“Well, he has a reputation with women, I hear. Those pearly white teeth of his and that big mansion—”
“I am not a…a prostitute, Sheriff Hernandez.”
She did see the whites of his eyes then, as they nearly bugged out of his head and he snatched his hat off his head. “Miss Tate, I deeply regret that you think that I was insinuating anything like that. I would never ...”
Stomping her foot, Amy growled at the man and charged off into the darkness. “You are your own comedy of errors, Sheriff.”
Dent stood there for a moment, staring up at the starry sky. Rolling his hat around in his hands, he wished the early October breeze would blow away his embarrassment. He caught a whiff of her magical perfume and hung his head. He didn’t figure a thing he could say was going to fix this blunder, but he couldn’t call himself any kind of a man if he didn’t at least offer a full-throated apology.
He rushed to catch up with her, and matched her gait. “Miss Tate, I am not the most eloquent man. You could argue I’m about as gifted at talking to a woman as a chicken is to flying, but,” he raised his voice and spoke firmly, “I did not mean to imply anything untoward about your character or reputation. I am truly sorry for the offense I’ve caused.”
Dent stopped. Miss Tate took several more steps before she finally slowed down then stopped as well. Slowly, she turned back to him. She cocked her head to one side and he heard her huff a frustrated breath. He drummed his fingers on his leg, sure she was waiting for him to say more. Fine. Eat a little crow. He’d insulted the woman; pretty badly, actually.
“If you are not interested in the mayor’s company, Miss Tate, it would be my pleasure to walk you home.” Her continued stubborn silence both annoyed and worried him. “It’s no burden. You are no burden.” Oh, hang it all, he thought. She was a woman, and she needed some pretty words to soothe that ego. “Miss Tate, would you...accept my apology over dinner one night? I mean, would you allow me to escort you to a real restaurant?” His mouth nearly fell open at the request. It had leaped forth from his mouth almost as if, somehow, his brain had bypassed his will.
But her shoulders softened and the rod went out of her back. Feeling it was safe to approach her, he ambled closer, close enough to see the slight smile on her face as she asked, “A real restaurant?”
Dent’s relief at the truce surprised him. Unable to back out, wondering if he would even if he could, he shrugged a shoulder. “Yes ma’am. Milly’s. Maybe tomorrow ni—” He shook his head. Cheyenne. “I’m sorry, maybe Saturday? I’ve got to go to Cheyenne for a couple of days.”
“Cheyenne again?” she touched her lips, “Oh, that is none of my business.”
“Just some legal work.” He shook his head, disinclined to mention the reason for his presence at another hanging. “But I should be back late Thursday night. Would Friday evening be agreeable?”
For a moment, he thought she might say no. “Yes, Sheriff, that would be agreeable.”
They both started walking again. “You could call me ‘Dent’, if you wanted to.” He realized he was twirling his hat around like a fidgety twelve-year-old and dropped it on his head. He frowned at his awkward conversation. Why couldn’t he talk to Miss Tate the way he talked to Maddie, over in Lander? Like he didn’t ...
Care.
“You could call me ‘Amy’, if you like.” Her voice trembled a little at the end, as if she was nervous.
He rolled the name around again in his head. Amy. But something told him if he said it back to her, he’d be crossing a line into unexplored country. Before he could decide, the clip-clop of hooves intruded. He squinted down the street at the approaching rider. In the dark, he couldn’t be sure ...
“Dent?” a woman’s voice called.
Susan? “Susan, what is it?”
The woman kicked her horse and covered the last several yards between them at a canter. “It’s Israel.” She reined up. “Tom beat the hound out of him. Doc’s tending to him. He said he thought you’d want to know.”
Miss Tate clutched her throat. “Is Israel all right?”
“He got away before Tom could kill him, but he’s in rough shape.”
Dent spun on his horse, clutched the saddle horn, and swung up, his gaze locked on Susan. “Where’s the Packett place?”
“Eddie Stewart’s old homestead.”
