Jesse strapped down the rocking chair, picturing Ma sitting in it and doing her knitting next to the fire. He snugged the rope tight. It was the last of the things to be loaded into the wagon.
He walked back inside, brushing the snow dust from his clothes. “It’s time to go.”
The half-pint’s eyes were awful glassy and his cheeks redder. Jesse wasn’t a doc, but he would bet the fever that had struck the boy earlier was getting worse. Grabbing another blanket, he wrapped a second layer tight around the kid. It might have been a mistake letting the fire die down while he loaded the wagon. The kid could have been sitting in a draft all this time.
“You okay to walk? Because you look like ya might fall over.”
The boy wearily stood. When they got to the wagon, Jesse lifted Nathanial onto the seat, then stepped up himself. As he slapped reins to the team, the wagon lurched forward and began to roll, crunching steadily through the snow. The mountains were blanketed in a soft white. Not a single ray of sun floated overhead. The vast Wyoming sky was a thick gray, reminding Jesse of Tipsy’s mare, and he laid a hand on the Winchester across his lap.
The half-pint caught flurries on his tongue as if there were nothing to worry about. “I don’t understand. If the Robinson family had a chance to leave the island, why didn’t they?” A fat flake landed on Nathanial’s nose, and he blinked away the ones that stuck to his lashes.
It was one of a hundred questions he had asked since they’d left the cabin. If the boy didn’t stop asking for so many details between catching snowflakes, Jesse reckoned Nate wouldn’t have to read any of the book to know the whole story. “I ain’t gonna tell. I don’t want to spoil it for ya.”
Time passed quickly as the wagon creaked along the coach road. Snow fell, blanketing the horses and every stick of furniture in the wagon bed. Ambush was possible, and Jesse kept alert. The tree line was quiet, hills without movement. All the while, the boy jabbered on about the books.
They crested a steep rise. Rooftops that made up the town came into view. Wind whistled through the surrounding trees, and a sudden gust spun white in the air.
It was what he didn’t hear that concerned him. Jesse glanced down. His partner sat slumped, sluggishly quiet, and shivering. Jesse gathered Nathanial around the shoulders and pulled him close for a little more warmth. It was no more than a mile to Gray Rock. Straight through town was the quickest path to the Crosson home. So far, he hadn’t seen sign of Tipsy, but that didn’t mean the killer wasn’t out there waiting for his chance at Nathanial.
Jesse steered into the street and would be glad in two miles when Nate was home safe with his folks. Mrs. Crosson could then properly treat that hacking cough. It seemed to be getting worse the longer he was out in the cold. Fifteen minutes with the team at a trotting pace and they’d be there.
“Deputy Adams, Nathanial, over here.” Mrs. Henderson stood on the porch of the general store and waved with the exuberance of calling down the Almighty. Jesse had never before seen the like, certainly not from this usually sober-minded woman. Hopefully, there was no trouble. The last thing he needed right now, with the boy sniffling and the snow falling heavier, was to get caught in something that required him to be wearing a badge. He just wanted to get the kid home, but to drive on by and not stop for at least a minute would be awfully rude.
With the stress of keeping one eye looking for Tipsy and the other on the sick boy, a tenseness had formed across Jesse’s shoulders, and this unexpected delay wasn’t helping. He pulled up reins as Mrs. Henderson flogged into the road toward the wagon.
“Praise God. You’re both alive. Mr. Henderson isn’t going to believe it. Milton, quick, come out here.”
Not ten seconds after she called, Mr. Henderson appeared in the doorway. His eyes stretched exceedingly wide. Jesse suddenly felt like the main attraction at a circus show. Mr. Henderson just stood there shaking his head as if denying the truth that Jesse and Nate were before him in the flesh.
Jesse glanced at his partner, who shrugged.
“By God, boys. I thought for sure the two of you had been gunned down by that maniac. The whole town’s been worried.” Mr. Henderson finally stopped shaking his head, but both the Hendersons stared as if they’d just witnessed the dead come alive.
“No, sir, we’re just fine. I do need to get this boy home though.” Jesse figured the sheriff likely had combed Gray Rock after he also went missing. Anyone in town was probably asked if they’d seen one or the pair of them. Perhaps now that the couple had seen Nathanial was okay, other than being sick, Jesse could put leather to the team and get him home.
“Sheriff Crosson was in the store not five minutes ago, asking again if anyone had seen the two of ya. Even with them horses half-covered in snow, with the sheriff’s sharp eyes, he ain’t going to miss spotting Buck or the Appaloosa. Yours is a rare horse for these parts. Why don’t you boys come on in and git warm? I guarantee Nathanial’s father finds ya both before you’ve had a chance to thaw.”
Jesse began to shake his head when he felt a small tug on the front of his coat. Nate’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth chattered. “I’m h-h-hungry. Can we g-g-git some candy till Pa comes?”
A few minutes of letting the boy unfreeze might do him some good. What would the sheriff say when he found them? Jesse was sweating that a little. No one, though, would stop him from seeing that this boy got home safe. Sheriff Crosson had the power to keep Jesse from being deputy, but the man wasn’t stupid. If nothing else, Jesse was an extra gun to protect Nathanial.
“All right.”
“Woo-hoo! I want gumdrops.” The half-pint sprang off the wagon and hit the boardwalk in his stocking feet. The promise of candy certainly seemed to have perked him up. How long would that last? Probably until the sugar ran out. There was a definite giddyup to Nathanial’s step, although he didn’t look any better.
With the Winchester at his side, Jesse followed close at the kid’s heels as Mr. and Mrs. Henderson cheerily led the way.
Jesse wouldn’t take for granted the quietness that seemed to have fallen over Gray Rock with the snow. Staying alert to trouble worked in conjunction with keeping his little partner alive. Jesse looked about the empty street. The razor-sharp weather must have been keeping folks holed up warm at home. Maybe Tipsy was sitting by a fire somewhere, keeping out of the wind and snow.
Once inside, Jesse propped the rifle next to the door as the boy shook like a dog, sending white fluff everywhere. Jesse smacked his hat against his leg, dropping more snow on the floor before brushing down the sleeves of his coat.
Mr. Henderson twisted around and clapped Jesse on the back, then grabbed him by the hand and shook. “Sheriff Crosson sure did hire himself a fine deputy. Thank you for bringing one of our own back safe to our community.”
Jesse nodded politely. “Yeah, can we just git our candy?” He didn’t want to explain that he wasn’t wearing a badge, so he nudged Nathanial toward the window lined with candy jars.
“Can I git a piece of chocolate besides the gumdrops?” The boy had leaned against Jesse and tilted his little face up ever so sweetly.
Even with those sickly dark circles, how could Jesse say no to those sappy blue eyes? “Git what ya want.”
The boy waited, with hands gripping the counter, for Mr. Henderson to scoop the sugary treats into a brown bag. Jesse picked out a piece of licorice and bit down on one end. The long twist of red candy hung from his mouth, and he eyed the other jars of sweets. “How about a peppermint stick for your sister or a sucker?”
Chocolate dotted the corners of Nathanial’s mouth, and his smile revealed that the rest was mushed between his teeth except for the smear on his chin. “We should buy her one of each. She has a sweet tooth as big as mine.” The boy’s smile widened.
“We— Are you helping to pay for this?” Jesse winked as he dug a coin from his pants pocket, tossing the payment on the counter. The boy giggled and jammed another piece of chocolate into his jib. Jesse whispered in the kid’s ear, “Maybe you should treat me and pay. Yesterday was my birthday.”
The bell above the door rang behind them. “Nathanial.” There was no mistaking that deep voice.
In two steps, Sheriff Crosson was kneeling in front of his son, holding tight to the tiny shoulders. Nathanial was all smiles and threw his arms around his pa’s neck. Mrs. Henderson squeaked and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. The shopkeeper had gone quickly to his wife’s side and patted her hand.
“You hurt?” Sheriff Crosson gently pulled Nate away and looked the youngster over.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking right about Tipsy or…” The boy glanced at Jesse. Then his gaze fell to the floor. “Jesse helped me to see that I was wrong.” Tears slid down the boy’s cheeks.
The sheriff stood and met Jesse’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, sure. It weren’t nothing.” Jesse made light of all the trouble.
Sheriff Crosson looked him square in the face. “I ain’t gonna forget this.”
The three of them turned at the ringing of the bell as the door opened a second time. Shorty walked in, dusting the snow off his shoulders. The cattleman slapped Jesse on the back a few times, and all the while, he eyed the half-pint. “I’m glad to see you boys are well. I have the paperwork for the sale of the ranch right here.” Shorty pulled a thick fold of papers from inside his vest and handed them to Jesse. “I was on my way to find the sheriff to figure out what would become of our agreement, since the last I heard, you were still missing. I don’t have to worry about that no more, do I? Maybe we could sign them quick in the sheriff’s office.” Shorty hadn’t taken a breath.
