Lawman in Disguise

by Laurie Kingery

  “Those two had some unfinished business to take care of,” the outlaw leader said. “Nothin’ t’ worry about.” Yet there was something in Griggs’s eyes that made Thorn worry more, not less. There were four horses missing from the picket line, not just the two that Tomlinson and Pritchard rode. What were they up to?

  The two still hadn’t returned by the time Thorn stretched out on his bedroll and finally dropped into an uneasy doze, only to be awakened a couple of hours later by the sound of horses approaching camp.

  Who was supposed to be on watch? Had Bishop decided to spring the trap before they could even kidnap the mayor’s wife?

  It was only Tomlinson and Pritchard returning at last, but they weren’t alone. Thorn saw a woman dismounting from one of the horses, and thought for a horrified moment that the two outlaws had decided to take a woman prisoner. But it was clear she was no captive when she uttered an excited squeal and went streaking across the campfire area, dodging bedrolls and men newly roused from sleep to throw herself into the arms of Gordon Griggs.

  “There’s my sweet woman!” the outlaw leader crowed, wrapping her in an embrace.

  “Here I am, all ready to skedaddle over the border to Mexico with you!” she trilled, before planting a big smacking kiss on Griggs’s scarred, whiskery cheek, to the hooting cheers of the gang.

  Disgusted, but wary of letting the others see his distaste, Thorn shifted his gaze back to the other newcomer, and saw to his horror that it was Billy Joe Henderson.

  Thorn crossed the distance between where he’d been standing and where the youth was dismounting before he even had time to think about it. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

  The face Billy Joe raised to him in the flickering light was dull with misery. “I... Miss Tilly, she said I could come with her and be an outlaw with you. She says you’re holdin’ up some stagecoach tomorrow. But I didn’t think you’d want me doin’ that, ’cause of how it would affect Ma, so I said I wouldn’t. Then she said if I didn’t come, the gang would sneak into town and kidnap Ma, this very night.” His gaze left Thorn’s and he peered around the camp as if to check that Daisy wasn’t there.

  Fury blazed within Thorn. “You shouldn’t have done that, Miss Tilly,” he said, even as she turned to face him in Griggs’s embrace.

  “Gordon thought we needed a little insurance, didn’t you, sugar?” Tilly purred, gazing up at her outlaw lover adoringly.

  Thorn was chilled by her open declaration that the gang leader didn’t trust him fully.

  Griggs’s eyes gleamed like silver slits as he looked back at Thorn. “I didn’t think it would hurt to be a little more certain you were 100 percent committed to our success, Dawson. Tilly had come to suspect that might not be so...”

  The waitress met his gaze without blinking. Somehow she’d seen something, overheard something... Thorn didn’t know what, but it seemed his careful disguise had become threadbare, at least to this sly woman, and as a result, Griggs had a hostage who Thorn would do anything to protect.

  “I’ve given you no cause to think I’m two-faced,” he insisted. “So you’re going to send an untried boy into danger tomorrow when we hold up that stage the mayor’s wife’ll be on—aren’t you afraid he might affect your ‘success’, too?” Thorn asked.

  “Simmer down, Dawson,” Griggs ordered. “He ain’t gonna be with the men. He’s going to stay with Tilly in the cave. He kin help guard our hostage.”

  One glance at the woman confirmed she wouldn’t hesitate to be as ruthless with the boy as Griggs would have been.

  “You said I’d get to ride with Thorn!” protested Billy Joe, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he faced Tilly, then Griggs. “I want to stick with him, not stay behind like some baby!”

  If the kid wasn’t careful, he’d end up in danger this very night and not have to wait until tomorrow, Thorn thought. “Hush up, Billy Joe,” he snapped, praying the boy would have sense enough to heed the warning. “You have to prove yourself before you can be an outlaw,” he added, though he suspected that by this point, Billy Joe had no desire to be an outlaw left. After all the stories he’d told the boy about the rough, unpleasant life of an outlaw, this taste of the reality of it all had finally made the point. “And proving yourself means following orders and not talking back.”

