The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  She considered his question at length, one hand reaching under her gown for the now-calm bundle of fur. She held it up and tilted her head, then announced, “Dop.”

  “Dop?” Retta asked. “What kind of a kitten name is Dop?”

  The kitten was sweet, and if it brought such joy to her daughter, then she’d reconcile having more mayhem in the house.

  I’ll deal with Frank later.

  Addie stuck out her tongue, showing Retta the dissolving lemon drop. The candy was just a bit lighter than the purring machine currently climbing up her child’s arm and nosing into her hair.

  “See? It’s Dop. Doppy.” She sighed with happiness, then flung her little body, kitten and all, into Frank’s arms, peppering his beard with kisses. “I wove you, Unca Fank.”

  Chapter 22

  Retta stuck her head into Addie’s room to let Harrison know the sheriff had arrived. She took a moment to appreciate the sight of him lying on the floor, gently tossing their giggling daughter into the air.

  Her heart swelled with contentment, swiftly followed by a bone deep sadness that Jenny would never know the same satisfaction. She prayed her sister received the letter they’d written her, letting her know how happy she and Addie were, how much they loved and missed her, how they adored Harrison and Uncle Frank.

  Harrison had included a private note at the bottom of the letter for Jenny. Retta didn’t read it. She just sealed up the envelope and had him deliver it to the stage mail office in Little Creede. The letter could take months to reach Bolster, and Retta prayed Jenny received it in time.

  “Again, Papa,” her darling child squealed.

  Chuckling, Harrison tossed her back up, then caught her and brought her to his chest to blow a kiss against her neck, causing more childish shrieks.

  After Addie’s initial alertness the day before, she’d slept for almost sixteen hours. Doc Sheaton said it was most likely the laudanum. Since she’d woken once and seemed fine, there was no need to worry. Not that it’d stopped everyone from doing that very thing. Besides the insect bites that were still slightly red and the cut to her forehead, nobody would have known she’d recently been dumped into a cave with all sorts of dangers.

  Addie’s smile remained bright and carefree, and her laughter as sweet and innocent as before the terrifying kidnapping. Retta had no doubt the new kitten—Doppy—helped, not to mention Noodle’s crazy antics when he discovered there was a tiny, hissing plaything to chase around.

  “Hate to break up the fun,” Retta said, “but Sheriff Lang’s here.”

  Harrison’s concerned gaze cut to her. He knew she didn’t like the sheriff questioning Addie on her ordeal. But he’d convinced her of the need to know if Brody acted alone.

  Rolling to his feet, Addie tucked securely in one arm, he said, “It’ll be all right, Retta.”

  He strode over in two long strides and tugged her close to his side as they went outside to meet with Sherriff Lang. Addie wrapped her arms around Harrison’s neck and snuggled into him.

  We’re a family. For a brief moment, Retta was happier than she’d ever been in her entire life. Until they rounded the corner and it all came crashing down on her again.

  Her daughter had been traumatized, and Peter murdered.

  Why take Addie in the first place? It made no sense.

  “Hey, Joshua.” Harrison released her to shake the sheriff’s hand, then slid his arm back around her as they all stepped inside. “Go easy, she’s been through enough.”

  The sheriff offered a short nod, removing his hat. Dressed informally today, he still wore his oilcloth duster, though his badge wasn’t pinned to his chest.

  Retta fretfully wrung her hands. “She’s just little, I doubt she’ll be of much help.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He studied Addie, who was watching him with curious eyes. “How’s she doing?”

  Harrison set Addie on the floor in front of the fireplace. “Children must heal pretty quick. She woke up smiling this morning and hasn’t stopped since.” He plucked her doll off the sofa and handed it to her.

  She beamed up at him. “Tank you, Papa.”

  He ruffled the top of her hair. “Welcome, Addie girl.”

  Noodle plopped down next to her and licked her arm. Addie patted the pup’s head with one hand, making her Lulu Dolly bounce up and down with the other.

