Forgotten Trails (Paradise Valley Book 5)

by Vivi Holt

  He grabbed the canvas bag he’d packed with things he’d need for the trip – a change of clothes, rain slicker, bedroll, food, coffee, tobacco, his toothbrush and tooth powder. He slapped his Stetson on his head and hurried from the room and down the narrow, winding staircase.

  By the time he’d saddled Auger and led him around from the stables to the front of the brewery, the sheriff was there, standing in the stirrups, his hat in one hand. He’d already begun to address the group, and shot Ost a look that made him squirm. He was late - dagnabit. He’d tried not to be, but there it was.

  “ … And now that my deputy has seen fit to join us, we can get started.” The sheriff frowned. “We’re headin’ south, lookin’ for Yannick Berger and his gang. Ya heard of him?” There were a few affirmative nods and negative murmurs, and men exchanged words with their neighbors.

  Ost noticed Dan on the edge of the group. His old boss caught his eye and waved. He walked over to Dan and shook the cow boss’s hand.

  The sheriff continued his address. “He’s a shady character, Berger – we know that much. What we don’t know is if he’s involved in the cattle rustlin’ we’ve been seein’ throughout this county and the next in recent months. Deputy Oster says he recognized one of Berger’s men, Kip Weaver, as bein’ a rustler. He came across the gang some months back, and Kip was with them. So that’s our connection.”

  “Let’s get ‘em!” shouted one cowboy. Ost recognized Trevor Hannity from the Lucky Nail Ranch, which had lost dozens of cattle recently.

  “Now, simmer down. As I said, we can’t be sure – so what we’re doin’ today is lookin’ for the gang and visitin’ Yannick Berger. If we find either, we’re gonna ask some questions and poke around. We’re not makin’ any arrests unless we find some evidence. And no shootin’ – ya got that?”

  There were a few nods and general sounds of disapproval among the group.

  The sheriff glowered at them. “I mean it. No. Shootin’.”

  5

  “We’re gettin’ close to Whitfield.” Dan pointed to the south where the wood looked thicker and darker than where they were riding. “Over there.”

  Ost nodded. He’d never seen the settlement himself, but he’d heard Dan and Claudine’s stories and was looking forward to meeting the quirky folk there. “Why’d they set up a settlement out here so far from anything?”

  Dan rode just ahead of him on the narrow trail and called back over his shoulder. “The Rev. Jim Arden found that folks back in Poughkeepsie, New York didn’t much take to his brand of Christianity. His church insisted he leave, and some of the folks from the congregation left with him. They decided to head west to start afresh and landed here. They’re a little unusual, but they’re good people.”

  “What exactly was it the church in New York didn’t like about his teaching?” asked Ost.

  “I don’t know for sure. He never said.”

  It was only a few hours before they saw the first of Whitfield’s cottages. The small structures were dotted around the outside of an almost circular clearing in the heart of the woods, pockmarked by stumps where trees had been felled to construct the dwellings and several large barns. People milled around the clearing, but every one of them stopped to watch the newcomers file into Whitfield on horseback. Children hid behind women’s skirts, and the women stared at them with lowered eyebrows and fists clenched at their sides.

  Ost didn’t blame them for being wary – they wouldn’t see many visitors in this part of the territory, and a group of armed men would be seen as a threat. He let Auger wander close behind Dan’s mount Goldy.

  Dan waved to a man balanced atop a barn, a hammer in his hand. The man waved back with some hesitation, then began finding his way down from his perch. Dan called to some others: “Howdy, Joan. Hi Sam, Margarethe, Simon, Ruth …” He waved to each, and faces relaxed with recognition as the tension left the group.

  “Dan Graham, we weren’t expecting you back so soon,” said a tall man at the back of the group. He walked forward, hand outstretched.

  Dan dismounted, met him halfway and shook his hand. “Reverend, how are ya?”

  “We’re well, thank you. It’s good to see you. How are Claudine and little Gracie?”

