An Unexpected Redemption

by Davalynn Spencer

  What if she wouldn’t marry a killer?

  Pearl whined at the door and scratched.

  Garrett lifted the latch and she bounded out. Ran in a wide circle, relieved herself, then loped back to him with her silly grin. She didn’t care that he’d gunned down the wrong man.

  “I’m starving in here, and it’s cold as a well.”

  Neither did Clive Prentiss.

  Garrett signaled the dog in ahead of him and shut the door. Then he dug through his desk drawer for the sack of jerked beef and held a piece through the bars. “This’ll tide you over ‘til I get supper from the café.”

  “What about the boarding house?”

  “It’s not a boarding house and you’re in jail, not a hotel.”

  Garrett wouldn’t be joining everyone at the dining table tonight, and he realized he’d miss his makeshift family. An odd bunch they were, but they’d taken up residence in his thoughts and feelings. Maybe too much so.

  He could light out after the hearing in Cedar City. Find a herd headed to Wyoming and cut a new trail.

  And leave Betsy behind—exactly like that low-down, lily-livered husband of hers.

  Former husband.

  He slammed the coffee pot down on the stove, mad at himself for being a coward. If he couldn’t tell Betsy Parker what pained him more than anything ever had, then he wasn’t man enough to marry her.

  And marry her was exactly what he intended to do. As soon as possible after he returned from the hearing.

  The next six days dragged by, his stomach missing Maggie’s cooking and the rest of him missing Betsy. He checked on them both from time to time, making pleasant conversation with them—as pleasant as possible if Betsy didn’t run upstairs and hide in her room, which was completely unlike her.

  Why didn’t she brace him? Challenge him to a duel. Yell at him and call him every name in the book that he deserved. Fire and brimstone were easier handled than tears and distance.

  It was clear he’d hurt her, and he didn’t know the first thing about making it up to her. Not with a prisoner in his jail and a pending trip to Cedar City.

  Monday morning, he cuffed Prentiss to the saddle horn of the horse Erik rented him, stepped up on Rink, and headed out.

  ~

  Clay and the other men hammering behind the house every afternoon drove Betsy to near distraction. Her nerves were as tight as a corset, and all that pounding gave her a headache. Maggie, however, was thrilled with their progress and spoke of nothing but how fine the new barn would be and how she hoped it would be completed before the wedding and reception.

  How could the woman be so optimistic when there hadn’t even been a proposal?

  Betsy needed escape. She needed to ride free, fast, and immediately.

  From the Eisners’ store, she bought a youth-sized pair of dungarees and a shirt. Bless the couple, they needed the business and didn’t know her well enough to question her purchases. Willa and Fred Reynolds would have whispered their concern to every other customer who darkened their door.

  Lolly’s scrape had healed nicely, and with Maggie’s approval to take the mare, Betsy rented a saddle at the livery and readied for a ride to the ranch. Apparently concerned by her attire, Erik tried to persuade her to take a buggy instead. A tarnished deputy’s badge hung incongruently from his leather apron, and to turn his argument, she asked how long he thought Garrett would be gone.

  “No long,” he said, his face brightening. “Do not worry. Er ist verliebt.”

  She didn’t know enough German to understand what the man meant, but the twinkle in his eye gave her a good idea.

  At the edge of town, she squeezed her heels into Lolly, and the old mare perked her ears and took off in a dead trot.

  It would be a long ride to the ranch.

  Painfully long. By the halfway point, Betsy regretted not taking Erik up on his buggy offer. She slowed Lolly to a less-jarring walk and tried to enjoy the scenery—the familiar roll of the countryside, scattered junipers on the high spots, and farms or grazing cattle in the low.

  The land had faded from green to brown, and hay fields lay bare. A few meadowlarks called to each other from the edges. Lolly’s slow pace provided not the sense of escape that Betsy craved, but plenty of time to consider all that Maggie had said and Garrett hadn’t.

  Like the day’s ride, just the opposite of what she longed for.

  Of course, Maggie was right about a person’s past. One didn’t divulge every former occurrence or acquaintance, as if giving a detailed account of years gone by. But Garrett had closed off so completely from her question. By doing so, he had not doused her curiosity but left it in a pile of smoldering doubt.

