On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2)

by Lynnette Bonner

  Mam hadn’t changed her name on the envelope she’d sent to Mrs. Macon. So it was likely both she and Dixie were still going by Pottinger. And if this saloon were anything like saloons in the rest of the country this was going to be the best place to get information.

  He motioned for the saloon keeper’s attention. “Looking for a couple of women. My mother and…my sister. Know of any Pottingers in town?”

  The barman’s lower lip protruded in thought as he polished a shot glass. “Pottinger… No. Can’t say as I know anyone by that name around here.”

  Steven suppressed a growl. Now what?

  Just down the bar, a man turned toward him. “Pottinger, did you say?”

  Steven’s anticipation leapt back to life. After all this time could it be that he had actually found them? He nodded to the man, taking a casual sip of his whiskey.

  “There are Pottingers who run a boardinghouse over in Wyldhaven. A woman and her mother.”

  Steven’s sense of accomplishment had his heart rate soaring. Finally he was going to have his justice! He was careful to keep all that he was feeling from his face, however. He only nodded to the man. “Much obliged. Does the train run to Wyldhaven?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “Stagecoach leaves first thing in the morning,” the barman offered. “Only runs through Wyldhaven on Saturdays.”

  They’re not in this town. Steven resisted the impulse to dash his shot glass against the wall. He scrubbed fingers over the headache that had started to pinch his forehead, and finished off his whiskey, then motioned for another.

  One more night. But just one. By this time tomorrow he would be smiling at the shocked look of terror on Dixie’s face. And Mam’s. Definitely Mam’s.

  What kind of woman shot her own son?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlotte stood ready and waiting for Reagan in front of his mother’s house Saturday morning. It had snowed mid-week, and then the temperatures had plummeted. Though the sun shone with passion this morning, Charlotte’s breath still clouded the air before her, and everywhere she looked the snow glistened as though the Creator had scattered handfuls of leftover star-bits over their mountain valley. Charlotte hunched into her coat with a shiver. She was glad she’d decided to give her students a few weeks off. Much as she loved them, she was looking forward to the break for the holiday as much as they were. With the weather being as cold as it was, and many of the students having to walk several miles to the school, it only made sense. She prayed the weather would be a little better after the first of the year when school resumed.

  “Morning,” Reagan called as he pulled the wagon to a stop. He helped her to the seat and then climbed up onto the buckboard beside her. Pulling a fur robe from beneath the bench, he tossed it across her lap. He also handed her a fur hat with ear flaps that could tie under her chin. “Best put that on,” he said roughly. “Wind chill is picking up.”

  Charlotte was a little taken aback by his gruff mood, but she could already feel the sting of winter’s chill nipping at her ears, and she was comforted by the warmth of the fur hat when she pulled it on. “Thank you.”

  Reagan only nodded. He slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps and clucked to them to giddy up.

  “How far is it out to this logging camp?”

  “Fair bit” was all he replied, his breath clouding the air in a frosty puff before him.

  Charlotte pressed her lips together. It seemed it was going to be a glacial ride out to the logging camp, in more ways than one.

  They rode together in silence for five minutes before she finally glanced over at him. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the easy camaraderie he had been seemingly set on promoting between them just a few days before. “Something troubles you, Sheriff?”

  To her surprise, he hauled on the reins and pulled the team to a stop right in the middle of the road. He turned on the bench to look at her.

  She swallowed as the full force of his soft blue gaze landed on her.

  He studied her for the longest time. His focus drifted leisurely over her features, and a muscle in his jaw bulged in and out. “This is no good, Miss Brindle. No good, at all.”

  Charlotte searched her memory for something she might have done wrong, but to no avail. “I’m sorry. I do not follow.”

  He released a lungful of air that clouded the space between them, then faced the road and slumped forward to prop his elbows against his knees. After a moment, he lifted his head to study the snowy field beside them. “What if we go to Mr. Heath and make our case? He’s arriving in town today, you know.”

  Charlotte sucked in a breath. Make their case. Did he mean…?

  Reagan turned his full attention on her once more.

  She swallowed, hating to disappoint him, but… “We could lose our jobs.”

  He nodded. “That’s true.”

  Her heart beat up into her throat. She would hate to be the cause of him losing his job, and yet it touched her deeply that he would be willing to approach Mr. Heath. “What would we say to him?”

  Reagan scrubbed the back of one gloved hand over his jaw. “We would say we grew…attracted to each other before we knew about his rules.”

  Charlotte thought to the future. “If you lose your job as sheriff there are any number of other jobs that you could put your hand to. But what would I, whose only skill is teaching, be able to do about finding more work? We really mustn’t risk it.” At the hurt that flashed in his eyes, she hurried to add. “Though I wish we could.”

  The glimmer of a thought crinkled the corner of his brow. “I can’t think why you would need to be employed were you my wife.”

  “Sheriff!” Charlotte gasped and twisted herself on the seat to face exactly forward, giving him only a view of the side of her face. A face that was likely blazing red if the heat pumping through her cheeks was any measure. She lifted her chin. “We’ve only known each other for just over four months. And I don’t recall being asked if I wanted to be your wife!”

