The Cowgirl Gets The Bad Guy (Cowgirl Mysteries Book 1)

by Susan Lower

  16

  On Friday, I know I need to make it to the claims office first thing. Plenty of prospectors come into town looking to cash in their bits of gold. Any day now, many of the ranchers will return. I know this because every day this past week, Ella Mae has pined for Lincoln, counting the days she hasn’t seen him. The girl has it bad. He hasn’t been gone nearly as long as she deems. I have a feeling the recent storm that blew through town and delayed the stage will do the same for the cowboys.

  I really should have talked to Buck, and ever since I have this nagging feeling, I need to see the fine writing for myself.

  The claims office is a small building nestled beside the bank. It’s run by a man named Jones. He doesn’t have any other name, as his mother only knew his father as Jones. A last name, not a first, but it hasn’t bothered him none. He’s an older gent, with white showing in his beard. He keeps it neatly trimmed and his hair is dark like a raven’s wing.

  Jones stands at the counter, sweeping gold nuggets into a bag and putting them under his counter. Beneath, a latch clicks from the safe.

  He pushes up a pair of wire glasses on his nose. “Whatcha got for me?”

  I pull out the paper signed between me, the bounty hunter, and witnessed by the sheriff. “I need you to file this with the other paperwork on my claim.”

  “What claim would that be?”

  I give him our land plot number.

  He squints an eye at me. “And who be you?”

  “I’m Jo Dean. My father is Earl Dean. That’s our claim.”

  He gives me a good long look, then nods. “There’s a Jo Dean on the land deed.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Then you’s got a problem, young lady. There has been a lot of action on that claim since Earl passed. Plenty of people trying to say they own it. Or at least his share of it. You’re the second person today to come in.”

  The gambler won’t give up. “Who else has been in here? What did they want?”

  He shuffles to the wall in the back and pulls out a drawer of his filing cabinet. A grunt and huff later, he returns with our claim file.

  “It’s a mess. You’re going to need the judge to sort this one out.” He slaps the papers on the counter. I ignore the sound of the door opening to the right of me.

  Jones spreads out the papers. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “I’m with the lady,” the bounty hunter stands beside me. Suddenly, this side of the counter seems tiny. Picking up a paper, I read the promissory note my father signed over to Pierce Weston, aka the gambler. Then the bounty hunter reaches over me, picks up another piece of paper. It’s a scribbled mess and the edge of the paper is ripped as if someone did it in a hurry.

  The bounty hunter lays it beside the one from the gambler. It’s between my father and… and Glen. I take the paper from the bounty hunter’s hand; careful our fingers don’t touch. My other hand is still wrapped and my thumb, immobile. The swelling has gone down, but the memory of what caused it has yet to ease.

  Earl used to complain if it wasn’t one thing getting in his way, it was another. I can feel my father’s frustration as I read it twice, each time feeling a little more nauseated. “Do you know about this?”

  “No.”

  “And there’s this one.” Jones picks up another. The paper is worn and frail. Gently, I take it from him. The paper has been folded several times, the creases in a neat little square the size of a small photograph. I bring it closer to my nose. “Ew. Gross!” I take one whiff and drop it back on the counter.

  The bounty hunter reaches over and picks it up.

  “I know where this come from,” I warn him. “You might not want to be touching that.”

  He puts it down. “Okay. Where did it come from?”

  “My father’s boot. The one that was missing. He had this folded up inside it. He did that. A lot.”

  “It was a woman who brought it in here.” Jones taps a finger on the paper.

  “Know her?” the bounty hunter asks.

  Jones shakes his head. “Might have seen her at the saloon. Had a boy with her. Tall lad, maybe ten or twelve years old. I see him running around town more than I’ve seen the woman. She told him she couldn’t trust him to deliver something so important.”

  “Amaryllis.” It makes me wonder how much of her story she lied about for me to feel sorry for her. My father probably never left his boot in her room. She took it off his dead body. Before or after she shot him?

