The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Janis Jakes

  Several men roamed about, all moving with a purpose. One scurried to his office. Another walked past with a bob of his head and papers in his hand. It was business as usual, but Luke intended to interrupt their day.

  “Then tell me again,” Luke said.

  “All right.” The man eyed him with suspicion. “Want to step into my office?”

  Luke followed, taking a seat on the other side of a table that Theo used for a desk.

  “I had the report out this morning,” Theo began, scratching his head. “Re-reading the documents and checking with the sheriff to see if anyone had found our outlaw. This is a major case for Littleton and Clark, you know.” He peered at Luke with a stern set to his jaw. “My reputation is at stake.”

  A tightness pressed Luke’s lips together. “Read me the description of the criminal. Please.”

  Theo blinked. “Why?”

  His jaw clenched as frustration rose. “You hired me to do a job, didn’t you?” When Theo only stared, Luke added, “I want to hear the description again.”

  He shrugged. “Very well. Not sure where you’re going with this, but—“ He drew the file from the corner of his desk, opened it and read with slow, meticulous care. “Billie Batson. Slight of build. Strawberry-blond hair. Blue eyes. Wanted dead or alive for murder of a bank employee and theft of gold. Armed and dangerous.” He handed the report to Luke. “Want to take a look yourself?”

  Luke scanned the page. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  Theo shuffled through several papers before reading once again. “Says here that he killed a clerk he befriended at a local bank, making off with a chest containing ten thousand dollars of gold bullion belonging to miners.”

  Luke leaned back. “I don’t believe it.”

  Theo blinked, the papers slipping from his fingers onto the desk. “You don’t believe what?”

  “Any of it. Who gave the report?”

  “The report came from the insurance company that hired us to recover the money, but—” Theo looked down at the paper, one brow dipping downward as the other rose. “It’s signed by a Sheriff August McGregor.”

  “No mention of a man named Clovis Caldwell?”

  Theo scanned the paper again. “No.” Impatience clipped his words. “Make your point, Lancaster. I don’t have all day to play guessing games. What’s going on, and what is it you don’t believe?”

  Luke leaned in, laying his forearm across the man’s desk. “Billie Jo Batson is a woman. Your information is purposely misleading.”

  Surprise slapped across Theo’s features like a splash of cold water. Complete silence enveloped the gulf between them for several seconds before he finally spoke. “A woman?”

  “Ask yourself a question,” Luke said. “How could one woman make off with a chest that a full-grown, muscled man would break a sweat trying to lift?”

  With a flip of his wrist, Theo closed the file. “Woman or man, it doesn’t matter. Bring the criminal in alive if you want. He or she will get their day in court.” Theo leaned back, propping his foot up on his knee. “But first, I want to know exactly how you found out our outlaw was a woman?”

  Luke didn’t intend to give any ground. At this point, he wasn’t sure who he could trust—and that included Theo. “I have informants.”

  “Informants lie, make mistakes, send you on wild chases.”

  “Not this one. It’s true. Truer than that file you’ve got on your desk.”

  Theo’s hard stare met Luke’s unrelenting glare. “Find the outlaw. That’s what we hired you to do. I don’t want to hear your opinion. I want you to do your job.”

  Luke lifted slightly off the seat, hesitating when he saw Theo’s face go pale. It took every ounce of willpower he could muster to keep from reaching across the desk and grabbing the man by the throat. Thoughts zipped through his mind in mere seconds. He wanted to tell Theo to find himself another bounty hunter, but that would mean they’d send someone else to go after Billie—maybe someone without a conscience. He wasn’t sure why that mattered to him, but it did, and especially now that he’d hid her at his sister’s house. “I’ll do my job,” he said between clenched teeth. “How about you do yours?”

  A hint of color returned to Theo’s face. “There’s no reason for you to get so riled. We’re both on the same side.”

  “Are we?” Luke sat back down.

  “What are you implying?” Theo asked, his stare darkening.

