Untamed Journey (13 page)

“Where are we headed from here?” Ruth asked
in between sips of coffee.

“We need to get you some boots - decent ones
for the winter. We’ll stop at Montgomery’s Trading Post on the way
to my ranch. He’ll have something. Once we’ve got you supplied, we
need to get to my ranch before the snow starts and closes all the
passes. It’s early for it, but there’s no guarantee it won’t start
tomorrow.”

At Jackson’s implication that she’d be
staying with him all winter, Ruth felt her throat constrict. She
didn’t know yet what had happened after she’d left the train and
they found Jasper Smith’s body. For all she knew, there could be
lawmen looking for her. She desperately wanted to keep moving, as
far away from Frank Masterson’s home town as possible.

“I appreciate your hospitality and all you’ve
done for me,” she said. “I truly do. But I need to keep moving and
get to San Francisco as soon as possible. Can’t you take me to
another train station?” That had been the gist of a rather vague
and desperate plan forming in her mind since she took off after the
Marshal.

He stared at Ruth one, two, then five
heartbeats, knowing she was lying about this supposed fiancé in San
Francisco. He couldn’t tell what part of her story was false, but
knew from experience he was not hearing the whole truth.

At first Jackson had figured she was another
naïve girl setting off after a man she fancied herself in love
with. But knowing Ruth a little better now, she didn’t strike him
as that young or flighty. He told himself now was not the time to
confront her. If she was running from something, she was probably
short on trust with a man she’d only known for a few days. He could
wait. Her story would come out on its own, soon enough.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ruth. I have a
duty to join back up with Mike and my brother to hunt down the rest
of the train robbers. And I’m not taking you along – for any
reason. The safest place for you is my ranch, where I have people I
trust and that you can trust. The passes will be closed in two or
three weeks at most. By the time I return, it will be too dangerous
to travel and face the possibility of being snowed in half way to
the coast.”

Before she could even open her mouth to ask,
Jackson cut her off, “It’s too dangerous, even by train.”

Ruth thought about her options. She didn’t
much like the thought of being trapped at a homestead with
strangers. But then she figured if she couldn’t get out, no one
could get in, either. Even if the law figured out she had killed
Jasper Smith, it seemed unlikely that they’d send a posse after one
lone woman. She hadn’t done anything wrong before, and in her heart
knew she hadn’t done anything wrong in shooting Smith. But she also
knew a claim of self-defense was a tricky thing for a woman.

She wasn’t ready to trust her fate to a
stranger, badge or not. Even though she’d defended Jackson’s back
during the train robbery, he would no doubt feel a stronger
obligation to the law than to a woman he’d just met. He might not
even believe her story of self-defense.

“I can see I need a guide to make that trip,”
she conceded. “So I’ll wait until spring, if you think it best. But
I won’t give up on my dream for good.”

He nodded his understanding. She wasn’t ready
to trust him. “What I’m telling you is for your own safety. Rest a
bit at my ranch. Talk to folks nearby. They’ll give you the same
advice, including how foolish it is for any woman – young or old,
pretty or not – to travel alone in this country. If your fiancé is
truly a good man, and worthy of a woman as gutsy as you, he’d come
fetch you himself. We can write a letter to him and tell him where
you are.”

Ruth shrugged and said nothing, not wanting
to embellish her lie any more than necessary. She’d let him think
that was her plan, simply because she has no alternative beyond
running again. “I’ll take your advice, and your much needed
hospitality, Marshal. And thank you for it. I know I’ve caused
unthinkable trouble by following you.”

Jackson ignored Ruth’s last comment. It was
already in the past, as far as he was concerned. “Good. That’s
settled. There are a number of women living nearby who will be
thrilled to have another female to talk to. You’ll be happy there.
You’ll see.”

“T
alk to her?” Mike
took three unconscious steps back. “Emmett, my boy, if I never have
to talk with another female in this lifetime, I’ll know I’ve
pleased my Maker and will die a happy man.”

“But you’ve got to make an exception here,”
Emmett draped his arm across Mike’s shoulders, slowly steering him
up the front steps. “Anyone with a scent for trouble and one good
eye knows the pretty widow has a tender spot for you.” Emmett
didn’t bother hiding his amusement at old Mike’s expense.

