That was a good question and one for which Matt had no answer. Least not yet. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”
Keeler made a face. “Well, good luck with that.”
Matt stood and donned his hat. Right now, it looked like he needed all the luck he could get. “I won’t take up any more of your time,” he said.
Sheriff Keeler leaned the broom against the wall. “You’re wrong about Blackwell. You know that, right?”
Since Blackwell was regarded as a local hero, it sure did look that way. But Matt wasn’t ready to exonerate the man. At least not yet.
“I hope you’re right,” he said and meant it. Not only for the town’s sake but also for the sake of Blackwell’s pretty widow and young son.
* * *
“Lord almighty, will the man ever fix that step?” Mrs. Buttonwood’s strident voice arrived at Ellie-May’s door before the knock.
Ellie-May set her feather duster down on the mantel and crossed the room to let her neighbor in.
Mrs. Buttonwood strode inside, shaking her head and tutting. Dressed like a man in trousers, plaid shirt, and felt hat, she moved like one too, with long strides and broad movements. “Anvil better fix that step afore someone breaks his neck,” she said and tutted.
The woman’s reproving voice didn’t fool Ellie-May one bit. Her husband, Ted, had died a year ago for no good reason that anyone could figure out. The doctor said it might have been the heart or maybe the liver. Others suspected Mrs. Buttonwood had finally succeeded in nagging him to death. Whatever the truth, she was now a widow on the prowl, and Anvil was clearly her target.
“Here’s the fabric for Alicia’s dress,” Mrs. Buttonwood said. “I used it to make curtains, but there’s enough left over for a dress.” She was a large-boned woman who could ride and shoot as well or better than any man. But neither did she lack in feminine skills.
Ellie-May took the length of calico from her and ran her hand over the soft blue fabric. “It’s beautiful,” she said. It would make her daughter a fine frock indeed. “Are you sure I can’t pay you? I have some egg money.”
Mrs. Buttonwood turned down the offer with a wave of her hand. “Consider it payment for your husband’s kindness.”
The Buttonwood ranch had been hard hit by the tornado that roared through town two years earlier. The barn had been toppled and the roof ripped off the house. Neal had worked night and day to help the Buttonwoods restore order.
“Thank you. You’re very kind.” Ellie-May folded the fabric and put it on top of her sewing basket. Not only was Mrs. Buttonwood generous, but she was also one of the few people in town who knew what it was like to be alienated. The manly way she dressed had made her almost as much of a social outcast as Ellie-May. “Won’t you at least stay for tea?”
“Thank you, but no. I have to get back to the ranch.” Mrs. Buttonwood started for the door and stopped. “Will you have time to finish Alicia’s dress before Saturday?”
“I’ll make time,” Ellie-May said. Her children would look their best for their father’s memorial service if it killed her. “Eh…” She hesitated. If anyone knew the latest scuttlebutt, it was Mrs. Buttonwood. Surely, she’d heard that a Texas Ranger was in town inquiring about Neal.
Not wanting to raise her neighbor’s suspicions, Ellie-May carefully phrased her question. “Do you think there’ll be a good turnout Saturday?” Usually, it didn’t take much encouragement to get Mrs. Buttonwood to share the latest gossip.
“From what I’ve heard, everyone and his brother will be there,” Mrs. Buttonwood said and patted Ellie-May on the arm. “Don’t you go worrying none, you hear? It’ll be a day that’ll do you and your little ones proud.”
Disappointed that Mrs. Buttonwood hadn’t taken the bait, Ellie-May forced a smile. “Do you think there’ll be any out-of-town guests?”
“Who knows? We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” After a beat, Mrs. Buttonwood asked, “Do you want me to remind Anvil to fix the porch step?”
Anvil had no interest in the overbearing woman and had begged Ellie-May to keep her away from him. “No, that’s all right,” she said quickly. “I’ve already spoken to him. He’ll get to it as soon as he can.”
The corners of Mrs. Buttonwood mouth drooped in disappointment. “Well, do tell him I said hello.” With a toss of her head, she left without further comment.
* * *
It was hot that Saturday, and the town square was already packed when Ellie-May arrived with Anvil and her two children.
Dressed in her Sunday-go-to-meeting calico dress and straw bonnet, she made her way through the crowd. Most women in her position would have worn black, the proper attire for a grieving widow. But dressing in widow’s weeds following her husband’s death would have meant having to purchase new fabric, and her budget hadn’t allowed for such folly.
She did, however, take the time to polish her boots with soot and beeswax until she could practically see her face in the worn leather. Though she doubted anyone would look pass her faded floral print dress to notice.
Her lack of mourning clothes never failed to bring disapproving stares from some of the older women, and today was no different. The same women had criticized her attire in church. One had even told Ellie-May to her face that the absence of appropriate garb showed a lack of respect for her late husband.
Determined not to let anything spoil the day, she threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. Let them gawk. See if she cared.
“Come along, children,” she said and led the way through the crowd with Anvil following close behind.
The town gunsmith tipped his hat as she passed by, provoking the ire of his wife. “Your husband was a fine man,” he said, ignoring his wife’s elbow to his side.
