West Winds of Wyoming (18 page)

Before he could answer—or figure out how to ask her about Maddie—she’d picked up her brisk pace again.

He started after her. Just a word or two about Maddie. That’s all he needed. Just to make sure she was safe and that Mrs. Lane’s urgency had nothing to do with her.

He’d just caught up to her again when a rider came down the street, headed in their direction.

Brenna’s eyes followed him, and when she noticed Charlie watching, she said, “He must be new to town. I’ve never seen him before.”

“You get a lot of those, do you?”

“Those?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I meant drifters. He looks like a drifter to me.”

She nodded. “Actually, yes. We used to be a sleepy little town, but not anymore.”

Charlie took note of the man’s hat pulled low over his eyes. He rode easy, with a Colt 45 strapped to each leg. Charlie didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been hired by Grover Galante.

They rounded the corner of Main Street and Cottonwood Lane to see an old building up ahead. A rooster weathervane topped the moss-covered thatched roof, and a large wraparound porch held several rocking chairs. Pine trees and oaks surrounded the building with shade. A hitching rail out front and a small, shed-like building in the back completed the homey picture. “Ah, the Red Rooster Inn?”

“Exactly. The place for anyone who can’t afford a room in the hotel.”

At Mrs. Lane’s pace it didn’t take long to get there. They stopped in front of the long-standing structure. When he started to tie his reins to the hitching rail Brenna’s expression turned no-nonsense. “What’re you doing?”

“Going in with you.” That was the only way he could find out what was going on.

“Mr. Rose, this is where I draw the line.”

Her tone said he’d better take note. “Fine. I’ll just wait here.”

“If you say so.” She hurried up the steps and knocked on the door. The door swung open to reveal the newcomer who’d set the other women to whispering and Chase Logan to grousing at yesterday’s picnic. A pinched expression graced her long face.

“Oh,” Brenna remarked. “I was expecting Violet. Is she here?”

“Yes. Come in.”

The door opened wide, and Brenna walked inside. When the woman looked out at him, he nodded an acknowledgment and her expression went from sour to sweet. “Would your husband like to come inside also?”

Brenna’s laughter bounced between nervous and disturbed—and much too embarrassed. He cringed at the thought that he was scaring her off. “Mr. Rose is just a friend. And he prefers to wait outside with his horse.”

When the door closed, Charlie stroked Georgia’s neck, urgency burning in his belly. He hadn’t discovered much on the walk here. If the return trip didn’t prove better, he’d just have to ask Brenna straight out what had her so edgy. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything if he thought Maddie was in some sort of danger.

Unbidden, Seth’s words about the riverside tracks came back to him. So did an image of the gun-toting stranger they’d passed in the street.
Blood for blood. An eye for an eye.
Galante wanted vengeance for his son, but Charlie would die before letting Maddie pay the price.

As he waited for Brenna, he turned uneasily in the street.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

W
arm, spicy scents, like oranges and cinnamon heating on the stove in a pot of hot water, engulfed Brenna. As she followed the woman farther into the room, she took just a moment to allow the inn to soothe her heart. The colorful quilts hanging on the walls, the lacy white curtains, the large stone fireplace at the end of the room. At one point in her life, she’d had thoughts of owning it and filling the rooms with happy customers. However, that was a long time ago, and a nearly forgotten dream.

“Violet,” the woman called down the long, narrow hallway. “You have a visitor.”

Anxiety tugged at Brenna through the thin wall of peace the inn had given her. She needed to hurry back to Mr. Hutton’s. After an examination, Dr. Thorn had confirmed her suspicion: measles. Since she’d had the malady as a child, and all her children had, as well, she was safe to look in on him a few times throughout the day. All except for Maddie. She didn’t know if she was at risk.

A shuffling sound preceded the tiny owner of the inn. Soon Violet came down the hall, her arms full to overflowing with bedsheets and towels. Peeking over the top, her face split into a wide grin.

“Why, Brenna, what brings ya out my way this fine mornin’? Penny, or another of your other little ones, ain’t feeling poorly, I hope.”

