.”
A sound escaped her. A sigh of sympathy, maybe—for him or Sally—he wasn’t sure which. But she didn’t speak, and for that he was grateful. It didn’t seem right talking to Ed about his first wife. Maybe because his feelings about Sally—their life together, his guilt, her death—were so confused he still hadn’t sorted them out.
“Are the children in danger?”
“I’ll protect them. And you. I swear it.”
“I know.” She smiled. He couldn’t see it, but he heard it in her voice. Felt it like a hand against his cheek. “I trust you, Declan.”
Hearing that, something cracked inside him, a tiny fissure that spread through him so fast it reached every part of him in an instant.
He almost went to her then. Desperate to be inside her. Now. Here on the soft carpet with her eyes wide open, so he could see into her mind when he took her, and hear her say his name, and feel her spirit wrap so tight around him the ghosts of the past couldn’t find a way in.
Instead, he turned to the window and the darkness beyond, where thunder rumbled, and rain danced against the glass, and a wet, red dawn spilled like blood over the bared teeth of the peaks.
Later.
Lone Tree didn’t come that night. Or the next day.
But Thomas did. And he brought more bad news than good.
Declan’s house was still standing. The barn had been set afire, but the roof had burned first, then caved, allowing enough rain in to keep the rest of the structure from burning completely. The milk cow and chickens were dead. The supplies in the cold cellar had either been taken or destroyed. Cattle had been run through the kitchen door, then slaughtered when they tried to escape out the back. In addition to the damage they caused, the house had been ransacked.
It could have been worse.
But not for Jubal Parker. He and his wife were dead, their house reduced to a smoldering framework, their livestock slaughtered.
The message was clear: Lone Tree wanted Declan home. That’s why he had left his house standing, so that he would have something to come back to. And when he did, the Indian would be there waiting. Which left Declan with no choice but to take the sheriff’s job and stay in town where his family would be safe.
Hell and damnation.
Twelve
The next morning, after arranging for the ladies and the two younger children to continue staying at the hotel, Declan, the oldest boys, Thomas, Amos, and the Parker ranch hands moved into Declan’s house on Elderberry Creek and started the renovations necessary to make it livable. He didn’t expect it to take long with so many able hands to share the task, especially when several townspeople pitched in, too. Others donated pieces of furniture and kitchen supplies, and Emmet Gebbers arranged through the bank for building materials so Declan could add on a room for the boys and convert the small carriage house into a usable stable. Even Cal Bagley, apparently anxious to show Declan there were no hard feelings, helped out by forking up a box of foodstuffs to fill the pantry.
Meanwhile, Edwina and Maddie put their talents to work making quilts out of the discarded curtains from the hotel and patching old linens to use as bedding. Pru helped in the hotel kitchen and with supplies donated by Lucinda provided hearty meals for all of them.
Thank goodness for kind friends and generous neighbors.
Throughout the busy week, Declan insisted to anyone who came by that he was only taking the sheriff job temporarily, and as soon as the Indian issue was settled, he’d go back to ranching. Nobody seemed to believe him. Edwina was gratified by the outpouring of support, and although her husband tolerated the help with good grace, she sensed he hated to accept charity, especially from people who had been so quick to misjudge him in the past.
Only a few continued to hold him in suspicion, the most flagrant being Alice Waltham. Her animosity even carried over to Edwina, as the “usurper” of her friend’s children. Despite the woman’s determination to spread gossip wherever she could, most of the townspeople took little note of it, so Edwina held on to her temper and continued to smile and pretend it didn’t matter. But she resolved that as soon as the family settled into the refurbished house, she would confront the woman and set her straight about Declan.
On a cool, overcast morning several days after the shivaree, Tom Hamilton and his new wife left to catch the train to Santa Fe, and that afternoon, in the back room of the sheriff’s office, Mayor Gebbers swore Declan in as Heartbreak Creek’s new “temporary” lawman.
The first thing Declan did after pinning on the badge was to name Thomas his “temporary” deputy. The second was to wire Fort Lasswell and ask what they intended to do about the Indian unrest in the area.
“Inquiries,” he told Thomas with a sly grin, “always sound more official when there’s a title attached to the inquirer’s name.”
An hour later, word came that Lieutenant Haywood Guthrie and a dozen mounted troopers would be arriving in Heartbreak Creek in a couple of days to assess the situation.
“Now maybe we’ll catch the bastard and I can get back to ranching,” Declan muttered to Thomas as they left the telegraph office and headed down the boardwalk.
“An hour as sheriff, and already you talk of leaving,” Thomas observed.
“I didn’t ask for the job.”
“And yet you took it.”
“As did you.”
Thomas turned his head and looked at him, his expression bland. “I said I would stay until Lone Tree is stopped. If this piece of metal on my shirt will make that easier, then I will wear it. If,” he added with a wry smile, “your fine white friends let me.”
“If they want me as sheriff, they’ll let you.”
Even though Declan expected a few raised brows over his naming an Indian his deputy, he hoped that since Thomas had become such a frequent sight around town, it wouldn’t cause too big a stir. It probably helped that Thomas had started dressing in real trousers, rather than a breechcloth and open-hipped leggings, and had traded his fringed leather war shirt for a cowboy work shirt with a banded collar. He still wore his front braids, but now pulled back with the rest of his long hair and tied with a leather thong from which hung his eagle feather. Thomas referred to his new look as being “whitewashed.” Even so, he cut quite a figure, and Declan had seen more than one woman eyeing him as he walked by.
“You will go with the blue coats to your ranch?” Thomas asked now as they headed back to the office.
“I need to see what’s left and check on the stock.”
“You will take the women and your children with
you?”
“The oldest two. Miss Lincoln will stay here with Brin and Lucas.” Declan shot the Cheyenne an amused look. “Which probably means you’ll be staying, too.”
“As deputy, it is my duty to stay when the sheriff leaves.”
“Sure it is.”
Two ladies came out of the mercantile. They nodded politely, their gazes flicking between the two men, then going wide when Thomas flashed his startling grin. Another thing that boosted his acceptance. Having no wish to stop and chat, Declan touched the brim of his hat and walked on.
“And your wife? Will she be staying, too?”
A wagon rolled by, kicking up tiny breaths of dust behind the wheels. Declan gave the driver a nod even though he couldn’t remember his name. Henson? Hendrick? A miner. Son with a squint. “She said there were some clothes she needed to get. And she wants to see if there’s anything left we can use to fix this place up.” He hoped that would be enough explanation for Thomas because that was all he was going to say.
Things with Ed became more confused every day. Which kept him thinking about her more than he should. And looking forward to her trips to the house to supervise him and see how the work was going. And wanting her in his bed.
She amused him. Kept him wondering. And ever since she’d mentioned consummation—did anyone even use that word anymore?—getting her under him was all he could think about. Hopefully, once he got her away from her friends and all the people who seemed to be crowding into their lives, they could address that issue again.
In private. In his oversized bed. With just enough moonlight streaming through the tall window to see those attributes she’d brought to his attention.
Later. Everything seemed to be waiting for later.
“You sure you don’t mind staying behind?” Edwina asked as she buckled the strap on her valise.
The soldiers had arrived yesterday evening, and Declan had insisted they leave for the ranch this morning. She expected him to come pounding on the door any minute. The man had the patience of a five-year-old. A really big, really handsome five-year-old. Smiling, she pinned on her bonnet.
