“All right, then.” Matt thought for a moment. “Meet me at the Feedbag Café at nine tomorrow morning.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the memory of breakfast with Ellie-May Blackwell popped into his head. Surprised at the warm though no less worrisome feelings that came to mind, he quickly turned on his heel and reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t be late!”
12
After washing and rinsing the last of the supper dishes, Ellie-May reached for a clean towel and dried her hands. She’d been meaning to have a serious talk with her daughter for a week but had kept putting it off. Since Alicia’s birthday was now only three days away, she could no longer postpone what she had to say.
“Alicia, about your birthday…” Ellie-May reached for the stack of clean plates and placed them in the overhead cabinet. Pausing for a moment to search for the right words, she then turned to face her daughter. “You know I love you very much.”
Alicia twisted the damp towel in her hand. “I’m not gonna get the music box, am I?”
Ellie-May felt a sharp pain in her chest, like someone had punched a hole in her heart. A fortune was hidden beneath her porch steps, yet never had she felt so poor. It was at moments like this that she felt like such a failure as a mother.
“It costs a lot of money.”
Alicia looked as if she was trying not to cry. “If Papa was here, he’d find a way to pay for it.”
“Yes. Yes, he would,” Ellie-May said and felt no pleasure in saying it.
Had she unknowingly driven her husband to a life of crime? Made too many demands on him? Appeared too needy? Had robbing that stage been his way of making up to her for what had happened in her past? Had he actually committed the crime out of concern for her and the children?
Grimacing, she heaved a sigh of disgust. She could not, would not make excuses for Neal. There was no defense for what he’d had done. None!
Aware, suddenly, that her daughter was staring at her, she moistened her lips. “Oh, Alicia. My dear daughter, don’t you know how much it hurts to deny you something that means so much? I would give you the moon if I could. You know that, right?”
Alicia lifted her chin, and resignation fleeted across her face. “I know, Mama. It’s okay.”
Both surprised and gratified at Alicia’s response, Ellie-May wrapped her arms around her daughter’s thin shoulders and hugged her close. Ellie-May couldn’t give her the moon or even a music box. All she could do was make sure that Alicia continued to be proud of her father and would never have to hang her head in shame. Never must her children know the truth.
In the end, all Ellie-May could do was hope and pray that protecting their pa’s reputation would be enough.
* * *
Matt arrived at the Feedbag Café ten minutes early that morning to find Jesse already seated at a table. He nodded approval. Early was good.
What wasn’t good was the boy’s appetite. Never had Matt seen anyone gobble his way through a mile-high stack of flapjacks so quickly, and it didn’t stop there. He’d also devoured all the bacon and half of everything else on Matt’s plate.
Fortunately, the boy preferred orange juice to coffee, so Matt’s brew was safe. All he could hope for was that they found their man before the kid ate a hole in his pocket.
Jesse was far less enthusiastic about the trip to the Haywire Bathing and Tonsorial Parlor, which followed breakfast. “I had a bath at the Ranger camp.”
“What you had,” Matt said, “was a splash of cold water that hardly penetrated the layers of dirt.” He pointed Jesse toward the reception desk.
Matt paid extra so the boy could have clean hot water and towels, but even that failed to earn any gratitude.
When the attendant handed Jesse a towel and bar of lye soap, the boy balked. “I don’t know why I have to take a bath. What’s that gotta to do with being a Ranger?”
“Taking a bath will show me you know how to follow an order,” Matt said, his voice stern. “It’ll also keep you from warning off the bad guys with your smell. Cleanliness is—”
“I know, I know,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes. “A rule.” Jesse didn’t look happy, but he begrudgingly entered the bathing room and slammed the door shut.
“And wash behind your ears!” Matt said, lifting his voice to be heard through the door.
Jesse emerged fifteen minutes later, his wet hair falling to his shoulders. “I don’t have a comb.”
“You don’t need a comb,” Matt said. “The barber will take care of it.”
Jesse brushed the stringy ginger strands of hair away from his face. “You mean you even have a rule about haircuts?”
Matt shrugged. “If you want to be a Ranger, you have to look the part,” he said and led the way down the street to the barbershop.
Less than thirty minutes later, Matt left the barbershop with Jesse in tow. The boy sure in blazes smelled better, and his haircut had improved his appearance, but his trousers still hung loose on him. The shirt Matt loaned him was clean, but it fell to his knees, and the sleeves had to be rolled up. Only the lack of straw kept him from looking like a scarecrow.
For now, however, he would have to do. There was work to be done.
For the remainder of the morning, they walked the entire length of Main Street, checking shops and businesses in town for the man Jesse claimed was in cahoots with Blackwell.
Jesse said he’d spotted the man in the Wandering Dog Saloon. If true, then chances were the man either lived in town or was staying there. They stopped to question the hotel clerk and checked with all the local boardinghouses. But trying to find a man with such a vague description was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
The sun was barely straight up in the sky when Jesse complained about being hungry again. Since the hotel was closest, they stopped at the hotel dining room. This time, Jesse wolfed down two plates of beef stew and half a loaf of bread.