  Maggie would say Betsy faced a choice. Rather than reacting to Garrett’s reticence, she could choose to respond with—what?

  The dogs announced her arrival at the ranch, but their yapping failed to rouse the Price’s nag which stood hitched to a farm wagon, head drooping and a back leg cocked at the knee.

  Betsy’s skin prickled in warning. She left Lolly at the hitch rail and walked through the front door without knocking.

  Cade paced before the long hearth but stopped and looked up at her entry. “Betsy.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He raked both hands through his hair and pulled in a ragged breath. “It’s Mae Ann’s time and the baby’s coming.”

  She went to him and laid her hand on his arm, with no idea of what to say. She knew nothing about childbirth, but she knew a little about God’s ability to watch over His children. “Don’t worry, Cade. The Lord’s with them both.”

  His near-black eyes, so like their father’s, shone with banking tears, and she gave him a quick hug before running upstairs. Sophie’s earlier warning rang in her ears.

  Mae Ann lay in the middle of the four-poster bed, looking like she’d just come from the river. Knees bent and slack, she was soaked to the skin, her hair clinging to her neck and shoulders.

  Sophie leaned over her on one side, pressing a cloth against her face and neck. Travine sat on the other, holding her hand.

  Suddenly, Mae Ann lurched up, her face red and contorted, and she squeezed Travine’s hand until the woman muffled a cry.

  Just as quickly, and completely spent, Mae Ann collapsed back on the pillows, panting and sweating.

  Dear God, help her.

  “Betsy!” Sophie’s strangled whisper sounded like Betsy felt.

  “Keep the damp cloths coming, Sophie. I’ll be right back.” Travine stood and touched Betsy’ elbow, inclining her head toward the door.

  In the hallway, she swiped her sleeve across her forehead, then gripped Betsy’s arm with startling strength. “Something’s wrong, but I’m no midwife. I need you to ride to town and bring Doc Weaver back. Now.”

  At the landing, Betsy saw that Cade was gone—probably to the privy. She scuttled down and out the front door, then ran for the barn. She’d take whatever horse she came to first, but Deacon had beaten her to the draw. As if he’d known.

  Blanca was saddled and ready to go, her foal whinnying from a box stall.

  “Don’t worry ’bout the filly,” Deacon said. “I’ll get hold of her and settle her down. You just punch a hole in the wind and get Doc back here ’fore nightfall.”

  Betsy swung up and dug her heels in again. This time, her horse flew from the barn and took the ranch road at a dead run. Blanca couldn’t gallop the whole way, but they’d get a good start, then Betsy would pace her between an easy lope and a trot.

  Leaning low over Blanca’s neck, she pressed into the run, invigorated. “Lord, since I started talking to You again, it seems I’ve done nothing but ask.” The wind of her ride snatched her voice away, but still she spoke as if God was right there with her. “Please, keep Mae Ann and the baby safe, and give Blanca speed and stamina. And help me find Doc Weaver, preferably at his office in town.”

  Whether her mind was distracted by prayer and urgency or they had cut the usual travel time in half, B
etsy soon loped into town. She slid off Blanca before they reached Doc’s hitch rail, then dropped the reins and ran up the back stairs to his office and through the door.

  Gasping, she clutched her waist and said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have a fast horse?”

  Doc rose from his desk and pulled his eye glasses off for a better look “What’s wrong, Betsy?”

  “Not me. Mae Ann. At the ranch. She’s in labor, but the baby’s not coming and we need you to be there before now.”

  “My horse is at the livery. You run and tell Erik to saddle him. I’ll get my bag and meet you there.”

  ~

  Cade sat with his head in his hands, and Betsy shifted in her seat across from him. Deacon straddled a kitchen chair, and the coffee pot perched on the hearth with two untouched cups long since grown cold. Deacon was nursing his.

  Her hair tangled and face still stinging, Betsy felt as if she’d run all the way from town rather than ridden. Hours ago, it seemed, but Doc hadn’t slowed them down. He could horseback. Country doctoring required it, she supposed.

