by Debra Cowan
Bowie helped himself to another slice of pie and eased down into the seat next to her, then poured fresh coffee for both of them.
He grinned. “This is good pie.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Keeping her voice low, she leaned closer. “Did you talk to Tobias? Did you learn anything?”
“I saw him leaving here just before supper.” The words came out more sharply than he had intended. “What did he want?”
She eyed him speculatively. “Some things I ordered from the general store arrived on today’s train and Tobias brought them over. Apples, baking powder, muslin for new sheets.”
Bowie glanced at the flowers and book on the sideboard. “And those?”
She followed his gaze and nodded. “He brought those things, but I didn’t order them.”
His jaw tightened. “He’s bringing you gifts? Is he courting you?”
“Goodness, no!” She looked indignant. “And if he asked to, I would refuse. I didn’t want to accept the flowers or the poetry, but I was afraid he might guess what I know about him.”
“That was smart,” he admitted reluctantly. “If you start acting differently around him, especially so soon after I practically accused him of murder, he might start wondering if you know something.”
She drew back. “Why would he think so?”
“You and I share a house. He might think that I told you that I thought my parents had been murdered and he knew it.”
“Instead, I’m the one who told you,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He wished she weren’t involved in this. “If you can treat him the same way you always have, that would be good. But if not, just try to limit your time with him.”
“All right,” she murmured, looking uncertain.
“You were here before my folks died and you knew Hobbs.”
She tilted her head.
“Did you notice him acting out of character after their deaths?”
“No.”
“Did you notice if he began or stopped spending time with someone he typically didn’t?”
She thought for a long moment, then shook her head. Her eyes were a stormy green. “I’m sorry. Did you find out anything when you talked to him?”
“Nothing I can use against him. He denied ever saying anything about my parents being murdered. He flat-out dismissed what I told him, although he wanted to know where I’d got my information.”
The worry came back into her pretty eyes. “Did you—you didn’t tell him about Lefty, did you?”
“Of course not.” He told himself that she didn’t mean to insult his intelligence. She was only concerned for her friend. “I do want to talk to Lefty on my own, just to make sure he told you everything he might know.”
“You think he might have kept something back?”
“Not on purpose, but maybe there’s something in his memory that he missed.”
“As much as I hate it, I think he really overheard what he thought he did.”
“So do I.”
“Does that mean you aren’t going to dismiss what he told me?”
“It does. I believe him and I’m going to dig until I can prove it.”
Merritt looked pleased, so pleased that he felt compelled to warn her. “That doesn’t mean you should do any digging on your own.”
“What if I learn something else? Do you not want me to tell you?”
“I want you to tell me.” Frustrated at the situation, Bowie ground his teeth. “But I’m also going to hope that you don’t learn anything more.”
“So am I,” she said, half under her breath.
Good, because the last thing he needed was her getting in the middle of this hornet’s nest.
Chapter Six
Over the next several days, Merritt and Bowie settled into a routine. They saw each other at meals and most evenings after supper. He spent time with her and Mr. Wilson in the parlor, cleaning his guns, sometimes playing checkers as they all visited.
Though still unsettled over learning Earl and Ruby had been murdered, she was reassured by Bowie’s presence and his vow to catch their killers. She believed he would. Whether she liked it or not, he was a lawman and, from what she’d observed, a good one.
They didn’t see each other as much as they had straight after her injury and that was for the best, but she missed him. Missed his help, although she no longer wore the sling and could do most things on her own. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much time they had spent together. He put all of his energy into his job. Besides investigating his parents’ murders, he was trying to get to know the new people in town as well as handling other duties. Everything from tracking down a chicken thief to finding a little girl’s lost doll.
Merritt stayed busy with the boardinghouse—cooking, cleaning, washing, mending. Sometimes she caught his gaze on her. When she did, he gave her a slow smile of frank male appreciation that put a curl of heat in her belly.
She still wanted more than friendship, but that wouldn’t be smart. And although she didn’t want to get drawn further into his investigation, she was definitely interested in it.
Each night he came in, she asked the same question with her eyes. Had he learned anything new about Hobbs or his parents’ murders? And he would shake his head no.
That was the extent of her association with the investigation and Merritt knew she should be glad about that. Him doing his job, her going about her business. Which was exactly what she was doing when she found the note.
A week after she had shared Lefty’s information with Bowie, she went into her bedroom to change the sheets. She was immediately hit with a wall of stuffy air. Dumping the sheets on the mattress, she went to the window, which she clearly recalled having left open.
As soon as she pushed up the window, she saw a piece of paper stuck there and grabbed it before it could blow away.
Her foster brother, Saul Bream, used to leave her notes this way. When she caught sight of the sketch of her profile on the folded paper, she knew it was from him. He had been taken in by her family when he was orphaned at ten years old. She was six.
