The sheriff wanted to swing by Shorty’s ranch before heading to the creek to pick up Tipsy’s trail. If any more rustling had been done, they might be able to follow after Tipsy easier from that point.
Truth be told, Jesse was just as curious about seeing Shorty’s daughter again as he was picking up the trail, so he didn’t have any complaints about stopping by.
Kristy stepped from the house onto the porch, and her breath instantly turned white. The green dress she wore matched her eyes. She was even prettier in the daylight. Her hair was pulled up on top with a silk ribbon. The same blue wool shawl she’d worn last evening was wrapped tight around her shoulders.
Jesse smoothed his hair under his hat, then shifted in the saddle so she was sure to see the spit polished badge pinned on his coat. A little reminder that he wasn’t a cattle thief. Kristy’s eyes twinkled, and they were all on Jesse. He sat up straighter in the saddle and broadened his shoulders. He was feeling like a spry young rooster strutting his feathers.
They curiously smiled at one another. The sheriff’s gaze floated between them, and he nudged Jesse’s foot in the stirrup closest to him. A flush rose onto Jesse’s face. Sheriff Crosson obviously wasn’t blind to the attraction, and he wore a small smirk, chuckling under his breath. Jesse ignored it. Surely the sheriff couldn’t hear his heart pounding under three layers of shirts, a wool coat, and the woolly scarf that Kate had knitted for him.
The sun lit Kristy’s hair and made her look like an angel. “Pa’s out on the north range with some of the hands.”
“Come on.” Sheriff Crosson nudged Jesse away from staring, and this time he didn’t hold back from snickering.
Jesse turned the Appaloosa as he twisted in the saddle and gave Kristy a wave. He rode with a dreamy smile on his face. First chance he got, he was going to talk with Shorty and hopefully get permission to come courting. The thought of marriage popped into Jesse’s head. With the money he’d get for the ranch, they could buy some land and build a nice place. A deputy’s salary surely would be enough to support a family. Jesse and the sheriff hadn’t discussed pay, but that wasn’t why he took the job.
“You’re setting your sights a mite high, ain’t ya? Kristy Short’s a fetchin’ young woman, prettier than most, and the daughter of the great cattle baron Warren Short. She could do better than a lowly deputy.” The sheriff was wearing a smile and chuckled.
Jesse decided to play along. “Well, bein’ that I’m so handsome and full of sweet charm, no young woman can resist me.”
The sheriff laughed hard. “Boy, you are full of somethin’, but it ain’t charm.”
Jesse laughed too.
“I would bet the only female you ever showed charm to is that old swayback mare. Did your first kiss come from that gray face?” Sheriff Crosson slapped his knee.
Jesse laughed. “Shut up.” He’d never seen this side of the sheriff.
Just as Jesse and Kate had found their understanding of one another, so too had he and the sheriff. After Jesse stood up to Sheriff Crosson, something had changed between them. He believed it was a growing respect. The friendship he’d been wanting was springing up.
“It ain’t hard to see that the young lady does fancy ya.” Sheriff Crosson was quiet for a long minute, pondering something. Then he looked over. “Son, when you’re on the trail, your thoughts of Kristy need to be left behind. Any distraction, especially one as big as a buddin’ love, could git ya killed. We ain’t ridin’ after men who steal penny candy.”
Jesse nodded. One mistake and he would be planted six feet under real quick. It made him think of the day he’d trailed Sheriff Crosson away from the schoolhouse, following after Tipsy. He’d turned Dapple loose for a run and got shot in the arm for it.
“I’m always thinking about Kate and the children, but I learned a long time ago how to switch my focus fast. Every day when I ride out to do my job, I’m protectin’ my family and this community. Today we’re tracking Tipsy and cattle thieves, and that’s where I want your mind. You keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff.” Jesse understood.
Nate crawled around on the floor with Elizabeth while singing the alphabet to her. The sugar cookies Ma was baking smelled good. He always liked sprinkling the colored sugar on for decoration. The second batch was just fresh out of the oven and had to cool.
Snow was coming down. Nate was glad Pa had told him no, that he couldn’t go and be a deputy today. It was cozy warm inside the house, but he did want to play outside and run in the snow.
“Mama.” He batted his baby blues and smiled oh so sweetly. “May I please play in the pasture with Buck?”
Ma shook her head.
