Good Lord, he was a weak-spirited man at times. Only when it came to his family. It made him wonder about Jesse, and he hoped that mountain woman stayed out of town and didn’t cause his deputy any trouble. Jesse, no doubt, was out on the trails, hunting for some sign of whoever was abducting women, and that was enough weight to carry.
Nolan slapped leather to the team, and they were off. Kate and Nathanial cheerily began to sing, “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” but switched out the word she’ll with we’ll. Elizabeth squealed, Kate, hand over hand, clapping to the tune with their daughter.
Nolan kept a close eye on Nathanial during the following days. The boy was a little quieter than normal and stuck close to his ma as though it were the last minutes he would spend with her. Apparently, he was apprehensive, more so than Nolan had first believed him to be. There might be a half-cocked idea brewing in that little head about running off. Birch Creek was a big town, almost a city compared to Gray Rock, and with lots of folks in town for the celebration, it would be easy for the pup to slip away. Maybe being reunited with his pal would keep him grounded; although, Deputy had run off to Buttonwood with Nate. Those two together were something else. Knuckleheads. Nolan would just have to be overly watchful.
CHAPTER 7
Nolan steered the team into Birch Creek around midmorning. Nate stood on the seat between him and Kate and shaded his eyes, searching for Deputy. Deputy hopped off a bench in front of the jailhouse. His face lit up with a big, fat smile, and he waved with wild exuberance.
“Pa, they’re here!” Huckabee’s son hollered over his shoulder.
Nolan pulled up on the reins, then locked the wheel chock in place. The jailhouse door swung open. Marshal Huckabee strolled out, extending a hand, and they shook firmly. It was good to see each other.
Nathanial bounded off the seat feet first past Nolan, getting a push. The boys happily eyed one another for half a second, then shot off pounding down the boardwalk toward the Huckabee home. Probably, they were headed for the pond behind the house. It was a favorite spot—mud, frogs, and occasionally a harmless water snake. What else could two little hoodlums long for?
“Nolan, Kate, glad y’all could join us. The missus is looking forward to having ya.” The marshal looked closer, studying Kate.
She wasn’t standing too tall—not that she was tall, the average height for a woman. But today, with her gills green, she stood hunched over and weary-looking, feeble, as though she’d pulled the wagon from Gray Rock to Birch Creek.
“Ma’am, no offense, but it appears the long travel has not agreed with you. Constance has your rooms ready if you’d like to go to the house and rest a spell.”
Kate weakly nodded.
“Where’s your doctor?” Nolan slipped his arm around Kate, holding her steady.
Huckabee pointed down the street. “I hope it’s nothing serious. Is there anything I can do?”
Nolan was about to burst, anxious to share the glorious news. He smiled at his friend. “Kate’s with child.”
He received a hearty spank on the shoulder.
“Congratulations. That is fine news.” Huckabee picked up the reins of the team. “I’ll take your wagon to the house and tell Constance. We’ll wait for ya there.” He clucked at the horses, and the wagon lunged forward.
A half hour later, Nolan and Kate were given the news they’d both been waiting to hear. She was fine, the baby healthy, and sooner or later, the sickness would pass. Kate just needed to take it easy and rest whenever she could. Doctor’s orders—and Nolan would remind her.
After Nolan and Huckabee had the wagon tucked inside the barn and Kate, along with their loaded trunks, squared away at the house with the marshal’s wife, Nolan and Marshal Huckabee headed for the jailhouse. Joseph had to keep his eyes on the town. With so many folks coming in, crowding the streets, hotels, and boarding houses, it could mean trouble. Even bigger trouble could be a jammed-full saloon. There were even people camped out in wagons along the outskirts. Nolan would guess forty or fifty Conestogas. It looked like an entire other town. As lawmen, both men were comfortable in a room with cells and could use that time to catch up.
Nigh to the town square where the jailhouse sat, Nolan happened to glance across the street. Buckboards holding families rolled by, along with single riders, all of which kicked up dust. On the other side stood the Songbird Saloon, a yellow-painted building named after an actress who had stayed after the show she’d been involved with moved on to the next dusty cow town. She claimed to have fallen in love with the owner, Sam, a right smart fella whom Nolan had spoken to numerous times when visiting the Huckabees. The actress’s given name was Lola, and Nolan had been fortunate to have heard her sing and hoped maybe he would get another chance during this stay in Birch Creek.
