The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (19 page)

“Sheriff!” A woman marched up onto the planks in
front of the jailhouse, her face red, her mouth curved into a snarl.

Albert jumped behind Will.

“I see you found that little brat of mine. Where
was he this time?” She reached out toward the boy, but Caspar hopped up onto
the boardwalk between her and Albert, teeth bared and a deep growl offering a
warning. She barked, her stance ready for a fight.

Will raised up to his full height, keeping himself
between the boy and the woman.

“It’s all right, girl,” Will said, reaching down
and scratching the top of the pup’s head. “You must be Mrs. Bartlett,” he said
with the most charming smile he could muster. He tipped his hat. “My name is
Will Redbourne. I’m a friend of Albert’s.”

She snorted. “That boy doesn’t have any friends.”

Caspar growled.

“You’d better keep that mutt away from me,” she
spat, still recoiling from the animal.

She wasn’t making it any easier to like her.

“And, don’t you think you are going to waltz in
here and take that child away from us. We done paid ten dollars for that brat,
not to mention his room and board, and he ain’t done his chores this mornin’.”

Will swallowed, then looked down at Albert who
shot him an, ‘I told you’ look.

In
. Two, three, four.

Out
. Two, three, four.

“A whole ten dollars?” Will whistled, trying to
calm himself. “That’s a lot of money.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Now,” she tried a smile that
did not reach her eyes, “may I have the boy? Please?” she squeaked out with
false politeness, her teeth grinding together, her nostrils flaring.

Will placed a hand protectively at his side, and
rubbed the boy’s shoulder.

“See, I just don’t think I can do that.”

“Wha…? Sheriff,” the woman said in warning.

The coonhound leapt toward her with a bark. She
quickly recoiled, a sour look contorting her face. Will could see the
indignation stirring in her eyes.

“Caspar!” Will called with sternness. The dog whimpered
lightly, hung her head, then backed up and sat down next to Albert.

“Mr. Redbourne, the law is pretty clear in the
matter,” the sheriff said. “The boy belongs to her.”

“The boy doesn’t
belong
to anyone.” Will’s
mind raced. He could not take Albert with him, but he was not about to leave
him in the care of this woman. “How much do you want for him?” Just the words
on his tongue left a bitter taste in his mouth.

If he knew anything, it was people, and he knew
that this Mrs. Bartlett did not care two hoots for Albert. He narrowed his eyes
at the woman and waited for her number.

Will had been gone for nearly half an hour. What
could possibly be keeping him?

Elizabeth wanted nothing more right now than to
get on the road and be on her way to her new life. While the idea of being a
preacher’s wife still terrified her, it had to be better than being on the
trail or worse yet, living out her life a spinster in the west. At least this
way, she would finally be able to settle down in a quiet little place with a
home of her own where there wasn’t drama at every turn. She hoped. She needed
to be somewhere she would be safe. Protected. Somewhere she could live a good
life with a good man, out from under the scrutiny of London society.

Safe,
she repeated the word in her mind. Was that really
what she wanted? To be safe?

How many times had she been in the throes of one
of her novels and wished that she could have some of that adventure in her
life?

Too many.

However, she knew exactly what it was like to be
in the middle of excitement all right. Only it had been the kind that had
landed professional boxers in her lap to be stitched up—something she had never
been trained to do, but had done anyway—or nursed back to health after a
beating. She was glad to leave that life behind her and to look forward to
something new. Something…good.

She turned back the page in her book, unable to
remember what she’d just read. After scanning a few paragraphs that suddenly
looked like script from the Greek alphabet, she snapped it shut and pushed open
the compartment door.

“Where are you going?” Opal asked.

“We’re supposed to stay put,” Gertrude added. “I
thought you wanted to stay on schedule.”

Sitting still in the overly small compartment of
a stagecoach with two prissy mail-order-brides was not going to get them closer
to their destination any faster.

