The Outlaw Bride (11 page)

The next day dawned bright and cool. Katherine could feel the first nip of autumn against her skin as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and ventured out of the bedroom.

The couch was empty; the patchwork quilt tossed carelessly over the top. Connor had been in a rush to leave. He’d barely said a word to her since gifting her with a trunk full of clothes yesterday. He seemed almost embarrassed with his own generosity, and Katherine felt too guilty to consider what to do with the dresses.

She wandered to the kitchen, where she found the remnants of a fire crackling in the wood stove and a pot of coffee warmed on the burner. Connor’s hat was gone from the peg near the door. He’d left without saying good-bye.

She tried to beat back the sense of rejection that slithered into her heart. It was foolish really. He was under no obligation to keep her company.

But the mornings were one of her favorite times. She liked cooking him breakfast and sitting at the table over coffee while he made short work of whatever she’d fixed him. They rarely spoke. Katherine had to work to coax a few words out of him, but when she did the thrill was far more intense than it should have been. Like winning an unexpected prize. So much of her life had been spent alone, fending for herself, that she reveled in the companionship now afforded her, even if that companionship was given reluctantly, or would soon end.

She moved to the stove and lifted the coffee pot, testing its weight. He’d left her enough for two cups. She smiled. At least that was something.

As she set about preparing breakfast, Jenny appeared in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her mussed hair hung loose about her face. Draped over her arms, two baskets they used for collecting eggs banged against each other. It had become their routine. Each morning after Connor ate and left for work, she and Jenny would gather the eggs. Katherine still had a healthy respect for Lucifer, but she no longer feared venturing into the coop, worried he might swoop down from his perch and peck her to bits.

Katherine took the two baskets from Jenny, glancing down at the child’s feet.

“I think you had best put on a pair of shoes, sweetie. It’s getting colder in the mornings. If I keep letting you traipse about in your bare feet, you’ll catch a chill.”

Jenny glanced down and wriggled her toes.

In the time Katherine had been here, she couldn’t recall a time Jenny hadn’t been running around barefoot. Even the pair of shoes she wore to the Holkums for supper had ended up coming off once they arrived. She seemed to have an aversion to footwear.

“Go get me your shoes and bring them here.”

Jenny set the baskets down on the floor and skipped back to the bedroom, blond hair bouncing against her back. A moment later she reappeared, a shoe in each hand. She walked up in front of Katherine and dropped them to the floor, looking up at her with expectant eyes.

“Can you put them on for me?”

Jenny scrunched up her nose and sat on the floor. She made no move to put the shoes on.

“Jenny?” Katherine crouched next to her.

With a bit of a huff, Jenny jammed her foot into one shoe then held it out to Katherine.

Placing Jenny’s foot in her lap, Katherine’s fingers pressed at the toe and felt the shape of her foot filling it to capacity. They winced in unison.

“Your shoes don’t fit.” No wonder the poor girl had been running around without them.

Jenny reached back and placed her weight on her hands. Her eyebrows lifted skyward, like a small replica of her uncle.

“Well, this won’t do.” Katherine pulled the shoe off with a bit of effort and set it on the floor. “Do you have another pair?”

Jenny shook her head once.

Katherine sighed. What was she to do? She couldn’t let Jenny walk about in bare feet with cooler weather coming. She thought of the trunk and the clothing she had yet to sift through. They wouldn’t fit, of course, but they could make do until she got Jenny to town to purchase a proper pair.

Katherine stood up and held out her hand. “Come with me, Jenny. I think I have an idea.”

Jenny scrambled to her feet and slipped her hand into Katherine’s, surprising her. The small hand resting in hers touched a part of her deep inside, easing the sense of rejection Connor’s early exodus from the house had created.

A search of the trunk produced only one pair of shoes in brand-new condition. Unfortunately, neither Jenny nor Katherine had feet large enough to fit into them properly.

Katherine clucked her tongue. There was no way around it. “I think we’re going to have to make a trip into town, Jenny.”

The shoe shopping proved an easy task. Everyone had been pleased to see Jenny, waving at her from their storefronts and issuing greetings back to Katherine. For a moment, it allowed her to dream, to imagine what it would be like to be a part of that, to be accepted. But she cut the dream off before it got too far.

Best not to think about what she couldn’t have. Or grow too comfortable with the way things were. She wasn’t staying.