Nate huffed and threw himself back on the floor. Having a kicking fit would only get him sent to his room. “Please, with a cherry on top?” He wasn’t above begging.
“Why don’t you practice reading for when your pa gets home?”
Ma’s idea was stupid. Nate pouted and grabbed up the book that lay on the floor near Elizabeth. He was a good reader and didn’t need practice. He’d rather be outside playing. Besides, Pa and his new deputy most likely would be out past Nate’s bedtime.
Nate threw open the dog-eared page and began to read aloud, using a pissy little tone, while Elizabeth crawled all over him. Ma ignored it all. He didn’t want his baby sister slobbering on him or the pages. He pushed her aside, and she toppled and began to cry.
“Be nice to your sister.” Ma came and picked Elizabeth up off the floor, soothing her cries with kisses and hugs.
“Can I go outside now?” Maybe he’d be shooed outside for getting under Ma’s skin.
“Let’s decorate the cookies.” Ma headed toward the kitchen with Elizabeth.
“I don’t wanna.” How whiny would he have to get before Ma gave in to him? It took some begging and promises to wear the itchy scarf that Ma had knitted him, but he was out the door and into the pasture in a blink before Ma changed her mind.
Nate held on to the buckskin’s tail as the horse trotted and his boots plowed through the inch or so of snow. He tripped, fell, and laughed as he dragged behind the mustang. Nate let go of Buck’s tail and dropped into the little bit of white fluff. He rolled onto his back and faced the gray winter sky.
The mustang nosed at his face as he lay still. Flakes softly touched down around the two of them. He rubbed a mitten-covered hand along Buck’s jaw. Buck was the best horse ever, better than the black stallion in the book Mrs. McKay had given him.
Nate rolled over, dusting himself in snow, then jumped up and ran toward the orchard. His boots made tracks as he went, and Buck trotted a step behind him. Nate crawled through the fence rails. Buck threw his head and blew at Nate, then pawed at the snowy ground.
“I’ll be right back.”
He rooted around looking for an apple that wasn’t ground rotten. Something behind him thumped the dirt. Buck, the big pig, hadn’t been able to wait and had jumped the fence and trotted up.
Nate found an apple, wiped off the snow with his coat, then held the treat flat in his palm. Buck quickly crunched the fruit, then nosed Nate’s shoulder for another. He patted the soft nose. “Buck, your sweet tooth’s as big as mine.” Though chocolate cake was Nate’s favorite.
“Nathanial!” Ma stood at the edge of the porch and gave a wave to come inside.
“I’ll be right there,” he hollered back.
Ma hurried inside out of the cold.
Nate picked up another apple for Buck. “That’s all you’re gettin’.” He wiped the slobber off that mitten onto his pants.
He climbed Buck’s tail, then trotted his horse toward the fence. Pa wasn’t at home to catch him in the act, although Nate wasn’t supposed to jump the mustang. Buck had leaped out over the fence without Nate’s doing. Therefore, he would just be hanging on as Buck jumped back in the pasture.
He kicked the mustang and ran straight at the fence.
A gun boomed. Nate jerked sideways, screamed, and arched away from the bite across his back as Buck leaped and his grip ripped loose from the black mane. It sent him tumbling off the buckskin.
He hit the frozen ground with a thud, knocking the breath right out of him. He lay withering, tears streaking his face, dripping off his chin. Nate knew what it was like to be shot, and he screamed in the too familiar agony.
“Nathanial!” Ma hollered.
Nate turned his head. Ma was running, and his heart pounded. He couldn’t wait to be held. Buck nuzzled over him. Another boom rang out. Nate squeezed his eyes, and dirt kicked up not an arm’s length from him. The mustang stayed guarding Nate. He could barely breathe through his sobs. He wanted Pa. A bullet smacked into the ground near Buck’s hoof, inches from Nate. What if Buck got shot? Nate cried harder.
“Git away from me, Buck. Run!”
Ma dropped on her knees, almost under the mustang herself. Tears streaked her wan face. Nate clung around her neck as soon as she pulled him close to pick him up. He arched his back and screamed. A warm ooze of blood soaked into the back of his coat. The ground was stained red where he’d been lying.
Ma cradled him in her arms, hurrying through the gate toward the house, and somehow kept the mustang between them and the ridge side from where she must’ve thought the shot had come.
