The Outlaw's Daughter

by Margaret Brownley

  Ellie-May regarded her son with raised eyebrows. “How can you say that, Lionel? Your pa took you fishing all the time.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t teach me to fish.” Lionel turned to Matt to explain. “Once I caught this really big fish, but it got away.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked as indignant as it was possible for a six-year-old to look. “I asked Papa to help but he wouldn’t. He said I had to reel it in by myself.”

  “Your pa helped you more than you know,” Matt said, surprised to find himself defending his suspect. But he could hardly let a child think poorly of his father. Happy memories of the past might be all Lionel would have to fall back on, should his father be proven guilty of a crime.

  “He did?” Lionel asked, looking unconvinced.

  Matt nodded. “He helped you by teaching you the magic of fishing.”

  Lionel frowned. “The magic?”

  “That’s right. Had your pa helped you bring it in, the fish would have been this big.” Matt held his hands six inches apart. “But between the time a fish takes the bait and gets away, it magically grows this big.” He spread his hands as far apart as he could. “That gives you bragging rights.”

  Lionel’s eyes grew wide. “You mean I can brag about the fish that got away?”

  “You’re not a fisherman unless you do,” Matt said. “It’s a rule.”

  Ellie-May rolled her eyes, but she looked pleased. “I’m afraid you might have created a monster,” she whispered for Matt’s ears only and handed Alicia an empty pitcher.

  “Not a monster,” Matt whispered back and laughed. “I created a real fisherman.”

  Alicia filled the pitcher from the water pump and placed it in the center of the table. She then took the seat opposite her brother.

  Ellie-May sat at the head of the table, and Matt took the chair across from her. Her gaze traveled the length of the table to meet his. “Would you care to say the blessing?”

  He glanced at the children on both sides of him and cleared his throat. Before his father died, they had always said a blessing before meals. But since leaving home, he’d fallen out of the habit. Fortunately, he recalled the words to his father’s simple grace.

  “Our Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this food we’re about to receive…”

  No sooner had he said “amen” than Lionel dug into his bowl. He seemed oblivious to his sister’s glaring looks.

  “You’re supposed to wait for the guest to start eating first,” Alicia scolded.

  “I’m here as a friend, not a guest,” Matt said, catching Ellie-May’s eye. It wasn’t often that he got to enjoy such warm hospitality, and he meant to make the most of it. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get back to work and recall all the reasons why Ellie-May Blackwell was off-limits.

  He couldn’t tell for certain what she was thinking, but he hoped the slightly upturned mouth meant she regarded him as a friend and not an enemy, at least for tonight.

  Savoring the appetizing smell, he dove into his meal. The stew tasted every bit as good as expected. Unfortunately, his pleasure didn’t come without guilt. Jesse would probably miss out on a decent meal tonight.

  “Delicious,” he said, and his praise brought a pretty flush to Ellie-May’s cheeks.

  Lowering her eyes, she moistened her lips before turning to her daughter. “Why aren’t you eating, Alicia?”

  Alicia folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want Lioney sharing my bed,” she said. “He kicks his feet and talks in his sleep.”

  Ellie-May gave her daughter a stern look. “We have a guest,” she said and immediately corrected herself. “Friend. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear our family squabbles.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Matt said, wiping his bowl clean with a piece of bread. “I had a brother who used to talk in his sleep, too.” Thinking about Charley brought a stab to his heart. As if guessing his thoughts, Ellie-May regarded him with a look of sympathy before turning to her daughter.

  “Alicia, why don’t you sleep with me?” she said. “I promise not to kick or talk in my sleep.”

  The solution put an end to the discussion, and Ellie-May quickly changed the subject. “Mr. Taggert is the man who gave you the music box, Alicia.”

  Alicia turned her head to stare at him, her eyes rounded. “How did you know that’s what I wanted for my birthday?” she asked.

  “A little birdie told me,” Matt replied.

  “Was it a parrot?” Lionel asked.

  Ellie-May gave her son a loving smile. “It’s just an expression,” she explained before addressing her daughter. “What do you say to Mr. Taggert?” she prompted.

  “Thank you,” Alicia said. “I really, really like it.”

  A look of exasperation fleeted across Lionel’s face. “She plays it all the time,” he complained.

  Matt drew his napkin to his mouth and winked at the boy as if to commiserate.

  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you dessert,” Ellie-May said. “I planned on making a pie but ran out of time.”

  Matt held up his hand. “Not to worry. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  Ellie-May glanced at her children in turn. “You are excused,” she said.

  Rising, Lionel and Alicia gathered up their dirty dishes and carried them to the sink.

  “How big was the fish that got away?” Matt called to the boy.

  Lionel’s broad smile lit up the whole room. “This big,” he said and spread his arms wide.

  Ellie-May waited for the children to leave the room before speaking. “You’re very good with them,” she said.

  Matt shrugged. “I’ve always had a fondness for young’uns.”

  She hesitated a moment before asking, “Your brother—?”

  “Still on the lam,” Matt said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, so am I.”

  She moistened her lips. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior,” she said. “When Alicia is anxious, she tends to take it out on those around her.”

