“Nothing, really. Just some chips here and there. It didn’t even take as long as I thought it would to fix it. He didn’t say anything about handing it over to anyone else, though.”
“Well, he was bringing it to me,” Ellie replied cheerfully. “I’m the one who bought it.”
Bernadette’s face didn’t shift from the stony expression that had been on it from the start. “He didn’t say anything about handing it over to anyone else.”
Suddenly, all of the joy Ellie had felt in putting her foot down with her father was gone. Bernadette may not have been related to her and she may not have had a shotgun, but the skinny woman had suddenly become more immovable than Hank.
“Can I see it at least?” Ellie asked meekly.
Glancing down at the table, Bernadette shrugged. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.”
As Ellie crossed the room, she couldn’t help but notice that the man in the chair was following her every move. Before she could get too concerned about that, Ellie reached the table and was able to see what Bernadette was working on. Actually, she barely even took notice of the frame as she pulled in a breath and covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s beautiful,” Ellie sighed.
Bernadette smiled proudly and ran her fingers along the frame where she’d so recently been sanding it. “It did turn out very nice.”
“When can I take it home with me? I know just where I’m going to hang it!”
“As soon as I hear from Mr. Adams. Do you know when that might be?”
“I can arrange for that later today,” Ellie quickly replied.
“Good. Have him pay me a visit and I’ll see that this is wrapped up and ready to go.” With that, Bernadette picked up a few more tools and busied herself with one last detail on the wooden frame. It seemed that she’d already forgotten Ellie was in the room.
Ellie hurried from the boardinghouse, feeling every bit as happy as when she’d left Aunt Iris’s cottage. She was so happy she didn’t even realize that the man from Bernadette’s sitting room had also left the boardinghouse and was rushing to catch up to her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Pardon me!”
Ellie rushed to the corner, ignoring whoever was shouting behind her.
“Miss! Pardon me, miss!”
Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Ellie stumbled for a few steps when she was startled by the sight of the man rushing at her. When she tried to regain her balance while also quickening her pace, Ellie only managed to make her predicament worse.
The man raced even faster to grab hold of her. Acklund got close enough to take hold of her arm before she could fall into a nearby ditch. “There you go,” he said while lifting her up. “Good as new.”
Flustered, Ellie patted herself while catching her breath. “I know you. You were at that boardinghouse.”
Acklund smiled and nodded, having expected her to say something a lot worse. “Yes, I was. Did I hear you mention Clint Adams?”
“Yes, I did,” Ellie replied with a beaming smile. “He’s a good friend of mine.”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s some sort of hired gun, isn’t he?”
Ellie’s smile turned into a frown. “He most certainly is not. He’s a good man.”
“It sounds to me like you two are awfully close.”
Her frown lost some of its edge, but not all of it. “We are. It seems we’re going to be closer . . . if my father has his way.”
Acklund grinned and chuckled. “Sounds like you have the same sort of father as I do. Tends to pull the reins in a bit too tight for a bit too long.”
“He certainly does.”
“Is that why you’re hurrying home in such a rush?”
Ellie looked at the street ahead of her and to the cottage in the distance. Feeling foolish for having been nailed down so easily by a stranger, she shook her head. “No. I was out for a walk.”
“Would you mind if I joined you?”
Knowing that her father would hate it, she curled her arm around Acklund’s and nodded. “That sounds nice,” she said sweetly. “My name is Ellie Mason.”
“And I’m Ack . . . Ackerly.” Clearing his throat to buy him some time, he winced and said, “James Ackerly.”
If Ellie found his mannerisms peculiar, she was too polite to point them out. She wasn’t too polite, however, to mention something else. “You’re walking funny, James. Were you hurt?”
“It’s my hip,” Acklund replied as he raced to think of something else to tell her other than the fact that he’d recently caught a stray bullet there. Fortunately, he didn’t need to do much more than look uncomfortable before Ellie took up the slack.
“I know exactly how you feel,” she said. “Or I sort of know. I hurt my knee tripping over a stump when I was nine and again when I was eleven.”
“Same stump?” Acklund asked.
She blushed and nodded. “It’s not a very good story.”
“Nonsense. Tell me all about it.”
TWENTY-NINE
Acklund rode back out to his camp several hours later. Even though he knew his brother was trying to stay out of sight, he had to wonder if Mose had picked up and moved on. He caught sight of Mose’s horse a few seconds before he was in danger of charging into it.
As Acklund was swinging down from his saddle, Mose hopped out from behind one of the trees that surrounded the small clearing. “Damn, Acklund, you nearly got yourself shot!”
Despite the fact that his brother was aiming a gun at him, Acklund kept his grin in place. “You can put the gun down now. Damn, you’re jumpy!”
“Of course I’m jumpy,” Mose replied as he squinted suspiciously at Acklund. “Last time I checked, we had a known gunman coming after us. What the hell are you so cheery about anyways?”
“I met up with someone.”
“Adams? You found him when he came back to that boardinghouse?”
“No. Not him.”
Mose let out a noise that sounded like a cross between spitting and steam being pushed through a piston. “I told you that was a dumb idea. Just ’cause you heard he was there once, don’t mean he’d go straight back there again.”
