by Rachel Bird
Charity was happy for them both.
“Yesterday Naomi and I had a nice long talk.” Mae was talking with Charlotte and Abigail, but she gave Charity a sideways glance. “I told her if she doesn’t accept happiness when it’s served up so nicely, the good Lord might draw the conclusion she isn’t interested.”
So Charity had guessed right. Mae’s errand had been to talk some sense into Naomi about the shawl—and other things.
“And I told her she wasn’t getting any younger, that life was on the brink of passing her by,” Abigail said. “It’s now or never.”
“I’m sure she needed every bit of advice too,” Hannah said. “Thank goodness something stuck.”
The ice cream seekers returned with plenty for all, and the musicians who’d played at Belle’s wedding gathered on the bandstand. After a painfully long session of tuning instruments, they launched into a few patriotic songs which were well received—until calls began for some tunes a body could dance to.
“How I used to love to dance,” Abigail said with a sigh. “I was quite light on my feet, once upon a time.”
“I’ll wager you are still.” Mr. Morgan executed a short, gentlemanly bow and extended a hand. “Mrs. Vanderhouten, would you do me the honor?”
Amid blushing protests—oh I couldn’t!—Abigail allowed herself to be led away—and if anybody had taken Mr. Morgan’s wager, they would have lost the bet.
Charity took the opportunity to sound Naomi out. “Mr. Morgan seems nice.”
“He’s very nice.”
“Can you forgive me for interfering?”
“You did a thoughtful, caring thing. There’s nothing to forgive.” Naomi squeezed Charity’s arm. “Mae and Abigail set me straight. It’s no sin to want everybody you love to be happy.”
The song ended and Mr. Morgan brought Abigail back, flushed and happy. “What a wonderful dancer you are, Mr. Morgan. Naomi, you had better not let this one get away!”
Charity wasn’t sure who blushed deeper, Naomi or Mr. Morgan.
“Now you must put me out of my misery,” Abigail went on. “Tell me—when is the wedding to be? Mr. Overstreet here wasted no time. He brought Miss Cruikshank to church the day after she arrived in Break Heart.”
“Best thing that ever happened to me.” Jonathan Overstreet gave his bride the tenderest of smiles, and Lavinia’s cheeks deepened their natural pink blush.
“There now, you see? Will you let him best you, Mr. Morgan?”
“Well, I…” Mr. Morgan hesitated and looked at Naomi, apparently unprepared to resist the force of nature that was Mrs. Abigail Vanderhouten.
“I see how it is.” For so long Mrs. V had worked for this moment, and now she was not to be denied. “Like a gentleman, you’d prefer to let your bride set the day. Well, Miss Naomi? When will it be? Tomorrow? Friday?”
“Oh, I… um…” Naomi smiled at Mr. Morgan apologetically. “I suppose Friday would be best.”
“I knew it!” Charlotte Gensch clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
All gathered round had been holding their breaths, and now they cheered the happy couple, even Harman Polk, who’d insinuated himself into the group to sit next to Teddy Gensch.
But all the good wishes were cut short, for out of nowhere Sally Overstreet bounded into the midst of the crowd, with Luke and Damon on her heels.
“Deputy Faith!” Sally threw herself on the ground at Faith’s feet, gasping for breath, melodramatic as ever. “It’s the Deckoms. They’re going to kill Parson Hood!”
Chapter 24
Sally Overstreet’s eyes were huge. Faith didn’t think she was exaggerating after all. “We were exploring along the riverbank—”
“Not close to the water,” Luke assured Naomi.
“No,” Sally said. “Where the water’s gone down. We were looking for treasure.”
Luke went red with embarrassment and turned away his face. Oh Luke! He must have had in mind to look for the trunk that taken Pa to his death. It had been filled with coins, all the money the Steeles had in the world on that terrible day. Vanity of vanities; all is vanity…
“They were fighting,” Damon said.
“Parson Hood and the Deckoms,” Sally explained. “Preacher told ’em they better get on back to the Trading Post and be grateful Sheriff Fontana let ’em keep it.”
