In the Sheriff's Protection

by Lauri Robinson

  “Well, now, that’s a long story.” He stepped back and then walked around his horse, ducking under its neck to end up on the same side as her. “One we’ll have to leave for another day.”

  “But there won’t be another day,” she said.

  He took another step closer. “Yes, there will, Clara. I promise you that.”

  With her mind searching for a response, she wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

  Tom kissed her.

  It was fast, his lips left hers about the same moment she realized they were touching, but it was a moment she’d never forget.

  * * *

  Tom questioned his sanity. He’d kept his desires under control all this time, yet standing there, staring into those eyes made a deeper shade of blue by the rising sun, all he could think about was her. All of her, and how he’d be back.

  Someday soon, but right now, it was time to leave.

  Spinning around, he stepped onto the porch. “It would be best if you and Billy stayed out of sight.”

  She stepped onto the porch and then around him to open the door. “But you may need my help getting Hugh—”

  “No, I’ll handle him alone from here on out.” He nodded toward Billy’s bedroom. “Stay in there, and keep Billy with you.”

  With the amount of noise Hugh made, no one could have slept through it, but Clara kept the boy in the room while Tom untied Hugh and hauled him outside. Rather than the strips of material she’d used to tie him to the bed, Tom used rope, and tied both of Hugh’s hands to the saddle despite the man screaming at how badly that hurt. He also tied his feet to the stirrups.

  Then with no farewells at all, Tom swung into his saddle and led the paint horse toward the trail to Hendersonville.

  Hugh was far from the best company. His constant complaining got under Tom’s skin as quickly as his nastiness had back at Clara’s house. Here, with no one else around, he didn’t need to hold his temper, but didn’t need to waste the energy. Nor would he.

  Stopping only to rest or water the horses, Tom kept them moving. Shortly before the sun started to set, he found a decent spot to make camp. Once they were both on the ground, and had eaten, Tom said, “You best get some sleep. We’ll head out again at first light.”

  “You can haul me all the way to Kansas, but you won’t be able to make me stay,” Hugh said.

  Tom covered his face with his hat.

  “Did you hear me, lawman? You ain’t got any proof I was ever in Kansas. Not a single thing. They’ll have to let me go, and back I’ll come, right here to Wyoming and my sweet little Clara. She loves me, you know. Always has. Ever since I plucked her off the Nebraska prairie after those Injuns killed her folks.”

  After a moment of silence, Hugh continued, “You can pretend all you want. I know you’re listening. Hearing every word I say. And you’re thinking. Thinking, By golly, Tom, he’s right. I ain’t got nothing on him, and Clara does love him. Why else would she have stayed in that lonely old house if not waiting for her husband to come home? That’s what you’re thinking, Tom, isn’t it?” He let out a snide laugh. “Hear me, Tom? I know what you’re thinking.”

  Tom heard him, not his words but the rustling taking place. Lifting the corner of his hat, he nodded toward Hugh’s feet. “That rock isn’t big enough or sharp enough. You’ll end up with burns on your ankles long before you cut that rope. Now, either go to sleep, or we’ll saddle up and ride through the night. It’s your choice.”

  “What rock? I see rocks over there, and there, and there, but not near my feet,” Hugh said mockingly. “I see a big old moon and stars, some trees and...”

  Tom stopped listening and got to his feet. Less than ten minutes later, they were back on the trail to Hendersonville. Hugh moaned and groaned, proclaiming how tired he was and that he’d go to sleep if they could stop. Tom didn’t care how tired anyone was, except the horses. He kept the pace slow and a close watch on both animals. At the first sign of fatigue, he’d stop.

  The horses kept going, and shortly after noon, they arrived in Hendersonville. Tom found the sheriff’s office and hadn’t yet dismounted when a burly gray-haired man with a permanently curled lip stepped out onto the boardwalk.

  His look sized up the situation before he said, “How can I help you fellas?”

