Jesse trotted the mustang across the bridge into town. He was cold from being on the trails all day and wanted to settle things with Nathanial. That was probably why the sheriff had asked him to fetch Nate home. Jesse could have searched the southern trail a second time. He was no hound dog like the sheriff, but he’d learned the print Tipsy’s horse made.
There in the street lay the remains of a cigarette. Could have been anyone’s. Lots of fellas smoked, including Tipsy. Jesse jerked up on the reins. Was that why he and the sheriff hadn’t found a single hoof print from Tipsy’s mare? Because he’d been lurking close to town?
Jesse spotted the half-pint playing in the schoolyard with his buddies, rolling in a heap of leaves. What if Tipsy was watching right this minute? He maybe had a bead on the kid.
Jesse spurred the mustang.
There was no tree cover or anything where the two bigger boys buried Nathanial under the leaves. He sprang up and sent the red, yellow, and orange colors flying every which way, all three boys laughing. In the open, Nate was a prime target, easy pickings at any range.
He hated to put an end to the kid’s fun, but it would be dark in less than an hour and harder to spot Tipsy without light. He was prowling around somewhere, maybe close. “Come on. We’re to git on home.”
The half-pint dropped his smile. Was Jesse surprised by that? Not in the least. And there was that hateful little glare he’d expected from the bitter kid.
“I ain’t going with you. Pa said to wait for him.” The piss pot smirked, then turned his back.
He threw a handful of leaves in Phillip’s face. Phillip retaliated by chasing him in a circle, kicking through the pile. A shot rang out just as he tackled the half-pint, leaves kicking up next to the two. The boys all screamed. People on the street stopped and stared, wondering what was going on.
Jesse charged forward. “Git inside!” He pulled his rifle. The shot had come from somewhere on the ridge.
The boys were up and running, and townsfolk were hustling toward them, gathering them in. Men with rifles bunched around Jesse.
“Think that was an accident?” someone asked.
“No, I don’t. Get your horses. We’re going after him.” Jesse rounded up his first posse without much realizing it. Men hustled at his order. “Where’s Nathanial?” Jesse caught Big John by the shoulder before he could go.
“My woman got him. He’ll be safe.”
When they headed up the ridge side, Jesse wondered if he really knew what he was doing. The sun would be down in ten minutes. These men with him were bankers and shopkeepers, good men, but not seasoned like Sheriff Crosson to take on the likes of Tipsy. Jesse didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.
He found a shell casing in the spot where Tipsy had pulled the trigger. The whole town could be plainly seen from the rocky knob halfway up. After that, he lost Tipsy’s trail, and an hour later, the posse rode back into town with the moon shining brightly on them.
When Jesse followed Big John inside, they found the boys tussling across the floor, a tangle of arms and legs, and squealing like piglets. Apparently they had gotten over being shot at.
Mrs. Filson rocked in a chair near the window with a cross-stitch ring on her lap. A Springfield rifle was propped within reach.
The boys both popped up. “Did ya get him? Who was it?” Johnny asked.
“I told the boys it was probably just some dumb hunter.” Mrs. Filson faintly winked at Jesse. Neither boy noticed. Thank God she intervened, because he had no idea what to say. He hadn’t expected the boys to be curious—maybe scared, but not asking questions.
“That’s right. Just a hunter.” Jesse figured since the sheriff and Big John were good friends, the missus also knew about the trouble with Tipsy.
“Get your coat.” Jesse jerked a thumb toward the door.
“It’s dark. I don’t wanna go.” The house creaked against the wind. “Listen to that. I should just stay here. Ma and Pa won’t care for one night. You can go.”
Jesse could see by the Filsons’ glances that one of them was about to suggest it, probably worrying more about Tipsy than the weather. Tonight there was a harvest moon, bigger than usual and bright like daylight at dawn. But Jesse was thinking about the mother and father who were probably worried out of their minds. “Sheriff Crosson asked me to git this little cuss home, and that’s what I aim to do.”