  Billy Joe turned to him. “But what’s this about kidnapping the mayor’s wife, Mr. Thorn? I didn’t know it was gonna be her stagecoach! Mrs. Gilmore’s a nice lady. They shouldn’t be botherin’ her—”

  “She won’t come to any harm, Billy Joe,” Thorn assured him. “They’re just going to hold her for ransom.” He wished he was as certain as he sounded. There would be nothing to stop the gang members from offering the mayor’s wife all sorts of indignities if they were sure of escaping punishment. And if there was any hint that her husband might not be willing to pay the ransom... “Time to get some shut-eye. You can curl up on my bedroll,” he said, pointing to where his blankets lay.

  “But what will you sleep on, Thorn?” Billy Joe asked.

  “I’ll lie back against that tree—the one near the bedroll, see? I’ll be fine.” He wouldn’t sleep sitting up, but with the arrival of the boy and the complications that represented, sleep wouldn’t come again tonight, anyway. If anything happened to Billy Joe, Daisy would never forgive him. And Thorn would never forgive himself.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Daisy tiptoed down the hall at dawn to peek in on Billy Joe before she left the house to start cooking breakfast at the hotel. Seeing her sleeping son had always been an encouragement to her, a reminder that however hard her life was as a widow, she was not alone...

  But this morning his bed was empty. Had he awakened early and gone out to feed the chickens for her? A prickle of alarm danced up her spine, for he’d never done that before...

  And then she saw the scrap of paper on top of his pillow, and dashed across the room to pick it up.

  “Ma Im with Thorn. Tillys gunna bring me. Dont worry about me” was scrawled across the paper.

  “Oh, dear God!” Daisy shrieked, as soon as the words made sense. She flew out the door, not stopping at the hotel, but running until she reached the jail. How had he gotten a horse to ride to reach Thorn? She very much doubted he’d had the money to rent a horse at the livery.

  Outside the jail, two saddled horses stood at the hitching post. Inside, she found Sheriff Bishop standing with Deputy Menendez. Both men held mugs of hot coffee and appeared ready to ride. Of course! They were going to ambush the kidnappers, she reminded herself.

  “The outlaws—the Griggs gang—they’ve got Billy Joe!” she cried, as soon as her lungs allowed her enough breath to get the words out. Her hand was trembling as she held out the note.

  The sheriff read it in grim silence, then put a palm on her shoulder. “We’ll bring him back to you, Miss Daisy, with God’s help,” he said, his eyes kind. “Are you working today?”

  She gave a shaky nod. “I’m supposed to...”

  Bishop said, “Then you go on to work, and try to pray instead of worry.”

  Not worry? Go to work? How could she do that? Daisy stifled a hysterical laugh as she stared at the sheriff, then turned on her heel and pushed open the door, heading for the hotel. She was going to wring Tilly’s neck when the waitress showed up, she vowed, for she knew deep inside that the other woman had had something to do with luring her boy into danger. She’d known there was something her son hadn’t told her about his conversation with Tilly at Ella’s café, but Daisy certainly hadn’t expected anything like this.

  There was usually an hour between the time she reached the restaurant to start breakfast preparation and when Tilly arrived, for there was very little for the waitress to do until opening time drew near. Normally Daisy treasured the peace and quiet while she set out place sett
ings for breakfast, which disappeared as soon as Tilly started slamming plates down on the tables and rattling silverware out in the dining room, while humming some tune off-key. Now, however, Daisy left off stirring pancake batter and cracking eggs to walk into the hotel lobby every few minutes, staring out into the street to see if she could see Tilly coming as the time to open the restaurant drew near.

  “Something wrong, Mrs. Henderson?” inquired Mr. Ellington, the hotel worker who manned the registration desk during the night, after her fourth trip out.

  “Tilly isn’t here and it’s time to open,” she said, pushing back a stray curl that had fallen over her forehead. She wanted to add, And she’s taken my boy with her, the evil woman! But Daisy didn’t want to tell anyone her son might have chosen to run off with the outlaws, and merely added, “I think Mr. Prendergast should be notified.”