  “I’m Sheriff Tom Baniff from Oak Grove, Kansas,” Tom said while dismounting. “I have a prisoner I need jailed while I secure passage for us on the next eastbound train.”

  The other man stuck a toothpick in his mouth and chewed on it while eyeing Hugh again. Thoroughly. The badge on his chest said he was a sheriff, too, but that didn’t mean he followed the law. “Sheriff Puddicombe,” he finally said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff Baniff.” Then with a nod, he said, “What’s your prisoner’s name?”

  “Hugh Wilson.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Heard of him. Nothing I could ever go after. Just rumors.”

  “He robbed a train down in Kansas,” Tom said.

  One brow lifted as Puddicombe stared at Hugh again. “Shorty!” the man shouted over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Hugh.

  When a tall, lanky man stepped out of the office, Puddicombe said, “Take this prisoner inside and then run over to the station and tell Becker I said there’ll be two more passengers. Stop at the stable on the way and have Cletus come get these animals fed, watered and ready to be loaded up.” As the other man walked toward Hugh, Puddicombe added, “Keep him tied.”

  “I appreciate your assistance,” Tom said.

  “And I appreciate your dedication,” Puddicombe said. “Kansas is a long ride.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I just had lunch at the eatery. Roast beef and green beans. It’s good. Let me buy you a plate after your long ride.”

  Hugh was complaining about the rough treatment of the tall man named Shorty, which had Puddicombe saying, “Your prisoner will be secure. I guarantee it.”

  In need of sleep more than food, Tom asked, “When does the train leave?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes, but they’ll wait for you.”

  There were other things Tom had planned on doing while in town, like sending a wagon out to Clara’s place. “When does the next one leave?”

  “Not for four days, my friend.”

  Chapter Eight

  Clara had hoped her lesson after he’d thrown his food on the floor the other day would have been a lasting one. Rather than getting better, Billy was getting worse. He was insolent and mouthy. Repeating things he’d heard Hugh say and claiming he hated her for shooting his father.

  “A man doesn’t do laundry!” he shouted, stomping a foot on the ground while throwing another sheet into the tub. “And that old Tom’s a liar! A lying lawman! Pa didn’t rob no train!”

  Her hands paused on the stick she used to push the sheet into the boiling water. “Did Tom tell you that?”

  “No, Pa did.” Billy sent a rock flying with a hard kick. “And he said Tom was lying about it.”

  Clara went back to stirring the sheets in the cauldron over the fire. These sheets should have been washed yesterday, but she’d spent the day moping about. There was no other way to explain it. After Tom had ridden out, she’d felt downtrodden. Still did today, but had to get over it.

  Hugh had left countless times over the years, and she’d never missed him. But she missed Tom. After only knowing him three days, she missed him. Last night, sitting on the porch alone, a few tears had fallen as the what-ifs hit her again. Then she’d played a silly game. She’d imagined what Oak Grove looked like. What it would be like to live there. What it would be like to know people who had regular lives and real jobs.

  She’d never wanted to know anything about Hugh’s jobs, and still didn’t. She’d never wanted Billy to know, either, so she pointed out, “If Tom didn’t tell you that, t
hen you can’t call him a liar, now can you?”

  After kicking several more rocks, he asked, “Did he tell you that? Say Pa robbed a train?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Did Pa tell you that?”

  “No, he didn’t. I hadn’t heard anything about it until you just mentioned it.”

  “Well, I still hate Tom. He shot Pa. And so did you. I hate you, too.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “But don’t expect me to hate you.” Waiting until he turned away, she said, “Tom probably doesn’t hate you, either.”

  “He don’t have no proof Pa robbed that train, either.”

  Twisting the sheet around the stick so she could drop it in the cold water bucket, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause Pa told me.”

  Confused because she’d purposefully kept Billy away from Hugh, she asked, “When did he tell you all this?”

  Having run out of rocks, Billy kicked a hole in the dirt. “When he woke me up and I told him about Tom sleeping in the barn.”

