Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1)

by Lynnette Bonner

  They gave him a sympathetic look. “I can see that. Can you walk? Our cabin is just about half a mile from here. If you can make it, we’ll walk. Otherwise I’ll send my husband back for you with the wagon?”

  He sucked in his cheek.

  Even with a fake name, word would quickly get around that this family was housing a sick man with a busted-up arm and a gash on his head. It wouldn’t take the sheriff more than two seconds to put two and two together and come up with four. So much as he might like to lie abed and have this soft-on-the-eyes woman take care of him for a few days, that wasn’t in his best interest.

  A wagon, on the other hand, might be just the thing he needed to help him escape. Get him a ways from here where he could hole up for a while and recuperate before he took to investigating who had set him up back there like that.

  He knew Horace. He wasn’t smart enough to have figured out on his own that he was going to be on that stage at that exact time. Someone had told him. And whoever it was would soon pay dearly for betraying him.

  Now he squinted at Mrs. Kastain and did his best to look sickly, which he guessed he didn’t have to try too hard for. “Not sure as I can make it walking. My leg is busted up pretty good. Would you mind sending your husband with a wagon?”

  She touched his shoulder gently. “You just lie here and rest. He’ll be back for you within the hour. And we’ll have hot vittles for you once you get to the house.”

  His stomach rumbled. He surely did wish he was going to be able to take her up on her offer of hospitality. He surely did. “Thank you, kindly, ma’am. Sure would do me some good if you might send some bread with your husband?”

  She smiled. “Of course. You must be starving. I’ll do just that. I made a big batch of fresh biscuits just this morning.”

  He closed his eyes and relaxed. Now he just had to come up with a plan to get the wagon away from the husband once he got here.

  Chapter Eight

  Reagan Callahan escorted Miss Charlotte Brindle from his office back to the boardinghouse.

  She gave him a frosty curtsy, holding her muddied skirt as though it were the cleanest of royal silks. “Good day, Sheriff.”

  He tipped his hat and offered a slight bow. “Good day, Miss Brindle. I’ll be back at noon to escort you to the gathering.” But most of his words were spoken to the door that had just been closed in his face.

  He put one hand to the back of his neck and surveyed the street with an amused sigh.

  The woman was positively one contradiction after another. Miss Brindle was clearly accustomed to having her way. And yet there were moments when he glimpsed a softer side to her.

  This moment had not been one of those. She was most determined to leave Wyldhaven behind at the first possible opportunity.

  A grunt slipped free. As far as he was concerned, the next stage heading east couldn’t arrive a moment too soon. Too bad the townsfolk were so excited at the prospect of having a new teacher, because he didn’t foresee her changing her mind about going back to Boston. And when it came down to brass tacks, that was probably for the better.

  Women like her, all poised and proper, were not the kind who could make it in the West. Were she to stay, she’d likely contract some illness within a fortnight. Not to mention, how would a little bit of a thing like her handle the older male students, such as the Nolan boys?

  No. Miss Charlotte Brindle was definitely not the kind of teacher Wyldhaven needed. What Wyldhaven required was either a man who could handle himself or a sturdy spinster with some grit and stiffness in her spine.

  What had Zeb been thinking, soliciting a woman like Charlotte Brindle to be Wyldhaven’s teacher? With such a slip of a gal, anything could happen! And with the capture of several key members of the Waddell gang, and the news that Waddell himself might be dead, the town was liable to soon be overrun with every manner of journalist and riffraff outlaw hopeful the West had to offer. Not to mention warring factions within the remaining contingent of the Waddell gang who still remained at large.

  Reagan was likely going to have his hands full over the next week, and Miss Brindle didn’t strike him as the type who would follow instructions and stay in the safety of her boardinghouse room. He needed to come up with a plan to keep her out of harm’s way until the next stage came through.

  Maybe Ma would have some ideas on how to keep her away from trouble for the week.