The door had been left standing open. Buck stood at the bottom of the porch steps as Ma kicked the door closed behind them. She hustled to the settee and laid Nate down. He wailed, pawing at her, not wanting her to let go of him. She fought his flailing arms to let loose of her skirt. Elizabeth sat on the floor close by. She, too, was screaming and bawling. Ma ran, and then with a slam of each bar, both the front and rear doors of the house were locked.
“Mama.” This was all even scarier when she was out of his sight.
Ma hurried through the room and into Pa’s study. She came out the door, thumbing shells into the Henry rifle. He didn’t understand. Weren’t they safe in the house?
Ma froze, eyes stretched wide, and her mouth fell open. Nate expected a bloodcurdling scream to fly out. She shook as if she were looking out the window at the devil himself. Who was out there? Nate grimaced, pushing up off the settee. His back hurt so damn bad that he wanted to curse a streak, but he needed to have a look at whoever had put the fear of God into Ma. Nate wiped his teary face across his sleeve.
A man sitting on a gray horse began to swing a leg over the saddle and step down outside the picket gate. His hat was pushed down so Nate couldn’t make out the face. He didn’t have to see. Those ivory-handled Colts belonged to only one person he knew.
“Tipsy.”
There, not twenty feet from Nate, Tipsy pulled his iron.
This couldn’t be true. Nate’s heart skipped a beat, and a trickle of piss ran down his leg, forming a puddle at his feet. Tipsy was supposed to be in prison.
Nate got knocked to the floor. He’d been so focused on those Colts that if Ma had told him to get down, it had gotten lost in the few feet between them. Ma stood with her feet hip-width apart, squared off like a stone wall in front of him. She swung up the rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. A deafening boom echoed in the room. Nate grabbed his ears. The window instantly shattered, blasting out glass. Sobs racked Nate’s body. Two or three shots of return fire crashed through the broken window. One of the framed wall pictures fell and smashed against the floor, glass scattering about in pieces.
Through all that noise, Nate tuned in to Elizabeth’s shrieks. He crawled quickly to her and squeezed her tight to him. If Ma’s aim wasn’t straight, Tipsy would destroy much more than a picture. They’d all be dead.
Ma’s rifle boomed, and she nearly fell back from the kick. She rubbed at her shoulder for just a second. Then she hurried and thumbed shells into the empty chambers. Nate’s ears were ringing from all the gunfire.
The Colt cracked twice, and heavy running footsteps pounded onto the porch. Ma screamed and grabbed her arm. Thank God, she hadn’t dropped the rifle. Oh no, there was a spot of blood soaking through her sleeve.
“Mama!” Nate wailed.
“I’m all right, Nathanial.” Ma wasn’t a good liar. She was shaking as badly as he was. She stepped in front of the open window and fired. A deep groan carried inside. Ma had hit Tipsy hard. She’d gotten lucky. She truly was no match for his guns.
Too many times, Nate had seen the skill of those smooth, fast hands that could palm the Colts in the blink of an eye and bring death without warning. He dared to stand while keeping a tight hold on Elizabeth. Was Tipsy dead, or was he still out there?
“Git down!” Ma yelled through gritted teeth.
He dropped to the floor, holding Elizabeth, and could hear a horse running. Was it Tipsy’s gray or the mustang?
Ma tossed the rifle on the table. She scooped them up as one and ran into the kitchen. She looked about all crazy like, then threw open the pantry door. With one hand, she pushed aside a full sack of flour and flipped over a large basket with a frenzied strength that Nate had never seen before. It all made him bawl harder. He was sat on the floor with Elizabeth on his lap.
Ma hunkered down beside them. “I need you and your sister to stay as still and as quiet as you can. I know you’re hurting, but I need you to be strong.”
Nate latched onto her sleeve and screeched, “Don’t go out there, Ma.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed his head and then Elizabeth’s face. “Sweetheart, a wounded animal is sometimes the meanest. I ain’t letting that mongrel in here to hurt you. If I don’t come for you and your sister, you stay hid until your pa finds ya.” Ma pushed down the woven linen basket, and darkness fully covered them.
Nate toppled from the thud of the heavy flour sack being stacked in front. The pantry door slammed shut. His heavy breathing steamed the cramped black space, and the pound of his heart was in his throat. He and Elizabeth pleaded for Ma with pitiful cries.