“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” she said to
a shocked Gertrude. “I’m just going to stretch my legs for a few minutes before
we get on the road. We certainly will not be leaving without our escorts, now will
we?”

She slipped outside before either of the women
could respond.

“Mr. Glenn,” she said, looking up at the driver’s
box to the man who looked as anxious as she felt to get on the road, “are we
still waiting on Mr. Redbourne? Do you know where he has gone?”

“He found a stray and is trying to get the matter
settled.”

A stray? Odd.

“I am sorry, but could you tell me where?”

Mr. Glenn flicked his wrist down the road. Her
gaze stopped at the telegraph office, but she did not see Will’s mount there
anymore.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said before trekking down
the street, the hem of her dress gathered up in her hands, so it didn’t drag on
the street.

The sun shone brightly this morning—a far cry
from the rain-filled cloudy day they’d had when they’d arrived in this little
town. Puddles still accentuated the road, but that was the only sign a storm
had blown through. She passed the telegraph office and continued down the
street toward the blacksmith shop that capped the end of the road. There was
still no sign of Will.

As she rounded the corner, Elizabeth froze. Will
stood in heated conversation with a pinched-faced woman, tension pulsing
through the air around them like stones grinding wheat. She quickly moved to
the edge of the street, next to one of the buildings and watched.

Movement pulled her eyes to the dog sitting
protectively next to the boy, ears alert.

Caspar!

She quietly made her way to stand behind them.

The woman bent backward slightly, shoving her
arms together, folding them in front of her. She tilted her head back and
closed one eye until it was a mere slit as she eyed Will, considering something
he had said. Elizabeth quietly stepped forward, straining to hear their
conversation.

“You think money would fill the hole it would
make in our lives if we lost him? He already has a nice home with us,” she
said. “Siblings who care for him. A place to run and play. A father and a
mother.”

“You are not my mother!” the young boy yelled as
he stepped out briefly from behind Will. “My mama wasn’t mean like you. She
baked fruit breads. She smelled like cinnamon. And she read to me every night.
She didn’t make me sleep in the barn. Or pull my hair when I did something
wrong. She loved me!” He looked up at Will. “She loved me,” he repeated.

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest and she
longed to pull the boy protectively into her arms and offer him comfort.

The woman laughed uneasily.

Will’s jaw flexed, his hands balled into fists.

“How much?”

“Fifty dollars!” Mrs. Bartlett blurted, as if
that were some astronomical amount.

Will wanted nothing more than to wipe that
self-satisfied smirk off the woman’s face, but that wouldn’t accomplish
anything.

Albert nudged in a little closer to him, then
tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

“Sheriff, you heard her?” Will asked, turning to
look at the lawman.

“Yes, sir. I did.”

Will turned back and bent down to face Albert at
eye level. He caught a glimpse of Elizabeth standing in the background next to
Caspar. He shook his head and focused his attention on the boy.

“Do you want to go to Stone Creek, Albert?” He
spoke in low tones.

The youngster nodded hesitantly. “But…,” he
looked down at his feet, “fifty dollars is a lot of money. I…I can’t let you do
that for me.” He stepped around Will and took a step toward Mrs. Bartlett
before pausing and looking back over his shoulder. “I appreciate all you done,
Will,” he said, “but I’ll go with her. Maybe you could come visit me sometime.”
His eyes were big and his brows lifted with hope.

Will bit his lip to hide the amazed chuckle that
threatened.

Mrs. Bartlett reached out toward the boy, a
haughty expression distorting her already pinched face.

Caspar growled. The low, rumbling sound grew
until it culminated in several barks.

Elizabeth reached down and patted the top of the
pup’s head.

Will nodded at the animal. “I wouldn’t push it
with that one,” he warned the woman trying to take Albert. He strode over to
where his black and white mount waited, reached into his saddle bags, and
fiddled with the roll of bills he kept there.

