Authors: Jillian Hart
Calico Bride (7 page)
Dobbs knelt down to check under the bed and pulled out an empty satchel. He opened it and felt for anything that might be hidden in the lining. "You might be useful to me. No lawman has the kind of speed and accuracy you have. Only a man who lives and dies by his gun. A man who knows the way the world really works."
He tossed the satchel beneath the bed and stood. He opened the top left bureau drawer and pawed through the socks and handkerchiefs folded there. "When you went and missed Slim's gang not by an inch but by a mile, I knew I was right. You clearly weren't trying to stop them."
"No, I wasn't." When he'd spotted Slim's gang and his old nemesis, Cheever, his instinct had been to shoot. But he'd caught sight of Dobbs down the street, standing with his .45 holstered and his arms crossed on his chest, watching the show, and he'd realized there was more to his investigation than he'd first thought. Dobbs either knew about the robbery before it happened, or didn't mind that it did. Just in time, he swung his gun away and plugged two shots into the hitching post.
"You want to look good, be the big man in town. I see it, but I'm top dog around here. Don't you forget your place." Dobbs slammed the drawer shut and opened the adjacent one. He moved aside the folded shirts and studied the .45. "Well, I guess there are no surprises. I'll be talking to you again soon."
Footsteps tapped gently in the hallway. Dobbs stilled, tilting his head to listen to the unmistakable rustle of a woman's petticoats.
"Burke?" A knock rapped on the door frame, and he recognized Lila's voice. "I was told by the owner to come on up'" She fell silent. He could see the hem of her pretty blue calico dress enter the room and pause. "Oh, what are you doing here, Sheriff?"
"Nothing." The laughter crept back into Dobbs's voice as he backed away from the dresser. "Just checking up on the deputy. Guess I'll keep him around for a while after all, as long as he knows his place."
Spurs chimed with every angry strike of his boots. The door smacked shut, and he was gone. Burke listened to his retreating footsteps and tension drained out of him, leaving him weaker than before. Glad that was over.
"Why does the sheriff treat you like that?" A chair scraped against the wood planks and came to a rest at his bedside.
"He's establishing dominance. It's what bullies do."
"Are you all right?" Her skirts whispered as she settled into the chair beside him.
The thoroughly feminine sound comforted him and he opened his eyes. "I'm fine."
The basket she carried made a quiet thud as it came to rest near her feet. She was a vision in light blue sprigged cotton. Gazing upon her made his injuries ache less and the shadows inside him fade. Gratitude overwhelmed him when she lifted the dipper from the pail. Inviting droplets splashed from the ladle as she leaned in, bringing it closer.
Bless her. The refreshing wetness tumbled over his cracked lips and he slurped it in. Cool water sluiced across his sandy tongue, chasing away the grittiness and trickling down his throat. The agony that had been his thirst began to recede when he took another long swallow.
He shouldn't be glad to see her. His spirit shouldn't be rejoicing that she was near. He couldn't help it. Her presence was like that cool drink of water.
"I'm tougher than I look." He watched her while she refilled the dipper. Soft cinnamon-brown wisps had come loose from her braid to frame her oval face and caress her porcelain skin.
"Will he guess who you really are?" Distress drew tiny crinkles around her green-blue eyes.
"That's not your worry, Lila." His heart could stop at her lovely innocence, if he let it. "Your stepmother isn't going to like that you're here with me."
"My stepmother doesn't need to know. I'm eighteen. I'm capable of making my own decisions." She brought the dipper to his lips again and tipped it.
He drank, grateful for the water and for her as his nursemaid.
"What did Eunice say to you?" she asked.
"Your stepmother was only looking out for you." He let his head drop back into the pillows. Now, if only the room would quit spinning.
"She said something hurtful to you, didn't she?" The dipper clunked lightly into the pail. "She had no right to say whatever it was."
"She had every right. I never said she was wrong." He felt awkward with her here, when he didn't think she ought to be. He may as well get it over with. Sooner or later Lila would start doubting and wondering, seeing the bad that had been there all along. The bad he couldn't pray away. "I'm no good for you, Lila."
"I don't know. You seem all right to me." Her forehead crinkled adorably. She appeared a little confused by his comments but her sweet smile remained on her soft red lips. She lifted the lid of the basket she'd brought. The scents of chicken soup and buttermilk biscuits filled the air.
"I went to all the trouble of cooking for you." Dishes rattled as she uncovered them. "At least wait until you are done eating before you reject me."
"I'm not rejecting you. I'm warning you."