Had Tipsy ridden away or only retreated far enough out of sight that he was still a threat? It was hard to hear anything from under that basket. No footsteps. No gunfire. Not a scream. There wasn’t one sound to let him know that Ma was still in the house. Maybe Tipsy had carried her off when he couldn’t find Nate. She’d been bleeding. What if she died? Nate shivered in the darkness, and Elizabeth blew snot everywhere with each sob.
Ma was probably weak because of losing blood. That sluggishness would make her an easier target. Nate couldn’t slow his stilted breathing. If Pa didn’t hurry home, Tipsy would find Nate and Elizabeth too. There was no way Tipsy wouldn’t be able to follow the sound of Elizabeth screaming. A coffin would then be the next small space he would be stuck in, and Elizabeth likewise.
Nate wasn’t supposed to, but he couldn’t help himself. It was dark, and he didn’t like any of this. “Ma!”
“Stay hid!” Ma screamed, and a rifle boomed.
Jesse and the sheriff had ridden through Gray Rock on their way back from Shorty’s, and in less than a mile, they would be at Crosson Ranch. Jesse couldn’t wait to eat. Kate had been trimming fat off a ham that morning. Being out hunting Tipsy in the cold all day made him hungrier than all get-out.
Rifle shots echoed from the direction of the ranch. Jesse jerked up reins. His brow furrowed, and he threw a glance at the sheriff, who wore a horrified expression. At the same time, they spurred their horses into an all-out, neck-stretching run. The ground rumbled like thunder.
Jesse’s eyes darted to the open corral. The mustang was standing free in the yard. “Look.” He pointed at the broken window where glass was scattered about the ground.
Sheriff Crosson jumped off his horse with his pistol drawn and sprinted for the house. Jesse swung down while pulling his rifle. With the sheriff’s focus solely on those in the house, Jesse quickly searched about the yard for any sign of that son of a bitch who had done this.
The door flung open. Kate stood tall with the Henry ready in her hands. Tears streamed down her face, her eyes bloodshot.
“Where are Nathanial and Elizabeth?”
The sheriff had said the words, but Jesse had thought them. If Tipsy touched a hair on that boy, Jesse would ride day and night until he cut down that bastard. He saw the print of Tipsy’s mare. Was the killer still there?
The corral gate creaked behind him, and Jesse swung the Winchester around. The wind clapped the gate closed. He should check the barn, but all he could think about was first seeing that the kids were safe. He hurried toward the house.
Kate lowered her gun, collapsed into the sheriff’s arms, and began to sob. He held her as she wept.
“Where are the children?” Sheriff Crosson asked again.
Jesse rushed past them, up the steps, and through the open door. The house had lost its warm glow and was chilled from the busted window. Red coals were all that remained of the fire. How long had Kate held off Tipsy? That fire always burned bright. Glass crunched under Jesse’s boots as he looked about at the bullet holes in the wall.
A sweet sound kissed his ears. Crying kids. Jesse hurried into the kitchen, the sheriff and Kate on his heels. The wailing was coming from the pantry. Jesse yanked open the door, then tossed aside the flour sack. Real gentle like, he lifted the basket. Nathanial and Elizabeth were curled up together, sniveling. Tears streaked the two little faces. Their wide red eyes showed their god-awful fear. The two little ones probably had no idea who was coming for them.
The walk-in pantry was tight with the three of them, the young’uns, and all the goods shoved inside. Sheriff Crosson stepped forward and picked up Elizabeth, kissed her chubby face, then handed the fussing baby gently to her mother. Jesse stepped back out of the way and gave the sheriff room to bend and lift the boy off the floor.
Nathanial burst into a heavy stream of tears and clung to his pa. “Tipsy was here.” The half-pint buried his face in the front of his pa’s coat.
Jesse’s shoulders drew back, hands balled at his sides. If the chance ever came, he’d knock Tipsy’s head off. That coward had come and made fight with a woman and kids.
Sheriff Crosson lifted a hand from Nathanial’s back. Blood! Panic rose in Jesse’s throat. That was a lot of bright red. How bad was that wound? Did he need to fetch Doc Martin? He followed on the heels of the sheriff, who raced, carrying Nathanial into the kitchen.
“Git that table away from the window, over there.” Sheriff Crosson jerked his head.