  “They’re fine, happily settled at Paradise Ranch. And we’re expectin’ another one to join the family in about six months.”

  Ost’s eyes widened. That was the first he’d heard of it, though he wasn’t surprised. He knew how much Dan loved being a father – anyone who’d seen him with Gracie could tell that. He climbed down from Auger’s back and stretched his arms over his head one at a time, then wandered over to where Dan was chatting with the reverend.

  A woman stopped him on his way. Her red hair flashed beneath the summer sun and her green eyes caught his with their sparkle. “I’m Joan Hansen,” she said, holding out her hand.

  He blinked, shook it and dropped it. He wasn’t accustomed to women being so forward. “I’m Ost … er, Hank Oster. People call me Ost.” His cheeks colored.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ost. And what, pray tell, are you and this group of men here about?”

  He took a quick breath. How much was the sheriff going to tell these people of their plans? Well, no point in lying about it. “We’re after some cattle rustlers, and thought you good folks might know something to help us with that.”

  She frowned. “What would we know about cattle rustling? I hope you’re not accusing anyone from Whitfield.”

  He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. Have you heard of a man named Yannick Berger?”

  Her eyes flickered with recognition, then dropped to the ground. “Ah … why do you ask?”

  “We want to talk to him about it, is all. We think he might know something about the rustling.”

  She ran a hand across her brow, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “You’ll have to talk to Rev. Arden about that,” she said. “But all of you are welcome to stay – I’m sure that’s what he’s telling Dan right now. Any friend of Dan’s is a friend of ours.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Ost replied, studying her closely. She was beautiful, striking in a way that likely made everyone who saw her take a second look. Her hair was dark red and shone brilliantly when the sunlight hit it. Her eyes were a deep green and her pale skin glowed, free of blemishes. “Perhaps Mr. Hansen could help …” he began, then blushed at his own presumption in asking the question.

  She caught his gaze, her own filled with curiosity. “I’m not married.”

  “Oh. Good to know.” Ost doffed his hat and walked away. Why had he pushed to know whether Miss Hansen was wed? He had feelings for Angela, didn’t he? Of course, she’d lost her memory and likely had a husband searching for her. She could never be his. So he could flirt with whomever he chose. But even as he walked away, his throat ached.

  Dan watched Ost mope across the clearing and scratched his head. What had gotten into that boy? For the past few days, he’d been moody and morose. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it had something to do with a certain blonde back at the ranch. He shook his head and gave his attention back to Rev. Arden.

  “… plentiful harvest, and we’ll make it through the winter,” finished the reverend.

  “That’s good to hear, Rev. Arden. It’s no easy feat setting up house in a place like this. You’ve done well for yourselves.”

  Rev. Arden nodded his head in thanks for the compliment. “But you haven’t come all this way to hear about our harvest, have you?” He waved a hand toward a long rectangular building. “Let’s go inside the lodge where we can talk.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Dan waved to Ost to join them, then followed the reverend into the squat structure. The lodge was one long room filled with trestle tables and chairs, with a kitchen off to one side. The community had meals, meetings, even celebrations in the building – including Dan and Claudine’s wedding feast. He glanced around it as happy memories flooded his mind, then sat in a rough-he
wn chair in front of a wide hearth.

  Rev. Arden, Ost and Sheriff Stanton sat as well. The rest of the posse remained outside tending to their horses. “So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” Rev. Arden asked.

  Stanton took off his hat and set it in his lap. “Rev. Arden, we’ve come to see if you can help us.” The sheriff explained their mission.

  Rev. Arden listened intently, his brow furrowed. When the sheriff was done, he coughed and arched an eyebrow. “I know this Berger fellow – he has a camp not far from here. He and his men have passed by several times, and given our young women trouble more than once.”

  Ost and Dan exchanged a look. They’d found a lead.

  “Where does the gang camp?” asked Ost.

  “Just southeast of here, about five miles. There’s an old rundown cabin they stay in. I’ve ridden by it on a couple of hunting trips, but once I saw who lived there I decided to give it a wide berth.”

