Road To Forgiveness

by Cox, Carol

  “Would you mind repeating that last part?” Jacob asked, uncomfortably aware he’d missed everything Burke just said. He shot a quick look at the rancher but saw nothing in his square face to indicate he’d caught anything passing between Jacob and his daughter.

  Burke planted his hands on his hips and let his breath out in an impatient huff. “I said I’m not the only one around here who’s been missing cattle. Wilson’s lost nearly as many as I have. So have Miller and Ladd. I want to know what you intend to do about it.” His stony gray eyes narrowed to slits, and his lower jaw thrust forward. He gave every indication of being a man used to getting his own way or knowing the reason why.

  Jacob realized his first major test had come and hoped he would be up to the challenge. “I’ve been hearing the same thing from the ranchers I’ve visited. My first thought is to check the most obvious avenues—shipments that may have gone out on the railroad without proper paperwork, evidence of herds moving out of the area without any connection to a legitimate sale. If that doesn’t turn anything up, I’ll have to start trying to work out the trails and discover where they’ve gone.”

  “Sounds like a lot of wasted time to me. We need results and we need them soon.”

  Burke pivoted on his heel and headed back to the barn.

  And a good day to you, too.

  Jacob mounted and swung Cap back toward the road, casting one last look at the ranch house where Hallie Evans had disappeared.

  ❧

  Hallie hurried toward the house, her moccasined feet making whispers of sound against the hard-packed dirt. Inside, she leaned back against the door and pressed her palms against her flaming cheeks.

  What a fool she’d made of herself, staring like that! What came over me? I don’t ever remember behaving like that. Mama would have been mortified if she’d been here to see.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop the feeling that her whole world had just tilted off its axis. What had happened? Everything seemed normal up until the moment the stranger rode up while she was out in the chicken coop checking on the brood hen. Dressed in her most faded work clothes and with her hair hanging loose like a little girl’s, the best course of action seemed to be to remain in the shadows of the barn.

  But if she didn’t get those potatoes on to boil, supper would be late. After a second glance, she’d decided the newcomer and her pa were engrossed in conversation deep enough to give her the opportunity to get across the yard unseen.

  She’d almost made it, too. She would have, if her father hadn’t called her over. Of all the times for him to decide to observe the social graces.

  Sheer embarrassment fastened her gaze to the ground while she walked over to them. And if only she’d kept it focused there, she might not have humiliated herself. Her mother’s training in deportment held true, though, and she forced herself to look up at the stranger when her father introduced him.

  But he wasn’t a stranger. Not since the instant their gazes locked and every thought left her mind except the desire to lose herself in the depths of his sky blue eyes. Some part of her felt like she had known him forever. His tanned face and wavy, dark blond hair seemed as familiar to her as her own features. Then came the awful moment when she realized she was staring at him, gaping like a fish.

  Her cheeks burned against her fingertips. What must he have thought?

  Not many visitors came to the Broken Box, and her trips to town were few and far between, giving her little opportunity to practice social skills. Would she have reacted as strongly to just anyone who happened to drop in unexpectedly? Hallie felt tempted to use that excuse to explain away her feelings, but she knew there was more to it than that. A current of recognition had passed between them, a sense of connection she couldn’t begin to fathom.

  She moved to the window and pulled back the edge of the curtain. Peering through the crack, she watched Jacob Garrett mount up and ride away. At the edge of the yard, he glanced over his shoulder and looked back at the house. His eyes appeared to focus right on her.

  Hallie gasped and dropped the curtain as though she had singed her fingers on a hot stove. Had he seen her standing there, mooning after him? She tried to console herself with the knowledge she probably would never see the man again.

  It wasn’t much consolation.

  She waited until he was a fair distance away, then stepped out onto the porch and wrapped one arm around a post, staring at his retreating figure. Long after he and his horse dwindled into mere specks on the horizon, she watched, fixing that significant moment in her heart.

  Could it be possible the hunger for something more that stirred her soul of late was for someone instead?

  Hallie leaned her head against the post and let her thoughts take wing until the sun’s rays glared directly into her eyes, reminding her how much time she’d spent dreaming.

  Catching her breath in dismay, she hurried to the kitchen and started peeling the potatoes. It looked like supper would be late, after all.

  Six

  Jacob trotted up the steps of the red brick courthouse and walked down the hallway to an open door. A bespectacled young man sat working at a small desk. Jacob cleared his throat.

  The young man started and peered up over the tops of his spectacles. “May I help you?”

  “Is this the mayor’s office?”

  “You’ve got the right place.” The clerk gestured to the open door behind him. “Go on back. He’ll be glad to see you.”

  Jacob tapped on the door frame, then poked his head inside. “Mr. Mayor?”

  The handsome, dark-haired man behind the desk rose. “I don’t hold with formality. My friends call me Buckey.”

  His genial smile immediately put Jacob at ease. He reached out to shake the hand Buckey offered. The mayor had a strong, honest grip and a direct gaze that inspired in Jacob an immediate liking for the man.

  “Glad to meet you, sir. My name’s Jacob Garrett.”

