The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Janis Jakes

  “Ah, yes.” Theo’s finger twirled around his coffee cup. “I forget your file said a Christian woman raised you.”

  “Not just any Christian woman. My mother. She knew the Bible inside and out. There was never a more devout believer.”

  He cocked his head. “And yet, here you are. Bounty hunting.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Luke grumbled.

  “Seems like an odd combination.” Theo shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “It’s not so odd. My mother’s faith has kept me from killing more than once.”

  “Your mother’s faith,” Theo repeated. “Not your own?”

  A lone man walked by the window in slow motion, his gaze on them.

  Luke tensed until the man disappeared. Even then, the tightness in his chest remained—a physical reminder that another person wanted him dead. He needed to get out of town and back into the wilderness where he had the upper hand. Right now, he felt like a sitting target. He took a slow sip of coffee, keeping alert. “So, what will you do about Sheriff McGregor?”

  “I’ll get some men on it. I may send someone in undercover to work for him. I’ll have to go through proper channels and get approval from the governor, but I’ll make something happen. You can count on it.”

  Luke wished that was true. Theo was growing on him, but the man still didn’t have his trust. As the office director and the one handling the case, Theo should’ve known that the outlaw was a woman. Of course, he hadn’t any reason to check it out, but if his men had done due diligence and talked to people around Justice City, they’d have known the truth. Instead, they went by what the sheriff said—a sheriff who appeared greedy for ill-gotten gain.

  Almost every criminal case he handled could be traced back to the love of money. He was thankful his mother had taught him to find contentment in simple pleasures rather than silver and gold: a beautiful sunset, the laughter of a child, the sound of an owl, the taste of wild plums. And the love of family. She’d taught him what mattered. All the other things were fine but fleeting—never held with a closed fist. His native family had taught him that, too.

  The waitress appeared, carrying both plates. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  Warm biscuits lay in a blanket of thick, pepper-speckled white gravy. A small serving of baked apple with a dash of cinnamon served as an after-meal treat.

  Theo gave her a quick ‘thank you’ smile then cut into his biscuit. “What you need to do is lay low for a few weeks. Give me time to get all the pieces in place. Then let’s see what we can find out about McGregor and Caldwell.”

  “A few weeks?” Luke’s elbows bit into the top of the table. “What am I supposed to do for a few weeks?”

  “I’ll give you money if that’s why you’re bothered. You’ve already done more investigating into the crime than our usual investigators. I’d say you’ve earned it.”

  “I’m not worried about the money. I’m wondering what I’ll do with that much time.” Luke sliced into his own biscuit. “I’m not exactly the sit around and twiddle my thumbs type.”

  “You’ll find something to occupy your interest.” Amusement crinkled Theo’s lips as he stifled laughter. “Maybe get married? Enjoy a nice teepee honeymoon…”

  Luke glanced up, wanting to give him a hard glare but chuckling instead, glad to have a little relief. But he didn’t dare let his guard down. Watch out. Remain alert. Be ready.

  Anything could happen.

  10

  Abigail’s sickness continued to come and go—sometimes lingering for hours and other times lingering for a day or two.

  It hurt Billie to watch her friend suffer, but she continued to pray.

  For several days and nights in a row, Abigail’s fever soared then dropped. It never rose to the point of delirium again, but it kept her immobile, faint, and thirsty. If the fever wasn’t hard enough, every day Abigail had to drain her swollen breasts to keep from drying up her supply for little Henry in the future. She literally cried over spilt milk that wasn’t safe for her baby.

  The next day started pleasant enough. There was no sign of fever, and Abigail even laughed at something silly Billie had said. There’d been no more visits by Caldwell’s men, but that didn’t bring peace of mind. That only meant the time was getting shorter before someone showed up again.

  She wanted Abigail well so she could leave for Arkansas with a clear conscience. Every convicting thought inside her brain told her she was putting her friend and her baby in grave danger. Little Henry was thriving, despite or perhaps because of the goat’s milk, and even began to coo. When he yawned, he opened his tiny mouth wide and squinted, melting her heart and causing her to long for motherhood and a child of her own.