After purchasing Jenny a new pair of shoes on Connor’s account at the mercantile, they stopped at the boardinghouse to see Amelia. They found her in the kitchen, packing up a basket.

“Well land sakes, look what the wind blew in,” she said, coming forward and giving Jenny a hug. “And just in time. I made a fresh batch of ice cream this morning. It’s been waiting in the icebox for some little girl to show up and demand a dish with some lemonade. How does that sound?”

Jenny’s eyes glowed and Katherine salivated at the thought. The cool morning had burned off, leaving in its wake another warm September afternoon. They had walked into town, Jenny in Katherine’s old boots, the toes stuffed with socks. Katherine wore the pair from the trunk in much the same way. It took almost two hours to reach the main street and by early afternoon, she was tired and famished and not quite ready for the walk back. A bowl of ice cream sounded just the thing. She’d been about seven the last time she’d tasted it, but even now, she could remember the seductive cool of the creamy substance sliding down her throat. Ice was not an easy commodity to come by at this time of year, making it a rare treat indeed, and not one Katherine wanted to pass up.

“That sounds—”

Amelia thrust the basket she’d been filling into Katherine’s arms before she could finish, a warm smile still creasing the lines of her face. She had no choice but to wrap her arms around the basket’s girth.

“Kate, could you be a dear and run this over to the boys at the sheriff’s office while I dish Jenny up some ice cream? I always provide the boys with a hearty lunch and I’m well past due this afternoon.”

Katherine’s heart pounded. “The sheriff’s office?”

“Do you mind?”

Katherine swallowed. She still smarted from Connor sneaking away that morning without a word. After he opened up to her about Jenny and his brother, she thought maybe he had begun to trust her. That maybe he had stopped resenting her presence as something he had been forced into accepting.

It was foolish really, to let such a small thing irritate her. It was his house. He could come and go as he pleased. They weren’t married—God forbid! She had no claim on what he did or when he did it.

“Kate?”

Katherine gave herself a mental shake and saw Amelia waiting expectantly. “Oh…yes. Of course. I can do that.”

Amelia winked. “Jenny and I will have a nice little visit and I’ll be sure and save you an extra scoop for when you return.”

Katherine perked up. An extra scoop? Perhaps she could just drop the basket on Connor’s desk and hurry back. “I won’t be long.”

When she arrived, Katherine found the aging deputy sitting behind the desk. Bart had his feet propped up and hat pulled low over his brow. The deep rumble of a snore drifted from beneath the brim. She stopped at the opposite side of the desk and cleared her throat.

Booted feet slammed to the floor and his wiry body jumped out of the chair. The swift movement surprised Katherine and she stumbled back several steps.

“Ma’am!” Bart readjusted his hat, pushing it back off his forehead. Then, apparently thinking better of it, he swiped it off his head entirely, exposing a disheveled snarl of thin gray curls.

“Mr.—I mean, Deputy Holkum.”

“Oh, just call me Bart,” he offered. “Why, we’re practically neighbors.” His small brown eyes twinkled and the heavy creases in the corners deepened.

“Yes, of course.” The idea warmed her. Neighbors. She’d never had those before. Unless you counted the butcher shop next to the shanty she and her mother occupied. But the butcher had spoken an entirely different language she couldn’t make heads or tails out of and he didn’t seem the friendly sort. Not like the people in Fatal Bluff.

“So what can I do for you, Kate? You bring that basket of goodies for Con?”

Katherine resented the lump of disappointment that settled itself in her stomach at Connor’s absence.

“Your wife asked that I bring this over to both of you.”

She set the basket down on the desk and then moved to wipe her hands against her skirt but quickly thought better of it. Vanity had overpowered her guilt, and she’d donned one of the dresses from the trunk. She didn’t want to mess up the dark green and black plaid. She would have to return them when she left.

“Well now, lookee here.” Bart lifted up one corner of the checkered cloth and took a deep breath. “That wife of mine is one mighty fine—”

The slam of the door drowned out the rest of his recitation of his wife’s skills.

“Dang it all! Get in there, you fool!”

Katherine spun around. Two men clambered through the entrance. The man in front faltered, nearly dropping to his knees before catching himself and surging back to his feet. From behind, a man small of stature but loud in voice followed, giving the first man another shove.

Bart moved, partially blocking her view, but not before she saw the iron bands shackled around the man’s wrists and ankles.

“Oh, pardon me, ma’am.”

