Her Sheriff Bodyguard

by Lynna Banning

  “Sheriff Donovan,” Hawk yelled.

  “Yo,” came a voice from under the trees.

  “Search everyone. Look for a black crayon.”

  He turned Caroline’s shuddering frame into his arms. “Easy. Take it easy. It’s all right. Nobody’s gonna get to you.”

  One of the deputies leaped onto the stage behind them and Hawk gradually moved Caroline toward him.

  “She all right, Rivera?”

  “So far. Escort us to the hotel, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” The wiry young man looped his free arm around Caroline’s shoulders and together he and Hawk walked her across the square and up the seven whitewashed steps into the hotel.

  “I—I’m all right,” Caroline managed. She kept repeating the words until Hawk unlocked the door to their room, signaled dismissal to the deputy and moved her inside. The moment the door closed, she pressed her face into her hands and burst into tears.

  “What the hell? Caroline? Caroline?”

  He dropped the rifle onto Fernanda’s bed and wrapped her in his arms, rocking her to and fro.

  “Where is Fernanda?” she sobbed.

  “With Sheriff Donovan. I asked him to look after her if anything happened.”

  “Hawk?”

  “Yeah?” He could barely stand the anguish in her voice.

  She sniffled. “Hawk, are you hungry?”

  He jerked as if he’d been shot. “What?”

  “I s-said, are you hungry? Hawk, I’m scared and tired and…hungry. I can do nothing about being scared or tired, but—”

  Hawk stepped back and stared at her. “Yeah, I could eat something. Wait a minute.”

  He took his handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped the tears off her cheeks. Then he turned her toward the door and stopped.

  “You forgot your hat.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said with a choked laugh. “I decided I don’t like it anymore.”

  Well, hell. If she didn’t want to be sassy, what did she want?

  He was afraid to ask.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Caroline couldn’t really eat much because she could not stop crying and kept laying down her fork to blow her sniffly nose. Apparently unbothered, Hawk managed to down half a roast chicken and three helpings of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy.

  “I am such a coward,” she said, twisting her handkerchief in her lap.

  “Whoa.” Hawk paused, a forkful of green beans on the way to his mouth.

  “Well, I am,” she pursued. “I am not the least bit brave. I don’t know how Mama managed to keep going.”

  “Your momma wasn’t being stalked. And since we’re talking about bravery, let me tell you something I learned before I was out of short pants. Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. Being brave is when you’re scared out of your skin but you move forward anyway.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Aw, hell, he’d kill the bastard who left that message.

  “Caroline, do you have any idea who might want to hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No one ever threatened Mama in this way. It started after she died and I was carrying on alone.”

  He gestured at her untouched plate. “Might as well finish your dinner. Then I’ve got another question for you.”

  “Ask me now. I hate suspense, Hawk.”

  “Get used to it,” he said. “I’m not about to bring up this subject in public.”

  Her eyes widened into two huge purple-blue pools Hawk thought he might drown in if he wasn’t careful. He dropped his gaze to his roast chicken and tore off a drumstick. Watching Caroline poke at her mashed potatoes wrung a chuckle from his too-dry throat. Still, she determinedly shoveled in tiny bites until the mound on her plate had shrunk by half.

  “Want some more tea?” He signaled the waitress hovering near the kitchen. When she drew near, she leaned over near his ear.

  “Sheriff Donovan would like to speak with you, sir.”

  “Sure. Ask him to join us.”

  Caroline pushed her chair back. “I’ll just leave you to—”

  “Like hell.” He didn’t look up, just grasped her forearm. “Sit.”

  Sheriff Donovan slid his bulk onto an extra chair and hitched it up to the table with a tired sigh. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Find anything?” Hawk asked.

  “Nope. No crayons. No pencils. Not even any schoolkid’s chalk.”

  Hawk nodded.

