At the ravine, Van pointed out the scarred and scraped earth and stripped grass where he’d found Kit.
The body lay where Van had left him. The sheriff lifted the rain slicker, nudged the body over on its side, and squatted down to get a better look. “I think I know this fella, seen his face on a wanted poster. Donald Kramer, younger brother to Lyle. Lyle’s a fancy dresser, all black right down to his boots and hat. The flyer says they cheat at cards and they’re wanted for cattle rustling in Wasco County. I think there’s a reward,” he said to Van, his bushy salt and pepper brows arched.
Nodding, Van offered no comment about the reward. If there were one, he’d give it to Kit. He shook his head to dislodge the problem of the reward and save it for later. “The other one, Lyle, I guess, if that’s his name, he’s up at camp. I left him tied to a wagon wheel. I hope he’s still there. I left Mrs. Miller in charge.”
They started up the hill, and the sheriff asked, “The girl, she’s in good enough shape to answer questions?”
∙•∙
“I’ll fix your hair, shall I?” Ollie asked, entering Melody’s wagon huffing and in a hurry.
“Why?” Melody asked, backing away from the hairbrush in Ollie’s hand.
“Well, Jerry says the sheriff’s gonna talk to you. And Van will be with him.”
“So? My hair doesn’t need brushing to answer questions.”
“It most certainly does. There’s grass in the rat’s nest on your head. Now, I’ll braid it nice and get it off your neck.” She’d already started, her strokes smooth and sure.
Eyes watering, Melody sucked in her breath when Ollie gave her hair a yank to release a particularly difficult knot. “Take it easy; I’ve got a bump back there.”
Ollie sucked in her breath. “Sorry, so you have. I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t care what I look like. And I doubt the sheriff will notice; he’s got more important things to think about than how I look.”
Ollie sputtered and shoved her head to the side. “A’course you care. And let me tell you, all men notice a pretty girl. And you are a pretty girl. Van is a mighty good lookin’ specimen. He’s on the up and up too. Good men are scarce as hen’s teeth. A woman has to latch on quick when she sees a good one or some other female’ll get‘em.”
“I don’t want a man. And really, what use would I be to a man? What would I do with him? It’s silly. It would be like shopping for a new hat or a saddle when you don’t really need one. Just something else to carry around with you, a bother. I don’t understand the…the, whatever it is, the thing…” Melody said.
Ollie stopped braiding her hair and got down to look her straight in the eye. “Here’s what I think, little girl, you don’t know what you want, is what I think. You’ve gone and busted yourself, and now you don’t know who or what you are. You been lookin’ for you for a whole year now and you still ain’t found you.”
Ollie swept up a hank of Melody’s hair at the top of her head and began to fold and fold and smooth and fold from the crown of her head clear down her back. “I’m thinkin’ this Van fella’s got you all flummoxed, twitchy and itchy. That’s a sure sign. I heard you. You called him beautiful when you was out of your head.”
“I was out of my head. I can’t be held accountable for what I said. Are you done?” Melody swatted away Ollie’s quick fingers.
“Fine, I’m done with your hair,” she said, tucking in the braided crown at the top of her head. “But I’m not done with this conversation. I’ll leave it for now.”
Ollie’s laughter didn’t help. She’d hit home on a couple of points. No, Melody didn’t know who or what she was. Trick riding, performing, she’d thought would define her, or at least she’d thought it would until she’d faced up to the fact she didn’t have the big star factor in her.
One thing she did know, taking a man would not help, it would complicate and confuse. Never mind Mr. Beautiful turned her stomach into a bucket full of frogs. And yes, she knew her hair was a tangled mess. But she couldn’t very well fix it herself, not with a busted shoulder. And yes, because he was out there and might come in here and see her, she really did care what she looked like, but she wished she didn’t.
Shoot, she had the worse luck. Why couldn’t he have seen her doing her act and come by afterward to tell her how wonderful she was, and ask her to walk out with him? She could’ve shown him her horse and talked to him about her dreams. They could’ve talked about his dreams. Shoot.
Well, the sheriff would haul the horse thieves away, and Mr. Beautiful could be on his way, thank goodness. His good deeds were done, appreciated, but he had no more excuse to hang around.
∙•∙
The horse thief, slumped against the Kit’s wagon, now sported a big red knot above his left eye, a knot Van certainly had not inflicted. Ollie came around the end of the wagon, her hands on her rounded hips. “He called me a fat sow and said he was sorry he didn’t kill me, so I hit’em with my skillet.”
Van pressed his lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. The Sheriff coughed and tried to maintain a sober façade but couldn’t hold the pose. Lips twitching, he hid his snicker behind his gloved hand.
The prisoner grumbled and cursed, complained about excessive abuse, and the ground being hard, and his hands going to sleep, but the sheriff remained impervious. “You look fine right where you are, Mr. Kramer. Horse thievin’ is a hangin’ offense. Add to that two assault charges, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, and we’ll have to hang you maybe three, four times over.”
Sheriff Rutland turned to Ollie. “Show me the girl, need to talk to her.”
