* * *
“Lionel!”
Ellie-May scanned the property for as far as she could see, panic rising inside her. She checked the tree he liked to climb and looked inside the shed. She found no sign of him, not even his shoes, which he loved to cast aside. Oh, Lionel, where are you?
Standing next to the side of the barn, Ellie-May shaded her eyes against the sun and looked toward the pond. Without his fishing pole, she doubted Lionel had gone there, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.
Just as she’d started in the pond’s direction, a movement caught her eye. Turning, she gasped in horror. Roberts stood a short distance away, his arm around Lionel’s neck. In his free hand, he held a gun pointed at her.
“Let him go,” she said when she could find her voice. Her poor son looked scared to death. His face was white and his eyes round as saucers.
“Do as I say,” Roberts hissed, “and the boy won’t git hurt.”
Icy fear twisting inside, she swallowed hard and knotted her hands by her sides. “What…what do you want?”
“I want what’s mine. I want the loot. Where is it?”
Ellie-May forced herself to breathe and not panic. If she and her son had any chance of coming out of this alive, she had to remain calm and think clearly. If she told Roberts the truth—that she didn’t know where the money had gone—he probably wouldn’t believe her.
“It’s…it’s under the front porch,” she said. Last night, after finding the money gone, she’d hammered the tread back in place and was grateful now that she had. Prying off the step would likely keep Roberts occupied until Anvil returned.
“Show me where,” he snapped, keeping his hold on Lionel. “And you better not be pulling any tricks.”
She struggled to find her voice. “First you have to let my son go.”
Eyes as hard as stone lit into hers. “Not till you show me the money.”
The dark expression told her he meant business and she’d best do as he said. “Th-this way,” she stammered.
Casting Lionel what she hoped was a look of reassurance, she started across the yard toward the house. She prayed her knees wouldn’t buckle and her heart wouldn’t stop. She searched the distant road for signs of Anvil. Where was he? What was taking so long? He should have been back from taking Alicia to school by now.
After what seemed like the longest walk of her life, she finally reached the porch and pointed to the steps. “It’s hidden under there.”
Roberts gave the porch a visual inspection. “Where do you keep your tools?”
“In the toolshed behind the barn.”
A look of impatience fleeted across his face. “Get ’em. And don’t try any funny business.”
She gazed at Lionel, not wanting to leave him alone with Roberts.
“I said get ’em!” Roberts thundered.
“Don’t go, Mama,” Lionel cried. “Don’t go!”
Roberts shook him. “Shut up, kid!” he said, waving the gun at her. “If you know what’s good for you and the boy, you’ll do as I say.”
“D-don’t be scared, Lionel,” she stammered, backing away. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
It almost broke her heart to leave him, but what else could she do? She held on to Lionel’s gaze for as long as she could before turning. Hiking up her skirt, she ran to the toolshed as fast as she could and fumbled with the rusty latch.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered beneath her breath.
At last, the door creaked open. Her hands were shaking so hard, she could hardly grab the crowbar from the workbench. Holding her raw emotions in check, she forced herself to breathe. Where was Anvil? If only Matt were there. He would know what to do.
Appalled that her thoughts had turned to Matt in her hour of need, she rushed back to the house on shaky legs, her feet pounding the hard clay soil. Roberts hadn’t moved in her absence, and his arm was still wrapped around Lionel’s neck.
Noting the crowbar in her hands, Roberts tossed a nod at the step. “Pry it off.”
“First let him go,” she pleaded.
“I said pry it off!”
Since there didn’t seem to be anything else to do but follow his orders, Ellie-May dropped to her knees. Fumbling with the tool, she worked the claw beneath the tread lip. Biding for time, she pretended to exert pressure. Though her back was turned, she could hear Roberts’s seething breath hiss between his clenched teeth.
“Stop!” he yelled at last. He moved his arm from around Lionel’s neck and grabbed hold of her wrist, his fingers digging into her flesh.
“You!” he said, addressing her son. “Go into the house and stay there. You hear me?”
Lionel’s gaze found hers, his eyes glittering with stark fear.
“Do it!” Roberts yelled.
Still Lionel refused to move. “Do what he says.” Ellie-May smiled and hoped it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “I’ll be okay.”
Lionel hesitated a moment before turning. He ran up the steps and into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.
Seemingly satisfied that the boy would give him no trouble, Roberts turned his full attention on Ellie-May. “Give me that!” He snatched the crowbar out of her hands. “Stay there where I can keep my eye on you,” he said, pointing a short distance away. “And don’t move.”
Holding the gun in his left hand, he aimed it at her and worked to pry the tread loose with his right hand. As the wood began to splinter, Ellie-May held her breath, and her mouth ran dry. There was no telling what Roberts would do when he found the area beneath the porch empty.
Ellie-May eyed the road leading to the farm. Where are you, Anvil? Where are you?
The sudden blast of a shotgun startled her. Crying out, she jumped. Eyes rounded, her mouth fell open, and Roberts looked equally shocked. His hat had blown clear off his head, and he’d dropped both the crowbar and gun.
