Wandering Home (Dorado, Texas Book 1)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

Is this crazy talk? He glanced over his shoulder, connected with Myrna’s worried gaze and lifted an eyebrow.

  The older woman jerked her chin toward her boss and rolled her hand.

  The gesture indicated he’d have to listen to her story. Kell grabbed the closest chair and sat, willing himself not to speak again until she’d revealed the answers he waited on. The story, told in a halting fashion, involved a ghostly figure with leather thongs on his neck carrying stones with holes in the middle. The ones hanging on the horses’ stalls. Then they needed more bags to protect the garden and Vevina remembered the old trunk in the barn loft. Under all the burlap bags they kept for fire emergencies lay the hidden satchel.

  Using the hem of her apron, she dabbed the tears from her face. “But I was married to a thief. I will never hold up me head in this town again.” She crossed her arms over her stomach and rocked back and forth in the chair. “Must be why he was acting so strange those last months.”

  “Any one count this?” Figuring she’d need a while to settle herself, he stood and flipped the lid of the satchel. “Ah, no matter. That’s the sheriff’s job.” When he reached to secure the clasp, he spotted the corner of a white piece of paper sticking up from an inside pocket. After pulling it out, he scanned the list of names and dollar amounts then he re-read it, noting one particular name at the bottom. He shot a glance her way but she stared into the far distance, seemingly unaware of her surroundings.

  Sadly, Vevina was right about her late husband. Scowling, he jammed the paper into his pocket and pulled his Colt from the holster to check it carried a full load of bullets. He looked up to see Hank and Curly in the doorway and narrowed his gaze, watching until the men got his silent message and gave answering nods.

  “Why did ye do that?”

  He heard the fear in her voice but didn’t let it sway him. “Because I aim to have a few words with the sheriff when I deliver the prisoner.” He glanced at Vevina, let his gaze linger on the features that had become so dear over these few days, and winked. “Heck of an ending to your party, but I promise to resolve this matter within the hour.” Kell turned, hefted the satchel, and strode into the night, determined to see justice done.

  ****

  Vevina slumped back in her chair, her thoughts awhirl. Could she have been married to a thief and not known the truth? Why had Eugen done this? Since his death, she’d reviewed the ranch’s ledgers and learned their bank accounts held a tidy sum, the land was fertile, and the stock was healthy. What would have been her late husband’s need to be involved with a stagecoach robbery?

  “Here, drink this.” Myrna set a cup of steaming tea on the table before sitting in the adjacent chair. “I’ve added a splash of brandy to calm your nerves. I’m not ashamed to admit that after tonight’s frightening events, I’m having a wee nip myself.”

  “Thank ye.” Vevina sipped at the hot brew, feeling the sting of alcohol at the back of her throat. For a moment, she closed her eyes and relived the moment she’d looked up to see tall, confident Kell as he stood before the satchel containing the bank money. Smudged with soot like the rest of them, he’d been whole and uninjured. Then he’d picked up a note. His jaw had tightened, and his green eyes darkened to the emerald of an Irish forest, making him look like a fierce warrior from their common Viking ancestry. The sight had stirred her blood and crystallized how she thought of him with a single word—protector.

  Sipping her tea, she let that fact settle into her thoughts and wrap itself around her heart. From their very first words outside the sheriff’s office, she’d known this big man possessed a coiled strength that she could easily rely on. A quiet power that drew her close. But Kell’s words before his departure echoed in her mind. ‘Words with the sheriff…resolve this matter.’ Not ‘deliver the thief to jail’ or ‘to collect the bounty.” Shouldn’t he have said words like that? Wasn’t this a simple matter of returning the stolen money and delivering the captured thief?

  With sudden clarity, the sheriff’s repeated resistance to investigating the strange lights surfaced, and with that came the truth. Panic knotted her stomach, and she jumped to her feet. “Lordy be, I have to stop him.”

  “What do you mean?” Tully glanced at Timmy then leaned an elbow on the table.

  Vevina dashed toward the coat rack near the kitchen door, grabbed a shawl, and tied on her bonnet. She ran into the front room and swept a knitted blanket from the back of the sofa. “The sheriff’s involved in this whole business, and Kell’s going to confront him. I aim to be at his side.”

