“Thanks for listening. Prissy’s the only other one who knows all this about Thorn, because of Sam being the sheriff, of course—although I suspect your sister, Sarah, has known about the wounded outlaw in my barn, too, since her husband was treating him.”
Milly smiled. “You couldn’t have picked better confidantes,” she said. “Daisy, I’m sorry neither I nor the Spinsters Club have been more of a help to you through all the troubles you’ve been shouldering since long before Thorn Dawson came to town. With me out on the ranch and with the young’uns to keep up with—”
“There’s nothing anyone else could have done,” she insisted, not wanting Milly to feel guilty for Daisy’s own bad choice of a husband.
“Well, it sounds as if once this escapade is done, there’ll be a wedding taking place,” her friend said as she dried her hands. “When that happens, the Spinsters Club can help you plan the celebration.”
Milly’s caring, encouraging smile nearly started the waterworks again. “Thanks, I’d like that. But I’m afraid I won’t draw an easy breath until Billy Joe—and the mayor’s wife—are both safe at home again.”
“I’ll be praying,” Milly assured her, “for all of you.”
* * *
“It’s coming! The stage is coming! It’s ’bout half a mile around the bend!” Pritchard yelled as he rejoined the gang waiting in their hiding place. Since he’d found a shortcut over a hill that led from their place of concealment from the road, he’d been sent to watch for them.
“Get to your spots, boys—this is it,” Griggs called out, gesturing at them. Everyone pulled their bandannas upward from their necks to cover the lower half of their faces.
Griggs’s words echoed in Thorn’s brain as he reined Ace out into the rutted road as the others were doing. This was it. The culmination of all his careful planning. In the next few minutes, he would either have successfully planned an ambush of the ambushers, which would lead to his reward and the start of a new life for him—or the ambush would fail and he’d be viewed by the authorities as one of the kidnappers. For if Bishop’s men weren’t able to surprise and subdue the gang, and harm came to Mrs. Gilmore, Thorn would likely be held as responsible as the others, even if the State Police confirmed that he’d been sent on their orders to infiltrate the gang. No one but Daisy and Billy Joe would believe he was a lawman in disguise then. He trusted Sam Bishop to be a man of his word, but what if he wasn’t?
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding...” The verse from Proverbs he’d heard Daisy quote came back to him now. “In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Thorn had entrusted this plan to God, hadn’t he? It wasn’t something based only on his understanding, so why wouldn’t the Lord bless it? It wasn’t the Lord who brought these doubts into his mind now, at the last minute...
I trust You, Lord. Please protect me, Billy Joe and Mrs. Gilmore, and let all go according to Your plan.
“Whoa!” Griggs called out as the stagecoach rounded the bend. As if by some unspoken signal, he and the rest of the outlaws blocking the road fired their pistols into the air. The terrified team of horses whinnied in panic, reared and pawed the air with their hooves. For a moment Thorn was afraid they would cause the stage to be overturned, with the startled horses stampeding, dragging the coach on its side with its passengers helpless to save themselves.
Amazingly, though, the animals settled once the report of the guns died away, though they rolled their eyes and trembled as Griggs approached.
“This is a stickup!” the gang leader roared. “Throw down your rifle, driver, and reach for the sky or I’ll blast you to kingdom come! That goes for your passengers, too—any of you passengers who are armed better be throwin’ yore pistols out the window and gettin’ ready to hand over yore valuables!”
The grizzled driver complied, his arms shaking and his eyes wide. The rifle clanked as it landed against a small boulder, and there were softer, answering thuds as a Colt and a small derringer flew out the window to land in the dusty road. Thorn heard a buzz of conversation from within the coach.
“Everyone outta the coach!” Griggs ordered, and after an endless moment, the door was flung open and one by one, the passengers emerged—a rotund, balding man who looked like a drummer; a middle-aged man and wife, clutching each other fearfully; and finally, with great dignity, a silver-haired woman who had to be the wife of Simpson Creek’s mayor. All of them were pale and looked terrified.
