He ate the food and wondered why Mrs. Whitson had come to Duston. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t know what he could say to her. He had no excuse. He was alive, and Susanna was dead.
For all he knew, she just wanted to see the grave. He’d not seek her out. Mrs. Whitson could come find him. He threw a coin on the table and left. He wasn’t in any mood to talk to anyone, so he left to go home. Back to the black hole he’d made for himself. In the back of his mind, he thought about the yellow rose Grace Whitson had carried into the diner. Then again, Carol could have been wrong. He’d known her to confuse a cornflower with a daisy.
* * *
Iris Singleton pounded on the door. The sheriff said the bounty hunter lived here, and the garden was evidence that someone was taking care of the place. She had to admire the roses and vegetable garden. Hungry, she’d taken a tomato and indulged. But she needed him. Now.
“Rand Ketcham! Are you in there?”
The sheriff had said Rand, that’s what he called him, she guessed formality was gone out here in Texas, anyway, the sheriff said Rand didn’t take to strangers or even welcome old friends. Seems his wife’s death had made him a recluse. She gave a half-hearted laugh. “A recluse who likes roses.”
“You don’t find many out here in Texas.”
She whirled. It had to be him. His face haggard. His brown eyes hard and full of suspicion. He wasn’t riding but leading a horse that looked as tired as he did.
“Roses or recluses?” She extended a hand to him. “Mr. Rand Ketcham?”
He squinted at her, one corner of his lip going up in a sign of disgust as he ignored her outstretched hand.
More irritated than embarrassed at his refusal to be courteous, she clasped her gloved hands together. “I’m Iris Singleton. I need to, well, I need to hire you.”
His gaze and expression remained steady. “That so. What exactly for?”
She sputtered. “You’re a bounty hunter, right?”
He shook his head. “Used to be.”
She darted a look at the gun at his side. “That pistol says you’re still in business.”
He patted the gun. “For protection only.”
“I don’t believe you.” She opened her bag and took out some cash. “I can pay. It’s important.”
“Not to me.” He smiled a wry grin.
He was playing her, and no one played Iris Singleton. “Perhaps I’ll return after you’ve had a good meal and rest. You look like you’ve had a rough time.” She shoved the money back into her reticule and closed it tight.
“I just ate. Did the sheriff happen to mention that I’m not looking for work?”
She hadn’t figured on that. Sight of money usually brought out the interest of the wariest. She stared at him. “I’ll see you later.”
He didn’t answer, walked past her, and went inside his cabin, shutting the door with the sound of finality.
“Well, Rand Ketcham, you don’t know Iris Singleton.” She dusted her hands and climbed into the small buggy she’d rented. She’d go back and get some dinner. Maybe give Rand some time to rest. The man certainly looked like he needed it. That and a good bath and a shave.
She’d return tomorrow morning. She needed his help to find Baxter Dalton. She’d followed Baxter’s trail to Dallas and lost him. Iris snapped the reins. Yes, her family had warned her about Baxter. Father had described him as one with itchy feet. A shiftless man that wouldn’t stay put no matter the reason or woman.
A tear worked its way down her cheek. That wasn’t true. She knew it. Even if Baxter did take the thousand her father had offered him to leave her stranded at the altar in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Father hadn’t meant for her to find out, and no doubt, he had his men searching for her. But she loved Baxter, and he loved her. She had to find him.
She’d read about Rand Ketcham. The legend went that he’d been the best bounty hunter in the country until his wife tragically died. She twirled a strand of her dark cinnamon hair. She would get him to help her find Baxter. One thing she was sure of, she would have her way.
***
Rand threw his hat on the table, undid his gunbelt, and slung it on the peg by the door. He had to admit, helping Rose and Ben had brightened his view of life. He regretted not going to their wedding, but he didn’t want to suffer through the sweet memories of his marriage to Susanna and their love. “Forever,” he and Susanna had whispered to one another.
However, Susanna’s forever hadn’t lasted very long. Then, with her dying breath, she’d begged him to stay alive until he was assured of eternal life so that they could walk together in paradise. He’d have killed himself a dozen times over in the last two years if it hadn’t been for her last words.
His arm ached, but it was just a flesh wound. Doc had said it would heal if he kept it clean. He rubbed his jaw. Yeah, he needed to clean up. No wonder that woman, Iris something or other, had looked at him with a taste of disgust. Hire him? What was she thinking? What was the sheriff thinking sending her out here? Rand wasn’t for hire for anyone or anything. He’d thought he made that clear after Rose came looking for help finding Ben.
And who did this Iris Whoever think she was? That smug look on her face. A pretty face, he’d admit, but she kept her nose high enough in the air, he feared she’d drowned like a turkey chick in the rain. That and the woman acted as if she owned him. She would be the last person he would hire out to if he was for hire.
After cleaning up, he made a pot of coffee. A change from what he’d drank before Rose had begged him to help. He’d since thrown out all the whiskey. Just as well, he hadn’t had a drop since leaving with Rose to find Ben. He sat at the table and stared outside. To the roses. Susanna’s roses.
He still missed her, but after helping Rose and Ben, the deep pain had healed some. For the first time in over two years, he noticed the yellow rosebush, the Lady Banks, had bloomed. Maybe it was Susanna smiling down on him. After all, Rose had said she’d be praying for him.
A grin broke out of his usual frown. He had no doubt Rose would pray for him, and he’d seen her prayers work. A dark cloud passed through his thoughts. His prayers had gone unheard. He’d prayed for all he was worth for Susanna to live, but she’d died. Because of him. Maybe it was the blood money.
Well, he’d given up bounty hunting. He tended his garden. Had even added a vegetable garden this spring. Already, he’d had tasty tomatoes. But he was out of the hunt for outlaws or missing fiancés.
He stared at the roses and remembered that Carol had said Mrs. Whitson was looking for him. That could not be good.
For more books by Patricia PacJac Carroll
Mail Order Brides of Misfit Ranch Bluebonnet, Texas
Nettie’s Love
A Bluebonnet Misfit Christmas
Yancy’s Bride
***Other series by Patricia PacJac Carroll that you might enjoy:***
Mail Order Brides of Hickory Stick Books 1-8
Brides of Black Horse Mesa Books 1-3
Montana Brides of Solomon's Valley Books 1-4
Books by Patricia PacJac Carroll
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Lawfully Saved: Inspirational Christian Historical Page 10