Nate woke early. There was barely light in the sky. He wasn’t allowed to light the lamp and wouldn’t anyway. He’d been in enough trouble lately. Besides, he didn’t want anyone to know he was up. He could find his clothes and the door without bumping into anything.
He stretched a shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The fire had died down, and the floor felt cold through his socks. Tiptoeing out, he paused in the hall and listened. What a hair-raising noise. It sounded like a bear growling, then clearing a lump out of its throat. That Jesse sure could snore. If anyone else was up, Nate couldn’t hear them.
As he slipped downstairs without a noise, Pa was asleep on the settee and about six inches too long to stretch out comfy. Huh. Pa never slept downstairs. Propped tall against a chair within his reach was the Winchester. Why was the door barred? Maybe he had heard a bear or something creeping around outside. A big ol’ grizzly wasn’t something Nate wanted to run into, especially in the dark.
The clock chimed five times on the hour. Nate brushed the image of a hungry bear, chewing him as breakfast, out of his mind. Nothing was going to keep him from getting out of there and away from Jesse’s questions—unless Pa woke up.
With silent movements, Nate packed a lunch. All the while, he kept one eye on Pa. He didn’t want to have to explain himself. It just seemed that, as of late, everyone in that house was against him. He was feeling less like one of the family every day.
Pa and Jesse were keeping secrets, whispering to each other last night. And when everyone thought Nate was asleep, he overheard Pa giving Jesse a gift. Not all the words carried, but enough. Jesse was the favorite. A revolver cost a lot.
His folks had practically adopted Jesse, and Nate had come frighteningly close to sharing a big secret. Not too many people around Gray Rock knew the truth. The bloody details surrounding his adoption had cultivated many rumors about whose blood ran through his veins. The name that Nate used to go by, the name of the man who fathered him, wasn’t welcome in most towns.
Ma and Pa had confirmed the stories with a few trusted friends. Had they told Jesse? Nate doubted it. His folks always sat him down and explained why it was best for a certain person to know, like Doc Martin and, of course, Preacher.
Jesse was a man, a man that Nate didn’t know too well. Back when he’d ridden with his old pa, Nate had foolishly put his trust into another man, his pa’s best friend, and one horrible day in particular stuck out.
Nate had gone with Tipsy and two others to rob a stagecoach while Pa and most of the gang stayed behind and got drunk. On the way there, Nate’s belly had rumbled something awful, and he’d simply told Tipsy he was hungry.
Nate had been five at the time, and to this day, he could still all too clearly picture that sodbuster’s field.
They rode out of the trees, and the other two in the gang kept themselves hidden under the thick shade of the leafy green branches. There was a farmer holding his plow straight as a single horse pulled along ahead. Better than half-done with the fieldwork, the man’s shirt was stained wet with sweat. He lifted his hat and wiped his head, taking a breather, while Nate and Tipsy trotted their horses right up to him.
“I need bread,” Tipsy demanded with a vicious glint in his eyes.
“Don’t have any.” The man shifted uneasily, backing away a step. “Don’t have a woman to set the dough. You’re welcome to sit a spell and rest. There’s cold water in the bucket hanging at the well. Help yourselves.”
Tipsy drew his pistol and shot that man down—for bread. Nate would never forget those scared eyes the moment that poor, hardworking fella realized he was about to die.
Nate was then dragged off his horse and thrown into the house.
“If I see a single tear, I’ll leave you behind. Now git to lookin’ for anything of value.” Tipsy shoved him toward a blanket chest that sat at the end of a cot.
Nate’s hands were shaking as he rummaged around, but he wasn’t really searching. He wiped at his eyes, then glanced over his shoulder. Tipsy hadn’t seen.
Don’t cry, Nate repeated to himself.
Tipsy jiggled a coffee tin, finding two dollars in coins. The money was shoved inside Nate’s pocket. “And that, son, is how you feed yourself.”
Those merciless words would forever be etched in Nate’s mind. Tipsy had always been a mean son of a bitch, but he had looked after Nate when Pa hadn’t bothered. Jesse was nothing like that awful man, or he would have half drowned rather than just soaking Nate in the horse trough the other day.
He just wasn’t sure if Jesse was worth trusting. Nate had Pa for now. Wasn’t that enough? Besides, Jesse seemed to be taking that away from him. He wished Jesse would go somewhere else to be a deputy. Why Gray Rock?
He snatched his schoolbooks off the table, remembering he had left them at the jailhouse. Pa must have brought them home.
