His feet shuffled. “Actually, ma’am, I was wondering if you might be interested in some fresh fish for your diners?”
Fresh fish sounded lovely. “Absolutely! What are you charging?”
He glanced down and kicked at a frosty clump of grass in the shade by the back steps.
She could see his mind working, calculating.
He lifted his gaze to hers and gave his hat a twist. “Truth is, I’m going fishing with Washington Nolan anyhow, so…what price would you think is fair?”
Dixie suppressed a smile. This boy was going to go far. Creating enterprise out of something he would have done anyhow. The lad was quite the mischief-maker about town, but Dixie liked his entrepreneurial spirit that never seemed to be quashed by his father’s neglect.
She pretended to think, but she already knew the generous offer she was going to make, and she had work to finish, so she didn’t ponder for long. “How about twenty cents for every brace you bring me? And I’ll take up to six braces each week, for as long as you keep them coming. To serve a meal, however, I’ll need at least three good-sized braces at a time.”
She saw his mind calculating and knew only a moment later that he’d realized he could be making a dollar and twenty cents each week.
His eyes widened, but only for the briefest of seconds before he carefully recomposed himself and spoke as though this were an everyday business transaction for him. “Yes’m. I think I can do that.”
“Lovely. I’ll have money waiting for you this evening if you think you can bring me six today?”
He nodded. “Yes’m.” He slid his hat back on his head and tugged the brim toward her, and then he turned and casually strolled in the direction of the footbridge.
Dixie closed the door, but nudged the curtain to the side just enough so she could still watch him. The moment her door clicked shut, the boy leapt into the air with a pump of his fist, and then took off running as fast as his legs could carry him.
Dixie smiled.
“That’s a nice thing you did for the boy.”
She gasped and spun around, one hand flying to her throat.
The marshal leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. He lifted his hands, one of which clasped his hat by the crown. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I know I’m late, but I wondered if I might trouble you for a plate of the lunch that smells so good?”
Dixie smoothed her hands over her apron. “I’m sorry, but ever since school started, I haven’t been serving luncheon to guests. McGinty’s next door usually has some chili on the stove.”
His face twisted into a scrunch. “I’ve had McGinty’s Devil’s Chili every nooning for the past week.” He glanced longingly at the chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes she was ready to put into the ice box. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Everything in her resisted feeding the man who was here to steal her life from her. And yet… She plunked her hands on her hips. “Very well, but the only thing I want is for you to let me tell you my side of the story.” If God wasn’t going to help her, maybe she could help herself by getting out in front of this.
The marshal blinked at her. “Your side of what story?”
Dixie hesitated. Could it be that he really wasn’t here to investigate her? Or was he bluffing? She narrowed her eyes. He was bluffing. “Marshal, I’ve known from the first moment you walked in the front door of my boardinghouse why you were here, so please let’s not play games.” She set to dishing up his plate. “Why haven’t you questioned—or even arrested—me before now?” She thrust the plate into the warming oven. Five minutes and the food ought to be piping hot again.
The marshal pointed to the small kitchen table in the corner. “May I?”
She nodded and set about to wash the two dishes she’d just emptied.
He eased into one of the chairs and hooked his hat over the spindle of another. Folding his hands atop the table, he looked at her gravely. “I haven’t questioned you because I never rush to judgment, Mrs. Pottinger. I wanted to observe for a while before I set in to questioning you. Also, Sheriff Callahan let me know that he felt both you and your mother-in-law were fine upstanding citizens and that I should give you every benefit of the doubt.”
Dixie’s hands stilled in the sudsy water. Reagan had known, and hadn’t warned her. Yet, what did she want from him? She certainly didn’t want him to play favorites for her and jeopardize his duty to the law. She returned to scrubbing the bowl. “That was kind of him.”
