by Kit Morgan
Why? He had to know! But once he found out, what was he going to do – hunt the cad down and drag him to jail himself?
He rubbed his hands over his face a few times. He was hungry, tired and had probably been at the girl’s bedside for longer than propriety allowed. He took one last look at her and stood. He had chores to do, and Anson would need his help with the fencing they didn’t get done yesterday because of their surprise house guest. He sighed and left the room.
Downstairs, Zadie was making breakfast. “She woke up for a little bit,” Jess reported.
“That’s wonderful! Did you find out who she is?”
“No, she was still very confused – must be all that laudanum. She said a few things, then fell right back asleep.”
“Oh.” Zadie studied the food she was cooking in disappointment. “I guess I won’t need to worry about feeding her yet.”
“Not yet. But maybe she’ll wake up again in an hour or two. She did ask where she was.”
Zadie turned from the stove. “That’s good. Did she say if she was in pain?”
“No, but I could see it in her eyes. That poor thing is hurting.”
“Who wouldn’t be with a wound like that? We just have to make sure she doesn’t get a fever.”
“Too bad Doc Drake isn’t here. He could fix her up.”
“I remember when Anson told me about your miracle-working doctor back home, before he and his wife came to visit us with Anson’s parents. To hear you two talk, you make him sound like he has more of a divine gift than an education in medicine.”
“He’s got both, folks in Clear Creek think.” Jess smiled and eyed the eggs she was turning. “I’d best eat something and go help Anson.”
“You’ve been very attentive to our guest,” Zadie said without looking at him. She put some eggs and bacon on a plate, then spooned him up a portion of fried potatoes. “Here, breakfast.”
Jess took the plate from her. “Much obliged, Zadie.”
“What, no comment?” she asked innocently.
“About what?”
Now she turned, one hand on her hip and waving a spatula with the other. “You were up there an awfully long time with that girl.”
“Shouldn’t someone watch over her in case she wakes up? Which, I might point out, she did.”
“True. But bear in mind, Jess, she might be married.”
“She’s not wearing any rings, Zadie. And what does that have to do with anything anyway?”
She shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. But it’s like you found a little lost puppy or kitten, Jess. You’ve got that look in your eye that says you want to keep her.”
His mouth dropped open. “I do not!” He paused. “Do I?”
She smiled and winked at him. “Oh yes.” She turned back to the stove and started to dish up another plate.
Anson came in through the back door and went straight to her. “Breakfast ready? I’m starved.” He looked at Jess. “How is she?”
“She woke up for a few minutes. I didn’t find out anything, though.”
“It’s probably the laudanum,” Zadie added. “She’ll be more coherent this afternoon, I’m sure. Maybe we can find out something then.”
“By now I imagine Doc Rawlins has told a few folks about her,” Anson said. “Maybe someone knows her kin and they’ll come here looking for her.”
“Is that really what we want?” Jess asked.
“What do you mean?” Zadie asked as she and Anson sat at the table.
Jess sat as well. “She’s been shot, Zadie. My guess is it wasn’t an accident.”
“You think whoever shot her will find out she’s here and come to the ranch?” Zadie asked.
“That’s exactly what I think. And what if it was one of her kinfolk?”
Anson’s brow furrowed. “You may have a point there.” He looked at his wife. “We might want to speak to the sheriff about this.”
“Why don’t we wait and ask our guest once she wakes up again?” Zadie suggested. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe she did it to herself …”
“How does someone shoot themselves in the hip like that?” Jess asked.
Zadie shrugged. “It could happen … I think.”
Anson folded his hands in front of him, said a quick prayer and began to eat.
“I think someone tried to kill her,” Jess stated before he took a bite.
Anson went still as he was about to sip his coffee. “I think we’ll wait and ask her,” he said cautiously. “Then fetch the sheriff as needed. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“What if somebody shows up here at the ranch before then?” Jess asked.
Anson smiled. “Then we’ll just have to take care of him, won’t we cousin?”
Jess smiled back. That was all he wanted to hear. They wouldn’t kill the blackguard, of course, simply detain him until the sheriff got there. Though by that time the poor chap might be a little worse for wear – he could be patched up while he waited for whatever was coming to him.
Jess glanced at the ceiling, then started to eat. No matter what, he’d make sure no more harm came to the woman upstairs. He’d found her, he’d take care of her – that was that.
* * *
When Lillie awoke again, her throat was so dry she couldn’t speak. She studied the room looking for a water pitcher and spied one on a dresser next to a window. Wherever she was, the people must be rich. The room was beautiful, the furnishings brand new.
She tried to move, but couldn’t sit up, let alone get to the water. She groaned hopelessly, looked at the doorway – oh! A woman was standing on the threshold, watching her!
“Oh my goodness, you’re awake!” the woman said.
Lillie’s heart jumped in surprise, and she licked her dry lips. “Who are you?”
The woman entered the room and went to her. She sat on the bed and took one of Lillie’s hands in hers. “I’m Zadie Jones. You’re in my home. My husband’s cousin found you in our barn yesterday. What’s your name?”