As Bart had done earlier, the man doing the pushing grabbed his hat from his head and held it against his chest. He shot her a sheepish grin. Long brown hair spilled over his shoulders in a haphazard fashion. A sun-bleached leather duster nearly swept the ground, swallowing up the man’s compact body.

But it was the prisoner with manacled hands glaring at her with hate in his eyes that caused Katherine’s heart to slam against her ribs with such force she thought it would bust through and fly clear across the room.

Frank Beesom.

One of Rogan’s men.

Katherine gave the brim of her hat a swift yank, pulling it down to shadow her face. Her skin crawled as Beesom’s menacing glare reached out and brushed against her. She needed to get out of there, but the man doing the pushing still blocked the door.

When Bart stepped forward she shifted behind him.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts for a bit, Devers. What’ve you brought us today?”

“This here’s Frank Beesom. The law in Bakers is waitin’ on him. Seems he shot some men down there a while back. I’ll be collectin’ a nice bounty from the sheriff once I get ’im there.”

Bart waved a finger at the irons connecting the man’s legs. “He ride in like that?”

“Nah.” Devers grinned. Two small dimples revealed themselves, giving him an almost boyish look. “Gave me some trouble just outside ’a town, so’s I slapped them on him and rode him in arse end up on the back of his horse.”

Just outside of town? Was Rogan closing in on her? Did he know she was here? Katherine couldn’t breathe.

Devers lowered his voice and she had to strain to hear what he said next. “Heard he rode a bit with Slade and his boys. Thought Con might wanna have a word with ’im before I took him in.”

The air drained out of Katherine’s lungs. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She chanced a quick glance at Beesom. Had he gotten a good look at her?

The man’s eyes pierced hers and a slow, malevolent smile stretched his leathery skin. The room closed in on her. Her fingers groped blindly for the desk behind her, gripping the smooth wood to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

Bart nodded gravely. “Any word on Slade?”

“Rumor has it Slade’s huntin’ down some woman. Think it’s the one that run off after the stagecoach attack, but I can’t figure why. The sheriff in Mercury thinks it might be to keep the law from gittin’ to her first. Maybe he don’t know she already sent him up the river with her letter.”

Katherine had written down what had happened that day, making sure to detail how Grant had died heroically saving her, and that Rogan’s younger brother had been killed in the shoot out. She’d left the letter on Grant’s body, knowing it would get into the right hands, and then she had made a run for it in the middle of the night. She couldn’t stay. If Rogan had found her there, the farmer who had hidden them would have suffered a fate similar to Grant’s. She’d had to keep moving.

“You thinkin’ Slade wants her for different reasons?” Bart asked, interrupting her memories.

Devers shrugged. “I got a sense maybe she was the reason he came after the stagecoach in the first place. He let her live. He ain’t one for leavin’ live bodies behind. And there weren’t nothin’ on that coach worth stealing. Doesn’t make no sense any other way.”

“Hmph.” Bart rubbed at his grizzled beard. “Bit of a mystery on that one.”

Katherine struggled for composure. The bounty hunter’s words bounced around in her head until it ached. Rogan continued his search. How close was he? How long before she had to run again? Would it never end?

Rogan and his men had killed everyone on the stagecoach save her, leaving behind no other witnesses. If Grant hadn’t killed Rogan’s brother in the shootout, no doubt Rogan would have caught up with them and it would have ended there. But she and Grant had been given a reprieve, limited as it was, allowing them to find a safe haven before Grant succumbed to his wounds.

Now one of Rogan’s men stood a few feet away.

“I don’t know spit about no Slade and I ain’t never shot nobody!” Frank tried to pull away from the bounty hunter, but the smaller man’s grip held him firm. “You got the wrong man.”

“Oh sure,” Devers said. His eyes lifted heavenward. “You’re innocent as a babe. Happens all the time, don’t it, Bart?”

Bart chuckled and walked over to the key ring hanging from a nail on the wall. He lifted it off the makeshift hook and unlocked the first cell door, opening it wide. With short, quick shoves, Devers prodded the man toward the cell. Frank staggered past, his uneven steps causing the irons around his ankles to chink against each other.

With his prisoner locked behind bars, Devers turned to Bart. “Con around?”

Bart shook his head. “Nope. Sheriff’s over seein’ to an altercation at Garrett’s.”

“Townsfolk found that boy a wife yet?”

