Cheyenne had brought him over to the doctor’s office.
“He shot Rachel Hobart.” Cheyenne pointed to the Pinkerton agent. “Shot her from cover.”
“Did you see him shoot the woman?”
Falcon’s stomach twisted. He’d been afraid there might be trouble in Casper. Kingston was a known man in this town. Falcon was a stranger.
“Greg, you know how good a tracker I am,” Cheyenne cut in.
Falcon did have a hideout weapon though. His wife.
The sheriff nodded.
“We were riding along, strung out on a narrow trail. Rachel third in line,” Cheyenne said. “He picked her to kill. It was deliberate, and the bullet hit her chest dead center. Only because of the distance and Rachel’s layers of clothes is she still alive. We ducked for cover and then worked out where the shot came from. And Falcon is an even better tracker than I am.”
Gatlin glanced at Falcon, looking impressed.
Falcon didn’t smile, but it made a man feel mighty fine to hear his woman speak highly of him. And Cheyenne didn’t like admitting anyone could out-track her, so it was a real compliment.
It seemed Sheriff Gatlin knew that, too. “Really? He’s better’n you?” He pulled off a dirty white Stetson and scratched a thatch of gray hair. Then his eyes turned to Falcon. “That’s sayin’ something, mister.”
“We slipped around and found him. Still aiming at the trail. After that first shot hit Rachel, Cheyenne and I made for the forest while he fired more times. I think he stayed there, covering the trail just in case he got another chance at us, but Rachel Hobart was clearly his main target.”
“He needs to be patched up some.” The sheriff went over and clipped one handcuff on the prisoner and one on a leg of the bed. He was nice enough to cuff the hand that wasn’t bleeding. That seemed considerate of him. Or maybe he just thought he couldn’t cause much trouble with a shot-up hand.
Falcon took it as a sign Gatlin trusted them, or at least he trusted Cheyenne.
The doctor was leaving the lawyer till last and working on Rachel. He straightened from where he’d been working on her chest and held up a small, round object.
“This saved her life.”
Falcon, Cheyenne, and the sheriff all leaned closer.
“Is that a . . . button?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yep, a good-sized metal button was inside the wound. The bullet hit it and drove it into her chest. But it slowed down the bullet. The button was flat, not as easy to embed in the skin. God was watching out for her today.”
Cheyenne looked at Falcon and smiled. Neither of them had done much smiling since Rachel was hit.
“She’s still knocked cold. There’s a bump on the back of her head. I’d say she hit a stone or the knot of a tree root when she fell. No bleeding but she’s knocked into a good solid sleep. I’ll put in a few stitches here, and it’s just as well she be unconscious for that part. But she’ll be fine.”
Falcon reached out and caught Cheyenne’s hand. “I didn’t like her much at first. Now I’m real happy she’s gonna be okay.”
“I reckon we still oughta hang Kingston,” Sheriff Gatlin said. “And if we’re gonna, it seems like a waste of your time to patch him up, Doc Reynolds. But he probably oughta be able to get out of bed to stand trial, so it has to be done.”
“Got no other cases once I finish with Miss Hobart, here,” Reynolds said with a shrug. “I don’t mind a few more stitches.”
“Can we go look through his office?” Cheyenne asked. “We have no idea why he wanted Rachel dead. We’re hoping we can find a reason he turned murderer.”
“I oughta come along, but I don’t want to leave Doc alone with this varmint, even with the shackles on. You’re gonna find Kingston isn’t well liked in Casper. A sharp character who’s cheated more than a few. Shooting someone from cover don’t surprise me overly. Finding his reasons don’t make no never mind. Can you look around without my help?”
“Be pleased to, Sheriff Gatlin,” Falcon said.
The sheriff reached in Kingston’s pocket and pulled out a key ring holding three keys. “Seen him with this clutch of keys plenty of times. He had a habit of tossing them up and catching them while he’d stand talking. His office, the rooms abovestairs where he lived, and the third one I don’t know. His house is the nicest one in town, on the north side, just up at the end of the street outside. You won’t miss it. Town’s too humble for such a house. Never was sure why Kingston settled here. Bring the keys back, and let me know what you find.”
