The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Janis Jakes

  His knuckles stroked her jawline while his gaze held hers in a tender embrace. “How will your aunt and uncle feel about a tribal Comanche in their home?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I can’t leave him. He won’t survive on his own.”

  Billie wanted to offer him assurance. “It has been many years since I’ve seen my aunt and uncle. I only know they were always kind to me, and I would expect them to show kindness to you and your father.”

  He reached out, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her head before turning away. She wasn’t sure he was convinced, but he didn’t question her.

  Very soon he would leave her in Arkansas and never return. Silent tears fell. She would not let Luke see her sorrow. She needed her to remain steady and strong at his side. His shoulders already carried so much. She would not add her selfish burdens to the heavy weight. A bittersweet ache filled her being.

  She truly looked forward to seeing Aunt Matilda. It had been at least eight years since she had spent time with her and Uncle Rupert. Yet the reality of her situation with Luke kept her heart from fully experiencing gladness. Just like White Feather, what she wanted would never be.

  Luke Lancaster had lived his life by the gun and wandering the plains.

  How could she dare hope for anything different?

  ~*~

  The next three days brought a subdued mood that would not relinquish its hold—much like the overcast sky. Drops of rain fell the entire time, typically soft and gentle, but sometimes so hard they had to wait patiently under tree branches for a reprieve.

  The trio traveled slow. Every few hours, they stopped so Luke could check his father’s bandages. The wound never bled, and for that, he thanked God.

  His father rode on Billie’s horse. She rode sideways in front of Luke, nestled between his arms. The scent of her inflamed his senses and the softness of her chaffed his soul. This woman had ignited something within his being that he’d long thought buried. Could he really just ride away from her? Never think of her again? Or would every waking and sleeping moment remind him of what might have been?

  He’d come to have deep affection for Billie—they’d been through hardship and laughter together and formed a bond he wasn’t ready to break. He wanted to ask her if he could come back for her but knew that only meant one thing: marriage. How could he marry, and then leave a wife to worry about him while he went about capturing outlaws on the run?

  No one deserved that worry. Billie said it herself. Their lives were too different. She had her profession and wouldn’t want to stop teaching. He had his job and needed a couple more years of saving money before he could stop. So, what was there to do?

  He glanced over his shoulder and caught his father gazing longingly up into the hills. A blanket of greenery hung about the mountainside—vines and tree branches tangled together to create a beautiful scene. It reminded him of a magnificent curtain he’d once seen at an opera house—thick and heavy. But this one shimmered beneath the sprinkle of rain, making it even more breathtaking.

  A town sat perched high—quaint houses built upon rocks and a white-washed church with a tall steeple taking center stage. It was picturesque and pristine—the type of place Billie deserved to live.

  He inhaled the crisp air. Arkansas was more than he expected. He was sorry he hadn’t come sooner.

  She pointed upward. “I remember my Aunt Matilda saying how they built the town up high because when the spring rains come, the water washes away everything in the lowland.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” Walking Stick said, inhaling deeply.

  She smiled. “Yes, but I’ll always miss my home.”

  “This is only temporary,” Luke said, half-believing his own words. “Until we can clear your name.”

  “That could take months, couldn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, or it might only take weeks.”

  “Or, I might always be wanted.”

  “I don’t intend to let that happen.”

  As if sensing more needed to be said, Walking Stick tugged on the reins to the horse, nudging the mare toward higher ground and giving them privacy.

  Billie Jo lay her head against his chest. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Billie Jo, I’m—“

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not willing to just ride away and never see you again.” His knuckles tightened around the reins. “I don’t know what I have to offer you, but—“

  She lifted her head and met his gaze, causing him to stumble over his thoughts. What was he thinking anyway? Was he considering asking her to wait for him for a few years while he worked on his plan for the future—while he finished his to-do list? How was that even fair? Only a selfish man would make such a proposal, and he wouldn’t be selfish.

  “Yes?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It might matter to me.”

  The sound of church bells ringing in the distance stopped them. The sweet melody rang throughout the green valley, echoing off the majestic mountainside and brought a smile to Billie’s face.

  Luke grinned at her. “Looks as if we’ve arrived in time for church.”

  19

  Billie gazed up at the stately house. She slid out of the saddle and onto solid ground. “I think this is the place. Best I can remember.”

  Luke joined her, taking in the formidable structure. It was two stories, sprawling with a wraparound porch, a balcony for the upstairs bedrooms, multiple gables, and fine detailing on the handrails and around the windows. Several chimneys jutted upward from different sides of the structure, and two columns guided visitors and family members toward the large oak entry door.

  Walking Stick remained in the saddle. A tense expression covered his features. She knew he was not used to riding through towns. Years of being a loner had left him content with wide open spaces.

  “My Uncle Rupert owns a sawmill. It belonged to his father before him. He’s done quite well for himself.”

  “So I see,” Luke said.

  “His first wife died in childbirth along with the child. When he married my aunt, she was already in her thirties with him in his forties.”

  “Did they ever have any children?”