With one good shove, Jesse moved the table against the wall, away from where the boy might be seen if Tipsy were still around outside. The half-pint was on the table, wailing, reaching out, and pulling on his pa’s sleeve to be kept close. Kate handed Elizabeth, who was screaming, to Jesse. The baby squirmed in his arms, wanting her mama. Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off the blood-soaked coat and shirt being stripped off.
His stomach rolled as he leaned in close and looked over the long scratch across the boy’s back. “Shit, that’s gonna need stitchin’.”
Nathanial wailed louder, and the sheriff threw Jesse a scowling look that meant shut the hell up.
“Jesse, fetch my needle and thread.” Kate pointed to her sewing kit and then took the baby. “Thread the eye.” Kate rocked Elizabeth in her arms and whispered, “I love you” near to a dozen times, followed by a kiss.
Poor little Nathanial clung to his pa and howled. “No stitches. It’ll hurt.”
Jesse steadied his hand and, at the same time, his breathing.
The Crosson family was all huddled together. Elizabeth was settling down, but nothing seemed to soothe Nathanial’s sobs.
Jesse finally got the thread poked through. “What next?”
He boiled water and cut strips of material for a bandage as Kate instructed. Nathanial lay belly down on the table. How the sheriff had gotten the boy to agree, Jesse didn’t know. There might have been some deputy time promised. Tears dripped off the kid’s chin, and he choked on those big sniffling sobs.
Kate passed Elizabeth to the sheriff. With the other hand, he pressed down and held Nate’s legs pinned to the table. Sheriff Crosson then looked at Jesse. “Hold his shoulders.”
Jesse’s hands began to shake. Nathanial was hurting, and he didn’t want to cause the little boy any more pain. He’d taken his first shots at a man this week. This was much tougher.
He took a deep breath, pushed down, and turned his head from watching Kate push the needle through the boy’s skin. Nathanial’s screams filled Jesse’s ears. His gut twisted up, and he had to look away from the open wound. What he saw wasn’t much better. Old scars crossed Nathanial’s back in wicked patterns. They weren’t simple scrapes and bumps like a normal kid. This was deep, painful stuff, and Jesse’s gut squeezed tighter as he recalled the sheriff telling him that he’d left Nate in the care of Kate, fully expecting the boy to die.
Kate moved along with the stitching. The half-pint squirmed, and Jesse pushed with some force to keep the boy pinned down. Elizabeth was crying again.
Jesse could hardly take it all. He leaned down close to Nathanial’s face. “Partner, tell me about that horse book. I never read all of it. I got to the part where that black horse had some trouble and was in sorry shape. With his strong spirit though, I’d bet he pulled through and in the end was just fine.” Jesse wasn’t really thinking about the horse. “I think you’ll be okay too.”
The half-pint stopped crying and stared into Jesse’s eyes for a minute. “It hurts.”
“I know it does.” He smoothed the kid’s hair and watched Kate tug and tie off the string. Before she made another stitch, Jesse let go with one hand and took hold of Nate’s. Just in case, Jesse kept the other on the kid’s shoulders. “You squeeze when it hurts.”
The half-pint sniffled and gave a slight nod. Four more times, Kate made stitches, and Nathanial had quite a grip. She tied them off as she finished across the boy’s back. Nate seemed reluctant to let go of Jesse until Sheriff Crosson stepped forward, and then the boy reached for his pa. Jesse rubbed at his hand before he picked up his rifle. Tipsy had crossed the line of right and wrong one too many times. That nasty furrow across Nathanial’s back was unsettling. Tipsy was nothing more than a rabid animal that needed put down.
Jesse would start a fire before he went. It was almost as cold in there as it was outside. The kids needed to get warm.
Kate kissed all over Nathanial’s face as the sheriff held the little boy, trying to wipe away the kid’s tears. Even still, with all that stress over the kids, the sheriff looked at his wife. “We need to look at your arm.”
Kate shook her head and held tight to Elizabeth. “It can wait.”
Jesse’s heart had just slowed down a notch over Nate. He hadn’t even noticed the blood soaking Kate’s sleeve. “I’m gonna check on the horses and have a good look around.” There were now flames jumping in the fireplace. Jesse walked toward the door, his hand all but on the knob.
“Jesse.” Nathanial called him back.
He turned and looked at the half-pint clinging to his pa, but those big, teary blue eyes were all on Jesse.
“Don’t go out there. He’ll shoot you.”