Acting purely out of instinct, Ellie-May reached down to grab the gun that had fallen mere inches from her feet. Pointing the weapon straight at Roberts with shaky hands, she glanced at the doorway where her young son stood, the smoking shotgun still posed in his hand.
Swallowing hard, she searched for her voice. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave now and not come back.”
Roberts glared at her but said nothing. Instead, he reached for his hat and examined the bullet hole in the crown.
“This isn’t the end,” he muttered at last and lumbered away on foot.
Ellie-May kept the gun aimed at him until he was out of sight. Shoulders sagging in relief, she rushed up the steps to her young son’s side.
“He was a bad man, Mama,” Lionel said, sounding remarkably calm given the situation.
“Yes. Yes, he was.” She grabbed the shotgun out of his hands. “Quick! In the house.”
The moment they were both safely inside, she slammed the door shut with her foot. After standing the shotgun in a corner, she locked the door with her free hand.
She wasn’t ready to give up Roberts’s gun, so she kept it with her as she ran around the house closing windows and checking the back door. Assured that all the windows and entrances were secure, she returned to the parlor. Only then did she place the gun within easy reach on the mantel.
Hand on her chest, she tried catching her breath before turning to face her son. He hadn’t moved since entering the house and now stood watching her with rounded eyes.
Drawing him into her arms, she hugged him tight. He was safe—they both were—and her heart nearly burst with gratitude. Thank you, God.
“When…when did you learn to fire a shotgun?” she asked when she could finally think clearly.
The question seemed to perplex him. “Don’t you remember?” he asked. Stirring in her arms, he gazed up at her. “Papa taught me.”
She released him. “Oh, that’
s right.”
How could she have forgotten? At the time, she remembered thinking a five-year-old too young to use a gun and had argued with Neal about it. But he’d been adamant about teaching his son the proper handling of a weapon. It wasn’t hard to understood why he had been so insistent. Neal had wanted to make sure his son never shot anyone by accident as he himself once had.
“That bad man said Papa stole his money.” An indignant look crossed Lionel’s face, and she could almost see the man he would one day become. “That’s not true, Mama. It’s bad to steal, and Papa wouldn’t do nothing bad.”
Praying that her children would never find out the truth about their father, she hugged him tight. “You did good, Son,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “Your pa would have been proud.”
Lionel looked up at her, and once again she was reminded how much he looked like Neal. How much he was like his pa in so many other ways as well. “I’m hungry, Mama. Can I eat now?”
Ellie-May drew back. “Hungry? Oh, that’s right. You haven’t had breakfast.”
Marveling at her son’s resilience, she took him by the hand, and together they walked into the kitchen. Releasing him, she set to work cooking up a plate of flapjacks and bacon, taking special care this time not to burn them.
Roberts was gone for now, but there was no telling when he would return. The only way to prevent him from doing so was to go through with her plan of leaving the sack of money at the mayor’s house. But what if Anvil refused to tell her where he’d hidden it? Since he still hadn’t returned from taking Alicia to school, he might have already absconded with the money. As much as she hated thinking such a thing, it was a possibility.
After setting Lionel’s breakfast on the table, she glanced out the window and chewed on a nail. Oh, Anvil, not you, too.
26
Matt caught up to the posse just as the sheriff ordered his men to spread out. In all, there were twelve men.
“I’ll check the Blackwell farm,” Matt called. Without waiting for the sheriff to approve or disapprove, he took off at a gallop.
The farm looked peaceful enough as he rode up the narrow dirt road leading to the house. He dismounted and cautiously looked around. Nothing seemed amiss, except for the crowbar on the step.
Wrapping the reins of his horse around the railing, he leaped up to the porch and banged on the door. Recalling how Ellie-May had ordered him to leave the house, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception awaited him.
“Ellie-May,” he called. “It’s Matt.”
He knew as soon as she opened the door that something was terribly wrong. Her face was strained, and she held on to her son as if to never let him go.
He fully expected her to tell him to leave, but instead she said, “Roberts was here.”
“When?” he asked, senses alert.
“About twenty minutes ago.”
Lionel pulled away from his mother’s arms. “I shot him,” he said proudly.
Matt stared at the boy. “You…shot him?”
Lionel nodded. “He was a bad man.”
“He caused Roberts no harm,” Ellie-May added quickly and shuddered.
Worried that she was about to collapse, Matt stepped into the house and took her by the arm. “You okay?” he asked, leading her to a chair.
Sitting, she gazed up at him and relayed all that had happened.
“What did Roberts want?” Matt asked.
Her lips parted but she didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew. He didn’t want to know, but he knew.
“That’s his gun,” she said, pointing to the weapon on the mantel. “He’s not armed. Least as far as I know.”
“Did he have a horse?”
She shook her head. “None that I saw.”
“I’ll check around,” Matt said. “He couldn’t have gotten far on foot.” Noting the quiver of her lips, he dropped to a knee by her side and took her hand in his.
