His shock must have shown on his face.
“Dent, what is it?”
He shook his head and finished reading.
No known companions. Newcomb is wanted for the murder of Union Pacific foreman, Horace Brewer. He may be linked to other murders as well. The order was signed by Judge John J. Lynch. March 1, 1882.
Six years ago.
Absently, he handed the poster to Doc, his mind spinning like a paper pinwheel. There was only one reason Ben would have that Wanted poster. He knew, or at least strongly suspected, this Newcomb fella had killed Pa. But why hide the poster? He ran his fingers over the lid. The dust coated his fingers.
The box had sat there for who-knows-how-long. Had Ben given up? Stopped searching?
“Son,” Doc folded the poster and placed it back in its casket. “Ben laid this aside.” Doc placed the items one by one back into the box. “You should, too. Let this go.”
“Let it go?” Dent would sooner quit breathing. “Ben knew who killed Pa. I’ve got a name now, and a description. This is the best lead I’ve had. Why did Ben let it go? Why didn’t he ever tell me?”
Doc clasped his hands and sat back down on the bed. “I don’t know, son. I only know that if Ben had it hidden, he meant for it to stay that way.”
9
The sheriff’s burial was a small, solemn affair, attended only by the pastor, the Woodruffs, Sheriff Hernandez, and Amy. She was an intruder in the affair and knew it, but when the Woodruffs had asked her if she wanted to come, she couldn’t say no. Otherwise, what would she do with herself in town? Wander the streets of Evergreen alone? Cower in her room? So, she’d chosen to intrude.
At least she’d been of some assistance with sorting the meager supply of clothes the man had. She dropped the last box into the back of the wagon and grabbed the quilt draped on the side. She helped Susan spread the blanket and a fine picnic supper down near a small, gently bubbling creek.
Enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun, Pastor Wills and the Woodruffs reminisced about Sheriff Hayes, recalling funny stories, interesting arrests, his good nature, and unequaled beef brisket. Sheriff Hernandez nodded, offered a few memories of his own, but in brief, short sentences. He struck Amy as less grief-stricken than distracted. She berated herself for the unkind thought. People grieved in different ways. She needed to check her judgmental attitude.
“Do you remember that time, Dent,” Pastor picked up an ear of corn, “when you got in trouble for soaping old Mr. Vicker’s store?”
The Woodruffs laughed and Sheriff Hernandez hung his head, grinning. “I do recall that.”
“Your pa and Ben brought you to me and asked me to give you a fire-and-brimstone sermon about Hell and where your wicked ways would lead.”
“I remember. I hid under my bed for a week.”
The pastor chuckled and his face softened. “Yes, I put a little too much fire in the conversation, I suspect, just to placate your pa. He wanted you scared good.”
“It worked...for a while.”
Awkward laughter faded to a more awkward silence.
Susan rescued them. “Dent, do you remember the first time you rode out with your pa and Ben? When you came by the house? What you told me?”
Sheriff Hernandez spun his fork in a heap of mashed potatoes and slipped further down Memory Lane, a bit unwillingly, Amy guessed by the dip in his brow.
“I told you I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a lawman. And that I was scared.”
“Reckon you got over that, too” Doc said in a strange, almost bitter, tone.
“Reckon I did.”
Amy envied the sheriff and his courage.
She assessed the plain but clean ranch house several yards away, comparing it to the teacher’s cottage. Her new home would be ready soon and she would be spending her nights there...alone. A man like Dent Hernandez probably wasn’t scared of staying all the way out here on his own. He probably wasn’t afraid of anything at all.
Susan seemed to sense all the heavy thoughts and cleared her throat. “Dent, when you’re done, why don’t you show Miss Tate the property? We’ve got time before we head out.”
That dip in his brow deepened, communicating plenty, and Amy shook her head. “No, that’s all right. He doesn’t have to. I’ve seen enough.”
The sheriff tossed his chicken bone down on the plate. “Wouldn’t want to bore her, Susan. Miss Tate probably has some books she needs to get back to.”
Amy frowned. She hadn’t meant to be rude but his response was unnecessarily brusque. “I only meant, Sheriff, that I’m sure you’d rather not waste your time. You don’t seem very pleased about your inheritance, after all.”