  She shook her head, sorrow welling up within her bosom. She’d heard of the tears her aunt had cried, desiring a child more than her next breath. It never happened, but her husband devoted himself to her—giving her happiness above his own. “Last I heard, they volunteered at the local orphanage and gave funds to provide a proper education to all the children there.”

  “As a teacher, I’m sure you find that a good thing,” Walking Stick said.

  She smiled. “Yes, and an educated child grows into a productive member of society. That benefits us all.”

  The door creaked open. The older woman who stared back could not have looked more different than her aunt. Her hair was brunette, with streaks of gray, and she was as round as a pumpkin. Her gaze darted about their faces. A hint of nervousness lingered upon her expression. “May I help you?”.

  “I’m sorry.” Billie’s cheeks warmed “I thought this was the home of Matilda and Rupert Schumann.”

  “It was, until about a month ago,” the woman said. “Now they live outside of town. Just follow this road. It’ll take you to the Schumann Ranch.”

  “Did you say a ranch?” That did not make sense. Her Uncle Rupert was too old to work a ranch.

  “Yes. A very nice ranch.” She smiled, her anxiety easing. “Matilda would not settle for anything less, and even if she would, well, Rupert wouldn’t allow it.”

  That certainly sounded like her relatives, but there’d been no mention about them moving. Matilda had always said this was her forever home.

  “I’m surprised, with their age and all.” Then, feeling awkward, she added, “I’m their niece, but it’s been about eight years since I’ve seen either of them. They weren’t all that young then, and—“

  “Oh, they have plenty of help,” the woman said. “But
perhaps I’ve said too much. The Schumanns are good folk. I’ll let them tell their own business. I don’t want to be known as the town gossip.” She glanced past Billie, looking where the horses nibbled on blades of grass. Her gaze bounced from Luke and then to his father. “Would you like a drink of water or to feed your horses before you go on down the road?”

  “No need,” Luke spoke up. “We refreshed them right before we came into town, but thank you for your hospitality.”

  In less than an hour, they stood at a gate with a sign that read, “Schumann Ranch & Boys’ Home.” The fence stretched as far as she could see, encompassing acres of rolling hills and several ponds. Cattle roamed about the pasture while a dozen or so horses gathered around a fenced-off area.

  Off in the distance sat a large log cabin. Trees surrounded one end of the structure. The other end held a balcony that opened up toward the hills.

  “This isn’t at all what I expected,” Billie said.

  “Do you still want to stay?”

  Where was there to go? “I think I do. If they’ll have me.”

  “Then let’s go find out.” He clicked his tongue, and his horse began to move down the dirt path that led to the log cabin.

  Surely, her aunt and uncle wouldn’t turn her away? But if they had a boys’ ranch, they might think twice. Rupert would not want to put anyone in jeopardy. He was logical like that. Matilda would throw caution to the wind, but she was known for being impetuous, or so her mother had said.

  She decided not to fret about something she could not control. She would tell the entire truth. What happened after that was in God’s hands. Whether she stayed or left, He was with her.

  ~*~

  Luke knocked on the door. Feet shuffled.

  A muffled voice sounded from behind the door. Finally, a lanky young man who appeared to be in his early teens, with freckled cheeks and round brown eyes, answered the door.

  “Good afternoon.” Billie paused for several seconds, a mask of confusion across her features. “We’re here to see Rupert and Matilda Schumann. Is this the right place?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m her niece. And you are?”

  “I just live here. Freddy’s my name. Come in.”

  Somewhat hesitantly, Billie stepped inside.

  Luke followed her then Walking Stick.

  Bunkbeds filled the room, lining the walls. Almost twenty young men—different sizes, shapes, races, and ages stared back at them with curious eyes.

  The freckled boy lifted his chin and smiled. “And here’s all my brothers.”

  The boys waved. Some sat on the bed, reading a book. Others played checkers at a nearby table. Another group snapped peas into bowls. Not one soul seemed to notice or care that a Comanche stood in their midst. She could only reason it was because they were all so different, such things had ceased to matter to them.

  “We don’t do much work on Sunday,” Freddy said. “The Schumanns don’t allow it. They said all we need to do is go to church and rest, so we’ll be ready to work again come Monday.”

  “I see. And, where are the Schumanns?” Billie asked.

  “Their house is just behind this one. I’ll show you the way.”

  He gave them a quick, follow-me wave then headed out the door with fast footsteps.

  Billie had to double-time to keep up. Luke had no trouble with his long legs. Walking Stick moved slow, still appearing anxious despite the warm welcome.

  The house behind the large log cabin was smaller and looked recently built if the fresh condition of the logs was any indication.

  “I’ll leave you to get reacquainted,” Freddy said. “Guessin’ I’ll see you all tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I hope so.”

  He smiled and then walked back the way he came.

  Billie could barely breathe from sudden fear. What if they turned her away? What if no one cared that she’d traveled all this distance? What if they were too elderly to put up with the thought of any trouble and told her to skedaddle?

  “What are you waiting on? Go ahead and knock,” Luke said.

  “What if they don’t want me here?”

