by Linda Broday
“I doubt it.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. “He’ll have to go up with one of us holding him.”
“Probably work best.” The kid was slight and couldn’t weigh much over fifty pounds. “I’ll take him up with me.”
Jack got the rope on them and called to Henry to back the horse. Slowly, Ridge and Ely inched toward the top where Clay hauled them over the lip. He carefully laid Ely down and spoke the question that had to be in Ridge’s eyes. “How will we get him home?”
After Jack made it to the top, they agreed the boy would ride in Ridge’s lap with his leg padded by a blanket Jack had thrown in that morning. Jenny rode in front of Clay. Purple twilight fell over them by the time they arrived at the hotel. Travis and Rebel sat on the wide porch, Rafe in Travis’s arms.
Rebel screamed when she saw them and raced down the steps. “My babies!”
A crowd began to gather. It seemed as though the whole town had been holding vigil, and now they all ran to see the miracle.
Rebel clutched Jenny to her. Travis handed Rafe to Addie, then gently lifted Ely down and carried him toward Dr. Mary’s small hospital.
Addie hurried to Ridge’s side as he dismounted. “Thank God you found them. I knew if anyone could, it would be you.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” He felt as though he sat atop a bucking bronc and was losing his grip. Blame it on the dancing light in her eyes and a smile that sent thoughts of soft sheets and bare skin whirling in his head.
Her sassy little grin said she must share similar thoughts. Her voice was husky. “I know things.”
Ridge chuckled and slid an arm around her waist. “Darlin’, I’m sure not about to argue with that.”
Nora strode toward them with a knowing smile. “I have a feeling you need someone to take little Rafe off your hands. The way you’re looking at each other, you’re both about to combust.”
“You’re an angel, Nora.” Anxious to be alone with his wife, Ridge quickly transferred the baby from Addie’s arms to Nora’s, then drew his wife closer. “Let’s go home, Addie.”
Twenty-Three
Life ramped up in Hope’s Crossing over the next few days, as Ely adjusted to his broken leg and Jenny found herself at the center of lots of attention for the first time in her young life. Men were working everywhere Addie looked, collecting stockpiles of materials and hauling them out to the worksites. She’d never heard so much hammering and sawing as rebuilding the two destroyed houses commenced.
As for the women, they carried on with their plans. Addie invited Tally, Melanie, and Nora to her house for tea one day and showed them all the decorations she’d made for the dance.
“These are so pretty.” Melanie fingered the festive bunting, a pensive expression on her face. “I can’t wait until we have everything back to normal.”
“Me too.” Tally held up a streamer. “I miss our dances, but it’s not right to celebrate when the Lassiters and McClains are hurting.”
Addie brought the teapot to the table. “But just think of what a happy celebration we’ll have when those families are back in their homes. With the way the men are burning daylight, I doubt it’ll take too much longer.”
“Jack says everything is going well.” Nora cut slices of pumpkin bread and arranged them on small plates. “I’m thankful the storm didn’t destroy the town.”
Melanie reached for her dessert plate. “It could’ve been a lot worse, for sure.”
The conversation wandered to children for a bit, then some speculation about when the banker would arrive.
Tally leaned close. “Clay said a telegram came from Mr. Wintersby yesterday, and the banker’s decided to stay in San Francisco. He’s sending his daughter to oversee their holdings here instead.”
“A woman banker?” Nora arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know there were any.”
“Me either.” Addie wondered if the woman would have qualms about opening a bank in an outlaw town. That would take some gumption.
“My sister Ava had hoped to get a job there. It took them too long, though, and she’s already gone. She left a few weeks ago with a rich English gentleman who’s touring the West and doesn’t know when she’ll return.” Melanie lifted a bite of pumpkin bread to her mouth. “She’s excellent with numbers.”
“So are you, dear.” Tally gave her a knowing smile.
“That was a long time ago. I gave up playing cards for money. Now I chase after two ten-year-olds and a five-year-old.” Melanie laughed.
