Jodi Thomas (22 page)

Bailee tried, but the only vision she could bring to mind was Carter standing in the pouring rain with Riley’s bloody body draped over his wide shoulder.

Then, lightly, almost like the tickle of wind in her hand, she felt Carter’s finger moving. She closed her eyes and cupped her palm as if he were there, wishing more than feeling him whispering to her in his silent words.

“
I
SWEAR TO MOSES. YOU’VE BROUGHT ME ANOTHER one!” Fat Alice shouted as Carter plowed his way through her front door.

Smith was blood-covered, dripping wet, and unconscious, just as Riley had been earlier. Carter stood on the worn rug, waiting for orders as the huge woman circled him like a raiding party of one. She’d put on war paint, but must have not had time to add additional clothing.

Fat Alice grabbed Smith’s scalp and turned him so she could see his face, then looked back toward Carter with a frown. “I don’t know who you are, mister, but I’m running out of sofas.”

She motioned to the same table Sheriff Riley had been operated on, then turned her head up as if about to break into song. “More bandages, girls!” she yelled. “Sheriff Parker Smith’s come to call.”

Without a sign of modesty, she raised her gown and slipped the thin knife from its hiding place just above her fat knee.

Before Carter turned loose of the sheriff, women flocked around Smith as they had Sheriff Riley, pulling off his clothes and feeling for wounds like they might overlook one if they weren’t careful. Carter couldn’t help but notice that several of the ladies seemed very familiar with the old sheriff’s body.

As before, Fat Alice led the crusade. “He’s been shot once, but it’s on the left side. If it didn’t get any of his vitals, he’ll only have to worry about fever. But”—she watched the small hole in Smith’s side pump blood out in a steady rhythm—“gut shots are hard to patch and tricky. It’ll take time for him to recover.”

Carter touched the last twenty dollar gold piece in his pocket. It had taken him a year to save up the money he’d spent in the past twenty-four hours. He pulled the coin out, hoping there would be enough left to get him home.

Fat Alice never missed the shine of money twinkling in the light of her place, but to his surprise, she shook her head when he offered to pay.

“I’ll put it on Smith’s account.” Her smile outgrew the red on her painted lips.

Carter could think of no reason why Smith would have an account in a women’s boardinghouse, but he thought it might be impolite to ask..

Not wanting to watch the women dig the bullet out of Smith, he walked to the side of the room where Riley still lay on the couch with Nellie Jean sitting next to him. Riley was breathing steady, but his coloring was as gray as his hair.

“Any change?” Carter asked, knowing there probably wouldn’t be since he hadn’t been gone long.

“No.” Nellie Jean looked at Carter suspiciously. “You some kind of collector, like the Angel of Death, roaming around picking up near-dead sheriffs who got left out in the rain?”

Carter shook his head. “I’m just trying to get home, but I keep falling over bodies.”

Nellie raised one eyebrow. “You got a wife?”

Nodding, he suddenly wished he were back on his farm with Bailee. He liked rainy days because he could spend all day in the barn or small bunkhouse making furniture. Sometimes he’d get so many projects going, there would barely be a place for Samuel to sleep. He liked the smell of sawdust blending in the damp air and the way fresh-cut wood felt in his hands.

“You love her, mister? Your wife?”

Carter didn’t answer. The question had never crossed his mind. He’d been thinking of making furniture, not about something like love. It would be nice to think of her there with him. Maybe, just before dark on rainy days, he’d wrap her in his coat and carry her across the yard to the bunkhouse so she could see what he’d done. It would be nice to show someone.

“Course you do,” Nellie Jean answered for him. “You wouldn’t have married her if you didn’t. Fat Alice says she can always tell a man in love with his wife. They come in now and then window-shopping, but they go home without going upstairs, if you know what I mean.”

He didn’t, but that wasn’t unusual, so he made no comment.

“I figured you were one of those men in love with his wife, but I was hoping. Is your woman pretty?”

“Yes,” Carter answered without hesitation. He remembered how he hadn’t thought her pretty that first night, but now thought of her as beautiful. He liked the color of her hair and the way her eyes filled with fire when she was mad at him, which was most of the time. He liked the way she looked and smelled and felt.