"Is this about the "no ties' speech you gave me?" She carefully filled a spoon with broth. "Because I heard it. I'm not going to fall in love with you, Burke. Honestly, my heart is already taken."
"By who?"
"That's none of your business."
The spoon brushed his bottom lip and he sipped from it. The soup was hot and bracing and good. Just what his body needed. He couldn't send her away if he wanted to. He needed her and she knew it. Bless her for knowing it, bless her for coming. He had no one else.
"At least give me a hint." He swallowed, waiting for the next spoonful.
"It's not a real man so much as the idea of one." She carefully tipped the spoon against his mouth. "When my pa met my ma, he said it was true love at first sight. They were the other's best friend, missing half, soul mate. Pa said he couldn't breathe until she breathed, too."
"They were happy." He sounded surprised, as if anyone married could be.
"No, they weren't merely happy. They were joyous. That's what I want. I want a man who can be the other half to my soul, who knows my heart better than I know it myself and who is the champion of my dreams." She set the spoon in the bowl and reached for the plate of biscuits. "As you can see, that man isn't you."
"Yes. I fall far short."
"So rest easy, Deputy. I'm not setting my bonnet for you." She broke apart a buttered half of crumbly buttermilk goodness and set it on his tongue. "You are safe from the likes of me."
"Unless you lower your standards."
"I'm not interested in lowering them
that
far." She teased gently, because laughter was easier than admitting the truth. "And if no woman will ever claim your heart, I can't think I would ever be a danger to you. Unless you are not as tough as you claim."
"I'm tougher."
"Then I don't see any reason why we can't be friends." She spooned up more soup. "You seem to need one, Burke. At least until you are on your feet again."
"I suppose I can suffer through your friendship for that length of time."
"Good." She saw the glint of emotion in his midnight-blue gaze and the truth behind his words he could not admit to.
Neither could she.
Chapter Seven
E
arlee couldn't get Finn's letter out of her mind. She padded through the grass, squinted into the early-morning sun and adjusted the buckets she packed. The grass felt soft beneath her bare feet and cool. The last vestiges of dawn painted the eastern horizon a faint pink. She breathed in the freshness of the grass, renewed by the night, and the hint of wild roses blooming hidden among the grasses. She savored the wide-open feeling of the prairie. She had to enjoy being outside while she could. Come September, she would be shut inside a schoolroom, if she could find a job, that is. She had a few more applications to fill out and mail.
"Good morning, Bessie." She set down the pail of fresh cold well water in front of the milk cow. Big brown eyes sparkled their appreciation and the Guernsey held out her soft brown head for a pet. Earlee obliged her with lots of strokes. "You are such a good girl. I brought you some grain, too. I know how much you like it."
In a show of affection, Bessie rubbed her poll against Earlee's skirt before diving into the grain bucket. That left only one bucket, empty, which she circled around and set beneath Bessie's full udder. She knelt to begin milking and leaned her cheek against Bessie's warm, soft side. Milk zinged into the tin pail and her mind wandered.
I'm being selfish writing you and looking forward to your letters,
Finn had written. Selfish. That's how he saw it? Now that the initial devastation of his rejection had begun to fade, she could think about his words more clearly.
Maybe you shouldn't spend your time writing to a convict like me.
Did he really think she would have begun corresponding with him if she thought it was a bad way to spend her time? It wasn't that long ago, before Finn fell in with a bad crowd, that he'd stopped to give her family a ride. He had cheerfully handed up each of the younger children into the wagon bed. He'd been kind to her sisters and brothers and respectful of Ma.
That's why she'd become smitten with him in the first place. He'd talked to her as if she were nobility and held out his hand to help her onto the wagon seat. A flash of recognition sparked in her heart when they touched. Kind was the true nature of the man, and she'd never forgotten it. Even when he'd been arrested for masterminding a train robbery, she hadn't believed it of him. He'd made the bad mistake of committing a serious crime, but to mastermind it?
"Earlee? Whatcha doin'?" Edward broke into her thoughts, his bare feet pounding through the grass. "Can I help?"
"Bessie's picket pin needs to be moved."
"I can do it!" Edward dashed off eagerly.
Bessie lifted her head from the grain bucket and mooed after the boy, apparently needing a pet from him, too.
With a smile, her thoughts returned to analyzing Finn's letter.
Your writing made me forget where I was for a few moments.
He may not want her to write him again, but he'd enjoyed her letters. He was rejecting her out of concern for her. He wasn't selfish; he cared for her.
"Earlee! Edward!" Ma called from the back doorstep. "Breakfast."