  “Know what I think?” Donovan tipped his balding head toward Caroline. “I think that note got wrote out beforehand. Whoever done it waited until that pitcher of water got set in place and then that note got slipped underneath at the last minute.”

  Hawk nodded shortly. “Yeah.”

  The sheriff lowered his voice. “If I was you, Rivera, I’d take the lady and skedaddle.”

  “Yeah,” Hawk said again. “Thanks.”

  The sheriff got to his feet. “Skedaddle,” he repeated. He touched two fingers to his hat brim. “Ma’am.”

  Caroline clanked her teacup onto the china saucer. “I’m not going to ske—”

  “Upstairs,” Hawk interrupted.

  They met Fernanda in the hallway outside the hotel room. “I go light more candles, señor.”

  “Not yet,” Hawk said. “I spied some cherry brandy behind the bar last night. Could you get it and bring it up to the room?” He slipped a bill into her hand. “Buy all the candles you want with the change.”

  He unlocked the door to their room. “Pack up your trunk,” he ordered.

  “What? But the train doesn’t leave until—”

  “Forget the train for now. I want you to sit down and hear me out about something. Two somethings,” he amended.

  She perched on the edge of her bed. Hawk paced to the window and back until Fernanda returned with the brandy and three glasses; then she slipped out to visit the church again.

  From the window he watched the Mexican woman cross the street. When her long black skirt disappeared into the wooden doorway, he uncorked the brandy and sloshed two hefty slugs into each tumbler.

  Tentatively Caroline touched her tongue to the liquid. It stung like fire, but it tasted sweet and rich, like ripe cherries. Hawk tossed his back in a single gulp and poured another.

  When she had downed about half her brandy he lifted the glass out of her hand, set it on the carpet beside the bed and hunkered down in front of her.

  “Two things,” he reminded. “First, about your speech-making.”

  She stiffened. “What is wrong with my speech-making?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it. Hell, I’m halfway convinced by what you say myself.”

  She sent him a smile that made his joints melt. “Then what is it?”

  Hawk exhaled on a sigh. “I think you’re running on borrowed time. In fact, I think you’re out of time. If someone can get close enough to you to slip a note under your water glass, sooner or later that someone is going to do more than connect.”

  “Connect?” Her voice sounded breathy. Maybe it was the brandy. Most likely it was gut-deep fear.

  “Connect as in kill you.”

  She gave a little jump. “Oh.” Once again those eyes of hers got so big he could swim around in them.

  “So here’s my first question. Can you be ready to leave tonight? There’s a train going south at midnight.”

  “But I’m not going south, Hawk. I’m going west, to Washington Territory. To Huntington.”

  “I want you to go south. Back to Oakridge, and then on to Gillette Springs. And then back to Smoke River.”

  “But why? I promised Mama… Hawk, I must continue.”

  “Well, Caroline, I’m asking you not to continue. I want to keep you safe, Caroline, but I can’t do it with some kind of trap I can’t even see closing in. In Smoke River, I…”

  He took another swallow of brandy. “I can protect you in Smoke River. I know everybody in town, and I can get help from men I trust. I want to—God, this is
hard to say. I want to set up a trap.”

  “Oh. I assume that is not so difficult. Why did you hesitate to tell me?”

  “Because, Caroline, you’re going to be the bait.”

  He snaked her glass up from the floor and pressed her fingers around it. “It’s dangerous. But not as dangerous as riding blind in a territory I’m not familiar with, working with people I don’t know.”

  She took a big gulp of the brandy. He could tell when it went down because her eyes teared up.

  “I would have to give up the speaking circuit Mama and I had planned.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The one I promised her I would complete after she died.”

  “Yeah.”

  She looked straight at him. “I won’t do it.”

  “Caroline, look at it this way. Do you want to end up maybe changing a few minds, or even a lot of minds? Or do you want to end up dead?”

  He thought she’d gone white before; now she looked like a damn ghost. He got to his feet and paced around the room while she just sat there on the bed, nursing her brandy.