It took some grappling—Jesse getting some strange looks from Mr. and Mrs. Filson—until finally he wrangled the kid into his coat. Nate wouldn’t take a step out the door, so Jesse threw him over his shoulder, which made both the Filsons frown. He tipped his hat and left with the hollering kid.
Nate kicked and carried on with more dirty words than Jesse had ever heard pour out of anyone’s mouth, let alone a child, the whole way to his horse.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
This was much worse than that earlier tantrum in the barn, and that had been awful bad. The kid used words that would make a whore blush. He hadn’t learned that filth from his mama, nor had Jesse ever heard the sheriff use such coarse language. Right then, a big brick of lye soap might teach the brat a good lesson.
He dropped Nathanial on the ground, then quickly kneeled and hogtied the boy’s hands and feet like a yearling calf about to be branded. Then he scooped him up and tossed him facedown over the saddle. Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes, but at least he had finally shut his filthy mouth. Jesse couldn’t have him carrying on like that the whole way home, attracting attention. Tipsy could be watching. Plus, flailing around, Nate might fall out the saddle, and Jesse wasn’t going to risk him running away from him.
When they’d crossed the bridge at the outskirts of town, the silence had grown as thick as molasses in January. This for sure wasn’t what the sheriff had pictured when he’d sent Jesse to get Nathanial.
He yanked the kid up and flopped him sidesaddle on his ass. “If you promise to be good, I’ll untie ya.”
The half-pint’s face puckered up all mean, but not one smartass word came flying out of that foul little mouth. Jesse had hoped for a simple head nod. Instead, he got nothing but a bitter look.
“Reckon that means you don’t mind being hogtied. You sure don’t make a fella’s work easy for him. I bet we could git along, or maybe you could just quit your jabbin’ at me so we all survive this winter.”
The boy raised a brow and studied Jesse, perhaps letting the idea of making peace set in. “Okay, I’ll be good.”
Jesse reined in. “Give me your hands.” He tugged the knot loose. “Where did you learn to talk like that?” He was curious about this boy. There was something no one was telling him.
They had another mile before they reached home. He knew it would be fast, but he was going to push at the half-pint to take a step or two toward trusting him, recognizing that Jesse was not the enemy. The sooner they worked out this matter, the sooner Jesse could just focus on catching Tipsy.
“Like what?” The boy wrinkled up his nose.
“The streak of curses you threw down on me back yonder. Don’t lie. I know better than to swallow that you learned that crud from your folks.”
Nathanial wrung his hands, his gaze dropping.
“Don’t look down at your feet. Answer me.” Jesse nudged the kid.
“You gonna tell Ma and Pa?”
Jesse didn’t want to see the half-pint in trouble again. “Wasn’t planning on it, unless you give me reason.”
The kid slowly hinted at a grin.
“So you gonna tell me?”
Nathanial eyed Jesse, but not in a mean way. “Maybe…”
Jesse recalled the sheriff saying that Nate was slow to warm up to anyone. Why was that? The kid seemed to have a great life, lots of friends, good folks.
“Will you untie my legs, please?” Nathanial’s little voice seemed distant and was too quiet. It wasn’t like the boy to be so passive, and that worried Jesse. There was a blank, far-off stare to Nate’s glassy eyes. Whatever he was remembering didn’t seem good.
“Tell me what I want to know.”
The boy’s head shot up. “That’s blackmail. You’re wearing a badge.”
“I know it.” Jesse chuckled as he untied the boy’s ankles.
When he lightly touched spurs to the buckskin, Nathanial’s blue eyes turned up and searched Jesse. He was getting half spooked by the boy’s intense expression. Nathanial wasn’t just meeting Jesse’s gaze; he was studying.
“I heard words like that from my father’s mouth every day and from the gang of men he led. After my pa got sent away to prison, there was a man named Harper. He took me in as a farmhand, called me every name but the one I was given.”
Jesse was confused. Prison? The sheriff had never been locked up. “What gang of men? Your pa has always been a lawman that I know of.” Sheriff Crosson led posses, and Jesse was positive he had never said one ugly, name-calling word to Nathanial. Maybe the half-pint was mixed up and not remembering clearly. This was way out there stuff.
