by Jodi Thomas
“How’s your bride, Allie?” Wolf finally asked, knowing he didn’t want to hear the answer.
Wes was a hard man, scarred by war, yet when he thought of his wife, something softened about him. “I promised I’d bring the kid back alive. I’ve never broken my word to her.”
Wolf remembered the tiny woman who was now Wes’s wife. Wes pulled her from a cage where she’d been treated like a wild animal. With kindness he’d brought her back to the world from the hell of being passed around as a slave captive by first the Comanches, then the man who used her as little more than a side show attraction.
Wolf didn’t want to think of sweet Allie sad now. “What’s the kid done this time?” he asked about Allie’s brother. For the past few years, Wolf felt like he and the McLain boys had been guardian angels to a wild kid who wished them all dead. He didn’t take to being civilized any more than an alligator would.
“Allie thought we should send him to a real school. She’s had no luck teaching him to read or speak English, for that matter.” Wes ran a hand along his scarred cheek. “I swear, the kid looks civilized, but he lived with the Comanche so long, a part of him just won’t listen. At night, when he’s with us, I see him watching the path of the moon like he’s a prisoner in chains and that’s the only touch of freedom he has.”
Wes poured Wolf a cup of coffee. “He went along with the idea of going away to school. And to tell the truth, I was kind of glad to see him leave. Except for his sister, he looks at everyone on my spread as if he’d just as soon see them floating facedown in the creek.
“I took him to Dallas to a good school. He stayed a few days before he disappeared. A month later, he turned up in a Waco bar fight. Seems a man died, and John was the last one standing, so he took the blame.”
“You think he killed the fellow?” Wolf asked.
Wes shook his head. “No. A few months ago I might have, but wishing everyone around him dead and killing them are two different things. The kid’s unhappy. His world has been turned upside down. First, seeing his parents killed, then being kidnapped and growing up on the move with one tribe after another. Finally, when he’d almost forgotten his family and grown accustomed to the Indian ways, he had that life ripped away and was told he could never go back. He doesn’t know who he is. He thinks he belongs nowhere.”
Wolf stood. “So how we going to get him out, friend?”
Wes stared up at him. “How far are you willing to go?”
“As far as it takes,” Wolf answered honestly.
Wes smiled. “Good, then I have a plan.”
ELEVEN
IT WAS ALMOST DAWN WHEN MOLLY FINALLY FELL ASLEEP. In what seemed like minutes, Callie Ann stood by her bed, shaking her shoulder.
“Wake up,” the little girl whispered. “Wake up, I think it’s time we ate breakfast.”
Molly forced her eyes open. “It can’t be morning. Not yet.”
Callie Ann laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Molly pulled the pillow over her head. “Go away, Morning. I need sleep.”
Giggling, Callie Ann lifted a corner of the pillow and yelled, “Morning won’t go away.”
“All right.” Molly shoved her hair from her eyes. “I’m up.”
They laughed as they dressed for the day then went down to a breakfast of cold rolls, apples, and tea. By the time Molly removed the alarm bells and unlocked the front door, people were waiting.
The day was busy and full for them both. The rangers finished Wolf’s bed and asked if there was anything else they could do. Everyone from Mr. Miller to the old woman people called Granny Gravy dropped in to say hello. A few needed something, but most just came to pass the time.
By evening, when Molly finally sat down next to Callie Ann on the steps, she was surprised to realize how exhausted she felt. “Passing the time” was not an easy job.
The child rested her head in Molly’s lap. “I don’t want to go anywhere to eat tonight. I’m tired from watching all day. Can we stay here?”
Molly brushed the girl’s curls. “I’d like that. When I used to travel with my dad in the army camps I watched men make peanut porridge. I put some on a while ago. Would you like some of that for supper?”
Callie Ann smiled. “Peanut porridge and rolls with apple slices in the middle.”
“That sounds like as fine a meal as I’ve ever ordered in a restaurant.”
