by DiAnn Mills
I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt one of my sons.
“If he was hurt real bad, I would have been told.” Bess puffed at their fast pace. She pointed farther down the street. “The doc’s house is on the edge of town.”
They couldn’t get there fast enough to suit Bert, and she wanted to run. Goodness, she’d had enough practice with that. God, if You’re really there, make sure John’s all right. Strange. She had no idea if anyone heard. Maybe some of Bess’s talk had rubbed off.
CHAPTER 22
John hated the fuss being made over him. He’d been hurt worse wrestling with his brothers. But there he was with Doc Slader, and his left arm stinging worse than the time he broke it crossing the St. Vrain on slippery rocks. Evan could have bandaged him up just fine — just like he did for hurt animals on the ranch. “Aren’t you done?”
Doc chuckled. “I don’t want any infection setting in. Modern medicine says wounds must be cleaned. Unless you want to risk losing your arm.”
“Very funny.”
“You sure are in a good mood.”
John closed his eyes. “A man’s dead, and I’m not going to be much use to Bob or my brothers for a while.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was talking to Parker.”
John felt a smile tug at his lips. “Thanks. Those are hard boots to fill.”
Doc wiped his hands on a blood-stained towel. “You’re doing a fine job for this town. Always have. I think you were born all grown up.”
He’d heard that before. Mama had always said his middle name was “responsibility.” Actually his middle name was Parker.
A knock on the door seized John’s attention. Must be Bob since he said he’d be right back.
“Come in,” Doc said.
The door opened and Bert, pale and trembling, walked in with Widow Bess right behind her. John wanted to see the young woman … and he didn’t. She looked upset. Was it because Leon was dead? Or because he’d been hurt? “Evenin'.”
Bert wrung her hands. “Are … are you going to be all right?”
He forced another smile through the pain in his upper arm. “Sure. Isn’t much at all. A scratch. But Bob insisted I see the doc.”
She took a step closer. “Did anyone ride out to tell Miss Leah and your brothers?”
“No need. This is nothing. Really.” Why didn’t Bess say something? He nodded at the older woman. “I appreciate your keeping Bert busy and giving her a place to stay.”
“You already told me those same words once today. Ah, Ember’s a hard worker. I can use her help for as long as she needs food and a bed.”
John realized Bert could return to the ranch. But he wasn’t sure how he felt about the constant friction between him and Evan with her there. Grimacing, he chose to consider it all later when he was able to think straight.
“When do you think you’ll be able to ride home?” Bert said.
“As soon as Doc’s done.”
“I’ll hog-tie you to the bed if I have to.” Doc’s tone left no room for argument. “You’re bone tired, and there’s nothing going on that can’t be taken care of in the morning.”
“Yes sir.” John felt like one of Doc’s nine boys. He swung a look at Bert. Oh, he could get lost in those eyes. “Looks like I don’t have much choice but to wait until morning to ride home.”
“Supper and breakfast are on me,” Bess said. “Whew, John. You gave us a scare.”
“Gave myself one too.” He tried to sit up. When the agony in his arm forced him back down, he mentally conceded to Doc’s request. “Thought I was on the road to meet my Maker.”
“I thought you said it was a scratch.” Bess clicked her tongue. “By the way, one of Oberlander’s men plans to stop at your ranch.”
John didn’t want Mama finding out about the shooting from anyone but himself. “Has he already left town?”
Bess nodded. “Right after he stopped into the saloon for a drink.”
“Mama will be as flustered as a stirred up snake pit.”
“Probably so,” Bess said. “Speaking of our Maker. Bert and I were discussing that topic earlier. She’s going to be a part of my prayer meetin’ after bit.”
Bert shifted from one foot to the other. John had heard of Bess’s fire and brimstone sermons, and no doubt Bert had been the recipient of one.
“We ought to be going now,” Bert said.
The girl could not learn how much her presence affected him.