  “Let’s step into the kitchen,” Harrison said, leading the way. “We can still keep an eye on Addie in here.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Sheriff?” Retta asked.

  “No thanks, Missus Carter. And please, call me Joshua.” Twirling his Stetson in his fingers, Sheriff Lang gave her a smile that changed his stoic appearance into a handsome devil-may-care cowboy who’d have most women swooning.

  Retta blinked, a bit dazzled by that smile, then her gaze drifted to Harrison, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  He wore a blue pinstriped shirt, its white-banded collar left unfastened, and his favorite pair of pants. The dark denim covered a posterior she knew looked even better naked. Her breath caught, remembering how she’d had her hands full of that very same posterior last night, as he’d put it, helping to relieve her stress.

  She smiled softly. How well it had worked.

  There was no denying Sheriff Lang’s appeal, but he didn’t hold a candle to her husband.

  Harrison turned toward her at that moment. His lips curved, as if he knew her thoughts. Then he winked at her, before addressing Joshua. “What have you learned?”

  “Not much. Brody was last seen going into the Lucky Lady Saloon right before Addie was taken. But that doesn’t prove Morgan had anything to do with it.”

  “I feel it in my gut, Joshua,” Harrison said. “Brody wouldn’t have the courage nor the smarts to do something like this on his own. He was in cahoots with someone, and Morgan would be my guess.”

  “Hmm.” The sheriff tugged at his hair, then shoved the long mass of brown behind his ear. “What makes you think that?”

  “Brody hung around the mine exterior before the explosion. One of my men recognized him. And we already know he was thick as thieves with Morgan. The man didn’t take a shit without running it past Morgan first. I can’t believe he’d have stolen Addie without Morgan telling him to do it.”

  Joshua set his hat on the table and crossed to the wide doorway to study Addie. “If he was the one who did it.” He met Retta’s gaze. “I promise I’ll be gentle, but your daughter may remember something that could help.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t want her upset.”

  Harrison tipped her face up and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Right there in front of the sheriff. Even as her cheeks flamed at the impropriety, her lashes fluttered closed from the lovely tribute. It took her a moment to gain her senses after he broke the kiss. She finally opened her eyes to find her husband smiling down at her. “It’ll be fine. Joshua would never do anything to upset our girl.”

  She turned to find the sheriff watching their exchange with open amusement. But his voice was sincere when he promised, “I won’t scare her, ma’am.”

  Yes, she believed that. Smiling, she acquiesced. “Call me Retta, please.” Not waiting for a response, she waved her hand toward Addie. “Let’s get this over with.”

  They returned to the parlor, and Joshua knelt next to Addie, while Retta stood nearby with Harrison.

  “Hi, Addie. I’m Joshua. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Addie glanced up, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  Retta’s heart stuttered, and she was prepared to intervene if necessary. Harrison engulfed her hand with his, squeezing lightly.

  Joshua scratched Noodle behind the ear. “Is this your pup?”

  Addie nodded so hard her curls bounced. “Noodle.”

>   Noodle opened one lazy eye to stare at the sheriff, then promptly fell back asleep.

  “And is this your doll?”

  “Lulu Dolly.” She held it up for him to get a better view. “I got Doppy, too.”

  “Doppy?”

  “Kitty cat,” Addie affirmed.

  “Ah. Kittens are awfully sweet. But I bet she’s not as sweet as you.”

  Their little flirt preened at the compliment.

  “You and Lulu Dolly had a bad day, right?”

  Addie’s lower lip quivered into a pout. “Nasty man.”

  Joshua reached into his pocket and pulled out a fancy-wrapped butterscotch that Retta recognized from the mercantile’s candy jar. “Yes, a nasty man.”

  He handed her the treat. Addie promptly abandoned Lulu to the carpet and unwrapped the butterscotch with nimble little fingers, popping it into her mouth. The sheriff continued to carefully extract information from her, enough to at least answer a few questions.

