The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Victoria Bylin

  He pulled his hat low, hiding his eyes. Before she could thank him, he walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  Beau wasn’t fond of cleaning fish, but today he welcomed the chore. Not even Ellie wanted to stick around. She’d gone inside with her sisters, leaving Beau to prepare the trout with T.C. meowing at the base of the worktable behind the barn. The racket didn’t bother Beau at all. After listening to female chatter all the way back from the stream, he’d felt a lot like T.C. Beau could see the life he wanted, but it glittered like gold at the bottom of a deep pond.

  When he and Dani had told the girls about his decision, they’d hugged her hard. She’d made a point of saying Beau cared about them and had made the decision out of love. She’d been right and the girls had sensed it. Esther and Ellie had hugged him. Emma had called him Uncle Beau and apologized for flinging the apple. He’d felt their blood ties in his marrow. If he’d been Emma, he’d have thrown things, too. He’d told her so and she’d smiled. Today had been the best day of his life since Lucy’s murder, but it couldn’t be repeated. As long as Johnson drew breath, Beau had a call on his life.

  He also had three girls and a woman waiting for supper. He lifted the fish from the bucket, slit it open and removed the bones. He didn’t care for the sight of fish guts, but a man did what he had to do. Beau set the fish pieces on a plate, then wiped the mess into a bucket he’d dump in the garden later.

  As he lifted the second fish, T.C. meowed in outrage.

  “You’ll get yours,” Beau said to the cat.

  As he worked the knife, he wondered if he could say the same for himself. After five years, he was no closer to Clay Johnson than he’d been the day he left Denver. The man had a knack for goading Beau and then disappearing. Why wouldn’t Johnson stand and fight? Beau didn’t understand. If the outlaw wanted to hide, he could have traveled east and lost himself in a big city. Instead he’d started a game of tag by leaving Beau messages. Why? Beau saw only one answer. Clay Johnson had the mind of a snake. The sooner he met his end, the sooner Beau could settle down.

  For the first time since Denver, he liked the idea. He’d grown fond of sleeping in a bed and even fonder of Dani’s cooking. When he finished cleaning the fish, he’d milk the cows. He’d clean up and go inside the cozy house. He’d sit at the head of the table, passing platters of food and listening to female prattle. As he filleted another fish, Beau muttered an oath. He had to track down Johnson and kill him. Why was he torturing himself with thoughts of Dani and the girls?

  T.C. wove around his ankles, meowing with the desperation befitting an annoyed feline. Beau tossed him a bite of fish. “Now scat.”

  The cat swallowed the tidbit, sat and stared at Beau. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

  So did Beau. Looking at the kitten, he faced a sad truth. Dani and his nieces would live in his heart forever. He’d never forget them. Maybe he’d visit once a year, at Christmas when snow made the days bright. He’d bring toys for the girls and something nice for Dani. Maybe cloth for a dress or a fancy hat. Maybe a necklace made of gold. She liked pretty things. Who knew what the future held? Maybe someday, after Clay Johnson had been caught, Beau would call the farm home.

  The thought made his belly roll. Once he finished with Johnson, he’d be a free man. He could marry Dani…He liked the idea quite a bit, but he couldn’t expect her to wait for him. In spite of adopting Patrick’s girls, Beau figured she’d be married within a year. Only a fool would let her get away.

  Sighing, he picked up another fish.

  “Nice-looking trout.”

  Beau turned and saw Josh. “There’s plenty. Can you stay for supper?”

  “No, thanks. Dani already asked.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “This isn’t a social call.”

  Josh rarely sounded grim. When he did, he had a reason. Beau lowered the knife. “What brings you out here?”

  “The Rocking J had some trouble.”

  “What kind?”

  “Horse thieves made off with some prize stock.”

  The local ranch had the finest quarter horses in Colorado. Clay Johnson had an eye for good horseflesh. Beau’s nerves prickled. “Any witnesses?”

  “Baylor’s wife saw three men.”

  Beau forgot the fish. “Last I heard, Johnson had two partners. What else did she see?”

  “Not much. They were wearing masks.”

  “What about their mounts?” Johnson had ridden the same horse, a buckskin mare with black stockings, for five years.