“Reckon so,” Bess said. “John, I’ll send supper down to you.”
“The Missus has plenty,” Doc said.
“Supplying supper makes me feel like I’m helping the local law. And I’m having John’s favorite—chicken ‘n’ dumplings.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Would she send Bert? An awkward silence passed between him and Bert. How strange she didn’t know what to say either.
“Glad you’re not hurt too bad,” she finally whispered, as though emotion had crawled up into her throat.
After all, he had saved her from a hanging. “This should take the blame off you.”
“Hope so. What does this mean for—” Bert didn’t finish her words, and John knew exactly what she was about to say.
“We’ll talk later.”
Bess chuckled. Doc Slader cleared his throat and joined in the laughter. What was so funny?
Leah realized when John was a baby that a mother had premonitions when something was wrong with her children. As sons were added to her family, she studied their eyes to see if they were sick, like a farmer observed the weather. The moments came and went with children—black eyes, skinned knees and elbows, bruised feelings, and an aching in her heart without visible proof that one of her sons was hurtin'. The feelings she had about Frank prior to his murder had been nightmares and headaches.
She was in the same place now.
Her head throbbed. And like a mother hen, she wanted her babies gathered close to her. Evan and Mark hadn’t returned, and John was helping Marshal Culpepper find cattle thieves. They’d all been together early this morning, and now they were scattered.
Leah gathered up her skirts and marched out onto the front porch. Not a cloud in the sky to indicate a change in weather, to which she’d gladly attribute her peculiar feelings. Her stomach flitted as though a dozen caterpillars had burst into butterflies. Not good. Not good at all.
“Aaron,” she called.
He stepped from the barn into scattered western sunlight. Goodness, he looked like his father. “Would you ride out and make sure Evan and Mark are all right?”
He cocked a hip. “John said I wasn’t supposed to leave you and Davis alone.”
“John’s not here.”
“Yes ma’am. What’s wrong?”
“I hope nothing. But I have a feeling.”
“Yes ma’am. I’ll saddle up now.”
She waited while he prepared his horse and then watched him ride away. Aaron understood her feelings, and they’d not failed her yet—unfortunately.
After dusk, Leah and Davis ate alone. Or rather, Davis ate and she listened for the sound of riders.
“If Bert were here, we’d not be lonesome,” he said.
Leah missed Ember too and wished she was there. Although the confusion about the girl made Leah want to shake her. Could her sense of dread have something to do with the bit of a girl who had stolen all of their hearts? If only Ember—
The sound of a rider seized her attention. Leah scraped the chair leg across the wooden floor and walked to the door in an effort to hide her apprehension.
“Mama, John always says not to open up the house until you know who it is.”
“John’s not here.” Hadn’t she responded to Aaron the same way earlier in the evening?
She flung open the door to Victor Oberlander.
CHAPTER 23
Freedom. Sweet freedom.
Bert could run now. Nothing really stopped her.
John wouldn’t be riding after anyone with
his arm bandaged and the fear of Doc Slader breathing down his neck. She could make her way to Texas and hide out forever from Simon and her brothers. But here she was sitting on the back porch with Widow Bess and two other ladies who were dressed like they were ready for bed. They exposed parts of their delicate flesh that she’d never show. But they were friendly. One of them had a mole on her cheek—looked like it had been drawn on with a piece of coal.
“Did you girls read the book of James?” Bess used her ample lap as a table to place the Bible. Until a few weeks ago, Bert had no idea what a Bible was.
One of the women responded she had, but the one with the mole said she’d been too busy. She also said this time was prayer meetin', and Bess hadn’t said a word about reading.
“You’re right about prayin'. We’ll talk about what James has to say a few verses at a time.”
“Goodness, Miss Bess. We might be here all night, and I have work to do,” said the mole woman.
“Just an hour, sweet girl. I’ll read and then we can discuss our findings.”