  A faint wail broke out above them, and as one they stood, looking expectantly toward the landing.

  In a moment, Doc Weaver stepped out of the bedroom, his sleeves rolled up and a pleased expression on his face.

  “You’re a papa, Cade. It’s a boy.”

  Betsy covered her mouth with both hands. Deacon whooped and spilled his coffee, and Cade just stood there, stunned, weak, and speechless.

  “Go see him,” she managed.

  Gingerly, he walked toward the stairs, his sheepskin moccasins making not a sound, as if he were sneaking up on a newborn calf.

  “Go on, or he’ll be weaned ’fore ya get there.” Deacon coughed and swiped at his face, struggling against such uncommon emotion.

  Betsy let go a long, weary sigh. Thank God for His perfect timing.

  CHAPTER 26

  Garrett’s timing could have been better.

  According to Erik, the Howe hand pumper, hose, and reel had arrived in Garrett’s absence, and a volunteer brigade was practicing under the mayor’s direction. Betsy and Clay had just taken Lolly back to Snowfield’s pasture and left behind a sorrel mare. The barn was completed, and the Parkers’ baby had arrived—a boy. That might explain why the sorrel was in town.

  Erik pulled the badge from his farrier’s apron and handed it to Garrett. “Ya,” he said with mock concern. “She asked about you.”

  Hope shot up in Garrett’s chest like a Yellowstone geyser, and he slapped Erik on his broad shoulder. The man didn’t need a badge to quell a fight. His brute strength was enough.

  “Thank you, friend, for watchin’ after things.”

  “All was gut.”

  Garrett prayed it’d be gut between him and Betsy. Better than gut. He had to tell her what she wanted to know and more. He had to tell her that he loved her.

  Better yet, he had to show her. His grandmother had pointed out the difference one wintry night after Grandpa brought in an armload of wood and kissed her soundly on the mouth, right there in front of Garrett. Too old to blush like a girl, she did anyway, and glanced at him with a wink.

  Don’t just tell her you love her, show her, she’d said. No matter how old you get to be.

  At twelve, Garrett squirmed and wiggled away from the embarrassing topic. Today, he thought he knew what his grandmother was trying to tell him, and again he felt for the small box tucked inside his vest.

  He turned Rink down Saddle Blossom Lane, skirted the apple orchard south of the house, and drew rein in front of the new barn. Clay and the others had done a fine job. Ponderosa pine filled the evening air—no cedar-pole barn for Maggie Snowfield.

  Pearl yelped and came at him on the run. He stepped off Rink and caught her front legs as she jumped up. Scrubbing her head, he calmed her, assuring her and himself that he was home where he belonged, though Pearl wasn’t the one he wanted to see.

  Of course, now that he smelled like dog as well as horse sweat and a long day in the saddle, he doubted if Betsy Parker’d have anything to do with him.

  But there she was, standing by the back steps watching him, her apron bunched up in both hands.

  He should take a bath before taking her in his arms, but his heart set his feet in motion, and nothing could stop him now, not even his brain.

  And then she came running.

  He caught her against him, lifting her off the ground in a furious hold. Maybe she didn’t hate him after all.

  “I love you.” His voice cracked and he squeezed her tighter, trying to keep his heart from galloping away. “Marry me. I’ve got nothing but the jail house, a dog, and a horse, but I swear someday we’ll have a place of our own.”

  Laughing, crying, choking for breath, she pushed against his chest until he set her down. “We have a home for now.”

  He frowned. “But is it enough? Living here at Maggie’s and running what really isn’t a boarding house?”

  She raised both hands to his unshaven cheeks, and her whole soul seemed to float in her shining eyes. “If you’re here with me, it’s all I need.”

  He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t pull away. Never resisted. Lord, help him, he was drowning in the arms of sweet Betsy Parker.

  Clay nearly earned himself a night in jail when he called them in for supper.

  Garrett looked up with enough force that the boy ducked back inside the house and slammed the door.

