Probably because while Pa was encouraging Lucky to become a better man, he was becoming a lazy drunk who got fired from his post.
She fought down the ire that came with that thought. Her anger toward Pa wouldn’t help Lucky. Far better to stay focused—but for what she had no idea. Hopefully it would stand out once she read it. She turned again to the short letter, which ended with her father’s reminder that in Joshua 1, God instructed His people to be strong and courageous and that He would be with them wherever they went, and how in Hebrews 13, God promised He would never leave nor forsake His people.
“If those things are true, God, then why have I felt so alone these last several years? You have abandoned me and my family, just like Pa did.”
She crammed the letter back into its envelope and produced the next. As Lucky had said, her father wrote many scriptures, encouraging him not to let the difficulty of prison sway him from changing his life. Yet the verses only produced ugliness in her chest. How could Pa have been so unreserved with Lucky while withdrawing from his own family?
Maisie read the second letter, then the third. By the time she opened the fourth, Pa’s hypocritical words had knotted her belly. As she read yet another scripture, she shoved back from the table. She’d get to the bottom of this. Tucked away under her parents’ bed, she pulled out Pa’s journals and rifled through the contents until she found the books that corresponded in date to the letters he’d written Lucky.
Back at the table, she matched Lucky’s letters to the dates of Pa’s journal entries. She found one journal entry from five days before the first letter, and one a week after:
July 15, 1866
Today was a somber day in Blackwater. After their convictions, the Freeman Gang took their places on the gallows. The judge ruled that Lucky Tolliver should watch, and I had the unfortunate task of making sure he was present. By the time the last man hung, Tolliver was shaken to his core.
I can’t explain why he’s any different than most of the men I’ve arrested, but there’s something that’s drawn both me and the missus to him. He’s rough, for certain. But if my gut is right, he’s redeemable. It pained me to see him so traumatized by the hangings and not be able to offer him some comfort.
July 27, 1866
I have a strange sense that Blackwater hasn’t seen the last of the trouble that has so recently plagued us. I can’t express what I’m feeling—just a sense that I’ve missed something important. Maybe I’m jumping at shadows, but I haven’t been able to shake the feeling for days now. It bears watching.
The second letter, dated in early August, corresponded to a journal entry of the same date:
August 3, 1866
A young man stopped Maisie and Charlotte outside my office today as they were walking home from school. It’s not often people make my skin crawl, but this fella did. After I shooed the girls on home, he said he was passing through but was short on money, so he was looking for work. Wondered if anyone was hiring cowhands.
He had a mop of dark hair and cheekbones that seemed to protrude from his face in too obvious a way. He smiled a lot, talked decent enough, but there was something chilling in his blue eyes. Nothing I could put a finger on. Just a sense of evil. The fella stuck around town for a couple hours then rode on. I’m hoping he’s drifted on without further trouble.
Maisie’s heart thudded. Cold blue eyes, dark hair, and cheekbones too obvious for his face. She rubbed her arm where Kane Freeman had grabbed her in the café. Sure sounded like the same man.
As darkness fell outside, Maisie rubbed her eyes to clear her bleary vision.
Pa’s letters to Lucky had spoken so glowingly of her and her family, showing the deep love she remembered him showering over them. And she could see the care, concern, and respect he held for Lucky.
Yet the journals showed a different side—a man who, over the months after Lucky’s conviction, became driven in his work. He’d written journals about several private encounters he’d had with both Kane and Percy Freeman. Unnerving encounters where the pair had promised vengeance for his part in their kin’s hangings. When some isolated instances of rustling began to crop up again, Pa became obsessed in his determination to catch the pair, though his own writings said they were like ghosts.
The further into his journals and letters she read, the clearer the picture became. He’d disappear for days to search for the brothers but always came up empty. The local ranchers and townsfolk grew frustrated that he never seemed to be around to look into matters:
March 23, 1867
A mystery was solved today, but in the most unsettling way. Some weeks ago, Simeon’s favorite blanket went missing. The boy’s been distraught without it. It reappeared today, a good ten miles from our home as I followed the Freeman brothers. Found the blanket draped over a low-hanging tree branch. When I pulled it down, there was a message written on it—in blood. “You took our kin. Now we’ll take yours.”