Scowling, Sheriff Hernandez ran his tongue over his teeth in irritation, as if she’d gone a hair too far commenting on his business. Perhaps she had, but before she could apologize, he rose to his feet and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll bring the surrey around, Doc. I expect you all are ready to head back.”
The older man rose as well, though slowly, and stiffly, rubbing a knee before he stood all the way up. “I’ll help you.”
As the two walked away, Amy heard Doc scolding the young man. “Honestly, son, you’ve been chasing outlaws for so long, you’ve forgotten how to be mannerly. You’re as prickly as a porcupine.”
The sheriff’s frustrated but hushed response was lost on the pleasant fall breeze. Susan tsked-tsked, and shook her head as she watched the men walk away. “He’s right. Dent doesn’t know much about simple pleasantries and small talk anymore. He’s become a hard man. Not the boy I knew.” She slapped her thighs to break the spell of melancholy. “Before we clean up, let’s take a walk.”
“And I’ll be heading back to town.” Pastor Wills dropped his napkin on his plate. “Susan, as always, a fine meal. Thank you.” He shifted to Amy. “Miss Tate, I hope to see you in church.”
“I’ll be there.”
Amy enjoyed the late afternoon sun on her face, the tickle of the September breeze, and the wispy clouds above. Swanton seemed a hundred years away, and beneath all this sky, she could almost pretend that one fateful night was too.
“There’s a lot to him,” Susan said, tugging on Amy’s sleeve and pulling her off the trail toward the lone pine up on the hill. The spot where they had buried Ben. “Dent was only sixteen when his mother died, and he was eighteen when his father and Ben were bushwhacked.”
“Bushwhacked?” Amy had never heard the word.
“Attacked. Drifters, we assume. Trying to steal horses. Will and Ben rode up on ’em by sheer coincidence. Ben survived.” Susan reached down and plucked daisies and columbine as they strolled. “Both of them were only two days from retirement.” Her fingers worked as she talked, arranging the flowers into a lovely bouquet. “Dent worked on a ranch outside of town, but from time to time he rode with Will and Ben, when they needed an extra gun.”
They strolled past the pine, past Ben’s lonely grave, then a few feet further on, Amy saw the two headstones, together but forlorn, in the tall grass. She wandered up to them and read the names. William Arturo Hernandez and Etta Mae Lancaster Hernandez. The sheriff’s parents.
“The day after the shooting, Dent went straight to Judge Lynch for a job in the U.S. Marshals. Less than a week later, he sold his pa’s ranch and hasn’t stepped foot on the place since. Ben and Will’s spreads were side by side, so, when Dent sold out, Ben bought this one acre for them.” Susan motioned to the graves as she knelt down then placed the bouquet on Etta Mae’s grave. “Etta Mae and I were best friends. I miss those days.”
At a loss, but truly sympathetic to Susan’s pain, Amy touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m more sorry for what their son has turned into. Revenge is why he’s a marshal, and it’s making him into a man with a cold heart. He’s hunting for Will’s killer.”
“For eight years?” A thousand stories danced through Amy’s mind. Tales of revenge, hate, violence. Poison. A quote from Victor Hugo surfaced. �
��Every blade has two edges,” she said softly. “He who wounds with one wounds himself with the other.”
Susan didn’t move for a moment then she nodded. “Yes.” She climbed to her feet and dusted off her dress. “Yes, and I believe he’s just about cut himself to pieces.”
10
Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Susan opened the door for Amy and gestured to the little log cabin’s entrance. “Your new home, Miss Tate.”
Amy struggled against the habit of wringing her hands and dropped them to her side. She smiled at Susan instead, and stepped into the two-room cabin.
Several women, giggling and twittering like birds, floated out from the kitchen area, each holding a gift or a plant. “Welcome, Miss Tate,” an older, skinny woman said, stepping away from the flock. “I’m Mrs. Hannah Banks, president of the Benevolence Committee. We’re so glad to have you in Evergreen.”
“Oh, why, thank you.”
“Please, take a gander,” another woman spoke from behind Mrs. Banks. “I made your curtains.”
