Summer of Promise

by Amanda Cabot

  The sun was just setting when she arrived, but the evening festivities were in full swing. A man was singing along with the out-of-tune piano, accompanied by bursts of laughter when he forgot the words to the bawdy song. Outside, half a dozen horses stood next to the hitching rail, nickering among themselves. Abigail slid off Sally, looping the reins over the rail, then hurried to the rear of the long building. If Jeffrey was here, and she was certain he was, he would be in that back room with the other high-stakes gamblers, playing poker while his wife labored to birth their child.

  Abigail clenched her fists, wishing she could knock some sense into her brother-in-law. Papa had claimed that gambling and drink were diseases, that once people were infected, they had trouble resisting the lure. Jeffrey, it appeared, was one of those unfortunate souls. Abigail couldn’t stop him; she could only hope that Charlotte would forgive him again.

  Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her thoughts, Abigail rounded the corner of the building. As she approached the rear entrance, she saw that the wind had blown the door ajar. Though light spilled onto the ground, telling her the room was occupied, the sound of men’s voices did not drift onto the air. Instead, there was an ominous silence. While it was possible that Jeffrey had been here, and he’d already left, if no one was inside, the lamp should not be burning.

  “Sign the paper, Bowles.” A strange man’s voice barked the command.

  Abigail flinched. She hadn’t seen Samson at the hitching post, but there was only one Bowles in the area. Why was Ethan here, and what was the paper he was being ordered to sign? And, if Ethan was in this room, where was Jeffrey? The questions whirled through her mind.

  Though she had made no attempt to soften her footsteps as she came around the building, now Abigail’s instincts urged stealth. She crept toward the door, hoping the opening would be wide enough that she could see what was happening. Trying to make no sound, she peered inside, then bit back a gasp. It couldn’t be. This had to be a nightmare, but it wasn’t. The wind that blew her skirts and the hard-packed earth beneath her feet were real, no figment of her imagination.

  Abigail’s heart stopped for an instant before beginning to pound as her brain registered what her eyes had seen. Ethan was here, and so was Jeffrey, but neither man was playing poker. Ethan stood with his back to her, while Jeffrey . . . Abigail’s heart sank as she stared at her brother-in-law. There was no doubt about it. Her eyes had not deceived her. Jeffrey had his gun aimed directly at Ethan.

  Abigail forced herself to breathe evenly as she tried to understand what she was seeing, and for a second, she was back in the barn, watching Luke’s lifeblood seep away while Richard screamed. It wasn’t the same. That had been an accident. This was not. Jeffrey was threatening Ethan.

  Something was horribly, horribly wrong. There were no cards or glasses on the table, no sign that anyone had been gambling, so it couldn’t be that Ethan had interrupted a card game. From her perspective, Abigail could see only the table and the two men who stood on opposite sides, but somewhere in this room was the other man, the one who had ordered Ethan to sign a piece of paper. He must be the reason Jeffrey held the gun.

  On his own, Jeffrey wouldn’t harm Ethan. He wasn’t a killer. And yet the Jeffrey in this room was not the Jeffrey Abigail knew. This Jeffrey’s eyes were cold, and his expression could only be described as murderous. Though she wanted to deny it, Jeffrey appeared prepared to shoot a fellow officer. Not just a fellow officer but another West Point graduate. A man he had shared meals with all summer. His friend, or so Abigail had believed.

  She clasped her hands together, trying to still their shaking as she remembered Ethan’s enigmatic expression when they’d returned from the hog ranch this morning. At the time, she had thought he had strong suspicions of who had tried to implicate Corporal Keller. Was it Jeffrey? Was he the man who had been assisting the outlaws? As distressing as the thought was, it mattered little right now. What was important was helping Ethan.

  He had no gun. A quick glance confirmed that his gun belt was empty. Even worse, the odds were stacked against him, for somewhere in that room was the man who’d ordered him to sign a piece of paper. That man would be armed. Perhaps even now he had a pistol aimed at Ethan. Two with weapons against one unarmed man. Ethan had no chance.

