An Unexpected Redemption

by Davalynn Spencer

  A flash of yellow raced toward them, and Pearl tore off to meet the pup Cade had taken off Garrett’s hands last year. It was nearly as big as Pearl now, and they greeted each other as dogs do, romping and jumping and whimpering. An older cow dog sat off by itself, keeping an eye on the buggy.

  A raw-boned plow horse stood loose-tied at the rail in front of a two-story log house. No saddle. Evidently, Sophie Price could horseback like any other farmer’s daughter.

  He drew up in front of a stone path to the front door, and before he could get around to help, Betsy gathered herself and jumped down. She brushed off her skirt, tugged and pulled at her clothing and hair, and generally poked herself into a nervous frenzy.

  He took her elbow and she froze.

  “It’s all right. You look fine. More than fine.”

  She didn’t pull away from him, and he could feel the tension singing through her like news on a telegraph line.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She turned for the front door. He expected her to walk right in, but she stopped. As she raised her fist to knock, the door flew open.

  CHAPTER 14

  Elizabeth’s heart flew to her throat and stuck there, choking off what she’d planned to say. It blocked all her words and most of her breath.

  Her brother, aged by responsibility and worry, looked stuck himself, and stood staring as their father often had. The resemblance chilled her.

  And then he pulled her to him and held on tight, as if she too might fly.

  Fear drained away, leaving her light-headed and weak. She clung to him for balance as much as for forgiveness.

  Finally, he set her back and focused over her shoulder. “Garrett.” His deep voice rolled across the threshold and the years, undergirding her to stand on her own.

  “Cade.” Garrett stepped closer, and she welcomed the essence of him, as solid as the stone beneath her feet. “Mrs. Price told us Sophie was here checking on your missus.”

  “Milk,” Elizabeth managed, pushing at her hat. “Mrs. Snowfield sent us to the Price farm for milk.”

  “Come in.” Cade stepped away from the entry and gestured toward well-worn leather chairs near the hearth. The smell of home nearly overwhelmed her—the cooling fire, ancient log walls, old books—and she reminded herself it wasn’t home. Not anymore.

  Garrett stomped his feet on the landing and doffed his hat, then closed the heavy door behind them.

  “Betsy!”

  The squeal came from the top of the stairs, followed by Sophie Price bounding down and across the room, where she wrapped Elizabeth in a warm embrace. She’d been hugged more today than in all the years she’d been gone. Not at all the judgmental response she’d expected.

  Mama’s gentle voice curled around her heart in a whisper: Oh, to grace how great a debtor.

  “Please, sit,” Cade said. “I’ll get coffee.”

  “I’ll get coffee. You sit.” Sophie drew herself up in an important way, all grown up and taking charge.

  So much was different, yet so much was the same. The dichotomy nearly made Elizabeth’s head swim.

  “But Mae Ann—”

  “Is just fine and resting,” Sophie scolded as she hurried toward the kitchen.

  Cade plowed his fingers through his hair, clearly distracted, then plopped down on the raised hearth. Elizabeth hesitated, clawing her way back through the years, yet feeling it was only yesterday she’d sat in this very room talking to Pastor Bittman about funeral arrangements.

  Achingly, she took Mama’s chair. Garrett took the other.

  “I got your letter, Betsy, but I’ve been so distracted with the baby and Mae Anne and the mares needing to be brought down. I meant to write, but I couldn’t sit still long enough to put pen to paper.”

  “Don’t apologize, Cade. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” The words came easier than she had imagined, and the tight straps that had bound her heart for so long loosened and fell away.

  “As I mentioned in the note, I’m working in town as a type-writer and stenographer, and staying at the Snowfield mansion—boarding house, I should say.”

  Cade looked up, disheveled hair and concern weighting his features. “You could have come here, you know.”

  Relief washed through her as he spoke the unspoken, lancing the boil. She softened her voice. “I know, but you have a family now. And I need to make my own way. Face the music, as Maggie Snowfield puts it. Not that I don’t appreciate your…”

  She stopped, remembering they were not alone and unwilling to air any more laundry in front of Garrett Wilson. He’d seen and heard quite enough today already.