For the next hour, Bert actually paid attention to what Bess had to say. What she read made sense. If a person was to believe in God and all those things He said, then they needed to act like it. At least, that’s the way Miss Bess explained what Mr. James had written.
Leah acted like a real believer. So did her sons. They didn’t swear and try to hurt each other. She was used to plain mean and spiteful like her brothers and pa. Except Gideon. She sure missed him—the sparkle in his earth-colored eyes and the way his lips turned up when he smiled. The goodness in him was what killed him. If he hadn’t tried to help her, he’d be alive today.
Did she carry something inside her that brought evil to others? She wanted to believe it was another one of Simon’s lies.
“The point of what James is telling us is we need to back up our faith with good works. Like showing folks we’re believers without telling them. They should be able to tell we love Jesus just by listening and watching us.” Bess smiled, and for a moment Bert could see the young girl in her. “Think of it this way. We can’t cook on a cold stove. We fill it up with wood, drop in some kindling, light a fire, and wait for it to get hot. We don’t have to ask if the stove’s fit for cookin'; we just know it.”
Maybe if Bert’s life had been filled with people who cooked on a hot stove, she’d not be in such a fix today.
Bess finished with a prayer, and Bert did her best to pay attention. But it was hard, especially when she had to be thinking how to get away from Rocky Falls. She made her way back to the kitchen for her next job.
“Ember, I’d like for you to take John his supper.”
Looks like she’d be leaving later on tonight than what she intended.
John’s stomach had growled for most of the afternoon, and as much as he wanted supper, he fretted over who would bring it. Widow Bess suited him fine. He was becoming as fickle as a woman. Staring into Bert’s eyes would be his demise. Besides, more important matters needed his attention. For starters, where were the stolen cattle? Leon must have hid them near the cattle camp, and John could have found them if not for the bullet ripping off a piece of his arm. Leon couldn’t have stolen the livestock and driven them somewhere alone. So who’d joined up with him? The two ranch hands who’d conspired with Leon to hang Bert rode with the posse.
Tomorrow the pain in his arm would subside, and he’d be useful … but for what?
Who am I kidding? The only role he’d be playing as deputy amounted to paperwork. He’d rather ride back home and see what he could do there. Horses needed to be shod. The barn needed some loose boards nailed down—and the repairs only took one hand. He could ride out looking for strays. Yes, he had plenty to do at home. Unless Bob needed him to let ranchers know Leon had been found, and hopefully the rustled cattle would turn up.
When thinking about Mama’s reaction to his arm, he realized the importance of him telling her. Ever since Pa died, she fretted every bump, bruise, and potential bully.
John glanced out the window of his room. Darkness had set in about thirty minutes ago. Mrs. Slader had lit the lantern so he didn’t lie there like a corpse. He was such a miserable and angry creature, flat on his back and waiting for his supper. Bess probably had a dining room full of customers while his stomach protested and the gash in his arm hurt like …
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear self-pity had set in. Which sounded as bad as an infection.
But he knew the problem and it had nothing to do with the burning in his arm. A knock at the door interrupted his woebegone thinking.
“Come in.”
The door slowly opened, and there before him stood the object of most of his turmoil.
John observed Bert holding a cloth-covered plateful of what his nose detected as chicken ‘n’ dumplings, and it shook like it was alive. If she didn’t set the plate down soon, she was going to drop his food. He hadn’t seen her so nervous since the night of the family meetin', after they learned she was a girl. The smell of chicken ‘n’ dumplings caused his stomach to complain. Of course, Bert being there made the moment uncomfortable — and well, pleasant. She couldn’t be mixed up in this rustlin'.
“Thanks for bringing me supper. Why don’t you put it on the table here by the lantern?”
She obliged and reached inside her dress pocket for a fork and spoon. “You’re welcome.”
“Widow Bess is a good woman.” He took the utensils with his right hand. She handed him a blue checkered cloth, but when he attempted to spread it over the quilt, she took the cloth and smoothed it over him. Her touch felt strangely intimate. Now he was shaking. “Were you busy this afternoon?”