By the time they cooked and ate, they were both ready for bed. Molly carefully rigged the alarms on the doors, then went up to tuck in Callie Ann. She marveled at how quickly the child had become a part of her life. When Wolf returned there would probably be word of other relatives she could live with. Molly knew Callie Ann was only company, but she felt like family.
“I forgot to tell you,” Callie Ann said as she curled into her bed. “Uncle Orson watched Mr. Miller bring the key back this afternoon.”
Raising an eyebrow, Molly asked, “Are you sure?”
“Uncle Orson said he put it back on the hook under the counter.”
Molly didn’t comment as she moved to her room across the hallway. Maybe Miller felt guilty about taking the key. Maybe he was afraid to carry through with whatever he’d planned. Maybe he thought she might miss the original and made a copy.
Until Molly was sure, she’d keep the doors locked and rigged with alarms. The Navy Colt would be by her bed until Wolf returned to sleep downstairs. If trouble came knocking, she’d be ready.
After sleeping very little the night before, she welcomed her bed. By the time she settled in, she was already dreaming of Benjamin and the make-believe life they had together in her fantasies. Her dreams of him changed over the years. At first she’d imagine him coming home in his uniform and dancing with her. As the years passed they had long walks and talks in her mind. Sometimes he’d save her, defending her against the world. Sometimes they’d just enjoy a quiet dinner and talk of the day. It didn’t matter. Benjamin lived in her dreams.
Hours later, Molly thought she heard the bell clang twice before she fought through the deep sleep she’d entered. Grabbing her gun, she was at the stairs before she blinked sleep fully from her eyes. The bell chimed again, sounding muffled as if gloved hands had caught it in midair.
Molly searched the darkness. The store was still…empty.
Molly took the final few steps, trying to see into the dark corners of the room for any movement. As her hand gripped the gun tighter, she told herself she had to be ready to fire. Her father always warned her never to draw a gun unless she was willing to use it. If she hesitated, it could mean not only her life, but Callie Ann’s. No man stood by to protect her. She had only herself to depend on.
She reached the ground level. Nothing. As always, smells drifted through the air in greeting. The few colored bottles remaining on the shelves reflected light from the street. But all was silent.
Circling the counters, Molly checked the door. It had been unlocked and opened enough to sound the alarm, but the ropes were still intact. No one could have entered.
Pushing the door closed, she twisted the lock. The bell clanked again, falling back into place at guard. She took a deep breath. Whoever had tried to get in had failed. The alarm must have frightened them away. Lowering the gun, she walked back to the stairs.
As she headed up, the corner of her gaze caught a slight movement in the curtain separating her work area from the kitchen. A silent scream caught in Molly’s throat. She wasn’t alone. Someone had entered, maybe even replaced her bell system so she wouldn’t know. Someone waited just beyond the curtain.
It took every ounce of her strength not to run. Slowly, she moved up the stairs and into the blackness. Halfway up, she turned and sat down, holding her gun steady atop her knees.
Afraid even to breathe, she waited. As she focused on the curtain, she tried to keep from blinking. Her finger stayed poised on the trigger, ready for action.
The curtain shifted again, but there was no sound.
Molly raised the barrel to hear
t level. If the intruder were armed, she might get one shot before he answered with fire of his own. The stairway shadows protected her, yet the walls imprisoned her.
Seconds dragged by like hours. Her hands grew sweaty on the weapon. Her knees shook. She reminded herself she was a general’s daughter. She could do what had to be done.
The curtain parted. For a moment, she thought something was horribly wrong. There was only a void where a man’s chest and shoulders should have been.
Then she saw the blond curls and knew.
“Callie!” Molly dropped the gun and ran down the steps.
The startled child hiccuped a cry. The cup of milk she carried slipped from her fingers and shattered. In fright, Callie Ann backed up, entangling herself into the curtain.
“Callie,” Molly lowered her voice. “You frightened me so.”
Callie Ann frowned, then began to cry. “You scared me, too. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”
“No,” Molly whispered, trying to let her voice calm the child. “I guess we just scared each other half to death. Maybe we’ll both think it was a dream when we wake up.”