  Buckey’s trim mustache twitched upward. “So you’re the one Lucas Rawlins and Morris Atwater tell me is the answer to their prayers.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far, but I hope to live up to the expectations they have of me.”

  “Sit down.” Buckey waved Jacob to a straight-backed chair. “Lucas wore my ear out singing your praises, but he didn’t tell me anything about your background. How long have you been in the area?”

  “Just a few weeks. I was born and raised in Tucson, but I’ve known Dan O’Roarke and his family all my life. Prescott always seemed like a second home to me. My parents first met here, as a matter of fact.”

  Buckey stroked his mustache with his thumb. “Tucson, eh? Any relation to Andrew Garrett?”

  The question startled Jacob. “He’s my father. Do you know him?”

  “Not personally, but I know of him. I have some mining interests of my own. His name is well known around the territory.” He leaned back in his desk chair and his eyes gleamed with a friendly light. “If you have half the integrity your father is known for, I have no doubt you’re the right man for the job.”

  “Thank you. He’s given me a fine example to follow and some mighty big shoes to fill.”

  “You say your parents once lived here?”

  “My mother did. My father was just passing through when they first met. They met again down in Tucson.” No point in bringing up the stories he’d heard about that dark time in his mother’s life before she discovered the love of both his father and Christ. Her years in Prescott did not hold happy memories for her.

  “How long ago would that have been?”

  Jacob pursed his lips. “She left in ’69, two years after the capital moved from Prescott to Tucson. So that would have been. . .what? Twenty-nine years ago?”

  “Before my time,” Buckey said. “I didn’t get up to these parts until the spring of ’82, after the capital moved back up here again. Then we got into that squabble with Tucson and the powers that be decided to put both cities in their place and send t
he capital to Phoenix.” He chuckled. “Maybe they’ll keep it there, maybe not. But what the people of this territory need to do is forget our petty differences and move forward together. Seeing statehood come to Arizona, that’s where my heart lies. It seems to me that thirty-five years as a territory is long enough.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” The subject of achieving statehood was dear to the hearts of all Arizonans. “I understand you used to be sheriff?”

  “That’s right.” Buckey placed his right ankle on his left knee. “I’ve worn a lot of different hats since I came here: sheriff, court reporter, probate judge. I lost a bid for Congress in both ’94 and ’96, but I managed to be elected as mayor last year.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his desk. “This territory holds tremendous potential. I’m willing to do whatever I can to add a new star to our nation’s flag.” A mischievous light danced in his eyes. “That was a long answer to your question about my being sheriff. Was there a particular reason you asked?”

  “Some of the ranchers have been missing cattle,” Jacob said. “I intend to find the thieves and bring them to justice. But I’m new here. I don’t know the lay of the land. I thought you might have some ideas on the best place to start looking. That is, if you don’t think I’m out of line for asking.”

  Buckey smiled. “It’s an intelligent man who knows when to ask for help. And don’t think for a moment I feel like you’re asking me to do your job for you. . .you’ll have plenty to do on your own.” He walked to one side of his office, where a large map hung on the wall. He traced a circle with his finger. “This is the area you’re responsible for, all the way north to south from Ash Fork to Bumblebee Ranch, and east to west from the Verde Valley almost to Wickenburg. These dots mark the different ranches under your jurisdiction. My advice would be to pay a visit to each of the ranchers and get to know them. See who’s missing cattle and who might know something. I’m sure we’ve got some in the area who wouldn’t hesitate to buy cheap cows and not ask questions, but for the most part there are a lot of good solid citizens around here.”

  “I’ve already started along those lines.” Jacob pointed out the ranches he had already visited. “This map gives me a better perspective on the whole layout, though.”

  Buckey clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you were the right man for the job. Come back anytime you want to take another look at the map or to ask me any questions. I’m glad to help. If I’m not in my office or at home, you can generally find me down at the Palace. Speaking of which. . .” He pulled out his pocket watch and snapped the cover open.

  “How would you like to meet some more of our local citizenry? I’m rather partial to a few hands of faro, and there’s usually a good game starting up right about now.”

  “I’m not a gambling man, but I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know more of the folks around here.”

  “Fair enough.” Buckey pulled his hat from a hook on the wall and settled it on his head. “Let’s head to the Palace.”

  ❧

  It took a moment for Jacob’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior. While saloons would never be his natural haunt, the Palace was well appointed, a comfortable place for local men to gather.

  “Hello, boys!” Buckey wended his way toward a group of men clustered around a table in the back room.

  “About time you got here,” one called back. “We were about ready to send out a search party.” A chuckle rippled around the table at his sally.

  “Meet Jacob Garrett, formerly of Tucson, currently Yavapai County’s new range detective.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” The men shook hands with Jacob in turn.

  “Any relation to Andrew of the same name?” quizzed a black-haired man on the opposite side of the table.

  “My father.” Jacob felt a glow of pride at the admiring response his father’s name evoked. He truly did have big shoes to fill.

  “Jacob here jumped right into a tough situation,” Buckey announced. “Rustling has gotten beyond the two-bit stage and he’s charged with finding out who’s to blame. Sounds like he’s already made a good start.”