  “Be damned, you’re right. That good-for-nothing Woodman.” Tully slapped a hand on the plaster cast encasing his injured limb. “Blasted leg. I should be the one helping. Myrna, go help Mrs. B. hitch up the buggy. Take Copper, he’s the fastest one trained to the harness.”

  The women ran to the barn and within minutes, they had the reddish-colored gelding strapped to the buggy traces.

  Myrna enveloped Vevina in a tight hug then held her at arms’ length. “Find Hank first and stick close by his side until you learn the whole situation. May the Goddess protect you.”

  Vevina breathed in the blessing and the concern filling her friend’s words. “I will.” Then, moments later, she was seated in the buggy, with a blanket over her legs, and she slapped the reins on Copper’s rump. The horse leapt forward, seemingly eager to stretch his legs in the night air. Never had Vevina driven the buggy so hard. On some of the curves, she swore the outside wheels lifted clean off the ground. Her arms and shoulders were rigid with tension. Thankfully, the rising moon lit the road to town well.

  The ring she’d found in her brambrack cake had to foretell the truth. As she rode through the chilly night, she thought of all the kindnesses Kell had done for her and Timmy—spending time to train the dogs, tending the horses, teaching Timmy about tools, keeping guard over the fields at night. His actions showed his caring nature, and she knew without having spoken a single word aloud that she loved this tough man who’d been hurt in the past.

  But confronting the recalcitrant sheriff with what had been discovered in her barn could prove dangerous. She hadn’t matched any names from the list with men she’d met in town. But support for the sheriff could be silent...and intentionally anonymous. Possibly a number of the men had been paid to remain quiet. After so recently finding a good and brave man to love, she couldn’t bear to have Kell snatched away.

  By the time she passed the Star Palace, she spotted men spilling from the Golden Door Saloon into the street then heading several doors down toward the jail. She steered the buggy into the adjacent side alley, tied off the reins, and climbed down. Fear clutched at her throat as she hurried along the boardwalk, her boots clomping with sharp retorts on the planks. Pushing her way through the milling crowd, she didn’t worry about being the least bit polite. Seeing for herself Kell was all right was of the utmost importance. And ensuring he knew how much she needed him.

  Loud staccato voices sounded from inside the office followed by a grumble of whispered conversation that rippled through the crowd.

  Stepping through the door propped ajar and pressing hard, she stumbled forward and burst free of the men, scanning the room. There he stood—a guardian in command of the situation—his eyes narrowed in a suspicious glare, a pistol trained in a rock-steady grip on the sheriff’s chest.

  Hank stood in a similar stance, facing the room from the far corner.

  In his focused gaze and posture, Vevina glimpsed the tough wrangler Hank had been before gray invaded his hair and injuries slowed his stride. Nothing like a moral affront against the common hard-working man to infuse tired bodies with righteous attitude.

  “Admit it, Sheriff Woodman.” Kell’s deep voice filled the space and drifted to the men outside. “You were part of the gang that robbed the stage out of Austin this spring. And you purposely didn’t investigate Mrs. Bernhard’s claims of intruders on Shady Oaks property because of that very involvement.”

  Seated behind his desk, the sher
iff planted his hands flat on the wooden surface. Smoke from a cheroot floated in a cloud around his head. “Can’t prove nothing.” The man’s gaze scoured the crowd, and he shook his head. “You men have known me for years. Who’s gonna take this drifter’s word against mine?”

  All Vevina could do was look on her brave protector with awe and affection.

  “Don’t rely on my word…” With his free hand, Kell grabbed the list from his back pocket and extended it toward the gathered crowd before slapping it down on the sheriff’s desk. “But a message from beyond the grave can. Here’s a listing of the gang members written by Eugen Bernhard. Indicted by a dead man’s handwriting.” Kell jerked the gun toward the back room and braced his feet wide. “Now, get into a cell.”

  The men in the front row pressed forward, and then a reddish-haired muscled man stepped to the desk and reached for the list. After a quick glance at the writing, he held it aloft. “This proves what the stranger says.

