The Turn of a Wheel (Kansas Crossroads Book 17)

by Amelia C. Adams

  The kitchen and dining room had been such a flurry of activity the day before that now, with only a train expected and not an entire wedding party, things seemed almost quiet. Kate put the coffee kettles on, Ruth began to slice up the ham, and the hotel guests filtered down the stairs a few at a time, content to sit and sip their tea or coffee until the food was ready.

  Colonel Gordon came in to eat his breakfast, and as the dining room door opened and closed, Ruth couldn’t help but overhear snippets of the conversation taking place between the locals.

  “Colonel, is it true that one of your deputies rode out after some dangerous cattle thieves yesterday?”

  “Do you think there will be gunplay?”

  “What does this mean for the other ranches in the area?”

  “Will anyone be killed? What about a hanging?”

  Margaret entered the kitchen and set her tray on the counter, her face drawn. “There’s so much gossip out there, and people have even been stopping me to ask after Wade. Gracious, I don’t know what to tell them—how am I supposed to know what’s truth and what’s rumor?”

  Ruth shook her head, frustrated. The way people liked to talk about anyone and everyone, like it was even their business . . . “Why don’t you and I trade places?” she suggested. “The food’s cooked—I’m just scooping it onto plates.”

  Margaret gave her a grateful look. “I’d appreciate it. This new . . . situation . . . of mine has me feeling more emotional than I have for a long while, and I’d hate to burst into tears in the middle of the dining room.”

  Ruth smiled. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone cried out there. Come on now—here’s the spoon and here’s the pan. Have at it.”

  “Table four needs three scrambled eggs,” Margaret said.

  Ruth nodded and set bread and butter on the tray while Margaret put the food on the plate. Ruth hadn’t actually waited tables before—she’d gone straight to work in the kitchen when she came to the Brody—but it couldn’t be that hard. She knew the menu backwards and forwards, after all.

  With her tray loaded, she stepped out into the dining room and then paused, realizing for the first time that she actually had no idea which table was number four.

  “I don’t know where I’m going,” she said in a low voice to Carrie as her friend passed.

  “Then you won’t know when you get there,” a jovial male voice replied, and both girls glanced over in surprise at the young man seated under the window. “I’m sorry,” he went on. “I have a terrible habit of interrupting other people’s conversations. Ignore me.”

  Ruth gave him a half smile before turning back to Carrie. “Table four?”

  “Over there,” Carrie said with a nod, and Ruth was able to deliver her order.

  Once she knew which table was number four, she was able to figure out the numbering system rather easily, and that was the only trip-up she had when it came to finding her way. She did spill the smallest amount of coffee on a gentleman’s cuff, but he was good-natured about it, and she nearly ran Nora over once when they were both trying to pass through the doorway, but no one was actually injured in the process.

  “Do you often make arrests in the case of cattle theft, Colonel?” asked one particularly curious man whose voice rose above the din in the room like a foghorn over a misty harbor. “Or do you leave it to the vigilantes to mete out their justice? I’m from Delaware, you see, and I’m quite fascinated by the idea of frontier justice.”

  Gracious. Just how long could this particular conversation go on before it shifted to something else?

  Colonel Gordon took a sip of his coffee before answering. Ruth stepped over to refill that coffee, curious to hear his answer before she returned to the kitchen. “Well, now,” the marshal said after he wiped his mouth, “I’m not sure what all information you’ve had coming your way and from what source, but at least around here, we don’t leave much in the hands of the vigilantes. There are laws about how justice should be meted out, you see, and we don’t take kindly to people thinking they’re above obeying those rules.”

  “But I thought that if a man stole a cow, he was eligible for the rope,” the traveler replied.

  Colonel Gordon pushed back his chair and rose, pausing next to the other man’s table. “Sir,” he said, “it’s my opinion that if a man enjoys a sensational story more than he enjoys hearing the truth, he’s got a bit too much time on his hands.” He left the dining room with a nod to Mr. Brody.