  “I hope she’s not anxious because of me.”

  Ellie-May shook her head. “No. She’s just worried about Anvil. Both children are very fond of him. He’s been a blessing.”

  “Sounds like you’re lucky to have him.”

  “I am,” Ellie-May said, rising from her chair. “Would you care for some coffee?”

  “Thank you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble,” she said and walked to the stove. Returning to the table with the coffeepot, she hesitated. “Alicia said she met you on the road.” It was a question as much as a statement.

  “Yes, I was on the way to the Rocking M Ranch.”

  “Oh?”

  He waited until she filled his cup before explaining. “I’m looking for a man named Roberts. I heard that a man matching his description might work there. Do you know him?”

  “Not really…” She set the coffeepot on a trivet and sat. She hesitated as if trying to decide how little or how much to say. “A Mr. Roberts arrived on my doorstep claiming to be a friend of my husband’s,” she said.

  “Claiming?”

  “Neal never mentioned his name. I had no knowledge of him until he showed up on my doorstep, offering his condolences and services.”

  “What kind of services?”

  “He offered to repair the…roof and other things. He said it was his way of honoring his friend’s memory. I told him I couldn’t pay him, but he insisted upon doing the work for free.”

  “And did he?”

  “No, Anvil didn’t trust him and told him not to come back.”

  Matt sipped his coffee as he mulled over this new information. Recalling Roberts’s shifty eyes, Matt didn’t blame her farmhand for not trusting him.

  Ellie-May had no way of knowing it, but she had j
ust confirmed what Jesse had told him. Roberts and Neal Blackwell had a connection of some sort. Were they in cahoots? Even if they had been, that didn’t explain why Roberts had come back and offered to work at the farm for free. Unless…

  Matt sucked in his breath. Unless Roberts knew that the stolen money was hidden on the farm somewhere. If that were true, did Ellie-May know where it was? She sure in blazes was holding something back. He felt it in his gut. There had to be a reason why she was so guarded whenever he made mention of the stage robbery or her late husband.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked. “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I best get a move on.” The longer he was in her company, the less objective he became. That was not good. A Texas Ranger couldn’t afford to let his emotions get in the way of doing his job. Matt had allowed that to happen once with his brother, and he had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

  He rose, surprised at how unwilling he was to leave the warm comfort of her home. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a month of Sundays, and I’m much obliged.”

  This time, Ellie-May smiled without reservation, and he couldn’t recall seeing a prettier sight. It suddenly became necessary to make a quick exit.

  Two disturbing thoughts accompanied him as he rode back to town. One concerned Roberts and his reason for volunteering to work on the Blackwell farm. The other thought was more personal, more worrisome, and involved haunting blue eyes and a dazzling warm smile.

  17

  The following morning, Mrs. Buttonwood arrived on Ellie-May’s doorstep minutes after Doc Avery had left. As usual, she was dressed in a pair of overalls, a man’s shirt, and a floppy felt hat.

  “Heard about Anvil,” she said. It was obvious by the basket slung over her arm that she intended to take over his care. The basket held enough jars and vials to fill a druggist’s shelves.

  Sighing, Ellie-May stepped aside. She hoped Anvil would forgive her, but she welcomed the extra help. Taking care of Anvil along with all her other duties had already worn her to a frazzle.

  So far, Anvil had survived the snakebite, but whether he would survive Mrs. Buttonwood’s good intentions was another matter. The woman meant well, but she could be overbearing at times and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “I’ll show you to his room,” Ellie-May said.

  Anvil was sitting up in bed when they walked in. That morning, the doctor had applied a poultice to the snake wound, and Anvil’s lower leg was covered with white gauze.

  His fever had broken but he was still weak. Judging by the horrified look on his face at the sight of Mrs. Buttonwood, he had recovered enough to know his troubles were far from over.

  “I brought you some special salves,” Mrs. Buttonwood said and set her basket on the floor next to his bed. “They’re old family remedies and will extract the poisons from your body.”

  Ellie-May cast an apologetic look at Anvil and left the two alone before he could object. She returned to the kitchen where Lionel waited for her at the kitchen table. His schoolbook yawned open in front of him, and his beloved fishing pole was propped against an empty chair.

  Unlike Alicia, who seemed to absorb knowledge like a sponge, Lionel struggled with schoolwork.

  With her own limited education, Ellie-May had trouble helping him with history and grammar, but she was fairly good at arithmetic. Unfortunately, Lionel didn’t take after her in that regard.

  She sat at the table and watched him laboriously add the numbers of a problem and write down the answer.

  “That’s the way, Lionel. Now do the next one.”

  Anvil yelled out from the back bedroom, and Lionel looked up, his eyes rounded. “Is he okay?”

  “I’m sure he is.” Ellie-May sighed. “But I better go and check.”

  She hurried down the hall to the children’s room and peered through the doorway. Anvil was yelling and kicking his feet, his bedcovers on the floor. Bent over him, Mrs. Buttonwood ignored his protests as she rubbed foul-smelling liniment on his bare chest.

  Ellie-May had no idea what was in the ointment, but it sure did smell like ammonia and it stank up the room.

