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* * *
Sidney stood on Meadow’s front porch with Jack and Emile, all three men looking out into the distance. The wind was chilly this afternoon, but it wasn’t so bad they immediately retreated back indoors now that Leonard was gone.
Leonard had just come by to tell them, away from the women, that Marshall was on the run. Amos and Booker had chased him out of Hope’s Bluff yesterday, and he was headed in this direction the last anyone saw him. Leonard had promised to come by again later and tell them if he heard anything else.
Sidney was glad Jack and Emile were there, though he knew Summer would personally blacken his eyes if any harm befell Emile. She needn’t worry. If any harm befell his brother, Sidney would not stop going after Marshall until the man was either caught and in jail, or one of them was dead.
Jack checked the gun on his holster, his eyes shutting slightly against the wind. Emile did the same, though he didn’t so much check his gun as caress it. According to Emile, a gun was like a woman, only its curves were a little harder and it was a little more deadly. Sidney thought Jack only partially right—an angry woman could be a lot more deadly than a gun, given the right circumstances. But then, maybe Jack just hadn’t met the right woman yet.
Sidney had borrowed a gun from Booker’s collection—he had only one of his own, and it didn’t shoot quite right. The sights were off, and he’d been unable to fix them. Amos had been right when he’d indicated Sidney was a poor shot. Even when everything was working right, he was only half as good as other men. But there was more to a man than his ability to shoot a gun. Sidney had two hands he wasn’t opposed to using, and unlike his gun, he was excellent with his fists.
“Well?” asked Emile. “What should we tell the girls?”
Sidney looked at him. “I’m going to tell them the truth. I think they’ve proven themselves as brave enough to handle it. Besides... I’m worried Irene might take off if she thinks Marshall is still a day’s ride from here. She needs to know the danger might not be so far as she thinks.”
“I agree,” said Jack. “It’s not just Irene, Meadow, and Belle we’ve got to think of. Betty’s in there as well, remember?” They both looked at him and his face colored. “I mean... she’s a sweet girl, is all. There’s no reason she should be put at risk. If Meadow were to send her out for something, for example, unaware of the danger, she might get hurt.”
Emile smiled slyly at their friend. “You like her.”
Jack’s blush deepened. “Who doesn’t? Betty may be a housemaid, but she’s as friendly as they come.”
“You can’t fool me,” Emile said. “It’s not just her friendliness you admire. You should tell her.”
Sidney seconded the notion. He’d suspected for some time now that Jack was soft on Betty, but he’d never wanted to embarrass his friend by saying anything about it. Jack was a man of good position in town—he owned the general store and was well-liked by everyone. His dating a housemaid would have no doubt created some gossip. Sidney thought the gossip irrelevant if he really liked the woman, but he didn’t know what Jack’s own feelings were on the matter.
The front door opened then, and Meadow poked her head out. “Is Leonard gone already?” she asked, frowning.
Sidney looked at the others, who nodded. He took a breath and told her what he knew she was after—the reason for Leonard’s visit. She frowned as he gave her the news that Marshall may already be on the outskirts of Elmwood.
“Come inside,” she said. “It’s cold.” Then she shut the door and disappeared.
The men went in after her a moment later, and the entire group spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the floors and pretending to read. Summer and Victoria were the only ones absent, as neither were feeling particularly well and had elected to stay together at Victoria’s house.
Jack and Emile checked on them periodically throughout the day, and Sidney thought it was probably for the best the two women with child were not here right now. No one could have stood it if anything had happened to them. The farther away from Irene and Belle they were, the safer they would be.
Around supper time, Belle flung her book across the room, where it landed on the opposite couch. “This is unbearable. Where are they? Why have we heard nothing? Either Amos and Booker have caught Marshall by now, or they haven’t.”
Meadow stood and began wringing her hands together. “Do you think he’s hurt?”
“Who?” Irene said, and Meadow shot her an incredulous look.
“Booker,” Meadow shouted. “Who else?”
Everyone agreed that Booker was most certainly safe, though when Meadow pressed them as to how they could say such a thing with so much certainty, their only response was to say that God protected those who needed protecting.
That did little to ease Meadow’s comfort, however. Especially once she pointed out that God had not protected poor Alice Jenner. Betty announced that supper was ready, but no one wanted to eat. Meadow refused to even sit down. The others had just convinced her to take a rest when a loud banging sounded on the front door.
Meadow ran to answer it. Emile hurried after her, afraid it might be Marshall. He shouted at Meadow to let him get it, but she was faster than he was and beat him to the door. Booker stood there, covered in blood. Meadow let out a cry as he stepped into the house.
“The door was locked,” he said. “I lost my key.” His hands were shaking, and when Jack thrust a whiskey into his hands, he drank it back with one tilt of the head.
“You’re hurt!” Meadow cried, her hands moving swiftly over him, checking him for wounds.
Booker shook his head. “It’s not my blood.” He looked around the room, and Sidney’s heart stilled. Booker had tears in his eyes. “Amos was shot.” He choked on the words, and everyone gasped. “Marshall Anderson shot him. Just when we almost had him.”
Meadow drew him into a hug, staining her own clothes red. Sidney did not think she even noticed; if she did, she did not care.
“Where’s Amos now?” asked Sidney.
Booker wiped his face. “Dr. Harcourt’s looking at him. I-I managed to get him up on my horse and get him there. He was still alive when I left to come here. I-I knew you’d all want to know what had happened.”
“Let’s go,” said Irene, looking around as if wondering what everyone was waiting for.
Suddenly the group began to move, gathering up their jackets and hats, checking their holsters, and readying themselves for the cold. Jack took Betty aside and told her she should not stay in the house alone. He offered to walk her to Summer and Victoria’s, so he might tell them what had happened, then on to Lucille Jordan’s. He was certain Lucille would take her in for the night. Betty agreed, and Jack kissed her hand, waiting for the others to finish getting ready before they delivered the bad news to Victoria.
“Wait a second,” said Sidney, stopping everyone in their tracks. A new thought had occurred to him. “Booker, where were you when Amos was shot?”
Everyone looked at Booker. “Just outside of town,” he said grimly. “Marshall is probably within the town limits right now, hiding.” Then his eyes flashed with brightness. “But he didn’t get away clean.”
“What do you mean?” Sidney asked, his throat dry.
“Marshall shot Amos then turned tail and rode off on his horse. But I got him in the back as he went.”
Irene gasped. He saw her grab hold of Belle’s hand and wished that he could take hold of it herself. He hadn’t been able to get close to her all day with everyone always in each other’s company, and he burned for her touch.
“Do you think that Marshall could be dead?” asked Irene, hope lighting her eyes.
Booker nodded. “I think there’s a good chance. I saw him slump over; he almost fell off his horse.”
Sidney looked around the room. “You all get to Dr. Harcourt’s. I’ll go and find Leonard. We need to see if we can find Marshall. If he’s dead, then we need a body to prove it.”
* * *