The more Addie learned about these women, the more she realized that having a past didn’t have to define you. Everyone had one, and it was simply something that happened on the way to becoming who you wanted to be.
“And soon to have a baby,” Nora added.
A smile on her face and dimples showing, Melanie rested a hand on her round stomach.
“How does Tait feel, being an uncle and now soon to be a father?” Addie was curious about these outlaw men and how Ridge might react if, down the road, things turned out in their favor and they could start planning.
“I’ve never seen him so happy. You’d think those kids hung the moon and stars.”
“Tait’s going to make a fine father. You have my word on that. He’s like Jack.” Nora closed her mouth around her fork and groaned. “I’ve died and gone to heaven. Did you make this, Addie?”
“I tried to recreate an old recipe of my grandmother’s from memory. I hoped it would turn out.”
“It more than turned out.” Tally reached for Addie’s old notebook and pencil and slapped it down in front of her. “Write it down for me please.”
Happy they found her attempt at making the pumpkin bread more than satisfying, Addie wrote down the recipe, and the ladies left her house, chattering like magpies. The warm feeling of companionship, of being wanted and understood, stayed with her long after the ladies left. For the first time, she knew the full scope of what she’d been cheated out of. Like plants needed sun to grow, true friendship required laughter and sharing to nurture one’s soul.
* * *
A week flew by before Ridge knew it. He spent his days helping rebuild the damaged houses and his nights holding Addie close, whispering in her ear, touching her, and making sure she knew how much he loved her. He found it hard to put into words, so he mostly showed her.
Addie had become his truest friend, his forever wife, and he’d fallen totally and utterly in love.
Bodie’s words came back. You know, it’s not so much what you say but how you say it. When you talk to her, your voice gets all gentle and melty like my pa’s used to.
The kid had been right all along. Ridge’s idea that love was something big and noisy had been way off the mark. Instead, it had snuck in quietly while he had his back turned. Each time he thought of how goofy that sounded, he threw back his head and laughed.
Up to now he hadn’t spoken of love. That was about to change. He meant to open his heart at the next opportunity.
He barely recognized Addie from the woman who’d first appeared in town. She had confidence now, had changed in front of his eyes from a caterpillar into a breathtaking butterfly, flitting around and touching people’s lives for the better. He couldn’t wait to get home at the end of the day and see her.
Ridge began packing up his tools at noon. Jack had left midmorning to get ready to take their prisoners to Sam Legend at Lost Point.
“Hey, you quitting?” Tait Trinity asked.
“Yeah. You know I have a business to run in addition to this.”
“Not to mention a pretty new wife at home.” Tait winked. “I know how it is.”
“When’s your baby set to arrive?” Ridge tossed his hammer, plane, and level into his box.
Tait grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “In the next three or four weeks. Joe and Jesse are coming up with all sorts of crazy
names, like Mistletoe, Garland, or Rex. Our little Becky has her heart set on Angel or Belle. Could be a problem for a boy.”
“Aren’t those pretty much—”
“Christmas names? Yep, but try telling that to my bunch.” Tait wagged his head.
Ridge laughed. “Good luck. Might be best to name the child yourself.”
Leaving the worksite, Ridge stopped by the house for Addie, and they soon reined up next to Jack’s wagon. Addie dismounted and went to Nora, who stood with the baby, ready to see her husband off. Two-year-old daughter Willow squatted in the dirt to play.
Ridge hurried to help Jack at the outdoor cell, snapping manacles to Tiny’s and Pickens’s wrists. “Need help?”
“I think I have it, but thanks.” Jack turned his attention back to the prisoners. “March to the wagon and sit down in the bed. Do as I say, and we won’t have a problem.”
“I’ll have a word with Adeline first,” Pickens snarled.
“You’ll go nowhere near my wife.” Ridge fixed him with a hard stare. “I ought to kill you for whipping her.”
