The Bounty Hunter's Bride (2 page)

Dani gripped Emma’s shoulders. “He’s with your ma now. I know for a fact he’s looking out for you right this minute.”

“He loved you, too.” Emma wiped her eyes, then faced Dani. “You said in your letters that you’d be our new mother. Pa’s gone, but—”

“I’m keeping that promise.”

Dani hugged the girl hard. They sobbed together until the river of tears turned to a trickle. Grief would rain on them again, filling the wells, but for now they were spent.

Beau Morgan cleared his throat. “You may not be aware, Miss Baxter. I’m the girls’ legal guardian.”

Dani straightened, then met his gaze. “I’m very aware, Mr. Morgan. Patrick named you as executor several years ago.” Her next words would settle the issue for good or start a battle she couldn’t lose. “I have a letter in my trunk. It clearly states his more recent intentions.”

“And what were those?”

“He asked me to adopt the girls.”

“Contingent on marriage?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Morgan raised one thick brow. “And the farm? Would he want you to have that, too?”

Dani hadn’t thought that far. “I suppose.” She needed a way to support the children.

Beau Morgan rocked back on his heels. “Miss Baxter, you’re either naive or a con artist.”

Dani’s mouth gaped. “How dare you!”

“No, how dare
you
.” His voice stayed as flat as a coin. “I’m a blood relative with legal authority. You waltz in here and announce you want my nieces and a farm that’s worth a good amount of money.”

“I don’t care about the money!”

“Of course, you don’t.” His lips curled with contempt.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter what you want. I have an obligation to see to my nieces and I intend to meet it.”

Staring into the man’s eyes, a green that reminded her of dying grass, Dani saw good reason to trust Patrick’s assessment of him as crazy. She judged him to be in his midthirties, a few years older than his brother, but far less settled. Judging by the ragged ends of his hair, he’d cut it himself with a knife. The dark blond strands brushed his collarless shirt like a worn-out broom. Dani’s eyes skimmed across the denim that had once been green or blue. She couldn’t tell which. The sun had bleached it to turquoise, a soft color that blended with the dust on his brown trousers and the unraveling yarn of his gray sock.

If he couldn’t take care of himself, how could he manage three young girls? Maybe he didn’t want to…Perhaps he was eager to turn over guardianship and needed assurance of her honorable intentions. A woman could beat a mule with a stick or coax it with a carrot. Dani opted for the carrot. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Morgan. In fact, I admire it.”

“Good.”

“Once you see Patrick’s letter, I’m sure you’ll agree with me.”

“Don’t count on it, Miss Baxter. The world’s full of liars. How do I know you’re not one of them?”

Emma thrust herself between them. “Pa loved Dani!”

The man looked Dani up and down, assessing her appearance without really seeing her. Before leaving the train, she’d put on her prettiest outfit, a pink taffeta suit with a snug jacket and ruffled skirt, and a sweeping straw hat that dipped across her brow. The outfit made her feel pretty. She’d dressed for Patrick, not this rude man with holes in his socks.

His eyes darted back to her face. “Men are fools, Miss Baxter. Especially lonely ones. Patrick fit that mold.”

Dani had never felt so insulted in her life, or so alone. Back home, her reputation had shone like gold. No one would have questioned her motives for taking in three orphaned girls. Then again, no one in Walker County, Wisconsin had Beau Morgan’s suspicious nature. Dani couldn’t help but wonder who’d kicked him in the shins.

His eyes focused on hers. “A train leaves for Denver in the morning. I want you on it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll pay your fare home.”

Dani had fifteen dollars in her reticule, enough for a week in a hotel but not much else. Her brother would send money if she asked, but she refused to consider it. She’d made a promise to Patrick and intended to keep it, but she’d also left Wisconsin for a reason. When their father died, her brother had inherited the family dairy. A year ago, he’d married. Ever since, he’d been pushing Dani to leave.
This isn’t your house, Dani. It’s mine and Marta is my wife. You need a home of your own.