Nathanial blinked back lots of tears. He wasn’t making this up. Jesse didn’t understand what it all meant. One drop, then two, streaked down Nate’s cheeks. The tough little pup quickly wiped his coat sleeve across his eyes. “I’m adopted.”
Jesse tried like hell to keep a poker face, but he hadn’t known. The wedding picture on the mantle … that’s why Nathanial was in it.
The kid bit his lip as though he’d said too much. Jesse felt the half-pint shift his weight onto his heels. He was going to jump from the saddle and run. Jesse grabbed him, holding tight while Nathanial kicked and squirmed.
“Settle down.” Jesse was firm. He understood being ashamed of the past, trying to hide it. It wasn’t easy to trust someone else with those things.
It took a little time and a lot of tussling in the saddle before Nathanial realized he wasn’t getting free. Jesse had wrestled steers and a few broncs when needed. He could hold on to one little tomcat.
“Look at me.” Jesse waited for the boy to stop fighting and lift his head. “You’re the spitting image of the sheriff. I just wouldn’t have ever guessed.”
Both corners of the boy’s mouth turned up, teasingly close to a smile. “But Pa has dark hair.”
Jesse smiled at the way the youngster was thinking. “Your blue eyes are the same sky color, but I ain’t talking about your snowy patch or your looks. I’m speaking of what’s behind this.” He tapped at the star pinned on the boy’s shirt, hidden under his coat. “I don’t know a father and son who are more alike.”
The half-pint genuinely smiled.
Jesse wanted to know more, but time had run out. They rode into the ranch yard. Light flickered through the windows inside the house.
Jesse stepped down outside the gate, and the boy stayed sitting on the mustang. He’d expected the kid to run away from him as soon as a chance showed itself. “You goin’ in?”
Nathanial shook his head. It would take a few minutes for Jesse to stall the mustang. Then they would go straight inside to the kid’s folks. Jesse led the horse into the barn while the boy watched his every move. The half-pint slid out of the saddle, then stood by, holding the lantern as Jesse stored his tack and brushed down the buckskin. It seemed the half-pint was trying to figure him out, just as he wanted to know more about who Nathanial was.
“That one’s Buck’s stall.” The kid pointed.
Jesse led the horse in, then shut the waist-high door behind him.
“Here.” The small voice drifted down from the loft.
Jesse looked up as the kid pitched down a mess of hay. This was a rare opportunity to build some trust. He picked up a fork and did exactly as the kid wanted him to. In three scoops, he dumped the food for the mustang over the stall door. Setting aside the pitchfork, he waited for the boy to crawl down from the loft.
They walked under the haze of moonlight toward the house. Nathanial was giving Jesse a sideways glance every few steps. Jesse had thought all he wanted was the sheriff’s friendship, but looking at the little kid next to him, he was starting to want more.
Mrs. Crosson whipped open the door, took one look at them, and let out a deep sigh. Then she smiled, ushering them both inside. “Where have you two been?” Her fists smacked to her hips. Suddenly she was mad.
“Some hunter shot through town, almost hit me and Phillip. Jesse went after him.” Nathanial bounced as though it were the biggest news to hit Gray Rock in years.
Mrs. Crosson gasped and grabbed her little boy, hugging him into her skirt, smoothing his hair.
Jesse looked about but didn’t see the sheriff anywhere. He wanted to fill him in on what happened. He probably had come home, seen Nathanial wasn’t there, and went hunting for him.
The door behind Jesse opened, letting in a cold puff of air. Sheriff Crosson, carrying his saddlebags, propped his gun near the door.
Nathanial pulled away from his ma and tugged on his pa’s sleeve. “Pa, did you hear what happened?”
“I did. Big John told me the whole story.” The sheriff squeezed Jesse’s shoulder. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of ya.”
“But I didn’t catch him or even get a shot at him,” Jesse whispered over the boy’s head.
Sheriff Crosson handed Nate the saddlebags. “Take that into my office, an’ be careful with it.”