  From her peripheral vision, she saw him squirm a little on the seat. He clucked to the horses and gave the reins a smart snap. “So you’ve just been toying with me then?”

  “I have not! How could you say such a thing?” She loosed a most unladylike growl of irritation and clenched her hands into fists in her lap.

  He was quiet for so long that she risked a quick peek to see what he was doing.

  He angled her a glance that at first she thought was angry, but then his mouth slanted up into a grin. He leaned close and bumped her with his shoulder. “Good. Because I haven’t been toying with you either.”

  Charlotte was on the verge of snipping that he hadn’t been doing much of anything with her for the past several weeks, but she knew that wouldn’t be fair, since he’d explained the situation with the telegram just last week. She let the silence stretch, but couldn’t help grumbling to herself inside. Had he really thought that would suffice as a proposal? Men! The truth was, she might be tempted to give up her teaching if it meant she could become Mrs. Reagan Callahan, but he was going to have to do a sight better with his asking if he expected her to say yes.

  The silence had stretched for a long while when Reagan finally spoke again. “Something the marshal said after dinner the other night has been bothering me all week.” Reagan glanced over at her, one corner of his mouth tipped down in puzzlement. “How much do you know about Dixie and Rose’s history?”

  So they were done talking about themselves and Mr. Heath, were they? “Dixie and Rose?” Charlotte couldn’t help the surprise that shot through her at his choice for a change of topic. “Not much, I suppose. Why do you ask?” Charlotte clenched her hands tight beneath the lap robe, feeling a tension she didn’t quite understand because it had nothing to do with the conversation they’d just had.

  Reagan jostled the reins. “The marshal claims that Dixie and Rose killed a man back east and came here to hide.”

  Charlotte gasped, all thought
s of proposals and matrimony fleeing. “Of all the insidious—he’s obviously mistaken!”

  Reagan shrugged. “That’s what I told him, but he seems certain he’s right.”

  Indignation straightened every muscle in Charlotte’s back. “What do we even know about that man? Do we even believe he’s a real lawman?”

  Reagan jutted his jaw to one side and massaged it with one hand. “Yes. I checked into him. First thing the next morning I had Ben send a telegram to his office back east to make certain.”

  “He’ll ruin Christmas!”

  “I asked him to approach his investigation with an open mind, and he assured me he would. That was the best I could do.”

  Charlotte felt a small measure of relief at that. “Well that’s something, at least. Poor Dixie!”

  They settled into silence after that. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the jangle of the trace chains, the occasional snapping of a snow-weighted branch in the forest, and the squeak of the wheels over the skiff of fresh snow that had fallen the evening before.

  By the time they arrived at the logging camp, however, the sun was high and warm enough that it had turned the snow into rivulets of mud and ice.

  As Reagan handed her down from the wagon, Charlotte grimaced and tried to pick the driest spot for her feet to land. She lifted her skirts immediately upon touching the ground, but to no avail. The bottom inch of her hem was already befouled with mud and evergreen needles.

  Reagan leaped down beside her, splattering mud even higher on her skirt. His brow furrowed as he took in the splotches. “Sorry about that.” Placing one hand to her back, he guided her around a large pile of limbed logs. “The foreman’s office is this way.”

  Charlotte felt her stomach begin to tighten as she followed Reagan’s lead. She’d written out her speech and practiced it all week. She only hoped the foreman was a reasonable man..

  Reagan pushed open the door on a tiny log cabin and allowed her to step through before him. A desk sat immediately before the door, and a grizzly bearded man looked up from the paperwork he was bent over. Surprise lit his eyes when he took note of Charlotte stepping through the door. By the time Reagan stepped in after her and pulled the door shut against the chill outside, there was barely room for the two of them to stand without bumping into each other.

  Reagan took a step forward to stretch a hand out to the camp foreman, but in doing so his boot tromped on the hem of her skirt, jerking her off balance.

  Charlotte collided into his side, giving a soft gasp of surprise and embarrassment.

  “I apologize,” Reagan said, settling his hands on her arms to steady her and set her back. “Are you alright?”

  Oh for crying in her buckets. Why did this room have to be so small and the man before her so good looking, and her boss so adamant that she not be allowed to have callers?

  She was saved from the heat blazing up her neck when the man behind the desk stood. “It is I who should be apologizing.” He held out his hands in a rueful manner. “The room is not set up for visitors. How may I help you?”

  Reagan gave Charlotte one more assessing look as if to really make sure she was okay before he turned towards the grizzly logger. “Tom Harris, may I present Miss Charlotte Brindle, the new schoolteacher in Wyldhaven. Miss Brindle has something she would like to discuss with you about a Christmas festival.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed slightly. He turned his look on Charlotte. “A Christmas festival?”

  Charlotte supposed there was nothing for it but to launch in with her prepared speech. “Good day, Mr. Harris.”

  The man nodded.

  “It is my understanding that Wyldhaven does not have a Christmas festival each year because your loggers protest it. Is this true?”

  Reagan stepped back, not that he had much room to do so as the door in the tiny log room was only inches from him. But he wanted to be able to assess the emotions he knew were going to be crossing Tom’s face during this conversation. He gripped his hands behind his back and waited with anticipation.