Lillie hesitated. Had her father come looking for her?
“It’s all right,” the woman – Zadie, what an odd name – said. “No one here is going to hurt you. Please tell me your name.”
“Lillie,” she rasped.
“Lillie – that’s a pretty name. Do you live around here?”
Lillie had a more urgent need on her mind. “W-water?”
“Oh!” Zadie gasped. “Of course – where are my manners? Just a moment.” She went to the pitcher, poured a glass, brought it over to the bed and helped Lillie raise her head to sip from it. She drank greedily until the glass was empty and her head was pounding.
When she finished, Zadie eased her head back down on the pillow and patted her hand. “You need to rest more. Are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat.”
Lillie’s stomach growled at the mention of food. She put a hand over it and closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them again the woman was looking at her in concern. “Thank you,” Lillie said. “And yes, I’m hungry.”
“I would imagine so. When did you eat last?”
“I … don’t remember.”
“Don’t worry, Doc Rawlins said you’re going to be fine. You have a nasty wound on your hip. The doctor says it’s from a gunshot.”
Lillie’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. What could she say – that her own father had tried to kill her? What would the poor woman think? Naturally she’d ask why, and Lillie really didn’t want to tell her the reason.
Zadie Jones squeezed her hand, bringing Lillie’s attention back. “I’ll fix you some lunch. It won’t take a minute.” She got off the bed, smiled and left the room.
As soon as she was gone Lillie’s tears started to fall. She remembered the last argument she’d had with her father, how he’d blamed her for her mother’s death. Lillie suspected her father had hit Mama one too many times in one of his drunken rages, but he wouldn’t let her near her mother’s crumpled form as she lay on the floor of their tiny cab
in. He’d ordered her to bed, and she’d complied before he took his rage out on her too.
And in the morning, her mother was gone.
Pa told her that she’d left and wasn’t coming back ever again. Lillie was only twelve when that happened. Now she was eighteen … wasn’t she? Her father never celebrated her birthday, probably because he was barely conscious of what day of the week it was anymore, never mind what day of the year. But Lillie had calculated it out, and was pretty sure she was born in 1871. Yes, that was right – and Ma had said her birthday was in October, so she would soon be nineteen.
They’d moved to Morgan’s Crossing over a month ago, and been there longer than any other town they’d been in since her mother died. But she’d known it was only a matter of time before he fell into a drinking binge that would trigger his rage. When he finally did, he’d beaten her much like he had Mama. And then gone beyond that.
Maybe he wanted to rid himself of the burden of taking care of her. He’d said he couldn’t marry her off and get rid of her that way – who would want her? No, to him she was like a horse with a broken leg. The only way to deal with an animal like that was to put them down. Thankfully, he’d been so drunk he’d missed his mark and shot her in the hip instead of the back when she ran. But had he meant to shoot her, or was it an accident? She had no idea.
Fearing for her life, she’d kept on running as far as she could, resting only when she couldn’t go on. It was a miracle she’d made it as far as she did considering her wound. If she hadn’t been wearing all her clothes, maybe she’d have noticed the blood. But no, the first two layers must’ve soaked up most of it. She wore most everything she had when her father was on a binge, in case she had to leave in a hurry. Her mother taught her to do that. Not that it ever did her any good.
She came across the little horse ranch and hid in its barn, planning to take a break before she ran again, but was too weak. She must’ve fallen asleep, and when she woke up there was the man Jeff Jones or whatever his name was with the peaceful blue eyes.
Lillie relaxed at the thought of those eyes and wondered where he was now.
* * *
When Jess and Anson came into the house that evening to wash up for supper, it was all Jess could do to keep from running upstairs to check on his charge. He scrubbed his hands, splashed water on his face, then dried himself with the towel. Anson did the same as Zadie came into the kitchen. “She’s awake.”
Jess tried to still his beating heart and remain calm. “And?”
“Her name is Lillie.”
“Lillie what?” Anson asked as he dried his hands.
“She hasn’t told me yet. But she does know that she’s been shot and is very grateful to us for taking her in.”
“She’s not talking much, then,” Anson stated rather than asked.
“I think maybe she’s afraid whoever shot her is looking for her,” Zadie said. “That’s my guess, anyway.”
“Poor thing’s probably scared to death.” Jess headed for the door leading to the hallway.
Anson grabbed his arm. “Hold on there, cousin.”
“I want some answers. If someone’s trying to harm her, I want to know who it is.”
“For all that poor girl knows, we’ve already contacted who it is. We need to make it clear we haven’t done that.”
Jess sighed. “You’re right. Guess I’m being overprotective,” he added, glancing at Zadie.
“Nothing wrong with that, cousin,” Anson assured. “She is pretty.”
Zadie tried to suppress a giggle and snorted instead.
“Oh come on,” Jess said with a roll of his eyes. “You sound like my mother – she snorts just like that.”
Now Zadie laughed openly. “Does she really?”
“You know she does,” Anson said, slapping Jess on the back. “Tell you what, you can take our patient her supper. After she’s eaten, we’ll talk with her and find out what happened.”
“All right. I suppose I can wait a while longer.”