A prim-looking couple stood at the swinging doors of the saloon, the woman trimmed in lace. She was wearing pearls the size of pennies and carried a folded parasol. Fancy. On tiptoes, they both poked their heads over the threshold and peered inside. The man’s tailored, pinstriped gray suit fit to perfection. Glinting in the sun were his diamond cufflinks. Dandified. They seemed hesitant to step inside but were intently watching something or someone, the lady’s fingers curled over the door. Was the songbird singing?
Lola drew quite a crowd. Even the respectable would gather in the den of gambling, whores, and whiskey to have their ears caressed by that lovely soprano, which usually carried into the street. Though, nothing but the creak of wheels, the swish of horses flicking away flies, and the hum of lots of people filled the air.
There was something else about those two that caught Nolan’s attention, more than the fancy duds. They seemed far out of place. Easterners he would bet. The other folks around him were all of the western variety. The men, even if dressed in broadcloth suits, wore guns. The ladies were mostly sensible in attire, unlike that woman who, even in her impractical high heels, was short. The couple appeared polished in a way that folks who lived west of the Mississippi were not, even the wealthy ones. Hereabouts, it was mostly cattlemen who held big money, rough men who handled cowboys, broncs, cattle, and sometimes rustlers. Their wives might have enjoyed big houses with bought furniture and none of them probably wore homespun clothes, but they cooked, cleaned, raised kids, stood by their menfolk, and fought next to them if need be. That’s how it had been when the area was thick with Indians. Sometimes a woman had to be as tough as her man was.
This lady was tiny, almost doll-like, with porcelain skin. Probably, she never got out in the sun, the fresh air. Certainly, she’d never fought off anything more than the heat, and even that was questionable. They were big city folks, not that Birch Creek wasn’t large. It was by all accounts when compared to all the little one-horse towns all over the Wyoming territory. It was bigger than Gray Rock but smaller than Laramie or Cheyenne. It seemed silly, those two being there. What could Birch Creek offer that a big city fandango wouldn’t have ten times over? Why did he even care? Oddly, it was the lady’s fair hair that drew his eye. Not as white as Nathanial’s, but unusually light for anyone over the age of five.
Nolan owned a canniness for sizing up folks, and those two were too sterling for this place. Not that they weren’t welcome. Everyone was. Birch Creek was a friendly town, but an agenda had probably brought them there, business maybe, traveling through on their way to San Francisco or some important port along the coast. Nolan wasn’t here in any official capacity. This was time to get away from his job. But he couldn’t get away from his instincts, and there was just something about them that bothered him.
About then, the doors flung wide, smacking the couple, which caused them to stumble back, flailing while trying to keep from falling in the dirt. Nathanial and Deputy, snickering like all get-out, plowed straight through without much notice of the couple brushing themselves clean. The man’s face instantly lit up red, his brow furrowed, and he glared at the mischievous boys. Deputy was juggling a big old bumpy bullfrog. The critter was cro
aking and bucking, doing its best to get free. Those little troublemakers must have been teasing Tate. Nolan chuckled.
Tate Horn was a tall, lean man, faster than most with a pistol, who liked to drink and flirt with women, and no matter what, there was always an easygoing way about him that matched his happy-go-lucky grin. No mistake, though, Tate was a hell of a tough man, one to have beside you in a fight, a loyal friend. One thing was strange about him—his almighty fear of frogs, big ones. He hated them. Wouldn’t go near them, not even those served up in a frying pan.
Nolan reckoned that Deputy had played that prank on Tate before, and now he’d gotten Nathanial in on the picking. Kids would be kids. Nolan stepped off the boardwalk toward the saloon, the marshal at his side, and he, too, was shaking his head. Not in town an hour and the boys had already stirred up trouble. They were streaking away and quickly disappeared into an alleyway, likely returning to the pond.
