He showed Andrew how to neck-rein as they turned onto Stockton Street. He’d decided to take the long way around. Carriages rolled past them, their wheels humming harshly against the hard street.
The horse was well trained, and moved along at a steady pace. “Now give him a pat,” Luke told Andrew. The boy did, and the horse shivered in response, making them both laugh.
Down the street they rode, past the small shops—a tailor’s, a butcher’s, and a hat shop with a flashy red hat in the window that Luke instantly thought would look perfect on Rebecca.
He frowned. He should have asked her before—well, at least told her they were leaving. But dammit, it galled him the way she’d just forgiven that weasel and welcomed him into her home again. Damned if he was going back out there and interrupt their intimate little chat.
How could she do that? he wondered with jaw-clenching anger. How could she stand there and talk to the pasty-faced little weasel? Hell, she treated that bastard better than she treated him, and he, he, was the one who’d stood by her. What the devil was wrong with her?
He steeled himself against the sudden rage and got his mind back on immediate business. He had to get this child to the police station and see what they could do about motivating the officers to get up off their duffs long enough to find that other kidnapper.
Turning onto Sacramento, they made their way past an odd mix of houses and stores, and cut up Kearney so that Andrew could see the fire station. The doors were open and the firemen were outside, washing the fire wagon. Its bright red paint glistened in the sun. A dalmatian barked happily at a freight wagon that lumbered past.
“What’s her name?”
“Whose? The dog?”
“No. Your horse.”
“Oh.” He chuckled. “His name is Scoundrel.”
“What’s a...a...scoundrel?”
“It’s something you don’t want to be, cowboy. Believe me.”
“Are you?”
“Depends on who you ask, I guess.” Now, Becky might have a real strong opinion on that one, he mused.
Andrew was busy tugging on the reins, making the horse chew on the bit, shaking his head and making his bridle rattle.
“Here, let me help you.” Luke gently reached around to guide his hands, easing the reins. “Remember, this is a living, breathing animal, sort of like you and me. You have to treat him kindly, not like a toy.”
Andrew nodded his head, banging into Luke’s chest with the movement.
“Okay, now you try,” Luke told him.
Andrew did, and his eyes were wide when the horse obeyed each command. “Look, Luke, I did it! He likes me, I think.”
“Sure he likes you.” And so did he, Luke realized. The boy was smart and eager, and all he needed was someone to show him. Luke thought he wouldn’t mind being that someone. As they rode, the boy cradled in the curve of his arm, an easy feeling curled, warm and comfortable, in Luke’s heart.
It was a real surprise. A man could get to like this real quick.
Of course, Andrew was a special kid. Luke had known that right off. The way he’d hung on, refusing to cry, while all hell was breaking loose around him. A hell of a special kid. Becky had done a good job with him. Must have been tough, what with her husband dying and all. Good thing she had Ruth. Anyone with eyes could see she thought the sun rose and set in this boy. And it was just as obvious that the boy felt the same way. Lucky kid. Things might have gone a little easier for Luke when he was a kid if there’d been a grandmother to care for him.
You did all right anyway, Scanlin.
Yeah, but it had been tough, damned tough. Nothing that he’d wish on anyone else.
Hey, where’d all this melancholy come from all of a sudden? he asked himself. Get back to work.
He spotted the city hall and, lifting the reins from Andrew’s fingers, stopped the horse.
Luke slid down and then helped Andrew dismount.
“Where are we goin’?” Andrew asked cautiously.
Luke dropped down on one knee and took Andrew’s shoulders in his large hands, feeling sun-warmed cotton smooth against his touch. He pushed back Andrew’s breeze-tousled hair.
“Now, we’re going in here, because we have to make a report of everything that happened to you.”
Andrew went pale. He didn’t move.
Two uniformed policemen strolled past and went inside.