One of Griggs’s men, whom Thorn knew only as Mose, rode forward, holding out a small sack. “I’ll take yore valuables,” he announced to the passengers.
Mrs. Gilmore began to unfasten a necklace from her throat, and the middle-aged man dug in his pocket, bringing out a pocket watch that gleamed golden in the sunlight. His wife moaned as she saw him hold it up. The drummer dropped a handful of coins into the bag.
This would be a good time for Bishop and his men to pounce, while the outlaws’ attention is focused on what the passengers are handing over, Thorn thought. But there was only silence behind him, and he dared not look around, lest he give a hint of their presence.
“Is that all ya got?” Mose jeered at the passengers. “Ma’am, I think ya forgot about them gold earbobs,” he said to the middle-aged woman. He gestured menacingly at her ears until she whimpered and pulled them off. “What about you, driver?” he called, and at last, the man pulled a silver flask from his trousers pocket and dropped that in with the rest of the booty.
“What about that chest up there by yore boot?” Mose demanded. “Carryin’ a payroll?”
The driver shook his head, then worked the clasp and tilted the chest so that the outlaw could see it was empty. “Sorry, I already delivered that in Lampasas,” he explained, with an obviously false apologetic air.
“You folks can get back inside,” Tomlinson said, pointing to the coach.
Hesitatingly, darting glances back at the outlaws, the passengers began to clamber back into the coach.
“Not you, Miz Gilmore,” Griggs called out, pointing his pistol at the gray-haired woman. “You’ll be staying with us for a while.” With his weapon, he gestured her away from the coach and her fellow passengers, to the side of the road.
Mrs. Gilmore gasped and one hand flew to her chest. “But...what do you mean? How do you know my name?”
Griggs guffawed. “We know lots o’ things, Miz Gilmore—like the fact that yore husband, the mayor, is the richest man in Simpson Creek and he’ll pay plenty to see you back safe ’n’ sound at his side.”
“You’re...holding me for ransom?” she asked, going paler than she was before. “But—but this is an outrage!”
“Yeah, well, we specialize in being outrageous,” Griggs said, still grinning. “I’m sure yore man’ll pay up, and if you behave yoreself, no harm’ll come to you and you’ll be back in his arms in no time. Hold out your arms, wrists together, while one o’ my boys shows you just how serious we are about this. Be quick, now!” Griggs admonished, when it looked as if the mayor’s wife would like to argue further. “We’d hate to have to damage the goods...but we will if we have to. The rest of you can be on your way in just a minute.”
The air had gone silent, as if the birds and even the insects were holding their breaths to see what would happen next. All Thorn could hear was the pounding of his heart, Mrs. Gilmore’s indignant huffs as her wrists were tied together and the hushed murmurs of the passengers, now safely back inside the stagecoach. Where was the posse? Was Bishop just going to let the kidnapping proceed?
Just then he heard a thin, boyish cry, like an imitation of a rebel yell from someone who’d never heard a real one in the war, and suddenly pandemonium ensued as the sheriff and his posse charged around the bend, seemingly from out of nowhere.
“Hands up, every one of you, unless you want to die right he
re!” Bishop called, from the back of the lead horse. “You’re under arrest!”
Thorn raised his pistol. “Do as he says—no one’s getting kidnapped today. You’re all under arrest.”
Griggs roared in fury and leveled his pistol at the lawman. “I ain’t gonna be arrested, Sheriff!” Then he turned his furious glare on Thorn. “This is your doing, Dawson, ain’t it? Well, I’m gonna make you sorry—”
Bishop fired, and the outlaw leader was the first to fall, with Tomlinson the next to go down, after aiming his gun at Thorn. Pritchard dropped his Colt and raised his arms in apparent surrender, then pulled another pistol from his boot as Thorn approached to take his weapon. A shot rang out from behind them from someone in the posse and Pritchard fell from his horse. Mose and two other men tried to flee, but only one of the three succeeded in getting out of range before the posse’s guns shot them off their horses.
