“And?” Eph wondered where Patterson was going with this line of talking, and he couldn’t spend all day standing in an alley. He had important things to do.
“Sheriff—that woman you have dead and lying in the courthouse? That was Connors’s wife.”
“His wife—?”
“And not just his wife. Her real name is Lenora.” He lowered his voice to a trembling whisper. “Lenora Dutton.”
Eph jolted back and studied Patterson’s face. Dutton? “Hank Dutton’s sister?”
“No, his wife.”
“Dutton was married?” Eph narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know that?”
“From a pal in Denver City. But look—that’s who you got lying in that room—the outlaw’s wife. She knew where the gold was, and she rode out to meet up with Clyde Wymore. ’Member I said I’d seen ’em in town, in that alley? She was there too. Only, at the time I didn’t recognize her. But then, after you all had rode off to go after them outlaws, I recollected I had seen her before. I’d seen her with Connors—I mean Cunningham.”
“Where’d you git those papers?” Eph asked, his mind reeling with this astonishing information.
“I . . . uh . . . went out to his homestead, to see if I could get some information pried out of her. But she had gone, and the house was in shambles, as if someone had been in a hurry to leave. I . . . I found the satchel there, and . . . looked through it,” he said sheepishly.
Eph laid a hand on the shaky man’s shoulder. “Well . . . this brings a whole lot of dark secrets into the light.” Dutton’s wife, hiding out in his town, pretending to be married to some other fella. Or maybe not pretending. Eph wondered how this Lenora had gotten Connors to marry her. It made sense she’d want to disappear under another name and in a small town close to the stash of gold. Eph reckoned she’d been biding her time after her husband had gotten hanged, just waiting for the chance to fetch the gold belonging to the gang.
“If . . . if Cunningham comes back . . . alive . . .” Patterson stuffed the papers and the ring box back into the satchel and handed it to Eph. “I hope he does, and you can tell him.” His face turned thoughtful. “I can’t picture how he’ll react to all this news. What with him being legally married to Grace, and his other wife lying dead over yonder.” He tipped his head toward the courthouse door.
Before Eph could say another word, Patterson hurried off, flustered and emotional. Eph scratched his head at the clerk’s odd manner.
Well, that sure was some hair in the butter. Which made him wonder if this Montgomery Cunningham had somehow regained his memory. For why else would he have been so adamant about joining the posse? And risked his life sliding down a rope to save Grace—his wife? Eph shook his head. This surely was a story for some penny dreadful, that was certain.
Lenora Dutton—posing as Connors’s wife. She must have been the reason Wymore kidnapped Grace. No other possible explanation made sense. Woman’s jealousy? Maybe she did love Connors and he’d realized he was married to someone else. He had a hunch Lenora put Wymore up to the kidnapping. But now, he’d never really know, would he? All parties involved in the kidnapping were dead. It sure was a strange turn of events though. And one he had little time to ponder at the moment.
He slipped the satchel over his shoulder and strode to the telegraph office. As soon as he rounded the corner, grateful citizens of Fort Collins hounded him with praise and questions. He smiled and answered them in polite but terse phrases, pushing his way inside. Lenora Dutton. Who would have figured? Well, that was one piece of the puzzle put in place. He’d best send another telegram to the Denver City sheriff and to Governor Routt’s office. Likely there’d be someone who’d recognize the woman’s face and could confirm Patterson’s claim.
***
Grace walked unsteadily in the too-large ankle boots Mr. Whitcomb had given her, but those were the only shoes he could find that were close to her size. Every step made her wince in pain, but she knew those wounds would heal. Whitcomb had instructed his Mexican cook to find her suitable attire from a closet full of clothing that Whitcomb said various and sundry guests had left behind after attending parties at his ranch. In a loose-fitting white button blouse and pretty olive-green skirt, Grace made her way out to the wagon awaiting her out the front door of the spacious log home. How wonderful it felt to be washed and wearing clean clothes. To have a full stomach and be alive to live another day.