I suspect they must’ve taken the blanket from the clothesline after Georgette washed it. They’re toying with me. Makes me angry but all the more determined. I will get them. My family’s safety depends on it.
A chill raced down her spine. She’d seen Pa ride into the ranch yard with the blanket spilling from his saddlebag, seen him carry it into the barn. What had become of it? She skimmed the next few pages to see if perhaps he’d written more.
April 6, 1867
I am worried. I was on the back side of the ranch tonight and found Charlotte’s missing doll. Just like Simeon’s blanket, it went missing, though not at the same time. Today, it turned up hanging from a tree limb by a perfectly tied noose. I hid it in the barn with Sim’s blanket, held for the day when I finally catch these evil scoundrels and use the stolen items as evidence to put them away. Their threats will not sway me.
So the blanket had been in the barn—and Charlotte’s doll, too. Might they still be? Maisie bolted up, scattering letters across the floor as she did, and hurried outside.
Chapter 9
Lucky woke as the outer office door opened, allowing him a brief view of the street. Perhaps an hour past dawn. He blinked heavily, only slightly aware that the sheriff entered before sleep pulled at him again.
“I’m telling you, Sheriff.” A girl’s plaintive voice broke into his solitude. “Ma’s beside herself. It’s not like Maisie to stay out all night.”
Maisie? Lucky threw off the scratchy wool blanket, sat up, and rubbed his eyes.
Sheriff Warburn lit a lamp on his desk before he turned to Charlotte Blanton. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just go on home, and she’ll show up. Might already be there.”
Fear gripped him. “Sheriff.” He went to the bars of his cell. “This young lady’s got a sincere concern. Ain’t right, you dismissing her without looking into things.”
Warburn’s heated gaze bored into him. “You mind your own business, Tolliver. No rustler’s gonna tell me how to do my job.”
“You at least need to look for her!” His thoughts flashed to the night in the alley. “Iffen Percy and Kane Freeman are still about, they might’ve…” His words trailed off as his gaze shifted to Charlotte. Wouldn’t do to put ideas in her head.
“Thought I told you to shut up.”
He looked again at the lawman, heart thudding heavily against his ribs. “Please. Go look for her.”
“I’m warning you, boy.”
Lucky pressed his eyes closed. Lord, help. You gave me Sheriff Blanton and his family to think of as my own all them years ago. Now, when I might be able to repay ’em some little part of what I owe, I’m stuck in here—and by no fault of my own.
A thought struck like lightning.
“Charlotte?” Lucky pinned the girl with a look. “You got any friends around town that could ride somewheres with you?”
Her face puckered in confusion.
“Men…or older boys?”
Warburn took a step toward the cell. “Just what’re you getting at, Tolliver?”
“Thoma
s Eddings was outside the café. Would he do?”
He rolled a glance heavenward. Are You really going to make me rely on that flirtatious tenderfoot for help, Lord? “Anyone else?”
She shook her head. “There’s Simeon, but he’s younger than me.”
He gripped the bars until his knuckles blanched. “Maisie was planning to head to the Rocking D yesterday afternoon but said she’d be back to town afterward. Go find Eddings and ask him iffen he’ll ride out to the ranch with you. Ask Mr. Dempsey iffen he’s seen her recent-like.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Charlotte nodded. “I will.”
“Good girl.”
Warburn swung to face Lucky. “You best hope that girl doesn’t run into trouble, Tolliver! Any harm comes to her, and it’ll be on your head.”
“No, Sheriff, it’ll be on yours.”
He paced to the cot and sat as a fervent prayer began to bubble from his lips.
