by Carol Arens
There stood his lawyer dressed for adventure, from his stiff-looking new Stetson to his denims and his barely scuffed boots.
The new get-up made him look an inch or two taller. Even his strides seemed longer.
“Stanley?” Melinda’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”
From the far side of the door a mule brayed.
“That will be Weaver, my mount. As to what I’m doing here, isn’t it obvious?”
“Can’t see that it is,” Boone said.
“I made a promise to bring Miss Winston home, safe and sound.” Stanley said. “I’m beginning to regret that vow but I did make it.”
“Stanley, I’m sure my husband is equal to the task.”
The little lawyer chuckled under his breath while shaking his head.
“Well, I’m for my bed,” Judge Mathers declared.
“Not quite, sir,” Smythe said. “I’ll see the signed papers granting my client his freedom.”
“I’ll gladly sign them, just as soon as the job is finished.”
“I’ll have that written in pen and ink. What is there to say that you will not re-arrest him once things are wrapped up?”
“What’s to say he won’t take his freedom and head for the hills?”
“I say he won’t,” Melinda declared. “I vouch for him.”
Why? She didn’t know beans about him.
“And I bear witness that Mathers has agreed to sign the document,” Spears added.
It seemed, with the details arranged and the vouching finished, it was time to leave the warmth of the livery.
Spears hitched the team then strode to the livery door. He opened it and stuck his head out. “Billbro! You finished with that pee?”
Seconds later an animal nosed his way into the livery.
“My word,” Melinda exclaimed and scuttled closer to Boone. “Is that a wolf?”
“As far as anyone knows, Deputy Billbro is only half wolf.” Judge Mathers petted the canine between the ears. “You’ll be glad he’s along once you get used to him.”
There were a lot of things that Boone was going to have to get used to. The dog probably being the least of them.
For one thing, his wife was clinging to his arm, seeking protection.
He’d never been responsible for anyone but himself. All of a sudden there was a woman, a town and very likely a lawyer who needed to be watched over.
He’d better start getting used to the dog-wolf, since he was going to need all the help he could get.
* * *
Sometime during the wee hours of their first night on the trail, Melinda sat up suddenly from her bedroll. She gazed past the embers of the dying fire feeling uneasy.
One difference between Melinda and her husband of a day was clear already.
He looked quite comfortable sleeping under the stars while she preferred peering out at the night from behind a window in a bed piled high with feather blankets.
Darkness throbbed beyond the shrinking glow of the campfire. She could nearly imagine that nothing existed in that blackness...or that everything did. What was there to say that a wolf or even a bear wasn’t lurking behind a tree? A cougar poised on the limb over her head?
She would feel better if the deputy was awake. The great hairy dog-wolf lay at her feet snoring, but not as loudly as Stanley was.
The lawyer dozed between her and Boone; a human buffer. Surely the noise he made alerted every predator within a mile. Another log on the fire might help ward them off.
She hadn’t even made it to her knees to get a log before the dog lifted his snout and Boone cracked open an eye.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked, propping up on an elbow.
“It’s too dark to sleep.”
“I reckon it’s not the dark keeping you awake.” He nodded toward Stanley.
The dog stood, stretched, sniffed the air then resettled his large gray body alongside her leg. He plopped his heavy head on her lap, seeming so content that she would believe he had gone back to sleep if it wasn’t for his nose twitching this way and that.
“It’s always darkest and coldest about now,” Boone said. “But it’ll be sunup soon.”
“I guess you’ve slept in the open many times.”
He nodded. “A body becomes accustomed to the fresh air and freedom. I’ll admit, those nights in prison were hell on earth. I’d take a wild beast over some of those inmates any time.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve.” He gazed up at the stars, silent for a moment before looking back at her. “Melinda, thank you for what you did. I should have said so earlier but with all the travel there wasn’t time to talk.”
She laughed softly. “And my guardian did keep us apart as much as he could.”
“Dedicated of him.” His smile twitched up on one side. This was not Lantree’s smile. Mischief lurked in the turn of Boone’s lips.
“Well intentioned, I suppose, but he hasn’t even given us a moment of privacy so that I can tell you about your brother.”
Boone blew out a low whistle. “There’s a part of me that’s afraid to know. He’s got a baby and a wife, though, so I reckon he must have turned out all right.”
“He’s all right now, but he did go through hard times.”
“Because of me, do you mean?”
“Oh, he worried about you, certainly. But his hard times weren’t to do with you, Boone.” She petted the dog’s head, curled her fingers into his warm fur. “Before Lantree married my cousin, Rebecca, he was engaged to another woman. At that time your brother was a doctor, a very good one, too. Well, there was an epidemic, a lot of folks died under his care, his fiancé’s family among them. She blamed him—he blamed himself. She ended the engagement, and very bitterly.
