Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe

by Louise M. Gouge

  The group dispersed to make further preparations. With the Suttons moved to Nolan Means’s house, Micah now had room for Nate and Rand to stay at the parsonage. Rather than sleep, Rand paced from room to room until his older brother talked him into getting some much-needed rest before their coming ordeal. In the morning, the two brothers and their men left town before the sun appeared over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

  In his sermon, Micah charged his congregation to cast every care on the Lord, because God cared for each and every one of them. He forced himself to speak at his customary pace even though he wanted to finish his message quickly and join the search for Marybeth. Seated several rows back with her parents and sister Georgia, Grace nervously tapped her foot and fidgeted. Micah wished he could console her, but he knew she was as desperate as he to rescue the young mother.

  After church, she rounded up a dozen men, all eager to help. To his surprise, and Grace’s, Dub Gleason insisted on participating.

  “I heard what you said yesterday, Reverend.” Dub hung his head. “I do want to do something for my town. Might was well start with this.”

  Grace watched Dub warily and then stared at Micah, one eyebrow raised.

  He shrugged. “Let him come. We need every man we can get. That is, unless you have any objections.”

  “Nope. I know he can ride and shoot. That’s what counts.”

  While Micah gathered his supplies for the search, Grace took the men to be deputized. By noon, they had divided into three groups to cover the western part of the county. With hard freezes every night and cold temperatures during the day, they would first look for threads of smoke in the sky to lead them to the outlaws’ lair. Tracking horse or human prints would be more difficult because the sun usually turned the snow to thin layers of slush, which refroze the next night.

  “I guess we’re stuck with you, Dub.” Grace had tried to get one of the other groups to take him, but none of them would.

  Micah could see the rejection cut into Dub like a knife. Maybe now he would understand how his own indolent actions had given him a bad name and would take a step toward growing up, finally.

  They searched their designated area for several hours, at one point meeting up with other searchers. Grace took advantage of the encounter to send one of the men to Del Norte to ask for Sheriff Hobart’s help. Before nightfall, a harsh snowfall not quite bad enough to be called a blizzard drove them back to town.

  Exhausted but determined, Micah, Grace and Dub set out early the next morning. They hadn’t ridden a mile from town when a high-pitched voice hailed them from behind.

  “Deputy! Reverend!” Everett Winsted waved a gloved hand in the air. As he rode near, Micah noticed his red, swollen face.

  “What are you doing out here?” Grace sounded more puzzled than angry. “Go on back to town, boy.”

  “I—I have to tell you something.”

  “Did somebody find Marybeth?” Micah kneed his horse over by the boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “No.” Everett swiped at tears freezing on his cheeks. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what?” Grace asked.

  “I—I know where the outlaws are.” His words came out on a sob.

  “What?” Micah, Grace and Dub said together.

  “What are you talking about?” Grace growled out the words. “How do you know that?”

  “B-because I’m the one who’s been helping them.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Reining in her anger as best she could, Grace studied the baby-faced boy and knew he was telling the truth. She traded a look with the Rev, but saw no smugness in his expression, only sorrow. That helped her to calm down a whole heap. So she’d been wrong about Adam. Well, when the time came, she’d be glad to offer an apology.

  “Why would you want to help those killers?”

  Everett sniffed and wiped his nose with his wool coat sleeve. “I didn’t plan it. They made me.”

  “How could they make you steal from your own grandma?” Grace glared at him with her severest deputy look.

  “I-it didn’t start out that way. I was exploring in those hills—” he pointed north of the road “—and they asked me to help them. Said they didn’t have any money and needed food.” He gulped back a sob. “I didn’t know who they were, and I thought it’d be charitable, like Reverend Thomas always talks about. So I brought ’em supplies and food. They said they needed guns to shoot game, so I got the guns. Then they wanted me to deliver the letters. When I found out what they said, I told ’em I didn’t want to do it anymore. They said they’d kill Grandma and burn down her store if I didn’t.” Now he sobbed in earnest. “I couldn’t let ’em hurt Grandma, could I?”