  She’d forgotten about that. Hugh had been alone with Billy for several minutes while she’d been putting up his horse and trying to convince Tom to leave.

  “Pa said he didn’t rob no friends of Tom’s. He was up selling cattle in Montana. I told him he should tell Tom that.” Plopping down on the ground, he muttered, “I thought Tom would listen, not shoot him.”

  A shiver raced up her spine so fast, she grasped the back of her neck. Hugh always used that as an excuse. Selling cattle in Montana. There was even a box of receipts inside. Each time he left her money, he left a receipt with it. She knew they were false. There hadn’t been any cattle since he’d sold the last of Uncle Walter’s. Yet she hadn’t wanted to think about that. Hadn’t wanted to know.

  Someday, not knowing won’t be enough. Tom had said that to her shortly before he’d kissed her and then ridden away. He was right. This time not knowing wasn’t enough. She had to know that he was all right. That his leg was healing and that he’d made it to Oak Grove safely. And that Hugh was there, too, and being made to pay for his actions. How to do that, she wasn’t sure. But there had to be a way. She didn’t have any proof that Hugh had robbed a train, because she’d never wanted to know. If only she had, she could go to Oak Grove and be a witness.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the mere idea of seeing Tom, and the butterflies returned to her stomach. No one had ever made her feel the way he had, and she wanted that back, if only for a little while. But how?

  “Billy?”

  “There are no more sheets,” he said.

  “I know.” She pulled the last sheet out of the cold water and as she flipped it over the line, asked, “What was your father doing in your bedroom when he woke you up?”

  Billy shrugged. “Closing the window.”

  Hugh used to hide things, jewelry, coins, other odds and ends, stolen stuff for sure, under a floorboard in Billy’s room. That had been their room before Walter died. But after Walter died, he’d stopped hiding things there because he was afraid she’d use it to get away. He left them enough money to buy food, but nothing more. Never enough for a horse or train ticket.

  Turning away from the clothesline, she started for the house. “Dump that water onto the fire.”

  In Billy’s bedroom, she went straight to the window and opened it. The bottom board wiggled, and with hardly any effort, the flat-bottom frame board lifted up. Sure enough, there were three pouches in the space between the outside and inside walls. Two were small; one was larger and heavier.

  “What did you find, Ma?”

  Done hiding things, she said, “Some bags your father left here.” Walking into the kitchen, she set the bags on the table.

  “For me?” Billy grabbed one of the pouches, pulled it open and dumped it on the table.

  Rings, watches, pins, pendants, wallets and money clips tumbled onto the table. “No, none of this is ours.” She ran her finger over a couple of the items, thinking of the people they’d once belonged to. Regular people. Good people. People like the ones Tom had told her about. “We have to give it back to who it belongs to.”

  As she peeked into the heavier bag, the air in her lungs grew heavy. Coins. Lots of coins. Gold coins.

  “Who does it belong to?” Billy asked.

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

  “How?”

  She scooped up the items and put them back in the pouch. “By taking a train ride.”

  “To where?”

  “A town.” She stopped before saying named Oak Grove.

  * * *

  Tom was so sick and tired of Hugh’s mouth, of his whining, lying and overall attitude, that he dang near considered putting another bullet in the man. Just to put them both out of their misery. The only good thing about Hugh was that no one wanted to sit anywhere near him, so there was no worry that he might convince someone to untie him.

  At every train depot, Hugh would put on the charm, trying to catch someone’s, usually a woman’s, attention. He succeeded a couple of times, but then they’d see his hands tied and legs hobbled, and go in the other direction.

  Too bad Clara hadn’t done that years ago. Ran in the opposite direction from him. Tom felt guilty even thinking that. She hadn’t had a choice, and furthermore, he shouldn’t be thinking about her the way he was. Nonstop. She hadn’t done anything to encourage him to believe in one way or the other she was looking for a suitor. Not that he was a suitor.