What was the big hurry? Jesse had already given Shorty access to the land and cattle. Yes, he wanted it done with too, but he had too much to think about right at the moment.
Tipsy was watching from somewhere. Maybe the snake would strike along the road home? Jesse didn’t doubt Sheriff Crosson could handle Tipsy with guns, fists, or otherwise. Tipsy, however, was unscrupulous, and two armed men with Nathanial might hold off the gunslinger this once. The odds would be in their favor. Jesse would see to it that the boy got home to his mama.
Jesse handed the papers back to Shorty while he watched the half-pint happily shove a gumdrop into his mouth. The tears had dried up, but that sickly glassiness hadn’t left the boy’s eyes. “The deal will have to wait. Mrs. Crosson is probably worried sick.”
“That’s true,” the sheriff chimed in.
“Signing papers won’t take but a few minutes.” Shorty wagged the thick fold of legalities.
“I said not now.” Jesse glanced at Nathanial, then gave a nod toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The sheriff followed on their heels. “I do appreciate the help, but you ain’t bound by a badge to do this.” Sheriff Crosson had kept his voice low.
A small warm hand slipped into Jesse’s, and he reminded himself that this was another man’s son. Jesse and Sheriff Crosson studied one another. There was nothing in those steel-blue eyes that spoke of an underlying anger. Nothing more could be said about who had been at fault.
Picking up that bottle had been the biggest mistake of his life. Never again would he forget how much the half-pint meant to him. “I haven’t forgotten that I ain’t your deputy.”
The boy had quite a grip on Jesse’s hand, and there stood his pa. Why wasn’t the boy clinging to him? It showed that Nathanial’s trust had grown enormously. Surely the sheriff saw it too.
Nathanial looked back and forth between them. “Pa, ain’t you gonna give Jesse’s badge back?” He hadn’t spoken loud enough for anyone besides the three of them to hear, though they were being watched by the others. The sheriff said nothing. The boy’s face wrinkled up, and Jesse could foresee a fit coming.
“Partner, no more. Your pa made a decision, and it was his to make. I can take care of myself.”
Jesse opened his hand real easylike so Nathanial wouldn’t think he was being pushed off. The little fingers slid away, and Jesse turned the boy over to his pa. He picked up his rifle and stood quietly at the glass-paneled door. The wagon and team were where he’d left it. Shorty’s horse was tied at the hitch rail next to the bay. Snow had inched up in the short time they’d been inside. Soft light flowed out through the windows at the hotel and a few other businesses and homes along the street. Everything appeared peacefully quiet, including the saloon. Town was too still for Jesse’s liking. Until Nathanial was tucked in at home, Jesse’s trigger finger would be ready.
He stepped out into the cold, followed by the boy, who walked fast to keep pace on Jesse’s heels. Sheriff Crosson guarded Nate from the rear. When Jesse stepped up into the wagon, he picked up the reins. With one swipe of an arm, he was able to brush the falling snow off the seat before the sheriff lifted Nathanial up to sit.
“Wait.” Shorty hurried along the boardwalk toward them. “I almost forgot. Kristy asked me to invite you for supper tomorrow evening. She’s cooking lamb.”
Jesse raised a brow and grinned at Shorty’s smirking. “You raise beef. Shouldn’t we be dining on steak?”
“The dumb mutton wandered onto my range and has found its way onto the table.” They all chuckled, and Shorty gave him a firm nod. “We’ll be expecting you at six.”
Jesse nodded, then slapped reins to the team.
The sheriff trotted his horse next to the wagon within reach of his son. They rode quietly, searching every dense patch of brush or cluster of trees that could hide a man. The half-pint leaned heavily against Jesse and rooted in the brown bag. Maybe the excitement of sugar and being reunited with his pa was wearing off. Nathanial had that flush to his cheeks again, which meant his fever might have spiked or his face could’ve gotten chapped from the wind. Either way, it didn’t seem to bother him. The half-pint was busy picking out the purple gumdrops, and he shoved at least five into his mouth all at once. They were nearly home, and the kid seemed to be doing okay.
“What’s wrong with the other colors?” Jesse leaned over and peeked into the bag.
“The purple ones taste the best. Here, try one.”
Before Jesse could spit out no, thanks, Nathanial jammed one through his lips. That hand felt awful hot.
“Ain’t it good?” Nathanial still chewed the gob in his mouth.
All Jesse could do was nod because the sugary treat stuck everywhere between his teeth. He caught sight of the sheriff watching the two of them. Just because Jesse and Sheriff Crosson had a falling out, it didn’t give Jesse cause to quit his new friendship with the boy.
As he steered the team into the yard, the half-pint turned on the seat and faced the house. Nathanial’s eyes welled up, his gaze stuck on his ma running down the porch steps. Jesse reined in, and the half-pint, likely drained from being on the move most of the day, just sat there and cried while holding out both arms for her to come get him. There was no doubt that if the kid had felt better, he would have hopped down and shot off as fast as those little bird legs would carry him.
Jesse handed Nate down. Mrs. Crosson threw her arms around her son. Tears flooded her eyes, and she kissed her little boy’s face at least a dozen times as the two hugged all over each other. She all of a sudden stopped and pulled back, then put a hand to Nathanial’s head. Then she pressed his cheeks. Her face sobered, and she hurried toward the house with the little guy tucked in her arms.
“Jesse gave me books, enough for a library.” Nathanial lifted out of the blanket the one book he’d kept with him, not letting the fact that he was sick keep him down.
Jesse chuckled as the boy chattered on about his treasure. It reminded him that life had good moments. The chest of books would be the first thing he carried into the house.
“You can put the wagon in the barn.” Sheriff Crosson interrupted.
Jesse turned away from watching the happy kid. The sheriff had stepped down off the bay and stood next to him. Jesse raised a brow. Was he welcome in the Crosson home since he’d found the boy? The sheriff had dragged Jesse out of bed by the scruff and slapped blame on him for Nathanial’s run-in with Tipsy, and now suddenly his drunkenness was forgiven? Back at the store, Sheriff Crosson hadn’t appeared to hold any grudge, but Jesse certainly had not expected to be told that he could stay on.
“I didn’t go after Nate to keep my place here or to be in your good graces. I have means. I’m fixed on going to the hotel. If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll rent a spot in your barn to keep my things till spring. Then I’ll fetch the wagon and move on.” Jesse wasn’t going to let the sheriff ride roughshod over him.
If Sheriff Crosson thought for one minute that Jesse aimed to beg for the job of deputy, the man was wrong. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find other work. The bad reputation of the Adams name didn’t seem to cause him trouble anymore. Most folks in Gray Rock recognized him now as an upholder of the law. For that, he did owe the sheriff a big thanks, but Jesse was too riled up to say it.
Most importantly, the misunderstanding between him and the boy had been patched up. It would be hard to leave the sheriff’s home without looking back. The Crossons were the closest thing he had to kin. He honestly didn’t want to go anywhere else.
“I ain’t gonna argue with ya, nor will I make excuses for my temper. If you wanna go, I won’t stop ya. But … I’d like you to stay. You have become part of this family.” The sheriff turned, tied the bay to the picket fence, then hurried up the steps and into the house.
Jesse sat on the wagon in the falling snow and stared at the closed door for a long minute. Staying on was exactly what he wanted. And not working for the sheriff wouldn’t stop Jesse from hunting down Tipsy. The reality was Sheriff Crosson couldn’t be in two places. It would be impossible to trail Tipsy and keep close to home to protect his son.
Jesse looked at the boarded window and recalled Nathanial’s teary face as he’d gotten his back stitched, and as if it were happening right then, he could hear those awful wails. For more than one reason, it seemed this was where Jesse should be. A lonely hotel room didn’t appeal to him. This place had the feel of home. And he couldn’t blame the sheriff for losing his temper. Any father might if he believed his son had been wronged. Besides—Jesse grinned—he was looking forward to Nathanial reading to him.
Slapping reins to the team, he turned the wagon toward the barn. He brushed and stalled both the Appaloosa and mustang. Untying the straps and carefully lifting the wooden chest off the wagon bed, it was the half-pint’s happiness he thought of.
Jesse barely got the knob turned while juggling the load of books. With a hard bump of his hip, he opened the door farther while securing a firm grip on the bottom of the box. Immediately met by the sheriff’s questioning stare, Jesse could almost read his mind. Was Jesse just dropping off the gift for Nathanial, or was he staying?
A pot of hot water held in his hand, the sheriff had stopped pouring into the washtub next to the fire. Jesse pushed the door shut with his foot, and when he turned, the sheriff had reappeared no more than an arm’s length from him.
“Have you made up your mind?” The sheriff bit his lip. Jesse had never seen the man sweat like that before.