Jesse had guessed there was a sweet kid hidden under all that orneriness. He grinned. “Not if I shoot him first. I owe him one for that scratch on your back.”
He closed the door behind him. Tipsy had been smart and struck when there was no man around to do the fighting. Mrs. Crosson was a brave woman to have held her own the way she did.
Jesse stepped to the edge of the porch with his rifle held ready. Other than the wind whistling, the ranch yard appeared quiet. The horses had huddled near the gate. There were lots of hiding places around the ranch that Tipsy could hunker down and wait for a chance at killing Nate.
Jesse studied the shadows around the smaller outbuildings. Nothing seemed to be moving but the cold air. The chickens would be squawking if Tipsy were in the coop. No room in the smokehouse for a man to stand because it was too full of meat. Surely Tipsy wouldn’t risk hiding in the pigpen where he might get ripped up. There was a sow and boar that had made it through the butchering season and were left there. That hog was a mean one, and at the moment, it was quiet in there too.
Jesse hunkered down and touched a spot of blood on the porch. Had the blood dripped from Kate’s arm, or had she popped Tipsy a good shot? Jesse grinned and hoped Tipsy was one hurting son of a bitch.
He followed the drips of red. The hoof prints left near the gate were that of Tipsy’s mare, but they were being covered quickly by the falling snow. The blood trail stopped when Tipsy got on his horse, and those fading tracks led toward the barn.
No movement there, no hint that Tipsy was perhaps hiding near the structure, which meant he could be inside it.
He didn’t dare reach for the lantern. To lower his aim could bring about his end. Every corner was deeply shadowed. The hair stood on the back of his neck. Matilda looked up from inside the stall and bawled to be milked. Dumb cow.
Jesse’s hands were steady, but his trigger finger twitched. Matilda was lucky she wasn’t wearing a black hat and gray coat.
With a lightness of foot, he stepped quietly to each empty stall, then peered inside. There was one place he hadn’t checked yet. His eyes focused on the loft above. Nothing stirred in the loose hay that Jesse could hear. A quick and careful peek up the ladder to be sure, and he found it empty too. Seemed Tipsy had gone, but Jesse wouldn’t underestimate the devil and let his guard down. He was still getting over the shock of the bastard attacking at the house.
He gathered the horses from the yard, stabled them, then put away the tack and gathered what he would need to fix the window.
Jesse tried not to think about the stories of Tipsy being a back shooter as he hammered boards. The Winchester was only a reach away, but he doubted that would be quick enough. When he was done, he took another sweep around the yard. No footprints other than his own were visible in the falling snow. If Tipsy was hiding close by, then he was staying quiet for now.
Jesse walked into the house. Only a dim fire lit the room, and the sun was all but down. The chunks of glass that had been all over the floor were cleaned up.
Sheriff Crosson sat in the rocker, facing the door with the Henry across his lap. The man’s cold stare made Jesse shiver, and his face was twisted in a way that showed his raw hatred. “I’ll take the first watch.”
Jesse wasn’t about to argue, but he was too tense to sleep. “I’ll make some coffee.”
He set the kettle on the stove. The house was too quiet. He’d give just about anything to hear Nate bounce into the room, all bright-eyed, asking for a warm glass of milk or to be read to. Kate undoubtedly had him tucked in tight for the night.
Jesse watched out the window into the dark. That bastard Tipsy could be anywhere.
At a glance, Jesse noticed the kitchen door was barred, and he remembered the night Nathanial had come in through the bedroom window. Tipsy might think to do the same. Jesse hurried toward the stairs, leaving the coffee to boil. He took the steps by twos and ran into the boy’s room. Jesse’s rifle was held down at his side, finger on the trigger.
The half-pint restlessly turned under the quilts, crying in his sleep. The window was shut, and more snow fell outside. Nathanial sprang straight up, eyes wide open, his little head glistening with sweat beads. “The bad man’s comin’ to git me.”
That poor boy’s voice couldn’t have been any more shaky or pitiful. Tears teetered on the rims of his eyes, ready to spill at the least little thing.
Jesse sat on the edge of the bed. “Only a fool would bust into this house knowing the sheriff was here.” He wasn’t just saying it to soothe the boy. He meant every word, and a small smile blossomed on Nathanial’s face. He reckoned he knew the truth when he heard it. Jesse had an idea of how to maybe relax the kid. “If it’ll make ya feel better, I could sit awhile and read to ya?”