  Betsy laughed. “You’ve scared him off, Garrett, and we need him. He’s been a wonderful help around here since you’ve been gone. And what about Erik—”

  With his lips, he stilled her, cutting off her words and worry until she melted against him. Finally he stepped back. “Maybe so, but his timing stinks.”

  Garrett laid a hand over the small bulge in his vest and took one of Betsy’s hands with the other.

  “Elizabeth Betsy Parker, will you be my wife? As soon as possible?”

  She pursed her pretty lips and he knew he’d said something wrong. Maybe soon was pushing it.

  “You left out one of my names.”

  Hang it all, he’d be hog-tied before he labeled her with that no-account’s name of Beau—

  “Madeline. Elizabeth Madeline Parker, after my mother.”

  Tension drained with a rush, and he took a deep breath and tried again. “Elizabeth Madeline Parker, will you marry me?”

  She smiled to rival any dawn he’d ever seen. “As soon as possible.”

  ~

  Which couldn’t be soon enough, as far as Betsy was concerned. With Cade and Mae Ann’s baby born, nothing prevented the wedding, aside from planning Maggie’s reception and finding a suitable dress.

  The Eisners were thrilled with that request, and Betsy had left the ultimate design up to Abigail. Frankly, what she wore to her wedding didn’t matter nearly as much as who she was wedding.

  With hot pads in hand, she pulled a roasted chicken from the oven, acutely aware of Garrett watching her from a chair at the kitchen table. He wanted to take time off and go to Denver after the ceremony, until she convinced him that Denver wasn’t a place she wanted to be.

  “But I want to take you someplace fancy.”

  He looked like such a little boy when he said it, that she left the chicken on the counter, walked over, and kissed him on the nose.

  “Take me on a long ride up in the mountains. Or maybe to Cedar Springs. There is a lovely hotel there with a splendid restaurant that my family used to visit on occasion. And Mae Ann told me the chairs in the parlor are quite comfortable.”

  Garrett stared. “Parlor chairs.”

  “Yes. Cade spent the night in one when he and Mae Ann stayed there.”

  His obvious horror burst Betsy’s ruse, and she laughed outright.

  He pulled her down onto his lap with a smoky look. “Not what I have in mind for our honeymoon.”

  She laughed and shivered and moved out of his reach, busying herself with dinner. />
  And to think, she’d been afraid he wouldn’t return from taking Clive Prentiss to court.

  She’d been afraid of too many things recently. Afraid of coming home to Olin Springs. Afraid of not being able to support herself. Afraid of loving another man. What a waste of emotional energy.

  While Garrett washed at the sink, she hurried upstairs to tidy her hair and found her desk drawer ajar. She stopped short with another rush of fear before remembering that she’d been looking for her Lincoln pen earlier to show Maggie.

  With her pulse thumping in her temples from sudden relief, she felt for the derringer shoved against the back, then set the drawer squarely before pushing it in.

  At the mirror, she twisted another pin into her updo, recalling the night she’d discovered her things riffled through. The incident had paled in light of Maggie falling ill and needing help. That evening seemed like forever ago.

  ~

  Maggie retired early, as was becoming her custom, Clay went back to his job at the livery as Erik’s night man, and Betsy gave him an extra quilt to take with him.

  “It’s not that bad sleeping in the loft,” Garrett assured her. “The warmth from the animals rises, and insulation from the hay helps hold it in if there aren’t any holes in the roof.”

  “And you know this how?” She snuggled next to him on the porch swing, beneath the quilt she’d brought out for them.

  He smiled, and the scar pulled into place. “I’ve spent my share of nights in a livery.”

  “Do tell.”

  He cut her a side glance. “You first. You said there was something you wanted to tell me. Isn’t that why we’re out here in early November, and it fixin’ to snow?”

  Right again, she admitted. It smelled like snow, and that was always a reliable indicator. She tucked her feet up beside her and leaned against Garrett’s shoulder. “I did a lot of thinking the night we fought. Before the library fire.”

  He huffed. “I didn’t fight with you.”

  At her raised eyebrow, he acquiesced. “I left before we went to blows, remember?”

  She giggled. “I do.”

  “Save that line for this weekend.” He lifted his arm and pulled her close, exactly where she wanted to be.