  If she survived, perhaps God would grant her such a beautiful gift. A husband and a passel of children. That was her heart’s desire, but at this point, she dared not hope. She kept her mind focused on getting through one day at a time.

  Several days went by with no sign of fever. A neighbor from a nearby town brought a letter from Abigail’s husband, Henry. The neighbor did not stay long, saying he had other mail to take around.

  Billie hid in Abigail’s bedroom the entire time she visited with him, not wanting anyone besides the widow to know she existed. She longed to write a letter to her parents but feared it might give away far more than it would help. Besides, the more her parents knew about her comings and goings, the more their lives would be in jeopardy. Though it pained her to think of their suffering, it was for the best.

  Abigail waved good-bye to the neighbor and then did a quick swirl about the small room, squealing in delight.

  Billie laughed at the sight, not remembering a single time she’d been so excited to get a letter. The color in her friend’s cheeks proclaimed what she already knew—Abigail was whole and well. She could leave for Arkansas. The thought left her melancholy instead of joyful. Part of her wanted to stay a while longer. The small cabin had grown comfortable. She’d become attached to Henry, Jr., and to Abigail. It was not safe or practical to remain. She had to go, but this time, she was leaving of her own free will.

  Abigail tore open the envelope. She unfolded a single sheet of paper. “He says he’s making his last delivery and will be home by the end of the week!”

  “That’s great news.”

  “You’ll love my Henry,” Abigail gushed, holding the letter to her bosom. “He’s a gentleman with a big heart. He’ll be so excited to see how well Henry, Jr., is doing, and I have you to thank for it.”

  Would Abigail say such a thing if Caldwell’s men showed up with guns blazing? Billie prayed her friend could not see the worry in her gaze. “God has heard our cries and answered our prayers.”

  Abigail’s hand dropped, the letter still held in her fingers. Her joy turned into a look of despondency, as if she’d lost something precious with no hope of getting it back. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? You’ll not meet my Henry.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

  Abigail held her hands upward, palms out. “Please. Don’t say anything. I’ll bring in some wood. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

  “Abigail—" Billie’s heart dipped. She hated hurting her friend, but putting her in danger any longer than necessary overrode any other thoughts.

  Abigail stood at the door. “I’ll be fine. Just worry about yourself.”

  Billie said a silent prayer asking God to soothe her soul.

  ~*~

  A whistle, loud and long, shattered the tranquil evening.

  “It’s either my husband or my brother.” Abigail’s rocker slowed as Henry, Jr., grunted.

  Billie stopped peeling potatoes, her pulse quickening.

  Abigail rolled the babe onto her shoulder, rose from the rocking chair, and went to the door.

  Billie set the potato and knife aside, wiping her hands on her apron. She untied the garment, and dropped it across a chair before joining Abigail outside.

  Even from a distance, Billie
recognized the broad shoulders, bronze skin, and coal-black hair. Her throat felt suddenly dry, as if she’d swallowed an old, dusty rag.

  “Luke…” Abigail breathed, her words disappearing on the wind.

  “What’s he doing back here?” Billie asked.

  “Coming to check on us, that’s all.” Abigail rose on her tiptoes, smiling and waving in excitement.

  Luke’s stallion broke into a gallop, closing the distance separating them in a matter of seconds. He pulled the horse to a stop before removing his hat and wiping a sweaty brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “Good evening, ladies. Think you might have rations to spare for a weary bounty hunter?”

  His gaze took her in, but she couldn’t decipher the flash in his eyes. He probably hoped she’d already left or been captured.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Abigail said with a teasing tone. “We don’t take much to strangers around these parts. Especially those who disappear during the night without so much as a good-bye.”