“Andrew?” He lifted the boy’s chin with his thumb. “It’s all right. There’s no one in there who’s going to hurt you. They need to know if the men said anything to you, told you anything that might help the police find the bad men and put him in jail. Do you understand?”
Andrew nodded, but his expression was grim. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Can’t we go home?” He made a half turn, and Luke turned him around.
He rubbed the boy’s shoulders, feeling them tremble beneath his hands. Poor kid, he was scared to death, and with good reason. The kid put up a brave front, though. This morning at the house, no one would ever have known anything had happened.
“Andrew, you’re not alone,” he said, very softly. “I know you were scared when those men took you. I know you were even more scared when no one came for you.”
Andrew nodded again. His chin quivered, and he stared hard at the toe of his shoe. “It’s all right to be scared. I’m scared a lot of times.”
Andrew lifted his head cautiously, and Luke saw the tears glistening in his black eyes. “You are?”
“Sure.” He gave a little smile.
“But you’re a marshal, and you have a gun...”
“Guns don’t always help. Sometimes the things that scare you the most are things you can’t fight with a gun. Things like being alone in the dark.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“In a way,” he said, thinking that the dark he was afraid of was the empty place in his heart.
“Will you trust me, Andrew? Will you believe I wouldn’t let you do anything that would hurt you?”
A tear pooled in the corner of Andrew’s eye and trickled down the side of his nose. Luke pulled off his neckerchief and swiped at the tear. Then he looped the neckerchief around Andrew’s neck and made a show of placing it just so.
Andrew studied the knot as if he were considering the fate of the nation. Then, slowly, he looked into Luke’s face again and said, “Okay.”
Standing, Luke took the boy by the hand and led him inside. The police were on the first floor. A series of offices surrounded an open central area with a large front desk, which was manned by an enormous sergeant. Dust motes floated in the sunlight pouring through the large window behind the desk.
“Scanlin,” Luke said, by way of introduction. “Here to see Captain Brody.”
He squeezed Andrew’s hand in reassurance.
Brody’s office was large, square and surprisingly neat. File cabinets and bookshelves lined one wall.
Brody greeted them from behind his desk and, though he didn’t offer Luke a handshake, he was particularly kind to Andrew, letting him sit in his swivel chair while he perched on the corner of the desk, asking questions.
It took the better part of an hour to fill out the necessary forms, make notes and answer questions. Luke hovered like a lion over a cub while Brody and one of his assistants asked questions of Andrew—descriptions of the men, where he was kept, if he’d heard the men say anything about where they were going.
Andrew bravely told everything he knew. Occasionally his chin would quiver and his gaze seek Luke out. Luke would answer with a smile or a wink of encouragement, and that seemed to be enough. Brave kid, Luke thought with admiration.
When they finished, Luke spoke to Brody out of Andrew’s hearing.
“Did you find the body?”
“Yeah, we found it. Bartender in the saloon said he was Jack Riggs. He had a brother named Bill. It was probably him that got away.”
“Well, if you know who you’re looking for, then you shouldn’t have any trouble f
inding him.”
Brody made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “Come on, Scanlin. You know it’s not that easy.”
“Yeah,” he reluctantly agreed.
“Besides, who says he hasn’t ridden outa here by now?”
“Not in the condition he’s in. I’m sure I winged him. How bad, I don’t know, though.”
“We’ll keep checking. In the meantime, the boy’s back and Mrs. Tinsdale should finally be happy.”
Luke bristled, remembering Brody’s earlier snide remark about Becky and knowing now about the articles on police corruption. “Yeah, she’s happy, no thanks to you.” He turned sharply, took Andrew by the hand and walked out.
“You were very brave,” Luke said, lifting Andrew up onto Scoundrel’s back. The boy was still pale and quiet, and it gnawed at Luke to see the little fellow so unhappy. Since he was the one who’d brought the boy down here, put him through this, he felt, well, responsible.
“You know, Andrew, I was just thinking about ice cream.” He feigned a frown. “I don’t suppose you like ice cream...do you?”