  “You find out what happened in the back room of that bank,” Luke said. “Who witnessed the killing? Why the sheriff wants to keep that the criminal’s a woman a secret? You might not think any of that matters, but if I capture the wrong person, and it’s a woman—you’ll be the laughingstock of the agency for decades to come.”

  The last sentence hit home. Theo stared without blinking. The man’s mind had to be buzzing like a hornet’s nest.

  Luke stood up. “I’ll be back in a few days. Tell me what you find out. I’m going to Justice City to visit Sheriff McGregor.”

  The second he stepped outside the door, Laurence Magellan greeted him with a pointed nose, beady black eyes, and almost nonexistent lips. The man looked like a possum, except he used his pen and the press to bite instead of sharp teeth.

  “So, I see you’ve come home empty-handed,” Laurence said. “That won’t be much of a story.”

  Luke shook his head. “I don’t have time for your jabs today, Laurence. Unlike you, I’ve got a real job.”

  “Publishing a newspaper and exposing the cruelty of mankind is my job.”

  “So you’ve said.” Luke moved toward his horse, unwrapping the reins from the hitching post. “You forgot making up lies to support your point of view.”

  Laurence lifted his nose. “I do no such thing.”

  Luke grabbed the saddle horn, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and pulled up into the creaking leather saddle. “What do you want?”

  “I heard a rumor I thought might interest you.”

  Luke paused. Was he being baited? It was hard to tell. Since he’d fallen for Laurence’s trickery before, he’d wait for more.

  “I hear that someone by the name of Clovis Caldwell is sending a posse out to meet you. He seems to think you’re conspiring with another someone who took gold that belongs to his bank.”

  Luke tried to keep his fingers from twitching as blood rushed through his extremities. He had not expected to hear the name Clovis Caldwell from Laurence’s lips. Was Caldwell trying to do to him what he intended to do to McGregor—come at him with a quick right punch that left him confused and scrambling? If so, he’d have to do better than that. This wasn’t his first time to encounter double-crossing liars. “Who gave you that bit of news?”

  Laurence glanced about, obviously checking for anyone within hearing distance. “I can’t say where I got the message, but lawmen talk. Our newest sheriff has a dubious background. I think he may be friends with Sheriff McGregor, who is an associate of Clovis Caldwell. At least that’s the rumor I hear.”

  A faint breeze sifted down the dusty streets, stirring up sand and grit before calming down.

  Several people strolled about with little concern for their conversation. A man and a woman walked along the wooden planks, entering the General Store along with three small children. Another man wobbled from the saloon doors and out onto the street. An older gentleman with a slight bend to his gait moved toward the bank.

  Nothing unusual, but at the same time, something felt eerily wrong.

  Luke searched the street and the tops of the buildings. Nothing. His danger sense prickled. “You seem to know quite a bit,” Luke finally said. “But do you know the truth?”

  Laurence shrugged. “The truth has a way of coming out in the end.”

  “I thought you wanted me dead,” Luke said. “Why would you warn me?”

  “Who said I wanted you dead?” A look of offense crossed Laurence’s thin, angular face. “I only want you to find a new way of making a living. Bringing in criminals,
many of whom are forced into crime by life circumstances, is beneath you.”

  “What’s your solution? Let them run rampant? Steal and kill at their leisure with no consequences?”

  “No. But at least find out why the poor souls chose a life of crime. Bringing someone in dead doesn’t allow for rehabilitation.”

  “I never killed anyone, and you know it.”

  “But one day you will, and then what?”

  “Look, we have opposing viewpoints, Laurence, but right now, I’ve got more on my mind than a debate with you. If I understand you right, this Caldwell person wants me dead. Probably because he thinks I know the truth.” Luke’s annoyance with Billie resurfaced. Why hadn’t she told him everything? Now he was at a disadvantage—not knowing everything but people willing to kill him because they suspected differently.

  “What truth?” Laurence asked.

  Luke resisted the urge to grin. He could almost see Laurence salivate. No way would he tell a newspaper publisher anything. Not yet, anyway. “Thanks for the warning.” Luke gave his horse a slight flick of the reins and the animal moved away.

  “I don’t want to write your obituary, Luke,” Laurence called out. “At least, not yet.”