“I might get married.” Nellie broke into his thoughts. “When I’m too old to dance a few rounds ever’ night. We had a girl here last year by the name of Pammy who married a sodbuster. In three months she was back begging for her old job. Said life out there on the spread with no one to talk to and only him to look at about drove her mad. He didn’t believe in bathing and took to slapping her around for something to do when he got bored.”

Carter watched Fat Alice lift the bullet high in the air and toss it in the brandy snifter as Nellie Jean continued to talk.

“Alice wouldn’t take her back, though. She don’t take no married women in the place. Says she don’t want a husband showing up making trouble. So, for Pammy there weren’t no choice. She borrowed a gun and rode back to the farm determined to change his ways or make herself a widow so she could work again.”

Glancing at Nellie, Carter waited for the end of the story.

Nellie grinned, enjoying the spotlight. “We didn’t see her for a month, and I’m telling you we were more than a mite worried. Then one day they come to town. He was all washed and shaved and wearing a bandage on his arm like he’d collided with a bullet recently. She didn’t have a bruise on her. Appears he fell in love.”

Carter smiled, wondering how much of the story was true.

Moaning loudly, Riley managed to open one eye. A few of the women hurried over to him, bending low to check his wounds. They seemed far too worried about his condition to notice their gowns were coming open even more than usual.

Riley managed to open the other eye.

After a long look around he mumbled, “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Carter moved in front of Sheriff Riley, worried that the old fellow might be talking out of his head. The women stood and moved aside.

Riley frowned, then looked around as reality settled heavy on his shoulders. “Where’s your wife and the child, Piper?” He moved a few inches, trying to sit up, then reconsidered.

“On the train to Cedar Point, I hope,” Carter answered. “Your friend Smith was shot, also. The ladies are working on him now.”

Nodding slowly, Riley closed his eyes in pain.

Carter waited, not sure what to do.

“Did Smith find the shooter?” Riley finally whispered between clenched teeth.

“Yes.” Carter knelt on one knee and lowered his voice. “He got the man all the way back to his office, but the prisoner escaped, shooting Smith. He was a huge bearded man dressed in hides.”

Carter hoped Riley was listening. He had no doubt all the women in the room were. “I never remember seeing the shooter before, but he called me ‘the dummy’s kid.’ ”

Riley’s face wrinkled into a thousand lines. “He’s from Cedar Point, son. Huge man in hides that haven’t been clean since they were on the original animal. His hair is so matted birds wouldn’t nest in it.”

“You know him,” Carter stated without any question in his tone. Riley had just described the shooter down to the smell.

Riley nodded. “Zeb Whitaker,” he whispered. “I’d swear on my own grave. He never was much of a shot with anything but a buffalo gun. I heard word he was still alive and looking for the three women who tried to kill him. Half the town probably knew we left yesterday on the dawn train. He must have figured Bailee would be the easiest to get to once she was off your place.”

Carter felt like someone had stepped on his heart. Zeb Whitaker. The man Bailee was fined for killing. The man whose body was never found. The one Lacy had warned Bailee about in the note.

Gripping Carter’s arm, Riley whispered, “If it’s Zeb, the shooter was after Bailee, not little Piper like we thought, and he knows just where they’ll be going. I’ll stay here with Smith. You’ve got to get to your wife, son, as fast as you can.”

Carter stood, trying to think of how he could get home. He’d never been so far from his place. Yesterday was his first train ride, his first night in a hotel. Bailee said she and the sheriff would stay by his side until they were back on his land. But she hadn’t. Riley couldn’t. And now he had to find her.

Nellie Jean must have seen his confusion. “There ain’t no more trains today, but I could show you the livery.”

Riley agreed. “Take Smith’s horse. If I know Smith, it’ll be the best one there and have a saddle and pack all ready to go. I’ll see it gets back to him later.” Fear cleared the pain from the sheriff’s eyes. “Go! Hurry. There may not be much time. If it’s Zeb, he knows this country well and already has a jump on you.”

