by Reece Butler
“Ross MacDougal. You say the sweetest things to a gal,” she said, the nightmare temporarily banished.
“Tell my wife that,” he growled.
He went back to her knives, she to her baking. They worked quietly for some time. Whoops and hollers interrupted them now and again from down the street. Ghouls in town for the hanging. It didn’t matter who, any display of violence would do. A volley of gunshots erupted, then another. As the kitchen was at the back of the building, it was hard to tell from where the noise came.
“Sounds like Baldy’s Saloon is having a good night.” Ross put her cleaver back in its slot. “Done. What’s next? I can’t sleep, so I might as well do something useful.”
Rosa looked around the tidy kitchen. All her work was done, but she couldn’t sleep for hours after the memories hit.
“I know, you can show me how to make bear sign,” said Ross with a boyish grin.
“I’m not making you donuts when I’ve already got cinnamon buns rising.”
“Come on,” he wheedled. “Not for customers, for me. Where’s your recipe box?” He strolled around the room, looking for the type of box that every woman used to store her favorite recipes.
Rosa watched him look. She stuck her big hands in her apron pockets. Finally, he turned to her and shrugged.
“Where’d you hide it?”
“I don’t have one.”
He winked. “I know you good cooks like to keep your secrets, but I really don’t want to sleep. If I leave here, I’m going to end up at the jail doing something that might get me hanged.”
She twisted her apron. “I said, I don’t have one.”
“You know I can keep a secret. I promise I won’t tell. We’ll make some, and then I’ll put them on each finger.” He held out his hands, fingers spread. “You can go to sleep, and I’ll sit by the fire and eat.”
His smile faded as she didn’t move. He changed from eager child to responsible adult.
“Why don’t you have one, Rosa?” He almost whispered the words.
“I can’t read very good,” she whispered.
She dropped her head and wrapped her arms around herself. It was the only type of hug she’d ever known until Lily bought her. When Lily told her that no man would ever touch her without permission again, she’d thought she’d never feel shame again. She was wrong.
“Do you want to read better?”
She nodded, her face hotter than if she looked into a roasting oven. “I know my letters and some words, but after that, it doesn’t make sense.”
Ross walked over to her flour bin. He reached inside and picked up her scoop. He carried it over to her clean table and dumped the flour in the middle.
“What are you doing? I just cleaned that.”
“This is a pencil.” He held up his first finger. “That is our slate.” He pointed to the table.
She watched him spread the flour evenly over the surface. His dark hands moved smoothly, carefully making a thin layer. Lily said men who care for women touched them like that.
He pulled up a stool and sat. After cracking his hands and settling himself, he began writing the alphabet. He got to capital D before she moved.
“I said I know them. It’s all those dots and squiggles that don’t make sense.”
“Then we’ll stick to printed capital letters. The dots go at the end of the sentence.” He looked up. “When we talk, we stop to take a breath, right?” She nodded. “That’s where the dot goes. Don’t worry about the rest.”
He stood and, like a fancy gent trying to impress a lady, bent over and offered her his stool.
“Shall we begin?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“We know he’s in there. Open the door!”
Ross groaned. After Rosa went to bed happier than he’d ever seen her, he’d found a bottle of whiskey and settled down for some serious drinking.
His mouth tasted like an old pair of boots belonging to a man who mucked out pig pens for a living. He couldn’t tell if the pounding was in his head or at the door. Too bad his head hadn’t fallen off during the night. He rolled to his side, muscles complaining.
“Get away from my kitchen, or I’ll take my cleaver to you!”
“Aw, Rosa,” he groaned. “Don’t yell back at them.”
“Coffee’s on the stove, Ross MacDougal. Better get some before they haul you away. My cleaver won’t scare off the sheriff.”
Ross hauled himself to his knees then to his feet with help from the table. His foot kicked something. An empty bottle spun across the floor to crash into the stove. He winced. Luckily, it didn’t break. The smell of coffee nauseated him, but he had to get something in his stomach. He grabbed a couple of biscuits from a basket on the way to the stove. They melted in his mouth.
