The Bounty Hunter's Redemption

by Janet Dean

  The tick of the pendulum of the kitchen clock seemed to echo in the silence. Did the knowledge they were alone in the house with only her son for a chaperone make her uncomfortable? Or was she as unnerved as he was by the attraction between them? An attraction that had roared to life with a sudden intensity that left him stunned.

  With every particle of his being, he fought the pull she had over him. Tomorrow she’d see him as an enemy. Rightly so. What could he say to ease the tension? In the room? Inside him?

  “Looks like Henry licked his plate clean. Says a lot about your cooking,” he said, forcing a light tone he didn’t feel, trying to cover his sudden envy of a boy who had Carly’s company.

  “Depends on the menu. Henry doesn’t like most vegetables. He prefers growing to eating them.”

  Nate chuckled. “Ma insisted I eat lima beans. I couldn’t get them down without gagging. Finally she gave up. Said she’d forget lima beans if I ate all the others.” He grinned down at her. “The reason I eat turnips to this day.”

  “You had a good mother.” Her gaze filled with sorrow. “I did, too. My mother taught me to sew. I’d sit beside her, watch her every move and thread her needles. The older I got, the more she let me do. I cut out and hemmed a blanket for my doll, then made dishrags, handkerchiefs, aprons. By the time I was ten, I was making my own play dresses.” She took the plate he handed her. “Ma said I had the knack and sent me to Mrs. Harrington, the town seamstress, to learn more, insisting I should have a trade to make my own way.” Carly wiped and wiped the same plate, as if she couldn’t get it dry.

  She didn’t say what Nate heard: You want to take that trade away from me.

  “Your ma was a wise woman.”

  “I know what a cooper, blacksmith, barber, teacher, clerk and farmer does, but I can’t fathom searching for outlaws,” she said. “What’s it like to be a bounty hunter?”

  With her dislike of his occupation, the question surprised him. “Much of the time I’m in the saddle, chasing down leads or following trails. Once I nab my man, I disarm and release him into the custody of the nearest sheriff.”

  “Why do you want to do such a dangerous job?”

  “Money’s good.”

  “If you count the hours you spend on the trail, I doubt you’re well paid.” She narrowed her gaze. “I’m guessing something besides money makes a man risk his life.”

  “Outlaws must be brought to justice, or more innocents will die.”

  “I’d like to see evildoers behind bars, but I’m not out rounding up criminals. Something else drives you. What?”

  “I’m after one man. Shifty Stogsdill.”

  “The man on the wanted poster. Why him?”

  “Stogsdill was part of the gang that murdered our parents.” He ground the words out between jaws so tense he could barely push the words past his lips.

  Carly gasped. “I’m...I’m sorry. Anna didn’t tell me. What happened?”

  “Dairy farming tied our folks down. They were on their first vacation, taking the train to visit relatives in Kansas, when outlaws boarded the train, stealing jewelry, money, whatever passengers had on them. My father reached inside his coat for his pocket watch, alarming a trigger-happy bandit who fired at close range.”

  “Oh, no, that’s horrible.”

  “From what passengers said, Ma lurched at the outlaw and was shot. Three outlaws fled with the loot. Stogsdill lost his bandanna in a scuffle with the conductor. The man was shot, but survived and recognized Stogsdill from a wanted poster.”

  “When did this happen?” Carly asked, her face pale, eyes stunned.

  “I was fifteen. Anna, eighteen,” he said. So long ago.

  “You’ve been hunting their killer for...what? Five years? Ten?”

  “I left home at eighteen. Eight years ago.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “It’s not a life conducive to settling down.”

  “The reason you’re not married,” she said, a statement, not a question.

  Nate scrubbed grease from a skillet, rubbing harder and harder, as if he could obliterate Stogsdill’s face in the iron.

  “Do you ever question if your parents would approve of the life you’ve chosen?”

  He flung the dishrag into the sink, scattering bubbles. “That monster killed someone else.” Head down, he laid his hands on either side of the sink, his breath coming in gasping spurts. “Someone else...I was close to.”

