A Life Restored (7 page)

The walk helped Thomas calm down some.
 
At least the fire left him.
 
Rolling onto his side so his back faced the saddles, he stared at valley before him, though the darkness limited his sight.

Call it attraction.
 
Call it lust.
 
Whatever it was, he had to keep himself under control.
 
He could not possibly be a better man—a man worthy of respect—if he treated a woman the way he just treated Caroline.
 
If he had been in town, he certainly never would have kissed her.
 
If others had been around, he would not have kissed her.

Yet, here he had.

Add that to his list of poor choices.
 
Robbing a bank.
 
Gambling.
 
Drinking.
 
Almost taking advantage of a woman he rescued.

What is wrong with me?
 
Why do I keep failing?

Others succeeded at making good choices.
 
Certainly he could too.
 
He would just have to try harder to be a good man.
 
Keep his mind clear.
 
Think before acting.
 
Yes, he could do it.

Caroline’s soft breathing reminded him he was not alone.
 
He thought of that kiss and his desire for her.
 
Maybe he just wasn’t strong enough to be a good man.
 
Not everyone succeeded at such a noble goal.

Anything is possible with God.

Paul’s words struck him like a punch to the face.
 
Perhaps there was some truth even if he couldn’t remember the context of them.

Why would God care?

I brought you here.

Great.
 
Now his thoughts were starting to sound like God.
 
That wasn’t possible.
 
God didn’t bring him here.
 
A stupid mistake set off a chain reaction that led him to this place.
 
Nothing more.
 
Right?

Shrugging his confusion aside, Thomas closed his eyes hoping sleep would come soon.
 
He would just do the best he could.
 
Someday, he would be a man that Drew could be proud of.

Chapter 8

Robert Garrett smiled as he shoved the saloon girl to the floor.
 
One of the many privileges of being wealthy in the West included a plush bed with someone to warm it in an ornate room.
 
It cost him a fair sum, but he didn’t care.
 
He was still in high spirits from the success of the stage robbery and the secret cargo he retrieved from it—worth far more than the horses or the small trinkets from the passengers.

“Get out!” he said, kicking the hung-over saloon girl in the side.
 
She groaned and scurried to the door.

This was going to be a good day, he thought, as he dressed in his fine black striped suit.
 
By now, his associate should have sold the horses from the stage robbery and have headed out to retrieve Caroline Larson.

He marveled again at his good fortune.
 
The West had been much better to him than the South.
 
He laughed out loud.
 
Perhaps he should thank Will Colter for his role in forcing him to leave his home.

No.
 
He hated the man too much.

Besides, he really owed a great deal of his current success to that poor sap—the real Robert Garrett.
 
Trusting fool.

When he headed west from Santa Fe, he ended up traveling with the man whose identity he stole.
 
Over weeks of travel, he encouraged the real Robert to talk.
 
And talk he did.
 
He talked in that perfect northern accent all about the ranch he was building north of Wickenburg.
 
He talked about how he saved money for years—had it right there with him—to start his new life in the West.

He listened to the naïve man, imitating his accent as a game—at least that’s what he led Robert to believe.
 
Just outside of Tucson, he made his move.
 
He killed Robert Garrett in a remote place in the desert.
 
Then he took everything.
 
The money.
 
His horse.
 
His deed.
 
His accent.
 
His identity.

Once the new Robert Garrett arrived at the ranch, he was further pleased to learn that none of the ranch hands had ever met the real Garrett.
 
He hired them all by mail or messenger.
 
Regardless, the new Robert did not take any chances.
 
He fired all of the men and replaced them with men more in line with his approach to business.

His associate was the first to be hired, though he kept him from his other men.
 
After all, having a hired gun blatantly on staff was a good way to ruin his image of being a reputable rancher and draw the attention of the authorities—not that there were any.

As a legitimate business man, he sold cattle to the booming gold town of La Paz.
 
They always seemed in need.
 
The town purchased most of its cattle from California and had it shipped up the Colorado River.
 
He undercut the price enough to ensure several contracts, but not so much that he couldn’t make an exorbitant profit.

His other dealings included cattle rustling, with a different twist.
 
Seems most of the rustlers in the territory preferred re-branding the cattle.
 
Robert’s method was to leave the brands intact and provide very authentic looking bills of sale—easy enough with the help of his attorney, Zach Drake, in Prescott.

Something he learned a long time ago was to spread out his business dealings over a large geographic area.
 
It was unlikely that anyone in La Paz would make the week long stage journey to Prescott to verify his paperwork.
 
It meant he had to travel more often, but his ranch was centrally located for the majority of his dealings.