He shifted his attention to Amy. “You go on with Susan. I’m gonna pay Tom Packett a visit.”
18
Dent raced across town and out to the fringes. A full moon lit his way, the frost sparkling like scattered diamonds on the undulating hills and eerie rock formations. The cold air stung his face, threatening to numb his hands. He flexed his fingers on the reins and spurred Ginger for a little more speed.
Dent felt bad for Israel, but he couldn’t deny the anticipation quickening his heart. Finally, a little trouble in this podunk town. He would enjoy a friendly visit with a man who beat children. Maybe, if he was lucky, Tom Packett would do something stupid.
A light glowed in the distance, and Dent took the next road on his right, slowing Ginger down gradually. He crested the hill and peered down on a one-room cabin, light coming from the front window. Dent pulled the horse to a stop and surveyed the homestead bathed in silvery moonlight. Fences sat in disarray, posts and rails leaning in all directions. The door to the barn hung askew. The porch on the house sagged. Weeds grew around the house, in the garden, and choked a dilapidated chicken coop.
He eased Ginger up to the front of the house, listening for a moment. Silence. “Hello in the house!” Not getting an immediate response, he tried again. “Hello in the house! This is Sheriff Hernandez! If you’re in there, Tom Packett, you’d best answer me!”
After a moment, a scuffling sound reached him, then he heard the latch on the door, and a man stepped out on to the porch. Though silhouetted in the weak light, Dent had no trouble making out the shotgun draped in his arms.
“Somethin’ I can do for you, Sheriff Hernandez?”
Dent had heard that tone of voice a million times. Arrogant, contemptuous. A man who hated the law, despised authority.
Dent’s favorite kind of outlaw.
He almost grinned. “Your son is at Doc Woodruff’s, getting patched up. He pulls through, I’m gonna convince him to press charges against you for assault and battery.”
Packett snorted. “Lawdogs. You’re all the same. Think everything is your business.”
“When a citizen of Evergreen gets attacked, beat to within an inch of his life, you can bet I will make that my business, yes, sir.”
“He’s my son. You can’t come on my property and tell me how to raise him.”
Dent raised his finger. “It just so happens I have an eviction notice on my desk.” He grinned at the cheer in his own voice. “I have been dragging my feet about serving it.” He leaned forward, the leather of the saddle squeaking its protest. “I will be back tomorrow with the notice, at which time, I will escort you off these lovely premises.”
“There’s only one way you’ll take me outta here, lawdog.”
Dent chuckled, a cold, deadly sound. “Promise?”
A dying outlaw had once told Dent I heard the sound of death in your voice. I knew I should have run. Packett should run. Some of the man’s bravado seemed to seep away, as if he were contemplating that very idea. The shotgun lowered a bit, his shoulders drooping a smidgen.
“You the Hernandez that used to be a U.S. Marshal?”
Dent smiled at the fear he heard. “Still am.” Most outlaws, given their choice, did not want to face him. He had earned his reputation for just as willingly bringing in a man dead as alive. Outlaws knew the possible outcome if they wanted to tangle with him. “Expect me around seven in the morning.”
He backed Ginger up a good twenty yards before he swung her around and headed back up the hill. On the ridge, he stole a quick glance back. The man still stood in the doorway, as if frozen to the spot.
Apparently he thawed.
When Dent stopped by the next morning, Tom Packett was gone.
Amy peeked through the examination room’s door. Israel lay on the bed, sleeping soundly. She was relieved to see that the swelling had already started going down in his lip, but it was still a terrible shade of purple and twice its normal size. His nose, puffy and sporting a nice cut on the bridge, at least wasn’t crooked. Last night, his appearance had ripped a sob from her; his blood had been everywhere.
Now, in the light of day and cleaned up, Israel had fared much better than she at first thought.
“He’ll be up and around in a day or two,” Doc whispered from behind her. “No broken ribs, no internal bleeding, his nose isn’t even broken. Guess his pa was too drunk to hit him very hard.”