“Ice cream. Sure I do. Strawberry!”
“Strawberry? Really?” He grinned. “Why that’s my favorite, too.” Gathering the reins, he swung up behind Andrew, settling him comfortably on the tops of his legs. He handed him the reins, helping him a little. “What do you say we go find us some ice cream?”
“Yes!” He bounced up and down in excitement.
With a shift of his weight and a nudge of his spur, the horse turned left and headed down Kearney Street. It seemed that what wasn’t a bank or a hotel was a market or a bakery. They passed the post office, the customhouse, several cigar stores and a couple of harness makers.
San Francisco was a thriving metropolis, that was for sure. And you’d think in such a city there’d be at least one ice cream parlor.
He stopped to ask a merchant who was sweeping the walk in front of his restaurant.
“Clayton’s, over on Montgomery. It’s a family place. They don’t serve no liquor, just ices and sweets.”
“Thanks.” Luke touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrew do likewise in a way that made him feel pleased.
Fifteen minutes later, they were seated in one of the swankier places in town. Not exactly your run-of-the-mill ice cream parlor, Luke thought, taking in the cut-crystal chandeliers, antique mirrors and European paintings.
“Two dishes of strawberry ice cream,” Luke told the uniformed waiter, who returned a few minutes later with two heaping dishes of a fluffy pink confection.
Andrew made quick work of his, spilling a little on his shirt and leaving a little more on his chin. Luke ordered another round. A boy could never get enough ice cream.
“Tell me, Andrew, what do you like to do for fun?” Luke said in between bites.
“Well, sometimes Grandma and me play checkers. I like that. Grandma’s not very good,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “so I win most times, but she’s fun. She tells me stories, too.”
Luke nodded, and took another spoonful of ice cream. “Do you like school?”
Andrew seemed to consider this for a moment. “Sometimes. I like arithmetic and reading. I don’t like spelling.” He shoveled in another mouthful. “Too many letters. Numbers are easier, ‘cause there are only ten and I can remember those.”
“Ah,” Luke returned with great seriousness, while struggling not to laugh. “What do you like to read?”
“In school they make us read McGuffy’s reader.” He screwed up his face. “It’s about dogs and cats and people just walking around and stuff like that. But Grandma Ruth helps me read the good books.”
“Good books?” Luke was intrigued.
Andrew took another bit of rapidly melting ice cream and ignored his napkin to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. “The ones about Deadwood Dick and Jesse James.”
“Ah,” Luke said knowingly, “you mean the dime novels, the adventure stories.”
“Oh, yes, they’re fun. Did you read the one about the Comanche raiders? I liked that one the best so far, I think. About a hundred Indians stole some horses and killed the rancher, and one Texas ranger had to go get ‘em back and there was a big fight and the ranger killed all the Indians and took back the horses to the rancher’s wife and she was real glad.” He said it all in one breath.
“My goodness, Andrew, are you sure there were a hundred Indians and only one ranger? I mean, I was a ranger, and we—”
“You were a ranger!” Andrew shouted, making everyone in the shop turn and stare.
Luke grinned. “Well, yeah, before I was a marshal I was a ranger.”
“A ranger...” Andrew repeated, in a reverent tone that actually made Luke blush. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
“Well, it’s not all like they write in the books. Mostly you’re alone all the time, and it can be dangerous.”
Andrew’s small mouth drew down in a frown. “I know. I told Mama once I was gonna be a ranger, and she got all funny and sad like and said she didn’t want me to go away. Was your mama sad when you went away?”
“My mother died when I was a few years older than you.”
“Oh,” Andrew returned, his voice suddenly small. “My father died, too.”
For a moment they were both silent, the man and the boy, so much alike in so many ways.
The sound of music carried in through the open windows, and it was getting louder, as though the music were moving closer. People around them began to crane their necks or stand, trying to see out the glass windows that bordered the street.