“Will,” Elizabeth whispered loudly, “do
something. You cannot just let him go. Not with the likes of her.” She’d
settled easily back into her British accent.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at
Elizabeth, but he held the money firmly in his hand and closed his eyes in a
silent prayer for strength. As much as he hated giving money to the likes of a
troll like Mrs. Bartlett, he wanted Albert to know he had value. And not just as
a stable hand or indentured servant.

The woman had already turned back toward her
wagon, Albert firmly gripped beneath her hand on his shoulder, but before Will
could say anything, Elizabeth stepped forward.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you take him,” she said
as she reached into her pocket.

“Are you with him?” Mrs. Bartlett asked, nudging
her nose toward Will.

Elizabeth locked eyes with him, then turned back
to the woman.

“She’s…my…” What did he say? His wife? His
sister? His charge? The woman who hates him? He moved closer to her and wrapped
his arm around her shoulder.

She looked up at him incredulously. “We’re
travelling together with the stage,” Elizabeth filled in for him. “He’s the
outrider accompanying us to Kansas City.”

Will leaned down slightly and whispered into her
ear through the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Saving a boy from the likes of that woman,” she
responded under her breath. “And I don’t need to be…
anyone
to you to do
it.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

Elizabeth ignored him and stepped out from under
his arm toward Mrs. Bartlett and Albert. “I’m afraid I do not have fifty
dollars, but I am sure we could come to some other arrangement.” She pulled out
a few bills and held them out for the woman to see.

Will stood there, astounded at Elizabeth’s
gesture.

“That’s barely what I paid for him,” Mrs.
Bartlett sneered. “Wouldn’t be near enough to cover expenses for another one.
Not to mention the days’ worth of work that won’t get done in the meantime. No,
Albert is coming with me.”

The boy’s eyes lit up at Elizabeth’s offer, then
he smiled in resignation and waved as they turned back for the wagon again.

“My father,” she called loudly, then her voice
softened a little, “has money. I’ll even give you something extra for your time.”

Of course, she would turn to her father.

Mrs. Bartlett stopped and turned around. “Why do
you want him anyway? He’s just a scrawny little brat. Not much good for working
the fields yet.”

Will could not believe the audacity of the woman.
How dare she speak about Albert that way? He suddenly felt sorry for her
husband and children and had a new appreciation for his own mother. Heaven knew
she’d put up with a lot from her eight children.

“How much extra?” Mrs. Bartlett mulled over the
offer.

“Elizabeth,” Will called to her, hoping to make
her understand that he was prepared to take care of the situation right now.

“Shhhh,” Mrs. Bartlett snapped. “Don’t interrupt the
girl, Mr. Redbourne. I want to hear what she has to say.”

Will held up a fifty-dollar bill and the woman
swallowed hard.

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.

“I believe we were in agreement first. Here is
your money, Mrs. Bartlett.” He pulled it tight between his hands, then turned
to the lawman. “The only stipulation I have, Sheriff, is that the Bartlett’s do
not get to ‘buy’ any more children to be like an unpaid hired hand on their
farm.” He turned back to the woman. “It is one thing to have your own children
doing chores, but to use any child the way you have used Albert is just wrong.”

“We’ve never used Albert like a hired hand,” Mrs.
Bartlett protested indignantly. “He works to earn his keep. We feed him, clothe
him, and provide a bed for him to sleep in just as if he was one of our own.”

“It’s all right, Will. I can be strong like
you—even if Richie gives me another black eye or I get another lickin’ for
running away.” Albert stood between him and the woman.

Will’s jaw clenched together and a fresh wave of
determination washed over him. “Those are my terms.” He held out the money. “Do
you agree?”

Mrs. Bartlett eyed the bill, the temptation
apparent on her features. After a few moments, she rushed forward, snatched the
money from Will’s hands, and shoved Albert toward him. “You can have the lazy
little thing,” she said, admiring the money and licking her lips before turning
to march away.

“Sheriff?” Will said, placing a protective hand
on Albert’s shoulder.

“I’ll see to it,” the sheriff responded with a
nod, unsmiling.