Nate crept past Pa and carefully raised his coat and scarf without bumping anything. Easy as he could, he lifted the bar, silently unlocking the door. It breached just a crack, and he slipped out. Alone somewhere, away from everyone, maybe then he could think and straighten out this mess in his head. Likely, no one would even notice him missing or care if they did. They had Jesse. With a soft click behind him, he left the ranch.
Pans clinked, and Nolan woke with a start. He had slept too sound, and that was dangerous, considering Tipsy’s threat. Kate scurried about, preparing breakfast. The strong scent of coffee boiling brought him a little more to life.
The house held a slight chill, every window painted in frost. It was much too cold to be out this early. Tipsy was likely curled over a flame somewhere. Nolan added a few split chunks of wood to the fire, and sparks shot up.
In the kitchen, he kissed his wife good morning. Spits of grease spattered his fingers as he stole a curly piece of bacon out of the frying pan while she shooed at him. He took a seat at the table and waited for coffee. Jesse bounded down the stairs, wearing a chipper grin. Elizabeth bounced in his arms and babbled happily. The clock chimed the morning hour. It was later than Nolan thought. If Nate wasn’t up getting ready for school, he should be. Nolan had best go check.
When he walked into Nathanial’s room, the bed was empty, messy, and blankets all pushed back in a heap. Nate’s nightshirt lay on the floor next to the bed. Nolan stupidly peered under. Nothing but black space. He flew to the window. The frosty seal hadn’t been broken. Had Nate ended up in bed with Kate? He did that sometimes when he was scared, usually cuddling up tight against Nolan.
The boy wasn’t there either. Nolan’s chest banged. Maybe Jesse’s room? He ran inside, but his room was empty too. The outhouse?
Kate was up first. She might have seen him go. Nolan hurried down the steps. “Kate!” He grabbed his boots that were leaned against the wall and stomped one, then the other on.
Jesse followed on Kate’s heels, both hustling.
Nolan shoved on his coat. “Have either of you seen Nathanial this morning?”
Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes. “No, I thought he was in bed.”
“You didn’t see him go out to do chores or head for the outhouse?” Nolan cursed under his breath. Would Tipsy try sneaking into a place where two armed men were waiting? Doubtful, unless he was truly desperate, and this fight hadn’t gone on long enough for him to become reckless.
Kate shook her head. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Sheriff, look.” Jesse pointed with a shaky finger.
The door had been unbarred. That could only be done from the inside. Tipsy couldn’t have gotten in that way.
“Check the back door.” Nolan punched down his hat, and Jesse quickly handed Elizabeth to Kate.
Ten seconds later, Jesse breathed heavily. “It’s locked.”
As sheriff, Nolan was able to keep a level head in all sorts of circumstances. But being a father came first, and his son, for some unknown reason, had disappeared. Did Tipsy kidnap Nathanial? All Nolan could picture was Tipsy’s deadly Colts cutting down Nathanial.
“Nate’s coat is gone.” Jesse hastily threw on his, the ends hanging wide open. His hat sat crooked on his head.
Nolan took a deep breath. Something wasn’t adding up. No way had Tipsy broken into the house, snatched the boy, and then what? He had thoughtfully made sure Nate was wearing a warm layer before going outside where it was cold.
“His reader and lunch pail ain’t on the table.” Kate wiped away her tears on the corner of her apron, seeing the possibility the same as him and Jesse.
Did Nate sneak off to school early? It wasn’t a place he overly enjoyed attending. He’d get out of it anytime he could. Had he run off again? The evidence so far indicated that Nate dressed himself and slipped out of the house of his own will. What was that boy thinking? They needed to find him quick, before Tipsy did.
“Do you think it was Tipsy?” Kate’s voice quivered.
Nolan strapped on his gun belt. “I can’t say for certain.”
Their son might be dead, and that fear had Nolan’s heart pounding. There was no real way of telling until they found Nathanial.
Nolan checked the rounds in his pistol. Jesse thumbed a shell into the empty chamber of his Winchester, his chest heaving. Their boots pounded across the yard, running for the barn. Buck raised his head from behind the stall door and snorted.
Nolan’s brow furrowed. Nate usually didn’t stray far from home without the mustang under him. If he did run away, why not Buck? Or was this evidence that his son had been silently carried away? Nolan threw a glance at Jesse, who shrugged and shook his head that he didn’t know what to make of it.