Nodding, Falcon went out, Cheyenne right behind him.
They didn’t bother to untie their horses. It wasn’t far to the north end of a town barely clinging to life after the fort left.
“Let’s send the telegram first and post the letter,” Cheyenne said. “Asking the Pinkertons to look into your ma’s death doesn’t seem so important anymore, but it needs to be done. And the Pinkertons need to know what happened to Rachel.”
Cheyenne thought a moment. “She told us not to mention her name, but I think she was afraid she was dying. With the man who shot her arrested, do we still keep the details a secret?”
Considering it carefully, Falcon said, “I’d say we’d better do as she asked. If we don’t hear anything from the Pinkertons, we can wire them again, tell them straight out what happened.”
They sent the wire and posted the letter, then headed for Kingston’s office.
It stood off by itself, looking more like a house than an office. A mighty grand building for a small town. They walked up five majestic steps to a porch that stretched across the front. The biggest key fit perfectly.
Seventeen
Molly picked up the pitcher and walked upstairs, making as little sound as possible without actually tiptoeing, for fear Mr. Hawkins would notice that. She recognized that she was making mental excuses, practicing explanations, in case Mr. Hawkins asked her what she was doing.
This was how a fearful woman behaved. Young as she’d been, she remembered her ma acting this way. Trying to avoid her husband’s wrath. In the end, Ma hadn’t been able to.
Molly walked straight to his room and set the pitcher in place. Moving fast and listening for Mr. Hawkins to come upstairs and bother her, or worse, she crouched and saw the envelopes still in place with the kitchen knife beside them. She grabbed all of it, tucking the envelopes deep into her pocket and hiding the knife in the folds of her skirt. Then she rushed out of the room. She caught herself before she broke into a run.
Back in the kitchen, she replaced the knife and continued cooking, trying to decide if she needed to peek at the envelopes first or just flat out quit. Walk out now, find Wyatt, and ride for home. Open the envelopes when they were safe.
She wished Wyatt would come to the back door again. Talk to her, make a plan. He would come to her window tonight. If she didn’t just up and leave before then, she’d wait for Wyatt, check what she had, then they’d leave together in the night after Mr. Hawkins went to sleep. Evidence or not, she was done here.
She agonized over whether to keep the envelopes in hand, and fear the crinkle of paper as she moved, or hide them in her satchel. She didn’t want to let them out of her sight. She found a solution she could live with. She hid the envelopes in a place Mr. Hawkins could expect a fat lip if he touched her.
Then she went back to her baking, slid the pie in the oven—no vinegar because she planned to have some herself—got potatoes on and sliced ham to fry. She couldn’t do much of anything fancy because her hands tended to start shaking.
Mr. Hawkins came to the kitchen early for dinner as usual. To watch her work.
She smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee. She’d learned his preferences: bring the cup to the table, then get the pot and bring it to the table, and pour. He said he liked it piping hot and that helped, but in truth he liked her standing near him.
While he sipped coffee, she got the table set. Next the pie was out of the oven, the potatoes were mashed, and the
ham was keeping warm on a platter on the back of the stove.
Setting the table, she was surprised when Mr. Hawkins rose. He seemed to like to sit and be served. She half expected him to ask her to cut his meat and fork it into his mouth.
“Everything’s ready, Mr. Hawkins. I’m just bringing the coffeepot over.” She reached for the big pot on the back of the stove, thinking of how she’d liked the idea of having the big water pitcher between them. Even better to have the boiling hot coffeepot.
Before she got hold of it, Mr. Hawkins caught her arm and pulled her away from the stove.
Startled, she squeaked as he turned her to face him. “Molly, I think it’s time we talked of things other than food and drink.”
This was it, then. Whatever he said right now, she’d have to leave. Assuming he allowed it. There’d be no staying for another day once words came out of his mouth that suggested they be more than employer and employee.
“I’ve enjoyed having your help here. You’re the best housekeeper I’ve ever had. But my feelings—”
A sharp rap on the back door made him back up a few steps just as the door swung open.