Pickens shrugged. “I was only doing what her father paid me to do.”
Jack gave the man a shove. “Get along. You have a lot of damn nerve.”
The stage rumbled through the town’s entrance. The dogs raced toward it, barking and raising a holy ruckus. A woman in a gigantic hat sat perched on top like a queen, looking from side to side and waving both arms and whooping.
“What the hell is that?” Ridge asked. “Are we having a parade and no one told me?”
Jack removed his hat and scratched his head. “Not exactly sure, but the crazy woman’ll fall off if she’s not careful.”
The stage stopped in front of the hotel, and Clay emerged to see the cause of the ruckus.
Before Ridge could swing back to the job at hand, Pickens pulled a sharpened fork from his shirt and stabbed Jack in the neck. He wrenched the fork free, and flowing blood immediately soaked the collar of Jack’s white shirt. He yelled in agony, clutching his throat, blood running through his fingers.
Rooted in shock and disbelief for a moment, Ridge jerked off his shirt and pressed it hard to the wound.
Addie and Nora screamed and tried to run to Jack.
Pickens held the fork out toward them, the tines sharpened to fine points. “Stay back or you’re next.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Nora spat. “Rot in hell.”
“Watch me.”
Tiny bounded into the hitched wagon with Pickens right behind and grabbed the reins. Addie made a dive for little Willow, playing in the dirt, and snatched her up just in time to avoid being trampled by the horses. Dodging bullets, the two prisoners headed directly for the stage. The strange woman climbed down from the top, and Tiny yanked her into the wagon.
Men ran toward them, firing and cursing.
Pickens held the homemade weapon against his hostage’s neck and yelled, “Stop shooting or this woman dies.”
“Better say your prayers ’cause you’re gonna need ’em,” hollered one of the men.
Without another word, the prisoners and their hostage raced away. Men ran to find their horses, and those already mounted took off after the wagon.
Ridge could only watch. His focus was on making sure Jack stayed alive. The loss of blood had already turned his friend’s face ashen. “Get the doctor! Hurry!”
Nora knelt next to her husband, and her hands shook as she whipped off her shawl. She wadded it up tightly, and Ridge switched it out with his blood-soaked shirt.
“Where’s Dr. Mary?” Ridge barked, then glanced up and breathed a sigh of relief to see the doctor hurrying toward them.
Jack gripped Ridge’s hand. “Go after them.”
“I will.” Ridge stood to make room for the doctor. His gaze went to Addie, who had collected the Bowdre kids around her. She seemed rattled but fine.
One look, and Dr. Mary ordered, “Let’s get Bowdre to my hospital. Thank God they missed the main artery, but he’ll die if I don’t get the bleeding stopped.”
Ridge and others carefully picked Jack up and carried him to the hospital. Half the town was still standing in the square, talking about what had just happened. Everyone was asking about the strange woman from the stagecoach, but no one knew who she might be. Several people speculated that she came to help Tiny and Pickens escape.
Tossing around theories seemed a waste of time, in Ridge’s opinion. He dealt in facts, and right now there weren’t many.
He thought about praying that his good friend wouldn’t die, but maybe God didn’t need a joke today, and that’s how Ridge felt about asking for favors. Best to stick to the man he now was. The one who’d learned the best luck was what you made for yourself.
Once Jack was in Dr. Mary’s surgery, Ridge emerged from the hospital and went straight to Cob, still standing where he’d left him. Addie was nowhere in sight, and someone told him she’d gone to the Bowdre house with the children.
With that, Ridge swung into the saddle and galloped away, chasing the dust cloud left by the others who’d already lit out. How quickly the men of Hope’s Crossing had stepped back into their old roles—outlaws thirsting for some justice. There were none better. Ridge urged Cob faster and soon passed the stragglers. He kept riding, pushing the horse harder. He’d made Jack a promise and would do his best to keep it.
Before long, he caught up with the lead riders, who’d reined up. “Why are you stopped?”