What a puzzle Parson Hood was turning out to be. Faith hadn’t taken him for a brave man. Maybe she’d judged him too harshly, but it was hard to credit a preacher who couldn’t quote scripture right beyond Jesus wept.
Luke said, “The real mean one, Jessop, told him Big Mama won’t give up until she gets justice for Bobby.”
People nervously gave Jane the side-eye, but she stood her ground, bold and defiant. Faith had to admire that.
“Parson said they should leave well enough alone,” Luke went on, “and then Jessop grabbed him and said ‘I know you’re hiding something’ and Miss Hortensia started yelling and we took off to find you.”
“Where are they?” Enough talk. Faith had better do something before Hood got himself and his sister hurt or worse.
“Follow the footpath,” Sally said. “Just around the first bend, there’s a dry area where the water’s gone down a lot.”
Faith nodded. Her hand absently moved to the Colt holstered at her hip, and Mr. Morgan stepped forward.
“Do you want backup?” He didn’t push in, try to take over.
“I’ll thank you for that, Morgan.” Polk was happy to answer for Faith, eager to show he was in charge. “I’d appreciate a man’s help.”
Faith seethed inside. Sure, she could turn in her badge, but that would be letting Polk win—and letting Fontana down. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. She clung to the words and focused on the task at hand.
“Doc, you’d better come too—and bring your bag, just in case.” She started toward the bend and called out over her shoulder, “You kids stay here.”
The admonishment was futile. This was a state of affairs too interesting to ignore. Sally, the boys, and everybody within hearing joined the preacher’s rescue party.
Polk made a weird, excited grunting sound and drew his six-gun as they rounded the bend. The man couldn’t hit a barn door, but his eagerness for a fight was palpable.
Faith exchanged a look with Morgan. With great relief, she saw he was equally alarmed by Polk’s stupid taste for violence. With all these civilians in tow, it was a recipe for someone to get hurt.
The dried-up inlet was as described, and they came upon a tense situation. Jessop Deckom’s back was to the rescue party. He had Hood by the coat lapels, shoved up against the trunk of a scrub oak. Cole had hold of Hortensia, keeping her away from the altercation—whether for her own good or Jessop’s, it was hard to say.
Polk raised his weapon, and Faith held her breath. He was as likely to shoot the innocent as the guilty. Not to mention, drawing the Deckoms’ fire could get somebody behind them killed.
Morgan, positioned between Faith and Polk, touched her arm and winked.
“Whoops!” He pretended to stumble over a rock, fell against Polk, and knocked the man to the ground.
As Polk spewed out a curse, Faith drew her Colt and fired off three shots in rapid succession at a low branch above Jessop’s head. He turned as the branch detached and fell, then let Hood go and grabbed at the prickly thing covering his face.
“Keep your hands where they are, Deckom.” Faith advanced, her Colt trained on Jessop’s dark heart.
As for Cole, Morgan had him in his sights. “You’d best let the lady go.”
Polk straightened himself, brushing the dirt off his shirt, and shot a furious look at Faith, but it was over. The danger had passed. She took satisfaction in something Fontana had once told her. Nobody ended up dead. I call that a win.
With a triumphant cry, Hood broke away from Jessop, but he tripped over a low granite outcropping and fell at an awk
ward angle. There was a terrible crunching, breaking sound, a split second of horrified silence, and then the preacher started screaming.
“Ach! My leg!”
Jessop scoffed at him. “Shut up, you baby!”
“It hurts! It’s broke for sure. Help me!” The preacher spotted Dr. Declan. “Oh praise the Lord! Help me!”
Faith didn’t like his tone—it smacked of irreverence somehow—but she was glad of a reason to hold the man in contempt once more.
Cole caught her eye and, as ordered, dropped his grip on Hortensia. For a moment, it looked like Miss Hood would dearly love to run away, but then she took in the Break Hearters coming along behind her rescuers.
“Jefferson!” she cried and rushed to her brother. “You poor man!”
“Hello, darlin’.” Cole tipped his hat to Faith and looked her up and down. “Good to see you again.”
She shook her head in disgust. What made men such dolts? If it wasn’t Polk belittling her for being female, it was Cole Deckom treating her like an object created for his pleasure. She would never, could never give either kind of man the satisfaction of commanding one second of her time.
