“Good day, Sheriff Dawson,” she replied, still holding the tray.
“What do we have here?” He came forward and lifted the red-and-white checkered napkin protecting the food. “Fried chicken! My favorite.”
“Food for the prisoners—not that they deserve any.”
Okay, so the meal wasn’t for him. He could live with that.
“If it were up to me, I’d let them starve.”
He had to give her credit. Not once since she’d come through the door had she looked over to the cells that held the two men who’d absconded with Katie Brinkman, each wearing a wicked stare.
She has guts, to say the least.
Reaching forward, he took the tray and placed it on his desk between the reports. Just like the first time they’d met, she still wore the gloves that looked so out of place. Her sisters didn’t, and he wondered why she was different. Does she have a strange sense of style?
“Kind of you. I was about to head to the café myself. To pick it up.”
She hedged a small smile. “Not kind at all, Sheriff.” Her nostrils flared just the tiniest bit. “I went to the café to pick up lunch for Katie and myself, and Karen was just finishing up with this. I mentioned that I was planning on speaking with you, so she asked if I’d please bring this over. They’re shorthanded today.”
All right, she did the nice deed for Karen, not for me, and wasn’t too timid to say so. He liked a woman who was up front. Left little room for confusion. Still, his bubble did burst, at least a little.
“Well, I thank you anyway, for saving me the steps.”
She eyed the mess on the floor. “Do you need help?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you all the same. You said you had a question for me?” He did his best to look agreeable. “How can I help?”
“I’d like to speak outside.”
He nodded and let her lead the way out. On the boardwalk, she took a deep breath as if she needed to clean her lungs.
“Sheriff, I can’t be away from my sister for long, so I must make this fast. Because of what happened yesterday, Katie is terribly frightened. Every time she hears footsteps in the hotel hallway, she about jumps out of her skin thinking those disgraceful men are back. It’s unsettling with them so close. How long will they be here?”
“Until they’re tried and sentenced for their crime.”
“And how long will that be? I have no idea how things work around here. Everything is so small and close together. In Philadelphia, the police station is blocks and blocks away from everything. Knowing they’re right across the street is discomforting. Isn’t there anything else you can do with them?”
“Do, Mrs. Applebee? What can I do? We have to wait for a judge to come through on his monthly rotation. And that too can be hit-and-miss. I’ve put out a telegram, but now we just have to wait.”
Her toe began a steady tap on the wooden boardwalk as she considered his words.
“Your office is kitty-corner to the hotel. We can easily see it from my room, where we spend much of our time. Is there really nothing you can do, or are you just saying that?”
Affronted by her question, Clint straightened. “I don’t lie, Mrs. Applebee. I assure you there are no other buildings secure enough to hold those men. If they were to escape, they’d be a real threat to Katie, or anyone else, for that matter—have you thought of that? What’s worse? Having to see the place where they’re locked up, or having them kidnap another unsuspecting woman?” As irritated as he was by her accusation, he couldn’t help but admire her concern for her sister. “There is something you could do, though.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Close your curtains. Don’t look out. Or move to another room. That would solve everything.”
She folded her arms. “I can’t see the wind, but I know it’s there. Every time we take a walk, Katie will be reminded.”
“Sheriff!” one prisoner yelled. “We’re hungry! That fried chicken smells good.”
He ignored the men. “I’m sorry. There’s no other place to keep prisoners. After what’s happened, I assume you and your sisters will be returning east. None of you bargained for such a wild and unlawful place, I’m sure.”
“We’re taking one day at a time. Do you know the men? Do they have a reputation in Colorado?”
“I’ve never seen ’em or heard of ’em before yesterday. I’ll let you know if I find out anything substantial.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Perhaps Katie would feel more comfortable out at the ranch? I can arrange for transportation. I heard your other sisters went out early this morning . . .”
Her mouth pursed. “My, news gets around.”
Warmth crept up his neck. “Yes, ma’am. It does.”
She looked over her shoulder and through the doorway at his paperwork scattered haphazardly over the floor. “You’re sure I can’t be of help, Sheriff Dawson? Your paperwork is taking over your office.”
“No, I was just . . .” He gave a hearty chuckle. She smiled for the first time since her arrival. “I do appreciate your concern. I can straighten out my own mess, which I plan to do just as soon as you leave. I’d just rather be chasing after an outlaw then filling out a mountain of forms.”
She departed, and he walked back inside, wondering if he should have taken her up on her offer to help. He wouldn’t mind spending a few hours in the same room, even with her spiky attitude. He hoped maybe next time she stopped by, the fried chicken she brought would be for him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Blake was thankful it was finally time to quit for the noon meal. Belle looked like a well-worn cleaning rag that needed to be tossed in the wash bucket. Tangles of hair dangled in her dirt-streaked and sunburned face. She’d placed her hat firmly on her head, but at the first sign of action, the Stetson had tumbled to the ground and landed in the dirt. Then it had been dislodged by a gust of wind that had come up from the clouds gathering in the sky. Startled by a calf, Belle had knocked the hat off again herself when her arm jerked up in surprise. After dismounting to retrieve the headpiece and then remounting Gunner several times, which wasn’t easy on the tall gelding, she’d cursed quietly and stuffed the nuisance into her saddlebag, against his strong protests.