By midafternoon, Jesse’s eyes glazed over. “I thought we were gonna do Ranger work,” he said.
“We are doing Ranger work,” Matt said.
Jesse made a face. “This is boring.”
“Son, you don’t know boring. Wait till you’re a Ranger for real.” Matt didn’t want to discourage the boy, but the sooner he faced reality, the better.
Jesse continued to complain. “I’m hot and hungry. And my feet hurt.”
Matt glanced at the boy’s worn shoes. No wonder his feet hurt. “A Ranger never advertises his problems. Consider it a rule. People are oversupplied with their own problems and don’t want to hear about yours.”
Jesse muttered something beneath his breath, but Matt decided not to ask him to repeat it.
Matt stopped in front of Gordon’s General Store and reached for the brass doorknob. “Let’s see what the owner has to say. Then we’ll stop and get you some new foot leather.”
The shop was empty except for the man behind the counter and a little girl listening to the tinkling sound of a music box.
Jesse waved to the girl.
“Know her?” Matt asked.
Jesse nodded. “Yeah. That’s Alicia Blackwell.”
“Black—” Matt took a closer look and could see a family resemblance. The girl had her mother’s blond hair and delicate features. He couldn’t tell from this distance, but he was willing to bet she also had her mother’s pretty blue eyes as well.
“What can I do you fer?” the clerk called from behind the counter, saving Matt from dwelling too long on the memory of the girl’s mother.
Matt checked the sign over the counter. “Are you Gordon?”
“That’s me,” Gordon said, pushing his spectacles up his nose.
Matt introduced himself. “We’re looking for someone.” Jesse had stopped to talk to the little girl, and Matt motioned him over with a wave of his hand. He waited fo
r Jesse to join him. “Describe the man we’re looking for.”
“The man stands this tall,” Jesse said, holding his hand slightly above his head. “He has a skinny mustache and a crooked nose.”
Following Jesse’s description, Gordon shook his head. “You just described half the men in town. Sorry.” He regarded Jesse with narrowed eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re up to your old tricks again. Like I told you, you can only work here long as you stop making accusations.”
Not wanting Jesse to lose his job, Matt quickly stepped in. “He’s not making accusations. He’s working for me now.”
Gordon scratched the side of his neck. “That so?”
Nodding, Matt turned to Jesse and pointed to the men’s ready-to-wear section. “Pick out a shirt and pair of trousers for yourself.” He then turned back to Gordon.
“You’d better watch your step,” Gordon said. “Jesse has a habit of accusing innocent people of crimes they ain’t committed.”
“Like I said, he’s working for me now.”
Jesse returned with a pair of canvas trousers and a plaid shirt. Matt took the clothes from him and laid them on the counter. Seeing Jesse hungrily eye the display of apples, Matt reached for a bag and placed it on the counter next to the new duds. He then dug in his vest pocket for his money clip and paid for the lot.
The music box started again, and Matt glanced over his shoulder at Ellie-May Blackwell’s daughter.
Gordon handed Matt’s change over the counter and tossed a nod at the little girl. “She comes in every day after school to play the music box. Says the song reminds her of her pa.”
“She wants the music box for her birthday,” Jesse said, reaching into the bag for an apple. “Said her ma can’t afford it.” He bit into the fruit with a loud crunch and started for the door.
Matt grabbed his purchases off the counter and fell in step behind Jesse. But before leaving the shop, he shot yet another glance at the little girl. Big mistake, for again a vision of her mother came to mind, followed by the memory of what it was like to lose a pa.
13
A scream woke Ellie-May from a sound sleep. Flinging off the covers, she sprang out of bed and ran from the room, her feet barely touching the hardwood floor.
Her sleep-clouded brain could barely make sense of the scene that greeted her in the parlor. Alicia was bouncing around the room like a rubber ball, her braids hammering her back like two drumsticks.
Thinking something awful had happened, Ellie-May clutched her hands to her chest. “What is it? What happened? Is your brother—?”
Alicia whirled about, a bright smile on her face. “Look, Mama. Look!” She held out something in her hands.
Ellie-May blinked, not sure she could believe her eyes. It sure did look like…
“It’s the music box I wanted!” Alicia’s voice trilled with excitement.
“I can see that,” Ellie-May said, puzzled. “Where…where did you get it?”
“It was on the porch by the front door when I went to feed the chickens.” Alicia danced around the room, hugging the wooden box to her chest. “Oh, Mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Honey, I didn’t—”
Lionel entered the room yawning. He was still dressed in his nightshirt, and his hair stood up like a picket fence. “You woke me up,” he complained and knuckled the sleep from his eyes.
“Look, Lioney!” Alicia said, ignoring her brother’s grumpy expression. Her voice rising another octave higher, she continued, “Today is my birthday, and I got the music box I wanted.” Setting it on the table, she carefully turned the crank.