Jesse gave a small nod. One thing did bother him though. Eventually the sheriff would get himself a new deputy. That wouldn’t be an easy thing to swallow, and just the thought of it rubbed him the wrong way. He might not be able to hang around after that. “I would like to stay for now. As you know, I walked away from family once before, and I don’t regret that. But—” He looked at the kids and Kate. Then his gaze fixed on the sheriff. “There’s something here that I don’t wanna let go of.”
Sheriff Crosson beamed a wide grin and squeezed Jesse’s shoulders. “Truth be told, I would have come after ya.”
Now that the matter of where he was staying had been settled, he needed to drop this load or his arms were going to break off. “Here ya go, partner. They’re all yours.” Jesse set the chest on the floor.
Nathanial was all curled up under a thick quilt on the settee and tucked in close at his ma’s side. Inside the warm room, the fire crackled. On Nate’s lap lay the wide-open book about the boy and the dog. He’d been reading with joy in his raspy voice, nose bright red, and he held a handkerchief. What a little trooper. A sneeze flew out before he smiled at Jesse.
Sheriff Crosson sat down and slipped an arm around the missus’s shoulders. And hanging tight fisted to Kate’s skirt stood the wobbly legged Elizabeth, who babbled loudly. It was nice to see everyone so happy.
“Thank you, Jesse.” Mrs. Crosson’s eyes became glassy, though she sweetly grinned. It wasn’t the books she was thankful to have.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” Jesse tipped his hat.
He came and went from the house, fetching what things he wanted unpacked from the wagon.
“My nose is stuffy. I can’t breathe right.”
Jesse overheard the half-pint complaining during one of his trips back into the house. He had tried not to let in too much cold air. That hacking cough had stirred up worse than when they’d left the cabin.
Kate had the boy stripped down and soaking in the steaming tub. He had looked soggy before getting dipped in, barely holding his head up straight. That kid really didn’t feel well.
“I’m cold. Let me out. I wanna go to sleep,” Nathanial cried.
All those tears had to be the most pitiful thing Jesse had ever seen. And if he kept looking, he might swoop in and save the kid and from what, a hot bath that would probably do him lots of good? He needed to get away from that sad little face and headed for the kitchen.
One more armful and Jesse would be done carrying his stuff in from the wagon. He could use a break first and poured himself a hot cup of coffee. A bit of chill had worked into his muscles. He wouldn’t have minded a steamy bath, but everything he’d brought in needed unpacked. He sipped at his coffee.
“I wanna git out. I’m tired.” A cranky little voice burst from the other room. After a few more minutes of whining, the boy’s ma finally gave in.
Jesse carried his cup and would rest a minute on the settee. If he stayed relaxed too long, he might just fall asleep, even with the boy caterwauling about his ma not drying fast enough. The house was toasty, and still, that poor kid shivered. Jesse swallowed the last of his coffee, then stood and stretched. His partner had on a flannel nightshirt and had finally quieted down.
He lay down on the settee without strength, eyes closed while Kate pulled wool socks on his feet.
It was time to get back to work, or Jesse might never finish.
Before he could go, he was called to the table. There was nothing slow about his appetite. Nathanial didn’t touch a bite of supper, nodding off in his stew. After a minute of that, the sheriff carried Nate, who looked plumb miserable, up to bed. Mrs. Crosson was at their side.
Jesse headed for the barn, wanting to be done. This was the last of it to come in. He set the crate of dishes on the table. It would be a shame to leave the painted plates stored away, and there was only one place he could picture them.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Jesse held up a dish for her to see. “I thought maybe you could use these.”
“Oh, they’re beautiful.” Kate wiped her hands on a towel as she hurried across the room. An excited smile brightened her face when she peered into the crate. Loosely packed straw, newspaper, and whatever had been found lying around the cabin served as padding between each dish. Kate dug through and pulled out another plate.
Jesse pulled out a saucer and cup. Nothing that he unpacked so far had gotten chipped or broken during the move.
Kate unwrapped and stacked up the set, and a mound of crumpled, dusty newspapers laced with strands of straw littered the floor around the table. “These should be saved for your bride. Kristy Short would make a fine wife. I like her very much.” She set a small tureen next to the matching base.
A flush rushed to Jesse’s face, and he was utterly lost for words. How had asking about dishes turned into talk of marriage? Come to think of it, he hadn’t mentioned ever meeting Shorty’s daughter to Kate.
There was a motherly sparkle in her eyes that made sweat bead up all over him. He believed she was already planning the wedding. Yeah, he wanted a family someday, but he didn’t want to be pressed about it. Sheriff Crosson, Jesse just discovered, had a big mouth.
Where was the sheriff? Jesse was relieved to have a reason to turn away from the pressure of Kate’s curiosity, and he peered into the kitchen. It was empty in there, but there were lots of places he could be. Jesse glanced over his shoulder. Not in the sitting room either. Maybe he was in his office. Or had he heard a noise and rushed upstairs to check on Nathanial?
All that crinkly paper and the noise of unpacking had distracted Jesse’s attention, especially with Kate yapping at him about saying I do. That wasn’t a good excuse though. He needed to keep his ears open for the least little suspicion. Tipsy had walked right up to the door of the house once before. That rat could do it again. It would be the last thing they’d expect. Maybe the sheriff went searching around the property.
“Nolan’s upstairs rocking Elizabeth to sleep.” Kate waved a hand in front of Jesse’s vacant stare.
He snapped to attention, and like any mother who had been ignored, she rolled her eyes. She’d caught him with his mind on something other than dishes or lifelong vows. “Sorry, Ma—” Jesse instantly caught his slip and corrected himself. “I mean ma’am.”
What the hell had he been thinking? Ma. Where had that come from? Too tired, talk of Kristy and marriage, and scolding himself for practically forgetting Tipsy while he unpacked so many memories—Jesse’s mind spun with all those thoughts, and his gaze dropped to the floor. He hoped Kate didn’t get upset with him. It wouldn’t do to irritate the missus, not after Jesse and the sheriff had just patched things up between them.
She rubbed Jesse’s arm, and he looked up. “You may call me either. Whatever you prefer. Just to let you know … I like the sound of ma.” She turned toward the matching dish set spread all over the table and those that were left in the crate. “Shall we get the rest of these unpacked?” Kate began to make room in the step-back cupboard.
“I think I’ll go scout around a bit.” Jesse pulled on his gloves. With the sheriff tending to family duties, Jesse should keep watch. Tipsy might be lurking near about.
He rode, scouring the woods that surrounded the house for sign of Tipsy, finding only deer tracks. Swinging his horse wide, Jesse trotted Dapple all throughout the orchard for one more look before he would return to the ranch.
“Jesse!” Sheriff Crosson hollered.
Jesse wildly spurred the Appaloosa into a run. Had he missed Tipsy’s trail? Had the killer slipped past and made fight at the house? Jesse hadn’t heard any gunfire.
Racing into the ranch yard, he found Sheriff Crosson standing on the porch, waiting with the Henry ready in his hands. Jesse held the Winchester on the level and had his finger on the trigger. “What is it? Tipsy?” Jesse jerked his reins, spinning the Appaloosa to look everywhere.
“Nathanial’s fever has gotten a whole lot worse. I need ya to ride into town and fetch Doc. You be careful. If Tipsy is watching, he may decide to lessen the odds against him.”
Jesse understood. He wouldn’t take the coach road. It was the straightest and fastest path, but riding through the orchard and taking the back trail to the wooden bridge at the edge of town would give him some tree cover. That was only a few minutes slower on a running horse. Jesse sank spurs.
Thankfully, Doc had been at home and not out on another house call. He proved himself to be one hell of a buggy driver, and they made fast time getting back to the ranch.
Jesse and the sheriff hit the trails while Doc was at the house with Kate and the children. Being a veteran of the war, he had dealt with worse than Tipsy and kept a loaded pistol in that black bag of his. After seeing Nate’s stitches, Doc had given the sheriff a confirming pat on the shoulder that said his loved ones would be safe.
Jesse rode west. Sheriff Crosson went south. Jesse found sign of a horse and rider, but wind had swept the snow, covering most of the tracks. It was no use. He couldn’t recognize if the markings were that of Tipsy’s mare or even how long the prints had been there. It could have just been someone hunting supper.
The sun was all but hidden behind the mountain, and the chilly air had started to take root in him. A wolf howled from somewhere on the ridge side. The Appaloosa stepped nervously, eager to be led in the direction of the barn.
“Easy, boy.” Jesse patted the horse’s neck.
He was better than three miles from the ranch, and the faint hoof prints that he’d followed that far were headed away from the Crosson home, not toward Nathanial. Maybe the sheriff had had better luck.
