The longer Gabby stared at the man’s face, the less offensive it became. In fact, she began to find it attractive—despite the grime and the beard stubble. It had a mustache, a good, strong chin and a mouth that even in repose said “I get my way.” Gabby figured he probably, wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone. Not even Hannah, who Gabby knew liked to give men crap.
“Maybe we should call 911,” Jeremy suggested, but Gabby quickly dismissed the idea. She didn’t need anyone in town finding out what she had done. She hadn’t even told Hannah, who would raise a holy fit if the residents of Stanleyville knew about the plan before she did.
“We should get him some water,” Gabby said anxiously. “If he’s been walking in the sun, he’s probably suffering from heat exhaustion.”
“I think he was hit by lightning,” Jeremy contended.
Gabby shook her head. “Uh-uh. Look at his clothes. If he had been caught in the storm they’d be all wet.”
“Not if he stood under a tree.” Jeremy lowered his voice as he said, “He’s got marks on his throat.”
It was then that Gabby saw the deep red bruise ringing his neck. Could Jeremy be right? “Run back to the house and get some water,” she ordered the boy.
While he was gone, Gabby was careful not to get too close to the man. Even if he was Alfred Dumler, a man whose references she had checked carefully, she knew it would be wise to keep a safe distance. After all, she was alone.
She grimaced as she thought of what Hannah would say if she were to see him now. It was going to be hard enough to convince her she needed a groom, but this one? Gabby shuddered. What on earth could have happened to Mr. Dumler?
It was with a sigh of relief that she watched Jeremy come riding toward her on his bike, Outlaw at his side.
“Here. I put ice in it.” He handed Gabby a red plastic water bottle with a built-in straw.
Gabby pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and bent down over the man. She poured a little water onto the handkerchief and dabbed gently at his sunburned face. Next, she drizzled water across his cracked lips. “Jeremy, boy, I think he’s coming to.”
WOOD OPENED HIS EYES expecting to find a mob of angry men swarming him. Instead, an elderly woman and a young boy stood over him, looking at him with the same strange curiosity he knew must be on his face.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You fainted,” the old woman answered. “Too much sun, I guess.”
Behind the wire-framed glasses, blue eyes revealed a gentle spirit. Was she the one who had saved him from the lynch mob? Her voice sounded familiar, similar to the old woman who had ministered to him just before he had hung, yet she was obviously not the crone. Still, when she brushed gnarled fingers over his brow, he had the sensation that she had done so before.
He raised himself on his elbows and tried to survey the land around him, but a sharp pain in his neck had him squeezing his eyes shut. Carefully, he turned, looking for any signs of rifle-toting men on horseback, but he saw none. Only fields of tall corn...and these two oddly dressed people.
“Did you save my life?” he asked, wincing. His throat felt as if he had swallowed a torch.
The old woman and the young boy exchanged glances. “Jeremy found you in the Nelson forty. We thought maybe you had heatstroke...you know, from walking with your suitcase and all. By the way, where is your suitcase?”
Heatstroke? Suitcase? Why would he have been walking when he had a horse? Didn’t she realize that her neighbors had tried to hang him?
“You look confused. Don’t worry. That’s what too much sun does to a person.”
“It’s hot,” Wood rasped.
She chuckled. “No one expects Minnesota to be this hot in September. I remember back in 1940 when it hit ninetytwo degrees on the fourteenth of September. It was my cousin Eileen’s wedding.” She shook her head wistfully. “She chose September thinking it would be cool.”
Had she said 1940? He frowned. She must have said 1840, which would mean her family had been among the original settlers in this area.
Again he surveyed his surroundings. What had happened to the Nelson Homestead? The log house where he had stayed, the corral where they kept their horses, the open prairie for grazing? They were nowhere in sight.
His hands weren’t tied, and there was no rope around his neck. Wood thought the horse had slipped out from beneath him and that he had tumbled to the ground. Maybe he hadn’t fallen to the ground but ridden away on the horse. Yet how could that have happened unless someone had slipped the noose from his neck and untied his hands?
“Did you get hit by lightning?” the boy asked.
Wood wondered if that’s what had happened to him. Could it be that a bolt of lightning had saved his life? The last thing he could recall was a bright flash of light.
“I reckon I might have been,” Wood answered cautiously. “The truth is, I can’t remember.”
“You are Alfred Dumler, aren’t you?” the gray-haired woman asked.
Wood wanted to tell them that his name was James Woodson Harris, but thought better of it. He wasn’t sure who these people were, but it would do him no good to reveal his name—especially not if he was still wanted for murder. They obviously knew the Nelsons—she said they had found him in the Nelson forty. What “the forty” was he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to inquire, either. It was because of George Nelson that he had nearly been hanged.
The thought of how close he had come to death caused him to shudder. No, he couldn’t let anyone know that he was Wood Harris, the man falsely accused of killing this old woman’s neighbors. Before he could answer her question, she shot him another one.
“Maybe you should tell us why you’re in our cornfield?”
“I don’t know how I got here, ma’am,” he answered honestly.
“What do you remember?” she asked.