“Nathanial, answer me, boy,” Nolan hollered out. He had found the boy in the loft a number of times, simply sitting in the hay, alone with his thoughts, staring out the open window at the mountains. He was out of sorts lately. Nolan needed to be more mindful about how he split his time between the boys. But he and Jesse had a job that needed done, the quicker the better.
Other than the cow and the horses chewing hay in their stalls, the barn was quiet. Nolan’s ears ached to hear Nathanial’s small voice. He clutched at his chest. Where in God’s name was his little boy? This was exactly the desired effect. Tipsy, that son of a bitch, had gone straight at Nolan’s heart.
He threw his saddle over the bay, yanked the cinch tight, and shoved his rifle into the scabbard. “You ready?”
Jesse was a bit pale, fumbling with his saddle, but that mostly steady demeanor helped restrain Nolan from losing it. The boy’s lack of good sense when the minutes were ticking away sort of made Nolan want to smack him upside the head. Jesse pulled the cinch strap tight on the mare.
“Son, what the hell you doin’? Put your saddle on the mustang. If ya do find sign of Tipsy having Nathanial, then I don’t want that old nag playing out while running them down.” Nolan shook his head. “I’ll check the trails around the ranch. You ride into town. Maybe Nate just walked to Johnny’s or Phillip’s house.” Those words of wishful thinking sounded weak even to him.
Jesse, with his heart thumping in his throat, ran the mustang the full two miles. When he’d crossed over the wooden bridge at the edge of town, he focused on the little schoolhouse—or rather the little towhead climbing down out of Mrs. McKay’s buggy after handing her a small crate of books. A second crate sat at her feet.
Jesse jerked up on the reins, let out a deep sigh, and suddenly wanted to wring the kid’s neck. This wasn’t Tipsy’s doing, thank God, but if the boy had to be at school early to help his teacher, why hadn’t he just said something to his folks? Did skipping out at the break of dawn have something to do with that jealousy bull crap? If so, then it needed to end before the kid accidentally ran right into Tipsy, and there was a chance of that happening without being stupid.
The kid and his teacher, each carrying a crate, walked up the steps while jabbering at one another. Nate was smiling and looked to be just fine.
Jesse spurred the buckskin into a thumping trot and carefully watched the street. Now that he knew where Nathanial was, safe and tucked inside the schoolhouse, he needed to find Tipsy. The killer might be warming himself next to a fire out in the hills somewhere, watching the stars disappear and the sun crawl over the mountaintop. Or he could be surveying the town, waiting for a rare chance like Nathanial running off to school early. No doubt the snake would strike without warning.
No one but Old Man Pike seemed to be out of bed. The livery owner tossed hay over the top rail of the corral to a brown stallion with a black mane and one white sock. He bit at the old man. The feisty stud was high-prancing and arching its neck as he strutted along the corral fence. The stallion whinnied, then threw his head about.
Besides the buckskin—and Buck was a gelding—there were no other horses anywhere along the street. That grunting stud was smelling an in-season mare. Jesse stepped out of the saddle, pulling his rifle, then tossed the reins over the hitch rail.
The only movement along either end of the street was the blustery wind. Jesse walked slowly toward the schoolhouse and eyed every shadowed corner and doorway. He crossed the street into the schoolyard. Something moved swiftly back in among the shadows cast by the trees. The sun was not yet pitching full light. It was hard to tell what was in there. Jesse squinted, watching close, aiming where the movement had been. The morning was quiet except for the worked-up and whinnying stallion. Not a thing seemed to stir.
The stud pawed at the dirt, then ran circles in the corral and kicked out its hind legs. The hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stood on end, and he was keenly aware of his warm breath brought to life as white mist in the cold air. Someone was out there. Jesse would bet that someone was riding a mare. If it was Tipsy, he would have to cross a small patch of open ground between the tree line and the schoolhouse. There was no way in hell Jesse would miss at that range.
Behind him, the bell above the general store door across the street jingled. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes fixed again on the tree line. He’d seen Mr. Henderson carrying a bucket and sponge in his hands. The shopkeeper was likely going to start the day by washing the tall front windows that displayed all the goods inside.
To his left, out of the corner of his eye, Jesse spotted Cooper building a fire to start his work of bending horseshoes. A creaking wagon rolled along the street to his right. The multiplying voices of the townsfolk were captured in his ears as he listened carefully for any sound that was out of place. The woods behind the schoolhouse were silent.
Jesse walked forward at a cautious pace, his finger easing back on the trigger. He wasn’t but a horse length from that tree line. His aim was steady, the same as his breathing. In his hands, the Winchester could scatter a man to pieces. Jesse drew in a deep breath because he also knew Tipsy could rip him to shreds with his Colts.