“I knew he was there,” Acklund corrected. “Even heard it from the spinster that runs the place. But that ain’t what’s important. What’s important is who I met while I was waiting.”
Not only had Mose holstered his gun by now, but he’d also settled into an uncomfortable seat on the ground with one leg stretched out in front of him. “I’ll bite. Who’d you meet?”
“Ellie Mason.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“She’s the daughter of that miller whose house Adams was holed up in.”
It took a few seconds, but Mose was finally able to put the pieces together. “She didn’t know who you was?”
“How would she know? I barely even got a look at her that night when all the shooting was going on. Besides, I kept to the dark and I doubt she’d remember me anyhow. I ain’t some big oaf that sticks out no matter how dark it is.”
Mose’s long legs took up most of the ground around the remains of the campfire and his bulky frame made it difficult for Acklund to walk around him. His dirty blond hair hung over his eyes as he looked up and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“So you didn’t find Adams?”
“No, but Ellie can send him to us. Actually, she can send him to that boardinghouse and we’ll be waiting.”
“Good,” Mose grunted. “I’m sick of all this sneaking around. I say we just go find Dave’s friends up the river and shoot the hell out of that boardinghouse as soon as Adams sticks his nose out. Then we can get back home.”
“Those friends of Dave’s are no good. Besides, they’re probably dead already.”
“I know Rob’s still kickin’. He tried to get Dave to hit that stagecoach a few weeks ago, remember?”
“That’s my point. They’re trouble.”
Mose
had been poking the dead campfire with a stick, which he now pitched angrily into the surrounding trees. “Then what the hell are we still doing here? Are we gonna kill that asshole that murdered Dave or not?”
“We will, but I don’t want Ellie getting hurt. She’s a nice girl.”
“How nice?” Mose asked as a lewd smirk slid across his face.
“Nice enough for you to leave her the fuck alone!”
Raising his hands in surrender, Mose said, “So what makes her so damn special? Did she tell you where Adams was?”
“No, but she knows.”
“And you’ll make her talk?”
“I’ll find out when I see her again,” Acklund said. “I’m taking her out to eat.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a steakhouse in town and I asked her to come with me. She said yes. Can you believe it?”
Mose looked as if he’d just swallowed a horsefly. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Acklund? We ain’t here so you can chase some . . .” Stopping when he saw the warning glare in his brother’s eyes, Mose said, “We ain’t here for this. We’re here to get the asshole who killed Dave.”
“Dave fell off his horse!” Acklund said. “I saw it when I was riding back into the fight. You must be blind or you would’ve seen it!”
“He wouldn’t be dead if Adams hadn’t—”
“You mean if he hadn’t come up with the boneheaded idea to chase after whatever Adams was carrying. By the way, do you even know what he was carrying? It was some bunch of flowers in a frame! This whole thing is bullshit, just like every other scheme Dave tried to come up with. Momma always said he’d get himself killed one day and it looks like she was right. That don’t mean we need to dig in deeper by shooting at innocent folks and maybe get our own heads blown off along the way!”
“It don’t matter what Dave did,” Mose said. “He may have been an idiot and he may have been a bad kid, but we could have stopped him from going on this job.” Suddenly, Mose stopped himself. “Wasn’t this whole thing your idea?”
“I heard about that barber sending some valuable something or other and that he hired someone to look after it. Dave’s the one who decided to go after it with guns blazing.”
A shadow came over Mose’s face, but he couldn’t get himself to dispute the claim. “He was still our brother.”
“And I’m the one that buried him. I’m always the one to clean up his mess. It seems like something good might come out of this bullshit, so I’m not gonna let it pass me by.”
Throwing up his hands, Mose said, “All right, but if you’re gonna piss around with some woman, then I’m going to go round up Dave’s friends. Maybe they give a damn that his killer is still roaming around, free as a bird.”
“Those boys will just get angry and drunk like they always do. You really think they’ll decide to come and help out of the goodness of their hearts?”
“I aim to find out. Are you comin’ with me or not?”
Acklund stood his ground mostly because he’d never liked being pushed around by his older brother. He also knew that most everything he wanted to say would just make things worse. “I’m staying. Someone needs to. Otherwise, Adams will be able to ride off whenever he likes without anyone being the wiser.”
“Yeah. You’re right, I guess.”
When Mose got up and stormed to where his horse was tied, Acklund wanted to stop him. Unfortunately, he recognized the look in Mose’s eyes all too well. Mose wouldn’t be stopped without a fight and Acklund still felt too good to fight. Besides, a little more help wouldn’t hurt and it would take some time for him to get it.
THIRTY
“This is a bad idea, you know,” Clint said.
Hank hadn’t come to check in on him since Ellie had left, but he knew the old man was still in the cottage. He could hear every creak and every knock coming from the other room, and Clint was certain Hank was still well within the sound of his voice.
“The law is bound to check in on me sooner or later,” Clint added. “Folks will realize I’m missing and it’s well known I was last seen with you and your daughter.”