Over two years had passed since she or her parents had heard from him and she had no idea where he’d been. Her affection for him was dimmed by a familiar mix of concern and irritation.
Opening the note, she quickly scanned it. He wanted her to meet him after dark at Triple Creek. Disappointed, Merritt stared at his neat handwriting. If Saul wanted to meet in secret, it must mean he was in trouble. Again.
He had been flying with one wing since he had turned sixteen and left the home her parents had provided when his sole parent, an abusive father, had died.
The rest of the day she went about her work with a nervous feeling in her stomach. Thank goodness Bowie didn’t show up at lunchtime or supper. She would’ve been even more anxious with him there.
After Mr. Wilson fell asleep in the parlor, Merritt changed into her gray split skirt so she could ride astride. She wrapped up leftover ham and biscuits, then made her way to the livery to borrow the mare Mr. Wilson boarded there. He had graciously told Merritt she could use the animal whenever she needed to. The mare quickly reached Triple Creek, a place north of town named for the junction of three creeks.
No one was in the clearing beside the water so Merritt stayed on her horse, pulling her small pistol from her skirt pocket.
“Merritt?”
She jumped at the familiar voice that came from just ahead. A looming shadow separated itself from the line of trees along the bank of the creek. She recognized the tall frame on horseback dressed all in black, but it wasn’t until he moved into the moonlight that she could make out Saul’s lean, hawklike features. In the shifting shadows, he looked gaunt, his cheeks even more hollowed than usual.
His charming grin and boyish face had gotten him out of numerous scrapes, but in all the years she’d known him, Merritt had never considered him boyish. He was the product of a cruel upbringing yet he wasn’t cruel himself, probably because
he had been treated kindly by her family and their friends.
“Are you alone?” she asked in a low voice, peering through the dim light.
“Yes.” He dismounted, and as he moved to help her do the same, she slid her gun back into her pocket. She had brought the weapon for her peace of mind, not because she feared her foster brother.
He didn’t smell like liquor. Or dirt. In fact, he seemed to have bathed recently. He hugged her before setting her on her feet.
“How are you?” He tugged at her braid as he always had.
“I’m fine. I brought some food.” She pulled the wrapped meat and bread from her saddlebag.
He took the bundle, sliding it into a canvas pouch on his saddle. “Thanks.”
She took stock of him, from his limp straw cowboy hat to his dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In the silvery light, she spied a scar on his left forearm and touched it. “What happened?”
“I had…an accident with a knife.”
“Do you need salve or bandages?”
“It’s healing up.” He smiled crookedly, anxiety vibrating from him as his gaze darted around.
“Where have you been the past couple of years, Saul? What have you been doing?”
His gaze dropped and he asked in a low voice, “Remember what you said last time you saw me?”
“Stay out of trouble,” they said together.
It was what she always told him and what he never did.
From the ages of ten to sixteen, he had been fine, but once he’d finished his schooling, he began associating with the wrong crowd. As a result, he had been in trouble with the law more than once.
He looked up, unmistakable fear in his eyes.
“Saul?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been in jail.”
Merritt blew out a weary breath. She wasn’t surprised.
Sadly, she expected the worst of him, although she never stopped hoping he would change his ways. “Why were you there?”
“I threw in with a couple of fellas and we robbed a train,” he whispered. “Got caught.”
“Oh, Saul.”
He glanced around, stepping closer. “That’s not the worst of it.”
She was distantly aware of the chirp of crickets and the occasional croak of a frog. Moonlight rippled across the grass, carving out the planes of his face.
Seconds ticked by. When he still hadn’t spoken, she prompted, “What happened?”
“Is Hobbs still the marshal here?”
“Hobbs?” Surprised, she studied him as her mare moved restlessly behind her. “How do you know him?”
“Is he?”
“No. As of two weeks ago, we have a new marshal.”
“Good, because Hobbs has no business being a lawman at all.”
“Why?”
His head jerked toward an outcropping of rock across the creek bank. Trees swayed in the breeze. “Did you hear something?”
She stilled, catching the push of the wind through the trees and the gurgle of the creek. “I don’t hear anything. What do you mean about Hobbs?”
“You can’t tell anyone you got this from me.”
She frowned. “Saul.”
“Promise.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I can’t tell you and…” Looking tortured, his gaze met hers. “I really need to tell you.”
She contemplated strangling him. He was obviously in trouble and she had no idea what she was conceding. Still, she knew he wouldn’t confide in her unless she gave him her word. Dread ticked against her nerves. “All right, I promise.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, reaching out to lay a hand on his horse’s neck. The animal was skittish, too. “I should probably just ride off. It’s over and done with. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“About what?”
He was silent for so long that her palms became clammy. Finally, he said, “Hobbs hired someone to kill the people this town was named for.”
Her heart stopped, then restarted with a painful kick. Horrified, she stared at him, barely able to push the words through her tight throat. “The Cahills.”
