Outlaw's Bride (17 page)

Y
ou know…” Everett closed his left eye and squeezed off another round. The bullet missed the target. “I never believed that rope trick would work in the first place.”

“Really.” No one in his right mind would think the rope plan would work. The idea was laughable, though the town’s situation wasn’t at all funny.

It was only a matter of time until a tragedy was sure to happen. A toddler was almost trampled yesterday. Johnny hated to think of another family suffering as the Ramseys had.

“You’re jerking your arm, Everett. Hold it steady.”

“Sorry.”

Squinting first one eye and then the other, Everett took aim and fired again. That bullet also missed its mark, and wood chips flew from the base of a nearby scrub oak. At this rate, the clerk wouldn’t be ready for the Founders’ Day shooting contest in six months, much less six weeks.

“If that don’t beat all!”

Johnny bent to pick up the spent shells. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“It went up faster than I’m learning to shoot.”

The two men scanned the practice area. They’d been at it for more than an hour now, and Everett had leveled everything in sight with the exception of his intended target.

“Well, Founders’ Day is still a ways off.”

Everett eyed the barrel of his pistol sourly. “I’m never going to make it.” He glanced Johnny’s way. “How come you’re allowed to move about on your own so much lately?”

Johnny felt a prick of conscience. The judge had sent him to repair the church bell tower this morning, but he had slipped off with Everett for a few minutes of target practice instead. The judge’s trust was misplaced, and he didn’t feel good about it.

“Ragan’s canning beans today. Judge McMann told me to come alone.”

Everett whistled. “You must be gaining Proctor’s trust.”

“Looks that way.” He could walk away from Barren Flats and never be seen again. Hadn’t the judge thought about that? The old man had a heart of gold. Unfortunately, he left himself wide open for defeat.

It was a shame he would be the one to derail the judge’s program if he found Bledso. It wasn’t right, seeing how McMann had been so good to him. He treated him more like a son than a prisoner. But then, whoever said life was fair? It wasn’t for Judge McMann, with his stove-up limbs, or for Ragan’s brother, and certainly not for his family, lying cold in their graves.

Everett settled himself on a log. “You know, Judge McMann and Ragan work hard to prove lawbreakers sometimes deserve a second chance.” He slid Johnny a hopeful look. “You wouldn’t do anything to mess that up, would you, John?”

“Why would I do anything to mess it up? I’m living in paradise.”

He had good food, a roof over his head, a clean bed to sleep in, and a woman who cared more about him than anyone had in a long time. Her affection came too easily lately. She was the last thing he thought about at night, and the first thing he looked for in the morning. His resolve was slipping. He couldn’t have both Ragan and Bledso, and it was getting harder to remember that.

Everett polished the pistol handle with the cuff of his shirt. “No… don’t suppose you would. You haven’t tried anything funny with the gun or anything like that.”

Nor would he try anything funny with the gun or anything like that. Not until he needed it. Still, the admiration in Everett’s voice bothered him. He’d be yet another to be disappointed in him, another who would walk away and say, well, what did we expect from a man like Johnny McAllister?

Lightening the mood, Johnny smiled. “I had the distinct impression you didn’t like me when you met me, Everett.”

“Well, I didn’t. Not at first.”

“Because of Ragan?”

Everett’s face flamed, and Johnny felt a little sorry for the lovesick kid. He’d been tempted to impress her a time or two himself.

“She’s some woman, isn’t she? Pretty as spring grass. Someday I’m going to marry her. She isn’t interested in me right now, but she will be, someday.”

The artless declaration disturbed Johnny. Not just because of the stab of envy; it also bothered him because Everett was so gullible, and he was sure to be disappointed when his dream failed to materialize. Ragan had made her intentions clear. Everett was just too blind in love to accept them.

“Well, I’m sorry I was so rude to you when you came to town, John. I thought Ragan would fall like a rock for you, but she didn’t.” Everett brightened. “She doesn’t appear to care any more for you than she does for me.”

If the cheerful observation was meant to comfort him, it missed its mark. But then, Everett was a pitiful shot. And Everett had never held Ragan in his arms…

Johnny glanced at the sun. It was close to noon, and he still had repairs to do at the church.

He nodded for Everett to precede him out of the grove of trees.

A few moments later Johnny followed. The two men exited the woods at different points, Johnny turning toward the church lane, and Everett heading to town.

R
agan was churning butter the next morning when young Clayton Miller showed up on the porch looking hungry.

“Mornin’, Miz Ramsey.”

“Come in, Clayton. What brings you out and about so early?” She motioned the boy to the table and placed a plate in front of him. Filling Clayton was like filling a hollow stump.

But Clayton had more than biscuits on his mind this morning. He was breathless with excitement. “Got me a job! The Hostetlers hired me and Junior to—”

“Junior and me,” Ragan automatically corrected, pouring a large glass of milk.