  Ruth couldn’t help but smirk as she refilled the last few cups on her side of the dining room. The marshal was a bit of a gruff man, not too sympathetic when it came to sob stories and the like, and she’d never cared much for him. He sure cut to the heart of the matter when it was needed, though, and that was entertaining to watch.

  When the meal service was over, she heaved a sigh of relief and turned her attention to gathering up the linens, ready to finish the task and get back to her rightful place in the kitchen. This transfer of assignments had been eye-opening to be sure, and she was ready for the newness of it to be over.

  “Miss Barnes?”

  She turned, her arms full of tablecloths, and saw that Mrs. Norton had entered the dining room from the other side.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Norton. I’m afraid you’ve just missed the breakfast service, but I’m sure we have more food, if you’d like to take a seat.”

  Mrs. Norton lifted a hand. “Oh, no, my dear. I don’t eat breakfast—it’s too early for me yet. I was hoping to speak with you, actually, and see if you had any questions about my offer. I realize I gave you two days to consider it, but I’ve been eager to hear your answer.”

  That was certainly flattering. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and come back, if that’s all right,” Ruth said, nodding toward the tablecloths she held.

  “Oh, of course. I’m sure carrying those around is a bit cumbersome. I’ll wait here.”

  Ruth tossed the linens into the basket and then prepared a tray with tea, thinking that while Mrs. Norton might not eat breakfast, she might be thirsty. She carried the tray to the dining room and placed it on one of the freshly set tables. Mrs. Norton sat across from her and smiled.

  “I hope I’m not creating extra work for you,” she said.

  “Oh, not at all. We can change out a table faster than you can blink.”

  “That’s an excellent skill to have. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.” Mrs. Norton rested her folded hands on the table. “Now, as I was telling you yesterday, my home in Kansas City is quite large. We moved there when Richard was a boy of seventeen, and I admit, at the time our circumstances were quite a bit more meager. My husband’s business had failed, but he worked hard and persevered, and now we’ve created a life for ourselves that exceeds what we had before.”

  Ruth wondered why Mrs. Norton wanted her to know about the family’s finances, but she just smiled. Saying anything in reply would be too awkward, she was sure.

  “In order to maintain that new life, my husband is gone for long hours every day, leaving me to my own devices, and I’m afraid I have a fondness for society. When I’m not hosting charity lunches or whatnot, I frequently have guests over for tea. I find their company much more interesting than my own. You would have free reign over the menu—except for those rare occasions when we don’t care for something—and your grocery budget would be quite generous, giving you plenty to work with. Breakfast, as I mentioned, isn’t served in our home, so you would only need to worry about the two larger meals of the day, and of course, tea. You would have one evening off every other week, the date to vary depending on our social calendar, and your wage would be . . . what would you like for your wage, my dear?”

  Ruth blinked. She’d never been asked that in her life, and she had no idea how to reply. She made twenty-five dollars a month at the Brody, so she should probably ask a bit more, but then, Mr. Brody was known for his generosity, so perhaps she should ask a bit less . . . She took a deep breath. “Twenty-eight dollar
s a month, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Norton didn’t react at all, but merely nodded and continued to discuss the duties and benefits. Ruth tried not to exhale too noticeably, acting as though discussing business was second nature to her. It made her wonder, though, if she had asked too little. What if she could have gotten thirty? Perhaps she could, but then she’d wonder if she’d been too greedy. Why weren’t these things simpler?

  “I’ll give you until my departure tomorrow to decide, my dear, and I believe you’re likely expected to give notice—could you follow me in two weeks’ time?”

  “I believe that could be arranged,” Ruth replied.

  “Excellent. You have no idea what a relief it will be for me to have a cook installed in my kitchen once again. My household staff has been limping along as best as they can, but if they serve me even one more runny custard or watery bowl of soup, I believe I’ll cry.” She rose from the table. “I’ll return to my room to write some letters, but I look forward to the noon meal.”