The kid skipped off.
The sheriff dropped his hat on a peg. “No, unfortunately, you didn’t, but you followed your instincts and went after him, letting him know you ain’t afraid. Any man can be intimidated, even a killer.” He kept his voice low.
“What’re you guys whisperin’ about?” Nate pushed between them, scowling.
“Never you mind.” Mrs. Crosson spun him. “Help me set the table. Any homework will have to be done in the morning. It’s getting late. Where are your books and lunch pail?”
“I forgot them. Well, we both did.” The half-pint looked up at Jesse.
If he really wanted to get Jesse booted out, he had just missed quite the opportunity. They’d had a nice moment working in the barn. That could have been why Nate failed to mention the hogtying. Jesse hadn’t thought a lick about books and such when they’d left town.
“It’s my fault, ma’am. I—” Jesse was about to tattle on himself. That was okay though, because he didn’t wholly trust the little tomcat, and he wanted the Crossons to hear the truth from him first. That way, if the boy decided to put a spin on how it really happened and get sympathy, Jesse had already spoken his piece. “I hogtied your boy and carried him most of the way home like that.”
“You what?” Mrs. Crosson’s face was the same fiery red as her hair. “Nathanial, go to your room. Your pa and I need to talk to Jesse alone.”
The kid tore off up the steps.
“Have a seat.” Sheriff Crosson pointed to a chair at the table. There was nothing friendly in his voice, not that Jesse expected there to be. He had basically cuffed the sheriff’s little boy. “I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.” He marched up the steps.
Mrs. Crosson pulled out a chair beside Jesse. That hot flush had left her face, and not one unfriendly line wrinkled her brow, but he still sensed that she was definitely upset with him. She sat straight in her chair, shoulders back, and didn’t seem to blink. “Jesse, you’ve ridden the hills and prairies around Gray Rock. Have you ever come across a mother bear and her cub?”
Jesse’s mouth went dry, and he gulped down a hard swallow of nothing, nodding faintly. “One time, I came across a stray grazing in the hills. It wandered between a mama bear and her little cub.”
“What happened to that cow?” Mrs. Crosson’s face was stone sober, her stare never wavering.
Jesse began to sweat. “That she-bear tore the cow to pieces in a few minutes.”
“I suppose she did.” Mrs. Crosson was a steady calm, and he’d never before seen that kind of strength in her. She patted his hand. “I know very well that Nathanial can be a challenge. He ain’t ever been an easy child. There are plenty of times when he needs to be taught a hard lesson, but the method in which that is done will be decided by his pa and myself. You may not see, not yet anyway, that Nathanial is a very sensitive little boy. I ain’t saying he’s not ornery from daybreak till nightfall. He is, but—”
Her hesitation could only mean one thing—that Jesse had guessed right. There was more to that boy’s backstory than he was being told, and he was afraid to know that Nathanial had only given him a piece of it when they’d ridden home. This, however, was not the time to ask. Jesse had done wrong, and Mrs. Crosson called him out. He owed her, the boy, and the sheriff an apology.
Mrs. Crosson’s eyes teared up. “I’ll just say that this family is special. Nathanial ain’t always had that, and now that he does, he’s not real good at sharing.”
Jesse decided to put his cards on the table. “He told me he was adopted.” That had to be one part of the secret.
Her eyes widened. “He shared that with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave Jesse a small smile. “I’m only asking that you deal with Nathanial in a gentler way even if he ain’t so easy.”
“I am sorry. I’ll do better.” Jesse had overstepped and knew it.
The sheriff returned downstairs. Marched a step ahead was the teary-faced kid, shoulders slumped and looking miserable, rubbing at his backside.
“I’m sorry for callin’ you names, and I’m sorry for not listening and giving ya a hard time when you said it was time to leave.” Nathanial wiped at his eyes.
Sheriff Crosson stood behind him. “John told me about Nate’s behavior. That doesn’t excuse how you handled it. Frankly, I’m disappointed. I expected much better. Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I won’t.” He’d done what he thought he had to and wouldn’t make excuses. After talking with Kate, he realized just how wrong he had been. He squatted in front of the boy. “Forgive me?”