The marshal nodded. “I thought so. As for arresting you…I’ll not hide the fact that it’s certainly a possibility, if I determine it necessary.” He relaxed against the back of the chair that seemed too small for his large frame, and hooked one arm around the spindle so his arm rested on the top of the slats. “So, tell me your story, Mrs. Pottinger.”
Dixie’s jaw jutted to one side. If she told him their story would that be proof enough of a crime for him to arrest her? Was it even a crime to defend the life of someone who was about to be killed? “Is self-defense, or the defense of someone who is about to be killed by another, a crime, Marshal?”
The marshal scrubbed one hand over his jaw, studying her with serious eyes. “Mostly no. But there are always extenuating circumstances.”
Extenuating circumstances… Dixie released a breath. How well she knew about that. How often had Sheriff Berkley back in Birch Run told her she was living under extenuating circumstances?
Still… She was tired of running. So maybe she should tell all and plead mercy for Rose who had only been trying to save her life.
With that decision made…where to begin?
She’d just told Flynn all the sordid details only a few days ago, so she decided to simply stick with the same order of events. When she delivered his plate to the table, she rolled up her sleeve and showed him the scars where Steven used to stub out his cigars. She strode to the sink once again and stood looking out onto the frosty riverbanks as she finished the telling. She told him how she had tried every avenue available to her, including showing the sheriff back home her fresh burns and begging him to bring her before a judge so she might plead her case there. But the sheriff had only told her she would be wasting the court’s time because South Carolina didn’t allow divorce for any reason. She told him how she knew that even if the state had granted her the divorce, Steven wouldn’t have stood for it. He would have taken his retribution whether she was seen as his wife or not. And so in the end they’d been left at his mercy—of which he had none.
After she told of the way Steven had taken the baseball bat to her and how Rose had shot her own son, she turned to face the marshal.
The food on his plate remained untouched.
“If Rose takes any of the blame for stepping in to save my life, I should take more, because I’m the one who talked her into running. I knew that if fresh burns and purple and gold bruises around my neck—which I kept hidden from others with a high collar—couldn’t induce the sheriff to help me, nothing would. Certainly not the fact that Steven was lying in a pool of his own blood. I had no reason to think this time would be any different, and I couldn’t bear to think what Steven might do to Ma—or to me—if he recovered. So we ran. Lord, forgive us, we left him there bleeding on the floor and we never looked back. So you see, his death was my fault.”
The lawman shifted in his seat. “Actually, your husband’s body was never found. We thought you two might have buried him somewhere.”
Cold terror slithered down Dixie’s spine. “You mean to tell me he’s gone missing?”
“He was not in the house the next morning when the sheriff went to the house after seeing you two boarding the train.” He looked up and assessed her with those hard gray eyes that seemed to be able to see to the very marrow of her bones. “Are you sure you told me the whole story, Mrs. Pottinger?”
Dixie felt a rush of lightheadedness and pressed fingers to her temples. “H-his body was n-never found?” She knew she was
repeating his words, but needed to hear them again to comprehend them.
The man nodded. “Indeed, he hasn’t been seen since the day you two fled town. The house was nearly destroyed, and there was blood everywhere, but no body.”
Dixie lost all the strength from her legs and collapsed into the chair across the table from him.
The marshal only studied her.
“The broken tables and the lamps and the holes in the walls were from Steven’s bat. He’d chased me through the house for”—she rubbed her fingers across her forehead—“I don’t know… Quite some time before he caught me and… We left him lying by the door. He was bleeding badly, but we never touched him after we shot him. And that’s the truth of it.”
Marshal Holloway rubbed one hand down the lower half of his face in a weary gesture. “After we shot him?”
Dixie waved away his pointed question, realizing that he probably thought she was changing her story. “What I said was the truth, Marshal. Rose shot her son, but I’ve always thought of the incident as something we did together. A…horror we escaped together. The truth is, if I had found him beating his mother like that, I would have shot him too.”