  “Why did you wait so long to tell us?” Grace asked.

  “I was scared.” From the way Everett shook in the saddle, he was still badly frightened. “But when they shot the sheriff and took Miss Marybeth, I prayed somebody would stop ’em. When you didn’t find them yesterday, I knew I had to...to confess.”

  Grace huffed out a cross breath. Those wretches had pulled the poor boy in like a man landing a prize trout. What had they planned to do with him after they finished their evil deeds? She didn’t even want to know.

  Her throat closed, and she swallowed hard and instinctively looked to the Rev for emotional support. In his remarkable gray eyes, she saw only compassion and sorrow.

  “Where are they, Everett?” It was Dub who managed to speak first. Grace had never heard the slightest kindness in his voice before, but he almost seemed to understand the boy’s dilemma, one foolish boy to another.

  “There’s an old ranch about three miles from here.” He pointed north again. “That’s where you’ll find them.”

  Again, Grace traded a look with the Rev.

  He nodded. “Probably the same place where we had our target practice. We should have thought of it before.” To the boy he said, “How many men are there, son?”

  “There were five, but two left. I never did see them. So just three.” Everett seemed to have his emotions under control now and appeared eager to help. “Mr. Hardison, Mr. Smith and Mr. Purvis, but I only ever talked with Hardison and Smith. I heard them say Purvis shot the sheriff for putting him in prison. They’ve got plenty of ammunition, so you probably need a whole bunch of men to get ’em.”

  “Well, then.” Grace gave him her best big-sister grin. “You go back to town and tell everybody we’ve found them and need help to take them down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Everett beamed a big smile and reined his horse around.

  “Everett.” The Rev held out a hand to stop him.

  “Yessir?”

  “You don’t have to tell them about your part in this. Just tell them we have the outlaws cornered and need all the help we can get.”

  Grace nodded her agreement. They could sort out the boy’s punishment when this was over. Right now, they had a young mother to save. If it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  Micah had a hard time not berating himself for failing to see Everett was the one helping the outlaws. It should have been obvious. But he’d been fooled by an innocent-looking face, an agreeable attitude and wide-open blue eyes. So much for his ability to discern a person’s character and motives. But all of his self-recrimination wouldn’t save Marybeth.

  “What now, Miss Eberly?” Dub asked. “Do we wait for the others?”

  She shot him a wary look, as if she didn’t trust him. No wonder. Micah also wondered if it was foolish to trust this young man. If he was part of Hardison’s gang, maybe he’d turn on them. Everett had said there’d been five. Could Dub be one of those who supposedly left? As always, Micah traded a look with Grace. In their silent communication, they agreed they couldn’t postpone helping Marybeth.

  “Let’s go.” She u
rged her horse forward.

  Micah caught Dub’s eye and tilted his head toward Grace. The young man didn’t hesitate to follow her, a good sign. If he planned to betray them, he’d want to be behind them both. Still, Micah would watch him.

  Yesterday’s snowfall covered the landscape with deep, powdery drifts, which posed a constant threat to both man and beast. They moved slowly, taking care with every step not to fall into a hidden gully or ravine. After attempting to take a shortcut over a group of hills, they had to backtrack and go around, breaking new paths through the snow as they traveled. After a short stop to eat sandwiches and drink cold coffee, they reached the outskirts of the abandoned farm by early afternoon.

  “They may have a lookout. Come with me.” Grace rode behind a mass of boulders and dismounted. Micah and Dub followed her. “We’ll leave our horses here.” She drew her rifle from the saddle holster and checked its chambers for bullets, then likewise checked her pistol.