“Listen,” she said and danced around the room to the tune. “Remember Papa singing that to us?” Eyes closed, she began to sing in a soft, sweet voice. “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry. Go to sleep, my dear sweet child. When you wake, you’ll have cake, and all the pretty little horses.” Lionel moved to his sister’s side, and together they sang the second verse.
Hearing the words so often sung in Neal’s baritone voice, Ellie-May blinked back tears. The song was actually a lullaby, but Neal had changed some of the lyrics as the children grew older, and the word baby had become child.
Ellie-May waited until the song ended. “Was there a card?” she asked, wiping away a tear.
Alicia carefully turned the wind-up key. “What?”
“A card. On the box.”
Shaking her head no, Alicia broke into song again with her brother, their young voices blended in sweet harmony.
Puzzled, Ellie-May walked into the kitchen to make Anvil’s coffee and a cup of tea for herself. Who could have given Alicia the music box? Anvil? She discounted the idea the moment it occurred to her. He could not afford such a thing. Not unless he found the money under the porch.
The thought almost made her drop the teakettle. Steadying herself, she tried picturing Anvil riding into town to purchase a music box and couldn’t.
But if not Anvil, then who? The box didn’t end up on the doorstep on its own. Who would do such a thing and, more importantly, why?
* * *
Matt had just finished shaving when a knock sounded at his door. Thinking it was Jesse, he reached for a towel and wiped the foamy soap off his chin.
“Give me a minute,” he called. Dressed in trousers but no shirt, he moved away from the dry sink.
The knock came again, this time more urgently, and Matt shook his head.
If Jesse ever hoped to be a Ranger, he’d best learn the importance of patience. Fearing the boy would disturb the other hotel guests, Matt tore the door open, ready to scold him, but the words never left his mouth.
Much to his surprise, it wasn’t Jesse at the door. Instead, Ellie-May Blackwell stood glaring at him, and she looked as steamed as a locomotive.
“Why are you giving my daughter presents?” she demanded.
He quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know I did?”
“Mr. Gordon told me.”
He sighed in resignation. He should have known she would check. Not that he meant it to be a secret. He stepped aside. “Come in.”
Her gaze lit on his bare chest. Cheeks turning red, she quickly lowered her eyes. “A lady does not enter a gentleman’s hotel room.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I promise not to act like a gentleman if you’ll promise not to act like a lady.”
Her lashes flew up and her lips parted. “I’ll do no such thing!”
He glanced up and down the hall. Three hotel guests peered from the doorways of nearby rooms and gazed at Matt with curious stares.
Thinking the lady might prefer airing her grievances in private, Matt grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into his room. Not that the paper-thin walls allowed for much privacy, but they were better than nothing. Releasing her hand, he slammed the door shut.
He reached for his shirt and quickly donned it. “You can look now.”
She lifted her head and looked him square in the eye. The sweet, delicate scent of her perfume seemed at odds with her defiant stance. Despite her small stature, she looked as formidable as a bull seeing red.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she sputtered. “Why did you give my daughter that music box?”
He tucked his shirt into his trousers and reached for his gun belt. “I thought you’d be pleased. It is her birthday.”
Her eyes widened, allowing him to see the golden flecks in their depths. “How do you know that?”
“Jesse,” he said and shrugged. “So what’s the harm? Gordon said the box played music that reminded her of her father.”
“The father that you accused of robbing stages!”
“I never accused him,” Matt said, buckling his gun belt in place. At least not to her face. “I’d simply wanted to ask him for information.”
Pursing her mouth, she studied him like a frog about to snap u
p a fly. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why?”
“Why did I give your daughter the music box?” He hadn’t given much thought as to the reason. All he knew is that he’d felt a strong compulsion to do it. “Maybe because I know how it feels to lose a pa at a young age.”
The answer seemed to satisfy her. At least, she looked less inclined to do him bodily harm. “I don’t want your charity.”
“A music box hardly qualifies as charity.”
“I’ll pay you back,” she said after a pause. “But it’ll take time.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want your money.”
Her forehead creased. “Then what do you want?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“You bought my daughter an expensive gift and want nothing in return?” She looked and sounded incredulous.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“You hardly know us.”
“I know enough to want to make a little girl happy,” he said.
A look of vulnerability crossed Ellie-May Blackwell’s face, and much to his surprise, her eyes filled with tears.
He took a step forward but stopped short of touching her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.
She swiped a tear away from her cheek. “It’s just that…” she began and stopped. He sensed her hesitation. Saw a shadow of indecision cross her face. “I’m not used to such kindness.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’d say that’s a real shame,” he said. “A widow with two children deserves all the kindness and consideration she can get.”
The tears magnified the pain in her eyes, and he felt an overwhelming need to comfort her. Protect her. He’d seen those same eyes flash with anger, harden in determination, and soften with tenderness for her child. But now, looking into her eyes, he felt as if her heart was opening to him like the petals of a flower, beckoning him to peer inside.
“There, now,” he said soothingly. Cursing himself for the inadequacy of his words, he drew a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her cheeks dry. It seemed that all he could do was wipe away her tears, and he was grateful that she let him do it.
The Outlaw's Daughter Page 10