“I was looking for Hannah. She’s—” he paused, rawness in his throat again making it difficult to speak.
The old lady smiled. “I know who Hannah is. It’s okay, Alfred. You don’t need to explain. We’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?”
“Sure. Everything’s a little confused, that’s all. You poor man,” the old woman crooned in sympathy. She offered him the plastic water bottle. “Here. Take a sip. It’ll do you good.”
He took the bottle from her, staring at it for several moments before tipping it upward. It was unlike any container he had seen. When he saw water trickle through the narrow tube protruding from its top, he held it over his open mouth. The liquid did little to ease the burning in his throat.
“Is that better?” she asked solicitously.
He nodded, then sank back, feeling as weak as a foal.
“Maybe we should call for help,” the boy said.
“No,” Wood croaked, not wanting to run into any men from the vigilante group that had tried to lynch him. “No help.”
“We need to get you out of this sun,” the old lady stated. “If you think you’re able to walk, we’ll take you back to the house.”
“Whose house?” Suspicion tightened his whole body.
“Ours. It’s not far up the road. Do you think you can make it?”
Wood squinted as he glanced all around and saw nothing but cornstalks.
“Is this your corn?” He looked at the old woman inquisitively.
It was the boy who answered. “Yup. We got soybeans, too.”
“Soybeans?”
“Don’tcha know what they are?” The boy looked at him askance.
Wood could only shake his head in ignorance.
“You’ve probably just forgotten that, too. Come, let’s get you out of the sun,” Gabby said to Wood, then waved an arm at the boy saying, “Jeremy, help him up.”
Wood could see that the lad was reluctant to touch him. “I expect I can do it myself.” He rose slowly, wobbling as he stood.
The woman steadied him with a hand on his a
rm. “Don’t try to talk. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” To the boy she said, “Jeremy, take his other arm. By the way, I’m Gabby Davis and this is Jeremy. I’m the one who gave you directions the other night when you called.”
Wood had no idea what she was talking about. It was obvious she had him confused with this Dumler guy, but he didn’t dare correct her. Better that she mistake him for another man than recognize him as an accused murderer. Until he knew why he was in the middle of a cornfield instead of hanging from a tree on George Nelson’s ranch, he needed to be wary of everyone. All that mattered was that he was alive and would stay that way no matter what name he had to use.
“I wonder if you got off at the bus stop in Stanleyville, rather than the one at the junction of County Roads 13 and 47,” Gabby remarked as they walked.
“Bus stop?” He shook his head in confusion. Why did she talk about things of which he had no knowledge?
It was possible that she was a bit simpleminded, considering her clothing. Wood was no authority on fashion, but one thing he knew for certain—women didn’t show their legs beneath their skirts. This woman had hemmed her dress to just below her knees. Not only did she expose flesh on her legs, but her arms were bare, too, and on her feet were the strangest looking shoes he had ever seen. Her toes stuck out a hole in the front.
From the way the boy was dressed, Wood could tell he belonged with her. His clothes looked as if they had been passed down from an older brother, baggy and loose, and like Gabby, he wore a shirt with no sleeves. Even stranger was that on one section of the shirt was a big check mark with the words Just Do It.
Do what? Wood wondered.
As they walked, Wood kept an eye out for any signs of the angry mob who wanted him dead. There were none. Not a sound of turmoil anywhere. Just a sea of com. He wondered how many people worked this farm, that they could plant so many seeds. The thought that the man who had slipped the noose around his neck could own the land filled him with apprehension.
“Who planted all of this, ma’am?” he whispered, gesturing with his arm to the cultivated fields around him.
“Barry helped Hannah with most of it,” Gabby answered. “He’s a young man who works part-time in the spring and fall.”
“Hannah’s here?” Wood could hardly believe his ears. When he had left Missouri, he had been confident he would find his younger sister and bring her home. But after several weeks of searching, his hope had dwindled.
Little did he know that his search would nearly cost him his life. George Nelson had said there had been a young woman named Hannah traveling with an outlaw suspected of being a member of the Jesse James gang. Only a few days ago they had stolen two horses from his ranch. Wood had gone back to get firsthand information from George Nelson and his wife. Only by the time he arrived, the farmer and his wife were dead. Nothing Wood had said in his own defense could convince the posse he hadn’t killed the couple.
He had been tried and found guilty without ever going to court. As he had sat on his horse he had prayed for a miracle. Now it seemed one had occurred. Not only was he still alive, but it appeared that his sister had not ridden off with the outlaws.
“Ma’am, where is Hannah?” he asked anxiously.
“She’s in town, but she should be back shortly,” the old woman answered.
“She lives here?”
Gabby frowned. “The sun really has gotten to you, hasn’t it? She’s the reason you came here. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
He shook his head. Wood could hardly believe his luck. First he had escaped the lynch mob; now he had found Hannah.
As they rounded a row of pines, they came upon one of the biggest houses he had ever seen. It was two stories tall with a huge verandah on three sides. It reminded him of the grand houses he had seen in St. Louis and was nothing like the log cabin he had stayed in at the Nelsons’.