Jesse stepped into the dark spot among the trees. The sunlight was such that he could faintly make out where a horse had been standing. Come to think of it, he no longer heard the stallion carrying on.
Near the roots of a cottonwood, a small bald notch had been scratched, and barely visible fragments of bark lay on the ground beneath. What was that scrap from? He leaned down for a closer look. The scuff mark looked like nothing, but after being with the sheriff, Jesse had learned a bit of nothing often turned out to be a lot of something. He placed a foot where a faint trace of a boot heel indented the dew-moistened dirt. Jesse’s spur touched the spot where the bark was missing. Whoever had been standing there wore spurs. Not unusual. Though there was only one person who would be watching that schoolhouse so close. Tipsy was lucky this time. Jesse had missed his chance.
He would wait for the sheriff before tracking Tipsy. The most important thing was to guard Nathanial.
He lowered his aim and walked out from the trees and across the schoolyard to the front of the building, taking the steps by twos.
He couldn’t wait to hear the kid’s explanation. Maybe it wasn’t Jesse’s place to question him. He’d caught grief about that last night, but he had every intention of doing just that. Nate had given everyone a hell of a scare this morning. Jesse was still half in a sweat. How would the little blister justify it?
He opened the door. Nathanial was sitting in his teacher’s chair at the big desk near the blackboard, his nose between the pages of a book. Mrs. McKay had her back turned and unpacked one of the two crates, stacking the books in fours on a small table. Neither of them noticed him.
“Here’s the horse book I ordered special for you.” Mrs. McKay turned toward Nate. “I think you’ll really enjoy it. It’s about a grand, beautiful black stallion that moves through different stations in life.”
Based on her description, Jesse wanted to read the book.
The kid smiled. “May I read it now?” He pestered his teacher with a few pleases.
Jesse couldn’t exactly figure it all. This was no disheartened little runaway. By all accounts, Nathanial appeared happy, so why run off and unnerve his folks and Jesse?
He thought of the mustang tied in front of the jailhouse. Above Nathanial’s desk at home, there was a rough drawing. Unmistakably, it was the kid on his horse. Both figures had smiling faces. Jesse didn’t want that horse to be a barrier, and that matter would be remedied as soon as he got some cash and Mr. Pike’s stock came in. Perhaps then the kid would settle down, but it wasn’t the use of his horse that transformed Nate into an attention-seeking monster. Jesse was the real reason behind all that bad behavior.
The sheriff and Kate had taken kindly to Jesse, treated him like kin, but the truth was he was there as a deputy, nothing more. When would the boy open his eyes and accept that fact, forgetting the jealousy nonsense? Jesse did see his future in Gray Rock, hopefully close to this family. If only the boy could have seen his ma’s watery eyes, his pa scrambling around after discovering him missing. It wasn’t Jesse’s duty to patch up the kid’s insecurities, but he would get another horse.
He cleared his throat.
Mrs. McKay, with a book in her hand, stopped unpacking. “Good morning, Deputy Adams.”
Jesse tipped his hat but put his focus on the boy who had started a panic this morning.
Nathanial’s chin shot up from the pages, his eyes wide. He didn’t expect to see Jesse. He squirmed, probably thinking about getting his ass smacked for leaving home without a word to anyone. It was up to the boy’s pa to hand out any punishment, but Jesse wanted a straight answer.
He hunkered down in front of Nathanial, took the book out of his hands, and laid it aside. The kid, wanting to avoid him, stared at his boots. Mrs. McKay politely turned away and went back to organizing books.
“Why’d ya do it? Do you have any idea how worried sick your folks are?”
The half-pint shrugged, keeping his gaze down.
“Oh, I think ya know. Did you pull that stunt because your pa pinned a badge on me or because he has me riding the mustang?” Jesse didn’t wait for an answer. He was too riled and tried to keep his voice from rising in front of Mrs. McKay, who graciously pretended not to overhear.
“Trust me. I would rather have my own damn horse. Nathanial, I am your pa’s deputy. You gotta stop thinking there’s more to it. There’s not. So whatever you have convinced yourself of as far as the sheriff and me spending so much time together, well, forget it ’cause you’re wrong.”
Nathanial’s eyes filled with tears.
Jesse rubbed his hand over his face. “Don’t leave town alone. Git your hide to the jailhouse after school.” Jesse wasn’t being brotherly. He expected Nathanial to do exactly that.