  Dear Lord, show me what to do. Abigail fingered the pistol in her pocket, then shook her head, knowing her aim was still so poor that she might hurt Ethan when all she wanted to do was disarm Jeffrey. There had to be another way. Ethan could defend himself, if she could get the gun to him. The question was how to do that. Abigail took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Distraction. It was Ethan’s only hope.

  Throwing open the door, she burst into the room as if she’d just arrived. “Hurry, Jeffrey!” she shouted. “Charlotte’s time has come. She needs you.” As she raced across the room, Abigail darted glances around her. The odds were worse than she’d thought. In addition to Jeffrey and the stranger who clung to the shadows, Peg stood next to the counter, her reticule dangling from one hand. Ethan had moved ever so slightly as Abigail shouted, but he appeared to be keeping his attention focused on Jeffrey, regarding him the way she had the rattlesnake that had threatened Puddles.

  Ethan dared not move, but she could. “Quickly, Jeffrey! Charlotte and the baby need you.” Abigail continued toward him, hoping he would not view her as an adversary. She had to distract him enough that she could knock the gun from his hand, then give Ethan her pistol.

  As Abigail’s words registered, blood drained from Jeffrey’s face, leaving his freckles in sharp relief against the pale skin. He took a step toward her, but the hand holding his gun never wavered. The first part of her plan wouldn’t work. She didn’t dare try to disarm Jeffrey, for his gun might go off and hit Ethan. All she could do now was try to get a weapon to Ethan.

  “Not so fast, Crowley.” The words came from the shadows, the same voice that had demanded Ethan’s signature. “Your work isn’t done.”

  She wouldn’t look at the stranger. She wouldn’t let anyone distract her. Abigail kept moving. Another two steps, and she’d be close enough to Ethan to hand him her pistol.

  Ethan turned, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Go home, Abigail,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She couldn’t leave, not when he was in danger. Abigail reached into her pocket.

  “Abigail.” The man in the shadows chuckled. “I think we just found the way to persuade Lieutenant Bowles. Tie her up, Peg.” As Abigail started to pull the pistol out, the man’s voice deepened. “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves, young lady. My gun is pointed at you, and I never miss.”

  He wasn’t bluffing. Abigail knew that. She stopped. Peg might try to tie her, but she wouldn’t make it easy. As the woman came toward her, she lurched. It was, Abigail realized, the first time she had seen Peg move. The other times they had met, Peg had remained stationary, but now, though her limp was pronounced, Peg was closing the distance between them more quickly than Abigail had thought possible, her fingers gripping the strings of her reticule.

  A limp. A reticule. Abigail’s eyes widened when she saw the knots. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. No wonder Peg had seemed familiar.

  “Mrs. Dunn!” As memories flitted through Abigail’s brain, she realized that Mrs. Dunn—or Peg or whatever her real name was—had planned to help rob the coach she and Ethan had been on. That was why she had struggled to retrieve her reticule. It wasn’t smelling salts she had wanted. In all likelihood, the reticule had contained a gun.

  Peg must have been the woman on all the coaches. It made sense, for she had a supply of wigs to disguise herself, and Leah had said she left the hog ranch to visit her sister occasionally. Abigail was willing to bet there was no sister and that each “visit” coincided with a stagecoach robbery.

  Peg’s grin held little mirth. “So you recognized me, did you? Fat lot of good that’ll do you now.”

  “Maybe it will.” She couldn’t�
��she simply could not—let Ethan die. Abigail yanked the gun from her pocket, aiming it at Peg at the same time that she swung her foot toward the woman’s injured leg. With her attention focused on the gun, Peg didn’t see the kick coming.

  “You—” Peg let out a string of epithets and doubled over in pain. It was the break Abigail needed. She swung around, hoping to move so quickly that the man in the shadows would not realize what was happening. “Ethan, catch,” Abigail shouted as she tossed the pistol toward him.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw Jeffrey move toward Ethan, as if in slow motion. “Dodge!” she shouted, but Ethan did not. Gun in hand, he leapt forward, tackling Jeffrey and dragging him to the ground. Abigail heard grunts and groans as the two men rolled on the floor, punching and kicking.

  “You’re useless, Crowley.” The man from the shadows was closer now. “Kill him,” he urged. “We’ll copy his signature.”