  The light pressure on his back eased the tight muscles under a gentle palm. Carly. Trying to comfort him. He turned toward her and stared into damp eyes soft with sympathy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could help.”

  “Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do.” He took a ragged calming breath, and then returned to the chore, his eyes on the task and not on the woman at his side. When his heart had returned to a steady beat, he said, “If you want to help, think about your customers. Perhaps Stogsdill’s girlfriend isn’t a stranger to you. Perhaps you’ve made lots of dresses for her.”

  “None of my customers could possibly be involved with an outlaw.”

  “Are you sure? Folks can pretend to be something they’re not.”

  Carly’s eyes found the floor. “Yes,” she said, a tremble in her voice.

  “Still, I’d think she’d stick out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, she might talk different. Act different. Look different. Perhaps she would mention far-off places or wear flashy dresses with, uh, low necklines, like a dance hall girl.”

  “I’ve never seen a dance hall girl.” A blush flooded her cheeks. “Apparently you have.”

  “I go where I must, to get my man.”

  She harrumphed, as if she believed he relished spending time in saloons. “I don’t remember anyone like you describe.”

  Either Stogsdill’s girlfriend had never stepped foot in Carly’s shop, or she looked and behaved nothing in the manner he’d expect of an outlaw’s woman. Surely she couldn’t be a woman like Carly. Carly was refined, intelligent, hardworking. The kind of woman any man would appreciate.

  Finished with the simple task, Nate dried his hands, letting his gaze roam the cozy kitchen. What would it be like to sit at that table, eat a home-cooked meal and relate the day’s events surrounded by a family? What would it be like to share everyday activities like a ride in the country or painting a shed or planting a garden?

  And turn away from pursuing killers and thieves?

  His gaze tumbled to Carly’s upturned face, then lowered to her rosy, parted lips. A desire for a wife and children gripped him, twisting inside him, squeezing against his heart.

  On their own volition, his feet took him closer until the toes of his boots touched her hem. “You’re so pretty,” he said, the words slipping from his lips uninvited.

  Her gaze skittered away, then darted back to him. “I’m plain, not one bit like those dance hall girls you mentioned.”

  “You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

  In her eyes he read how much she wanted to believe him. Yet somehow didn’t. Hadn’t Richards told his wife she was pretty? Didn’t she see the truth in the mirror each morning?

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Carly.” He lowered his head until his lips hovered over hers, wanting only to kiss her. Desperate to kiss her. Waiting for her permission.

  Disquiet filled her eyes and she lurched back. “You should leave.”

  What had he been thinking? A kiss suggested permanence, a future. Something he couldn’t offer. Didn’t even know he had.

  With a nod, he grabbed his toolbox and strode out. Each step thudding inside him, pounding in his temples until his vision blurred, strangely bereft with the sense of loss so strong his knees all but buckled.

  An odd feeling swept over him. For a moment he grappled with its identity.

  Need.

  With every particle of his being, he tamped down the reaction. Nate had never needed anyone. Not even Rachel. He�
��d cared about her. Loved her, but he hadn’t needed her.

  And he didn’t need Carly.

  He had no business thinking about kissing Carly Richards. He had no business contemplating a family.

  He’d never make that mistake again. His purpose came before his happiness, just as Carly put her son’s well-being before her own. Some things were worth any sacrifice.

  Chapter Nine

  The only thing more distressing to Carly than a displeased customer was an indecisive customer who couldn’t make up her mind. Or worse, kept changing it. As Vivian Schwartz was now.

  Carly bit back a sigh. Wasn’t she behaving the same way with her wavering feelings toward Nate? How could she be attracted to him one minute and flip to suspicion the next?

  Just because the man had washed her dishes didn’t make him trustworthy. Nate was a bounty hunter. When she’d asked about tracking outlaws, she’d been curious, sure, but she’d hoped that what she’d learn might give her the upper hand, give her some insight that would save the shop.

  Instead, learning about the cold-blooded murder of his parents had turned the tables, fostering sympathy for the man. Now that she knew the heartache driving him.