The half-pint pulled the horse book out from under the quilt, then scooted a mite closer. Jesse read through a full chapter. It took that long for the half-pint’s lids to drop. Jesse quietly closed the book.
The room was warm, too comfortable. He was starting to feel the tiresome day crawl into his muscles. He stood, stretched, and yawned. Maybe he should get some shut-eye before Sheriff Crosson called him for the second watch. He set the book on the table. As he leaned to blow out the dim lamp, a small hand tugged once on his sleeve.
“Jesse, will you read me one more chapter?” The boy yawned, and his blue eyes were bloodshot from being so doggone tired.
“Batting those baby blues at me ain’t gonna work.” He winked at Nathanial, and the kid grinned. Jesse sat back down. “Suppose I could read another chapter.” He nudged the boy gently to move over some so Jesse could lie back and prop up his feet.
The Winchester stood upright against the table next to him. Bonding with Nate was great, but Jesse wasn’t forgetting the reason he had come upstairs and checked on the half-pint. Tipsy could be out there watching the house right this minute. Perhaps Nathanial sensed what Jesse was thinking, because he curled up tight against Jesse’s side and was shaking. The half-pint wasn’t cold, not with four heavy blankets on him and a bright set of flames flickering in the fireplace.
Jesse recalled sometimes having nightmares as a child. Only, in this case, the monster was real. He slipped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, and he tucked in.
Nathanial’s gaze lifted toward the door, and Jesse followed it to find the sheriff standing there watching.
“Is it okay if Jesse reads to me a little bit longer?” Nathanial had practically shoved himself into Jesse’s shirt pocket.
The sheriff nodded, then grinned at Jesse. “Good night, boys.”
Sheriff Crosson’s boots echoed down the stairs. Was Jesse part of this family? Had he just been referred to as … a son? He hoped the boy’s orneriness didn’t flare up, if he had caught hold of the remark. Jesse was smiling when he began to read.
He waited until he saw an even rise and fall of the boy’s chest so he knew for sure Nathanial was sound asleep. Otherwise, he didn’t dare blow out that lamp. Twice, Nate’s eyes had sprung open while he was turning down the wick, and the poor kid had cried that he was afraid to be alone in the dark. So Jesse had stayed put next to him awhile longer.
Jesse was exhausted and stumbled out into the hallway on his way to his room. He’d just crawled into bed and barely touched his head to the soft pillow when Nathanial started to fuss.
“Jesse!”
He sprang up, tripping in the tangle of blankets wrapped around his legs, somehow managing not to hit the floor while he thrashed about and unwrapped himself.
Jesse ran into the half-pint’s room.
“I’m scared.” The glassy-eyed pup’s lip quivered.
“One more chapter,” Jesse said and picked up the book. It was the only comfort he knew to offer.
Nate woke to an achy back and Jesse snoring next to him. Daylight was streaming through the windows. It had to be midmorning. It was so bright. He pushed off the quilts, then tiptoed into the hall. Why was the house so quiet? Pa never slept this late, nor Ma. Where was everyone? Nate stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. It didn’t even smell like breakfast had been cooked. There should have at least been the aroma of coffee floating in the air. That was the first thing Ma always did.
What if Tipsy had gotten past Pa and was in the house? Maybe that was why it was too quiet. The Colt wasn’t Tipsy’s only skill. He also carried a seven-inch pigsticker strapped on his belt, and Nate had seen the bloody work his hands could do with that knife.
Nate swallowed hard, looking over his shoulder for some confidence. Jesse was right there. He had stayed up most of the night, guarding over him so Nate could rest easy. He sure had misjudged Jesse, and he wouldn’t wake him unless he had to.
When Nate eased open the door into Ma and Pa’s room, he found Elizabeth and Ma curled up sleeping. He blew out a deep sigh. Thank God, they were okay, but where was Pa?
Nate was a little bit afraid to go downstairs. Pa might not be in the house. He could be tending the stock, and what if Tipsy was watching and knew they weren’t guarded? Nate could holler for Jesse. He had run to him lickety-split last night, but Nate waited and decided to just take a peek from the stairs first.
The boarded window was a big reminder of how close Tipsy had come to killing him. That and the tight stitches on his back.
Pa sat at the table, reading a newspaper. Maybe now his heart would stop thumping so hard.
Nate plopped into a chair.