“Yes, sir.” The half-pint picked up the book, flipping through the pages to find his spot while wiping at his eyes. If Nathanial had pondered what he’d done wrong, it was short-lived.
Jesse started for the door.
“You’re wrong.” The boy’s soft and choked-up voice made Jesse look. Tears streaked the kid’s cheeks, but there was that mean little glare. “You ain’t just some deputy to my pa.” He disappeared, face hidden between the pages.
That boy wasn’t ready to see things any way but his own.
Jesse walked out and stood at the top of the steps, holding the rifle in the crook of his arm. He took a minute to fasten the buttons on his coat.
Gray Rock was coming to full life. There were people of varying shapes and sizes, old and young, some dressed in rags and others in fancy duds, all of them coming and going. Men shook hands, and women greeted one another on the boardwalk, chatting for a few minutes before going on their way. Saddled horses filled the hitch rail. Businesses pulled up their shades and unlocked their doors, and Open signs hung in the windows. Several teams of horses stood hitched to wagons waiting to be loaded with supplies—most likely families that lived on the outskirts.
Two boys that Jesse recognized as Nate’s friends walked up the steps toward him.
“Mornin’, Deputy Adams.” Both Johnny and Phillip smiled.
“Howdy, boys.” He nodded.
They walked past, opened the door, and went inside.
Jesse walked down the stairs as other children began to file inside. He didn’t want to alarm anyone by standing there with a gun. The school bell rang, and Jesse glanced over his shoulder. The half-pint pulled the rope, and that ornery cuss stuck out his tongue at Jesse.
Someone whistled, drawing his attention. Old Man Pike gave a wave. Aw shit. Jesse hoped nothing was wrong. He wasn’t going to leave his watch over Nathanial until the sheriff got there.
The old man was out of breath from hoofing it across the street. Jesse could smell a thick cologne of whiskey and coffee on the old coot. It damn near made his eyes water.
“What is it?” He didn’t want to be bothered with the old drunk, not now.
“The sheriff said you’s lookin’ for a hoss. Got me a stock of ten in late yesterday. There’s a fine-lookin’ Appaloosa in that bunch if you wanna have a look.”
Jesse glanced over his shoulder at the schoolhouse, then eyed the distance across the street to the livery. He would be able to clearly see the front door and most of the schoolyard from the stables and corral. It was doable to keep a watch on Nathanial from over there. Jesse just wouldn’t go inside the barn. The old man would have to bring the horse out to him.
They walked across the street. Jesse stood facing the school, his rifle held down at his side. Old Man Pike led the Appaloosa from the barn. Jesse rubbed his hand along the horse’s neck, then patted the animal’s shoulder. The old coot hadn’t lied one bit. The Appaloosa was a fine piece of horseflesh. Jesse walked around the gelding, looking the horse over while keeping one eye on the school.
A running horse pounded across the bridge into town. Jesse turned away from the gelding and stepped quickly into the middle of the street, waving down the sheriff.
Sheriff Crosson jerked up reins. The bay was breathing heavy.
“Nathanial’s at the schoolhouse. He’s okay.” Jesse patted the bay’s neck.
The sheriff looked somewhat relieved but still troubled. “So it wasn’t Tipsy.”
“I spooked our man. Tipsy was waitin’ right over there.” Jesse pointed to the tree line where he’d found the boot track and where the horse had stood.
“Git the mustang. Let’s go.” The sheriff touched spurs to the bay.
Jesse grabbed the bridle and held the horse back. “No. I ain’t swingin’ a leg over that horse again. Buck is Nathanial’s.”
The sheriff eyed the Appaloosa. “You gittin’ him?”
Jesse nodded.
“Don’t take long. I’m waterin’ my horse, then trailin’. You catch up.”
Jesse stepped back as the sheriff spurred the bay. He turned and faced the old man. “I’m gonna throw my saddle over this horse so I can try him out.” Jesse didn’t figure he had to tell the old man that what he really meant was he planned to take the horse and ride after Tipsy. Pike was wily enough to know.
The old coot stood there holding the lead rope, eyeballing Jesse while nodding. “I’m only lettin’ ya ’cause you’s the sheriff’s man. Sheriff Crosson wouldn’t take up with a no-account.” Pike’s bony old finger wagged at Jesse. “And if that hoss busts a leg or anything, I’m charging you double, and that’s a hundred-dollar hoss.” Pike tossed Jesse the rope, then shuffled off into the barn.