Bart chuckled and shook his head. A smile quirked beneath the whiskers of his scruffy beard. “Not for lack of trying. Got himself a housekeeper though.” Bart acknowledged Katherine with a brief nod. She wished he hadn’t. She didn’t want any attention brought on her, not with Frank Beesom glaring through the bars of his cell at her. Her head spun and fear spiraled through her. Beesom recognized her. She could see it in the cold, calculating way he took her measure, the malicious glint in his dark eyes. Why didn’t he say something?

“Ed Devers, this here is Miss Stockdale. Oliver tried to marry her off to Walter Figg. Con saved her from that onerous fate and hired her to help him out.”

Devers nodded. “Pleased as punch to meet you, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Katherine whispered, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. No need letting a bounty hunter get a good look at her. She had enough trouble on her doorstep without courting more.

“Con should be back shortly,” Bart said.

Devers shrugged, apparently unconcerned at the delay. “No rush. Beesom’s not goin’ anywhere. I’ll just drop into the hotel and get me a room. Figure I’ll be around a day or two while Con questions ole Frank here.”

With a quick grin, Devers replaced his hat and tipped the brim in Katherine’s direction. “Ma’am.”

Katherine returned his smile, barely conscious of the effort.

“Miss Stockdale.” Bart’s hand touched her elbow and she jumped, her nerves teetering on a sharp edge. Part of her wanted to forget about her promise and run, to move on to the next town, or the one after that. But how far would she have to go before she was truly safe? Before Rogan gave up and the law lost interest in her? She doubted there was a place that far.

“I need to get Jenny and go home.”

Bart’s calm voice did little to slow the blood pounding in her ears. “Sounds like a fine idea. And don’t you worry none about Beesom. He’s locked up safe and not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, Deputy. Bart. Thank you.” Words tumbled out of Katherine’s mouth. She had to get Jenny home. And then…and then what? Run? Abandon Jenny?

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Not yet. Until Connor paid her, Katherine didn’t have two nickels to spit on to get her anywhere.

Maybe Beesom hadn’t recognized her. Maybe she was just being overly fearful. The piercing stare Frank had given her resurrected itself in her mind’s eye and sent a shiver of pure fear streaking down her spine.

No. He knew.

Her time was running out. Beesom might keep her identity a secret from the law for now—he couldn’t reveal her identity without indicting himself as a member of Rogan’s gang. But he was set to hang. It was entirely plausible he would trade information to gain his freedom if given the option. Would he use her identity as a bargaining chip?

Or worse, what if he broke out? She’d lost count of the number of jails that had tried to contain Frank Beesom and failed. She knew without a doubt as soon as he gained his freedom, he’d hightail it back to Rogan and give up her whereabouts.

“I’ll see that Con makes it home for dinner tonight,” Bart said, interrupting her thoughts. “I suspect he’ll need a good meal and pretty company after spending the afternoon with Beesom.”

Katherine didn’t fool herself on that account. Once Connor learned he’d been housing the wife of Rogan Slade, her company would be the last thing he wanted.

She plastered a bright smile on her face and loosened the grip she had on the sides of her skirt. “That would be nice. I’ll be sure and make up something special.”

If things didn’t go in her favor, it may be the last decent meal she’d have for a good long time.

***

“Good afternoon, Sheriff. How’s that housekeeper of yours working out?”

Connor tipped his hat at Mrs. Greevy as he left the street, taking the steps to his office in one leap. “Just fine, Mrs. Greevy,” he answered, gritting his teeth together.

He settled his hat back on his head and quickly stepped into his office to avoid any further questioning on the subject. Seemed he could barely stick his head out the door without someone asking him that same question and hinting that perhaps he should change her status to one of a more permanent nature.

He was halfway to his desk when he realized his seat was occupied. He stopped, the tune he’d been whistling abruptly cut off.

Ed Devers sat behind the desk, his feet propped up on the corner while he leafed through a pile of Wanted posters. His duster lay in a heap by the chair.

“Afternoon, Con.”

Connor nodded at his old friend. It had been months since they’d crossed paths. They’d met years earlier at the Lazy M Ranch in Arizona Territory, where they both ran cattle. The two had become friends, and after a while, when Ed decided it was time to move on and go back to bounty hunting, Connor had gone with him, restless and looking to put more distance between himself and the memories he’d left behind. In the time they rode together, Ed had proven to be a loyal friend. Outside of Bart and Amelia, he was about the only other person Connor truly trusted.