Tense and alert, Thorn looked around to see if there were any more signs of trouble, but all the gang members were down, except for one who had been taken into custody. Mrs. Gilmore looked shaken but unharmed. And Thorn had managed to scrape by without any new bullet holes.
It was over. It was really, finally over.
“You took your sweet time about stepping in,” Thorn growled at the sheriff, as Bishop stepped forward and untied Mrs. Gilmore’s bonds.
“You wanted the charges to stick, didn’t you?” he replied, unperturbed. “I couldn’t intervene till the coach was stopped and Mrs. Gilmore was being threatened with kidnapping.”
“But how could you hear that from where you were hiding?” Thorn demanded. The sheriff and his posse had to have been waiting some ways behind them on the road, or they’d have been seen.
“Didn’t you hear that rebel yell?” called a familiar voice, and suddenly, from out of a patch of junipers, Billy Joe stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear. “I snuck in there after y’all arrived and waited to give the signal. Sheriff said I was to call out as soon as Mrs. Gilmore was told she was bein’ kidnapped—and as soon as the passengers were safely back in the coach, on account of all the lead he figured would be flyin’ around.”
“But h-how...” Thorn began. “I thought you were waiting with Tilly in the cave where Mrs. Gilmore was going to be held captive.”
“Miss Tilly ain’t up to keepin’ me someplace I don’t wanna be,” the boy crowed. “I waited till she got sleepy in the heat, then I tied her up—an’ gagged her, too, so’s she couldn’t screech out a warning from in there. Then I snuck back, figurin’ I’d help you somehow, but I found the posse first, and they told me what the plan was. I said I’d help ’em, and Sheriff Bishop told me what to do.”
“And he did it exactly right,” Bishop said with a grin. “Boy, I think you might have a future in law enforcement.”
Chapter Fifteen
Daisy put off leaving the hotel restaurant’s kitchen as long as she could. By the time she locked the door behind her, the last diner had long since paid for his supper and left, and the setting sun cast long shadows down Main Street. Returning home would only confirm its emptiness, for no one had come to tell her what had happened. Billy Joe would still be gone, and she would not know if he was alive or dead.
She wondered how the mayor was faring, waiting for his wife’s return. The stagecoach that was to bring Mrs. Gilmore home was well overdue, so even if no one had let him in on the plan, he would be aware something was wrong. He had to be worrying. Should she go to him, and make sure he knew what was happening, or would that be presumptuous of her to speak of law enforcement matters without the sheriff’s approval? Especially when his own wife was in danger, and Daisy had no way of knowing if the operation to protect her had ended well.
When she exited the alley and came out onto Main Street, however, Daisy saw Mayor Gilmore standing behind the wrought-iron gate in front of his mansion, holding on to it as he gazed eastward down the street in the direction the stage would come from—or the posse. Yes, he must know. When the stage hadn’t come in on time, he would have inquired at the station, and when its manager could tell him nothing, he would have gone directly to the sheriff.
Impulsively, Daisy crossed the street diagonally and went to him. “Mayor Gilmore, is there any word? Have you heard...anything?”
“Good evening, Mrs. Henderson.” The face he turned to her then was haggard with worry. He appeared to have aged a score of years since she had seen him last. “No, nothing since Mrs. Bishop kindly came to tell me about their planned ambush of the Griggs gang, who would be attempting to kidnap my wife,” he said. “She came, since Deputy Menendez is with the posse, of course.”
“I’ll wait with you—if that’s all right?” Suddenly, Daisy realized he might not know anything about her son being involved in this business. But if he did know that Billy Joe had run off to join the outlaws planning to abduct his wife, he’d think she had a lot of nerve.
It seemed Prissy had covered that bit of information, too, however. “That’s very kind of you. Mrs. Bishop told me about your son being with...them,” the mayor said, and anyone listening might have assumed he was referring to the posse rather than the outlaws, for his tone remained level. “You must be very worried.”
She nodded, and wanted to say something consoling, such as, “Surely they’ll all be returning soon, and we’ll know everything is all right.” But trying to form the words would have let loose the tears that still threatened to cascade down her cheeks.