  The sober, determined look on her face suddenly struck Micah as wrong. This beautiful young woman should be smiling. Enjoying life, ice-skating, going to parties, being courted by beaux. She shouldn’t be the main defense of a town the size of Esperanza. Some upstanding man should be taking care of her, someone like Justice Gareau, who clearly appreciated her finer qualities. But even that thought didn’t sit at all well with Micah. Instead, his heart ached over the way some people treated her. If she was injured—or worse—in this terrible situation, he would be as inconsolable as her family. He had to make certain she was safe, no matter what happened to him.

  * * *

  Before they could spread out, Dub whispered, “There.” He pointed to a man on a hill above the cabin and not a hundred yards away. He snorted out a laugh. “If that’s their watchman, they must want us to find them.”

  Grace studied the man, who crouched against a rock wall huddled under a blanket while the smoke from his cigarette quickly vanished in the wind. “You may be right. He should have seen us riding in.” She looked around. “We need to approach him carefully from different directions, so spread out. See what you can see. I’m going to put that varmint out of his misery.” She glanced around, trying to figure out the best way to get behind him.

  “Grace, wait.” The Rev grasped her arm, not something he’d ever done. The strength of his grip sent an oddly reassuring shiver up her arm. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the posse?”

  She stared at him briefly, then had to look away. She hadn’t seen fear in his eyes, only caution. But this was a time for action, not lollygagging. She shouldn’t have brought him. If something happened to him—

  “Rev, I can’t just stand by while they’ve got Marybeth in there.”

  “Then let me take care of the watchman.”

  “No, I will.”

  Dub blew out a loud breath. “Oh, for the love of—” he glanced at Grace “—grits.” He snatched his rifle from its sheath and the length of rope from the back of his saddle. “I’ll go.”

  “It’ll take more than one person.” The Rev followed Dub before Grace could stop him.

  Bother! Her posse had just rejected her authority. Now she had no choice but to follow after them. While she didn’t have time to ponder it now, she wondered why Dub had looked at her and then said grits instead of what most men who cursed around her said at the end of that sentence. Probably because he didn’t want to curse in front of the Rev. But then, wouldn’t he have looked at the Rev?

  They maneuvered through the snow and around and up the hill, making sure to stay downwind of the man. It was blowing pretty hard now, enough to cover most sounds up here. After they reached the other side of the rock wall, Grace and the Rev moved one way around it while Dub went the other. At Grace’s low whistle, Dub stepped around the rock into the outlaw’s view on one side, while Grace came up on his back.

  “What the—” The man stood and leveled his rifle on Dub.

  Grace slammed her rifle butt into the back of the man’s head. His hat flew in one direction and his rifle in the other. While Dub hog-tied him like a steer about to be branded and Grace stuck the man’s handkerchief in his mouth, the Rev snatched up the firearm.

  “Now what?” The eager gleam in his gray eyes dispelled Grace’s concerns about his suitability for the task ahead.

  She also appreciated his looking to her for direction this time. “We get this varmint down the hill and then see what we can do about the rest of ’em.”

  Among the three of them, they managed to carry the heavy man back to where they’d left their horses.

  “Dub, you stay here with this one. Keep an eye out for the posse so you can let them know where we are.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once again, Grace considered this sudden change in her former tormentor. When this was all over, she’d have to confront him to find out what had brought it about.

  Moving carefully from the cover of boulders to bushes to an old shed, she and the Rev approached the ramshackle cabin. Other than an occasional whicker or snort from horses in the barn, no sounds emanated from the area, at least none that could be heard over the wind. Above the cabin, which had seen some improvements since Grace and the Rev came here in October, a curl of smoke wafted from the chimney. At least Marybeth wouldn’t be freezing. If she was still alive.

  Grace motioned to the Rev that she would check the barn. Before she could touch the door, it slammed open, and Dathan Hardison emerged, a pearl-handled Colt .45 pointed straight at her midsection. Grace recognized the weapon. It was the one Everett had stolen from his grandma’s store and put into the hands of this killer. Grace might have to die, but she prayed the boy would truly understand the error of his ways before it was too late for him.