The highfaluting woman ogled after them. Her eyes stretched wide and stuck on the spot where the boys had ducked between the two buildings, her mouth slightly hanging open, showing she was baffled, maybe angry. Perhaps she wanted to give them an earful.
Nolan smirked and pushed through the swinging doors. There was always a good time to be had with Tate.
CHAPTER 8
That had to be the biggest, ugliest bullfrog Nate had ever laid eyes on. Slimiest too. Neither he nor Deputy could stop giggling. What a joke, flopping that fat sucker on the table right smack dab in front of Tate, almost on his lap. He was up out of that chair like a honeybee had stung his behind. Boy oh boy, had he cursed until they grabbed that frog and ran out. Everyone in the Songbird got a kick out of it.
That night at supper, both families were seated at length on each side of the Huckabees’ table. Tate was like a brother to Marshal Huckabee, the same as Jesse was a son to Pa. It was great, them all together, and Nate and Deputy sat near Tate, ribbing him hard about the frog. It made him miss Jesse.
He looked over at his father. “I bet Jesse misses me a whole bunch.”
Pa grinned, setting down his cup. “I don’t doubt it.”
The next day, Pa and Tate took them fishing while the marshal kept an eye on things in town. The carnival people were supposed to be coming in soon, and Nate wouldn’t forget the red balloon he promised to get Jesse. After lunch, their fathers took them hunting for a few hours, and they came back with a mess of rabbits, which was a fine supper. Tate was a little sore that he hadn’t gotten to go since nothing broke out in town. The worst that had happened was some drunk stumbled out of the Songbird and passed out in the street.
Two more days passed with a sunny sky and fluffy white clouds overhead. It was great entertainment, watching the carousel being built. A boxing ring and dunk tank were set up. There was an area roped off for a sporting show claiming the shooter could cut the end of a cigar held in the mouth of a beautiful young woman. Along with that, there would be trick riding. Food stands were taking shape, and a man was walking around on stilts. It was all so exciting. Nate could just pop out of his skin with anticipation.
Earlier that evening, Nate and the rest of the kids were stripped down and made to bathe. Since he and Deputy were the oldest, they got the fresh water. Then in went Miles, Deputy’s little brother, then Ada, his baby sister, and—Ma always said, “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater!”—Elizabeth was last. It had been decided that both families would take supper at the Royal, a restaurant too elegant for Nate’s liking, but he wouldn’t complain. Maybe he and Deputy could slip out early and go sneak a peek into the cage that supposedly held a goat with not two, but three horns growing out of its head.
Pa held the door at the Royal as their party filed into the dining room.
Ma pulled aside Nate. “You and Deputy better behave, or I’ll have your pa take a hand to ya.” There was no joke in her tone. During the last visit, there had been an episode when they got to wrestling in their seats, bumped a waiter, and a serving platter filled with loaded plates was spilled and crashed all over the floor. Hell of a mess. Ma hadn’t forgotten that.
“Yes, ma’am.” He raised his right hand. All he could do was his best, and he glanced at Pa, who patted his shoulder as though saying all would be fine.
They were seated in the middle of a noisy room. Waitresses buzzed past with water pitchers, pots of coffee, and plates of steamy food. Utensils clinked in all corners, and a mushed-together hum of voices almost strangled out the clank of pans coming from the kitchen. The place was packed. Nate reckoned they were lucky there was no wait. His belly growled.
Of course he and Deputy sat together, and they had sneakily chosen chairs to space themselves from their mothers, which wasn’t hard since Ma would need to feed Elizabeth and Mrs. Huckabee had to tend to her two younger children. Pa and the marshal where next in the line of seats, sitting across from one another. Then Nate and his best pal sat on the end.
The food was ordered, and while they waited, they conversed the same as everyone else in the dining room. Nate took a good look around and recognized the man who’d been on stilts. Then he noticed some woman at a table between them. She was openly staring at him. How rude.
He nudged Deputy under the table. “Ain’t that the same lady from outside the saloon? The one we almost ran over.”
His best friend nodded.