  A much larger man than the colonel, he filled her father’s wing chair, twirling his hat between his high-pitched knees. With no sign of discomfort or awkwardness, he merely waited as if he had all the time in the world.

  “I appreciate you bringing Betsy out today, Garrett.”

  Cade’s comment stirred him from private thoughts. “It was Mrs. Snowfield’s idea. Not that I wouldn’t have been happy to volunteer…”

  Garrett’s candid remark added another layer to her curiosity, but she couldn’t think about that right now.

  “You mentioned the mares. They’re still in the mountain pastures?”

  Cade shot her a nervous look as though she were their father bellowing and blowing, rather than his prodigal sister feeling her way through the fog.

  “With Deacon’s help, how many hands do you need?”

  He scrubbed his scalp again, digging for an answer. “One or two more would make an easy day of it. But I don’t want to go too far from Mae Ann in case she needs me.”

  A plan spun through her mind, tugging and tightening until it was smooth and sweet as pulled taffy. “I can help.”

  Garrett’s hat stilled.

  “So can Garrett.” It took all of her will power to not look at him. “Sophie can stay here with Mae Ann—I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—and with Deacon, the four of us can find the band and drive them down.”

  Though she could only feel Garrett staring, Cade did so open-mouthed. He wanted to object—she’d seen that fish-face before—but she counted on his overtaxed brain to tell him that her plan was a lifesaver. The mares couldn’t stay in the mountains much longer, exposing their foals to wolves and winter, and there were probably a dozen yearlings that needed handling. There always were.

  She put on her best smile. “Besides, a good ride is just what I need.”

  Sophie returned with coffee and square servings of chocolate cake. “Mae Ann makes the best cake you’ve ever had, and I’m sure she’d insist we all had some to celebrate your homecoming, Betsy.”

  At that, Elizabeth glanced sideways to find Garrett watching her. If he could, he’d pick her brain clean, no doubt about it. But she wasn’t some old woolen sweater to be plucked and pulled.

  He shifted on the chair, turning more toward her brother. “My apologies, Cade, but I can’t be gone that long. My fill-in deputy agreed to a half-day’s watch, and tonight’s likely to be a typical Saturday night in Olin Springs.” He looked square at Elizabeth. “And Mrs. Snowfield is waitin’ on her milk.”

  “Pfft.” Elizabeth swept the comment away like a fly. “You and I both know she doesn’t need that milk any more than she needs another buggy.”

  Cade shook his head. “Garrett’s right, Betsy. I can’t ask him to spend the day chasing mares. It takes an early morning start at that, and it’s near noon now.”

  She sagged beneath the truth of his words, but she wasn’t beat yet. There had to be some way she could help.

  “I’ll tell you what I can do.” Garrett forked a huge bite of cake, leaving his offer hanging above them all until he swallowed and looked up. “I can leave Betsy here, drive back to town, and return before sunup tomorrow. That way Maggie gets her milk, I can still cover the town tonight, and we get an early start tomorrow.”

  She could kiss him.

  Wait—no. Perish the thought!


  Fearing that her emotions showed plainly on her face, she dipped her head and pushed at her chignon. A hug. She could hug him. Heavens, what had come over her? But she’d hugged everyone else she knew today, why not an infuriatingly exasperating man who insisted on calling her Betsy and sprouted acts of kindness when she least expected them.

  Cade visibly brightened. “That’s mighty generous of you, Garrett, but I hate to ask you to take a day away from your responsibilities in town.”

  “You took that yellow pup off my hands last year. I’d say I owe you one.”

  Cade mashed the remains of his cake with his fork. “He’s more than earned his keep.”

  Now there was a story she wanted to hear. Unlike her, Cade had never been very good at hiding anything important.

  “It’s settled then.” She finished her cake and coffee, set the plate and cup on the table between the two chairs, and leaned back against a leather wing.

  A sudden thought shot her forward. “Are my riding clothes still here?”