She massaged her thumb into the palm of her opposite hand. “What will I do if he comes? It seems as a woman I have no legal recourse. And now, from what you say, he could even at this very moment be on his way here.” She threw her hands into the air. “I have told you my story, and now I am at your mercy, Marshal. I know I’d rather face trial for attempted murder than ever go back to living with that man again, so maybe it is best that you arrest us and cart us back home for trial.”
The marshal pushed his still-untouched plate back. He folded his hands on the table before him and hung his head for a moment. “You understand that despite the evidence on your arms, I can’t just take your word for it?”
Dixie felt exhausted. She sank against the slats of the chair. “Yes. I suppose I do know that.”
The marshal simply looked at her for a long time, searching her face. Dixie let him look. She was tired of hiding. Tired of fearing. Tired of worrying every single day that Steven might be coming after them.
Finally, he slid a half dollar across the table and tugged the plate closer.
Dixie stood. “Half dollar is too much. I’ll get you some change.”
“Keep it.” He lifted his fork.
She eyed the coin for only a moment, then decided not to fight him. “Want me to heat that up for you again?”
One of his lips quirked upward. “This would beat McGinty’s Devil’s Chili if it were frozen solid and laced with nails.”
Dixie returned his smile with a tired one of her own. “I’ll leave you to it then. Thanks for listening to me.”
He nodded.
“I need to go check on my mother-in-law. Please just put the plate in the sink when you are finished.”
He nodded again, and with that, she left him there.
If she still prayed, she would have asked God to help him see the truth in her words. But she didn’t see the point in asking God for help when He’d never helped her in the past.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Washington Nolan met Kincaid Davis at the river, pole in hand. Worms were hard to find this time of year, but Pa had let him take a chicken leg, which was almost just as good. He couldn’t wait to get his line in the water. There was nothing like the taste of fresh trout pulled direct from an icy river.
Kincaid greeted him with a grin. He was perched on their usual log with a fire already burning cheerily in the carefully rock-framed firepit. Everyone round these parts knew that if a fire got out of hand it could be the death of them all.
Washington settled on the other side of the fire and worked some of the chicken onto his hook, using a bit of extra fishing line to ensure it didn’t come loose.
“What took you so long?” Kin needled.
“Had to do chores. Don’t you have to do chores?”
Kin snorted. “My pa ain’t never home to care one way or the other.”
Wash tossed his hook into the current, pondering on that. Pa might be raising them on his own since Ma’s passing two years back, but at least Pa was there for him and his brothers when he wasn’t at work. He bought food when it was needed. He cooked. He even made them keep the house in a semblance of order and read to them from the Good Book every night. Wash had often envied Kin his freedom to do whatever he pleased, but he couldn’t help but be thankful that Pa at least made it clear he cared for his boys. The thought of food reminded him… He dug through his satchel and pulled out the paper-wrapped package.
“Brought you a couple ham and egg sandwiches.” He tossed it over.
Kin snatched the missile in midair. He set to unwrapping the string in the blink of an eye but, like always, he made his appreciation known. “Much obliged.”
Wash nodded and pretended great interest in adding another stick of wood to the fire. Often Kin’s hands trembled from hunger when he gave him food, and it pained him to see it. Thankfully, that didn’t happen as often now that they were older, because Kin had gotten better at hiding his stashes of food from his pa so he couldn’t sell it for booze. Even so, Wash tried to bring his friend food whenever they got together. Hopefully, they’d get a good enough catch today that Kin could take some home and cook his pa a decent meal tonight.
The sun rose above the tree line and steam lifted from the snow-covered riverbanks like wisps of fairy dust. This was his favorite time of year. He loved sitting on the banks of a river, pole in hand, simply soaking in the quiet beauty of nature all around him. The large maple above them stretched bare branches toward the winter-blue sky. Icicles dripped from the branches in several places, and the sun caught them now and fragmented into silver sun-spots on the snow at the boys’ feet. Golden-crowned sparrows chirped lustily from a branch where they fluffed and sunned themselves, and out on the river a fish jumped as though to taunt them with its intelligence.