  “One of them rides a pinto,” Josh answered. “Another had a nag.”

  “Anyone on a buckskin?”

  Josh shook his head.

  The facts didn’t point to Johnson, but neither did they point away. The outlaw had been riding with two other men. Beau had been closing in on them when he’d stopped to visit Patrick. Every instinct told him Johnson had raided the Rocking J. He stabbed the knife into the table. “It’s Johnson. It has to be.”

  With the blade twanging, he looked at Josh in his black coat. The man kept a Bible in the front pocket and a pistol at his side. Truth and justice. Heaven and Hell. Josh would have added mercy and forgiveness. Beau didn’t care. He wanted vengeance.

  The Reverend kept his voice low. “Sheriff Dawes is riding out tomorrow with a couple of men. He wants you to join them.”

  Beau wanted to leave so badly his calves twitched. His weapons were clean and loaded. If he saddled his roan, he’d be ready to ride. Instead he muttered a curse. “I can’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve got ten cows to milk, alfalfa to plant and a silo to build for a know-it-all woman!”

  Josh raised an eyebrow. “Dani seems capable to me.”

  “She is.”

  “So why not go?”

  If he didn’t finish the planting, Dani would be left to wrestle with a mule and a plow. He couldn’t stand the thought. “It’s my job,” he said. “If the alfalfa doesn’t get planted, she won’t have winter feed.”

  Josh arched a brow. “I thought you were selling the farm.”

  “Not anymore. Dani’s staying.”

  “Are you?” Josh asked.

  “Not a chance.” Beau explained the adoption and why he’d made the choice. “I’ll ask Scott to file papers next trip to town.”

  The Reverend didn’t say a word.

  Josh never lied, but neither did his silence ring true. Beau looked him in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  Beau hated secrets. “Does it concern Dani?”

  “In a way.”

  “Then I have a right to know.”

  “No, you don’t.” Josh crossed his arms. “This is between me and God. If something needs to be said, I’ll say it. As things stand, you’re the girls’ legal guardian and using your best judgment. From what I can see, Dani’s promise to Patrick hasn’t affected your decision.”

  “Not really,” Beau said. “The woman knows cows and loves the girls. That’s what made me change my mind.”

  That, and the fact he liked her. Josh didn’t need that information.

  The minister nodded. “That’s all I need to know.”

  Beau wanted to know what had led to Josh’s concern, but he knew his friend wouldn’t break a confidence. He’d proven himself in Denver. Late at night, when Beau had spilled his guts, Josh had kept their talk private. Beau had a feeling he’d done the same for Patrick. If his brother had been having second thoughts about marriage, Beau didn’t much care. Dani loved the girls. That was enough. He’d filleted five trout for supper. That was enough, too. So was five years of chasing Clay Johnson, but Beau couldn’t rest until the man swung from a rope.

  He snatched the last fish from the bucket and slit the belly. “Tell me about Dawes. Is he any good?”

  “Average.”

  “Can he take Johnson?”

  “Not alone.”

  Beau lowered the knife. “I’
ve been after Clay Johnson for five years. He could be in shouting distance and I can’t finish the job. It’s not right.”

  “Maybe it’s not your job to finish,” Josh said. “‘Vengeance is Mine—”

  “—saith the Lord.’ I know.” Beau jerked the bones from the trout’s flesh and flung them into the bucket. He glared at Josh. “Where was God when Lucy bled to death?”

  The Reverend’s gaze stayed steady. “The same place He was when His son died on the cross.”

  Beau wiped the knife on a rag. The table stank of fish and death and blood. Clay Johnson was riding free and the Baylor family was left to struggle with loss and violation. For the second time, Beau stabbed the knife into the wood. “Don’t give me that talk.”

  “What talk?”

  “That God knows what I’m feeling. Johnson killed my wife.”

  “I know, I was there.”

  “I want him dead!”

  “I know you do, Beau. It’s just that—”

  “Just what?”

  Josh held Beau’s gaze. “The bitterness is eating you alive. You know the cure. ‘Father forgive them—’”

  “Don’t you dare say it.”