Ellie-May rewarded him with a bright smile and a nod of gratitude.
“Saved my son, he did,” called the newspaper publisher from beneath a stovepipe hat. The publisher had printed a glowing editorial on Neal’s heroic deed and had urged the town to do something in Neal’s honor. “You should be proud.”
Ellie-May was proud and ever so thankful. Her children would never have to go through what she had gone through growing up. She’d lost a husband and her children had lost a father, but they had gained the town’s respect. It had been a high price to pay, but she’d had no choice in the matter.
As she caught her first glimpse of the ten-foot-tall bronze statue in the middle of the square, her jaw dropped. Her husband’s larger-than-life form standing on a pedestal nearly took her breath away.
“Oh my!” she gasped.
When the mayor first approached her with the idea of a memorial in Neal’s memory, Ellie-May thought he’d meant something small like a plaque. Never had she imagined anything as impressive as a statue.
Statues were for important people. For presidents and generals and kings. It was hard to believe that the image of her simple farmer husband was now enshrined for all eternity.
Knowing Neal, he would be horrified! No doubt he would think the statue put him further in debt to society.
Next to her, Lionel and Alicia gazed wide-eyed at the mass of people, and Ellie-May sympathized. Her poor babies looked as overwhelmed as she felt. She gave their hands a reassuring squeeze.
“There’s your pa,” she said, directing their attention upward away from the crowd. “What do you think?”
Lionel stared up at the statue with solemn eyes. He was a serious child, and for that reason, she worried about him.
He looked less impressed with the statue than he had with the large gathering. “Why are all these people here?” he asked, his voice hushed.
“They’re here to pay their respects to your papa,” Ellie-May said. “He was an important man.”
Never had she imagined that so many would show up to honor her husband. As pleased and touched as she was by the tu
rnout, the crowd reminded her of something she’d rather forget. The last time she remembered seeing so many people at the town square was at her father’s hanging. Thank God that Neal had convinced the town to ban public hangings. Never did she want her children to witness such a travesty, and Neal had seen to it that they wouldn’t.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she watched the mayor thread his way slowly through the crowd to the makeshift podium next to the statue. A robust man as round as he was tall, he stopped to shake hands and chat with some of the spectators.
Always eager to take credit for everything good that happened in the town, he was no doubt prepared to give a long and painful speech, praising himself as much as Neal.
Shoe-Fly Jones, owner of the town’s boot and leather shop, led a motley group of musicians in a rousing rendition of “Oh, Better Far to Live and Die.” In the introduction, Shoe-Fly told spectators that the song was from The Pirates of Penzance.
Another man walked through the crowd, hawking the virtue of Bonnore’s Electro Magnetic Bathing Fluid.
Ellie-May hadn’t known what to expect at Neal’s memorial, but she certainly hadn’t imagined such a circus-like atmosphere.
She glanced down at her daughter. “What do you think about Papa’s statue, Alicia?” Unlike Lionel, who mostly kept his thoughts to himself, Alicia wore her heart on her sleeve and had taken Neal’s death the hardest. She still had nightmares, although they were now fewer than before.
“It’s so big,” Alicia murmured, her eyes rounded in awe.
Ellie-May smiled. To a child, the statue had to look enormous. “Do you like it?” she asked.
Alicia nodded. “Uh-huh. Is that Lionel in his arms?”
“It can’t be me,” Lionel said with a frown. “Statues are for dead people.”
“That’s not true,” Ellie-May said gently. “Actually, I believe it’s supposed to represent one of the children your pa saved from that awful fire.”
She brushed a blond strand of hair away from her daughter’s face. She had worked until the wee hours of the morning putting the finishing touches on Alicia’s dress and was pleased with the results.
Alicia was a pretty child, and the blue calico enhanced the color of her fair skin and brought out the golden highlights of her hair.
Ellie-May had ripped apart one of Neal’s shirts to make a new one for her son. Lionel had been all spit and polished when they’d started out that morning, but the look hadn’t lasted long. Already, his shoes were scuffed and his knee pants dusty. To make matters worse, he had a smudge on his face, and his cowlick stood up like a flagpole. Sighing, she rubbed the dirt off his face with a handkerchief and worked a moist finger through his hair.
So much about Lionel reminded her of Neal. Certainly, he had Neal’s good looks. Still, it worried her that, like his father, Lionel had a tendency to withdraw at times.
Anvil, who had stopped to talk to someone he knew, joined them, and her troubled thoughts vanished. He pulled off his hat. His head falling back like the lid of a coffeepot, he gazed openmouthed at the statue. “That’s a mighty impressive image,” he said.
Ellie-May smiled. “Yes, isn’t it?”
“It sure does look like Mr. Neal,” Anvil added.
Lionel tugged on Anvil’s sleeve. “You can be a statue even if you aren’t dead,” he said.
Anvil’s gaze shifted downward. “Is that so?”
Alicia nodded in agreement. “Do you think they’ll make a statue of you?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Anvil said and winked at Ellie-May. He then lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone to address the children. “Guess what I saw? A juggler. Whatya say we go and have a look?” He spotted Mrs. Buttonwood, and his eyes suddenly took on a frenzied look. “Oh no! Come along. There’s no time to waste.”