“Mr. Dempsey?” Maisie knocked on the Rocking D ranch house door. “Mrs. Dempsey?” Please answer. She scanned the yard then glanced toward the early morning horizon. Were they already gone? She knocked again, louder.
This time, the door jerked open. Mr. Dempsey’s brows shot up as his gaze settled on her. “Maisie? Is everything all right?”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” He waved her inside. Maisie hefted the gunnysack she carried and headed to the kitchen.
“You’re here awfully early, Maisie,” Mrs. Dempsey called as she poured coffee at the stove.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she looked between the pair. “But I finally understand, and I need your help.”
Deep lines creased Mr. Dempsey’s brow. “Understand what, darlin’?”
“What happened to Pa.” She set the sack in the nearest chair and produced the journals and Lucky’s letters. “Lucky told me about some letters Pa wrote him. He said I could read them, so I took them back to our ranch and read both the letters and Pa’s journal entries from around the same dates.” One hot tear streaked down her cheek. “I finally know what happened to him.”
Mrs. Dempsey approached, three steaming mugs of coffee in hand. “Sit, child. Tell us what you’ve found.”
Despite the invitation, Maisie stood. “Those men that Lucky and I saw have been around this area for a lot longer than we thought. Pa wrote about them in his journal six years ago.”
Mr. Dempsey sipped his coffee. “What’d he say about ’em?”
“Just after Lucky went to prison, they showed up. Pa figured out they were connected to the old Freeman gang. He actually believed they were the real leaders but smart enough to stay out of the day-to-day workings of the gang so they wouldn’t get caught. Pa started following them. That’s why he’d disappear for days. And those things that disappeared from our house?”
“Yeah?” Mr. Dempsey nodded.
“Here.” She flipped to a page she’d marked in one of the journals and read of Simeon’s blanket reappearing with the bloody message.
From her place at the far end of the table, Mrs. Dempsey covered her mouth.
“He also wrote about Charlotte’s doll and later, my diary.” A shiver gripped her as she reached into the gunnysack. “Since I was already at the ranch, I went searching.” She withdrew the blanket, the doll, and her diary and laid them on the corner of the table.
Mr. Dempsey’s face hardened as he smoothed out the blood-soiled blanket then picked up the doll that still sported the noose about its neck.
“Look what they wrote in my diary.” Maisie flipped through the pages until she found the jarring message in a strange scrawl.
Mr. Dempsey took it and cleared his throat. “‘Found this stashed, secret-like, under your pretty little girl’s pillow. Don’t think we can’t get to you, Blanton. We can. Stop following us, or we will.’”
“I remember the day it went missing.” She looked at each in turn as they gaped at her. “I put the diary under my pillow. They were in our house, up in the loft. They pawed through my things.” Her skin crawled with the thought of it.
He closed the diary. “You’re sure your pa was writing about the same men?”
“His descriptions were spot on. I can show you.” She snatched up the journal, but Mr. Dempsey stilled her hands.
“I believe you.”
Maisie nodded, mind ricocheting with too many thoughts. “He was so determined to catch them. Each time they left another one of our things for him to find, it made him even more resolute. Until—” Her throat knotted as she reached into the bag and withdrew an old, weathered piece of wood. She handed it to Mr. Dempsey. “Ma’s accident. They cut the rungs of the ladder.” Pa had given up then, not wanting harm to come to his children like it had to Ma. But his grief and frustration had driven him to drunkenness and an early grave.
After a moment’s study of the ladder rung, Mr. Dempsey rose so quickly, the coffee cups rattled. “That right there should be enough to get ’em both strung up. But we gotta find ’em first.”
“That’s why I need your help. I know where they are, and your hired hand Joe Coppen is working with them.”
Please, God, keep Maisie safe. Bring her back to town, and don’t let the likes of Percy and Kane Freeman have her.
Lucky paced the length of his small cell, turned, and paced back as the silent prayers boiled through him.
And iffen You would, please, let the sheriff get his sorry hide out of this office to look for her. Better yet, let me out to look for her.