Dani thought so, too. Some time ago, she’d been engaged to a young man named Tommy Page. They’d been childhood friends, but Dani hadn’t felt any of the excitement she’d expected. Tommy had wanted to kiss and hug, but she’d said no. He was a brother to her, nothing more, so she’d ended the engagement. Dani wanted the right husband, the man God had made just for her. She’d been willing to wait, but her brother had lost patience with her. Against her will, he’d encouraged Archie Weldon to court her. A widower with a bad back, Archie had wanted a housekeeper, not a wife. Lars Jenson, a man who spoke in grunts, had been next on her brother’s list. And so on…until Dani had met every bachelor in Walker County.

Eventually she’d given in and agreed to marry Virgil Griggs. She’d liked Virgil, but she hadn’t loved him. A week before the wedding, she’d broken their engagement, embarrassing Virgil and shaming herself.
That Dani Baxter is fickle…
She’d heard the talk and been embarrassed and angry. She didn’t have a fickle bone in her body. She simply couldn’t lie to herself or to Virgil, who deserved better than a wife who couldn’t bear the thought of kissing him. Dani had been near despair when Kirstin had mentioned her cousin in Colorado, a widower who needed a wife and mother for his three daughters. Dani had given Patrick permission to write. After three letters, she’d fallen in love with him.

Now he was gone and his wayward brother had the girls and wanted Dani to leave. She simply couldn’t do it, not with Patrick’s letter in her trunk. But neither could she stay at the farm with this man. Her best hope lay in convincing him to leave. Dani wasn’t wise in the ways of the world, but she knew a little about men and carrots.

“I have a suggestion, Mr. Morgan.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a nice hotel by the railroad station. I’m sure you’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

His eyes flickered. Either he enjoyed a fight or he was tempted by the comforts of a hotel room. Judging by the dark crescents under his eyes, he hadn’t slept in days.

Dani sweetened the deal. “The hotel has a restaurant. I saw it when I rented the buggy. Today’s special is roast beef with raspberry pie for dessert.”

His mouth hardened. “No thanks, Miss Baxter. Emma’s a good cook.”

Dani doubted it. The child had written about her kitchen foibles.
Will you teach me to make biscuits? Mine are rock hard, but Pa eats them and smiles.

A lump pressed into Dani’s throat. She’d trusted Patrick with her life, her reputation. She had no such faith in the man standing in his place. She also had nowhere else to go. She didn’t like what she was about to say, but she had to get Beau Morgan to leave. “There’s a saloon, too.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You want a drink?”

“No!”

“Me, neither.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. “I’m not a drinking man, Miss Baxter. Never have been.”

Was that good news? Dani didn’t know. She wanted this man to be so low that any judge in Douglas County would deny him custody. Instead he sounded like her Aunt Minnie.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his sock-covered feet. “I’m also good at hearing what isn’t said. I’m guessing you have about ten dollars in your bag and don’t know a soul.”

She blushed.

“That’s what I thought.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’d be glad to pay your room and board in town, but I suspect you’re too stubborn to accept.”

“It’s not a matter of stubbornness.” She reached for Emma.

“I promised Patrick—”

“I know what you promised.” His voice turned gentle. “I also know what it’s like to be grief-stricken. It leaves you numb, but only for a while. Once the shock passes, you wake up screaming. It’ll eat you alive if you let it.”

Peering into his eyes, she saw a kinship born of suffering. Dani had grieved her mother and still cried for the woman who’d given her blue eyes and wheat-blond hair. Who had Beau Morgan mourned? The connection, as brief as lightning and as bright, frightened her.

If he felt the spark, he didn’t let it show. Standing straighter, he looked ready for business. “If you’re willing to bend a bit, I’m prepared to offer a compromise.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll move to the barn while we sort things out. You get room and board in exchange for keeping house.”

Emma looked up at Dani. “It’s time to start the garden. We could do it together.”

For a thousand miles, she’d dreamed of planting tomatoes in Patrick’s side yard. She loved the feeling of loamy earth and the scent of herbs growing in a window box. She’d imagined flowers, too. Tulips in the spring, roses in June. She had learned from her mother that touches of beauty nourished a family as much as good food.

Her gaze drifted to the hole in Beau Morgan’s sock. His big toe curled as if to hide, then stretched in defiance. “As you can see, my clothes could use some mending.”

“And a good scrubbing,” she added.

“That’s a fact.”