  Ost nodded, and Dan leaned back in his chair. Coming to Whitfield had been a long shot, but so far it was paying off.

  “The last time I saw him, he was with his wife – just the two of them, heading south for the cabin …”

  “He’s married?” asked Stanton.

  “I guess. There was a pretty blonde woman with him, anyhow. She didn’t look to be very happy, kind of slumped in the saddle.”

  Ost’s eyebrows shot skyward, and he caught Dan’s gaze. Dan nodded, his lips pursed. It did sound like Angela. “Was his wife … um, expecting?” asked Ost, his voice low.

  “Hmmm … she might’ve been, though I couldn’t say for sure. I wasn’t close enough to tell – I was out hunting that cougar again. Do you remember him, Dan?”

  Dan chuckled. “Couldn’t forget him if I tried.”

  By the time the men finished discussing the Berger gang and their whereabouts, a woman had joined the group to stand by Rev. Arden’s shoulder. He stopped talking and glanced at her with a smile. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he patted it and stood. “Gentlemen, this is my wife Mary Arden. Mary, you know Dan, of course. And this is Sheriff Stanton and Deputy Oster from Bozeman. They’re checking up on Yannick Berger.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said quietly with a dip of her head. “Are you planning to spend the night in our humble settlement?”

  Sheriff Stanton met Ost’s gaze, and the deputy shrugged. Stanton spoke up. “If it ain’t too much trouble for ya, ma’am, we’d sure love to stay a night.”

  “Wonderful. Tonight’s a special night here in Whitfield. It’s the first of a series of celebrations where we thank the Lord for the bountiful harvest. We’ll be eating, drinking, dancing and having a grand old time, and we’d love for you to join us.”

  “That sounds real good – thank ya kindly, Mrs. Arden.”

  Ost, Dan and Stanton left the lodge and went to tend their horses. Whitfield had a number of small barns and stables on the edge of the circle, and most of the posse had already bedded their mounts down for the night with feedbags and troughs of water. The three of them quickly did the same.

  There was to be a celebration that night, and the thought of it quickened Ost’s step and his pulse. He didn’t often attend parties and wasn’t sure what to expect, but it would sure be nice to do something other than listen to a bunch of drunken posse riders make jokes around the fire while he tried to fall asleep in his bedroll on the ground. Not that he minded that life, but he was looking forward to some variety.

  Still, he couldn’t get Rev. Arden’s words out of his head. Yannick Berger was traveling with a pretty young blonde? It might not be Angela, but what if it was? If she was married to Berger, things just got a whole lot more complicated. And Berger wasn’t known for being a good man – was she really stuck with him for life? His heart fell at the thought.

  One of the women had set up a washbowl and dry cloths outside the stables, and Ost took his turn washing there. He eyed the dirty water with a sigh – sometimes it didn’t pay to be last. But he dipped a cloth into it and scrubbed his face anyway. He dried off, straightened his shirt and combed wet fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten it down.

  By then, people throughout Whitfield were making their way to the lodge, and he could hear music wafting from its windows. He fell into step beside Dan and they walked toward the communal building. “Do ya think he was talkin’ ‘bout Angela?” asked Dan. “You found her not far from here, didn’t ya?”

  Ost shrugged. “Not real close – about ten miles.”

  “But still …”

  “Yes, it could’ve been her. Though Rev. Arden wasn’t sure of her condition.”

  “True, but that don’t mean …”

  “I know, it’s just … what are the chances that the very man we’ve been hunting all these months is also Angela’s husband? You knew her before she lost her memory – does it seem like she’d marry a man like that?”

  Dan rubbed his beard and frowned. “No. She definitely wasn’t that type of woman. But perhaps he tricked her somehow. Or she was just desperate – we still don’t know what happened to her folks.”