She was nothing like Belle, so quick to fall in love, or Charity, a confirmed spinster. But she wasn’t going to be like Naomi either, holding out forever, then suddenly willing to take whoever came along. Faith had nothing against Morgan. He appeared to be a cut above most men. But she would never trust her heart to luck in a mail order match.
“What’s going on here?” Polk puffed up his chest, his stupidity forgotten by himself, if no one else.
“Nothing.” Jessop’s glare sent a chill down Faith’s spine, and she couldn’t deny her fear. Red John was a buffoon, mostly. Cole was a mystery. But true evil coursed through Jessop Deckom’s veins and thrummed in rhythm with the beat of his heart. “This ain’t inside town limits. And your reverend preacher parson there fell over his own two feet. You all saw.”
Loathsome man. Faith might mock Hood for his incompetence, but Jessop Deckom did it out of sheer malice. The Deckoms had no respect for anything or anybody. For all she knew, Jessop had been roughing the preacher up merely for the fun of it.
“Well, then,” Polk said. “You two best move along.”
From cowardice or good judgment, it was the right move. Before nightfall, the cells would be full of revelers who’d enjoyed themselves beyond the limits. This was the wrong day to take on the Deckoms.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Cole shrugged and grinned at Faith, then headed for a stand of birch upriver. That was the first time Faith noticed the Deckoms’ horses. There were three, one a gray Appaloosa with black spots.
As he turned to go, Jessop spotted Jane in the crowd of onlookers. He stopped in his tracks and fixed on her with a predator’s gaze. He barked out at nobody in particular, “You tell that fashion plate Big Mama ain’t done with her.”
Then he headed after Cole.
“Let me by.” Doc plowed through the Break Hearters toward Hood and drove Hortensia off with his singular malevolent glare.
Faith almost laughed out loud. Misanthropes came in all varieties. Unlike Jessop Deckom, however, Devon Declan made the world a better place—despite his almost gleeful disdain for all humankind.
Doc dropped his bag on the ground beside his patient. He pulled out a surgical blade that glinted in the sunlight, and the ladies—and a few men—caught their breath. Without ceremony, Doc ripped open the parson’s trousers from hip to ankle. Faith averted her gaze.
For a few seconds. The exposed limb, unnaturally deformed between ankle and knee, was too compelling to ignore.
“Deputy Steele, Mr. Morgan, I need two strong, thin branches, stripped of their leaves.” Doc barked out orders while he administered laudanum to dampen Hood’s cries. “Make one a length from the preacher’s thigh to his ankle, the other from armpit to ankle.”
Faith and Morgan set to work as commanded, and while Polk comforted Hortensia, Doc maneuvered the broken shinbone into a proper set.
“Agh!” Hood screamed, then mercifully fainted as Doc used vines from a willow tree to tie the stripped branches to Hood’s leg and upper body, forming a splint.
“I need a length of cloth to use as a stretcher.” Doc searched the crowd, and his gaze landed on Naomi’s shawl.
Oh no! Faith took in three aghast expressions—Mae’s, Charity’s, and Jane’s—but Naomi was stoic. She let Charity’s lovely present slip from her shoulders, prepared to hand it over.
“Never!” Jane stomped forward and placed herself between Naomi and the doctor. “That shawl is a work of art.”
Declan looked up at Jane and brushed back the golden curls that had fallen over his brow. The beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth, but he overcame the urge. “What would you have me do, Miss Stedman, make a sling of my cravat?”
Doc didn’t actually wear a cravat.
“I can give you an acre of good strong linen.” Jane never took her eyes off the man. “Hannah, help me, please.”
Gasps erupted from all the ladies who were watching when they realized Hannah was about to remove Jane’s overskirt and bustle. As in a dance practiced to perfection, Abigail, Mae, Charlotte, Lavinia, Naomi, and Charity all formed a circle around the two. It took another minute or so, and Hannah had to borrow the doctor’s blade to rip apart more than a few folds, but soon she handed out a massive quantity of fabric to put at Doc’s disposal.