  He started down the street toward his mother’s dress shop. Who knew part of his job as sheriff would entail babysitting a tenderfoot city girl from back east. A tenderfoot with a pair of green eyes that had a way of reaching inside a man and making him stand at attention. He sighed and turned down the alleyway between the jail and McGinty’s Alehouse.

  Ma ran her dress shop out of her home at the end of Pine Street, and women from miles around came to her for their clothing because she was right good and charged a fair price.

  Zoe Kastain was sitting on Ma’s porch darning a pair of socks, her scoundrel of a dog lying in the swatch of sunshine next to her. Ma paid the Kastain girls for piecework when she had it.

  “Zoe.” Reagan tipped his hat to the girl, then nodded at the pup. “Jinx here wouldn’t know anything about why our new schoolteacher had muddy paw prints all over her skirt, would he?”

  Zoe’s face turned a shade redder, and she paid particularly close attention to the sock in her hands. “He were only tryin’ ta be friendly like.”

  Reagan grunted his disapproval.

  Zoe lifted her gaze to his then, a pending tale sparkling in her sea-blue eyes. “She saved Jinx’s life!”

  Reagan stilled with his hand on Ma’s front door. “She what?”

  Zoe nodded and looked satisfied that her words had stopped him. “The new teacher saved Jinx’s life! Took off chasing a cat, he did! And knocked me clean off my feet!” She glanced down at the dog whose head now rested on his paws, his ears laid back, as if he were highly cognizant of their conversation. “Bad dog!” The dog’s ears pressed even closer to his skull. “Jinx near ’nough darted beneath Leonard Palmeroy’s oxen hauling a full load! But ya should have seen Miss Brindle!” Zoe’s eyes lit with pure admiration now. “She lifted her skirts and dashed after him like there was no tomorrow! Stomped on his leash just in time to save his life! And that was after he’d jumped on her and muddied her skirt. In my book that makes her all right.” Zoe leaned down from her chair and ruffled a hand over the dog’s head. “She saved yer life, didn’t she, boy?”

  The dog leapt up, tongue lolling and ears once more upright in seeming happiness that his scolding was over.

  Reagan would have liked to have seen the petite Miss Brindle chasing down Jinx in the middle of the street. His lips twitched. “Well, since she saved his life, how about we try to keep Jinx’s hijinks as far from Miss Brindle as possible, huh?”

  Zoe hung her head. “Yes, sir.” Her head was only down for a bare moment before she snapped it back up, a glitter of irritation in her blue eyes. “Pa says Jinx will learn to behave sooner or later, but I sure wish it would be sooner. He made me late for work too, so Belle got the fun job inside and I’m stuck out here mending socks. Ya see, when Jinx ran after that cat, he knocked me in the mud. I had to run home and change. Then Ma made me go pick berries with her, and we ran into this guy named Hank who—”

  “My ma home?” Reagan indicated the house with a tip of his head. He hated to cut the girl off, but when Zoe got started on a tale, sometimes they dragged on far longer than he had time for at the moment.

  Zoe looked a little sheepish. “Yes, sir.”

  As he whipped off his hat and opened the door, he offered the girl a wink to let her know he wasn’t upset with her. “Best get back to repairing that sock so I don’t get in trouble for distracting you from your work.”

  Zoe’s soft smile was full of understanding. “Yes, sir.”

  Ma was leaning over her table, her lips clamped around the heads of several straight pins, when he stepped inside. “Morning, Ma
.”

  She lifted her brows and gave him a nod as she laid a pattern piece over her material and smoothed it with practiced fingers.

  He was glad to see her getting back to herself. He’d been worried about her for longer than he liked to think about. It had been four years since Pa died, and for the first two of those years, Reagan hadn’t been sure if he’d ever see his spunky, vivacious mother again. But slowly over the past several months, he’d seen her return to her happy self. It did him good to hear her humming as she pinned.

  She was young, still in her early forties, since she’d birthed him at seventeen, and for the past couple years he’d been praying that the good Lord would bring a hardworking, decent, and respectable man into her life. Of course he hadn’t dared breathe a peep about that to her, because in her estimation she was doing just fine on her own. But he’d seen the moments of loneliness in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. If the truth were told, he’d felt some of that emotion himself.

