“Lucky was in his bunk when I went to sleep. Can’t promise nothing after I drifted off, though.”
He glared at Joe, while the sheriff and Eddings pinned Lucky with their own fiery gazes.
Lucky shook his head vehemently. “I was here. All night. I ain’t lying.”
“You got some way to prove that?” Warburn prodded.
Mr. Dempsey swiveled toward the lawman. “You got some way to prove he wasn’t, Ed?”
The lawman clenched his teeth. “Not yet.”
The dandy stomped off a few feet. “Find some proof, Sheriff, or every rancher in this county will wake to find their herds missing.”
Lucky glared at Eddings a moment then turned to the lawman. “Sheriff, I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. But I might know who does.”
“Oh?”
“A week ago Sunday, I was leaving town after church and saw a bald-faced paint walking through town. Then this past Saturday, the same horse showed up at Blackwater Café, along with a big black. Those horses belong to the Freeman brothers. Percy and Kane.”
“Ain’t never heard of ’em,” Warburn growled.
“They’re cousins of Dale Freeman, and I reckon they might’ve had something to do with his rustling gang back then. Start looking with them, sir. Not with me.”
“I’ll look wherever the evidence points, and right now, it’s pointing straight at you.”
Chapter 5
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maisie flipped the page of her father’s journal and read about a scuffle in the saloon. Would she ever find the truth of why he quit on his job? She skimmed the remainder of the entry and turned the page:
February 9, 1866
Monty Stebbens reported that thirty head of his cattle have gone missing. Ed and I rode out to his place to take a look and found there weren’t any tracks to follow. It’s trouble-some. How do thirty head of cattle up and vanish without a trace? We spent several hours hunting but didn’t find much before dusk. We’ll resume the search tomorrow.
Her brows furrowed. Thirty missing cattle and no tracks to follow. Very odd. She flipped the page but realized it was time to return to the café. Maisie marked the page, snapped the journal shut, and hurried back to work. Once she slipped inside and wound her apron around her waist, the restaurant owner departed for his office.
Maisie made the rounds of the four occupied tables, checking to be sure the customers had all they needed. Two tables paid her and departed.
“Of course, you know who Warburn suspects,” one of the men at the remaining tables whispered.
The other man nodded. “He needs to do more than suspect. That kid was trouble years back, and he’s trouble now. Dempsey was a fool for hiring him.”
Maisie’s attention piqued at the mention of Robert Dempsey. Straining to hear, she turned to the recently vacated table nearest the two men and, back to the pair, stacked the dishes.
“I hear Warburn’s brought him in for questioning.”
Questioning one of Mr. Dempsey’s men? That wasn’t good.
“Perhaps Tolliver’s luck has run out.”
Maisie jerked as if struck.
Lucky met Sheriff Warburn’s gaze from across the lawman’s desk. “Maisie Blanton waited on ’em in the café. There were other customers that came in after I left. She’d be able to tell you their names. Maybe they could vouch that the Freemans were there.”
Warburn leaned across the desk, his eyes hard. “I’ll say it again. I don’t really care if two blue-eyed men were in that café. What I’m trying to figure out is where Cyrus Eddings’ cattle have gotten off to.”
His hackles rose. “And I’m telling you, it wasn’t me who took ’em. I swore to myself I wasn’t going back to prison once I got out, and I been doing my best to stay outta trouble. I stay around the Rocking D, work hard, keep to myself. I go to church on Sundays and have a meal in the café on paydays. That’s it.”
“So iffen you keep to yourself, then there’s plenty of time you coulda slipped away and taken a few head of cattle.”
“No!” Lucky slapped the surface of the desk. “You’re twisting my words.”
“Warburn.” Robert Dempsey stepped toward the desk. “That’s not what he said, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind. And I said you could stay as long as you let me do my job. Butt out.”
“Ed, as a friend, I’m asking you to hold off in your questioning for a couple minutes. Do you mind?”
