The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Like what?” Cyrus studied the ledger, moving the point of his fountain pen back and forth above the pages.

  “Like where he was in prison, and what for.”

  That got him. Cyrus jerked his chin up and started to rise. “What do you—”

  A crash of breaking glass drew their attention to the small back window of the office. It had shattered inward, throwing slivers all over the floor. A white object thunked on the pine floor.

  Cyrus and Ethan stared at the rock wrapped in paper. Before Ethan could move, Hiram had slid from behind him and retrieved it. He placed it in Ethan’s hand.

  “Give me that!” Cyrus grabbed it and tore away the string that held the paper in place about the stone.

  “That’s a dangerous way to get mail,” Ethan said.

  Cyrus ignored him and smoothed the paper out on his desk. He bent over it, his bushy eyebrows pushed together like two colliding trains. After a moment, he shoved away from the desk and pushed past Ethan, grabbing his hat from its hook on the wall near the door.

  Ethan stared after him. “Fennel!”

  Cyrus untied his roan, leaped into the saddle, and galloped northward.

  “Ethan.”

  He turned in the doorway. Hiram was studying the paper on the desk.

  “It says, ‘If you want to see your daughter alive again, repay your debt. Fast.’ “Hiram looked up at him. “Sounds like someone’s got Miss Isabel.”

  Ethan snatched the paper up, glanced at it, and headed for the door. “Come on. Get Hoss and meet me at the livery.”

  Hiram sprinted home and toward the barn behind the house. Trudy was inside the chicken yard and turned to stare at him. He dashed inside and grabbed Hoss’s tack. When he headed for the barn door, Trudy blocked his path.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Miss Fennel. Someone sent her papa a note. Sounds like she’s been snatched, and they want money.”

  “Isabel? Kidnapped?” Trudy gaped at him.

  “Lemme out.”

  She stepped aside, and he hurried to the corral gate and whistled. Hoss and Crinkles trotted eagerly toward him.

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “It’s ‘cause her daddy’s so rich. And he might owe someone money. He asked me last night if I wanted to buy a piece of land. Said he needed cash. And now he’s got a threatening note asking for payment.” As he puffed out the words, Hiram threw the saddle with its blanket on Hoss’s back and reached under the horse’s belly for the cinch. “Go get my rifle.”

  “If I do, I’m getting my pistol, too. You might need me.”

  “Ethan and I can handle it.”

  Trudy ran into the barn, not the house. Hiram shook his head and tied the cinch knot. He grabbed the bridle he’d draped over the top fence rail and fitted it over Hoss’s ears. The gelding refused to open his mouth for a few seconds, and by the time Hiram pried it open with a finger tucked in at the side of Hoss’s jaw, Trudy came flying from the barn with her saddle and bridle.

  “By the time you get our guns, I’ll have Crinkles saddled,” she said.

  “You’re not—”

  “Am, too.”

  “No, you’re—”

  “Hush! My Colt’s in the pie safe.”

  He stared at her. She was already tightening her cinch. Hiram heaved out a big breath and trotted to the kitchen door. His rifle stood in the corner, but he knew for a fact that his sister had carried her new pistol up to her room each evening. Where she’d kept it during the day, he hadn’t given much thought. Now he knew. She stashed it close by, where she could look at it anytime she wanted. He pulled it out of the pie safe and ran for the door.

  She’d mounted and led Hoss to the back stoop. Hiram bounced into the saddle and handed her Colt across to her. He slipped his Sharps into the scabbard on the saddle and gathered the reins.

  At the livery, Ethan sat astride Scout, ready to go. His eyes narrowed as they rode up. “Trudy, you can’t come.”

  “Can, too.”

  “Save your breath,” Hiram warned him.

  Ethan exhaled and shook his head slightly. He said no more but turned Scout toward the road and set out at a canter. Hoss and Crinkles managed to keep pace. When they’d nearly reached the lane to the Fennel ranch, Hiram spotted a couple of men working on the fence that bordered Fennel land.

  Ethan trotted Scout over to the fence and stopped.

  “Is Mr. Fennel here?”

  “Nope,” said the weather-beaten hand known as Brady. “He left for town this morning, same as always. Took his roan.”