  For some reason that thought brought to mind the vexing woman who had sent him here for advice in the first place.

  Several deft movements later, all the pins had been put to use holding the pattern in place, and she turned to him with her familiar smile and arms outstretched for a hug. “What brings you to my place so early today? The pies are barely in the oven. They won’t be ready for at least another forty-five minutes.”

  He grinned at her and settled one hand over his stomach. “I’ve become that predictable, have I?” Just about everyone in town knew that Ma baked fresh pies every Friday morning. And who could blame him for taking his bachelor self to his ma’s place regular as clockwork on such days?

  She reached up and pinched his chin. “You are a good son. Don’t let my teasing get you down. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Reagan tapped his Stetson against his leg. “I actually came by to talk for a bit. But”—he nodded toward the uncut dress on the table—“I can see you are busy. I can come back another time.”

  “Nonsense!” Ma stepped toward the kitchen. “You just set yourself down at the table, and I’ll fetch you a cup of coffee. I can practically cut out a dress in my sleep. You won’t be interfering a bit.”

  Just as Ma disappeared into the kitchen and Reagan was about to sit, Belle Kastain bustled out of the back room with her hands full of ribbons and buttons. “I think I found the perfect accessor—oh!” Her eyes widened, and her face bloomed pink when she saw him.

  Reagan lurched back to his feet, feeling the discomfort he always felt around the girl. “Belle.” He nodded and pressed his hat to his chest. “Morning.”

  One of these days the girl was finally going to believe the nonverbal messages he kept sending to her that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. At fifteen she was nearly a decade younger than him, and he was no cradle robber, even if the girl was as pretty as Belle Kastain.

  Belle hurried forward and dumped the buttons and ribbon into a little pile on the corner of the table, her hands trembling slightly. “Your ma must have just stepped out. Would you like me to get you some c-coffee?” She smoothed her hands over her hair and tucked some loose curls behind her ears.

  Reagan tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Ma’s getting it now. Thanks anyhow.”

  Belle fiddled with one of the tiny pink buttons. “I heard you rescued the new schoolteacher yesterday?”

  “Just doing my job.” Reagan tried to discourage her near-hero worship of him at every opportunity. “Joe did a great job leading the posse. He’s actually the one who rounded up and captured almost the whole gang.” At nineteen, Joe was a much better match for Miss Belle Kastain. And a lot more interested in her too.

  But as usual, Belle efficiently dodged his attempt to interest her in Joe. “Oh posh! I’m sure the part you played was a sight more important than you make it out to be.” She doodled one fingernail across the tabletop and batted her lashes coyly. “I prayed for you to be safe.”

  Reagan swallowed, feeling rather like a fly caught in the outer reaches of a web, unable to escape and watching the spider creeping closer. “I’m sure both Joe and Miss Brindle appreciate your prayers as much as I do.” Where was Ma with that coffee?

  Belle continued to follow the path her finger traced around one end of the table. “Will you be at the welcome party for the new teacher today?”

  Had she just swayed her hips with that last step? Reagan cast an almost desperate look toward the still-closed kitchen door. “Yes. I’ll be escorting the teacher to the party, in fact.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you there, then.” Belle rounded the last corner of the table and sashayed his way. “I made your favorite chocolate cake.” Her gaze honed in on him like he was a blue ribbon and she was determined to be the lucky prize winner.

  That did it. He could talk to Ma anytime. “Chocolate cake sounds good.” He strode around the table in the opposite direction Belle was coming from. “Speaking of which. I really ought to go check McGinty’s to make sure he doesn’t need any help cleaning up for the shindig. Tell Ma I said thanks and I’ll talk with her later.”

  He didn’t even give the startled girl time to respond before slapping on his hat and making his escape out the door.