"Coming." Perfect timing. She squeezed the last of the milk into the pail and waved to her mother.
Ma waved back and disappeared into the house. Poor Ma. This morning was a good one for her. She was up and assisting Beatrice with the kitchen work, but she tired easily. Ma was so delicate. There was no way she could ever discuss this situation with her.
So, did she send him another letter? Or did she do as Finn asked? She didn't know what to do. He'd clearly penned,
don't write me again
. She gave Bessie a pat on the flank and grabbed the bucket.
"I'll be back in a bit, good girl," she told the cow and carried the heavy milk pail toward the house. Edward finished moving the picket pin and came running after her.
"
In the wash of early-morning sunshine, Lila knelt before the penny candy barrel and opened the little striped paper sack. "What kind do you want?" she asked the children.
"The lemon ones." Little James McKaslin didn't hesitate. "That's my favorite."
"Then we had better get a lot of those. I'll pick all the best pieces." She counted out a half dozen of the biggest lemon drops and plopped them into the bag. She loved this part of her job. "What would you like, Daisy?"
The platinum blonde little girl pondered for a moment. "The striped ones, please."
"Good choice. Those are my favorite, too." She dropped an equal amount of peppermint balls into the little bag and handed it over. The children bent over their candy, each politely taking one piece before handing the paper bag to their mother to keep for them.
"Thank you, Lila." Joanna McKaslin hugged the wrapped bundle of fabric and notions. "What time do you think your father will be by with the rest of my order?"
"Probably sometime around three." Lila leaned against the counter. "We've been busy this morning, so Pa has a lot of deliveries today. Will that be too late?"
"Not at all. I'll keep an eye out for him." Joanna opened the door and watched over her children as they padded onto the boardwalk. The sounds from the street swirled in with the dusty breeze. The ring of harnesses, the rumble of voices and the clop of horseshoes rang like pleasant music as Joanna waved goodbye and closed the door.
"You spend too much time with the customers." Eunice looked up from the ledger open on the long front counter. "This isn't a social event, it's a business. Look at all the dust those people let in."
"There's no reason not to like Mrs. McKaslin." Lila headed straight to the fabric counter to put away the bolts she'd taken down and cut for Joanna. "She's a good customer and a nice lady."
"She lived with that man before she married him." Eunice snapped the ledger shut. "I don't want a woman like that in this store."
"She
lived
next door to him. That's different than living with him." Lila did not believe Joanna was the type of lady who would do anything improper. "They are married now, so it's really not our business."
"We run a fine establishment. Our customers need to trust they will not be uncomfortable in this store." Eunice cared very much about profits. "The midmorning lull has died. Why don't you go out back and finish hanging the laundry?"
"I'll be happy to." She had been up early scrubbing the household garments, towels and sheets on the washboard and had made better progress than Eunice knew. Gladly, she shouldered the heavy bolt of candy-pink calico onto its shelf and hefted another light lavender one.
As she was setting the final bolt of light blue sprigged into place, the door chimed and Narcissa Bell paraded in with her mother. Definitely time to leave.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bell!" Eunice sailed across the store, her tone falsely bright. "Whatever can I do for you?"
Lila ignored the sneering look Narcissa sent her way and turned her back. She would never forget what Narcissa had done to try to break up Meredith and her beloved fiancé. Shane had managed to keep Meredith's heart, but it was no thanks to their archenemy. Nor would she forget the names Narcissa always called Ruby. Lila was all too happy to trip out the back door.
The sun was bright on the porch as she overturned the washtubs. Next door, Mrs. Grummel was hanging up petticoats on the clothesline strung between her porch posts.
"Pretty morning, ain't it?" the older woman asked as she clipped the last waistband. "I see you've been to your washing early to beat the heat of the morning, too. It's likely to be a hot one. Don't tell me you have another load to do."
"No. I have a break from the store." Lila extricated the basket from behind the washtub and kept it level as she hopped down the steps.
"You poor girl. If I had to work for Eunice, I would find myself another job. Take care not to get over-heated." Mrs. Grummel grabbed her clothespin bag and disappeared inside her building.
Another job. That had never crossed her mind. She hurried down the alleyway, going as fast as she dared without jostling the basket. She had never pictured working anywhere else but in Pa's store, where he and Ma had once been so happy. She swallowed the lump in her throat, stepped onto the boardwalk and dodged shoppers on their way to Main Street. The train rumbled on its tracks a few blocks over, black smoke rising above the storefronts like a billowing snake. Horses stood at the hitching posts jingling their bits and watching her scurry by.