  Ost shook his head. “I guess we won’t know for sure until we find the varmint. I, for one, am looking forward to slapping cuffs on his wrists and throwing him in a cell if he’s involved with this. And I hope when we do, his blonde bride is there with him. Otherwise …”

  “It don’t bear thinkin’ of,” agreed Dan. They went through the door into the lodge.

  All the chairs and tables had been pushed against the walls and a band had set up in one corner with a fiddle, accordion and flute. The music wrapped around Ost and made his heart leap. He loved a good band, and the trio in the corner were as good as any he’d heard. They almost set his feet to tapping against his will.

  “There’s plenty of young women here you could dance with,” whispered Dan with a grin and a wink.

  Ost’s cheeks warmed. He glanced around the room, and saw that Dan was right. Most of Whitfield’s fifty or so citizens were in attendance, ranging from sleeping babes in their mothers’ arms to Rev. Arden and Mary, who looked old enough to be his grandparents. Several young women were standing by their parents or in clusters with their friends, studying the posse with furtive glances and giggling behind gloved hands.

  As his gaze swept over the group, he found Joan Hansen’s eyes on him. She smiled at him and inclined her head, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked away and studied the kitchen entrance at the far wall. A delicious aroma came from there and his stomach growled.

  He glanced back again and found her still watching him, and a line of sweat trickled down his spine. What was wrong with him? She was attractive and young and seemed nice enough – he should ask her to dance. But there was something almost predatory in her eyes that made him shiver. Instead, he leaned against the wall behind him, one foot against the baseboard.

  Several members of the posse were already dancing, and even Dan had found a partner in the group, an older woman who occasionally waved to her seated husband. Both the husband and Dan laughed as they flew around the dance floor, the older lady spinning with her gray hair flying around her shoulders.

  Ost swallowed again and kept his eyes on the dancers, but still sensed Joan on the edge of his vision – and heading right for him. Oh dear. He straightened and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Good evening, Hank,” she said, arriving beside him with her hands clasped together.

  He nodded to her. “Ma’am.”

  “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

  “I guess so – most of the men haven’t seen this many young ladies in one place in years.” He chuckled.

  She smiled. “And we’re grateful for so many single men in Whitfield who aren’t related.”

  That made him laugh out loud.

  Her eyes flashed. “It gives us a great opportunity to dance with a more … desirable partner.”

  He took a quick breath and surrendered to the inevitable. “Would you care to dance, Miss Hansen?
”

  She grinned. “I’d love to.” She held out her hand

  He took it and led her to the space in the middle of the room in front of the band. As he put an arm around her waist, she rested hers on his shoulder. His skin tingled beneath his shirt at her touch. He moved her around the floor in time to the music until the song came to an end.

  The band began another, the tempo slower, and she pulled him close. “So tell me all about yourself, Hank Oster,” she began as they swayed slowly in unison. Her voice was low and seductive, and the sound of it close to his ear made his heartbeat accelerate.

  “Well, I’m, uh, deputy sheriff up in Bozeman.” His throat tightened and he wished he had a hand free to loosen his shirt collar. “Part-time.”

  “I know that,” she teased. “We’ve already met.”

  He chuckled awkwardly. “Well then, what else do you want to know?”

  “Who are you? What are your hopes and dreams?”

  One eyebrow arched high. Hopes and dreams? He’d never thought of life that way before – he’d always considered survival the highest order of business. After that, everything else was cream. “I guess I’ve never considered those, really. I used to think I’d be a cowpoke all my life. Lately I’ve started to consider being a lawman, having a family someday …”

  “Having a family is the most wonderful thing a man – or woman – can do with their God-given life, I believe,” she said, her face serene. “And I’m sure you would make a wonderful husband and father.”

  “Well, thank you, ma’am. I don’t know about that …”

  “I do.” She tightened her grasp on his hand.

  He shifted his fingers before she cut off his circulation. “Well, I hope you’re right. And I hope to stay in the lawman business, too, though nothing’s certain.”

  “There’s something very interesting about lawmen, I think …”

  Ost felt himself getting nervous. Part of him hoped something would interrupt them before she finished that thought.