The other lesson, one he almost forgot recently, was to keep his distance from the less than ethical means of business, such as the stage robbery.
 
However, he did an excellent job with the rustling.
 
He used his associate to hire a gang of Mexican rustlers.
 
Then he used local connections to find unhappy cowboys willing to sell out their bosses for extra cash.
 
He always made those connections through a proxy and never directly.
 
None of those inside cowboys had any idea who Robert Garrett was or how he might be involved.
 
All they cared about was getting paid for information on where herds would be and when the best time was to cut a few from the herd.

He was brilliant and cunning.
 
There was no way he was ever going to get caught.

Whistling to himself, he made his way downstairs carrying his carpet bag.
 
Once outside, he squinted against the bright afternoon sun.
 
Guess he slept later than he thought.

An individual caught his eye.
 
He followed the strange looking fellow around back to the alley way.
 
It was his associate, a man of many disguises.

“She’s gone.”

Heat rushed to his face.
 
“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s not where we expected her to be.”

“Then someone must have come to her aid.
 
Go back and head north towards Prescott.
 
Find her,” Robert growled, very displeased by this unwelcome news.

The strange looking man left.

Robert secured his carpet bag to his horse and headed toward the mercantile.
 
A small crowd gathered out front.
 
He slowed his pace, taking his time to secure his horse so he could listen to the conversation.

“The stage was robbed.
 
A man coming from Prescott said he saw what was left.”

Ah, the handiwork of his associate.
 
He was always good at getting the rumors started.

“Was there a young woman there?” A man dressed like a preacher asked.

“Naw.
 
He only said he found the dead bodies of the men.
 
Too old to care for them, so he asked me and my son to go take care of it.
 
Said it looked like they’d been there for a few days.”

“But no young woman?”

Robert grew concerned by the preacher’s interest in Caroline.
 
Just who was she to him?

“Your daughter?” he asked.

“No.
 
My charge.
 
My daughter and I were to escort her to Prescott, but she ran off.”

Robert looked thoughtful for a moment.
 
Perhaps having the preacher ride along with him would be a good idea.
 
He would be able to make sure the man did not come across Caroline before his associate did.

“I’m leaving this afternoon for Prescott.
 
It’ll mean camping under the stars for a few nights along the way, but you are welcome to join me.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the preacher said, looking immensely relieved.
 
“By the way, I am Reverend Pritchett.”

“Garrett.
 
Robert Garrett,” he said, extending his hand.
 
“Can you be ready to leave within the hour?”

“Yes.
 
I’ll make arrangements for my daughter’s care, grab a few things, and meet you back here.”

Robert nodded his agreement as Reverend Pritchett hurried down the street.
 
After purchasing a few things in the mercantile, he headed back to the hotel for a meal.
 
When he finished, he found Reverend Pritchett waiting for him.

Within an hour of traveling, they came upon the man and his son caring for the dead.

“Perhaps we should stop and help?” Reverend Pritchett suggested.

Robert cringed inwardly before considering the idea.
 
If he stopped with the reverend to lend aid, no one would suspect he had been involved in the crime.
 
He reined in his horse and dismounted.
 
Then he moved items around in his carpet bag until he found a bandana he could tie around his mouth and nose to keep the putrid smell from affecting his stomach.

Next time, he would make sure his associate cleaned things up if he happened to be traveling the same direction.

Chapter 9

I’m getting too old, Ben Shepherd thought, rounding to the right side of his black mare, Sheila.
 
Placing his right foot in the stirrup, he grunted as he heaved himself on the back of his faithful horse.

Over a month ago he switched how he mounted his horse—the first sign that he wasn’t as young as he used to be.
 
The frequent pain and stiffness in his left knee was getting worse, though the ointment Mrs. Colter—Hannah—gave him seemed to help some, even if he took a good amount of ribbing from the young cowboys living in the bunkhouse.
 
The pain started last fall after the cattle drive to California and got progressively worse since.
 
Arthritis is what Hannah said she thought it was.

So, it seemed to be easier to mount his horse when he kept his left leg straight, even though it meant pushing off the ground with it.
 
For now, he was managing.

“Hup,” he mumbled and Sheila moved forward towards the smoke house.

Daniel Raulings, better known as Snake, heaved the last crate into the wagon.
 
He nodded a greeting before taking his place on the wagon.
 
The two men headed south on the road to Prescott with their now bi-weekly delivery of Colter beef.

Will Colter sure had done a good job building up his reputation and his business in the short year and a half he’d been here.
 
Ben smiled as pride rose in his chest.
 