  “Well?” he said when he couldn’t stand it any longer. He squatted on his heels before her.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I want to live.”

  Thank you, Lord.

  “Now,” she said in an unnaturally calm tone, “what is your second ‘something’?”

  He held her gaze and prayed she wasn’t going to bolt. “I want you to tell me why you slapped me last night.”

  She tried to look away but he reached up and caught her chin, turning her face back toward him.

  “I—I cannot.”

  “Yeah, you can.”

  “No.”

  “Try, dammit.”

  “I—it has nothing to do with you. I swear it.”

  “For that I’m damn grateful. But I still want to know—what does it have to do with?”

  She tried to look everywhere but at him, but again, he didn’t let her escape. His fingers kept gently returning her gaze to his; even when her eyes overflowed he made her look at him.

  “It has to do with another man,” she said finally.

  “I figured something like that. Want to tell me about it?”

  “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “Tell me what happened.”

  “He…he was bigger than I was. Stronger.” She shook her head and shut her eyes tight. Hawk knew what was coming. His gut clenched, but he kept his hand against her chin and didn’t move.

  “This man, he…he forced me.”

  He didn’t move, just waited. Her breathing grew more ragged, and then she was gulping back sobs.

  “I was only t-twelve. He held me down and…and…”

  He slid onto the bed beside her and wrapped both arms around her. Her brandy sloshed over onto his jeans but it didn’t matter.

  “And that’s why you can’t stand for a man to touch you. Kiss you.”

  She made an inarticulate sound against his shoulder.

  “Who was it, Caroline?”

  She shook her head violently and tried to break free. With one hand he pressed her head into his neck.

  “Someone you knew?”

  She gave a cry and wrenched away from him. Deliberately he brought her back within the circle of his arms.

  “Someone you knew?” he repeated in a whisper.

  Suddenly she tipped her head back and looked into his eyes. “It was my father.”

  Stunned, Hawk stared at her. “God damn him,” he said, his voice quiet. “God damn him to hell.”

  She twisted away, but he held on. “Did your mother know?”

  She shook her head, her mouth working.

  “Does Fernanda?”

  “No.” Her voice was so faint he had to strain to hear.

  “Only you know.”

  “And then what?” He was afraid to ask, but he knew he had to finish it.

  “I shot him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hawk stared at her. “My God, you killed him?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “I thought you’d never touched a gun before. You didn’t even know how to cock my revolver, much less aim it.”

  “You are right…I did not. Papa always carried a pistol hidden under his vest. That night I— He came at me again. I screamed and he pulled out his little pistol, and when I grabbed for it…”

  “It went off,” Hawk supplied.

  “The bullet hit his chest,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “And then he was dead. I never told a soul. I just left him there.”

  Hawk felt something rip inside his chest. God.

  He reached for her, but she flinched away.

  “Mama never knew what he had done to me. Or what I had done. She took me away and I never told her.”

  He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. And she couldn’t escape her father because the law didn’t allow her mother to have her. No wonder she was afraid to be touched. He wondered if she would ever forget.

  *

  As Hawk directed, Caroline began to lift her garments out of the wardrobe and pack them into the trunk. When Fernanda returned, he stepped out of the room on an errand of his own, and Caroline bolted the door from the inside.

  When he reappeared he dangled a different room key in his hand. “Finish packing,” he instructed. “But—” he tipped his head toward Caroline “—save your boy’s disguise.”

  Fernanda snapped the trunk closed, and he dragged it out into the hallway. “Come on,” he said, flashing the new key. “We’re moving.”

  “But, señor, one new room, it is not enough?”

  “Whoever is watching us knows we’re in this room. If we move, he won’t know where we are.”

  He manhandled the trunk to the far end of the hall and left it at the head of the stairs, then unlocked the door to a different room on the opposite side and ushered them inside.

  “Fernanda, I want you to make one more visit to the church and talk to the padre.”

  “Ay de mi, the padre, he grows tired of me!”