  “Dear me,” sighed Mr. Ellington, rolling his eyes as if to see through the ceiling to the second floor room where the proprietor lived. “He won’t like waking up to that, will he? Still... I suppose you’re right. We’d better let him know.” He hefted his bulky body off the chair he’d been sitting on and headed for the stairs.

  A late riser who was used to leaving his kitchen staff to cope on their own with breakfast, Mr. Prendergast was not pleased to be awakened with the news that Tilly hadn’t shown up.

  “Mr. Ellington, you’ll have to go down to the boardinghouse and see if the silly woman’s still abed,” he announced, ignoring the fact that the man’s overnight shift was already done and it was time for him to go home. “And if you find her, she’s to report to me before she starts work. Mrs. Henderson, you’ll have to take care of the dining room and the cooking until he returns with Tilly,” he told Daisy, lowering himself onto the chair Ellington had just vacated.

  Daisy nodded. She’d already guessed she’d have to do Tilly’s job as well as her own. And it was Sunday, which meant business would be slow till noon, and then it would be overwhelming. Lord, help me!

  “I hope she’s just overslept,” she murmured, twisting her apron in her hands. She knew in her heart that Mr. Ellington wouldn’t find Tilly, but Daisy couldn’t say so without revealing the fact that her son had gone with her to join the outlaws. As it was, when Mr. Prendergast found out what her boy had done, Daisy would lose her job for sure, for he would think too much scandal was attached to her name—even though he was losing his waitress at the same time. With his high standards for conduct, he’d prefer to have no staff at all than to have scandal surrounding even one of his employees. But that seemed of little importance now. Please, Lord, keep my son safe, despite his foolish choices.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It just figures we’d be stuck waitin’ for that stage on the hottest day of the summer,” grumbled Tomlinson, after they’d been settled in their hiding place for about an hour. “What time is it due here, anyway?”

  “About one,” Thorn replied. If all had gone according to the plan he’d made with Bishop, the sheriff’s men were already nearby, too, ready to capture the would-be kidnappers, though so far they hadn’t betrayed their presence by so much as a horse’s whinny.

  “Didn’t you say they left Lampasas at six in the morning? It ain’t that far. What takes so long?” Bob Pritchard complained.

  “You fellers stop yer bellyachin’,” Griggs growled. “You’re worse than a thousand buzzin’ flies. You’re forgettin’ how rich we’re all gonna be when we get done with this. I think that’s worth a little sweat.”

  Thorn lowered his voice to answer. “They must have stopped at a station halfway between Lampasas and Simpson Creek to change teams and feed the passengers.”

  “So the team’ll be fresh,” Tomlinson commented, sounding a little worried, as if he feared they could outrun the outlaws.

  “But the driver’s stomach will be full, and he’ll be wishin’ he could take a nap,” Pritchard said, then chuckled. “Poor fool won’t be suspectin’ a thing.”

  Thorn suppressed a grin. Pritchard must never have taken the stage, if he thought the food at the stations was plentiful enough to make the driver drowsy. By the time the man supervised the changing of the teams, there would be only a few morsels left at the table for him.

  Lord, please, let my plan succeed. Let the sheriff and his men capture the outlaws as soon as they have taken the mayor’s wife, and let no one be injured in the process, including the stagecoach driver—keep him from offering resistance. Let me receive my reward so that Daisy and I can be wed and go on to a new, better life. Amen.

  Thorn started to raise his head, then remembered Billy Joe, who’d been most indignant to be consigned to Tilly’s custody. And, Lord, one more thing—please give Billy Joe the common sense to stay where he is and not give that treacherous woman any trouble, for there will be no true victory if he is harmed.

  * * *

  By noon, Daisy thought she was truly going to lose her mind. The surge of customers into the restaurant, dressed in their Sunday best, signaled that the church service was over. She no longer had time to worry about Billy Joe or Thorn or Mrs. Gilmore—there was just a never-ending stream of order-taking and cooking. And yet her worry remained, nagging at her soul, and worsened by Mr. Prendergast, who lurked at the passageway between the hotel and the restaurant, watching with his sharp, beady eyes, yet never offering to help. So far the strain hadn’t caused her to get any orders wrong, but it was just a matter of time.