Turning his horse, Jesse headed toward home. Dapple’s ears perked up as they topped a rise. His snort set the hairs along Jesse’s neck to attention. The animal looked toward the tree line as the silhouette of a two-legged wolf dashed out from behind one tree to the next. Jesse rolled off his horse as he pulled his rifle. With a hard slap on the rump, Dapple shot off into the dark. A boom echoed through the night. Snowy dirt kicked up next to Jesse’s boot. He pitched himself behind the nearest tree. A bullet smacked the branch above his head. Bark speckled down onto his shoulders.
Dammit, Jesse couldn’t pinpoint that bastard. Too many black spots. Tipsy was hidden far enough back among those trees that Jesse couldn’t make out the silhouette even against the pale blanket of snow.
He held the Winchester ready and steadied his breathing. The Appaloosa had disappeared out of sight, and the night was suddenly too quiet.
Tipsy knew where Jesse was hunkered down. Staying in that spot made him a sitting duck, and Tipsy didn’t need help being deadly. He’d expect Jesse to work his way down the hill. Would Tipsy slither up and strike or wait in hiding down below?
Jesse eased up off the ground, keeping himself behind a tree. One, two, three … He ran a few long strides. A bullet zinged past him. He ducked behind an aspen and returned fire where Tipsy’s rifle charge had flashed. Taking a chance that Tipsy hadn’t repositioned himself somewhere else, Jesse pulled the trigger a second time. It was too dark to see if he’d hit anything. He squinted, but still, nothing took the form of a man.
A boom hit his ears as a lead ball ripped at the loose waist of his coat. Tipsy obviously had a fix on Jesse. He dove and rolled behind another tree. Flattened out on the ground, his elbow propped, he held the Winchester ready. Nothing moved through the dark in the open ground between himself and where the last charge had lit the night. A whistle like that of a freight train rumbled through the air as the wind kicked up.
Another sound carried faintly into Jesse’s ears. What was that? He turned. A horse running? It was hard to tell with the wind carrying on.
That would be one gutsy approach. Was Tipsy really that brave or stupid? Jesse wouldn’t miss a man coming straight at him, not even in the dark. He tilted his head slightly and looked down the sight of his rifle. His finger eased back on the trigger. After a few short breaths, nothing came out of the blackness.
A rifle blasted. The bright flash flamed along the same trail he’d followed into the meadow. A second burst echoed out of the tree line. A volley of gunfire thundered through the dark, but none of it was aimed at Jesse. It had to be Sheriff Crosson. Who else would be aiming at Tipsy?
Jesse jumped to his feet and blindly ran down the hillside while staying covered as best he could. A slick patch of snow suddenly threw his weight, and he stumbled until his boot toe caught a rock. It sent him rolling, losing hold of his rifle.
“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath and hurriedly looked about for the Winchester. Where was the blasted moonlight when he needed it? This was their chance to get Tipsy, and it might slip by. He rummaged about the ground in a frenzy, knees in the dirt as he spun every which way, tossing leaves and sticks. All at once Jesse became aware that he no longer heard the rifle battle.
He froze and waited for any sound carried on the wind. The clap of horse hooves hitting the ground as it walked slowly closer sent a shot of alarm down his spine. Was that Sheriff Crosson or Tipsy?
On all fours, Jesse backed slowly away. There under his hand was the metal barrel of the Winchester. He lifted the rifle without making a noise and readied himself, now in a crouch and easing up inch by inch until he stood tall.
A dark form that he knew was a horse and rider began to take shape before his eyes. Jesse squinted, thinking it looked to be the sheriff. But he wasn’t going to chance being wrong. Taking careful aim, he eased back on the trigger ever so slightly. Whoever that was didn’t hesitate one bit and kept coming closer.
“You aimin’ to shoot me, son?” The sheriff’s deep voice and steady pace forward brought details of the man and horse to light.
Jesse let out a low whistle. Then Tipsy came again front and center into Jesse’s mind. “Did ya git that sumbitch?”
Sheriff Crosson gave Jesse a hand, pulling him up so they sat double on the bay. “Not this time. Did he git you?”
Jesse poked a finger through the bullet hole in his coat, showing the sheriff. “Nope. Almost only counts in horseshoes.”
They both grinned.
Jesse had paced the floor most of the night. The poor boy restlessly moaned and coughed through each minute of every hour. Jesse had gone in that room a few times to check and found both the sheriff and the missus hovered over the child. There was nothing he could do but roll around in his mind where Tipsy might be waiting.
Come first light, Jesse had taken to the trails but saw nothing that would lead him to the outlaw, not even a drop of blood. He’d returned to the house discouraged and overcome with impatience.
He swallowed down his coffee, his hands warm again. Sheriff Crosson leaned heavily against the wall as he stood watch at the window. Dark circles lined that worried father’s tired eyes. He couldn’t leave Nathanial, but Jesse could go for another look.
“I’m gonna saddle up and ride the ridge side to the west. It won’t be hard to spot fresh tracks in the new snow.”
The sheriff raised a brow and smirked as if he knew something Jesse didn’t. “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin’?”
“I don’t think so.” Jesse touched the pistol strapped on his hip, the Winchester gripped in his other hand, and he had plenty of extra ammo in his saddlebags. If it came to him, he was ready for a fight. Tipsy wouldn’t slip over a hill or into the dark this time.
The sheriff shook his head and chuckled. “The lamb dinner Kristy Short is preparing for your visit?”
“Dammit.” No way could Jesse leave, not now, not with both the sheriff and Kate tending to Nate around the clock. He was needed right there. “I shouldn’t have told Mr. Short I’d go.”
“Nonsense. Go have supper.” The sheriff waved Jesse off. “You’re expected. Besides, I think I can handle watching over my family for one night without ya.”
“That ain’t what I meant.” Jesse honestly didn’t know a tougher man. He was just tense as of late. Nate’s cough had sounded gunkier the last time Jesse had been upstairs, and worry kept him from getting any sound sleep. On top of all that, Tipsy seemed to have disappeared.
Sheriff Crosson patted Jesse’s shoulder with a kind of fatherly wisdom that conveyed he knew exactly what should be done. “Settle yourself. You best go git slickered up. Arriving last minute to the table ain’t no way to impress the cattle princess.”
“Suppose not.” Jesse bashfully smiled.
When they weren’t on the trails, the sheriff spent every minute he could with his family, not just protecting them. It genuinely radiated what was most important—a true family man. And Jesse had thought he was only learning how to be a good lawman. It seemed the sheriff was teaching him much more than that.
“Well, git goin’.” Sheriff Crosson playfully booted at Jesse’s behind.
Jesse took the steps by twos. He poured water out of the pitcher into the porcelain basin, splashed his face, scrubbed his hands, and slicked down that pesky cowlick on the back of his head. When he changed into his wrinkled spare shirt, he wished he would’ve asked Kate to press the thing. What were the chances that Kristy would notice? Women seemed to have eyes for such details. Feeling a might uncomfortable, he unfastened the top button and breathed a little easier.
Should he wear a bow tie to supper? He didn’t have one, and there was nothing he could do about it now. A look over himself, and some of Jesse’s confidence ran right out the door. He brushed his pants as clean as he could get them. A quick spit shine of his dirty boots might help his appearance. Kristy surely wouldn’t fault him for being a working man.
In the kitchen, he found Kate. “Ma’am, how do I look?”
She turned from the oven, an amused grin spreading across her face, matched with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. “Is that what you’re planning on wearing to supper?”
Jesse nodded, feeling heat in his cheeks.
“I ain’t letting you out of this house all wrinkled, and your pants are dirty. I could’ve washed your clothes had you told me earlier.” Her amusement had contorted into a frown, her good-humored eyes chastising his absentmindedness.
Sheriff Crosson walked in and poured himself coffee. Jesse looked over, pleading silently for help. This man who had shared fatherly advice earlier shrugged. It seemed Jesse was on his own, only he hadn’t gotten there by himself. “Thanks for reminding me.” Jesse clapped the sheriff’s shoulder.
Kate’s hands went to her hips. “You don’t forget supper with a girl’s family. That’s important.” She turned him around and guided him back up the stairs. “I bought Nolan a suit that he only wore once or twice. It’s clean and starched. You can wear that.” She pulled the handsome dark blue suit from a drawer, every piece neatly folded, including the tie.
It seemed too fancy for dinner. Jesse stepped back. “My clothes are fine, ma’am. Honest.”
“I insist, young man.” She sternly wagged a motherly finger at him. “The suit will be a hair big, not enough that it will take from how handsome you are.” Kate thrust the suit at him. Her lips twisted in a way that told him she was ready to counter any argument he might have. She must have really meant that he wasn’t taking a step out of this house without changing.
As Jesse walked downstairs for the second time, he felt a little too fancy and tugged at his collar. He’d never worn a suit before. Kate had been right about the fit. It was pretty good. He was of a stout size for his age.
“Whew-wee.” The sheriff gave a loud, laughing call. “You look like a city dude.”