With that, Doc drifted away, and Amy sighed. She so wanted to help Israel, but couldn’t do anything at the moment. Well, she could keep him company, perhaps, be there when he woke up. Clutching a batch of spelling tests, she slipped into the boy’s room and settled in the chair next to his bed. Quietly, she began grading the quizzes.
Her mind kept wandering, though. Dent had come by the doctor’s office last night to let them know he would attempt to evict Packett, but he never answered the question of where Israel might wind up. Without a home, what was the boy supposed to do, where was he supposed to live?
Concerned for him, she reached out and gently pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Good. No fever. He woke at her touch, and she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He regarded the spelling tests in her lap and raised an eyebrow. “You come to tutor me some more?” he asked weakly, a half-smile moving his swollen lip.
“Well,” she tapped on the papers, embarrassed she’d been so zealous. “I do have the reader with me, if you’re up to it.”
Israel closed his eyes. “Maybe, in a bit. I’m doin’ good, ain’t I? I mean, aren’t I?”
Amy bit her lip and blinked back tears. “Yes, Israel, you are doing very well. You sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Again, his lips moved a little, indicating a smile. “Good.”
She watched him for a moment, charmed by his soft, smooth cheeks. He had a handsome face that was beginning to sharpen with adulthood. Israel Packet was becoming a man, and a man should know how to read so he could make his way in the world. Amy promised she would do her best to give him that chance. A chance to excel, a chance to succeed...a chance to get away from his black-hearted father.
She moved to the next test to grade. Israel’s. His first since they’d started their lessons together. Her heart beating a little faster, she graded it and, with each correct answer, her pulse raced even faster. He’d gotten all twenty words right! She checked the extra credit word, and let a happy tear slide down her cheek. Israel Packett had spelled elocution correctly.
God, help me to truly make a difference in this boy’s life. He’s already made a difference in mine.
The perfect spelling grade on Israel’s test had lit a fire in the boy, and Amy rejoiced for him. His new-found confidence was reflected in his reading skills. To help him pass the time at Doc’s she’d spent three whole afternoons with him, rather than the mere hour of tutoring. Five minutes here at his bedside today, listening to him read from his primer, she knew he was ready for a more difficult book.
“Oh, I am so pleased at your progress, Israel. Another month or so, and you’ll be reading at grade-level, I’m sure of it.”
His chest puffed up and pride lifted his countenance. “You really think so, Miss Tate?”
“Oh, I know so.” Now, if she only knew where the boy was going to wind up staying. The front door opened and she heard the shuffle of boots. She rose to her feet. “Let me see who that is. Doc’s on a call.”
She reached for the door, but it burst open. Amy squeaked and stepped back.
A tall man, dirty hair hanging in greasy strings, and hate burning in his dark eyes, loomed over the room. “Get dressed, boy. We’re going home.”
Amy watched helplessly as Israel obediently tossed the covers back. She couldn’t let him go, but her heart caught in her throat, and her pulse hammered wildly. Israel reached for his breeches draped across the foot of the bed.
No, no, no. Amy found her voice and her courage. “Mr. Packett, I presume? Doc hasn’t released Israel. You can’t take him with you yet. He’s still recovering from—” you, she almost said, but caught herself. “From the accident. And I thought you’d been evicted. Where will you take him?”
Packett straightened up, bushy eyebrows rising. “You the boy’s teacher?”
“Yes sir, and he’s doing quite well. I’m really very pleas—”
“So how come you to know about the sheriff threatening to evict me?”
“Uh...uh,” for a moment, her words tripped over her tongue, a creeping fear trying to steal her wits. She had to stay calm and polite, though the man terrified her. “The sheriff stopped by the night we brought Israel in and said he was going to evict you. We’ve been searching for a place for Israel to stay.”
“Well, he don’t need it now. My mortgage is paid in full, and there ain’t a dang thing the sheriff or anybody else can do about it. Hurry up and get your pants on, Israel.”