  “It says here she’s entitled to Earl’s half of the claim if something happens to him.” The bounty hunter slides it closer.

  I’m careful not to touch it again. The entire thing is foul. “It’s not legal, is it?”

  Jones tugs at his beard. “Can’t say so. Put it in the file for the judge to sort. She seemed adamant she got her share.”

  Why would Earl do that? What if he cared for Amaryllis like she said he did?

  “You know about this?” the bounty hunter asks.

  “No.” Earl never meant to lose the claim in that poker game. He wanted to lose me. Without me, he and Amaryllis could be together without my interfering. The few memories I have of my mother were of her complaining about how kids got in the way of things.

  “Amaryllis told me my father was special to her.” I briefly recount my visit to her room.

  “Lots of people want their hands on this land,” Jones concludes.

  The bounty hunter spreads out a few more pages. He picks up the deed. A copy, for the original is up in the mountains, unless Earl had it in his boot.

  I freeze.

  The bounty hunter must feel me tense beside him. “What?”

  “What if someone has the original deed? Could they take our claim?”

  Jones shuffles the papers more and pulls out another paper. “Says here the claim is a shared partnership between Earl Dean and one Jo Dean.”

  “That’s me.”

  Jones grimaces. “I figured. You got something to add to this?”

  The bounty hunter is busy reading the other documents. “Says here the railroad tried to make a claim on it saying Earl is dead and the land left unattended.”

  “Yep,” Jones crossed his arm. “Which is why I voided it.”

  “With Earl gone, the land is mine,” I declare.

  The bounty hunter puts down the paper in his hand. “Except he signed off his portion to Weston. How long ago did this other claim against his half come in?”

  “As soon as I opened my doors,” Jones says.

  “Glen.” Both the bounty hunter and I say together.

  “My father must have owed Glen on his tab.”

  “I took care of it when I got those supplies from him. Not enough there to warrant this, even a judge will say it’s so.”

  Well, that brought a little relief.

  “And the railroad?” I ask.

  “They’ll have to deal with you. The land still has ownership.”

  “Unless it’s left unattended to for too long,” Jones points out.

  A panic seizes me. “I need to get back up the mountain. What if they’re already squatting at my place?”

  “Calm down, Dimples. You’d have to be gone for a year before they could make the claim. You haven’t even been gone a week.”

  “Like I told the fellow, Glen, when he came strutting in here, Mr. Weston still has a claim on Earl’s portion. Can’t both have the same piece of the parcel,” Jones says.

  “What did he say to that?” the bounty hunter asks.

  Jones chuckles. “Got red in the face, said his claim was dated first. Told him the same as I told her.” He looks pointedly at me. “The judge will be here Tuesday.”

  “That is, if the stage ever makes it on time,” I mutter. Ruby waited for two days until she got a new boarder. A man came to answer a newspaper ad to help set up and run the new rail station. The tracks are not even in, and the railroad is trying to take over the town. They don’t call this place Deadwood for nothing. S
oon the railroad will get disappointed they chose this place. Or they’ll have to rename the town if the train starts bringing in a bunch of new folks. As long as they stay off my claim on the mountain, I don’t care.

  “There’s just a mark on this one, no signature,” the bounty hunter says.

  “Saw that too,” Jones taps on the paper. “Said Earl was too drunk, but he had a witness.”

  “And who’d that be?” I ask.

  “Amaryllis.”

  “Of course.” I take a deep breath and pull out the paper between the bounty hunter and me. “While we’re at it, add this to the mess. I want it recorded proper so there is no misunderstanding like on my father’s half.”

  Jones takes it, squinting at it. “They’ll be pulling me in to speak to the judge about this.”

  “Good.” The bounty hunter puts his arm around me. “It should have been taken care of days ago.”

  I catch the grit in his voice, the hardening look he gives me, but I don’t back down. I could stand and stare into those cold stone-grey eyes for eternity.

  “You two going to get married?” Jones asks.