  Ruth nodded, then closed her eyes and tried to bring her heartbeat back into some sort of reasonable rhythm. Could she really be considering this? She knew she had the courage—she’d come all this way by herself, after all, but she was safe at the Brody. She knew what to expect, and she had friends. This . . . it sounded predictable, and yet she didn’t know what to expect. Would she be accepted by the rest of the staff? Would she make friends? Would she be happy there?

  Suddenly she didn’t know if setting off on a new adventure was such a grand idea after all.

  Chapter Six

  The sky had barely turned the faintest shade of gray when the men started moving around in camp. Alex winced as he sat up and the muscles in his back went into a spasm. He’d never take his bed for granted again, that was for sure. He felt around for his boots, shook them out and then pulled them on, not eager to get back in the saddle, but ready to see how he could help that day.

  After a quick breakfast of dried meat and water from a canteen, the men were off again, and they’d made good progress by the time the sun crested the eastern horizon. Alex didn’t know how Wade had made out the trail before sunrise, but there must have been enough light or he wouldn’t have pressed forward.

  “We need to pick up speed now that the sun’s up,” Wade called over his shoulder, and the men urged their horses to go faster. Alex felt every jolt and rut clear up through his shoulders, but he refused to complain, instead making the decision to ride more once this was over. So much time sitting at a desk and poring over paperwork had taken its toll on him, and he was getting weak.

  They stopped to water the horses, then pressed on. The spring sunshine had felt good at first, but as the morning continued, it became hot, and a trickle of sweat ran down Alex’s back. There was a bathtub at the Brody—he would avail himself of it the minute he returned.

  Finally, Wade lifted a hand. “Look up ahead,” he called, bringing his horse to a stop on top of a ridge. The other men came up alongside him and peered down into the valley below, where six men on horseback were galloping hard across the yellow expanse. “Those are our men.”

  “Should we let them know we’re coming? Fire a shot in the air or something?” Alex asked.

  Wade scratched his chin. “I don’t think so. We don’t know what the cattle thieves have planned from here on out, and we don’t want to alert them to our presence any more than necessary. Chances are, they already know we’re here and what color our boots are, but I don’t want to give them any information they don’t already have. Let’s ride hard and catch up.”

  Alex held on tight and followed the men down the somewhat steep embankment, glad that his horse had more confidence in his abilities than he did. Once on the flat ground, the men urged their horses into a full-out run, and after several minutes, they caught up to the group.

  The man leading the pack brought his horse up short and wheeled around to speak with Wade. Alex had met him while doing the paperwork for the ranch sale—his name was Jack Milton, and he was one of the wranglers. “There you are,” he said to Wade, a grin on his face. “I was startin’ to wonder if you were ever going to join us.”

  “Doin’ our best to catch up,” Wade replied. “What news?”

  Jack pointed up ahead. “See that rise? Irish rode up ahead and spotted the herd on the other side. We’re almost there.”

  “We’re just in time, then.” Wade looked around at the men. “Deputy? What’s the most law-abiding way we can go about this?”

  Monroe wiped his forehead with his sleeve before answering. “Well, you’ve all been made deputies, so I suggest we ride in there and take some men into custody.” He paused, looking over the new additions to their group. “You six are now deputies too, but don’t let all that power go to your head.”

  Jack laughed. “We’ll try not to.”

  “As I’m the only one with a badge, I’ll ride up front and give warning,” Monroe continued. “Stay close behind, fan out, and surround the herd. With any luck, we’ll have this wrapped up in a matter of an hour.”

  Alex didn’t ask the obvious question—what they would do if something unexpected arose. That was the trouble with unexpected things—how to plan for them.

  The men spurred their horses onward again, and as they crested the top of the next rise, Alex spotted the herd up ahead. They were moving slowly, as cattle did, and it looked like the original four thieves had also picked up some reinforcements along the way. Now there were seven men to come up against. Alex spotted Smith and Kale almost immediately, but try as he might, he couldn’t find Jeb among the lot.