Beside him, Kin sighed in satisfaction and tossed the paper wrappings and strings from the sandwiches into the flames.
Wash pulled in his line to check his bait. “Nice that Miss Brindle gave us a couple weeks off.”
Kin grunted. “It’s gonna be boring. We should do something to liven things up around here.”
Satisfied that his bait was still in place, Wash tossed his line back into the water. “I hear there’s gonna be a Christmas shindig this year.”
A roll of his eyes revealed Kin’s thoughts about that. “Bunch of adults standing around yammering about this and that. Not my idea of fun. I was thinking of something exciting.”
A premonition of impending trouble tickled the back of Wash’s neck. “Kin, you ain’t gonna do something stupid, are you?”
Kin grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. “It’ll only be stupid if I get caught.”
Knowing his friend’s penchant for causing trouble, Wash eyed him warily. “What are you planning?”
Kin’s brows pumped mischievously. “So I was in the post office the other day dropping off a letter for Pa. Ben King got a telegraph message while I was in there. Turns out old man Heath is arriving on this afternoon’s stage.”
Wash swallowed. Mention of a stage could not be good. “Yeah?” He felt his heart bump against his ribs, but he kept his features masked and pretended the need to check his bait once more.
“So…? Just think how fun it would be if we robbed the stage and got away with it? And all with Old Man Heath right there on board!”
Washington pursed his lips. How was he going to talk Kin out of this one? He’d heard that special note of determination in his voice before, and he knew that when Kin got that level of excitement pumping through him, there was almost never anything he could do to talk him out of his stupid plans. “Kin! We can’t rob the stagecoach! Mr. Heath is the one who’s made it possible for your pa to have a job! Mine too!” And that was when it hit him like a bucket of ice water to the face. Kin’s pa was mostly sober when he didn’t hav
e any money to spend, but the minute the man had even a handful of pennies, it was off to the bar for him, and Kin was left to fend for himself. “You ain’t aiming to get your pa fired, are you?”
Kin blew out a breath of disgust. “Naw. I’m just funnin’ with you.”
Wash eyed him suspiciously. “Kin!”
Kin grinned. “Okay, maybe I really am thinking about doing it, but I don’t expect you to come with me.”
“If that ain’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” Wash pushed Kin’s shoulder.
“Hey!” Kin laughed. “You’re disturbing my line, if you don’t mind.”
“Well you just tell them when you are standing trial that your pal, Washington Nolan, tried to talk you out of your stupid plan.”
Kin chuckled.
Wash decided to try and change the subject. Maybe Kin would forget about the whole plan if he got him to think about something else. “Saw you eying Belle Kastain in class the other day.”
Kin snorted. “Belle is one of those girls that is like a poisonous flower. She’s pretty to look at, but all her flashy colors are a warning sign to anyone paying attention that they better stay away. Far away. Besides, doesn’t Deputy Rodante have his cap set for her?”
Wash pondered on that. “I’m not so sure. He’s taken her to a few socials, but I ain’t never seen the love struck look in his eye like the sheriff has for Miss Brindle.”
Kin socked him in the arm. “Or like you have for Zoe.”
Wash felt the heat of that truth burn through him like a brushfire. Thankfully, just then Kin’s line was taken, and all Kin’s attention turned to hauling in his catch.
And Washington was easily able to change the subject after they had spitted the trout over their fire. “What kind of bait are you using? My chicken meat obviously ain’t working.”
Kin nudged an old coffee tin toward him with the toe of his boot. “Dug some ol’ grubs from a rotting tree ’tween my house and here. Help yourself.”
They fished for most of the morning, and by the time they left, they’d not only eaten a fish each cooked over the fire, but they each had a stringer of trout to take home for their dinners and Kin had a whole extra creel that he said he’d promised to Miss Pottinger at the boardinghouse.
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 8