“Hostetlers hired Junior and me to tell everybody in the area to bring what cattle they have left to Main Street, quick as they can.”

“Cattle?” Judge McMann wiped his mouth and then pushed back from the table.

“You know, cows.”

“I know what cattle are, son. Why do the Hostetlers want everybody to bring their cattle to the middle of town?”

“Buck said they’re gonna pack the town plumb full of cattle so the gangs can’t ride through.” His message delivered, Clayton helped himself to two slices of bread and spooned a heap of apple butter in the middle. Folding each slice in half, he set upon the food with the gusto of a growing fourteen-year-old.

Ragan glanced at Johnny. He gave no indication that his opinion of the Hostetler’s newest plan was any higher than the last one. He kept his head down and avoided her eyes. Sighing, she realized that though he warmed at times he didn’t intend to thaw. The thought made her heart ache, and she realized she had grown far fonder of this man than prudence and common sense warranted. Perhaps he was a criminal at heart. Perhaps she’d let her attraction to what seemed vulnerability override all that she had been taught. Papa’s mind wasn’t good enough to notice his daughter’s plight. How she wished she could go to him, pour out her heart, and ask for wisdom. Of course, his first concern would be for Johnny’s soul, and Ragan didn’t know if the man’s soul belonged to God or Satan, but the Johnny she caught occasional glances of suggested he knew about God. He knew passages from the Good Book, so somewhere in the life he refused to talk about someone—perhaps his mother—had instilled a sense of accountability in him.

Clayton finished the last of his treat and washed it down with a long swallow of milk.

The judge chuckled. “Have some more, son. There’s plenty.”

The boy pushed back from the table and stood up. “No, thank you, sir. Junior and I are going to borrow Mr. Banks’ cart and mule and spread the news.” He puffed out his chest, and he would have looked very important if it weren’t for the apple butter ringing his upper lip. “I’m to tell folks to bring those cows pronto, ’ cause we don’t want no more—”

“Any more,” Ragan said, handing the boy a clean napkin.

“Any more raids,” the boy finished as he swiped his mouth clean. His freckled face beamed. “Thanks for the bread and apple butter.”

Ragan stuck a thick slice of ham between two pieces of bread, wrapped the sandwich in a clean towel, and handed it to Clayton as she walked him to the door. “All that work is bound to make a body hungry.”

“Yes, ma’ am. It sure does. Thank you kindly.” He tucked the food into the bib of his overalls and jumped down the steps, turning to wave as he headed off. Ragan returned to the kitchen to clear the table.

The judge shook his head. “How do those numskulls think our own wagons and horses are going to get through Main Street if they pack it with cattle? Not to mention the stage and the neighbors’ wagons.”

Johnny reached for the butter. “Wonder which one of them is considered the brains behind this operation?”

The judge’s mind was still on the cows. “Who’s going to keep all those animals from wandering off?” He drew on his pipe. “And the mess. Wonder if those numskulls have thought about the mess a herd of cattle that size can make?”

Johnny passed the bowl of gravy. “Do they think?”

“When they were handing out brains, those boys must have heard ‘trains’ and said they didn’t have anywhere to keep one.” The judge grunted, laying his pipe aside. “This is turning out to be a big headache.”

Judge McMann was up early the next morning. When Ragan came to work, he was already sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of oatmeal.

After stoking the fire, Ragan slid the stove lid back into place. “I thought you didn’t like oatmeal.”

“I don’t, but I’m in a hurry this morning. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. I want to get a look at this riduculous plan those Brown Branch boys have thought up.”

Ragan didn’t have to get a look; it already sounded like a cattle drive out there. Cattle bawling, flies swarming. The stench was awful.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

Ragan glanced toward the parlor. “I need to fix Johnny’s breakfast.”

Judge McMann pushed his empty bowl aside. “Who do you think made this oatmeal? You know I can’t cook. John ate with me, and then he went out to the shed for a minute. We’re ready to go when you are.”

“But the housework—”

“Just leave the housework. It’ll be here when you get back.”

Johnny returned, and the three had walked less than a block when they met Julia Curbow standing at her gate. Her bright red hair was done up in curls this morning. “Morning, Judge, Ragan. Isn’t it exciting?” She smiled at Johnny, and Ragan could swear that even this woman had set her cap for him.

Johnny graciously returned her smile. “You look mighty fetching this morning, Mrs. Curbow. That right foot bothering you today?”

“Why, thank you, darlin’ . No, my foot’s much better.” She beamed. “Once these raids are taken care of, I’m going to make myself a new dress.” She eyed Johnny coyly. “A lady can never have too many pretty dresses, don’t you agree, Mr. McAllister?”

Johnny shrugged pleasantly and called back as they continued toward town, “That’s what the pretty ladies say.”