His hand moved to the latch on the gate, and he opened it, gesturing to a stone bench a few feet away. “Come inside, Mrs. Henderson. We may as well be comfortable while we wait. We can see the street from here just as well.”
She started to move forward to accept his invitation, but just then faint, far-off sounds reached her ears—the pounding of hooves and the jingling of harness, along with voices.
The sunlight was nearly gone, but even in the dimness she could make out a cluster of riders, and the dark, rolling mass of the stagecoach behind them.
She gave a little cry and pointed. “Look, Mayor Gilmore—they’re coming! The posse—and the stage!”
“Thank You, God,” he breathed, and they ran out beyond the fence that surrounded the mayor’s property toward the procession. Daisy checked her speed out of respect for the mayor’s greater age, fearful he would trip and fall in the dusty street while she ran ahead, but her eyes searched the riders, seeking the two men she loved—Thorn Dawson and her son.
She spotted Thorn first, for he rode at the front on his bay. And then, just behind him and next to Deputy Menendez, came Billy Joe, looking tired but happy. She could see one outlaw riding with the posse, his horse led by one of them—a grim-faced man with his hands tied in front. He appeared unhappy but uninjured. Was he the only outlaw who had survived?
Billy Joe spotted her first and handed the reins to the deputy, then jumped off his horse and ran toward her, not stopping until he was close enough to throw his arms around her. She threw her arms around him, too, closing her eyes in a rapture of thankfulness that he was unharmed.
“Ma! Ma, we stopped the kidnapping and captured the Griggs gang!” he cried, gesturing at the man. His face sobered. “Only one got away—all the rest of them but that one are dead, even Griggs.” Billy Joe pointed behind him, and now she could see a buckboard following the stage, with a tarp covering its cargo. They must have borrowed the wagon from a nearby ranch to carry the bodies of the outlaws who had been killed.
Then Thorn was with her, too, joining in the embrace with Daisy and her son.
“Thorn, I’m so thankful to God that you’re all right, you and Billy Joe,” she said, glorying in the feel of his strong arms around her and her son. She felt Thorn’s lips touch her forehead, and she didn’t care who might be seeing it. All that mattered was that he was holding her, and both he and Billy Joe were unscathed.
&n
bsp; It was a long moment before she could think beyond that. “Mrs. Gilmore—is she all right?”
“See for yourself,” Thorn murmured, and when Daisy let go of him enough to look, she saw that the passengers of the stagecoach had spilled out into the street, and Mayor Gilmore had enfolded his wife in his arms and was kissing her with all the enthusiasm of a much younger man.
“Ma, I let the posse know when it was time to appear and capture the outlaws,” Billy was saying, his face alight with the pride of accomplishment. “I had to wait till just the right moment, after the outlaws had stopped the stage and told Mrs. Gilmore she was bein’ kidnapped and all.” His words tumbled out with boyish excitement. “Oh, and I captured Miss Tilly myself!”
Startled to realize she had forgotten all about the traitorous waitress in the commotion, Daisy looked toward the riders again and this time she spotted Tilly, her hands tied in front of her just as the man’s were. She was grim-faced and pale, and even looked frightened, as if she’d finally realized that allying herself with an outlaw had consequences. She’d likely serve a long prison sentence and be an old woman before she saw freedom again.
As if she felt Daisy’s eyes upon her, Tilly met her gaze then, her expression hard and cold. Then she averted her face, to stare straight ahead of her. Unlike Daisy, there would be no happy ending for her, and Daisy felt a twinge of pity for her before she remembered that Tilly had made her choices—choices that included trying to take away Daisy’s son. She would pray for her, Daisy decided, but that was all she could do.
“Sheriff Bishop says your boy’s a hero, Daisy,” Thorn said.
“Yeah, an’ he says I got a future in law enforcement,” Billy Joe told her proudly.
Daisy blinked in amazement, thinking it a generous remark from Bishop, under the circumstances. It certainly represented an amazing transformation in a boy who only weeks ago had aspired to be an outlaw. “That would be mighty fine, Billy Joe.”
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