Tiny airy tingles filled her at the thought of seeing Burke again. She wondered how he'd fared through the night with no one to tend him. She crossed the street, dodged a horse-drawn milk wagon and dashed down the boardwalk on Prairie Lane. The boardinghouse was quiet. A cleaning woman mopped the floor and didn't look up as Lila headed for the stairs.
Surely the doctor would have checked on him, she thought, as she tapped her knuckles on his door. He wouldn't have been left all alone.
No answer. Should she come back later? But what if he was in need of help? He could have succumbed to a fever again and could not answer the door. Boldly, she grasped the brass knob and turned. The door squeaked open and she peered in, seeing only a small slice of the room. There was no motion or no sound from within as she poked her head in farther.
"Burke?"
The smallest groan. Concern propelled her forward to see the man grinning at her. He was sitting up!
"I was hoping that was you." Whiskers stubbled the rock-hard angle of his jaw. "The doc just left. He said I'm doing better than expected. Probably because of your superior chicken soup."
"And don't forget the biscuits." Relief made her knees shake as she glided toward him. Her gaze roamed over him hungrily taking in the important details'his improved color, the faint flush of health in his cheeks, his bright eyes. She sank onto the chair beside him. "I'm so glad. I have been praying very hard."
"For me?"
"You were the one injured, right? Of course it was for you. My sister did, too." She set her basket on her knees. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Mildred, the owner, brought me tea and toast this morning." He adjusted his pillows and leaned into them, still sitting. His dark tousled hair made him look rakish. With his shadowed jaw, he could easily be mistaken for a dangerous outlaw. "Really early this morning, as it turned out, so I'm starving."
"Good. I predict you will make a full recovery." She pulled out one wrapped item after another. "I made you two sandwiches when Eunice wasn't looking. Egg sandwiches, since I was making breakfast at the time. Do you mind?"
"Mind? It smells great." He looked eagerly at the bundle. It was good to see him improved. She sent a thankful prayer Heavenward and handed him one wrapped sandwich. His fingers brushed hers as he took it.
Just ignore the skittles of awareness tingling inside your heart from that touch,
she told herself. Ignore it and she could pretend it didn't happen. She straightened her shoulders and uncorked a small jug of cool tea. "I'm leaving you some cookies my sister made yesterday. An apple. A bowl of baked beans and some slices of ham. Here's another jug full of chicken soup."
"Lila, thank you. I can't believe you did this." He took a big bite of his sandwich.
"I couldn't let you starve."
"I appreciate that." He swallowed and chased it down with a gulp of cool tea. The liquid trailed down to his stomach. Good. "What does Eunice say about you being here?"
"Nothing, as she thinks I'm doing the rest of the laundry on the porch, but I got up extra early to do it. She's busy impressing Mrs. Bell, so she won't notice I'm gone for at least five more minutes."
"I'm a bad influence on you."
"Yes, it's all your fault for getting shot." A dimple cut into her right cheek. "You could have chosen another store to stumble into."
"Yes, but the barbershop next door didn't look as if it had bandages. I intended to patch myself up and keep trailing the bad guys."
"The ones you didn't shoot on purpose?"
"Well, yes. I wanted to make sure they didn't try to gun down an innocent citizen on the street on their way out of town." He didn't figure she could understand the reason he felt strongly about protecting others. If she knew the truth, she would bolt off the chair and sprint out the door.
"Proof you are one of the good guys." She gazed at him with admiration shining in the swirl of her green-blue eyes.
"I'm not so good." The old shame remained, regardless of how hard he tried to push it aside. "I'm just doing my job."
"You are very dedicated."
"It's what I'm called to do." It was more complicated than that, but he didn't elaborate. Frustration ate at him because Lila shouldn't be here looking after him. He wasn't her lookout, he wasn't her concern.
"See what I brought?" She pulled a book out of the basket, the edges of the cover dog-eared from wear. "I was reading this to you when you were unconscious. I thought you might want something to pass the time while you are recuperating."
"I appreciate it, but it won't be long until I'm on my feet again."
"Yes, I know. You are invincible." She tapped the book before setting it on his bedside table. "Just like any passable Western hero."
"Passable?" He held back a chuckle. Lila could make him forget who he was and make him believe in the man he could be. He felt different when he was with her.
"Sure. I don't think you can compare to the hero in the book. He's really amazing."
"He's fiction." He squinted at the book. It was the same one she'd read to him. Did he admit it was his favorite series, too? "Fiction can't compare to the real thing."