  “That burns!” Anvil yelled, thrashing around.

  “It’s supposed to burn,” Mrs. Buttonwood yelled back. “Now keep still!”

  The yelling and screaming continued for a good half hour before silence prevailed. The sudden quiet was just as worrisome.

  The next time Ellie-May checked on Anvil, it was to make certain he was still breathing.

  “She’s trying to kill me,” he complained the moment Ellie-May entered the room.

  Looking undaunted, Mrs. Buttonwood appeared about to attack him with another homemade concoction. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

  The yelling and screaming that followed could probably be heard clear to the next state.

  * * *

  Matt rode out to the McKnight Ranch that morning, hoping to track down Roberts. From what he’d heard, the Rocking M Ranch was the largest privately owned ranch in the county, and now that he saw it with his own eyes, he believed it.

  The foreman went by the name of Boomer, probably because of his loud voice. Even when he was talking normally, he sounded like he was shouting through a speaking trumpet.

  “Don’t know a Roberts,” he said in answer to Matt’s question. “’Course that don’t mean nothing. No one ’round here goes by his real name. What does he look like?”

  Matt described him the best he could.

  Boomer rubbed his chin. “That sure does sound like the man we call Hobbs.”

  “Hobbs?”

  “Yeah, we call him that on account of his leg,” Boomer said.

  Matt frowned. “What’s wrong with his leg?”

  “He hobbles.”

  Someone rang the triangle chow bell in front of the bunkhouse. Boomer tossed a nod at one of the men walking toward them. “Here comes Hobbs now,” he said.

  Even from the distance, Matt recognized Roberts, and it was easy to see that he favored his right leg.

  “Hey, Hobbs,” Boomer yelled. “Someone here to see you.” Following his announcement, Boomer walked away.

  Roberts didn’t look happy to see Matt. He was dusty and sweaty, as if he’d been riding hard. “Oh, it’s you again.” He cupped his hands and dipped them into the trough on the side of the building.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” Matt asked.

  “Nothing that you need be concerned about,” Roberts said. He splashed water all over his heated face, washing off the dust but not the scowl. “What do you want?”

  “Our talk got rudely interrupted the other night,” Matt said.

  Roberts eyed him warily. “So?”

  “So I don’t like to leave things hanging.”

  Roberts yanked a dingy towel off a rusty hook. “Well then, say what you came to say and be done with it.” He wiped his face dry. “I’m a busy man.”

  “The other night, you said you knew Blackwell.”

  Roberts frowned. “Yeah, so?” He slung the wet towel back on the hook. “What of it?”

  “How well did you know him?”

  “Well enough, I guess. Hadn’t seen him for a while. I spent some time in Alaska. Didn’t know he’d bit the dust till I came back.”

  “Alaska, huh?” Matt hung his thumbs from his vest pockets. “Heard that’s beautiful country.”

  “Yeah, if you like dark, cold winters. I swear I went three months at a time without seein’ the light of day.”

  “How long were you there?”

  Roberts shrugged. “Dunno. Two, three years. Why?”

  “What if I told you that someone claims to have seen you and Blackwell together just before he died? That would be a year ago.”

  Roberts eyes narrowed. “I’d say whoever told you that is lyin
’ through his teeth.”

  “Why would anyone lie about something like that?” Matt asked.

  “How should I know?” Roberts scratched his bristly chin. “Maybe someone has it in for Blackwell. Maybe they don’t like him being treated like a hero.”

  “Any reason he shouldn’t be?” Matt asked. “Be treated like a hero, I mean?”

  Roberts’s eyes glittered with hostility. “You know what they say? Martyrs and outlaws are greatly improved by death.”

  Matt considered this a moment before asking, “So which was he? A martyr or outlaw?”

  Roberts shrugged and tugged the brim of his hat. “Like I said, hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. When I knew him, he was just a regular guy.” He walked away without so much as a goodbye, his limp looking more pronounced from the back.

  Until Matt saw Roberts walk, he hadn’t given much credence to the guard’s claim of having shot the stage robber. A well-placed bullet might cause such a limp. The problem was how to prove it. Roberts sure as heck wasn’t talking.

  * * *

  Ellie-May worked the laundry plunger up and down until her arms ached. Though the back porch offered protection from the noontime sun, it was hot as Hades. It was a good day for drying clothes but not for the work involved in washing them.

  Her wash load had nearly tripled in the last couple of days. Anvil had run a fever off and on, which made it necessary to change his bedding at least once a day and sometimes even twice.

  Stopping to brush her damp brow with the back of her hand, she thought she heard laughter. Was that Lionel? It sure did sound like him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him laugh so freely. Certainly not since his pa had died.

  Curious, she set the plunger down. Stepping off the porch, she scanned the yard and heard more laughter. It appeared to be coming from behind the barn. Now what was Lionel doing that brought him such pleasure?

  She crossed to the side of the barn.

  Much to her surprise, they had a visitor, and it was none other than Matt Taggert. The mere sight of him made her heart do a funny flip-flop.

  He was teaching Lionel how to cast a fishing pole. Even from a distance, she could see that Lionel was holding a real store-bought pole, not his homemade stick-and-string one.