When Connor got the news about Grant, it was Ed that promised to keep his ear to the ground and help track down any leads on Slade.

His gaze slipped to the form resting on the cot in the first cell. Whoever it was had his head dipped down as if in a doze. “Good to see you, Ed. What brings you by?”

“More like
who
brought me by.” He set the leaflets down and wiggled the toe of his boot toward the cell. “Let me introduce you to the soon-to-be-extinct Mr. Frank Beesom.”

Connor sauntered further into the office. “He of any interest to me?”

“The man runs with Slade. Thought you might have a thing or two to ask ’im.”

Slade.

A violent need to retaliate against his brother’s death tore through Connor’s veins. His hands shook with the force of it. He curled his fingers into a fist and took several slow breaths. He wanted every member of the Slade Gang to pay for what they’d done to his brother. And if that payment turned out to be long, drawn out and extremely painful, all the better.

Connor swallowed his need for vengeance like a bitter pill. Justice, he reminded himself. He sought justice. Anger lodged in his throat and he couldn’t speak. All the things he wanted to say rushed through his mind.

He approached the cell slowly, taking a closer measure of the man behind the bars. Beesom sat with his legs stretched out on the narrow cot. Filthy boots, crossed at the ankle, rested on the thin wool blanket. The man appeared relaxed, as if the noose would never find its way around his neck.

“Beesom.” Connor nodded at the man.

The man lifted his head and stared back at him. A snarl crept over his unshaven features, accentuating cold, beady eyes.

“What can you tell me about Rogan Slade?”

Beesom shrugged. “Never heard of ’im.”

Connor flexed his fists. He wanted to reach through the bars and strangle the answers out of Beesom, but he had a sinking feeling it would do little good. Beesom would probably enjoy goading him to violence. His type usually thrived on it, and Connor refused to give him the satisfaction. He loosened his fists and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Where is he now?”

“Who?”

Aggravation twitched the muscles in his jaw. “Rogan Slade.”

“Told you, I ain’t never heard of the man, so I don’t rightly know where he’d be.”

Ed’s boots dropped to the wide-planked flooring and he pushed himself out of the chair to face the cell. His hand rested against the six-shooter strapped to his hip.

“You want me to shoot him? I can put one in his leg. Maybe then he’ll be more amenable to answering your questions.”

The offer was tempting, but Connor shook his head. “Not right now.” He forced a grin he didn’t feel. “Maybe later.”

Beesom eased himself off the cot and sauntered toward the bars. The stench of stale tobacco and sweat wafted through the heavy air. He stopped just out of Connor’s reach and sank his hands deep into the front pockets of his worn wool trousers.

“Things might go easier for you in Baker if you answer my questions,” Connor said. “I can put in a word for you with the judge.”

“And what?” Beesom turned his head and spat. “I’ll be a little less dead? I’m gonna swing. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change that and we both know it. You got nothin’ to bargain with.”

The tang of bitterness left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth. Beesom wouldn’t help. The man had no incentive and nothing left to lose. A sinking helplessness clenched his guts.

Ed turned to Connor, hope lighting his eyes. “You sure you don’t want me to shoot him? ’Cause I can take him in dead or alive. It don’t matter none to the folks in Baker.”

Connor stared at Frank Beesom. The man’s eyes were cold and hard. The temptation to put a gun to the outlaw’s head and pull the trigger was strong. But what would that do? Unlike Rogan Slade, he couldn’t just kill someone and walk away like it meant nothing. Beesom would die soon enough.

“You want me to talk? How’s about you bring back that pretty lil’ redhead you had in here earlier?” Beesom leaned closer to the bars. “I think maybe another look at her is jus’ what I need.”

Connor’s gaze snapped to Ed. “What redhead?”

“Nice lady,” Ed said to Connor. Then he sneered at Beesom. “And she sure as hell wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of you.” He turned back to Connor. “Bart said she’s your new housekeeper.”

Beesom snorted. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Connor lost his battle with his will. His arm shot through the bars and grabbed the front of Beesom’s wool jacket. With a swift jerk he yanked the man against his bars, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the outlaw’s forehead cracked against hard steel. Beesom staggered back onto the bed, cursing.

Ed leaned closer to the bars and snickered. “Nice.”

Connor ignored the praise. “Kate was here? With Jenny?”