  Vevina recognized the livery stable owner, Mr. Treadwell, and mentally thanked him for supporting Kell’s declaration.

  For several tense moments, the sheriff surveyed the room then he slowly stood and walked, his shoulders drooping.

  Hank followed and the men disappeared through an open doorway.

  A moment later, a loud metal clank of the cell door closing rang out.

  Boots shuffled against the wooden floor. Mumbling from the back of the crowd grew louder. “What’s that?” “What’s he saying?”

  Mr. Treadwell moved to the waiting men, displaying the piece of paper.

  Murmuring a silent prayer for strength, Vevina stepped into the middle of the room, lifted her chin, and then waited until Kell’s gaze tangled with hers and held. Long seconds passed at they stared at one another from a distance of several feet. She waited for him to read the message of affection and want she hoped shone from her eyes. When she spotted a lifting of his brows and a softening of his mouth, she smiled and extended her hand, glad to have found love again. “Kell Hawksen, time for ye to come home.”

  Epilogue

  October, 1876

  Across the kitchen near the stove, Vevina acted out the folk tale of Stingy Jack, her eyes lit with blue fire as she pantomimed the lost man cradling a turnip for a lantern.

  Sheriff Kell settled into his favorite wooden chair to enjoy the sight of his wife’s animated face as she spoke. He rested an elbow on the long dining table.

  This year, Timmy sat at the front, grinning and swinging his feet in new cowboy boots. An arm was slung around the thin shoulders of his little brother, Davin, who imitated everything Timmy did. The others—Curly, Hank, Tully, and Myrna—sipped coffee and listened as if they’d never heard the traditional Samhain story. For the newest hands, Trevor and Jake, this was their first fall at Shady Oaks, and both men leaned forward on their elbows, wide-eyed as little kids.

  The holiday feast of bread, colcannon, and ham warmed in the oven. Next to the stove stood a crate that emitted irregular mewling sounds. A barn cat had birthed a litter of kittens in the middle of the night. After discovering them, Kell scrambled to find scrap lumber to pound together their home for the next few weeks. For now, Bandit and Scout were banished to the barn, and the dogs made their protests known with mournful howls—which only added to the Halloween atmosphere.

  When he saw all heads shift and turn to look at the counter, he realized the story was over. Time for setting out the turnip lanterns.

  A soft whimper pulled his attention to the small precious bundle cradled in his arms. With a button nose and barely a fluff of red curls, Maeve looked just like her mama. Until she opened her eyes, and that’s when he caught sight of a bit of himself in her golden eyes. Maeve stretched, lifting both tiny hands above her head and arching her back. The usual preamble to letting out a hungry wail.

  “How is she?” Vevina leaned close, carrying the scent of lilacs, and brushed a kiss on the four-week-old infant’s head. “Think I can dash outside just long enough to help Timmy and Davin with the lanterns?”

  A dull thud sounded behind them followed seconds later by a whining wail.

  “My lantern bwoke.” Davin rubbed fisted hands in his eyes.

  A turnip laid split into two pieces on the plank floor.

  “Mama, I told him I would reach it.” Hands on his hips, Timmy shook his head at his brother.

  Biting back a smile at the miniature drama before him, Kell reached out his free hand and beckoned with his fingers. “Come to Papa, son.” If the soldier-ranger-stage guard-bounty hunter he’d been a couple years back had been informed being a parent might be a tough job, his former, and naïve, self would have laughed in their faces. Because guiding the young hearts and minds entrusted to his care through life had taught him more patience than he thought he possessed

  Dragging his feet across the floor, a slumped-shouldered Davin reached his father’s chair then leaned his head against Kell’s thigh.

  His fingers moved over his son’s light brown hair in gentle strokes. A fierce love for these curious, lively kids and their fun-seeking wife filled his heart that had been full of vengeance for so long. “Shh, Davin. Don’t fret. Mama always has plenty. You’ll have a lantern.”

  “I’ve tried to do too much. The party, the food, the traditions, and so soon after the baby’s arrival.” Shaking her head, she let out a loud sigh. “Maybe he’s too young to really understand.” For a moment, Vevina clasped the black amber stone at her neck. “Oh, this is crazy.”