“I’ll marry you just for your biscuits,” he muttered.
Rosa passed him on the way to the window. She drew back the curtains an inch and looked out.
“You’re already married. I’ll show Amelia how to make my biscuits instead.”
“Nev and Gil will like that.”
He stared at the stove. There was the coffee pot but damned if he could get his hands to stop shaking long enough to pour a cup. Rosa took pity and held it out.
“You won’t tell anyone?”
“Tell anyone?” He took a careful sip. Since it wasn’t too hot, he gulped the rest.
“About last night. The reading and all.”
He shook himself out. The pounding on the door was now louder than his head. Rosa held out the basket of biscuits to him. He nodded his thanks and filled his pockets.
“Your secret’s safe with me. I sharpened your knives then found a bottle, and you went to sleep. That’s it.”
“This is Sheriff Frank Chambers. Open this door, or I’ll close your business!”
Ross winked and walked to the door. He shot the bolt and opened it. The sheriff stood in front of the usual mob of ne’er-do-wells. Frank held out his hand.
“Give me your gunbelt, Mr. MacDougal.”
Ross fumbled with the strap for a second but handed it over. Frank sniffed the end of it.
“When was the last time you fired it?”
“Think I got a rattler by the trail on the way back from Bannack the other week. Why?”
Frank opened the gun and looked down the empty chamber.
“Barrel’s got dust in it.” He showed Jennet and John Tanner before putting it back in the holster. “There’s two men in jail. You said you wanted them dead. We took your knives but left your gun. Someone shot them last night.”
“You did it, MacDougal,” yelled Jennet. “You killed both of them.”
“Where were you last night, Ross?” Frank nodded politely to Rosa, standing behind Ross with her cleaver in her hand.
“Here, in Rosa’s kitchen.”
“All night?” continued Frank.
Ross nodded. “I took a leak about midnight. That count?”
“Sure you didn’t slip upstairs for a bit of fancy?” jeered Jennet.
“Yes, I’m sure.” He kept his attention on Frank. “I sharpened Rosa’s knives like usual. She went to sleep, and I made friends with a bottle. Next thing I know, you’re pounding hard enough to wake the dead.”
“Nothing’s gonna wake those boys no more,” called out one of the yahoos in the crowd.
“Frank Chambers, Hugh Jennet, and John Tanner,” said a soft voice at Ross’s elbow. He moved aside to let Miss Lily through. “Two gentlemen visiting my parlor at just after sunup. Rosa’s baking isn’t cool enough yet.”
“There’s four of us,” said Hugh.
Lily batted her long eyelashes at him. He flushed. “I can count, thank you.”
“Sorry to wake you so early,” said Frank, “but I’ve got to take Ross over to the jail. I don’t suppose you saw him last night?”
“No, I was in my parlor playing canasta. And no, I will not give the names of the men who lost so badly to me.”
Ross kissed h
er soft cheek. “Sorry for the kerfuffle, Lily. I’ll get out of your way and let the girls sleep.”
“Aren’t you going to search the man?”
Frank snorted. “If I know Ross, all he’s carrying in his pockets are Rosa’s biscuits. Let’s leave the ladies to their day.”
Frank tipped his hat to Rosa and to Lily, as did John Tanner and a few others.
Ross finished the biscuits as he walked across the street to the jail. He didn’t know what the hell happened, but he didn’t have any part of it.
Whether he could prove it before they hanged him was another story.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Frank doesn’t believe Ross shot those two, does he?”
Nevin looked from Trace to Gillis. He’d helped Daniel milk the goats soon after sunup. Hope wasn’t impressed with bottled goat milk but she soon caught on. Auntie was pleased to see how much Daniel had grown. They were all amazed at the difference a few weeks made to a tiny baby. Hope had lots of smiles for him and Daniel.