Jesse’s face warmed. “Remind me … Whose suit is it that I’m wearin’?”
Kate eyed him, then straightened his tie. “You look very handsome. Kristy will be so smitten with your good looks.”
Those tears of pride in her eyes made Jesse think of his ma, who had enjoyed a little lighthearted teasing from time to time. Kate was so much like her, always doting on her kids, and for some reason he could tell she considered him one. He liked it.
Jesse brushed off his shoulders and grinned. “I ain’t gittin’ hitched. It’s just one supper.”
“Hush.” Her voice was gentle.
“Honestly, I am a little nervous. I ain’t ever courted a girl.” Jesse straightened the suit coat. For his sixteenth birthday, the boys at the Seven-C had bought him a whore in some cow town along the trail. There’d been no fancy clothes, meal, or nice talk in that smelly little room that held nothing but a dirty mattress on the floor and flies buzzing at the window. But that wasn’t a story to be shared with Mrs. Crosson.
Sheriff Crosson’s chuckles interrupted them. “Jesse only ever courted the gray-face mare.” He slapped his knee, and more laughter bounced off the walls.
“Bite your tongue,” Kate snapped. Her mama-bear claws were showing.
“I second that.” Jesse smirked as if he had won the battle, thanks to Kate. Though he knew by the sheriff’s shitty grin that the remark was only meant in fun.
The clock chimed. It was nearly time for Jesse to get going. Otherwise, he would be late.
What he needed before he left was some real advice. “What do I do once I git there?”
Sheriff Crosson burst out laughing. “Boy, I didn’t know you were that backward. Pick up your fork and eat whatever she puts in front of you even if it’s burned black. Supper ain’t that hard to figure out.”
Kate huffed. “Quit teasing. I don’t think you’re funny.” She turned her back on the sheriff, whose shoulders shook as he tried to contain his amusement. Kate smiled sweetly while straightening Jesse’s tie once more. “After Kristy places the food on the table, you should stand and pull out her chair. Once she is seated, then seat yourself for the meal. A few small compliments about her cooking couldn’t hurt, or maybe say something nice about her hair or the dress she’s wearing.”
Jesse nodded. This was all good stuff. “Should I give her flowers or some kind of gift?”
The sheriff loudly cleared his throat, and it worked to draw their attention. “You can pack her a good wet snowball. There’s plenty on the ground outside.” Sheriff Crosson’s snickers once again filled the room.
Jesse wanted to nicely tell the sheriff to shut up, that he’d been talking to Kate. Darn it, this was serious. Any little thought of Kristy made his heart thump, and he didn’t want to mess up even one part of the evening with the Shorts.
Kate humorlessly rolled her eyes. “Nolan, please … Just take the broth I made for Nate upstairs. Go on, shoo.” She waved away her other half. “You shouldn’t be ribbing Jesse like that. You’ll have his nerves all worked up.”
“I’m sure supper will be just fine.” The sheriff offered an assuring grin and patted Jesse on the shoulder with a hardy confidence.
Jesse nodded, but he wasn’t so sure.
Sheriff Crosson then took his leave into the kitchen.
“I have the perfect gift.” A wide smile spread across Kate’s face. She hurriedly went to the step-back cupboard in the dining room, pulled open a drawer, and produced a small square cloth. “I found this folded between your ma’s linens when I was putting them away.” She handed Jesse the delicately stitched piece of satin material just as the sheriff walked through with a steaming bowl of broth and a spoon in his hands.
Sheriff Crosson stretched his neck and eyed the piece on his way past. “That’s much better than a snowball.” He winked at Jesse, and the missus swatted at her husband. The sheriff disappeared up the steps.
Jesse stared while he fingered the embroidered handkerchief. Ma had been good with her needlework. The gift was perfect. “Thank you, ma’am.”
He pulled on his coat, straightening himself with a confidence that this evening would be special, but Kate’s puzzled frown stalled him.
“Couldn’t you just carry the rifle on your horse? That pistol strapped to your waist takes from the look of the suit.” She tilted her head to one side then the other as she inspected him from top to bottom.
He grinned. Women. “If I happen upon Tipsy, I’m gonna be ready.” Jesse knew she understood the reasoning. She’d stitched closed the bullet hole in his coat, and who could forget that long line of stitches across Nate’s back? “I’d like to check on Nathanial before I go.”
The half-pint sat propped up on a stack of pillows and sipped at the broth with help.
“Why are you dressed like a city dude?” The kid’s nose wrinkled up.
Dang, that little voice was pitifully hoarse, barely a whisper, and Jesse found himself rubbing at his own throat as if somehow that would help. The half-pint eyed the fancy duds as if he’d never seen such a silly getup, which made Sheriff Crosson chuckle. Jesse couldn’t help but smile. He’d forgotten what family felt like. Before Pa’s thieving ways had choked the life out of Ma and separated the family on the sides of right and wrong, there had been a few good times.
“Go back to sleep.” He waved at the kid and headed for the door.
The full moon brightly lit the coach road. There must have been at least a thousand stars twinkling above him. Gray Rock was quiet as Jesse crossed over the bridge into town. Out front of Pete’s place stood several horses at the rail. A man strolled out with a bottle in his hand, thick shadows hiding his features. All Jesse could see was the red glow of a cigarette. The bootsteps stopped, and that sense of being watched tickled the back of his neck. An uneasiness filled the air. It was probably just some drunk cowboy, and Jesse was being paranoid for no reason. So why had he instinctively pulled his rifle? The Winchester lay across his lap with the mean end aimed at that red ember. The fella ducked into the alleyway.
Jesse wasn’t going to follow right after and run straight into what felt like trouble. He jerked the reins, jabbed his spurs into Dapple’s belly, and swiftly skirted several buildings that led him past the back door of the saloon. He no sooner charged into the alleyway than a gray horse slammed into the Appaloosa head-on. Both animals reared, and Tipsy toppled backward off his horse. Jesse hung on tight as his horse bucked and carried on as the mare reared again and kicked out with front legs.
Tipsy sprang up holding the Colts. Jesse pitched himself as flame shot from the ends of the .45s. Only, Jesse’s foot slipped, and he hit the ground with one leg hung up in the stirrup. Tipsy had missed killing him, but the bullet skimmed the shoulder of his horse. Dapple shot off, dragging him thumping over frozen ground while holding tight to his rifle.
“Whoa there.” Orris came out of the outhouse waving his hands.
The Appaloosa skidded to a halt. Jesse rolled over with his boot twisted up in the stirrup. He took aim as Tipsy’s pistol cracked and dirt kicked up in Jesse’s face. He squeezed the trigger. Tipsy grabbed his leg, and he and the gray mare raced past. Tipsy was out of sight before Jesse had his foot untwisted and out of the stirrup.
Orris gave him a hand up. A crowd of people flooded from their homes, holding candles and lanterns, and gawked questioningly. Men who had been in the saloon soon surrounded Jesse. Pete, that fat slob, was one of them.
Jesse grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the street toward the jailhouse. Sheriff Crosson had showed Tipsy’s picture everywhere in town. It was an odd man who didn’t frequent a saloon now and then, and Tipsy had brass waltzing into town.
The crowd followed. In hushed tones, people asked each other what had happened.
Jesse shoved Pete’s face into the poster of Tipsy tacked to the outside wall. “That bastard just walked out of your bar.”
“I serve a lot of people who’re just passing through. I don’t ask names.” Pete’s face was pressed tight against the paper.
“Well, let me clarify. That crazy man has tried more than once to gun down Nathanial Crosson.” Jesse tore Pete away from the wall and let him fly.
Pete stumbled back, arms flailing, and fell off the boardwalk into the onlookers. Two men hesitantly helped the barkeep off his ass.
Jesse looked out over all the shocked faces, not hiding his agitation. “If anyone sees a hair of that man again…” He lifted the end of his rifle, pointing in the direction Tipsy had disappeared. “You best hightail your ass out to the Crosson ranch and fetch me or the sheriff.” Jesse stepped off the boardwalk, and those who had huddled in the street parted. He brushed off his slacks as he headed for his horse.
When Jesse arrived at the Short house, his stomach was doing flips. It wasn’t what had happened in town or that he’d filthied his clothes that had his nerves riled. He checked inside the pocket of his coat for the tenth time. The gift was still there. Taking a deep breath, he stepped down from the saddle and recited to himself what all Kate had told him to do.
Kristy swung open the door before Jesse had a foot planted on the porch steps. Her hair hung over her shoulders in big, loose curls. The sunny-yellow dress she wore complimented her creamy complexion. Jesse was a right lucky man to have caught her eye.
He smiled. “You sure do look pretty.”
She bashfully looked away. He thought it cute how her face had colored.
He could have been content to stand there in the cold and gaze at her all night. Then he remembered the gift and reached into his pocket. “This was my ma’s.”