“Would you quit that pacing?” Warburn glared. “I’m trying to get work done.”
“Can’t. Been sitting still too long.” Knowing the woman he loved was out there, possibly in danger, had him wound so tight he could pace a hole in the floor.
Lord, please—
The office door swung open.
“Sheriff?” Mr. Dempsey stepped through the door and headed toward Warburn’s desk. “We got us a problem.”
On his heels, Maisie also entered, a heavy-laden bag in hand. Her gaze angled his way, and she smiled.
Relief washed through him as he hurried to the bars.
Dark circles rimmed her green eyes, and her clothes and hair were a bit rumpled, but she looked well enough.
“You all right?” His voice came out in a husky rasp. She nodded. “You?”
“Well as can be expected. Where you been?”
“Out at our old ranch. I went there to read your letters, and I ended up spending the night.”
Iffen she were his gal, that wouldn’t happen. Not without someone knowing where she was. “Have you been by to see your ma? She’s powerful worried. Come to think of it, I been powerful worried as well.”
Maisie’s cheeks flushed. “Thomas and Charlotte met us along the way. I sent them to let Ma know I’m well.” She lowered her chin and looked at him almost shyly. “And thank you for thinking of both me and Charlotte, even in your own time of need.”
His heart pounded as every ounce of longing stirred in him. I think of you every moment of every day, Maisie.
“Darlin’,” Mr. Dempsey called, “come show the sheriff what you found.”
She turned as she unknotted the mouth of the bag. “I know just where you’ll find the rustled cattle, Sheriff, and I think what I’ve got to show you will go a long way toward proving Lucky had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, and just how do you reckon to prove that?”
She pulled books, as well as a blanket and a child’s doll, from the bag. “Bear with me, and I’ll make it all clear.”
Chapter 10
An hour before the end of Maisie’s shift, Simeon opened the café door and peeked inside. The boy searched the room and, upon finding her, straightened a little.
“They’re back.” As he closed the door again, he seemed to notice the owner seated behind the counter. The boy’s face paled, and he shot the man a sheepish look before slamming the door and darting past the big window out of sight.
Her che
eks flamed when everyone turned her way. Why hadn’t Simeon listened? She’d told him to signal her through the window when the posse returned.
As if nothing had happened, she pasted on a smile and turned to the gentleman at the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
Across the room, the owner cleared his throat, and when she turned, he beckoned her nearer.
Her shoulders knotted as she hurried to face her boss.
“What was that about?” He hooked a thumb at the door.
“Nothing important, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll remind my brother not to disturb me while I’m working.”
“Wouldn’t have to do with the posse that rode out to your family’s ranch this morning, would it?”
Maisie took one look at his grim expression and hung her head. She’d tried so hard to keep her focus, to care for the customers’ needs and not appear distracted. “It was a personal matter, sir. Like I said, I’ll talk to Sim. It won’t happen again.”
“Because iffen that was about arresting the men that caused your ma’s accident…” He hesitated. “I might could be talked into letting you go a little early today.”
She raked her gaze back to his face, eyes suddenly stinging with tears she dared not shed. Now, how had he…? The posse had been so hastily gathered, she thought few knew of it.
Maisie swallowed down the tears. “I wouldn’t want to impose, sir. I already missed my shift yesterday.”
“You’re not. You put in a good day’s work. Now go on.”
Stunned, she stared for an instant then fumbled with her apron strings. “Thank you kindly, sir.”
He quirked a smile as he took the apron from her. “I might be harsh, but I ain’t heartless.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Now git.”
Before he could change his mind, Maisie shuffled out the door and hurried toward the sheriff’s office a few streets away. Reaching the final turn, she rounded the corner and stopped short. A crowd of people and horses had gathered on the street. Most were posse members, judging by the extra guns the men carried. But a core group of townsfolk had also gathered, more than likely looking for the latest gossip. Maisie scanned the faces as she waded through the sea of bodies.
The Secret Admirer Romance Collection Page 37