His voice held a yearning that put Dani on alert. Which was more dangerous? The snake that rattled as it slithered or the one sleeping in the sun?

Emma squeezed her hand. “Stay, Dani. Please.”

She wanted to say yes, but she had to protect her reputation as well as the children. “I’d prefer the hotel,” she said. “But only if the girls can stay with me.”

“I can’t allow it.”

“Why not?” She tried to sound confident. “It would be a change for them.”

“You’re naive, Miss Baxter.”

Dani bristled. “I’ve just traveled a thousand miles—”

“And I’ve traveled ten thousand.” He raised his chin.

“Have you ever seen a pack of wolves?”

She’d heard howling in the forest near her father’s farm, but the wolves had stayed out of sight. “No, I haven’t.”

“I have,” he said. “The kind with two legs.”

“Castle Rock seems safe to me.”

His eyes glittered like broken glass. “It was—before I got here.”

L
ooking at Daniela Baxter, Beau felt the cut of sudden change. The last time he’d seen Patrick had been five years ago. His brother had come to the funeral for Beau’s wife, traveling alone because his own wife, Beth, had been close to delivering their third child. Beau and his brother hadn’t been close, but he’d appreciated the kindness. Patrick had made him promise to write now and then. He’d even offered him a place to stay.

Beau had said he’d keep in touch, but he’d broken the promise so badly he hadn’t known about Beth’s passing. He hadn’t known a lot of things when he’d arrived in Castle Rock two days ago. Hot on the trail of an outlaw named Clay Johnson, Beau had found himself within a few miles of his brother’s farm. He’d decided to pay a visit and had arrived to find a fresh grave and an old man in the barn. The fellow and his wife were neighbors who’d come to care for the cows and the girls until other arrangements could be made.

The girls could have been farmed out to friends, but the cows needed their routine. A lightning strike…of all the foolish things. Even more surprising was the news from Patrick’s attorney. Seven years ago, Patrick had written a will. It named Beau as guardian of his children—a fact Beau vaguely remembered. He’d have made a good guardian in the past, but not anymore. An ex-lawman, he sold his gun to the highest bidder. Like most shootists, he lived in the canyons between good and evil. He enjoyed the freedom and the money, but mostly he burned with the need to bring Clay Johnson to justice.

Whether God or the devil had given him a thirst for Johnson’s blood, Beau didn’t know. He only knew that Clay Johnson had killed the most precious person in his life. Lucy, his young wife, had put on her prettiest dress, a pink thing with puffy sleeves, and brought him supper at the sheriff’s office. What happened next was an abomination. Beau no longer dreamed about that day, but he remembered every detail. Looking at Miss Baxter in her pink dress, he swallowed a mouthful of bile. He hated that color and the memories it brought. He always would.

Sending her to the hotel tempted him as much as that roast beef dinner. He’d lied about Emma’s cooking. The girl made a mean pancake, but a man needed more than starch in his belly to do a day’s work. He also needed to sleep at night, something Beau hadn’t done since he’d arrived. He couldn’t. Since Lucy’s murder, he and Johnson had been playing a game of cat and mouse. Sometimes the outlaw vanished for months, leaving Beau to search aimlessly for his prey. Other times Johnson went on the prowl, leaving threats for Beau at local saloons. Sometimes he wrote notes. Sometimes he left tokens that chilled Beau’s blood.

Daniela Baxter’s eyes drilled into his. “Who are you, Mr. Morgan?”

“I told you. I’m Patrick’s brother.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Beau held back a smart remark about jabbering females. If Miss Baxter ended up at the hotel, she might blather to every busybody in town. She looked like the kind of woman who’d want to go to church on Sundays. Beau knew all about gossip cloaked in prayer. He’d been the focus of his share after Lucy’s death. Wishing he’d been less of a blowhard, he tried to smile. “Forget the bluster. I’m no one.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Beau said nothing. In truth, his reputation stretched from Bozeman to El Paso, across the plains and over mountains that dwarfed a man’s pride but not his pain. If word spread he was in Castle Rock, anyone he touched would be a target for Johnson. That included Miss Baxter. He didn’t need another female in his care, but honor required him to see to her safety. Like it or not, he’d have to keep an eye on her.