  Cade nodded, his mouth full of cake and frosting, then followed it with a swig of coffee before he answered. “I let Mae Ann wear them at first. Didn’t think you’d mind and didn’t know if you’d ever be back.” A quick glance from beneath drawn brows told her what he was really thinking. If that was the only scolding he offered, she’d gladly take it.

  “Course, she’s not wearin’ ’em now, and hasn’t for a time. They’re ready and waiting right where you left them.”

  That solved one problem.

  She turned to Garrett. “Will you let Maggie know what’s going on, that I won’t be home until tomorrow evening?”

  “Planned on it.”

  His easy-going humor was gone, and she found she missed it.

  ~

  Garrett set Lolly to an easy walk. No sense driving the old girl into the ground on her first day out. Pearl didn’t need any such saving, and she loped along the road, stopping every hundred yards or so to look back as if asking why they weren’t keeping up with her.

  If he couldn’t convince Maggie to let him take Lolly out again tomorrow, he’d rent a rig at the livery. Or he could haul Betsy behind him on Rink.

  Yeah. That’d be the day, when she willingly wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him. The idea struck him as completely pleasurable, particularly after riding next to her in the buggy with her lavender scent swirling around him.

  In spite of her reluctance to come clean about her past, leaving her at the ranch was the hardest thing he’d done in a long time. It set him off center, feeling alone and empty-headed—a fine condition for a lawman with a city to watch and a bur under his saddle by the name of Anthony Rochester. Garrett’s gut told him the lawyer had a connection to the hotel fire. But knowing something and proving it were two different things.

  It was well after sundown when Lolly clopped onto Main Street. Music poured from the Pike, but no one was rolling out beneath the swinging doors.

  He drew up at the little barn Maggie called her carriage house, then unhitched the mare and led her inside for a good rub down and brushing. She’d done well for her first trip out in some time, but from the looks of her, she wasn’t up to another one tomorrow. He felt for heat in her legs, checked her hooves, and gave her some oats for her efforts before turning her out in the pasture.

  Rink sauntered over and welcomed him with a low whiffle against his shoulder.

  “We’re ridin’ out early, fella, with a full day’s work in the high country. Maybe comin’ back double tomorrow night.” His insides got all warm and jittery at the prospect. “The exercise’ll do us both good. We’ve been too long idle.”

  Pearl stuck her head in the trough, then flung water all over creation. He didn’t want to take her back to the jail tonight because he wouldn’t leave her cooped up inside all day tomorrow while he was movin’ horses.

  Stooping eye to eye, he rubbed her scruffy head. “If I leave you in a stall, do you promise not to get in trouble?”

  A wet slurp across his face answered the question, and he sleeved off slobber as he walked her back to the barn and closed her in. “No jumping out.”

  She plopped her hind quarters down at his stern tone and swept a bare arc on the straw-covered floor. Fool dog understood more English than most people he’d jailed.

  He grabbed the milk jars, headed for the house, and bounded up the back steps and into Maggie’s fragrant kitchen.

  She glanced behind him. “Is everything all right?” She opened the warming oven and withdrew two plates of roast beef and potatoes.

  “Betsy’s at the ranch with Cade and Mae Ann.” He set the jars in Maggie’s icebox and gulped the coffee she’d poured for him. “I can’t stay, but this coffee hits the spot.”

  “Sit for one minute and I’ll pack your meal. The town won’t burn down before you get there.”

  Catching what she’d said, Maggie threw him a worried look, then cut two thick pieces of bread and topped them with sliced beef. She wrapped the sandwiches in a napkin and stacked them inside the milk basket with a generous serving of apple pie.

  Looked to be near half the pie, by his estimation.

  “You can tell me all about everything tomorrow.”

  He took the basket. “Afraid not. The Parkers are driving down a band of mares tomorrow, and I’ll be riding out early to help them.” He raised the basket. “And thank you for this.”

  Her worried look slowed him at the door. “Betsy’s family and Sophie were glad to see her. When I left, they were planning tomorrow’s roundup.” He walked back to the whip-thin woman and looped an arm over her frail shoulders.