“Poor Lantree ran away, from his career and himself. He was in a hard way when Rebecca’s grandfather found him and gave him a new career as foreman of his ranch. I believe that Grandfather Moreland—he’s not really my grandfather but that’s how I feel about him so that’s what I call him—gave your brother much more than a job. What he gave him was a new life. Lantree found healing at Moreland Ranch. Now he’s a cowboy and a doctor.”
“And a proud father?”
“He couldn’t be otherwise. Baby Caroline is the sweetest little thing you could ever hope to see. She’s only five months old, but already she looks just like her daddy...and you.”
“I’ll be damned.” Boone looked pleased, smiling in a way she hadn’t seen until now.
“You’ll see that for yourself soon.”
He was silent for a moment, gazing at the glowing coals and the fingers of flame darting from the crumbling logs.
“We ought to talk about this marriage—set some rules,” he said at last.
“If you like.” Dratted rules. They tended to chafe at her. Especially since they tended to put unreasonable restrictions on her behavior. If Boone took his job as her husband too seriously, he might try to control her.
Just like Mama when she’d lost her sparkle and shackled herself, and her young daughters, with society’s every little directive.
“Our wedding could not have been the one you dreamed of.” He arched a brow.
Naturally not. What woman could possibly dream up such a wedding? But it did have to be said that it was adventurous. And there was no denying she was intrigued at the idea of being a wife, of having a man of her own, even for a short time.
“I just want to make it clear that you won’t miss out on the one with all the frills and fancies because of me. I promise that I won’t compromise you.”
She felt the blush staining her neck and face but in the dim light he would not see it. Really, he had no way of know
ing that in the deep hours of the night she had entertained intimate thoughts of him.
What wife would not? Boone Walker intrigued her in ways that no man ever had. Even men she had known for quite some time.
“That goes without saying,” she said demurely, but there was that in her that stuffed down a sliver of disappointment. If a woman was to be compromised by such a man, it could not truly be called a compromise.
Prudent women might call her a fool for feeling such stirrings for a stranger—a reportedly dangerous stranger—but Rebecca would not. Rebecca knew that Melinda was an astute judge of character.
“I won’t make unreasonable claims upon you, unless we are playing our parts.”
“I do appreciate your restraint.” She tried not to smile.
He nodded, sighed even.
“I’ll protect you with my blood if it comes to it. I just ask that you respect my decisions when it has to do with your safety.”
The last thing she wanted was his blood on her conscience. She had come to restore him to his family not take him away.
“I will do my very best,” she answered more somberly.
“Well, then.” He offered his hand, as though to seal the conditions of their agreement. “I believe we’ll have a good marriage.”
He might not think so if he knew how the press of his palm on hers made her stomach flutter.
“Good night, then.” She withdrew her hand, scooted down beside the dog and closed her eyes.
Sadly, no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she could not hide from a niggling suspicion.
It was not impossible that there might be something between her and Boone and it wasn’t Stanley Smythe.
Chapter Four
Sitting on a grassy incline that overlooked a fresh-running stream, Boone savored the last breath of warmth from the fading day. He shuffled through the handwritten notes that Mathers had supplied.
It wasn’t comfortable reading about the town and its trouble because, in his time, he’d caused a fair share of trouble. He’d been the outlaw they feared.
Hell, he’d become more than that. Common outlaws could be found on every saloon corner, but his reputation had snowballed until he was seen as a monster.
And all because of bad timing.
Until the day he’d robbed the saloon in Dry Creek, he’d been as common as any other thief. That day, with his pockets comfortably sagging with cash, he’d gone out, passing a man going in. That man, reportedly angry at finding the coffers empty, had killed four people, women among them.
The killer was as common-looking as beans. Boone was tall; he had looked threatening that afternoon. So it’s him they remembered...him they gave the blame to. Word spread that the pair of them were partners. After that, fear and a natural love of gossip attached many sinister stories to him. Some of them actually happened, just not by his hand. Others were born of ripe and idle imaginations.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, he withdrew the bent badge Mathers had given him and rubbed his thumb over the tarnished metal.
Holding this symbol of law and order in his hand, knowing that he would one day pin it on his vest, made him feel like an imposter. This business of upholding law and order was the last thing he’d ever imagined he would be doing.
Never expected he’d be anything other than a two-bit criminal.
He’d been a novice at crime, though, compared to the outlaws he would be facing.
The sun sat low and bright over the horizon. It was only an hour before sundown. They’d reach Jasper Springs by noon tomorrow.
That didn’t give him long to figure out a way to round up six bloodstained souls. He’d have a better shot at it if he had the meanness in him that his reputation said he did.
All he was, was a survivor. He reckoned that would have to do.
A rustle of petticoats approached from behind. Melinda sat beside him, a blanket drawn across her shoulders. Funny how it smelled as if she’d brought a handful of sweet-smelling flowers along with her.
“I’d like to read those.” She pointed to the papers he held.
He shook his head. “It’s not fit reading for a lady’s eyes.”
Eyes that had been as agreeable as sugar suddenly narrowed at him. “If that lady’s life depends upon knowing what she is up against, it is fit reading.”