No hardship there…Daniela Baxter was just plain pretty. Slender but womanly, she filled out the dress in all the right places. Not that Beau cared. Being a man, he couldn’t help but notice her looks, but he knew the rules. When he’d married Lucy, he’d promised to love, honor and cherish his wife until they were parted by death. Lucy was gone, but Beau took comfort in keeping his vows. His eyes locked on Miss Baxter, saying things with a look that acknowledged the deepest of truths. He was male. She wasn’t. He had the power to harm her. She needed to know he never would. He made his voice solemn. “I’m an honorable man, Miss Baxter.”

“You’re the one who mentioned wolves,” she replied. “I understand they come in sheep’s clothing.”

“I’m not one of them.”

Before she could reply, footsteps padded on the landing at the top of the stairs. He turned and saw Ellie and Esther peeking around the corner. Esther, as always, had her thumb in her mouth. She was five and too old for the habit, but Beau hadn’t tried to stop her. Human beings, no matter their age, took comfort where they could find it.

“Are you Dani?” Ellie asked.

“I am.”

The girls hurried down the steps and threw themselves into her arms. More hugs, more tears. Beau was tired of the flood but knew the girls would pull on Miss Baxter’s heart in a way common sense couldn’t. With a throat as dry as sand, he watched the swirl of pink and ribbons and locks of golden hair. All four of them were blond, though the girls’ hair would darken with time as Patrick’s had. Beau’s hair had lost its shine a long time ago, though it lightened up in the summer.

He watched as the woman kissed Ellie’s forehead, then lifted Esther on to her hip. In a voice choked with tears, she rambled about God and Patrick looking down from Heaven.

They loved you, brother. I wish I’d known you better.

Even as he thought the words, Beau stifled his regrets. He’d learned to live one day at a time. To take what pleasure he found and be content with it. A can of beans for supper. A lantern on a moonless night. If a man didn’t have a home, he couldn’t lose it. If he didn’t love, he couldn’t get hurt. Beau had drawn that line the day Clay Johnson shot Lucy and not once had he crossed it. He hoped Daniela Baxter would be wise and draw a similar line for herself. She had no future in Castle Rock. Even if he’d wanted to hand her custody of the girls, he couldn’t do it. Running a farm required both brains and muscle. The thought of leaving a woman and three children at the mercy of hired hands struck him as gutless.

Beau glanced at the mantel clock. In two hours, he had an appointment with Trevor Scott, the attorney handling Patrick’s will. If things went as planned, the girls would leave for boarding school at the end of the month.

Ellie, a tomboy in coveralls, broke the hug and looked at Dani. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

Miss Baxter tousled the child’s hair, then looked at Beau. Her eyes soothed his soul and laid it bare at the same time. “Can I trust you, Mr. Morgan?”

“With your life.”

“In that case, we have a deal. If you’ll stay in the barn, I’ll tend to the house.”

When she held out her gloved hand, Beau noticed the cupped shape of her fingers. His own hand, loose and open, was just a clench away from the violence that defined his life, but he offered it in good faith. He expected to see trepidation in her eyes. Instead she squeezed back with surprising firmness. The grip, he realized, came from hard work. The grit came from her heart. Beau saw her pink dress, the shadow of roses in her cheeks, and pined a moment for Lucy. How did it feel to grow old with a woman? To see your daughters marry and your sons grow strong? To live without the thirst for Clay Johnson’s blood? Beau would never know. Most of the time, he didn’t want to know. He let go of Miss Baxter’s hand. He’d had all the innocence he could stand for one day.

He’d seen a rented buggy out front. “Where’s your trunk?”

“At the train station.”

Beau thought of his appointment with Patrick’s attorney. “I have to go to town this afternoon. I’ll take you and the girls and we’ll pick it up.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Beau looked down at his nieces. “Get going. We leave in ten minutes.”

They scurried up the stairs like frightened mice, leaving Beau to wonder what he’d done to scare them. He wished he could be less stern, but he had a melancholy nature. Miss Baxter had turned her head to watch the girls. Even with tears on her cheeks, she seemed like the cheerful sort. Beau hoped so. The girls needed a woman’s tenderness.

Leaving Miss Baxter at the stairs, he strode into Patrick’s bedroom where he changed into a clean shirt, then balled up his laundry and slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. As he came out of the dark room, he saw Miss Baxter sitting on the bottom step with her head bowed.