Molly looked, hopeful it would be Wyatt but glad for any interruption.
“Hi, Pa, Kevin and I thought we’d stop in for dinner.” Win waved with a big, if somewhat phony, smile on her face. She came on in and headed for the table.
Kevin was right behind her.
“Oliver, good to see you and Molly.” Kevin walked straight to her, his expression mild, pleasant, but his eyes were sharp, and he clearly wanted to know how she was doing.
“Kevin.” She lost all control of herself and threw her arms around her big brother.
Catching her by the waist, Kevin lifted her to her toes. “I’ve missed you, little sister.”
He gave her too tight a squeeze, and close to her like this, he whispered, “I want a chance to talk to you before we go.”
She hid the flinch when his squeeze hurt her arm. But maybe she didn’t hide it well enough because his eyes narrowed.
Molly got ahold of herself and said brightly, “I’ve made plenty of food. Let me add plates to the table.”
With the first genuine smile she’d managed while Mr. Hawkins was in the room, she hurried around, setting places for them. Mr. Hawkins was at the head of the table as always, and Molly sat at the foot, closest to the stove should she need to fetch anything.
Win got busy pouring coffee and talking lightly with her father.
Knowing how Win felt about her pa, for them to come for a visit gave Molly a sweet rush of love for her sister-in-law. She had to stop mourning the loss of a brother and start celebrating that she’d gained a sister.
The food was dished up. Mr. Hawkins was doing his usual wide smiles and charm. Something Molly knew was only skin deep—and his skin was extremely thin.
The meal was eaten, the pie served. Win and Kevin remarked on the wonderful food. Mr. Hawkins now talked favorably about her cooking, too, instead of acting like he was entitled to hard work and fine cooking from his servant.
They talked about general things while they ate, but after the pie was finished, Win said, “I’d like to stay awhile, Pa.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve realized since I married Kevin and we’ve talked about our families that I don’t know that much about Ma or you or how you grew up.”
“Well, you can hardly fault me for not telling you stories, Winona.” His voice had a sarcastic edge. “You left before you were old enough to remember much, and since you’ve come home, you’re never here.”
“You’re right, but I’d like to change all that.” Color bloomed high in Win’s cheeks, but she clung to a smile and a pleasant tone. “Now, as an adult woman, a married woman, I’d like to learn more about your childhood and Ma’s. I’d like to better understand where I came from. I have faint memories of Ma’s mother, and I knew of Grandpa, but I can barely remember their names. I know we came from Chicago to here, but what did Grandpa do in Chicago? What work did you do back there? And I’m sure I’ve never heard a thing about your family. I would like to know more. What were Grandma and Grandpa Hawkins’s names? What did Grandpa Hawkins work at? Do you have any pictures?”
Molly watched Mr. Hawkins during Win’s friendly chatter. She saw a glint in his eyes that reminded Molly of how he’d looked at her upstairs, while he’d held her arm tight enough to bruise it. She remembered Rachel saying he could be frightening.
As Win’s questions went on, he calmed down—or maybe he just got himself under control. He said in his usual falsely charming voice, “Well, now, you’re right. We’ve never spoken much of my family. It’s odd to think of that. Strange that you don’t know about either of your sets of grandparents at all.”
Mr. Hawkins rubbed his chin as if thinking of old memories, but it struck Molly that instead, he was thinking whether to tell the truth or lie. Or maybe he didn’t hesitate over it at all. Maybe he was concocting the lie.
“I don’t have pictures of them, nor pictures of myself or your mother.” He fell silent for too long. At last he said, “I may have some of your mother’s parents. I haven’t had them out in a long time. I might be a while finding them, but come into my study. That’s where they’d have to be. We’ll have a look.”
“Oliver, I’d like to visit with my sister, catch up. I haven’t seen her in a while. I’ll be right in to look at pictures though.”
The way he said it, letting Mr. Hawkins know he wouldn’t be alone with Win for long, sounded almost like a threat, for sure a warning.