The kid nodded.
The sheriff’s eyes shifted between the missus and Jesse. “Everything settled?”
Strangely, now that Jesse understood his place there a little bit better, he was feeling comfortable. Kate gave his hand a squeeze, and he read that as a sign of her feeling more at ease too.
She stood from her chair. “Yes. Supper will be on the table in a few minutes. Go wash up.”
When supper was done, the dishes cleared, and the kid tucked into bed, Jesse stretched out on the settee in front the waving flames and opened the pirate book.
“I have something for ya.” Sheriff Crosson, sheepishly grinning, strolled out of his office with his saddlebags.
Jesse sat up. He guessed the sheriff had wiped the slate clean. Maybe he knew Jesse wouldn’t make that mistake again, that he had learned his lesson after getting his ears chewed on by both the sheriff and the missus. He had heard them both clearly. They would all get along as long as Jesse didn’t step out of place with their son.
Sheriff Crosson handed him the bag. “Open it.”
Jesse didn’t have a clue as to what it might be. He reached in and pulled out a leather holster. His eyes widened. It had to be brand-new. The leather wasn’t aged a dirty brown, and it looked stiff, never being broken in. It certainly did have a fresh scent.
Jesse stared at the rig, unsure he was even breathing. The belt was fully lined with bullets. The sheriff hadn’t overlooked a thing. Surely this wasn’t a gift and the sheriff would expect to be paid back once Jesse had the money from the sale of the ranch.
“You ain’t gonna cry, are ya, son?” Sheriff Crosson chuckled. “Try it on.”
Jesse jumped up and quickly strapped it around his hips while smiling from ear to ear. It was a perfect fit. “What do I owe ya?” He figured a new holster must cost plenty.
Sheriff Crosson’s face sobered. “Don’t git yourself killed. That’s all I’m askin’ of ya.” The sheriff pulled a pistol from the saddlebag. “It’s used, but it was the best handgun Tom, the gunsmith, had in stock. I tried it. Shoots straight. I had Tom polish and clean it for ya.”
Jesse truly didn’t know what to say. Thanks just didn’t seem a strong enough word. Even if he could have spoken, he doubted the words would have come out right because his tongue was all tied up. He fingered the gun, then slid it in and out of the holster a few times. “I’d like to give ya something for all this. Let me at least pay you for the gun.”
Sheriff Crosson stared him straight in the eyes. “You’re givin’ me help that otherwise I wouldn’t have. We will find Tipsy before he kills Nathanial. I don’t need anything else but that.”
Kate appeared at her man’s side, threading her arm through his. They both seemed to be smiling with pride, hoping Jesse lived up to their expectations.
He twisted every which way, admiring the Colt on his hip. Why had the sheriff done that for him? It wasn’t just the gun and rig. Every minute spent with this family truly was the bigger gift, even if Nate was a bit of a sore spot.
“By the way,” the sheriff said, “I found Nate’s books and lunch pail sitting on the bench outside the jailhouse. They’re in the other bag.”
Jesse picked them out, considering them before handing them over to Kate. “If neither of you object, I’ll go do Nate’s chores.”
An apology in front of the kids’ folks, given when both Jesse and Nate were standing neck deep in hot water, was just forced words. Not to Jesse, but he wasn’t an eight-year-old kid who had just gotten his ass smacked. The boy understood the work of chores. Digging in with both hands, the sweat, sometimes blisters—these things held their value but weren’t typically enjoyable. It was tangible, something the boy could wrap his senses around and know Jesse had put forth effort.
“Nate ain’t sick. There’s tomorrow.” The sheriff lounged in the rocker, feet crossed out in front, his head resting back.
“I don’t mind.” Jesse wanted to do something nice for the kid. He had treated him harshly.
“All right, go on.”
Jesse pulled on his coat, and outside, he hustled across the yard in a senseless attempt to outrun the wind.