  There was no response, only the groans of two men, each trying his best to beat the other senseless, and Peg’s continuing chorus of curses. As the tone changed, Abigail looked down. Peg was struggling to her feet, pure rage distorting her features.

  “I’m not finished with you,” she muttered. But she was, for Abigail reached behind her, grabbed a chair, and smashed it over Peg’s head, trying not to wince at the sound of wood splintering. She had never before inflicted injury on another human being, but never before had the man she loved been in danger.

  It all happened so quickly that afterward Abigail could not say which occurred first. Peg slumped to the floor, a shot rang out, and a man screamed, his voice so distorted with agony that Abigail could not identify it. Even worse, the grunts and groans stopped, replaced by a low moan.

  Abigail closed her eyes as the moans reverberated through her, transporting her back to the day Luke had been shot. Not again! She couldn’t lose another friend. Please, God, save Ethan. Save them both.

  Her hands clammy with fear, Abigail crossed the short distance to the men. She would help them. It couldn’t be too late. But the sight was even more alarming than the sound of anguished moaning. Though Jeffrey’s body was sprawled on top and blood pooled beneath Ethan, neither one was moving. Whose blood was it? There had only been one shot. Surely they were not both injured . . . or worse. Please, God, no. Behind her, Abigail heard footsteps and the slamming of a door. The man from the shadows was gone, leaving disaster behind him.

  As Abigail knelt, she could hear rasping breathing and another groan. “Ethan, Jeffrey, speak to me.”

  She looked down. Jeffrey must be crushing Ethan, but though she tried to move him, Jeffrey was too heavy to budge.

  “I’m all right.”

  The sound of Ethan’s voice made Abigail light-headed with relief. Thank you, Lord. One of her prayers had been answered, yet blood still streamed onto the floor.

  “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know.” Ethan placed an arm on the ground as he spoke, then levered himself upward, pushing Jeffrey aside. “The bullet hit him.” He turned Jeffrey over, revealing a face that was far too pale. As Ethan opened Jeffrey’s jacket, searching for the wound site, blood continued to spurt from Jeffrey’s chest. Just like Luke.

  Abigail shuddered. Though she sent a fervent prayer heavenward, she knew the truth. No one could survive losing that much blood. While Ethan pressed his handkerchief on the wound, trying to staunch the flow, Abigail knelt next to her brother-in-law and gripped his hand as she’d gripped Charlotte’s only an hour before.

  “Live, Jeffrey. You’ve got to live.”

  But he could not. Jeffrey’s face was gray, and his eyes had begun to glaze. Though her face was directly over his, Abigail wasn’t certain whether he recognized her, whether he knew anything more than that his life was ebbing away. It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably only a few seconds before Jeffrey opened his mouth as if to speak. Abigail bent nearer, but no words came out, only a hoarse croaking.

  “Charlotte,” Jeffrey said at last. “Love . . .” An ominous rattling accompanied his final word, and as Abigail watched, the light faded from his eyes.

  “Oh, Jeffrey.” Abigail released his hand as her tears began to flow. Though the Jeffrey she had seen tonight had been a stranger, memories of the man who had loved her sister crowded her mind. That Jeffrey had not deserved to die.

  Gently, Ethan touched her shoulder. “There’s nothing more we can do for him.” Behind them, Peg began to stir. “Let’s get her to justice.” He reached for Peg’s reticule, pulling out the strings she’d knotted and using them to tie her hands behind her back. “That’ll hold her until we get to the horses. I’ve got rope there.”

  “I won’t go.” Peg spat the words at him. “You’ve got no proof.” As she began to shout obscenities, Ethan withdrew her handkerchief from the discarded reticule and formed it into a gag.

  “Come, Abigail.” He urged her to rise. “It’s time to go.”

  Reluctantly, Abigail stood, then looked down at the now still body. “We can’t just leave Jeffrey.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’ll come back for him,” he promised, “once we get Peg onto the horse.” He looked around. “Her partner’s gone. Unless Peg identifies him, he’ll go scot-free.” The thought obviously rankled.

  What worried Abigail more was the prospect of facing Charlotte. Somehow she would have to find the words to tell her sister what had happened, that she was a widow and that the baby she and Jeffrey had longed for would grow up without a father.

  “Poor Charlotte.”