  They know not what they do. Clay Johnson had carried a loaded rifle to a rooftop. He’d known full well what he intended to do. At best, he’d been sniping for Beau. At worst, he’d shot an innocent woman in the back.

  Beau lashed out at Josh. “Don’t you dare tell me to forgive that piece of human filth!”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Josh said. “That’s between you and God.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d say the same thing to Clay. He’s going to Hell, my friend. Unless he squares things with the Almighty, he’s going to suffer more than you can imagine.”

  “He has it coming.”

  Josh raised his chin. “We all do.”

  Beau felt the words like fire, mostly because Josh counted himself in the same camp as men like Clay Johnson. Fallen short. Weak-minded. A lost soul except for the blood of Christ. Beau knew Josh’s story. A long time ago, he’d been a holier-than-thou preacher. He blamed himself for his sister’s death and still carried the guilt.

  Beau had no illusions of holiness. He sinned as much as any man and he knew it. He was sinning right now…“Love one another as I have loved you.” No way could he bring himself to “love” Clay Johnson. Not now. Not ever. Right now, he didn’t think much of Josh, either. He wanted the man to leave.

  Beau picked up the plate of fish in one hand and the scrap bucket in the other. He looked pointedly at Josh. “Anything else?”

  “Any advice for Dawes?”

  “Shoot to kill.”

  Beau strode past Josh. The pastor followed him around the barn and into the yard where he’d left his horse tied to a post. Josh loosed the reins and climbed into the saddle. “See you Sunday.”

  “Not in church.”

  Like last Sunday, Beau would leave Dani and the girls at the foot of the steps, then head into town.

  Josh looked down from the saddle. “I didn’t expect so, but I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

  “What for?”

  “A church picnic.”

  Beau wanted to spit. “Did Adie plan it?”

  “Of course.”

  Back in Denver, Adie had been every bachelor’s hero. She’d organized picnics, dances and Saturday suppers that forced even the shyest men to rub elbows with the ladies in town. Beau had rubbed a lot of elbows before he’d clapped eyes on Lucy. He’d enjoyed those spirited times. He wanted Dani to have fun, too.

  Or did he? The thought of her sharing a meal with another man—even one with marriage on his mind—made Beau grit his teeth. He didn’t know which annoyed him more, not riding with Dawes or keeping his eye on Dani in a crowd of single men. All in pursuit…full of hope and dreams and things Beau couldn’t have.

  Josh tipped his hat. “See you Sunday.”

  The Reverend rode out of the yard, leaving Beau with a bellyache. As if to rub Beau’s nose in his helplessness, Josh pushed his gray into a gallop, racing past the charred pine and fields of lush grass. With each stride, the horse and rider grew smaller until the minister was a black dot on a dusty road. Stinking of fish and hate, Beau tensed with frustration. He should have been leaving with Josh, not holding a reeking bucket while ten cows told him what to do.

  Beau couldn’t stand being in the dark. Had Johnson led the raid on the Rocking J as Beau suspected? Was he still in the area? Beau’s nerves twanged like the knife. With horses to sell, the outlaw would head for the mountains, where a maze of canyons twisted through the foothills below the Rockies. Johnson could hide for days, raiding ranches until he’d bled the area dry. He had two partners, both unidentified. Either one could slip into town, catch the gossip and stay a step ahead of the law.

  And a step ahead of Beau…

  If Johnson stayed true to form, he’d want Beau to know he was close. He’d leave a message at the Silver River Saloon. A taunt. A threat. Did the outlaw have a bead on Beau? On Dani and the girls? Beau blinked and saw pink. If Johnson had left him a message, he had to know. Dani needed him to plant the alfalfa, but she could do without him for tonight. With the stolen horses in his care and the law on his tail, Johnson would stay hidden in the canyons. She’d be safe.

  Beau strode to the garden, left the bucket and headed for the back door to the house. Emma saw him coming and opened it. He handed her the plate of fish.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Uncle Beau.” She meant for everything—the day, the meal, especially for Dani.

  His belly rumbled with hunger. If he ate supper with the females, he’d sit at the head of the table. He’d share smiles with Dani and eat like a king. Longing stabbed through him, but he pushed it back. “Tell Dani I’m not eating supper.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Emma lost her smile.