  “You won’t,” he answered, hoping it sounded confident.

  How had everything fallen apart so quickly? Once again, he found himself mixed up in something that had nothing to do with him. Now he was in jeopardy, right along with Billie. He needed to find Sheriff McGregor. He only hoped he made it to the man alive.

  6

  Billie ran her hand over the blue cotton fabric of the dress, delighting in the smoothness that caressed her skin. It felt good to wear clean, feminine clothes again. The bath had been a blessing from above. Her skin and scalp still tingled from the hard scrubbing, reminding her of the pleasure long after it ended. Slender fingers reached up, tracing the white lace collar that accented the V-shaped neckline. “Thank you, Abigail. I feel human again.”

  “The dress fits you well. Much better than it ever fit me. It belonged to my mother, and even though she’s gone to be with the Lord, I couldn’t do away with it. It was her Sunday dress and always made me think of the bluebonnets that covered the hillside in the spring as we traveled to and from church. It’s yours now.”

  “Oh, thank you. Are you sure?” At Abigail’s nod, Billie smiled. “I’ll take good care of it.” Now she would not be embarrassed as she made her way to the relatives in Arkansas. Perhaps she could sidestep Caldwell’s men. They weren’t expecting her to look like a lady. If only she could do something about her hair. It stood out like a shiny copper penny in the bright Texas sun.

  Henry, Jr., slept soundly in his mother’s arms. Abigail looked unusually tired and pale. Bluish circles formed half-moons under her eyes. Cheekbones protruded above sunken flesh.

  “Would you like me to hold Henry for you?” Billie offered.

  “He’s almost asleep,” Abigail said. “I’ll rock him a few more minutes then put him in his cradle.” A few more minutes turned into almost half an hour. Abigail placed him in his bed, tucking the covers around his tiny shoulders. She gave him a gentle pat, a smile lifting her lips. “He’s better now. Just as I prayed.”

  “Yes, but you look worn out. Why don’t you rest, and I’ll make us supper?”

  “I like that idea.” Abigail stood in the doorway to her bedroom, her hand upon the frame. “I need a short nap.” She went into the room and fell across the mattress with a muted thud.

  Billie laid her palm across Abigail’s forehead. “You’re hot as a branding iron.”

  Abigail buried her face deeper into a pillow and then curled into a ball.

  Now what?

  Billie didn’t know much about taking care of sick people. She decided to fix Abigail some chicken broth, slice an apple, cook up a few vegetables, put a damp rag on her forehead, and pray. That was the extent of her doctor training.

  And what about Henry Jr.? Billie couldn’t nurse him, and a sick woman couldn’t nurse him either. Maybe there was a wet nurse nearby. She’d take him there if she knew which direction to go. Abigail could tell her after she woke.

  When Henry, Jr. began to whimper a couple of hours later, Abigail didn’t flinch a single muscle.

  Billie changed his flannel diaper then moved to the rocking chair. Within a few minutes, he was back asleep—delicate breaths sifted between petal-pink lips and puffy cheeks. Wisps of hair moved about his small head along with every rocking motion. A faint smile flitted across his lips, causing her heart to swell.

  The sound of shuffling feet drew her gaze to the bedroom doorway.

  Abigail stood, propped against the frame but looking as if she might fall over any second.

  “For goodness sake, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

  “You sound like me.” Abigail lowered onto the mattress. “I’m sick, Billie.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “There’s nothing you can do for me, but little Henry—” Her hand fell across her forehead. “There’s a widow who lives west of here, about an hour or so down the road. She has a goat. Take him there. She’ll feed him. She helped me with my first little one.”

  “Your first little one?” Confusion caused Billie to stop rocking. There’d been no mention of another baby.

  “A girl. My milk didn’t come in good that time, but the widow—she knows how to keep everything clean, so the babies don’t get sick. Take Henry to her. Her house is the first one you’ll come to, but you’ve got to keep your eyes open. The hills almost hide it.” Abigail slumped down.

  “Where is the little girl?”