  Even now Tom’s face had paled slightly at Charlotte’s question. Tom looked like he would like to sink into his chair, but since there were no chairs to offer his visitors, etiquette dictated that he remain standing. “I-i-if my men protest a Christmas festival, Miss Brindle, it is only because they protest not getting paid. We do not get paid unless we deliver logs to the mill. Unfortunately, the Christmas season is one of the best times of the year for making quick work of hauling logs. This year especially, since we’ve had such a light snowfall.”

  “Yes, I understand that. And of course no one would deny the men an opportunity to make the money they need so desperately to keep feeding their families.”

  Reagan tucked a grin away in his cheek. He’d give her credit for diplomacy.

  “Well then you understand.” As though he assumed the conversation finished, Tom started to sit.

  But Charlotte motioned for him to wait. “And yet on the other hand, Mr. Harris, what if we could accomplish both things at the same time? A Christmas festival and getting logs to the river so they can be floated to the mill?”

  Tom regained his feet and folded his arms across his chest. He tilted her a look that said he would like to see how she was going to explain this.

  Reagan did the same, for he had yet to hear Charlotte clarify how she planned on accomplishing her mission.

  “When Sheriff Callahan escorted me in,” Charlotte said, “I noticed a pile of limbed logs lying just outside the door. And I confess I was quite pleased to see it, Mr. Harris. Because it fits in rather nicely with the plan I have concocted. Well, concocted might not be the right word, but planned. The plan I have planned.” Charlotte’s face seemed to pale a little.

  A grin did slip free this time before Reagan could check it, but he quickly swallowed it and was thankful to note that Charlotte hadn’t seemed to notice. He ought to be more sympathetic to her plight. But they’d been doing just fine for several years without a Christmas festival. So she was going to have to win this battle on her own.

  “My idea is this, Mr. Harris,” Charlotte pressed on. “You form your men into two teams, or three, or four, if you feel that would be better. Each team will prepare their own pile of logs ahead of time as per usual. But on the night of the festival, we will all meet here. Adult spectators will each pay two bits to watch. Part of the festival will be a contest to see which team can load the logs onto their wagons the fastest. Then the race will continue in a second stage from here to the creek. Whichever team gets to the creek at the Wyldhaven Landing the fastest will win that stage of the race. From there a third stage of the race will commence with the men unloading their logs into the creek, and whichever team unloads their logs the fastest will win that segment. After this I will beg you to encourage your men to allow the logs to float for the night and come to the Town Square, where we will have a Christmas festival. Competition is proven to be good for productivity. And I think the men will be quite pleased with the amount of work that gets accomplished even while taking a couple of hours to spend honoring our Lord and enjoying their families.”

  Well... He did believe she had done it. Reagan pinched his lips between his teeth, lifted his brows and rocked up on the toes of his boots as he studied Tom Harris.

  Tom’s mouth hung open slightly, and Reagan could see the cogs whirring in the man’s head. He grinned. The man would likely be hiring Charlotte to provide productivity ideas after this. For Reagan had no doubt that the men would go all out for the next two weeks in advance preparing their wagons and their crews for quickly loading logs and winning the races.

  Tom stroked a hand the length of his beard, and Reagan could tell that he actually liked the idea but was leery of stating so too quickly. Finally after a long moment, he dipped his chin in a nod. “I do believe that might be plausible, Miss Brindle.”

  Charlotte was so elated that she actually gave a little hop. “Oh bless you!”

  Reagan grinned at the
red flooding the burly foreman’s face.

  Charlotte didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. I think this will be a lovely time. Thank you, thank you, thank you for agreeing to urge your men to participate. And please do remind them to put safety first during the competitions. I’d hate for someone to be hurt on account of me wanting to bless the children with a festival.”

  Tom nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Happy to oblige. You have a good day now.”

  “Oh yes, we will, I’m sure!” Charlotte spun to exit the room and crashed fully into Reagan. She gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Reagan grinned and reached behind himself to open the office door. Too bad he couldn’t find some reason to delay their departure a little, because standing this close to the beautiful Miss Brindle was no hardship at all.

  Even with Tom laughing at him from beyond her shoulder.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday at noon, Dixie was cleaning up the last of Ma’s and her lunch dishes and putting away the leftovers when there was a knock at her back door. She quickly rinsed her hands and dried them on her apron as she moved to see who was there.

  Kincaid Davis stood at the base of her steps, hat in hand. His dark mop fell in unruly waves across his head, and his brown eyes were always a bit broody, but my, the boy was going to be a lady-killer in just a few years. She marveled that though it seemed she’d been his age only a couple years previous, in reality seven years separated them. She felt like an old woman at twenty-two.

  “Kin.” She smiled at him. He was probably here looking for work. She liked to hire him because he worked hard, was always appreciative, and was ever willing to do her chores in exchange for food. Despite that, when she could afford to give him money for his work, she tried to do so, because she knew how desperately he needed it. Well she remembered the days when her own father had spent every spare—and sometimes not spare—penny on drink. “Looking for some odd jobs today?”