Nellie Jean wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and led the way out the door.

Carter glanced back at the two wounded men. Both sheriffs had bothered him most of the time he’d known them, but in the end they’d been brave. He and Bailee might not be alive if it hadn’t been for their efforts.

“Don’t worry.” Fat Alice pushed him out the door with hands still bloody. “We’ll take care of them. You get back to your wife.”

Carter rushed into the rain, following the thin frame of Nellie Jean as she jumped puddles. When they got to the livery, she helped him saddle Smith’s horse. As Riley had predicted, the saddlebags were full of supplies and ready.

“Thanks,” Carter said as he swung onto the saddle. “You’ve been a good friend, Nellie Jean Desire, and I won’t forget it.”

She straightened with pride. “Does that mean I can come to Sunday dinner sometime?”

“Any time,” he answered and turned his horse into the rain.

“And you’ll always call me Nellie Jean!” she yelled after him.

“Promise!” he answered without turning around.

He figured his safest course, since he didn’t know the terrain, was to follow the railroad tracks. When the country started looking familiar, he’d veer off and ride along the breaks of the Canadian River to his place without having to go all the way to Cedar Point first. On horseback was far slower than by train, but without having to backtrack, he might make good time.

Carter had no idea how long it would take, but he hoped to spot land he recognized before dark.

The tracks were easy to follow, even in the downpour. Sometimes Carter thought of the man Riley was sure was Zeb Whitaker. If it was Zeb, he might be heading in the same direction. In this rain they could pass within ten feet of each other and not even be aware of it.

Carter shivered, wishing he had a coat, but glad he’d put it around Piper. If she were on the train, they might have reached Cedar Bend by now. Bailee would have retrieved his wagon from the livery, and they might be on their way back to the farm. His coat would keep the child warm. He thought that Bailee might have spent the night with her friend Lacy, but doubted it.

He rode on. Endless hours passed. With the storm he couldn’t judge the time. His father had taught him to ride almost as soon as he could walk, but he’d never felt comfortable in a saddle. Maybe that was why he’d always be more farmer than rancher. He’d read a few serial novels about men who lived in the saddle, but in truth, Carter found a team and wagon far more useful than a horse. Most places on his land could be driven to, then he’d have a wagon bed to haul tools.

To forget the rain, he thought of the trees that ran along the northern side of his land, beyond the orchard. Live oak, cottonwood, and even a few bur oak. The bur oak were his favorites. They had a heavy bark that would protect the tree against the cold in winter and the grass fires in spring that sometimes swept across the plains. That’s how he thought of himself, hardened with a shell around him so thick no one could reach him.

But Bailee had.

The thought that the man he’d fought in town was planning to kill his wife made Carter forget all about the rain and cold. He pushed on. He stored a dozen guns in the house and barn to protect his property, but when Zeb had opened fire he hadn’t a single one to protect Bailee. It was an oversight he never planned to repeat.

He’d strap a Colt on if he ever left home again. He had always thought of himself as safe on his land. He’d made sure to protect it carefully. But would Bailee be safe? He wished he’d told her of all the traps he’d made and of his underground rooms. If he had, she could be tucked away in them now, safe from Zeb.

The sky turned from gray to muddy blue about the time he spotted the breaks running east. He was within hours of home.

Pulling his horse beneath a twenty-foot-wide overhang, he swung off the saddle. Carter wanted to push on, but the horse had to rest. Riley was right about Smith having the best horse in the livery.

Behind the saddle, he found a thin blanket and used it to rub the animal down so that one of them could be dry for a few hours before they continued. Carter felt guilty pushing the horse so hard, but he had to know where he was before he stopped. Now, even if night fell once more before he reached home, he could find his way.

Matches were in the saddlebags, along with jerky, a small pot, and coffee. Carter risked a fire, figuring the rain would blanket any smoke. He boiled coffee, but could hardly drink it. With Bailee cooking the past week, he’d forgotten how bad his own coffee tasted.

While the horse grazed on wet short grass at the edge of the opening, Carter huddled out of the wind and rain near the back of the rock wall.