Nate once again looked over. His gaze met hers. She lifted her chin a mite, and there was a snooty air about her. Nate didn’t like the smell of first class. Anyone who thought they were better than everyone else could kiss his big toe. Besides, her gawking was irritating. She needed to knock it off. A grown-up should know better. He’d show her. He stuck out his tongue, which earned a tap on the head from Pa.
“Ignore her,” Pa said, but then he did the exact opposite. His dark-blue eyes were fastened on the uppity-looking couple, and the hard look he gave was none too friendly.
Pa was protective, but Nate sensed it wasn’t only that. Who were those people? He hadn’t seen Pa or even the marshal talk to either one, but now that he was thinking about it, he’d seen them both around and always a little too close. But there were lots of folks in town, and he had crossed paths with hundreds of them over the past few days. Everyone seemed to buzz all around, watching the happenings before the big shindig. It was probably just a coincidence.
Nate ate his plate clean, his gut about to burst. Ma would chew him out if he unbuttoned his pants there, but then again, he’d be able to breathe easier. When the waitress asked if anyone would like dessert, Nate vigorously shook his head. Maybe if he walked around, got some fresh air, he’d feel better. Under the table, he tapped Deputy’s shin. When he put down his glass of milk and looked across the table, Nate subtly pointed with his chin at the door. Deputy winked.
It was doubtful they would be set loose at that hour, even if they promised to stay on the bench just outside. But that’s not what either of them had in mind. To two boys of their age, the forbidden nightlife that went on around them while they were stuck in bed seemed far more exciting than everything they saw during the day. Tonight, the songbird was to perform, and there’d been talk of a dance outside town where all the wagons were parked, where those folks who had come too late to get a room at the hotel or boarding house were camped.
“Pa,” Deputy said. The marshal looked over while chewing on a hunk of steak. “I gotta use the outhouse.” He squirmed in his seat just enough to hint that it was an emergency.
“Go on.”
“Nate should go with me.”
Before Deputy could give a reason, the marshal’s brow shot up. It was a definite sign of suspicion. Deputy better come up with something good or they’d be stuck there through dessert, and none of the adults seemed to be in a hurry. Nate’s pa wasn’t even done with his meal yet.
“Why? Does he suddenly have to relieve himself too?” the marshal asked dryly, a knowing look on his face.
With a lawman for a father, it was hard to get away with anything. Th
at didn’t mean Nate wouldn’t try.
“Well, sir.” He cleared his throat. “When a book ain’t available,”—meaning Deputy would not be using the outhouse at his home where reading material was at hand—“some company outside the door might do instead.”
He had another thought that quite possibly might be more convincing, because the marshal’s brow was still arched as if he didn’t believe a single word Nate was shoveling.
“Plus, the sun’s going down. Kinda scary sittin’ in thar when it’s dark.” He shivered for added believability. They were just children, knee-high to a grasshopper, and what he’d said was a little bit true. He’d pestered Jesse on more than one moonless night to guard the outside while he did his business.
They turned on their best pouts, pleading with cute faces for permission. This usually never worked on Nate’s pa. Maybe the marshal would fall for it, but he laughed and glanced at Pa, who put an arm around Nate’s shoulders and gave a small squeeze.
“What are you boys up to?” Pa wasn’t going to let them leave the table without knowing the truth. It was time to fess up, as if Pa hadn’t already guessed.
“We just wanna go look around … by ourselves,” he added in a soft tone.
Pa did something strange then. He looked across the room at the snooty couple, the one that had been staring at Nate earlier. They were watching him again, then glanced away as soon as they realized their odd behavior was noticed.
“Stay where I can see ya.” Behind their party was a window. If Pa angled his chair just a mite, he could see nearly the whole length of the street.
They quickly promised, then swiftly zigzagged between tables and glided out the door. Nate glanced then waved at Pa watching them, coffee raised to his lips.
From among the campers, a fiddler made music that flowed into the street, creating a sense of peace as the orange hue of the sleepy sun hugged the skyline. Someone tooted on a jug. Shadows blanketed the ground in places, and soon, the land would be covered in black. Lights were being lit along the street, and one by one, lanterns came on inside the dwellings that stood among the businesses.
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