Kristy unfolded the material and traced her finger along the delicate stitches. “It’s beautiful. I love it.” She linked her arm with his, and they walked inside.
Kristy led the way to the table where Shorty sat, holding a cigar between his lips and reading a newspaper. Mrs. Short walked into the room, waving the smoke out of the air and then smacked Shorty on the arm. The burly cattleman hopped to his feet.
“You already know Pa, and this is my ma.” With one piercing look from her ma, Kristy let go of his arm as if he were on fire.
Jesse removed his hat and nodded. Shorty grinned and gave Jesse a friendly pat on the shoulder. Mrs. Short forced a small smile, but there was no hiding the stern look of distrust in her squinting dark eyes. It was true he wasn’t a preacher’s son, and maybe plucking himself out of the dirt a few times showed through on him. He was far from being a refined gentleman, but he wasn’t as rough as some.
Mrs. Short wedged her way between Jesse and Kristy. Shorty stood there puffing on his cigar and let Jesse fend for himself. Mrs. Short stared at the hole in the knee of Jesse’s slacks, along with the dirt and the wetness he’d accumulated from being dragged across the ground.
“Sorry I’m late. I fell off my horse.” It was half the truth. Jesse thought he probably shouldn’t bring up that he’d just been in a gunfight. That would certainly be a strong first impression, maybe not such a good one.
Mrs. Short continued to eye him up and down for a minute. Jesse removed his holster. Maybe that would help her opinion of him. Although Shorty wore a short barrel. Though it wasn’t strapped on his waist tonight.
Mrs. Crosson’s mother bear story popped into Jesse’s head, and he was glad for her advice on dinner etiquette. Mrs. Short was just being protective, perhaps overly so. The way that woman scrutinized his every breath, if he did make one mistake at dinner, she might toss him out on his ear. He fiddled with the brim of his hat.
A younger girl with a warm, sweet smile who looked much like Kristy walked in from the kitchen while wiping her hands on her apron.
Kristy slipped an arm lovingly around the other girl’s shoulders. “This is my sister, Hattie.”
He gave a nod. Hattie then disappeared back into the kitchen.
Kristy pointed to the boys bumping off the furniture as they tussled into the room. “And you’ve met my brothers.”
“Howdy, boys. You’re both looking slick.” Everyone had dressed in their best.
“Why didn’t ya bring Nate with ya?” Norman stopped goofing around. Lenny shoved him out of the way and rushed toward the table.
“He’s sick.”
After a few seconds of quiet disappointment, Norman took chase after his brother. Kristy seated Jesse to the right of Shorty, who of course sat at the head of the table. He tried to fold the paper, but the seams weren’t matched up, and he glared at the crooked pages with loathsome contempt. Norman thumped into his seat next to Lenny, and the two began thumb wrestling. Kristy followed her ma into the kitchen.
The table had been properly set with fine painted china, crystal goblets, and polished silverware. Jesse’s big hands weren’t usually klutzy, but with nerves worked up tight, what if he broke something? That sure as hell wouldn’t gain him any points with Mrs. Short. Maybe Mr. Short could give him a few quick pointers on how to win over the missus. Jesse looked over.
Shorty wore a wide, silly grin and chuckled. “Nice suit.”
Yeah, Jesse had been ribbed enough about the damn suit. He pulled at the collar and loosed his tie. “It ain’t mine. Mrs. Crosson made me wear it.”
Shorty straightened his vest and jacket. “This is Mrs. Short’s doing. I’m most comfortable in my everyday wares. I feel like an uptight city dude.”
“I hear ya.” Jesse nodded, then looked about to see if any of the ladies were within earshot. “Suits are for Sunday, not supper.”
“I like your thinking, son.” Shorty clapped Jesse’s shoulder.
Kristy breezed into the room, carrying a large platter of meat, and brought with her the many delicious smells from the kitchen. Following behind with a tureen of greens and potatoes were Hattie and Mrs. Short, who had a large bowl of filling in one hand and managed to steady a plate of buttery corn on the cob in the other hand.
“Everything smells real good.” Jesse couldn’t stop smiling at Kristy, and she sweetly returned his affection.
Remembering suddenly what Kate had told him, he stood and pulled out a chair. Kristy gathered the hem of her dress and sat next to him. He then eased her into the table. After she had made herself comfortable, he sat and caught sight of an approving wink. Shorty beamed at his wife as if to say I told ya so. Mrs. Short also had a smile on her face. Only, her toothy grin gave the impression of surprise.
Jesse did have manners. There wasn’t much call for polite how-do-you-dos while he’d lived in a bunkhouse, so his manners got tucked away for a time. But shit, he hadn’t completely forgotten. He unfolded his napkin and tucked it into his collar. Shorty grinned, and his eyes pointedly shifted down. That’s when Jesse took notice that everyone else had spread their napkins out on their laps. He humbly did the same.
Shorty said a quick blessing, and then the vittles were passed. Jesse wasn’t holding back his appetite and filled his plate for a second time. He hoped he wasn’t making a hog of himself. It didn’t seem like it because Shorty had just reached for another leg of lamb, and the two boys had their faces sunk in their plates and hadn’t come up for air yet. Hattie, who was seated next to Mrs. Short, ate quietly and had just sopped a thick piece of bread into the gravy that covered her potatoes. Kristy was still smiling, though she picked at her food. That might have been because Mrs. Short stared across the table at the two of them through each teeth-gritting bite. Not even that could curb Jesse’s hunger or his happiness at sitting next to the most beautiful young lady in Gray Rock.
Jesse took a big bite of meat. “I think your cooking is almost as good as Mrs. Crosson’s.”
The table fell silent. Not a fork clinked. Sweat sprang up on Jesse’s forehead, and he quickly realized his mistake. It wasn’t that he’d spoken with his mouth full. Though he shouldn’t have done that.
“I’m sorry.” He truly hadn’t meant the comparison as an insult.
A forgiving smile formed on Kristy’s lovely face. “I’ve eaten Mrs. Crosson’s cooking at a few church socials, and you’re right. She is very talented in the kitchen. I suppose, for now, I’ll settle for being second.” Her eyes sparkled, and Jesse wanted to taste those plump pink lips.
Their brief moment was interrupted by Lenny. “Did you and Sheriff Crosson catch the outlaw who shot at us when we were at the lake?” The boy leaned over his plate as if he wouldn’t hear what Jesse might say when there was only the width of table separating them.
Jesse looked at Shorty, who, with a nod, gave Jesse the go-ahead to answer.
“No, but we won’t stop huntin’ him. The sheriff and I will find Tipsy.” Jesse nodded with an ironclad assurance that it would be done.
Kristy clutched at his arm. “What if you get shot?”
He grinned and liked that she seemed to care so much. “Tipsy won’t be caught without a fight. So yeah, I could find my end with a bullet or two in me. I ain’t too worried though. I’m a better-than-fair shot with the Winchester.” He thought of earlier. Tipsy was bleeding after their little run-in in town. “I figure my chances of taking that bastard down first are damn good.” Jesse winced, sorry as soon as the words fell off his tongue.
Mrs. Short huffed loudly and threw down her napkin. Lenny and Norman instantly began to chuckle, and Kristy’s eyes had widened and become glassy. Hattie held her fork frozen midbite and just stared at Jesse as though he were some strange-tongued creature. Only Shorty nodded approval of Jesse’s thinking.
Mrs. Short wasn’t letting it go. “Young man, refrain yourself from using such profanity.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” He’d just lost any prior merit earned with Mrs. Short.
“No more talk of outlaws.” The bulky woman stood, pushing back her chair. She sharply took up her plate as well as Shorty’s.
Jesse’s shoulders sank with his spirit. Kristy’s tears were about to spill. The evening had gone to pot real quick, and Jesse alone held the blame for that.
“Girls, come help me serve dessert.” Mrs. Short marched off.
Supper hadn’t ended the way Jesse hoped. Shorty looked disappointed only in the fact that he’d had his plate ripped from his fingers.
Mrs. Short returned with Kristy and Hattie dutifully behind her. A small dessert plate holding a piece of crooked apple pie was smacked down on the table in front of him. Kristy slipped into her chair, her eyes on her dessert. Was she disgusted with him too, or had she gotten an earful in the kitchen about her choice of men?
Jesse ate his pie slowly and was afraid to say a word and perhaps get himself into more hot water. The lady of the house wore a sour frown. Jesse could have choked on the thick silence. The only noise in the room was an occasional clink of a fork and the sound of his chewing. Everyone but Shorty and the two boys seemed to have lost their appetites.
Talk of killing wasn’t for women and kids. Jesse had been a fool to speak the way he had and might have just lost his chance at a second supper. He swallowed the last of his coffee while trying hard to think of anything truly smart to say in hopes of turning this evening around.
“Join me for a drink?” Shorty wiped his mouth, then dropped his napkin over the piecrust left on his plate.