Mr. Hawkins left the room with Win, the two of them talking as if they’d always enjoyed each other’s company. As soon as they left, Molly frantically unbuttoned the top three buttons of her dress, pulled out the envelopes, and hissed, “Hide these. Check on them with Wyatt before you leave the property.”
Kevin arched a brow as Molly, quickly rebuttoning her dress, looked past his shoulder to make sure Mr. Hawkins hadn’t come back. Kevin had a coat hanging in the entryway. He strode to it, thrust her small collection of evidence deep in a pocket, then came back.
She hissed, “It might be something to use against . . .” Her eyes shifted to the door Mr. Hawkins had just walked out of. “If it’s not, then I have turned thief, and I want a chance to put those envelopes back in the safe in his bedroom.”
Then, on an impulse, she threw her arms around Kevin’s neck and said, speaking normally, “I’ve missed you.”
He hugged her gently. Then, setting her back so their eyes met, he asked, “Are you safe here?”
There was only silence. Molly couldn’t lie and claim she was safe. But neither could she say the words that would make Kevin yank her out of here. But her very silence was an answer.
“You’re leaving with Win and me.”
“No, not yet. I want those envelopes opened, without them looking like they’ve been opened if possible. There may be something in them that, once I see it, would lead me to something else here in this house. Once I leave, we’ll never get anyone back in here.”
She held up the flat of her hand. “I’m leaving very soon. I very much doubt I’ll still be here tomorrow morning. I don’t like being here and”—she barely moved her lips, hoping not to be overheard—“Rachel was right. Mr. Hawkins is frightening. Open the envelopes so I know what’s in there. I intended to do that after Mr. Hawkins went to sleep tonight. Wyatt comes to my bedroom every night and—”
“He does what?” Kevin’s voice wasn’t a bit quiet on that question.
“Hush.” Molly shoved Kevin’s shoulders. “Nothing wrong is happening between us. He comes to my window to see if I’ve found anything, then he sneaks through my room.” She checked for Mr. Hawkins again. “And sleeps in a nearby pantry, so he’s close enough to hear me if I need help. But today I decided I’m done.”
She gripped Kevin’s wrist tightly and thought of how Mr. Hawkins had gripped her arm. And what had he been about to say when Win and Kevin had arriv
ed? Yes, there was no more decision to make. Her time here was up. “I haven’t been hurt, but he’s a frightening man.”
“I’m going to go find Wyatt and give him these envelopes. We’ll look at them right now. Can you go into the study with Win and Hawkins? I don’t want her alone with him.”
“He won’t like me in there. I’d be forgetting my place. He’s very particular about how he treats servants.” Her eyes grew wide. “You should hear how he talks to Wyatt.”
Kevin’s brows arched. “And Wyatt puts up with it?”
“Go. And get back here. I’ll take coffee in. I think he’ll accept me coming in to serve him.”
Kevin kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be back in five minutes. I didn’t see Wyatt when we rode in. If he’s not to hand, I’m not going hunting.” He ran out of the kitchen.
Molly picked up the coffeepot and set it on a tray. She added delicate china cups and saucers, white with blue flowers, as pretty as anything Molly had ever seen. Then she headed for the study, determined to interrupt even if nothing was going on.
“Pa, can I have these pictures?” Win looked at the small portraits of her grandmother and grandfather. She recognized her grandmother. It shocked her to realize she’d held the memory of the fine old lady all these years. Her heart warmed until it was nearly hot.
“Yes, of course you can. I should have given them to you years ago.”
“How about Ma? Do you have pictures of her?”
“I don’t remember having any. I’d be willing to sort through more old papers to see if they turn up, but I’m not sure where to start. Maybe that’s a task I can give myself in the near future.”
At least Win was sure she remembered her mother. A picture would have been a cherished possession, but her memory was keen. “Tell me about yourself, Pa. Your childhood. Where did you grow up?”
Her father’s eyes sharpened. He smiled easily enough, but it went no further than his lips. “I grew up in Chicago. Lived there all my life until your ma and I headed west.”
Love on the Range Page 13