  Ethan nodded again. “At least she has you.”

  Her whole body trembling at the thought of Charlotte’s future, Abigail recalled her journey west. Though she had come to Wyoming Territory to help her sister, she had not dreamt that Charlotte would need her the way she did now.

  Ethan marched Peg in front of him, keeping a tight grip on her shoulders. When they reached the front of the building, he whistled, and Samson emerged from behind the second cabin. No wonder Abigail had not seen him. While the horse stood motionless, Ethan slung Peg over Samson’s back, then looped ropes around her arms and legs. Though she struggled, it was clear that the restraints would hold, at least until they reached the fort.

  “I’ve got one more thing to do.” Ethan entered the saloon, emerging a moment later with two soldiers.

  “They’ll take Jeffrey to the fort,” he explained as he helped Abigail mount Sally. “The only good thing I can say about today is that the stagecoach robberies will end. Peg arranged everything with Jeffrey’s help. Now that Jeffrey’s gone and Peg will be behind bars, there’s no one left to plan a holdup.”

  “What about the man who shot Jeffrey?” Though she had not seen his features, Abigail pictured him as the face of evil.

  “I don’t know what his role was,” Ethan admitted. “Maybe Peg will tell us.”

  The way their prisoner thrashed against the ropes suggested she would not cooperate. “Even if she doesn’t,” Ethan continued, “with guards on all the coaches, the outlaws won’t be successful. Whoever he was, the man will have to find another way to make a living.”

  Abigail thought about Peg and the discovery that she had pretended to be Mrs. Dunn. “Peg must have been the woman on each of the coaches that was robbed.”

  Ethan nodded. “It appears she was the mastermind. We knew the bandits were clever, but it was brilliant to get someone at the fort involved.” His voice betraying no emotion, Ethan outlined Jeffrey’s role in the robberies.

  While Ethan spoke, Abigail’s hands grew clammy inside her gloves. “Poor Charlotte.” She would be devastated by the news that her husband had been a criminal.

  As the lights of the fort drew near, Abigail asked the question that was foremost on her mind. “Why was Jeffrey threatening to kill you?”

  When Ethan described the ransom note, Abigail’s spirits plummeted again. Was there no limit to Jeffrey’s sins? “I knew money was important to him,” she said softly. “Charlotte told me Jeffrey’s fami
ly was very poor, and he couldn’t forget that, but . . .” Abigail shuddered at the memory of Jeffrey’s gun pointed at Ethan and the hatred she had seen in his eyes. “I would never have thought Jeffrey would go to such lengths for money.” The gambling had been bad enough, but stealing and murder . . . The thought made Abigail cringe.

  Though night obscured Ethan’s expression, his voice was solemn. “No matter how well you think you know someone, you never really know what’s inside another person’s heart.” He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something else but did not. Instead, when they crossed the bridge and reentered the fort, Ethan guided the horses toward Abigail’s house.

  “Once Peg’s locked up, I’ll take Sally back to the stable. Then I’ll bring Jeffrey here,” Ethan said as he helped Abigail dismount.

  She shook her head. “Please wait.” They would have to prepare Jeffrey’s body for burial, but Abigail did not want to think about that now. Though the events at the hog ranch had obliterated everything else from her mind, as she had approached the fort, memories of her sister’s ordeal came rushing back. She had to learn what had happened to the baby and to Charlotte.

  Taking a deep breath to quell her trembling, Abigail climbed the front steps and opened the door. There was a moment of silence, and then she heard the cries. Nothing had changed. Charlotte was still enduring the pain of childbirth. But as the wail continued, Abigail knew she was mistaken. It wasn’t Charlotte who cried; it was her child. Abigail raced up the stairs, all the while praying that her sister was safe. As she stood in the doorway, Abigail looked at the bed that had been the scene of so much pain and her heart leapt with joy. Charlotte lay there, propped up against a mound of pillows, a tiny infant in her arms, a smile of pure happiness on her face. Though still a bit pale, her cheeks had regained most of their color, and her eyes sparkled. Charlotte’s baby had been safely delivered, and judging from the absence of Mrs. Grayson, Abigail’s sister was no longer in any danger. Thank you, thank you, thank you.