“Yes.”
Pain squeezed her chest until she couldn’t breathe. Anger and disbelief and panic bubbled together.
Saul stepped toward her, concern creasing his handsome features. “Merritt, you okay?”
“No!” Tears blurred her vision and she roughly swiped them away with one hand. “Those people were my friends!”
Bowing his head, he cursed, then cursed again.
“How do you know this?” she cried. “Please tell me you weren’t there!”
He grabbed her recently injured hand and she winced. He released her. “It was supposed to be a robbery. That’s what I was told, but it ended up in murder.”
He had been there. Saul had been involved. The words circled in her brain. Another tear spilled down her cheek. “How do you know Hobbs was behind it?”
“The fella he hired to do it was a friend of mine. Vernon Pettit.” Saul’s gaze moved again over and around the area where they stood. “He was only supposed to rob them.”
Pettit. The man Quin had been framed for murdering.
“So, why are the Cahills dead?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion.
“Pettit planned all along to kill them, but we didn’t know.” His voice shook. “I swear we didn’t.”
“We? Who else?”
“My friend Huck Allen.”
The man who had told Quin that Earl and Ruby had indeed been murdered.
Cold dread slashed through her. “Please tell me you didn’t kill those people.”
“I didn’t.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Heart breaking, she said quietly, “But you were there when it happened. You didn’t stop it.”
He didn’t answer, which confirmed her fears. She exploded. “Tell me right now what happened!”
Saul swallowed hard. “When Huck and I stopped them on the road, Pettit spooked their horses and ran them off the road over into Ghost Canyon. It was supposed to look like an accident.”
Clenching her fists, she tried to keep her wits about her. Lefty had been right. Hobbs was involved in the Cahills’ murders. And so was Saul. It infuriated her. And broke her heart.
Merritt felt sick to her stomach. “I want you to come with me and talk to the new marshal.”
“Hell, no!” he yelled, then lowered his voice, looking apologetic as he began to pace. “I can’t do that, Merritt. He’ll slap me in irons.”
“Yes, but if you turn yourself in, he will treat you fairly.” She hoped. She wasn’t going to tell him the new marshal was the son of the murder victims.
Saul snorted. “I’ve been around enough lawmen to know that probably isn’t the case.”
She recalled the tension between her late husband and her foster brother the few times they’d been in each other’s company. “Seth was fair.”
“He still wanted to put me behind bars.”
“You broke the law, Saul.” He’d stolen horses and cattle and who knew what else? He was a smart, educated, handsome man. She had given up trying to understand why he had chosen such a dark path. “I’ll stay with you the whole time.”
“No.”
“You know what you did was wrong. That’s why you contacted me. Because you still have a conscience.”
“I just wanted someone to know who was really behind what happened.” He continued to prowl the small piece of ground where they stood. “If I go see this new lawman, the whole thing will be laid on me.”
“No, it won’t.” She wasn’t sure about that. Bowie was furious about his parents’ murders, as she would be if in the same position. She wanted to believe he could be fair, but would he be? Could she if she were in that situation?
“C’mon, Merritt, you know it’s true. Besides, who’s going to take my word over that of Hobbs?”
“I believe you. I think Bowie would, too.”
&n
bsp; Saul gave her a sad smile.
“Besides spooking the horses, did you have anything to do with it?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. Bile rose in her throat. “Did you help murder the Cahills?” Please say no.
“No, but—”
“You can help Bowie prove that Hobbs did. The marshal will hold you responsible only for your actions and you might be able to help bring Hobbs to justice. That could count for something.”
“Like what?”
“Like you might not hang,” she snapped.
He winced and she fixed him with a stare. “Please.”
He stilled next to his horse. Even in the half-light, she could read the uncertainty in his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might relent.
Then he swung into his saddle and gathered the reins.
“Saul, please come with me.”
He shook his head, his bay mare shifting restlessly.
“What if Hobbs finds out about you?”
“He already knows. Pettit told him.”
“What?” Alarmed, she moved closer and put a hand on his leg. “You’re not safe out here alone.”
“Pettit didn’t give Hobbs my name, just told him there were other people who knew he had murdered the Cahills.”
“If he finds out you told someone—”
“He can’t find out, sister.”
A sob caught in her chest. “Please come back to the boardinghouse with me.”
“I’m sure as hell not going to put you in that position. This is for the best.”
“Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t disappear. Please.” There was more he wasn’t telling her. She knew it. “There’s a spare room off my kitchen.”
“I don’t want you in the middle of this.”
“It’s a little late for that,” she bit out.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“It was the right thing to do. Please come back to Ca-Cross with me.”
“I can’t.” His bay danced impatiently, mirroring the anxiety swirling in the air. He turned his horse toward the trees.
“If you need food or anything, come to the boardinghouse.”
“I will.”
