by Claudia Dain
"Esther Morris came by, just briefly," Miss Daphne said from the kitchen.
Anne's heart sank. Esther must have come at a dead run if she had made it to the house before Anne did; she had raised a bit of dust herself hurrying home.
"Did she?" Anne answered her grandmother sweetly.
"Yes," Miss Daphne said calmly, wiping flour from her hands.
Sarah gave Anne a look and moved out of the line of fire; she had tried to give Anne a chance to come out with it herself. It would only be worse now because she had tried to hide something.
"She said there was an altercation involving an outlaw and a bounty hunter and that you were right in the middle of it," her grandmother said, displeasure shining from her brown eyes.
Anne knew better than to point out that Esther must also have been in the middle of it, as well as Isaiah and John. Miss Daphne didn't concern herself with what they did; they weren't family.
"Now, Mother, Anne can't be responsible for the behavior of that bounty hunter," Nell said valiantly.
"Anne can certainly be responsible for her whereabouts, her company, and her deportment," Daphne said coldly.
"Speaking of deportment," Sarah cut in, "what did he look like? Handsome man or rough as a post?"
Anne held her breath, uncertain of her next step in this rocky conversation. She knew Sarah's purpose was to shake Miss Daphne loose on the issue of the fight, but she didn't see how an honest answer would help her. Still, they'd find out eventually. Esther Morris likely hadn't died on her way home.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say he was handsome."
"Then what exactly is he?" Sarah prodded.
Anne chewed the inside of her lower lip as she chose her words. "He's dusty, unshaven, clean-featured, lean, and taller than John Campbell."
"What color are his eyes?"
"Blue." It was out before she could stop it. She looked at her mama and her aunt and then closed her eyes before she could see what look her grandmother was giving her. She shouldn't have been looking closely enough to have noticed the color of his eyes. Even she knew that. She didn't need a lecture on it.
"Blue? Why, he sounds like a good-looking man, Anne." Sarah chuckled. "You best keep your guard up while he's in Abilene or you'll have two beaus to manage."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sarah," Nell snapped. "Anne has more sense than to spend time with a bounty hunter and risk offending Bill besides."
"Offending Bill?" Sarah snapped back. "A woman is allowed to have more than one man courting her and Bill should remember that."
"She can only marry one," Miss Daphne said.
That closed the subject since no one would willingly marry a bounty hunter. And she did have Bill, after a fashion. It was an ideal courtship to her mind. He wasn't around much, he was presentable and well thought of in town, and he satisfied her family's need for her to have a "prospect."
Yes, Bill was the ideal beau. When he was in town, he courted her prettily enough. He was handsome, too. Eleanor Parker almost regretted marrying Clyde Barton after she had seen Bill.
But then, Eleanor hadn't seen the bounty hunter yet.
"Anne," her grandmother said, the chill in her voice cooling the room, "I trust that, in future, you will keep the proper distance between yourself and that bounty hunter. God willing, he will be out of town by nightfall. In the meantime, remember who you are and what is expected of you."
Sarah and Nell, as daughters of Daphne Perkins Todd, said nothing to alleviate the burden of respectable responsibility deposited upon Anne's shoulders. They had been taught the futility of revolt decades ago.
"Yes, ma'am," Anne answered, her head lowered, her eyes lowered. Her spirits lowered to a back-burner simmer.
Miss Daphne looked all three of them over once, sharply, and then said, "Come, Nell, I need your hands with the baking."
Nell followed her mother into the kitchen after giving Anne a quick smile. As soon as Daphne was behind the closed kitchen door, Sarah grabbed Anne by the hand and led her out onto the front porch. They sank down onto two straight-backed wooden chairs and Anne let out a breath of relief.
"You may only marry once, but you should at least have the fun of a hectic courtship," Sarah said without preamble. "Tell me what you really think about this bounty hunter."
"I don't think anything," Anne said, refusing the invitation to think about the bounty hunter. "I didn't even speak to him."
"But you saw him?"
"As did Esther and John and Isaiah."