Gratitude spilled from her heart as she saw Monty standing by the wagon hitched up to a team of black mules, Ben in his arms, wearing a brown work shirt, brown trousers, and some old scuffed boots Whitcomb had given him. They’d all had hot baths and a hot meal late in the night, once their wounds had been tended to by the ranch’s vet. Grace barely remembered anything besides the delightful soothing feel of the hot water on her skin, and she’d been allowed to bathe an hour in a private room in an oversized tub—a luxury for her scratches and scrapes and bruises that stung and throbbed. She’d given Ben a lukewarm bath and nursed him, and after a long, hard sleep in a marvelously comfortable bed, she’d awakened to his smiling face and chubby fingers patting her cheek, his fever gone and his light-pink color restored to his face. The vet said he’d been dehydrated, and his exposure to the cold had brought on the fever. They’d all had a dangerous brush with death, but by the grace of God—and Monty’s unwavering determination—they’d survived.
Monty’s eyes brightened with love upon seeing her. He came over and took her hand and led her to the wagon. Presently Eli and LeRoy came out of the log home, the smiles wide across their faces as they chatted genially with Whitcomb on the wide porch. She’d been stunned to learn, later that night, they were here, at this ranch. And that they’d joined the posse to come rescue her. At breakfast, sitting at a long heavy oak table with the Whitcombs and Monty, the two brothers related the entire story of their coming to her rescue, and Grace had been shocked to hear how Clayton Wymore had died. She could tell they were holding something back, for they glanced at her from time to time, worry searing their eyes.
“You ready to head back?” Monty asked her. Ben reached out his arms for her and she took him, inhaling the fresh lavender scent of his hair, and planting kisses on his cheeks. How good it felt to hold him in her arms, to know he was out of danger.
She looked at Monty, who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. But what would happen now? She thought about Stella and wondered what she was doing in this moment. Was she worrying over Monty? What would Monty say and do upon returning to Fort Collins? Through their ordeal, she hadn’t allowed herself to think ahead, not knowing if they would survive. But now . . .
She wanted nothing more than for Monty to wrap his arms around her, and ride off with her, far away from Fort Collins. But she could only meet his eyes with polite aplomb in the presence of all these men. Whitcomb’s ranch hands were busy in the front yard with daily chores, hauling hand wagons loaded with hay and pumping water into troughs. Off in the grassy fields grazed hundreds of longhorn cattle, red and black, and the air was redolent of moist grass and hay and cow. From where she stood she could neither see nor hear the river, and for that she was glad. She’d had enough water and rivers for a lifetime. A few clouds floated lazily across the sky, and the mountains glistened in the morning summer sun. It was a glorious morning, and she was glad to be alive to breathe it all in.
She calmed her anxious heart. Somehow, some way, she would get her Monty back. She’d had no time alone with him since they’d arrived at the ranch. But she would have to speak to him soon and tell him the truth—hopefully before he set eyes on Stella.
Just thinking about her made Grace’s pulse race. Just what was Stella up to? What did she want with Monty? Well, Grace planned to find out. She knew Eli and LeRoy would help her, as would Clare. Maybe if she could expose Stella’s secrets, Monty would leave her and not look back.
Monty took her hand and helped her up to the wagon’s bench seat. His gentle touch sent a shock of warmth tingling across h
er skin. Eli and LeRoy came trotting over.
“Let’s git goin’,” Eli said, hopping into the back of the wagon that was littered with scraps of hay. “Clare’s gonna kill me if I don’t git you two back to town quick as a wink. I’m sure she’s sick with worry over you, Grace.”
Monty had been surprised to learn that Grace knew the brothers, and she’d explained to him at breakfast how she’d met Clare. Grace was glad that Eli and LeRoy hadn’t said a word to Monty about what she’d divulged in secret—about Monty’s true identity and his past. About her being married to him. They acted as if they hadn’t an inkling at all, and for that she was grateful. Though, she saw the questions in their eyes and knew they wondered just how much she’d told Monty during their ordeal.
Mr. Whitcomb came over and shook the brothers’ hands. “Well, I have to hand it to you boys—ya done good bringin’ in that herd. And I thank you for givin’ me the pick of the mares.”
He gestured over to a ranch hand who was walking toward them, leading a saddled quarter horse. “This fella yours?” he asked Monty.