Dallas Hawk pushed back his hat. The large man’s complexion seemed even redder than normal, anger probably playing a big part. “We lost ’em. They went around this stand of mesquites and just disappeared.”
“What do you mean…disappeared?” That didn’t make sense to Ridge. “How far back were you?”
“I mean they weren’t here, or up the road, or anywhere.” The breeze danced in Hawk’s long, bushy beard. He blew out a frustrated breath. “Me and the boys were probably seventy-five yards back. No more than that. The mean one that stabbed Jack was still holding the woman in front of him, so we couldn’t shoot. How’s Jack?”
“The doc was looking after him, trying to get the bleeding stopped. It doesn’t look good.” Ridge scanned the brush. “I’m going to ride on and see what I can find.”
“Mind if I come along?”
“Suit yourself.” Ridge trotted away, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.
“That guy sure had a sharp fork,” Hawk remarked.
“He’d filed the tines down to knife points.”
“Next time we get a prisoner, we oughta make him eat with his damn fingers.”
Ridge agreed. “Or hang him on the spot.”
They rode for about two miles, then turned around. Near the stand of mesquites where the escapees had disappeared, Ridge cut off to the left and went down into a gully that was invisible from the road. There lay the wagon on its side, the horses gone. Guns drawn, he and Hawk dismounted. Not a soul was in sight.
A piece of paper fluttered in the breeze, stuck to the wood of the wagon by the sharpened fork. Ridge pulled the note off and read the words. Better luck next time.
Dallas snorted and clenched a meaty fist tight. “I hope I meet up with them again.”
“So do I.” Ridge scoured the area and found what he was looking for at the other end of the gully. He squatted in the sand next to a lot of tracks—both human and animal. “Horses were waiting here for Tiny, Pickens, and the woman to make the transfer. They abandoned the wagon and rode off.”
“Wonder what they did with Jack’s horses from the wagon.” The big fiddle player scanned the area. “Did they take them along?”
“Either that or turned them loose.” Ridge let out a string of cusswords. They’d lose more time having to look for them. Dammit!
“Awful strange about that goldarned sass
y woman. Did they take her with them?”
Ridge bit back deep irritation. He’d never known Dallas to be so full of questions. “It does appear that way.”
“Why? They didn’t need her anymore.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was in on the whole plan.” Ridge strode to Cob and stuck his foot in the stirrup. “We need to look for Jack’s horses and get back to town. I’m interested in what the stage driver has to say.”
“If he hasn’t gone out on his run. But ain’t this Friday?”
“Yep.”
“That’s good luck for us. He always has a layover on Friday and won’t head out until tomorrow.”
Ridge spurred his gelding. They needed some answers, so they could be ready in case Tiny and Pickens returned.
After spending a couple of hours looking for the wagon team and coming up empty, they gave up and headed back to town. If the horses were loose, they’d eventually find their way to grass and water.
Ridge and Dallas aimed straight for the stage line office only to learn the driver, George Finch, had made tracks for the local watering hole. Being in the shank of the afternoon, the Wild Rose Saloon business seemed to be picking up. Piano music met Ridge’s ears as he pushed through the batwing doors. George sat a table with a cold, frothy beer in front of him, enjoying his short layover.
Ridge’s spurs clinked as he strode toward his quarry and pulled out a chair. “A good day to have a drink, I reckon, George.”
The driver looked up with a long face. “Never in all my born days have I seen the like.”
George Finch was about Ridge’s age, best he could figure, although his black hair and mustache sported a few silver streaks. The man was built like a bull, stout and tall.
“It’s been an odd one, that’s for sure.” The beer looked inviting, but Ridge had no time for relaxing. “You up to answering some questions?”
“Steele, I had nothing to do with that breakout.”
“I’m not accusing you, George. I need to know about the woman on your coach.”
“She flagged me down a couple of miles outside of town and gave me a dollar to ride on in and an extra two bits to let her sit up on top.”