  One of the faro players snorted. “That’s more than Clive Jensen would have done.”

  Jacob shot a questioning look at the group. The black-haired man twisted his mouth in disgust and leaned closer to be heard over the noise of the crowd near the bar. “Your predecessor would have been more likely to turn a blind eye to such goings-on than try to do anything to stop them.”

  Jacob drew his brows together. “But why?”

  A craggy-faced man shrugged. “Hard to tell. Some say he was getting a payoff from the rustlers; some say he just didn’t care. All I know is, he never seemed to take loss of stock very seriously.”

  “That’s going to change,” Jacob promised.

  “You fellows can help get the word out,” Buckey said. “Let people know we have a range detective who means business. Sometimes just knowing someone is willing to act is enough to put a stop to that kind of thing.”

  A general murmur of approval ran around the table. The topic of conversation turned to Spain and the political situation in Cuba, but Buckey’s comment sent Jacob’s mind back to his talk with Burke Evans at the Broken Box. And from that to a mental picture of Hallie Evans. The voices from the table faded out as he daydreamed of that moment their eyes met.

  Jacob wondered what it would be like to spend time in the company of Burke Evans’s quiet daughter. Were her gentleness and sweet spirit as real as they seemed in that brief encounter? Her large brown eyes seemed to have looked into his soul. He hoped she had seen something worthwhile.

  “What are your views on the subject, Garrett?”

  The question pulled Jacob back to the present with a start. He stared at the men around the table. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m afraid my mind was somewhere else.”

  The man beside him guffawed and dug his elbow into Jacob’s ribs. “I’ve seen that look on a man’s face before. You had some female on your mind, if I don’t miss my guess.”

  The rest of the group joined him in ribald laughter.

  Jacob forced a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have to get back to business.” He stepped outside and left the clamor of the saloon behind with a sense of relief.

  Seven

  Half-dozing in the saddle, Jacob gave Cap his head and let him choose his own way down the slope from Harvey Fletcher’s place to the valley floor. A newcomer to the area, Fletcher hadn’t met many of his neighbors. He’d been glad to see Jacob, hungry for information about the local happenings, but hadn’t added anything to Jacob’s store of information about the rustling.

  Jacob angled across the plain. If memory served him, this route ought to cut off a good two miles and get him back to the T Bar well before sunset.

  Cap whickered and pricked up his ears at the top of the next rise. Jacob straightened in his saddle and peered in the direction Cap was looking. Up ahead stood a saddled mount. On the far side of the gray horse, a figure crouched next to a struggling animal in the tawny grass.

  Jacob came fully alert. Keeping the gray between himself and the kneeling figure, he urged Cap closer. He let his right hand move down to his holster, and he slipped the loop off the hammer, never taking his gaze from the person in the grass.

  When he had narrowed the distance, he circled out past the gray for a better look at the person on the ground. Long dark hair streamed down the back of the slender figure.

  Hallie? He slowed when he drew near so as not to spook her horse. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

  Hallie swung around, eyes wide. She relaxed visibly and put a comforting hand on the calf stretched out on the ground before her.

  “I just needed to get outdoors for a while, so I took Gypsy for a ride. Then I came across this little fellow. Could you give me a hand? He has a broken leg, and I can’t set it alone.”

  Jacob swung out of the saddle and hurried to her side. The calf’s left hind
leg lay twisted at an unnatural angle. The little animal’s eyes were ringed with white, and it bleated pitifully.

  “Shhh,” Hallie murmured in a soothing tone. “It’ll be all right. We’re going to take care of you.”

  Jacob eyed the calf. “He looks pretty well done in already, and there’s no telling whether it will heal straight or not. Do you think it’s worth it?”

  “I don’t know,” Hallie replied simply. “I only know I have to try. Will you help me?” She looked up at him, and he knew in that instant he’d do anything she asked of him.

  “I found that cedar branch to use as a splint.” She nodded toward a short length of wood on the ground. “But I can’t hold him down and work on him at the same time.”

  Jacob knelt beside her. “You hold his head. I’ll see what I can do to get this leg straight.” He ran his hand along the calf’s leg and winced at the thought of the additional pain he was about to cause. He glanced at Hallie’s delicate features, wondering whether she was really up to the task at hand. “Ready?”

  She wrapped her arms around the calf’s chest and nodded. Jacob took hold of the leg below the break and pulled. The calf let out an anguished bawl and strained to get away.

  Jacob glanced at Hallie. Her arms were still locked around the calf, her feet braced against the ground. She pulled back with all her might. Her lips trembled and tears pooled in her eyes, but her face bore an expression of firm resolve. She dug her heels into the ground and held on tight.

  “Just a little bit longer,” she told the frightened animal.

  Jacob increased the pressure and felt the ends of the bone shift into place. He broke the cedar branch in half and applied the pieces to either side of the calf’s leg, then bound them in place with a bandanna Hallie had torn into strips. “You can let go now. We’re finished.” He leaned back on one arm and wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip with his sleeve.

  Hallie released her grip and bent over her charge. “There you go, little guy. The worst is over.”