Monty swiveled to look at the horse being led. “Hey, it’s Rambler.” He rushed over to the gelding and threw an arm over its neck, patting it and beaming in affection. “Where’d ya go, fella?”
“I reckon he got tired of waitin’ for you up on the mountain. He ran in with the herd,” Whitcomb said. “But he sure seems happy to see you now.”
Monty chuckled. “And I’m happy to see him.” He took the lead rope from the rancher and tied the end of it to the side of the buckboard. He said to his horse, “Well, pal, you had your fun, but it’s time to head home.”
Whitcomb turned to Grace and patted her hand in a fatherly manner, and smiled at Ben, who reached out to grab the man’s thick beard. “I’m glad you an’ the young’un are all right. You take care now, and may the good Lord take a likin’ to ya.”
Grace thanked him with a heart full of gratitude, and after shaking Monty’s hand, the rancher ambled over to the bunkhouse and went inside.
Monty climbed into the back beside Eli as LeRoy took a seat next to Grace and picked up the reins to the two large mules that stood half asleep in their harness. LeRoy’s face was exuberant as he gazed out over the wild horses in the pasture.
LeRoy had recounted at breakfast how he and Eli had chased the herd down the mountain to Whitcomb’s ranch. The horses had made so much noise that a mile before they came upon the ranch, the hands were ready for them. With the help of all Whitcomb’s men, they funneled the herd into fenced pastures, where they now grazed, no longer free to roam the open range.
LeRoy said to Monty, “Glad you got your horse back.”
“Wait till Clare hears about the herd,” Eli said, fidgeting with excitement behind her on the flat bed. “She’s gonna fall on her face.”
LeRoy laughed and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “She didn’t figure on us ever catchin’ that stallion. They’ll sure bring us a passel of money.” He nudged Eli. “Now you can marry Clare proper—give her that fancy wedding she wants.”
Eli merely chuckled and stared out at the mountains.
“You picked a ring out yet?” LeRoy asked in a prodding tone.
Grace listened to their playful banter as LeRoy drove the wagon down the long flat dirt road. After a mile or so, they emerged out from under the arch that Grace had seen all those months ago on that stormy day—the name “Whitcomb” carved in wood overhead. How long ago that seemed. She had been so happy, so innocent. They’d just come from Illinois to Cheyenne, ready to begin their exciting new life in the West. They’d hardly been in Colorado Territory a day before tragedy struck.
Grace shivered as they turned down the well-packed road south heading toward Fort Collins. She’d heard a new bridge had been built in the place of the former one—the one she’d watched tumble into the muddy waves of the angry river. Trepidation and fear clutched at her throat as they approached the crossing, and she shut her eyes, not wanting to look at either the water or Monty. Would he recognize this place, now that he’d remembered that horrible day?
As the mules’ hooves clomped on the bridge’s wood planks, she felt a hand light on her shoulder. Then, Monty’s words came softly to her ears.
“I told you I’d get you home safely, Grace Cunningham. There’s never a need to worry. The Lord always makes a way.”
Chapter 32
Malcolm was astonished at the crowds filling the streets of town, cheering as they rode down College Avenue and stopping in front of the courthouse as they arrived midmorning. Everyone in Fort Collins seemed to have heard about the posse killing the outlaws, and about Grace’s kidnapping and rescue. The attention was a little unsettling, for all Malcolm wanted right now was to be alone with Grace, to hold and kiss her, to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.
His heart ached as he got out of the wagon, feeling confused and flustered now that they were back. His head throbbed with a pain that speared his eyes. He scanned the street, looking for Stella and hoping she wasn’t there. The last thing he wanted at this moment was to see or talk to her. Maybe she was at the homestead. He pictured her pacing and cursing, furious that he’d joined the posse and gone after Grace. But he didn’t care what she thought. Yet, he was stymied over what to do now. He had confessed his love to Grace. Would she leave town with him? Would she give up her life here? He couldn’t imagine she’d sin against God and take up with a married man. And even if he divorced Stella, her joining him would still be a sin in God’s eyes.