  The horses fidgeted and shifted. Hoss tried to nip at Trudy’s dun mare, and Hiram leaned forward to slap him. “Quit that.”

  “What about Miss Isabel?” Ethan asked.

  “H’ain’t seen her this morning,” Brady said.

  Ethan frowned and looked down the lane. “I’d like to go to the house and see if she’s there.”

  Brady eyed him for a moment. “Help yourself.”

  “Something wrong?” asked the other cowboy.

  “Maybe.”

  Brady spat in the grass and looked up at him. “I never seen Miss Isabel today, but we went down to work by the creek first thing. Just moved up here about a half hour ago. I reckon she’s at the house, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

  “Did anyone else come by here this morning?” Ethan asked. “Any riders?”

  Brady scrunched up his mouth for a moment. “Seen a fella on a bay horse a while back, riding hard away from town. Nobody else.”

  “Mr. Fennel didn’t come by, heading toward his house about ten minutes ago?”

  “Nope.”

  Ethan looked around at Hiram. “What do you think?”

  “The note said to pay his debt. That makes me think Smith is mixed up in it.”

  “Same here. He could have cut across country to save time getting to the Martin ranch.”

  Hiram hesitated then said softly, “Might be time to see what Cy’s got stashed out back.”

  Ethan pushed his hat brim back. “Brady, I’m riding up to the house to see if Miss Fennel or her father’s home.”

  “If they’s anything we can help with, Sheriff …”

  “Thanks. If I need you, I’ll send word.”

  Brady looked at the other man and shrugged.

  Ethan turned Scout toward the ranch, and Hiram and Trudy followed. They trotted into the silent barnyard. Ethan swung down and led Scout to the corral fence. “We’d better check the house, just to be sure.”

  Hiram pulled his rifle and dismounted. “You want to take the back door, and I’ll take the front?”

  Ethan nodded and pulled his revolver. “Trudy, you stay out here.”

  They met a minute later in the hallway outside Cyrus’s den.

  “Nobody in the kitchen, but it’s a mess,” Ethan said. “I checked the bedrooms back there.”

  Hiram lowered his gun and nodded back toward the way he’d come in. “Nobody in the parlor or those rooms yonder. I wonder where Cy keeps his shovel.”

  “You think we ought to look?”

  Hiram shrugged. “It’s a long ride out to the Martin place. I’m not against making it, but maybe we’d ought to check out Isabel’s story first.”

  “Yeah. Might give us a better idea what we’re up against.”

  “And whose side Cyrus is on.”

  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “You think he’s involved in something illegal?”

  “I don’t know what to think. But if we’re going to end up shooting people, I’d like to get all the information I can before I decide who to shoot.”

  They walked out to the yard. Trudy stood near the horses. “Nobody’s around,” she said. “The men must all be out working. I looked in the barn. No horses in there, but there’s half a dozen in the corral.”

  Ethan walked over to her. “Did you see a shovel in there?”

  “Didn’t think to look.”

  Hiram walked past them and entered the dark, cool barn.
He squinted as he looked around. The loft was half full of hay, and the rows of stalls stood empty. Dust in the air tickled his nose, and he sneezed. Ethan came in behind him.

  “Tools over there.” Hiram pointed and walked toward the row of shovels, pitchforks, and dung forks hanging on the side wall. He chose the only spade and walked across the barn floor to a rear door and unhooked it. He stepped out and examined the earth.

  Ethan came right behind him, and soon Trudy joined them. They walked along behind the barn, looking at the ground.

  “Here,” Trudy called.

  The men walked toward her.

  “Isabel said she came out the kitchen door and hid beside the barn and looked around the corner. That’d be over there.” She pointed. “This here looks like loose dirt to me.”

  “As much as anything along here,” Ethan agreed.

  Hiram set the point of the spade to the earth and shoved the blade down with his foot. He dug swiftly, tossing the dirt aside.

  “Want me to take over?” Ethan asked after a couple of minutes.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  The spade struck metal with a clunk. Hiram’s heart lurched. There really was something there. Carefully he dug around the rectangular object.

  “It’s a tin.” He scraped dirt away from it and worked it out of the soil.