  “She’s fine. Said to tell you she’d be back tomorrow evening.”

  Maggie didn’t look convinced, and her doubt echoed what had been trailing the back of his mind. What if Betsy stayed at the ranch?

  Maggie fussed with her apron, her brows tight as a hat band as she glanced up at him “Well, she’d better.”

  Yeah, she’d better, aggravatin’ woman. He chuckled nervously, and gave Maggie’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Would it be all right if I leave Pearl in a stall? She promised to behave herself, and we should be back before nightfall.”

  “She promised, did she?”

  His decoy worked, and Maggie took an old bowl from the counter and scraped Betsy’s meal into it. “Give this to that monstrosity on your way out. I’ll say a prayer for you and Betsy at church tomorrow.”

  Sunday had slipped up on him again, something his grandparents never let happen. Course, they couldn’t with Grandpa standing behind the pulpit.

  The streets were quiet, the alley quieter, no strays or vagrants hiding in the shadows. The Pike’s piano edged the night with an off-key tune. The man at the keys must have been tone deaf or just plain deaf.

  He unlocked the back door to the jail and walked through to his desk, where he left the basket, then went out the front. Heading up the boardwalk away from the din, he walked a circle around the north end of town, checking store fronts. The back-room lights were on at the Gazette, Hunt Fischer working on the press. The man didn’t sleep much, far as Garrett could tell. His last edition had run a piece on starting a local fire brigade and a second story on the new railroad spur to Crested Butte.

  Across the street, Rochester’s office was locked up tighter than a miser’s fist. Garrett rattled the doorknob to make sure.

  The whole town was rolled up like a slicker on a sunny day, aside from the Pike, spilling its tinny music and yellow light into the street. He crossed back at the hotel and stopped in front of its recently replaced window, the single biggest piece of glass in town, shipped in by train from Pennsylvania.

  The saloon lights reflected from across the street and quickly brightened as the batwings flew open. Miller Pike’s bulky silhouette had a man by the scruff of the neck, and he dunked the fella in the horse trough.

  Pike yanked him out of the water and hollered, “I warned ya next time you showed up here, you’d be goin’ t
o jail.”

  Garrett strode across the street, a chill climbing his neck. Even in the dim light, he recognized the farm boy.

  “Just in time, Sheriff. Got a customer for you, and he’s ripped, fool kid. Heeled too. I’ll not have some mother’s son trying to get hisself gut shot in my establishment.”

  While the boy leaned on the trough, gasping and coughing, Pike ducked inside and returned with an old cap and ball. “Wavin’ this around, he was. I figured he’d either get hisself killed or bust up my new mirror. Either option is bad for business.”

  Garrett stuck the gun in his belt and found himself short on words and long on memories. He grabbed the boy by the arm and headed for the jail.

  The lanky kid stumbled along, sulled up, smelling like the Pike, and dragging his left foot. Hatless and wet down to his waist, not to mention behind his ears, he stared at the ground until they reached the jail.

  Garrett’s early start tomorrow was looking less likely by the minute.

  At the jail, he pushed the door open and ushered the boy inside. “What’s your name?”

  With no lamp or stove fire, the room yawned like a cave, deep-throated and cold. He grabbed the key off his desk, then led his client to the first cell. The iron hinges moaned an eerie welcome, and the boy trembled either from the soaking, fear, or both.

  “Clay.”

  If Garrett didn’t know better, he’d have thought the whisper came from a small child.

  “Clay what?” He directed him toward the cot against the outside wall, where the boy slumped onto the thin tick. Faint moonlight filtered through the bars of a tiny high window, brushing the boy’s drooped head. Garrett almost pitied him.

  But getting liquored up and waving a handgun around in a bar full of less than clear-thinking men didn’t qualify for pity.

  “Ferguson.” A tight breath sucked in through chattering teeth.

  Garrett backed out of the cell and closed the door—a deafening, hopeless benediction in the dark.

  He found a banked coal in the stove and added kindling, then lit the lamp on his desk. The soft light spread across the office and down the hall to the cells like melted butter on biscuits. Garrett remembered his supper.