  His question catches me off guard. Everyone assumes I’m hitched to the gambler. The bounty hunter stays stoic. He slips his arm around my waist. “I believe the lady is spoken for.”

  He steers me outside of the claims office. “I need some coffee.” Withdrawing his arm, he heads toward the cafe. I feel a draft at my back, or maybe because his arm is missing.

  “You coming, Dimples?”

  As if I have a choice. Like a lost puppy, I’d follow him anywhere. Without the bounty hunter's help, I’ll have no choice than to stand before the judge.

  Inside the Deadwood Cafe scents of coffee and sweet apple fill my nostrils. It’s heavenly really. All this time I’ve been in town, I haven’t had to cook over a fire or fight with the potbelly stove in our cabin on the mountain.

  My stomach grumbles a little and I press my bad hand against it, trying to make it stop. The bounty hunter picks a table, and we sit near the window. The tablecloths are checkered in red and white, and none of the chairs match.

  A woman swats away two children and picks up the coffee pot along with two mugs heading our way. She puts them down, pours without us asking. “I assume you want coffee,” she says. “We have tea, but I don’t take you for a tea drinking kind of man.” She smiles at the bounty hunter. I can see the ring on her finger as plain as day. Then she looks at me and says, “Unless you want water.”

  “Coffee works fine,” the bounty hunter says.

  “You want some cream with that? We got some honey, and some sugar, too?” She flutters those lashes, and her voice gets husky.

  “I’ll take some cream.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember that,” she says.

  “You?”

  When the waitress’s gaze goes to me, I realize he is asking me. “I’m good.”

  “You drink it black?” He doesn’t seem to believe me.

  “You got a problem with that?” I ask.

  “Drink it how you like, Dimples.” Then he looks at the waitress. “Is that apple pie I smell?”

  “It is.” The waitress’s eyes light up with pride. “We’ve got cherry, too.”

  “Two slices of apple.”

  She goes off to fill his order. With her gone, I have a direct view of the ladies at the table near to us. Lottie Larson and Hannah Baker sit having tea and small sandwiches. Lottie’s frown and Hannah’s soft whispers make me uncomfortable. They’re dressed in plain skirts with lace edged blouses. Lottie has her bonnet hanging down her back, and Hannah has hers on the table. At a table near the counter, two children sit, swinging their legs.

  All I can think of is Jones’s question. You two going to get married?

  I hear Lottie laugh, give the bounty hunter a good sidelong glance. I keep my bandaged hand hidden under the table.

  I sip my coffee. Its water compared to the kind I’m used to drinking.

  “Problem?” the bounty hunter asks.

  “What problem don’t I have?”

  “Not one that can’t be solved. As I see it, you got to learn to read people. There are ones you stay away from and ones you tolerate. Very few do you ever trust.”

  By his expression, I can tell this isn’t all about me. Deep in the depths of those cold stone eyes, there was once a man filled with warmth. Time hardens one’s heart. Things happen and it makes a person close themselves off from the world.

  All I’ve known is that mountain up there. I’m not good at being social. I know how to interact with Tail Feather’s tribe. Their ways aren’t the ways of the townsfolk. They don’t sit in a cafe to drink coffee, or sleep in hotels. They believe in a different God. Even though Ella Mae says it’s a different version, we all believe in a higher being. Thanks to her and her mother, I know God is the first person to love me and the last to leave me.

  Without Earl, I’m all alone.

  It makes me wonder, what happened to the bounty hunter? Was he alone? Did he have anyone or any family out there to care about him?

  “Is there anyone you trust?”

  “Not anymore.” He doesn’t say another word as the waitress returns with two plates of pie. She sits one in front of us both. I know I haven’t got the money to pay for this. Already, I am indebted to the bounty hunter. I slide the plate toward him. Maybe he intended to eat both. I’m not even mad he didn’t ask me, not like the gambler when he tried to order for me at dinner.

  “You can’t tell me you’re not hungry, and I saw the way you looked when we stepped inside. I could smell the apples baking. Go on and eat.” He slides the plate back.