  Ethan took it gingerly and set it on the ground nearby, then offered Hiram a hand and pulled him out of the shallow hole. Trudy had already bent over the tin.

  “Don’t know if I can get the cover off,” she said.

  “Careful,” Ethan said, and she handed it to him. He took out his pocket knife and pried the edge of the lid until it popped off. He looked into the container and reached inside. “A paper and this.” He brought out a leather pouch and passed it to Trudy. “Careful. That’s heavy.”

  She worked at the leather thong that held it shut. “Feels like coins.” She straightened, and Hiram held out his cupped hands. She spilled the contents of the pouch into them.

  Hiram whistled.

  “Gold coins.” Trudy looked at them with wide eyes.

  “Count it,” Ethan said as he reached into the metal box again. He pulled out a stiff roll of paper, folded in half and smashed to fit the container. “That’s all there is.”

  Hiram dropped the coins one by one back into the pouch and nodded as Trudy closed it. “Got it.” He turned to look at the paper Ethan held, and his friend handed it to him. Hiram carefully pulled it open like a scroll and stared into water-stained drawings of two faces. “It’s a wanted poster, Eth.”

  Ethan held one corner, and they managed to hold it open so they could view the entire page. Trudy came to peer around Hiram’s arm, still holding the pouch.

  “The Kentons.” Ethan frowned and huffed out a breath.

  “That’s Kenton Smith,” Trudy said.

  “Yes. A very young Kenton Smith, but the face is the same.”

  Hiram scanned the print silently, but Trudy read it off aloud.

  “Wanted for robbery, John and Abigail Kenton. Reward $1,000. Last seen in Lexington, Massachusetts, June 1853.”

  Hiram stared hard at the drawings. Trudy continued to read.

  “John Kenton, medium height, light brown hair, blue eyes. Abigail Kenton, slight of build, medium height, light hair, green eyes.”

  Hiram reached out and touched the woman’s likeness. “I’m not sure, but …”

  “I think so, too,” Ethan said. “Mary Fennel.”

  “But she and Cyrus came here …” Trudy trailed off and looked at Ethan.

  “Cy came right after gold was discovered in these parts, ‘62 or ‘63. Him and Charles Walker and Isaac Adams, remember?” Ethan glanced at both of them, his eyebrows raised, seeking confirmation.

  Hiram nodded. “And Isabel’s so-called uncle is going by Kenton Smith now.”

  “He’s got to be John Kenton.” Ethan took the poster back and rolled it up. “But the Fennels came here ten years after this poster was made.”

  Hiram took his hat off and scratched his head. “So what do we do?”

  “How much money in the pouch?”

  “Five hundred dollars even.”

  Ethan pressed his lips into a thin line. “I think it’s time to ride out to the Martin place.”

  Trudy touched his sleeve. “Wait a minute. Isabel’s mother died three years ago. She was a good woman.”

  Hiram didn’t like the anxiety in his sister’s eyes or the turmoil in his own stomach. Breakfast wasn’t sitting very well. “She did seem like a nice lady. But Trudy, we don’t know what she was like thirty years ago. She could have helped her brother rob a bank or something.”

  Trudy shook her head. “I can’t believe that. And she was a Smith. She may look like this Abigail Kenton, but I’m not convinced it’s her. You’ve got to show me more than this drawing. I’ll bet there’s a thousand women who look enough like that to match this poster.”

  Ethan blew out a deep breath. “It’s true, drawings of wanted criminals are sometimes not very accurate. They’re usually made from descriptions given by people who saw the subject only for a short time, under stressful circumstances.”

  “Maybe she had a sister named Abigail,” Hiram suggested.

  “She did have a sister,” Trudy said grudgingly. “That wasn’t the name, though. Isabel mentioned her aunt, but she said the aunt died young.”

  “Anyway,” Ethan said, “the fact that this man showed up here calling himself Kenton, the name on the poster, and Smith, Mrs. Fennel’s maiden name, makes me think we’ve got cause to go after him.”

  Hiram had to agree, but he surely didn’t want to make a mistake. He looked Ethan in the eye. “He may be this robber, but he may also have done his time for his crimes. Cyrus said he’d been in jail. So maybe he’s just trying to start over and get away from his past.”