Before Ellie-May could object, Anvil had steered Lionel and Alicia away. “Hurry back,” she called as they disappeared in the crowd. When the ceremony started, she wanted her children by her side. Their presence would be the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
Forcing herself to breathe, she glanced around. Then she saw him—the Texas Ranger—and he was looking straight at her. Shooting him a visual dagger, she quickly turned away.
Much to her annoyance, the Ranger failed to take the hint. Instead, he suddenly appeared by her side and tipped his wide-brimmed gray hat politely. “Mrs. Blackwell.”
She glared at him. “If you don’t mind, Mr.…”
“Taggert,” he said. “Matt Taggert.”
“Mr. Taggert, the ceremony is about to start.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said. “Feel free to ignore me.”
That she would have gladly done, had it been possible. But he wasn’t an easy man to ignore. Standing as tall and straight as a maypole, his height alone made him stand out in the crowd, not to mention his broad shoulders and long, sturdy legs.
It was also hard not to notice what a handsome man he was. Piercing brown eyes stared out from a rugged, square face. The set of his jaw boasted a stubborn streak; the square of his shoulders touted strength and determination.
Everything about him suggested power and grit. He looked like a man accustomed to asking questions and demanding answers. A force to be reckoned with. Trouble with a capital T.
Regarding him with more than a little apprehension, Ellie-May’s mouth ran dry. “I thought you would have left town by now,” she said. If indeed he’d come to town to talk to Neal, there was no reason for him to stay. “Being that your business here is done.” The last was a question as much as a statement.
Some emotion she couldn’t decipher flickered in the golden-brown depths of his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am. But it looks like I’ll be around a while longer,” he said.
“Because of the stagecoach robbery?” she asked.
He hesitated a moment before answering. “It appears that someone from Haywire committed that crime, and my job is to find out who.”
Ellie-May drew in her breath. Neal wasn’t mentioned by name, but she got the distinct impression that the Ranger still considered her husband a suspect. Why else would he take the time to attend Neal’s memorial service?
“So why are you wasting your time here?” she asked.
“Just paying my respects, ma’am. Just paying my respects.” He tossed a nod at the motley band. “Interesting choice of music,” he added after a short pause.
She stiffened. Until he’d mentioned it, she’d not paid much attention to the music. Had she known that the band would choose selections from an opera about pirates, she would have objected. “I had nothing to do with the choice.”
The Ranger arched an eyebrow. “If you had, what would you have chosen to mark the occasion?”
“‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’” she said with meaning.
Affording her a crooked smile that made her heart flutter, the Ranger glanced at the mayor, who had now taken his place behind the podium. “Looks like they’re about to get started,” Taggert said with a tip of his hat. “I’ll let you enjoy the ceremony in peace.”
She locked her gaze with his. “I hope you catch…your man,” she said.
“Oh, I will, Mrs. Blackwell. You can count on it.”
4
Matt waited for the 3:05 train to pull into the Haywire station. It was hot and humid, and the open-air station offered no shade.
He had sent his captain a telegram requesting a meeting. Captain McDonald had granted Matt five minutes, the amount of time between train stops. A firm believer that anything of importance could be said in three minutes or less, the captain was being uncharacteristically generous with his time.
Matt had accepted his new orders under protest. He felt like his time would be better spent tracking down his outlaw brother before Charley hurt someone or got hurt himself.
So far, Cha
rley was wanted only for bank robberies, but things could quickly escalate. Most victims of holdups were shot by accident, and Matt feared it was only a matter of time before Charley or one of his victims suffered the consequences.
It was bad enough that Charley was a thief. A bank robber, for crying out loud. Pa would turn over in his grave if he knew how Charley had turned out.
Matt blamed himself. He was the oldest, and it had been his responsibility to watch out for his younger siblings, especially after his pa died and his ma had taken to a sickbed. Had he been too lenient with Charley? Too strict? What signs had he missed that Charley was heading for a life of crime?
Matt had been so close—so very close to catching his brother. Fool that he was, he’d expected his brother to surrender nice and peaceful-like. Never had he imagined that the boy who had once idolized him, the boy who Matt had nursed through illness and childhood injuries, would one day pull a gun on him. It hurt just thinking about it.
To make matters worse, Matt’s failure to capture his brother hadn’t just hurt him personally but also professionally. As a result, his captain had yanked Matt off the case. Said he was too close to the situation to be effective.
Matt disagreed. Okay, so he’d underestimated Charley that one time, but that was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. Family apparently meant nothing to Charley. That much was clear. Never again would Matt let his personal feelings get in the way of his job.
But orders were orders, and the sooner he cleared up this matter in Haywire, the sooner he could persuade the captain that he was the best man to end his brother’s crime spree.
Matt’s thoughts fled as the train chugged into the station, right on time. Several passengers disembarked, including James McDonald, captain of Texas Rangers Company F.
Stepping onto the platform, the captain glanced around. He acknowledged Matt with a nod before heading his way. He matched Matt in height, physical power, and resolve, but that was where the similarities ended.
The Outlaw's Daughter Page 3