Beau feared God but didn’t much like Him. Taking Patrick’s life struck him as wrong. Leaving this young woman to cope alone counted as cruel. He stopped a few feet away. “Miss Baxter?”

She looked up with damp eyes. “Yes?”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Beau shifted his weight. Handing her his dirty clothes didn’t seem right, so he headed for the door.

When she called his name, he turned but said nothing.

“Is that your laundry?” she asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“I expect to keep my end of the bargain. Leave your clothes and I’ll wash them tomorrow.”

Beau stepped back to the staircase where she’d pushed to her feet. Judging by the twitch of her nostrils, the smell of the barn reached her before he did. He had three horses in his care, his roan and Patrick’s two workhorses.

“You’ve been mucking out stalls,” she said.

“Someone had to do it.”

“And the milking?”

“Of course.”

What did she think? That he dozed in a hammock all day? Patrick had ten Jersey cows. They might have been “ladies” for Patrick, lining up at the gate at milking time, but they hadn’t taken to Beau. Each one had bawled and squalled while he looped a rope around her neck and led her to the barn for milking. He’d felt ridiculous on a little three-legged stool, and his clumsy hands annoyed the cows until Emma had given him pointers. She’d also informed him the cows had names and liked it when her pa sang hymns. Beau had grunted, then listened to the child crooning words to a song he’d made a point of forgetting.

Blessed assurance, Jesus divine!

Oh what a foretaste of glory is mine…

Beau hadn’t set foot in a church in five years and he didn’t intend to start now. He handed his clothes to Miss Baxter. They needed a good scrubbing. So did he, but a visit to the bathhouse was out of the question with four females in his care and Clay Johnson nearby. With the saddlebag dragging on his shoulder, Beau headed for the barn. Maybe Trevor Scott had found a school. Beau hoped so. He didn’t know how much purity and light he could tolerate.

Dani carried Beau Morgan’s laundry through the kitchen and out to the back porch. Where did Patrick keep the washtub? In the barn? In the shed by the door? She’d have to ask Emma.

Why, Lord? I don’t understand.

Hardly breathing, she dropped the garments in a heap and went back into the kitchen. For a thousand miles she’d dreamed of seeing this house for the first time. She’d imagined cooking at the stove, a new model with a fancy baking chamber. Patrick had described it in his letters. He’d written to her about everything…the view from the window above the sink, the number of shelves in the pantry. He’d been excited to share his life. Almost believing she’d see him, Dani looked out the window and saw the cottonwood he’d described in his letters. Just as he’d said, the branches curved up to the sky like open arms. Beyond it she saw a hill crowned by a white picket fence encasing two white crosses. It marked Patrick’s final resting place and Beth’s, too.

Dani choked back tears. Tonight she’d weep and find comfort in the Psalms, but right now she had children in her care. Wiping her eyes, she prayed for peace. When her thoughts spiraled into a black abyss, she reached for verses she’d memorized as a child in Sunday School.

Blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee; in whose heart are the ways of them.
The ways of God…

Who passing through the Valley of Baca…
the valley of tears.

Make it a well.
A source of blessing.

The rain also filleth the pools.
God in heaven adds his grace.

They…
those who walk with God.

Go from strength to strength.
Amen.

Dani tried to breathe evenly, but the air in the kitchen felt as heavy as sand. Her chest ached with the effort of sucking it in. God had promised strength, yet she’d never felt weaker in her life.

“Dani?”

She opened her eyes and saw Emma in the doorway with her sisters. The girls had braided their hair and put on fresh pinafores, but grief had dulled their eyes to pewter. Dani thought of the gifts in her trunk. She’d brought gingham for new Sunday-best dresses, books for Emma and Ellie, and a doll for Esther. Seeing their tearstained cheeks, she decided to save the gifts for a happier time.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

Emma looked over her shoulder, then urged her sisters deeper into the kitchen. A wall hid them from the front window and she leaned closer to Dani. “We don’t like him,” she whispered.

Dani’s skin prickled. If Beau Morgan had been unkind to these girls, she’d chase him away with a frying pan. “Has he mistreated you?”