  Jinx leapt to his feet with a yip at Reagan’s sudden appearance, and Zoe startled in her seat. “Ow!” She sucked on the finger she’d apparently just jabbed with a needle. “Why are ya in such an all-fired hurry, Sheriff?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to give you a start. You all right?”

  Zoe pulled out her finger and examined it closely. “I’ll live.”

  “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon at McGinty’s.” And with that he hurried down the street before Belle could come up with a reason to tag along with him.

  Charlotte felt a bit guilty about slamming the door in the sheriff’s face. But only a bit. What kind of a town only had a stage come through one day a week? Of course it was hardly his fault that there would be no stage for several days. But it was his fault that he hadn’t seemed to care a whit that Zebulon Heath was out there playing the shyster and tricking people into moving to his settlement.

  Dixie Pottinger, looking fresh, clean, and well rested, stood across the room behind the front desk. She lifted her gaze, her expression placid. “Can I interest you in some breakfast now, Miss Brindle?” Dixie’s soft brown hair enhanced her kind, cinnamon-colored eyes.

  Charlotte was reminded why she’d immediately liked her when they’d met the evening before. She swept a hand to her ruined skirt. “Give me a moment to try to repair as much of this as possible? It seems my bags have not yet arrived in town.”

  Dixie’s lips twitched, and humor sparkled in her gaze. “I’m thinking you must have met our Zoe and her Jinx this morning?”

  Charlotte chuckled. “The very same.”

  Dixie gestured through the large square door to one side of her, through which Charlotte could see several tables and a few other patrons. “I’ll have your breakfast waiting for you when you come back down.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte took the stairs to her room, and while she brushed off as much of the mud as possible, she considered what she was going to do with herself for an entire week. Idleness was the devil’s workshop. Especially when it came to the mind. The last thing she wanted was several days of free time to do nothing but wallow in misery over the fact that Kent had been unfaithful. Keeping busy was the best way to get past disappointments. This was a lesson that had been ingrained into her from the time she was still in pigtails. She might not be staying, but that didn’t mean she could just fritter away the hours between now and next Friday. She needed a project. Something to do between now and then.

  She examined herself in the mirror and, with a little nod of approval, decided that the dress would have to do. Dixie didn’t seem the type to stand on ceremony, so hopefully the few smudges she hadn’t been able to vanquish wouldn’t get her banished from the woman’s dining room. And with any luck the sheriff would keep
his word and deliver her cases before the welcome party the town was throwing in her honor at noon. Then she would at least be able to keep some of her dignity while meeting everyone. Providing she could avoid Jinx until then.

  Taking up her reticule, she adjusted the angle of her hat and then stepped out into the hallway and paused to lock her door.

  Perhaps Dixie would have an idea about a project that would keep her busy for the week. Charlotte glanced at the sadly misshapen bouquet of daisies on the hall’s end table. While the rooms were perfectly clean, heaven knew the woman could use some decorating help.

  Joe Rodante rode into town, bone weary and hungry as a bear fresh out of hibernation. He hated coming home with bad news, but he’d found no sign of Waddell downstream. Reagan wasn’t going to like it. He swung down from his horse and headed into the livery.

  “Joe?”

  He paused, searching the dim interior for whoever had just called his name. It was only a moment before he saw Liora Fontaine peering out at him from behind a stack of hay bales. His brows lifted, and he actually glanced behind him. He’d been doing his best to stay as far from the woman as possible since she’d come to town and started working for Ewan. Surely she had to be speaking to someone else. But no one else was in sight. Cautiously, he led his mount farther into the barn. “What can I do for you, Liora?”

  She checked the doorway behind him, as though to assure herself he was alone, before stepping out from her hiding place.

  Joe froze. She wore a plain brown dress, no paint on her face, and the long blond hair she normally let flow freely about her shoulders was pinned up with only a few curls wisping about her face. He’d never seen her look…unsoiled…before. Truth be told, in all the getup that she wore at McGinty’s, he’d thought of her as pretty, despite the sadness that always seemed to haunt her eyes. But like this…unadorned, natural, and soft…she was breathtaking.