"I don't care if they saw him," Sarah said, "and I don't care what they thought of him. What did you think?"
"I didn't think anything then and I don't think anything now." It would be true because she would make it true. There was no room for a man, that man, in her thoughts.
Sarah sat back in her chair with a grunt. "That's too bad, Anne." Folding her slender arms across her chest, she looked up at the porch ceiling and said casually, "Because I was thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad thing for you to have two beaus, and if you thought this bounty hunter was nice to look at, you could use him to set a fire under Bill."
When Anne sat up stiffly at that, Sarah continued, "Bill's been slow to ask you to marry. He's a fine prospect, if he is a bit shy in his courting. He'll get you out of this town as well as any man and that's what you want, isn't it?"
No, it wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't going to fight about it with her aunt, or anyone else in her family for that matter. She did want to leave Abilene, see a bit of the world beyond a dying town in the middle of the prairie, but she didn't need a man to get it done. Of course, Sarah didn't see it that way and her grandmother would want to skin her raw if she even suspected that she was thinking of "running off." That's how they saw it, each one of them. A woman who left home without a husband at her side was running off to God knew where. Perdition, most like.
But she wasn't going to get married. Ever. Of course, they didn't have to know that. Why fight that fight? Let them think that she was in a marrying frame of mind; her trouble was in keeping Bill off balance. If he was slow in his courting, that was all to the good, but he was building up steam for something; she could feel that coming like wind sliding off the prairie. What she needed was some way to slow him down. Could be a bounty hunter would do that better than she.
Two men on a lead rope would make Aunt Sarah happy. Bill being one of them would keep her mama and grandmama happy. Keeping both men tussling with each other and not with her would keep her happy.
Maybe having that bounty hunter around wasn't such a bad thing. All she had to do was get him to come loping around her. Judging by how he'd stared at her, that didn't look to be a problem.
But it wouldn't do to give in too quick. They all thought she had her heart tossed into Bill's hands. It would only help her if they kept thinking it.
"I thought you all liked Bill," Anne said.
Sarah shook her head and patted Anne on the hand with sympathetic condescension. "I don't dislike Bill. I don't care about Bill, or the bounty hunter either. I care about you and I don't want to see you end up like me and your mama twenty years from now. I'm doing for you what I wish someone had done for me when I was your age. I married the first man who asked, hoping he'd take me away from my mama when all he did was bed me and leave me. What I want for you is the chance to get out of Abilene; die somewhere other than this dying place. Now, don't you want the same?"
"Of course I do. You know that," Anne said. But without the burden of a man. She wasn't going to hitch herself to any man.
"Then cinch yourself up and pick the man who can get it done for you," Sarah said, her blue eyes bright and hot. "Miss Daphne would flay me red if she knew I was talking to you this way, but when Esther came by and spit out all she knew about that bounty hunter and the way he looked at you, something just popped. You take your chance, Anne, and don't you wait on any man."
Bounty hunters never stayed any place long. If she was going to use him to nudge Bill off, sh
e'd have to move quick. He could leave on the next train.
The bounty hunter had seemed to like the look of her and by his manner, didn't seem the sort to dawdle in a courtship. No, he seemed most... direct. That was a polite sort of word for what he was. Anne fought the shiver that wrapped itself around her spine when she remembered how he had looked. And how he had looked at her. She didn't want him for that. She just needed someone to shake Bill off a bit. Nothing more to it than that.
"What's it going to be?" Sarah asked. "You going to wait on Bill, hoping he'll do the right thing, or are you going to use that bounty hunter the way the good Lord meant for a man to be used? Use him to light a fire under Bill."
Anne didn't say a word, that shiver had her good and hard, but she got up off the porch and headed toward town.
Chapter 3
"I need a horse."
The hostler lowered his pipe and looked him over. Suspicion was written on his features like a sign. Jack stepped in out of the bright morning sun and walked down the row of horses, leaving the hostler and his suspicions behind him.
"This black looks good. How much?"