  Still, his occupation was surely not one God would approve. Nothing had changed. Nate was still determined to see his sister get this shop.

  Lord, give me wisdom to know Your will. Lead me to whatever is right.

  “I want lace on the skirt.” Expression petulant, Vivian planted her hands on her hips.

  “I’m happy to add more lace, if that’s what you want.” Though if Vivian kept adding lace, she’d look like one of those dance hall girls Nate had described. “I read in Harper’s Bazaar this morning that simple lines enhance a woman’s form.”

  The bride worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Too much lace could make me look plump.”

  Mrs. Schwartz snorted. “Nothing would make you look plump, dear. Why, you’re practically skin and bones. You really should eat more.”

  “Mother, stop treating me like a child.” Vivian swept a hand toward Carly. “I know what I like and that’s what I want! Whether I look like a beanpole or an elephant.”

  Anna stepped between Carly and the bride. “Vivian, would you like to try on your wedding dress once more? The veil is hemmed. The white kid pumps arrived yesterday. Once you see the entire ensemble, I’m sure you’ll know if the gown needs lace.”

  A smile brightened Vivian’s stormy face. “That might help.”

  “We have the prettiest silk stockings embroidered with flowers at the ankle.” Anna waggled her brows. “Very chic.”

  “I must have a pair.”

  As Mrs. Schwartz paced the room, Vivian and Anna disappeared behind the screen and Carly went in search of the hosiery. She found the correct size and handed them to Anna.

  Thanks to Nate’s sister, they’d warded off Vivian’s impending temper tantrum. Anna’s skill with a needle and her calm manner made her an asset in the shop. Carly had liked the woman from that very first day, but each day since, her respect and admiration for Anna had grown.

  Carly refolded a stack of lace-edged handkerchiefs Vivian had been perusing into perfect alignment. How could a gentle, soft-spoken widow be kin to Nate, a tough, hardheaded bounty hunter bent on vengeance and stirring up trouble?

  Her hands stilled. If someone had killed her mother or, worse, her precious son, would she seek revenge? She swallowed hard as a heavy weight of uncertainty pressed against her lungs. Truth was, she didn’t know.

  She’d seen a soft side of Nate, too. With his sister, with Henry, even with her. Had the conflict over the shop distorted her judgment? Or had years with Max made her suspicious of the man? Still, she knew very little about Nate.

  Who had Nate been referring to in the obscure remark that Stogsdill had killed someone else he’d cared about? Had there been a woman in his life?

  Across the way, Mrs. Schwartz wilted into an armchair. “Vivian is going to turn my hair gray.”

  Mine, too.

  “We want the bride to be happy,” Carly murmured. As if the perfect wedding dress could ensure anyone’s happiness.

  When she’d agreed to marry Max, Carly had spent hours creating the dress of her dreams. Her dreams had wilted faster than the sprig of roses she’d carried.

  “Are you feeling all right, Carly?” Mrs. Schwartz asked.

  “I’m fine. Would you like to try on your gown?”

  Mrs. Schwartz laughed. “I almost forgot that’s why we came.”

  Behind the screen in the opposite corner, Carly helped the matron into the dress she’d wear to her daughter’s wedding. The satin skimmed her generous figure, giving the older woman an attractive silhouette.

  “The lovely shade of blue complements your eyes,” Carly said, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat topped with white-silk roses and a smattering of violets and ribbon matching the gown. She stood back. “You look stunning.”

  Mrs. Schwartz faced the mirror and inspected her reflection, the tick of the clock the only sound in the room. As she waited for her customer’s reaction, Carly held her breath, her heart beating in rhythm with each swing of the pendulum.

  The matron pivoted and swept Carly into an embrace. “I’m very pleased. Your creations always make me feel pretty.”

  Murmuring her thanks, Carly’s eyes stung. Thank You, God, for giving me talent to help women appreciate the body You gave them.

  With Anna in the lead, Vivian stepped from behind the screen. Head high, the veil sweeping the floor and trailing behind her, the white confection nipped in at her waist and scalloped at her shoulders, Vivian looked every inch the beautiful bride.