He’d been over and over this in his mind, and he couldn’t see a way out. He couldn’t bear the thought of walking away from her—especially after what they’d been through. And she loved him; she told him so. And he believed it with all of his heart. Were they destined to keep at arm’s length, never be free to love? Would he never be able to consummate the fiery passion he felt for her?
Oh, Lord, what do I do? How could I bear such torment?
“Grace! Eli!”
Malcolm turned at the cry. A pretty young woman with red hair was waving, pushing through the crowd, her face exuberant. Malcolm guessed this was Clare, Eli’s sweetheart. Malcolm’s heart sank at the sight of Eli leaping from the wagon and sweeping her up into his arms and kissing her. And here he was, inches from Grace, and he couldn’t touch her. The closeness was agonizing.
“Clare!” Grace yelled, climbing down from the wagon and running to her. Malcolm jumped to the ground and stood and watched, an outsider, a bystander. He felt suddenly alone and terribly lonely. His arms ached for Grace, for Ben. For a family with them. Nothing would make him happier.
“Mr. Connors,” a man said behind him.
Startled out of his musings, he spun around and faced Sheriff Love.
“We thought we’d lost you,” the sheriff said, a big smile lifting the corners of his thick peppered moustache. “We knew you’d gone down that hill . . .” He glanced over at the wagon, where LeRoy still sat up on the seat. Marcus Coon, who had met them halfway to town, sat his horse next to the wagon and was engaged in discussion with LeRoy. The sheriff gave a puzzled smirk. “The Indians brought you back?”
Malcolm nodded. “They drove that herd into Whitcomb’s ranch. We managed to get down to his place around dark. Eli and LeRoy had alerted Whitcomb that we were missing, so he sent his men into the hills looking for us. The found us—just in time too.”
The sheriff looked him over. “Well, I’m pleased to see you’re in one piece.” He looked over at Grace. “And the woman and the baby. They seem unharmed. You did a good job.”
Malcolm let out a long breath, feeling the ordeal of the last couple of days weighing heavily on him. “Thank you, Sheriff, for getting a posse after her so fast. If you hadn’t . . .” He let the words trail off, his throat cinching tight at the thought of Clayton Wymore’s hands on Grace.
“Come into my office for a minute, will ya, Connors? I’ve got somethin’ I want to show ya.”
Malcolm chewed his lip as
he studied the sheriff’s face. The man’s visage was calm and unruffled, but his eyes danced mischievously. What could he possibly want to show him?
He followed the sheriff through the front door and down the hall. When they got to the sheriff’s large desk, Love motioned for him to sit. The office was empty and quiet, a contrast to the ruckus outside.
“I s’pose I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Sheriff Love said as doffed his slouch hat and set it on the desk. He motioned to Malcolm to take a seat, then he sat in the one behind the desk. “Though, the bad might not be so bad. Hard to say.” The sheriff played with his moustache and leaned back in his chair.
Malcolm wondered at the sheriff’s cryptic explanation. His palms got sweaty, and he swallowed. The last thing he wanted was more bad news. He’d had more than enough in the last two days.
“It’s like this,” Love continued, reaching down to the floor and coming back up with a tan leather pouch. “I’ve come into possession of some interesting documents.”
He pushed the pouch across the desk to Malcolm, then rocked back in his wooden chair.
Malcolm hesitated and stared at the offering. He’d never seen it before. Was there something inside that would shed light on his past? Had to be. Malcolm’s pulse quickened.
“What is it?” he asked, stalling. For some reason, a prickle of fear poked at his nerve.
Love indicated the bag with his head. “Just take a look-see.”
The ticking of a grandfather clock sounded loud in his ears as he pulled a handful of papers out of the bag. He noticed letters addressed to Grace Cunningham and froze. Letters to Grace? Why was the sheriff showing these to him? He turned and looked at Love, who nodded at him to go on.
Malcolm set the dozen or so envelopes aside and opened a folded piece of paper. He perused the creased and wrinkled sheaf—a letter stating an offer of employment . . . to Montgomery Cunningham.
Malcolm’s head throbbed anew. “I don’t understand . . .” he mumbled, mostly to himself. Letters to Grace. A job offering to Montgomery—
Colorado Hope (The Front Range Series Book 2) Page 34