"My name's Powell," the man answered, not answering. "I own this place and most every horse in it."
"Congratulations," Jack said, watching Powell rise to his feet and come toward him. "How much for the black?"
"The black's not available," he said around his pipe stem.
"Fine," said Jack, tipping the brim of his hat. "What about the sorrel? Available?"
"Nope," he said. "Belongs to Mrs. Halloway."
"Mrs. Halloway owns a fine animal."
"You're Skull, ain'tcha?" Powell asked, digging his thumb in the bowl of his pipe. "When you leaving town?"
"Soon as I get a horse," Jack said, turning away. "What about the dun? Looks a bit old, but fit. Mrs. Halloway own this one, too?"
"Nah," Powell said, looking down at his pipe and then blowing through it to check his draw. "But it's—"
"—not available."
"That's right. Seems to me—" He stopped to draw on his pipe again. "Seems to me that a man in your line would be real hard on horseflesh. I'd be losing money on any horse I let you take."
Jack smiled slightly and fingered the brim of his hat. "I haven't killed a horse yet."
"Could be you're lucky."
"Could be," he said softly. "How about you sell me a horse? That way, whatever happens, it's between me and the horse."
"Well, I don't know," Powell drawled, putting his pipe back in his mouth. "I'm not too sure about that either." Putting his hands in his pockets, he said pointedly, "I saw the way you pushed that man off the train. Don't figure any horse of mine would fare better."
Jack pulled off his hat and struck it a few times against his leg as he walked to the end of the stable and back to face the owner of his only way out of Abilene.
"Anybody else want to sell me a horse?"
"Well..." Powell hesitated, clearly debating with his conscience. "There's Emma Walton. Her man died and she's got a wagon load of kids to tend. Seems she'd need the money more than the horse."
"That's fine. Now, where can I find Mrs. Walton?"
That question apparently caused another internal debate within Powell's straining conscience; he turned a bit red, clamped down on his pipe stem as if it were the lifeline to heaven, and said with obvious reluctance, "Down the street, toward the Demorest Restaurant, past the church, and on the right. Kids all over the place. You'll find it."
"I'll find it," Jack said, adjusting his hat. "Thanks."
"Nothing," Powell said cheerfully in parting.
"You got that right," mumbled Jack as he left the stable.
He was still mumbling under his breath when he passed the Demorest Restaurant. The two men sitting on the bench outside the place stopped talking and eyed him as he passed while a woman and a man sitting at a table near the window stopped eating to glare at him as he walked by. He was as welcome in this town as a porcupine in a bedroll. He ignored them when he understood that they'd do nothing more than glare and stare.
Powell was right, the Walton place was an easy hit. The front porch was yawning with kids. A baby was sitting in the dirt of the front yard eating... dirt. Jack shrugged. Dirt never killed anybody. One or two of the kids ran in, slamming the door behind them; he could hear their muffled yells. Mrs. Walton came out directly, calling her kids to her as she did, picking up the baby and resting him on her hip. That baby grabbed a fistful of his mama and held tight.
They faced him and it was a crowd. No one spoke, so he guessed it was up to him.
"Morning, ma'am." He tipped the brim of his hat. "Fine day."
She didn't answer right off, just pulled one of the kids back from the edge of the porch to shove him behind her. There wasn't room enough behind her to hide them all.
"Mr. Powell sent me this way...." She looked alarmed and like maybe she'd skin Powell when she saw him again. "Thought you might have a horse to sell."
"Don't have nothing here you'd want."
"But, Ma, what about—"
The girl didn't get any further; her ma shoved her into the house and slammed the door.
"Ma'am?" Jack proceeded. "I need a horse. I'll pay good money."
She considered, he could feel it, and continued to keep her eye on him. He stood stock-still and let her take his measure. He needed that horse. And she needed the money.
"Ain't he the one?" one of the kids whispered.
"Pushed him right off," another whispered in the shrill tones of a child who has no idea how to whisper. "Made him fall down."
"He's mean."