  Hawk drew the Mexican woman aside and spoke so quietly Caroline could not hear. Fernanda sent him a conspiratorial look and marched out the door; she returned a short time later with something bundled up under her black wool shawl.

  “Now,” Hawk said to Caroline, “I need you to put on those boy’s duds you wore when we rode out of Smoke River.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “May I ask why?”

  “Nope. Don’t ask—just get them on.”

  Three hours later, the two hotel porters found the trunk right where Rivera said it would be. They upended it, muscled it down the staircase and stowed it behind the registration desk. In the morning they would load it onto a cart, roll it to the train station, and heave it onto the Union Pacific bound west for Washington Territory.

  A little before midnight, two priests in long black cassocks and a young boy in plaid shirt, jeans and leather boots slipped out the back door of the hotel and made their way to the train. The tall priest stepped into the station house, purchased three tickets and sent off a telegram.

  When he emerged he studied the deserted passenger platform. Finally, with a nod of satisfaction, he ushered the other two travelers on board the southbound train, and the locomotive chuffed off down the track back to Oakridge.

  Hawk settled into his seat and pulled the rifle from under his cassock. The other priest, short and pudgy in build, produced a large box lunch and a small flask of whiskey.

  Fourteen hours later the southbound train pulled into the station at Oakridge. Perched on the stagecoach waiting at the edge of the platform, Jingo Shanahan waved his battered hat at the three passengers who stepped down off the locomotive.

  “Over here, Haw—uh, Father. Where’s yer trunk?”

  The tall priest laughed. “On its way to Washington. Good to see you, Jingo.” He ushered his two companions into the waiting stagecoach, shut the passenger door, then climbed up next to t
he driver and laid his rifle over his knees.

  “Kinda funny, seein’ ya in them clothes,” Jingo confided. “But yer deputy made it real clear what I’s to do, so—” he spat tobacco juice off to the side “—here I am. Jes’ gives me the jollies seein’ you dressed up like a—”

  “Just drive, Jingo.”

  The whip cracked and the stagecoach lurched forward. At Gillette Springs they stopped at the livery stable to pick up the horses Hawk had boarded. Then he folded up the black cassock and stashed it in his saddlebag, roped the mares behind his gelding and swung himself into the saddle.

  By the time the stage, Hawk and the horses reached Smoke River some eight hours later, it was just before midnight and the main street was deserted. That was odd, Hawk thought. Unless his deputy had taken an added precaution and cleared out the downtown area. He didn’t care what ruse Sandy had managed; he was just grateful no one would witness their arrival. Better yet, no one would know the whereabouts of Caroline MacFarlane until he was ready to spring his trap.

  “Turn at the corner,” he directed the stage driver.

  At the door of his half sister’s boardinghouse, Hawk signaled a stop. Jingo pulled the team to a halt and waited until the large priest and the skinny kid inside climbed out and tiptoed up onto the wide front porch. At a signal from Hawk, he lifted the traces and the coach rolled away down the street and on out of town.

  Hawk tapped on the dingy front door. “Ilsa?”

  The door cracked open. “Hawk?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Open up.”

  A tall, slim woman in a shabby night robe flung open the door and reached to hug him. “Oh, Hawk, I’ve been so worried! Sandy told me—”

  He patted her shoulder. “Everything’s under control, sis. Like I said, I’ve brought you two more boarders.” He tipped his head toward Fernanda and Caroline, waiting on the steps behind him.

  “A priest?” Ilsa’s voice rose in surprise. “Hawk, Sandy didn’t say anything about—”

  Fernanda stepped forward. “You will forgive, señora? Señor Hawk does not tell everything.”

  The tall woman laughed. “I see my brother still hasn’t changed. Even when he was a boy, he—”

  Hawk cut her off. “Got anything to eat?”

  “Of course. Come in. Eggs and bacon all right? And Elijah made ginger cookies this afternoon.”