Cattle milled back and forth in front of the saloon. Lowell Homer was trying to move them on down the street. Removing his hat, he scratched his head and said, “Can’t quite figure how having all these cattle in the street is gonna help solve our problem.”

The judge shook his head and gestured toward the north. “Is that Plummer coming?”

Lowell shaded his eyes with his hat. “Looks like Austin’s brought what’s left of his herd.”

The livestock bore down on the town. Occasionally several would break into a gallop, stirring up whorls of dust.

Ragan flattened against a hitching post as one ornery longhorn pushed down the walk, brushing her with its fat sides. The animal bounded up the title office steps. Lowell struck the beast on the rump with a prod, but the steer kept going.

When the dust cleared, Ragan ducked into the general store as a shouting match erupted behind her.

“It’s a real mess out there, Mazilea,” she said. “Tempers are flaring.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Problems?”

“Those cattle! They’re stirring up terrible dirt. We’ll be the laughingstock of the county when word of this spreads.” She swiped the counter with a rag, and then she moved to the front window where she rubbed a clear spot on the glass. “Just look at this.” She shook the blackened rag at Ragan. “And cows don’t buy groceries.”

Ragan peered out. Cattle clogged the boardwalks, where red-faced shop owners tried to beat them back with brooms. “Wonder how long the Hostetlers plan to keep this up?” Dust boiled as more and more livestock crowded onto Main Street.

“Oh, brother!” Mazilea took a step toward the door.

Ragan whirled in time to see a water barrel in front of the store tip over. The barrel spun off the porch, careening off the steps and into the crush of cattle. The lid rolled one way and the barrel the other.

“I’m not risking my life for a barrel,” Mazilea declared, watching a big Hereford trample it. “I’m closing the store and going home. No one’s going to brave a stampede to buy groceries. I’ll have to close permanently if this keeps up.”

“Now, Mazilea, people still need flour, tea, and sugar, no matter what they have to do to get it.” Ragan handed over her list. “I need a tin of baking soda too.”

The storekeeper bustled around the room getting Ragan’s order together, complaining all the while. Ragan didn’t blame her; the cow stench was enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

“I saw Julia on our way over.” Ragan prowled the narrow aisles, glancing over the merchandise.

“Oh? How is Julia? She was in last week, complaining about feeling poorly.” Mazilea stuck her head around the corner of one aisle. “You know, she’s smitten with your prisoner. Thinks he’s the best-looking man she’s ever seen. Most excitin’ too. He’s all she talks about. Jonathan this, Jonathan that.”

Ragan frowned. “Yes, she’s very taken with him. Why does she think his name’s Jonathan?” He did talk to the elderly neighbor from time to time. She felt a prick of envy. Did Julia know something Ragan and Procky didn’t?

“She thinks it is. Don’t ask me why, but you know how Julia is. Once she gets something in her head, wild horses can’t change her mind.” Mazilea measured out sugar into a bag. “But then, she doesn’t have to contend with him like you do. She claims the boy’s been framed, that he didn’t rob that bank, and you know Julia. She might be meddlesome, but she’s a fine judge of character.”

“I agree with her.” Heat colored Ragan’s cheeks when she realized how easily she leapt to Johnny’s defense.

“Julia says he likes cats.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t exactly say that. How would Julia know, anyway?”

“Says he stops and scratches her tabby under the chin when he passes by.”

Well, maybe he did love animals. In spite of all their sessions with the judge, he’ d revealed nothing about his life except for the brief information at the cemetery that day. And Kitty was awfully fond of him lately. The women turned as Shorty burst through the door and dumped five loaves of bread on the counter. “Get busy and make up a couple dozen ham sandwiches. I’m going back for the pies.”

Mazilea stared at the bread. “Hold it right there, Shorty. I just baked those pies last night; they’re for us to enjoy for the whole week. So is this bread. Take it right back where you got it.”

Her husband stopped to catch his breath. “You can bake more bread tonight. The Brown Branch boys can’t handle all the cattle. They’ve had to ask the town to help. Think about it, Mazie. These folks are gonna be hungry. I’ve been telling everyone to come by here for food.” He jerked open the door and disappeared before there could be any argument. “We’re going to have more business than we can handle.”

The door opened again, and half a dozen hungry men came in. Mazilea flew into action, and Ragan quickly excused herself, gathered her groceries, and left.

Outside, the din of the animals was deafening. Ragan tried to read Judge McMann’s lips when he spotted her. She was able to make out “…are going to camp in town…haul water and feed…” and “lucky to sleep tonight.”

Hopefully she’ d filled in the blanks correctly, and she was not the one expected to camp in town, haul the water, and feed the cattle. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she waded across the street.

Everett appeared out of nowhere. “Allow me.” He laid out an expanse of heavy butcher paper for her to step on.