This time, she yanked her hand away. The gesture, along with her dark look, told him that nothing had changed. She still thought the worst of him.
“About the other day,” he began slowly, watching her face. “I had no right…” It hardly seemed like the time to talk about a moment they’d both be better off forgetting. But he hated her thinking the worst of him, hated her thinking he would use amorous tactics to trick her.
“I know it looks bad,” he said, “but it was never my intention to deceive you.” The instant their lips met, the stagecoach robbery and Neal Blackwell had been the farthest thing from his mind. “It was unprofessional of me, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
She searched his face as if to validate his sincerity, but the suspicion remained in her eyes. “Why else would you give my children gifts?” she asked. “Why else would you—” Biting her lip, she looked away.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I…” Surprised that the word love was on the tip of his tongue, he clamped down on his jaw and stood. Mustn’t go there. Wouldn’t go there. He had a job to do and should be thinking of only that. Nothing else.
“Lock the door after I’m gone,” he said, crossing to the door with long, quick steps. “And stay inside.”
* * *
Ellie-May watched Matt walk out of the house with confused feelings. How strange that a man who could do her and her family so much harm could, at the same time, make her feel so utterly and completely safe.
He said he was sorry for kissing her. She wanted to believe him when he said he hadn’t meant to trick her. But that was a hard thing to do. For that would mean that his kiss had meant something, and as much as she wanted to believe such a thing was true, she couldn’t.
What would a worldly man like Matt Taggert see in a woman like her? Not only was she the daughter of an outlaw, but it appeared she had also married one. Even without knowing her background, a man would have to be crazy to involve himself with a poor widow who had two children and a dilapidated farm.
The rattle of wagon wheels drew her away from her thoughts, and she raced to the window. It was Anvil. Finally! Relief rushing through her, she ran to the door just as he pulled up in front of the house.
He quickly joined her on the porch. “I ran into the sheriff. He said that Roberts was in the area.”
“It’s true,” she said and motioned him inside.
Anvil listened to her ramble on about what had happened in his absence, and a look of horror shadowed his face. “You shouldn’t have had to face him alone,” he said when at last she fell silent. “I should have been here for you.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she said. “Lionel saved me.”
Lionel walked out of the kitchen upon hearing his name. “He was a bad man,” he managed around a mouthful of food.
Anvil turned questioning eyes on Ellie-May. “I’ll explain later,” she whispered. In a louder voice, she asked, “Where were you?” It didn’t take that long to drive to the school and back.
He cleared his throat and ran a finger along the inside of his collar, his neck all red. “Well…I…um…”
“Why, Anvil. You’re blushing.” She regarded him with a sideways glance. “You didn’t by chance stop by to see Mrs. Buttonwood, did you?”
“You c-caught me there,” he stammered. “I…thought I should stop by and thank her for taking such good care of me during my recovery.”
“Such good care?” Ellie-May tilted her head sideways. “That’s not what you said before.”
“I might have said a few things I shouldn’t have. But that was the fever talking. Not me.”
Ellie-May gave him a playful punch on the arm. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a fancy to Mrs. Buttonwood.”
Anvil reared back. “Now don’t go jumpin’ to conclusions. You’re not the only one who had a bad mornin’. All I done is made a friendly call. How could I know she was gonna go all crazy-li
ke on me?”
Ellie-May frowned. “What do you mean? Crazy-like?”
Lifting his chin, Anvil pulled himself up to his full height. “Do you know what the fool woman did? I’ll tell you what she did. She proposed marriage. That’s what!”
Ellie-May drew back. “She did what?”
“She asked me to marry her,” he repeated. He somehow managed to make it sound as if the marriage proposal had been every bit as horrifying as her ordeal with Roberts. “Don’t that beat all?”
“What did you tell her?”
“What do you think I told her? I said no, I wouldn’t marry her. It’s a man’s job to propose. Not a woman’s.”
Ellie-May studied him with serious regard. “Is that the only reason you turned her down? Because she proposed and not you?”
Anvil dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. “No, it ain’t the only reason. Give a woman like that an inch, and she’ll start thinking she’s the whole ruler. Gosh-a-livin’, a man would have to be a dang fool to give up his freedom for a woman like that.”
“If you say so,” Ellie-May said. Not wanting to give him a bad time, she let the matter drop. Anxious to question Anvil about the missing money, she glanced at her son, who’d been listening to the conversation with rapt attention. “There’re still some macaroons left in the cookie jar.” Macaroons were his favorite.
Lionel brightened. “For me?” he asked.
“For you,” she said and smiled. She waited for her son to leave the room before turning to Anvil. “We need to talk.” She lowered her voice. “I know you took the gunnysack from beneath the porch.” Without giving him a chance to confirm or deny it, she added, “No one else could have done it.”
Anvil frowned. “So you know about the money?”
She drew in her breath. “I found it when I went to repair the step.”
“Same here,” he said. “Couldn’t believe my eyes. All that dough just sittin’ there.”
Detecting awe in his voice and maybe even surprise, she knitted her brows. “Where…where do you think the money came from?”
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