“Yes. Bess had lots of chores, but she’s the caring type. Kind … and blunt.”
He chuckled and took a bite of a tender dumpling. “She doesn’t hold back anything. How was prayer meetin'?” The food melted in his mouth. Oh, these were good.
“Interesting.”
He grinned but she didn’t appear to calm down in the least. “Did she do the prayin'?”
“A lot at the end. She talked about a passage in James.”
John studied her. Her gaze darted like a scared animal. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s bothering you?”
She stiffened. “Nothing.”
Her speech had improved. When Bert first came, her grammar needed help. That must be what Mama was doing when they went to bed early.
“I can’t remember if you heard what happened. But it looks like Leon’s the one who’s been rustling cattle, and now he’s gone.” John paused. “I don’t relish the idea of any man dying, especially the way he did. He lived hard and died hard. My point is your name will be cleared as soon as the cattle are found along with whoever was working with him.”
She nodded and wrung her hands in her lap. “I’m relieved.”
“I suppose I can take you back to the ranch.” He hadn’t resolved the issue of how he and Evan could be civil to each other with her there. “Unless you’d rather work for Bess and live here in town.”
“Living in town might be easier for all of us.” She stood. “I’ll be going now.”
“So soon? I’m not running you off. You could wait until I’m finished and take the plate back with you.”
“With your wounded arm, you need your rest.”
“I’m fine, and rest to me is anything that doesn’t require work.”
Bert looked at everything in the room but him. “Bess has things for me to do.”
“I see. Thanks for bringing me supper. Tell Bess the chicken ‘n’ dumplin’s were tasty.”
“I’ll pass it on.” She grasped the doorknob. “I hope you heal fast. In case I’ve never thanked you proper, I’m doing so now. You saved my life and introduced me to your family. Miss Leah and your brothers are wonderful. I’ll never forget any of you. It’s been like a real family.”
“You’re … unforgettable too.” He allowed his mind to trail backward to the moment on th
e riverbank when he learned she was a girl.
She smiled a good-bye, and in the lantern light playing off the walls, she looked sweet, pretty. Her light brown hair reminded him of fresh honey, and she wore a green dress no doubt borrowed from one of Bess’s girls. But decent in its … coverage. He remembered when Sage was shot, and Bess found a dress for her. Five years, and a lot of history was repeating itself. Except this time he and Bert wrestled with their feelings for each other, not Uncle Parker and Aunt Sage.
“If you’re living at the hotel, I’ll have to bring Pa’s fiddle for you to play and sing.”
She glanced back from the doorway, with sadness clearly spreading over her face. “You’re a good man, John Timmons.”
Once the door closed, John lowered the wick until the light disappeared. Weariness slammed against his eyelids. The past two days had kept him in the saddle and craving a bed. For sure he’d sleep past dawn and give his arm a chance to heal. He yawned, feeling his whole body give in to sleep.
Bert … she hadn’t wanted to be here, but Bess had given her the food to deliver. Yet she’d had a rough time saying good-bye tonight and mustering the words to say thanks for a deed she’d already thanked him for.
John’s eyes flew open in the darkness. Bert had been telling him good-bye, not good night. His pint-size imp planned to light out of here. He threw back the thin quilt covering him and reached for his britches in the dark.
Doggone her hide. That woman was more trouble than a pack of coyotes in a chicken house. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and did a slow job of putting on his boots with one hand. What was she running from? Obviously she hadn’t figured out he could help her—wanted to help her. This time when he found her, he’d make sure she told him the truth. Every word of it.
Snatching up his rifle, he quietly opened the door. Doc Slader sat in a chair in the parlor reading a thick-bound book. Most likely something about medicine. His wife claimed he read those books more than the Bible. Doc glanced up; his spectacles perched on his nose like a bird on a fence post.