While that may have been stretching the truth just a bit, Clint knew that Bernadette wouldn’t hold onto the flower picture forever. She also wouldn’t tolerate him leaving his things in his room without paying for it. There was always the possibility of her storing his saddlebags in a closet, but Clint wasn’t about to mention that.
“So you really think I won’t tell anyone about this?” Clint asked. “I’ve got to get my hands free sometime. What kind of a husband would I be if I was always tied up?”
Clint had been keeping that up ever since Ellie had stepped out the door. He wasn’t sure exactly how long ago that was, but even he could tell his constant chattering was taking its toll. By the time Hank finally got up from where he’d been sitting and stomped into the bedroom, Clint was sick of hearing his own voice.
“I already told you the preacher is a friend of mine!” Hank growled. “And don’t worry about the law neither. Deputy Cale is useful as tits on a bull, but he’ll trust me over you any day.”
“What about my hands?” Clint asked.
“What about ’em?”
“Will the ropes be coming off or will I spend my married life tied to this bed?”
Hank scowled and replied, “If I had my way . . .”
“I figured as much. What about Ellie? She’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions where a husband is concerned.”
“If she could do that, she would’a done it already. She’s a pretty girl, but she don’t know how to land a man. I figure a man like you is better than the sort that’ll try to get her just to . . . get her.”
“I’m flattered. It sounds like you think awfully highly of me.”
“I haven’t knocked you in the head again, have I? After all the gum flappin’ you’ve been doing, I’d say that’s damn close to saintly.”
“You know what would push you the rest of the way to sainthood?” Clint asked. “Get me out of these ropes so I can stretch my legs.”
“Not yet.”
“How about loosening them?”
Hank shook his head.
Clint sighed and leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can I at least have some water and maybe something to eat? My head’s killing me from where you knocked me out.”
Glaring down at Clint with a face that was an unreadable mask, Hank let out a slow, measured breath. Just when it seemed the old man was about to shake his head and grouse some more, he nodded. “I can get you some water. Maybe a little grub to go with it.”
“Mighty neighborly of you,” Clint said.
Hank obviously didn’t know what to make of the friendly tone in Clint’s voice. He turned away from the bed, took a few steps toward the door, and then rushed back to get a look at Clint. When he saw that Clint hadn’t moved a muscle, he grumbled to himself and left the room for good.
Clint kept his head back and his eyes closed. That way, he wasn’t distracted by the sight of the wall or hints of sunlight coming through the square window. It was easier to concentrate on the sounds drifting through the room. What he was most interested in were Hank’s steps and eventually the subtle squeak as the old man carefully opened the door. Keeping his eyes closed, Clint thought back to the last time he’d been outside the cottage. It took a few moments, but he remembered there had been a water pump just outside and to the right of the cottage’s front door. Since that was on the opposite corner of the bedroom, Clint allowed himself to make a bit of noise as he stretched and scraped to get his hands loose.
The ropes were fairly well tied, but Clint had been pulling at the knots from the moment he’d regained consciousness. His wrists burned and his ankles felt as if they’d been snapped within his boots, but he’d managed to give himself a little more slack than when he’d started. Taking advantage of the time when Hank was outside, Clint shifted his weight until he could curl his legs closer to his hands.
Un
fortunately, he still wasn’t close enough to get to the knife in his boot. He knew the slender blade was still in its spot because he could feel it against his ankle. Knowing it was there may have been comforting, but getting the knife in his hand was going to make him feel a whole lot better. Mostly, Clint was grateful that Hank was such a piss-poor jailer.
Wincing at the noise he was making, Clint knocked the side of his boot against the floor a few times. He did his best to time it to the screeching coming from the rusty pump handle outside, but still expected to hear Hank rush back into the cottage at any second. When the old man didn’t hurry back, Clint kept working the knife out of its scabbard.
After shaking his leg a few times, Clint felt more like a dog wagging its tail. As ridiculous as it may have looked, he was getting the job done. The slender boot knife was slipping free, thanks to the fact that he kept it loose in its scabbard anyway so he could get to it in a pinch.
The squeaking from the pump handle stopped.
Hank’s heavy steps pounded against the porch and would carry him into the cottage at any second.
Clint gave his feet one last knock, which was enough to drop the knife from his boot. He pulled a few muscles along the way, but Clint was just able to straighten his legs out again and use them to cover the knife on the floor before Hank walked in.
“Here’s some water,” Hank said as he held a dented ladle to Clint’s mouth.
Most of the water spilled down the front of Clint’s shirt, but some of it managed to get down his throat. Clint was grateful for the water, but he was more concerned with Hank catching sight of the blade or knife handle protruding from under Clint’s legs.
“You want more?”
As much as he wanted another drink, Clint shook his head. “No, that’ll do.”
“How about I fix you some eggs? It’s all we got.”
“That’d be good.”
Hank studied Clint for a few seconds before grunting and turning his back to him. The old man’s footsteps stopped a bit short, so Clint resisted the urge to move his legs.
After a few more seconds, Hank grunted again and stepped out of the doorway. Whatever the old man had been hoping to see, he hadn’t seen enough to keep spying.
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