Violet hefted the contents in her arms as they began to slip and Brenna rushed forward, grasping the load. “Give me these, Mrs. Hollyhock. They’re much too heavy for you to be carrying.”

“I’ve got them, dearie,” Violet protested, taking a step back. “I’m almost to the door.”

“You’re doing more than you should,” Brenna said, holding tight to the linen. “Remember last spring when your back went out.”

“She won’t let you help her,” the unfamiliar woman stated, looking down her thin nose at Brenna. Her know-it-all smirk went right up Brenna’s back. Still, Brenna tried to ignore the comment.

“I’ve known Violet most my life,” the woman continued, “and she’s always been more stubborn than a grumpy, old mule. You’re fighting a losing battle.”

With a final tug, Violet won the laundry and proceeded through the kitchen to the back door. She pulled it open and dropped the linen in a pile on the floor of her tiny porch.

“Today’s wash day,” she called over her shoulder. “I have one paying boarder, plus Beth and me. Won’t take me but a few hours.”

Brenna counted slowly to three. “You must be the new boarder.” Brenna disliked the idle lazybones already. A true friend of Violet’s would have at least tried to lend a hand, wouldn’t she? Instead, this woman had called her an old mule.

“No. Not me,” the woman replied primly. She raised her brows. “He’s a lawyer from Colorado.”

Violet approached, smoothing her apron. “As soon as we have a visit, I’ll light a fire to heat the wash kettle.”

“But it’s Sunday, Mrs. Hollyhock. Can’t the wash wait?”

The woman tipped her head. “Not now that the beds are stripped. My sheets felt stale last night, and there’s nothing I hate more. Violet prides herself on her comfortable inn.”

Who is this ill-tempered shrew to stand here and tell me anything about my dear friend?

As if feeling a smidgen of tension in the air, Violet waved it away. “Brenna, I’ve yet to introduce the two of ya. This here is my dear friend Beth Fairington. Before I moved ta Logan Meadows, she worked for me in my mercantile in Valley Springs. In her travels all the way from Bozeman, we just happened t’ run into each other. Beth, this here is Brenna Lane. She’s a seamstress and a baker—and a mother, of course.”

Just happened to run into each other? My foot. She’s here to leach off you.
“How nice,” Brenna found herself saying, then she bit down on the inside of her cheek. “How long will you be visiting, Miss Fairington?”
I hope not too long. Violet might not survive your stay.

Mrs. Hollyhock beamed. “That’s just the wonder of it. She’s here fer good. I’m sending her into town to speak with Maude, since she has years of experience working in my grand store.”

“Your mercantile was just a square box with two windows, Violet. I’ve told you it’s not nice to exaggerate.”

Oh. Dear. Lord.

Brenna didn’t know what to make of Beth Fairington. Well, actually she did, but didn’t like thinking those kinds of thoughts on the Lord’s day. “Then let me welcome you to town, Miss Fairington,” she said. “Did Mrs. Hollyhock tell you about the long, hard winters? Last year was a doozy. Snow up to the eaves. Most of us were snowbound for a week.”

Miss Fairington smirked. “I’m used to Wyoming winters, Mrs. Lane. The idea of a little snow isn’t enough to send me running.”

Beth’s condescending tone felt like biting into a sour apple. “I’m relieved to hear that. Then you won’t have any problems when the bears come around looking for something to eat.”

“Now, Brenna. You’re exaggerating.” Violet was shaking her head.

“Mrs. Hollyhock, I think it only fair your friend has ample warning,” Brenna said. “Not only bears, but also lots of wolves.”

Violet was getting on in years. She didn’t need another mouth to feed unless that mouth was going to help out. Do some chores. Pull her own weight. This mouth wasn’t the type, Brenna was sure. Everyone worried about the sweet old woman—including herself, although the feisty eighty-six-year-old seemed to get along just fine.

Beth Fairington pursed her lips and stood a little straighter. “Thank you for all your concern, Mrs. Lane. I’ll keep that in mind when walking to town.”