Jesse didn’t have to hear it twice. He was on his feet and following Shorty into the study as the ladies began to clear the table. He was thankful to escape the burning glare of the cattleman’s wife. Half in a sweat, Jesse wiped his palms on his pants. He’d rather face Tipsy nose to nose. There was less likelihood of him getting his head ripped off.
Shorty handed him a full glass of firewater. “You plannin’ on stayin’ in Gray Rock come spring?” For a first tonight, Shorty looked absolutely serious.
Jesse shrugged. He hadn’t thought on it much. Not wearing a badge anymore, he had nothing holding him there. He had told the kid he would go, but the boy hadn’t seemed excited either way.
“Let me put it to you this way, son. I ain’t blind. I can see how much my daughter is enjoyin’ your attention. I don’t want to see her heartsick when you leave the territory. You need to figure out where your future might be before you come callin’ on Kristy too many times. You’ll fill her with hopes and make her love for ya grow. I don’t want that trouble if you’re plannin’ on ridin’ off.”
Jesse threw back the rest of his drink, then set the glass on the desk. He nodded that he understood, and he did agree with Shorty’s thinking. Jesse had thought his future was in Gray Rock as deputy.
A soft knock sounded on the door before Kristy slipped in. “Pa, may Jesse and I sit and talk in the parlor?”
She took Jesse’s breath every time he laid eyes on her. His heart thumped.
“Jesse and I have some business first. Then yes, that’ll be fine. Excuse us for a few minutes, darlin’.” Shorty pulled a thick fold of papers from the top drawer of the desk.
Jesse had almost forgotten about the contract for the sale of the ranch. The cattleman poured them each another drink while Jesse read over the fine print. All looked to be in order as they had agreed. He penned his name, then lifted his glass.
“May your cattle herd grow fat, and I, sir, hope to find a better future for myself.” Finally Jesse felt as if he were completely on the right track, except he missed that badge.
Shorty launched into expansion plans now that the land was rightfully his. Jesse’s mind was elsewhere. He now possessed the means to start over—here in Gray Rock or somewhere else. He hadn’t decided yet. Maybe Kristy would be a big part of his future, as Kate had hinted. He liked to think so.
Shorty pointed him to where Kristy was waiting.
A lamp flickered atop a small table at one end of the settee where Kristy sat. The fire also gave a warm glow to the room. A large family portrait hung on a wall, and it seemed Jesse couldn’t shake that stern stare of Mrs. Short’s. Jesse chuckled to himself. His happiness made him too at ease. He relaxed down and slipped an arm around Kristy’s shoulders.
“Pa said you might move on come spring?” Her lips turned down in a small pout.
It was a complicated question that he didn’t have a firm answer to. “Maybe.”
“I thought about it myself. Ma has family back east that would take me in. Seeing the city, meeting new people, it would all be so exciting.” Kristy’s face lit up as though she could see all the tall buildings and crowds of people right in front of her.
“Ain’t you happy here?” Jesse’s face turned sour, knowing she would attract men like bees to a sweet flower. “You don’t need to be traipsin’ off across the country away from your family.” The thought of another man looking at her or, worse, maybe touching her drove Jesse straight mad. He practically frothed at the mouth.
“Why, Jesse, are you jealous?” She batted her long dark lashes and scooted closer.
He was taken aback. It seemed forward, considering this was his first invitation for the two of them to keep company. True it was, though he didn’t want to admit it and look like a smitten fool. Jesse straightened and rolled his shoulders a bit to relax, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume. Her eyes twinkled, her grin sheepish. She was darn good at teasing and knew damn well he was bothered.
Mrs. Short marched into the room. “Coffee?” She carried a silver serving tray that held a matching pitcher and cups, and those dark, glowering eyes landed directly on Jesse.
“No, thank you, ma’am.” He squirmed a little under that loathsome glare that seemed to say he wasn’t good enough for her daughter.
She stood with feet hip-width apart and just stared at them until Kristy slid over and opened a gap of about a foot between them. Then Mrs. Short about-faced and left with the tray.
“Your ma sure don’t like me none.” Jesse smoothed the legs of his pants.
“It ain’t that. It’s silly. The truth is Ma likes Sheriff Crosson well enough but thinks him to be sort of a roughneck. You being his deputy, well … Ma’s worried you might not behave like a proper young gentleman. That foul talk at supper certainly didn’t help her think otherwise.”
Jesse chuckled. “I know how to treat a lady. As for what I said … Your ma’s right. I need to clean up my filthy mouth.”
“I trust you.” Kristy closed the distance between them once again.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” His heart pounded. They’d been trusted to sit alone, and he wouldn’t disrespect the Shorts by trying to kiss their daughter. She wasn’t a tramp, and he didn’t want to scare her off.
Kristy remained sitting close, and Jesse was grateful they weren’t interrupted as she looked at him with her pretty eyes. Being alone with her, the possibilities for their future came easy to him. He didn’t want this night to end.
Shorty walked into the room, looking at his pocket watch, and Jesse cursed under his breath for jinxing himself.
“It’s getting late.” Shorty snapped the watch shut.
Jesse understood clearly and had no intention of overstaying his welcome. He wanted to keep on her pa’s good side.
Kristy and her folks walked him to the door.
He strapped on his holster before donning his coat. “Thanks for having me.” Jesse nodded at both Shorty and the missus.
“Pa, may I walk Jesse to his horse?”
With Mr. Short’s nod of approval, they stepped outside together, and Mrs. Short closed the door behind them with a slight bang. They strolled to where his horse was tied as if it were a Sunday afternoon, and for the moment the cold didn’t seem to bother either of them.
Jesse was about to say good night when suddenly Kristy’s lips brushed quickly against his. Her warm breath caressed his face as the two of them stood close and smiled at one another. Her beautiful green eyes sparkled, and a full wave of fresh new life washed over Jesse. Kristy was a dream.
“Good night.” She turned and hurried into the house.
Jesse pulled his coat collar up around his neck, stepped into the saddle, then turned his horse toward home. He was in love.
Half an hour later, Jesse was almost home when a horse blew in the dark behind him. He spun Dapple and sprang the Winchester into his grip. The moonlight had all but gone away behind the clouds. The roadway was empty, other than flurries silently touching down. A pistol blasted. Jesse grabbed at his neck under his ear. Blood oozed through his fingers. He damn near dropped the Winchester but somehow managed to keep hold.
The dark figure of a horse and rider lunged out of the tree line. A maniacal laugh cut through the icy air. Jesse swung his rifle up at the same time Tipsy’s Colt cracked. Sparks flew off the barrel of the Winchester, which had almost been ripped from his hands on impact. He took a quick aim and squeezed the trigger. Tipsy screeched and flung backward in the saddle. Two full-length strides and the mare, carrying Tipsy, dashed into the trees.
Jesse madly sank spurs.
The Appaloosa weaved through the thicket of evergreens at a fast pace not twenty yards behind the mare. Something crashed out of the bushes. Dapple was knocked sideways, and Jesse went flying. He hit the ground with a hard thud. For a second or two, he couldn’t breathe. He sat up quick. The high-flickering white tail of a deer waved goodbye as it kept running. The charging horses and the gunfire must have spooked the animal, and it had jumped right into him. Dapple stood a few yards away and shook his head as if to say Forget it and let’s go home.
Jesse was glad when he got inside and out of the cold night. The house was mostly dark except for the soft firelight and the pale glow of a lamp coming from Nathanial’s room at the top of the stairs.
After Jesse hung up his hat, he shucked his coat. His neck had stiffened up, and fresh red spotted his fingertips each time he touched at his wound. All was quiet, including the yard, orchard, and around the barn. He had double-checked all those places before coming inside. He picked up a kitchen rag on his way to make certain the rear door had been locked. None of them had slept much lately, and mistakes could happen. Good, the bar was in place, and he’d locked the front door after coming in. But he would verify again just to make sure that bar was secure before going upstairs.
The first thing he wanted to do was check on his partner. It wasn’t a surprise that the Henry stood against the side table within quick reach of Sheriff Crosson. The half-pint restlessly groaned, and Jesse’s focus went straight to that sweaty red face.
“Nate’s fever gettin’ worse?”
“No, just holdin’ … How was dinner?” The sheriff draped a wet cloth over the kid’s brow. He’d glanced when Jesse walked in, but now he looked harder. His brow furrowed, and he sprang up. Stained red, the rag Jesse held against his neck had grabbed the sheriff’s full attention. Before Jesse could explain, Sheriff Crosson wrenched his head to one side and got his nose in there for a long look.
“Ain’t as bad as it might seem. You won’t need stitches. Keep pressure on it though.” Sheriff Crosson released his grip. “Did ya git him?”
Jesse confidently smirked. “Sure did. I hope to pick up his blood trail in the morning, if the snow don’t cover it. Sorry about your suit.” There had to be blood on the collar, and he’d hit the ground in it more than once tonight.