If Hannah were renting a room here, did that mean she had split from her outlaw boyfriend? Or she was waiting here for him while he pulled a bank job. He hoped it was the former, but judging by what the leader of the lynch mob had said, it could very easily be the latter. The Jesse James gang had robbed the bank of Northfield, which wasn’t all that far from Stanleyville. Two of the gang had been killed during the robbery, but so had two of the townsfolk, which was why the vigilante group had been so ready to lynch him. When George and Mary Nelson were found dead at their homestead, Wood had become the victim of guilt by association. After all, he had stayed with them the previous night and had been asking questions about the James gang.
Right now, however, he didn’t feel much like asking questions. Not that it mattered. Gabby and Jeremy didn’t make much sense when they talked, anyway. What was important was that for the first time in weeks, Wood could cling to the hope that he had finally found his sister.
“Let’s take him to the bunkhouse,” Gabby directed Jeremy.
“There aren’t any sheets on the beds,” Jeremy reminded her.
“We can fix that.”
At this point Wood didn’t care about linens. With every step he weakened, and the world around him began to spin out of control.
“Get the door.”
“Yuck! There’s spider webs all over.”
“Watch his head.”
“It stinks in here.”
“We’ll open the windows.”
Their words floated all around Wood. He was tired. He felt sick. He needed sleep. Whatever had happened to him during the lynching, it had drained every ounce of his strength.
“You need to rest,” Gabby said helping him to a cot.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours. He couldn’t. Nothing that had happened since that noose had been slung around his neck made any sense. Maybe he was dead. Startled, he opened his eyes.
“I’m not dead, am I?”
Gabby laughed. “Oh, good heavens, no. You’re just a little confused, Alfred, but you’re going to be just fine.”
Again she called him Alfred. If she knew he was Hannah’s brother, why did she think he was this Alfred person? He rubbed his temples. If he could only figure out if she knew about the lynching. It wasn’t in his nature to be dishonest, but telling her his true identity was a risk he couldn’t take. At least until he figured out how he’d landed in a strange cornfield. Right now he felt weak and helpless. His eyelids were heavy, his body boneless. As much as he wanted to get out of the bunk and ride far away from Minnesota, he knew he needed to get his strength back if he were to talk his sister into going home with him.
“I have to talk to Hannah soon,” he murmured.
“You will,” Gabby assured him. She patted his hand as if he were a small child needing comfort. “But first you must sleep. I’ll get you some linens for the cot.”
“This will suit me just fine, ma’am.” He stretched out on the bare mattress.
“Very well. After you rest, you can wash up and then you can meet Hannah.”
“You won’t tell her I’m here just yet, will you?” He lifted his head in supplication. “I don’t want her to see me like this. In my weakened state.”
“Don’t worry, Alfred, I won’t mention that you’re here just yet.” Then she turned to Jeremy and said, “That goes for you, too, young man. Not a word to your mother until I say so. Understand?”
Jeremy nodded.
Then Gabby turned back to Wood. “Everything will work out just fine. It might take a little time, but Hannah will come around. You’ll see.”
Wood eased his head back on the cot. “I have to convince her I have her best interests at heart.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you need to do,” Gabby agreed.
“She’s not going to get rid of me.” Wood tried to sound confident, but his voice was weak.
“No, I don’t believe she will,” Gabby responded smugly as Wood closed his eyes. She turned to Jeremy and said, “He’s asleep. We’ll get him a basin so he can wash wh
en he wakes up. You know, I think once he shaves he’ll be rather handsome.”
“Mom’s not going to think so,” Jeremy warned her. “She’s going to have a fit when she sees him. She doesn’t want anyone using this place.”
“We agreed we’re not going to tell her he’s here until he’s feeling better.” Gabby steered Jeremy toward the door.
“Who is he, anyway?”
Gabby chewed on her lower lip, contemplating how much she should tell her nephew. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure.”
“You know how your great-grandfather left your mother all that money that she can’t touch unless she marries?”
“You mean the prison money?”
Gabby clicked her tongue. “Marriage isn’t a prison, and I wish your mother wouldn’t refer to it as that. Anyway, your mother’s thirtieth birthday is coming soon, which means she’ll lose her inheritance if something isn’t done.”
Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “I don’t get it. What’s he got to do with that?”
“I arranged for him to come and marry your mother,” Gabby said directly.
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “No way! Mom won’t marry him!”
“Not looking the way he does now, but once she gets to know him and sees what a good help he can be around the farm, she might.” She gave him her gravest look.
“But she doesn’t even know him!”
“Your great-great-grandfather married someone he didn’t know. He had a mail-order bride. Sent for her through an ad in the newspaper and it lasted nearly forty years. Sometimes those marriages work the best” She could see she hadn’t convinced him. “Jeremy, you don’t want to lose the farm, do you?”
“No, but Mom says she’ll find a way to keep it.”
“Not if she has another bad harvest. Can we take that risk?”
He looked again at the sleeping man and wrinkled his nose. “He looks awfully weird.”
Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance) Page 3