  “True, but what about Isabel and the note demanding Cyrus pay his debt?”

  Trudy straightened her shoulders. “I think we’d better bury this again and get to the Martin ranch as quick as we can.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The horses raced along the packed dirt road, throwing up clouds of dust. Ethan knew trying to persuade Trudy to go back to town was useless, so he headed straight for the Martin ranch.

  About halfway there, they met Cyrus on his big red roan. The horse trotted along slowly with his head drooping and his sides streaked with sweat. Cyrus sat loose in the saddle, his face a study in displeasure.

  He pulled the roan in when he reached them.

  Ethan eyed him and decided to skip the small talk. “Did you find Isabel?”

  “Kenton’s got her.” Cyrus’s mouth twisted.

  “It’s time you told me everything, Mr. Fennel.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “No, it’s the truth.” Ethan pressed his leg against Scout’s side to urge him closer to the roan. “Cyrus, I dug up your stash behind the barn. I saw the wanted poster.”

  “You what?” Cyrus’s gray eyes lowered like thunderclouds. “Who gave you permission to snoop on my property?”

  “Just calm down.” Ethan sat back and rested both hands on his saddle horn. “Your daughter told me last night about you digging a hole out there. As soon as you got that note this morning and hightailed out of town, I rounded up a couple of friends and rode to your ranch. You weren’t there, and neither was Isabel. I figured you’d come out here to see Smith, and I also figured it was time for some answers. Time you told the truth and let somebody help you.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “How do you know?” Ethan held his gaze until Cyrus looked away and gathered his reins. “Let me pass, Chapman.”

  Ethan leaned over and took hold of the near rein. “Mr. Fennel, if you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to lock you up.”

  “Lock me up? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it?” Ethan tried to muster the look he’d given the cowboy, Sandy, at the Spur & Saddle on the fateful night he a
nd Hiram had stopped the brawl. Hiram had told him later he’d looked as fierce as a general with a brigade at his back. He needed that authority now. “Let me tell you something, mister. Everyone knows you’ve gone all over town trying to raise cash. You offered to sell Hiram some land. Charles Walker told me a few days ago you’d gone to him with the same offer, and Augie Moore told me—”

  “All right.” Cyrus let out a big sigh. “All right. I do need money. It’s for my daughter’s life. Do you understand? I have twelve hours to raise it.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  Ethan inhaled slowly and tried not to show his shock. “Suppose you start at the beginning and tell us what’s going on.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Make time.”

  Cyrus glared at him, but Ethan didn’t budge. Trudy had sense enough to keep quiet, though her horse fidgeted.

  Hiram’s silence was usually a given, but now he nudged his bay gelding forward. “Cyrus, we’re your neighbors. If you’ve got trouble, let us do something to help.”

  “All right,” Cyrus said at last. “You can’t help, but you want the truth. Here it is: Isabel’s mother was really Abigail Kenton.”

  “I thought her maiden name was Smith,” Ethan said.

  “It was. She married John Kenton. When he came to my house a few weeks ago, I called him Kenton. He insisted I tell Isabel he was her uncle, so I renamed him Kenton Smith on the spot. He was my Mary’s first husband.”

  Ethan swallowed hard as the implications hit him. “So, was she Mary, or was she Abigail?”

  Cyrus sagged in the saddle. “Her real name was Abigail. Abigail Smith, until she married Kenton. She got involved with him, but he was bad news. I was in love with Abigail, but she had an eye for the dark, dangerous type. She jilted me and married John Kenton. I learned afterward that he was a criminal. But when I went to Abigail about it, she got angry at me. Didn’t want to hear anything against her husband.” A tear seeped from the corner of Cyrus’s eye and rolled down his cheek.

  “What changed things?” Ethan asked softly.

  “I went away. Didn’t see her for several years. When I came back, she and Kenton were both wanted for armed robbery. I couldn’t believe it, but I managed to see her alone one night. She told me he’d forced her to help him carry out several thefts. She’d stuck with him because she was afraid to leave him. I … tried to talk her into leaving him, but she refused. Said she’d chosen her course.” Cyrus wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Then John was captured and thrown in prison. I went to her and helped her escape the authorities. I guess that makes me a criminal, too.”