  It soon became clear only one man took her from the ranch. She didn’t recall much else. When Addie mentioned ‘stinky spit,’ they figured that was probably Brody’s chaw.

  Later, gathered around the kitchen table while Addie napped on the rug with Noodle, Joshua addressed Harrison. “Let’s assume Morgan and Mills are both in on this. Why take her?”

  Harrison looked grim, his gaze resting on Joshua. “Think about it. What does Morgan value most in life?”

  The sheriff stared thoughtfully at Harrison, then muttered in disgust, “Money.”

  “Money?” Retta said, confused. “How is taking Addie going to get them money?”

  “A note I found.” There was no missing the fury in Harrison’s voice. “They were going to ransom her.”

  Joshua nodded grimly. “It’s the one thing that makes sense.”

  “Only a desperate man would kidnap a child for money. Mister Morgan is a rich man, why would he do such a thing?”

  “Maybe not so rich,” Joshua mused. “Elijah thinks Zeb is up to no good.”

  “Who?” Retta spun toward Harrison.

  “Elijah Lambert, the banker at Little Creede Commerce. Remember, we stopped in and spoke with Zeb about that discrepancy in the payroll ledger you found.”

  “Yes, that’s right. But with everything that’s been happening, I haven’t had the chance to look into it any further.”

  She rose to go get the book, when Harrison stopped her. “Hold on.”

  Retta eyed him quizzically. “What?” She followed his gaze into the front room, where Addie was now awake and playing with her new kitten.

  Humming.

  That was odd. She’d never heard her daughter hum before.

  Joshua stood, his eyes locked on Addie, too, as the notes came together to form something childishly off-tune but familiar enough to recall lyrics.

  “‘. . . Camptown ladies sing this song, Doo-da, Doo-da, Camptown racetrack's five miles long—'”

  “‘Oh, doo-da day,’” Retta sang softly. Then she remembered the last time she’d heard that tune . . .

  While standing in the general store, listening to Slim Morgan whistling.

  Chapter 23

  Slim edged toward the back entrance of the bank. Though early in the day, the sun beat down, and the outside privy stank to high heaven. He breathed shallowly through his mouth as he reached for the door, easing it open to slip into the narrow hallway between the bank lobby and the cramped vault room.

  He peered inside the lobby. Lambert’s desk stood unused. Moving soundlessly, Slim entered the vault area and reached for the brass handle, expecting it to be unlocked as Jenkins had promised.

  Locked.

  That son-of-a-bitch.

  If Jenkins had run off, he’d eat lead, courtesy of Slim’s Colt. He drew his weapon and cocked the barrel, sidling along the wall to the door, backing into the hallway toward the lobby. He had to find Jenkins before the dumb cur spilled his guts.

  Low voices coming from the lobby indicated the bank had already opened for the business day.

  What the—?

  Slim pulled out his pocketwatch and verified the time. He should’ve had twenty-five more minutes. If this had gone to plan, he’d already be jumping on his horse, headed away from Little Creede. Thirty minutes before opening and then ten minutes after closing, the damned vault was unlocked. Lambert or Jenkins stood guard outside the front, twice a day.

  Jenkins assured him nobody used the back door except during bank hours. He’d leave it unlocked and Slim could slip right in. The vault, too. Nobody would know. By the time Lambert arrived to open for the day, they’d both be long gone.

  Jenkins, heading for Mexico. Slim, paying off his debtors and halfway to Silver Cache to catch an eastbound stage, with plenty left over to start new.

  Ransoming the brat hadn’t worked, though most everyone blamed Brody. Except the Carters. The stubborn bastards wouldn’t rest until they dug up enough dirt to hang him from the highest tree. Fortunately for him, without Brody’s collaboration, they’d have a hard time charging him with the murder.

  But Slim wasn’t going to wait around, just in case. Ten thousand dollars would’ve solved his immediate problems, but the load of silver and coins in the vault could make him a very rich man.