  “Well, well, what have we here? A freaky female deputy and a sissy parson.” Hardison wore a rough brown woolen coat and the tan Stetson stolen from the mercantile. His untrimmed brown hair and beard stuck out in all directions, a sad look for a man who’d always taken such pride in his appearance.

  “Afternoon, Hardison.” Grace grinned like they were meeting at a church social. “How’s that shooting arm of yours?” Marybeth had badly wounded his right arm, so it was a wonder that he now held the pistol steady in that same hand. If he still had any weakness, maybe she could get a shot off before he did.

  “Not as bad as you’d like. It’s been healing for three years, and I’ve been practicing these past two months. Getting pretty good, if I do say so myself. I’ll be happy to face any man who wants to draw on me.” He leveled his evil eyes on the Rev, and Grace prepared to jump in front of him. “Howdy, parson. In spite of your annoying preaching, I never did repent. But then, if you do-gooders didn’t have examples like me, how would you warn the young’uns to avoid a life of crime?”

  “Afternoon, Hardison.” The Rev tipped his hat with one hand and, still holding the watchman’s rifle in his other, shivered and tugged his coat close like he was cold. “I’m sorry to meet up with you again like this.”

  “Ha! Same to you.” Hardison snorted out a laugh. Then his passable features turned ugly and snake-like, revealing his true heart. “All right, girlie, parson, drop your guns and get inside, both of you.” His eyes wild, he waved the gun.

  Grace did as he said, setting down her rifle, unbuckling her belt and letting it slide to the ground. The Rev also set down the outlaw’s rifle, held up his hands and moved toward the cabin. Clever man. When he’d tipped his hat, he’d distracted Hardison’s attention from the handgun he’d concealed.

  Grace tried to think of a way to trip on the steps into the cabin. Such a distraction could throw Hardison off, and maybe the Rev could draw his gun. But where was Deke Smith? And would they shoot the Rev if she failed to subdue either one of them? Right now, she couldn’t be sure of anything.

  “Get in there,” Hardison barked.

  Grace opened
the door to a rush of warm air, the aroma of beef stew and the welcome sight of Marybeth Northam kneeling beside a man on a cot.

  * * *

  “Grace!” Marybeth painstakingly pulled herself to her feet and fell into Grace’s outstretched arms, weeping.

  Grace held on to her friend, smoothing her uncombed hair and whispering words of assurance. She sounded so wise, so strong, but Micah could see how her hands shook and her lips quivered. He felt pretty shaky himself.

  A low fire burned in the fieldstone fireplace, providing a surprising amount of heat to the room. Or perhaps just coming in from the cold made it seem warm to him.

  “What happened?” Grace addressed Marybeth as if Hardison weren’t even there, much less that he held a gun on her. She looked at Deke, who lay sweating and shaking on the cot, his eyes closed, and questioned Marybeth with a look.

  “I think he has cat scratch fever.” Marybeth cast a sympathetic glance in the small man’s direction. “When they came to the house, Fluffy bit his hand, and it’s swelled up terribly bad. From the red streaks around it, it looks infected. I think it’s blood poisoning.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “They killed my brother.” She buried her face in Grace’s shoulder.

  “No, they didn’t.” Grace glared briefly at Hardison. “Seamus is going to be all right.”

  Marybeth gasped and cried in earnest. “Oh, thank the Lord.”

  Hardison, who seemed to be enjoying the scene, scowled at the news that his victim hadn’t died. “I’ll have to finish that job after I take care of you fine folks.” He barked out a derisive laugh. “I suppose I should save the little mother until last. She’s been taking care of ol’ Deke, and I think she’s about to convert him. I guess when a man’s about to meet his maker, he repents. That’s my plan.”

  Micah felt sick to his stomach. Even the bitterest of his Virginia neighbors hadn’t been this cruel, this evil. Not asking permission from their captor, he knelt beside the cot and touched Deke’s forehead. The man was burning up with a fever and had thrown off his single wool blanket, one that looked suspiciously like those sold at Mrs. Winsted’s store.