  “Better be careful what you say.” He slid from his horse, a grin teasing the edges of his lips. “Or I might stick around for a month or two. Then we’d see how you like it.” He kissed her on the cheek and then patted the baby. “Henry, Jr’s., looking good. Finally filling out that saggy skin of his.” He turned to Billie.

  She willed her pulse to slow down. A knot wedged itself in her throat. She’d forgotten the power of his presence—so sure, so casual, and so very masculine. Even the smell of him drew the strength from her knees. And those eyes, dark and mysterious, dared her to dive in. She knew there was no excuse for such thoughts, but neither could she pretend they did not exist. Her hand quivered, and she grew annoyed at the betrayal. It was a relief to realize that Luke did not seem to notice or care.

  “Good to see you alive.”

  “Yes.” She looked away. “You, too.”

  “Let’s get you inside,” Abigail said. “Billie’s cooking up some potatoes to go with our greens and cornbread.”

  ~*~

  Luke wished he’d mentally prepared to see Billie again. He’d pictured finding her as he’d left her—disguised in smelly men’s clothing with her braided hair stuffed under a hat and barely able to get around. Instead, she looked every inch a woman and moved with such grace, it took his breath away. He’d known she was attractive, even beneath the trail dust and bravado, but there was something more—an inner beauty that he’d failed to see before. The smart part of him hoped she hadn’t caught the gleam of admiration in his eyes.

  Billie Jo was more than fair. He couldn’t think of her as just Billie. He pictured her now in front of a classroom full of students. A few of the older boys would have a crush on her, but she’d probably know how to deflect their attention without destroying their ego.

  She would most likely not be so delicate with him. If he even gave her a grin, she might give him a good scolding and remind him how he’d almost left her to die in a hail of bullets.

  He dropped his hat on a peg. “How’s your arm and hip?”

  The smell of coffee and burning mesquite filled the air. The sound of potatoes bobbing about in boiling water kept the silence away.

  Billie Jo looked as if she might bolt any second. “I’m well. Thanks to your sister.” An undercurrent of disapproval lingered in her gaze. “Not sure how she learned to doctor like she did, but—”

  “Our mother,” he interrupted. “And our mother learned from the natives.”

  “She learned well, then.”

  Awkwardness filled the space between them.

  Only Abigail appeared unaffected as she held Henry, Jr., close and disappeared to the separate bedroom. Was she giving them time alone? If so, why?

  Billie Jo ran palms down the front of her dress. “You’re most likely hungry. I’ll get you a plate …”

  “Before you do that…I talked to your friend, Molly. She believes you’re innocent.”

  Her face went white. “You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have talked to Molly or anyone in Justice City.”

  “I thought you’d be glad to know someone believed in you.”

  “They’ll kill her.”

  “No one saw us talking.”

  “Are you sure?” Her fingers quivered as they flitted across the lace accenting the dress’s neckline. “If Sheriff McGregor or Caldwell—“

  “Don’t worry. I talked to McGregor, too.”

  “Heaven help me! Have you lost your mind?” She dropped into the dining table chair, her face even more pale. “They probably followed you here.”

  He leaned back, crossing his arms. “No one followed me here.”

  “These men are ruthless,” she said with bitterness. “McGregor shot my friend in cold blood. Right in the head. I saw it and—” Tears filled her eyes.

  He fought the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. It would only earn him a good kick in the shin. “Molly told me. And I’m sorry. Real sorry.”

  “I need to get out of here,” she said, shooting up from the seat. “I need to go to Arkansas. I should leave right away. Tonight. If Caldwell’s posse returns—“

  “Hold on a minute,” Luke interrupted. He stepped toward her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “Let’s sit down and eat. Then I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.”

  “Promise you won’t try to stop me from leaving.”

  “You can go whenever and wherever you want.”

  Billie Jo eyed him with suspicion. “It’s for your family’s safety.”

  “Would it surprise you if I agreed with your decision?”

  “Yes…”

  “Texas is too hot for you right now. You need to get far away. And I think I can help you do that.”

  “How can you help me?”

  “I’m coming with you,” he said, picking up a piece of bread. “That’s how.”