Luke twisted in his chair, the cane creaking as he shifted his weight. That’s when he saw the wagon go past. It was big and enclosed and painted in bright, garish colors, red and yellow and green.
“What the—” He went to the door. Andrew dogged his steps.
People crowded around the windows, peering out. Luke stepped out onto the sidewalk as a second wagon rolled past.
“A circus,” he said, grinning at a white-faced clown doing a handstand. He glanced back to see Andrew hanging back near the doorway.
“Come on, cowboy. Look. It’s a circus.” He held out one hand, and Andrew rushed forward, slipping a hand into his.
The music was louder now, a pump organ with pipes sticking up through the roof of one of the wagon. The noise was ear-piercingly loud.
More clowns romped and skipped past, distributing hand bills that announced that the Dubin Circus had arrived in San Francisco and would be setting up in Golden Gate Park.
Glancing down, Luke thought he would forever remember the wide-eyed wonder on this child’s face. It was obviously a first for him.
It didn’t look like much of a circus to Luke. It seemed a little old, a little worn, not at all like the one he’d seen in St. Louis one year. But seeing it with Andrew made it look fresh and new and exciting.
The red wagons lumbered past, stacked high with rolls of brightly striped canvas and long poles bobbing up and down while they extended beyond the wagon beds. A woman dressed in pink tights was riding bareback on a white horse.
She stopped long enough to say, “Circus tomorrow, handsome.”
Luke smiled. “Thanks.”
“Bring your son!” she added as the white horse pranced and pawed the ground. “He’s gonna be a looker like his father.” She winked and nudged the horse, who pranced away.
“He’s not—”
She was out of hearing distance. What the devil made her think they were related? He glanced down to see that Andrew was mesmerized by the spectacle. There was a clown, and a trained bear that rolled and tumbled down the street. There was a rather scrawny-looking mountain lion in a cage that snarled and lunged at the iron bars. Andrew jumped and squeezed Luke’s hand. Luke squeezed back.
He was about to suggest that they head for home when he spotted the elephant. What the devil they were doing with an elephant was anyone’s guess, but they had one.
/>
When the elephant lumbered past his trunk moved, snakelike, in Andrew’s direction, brushing across the boy’s chest—in search of food, no doubt. Finding none, it quickly retreated.
“Did you see?” Andrew asked, a little breathless. “The elephant touched me...here,” he explained, running his hand lightly over his chest, now smudged with dirt, as well as strawberry ice cream.
“I did see.”
“I never saw an elephant before, except in a picture book at school. Do they really eat through their nose?”
Luke chuckled. “It’s called a trunk, and no, they use it like a hand and pick things up, then put them in their mouths.”
“An elephant... And the pretty lady. Did you see the lady all dressed in pink? I never saw Mama dressed like that.”
Luke laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you ever will.” Though I wouldn’t mind, he thought.
The boy was so excited, and Luke was enjoying being with him. It was impulse that made him say, “Do you want to go watch while they set up?”
“Oh, could we?” It was a plea, not a question.
“Sure, let’s go.”
* * *
The word of Andrew’s rescue and of the shooting spread quickly through San Francisco’s social elite. People began calling shortly after noon. Neighbors, friends, business associates, all with congratulations on Andrew’s safe return, many wanting to meet the man who had saved Rebecca’s son.
She tried to focus on serving tea, offering sandwiches and cakes and making conversation. Yes, she was very grateful for the marshal’s help. Yes, Andrew was unhurt. No, she didn’t miss the paper. It seemed she answered the same questions over and over, until she finally had a pounding headache.
The last of the guests lingered interminably long. Rebecca was seriously considering making up some excuse about an appointment or some such thing in an effort to induce them to leave. The words were forming on her lips when Andrew, looking more like a rag-amuffin than the well-dressed young man who’d left here this morning, barreled through the double doors and skidded to a halt in front of her.
Susan Amarillas Page 22