“I don’t give a damn about the suit.” The sheriff proudly squeezed Jesse’s arm, then sat down again on the edge of the bed.
Nate listlessly turned onto his side. Those peepers stayed closed. Sheriff Crosson readjusted the wet cloth. Quietly Jesse pulled up a chair and happily shared the eventful evening with the Short family from beginning to end.
Sheriff Crosson chuckled. “You ain’t supposed to kiss and tell, but I’m mighty glad you’ve finally ended your love affair with the swayback mare. Kristy is a sight prettier.”
Jesse laughed too, then stood. His neck had stopped bleeding, but still, he carried the towel with him just in case it started again while he was in bed.
Jesse woke, dressed, and almost skipped downstairs. He still wore a big smile and thought of Kristy and that see-ya-later kiss. He needed coffee to get his head spun around straight. Just as he sat down, Kate breezed in from the kitchen and served him a plate of hot flapjacks covered in maple syrup. One deep breath and the thick buttery smell filled Jesse’s nostrils. His mouth watered for that first bite, and he damn near slobbered on himself. He forked a big hunk into his mouth and then another.
“I think you’re right, ma’am.”
Kate raised a brow, waiting for him to swallow. Maybe with all the chewing, she hadn’t understood.
He washed down what was left with a gulp of coffee. “I ain’t asked her, but Kristy is all a man would need in a wife.”
Kate smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m glad supper went so well.” She suddenly chuckled. “I do hope you used better manners than you show here at home.” She playfully swatted at the back of his hair as if giving him a smack on the behind.
“Yes, Ma.” Jesse shoved in another giant bite and displayed a wide, toothy smile like an ornery kid.
Kate shook her head and laughed.
Her face suddenly sobered, and she cocked her head. “What is that?” Her fingers pressed in around the wound on his neck.
“Ma, I’m fine, really.” He shoved another bite into his jib.
Kate left it at that. The sheriff joined them then, and judging by the circles under his eyes, the man was plumb beat.
Sheriff Crosson slumped into a chair, sluggishly banging his elbow on the table, and held his head up with a hand. His noggin rolled wearily to the side, and one corner of his mouth turned up. “Don’t you start calling me pa.”
“Yes, sir.” Jesse chuckled. “You goin’ out huntin’ Tipsy today?” Jesse reached for another flapjack off the stack, figuring by the looks of the sheriff that he wouldn’t be able to hunt his socks out of a drawer.
The sheriff shook his head. “Kate can’t be nursing Nathanial, taking care of Elizabeth, and watching the windows for Tipsy.”
Not a word had been spoken of pinning the deputy’s badge back on Jesse. Someone should be in charge while the boy lay sick and the sheriff stayed behind and protected his family. Jesse was slightly irked when he left the house. After their talk last night, Sheriff Crosson knew Jesse had every intention of hunting Tipsy.
For three days, Jesse’s routine was unchanged. Sleep a few hours, wake and eat, then ride and hunt Tipsy. In the evening, he’d read any book Nathanial picked, and that gave the sheriff and Kate a rest from caretaking. Nate’s fever hadn’t come down yet, and the constant shine of tears in Kate’s eyes … Jesse didn’t know how much more of a worrisome load she could handle.
It wasn’t his duty, but he also looked in on the town each day. A strong sense to guard the families that made up this community had come over him since Sheriff Crosson had been stuck at home. Jesse’s thoughts were aiming more and more on settling down with Kristy.
He stepped down and made a slipknot with the reins at the rail in front of the hotel. Nothing beat Kate’s cooking, but Jesse had missed lunch and didn’t want to eat the slop at the saloon. The restaurant inside always served a fine meal.
The owner, Mr. Henry, burst out through the door, stopping on the boardwalk, chest puffed out. He shoved on his coat.
“Deputy Adams.” Mr. Henry wagged a finger. He was a slender, bulgy-eyed fella with a balding crown, barely as tall as Jesse’s shoulders. “I have four customers threatening to leave the hotel if something ain’t done about the loud all-night racket coming out of the saloon. Orris ain’t playing music. We all know he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. He’s making us sober folks wish we were deaf. What are you going to do about it?” He poked Jesse’s chest with a finger.
Jesse held back a smirk. This certainly wasn’t a side of the usually mousy fella that he’d ever seen. It was downright amusing. He had half a notion to let this snorting bull charge. Except Pete kept a sawed-off shotgun under the bar.
“I ain’t gonna lose good-paying customers. I’ll take care of the matter myself if I have to.” Neck red, hands balled up, the man had himself talked into a fight.
Jesse patted Mr. Henry’s shoulder. “Settle yourself. I’ll go talk to Pete.”
Mr. Henry nodded irritably. Wrinkles caused by inward fury continued to seam his brow. After a quick about-face, he marched into the hotel.
Jesse’s stomach grumbled. Getting a cup of hot coffee and grub would have to wait.
He strolled up to the bar where Pete had just spit on a cloth and began wiping out a glass. Pete Schrum was a sweaty fella with beady dark eyes and slick black hair, always in need of a bath. It would take only a sniff for Jesse’s stomach to turn.
He leaned an elbow against the bar and grinned friendly enough at Pete. For certain, day or night, he could always be found wearing a grumbling expression, and he glared at Jesse now like he’d rather punch him in the face. Maybe he was still pissed about the other night. Being forgiving wasn’t what Pete was known for. On any day, his mean temper and sharp tongue were unrestrained. At the moment, Jesse could see both of Pete’s hands. He had used his shotgun before and was fast for being a toad.
“You want something?” Spittle sprayed though his gritted teeth and speckled Jesse.
Jesse rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, sir, I do. I want you to keep the noise down at night when folks at the hotel are tryin’ to sleep.”
Laughter boomed inside the room. “Go to hell. If they don’t like the music, let ’em sleep somewheres else.” Pete dropped the cloth, his hands flat on the bar. Those beady eyes narrowed as he leaned forward into Jesse’s face. “Git out of my saloon.”
Jesse straightened to his full height. He wasn’t afraid of Pete, but he didn’t want to fight the man either. Last time he’d lost his temper and took a swing, that fight had turned to guns and the doc had been killed. Jesse liked Pete well enough on a Saturday night. Other than badly watering down the whiskey, then charging top price for rotgut, he wasn’t too much trouble.
“I won’t repeat myself.” Jesse’s voice hammered down strong and steady. “If I hear one more complaint…” He thought a moment. “I’ll slap a fifty-dollar fine on ya for disturbing the peace.” He’d set the amount high to make Pete think twice before letting the nightlife get too far out of hand. Fifty dollars was a lot of money for most folks, and the customers at the hotel would likely be moving on in a day or two. Pete could keep the noise down for a short time.
But what in tarnation was Jesse thinking? He’d just threatened a fine that he held no authority to impose. Sheriff Crosson might throw him in a cell right next to Pete.
A big slimy gob of mucus flew through Pete’s lips and splattered Jesse’s chin.
He stumbled back while wiping feverishly at his face. How stupid to have let his mind stray while facing this gritty bastard. Apparently the push of the fifty-dollar fine had been too hard. Jesse might just make it a hundred. He grabbed Pete by a wad of shirt collar and, with one heave, cartwheeled him over the bar and flat on his back onto a table. Cards and tokens that waited for a game flew up, the table flipped and tumbled, and Pete crashed against the floor.
Jesse hunkered down next to the barrel-chested man who wheezed with each breath. He tapped hard with a finger in the center of Pete’s forehead. “Fifty dollars if I come back here. And if you don’t pay, I’ll throw your ass in jail.” It was a threat he couldn’t uphold, but Pete didn’t know Jesse wasn’t wearing a badge under his coat.
He stood and offered a hand. Begrudgingly, Pete accepted and got pulled to his feet. Could Jesse be any more of a fool? Hell, he wasn’t even getting paid a deputy’s salary for the ache that now pounded in his head. This day surely couldn’t get any worse … could it?
He pushed through the swinging doors, nearly forgetting the reason he’d stopped off in town—for a coffee to warm himself and some vittles to quiet his hunger pains. Now something worse gnawed at him. He would have to explain the fight with Pete to Sheriff Crosson before someone else did.
He quickly decided to ride the south trails. Prints from the gray mare often went that direction. Jesse pulled on his gloves. That ride would be long, and he was already feeling miserable. Sheriff Crosson hadn’t given any clue that he might be thinking about pinning the deputy’s badge back on Jesse. If he was stewing on it, then today Jesse probably ruined his chance by taking liberties.
“Hello, Deputy Adams.” Ned from the telegraph office walked along the boardwalk.
Jesse nodded politely. For whatever reason, seeing Ned reminded him that the stagecoach was due today. If he were back to town in time, he could pick up the sheriff’s newspaper.