  Dagnabbit. Hugh was the one responsible for those thoughts. He went on and on about Clara and he still insinuated that more had happened than what had. Tom ignored it, but it was wearing. Partly because if his stay had been longer, something may have happened between them. The feelings he had for Clara, ones that had formed despite his efforts to hold them at bay, were like no other. He couldn’t get her off his mind.

  As he glanced out the window, the familiar land made him smile. That was Circle P land. They were almost to Oak Grove. It sure would be good to be home. As he watched more landmarks go by, his mind once again was on Clara. He’d never mentioned the Smoky Hill to her. How the river flowed just south of town. Billy would enjoy fishing in it. All the boys in town did. He’d have several friends here. So would she. Oak Grove was just that kind of town.

  “What ya smiling so big about, Tom?” Hugh asked.

  He still used his name in almost every sentence, as if trying to belittle him. It didn’t. The likes of Hugh Wilson could never belittle him.

  “I’m smiling because we are almost to Oak Grove.” He hadn’t yet stooped to Hugh’s level of berating, yet couldn’t stop himself from saying, “The one town you should have stayed clear of.”

  Hugh chortled. “Your little town means less to me than you do.”

  “Glad to know I’m in good company,” Tom said as the train blew its whistle. “Real good company.”

  Not expecting a rebuttal, Hugh frowned and Tom laughed. The sooner he got Hugh tried and charged, the sooner he could head back to Wyoming.

  No one knew he’d be on the train, but this was Oak Grove, so he’d barely stepped off the train, nudging Hugh to walk in front of him, when people started shouting his name.

  “Sheriff Baniff!” That was Brett Blackwell with a voice as deep as a bear’s cavern. Brett was just as tall and wide as a bear, too, and considering Brett’s accent, that bear would be one straight out of Canada. “Good to see you’re back. You sure have been missed.” With a dark frown, Brett added, “This that train robber?”

  “Sure is, Brett, and I’m glad to be back.”

  “Need help hauling him across the street?” Brett asked.

  Hugh stumbled slightly as he stepped backward.

  Tom laughed. “I got it, Brett, but you’ll be the first I call if I do need help.” And then because he did want to know, h
e asked, “How’s the family?”

  “Good. Real good. We’ll plan on you stopping over at the house for supper soon,” Brett said. “I’ll have Wally see to your horse.”

  Tom nodded his response because Angus O’Leary, in his three-piece suit and top hat, had stopped right in front of Hugh. Angus met every train that stopped in town, just in case there was someone there he should know.

  “This that no-good thief?” Angus asked.

  “Yep,” Tom replied.

  Angus used his cane as a pointer to size Hugh up, from toe to head, twice before saying, “I got a coffin I’ll sell him. Might have to cut his legs off, but that won’t matter after he hangs.”

  He’d known Angus for years and had never heard the man say anything even close to that. Stranger or not.

  “That’s what we do to folks who hurt others around here,” Angus said, poking his cane into Hugh’s chest. “You remember that, lad.”

  Chester, the town’s acting deputy, stepped up as Angus walked away. “Glad to see you, Tom. Place hasn’t been the same without you.” Chester glared at Hugh. “Got the cell all ready for this ruffian.”

  The sheriff’s office and jail was across the street from the train station, and it had never taken Tom so long to cross a street before. Half the town had formed a line to get a look at Hugh, and as welcoming and kind as Oak Grove was, there wasn’t a smile to be found.

  When Mayor Josiah Melbourne met him on the boardwalk in front of the jail, Tom lowered his voice to ask, “Did the mail-order bride die?”

  “No,” Josiah said, plenty loud enough for all to hear. “But I gotta warn you, nearly every unmarried man is ready to marry her, and every one of them wants to see this outlaw pay for shooting her. We best have a guard on him twenty-four hours a day, just so someone doesn’t beat the circuit judge out of a trial.”

  Hugh had stopped to listen and glance around at the crowd that had gathered. Over a dozen men. Tom recognized a goodly number. For the most part they were newly married to brides who’d come into the community recently.