  The familiar gesture let Kell know she murmured a prayer to the Goddess for something. Warmth invaded his chest with love for those he called his, and he let a smile bloom. “Not crazy, sweet wife, just being a family.” And I wouldn’t change a single thing.

  Titles Coming Soon in Dorado, Texas series:

  Storybook Hero

  My Heart Knew

  Mail-Order Holiday Haven

  Other historical stories with fall holiday settings are:

  A sweet western historical, The Ring That Binds released by Prism Book Group, is set in the small mining town of Aspen, Colorado. This title spent seven weeks on the Top 100 western historical list.

  1886 --Widow Celina Innes struggles to run her dress shop and pay her late husband’s debts for the sake of her four-year old daughter, Keena. Following his dream for silver was a mistake and Celina has sworn her independence. Co-owner of Toussaint’s General Store, Mikel, wishes to make this proud woman’s life easier. He slips treats to the child hoping to please Celina. When illness strikes Keena, Celina turns to Mikel for help and they work together all night, deepening their friendship. But when the crisis ends, Mikel disappears and Celina learns he wishes to increase his stores. How could she have been so wrong about him? Can a woman sworn to put down roots and a man seeking more riches find happiness?

  Wishes On A Star is included in Sweetwater Springs Christmas, an anthology of short stories by eleven authors set in the 1895 world created in Debra Holland’s poplar western historical Montana Sky series

  Free-spirit Richelle Quaid is outspoken, confident and a little bit spoiled. She sets tongues wagging with her bloomers and bicycle but also catches the eye of visiting rancher Landon Howard. An incident with her bicycle causes his prize colt to bolt into the cold Montana night. As Richelle and Landon track the animal together, they can’t fight their growing attraction. Will a wish made on a star foretell their future?

  Bewitching Gypsy is included in a Halloween-themed anthology titled Spooktacular Seductions published by Roane Publishing.

  Fiona Mikolas is an outcast—branded by her fiery red hair and a purple birth mark—forced to live a solitary life, traveling a circuit of southern states in America and selling healing potions. Until the night of All Hallow’s Eve, when her lonely life is changed by the arrival of two strangers in her camp.

  Beaten and robbed, rancher Hagan Fletcher tracks his stolen stallion and stumbles toward a campfire in south Texas. He awakens, suffering from amnesia and is intrigued
by the mysterious beauty to look beneath the surface to who she really is.

  For a complete listing of Linda’s contemporary and historical titles, go to her website www.lindacarroll-bradd.com

  To receive the latest news and insider details about upcoming releases, click here to sign up for her newsletter.

  Author Biography

  Linda grew up in northern California as part of a five-member family but loads of people in the neighborhood thought her parents had only two daughters. Why? Because she loved to read and was usually lying on her bed instead of playing outside with the other neighborhood kids. The summer she was twelve, she read Gone With The Wind and was hooked on romantic stories. She delved into the Phyllis A. Whitney and Dorothy Eden books of her mother’s and then discovered Harlequin. As a mother with young children, she would lose herself in stories of glamorous people in exotic places—so different than the day-to-day diapers and crumbly teething biscuits.

  After years of working in secretarial positions, she decided to use the creative side of her brain and learn how to write one of the romances she loved reading. Easier said than done. Twelve long years and many contest finals later, and with the help of various critique groups, she received her first call and had a confession story published. She was hooked. In addition to working as a freelance editor, she writes contemporary and historical stories that are heartwarming with a touch of humor, many with a tie to her previous home of Texas.

  To keep updated on her upcoming releases, sign up to receive her quarterly newsletter.

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  Opening scene from Storybook Hero

  December 1876—south Texas

  Clarissant gave the feather duster a couple of half-hearted swipes over the shelf of canned vegetables. Helping out in Othmann’s Mercantile made her feel like she was contributing since being taken in by her aunt and uncle, but little excitement could be found among cans, boxes, and sacks of food or bins of nails and hammers. Her gaze strayed to the long wooden counter where the orders were compiled and the bills tallied. And where she’d stashed the latest novel she’d been reading late into the night.