  He ventured closer to the lobby door, peering through a crack in the frame. Hannah Penderson stood behind the counter Jenkins usually worked.

  He silently cursed.

  The simpleton was the town’s nosiest busybody. Slim wagered she’d know where Jenkins was.

  Slipping out the door leading to the privy, he holstered his gun and took the short trail bisecting the town’s pathetic excuse for a business district. Not wanting to draw suspicion, Slim strolled along whistling his favorite tune, like he did every day.

  He entered the bank and paused, acting surprised to see Hannah behind the counter.

  She glanced up from jotting in a ledger. “Hi there, Mister Morgan. What can I do for you on this fine, sunny day?”

  “Why, Miss Penderson, is that a new shawl? Most flattering.” Slim poured on the charm as he approached the counter.

  The dried-up old spinster tittered like a schoolgirl. “Oh, lawd, sir. What a rascal you are.” She fanned herself with a ledger, cheeks bright red.

  Slim kept his smile pinned in place, though her shrill voice grated on his last nerve.

  Finally, the woman regained her composure. “Ahem. Now, what can I do for you?”

  You can open the goddamn vault and look the other way while I clean it out, you stupid cow. Aloud, he replied suavely, “Perhaps you could fetch Mister Zeb for me.”

  Her expression clouded briefly. “Mister Morgan, Zeb Jenkins is no longer employed by Mister Lambert. I heard them arguing, day before yesterday. I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of their altercation.” She waved in the direction of the vault room. “Such thin walls, you know.”

  Most likely she had her ear and a glass pressed up against it, too. Barely holding on to his patience, he extended a hand, patting her arm and causing fresh blushes over her sunken cheeks. “How distressing for you. Is Mister Lambert available then?”

  “Mister Lambert is away from his office, on business.” She clutched her shawl until it verged on strangling her. “Though I cannot help but be concerned.”

  He wanted to grab her by her bony shoulders and shake her until she got to the point. Instead, he dragged in a calming breath. “Hannah, if I might call you by your first name, what causes you such concern? You must allow me to help.”

  Casting a dramatic look toward the front door, Hannah beckoned him closer.

  “Mister Lambert took all of the business ledgers. Said he needed to go over them in private. The mercantile. The smithy. The barbershop and Doc Sheaton’s.�
�

  Hannah drew back. She brought a hand up to cover a flat breast and whispered conspiratorially, “Mister Morgan, he took the Lucky Lady’s, too.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The boardinghouse Elijah Lambert called home was a depressing dwelling inside and out. Slim approached from the west, squinting into the morning sun, too infuriated to care if anyone spotted him striding down the street.

  All that money and silver, locked away from him. Zeb Jenkins’ fault, because the man was too stupid to keep his fat mouth shut. Slim would have liked to track Zeb down and make him pay for the state of poverty he now suffered. His debtors were not patient men, and his time was fast running out.

  He’d find Lambert and persuade him to return to the bank. Make him understand it would be in his best interests to open the vault. Beyond that plan, Slim hadn’t much plotted.

  One thing at a time.

  He eased down the shadowy hallway, the smell of onions and venison strong in the air, and examined each door until he came to number three, which Hannah Penderson had so eagerly assured was Elijah Lambert’s room. Placing his ear to the door, Slim heard nothing from within. He knocked once, sharply.

  The door opened a crack and Lambert peered out.

  Slim forced his way inside.

  Stumbling back, Lambert fell against an occasional table and crashed to the scuffed planked floor. Before he could gain his feet, Slim had his Colt drawn and aimed at Elijah’s temple.

  He cocked the barrel. “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you, Lambert.”

  “Wh-What do you want?”

  Slim pressed the muzzle harder into his pasty skin.

  “I want us to take a little stroll to the bank. We walk arm in arm like the best of friends, and you will instruct Hannah to go have her lunch. Then you’ll unlock that vault for me.”

  Sweat beaded on Lambert’s forehead. “You plan on robbing my bank in broad daylight?”