“The widow has nothing to recommend her,
beggin’ the pardon of my Maker for speaking ill of a female, but
it’s the goddamn truth.”

“She’s not so bad to look at, and she’s
mighty dedicated to her cause.” Emmett deliberately baited his old
mentor, thinking of anything he could add to take the lady’s
side.

“Dedicated?” Mike snorted. “She could be the
prettiest twenty-two year-old virgin for one hundred miles, and it
wouldn’t change the fact that she’s a do-gooder out to save my
everlasting soul.”

“She would probably expect you to give up
drinking.” Emmett did his best to put a sympathetic look on his
face. “But you’d have a warm, soft woman to keep your mind off the
liquor.”

“I’d just as soon have the liquor to keep my
mind off all warm, soft women, thank you very much,” Mike grumbled
under his breath.

Emmett laughed outright at his friend, and
kept marching up the porch of the lady in question. “You’d best
take a last long swig. Because we need her help.”

Ignoring Old Mike’s stuttering protest,
Emmett started pounding loudly at the Widow Thornton’s imposing
front door.

Mike grabbed the younger man’s burley arm.
“If you’ve got any love for me at all, don’t do it. Let’s try the
sheriff. He’s bound to know something.”

“That old drunk?” Emmett snorted in disgust.
“He’s bound to know nothing more useful than the location of the
closest potato still. But the Widow’s information is reliable as
rain in the bayou. She knows everything that goes on in Colorado –
and in most surrounding territories, for that matter. I’ve heard
she’s even gone straight into the Indian Nation with her preaching.
She’s got her eye on any man who does anything not expressly
condoned in the Good Book.”

“That’s Old Testament only, young man,”
corrected a distinctly feminine voice. “There’re too many loose and
tumble rules in the new one, to my way of thinking.”

Emmett nearly lost his footing at the
unexpected presence at the door. He’d been so preoccupied with
freeing his right arm from Mike’s clawing grasp that he’d had his
back turned when the subject of their conversation corrected his
statement.

“Yes Ma’am.” Emmett quickly gathered his
thoughts and removed his hat. “I couldn’t agree with you more. My
daddy was an Old Testament sort himself.”

Emmett ignored his partner’s snort of
disbelief and kept right on conversing with the widow, as if Old
Mike weren’t even there. “If we could impose and come in for just a
moment of your time, I’d be much obliged, Ma’am.”

“Well, since your brother is known to me, and
he speaks fondly of you on occasion, you may come in.” The Widow
Thornton stepped aside and motioned Emmett in, but turned just
enough to block Old Mike’s passage. “It’s lovely to see you again,
Michael. I’d be pleased to have you sit with me at Sunday
Service.”

Just to be ornery, Emmett chimed in quickly
before Mike could make up some excuse. “We’ll be there for sure,
Ma’am.”

Mike’s face turned three shades of red when
the Widow smiled in triumph and took his arm, practically dragging
him into her parlor. She yanked him down next to her onto a tiny
settee without a by-your-leave.

“Now what can I do for you fine gentlemen on
this lovely autumn day?” she offered.

“It’s near thirty degrees out, and we’re on
the trail of murdering thieves. So there’s nothin’ lovely about
it,” Mike interjected sourly.

Emmett interrupted before his partner
antagonized the best source of information they had. “That might be
true, but with such lovely company, this day’s perking up
considerably.”

At the widow’s responding smile, Emmett
hurriedly continued. “Ma’am, we sure could use your help. We’re
desperate for it, in fact. And I know of no other man, woman or
child for two hundred miles who knows more about the goings on of
this community.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s a slight
exaggeration,” the widow added graciously, “but I’ll certainly do
my best to help you.”

“No exaggeration at all, Ma’am, if you’ll
pardon my forwardness,” Emmett replied.

“Now, tell me what I can do for you two
handsome gentlemen.”

Emmett watched her bat her eyelashes at Mike,
as if they were teenagers on their first church picnic. When he saw
the delicate lady in question squeeze his friend’s thigh, Emmett
quickly explained their quest. “We didn’t find anything to indicate
names on the bodies of the outlaws who were killed during the train
robbery.”

The widow frowned. “Just like the last
time.”