  “She died of pneumonia in the first winter,” Abigail whispered in a groggy voice.

  Billie couldn’t let anything happen to Henry, Jr. Abigail had already buried one child. She couldn’t bury another. That was too much for a momma’s heart to bear. “What about you?” Billie asked.

  “As long as I know Henry is OK, I’ll be OK.” She rolled onto her side. “The widow will want something for the milk. Take her some of my prickly pear honey. It’s in a flask on the cabinet shelf.”

  Billie scurried about the cabin to make Abigail as comfortable as possible before she left. She heated the chicken broth then poured it in a bowl, placing it beside the bed with a spoon. Fresh, cool water was drawn from the well, and Billie set the bucket within easy reach. Last of all, she wet a cloth and placed it across Abigail’s forehead. “Don’t move while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon.”

  Dear Lord, don’t let anything happen to this woman. I can’t take care of a baby. Not now.

  Billie got in the saddle with Henry, Jr. and guided the horse down the road in a slow sway. The babe seemed to enjoy the rocking motion and slept soundly until a few minutes before she drew close to the widow’s house. He wiggled and whimpered as the horse came to a halt.

  The house was built into a clump of mesquite trees, positioned back against a large rock partition and easily unnoticed if not for someone looking.

  The widow walked out onto the porch almost as if expecting her arrival. She was a beautiful Hispanic woman with creamy brown skin wrinkled from hours in the sun. Her black hair was streaked with strands of silver. White teeth shone against her skin when she smiled. “You brought Henry, Jr., to see me. I wondered if anyone would visit. Who might you be?”

  “A friend of the family. I’m Billie. Abigail sent me here to have you feed the little man.”

  “Is she having trouble with her milk again?”

  “Not this time. She’s got a fever and can’t nurse him.”

  The baby’s whimpering suddenly turned into a squall that pierced the skies.

  The widow hurried over, taking him from Billie.

  Relief washed over Billie, and she smiled her thanks as she slid from the horse and followed the widow inside.

  Within minutes, the widow had a nursing cup filled with goat’s milk. Between heaving shoulders and wet cheeks, Henry, Jr. slurped and sucked as if he’
d never tasted anything so good. When he’d had his fill, the widow placed him on her shoulder and began to pat until he wiggled, stiffened, and let out a loud burp.

  “Now your tummy will feel good, won’t it,” the widow whispered to the babe before turning back to Billie. “I can give you enough milk to last the day, but you’ll need to come back tomorrow for more. Babies require fresh milk every day. Clabbered milk can hurt their insides, especially one trying to gain strength.”

  After a few more questions about Abigail’s sickness, the widow drew a piece of tree bark from her cupboard. She wrapped it in a cloth and handed it to Billie. “This is black willow bark. I managed to barter with an Indian woman passing through the woods for a few pieces, but this is all that’s left. Boil the wood then strain it into tea. It will reduce fever and make her more comfortable. There are several doses, so don’t use it all at once. Tell her not to breastfeed for at least two days after she is well.”

  With the bark safely tucked away and the widow’s instructions memorized, Billie headed back to check on Abigail. Henry, Jr. fell asleep once more, resting on her shoulder as she guided the horse with one hand back toward his home.

  Funny how she’d thought she would already be on her way to Arkansas, yet here she was—caring for a woman who was supposed to care for her. Not that she minded. She was thankful to repay at least a portion of Abigail’s kindness. She only hoped it was enough.

  The sun shone high in the sky, blazing across Billie’s alabaster skin. She was bound to freckle, something her mother always encouraged her to avoid. Most of the time, she gave little heed to such thoughts, finding freckles perfectly fine, even interesting.

  Besides, she was too proud to worry about such trivial matters. Not that she’d done anything great, except guide the horse, but she’d managed to get Henry Jr. fed and medicine for Abigail, all within a few hours.

  As she rounded the last bend before the cabin, a gasp erupted from her lips. She jerked the reins, causing her horse to dig its hooves into the dirt.

  Abigail stood on the porch. Several men sat on horses, positioned in a semi-circle. Abigail was talking to them.