“You can ask. Ain’t gonna do much good, though. I got a job to do here.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that.” Mr. Dempsey turned and settled a hand on Lucky’s shoulder. “Son, I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
He swiveled toward his boss. “You’re leaving?”
“Don’t say a word, you understand?”
Lucky nodded. Lord, I’m being railroaded here, and Mr. Dempsey’s leaving. I could really use a friend about now.
As soon as Dempsey slipped out the door, Warburn resumed peppering him with questions, though Lucky focused on the front of Warburn’s desk and tried not to listen. The constant accusations only served to anger him. He’d done nothing to deserve such treatment.
Within ten minutes, Mr. Dempsey barged into the office again, Maisie Blanton in tow.
His head began to pound. He never should’ve told Warburn she could attest to the Freemans being in town. Her involvement could put her in danger, not to mention cause her to question more about his past. He was a fool.
“Sheriff?”
At Maisie’s firm call, Lucky cast a sidelong glance her way. Her expressive green eyes fixed on him for an instant before she focused on the lawman.
“I understand there’s a matter I can help with?”
Warburn faced Mr. Dempsey. “What’d you bring her for?”
Maisie strode up to the corner of the desk. “Mr. Dempsey says you’re curious about two men who dined in the Blackwater Café the other night?”
“Seems Mr. Dempsey’s out of line. I didn’t ask for you.”
“I see.” Maisie glanced around the room, paced to the corner where she collected another chair, and settled it particularly close to Lucky. As she sat, her hand brushed his arm, lingering, it seemed. The tiny gesture infused him with a little strength, and perhaps a mustard seed’s worth of faith that this could somehow work out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Warburn eyed her.
She folded her hands primly in her lap and lifted her chin. “I know my father taught you to track down all the leads, so I’ll wait until you’re ready to speak to me.” Maisie smiled politely.
Warburn’s expression grew severe.
Maisie nodded. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.”
“You already have, and iffen you were anyone other than Jonathan’s daughter, I’d escort you outta here right now. But because of the respect I used to hold for your pa, I won’t do that.” He folded his arms. “Tell me what you got to say, then see yourself out.”
The confidence in her green eyes faltered at Warburn’s pointed comments about her father, though she recovered and, standing, fished something from her pocket.
“As is his routine on paydays, Lucky came into the Blackwater Café last Saturday. I was just returning from the kitchen when two men entered and sat down across the room from him. Lucky didn’t even get his food, just got up and walked out. But he left this note on the table.” She handed a scrap of paper to Sheriff Warburn.
The lawman snatched the paper, read it, then shifted to Lucky. “Iffen you really wrote this, you’ll know what it says.”
He nodded. “It was a warning. Said ‘Be careful. Bad men.’”
Mr. Dempsey glanced over Warburn’s shoulder at the paper and laughed. Warburn’s jaw clenched.
“After the men departed the café,” Maisie continued, “I saw them corner Lucky in an alley across the street, so I approached and helped him excuse himself. It was obvious to me that he was trying to avoid them. I never
got their names, but Lucky said they were killers.”
“What’d these fellas look like?” Warburn’s words were short.
“About your age—early thirties. Both had dark hair, one cut short, the other one shoulder-length. Neither had shaved in a few days. And both had cold blue eyes.” She looked as if she were about to sit then thought better of it. “Oh. One of them rode a paint horse with a bald face and eyes just as blue as the men’s. The other rode a big black horse.”
Lucky held his breath. For several long moments, Warburn stared at the note Maisie had produced. Why she’d kept it, he couldn’t imagine. Finally he met Lucky’s eyes.
“None of this absolves you of any wrongdoing, Tolliver. So there was a couple odd-looking fellas in the café, and you had a scuffle with ’em in the street afterward. That doesn’t explain where Eddings’ cattle have gotten off to.”
“The evidence doesn’t point to him either, Ed,” Mr. Dempsey chimed in. “Until you can prove he took those cattle—or was even near Eddings’ ranch, you got no case. You’re just letting past circumstances color your judgment.”