He left Amelia still sleeping and rode into town. He got there in time to see Ross, trailed by a crowd of hecklers, walk into the jail. Trace had stayed in town, sharing Gil’s room. The three of them now shared breakfast.
“The sheriff could add me to the list,” said Trace. “I brought Miss Lily by the jail last night. The prisoners turned white when they saw her but clammed up. She agrees they were the ones who attacked her and damned near killed me.”
“They didn’t recognize you before?” asked Nevin.
“I’ve grown a bit, but Lily’s stayed much the same. It was dark that night, but we both recognized Zeb’s lisping whine and high voice.”
“Any witnesses to say ye dinnae kill ’em? Ye might be joinin’ Ross behind those bars.”
Trace ignored Gil’s effort to get him riled. Since Beth came into his life, he’d calmed down some. “Frank said he’d send their pictures around. He figured there’d be lots of people wanting them to hang. That would spread out the possibilities some.”
“Deputy Newton saw a man crossing the street as he rode down the street to help out at Baldy’s,” said Nevin. “He said the man had long, dark hair.”
“Charlie’s a coward. He’ll say whatever the mayor tells him to,” growled Trace.
“Why would the mayor want Ross locked up for murder?” Gillis’s chair creaked ominously as he leaned it back on two legs.
“Other than he wants power, and we hold the valley?” Nevin sucked his teeth. “Why would he want the MD when he has one halfway to Bannack? They’re too far apart to be any use.”
The three men thought as they finished their breakfast.
“Why wasnae the man at our meeting?” They looked at Gillis. “You’d think the mayor, being such a big bug, would want tae be at the table.”
“Haven’t heard about him cosying up to Smythe,” said Nevin. “But then, where would they meet? Smythe’s not allowed in Sophie’s hotel.”
“Emslow’s boardinghouse,” said Trace. “Both Smythe and Rivers stay there. No one would think anything wrong of them talking.” He looked at Nevin. “That handkerchief Amelia gave you proved it. Lily recognized Prue’s lace and that she and Rubina Emslow made two sets of handkerchiefs. Prue did the lace and Rubina the embroidery.”
“Why would she have anything to do with them?”
“Tav, the one with the cut nose, is her brother. From what I gather, the one Ross killed was the oldest.”
“Lumley, the clerk at the hotel, would know everything that goes on there, as well as any gossip he heard.” Trace counted off his fingers. “Orville Rivers stays there when he’s in town. Jennet’s wife is thick with Mrs. Emslow. And Smythe is staying there because Sophia gave him the bum’s rush.”
Nevin stretched out his neck and shoulders. “John Tanner’s next door. He keeps his eyes open.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t need a shave for another month or so, and there’s no way Gil will face the blade.” They all looked at Trace. “Looks like you’ll be visiting George Byers for a shave. He’s right across the street.”
“I’ll be payin’ my respects to the Widow Emslow,” said Gillis. “Me losin’ me wife and all, I can offer guidance on her loss. She’s a link to all this, for sure.”
“Don’t eat or drink anything,” said Trace. “She’s the type to use poison.”
* * * *
“I wouldn’t have shot them. I’d have skinned—”
“I heard you the first time!”
Frank growled back at Ross. He had his feet up on his desk, sipping bad coffee. Really, really bad coffee. He should know since he made it himself. The worst thing about having a wife was that you got used to all the things she did. When she went off and visited the grandchildren, you were stuck with your own cooking.
He watched Ross prowl from one end of the cell to the other like a coyote, never settling. Not that he had anything to sit on. When they hauled the two corpses out, they carried them on the wood bed frame. After all, it was covered with their brains. They’d fallen onto the mattress, which had luckily soaked up most of the blood. Paddy O’Keefe was making a new bed as well as two coffins. The bed came first.
So much about Ross made sense now. Frank knew the boy was haunted by demons, but he hadn’t known if it was from what he did or had done to him. Three of the four demons were dead, but that didn’t stop the problem. Ross privately admitted knifing one at the time but denied shooting the other two. Frank believed him, even without the evidence of an unfired gun.