Eddie would be just as proud of his son, if he were still alive to witness it.
 
In his absence, Ben was more than happy to fill in, especially since Will was more like a son and less like a boss to him.

As foreman of the Star C back in Texas, Ben watched Will grow from an awkward young lad into a fine young man.
 
Twenty-five years ago when he first started working as a cowboy on the Star C, he found some healing in watching Eddie interact with his two sons, Reuben and Will.
 
Soon Eddie’s family became his own, taking the place of the great loss he suffered—one that kept him up many nights, breaking his heart for many years.
 
Within a year, he became the foreman and cemented his friendship with Eddie.
 
No wonder he felt so close to his friend’s son.

After Eddie died, Ben couldn’t think of doing anything but following Will west to the Arizona Territory.
 
Reuben was a mean, hateful man and there was no way he was going to work for him.
 
So, he didn’t hesitate for even a breath when Will asked him to accompany him and he never looked back.

Well, that wasn’t true.
 
He did look back—just not to the Star C.

He’d been looking back to Mississippi for years to those beautiful nutmeg brown eyes that first stole his heart.
 
Sheila, darling, I still miss you.
 
Even after all this time.
 
For four blissful years his life had been perfect at her side working on the tenement farm in Mississippi.

He was poor.
 
Had come from a dirt poor family.
 
His pa had been a subsistence farmer when he wasn’t drinking.
 
Inwardly, Ben scoffed at the word “subsistence.”
 
They barely managed to eke out enough food to feed the large family of twelve and then it was through the efforts of his two brothers and him.
 
Too bad Pa couldn’t father more boys than girls.

The best thing he ever did was move out and start working a tenement farm on one of the area’s largest plantations.
 
He had to lie about his age to get the job.
 
He was only seventeen.
 
But with his muscled arms built up from years of farming, and his tall stature, he easily passed for a twenty year old.
 
The first few months he worked hard in the fields and struggled to find the energy to cook for himself at the end of the day.
 
Just when he was about to go back home to fetch one of his sisters to come keep house for him, he met Sheila.

Her pa owned the neighboring tenement farm.
 
One day, she stopped by with a pie—a luxurious gift to be sure, given the amount of flour and sugar it took to make—and was appalled at his filthy dwelling.
 
She stayed the afternoon cleaning up the place.
 
Then the next afternoon, she came back.
 
Clean clothes hung on the line, his only other outfit, and a plate of warm food sat ready on the table when he came in from the field.
 
She flashed him a beautiful smile igniting her nutmeg eyes before she left with barely a word.

It’s that smile that stole his heart.
 
When she returned the next day with another meal, she stayed for a few minutes to talk to him.
 
He thanked her for her kindness and offered to pay her in food stuffs to replace what she used from her own to prepare the meal for him.
 
She refused, saying the good Lord provided all she needed.

Days turned into weeks.
 
Soon, she invited him to eat with her family—her, her pa, and her three younger sisters.
 
So each evening after a hard day in the fields, Ben made the trek to her home with a light step and broad smile.
 
After only three months of knowing her, he proposed.
 
She accepted and they were married in a quiet little ceremony with only her family in attendance.
 
His family refused to come.

Shortly after their second anniversary, Sheila gave birth to his son, Elijah.
 
He had his mother’s dark hair and nutmeg eyes.
 
Ben instantly loved him.

He enjoyed two more years with his blessed family, eagerly anticipating the birth of his second child.

One evening, after the sun already set, the plantation owner called him up to the big house.
 
He had something to discuss.
 
Though Sheila begged him to wait until morning, Ben went.
 
It was the master after all.
 
He couldn’t keep the man waiting.

If only he had listened to her.
 
Maybe…

It was no use going down that road again.
 
He’d traveled it far too often.
 
He was forty-seven now—their life together a distant memory.
 
One he needed to bury next to her grave.
 
One that he could never quite bring himself to let go of.

He patted his horse, Sheila, on the neck.
 
If she only knew how deeply he loved her namesake.
 
Only no one knew.
 
Not a living soul knew of his secret life before the Star C.
 
Eddie pried enough information from him to gather that he’d had a family once.
 
He stayed pretty tight lipped about it with the ever-revolving group of cowboys on the ranch.
 
Only Eddie knew most of his story, and he was gone, too.

No matter.
 
Ben had as much of a family as he could hope for here on Colter Ranch.
 
Will and Hannah were like children to him and their sweet baby James, born just a few months ago, was like a grandson—though looking at him now at this age brought old memories forward.

Julia Colter, Will’s younger sister, moved here.
 