There wasn’t room for all of them in Kit’s wagon. Ollie excused herself to make more coffee. Van, butt resting on the edge of the tailgate, legs stretched out before him, folded his arms across his chest. He should probably head for home, at least head for the mountains, and do that fishin’ and huntin’. He’d found excitement, not the good kind, but he wasn’t sorry. As a matter of fact, he felt pretty damn noble. Van could hear Rutland’s voice, but he wasn’t paying much attention to the sheriff’s questions until he heard the name McAdam.
“Melody McAdam,” the sheriff repeated. “Any relation to the Pinkerton Indian Ryder McAdam, the one who took down the Payasos gang?”
Silence. Van could feel the air crackle with unspoken tension even out here. He remained very still, his heart thudding against his ribcage.
The Kit sighed. “He’s my brother.”
“Do the Millers know?” the sheriff asked.
“I suppose. They were in Cherry Grove when it happened. We, my brother and I, we performed for the first time in the Circus International in Cherry Grove. I doubt the Millers think much about my last name, my family.”
Van heard the sheriff growl. “Well, it matters to me, young lady. How old are you? Thirteen, fourteen?”
Van heard her raspberry and tucked his lips between his teeth to keep from snickering. The girl had spunk, way too much spunk.
“I am twenty,” she said all saucy like. “If you’re wondering about my folks, they’re dead. They died when I was three. Royce and Cleantha O’Bannon adopted me and my brothers. I grew up in Laura Creek. I’m done with the show now, thanks to the…the bastard out there, and I’m going home after I heal up a little.”
“I know Royce,” the sheriff said. “Longtree is the sheriff in Laura Creek. I’ll send him a wire.”
“Why? No, there’s no need for that.”
“Young woman, you were attacked. You could’ve been killed. Your folks need to know. And they need to be here to take care of you.”
“The Millers will take care of me,” Kit said, her tone full of defiance. Van listened, hearing more than words, hearing wounded pride, desperation, loneliness, and disappointment.
“Well, I s’pose they will,” said the sheriff. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Miller about this. But I don’t like keeping information from family, especially families I know.”
Van walked over to his horse and removed Ranger’s saddle. He stroked the gelding’s nose and ran his hand down the gelding’s sore leg. He’d put his weight on it this morning. The tonic had worked, and the wrap, which he’d left on, had reduced any swelling.
Stroking the horse, Van pondered current events. Ryder’s little sister? Well, hell, I have to stay with her now, see to it she gets home safe. The Millers, Ollie said they were headed southeast to Boise, but putting on shows along the way. Wonder which way Miss McAdam will take? I’ll stick with her, make up some excuse.
His brother-in-law’s little sister, Melody McAdam. What kind of game had she been playing, traveling and performing? Jo mentioned her. She didn’t say what the girl was doing, but she said they missed her. Not a big letter writer? Van huffed at the notion of the little hellcat writing a sweet and informative letter home. And Longtree, he had a daughter at the school. I wonder if I can get Melody, alias Kit, to talk about the school and Jo. It sure would be fun to try.
∙•∙
“Thank you, Mr. Van DeVeer,” Kit said, a simpering, insincere smile on her lips. “You’ll be on your way now the sheriff has relieved us of thieving Mr. Kramer.”
Van grinned in the face of her dismissal. She’d changed her hair, pulled it away from her impish, pixy face, and looked twelve years old. With her hair in a braid, coiled around her head like a crown, she truly did give the impression of a royal princess imperially waving away a no longer needed champion. She even sounded royal.
The Miller boys had helped her out of her wagon, creating a cradle with their hands, and made a comfortable place for her to sit in the shade of her wagon. She had the boys and Ollie waiting on her, bringing her cool water, a fan to cool her cheeks, one of Ollie’s cinnamon buns, an apple and a pear, a knife and plate, her favorite slippers, and of course a penny dreadful to read.
He removed his hat and sat down on the tailgate of her wagon and looked to the sky, contemplating how to begin.
“You can feel fall in the air today,” he said, choosing the mundane. “August, but last night we had our first frost.”
Lips puckered, her elegantly slanted brows furrowed over her dark, cunning-as-a-fox black eyes. She drummed her fingers on her closed booklet and gave him the stink-eye.
“Nice weather for a trip into the mountains,” he said smiling, despite her glare. “I think I’ll wait a day or two right here. Jerry says they’ll pull out as soon as you’ve had a bit of rest. Besides, Ranger needs to recoup too. He started out pretty good this morning, but I noticed when we came back up the hill he’d started to favor his left front leg a little. Don’t want to take the chance of him going lame on me.”
∙•∙
Damn him, using his horse as an excuse to hang around. He’d found her weakness. Shoot, where are Mick and Jimmy? They can’t leave me alone with this man. Ollie, I bet Ollie is behind this. She thinks I should use my feminine wiles and capture this fool’s heart.
Phtttt. Fat chance of that. He’s sitting there looking at me like I’m a little kid he has to mollify, babysit. No sir, I’m not a fool. And a fool I would be to throw myself at Mr. Beautiful. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. A good way to get my heart stomped on good and proper.