“Belle!” he called loudly as she pushed five unruly steers out from behind a grouping of trees and toward the herd KT tended half a mile away. Once the steers caught sight of the others, they’d trot along by themselves to join the herd. “As soon as you get those on their way, come over and let’s eat. It’s time for a siesta. I don’t know about you, but I’m more than ready.”
You certainly are, judging by your slouching shoulders and sunburned face.
He’d risen at three thirty and eaten at four. The thought of closing his eyes, even for five minutes, was all-consuming.
Raising her arm, Belle waved back and forth to signal that she’d heard him. He admired her gumption. She’d not complained one iota. He smiled, remembering the first time she’d faced a steer that had a mind to go the other way. Gunner had dropped down and cut the bovine, sending her sharply to one side. Surprised, she screeched, grabbed the horn, and pulled herself back aboard as Gunner continued to do his job. She’d hung on like a badger to a raw steak. Her gaze had sought his, which pleased him. Once she’d regained her balance and hunkered down into her seat and stirrups, the cow horse gave Belle her first real lesson. Soon the steer had been turned back, and a beautiful smile had blossomed on her face.
Blake unbuckled the saddlebags attached to Banjo’s saddle, watching Belle from the corner of his eye. The shade felt good. What was I thinking? Today will be much too long and demanding for her to keep up. I should have known better than to allow her to come. She could have stayed back with her sisters and helped Moses with the cooking.
Setting the leather bags on the ground, he loosened Banjo’s cinch, hobbled his front feet, and then slipped off his bridle, having already watered the horses at a nearby stream. He plopped down on a gras
sy spot and began unloading the food. Belle, on a sweat-stained Gunner, started toward him, slumped in her saddle.
He stood to go help, but she waved him away.
“Go on and eat. I can do this myself.” She passed him at a slow walk toward the trees where Banjo grazed.
Ignoring her, he followed behind. She reminded him of John in so many ways. His stubbornness, for one. And that serious tilt to her brows, another. Amazing how that happens.
“At least let me help you down. You’re going to be sore, I can tell you that.”
“It won’t be anything new.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
She halted. Her face twisted into a grimace when she moved to swing her leg over Gunner’s back.
“Swing it forward, over his neck.”
When she realized what he meant, she obeyed, lifting her far leg over the front of the saddle. She wasn’t too proud to reach out with both arms. She might say she didn’t want help, but she’d complied without much coaxing.
He lowered her to the ground. She groaned when her boots touched earth. Once her feet were squarely under her, she stood in his arms a few moments, leaning into his embrace and letting him take most of her weight.
She gave a strangled laugh. “I don’t think I can walk. Every muscle in my body is on fire.”
“This is my fault. I should have realized the light riding you’ve done over the last few days wouldn’t prepare you for all-day gathering. I’m sorry.”
“If you’re really sorry, carry me over to the food.”
He laughed. “I can do that.” Without another word, except her gasp of pain, Blake swung her into his arms and strode forward. Her eyes closed, and her chin dipped to her chest. After a few more steps, he hunkered down.
Belle shook her head. “I don’t know how you can stand my smell.”
He gently rolled her onto the grass, stifling a laugh. “Who says I can?”
“I’d hit you, but my arms feel like limp rags.” She flopped onto her back and smiled up into the branches of the tall pines and oaks. “Ahh. Shade never felt so good, or the earth beneath my back. I think I’ll stay here the rest of the day—and through the night. You can come fetch me in the morning.”
Instead, he went to fetch her saddlebags and turn Gunner out. She didn’t stop him when he left. Soon, he was back with her saddlebag and began digging through them. “Let’s see what treasures you have. Several pieces of fried chicken, biscuits, jerky. What’s this?” He held up a small jar of honey, which hadn’t been in his fare. “Moses is already playing favorites, I see. And a baked potato cut into manageable slices.”
She wasn’t responding, just lying there, looking up at the trees.
“How long do we have?” she mumbled.
She was in so much pain, they really should quit for the day. Head back to the ranch with the cattle they had, even if that would extend their work tomorrow. There was no good solution.
“As long as you need. We’re in no rush.”
“How much work is left for today?”
“A good four to five hours of gathering, and then the ride back to the ranch with the cattle. We’ll have another break to eat before that, though. We’ll arrive long after dark.”
“I’m sorry for not keeping up.”
“You’re keeping up just fine.”
“After I eat and rest, I’ll feel better. How long do you usually take?”
He unwrapped one of his chicken legs and took a generous bite. “I like to rest the horses at least a half hour or so.” He chewed and swallowed. “But like I said, we can take longer today. That’s fine with me.”
“Nope. My father wouldn’t have, and I won’t either.”
“Your father was never out of the saddle. He felt the most comfortable on his horse.”
She turned her head and looked up at him. “His horse? Who has his horse now?”
The chicken leg polished off, he tossed the bone over his shoulder. “Strider? He’s been turned out with the broodmares since he fell on your father.”
“Can I have him?”