The sheriff glared, first at Dempsey then Lucky. “You’re free to go for now, but I’ll be watching you, Tolliver. Any more cattle go missing, and you’ll be back here.”
Warburn stalked toward the door, opening it so they could file out.
Lucky rose, though Maisie blocked his path. Her warm green eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. Without a word, she hugged him, arms circling his ribs for the briefest of moments before she pulled away again. A shy smile curved her lips as she headed toward the door.
His mind reeling, whether from the brush with the law or her unexpected gesture, he wasn’t sure. The one thing he was sure of was that he liked the way she looked at him just then, and he liked the feel of her even more.
But Percy and Kane Freeman could ruin everything—his future and any life he’d dreamed he could have with pretty Maisie Blanton.
Chapter 6
Are you ever going to turn out that light so I can sleep?” Charlotte’s voice dripped fatigue.
Maisie rubbed her knotted neck muscles then stared back at the rickety desk. “Soon.” Not until she’d finished searching through Pa’s old WANTED posters.
The younger girl sighed. “Fine, but don’t blame me when you wind up late for work tomorrow.”
Maisie glanced back and rolled her eyes.
The bed creaked as her sister propped her head on her hand. “Who do you reckon paid so much on our account at the mercantile?”
She could easily guess. Thomas Eddings had been to town a few times and stopped by to see her at the café. He’d shown up across the street at the mercantile to buy supplies just a day or two before they’d discovered the generous gift. He certainly could have paid some on their bill then.
“You think it’s the same person as left you the flowers and the poems?”
Maisie faced the desk again, staring at the thick stack of papers before her. “Go to sleep, Charlotte.”
“I’m trying, but you won’t turn out the light.”
Ignoring her, Maisie flipped through each paper, studying the names and likenesses, noting Pa’s scribbled notes of arrest dates, convictions, or hangings. Those with hanging dates, she shuffled into one pile. Any drawings that looked similar to the men from the café, she placed in a separate stack.
“I bet Thomas is leaving you the flowers. He’s always been so romantic.”
“Charlotte, hush. I’m trying to concentrate.” This task would’ve been so much easier if Lucky had just told her who the men were. Then she wouldn’t feel compelled to ferret out the truth. But something told her to follow this rabbit trail just a little further—for Lucky’s sake, if not her own curiosity.
“Well, isn’t he? You used to think Thomas was quite charming.”
“Thomas Eddings is an incorrigible flirt, nothing more.”
Lucky, on the other hand…Mr. Dempsey’s hired hand seemed to understand the pain and hardships she’d endured in a way Thomas Eddings never would. Perhaps she was allowing his good looks and mysterious nature to charm her just like Thomas’s gregarious nature had years earlier, but she doubted it. When Warburn had badgered Lucky with questions and accusations, his responses were that of a man accustomed to trouble, and they’d stirred something deep in her heart. At the sight of the frustration, fear, and anger in his deep brown eyes, she’d wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. She, of all people, understood how it felt to be vilified for things completely out of her control. It’s why she’d instinctively hugged him.
But she hadn’t expected her belly to flutter so fiercely, nor her cheeks to heat as they had.
“You’re incorrigible. A secret admirer leaves you two bunches of flowers in a matched set of expensive vases, and you’re not even interested in finding out who he is.”
Maisie twisted again to face her sister. “Yes, I think Thomas paid the bill, and, yes, I’m certain he left the flowers and the book as well. But right now, I’m trying to find the names of two men Lucky Tolliver and I saw in the café as well as solve the mystery of what happened to Pa. What do I care about flowers? Now, please…hush.”
She turned back to the posters. An instant later, a wadded paper thunked the top of her shoulder and skittered across the desk. With a huff, she smoothed it to find the note from the second vase of flowers: “Maisie, in all my born days, I ain’t met a gal as sweet as you.”
She faced her sister. “Where did you get this?”
Charlotte giggled. “You left it on the porch, so I saved it for you.”
“Girls,” Ma called from down the hall. “Get to sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” They answered in unison.