“I know you can. I just don’t want you to charge upstairs and bombard the poor thing with questions. It might scare her more than she already is.”
Jess frowned and nodded. Of course Anson was right. But part of the reason he was so eager to run upstairs wasn’t to find out what had happened to Lillie – it was just to see her again. She was so … what was the word? Vulnerable. He felt totally responsible for her, something he’d never felt before for anyone. He wanted to take care of her, protect her, make sure she had everything she needed or wanted.
“Supper’s ready, you two,” Zadie told them.
The men nodded and seated themselves at the kitchen table. After Zadie dished everyone up a plate, she sat and Anson said the blessing. But while he prayed over the food, Jess prayed silently for Lillie. Like the delicate flower she’d been named for, he wanted to make sure no one would come along and crush her. He also prayed for the poor fool stupid enough to try, that God would turn him away before Jess had to.
Four
Herman Mayer wasn’t the brightest or the nicest man around, and he knew it. But he didn’t want everyone to know, so he usually sought out similar individuals to associate himself with. In Morgan’s Crossing, that was Clyde Rossmoor.
He and Clyde hit it off immediately, the likely reason being that they both believed in giving a woman “what for” if she didn’t do what they wanted exactly to their satisfaction. Clyde’s wife Portia wore the brand of her husband’s will often enough to prove it. Herman saw the bruises on her face the first day he came to town. He’d also recognized the downcast look that accompanied the faded green tinge on her cheek and the stooped way she walked as she trudged down the street.
Not to be outdone, Herman had made sure his daughter Lillie was equally well-decorated the next couple of days. But his daughter was headstrong and still back-talked him, the little fool. He’d made up his mind to hit her harder next time, but didn’t think that it would do any good.
The girl was daft, an idiot – no, an imbecile. Half the time she didn’t know what he was talking about, and no matter how many times he hit her in the head – or elsewhere -- it didn’t seem to have any effect. She was still just as stupid if not more so. Naturally she’d scream and cry and make a fuss every time he corrected her, but what was he to do? Frankly, he was getting downright tired of it – of her. She was expensive to feed and clothe. He’d be better off without her.
They’d moved around a lot since her mother died and hadn’t found a good place to settle. No one understood the burden he had to bear, bringing up a girl without a brain in her head. She was pretty enough, at least, but so slow no man would want her. He was stuck with her. Surely there had to be some way to get her off his hands?
Finally, maybe he’d succeeded. He hadn’t seen her since early yesterday morning, or was it the night before that? He couldn’t remember much of it – he’d gotten pretty drunk and woken up with a horrible headache. He did recall Lillie bothering him about there not being any food in the cabin. A fine thing! What was he supposed to do about it? She was perfectly capable of going out and finding some. But no, she had to complain to him.
So he did what any other self-respecting father would do – he gave her “what for.”
At long last, his prayers were answered and she ran away! Even better, maybe a bear or a mountain lion made a meal out of her. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about her darkening his doorstep to ask for money or food. How annoying would that be?
Of course, he’d have to come up with an explanation as to why she disappeared. The law looked down upon such things. He ought to know – they came around often enough after he’d buried his wife. But her up and dying on him the way she did was none of their business. They needed to stick to chasing bank robbers and cattle rustlers, important things like that. They were wasting their time bothering him. It was one of the reasons he’d moved on, and had kept moving ever since. If the neighbors here didn’t keep pestering him about his gun accid
ently going off the other night and that he should be more careful, he might have to leave Morgan’s Crossing sooner than later.
“Mr. Mayer?” a man called.
Herman, who’d been leaning against a porch post of the cabin he rented, turned around and gulped. It was Mr. Morgan himself, the owner of the mine. “Yessir?”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was out for a little walk, saw you and thought I’d say hello.”
Herman looked him up and down. He was well-dressed, and why not? Clyde told him the man not only owned the mine, but pretty much the whole town. “Evenin’.”
“My foreman, Mr. Rossmoor, tells me you’re a good worker.”
Herman stood up straight, his chest puffed out with pride. “He did? Well shucks, tain’t nothin’. Just doin’ my job, sir.”
“I appreciate all your hard work. I hear you have a daughter.”
Herman paled. “Er … who toldja that?”
“Mr. Rossmoor, of course. How old is she?”
Herman grimaced. “Ah … seventeen, eighteen?” Consarnit, he couldn’t remember.
“Splendid! Some of the women in town are putting a quilt together. I’m sure they’d love to have her join them. What’s her name?”
Herman swallowed hard. “Um … Lillie.”
“Wonderful. I’ll tell my wife so she or one of the other ladies can extend an invitation.”
Herman had to think fast. “Well, Lillie ain’t much with a needle ‘n thread.”
Mr. Morgan was about to tip his hat but stopped. “She isn’t? Oh, that’s too bad. Women around here like getting together for things like that.”
Herman began to fidget. “She ain’t real social-like. Keeps to herself.”
“That explains why no one’s seen much of her since you arrived.” Mr. Morgan looked at the porch. “Is the cabin you’ve rented satisfactory?”