She seemed to finally be settling down, learning to accept the love of her beau, Adam Larson.
 
Secretly, Ben hoped when those two finally got married, that she’d let him walk her down the aisle, filling in for Eddie.
 
It would bring him such joy and he could picture Eddie smiling down from heaven.

Snake started mumbling to himself.
 
The young man always seemed to have something to say and he sure didn’t seem to care if anyone listened or not.
 
He was just content to jabber on and on about nothing.

But, all his jabbering jolted Ben’s mind back to attention—leastwise it did for a moment.
 
Scanning the tall pine trees lining the road, he searched for any sign of Apaches.
 
He listened for any unusual sounds, like the eerie silence of all wildlife stilling as they sometimes did when the hostiles entered the forest.
 
Today, there seemed to be nothing to worry about.
 
Birds sang their sweet melodies, bringing some lightness back to his heart.

Then it faded, replaced by the image of a woman who captured his attention over the last year.
 
Snorting, Ben reminded himself he was too old to fall in love.
 
Men his age—well, they just didn’t romance a woman or seek out companionship.
 
He’d been a bachelor for twenty-five years, living in a bunkhouse full of young men.
 
He didn’t need a woman.
 
Wouldn’t know what to do with one if he had her.

Yet, Betty Lancaster’s bright smile entered his mind.
 
He couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to a visit and one of her delicious meals.
 
That woman could cook better than his mama.
 
Her heart was pure gold and she seemed to adopt every young person in town.
 
That was a lot of people, considering she had a few years on him.

Still, his heart picked up pace as he thought about her now.
 
She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she wasn’t homely either.
 
Her girth was a testament to her cooking skills.
 
Her buoyant personality made up for her lack of outward beauty, making her far more appealing to him than he really wanted to admit.

He flirted with her shamelessly last month when she’d been out to the ranch.
 
That he couldn’t deny.
 
He was completely befuddled as to why.
 
Shoot, a few times over the last year he even came close to kissing her.
 
Like a man his age had any call courting a woman.
 
There was just something about Betty that got under his skin and made him curious to learn more about her.

 
He enjoyed watching her with little James.
 
She treated him like he was really her grandson.
 
Ben understood how she felt.
 
Didn’t matter that James didn’t share his blood.
 
He loved that child as if he did.

He didn’t know why he started to think about Betty more and more lately.
 
Sometimes he wasn’t too sure if he was talking to Sheila in his mind anymore or if it was Betty he was talking to.
 
That scared him.
 
It was getting harder and harder to remember what Sheila’s voice sounded like.
 
Instead, when he was working through a problem in his mind, sometimes he could have sworn it was Betty’s voice answering him.
 
Maybe he was just going loony.

As Snake pulled the wagon to a stop behind the mess hall at Fort Whipple on the western side of town, Ben dismounted his horse to the left.
 
Though it meant bending his knee some, he nearly landed on his hind end the one time he tried to dismount to the right—his left leg giving out.
 
So it was right side to mount and left side to dismount.
 
If anyone noticed his strange consistent practice, they never mentioned it.

“Morning’ Maria,” he greeted the Mexican woman in charge of the fort’s kitchen with his slow drawl.
 
“Usual spot?”

“Si,” came her reply.

Grabbing a crate from the back of the wagon, he followed Snake into the pantry and set the crate on a shelf.
 
Then he picked up two of the empty crates from their last trip before getting another full crate.
 
A few more trips and the fort was resupplied with dried beef goods.

Sending Snake on to town, Ben met with the supply officer for payment.

“Heard there’s been some trouble with rustlers down south of here,” the officer said as he unlocked his desk drawer.
 
“Seen anything out your way?”

“Nope.
 
But, I’ll keep an eye out.”

The officer handed over the contracted amount and asked when they might be bringing by some steers.
 
Seems they were running low on the fresher variety of beef.
 
After finalizing the arrangements, Ben headed to town.

Snake just finished unloading supplies for the two restaurants and pointed the wagon toward the hotel.
 
A few minutes later, they had Juniper House restocked.
 
Then they went on to Hardy’s store, the general mercantile that also stocked various grocery items.

Just as dinner time rolled around, they arrived at Lancaster’s Boardinghouse.
 
Knowing the midday meal was a busy time for Betty, Ben suggested they eat dinner first.

As he entered the long dining hall, a swell of noisy chatter pierced his ears.
 
Taking a seat at one of the three tables, he waited for Yu, the young Chinese woman who worked for Betty, to bring him coffee.

“Ah, Mis-tah Shep-ahd,” she smiled, trying his name in her broken English.
 
“Bet-tee be gad to see you.”