Red paisley curtains hung from the windows, and orange and yellow dried flowers rested along the log hearth that jutted out from the fieldstone fireplace. Hooked rugs in bright colors littered the floor. A vase filled with more flowers added reds and purples to the little kitchen table. Amy noticed newly-crocheted pot holders hanging from a hook on the wood stove. No details had been overlooked in making the cabin a truly warm and inviting home.
And it terrified her. Trying to be gracious, she swallowed her fear and nodded at the ladies. “It is lovely. So inviting. Thank you … thank you all.”
“Here,” Susan stepped forward. “Let me introduce you to all my crafty little helpers.”
Amy tried to pay attention, but the names and the faces blurred. The women were kind and gracious, eager to have her over for tea or to help with projects, but Amy felt her smile becoming more and more forced. She needed quiet, yet she was terrified of being alone.
After half an hour, Susan discreetly suggested everyone go home, and she walked the ladies to the door. Amy waved, thanked them all again, and promised to come by for a visit soon. She would, too, someday.
Susan closed the door and faced Amy, wearing a sympathetic smile. “I know that was a lot to take in, but they sincerely want you to feel welcome.”
“And I do.” The unspoken but hung in the air.
“Dear, if it’s too soon ...” Susan’s gentle voice calmed Amy, reassuring her she still had a choice.
“You’ve housed me for a month. That’s enough. I want to try, at least.”
Susan stepped up and clutched her arm. “That’s right. You try. If you get scared, you just run right back to our house. I don’t care what time of day or night.”
Amy grimaced. She could see herself pounding on the Woodruffs’ door in the wee hours of the night, half-dressed, hair a mess. She could see it all too easily and shivered. “No—I mean, I’ll try my best not to do that.”
“All right then,” Susan patted her shoulder. “Let’s get your things from the wagon. We’ll get you settled, then I’ll go start dinner. Henry or Dent will fetch you at six.”
“Dent?”
Susan’s forehead creased with worry. “I’m sorry. Is he too much of a stranger still? I suppose that demeanor of his doesn’t exactly engender affection. Henry and I will fetch you then.”
Amy chewed on her bottom lip. Susan had to cook. Doctor Woodruff should be there to assist or greet the mayor. They couldn’t hold her hand forever. She had to deal with her fears. After all, she’d managed to come all this way on the train, surrounded by strangers. The recollection made her queasy. The ladies’ room had been her sanctuary when real or imagined stares became too bold or curious. If her heart started galloping or sweat broke out on her brow, off she’d go to hide in the small room.
She’d managed to cross the country without fainting anywhere along the way. And she’d sat across from the sheriff at the dinner table almost every night for a month. Surely, she could ride two blocks with the man, whether he liked it or not. She suspected he wouldn’t. He’d barely spoken to her during their evenings at the Woodruffs. Yet, somehow, she’d achieved a certain level of comfort with him, due to his vocation, she assumed.
“If the sheriff wouldn’t mind too much, I believe I can ride with him, which would leave you free to get ready for your guests.”
The corners of Susan’s mouth twitched, as if she was fighting a smile. “Fine, then. I’ll send Dent after you.”
One gander at who had become the mayor of Evergreen made Dent want to burn down the town. Ed Coker sat in the parlor with Doc, enjoying a fat cigar by the fireplace. He wore a tailored suit, salt-and-pepper hair stylishly slicked back, and the whitest silk shirt Dent had ever laid eyes on. A square jaw and broad shoulders added to the portrait of success.
Coker had come to town eight years ago, with nothing to his name but a broken-down nag. He’d smiled his way into businesses, and in the course of only a few days had run up tabs all over Evergreen. Job hunting hadn’t been on his agenda, as he’d hardly ever left the saloon. He’d had a dust-up with Pa just a few days before the shooting. Something about those unpaid debts, if Dent remembered correctly.
In the end, Ben had cleared Coker as a suspect in the shooting, due to a solid alibi. Dent hadn’t been around much after that, so his surprise at the man’s political fortune was colossal.
With a raised brow, Coker surveyed Dent top to bottom. Dent pulled the Stetson from his head and ran his fingers through damp hair, glad he’d taken the time to spiff up a bit, but annoyed he cared. “Coker.”
Coker smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. “Dent.” The mayor lifted his muscular frame from the chair and reached for Dent’s outstretched hand. “Good to see you. And it’s Mayor Coker now.”