"You little kids stay back or he'll push you off, too!" one of the older girls hissed. They shuffled back like penned cattle.
"Lillian, bring Joe around," Emma Walton said, her eyes not leaving his.
He hoped Joe wasn't one of her kids.
Lillian sprang to the job and came around the side of the house tugging on a frayed rope. Joe followed. Joe was a brown gelding. At fifteen hands, he was a good-looking animal and didn't look to be more than ten years old.
Lillian ran up on the porch and held on to Joe from there.
"He's a fine-looking animal, Mrs. Walton. I'll pay seventy-five dollars for him and the tack that goes with him." It was a fair offer.
With a nod of acceptance, Emma Walton sent Maureen in to fetch a pen and paper. She drew up a bill of sale as she balanced the baby on her hip while he got the bridle and saddle on Joe. Lillian brought him an old brown saddle blanket after another nod from her mother. It was all over in a matter of minutes. Pocketing the bill of sale and leading Joe out of the yard, Jack could feel the eyes of the Walton clan on his back. They were clearly still nervous about him.
And he hadn't pushed even one of those kids off the porch.
His walk back through the center of Abilene was about what he expected. He was more and more certain he felt the weight of that bill of sale with each step he took, and more and more thankful for it. If any man stood to be named a horse thief, it was him.
"Isn't that Emma Walton's horse?"
"You know it is."
"Didn't he come in on the train? Isn't he leaving the same way he came in?"
"I heard Powell wouldn't sell him spit."
"Powell always was smart as March wind."
Jack ignored them and kept walking. At least Joe wasn't giving him any trouble.
"Where'd you get the horse?" one of the onlookers asked him. He looked up; she was the first one to talk to him directly. She was a spry woman with a mass of dark hair and bright blue eyes, sort of reminded him of the little Samaritan.
"Bought it," he answered without breaking stride. "And Mrs. Walton's got the same number of kids now as she did when I got there."
One of the kids hanging around in front of the mercantile ran off down the street, back toward the Waltons'. His word obviously wasn't good enough. It figured.
The dark-haired woman with blue eyes kept looking him ov
er as he tied up Joe at the sheriff's. She seemed to be sizing him up for purchase, though that was a crazy thought. Jack walked into the sheriff's office through the open door. Lane was sitting behind his desk, eyeing the horse he had tied to the rail.
"If anybody asks, I bought this horse from Mrs. Walton for seventy-five dollars. I have a bill of sale."
Lane smiled and draped his legs over the corner of his desk. "If anybody asks, I'll tell 'em."
* * *
Anne stood and watched the westbound train depart. The steam curled around the wheels before rising to stain the sky. Car after car lumbered past, heavy, almost reluctant in their initial momentum, they eventually would have to be forced to a stop at the next station, farther down the line: Solomon City, then Ellsworth, Russell, Hays City, Trego, Buffalo Station to the northwest or Great Bend, Kinsley, and Dodge City to the southwest. Due south lay Council Grove, Emporia, Newton, and Wichita, while due east lay many more options, the grandest being Kansas City. She knew them all, each stop, each station, on the web of lines that connected Abilene to the world, but she had been nowhere. Abilene was all she'd ever remembered seeing. She'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime.
"He didn't get on, did he?"
Anne turned and looked into her aunt's blue eyes. Sarah knew something.
"He didn't," she answered. "I thought he'd be out on the first train."
"Is that why you're here?" Sarah said. "Looking for him?"
"I'm not looking for anyone," Anne sniffed. "Why, did you find him?"
"Whole town's found him," Sarah said on a laugh, "even though you're the one who's supposed to be looking for him. You'd starve as a bounty hunter, Anne."
"What's he doing that the whole town is watching?"
"He bought himself a horse." Sarah grinned.
Anne couldn't see that buying a horse would be much to look at, even in Abilene.
"Tried to hire one from Powell first," Sarah said with a smile, remembering the story as she'd heard it from Susanne. "Powell wouldn't hear of it. Then he tried to buy one and didn't get any further."