  I bite my lip, trying to keep from turning red in the cheeks from embarrassment. There must be something in the air here to make my cheeks keep flaming as they do. I peek a look at Lottie and Hannah.

  “Don’t pay them any mind. You’re here with me, and we need to figure out what to do with you while I track down this killer.”

  I snap my gaze back to him. He’s serious. “What do you mean, what to do with me?”

  “I can’t have you in any more trouble.” He takes a big bite out of his pie. As he chews, his gaze goes to mine. Darn him! I pick up my fork and take a chunk out of my slice. It tastes as good as it smells.

  “You need to stay away from Weston. You don’t go anywhere without me.”

  “What if I want to see Ella Mae?”

  “Then she comes to the boarding house to see you.”

  “So, you’re forcing me to stay shut in all the time?” I pause between bites. I’ve almost inhaled mine while the bounty hunter hasn’t taken another bite.

  “We’ve got three days until the judge comes. Weston isn’t going to give up.”

  “The judge will just make me marry him, anyway.” I slump a little in my chair. “Stupid Earl and his written promissory notes.”

  “Not if it’s Judge Perry. Women run off and marry all the time without their father’s permission.”

  I want to ask him how he knows, but think I better stick to worrying about my own matrimonial affairs.

  “And if it’s not?”

  “The only other judge who comes around these parts is Orvis Stevens. He’s traditional, and he sticks by the book.”

  “You know a lot about the judges. That because you were a ranger?”

  The bounty hunter takes in a deep breath, his wide chest expanding.

  “You’re not anymore, are you? What happened?”

  Okay, I shouldn’t have said that.

  The bounty hunter drains his coffee. Reaches in his pocket and throws some coins on the table. “Stay and finish your pie.”

  He stalks out, like a man on a mission. I look down at the pie. Me and my stupid mouth. I twirl the fork and the waitress comes over. “Where is he going in a rush?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m pretty sure it is something I said.

  Lottie and Hannah rise from their table. Hannah is tying her bonnet, as Lottie patiently waits.
I know they’d be able to hear me, so I say, “A man’s stomach is a fickle thing.”

  The waitress puts her hand over her mouth. Looks out the window and I see Lottie and Hannah leaving.

  “I’d best take this away.” The waitress reaches for the bounty hunter’s pie, one bite taken.

  I put my fork in it, and she yanks her hand back. “His loss.”

  And I’m afraid it is.

  And mine too.

  A broken heart in my book is still a serious crime.

  17

  I spend the rest of the day with Ella Mae. She and her mother Pearl help me fix the blue dress from Amaryllis and Pearl takes the pink dress as a personal mission to make it appropriate for a young woman like myself.

  Most women my age are married and chasing after kids. Most, because I know Ella Mae isn’t, and she wants to something bad.

  Reverend Carter is out making his rounds to see to the spiritual wellness of the community. During the week, the church is used for a school. He doesn’t have much choice than to go out to the people. It leaves a quiet house for Ella Mae, Pearl, and her sisters.

  I tell Ella Mae about what happened in the diner as we work on our mending. Twice, I jab my finger and give up. Ella Mae takes the dress and finishes putting in the new piece of lace Pearl found for it. Not a perfect match, black. It does its job.

  I keep my hurt hand to my heart. Pearl gasps when she hears the story of how it happened. “Jolene Willow Dean,” Pearl exclaims, “That’s no way for a lady to behave.” Then she surprises us and says, “A man like that deserves a good smack alongside the head.”

  “Mother!” Ella Mae exclaims.

  “Sometimes a woman has to take matters into her own hands.” Pearl shakes out the pink dress I brought back to her and eyes it wearily. “You’ll find out soon enough there are other ways to keep a man in line.”

  Ella Mae’s jaw drops a little. It makes me smile, and we all have a good laugh. While Pearl takes the dress to her room, saying she might have something to alter it, Ella Mae and I whisper for Pearl not to hear.

  “And he left because you mentioned him being a ranger? Odd.”