“How’d you know that?” Mike demanded. “We
kept that piece of information amongst the Marshals.”

“Don’t be so naïve, Michael,” she admonished.
“Everyone pillow talks - especially lonely lawmen passing through
this den of iniquity.”

Emmett couldn’t stop a grin at the astonished
look on Mike’s face. “If you’ll pardon my question in advance,
Ma’am, how might a righteous lady like yourself come to hear such
things?”

“Young man, I don’t sit in church seven days
a week waiting for lost souls to come to Jesus,” she explained. “If
they knew their way, they wouldn’t be lost, would they?”

“No Ma’am,” Emmett agreed, hiding his grin.
“I confess. I hadn’t given it much thought. But it makes perfect
sense.”

“Of course it does,” Widow Thornton nodded
her head. “And since the preacher’s wife doesn’t take kindly to his
visits with the fallen women at the Rusty Pecker, it just makes
sense for me to go to them. And you should hear the things they
have to say, Lord help me.” The Widow vigorously fanned her
over-heated cheeks.

Emmett couldn’t help but wonder if she was
blushing at the pillow talk that involved illegal dealings or talk
of a different nature entirely.

The handsome woman crisply replied. “My point
is, men are men. Law Badge or not, their mouths flap just like
anyone’s when they’re distracted by a woman. Thus I have it on
excellent authority that you boys have nothing by way of evidence
on the other robberies.”

“Officially, we can’t say,” Emmett explained,
shrugging his heavy shoulders. “But we’re not obliged to deny your
statement, either. Have you heard of or seen any strangers pass
through in the last several days? Maybe outsiders who might have
been involved?”

“Nothing that obvious,” she replied. “I know
everyone who passes through here, and no strangers have been
dallying about. However, I heard the blacksmith had a pre-dawn
visitor two days past. And the blacksmith didn’t much like being
jerked out of bed so early.”

Mike and Emmett shared a long look. “Let’s
get out to the blacksmith’s place right now.”

They stood to leave, but the Widow’s voice
stopped them.

“You won’t find him there,” she replied
without looking up.

“Well, spit it out, woman,” Old Mike prodded.
“I can see that you know something.”

“I might know something,” she averred. “And I
naturally want to do my civic duty, but what if I’m wrong? My
memory isn’t what it used to be.”

Emmett quickly offered up a compromise, as
both Mike and the Widow appeared ready to dig in their heels for
the duration of the long, cold winter. “Why don’t we join you for
afternoon services and maybe the good Lord’s teachings will help
your memory?”

“We haven’t got time for this nonsense!” Mike
insisted, slapping his hat against his thigh. “We’ve got lives at
stake, woman. These men are bad. They could be plotting their next
robbery as we’re cooling our heels on a church pew with a bunch of
hypocritical do-gooders.”

Emmett cringed at the look of outrage on the
widow’s face. He immediately stepped in between the two, and tried
to salvage the situation. “Ma’am, please - Old Mike didn’t mean
that. You know he has a temper, and the good Lord would look kindly
on you if you could help him curb it. If I give you my word that
we’ll come back through, specifically to attend services with your
lovely self, would you agree to help us?”

“Your solemn oath?” the Widow insisted.

“My solemn oath,” Emmett promised, raising
his hand to his heart before Old Mike could voice an objection.

“Boy, you have no right. Why I ought to turn
you over my knee and –”

“Too late,” Emmett grinned unashamedly. “I’ve
already sworn my solemn oath to this saintly lady, here. It’ll be
my eternal soul on your conscience if we don’t show up.”

Emmett had slowly inched his wily backside
away from Mike with every word, so he would be partially protected
by the Widow’s considerable girth.

The Widow Thornton wasted no time chiming in.
“And the souls of those poor, defenseless passengers on the next
train – you might be able to save them if you stop the next
robbery.”

Mike opened and closed his mouth several
times, before stomping his way out of the parlor without saying a
word.

The pleased-as-punch widow gave Emmett exact
directions to the neighboring ranch, where the blacksmith was set
to work that day. As she waved farewell to Mike’s departing back,
she leaned over to Emmett and whispered, “That man’s a catch. You
be certain and bring him along to services, like you promised.”