  “Doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered as he urged his horse onward. Jeb could be waiting ahead for them—he didn’t have to be present to be as guilty as any of the rest of them.

  “Ho there!” Deputy Monroe called out. “Stop in the name of the law!”

  Two of the thieves twisted in their saddles to see what was going on, but rather than stopping as commanded, they dug their heels into their horses’ sides and rode harder, catching up to their confederates and urging them to run as well. Wade’s men broke into pursuit, and Alex stayed near the deputy’s right. He wanted to be the first to see Jeb’s face when they located his hideout. He needed to resolve this once and for all.

  The thieves left the cattle far behind as they raced across the prairie to the next rise, but when they reached it, they wheeled their horses and drew their guns. Wade’s men barely had time to draw themselves before guns were pointed in their direction. They were at a disadvantage, being on the low ground while the thieves had the hill.

  Alex and the others glanced around for any sort of cover, but there were no trees, and the waving grasses only came thigh high. They were on display for anyone to see—and for anyone to shoot.

  “I’ll try to talk to them,” Deputy Monroe said. He edged forward, one hand lifted as he faced the hill. “I’m Parker Monroe, deputy sheriff from Topeka,” he called out. “We’re here to reclaim the cattle stolen from the Lazy Q ranch. You’ve left the animals behind—that’s good. If you’ll come with us now, we can discuss a more lenient sentence.”

  He received no answer but a laugh carried on the wind, and then a bullet whizzing through the air.

  Monroe turned back to the men. “They’ve refused to cooperate, and they’ve fired the first shot. Frisco, it’s up to you.”

  Frisco nodded and brought his rifle into position.

  Alex had heard the men on the ranch talk about Frisco, but he’d never seen the man shoot for himself. Now he understood the admiration the other men held for him. Frisco aimed and fired with very little hesitation, then took the next rifle handed him, and the next in quick succession. The next thing Alex knew, every single one of the men up on the ridge had a bleeding leg.

  “Just scratches,” Frisco said with a grin in response to Alex’s shocked look. “Not a killing shot in the bunch. Just a little motivation to listen to the deputy.”

  “All right, all right,” came a shout
from the rise. “We’re coming down.”

  “Leave your weapons on the hill,” Monroe shouted back. “Toss them so we can see them.”

  The men threw their pistols and rifles onto the ground, then began their descent toward the flat ground. They were met by the men from the Lazy Q, who had trained their guns on the thieves and were more than ready to get the entire ordeal over with.

  They’d nearly gathered up all the men when Alex saw a flash of metal from the corner of his eye. He cried out in warning, but it was too late—three of the men were still armed, and had pulled out their spare weapons. They were quickly subdued by Wade’s men, but not before they got off a few protest shots, one of them burrowing deep into Alex’s thigh.

  Blood began to spurt from the wound immediately, and Alex stared at it, not comprehending what was happening. He’d been shot? But they had the men under arrest. It was supposed to be over now.

  Irish came up alongside him, yanked the bandana from around his neck, and tied it around Alex’s thigh. “Keep the pressure on that,” he shouted over the other raised voices. “And get yourself back to town as fast as you can.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Jack said. “He’ll need a medic in his condition.”

  Irish nodded, and Jack reached over and slapped Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, man—we’ve got to keep moving.”

  Alex nodded, able to nudge his horse to move even through the haze that had come over him. He heard Wade calling out orders—two men to stay with the cattle, the rest to guard their prisoners on the way back—and then he concentrated on following Jack across the rolling grasses and back the way they’d come.

  Jack kept a brisk pace, and soon they’d left everyone else behind. Alex shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but he still felt disconnected from his mind, from his body, and all he could think about was that hot bath back at the hotel. Then he remembered something else from the hotel—Miss Barnes. Lovely Miss Barnes, with her moss-green eyes and her chestnut hair. He’d barely made her acquaintance—it would be a shame to die before he’d even been given permission to call her Ruth.