  “Daisy, so good to see you,” a woman gushed. “But why aren’t you in the kitchen? It’s your cooking we’ve come for.”

  Daisy blinked and took a look at the speaker. It was Sarah Walker, the doctor’s wife, and Milly Brookfield, her sister, was sitting right next to her. Their numerous offspring, as well as their husbands, surrounded them.

  “Hello, Sarah, and you, too, Milly, and Dr. Walker, and Mr. Brookfield!” Daisy hoped her enthusiastic greeting would hide her agitation. “Yes, it’s just a bit busier than usual here today, what with Tilly, our waitress, being off sick, so I’m doing both jobs.”

  Milly’s mouth dropped open. “You’re what?” She took a look around her, seeing the tables full of diners, with others still at the door waiting to be seated. “Oh, no, that’s impossible. No one can do that.” She stood. “I’ll be your waitress until the rush dies down. Just give me some paper, a pencil and an apron, and I’ll take your orders. No arguing, now.”

  Daisy thought she might get fired just for allowing Milly to help, but the chance to finally catch up on the cooking and stop feeling so in over her head was worth getting in trouble. So she ignored the consternation in Mr. Prendergast’s eyes that she could see from the pass-through window between the kitchen and the dining room, when Milly in her borrowed apron started zipping around the tables, taking orders, refilling water glasses and coffee cups, cleaning tables when diners were done and ushering new customers into those places. Free to concentrate on her cooking, Daisy caught up with the orders and people got their food, and finally the crowd began to thin out.

  Daisy kept Milly’s meal on the stove until business had slowed down enough for her to eat it, and she was just thanking her for her extraordinary help when Mr. Prendergast made his way over to the table.

  “Mrs. Brookfield, we’re always honored when you’re able to come in from your ranch and dine with us, but for helping us today, your family’s meal is on the house,” he told her in his unctuous way.

  “Happy to help, sir,” Milly responded. “You won’t mind if your hardworking cook sits down for just a moment with us, will you?”

  Daisy guessed he would have liked to say that she should get to work on the pile of dishes that were no doubt awaiting washing in the kitchen, but how could he, with Milly Brookfield, founder of the Spinsters Club and wife of an influential rancher, smiling so winningly up at him?

  “Of course not,” he purred. “Just
let us know if there’s anything else we can get for you folks.” He retreated to the passageway as if to watch for more diners.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Daisy said, sitting in a chair Dr. Walker had brought from an empty table. “My feet are plumb worn to a frazzle. I never would have been able to keep up with both jobs if you hadn’t helped, Milly.”

  “Happy to assist, as I said,” she repeated. “And happy to have a chance to share a meal with you. How’s that boy of yours, Daisy? Last I saw him, he’d grown a foot taller at least.”

  “Yes, he’s been keeping busy working for Ella at her café...” Daisy began, but then her voice trailed off. In the last hour, she’d been so busy frying and basting and boiling and dishing up food, she’d had no time to spare for worrying about Billy Joe. But now the whole situation came back to her in a rush, and suddenly her cheeks were awash with tears. “Oh, Milly, I’m so worried about him...” She covered her face with her hands, horrified that the proprietor might return and catch her sobbing into her apron.

  “Let’s just go into the kitchen and start on the dishes, shall we?” Milly said, urging her to her feet and steering her gently in that direction.

  Once the door of the kitchen swung shut on them, it all came spilling out of Daisy—the whole story of how an outlaw had come to stay with them after he was wounded at the bank robbery. And how Billy Joe had grown to admire the man—who wasn’t really an outlaw but a State Police officer, working secretly to infiltrate a gang—so much that he was even now waiting alongside him to halt the stagecoach and kidnap the mayor’s wife. And how she and Thorn Dawson had come to fall in love.

  Milly, elbow deep in dishwater, took it all in stride, as if she heard such fantastic stories every day. “You poor thing,” she murmured. “You’ve had to be strong for so long, my dear...”

  Daisy knew the other woman was referring not only to her son, but to her marriage to the brute who had been Billy Joe’s father, and his subsequent death in a prison riot. Yes, she’d had to be strong. She sniffed and added the soup bowl she was drying to a stack on the prep table.