  “Of course, they’ll want you here. You’re their niece.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Her hand rose to her stomach. “It’s just been so odd, trying to get to this door. First, we went to the wrong house, then the wrong house again. How can I be sure this is the right one? How can I be sure this is what God wants?”

  Luke laughed as he reached around her and knocked on the door.

  Startled, she held still as a statue until Rupert answered the door.

  He looked momentarily confused, a bushy gray brow dipping downward.

  “Uncle Rupert. I’m Billie Jo—”

  The elderly man grinned. “It can’t be… Billie Jo barely came up past my ribs. You’re a grown woman, and a pretty one, to boot.”

  “It’s me, Uncle Rupert.” Billie noted that Luke looked mighty pleased. Of course, he would. Now, he could leave in peace—trusting she was safe with those who loved her. She just wished he didn’t look so happy about it. She held out her hand as if carrying a platter. “And this is my traveling companion, Mr. Lancaster.”

  Luke’s smile vanished, and for a moment, she was glad.

  “And his father, and my friend, Walking Stick.”

  Rupert took a step back then opened his door wider. “Welcome.”

  20

  Billie looked around her. The inside of the cabin displayed colorful furnishings and bright cups mixed in with books in cases along one wall.

  “I may not have a fancy town home,” Matilda began with a twinkle in her eye. “But I insisted upon some luxuries—my teacups from Paris and my silk bedspread from Patna.”

  Aunt Matilda wore a plain mauve dress with no frills except a small opal brooch. She was far from the sophisticated and glamorous older sister her mother had spoken of with a hint of envy. Now, her beauty was subdued—laced with streaks of gray, fine lines, and a winsome smile. “We’ve given up the social life for one that is far more rewarding.”

  “The boys?” Billie guessed. She sat directly across from her aunt on a settee. Luke sat next to her, squirming a bit and seeming uncomfortable on the small piece of furniture. Matilda and Uncle Rupert sat in chairs, a small table between them for their cups. Walking Stick stood near the door, leaning against the frame with arms crossed and insisting he’d had enough sitting.

  “Yes, the boys,” Rupert said, adding a chuckle. “We knew the Lord wanted us to have children. We just never knew he wanted us to have so many.”

  “How long have you had the ranch? Mother never mentioned it.”

  “I’ve not told a soul. It just felt too much like bragging.”

  Rupert’s gentle voice flowed with humility. “We’ve had the ranch operational for about three years now. We only moved into this house a month or so ago. Until then, we had a married couple living inside the cabin with the boys. They kept an eye on them and made sure they did what was expected. The couple took off for California—said the Lord called them as missionaries to the miners. So, here we are, doing the best we can.”

  Billie nodded, intrigued to hear more about the ranch and its day-to-day operations.

  “What’s expected?” Luke asked, his question somewhat biting.

  “Excuse me?” Rupert gave Luke a hard stare.

  “Most of them look young.” Luke’s tone softened. “I’m curious what is expected of them?”

  “We expect them to carry their weight. This is a fully functioning ranch. The boys get up early. Do chores, such as animal watering and feeding, fence mending, cattle branding, and the like. It doesn’t take all day. They are usually finished by late afternoon, giving them plenty of time to rest and do their studies before supper. After that, they’re free to do what they wish until bedtime.”

  “Who is their teacher?” Billie asked.

  “I am,” Matilda said. “Though I’m not that good at it. I’ve
forgotten so much. Perhaps you—?”

  Something sprang to life within Billie’s being. She had to remind herself to keep calm and think—not jump at an opportunity that might or might not be the Lord’s will.

  “I should not presume so much, dear.” Aunt Matilda reached over to pat her hand. “We’re so excited you’ve come. We never get to see family. Though I don’t know how long you intend to stay…”

  “You’re welcomed here as long as you’d like.” Uncle Rupert added. “Matilda gets lonely without any female companionship.” He gave Billie a quick wink. “I try to fill the void, but I don’t know much about cross-stitching or baking mincemeat pies or how to make soap.”

  Billie looked at Luke. His expression had turned grave. She turned back to her aunt and uncle. “Perhaps I should explain why I’m here.” Her throat tightened—constricted by the dread of what she was about to say. A silent prayer moved through her thoughts.

  Lord Jesus, if You would strengthen me in my inner being, giving me the courage to say what needs to be said and the wisdom to know how to say it. Let Your hand guide this entire situation and replace any hesitation or worry I have with Your peace—the peace that passes all understanding.

  Luke’s hand moved toward hers, laying across her knuckles to give her a reassuring pat before sliding away.

  “Is something wrong?” Aunt Matilda asked. “Is everything all right at home? I know your mother has experienced more than her share of heartache over this past year.”

  Billie regrouped, gaining her strength and starting again. “Yes, my parents have endured trial after trial this year, but God has remained faithful and ministered to them.”

  “Then what?” Aunt Matilda asked, her voice quivering.

  “It’s me, Aunt Matilda,” Billie began. “I’m accused of murder, but I assure you, I’m innocent.”

  “Murder?” Aunt Matilda blinked, her frail hand rising to her bosom. “Did you say murder?”

  “Of course, you’re innocent,” Uncle Rupert exclaimed, puffing out his chest as if outraged.