Pa folded the paper and placed it aside. “How ya feelin’ this morning?”
“My back’s sore.” Nate wasn’t thinking about the cut. “It’s Saturday.” He was supposed to help Jesse move. “I’m afraid that—” He couldn’t spit out that dreadful name. A deep fear choked him up. He didn’t want to believe Tipsy had come to kill him.
“Come here.” Pa pulled Nate onto his lap.
Nate found the courage to speak up. “What if Tipsy’s out there waitin’?” The cabin was a long way from home. “Will you go with us?” The thought of Pa being too far out of sight scared him, and tears stung his eyes.
Pa hinted at a grin and smoothed Nate’s hair. “Thought we’d all stay home today.”
“Even Jesse?” Nate wanted to read the horse book to him. No way would Tipsy come hunting with both Pa and Jesse there.
“Heard my name.” Jesse walked through the sitting room toward the table.
Nate hopped off Pa’s lap. In three running strides, he threw his arms around Jesse’s waist. Jesse ruffled his snowy patch. “We don’t have to collect your things from the cabin today.” They would all be safe inside the house.
Jesse nodded. “That’s good, ’cause I aim to go after Tipsy.”
“No!” Nate grabbed Jesse’s arm, stopping him from taking a step. “Don’t go lookin’ for trouble. You ain’t ever seen the meanness Tipsy’s capable of.” It was bad enough that Ma had been hurt.
Jesse hunkered down, holding Nate’s shoulders so they were face-to-face. “Partner.” Jesse pointed a finger and touched the tin star on Nate’s shirt. “I believe in that badge, an’ I know you do too. I ain’t lettin’ that mad dog git away.” Jesse straightened and walked to the table where he took a seat.
Nate wiped at his eyes. How would he ever forgive himself if something bad happened to Jesse? Tipsy wasn’t hunting Jesse, but that hateful bastard would drill a bullet straight through Saint Peter to get to Nate.
Jesse had saddled Dapple and led the horse from the barn. The air was crisp. Sunshine made the fresh inch of white even brighter, forcing him to squint against the glare.
When Sheriff Crosson walked from the house, Jesse slowed his pace.
“You gonna start looking here in the yard?” Sheriff Crosson never seemed to just be asking a simple question when it came to him learning the job.
He nodded. Searching there was logical. “This is the last place Tipsy was seen.”
“That’s true, but Tipsy needs the lead dug out of him. Kate hit him hard. You think he’ll ride into Gray Rock to Doc Martin?” The sheriff wasn’t being coy but was forever testing all Jesse had learned.
He shook his head, then thought for a minute, following what the sheriff was saying. Tipsy wasn’t going to be holed up on a mountain cliff, not with the amount of blood he’d dropped there on the ground.
Sheriff Crosson waited for an answer like he knew but was trying to get Jesse to think. When he didn’t speak up after a few minutes, the sheriff dipped his head as if to say it was okay that Jesse wasn’t sure.
“Where’s the closest place to git that bullet out?” Sheriff Crosson offered a clue, not the answer.
Hm … Birch Creek was the closest town, but to get there would take a week and that was riding fast. Jesse had ridden with his pa once to a trading post that was situated in the hills to the west of the canyon where he and the sheriff had trailed Tipsy a few days ago. Jesse recalled hearing from one of the Seven-C boys that a saloon and a few other buildings had been thrown up, and the place was now called a town.
“The ol’ trading post.”
As the sheriff grinned, he nodded. “I understand the man that owns the saloon used to be a doctor in the war.”
Jesse turned and swung a leg over the saddle.
The sheriff grabbed the bridle, holding the Appaloosa still. “If you come face-to-face with Tipsy, don’t turn your back on him. Keep your eyes on his. If your gut tightens and you think for even a split second that he’s goin’ for his gun, you shoot to kill that son of a bitch.”
“Yes, sir,” Jesse said without pause, his heart pounding. Could he kill a man that was looking him in the eyes? Shooting through the trees at some distance to protect himself and the boy had come natural. Squaring off with Tipsy would be a whole lot different. He’d be lucky to come out of that fight alive. If he were killed, he just hoped he got in one good shot to send Tipsy straight to hell.
Sheriff Crosson patted Dapple’s neck, then stepped aside. “You watch yourself, son.”
Jesse touched spurs to his horse. There was a little face pressed against the kitchen window, watching him. He gave a wave.