Gillis said the dark-haired one, Zeb, wanted to talk, but Tav would stop him. So, who wanted Zeb kept quiet and why? Could the fourth man be in the area as well? He’d be the ringleader. Considering the miners, road agents, vigilantes, and usual cutthroats, there was no end of possibilities.
Frank brought the cup to his lips, lifted it, and then shuddered. He slammed his feet down and stood up.
“This coffee is God awful. I hate it when Mary’s away.”
“Rosa’s coffee is even better than your wife’s. You could ask her to send you a pot instead of drinking the slop you make.”
“I asked.” Frank grumped into his cup. “She’s mad at me for locking you up.”
Ross chuckled. “She had cinnamon buns rising last night. Didn’t need water for the whetstone, I was drooling so hard at the smell. They should be done by now.”
Frank’s belly growled. “You, Ross MacDougal, are an evil, evil man.” He scrunched up his face and downed the last of the black sludge. “But you didn’t shoot anyone last night.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
Frank carefully set the cup on his desk. He aligned it with the edge. He looked up at Ross.
“Because, my young friend, I want to keep you alive.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Frank laughed. “I hear you’re angry with your wife for saying the same thing.” He laughed harder at Ross’s stubborn expression. “The Vigilantes hanged a couple men for little more than looking sideways at them, and they were all white. If I let you out the way you are now, you’ll go looking for whoever killed those two. You’ll step on some toes, and next thing I know, I’ll have all the MacDougals and Elliotts on my ass for letting you out.”
“Gil told you to lock me up?” He grabbed the bars, his fingers wrapped tight.
“Didn’t say that.”
“You’re not denying it, either.”
“Nothing to deny.”
Ross stilled, as he had just before he went berserk on them. Frank automatically rested his hand on his holster.
“You planning to put me on trial, Sheriff? Have a jury of single white men say I need to hang for marrying one of their women?”
“Nope. I’ll conduct an investigation. I’ll question the whole town, sum everything up, and tell it like it is.”
Ross leaned a shoulder against a somewhat cleaner section of the wall.
“You won’t fi
nd the killer.”
“Don’t need to, if I can make enough doubt and give enough evidence to prove you didn’t shoot anyone that night.” Frank nodded. “The man behind this hired someone. Someone Tav and Zeb knew and trusted. That fight at Baldy’s was a setup to get Charlie away so the shooter could walk in. I figure he let them think he was going to bust them out. He shot Zeb to stop him talking. He shot Tav for being such a damn fool, kidnapping your wife, and drawing attention.”
“They knew I saw them kill my cousin.”
Frank nodded. “If you’re lucky, Tav and Zeb didn’t say boo about that little girl’s death. You’re going to have to watch your back even harder in case they did. Whoever’s behind this has power and wants all the ends cleaned up. He wants you dead, any way he can. If he can get others to kill you for him, without his name coming into it, so much the better. A roping party with you as the main guest would work just fine.”
“Trace survived a roping.” Ross winced and rubbed his neck.
“You won’t. And that’s why I can’t let you out.”
Chapter Forty
Ross lay on the new box bed in the corner of the jail. As Paddy was Billy’s father and known to them, he’d made it six-foot-six by thirty inches, almost wide enough for his shoulders. There was no padding, but Ross hadn’t had any on Rosa’s kitchen floor, either. It didn’t matter much when he was stone drunk, though. Hungover was another story.
Frank, feet up on his desk and head back, snored. Ross winced. The man was too old for this crap. He should be off with his wife, visiting his grandkids, not keeping an innocent man in jail. For his own good—ha!
The door to the street opened an inch. Ross lay still, feigning sleep. He heard Frank’s snore catch for a moment before beginning again. A silver blade slid through the crack. A long, wide blade. It disappeared again. The crack opened to a few inches.
“Did you have to bring that pig-sticker with you?” Ross feigned disgust.