Maisie dimmed the lamp a little and twisted to look at Charlotte one last time. “I’ll be done soon. I promise.” She held her finger to her lips, cautioning her sister to be quiet.
Once the girl closed her eyes, Maisie laid the note aside and whittled through the posters. As she neared the bottom of the stack, she lingered over one. The likeness was a good resemblance to the elder of the two men. Same angular features, strong jawline, and dark, close-cropped hair. The next poster showed an unmistakable likeness of the longer-haired man with prominent cheekbones. The list of aliases revealed one common name between them—Freeman. Percy and Kane. As Lucky suggested, murder was among a litany of crimes.
As Maisie set the two posters to the side and reached to extinguish the lamp, she once more picked up the crumpled note, tracing the little flourishes that marked the first letter of her name. In all his born days, Thomas hadn’t met anyone as sweet as her. She shook her head. Was he playing coy, using such colloquial terms? He’d never speak in such a manner. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be drawn in by his frivolous games.
She set the note aside, gathered the various stacks of posters, and shuffled them back into one. As she laid it in the center of the desk, a name on the top poster caught her attention. Dale Freeman, leader of a cattle rustling gang. Her father had scribbled a hanging date in the corner, but at the bottom, she focused on the name among the “known associates” section.
Luke “Lucky” Tolliver.
A circle highlighted his name, and beside it, Pa’s familiar scrawl filled the bubble:
Arrested April 4, 1866.
Sentenced May 7, 1866.
Six years.
Her jaw went slack.
Her Lucky—a convicted cattle rustler?
From where Lucky saddled his horse, he had a perfect view of the road leading onto the Rocking D. So when Maisie Blanton bobbed into view atop a handsome sorrel, he grinned. Oh, that she might have come to see him. A laughable thought. Surely, she’d come to see her friends, the Dempseys. At least he’d be able to thank her proper for helping at the sheriff’s office a few days earlier. He finished his task and met her at the center of the yard.
“Afternoon, Maisie.” He took hold of her horse’s bridle.
“Afternoon, Lucky.”
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“I, uh, don’t think I thanked you.” He willed his tongue not to stall. “For talking to the sheriff.”
“That’s actually why I came.”
“It is?” Then she was there to see him. His stomach knotted.
She motioned to his horse. “Were you going somewhere?”
“Yes, ma’am. Gotta finish checking out a watering hole.”
“May I ride with you?”
He’d imagined riding with her often but never hoped for such a pleasure. Mute, he nodded.
“Where to?” she asked as he swung into the saddle.
“This way.” He reined his horse around, and she fell in beside him, seemingly deep in her own thoughts for several long minutes.
Lord, You made me a happy man by bringing her here today, but… He risked a peek at her. “You…wanted to talk to me?”
She startled. “I’m sorry. Feeling nostalgic, I guess. The ranch bordering the Rocking D was my family’s old homestead. I miss it something fierce.”
He’d known the land next door was the Blanton’s place. Upon his release from prison, he’d headed there first, only to find the place abandoned. The sight of it had caused an ache in his chest, particularly when he found the grave marker where Jonathan Blanton took his final rest.
“I’m real sorry.” At her whispered thanks, he pressed on. “You said you came out to talk…something about the sheriff?”
“No. Not directly. I just, well, I—” She stopped short. “I’m stammering like a ninny.”
He knew that feeling all too well.
“You were so cryptic about those men, so I pulled out Pa’s old WANTED posters.”
A sick feeling washed over him.
“I found Kane and Percy Freeman’s posters among them. I see now why you were concerned.”
Had she come only to confirm his feelings, or was there more?
“I also found this one.” She held out a rolled paper, her gaze full of questions.
Dread’s cold tentacles wormed through him. With a silent prayer, he reached for the poster and unrolled it. At the briefest glimpse of the old Freeman Gang notice, Lucky drew the bay to a sudden halt and stared at his horse’s neck. God, help me.
The Secret Admirer Romance Collection Page 35