They laughed, suddenly embarrassed by their own fear.
“I came down for some of those cookies Ephraim called crackers. He always let me have one when I asked.” She looked down at the crumbs in her hand. “My grandma used to leave a snack by my bed in case I got hungry. She said she didn’t want me wandering about the house with a candle. I didn’t tell her, but I used to eat the snack, then wander around.”
“It’s all right.” Molly brushed the crumbs from Callie Ann’s tiny fingers. “You can have a snack anytime, but I’d rather you not walk about down here alone at night.”
“’Cause you got the place triggered like a trap?”
Molly looked closely at Callie Ann. “Triggered…trap?”
The child nodded. “I saw the bells tied to the door but I didn’t bother them none. My grandma used to show me how a trigger worked on a trap. But I don’t understand yours. What are you hoping to catch?”
“Nothing.” Molly cleaned up the milk and crumbs. “I only wanted to know if someone was in the store.”
“Well, it worked. You found me.” Callie Ann shoved a tear off her cheek. “You scared me, yelling my name.”
“I’m sorry.” Molly guessed the child was not half as frightened as she had been. What if in her fear she’d fired the gun? “How about we start over? I’ll carry two milks, and you get the crackers. We’ll go upstairs together so you won’t be scared anymore.” As she spoke, she guided the child into the kitchen area.
Callie Ann climbed on the chair and collected the tin of crackers. “After we eat these, can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Of course.” Molly reached for the pitcher of milk kept in a cold box near the floor. In Austin, no place was cool in the summer, but the cooler air beneath the house kept milk for a day. “Whenever you want to sleep with me, you’re welcome to.”
As she poured the milk, Molly thought she heard the splash echo through the night like someone pouring another liquid at the same time. A moment later, the smell of kerosene drifted past the thin curtains and filled the kitchen.
Molly set the pitcher down and reached for Callie Ann’s hand. She’d been right, she thought. Someone was in the store. Somehow they’d gotten in and replaced the bells before she could get down the stairs.
Panic climbed her spine. She’d left the Colt on the steps and the other one was in the store.
The sloshing sound came again. The liquid splashed lightly against the glass counters just beyond the kitchen. She could hear it spilling over, dripping down the edges.
Kerosene fumes burned her eyes. Slowly, she pulled Callie Ann backward. Their only hope was the alley door. Whoever was pouring had been too impatient to wait until they returned upstairs.
“Hurry,” Molly whispered.
The child might not understand, but the fear echoing in Molly’s voice kept her silent.
They moved quickly to the back of the kitchen and into Wolf’s room. Molly’s mind raced through their chances. If whoever was in the front room struck a match, the store would burn fast. She had no hope of retrieving anything from upstairs. There was nothing of value in the kitchen except her journal and she’d be backtracking to get that. It wasn’t worth the risk.
As they moved through Wolf’s room her eyes fell on Wolf’s extra gear and the box that held his papers. Protectively, she grabbed the box with her free hand and headed for the back door.
A light flicked, as harmless as a falling star, for a fraction of a second. Molly blinked and the front room flashed bright.
Within seconds fire raged behind them, exploding containers. A sudden blast knocked them against the wall beside the door as though the very air fought to escape. Molly shoved open the bolt, then pulled the wedge, but the door wouldn’t budge. She pulled the rope from the handle, listening to the clang of the bells calling too late a warning.
Flames lit the front room brighter than day. It was a matter of seconds before they engulfed the kitchen and spread across Wolf’s room.
Molly shoved harder on the door, pounding against it, demanding escape. Callie Ann held tightly to her waist as if she believed Molly could protect her.
Shoving again, harder, Molly screamed in frustration.
The door didn’t move. Callie Ann began to cry and burrow against her gown. Molly coughed and covered the child’s face with her skirt.