  One look at her daughter and Mrs. Schwartz burst into tears. “My little girl’s all grown up.” She grabbed a tatted hanky from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “And so lovely she takes my breath away.”

  “Mama, do you think Anthony will think I’m beautiful?”

  “He’s not made of stone, dear. Of course he will!”

  “The gown is perfect for you, Vivian,” Anna said. “I’ve never seen a lovelier bride.”

  A flush bloomed in Vivian’s cheeks. “I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of a fairy tale and I’m the princess.”

  “Anna’s right,” Mrs. Schwartz said. “The gown is most becoming, as gorgeous as the French design. You are a princess.”

  Vivian’s gaze swept over her mother’s attire. “Oh, Mama, if I’m a princess, you’re a queen.”

  Mother and daughter turned toward the mirror, smiling at their images.

  Carly met Anna’s gaze, hoping the expression on her face revealed Carly’s gratitude. Anna had taken a volatile situation and turned it into a victory.

  With such a nice sister, surely Nate wasn’t so bad. Perhaps she’d misjudged brotherly concern for his sister as greed.

  Anna slid an arm around Carly’s waist, then leaned in. “You’ve pleased them both.”

  “Thanks to your tact.”

  Vivian gathered the veil in her arms and sashayed to them, her skirts swishing softly. “I’ve decided against the extra lace. I love the gown, just as it is.”

  The bride’s decision was the right one. If Carly had added the lace, Vivian would have seen her error. Removing each stitch would have taken hours of tedious work, time they didn’t have.

  Within minutes, the Schwartz women had removed their wedding finery and left the shop with smiles on their faces and cash in Carly’s register.

  Two done and...

  Carly gulped. Ten more garments to finish. “I should’ve charged more. We’ll need to work day and night to get the trousseau made before the wedding.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make the deadline. I think Vivian finally trusts your judgment as a designer and won’t be taking up the time we need to finish.”

  “I couldn’t handle this order without your help, Anna. You’re a wonderful seamstress, adept with customers and wise.”

  An
na smiled, joy flooding her eyes. “We make a good team.”

  “We do.”

  “Want to join me for a cup of tea?” Anna asked.

  “I’d like to start work on Vivian’s travel suit. You go ahead.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  As Anna disappeared into the back, the truth of her claim slid through Carly. They did work well together, as if their personalities and traits supplied what the other needed, fitting together like pieces cut by a jigsaw.

  Yet beneath their camaraderie and shared purpose lay the knowledge that only one of them would own this shop.

  Carly inhaled sharply. What would happen then?

  * * *

  Nothing. Not a trace.

  Nate had contacted every lawman he knew, looking for leads to Stogsdill’s whereabouts, and once again had come up empty. It was as if the outlaw had disappeared into thin air.

  At least that meant he wasn’t robbing banks and trains, killing innocent bystanders. Was he avoiding anything that would attract attention to his whereabouts? If so, could he be planning to visit his girlfriend?

  He pocketed the latest wire, the same message as all the others—no one’s seen him—and exited the telegraph office right into the path of a woman.

  To avoid her, he took a quick step back, then tipped his hat. “My apologies, miss.”

  She gave him a sweet smile, then averted her eyes, her demeanor as modest as her attire. “Good day.”

  As she passed, a flash of red drew Nate’s gaze to a ring dangling from a thin gold chain around her neck, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

  A ruby ring.

  A ruby ring like the one Nate had seen on Shifty Stogsdill’s right hand, worn like a trophy, probably stolen from one of his victims.

  A ruby ring like the one that had flashed in the sun the afternoon Stogsdill had gunned down Rachel.

  Could this be the same ring?

  He followed her progress down the walk. She stopped in front of the mercantile, looking at a display in the window.

  The young woman had a natural beauty, looked nothing like a dance hall girl with her brown hair tucked beneath a simple hat, a demure neckline on a nondescript dress. Not the kind of female he’d expect Stogsdill to squire around.