She wouldn’t find it pleasant, but he handed them over.
A gust of cool wind rustled the pages in her hand. She pressed them to her bosom. He tried his best not to notice.
For a long time she was silent. A delicate line creased her forehead while she read.
Was she seeing his face when she read about the outlaws? That alone would be enough to make him feel guilty about his past, even though it was not as black as she must think. Funny how a man wanted his wife’s respect. It didn’t matter that he barely knew her or that she wouldn’t be his wife for long.
“Six King brothers in all,” she sighed. The blamed wind tugged at the paper. She pressed it to her chest again. The way the pages flapped against her bosom made it impossible not to think about—hell’s curses—unsuitable things. “What will we do?”
“‘We’ will not do anything.” He shot her a severe frown but she did not react to it. “This is all on me. The one and only reason you are here is for show.”
With a delicate arch of her brow, she questioned him.
“Let’s see...” She tapped her finger on the paper on her breast. He turned his gaze to the water rolling by, staring at each ripple with dedicated concentration. “There’s Efrin King, the oldest, known as King Cobra. It says here that he’s a greedy soul, in love with money and power. Then we have Buck King—King Diamond Back. He’s second by birth and they say that he is jealous of Efrin. And what about Lump King? King Horny Toad is simpleminded, quite evil nevertheless. I’ve got to say, that one worries me, Boone. You can’t think to take on this whole family alone?”
“Look, I know you want to help. Seems to be in your nature to. But this is dangerous business. The only way of coming out of it whole is if you do what I tell you to without question.”
“I reckon you can handle Olfin—King Hornet.” Blamed, if the woman hadn’t just ignored him. “It’s says here he’s not as bad as the others, just sort of goes along.”
He should have refused to involve Melinda in this, at least more forcefully than he had. Here she was, as determined as a bee collecting pollen, to put her nose where it didn’t belong.
“I welcome your ideas and that’s as far as it goes.” He shot her the frown again. “Anything besides that, you’ll only be in my way.”
“If it weren’t for King Copperhead, Leland, I’d take to my bed and cover my head with a dozen quilts. But what do you intend to do with someone who, it says right here, is charming and at the same time the most deadly of them all? Of all the brothers he takes the most pleasure in violence. Did you see this, Boone?” She shoved the paper in front of his eyes. “He delights in it!”
He was silent because he didn’t rightly know what he was going to do. Not with Leland or any of them.
According to the plan, they, as homesteaders, were supposed to look weak, victim-like. To his mind that was no plan at all.
Smythe, who had been collecting firewood, dumped his load beside the circle of stones Boone had set out for the night’s campfire.
With his strides crisp and his back straight, the lawyer crossed the clearing then wriggled down between him and Melinda. The dog-wolf followed but turned aside to snuffle through the brush, his tail wagging and resembling bristles on a worn broom.
Mathers had seemed to feel the beast would be helpful. But so far his disposition seemed mild; they hadn’t heard so much as a growl out of him.
“You are my charge,” Smythe said to Melinda. “I won’t have you
putting yourself at risk.”
“As your husband, I say the same.”
Melinda gave them both a sincere smile, a lovely one, in fact. “I would never dream of being a burden to you, Stanley. Or, Husband, of putting you at unnecessary risk.”
Odd that her apparent compliance didn’t ease his concern a whit.
“Still, I can’t help but wonder, Boone, what you will do about the youngest, Bird King, who calls himself King Vulture? It says right here that he is unpredictable.” She jabbed her slender finger at the words on the page. “Apparently charming one moment but the next nearly as wicked as Leland.”
“Sounds like they consider themselves royalty,” Stanley said.
“According to Mathers, they rule the town, even make other folks call them by their last name first. ‘King’ So-and-so.” He took the papers from Melinda and handed them to Smythe. “The only law that’s observed in Jasper Springs is at the whim of the Kings. Says here they hanged a boy barely out of the schoolroom for trying to defend his sister from Horny Toad. Doesn’t say what happened to her.”
Silence stretched for a time, broken only by the chirrup of crickets, the croak of frogs.
Suddenly there was a tussle in the shrubbery. Branches cracked and leaves scattered.
Billbro trotted out with a limp rabbit in his jaws. He set it before them.
“Good. One of us is a hunter,” Stanley observed. “We won’t starve.”
* * *
Riding down the main street of Jasper Springs, the wagon wheels laboring over the rutted road, Melinda thought the town must have been well cared for at one time.
Flowerpots decorated the raised boardwalk. A banner advertising a long-gone Fourth of July celebration was strung from one side of the street to the other. Looking past the banner, toward the end of Main Street, she saw a fountain gurgling in the town square.
Sadly, Jasper Springs now resembled a ghost town more than anything else. Those pretty flowerpots were cracked, growing weeds, the banner faded and tattered. The spring-fed fountain sounded lovely but no one was around to enjoy it. It would be easy to imagine that no one lived here any longer.