Blake thought that over.
“Blake?”
“We’ll see. He hasn’t been worked at all. Might be a handful.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to eat? You need food to keep up your energy.”
“First, I need rest. We got up before sunrise, and this soft grass is heavenly. My eyes feel like they’re full of sand. I can’t wait to bathe and be clean again. It’s amazing how much dust those critters kick up.”
She yawned noisily, not even trying to be a lady.
He unwrapped his biscuits and dug in, grabbing another chicken leg with his other hand. She might not feel like eating just yet, but he was starved. He couldn’t wait, even to be polite.
He wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Seriously, Belle, we’re in no rush. After our noonin’, we can take the cattle we have and head back. There’re no hard-set rules stating how long we have to stay out. I’m pretty sore myself.”
“You’re a liar,” she said softly. He almost missed her statement with the swaying of the tree branches.
He shrugged and looked out to the horizon, enjoying the food more than he could say. “Storm’s brewin’.”
Her eyes opened. She lifted her head and looked around. “You think? Is that a bad thing? What happens if it rains?” Jerkily, she sat up and looked around.
“Eat your food.” He handed over her saddlebag. He’d been riding and ranching since he was a kid, so being that exhausted was difficult to imagine. He smiled to himself, remembering the first ride where he’d gone out with John. He liked that memory—and realized Belle might too. He unwrapped a plump breast from her stash of food and handed the chicken over. He raised his brows in a silent command that she eat.
“I remember the first time John took me out hunting strays,” he said, listening to her eat as he stared off at the horizon. Tree branches swayed in a gust of wind. She stopped eating, waiting for him to go on.
“Keep taking bites or I’ll stop talking.” He pointed at the half-eaten chicken breast. “I had little experience riding because me and my brother hired ourselves out to farmers, for the most part. By the time I came to Eden, I’d spent more time behind a plow than wrangling cattle. Anyway, back then John had maybe a few hundred head. This was before the railroads and silver discoveries in the mines, so population around here was much sparser. My first day in the saddle felt like the longest day of my life. We finished after dark, and much to my disgrace, John had to lift me down, like I did for you today. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees. From that day on, though, I’ve been in the saddle every day—unless I was off the ranch. It’s been a good life.”
When she didn’t respond, Blake glanced down, expecting to see the chicken bone picked clean. Instead, her cheeks were wet with tears. He hadn’t meant to make her sad. She’d been so eager for information the night before, and today too, he’d thought she’d like the story.
“Belle, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
She rolled over in the grass and buried her face in her elbow. “It’s all right.” Her voice was wavery with emotion. She took a loud sniff. “I do like to hear. But it’s painful too. We could have been a family again after Mother died—or maybe even before that.” She turned her head and glanced up at him, her face contorted in pain. “I’m so thankful he had you! Thank you for staying here, keeping him from being a lonely man.” She rolled to a sitting position, sucking in several large breaths. “I wish I’d had a chance to speak with him, know him, live in his house. We were led to believe he despised us. Why would we want to know a father who didn’t want us?”
Her face crumbled as a dark cloud passed over the sun, closing out the light. She angrily dashed at tears. She looked so miserable. He threw caution to the wind and carefully, so as not to hurt her, pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest.
“Shh.” He g
ently stroked her back. She moved in close, letting him cuddle her, not pulling away or telling him to stop.
“What I don’t understand is why he never came after us. Why he didn’t search us out to see for himself if we were really well and happy.” She looked up into his face through a pool of tears. “Do you know, Blake? Why didn’t my father come find us in person?”
“Of course I don’t know for sure; I can only speculate,” he replied softly, feeling her pain. He pulled her closer, thinking of the hurtful times, the lonely nights. “Your mother rebuffed in a stringent way his many offers to come and fetch you back. He wanted to come for you right after she left. He did. But her letters—the ones we believe now were written by your uncle—told him not to. That she wasn’t ready to return. That he’d disrupt all your lives. When I was young, I remember he used to tell me that Celeste was coming back, just as soon as she was stronger. Just as soon as the girls were a little older, so she wouldn’t worry so much. But a couple times a year he’d receive a letter saying she wasn’t up to the journey quite yet, or the weather was bad, or that she’d wait after the holidays. He’d tell me, ‘Soon, Blake. I’m expecting them soon.’” Blake glanced off, the feel of Belle in his arms grounding him. “But time goes by faster than you think. A workday may go on and on, but a year? That’s gone in a breath, or a shout. Soon one year is three, then eight, then eighteen.”
She sniffed and rubbed her face into his chest. The four years since Ann’s death felt like a day. The eighteen since his brother was killed, a heartbeat. “I can understand John’s reluctance,” he said. “When your life is full, you keep moving, keep hoping, keep working. The only thing that keeps you sane is your dream, and your desire kindles that. You can’t bear to be proven wrong. So you stay busy, making your life happen, doing good where you can. That was your father. John kept writing, waiting. Then, after a handful of years, a letter came saying she was happy with her life and liked where she was living. The girls were well and grounded. None of them could face the harshness of living in Colorado. They’d keep the lives they had in Philadelphia.”
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