  Beau felt like dirt. He’d hurt the child’s feelings, but he didn’t dare apologize, not when he could smell biscuits and pie. Instead he barked an order. “I left the fish waste in the garden. Someone needs to bury it.”

  “I’ll do it after supper.”

  “The milking—”

  “I can do that, too.”

  “Good.”

  Emma raised her chin. “We don’t need you to run this place. You can leave and never come back!”

  Beau heard the defiance, but he didn’t see it in her expression. Tears pooled in her eyes and he knew why. Emma wanted a father. He couldn’t be that man, not until Clay Johnson lay dead in a ditch.

  He pulled the door shut, then strode across the yard to the bunk room where he’d stowed his things under the cot. Some of them were practical. Some were sacred. Beau dropped to his knees, reached under the bed and pulled out a box that held Lucy’s ring, their wedding picture and a ladies’ handkerchief, one of two Lucy had embroidered with flowers.

  The linen no longer held her scent, but he recognized the pink roses. Beau had carried a similar hankie in his pocket until he’d come across a young mother in a run-down café. She’d had a small child in her lap, a boy with a cough and a nose as red as fire. Knowing Lucy would approve, Beau had given her the hankie. He’d let go of his grief that day, but not the rage. Today, Beau realized, that rage had flickered and almost died. He’d had a good day. For a few hours, he’d forgotten about Clay Johnson.

  Furious with himself, he slipped Lucy’s handkerchief into his pocket and pushed to his feet. He strapped on his gun belt, cloaked it with his duster, then saddled his horse and led it into the yard. With dusk turning the sky to pewter, Beau swung into the saddle.

  Dani hurried out the front door. Her eyes asked questions he didn’t want to answer, so he dug his heels into the horse’s side. Josh had left the yard at a gallop. Beau left at a dead run. He barely noticed the rise and fall of the road, the change in the sky from blue to orange, then purplish-black. His thoughts tumbled like rocks in a can, cla
ttering against each other until he arrived in town.

  Businesses had closed for the day, but upstairs apartments were alive with families having supper. As he rode toward the Silver River, he heard an argument about a boy eating his peas. Did the mother know how precious this moment could be? Anything could happen. The child could catch a fever and die. A wagon accident could take his life. Tonight could be her last memory.

  Beau thought of the handkerchief in his pocket. A week before Lucy died, he’d watched her working a crochet hook. The yarn had been baby blue. He’d wondered, but she’d only smiled and said it was too soon to be sure.

  Fiddle music pulled Beau’s attention to the saloon. He steered to the wailing notes, hitched his horse to the railing and went inside. Pausing at the door, he surveyed a small crowd of locals, mostly businessmen ending their day with the amber cure. Beau headed for the counter.

  Wallace set down the glass he was wiping. “Coffee?”

  “And information.” Beau slapped down a greenback.

  The barkeep put it in his pocket, sent a waitress to the kitchen for the coffee, then looked at Beau. “What can I do for you?”

  “Anyone leave anything for me?”

  Wallace shrugged. “Not a thing. That man I saw, he hasn’t come back.”

  Beau was glad Johnson hadn’t left a vile threat, but he didn’t want to lose him, either. He turned his attention to the facts at hand. “What’s the word on the Rocking J?”

  Wallace summarized what Beau had heard from Josh, then leaned forward. “Rumor has it they did more than steal the horses.”

  Beau tensed. “What are you saying?”

  “Baylor’s daughter…”

  Beau held in a curse. A tender girl had been brutalized. Where was God?

  Wallace wiped another glass with his apron. “Her brother stopped the attack before too much happened, but she’s pretty shook up.”

  Beau wouldn’t bother the girl, but he wondered about the brother. “Did he see the man’s face?”

  “They all had masks.”

  The waitress brought Beau’s coffee. He took a swig, weighing the evidence as the liquid scalded his tongue. His instincts told him Johnson was behind the raid, but he needed hard facts, something peculiar to Clay. If no one had seen the horse thieves, he’d have to find another way to tie Johnson to the theft.