“That would be wise. You know, here on the outskirts is where the wild creatures like to dwell. When I’m walking alone I always carry a large stick—just in case.”

Violet went over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “If you two are gonna keep up this blather, I’m sittin’ down.” Mrs. Hollyhock sat with a rustle of fabric.

Brenna held up a finger. “Give me a moment, please.” She hurried to the front door and opened it. “Mr. Rose, would you mind terribly going around back and filling up the two large wash kettles with water? The pump is right next to the house. And if it’s not too much trouble can you also start the fire underneath? I’d appreciate it a great deal.”

She closed the door. “The new teacher has come down with a case of the measles and I’m here to buy more of your willow bark. We ran out of ours last night. He has a headache as well as a sore throat and other aches and pains.”

Beth Fairington gasped. She took several large steps back, putting a good six feet between them. “That man outside has the measles? Why, he’ll infect us all. Have you been tending him?” She gave Brenna’s dress a scathing look, her lip curling in disgust.

“No. Mr. Hutton is home in bed, too sick to do anything, much less walk all the way over here. And I can’t be a carrier since I’ve already had the measles years ago.”

Beth Fairington sniffed loudly, wringing her hands. Her eyebrows arched so high Brenna feared they would slip right off the top of her head. Irritated at the woman’s reaction, she felt compelled to add, “And I changed my dress before coming out. If you happen to catch anything, it won’t be from me.”

“The poor man.” Violet sprang into action. She scurried for the herb basket she kept on the kitchen shelf. Her fingers walked through the contents. “Here’s the willow bark.” Mrs. Hollyhock’s brow wrinkled. “But there’s something else I want to give ya.” She carefully took out two squares of waxed paper with several dried flowers resembling daisies pressed between. “This is the last of my purple coneflower. I’ve been saving them and I’m glad I did. Ground one stem up and add to boiling water. Steep for a good ten minutes, mind ya. The brew will ease his symptoms and fortify his constitution.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hollyhock, you’re an angel.” Brenna couldn’t resist kissing her on her furrowed cheek. “Thank you.” She took a small cloth bag from her pocket, untied the ribbon and fished out a dime. “Does this cover the cost?”

“Put your coinage away, dearie. I’m donating my services, jist like you.”

Brenna wished Beth would just go away. She didn’t like the woman’s powerful stare taking in every little detail about her conversation with Mrs. Hollyhock. “No, I can’t take it for free.”

“You will. I don’t want ta hear another word.”

Gratitude overwhelmed her. “Thank you.” Brenna carefully took the willow bark and the dried coneflowers and placed them into her bag. “I need to go.” She embraced her old friend, then glanced at Beth.

Beth straightened. “Who’s waiting for you outside if it’s not the ‘good teacher’ you’re nursing?”

Mrs. Hollyhock seemed interested in her answer as well. Nothing the old woman liked more than matchmaking that led to baby-making.

“Mr. Rose. He’s the new man working out at the Cotton Ranch, and I happened to encounter him walking through town.”

Mrs. Hollyhock went to the back door and opened it. “Why, it’s my new friend Charlie Rose,” she called. With the door open Brenna could hear the pop and crackle of a new fire. “Iffin I’d knowed you were out here sooner, young man, I’d made ya come in for a hearty breakfast. You hungry?”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine. But thank you for the offer,” he called back in his deep voice.

“Another time then. And I won’t take no fer an answer. Thank ya kindly for starting my fire and filling my kettles.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Why had Mr. Rose walked her out to the inn and now it seemed he was waiting to walk her back? It was strange. She didn’t get the impression he was sweet on her, but then, maybe he was shy. At that thought, a vision of Mr. Hutton, Gregory, shadowed any thought of Nell’s new hand. Whatever the man’s intentions, she needed to get back to her patient. A good, strong cup of willow bark tea, followed by another of the purple coneflower was just what the doctor ordered.

Later, she’d remember to have a long talk with Hannah and Jessie to see about helping Violet more often. Their old friend wasn’t getting any younger.