Kneeling suddenly, Molly placed the box in the child’s hands, unclenching tiny fingers to force them to take hold. “Carry this!” she yelled then grabbed the army blanket off Wolf’s bed and covered Callie Ann. “Stay under this tent. You’ll be safe.”
Molly backed up a step and rammed the door with her shoulder again. The wood groaned in answer. Her lungs felt like she was breathing fire. The air pressed against her, burning before the blaze even reached them.
She glanced back. Flames had crawled into the kitchen, running like vines along the old rug and racing up the curtain. The thin-legged table and chairs popped and crackled as they died.
Pounding with all the force she could muster, Molly screamed for help.
As she stepped back to hit the door one last time before the heat overpowered her, the portal suddenly opened, swinging wide as if in welcome.
For a moment, Molly couldn’t see anything. Smoke raced her for the opening, then she felt the cool air.
“Come on, ma’am!” someone yelled from beyond the porch. “I can’t carry you. You got to run.”
Lifting Callie Ann, blanket, box, and all, she ran for their one chance to survive.
Tumbling more than walking down the back steps, Molly reached clear air and took a deep gulp. She pulled the blanket from Callie Ann and tightly hugged the crying child.
“It’s all right,” she whispered again and again, more to herself than to the child.
The fire lit up the alley. Men ran everywhere, forming bucket lines, beating out secondary fires born from wind-carried embers.
Molly held Callie Ann and moved backward until she hit the woodpile behind Miller’s furniture store and coffin factory.
“You all right, ma’am?” a little man beside her asked. “I moved the boxes blocking your back door as fast as I could once I heard you screaming.”
She blinked away tears to see Charlie Filmore. The little beggar’s face was twisted in worry. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You saved our lives.”
Charlie looked embarrassed. “Weren’t nothing, ma’am. Just part of the job.”
TWELVE
WOLF HAD BEEN PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR JOHN CATLIN’S FREEDOM, but to his surprise, Wes asked only that he tell the truth. Well, most of the truth. The plan was to walk into the Waco sheriff’s office and tell them who he was and that he thought the boy was wanted in Austin for another murder downstate.
All Wolf had to do was talk them into it. Nichole told Wes the sheriff wasn’t sure of the boy’s name, so Wolf stood a
good chance. The man who’d wired Nichole hadn’t bothered to step forward and identify the boy as a Catlin. The law in Waco planned to hang him as a John Doe, which always looked bad on the records and in the cemetery.
They’d probably be happy to turn the boy over to Wolf, who would, of course, convince the sheriff he recognized him. As soon as they got out of town John would slip through the ranger’s fingers into Wes’s.
Wes reasoned that since Wolf had never lost a prisoner, a few might think it strange that a boy got away, but then, one loss wouldn’t ruin his reputation. Some might think the mighty Captain Hayward was getting old, but Wolf could disprove that theory with the next good fight that came along.
Wolf agreed reluctantly. He wasn’t a man who took to tarnishing easy.
The plan was simple. No one would get hurt. No one would get killed. Most important, no one would get hanged.
As they rode into what old-timers still called Waco Village, Wes McLain stretched in the saddle and asked, “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?” Wolf had always been amazed how Wes could read him like a book. Most men who’d known Wolf since he’d been in Texas couldn’t tell you three facts about him without being wrong on at least two. But Wes, he’d somehow pieced the puzzle together.
“Lavender soap. Clean clothes. Biscuits with jam. A bath. It’s not even Saturday night.” Wes laughed. “Shall I go on?”
“No,” Wolf grumbled. Hell! He might as well be wearing a sign. “You remember me telling you about the woman I met once at a crowded train station in Philadelphia?”
Wes tipped his hat as they passed a couple taking an evening walk. “Only every time you’ve had a few drinks.”
Wolf growled, but Wes continued, “Her name was Molly, and she was a vision in Union blue. She helped take care of the wounded. You fell for her the minute you saw her. And, if I remember the story, you kissed her and swore you’d find her when the war was over.”
The ranger didn’t comment. The romantic peak of his life sounded almost comical coming from Wes.