  11

  The dim light from the kerosene lamp brought a yellow-gold glow to the room.

  Luke rose from the rocking chair, handing off a sleeping Henry, Jr., to his mother.

  Billie Jo finished drying the dishes.

  He went to the door.

  “You sleep well,” Abigail said.

  “I will.” His gaze shifted toward Billie Jo. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  The door closed. The sound of his boots moved from the wooden porch and disappeared into the night.

  Abigail began to sing to her baby. It was a sweet tune that caused Billie’s eyes to grow heavy, but she continued to sweep the floor—the final touch to a clean cabin.

  A few seconds into the song and Abigail suddenly stopped singing. “My brother is like a wounded eagle.”

  Billie’s brows pinched together. “How’s that?”

  “I guess I can tell you now since you practically saved my life.”

  Billie sat down on the mattress, only a few feet away from the rocking chair. “Tell me what?”

  “I never thought he’d help another soul. He hasn’t been the same since that girl came here.” Abigail repositioned the baby. “He blames himself for our mother’s death.”

  Billie’s insides knotted. She knew that feeling. It was her fault her friend was dead, and she hated it. “Why? What happened?”

  “Well…” Abigail didn’t hide the pain that resided within her gaze. “There was a young woman from our father’s tribe, no more than sixteen years old. She fell down the side of a steep hill and was left to die. Luke found her and brought her to our mother for healing. Our mother gave her food, water, and bandaged her wounds. Most instances, that’s a good thing.” Baby Henry began to squirm, so she started to rock him once more. “Luke loved Momma more than anyone in the whole world. I know it sounds silly, but there were times I was jealous.” She laughed, a soft delicate sound that assured Billie that her love far outweighed any other emotions. “In her later years, Momma’s legs stopped working right, and she couldn’t get around well, but she still made do. Except the young woman wasn’t in her right mind. I
’d gone to check on them when—” Abigail’s eyes misted over. “One of neighbors told me the girl burned the house down, with our mother asleep inside and then ran away.”

  “No…” Anguish filled Billie’s lungs. “Why?”

  “Luke found out later that the young woman was put out of the village because she was sick in the head—she kept setting fire to everything. Her people couldn’t help her, so they banished her. But by the time we learned this truth, it was too late to save our mother.”

  Billie’s lungs ached from the weight of Abigail’s words. What a cruel twist of fate—trying to help someone only to have them murder the person one loved.

  “Luke hasn’t forgiven himself. Or God.” She stood up, moving to the doorway with the babe in her arms. “I’m going to sleep. Remember my brother in your prayers. And Henry, Sr., too. Pray he returns safely and soon.”

  Billie wasn’t the only one to carry the heavy burden of guilt upon her shoulders.

  Luke had his own heartache to bear.

  Their wounds were more similar than either knew.

  ~*~

  Billie reached up, placing an affectionate kiss upon Abigail’s cheek and then little Henry’s brow. This was the right thing to do, but doubts remained. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  The morning sun broke across the horizon in a blaze of yellow and orange. Blue skies sprawled across the heavens with scattered white clouds proclaiming the magnificence of the day before it fully arrived.

  “I’ll be fine,” Abigail assured her. “I’ll miss you, but Henry, Sr., will be here by the end of the week. We’re all healthy and happy, so you don’t need to concern yourself with us. Just worry about yourself. You’re the one with a price on your head.”

  “I’ll miss you something fierce,” Billie said, giving her a firm hug. Heat burned her eyes. “Please tell me I’ll see you again.”

  “I pray so,” Abigail said. “Good Lord willing.” She turned a hopeful expression toward her brother. “You take good care of her, you hear?”

  Billie grabbed the saddle horn and pulled up onto the horse, repositioning her dress over her pantaloons to maintain some sense of modesty. There would be no riding sidesaddle like a proper lady. Luke had already delivered firm instructions. They’d travel hard and fast, and she didn’t want to fall off trying to keep up.