As they shook hands, each man took an instant to size up the other, like bulls eyeing trouble. Or, perhaps, a rival? Dent remembered the man had a streak of competitiveness, which had led to a few fights in the saloon, prior to this respectable path.
“Last time I saw you, Dent, you were covered in horse shi—er, I mean, manure. Glad to see you’ve chosen slightly cleaner work.”
Dent had no reply for the veiled slice—at least nothing polite—so he moved on to Doc, now standing as well, and reached for his hand. “Doc.”
“Susan’s made your favorite, country-fried steak.”
Dent rubbed his stomach. “Aw, that’ll hit the spot all right.”
“Doc,” the mayor folded his tails in and re-took his seat, motioning to the collection of spirits on the credenza. “I suggest a toast to our new sheriff.”
“I’ll go along with that.” Doc strode to the counter, where a decanter of brandy waited.
The mayor pointed at the chair across from him. “Dent, let’s you and me hammer out a few details of this interim position.”
“Happy to,” he lied.
Doc passed the drinks to them and held his glass aloft. “To our new sheriff. May he find many, many reasons to stay in Evergreen.”
A twitch in the corner of his mouth made Dent wonder if Doc was trying to annoy him...or the mayor. A twitch in the politician’s brow—almost a grimace—answered the question. Amused, Dent drank the shot to hide a grin.
The mayor forged ahead, maintaining his cool air. “Dent, I hear you’re going to sell Ben’s ranch. I’d like to be first in line for it, especially if you’re going to sell it as fast as you did your pa’s. What’s your asking price?”
Dent absolutely wanted to sell Ben’s place. He wanted his badge back, and he wanted out of Evergreen. But selling to Coker just felt all wrong. “I haven’t quite decided yet.” He ignored Doc’s raised eyebrow. “If I decide to sell, I’ll let you know.”
The mayor seemed to take a moment to digest that then shrugged it off. “All right, let’s discuss your schedule.”
“My schedule?”
“Congressman Carey will be stopping by for a brief campaign visit next
week. The town leaders, including you now, will be meeting him at the station. I’m not sure of the date yet, but I think,” the mayor rubbed his chin, pondering, “yes, next month, the gents from the railroad are coming in. You’re to take them up to the Gilmer Crossroads, so they can see where that spur line is s’posed to go. And I know you have one eviction to perform as soon as possible. Oh, and a pie contest to judge.” The mayor finished with a cold smile, “Your calendar is filling up.”
Dent’s hand strangled the shot glass, and he stood slowly. Doc had remained standing and, when their eyes met, the physician wisely inched back a hair. Dent strode over and set his glass on the credenza and kept his back to the room. With every passing minute, he was loving Evergreen more and more. One of the last scoundrels to see his father alive was now the mayor of this worthless hole. What he thought about that and this new position’s duties couldn’t be spoken in polite company, and he needed a moment to rein in his mouth.
“Anything else, Mayor?”
“Dent?” Susan’s voice from the doorway brought him around. “Would you mind fetching Miss Tate? Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Gladly.” Tossing a scowl at Doc, he marched from the room, but didn’t miss the smile playing on Coker’s lips.
“Wagon’s out back, ready to go,” Doc called. Dent ignored him and stomped to the front door.
“Dent, wait, please,” Susan’s voice brought him up short and he turned to her. “Dent, I don’t know what’s got you so agitated, but would you please try to be more...civil to Miss Tate? I’m afraid your brusqueness could...upset her.”
All kinds of messages, maybe warnings, seemed to run wild on Susan’s round, chubby face, but he couldn’t read any of them. He reached behind her and lifted his hat from the wall hook. “She is kind of...fragile, isn’t she?”
He tried to piece it together: her concern that the town wasn’t as peaceful as someone had promised her, Doc’s veiled suggestion that folks in town didn’t know much about her. And he’d had the sense more than once that much of the dinner conversation at the Woodruffs’ had skated around something. Health problems, maybe? He’d been so absorbed with his own issues that he’d barely given the woman much thought...except for her perfume. Admittedly, it lingered some, especially when he hit the cot at the jail or on the long ride out to the ranch.
The Brides of Evergreen Box Set Page 5