Presumably in nothing but knickers from bodice to boots, Jane remained within the women’s sacred circle, protected from male eyes. It wasn’t lost on Faith that Jane’s lower limbs were no more exposed than Mae Tagget’s or her own. Apparently satin and lace made all the difference.
“This will do nicely,” the doctor said drily.
He spread the cloth over the ground, and he, Polk, Mr. Morgan, Jonathan Overstreet, and Teddy Gensch lifted the unconscious preacher onto the makeshift stretcher. “Jonathan, Teddy—and you, Polk—help me get this man to the infirmary.”
It was satisfying, watching Polk snap to. He liked to push people around, but he had no defense against being pushed around himself. Anyone with one drop of self-confidence could get the better of him.
The four men each lifted a corner of the donated cloth, and Hortensia followed along anxiously beside them. “He will recover. Won’t he, Doctor?”
“He’ll have to be watched for fever and internal bleeding,” Doc said gently. “But yes, he should recover.”
Faith relaxed, but only a little. Dr. Declan never predicted a patient’s recovery unless he was absolutely confident of it. On the other hand, he didn’t speak so gently unless he was worried.
Doc and the litter bearers took the lead, and when they got to the fork on River Road, they headed right for Main Street and to the infirmary. Most of the Break Hearters returned to the picnic grounds for more dancing, but the ladies forming the praetorian guard around Jane Stedman turned onto Main Street, headed for the modiste.
Mr. Morgan watched Naomi go, frustration in his eyes.
“Would you like to come to supper tomorrow night?” Faith took pity on the man. “You and Naomi can sit on the front porch afterward. I promise to keep everyone else away for half an hour at least.”
“Deputy Steele, you’ve read my mind.” The man had a nice smile, Faith would give him that. “I fear your sister may have felt pressured by Mrs. Vanderhouten’s exuberance to set a date for the wedding. I’d like to give her the opportunity to withdraw, if that’s her wish.”
“Your chivalry does you justice,” Faith said. “But Naomi knows her own mind.”
“I believe you. Still, I’d like to hear it from her directly.”
Charity and Lavinia Overstreet broke away from the circle and came back to join Faith and Mr. Morgan. “We’re going to collect everyone’s picnic things and bring them to Mrs. V’s shop, since we have the handcart.”
“Good,” Mr. Morgan said. “Somewhere I can be of service.”
Faith scoffed. “
You’ve already been of service today, Mr. Morgan. Knocking Polk off his feet when you did, you might very well have averted a bloodbath.”
All agreed, but did Charity have to look at Morgan with so much admiration, and must he look so pleased to have it?
They continued on, but before they reached the picnic grounds, the elusive third Deckom emerged from the scrub brush along the riverbank.
“Hey, Charity.”
As usual, Red John grinned at Faith’s sister like an eager puppy, but he stopped short when he noticed Morgan. Faith would swear the two men knew each other, though they said nothing to each other.
Instead, each shifted his gaze to Charity.
Not the first time today, Faith had the impression Mr. Morgan of Morning Star Ranch might possibly be conflicted about which Steele sister had secured his heart.
Chapter 25
“Red John, what are you doing here?” Charity flew at John Deckom and poked his chest, infuriated to see him.
Which satisfied Rafe immensely.
“Aw, Charity.” Deckom raised his hands in protest. “That’s all you ever say to me.”
That was good too.
“Well?”
She sure didn’t act like the fellow was her sweetheart. This filled Rafe with joy—and then self-reproach. This was Naomi’s sister. Whether or not she cared for some fellow was none of his concern.
Also, just because Charity Steele had no interest in John Deckom, it didn’t mean she might like another man better. She was a confirmed spinster. Abigail Vanderhouten had told him so earlier when they were dancing. She’d also confirmed what Rafe already could see, that Charity was highly in favor of the match between him and Naomi.
“I left Argentino round yonder bend and came to listen to the speeches, like I told you.”
Argentino. The silver one. That must be his Appaloosa. Had the poor animal been reshod yet? After today’s run-in with the other Deckoms, Rafe was even more relieved he hadn’t sold them any of the Morning Star stock.
“Only one speech this year, but Mayor Gensch was great shakes!” Deckom added proudly, “I told you I’d be good.”