“Where’d you get the money for that, Pa?” Israel sounded stunned.
Packett’s face reddened and his jaw clenched. “I don’t reckon that’s yours or anybody else’s business.”
Despairing, Amy silently implored Israel. The boy nodded calmly as he slipped his pants on over his long johns. “It’s all right, Miss Tate. I was ready to get out of that bed anyway.”
Oh, where is Dent? she wondered miserably. He could stop this and keep Israel here and safe. She wiped a sweaty palm on her dress and squeezed Israel’s shoulder. “All right then. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”
19
Maddie brought Dent a whiskey and sat down across the table from him. She was a pretty woman, with golden hair piled high in a messy, casual sort of way. She ran this saloon and the boardinghouse next door, both of which produced a decent profit, though The Lost Souls was empty at the moment. She had told him often she was waiting for him to ask her to run away with him, promising they would go in style because of all the money she’d saved.
Frowning, he tapped his index finger on the shot glass. Problem was, now he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, if he wanted to go anywhere at all. He just had this itchy feeling he didn’t want to be here. Then where – ?
“Hanging go all right today?” Maddie asked.
“Uhmm.”
He heard her sigh and forced his attention back to her. “What?”
“How many years have you been coming to see me, Dent?”
He shrugged, wondering what that had to do with anything. “I dunno. A few anyway.”
“Four. Four years you’ve been riding through here when the whim hit, or when you needed healing from a hanging. Today is the first time I’m not sure you’re here because you love me.”
The word touched a nerve, accusing him of promises that had never passed his lips. “I’ve never said I love you.”
“You never said you didn’t. And you’ve let me talk and talk about all the places we can go when I sell out. I can afford to start us over together anywhere in the world.” She leaned back in her chair, her shoulders sagging. “Whenever you’d come here, I’d feel at least...affection.” Her voice softened. “But not now. Why?”
A simple enough question...one he couldn’t answer. And why the devil did Amy Tate’s face with her silly, silver spectacles rise up in his mind?
Maddie reached over and grabbed Dent’s empty glass, poured herself a shot, and tossed it back. Eyes shut for a moment, she bore the burn, then smiled sadly at him. “I guess I knew all along you were just using me.”
“I sort of thought we were using each other.”
Her face went slack, but then quickly contorted into a flinty expression, one that said she’d like to
cut out his heart.
“To be honest, Maddie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He tapped his fingers for a minute on the green felt then grabbed his hat. “But I’m gonna be riding on.” He didn’t say it harshly. “I’m not much for company tonight.”
She rose with him and rapped her knuckles twice on the table. “You just came by to cut the ties. I guess that’s better than leaving me wonderin’. Thank you.”
Dent heard the unspoken good-bye, and he agreed. He hadn’t consciously planned this, but he knew he wouldn’t be back. He supposed he could wonder about deeper meanings here, the reason for this farewell, and where his feet wanted to lead him, but he preferred not to think about anything at all.
By Friday morning, Amy was full of butterflies. She was eager to see Israel and let him read aloud in class. She couldn’t deny, though, that some of those butterflies were all aflutter over dinner with a handsome sheriff.
She set her pencil down on her planning book and rose to stoke the fire. The classroom was fighting to hang on to the October morning’s chill. At least none of the students had arrived yet. She felt it was her duty to have the room warm, tidy, and inviting, to show them she cared.
Shortly, the class filled up with her children, and the morning progressed. As the hours passed, though, her heart grew heavier with worry. Israel wasn’t merely tardy, he wasn’t coming at all. Oh, that father of his. She wanted to strangle the man. By the end of the day, she’d determined to visit the Packetts’ place. If Susan wouldn’t take her, she’d walk. The idea made her mouth go dry.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and of a sound mind.
Oh, Father, I’ve got to claim that. I’ve got to believe that...I’ve got to trust You that I will be all right. There is not danger behind every tree and bush. And I have to make sure Israel is all right.
The Brides of Evergreen Box Set Page 9