Christine Dorsey (32 page)

“We’ll start today, and we’ll check out more than the old Colt place. Moore’s from Missouri. We’re not over a couple miles from the border.”

“Now see here.” Hughes lifted his flabby jowls but had to back down when Jake didn’t give an inch. He tried reason. “I don’t have no jurisdiction across the border.”

“Then we’ll ride over there and find someone who does.” Jake turned and took Samantha’s elbow, leading her toward the door. “An hour.” Jake threw the words over his shoulder before he slammed the jail door.

Samantha blinked and shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” His stride was long as Jake started back toward the hotel, and Samantha struggled to keep up. She’d seen him angry before—the time he found out who’d shot him came to mind—but she’d never seen him like this. His jaw was clenched and he flexed and unflexed his hand as if he longed to throttle someone. Samantha had a pretty good idea who that someone was.

“I can’t believe the way you got Hughes to go along with you.”

“He hasn’t yet,” Jake replied, glancing down at Samantha and slowing his pace.

“But I think he will. He seemed too scared not to.” Jake shrugged, and Samantha went on, “I wish to goodness you’d been around when my father was killed.” Samantha stopped short, realizing what she’d just said. Her father had died during the war at a time when Jake was in the Confederate Army. The last thing she wanted then was another Rebel.

“Why’s that?” They reached the hotel and Jake followed Samantha across the threadbare carpet in the lobby.

“Maybe the sheriff would have done something about Moore then.”

Jake faced Samantha at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, let’s see what we can do about bringing him in this time.”

T
he posse rode out of town, ten strong, on Monday afternoon.

Samantha stood on the boardwalk watching the Kansas dust swirl around the horses’ hooves as they pranced, ready to leave, wishing she could go along. What a pleasure to hunt Landis Moore, to see him sweat when he knew defeat, to see him finally brought to justice.

Her gaze swept over the men. She knew less than half of them, and by their looks, she considered herself lucky. They were a motley group, dirty and foul-smelling—except for Jake. While the others shifted about, spitting into the street, joking about what they’d be missing tonight, Jake sat, his jaw clenched, waiting for the sheriff.

When Ralph Hughes came out of his office, tugging at his pants, and mounted, the group rode off. Jake’s nod as he gathered up his reins was the only sign that he noticed Samantha’s presence.

Samantha retraced her steps to Tew’s Hotel. She couldn’t help the wave of sadness washing over her. Jake was gone, and he’d barely acknowledged her. But then what did she expect? Was he to reach down in front of everyone and drag her to him for a passionate good-bye kiss?

She hardly wanted that. Yet he hadn’t kissed her at all. Not when they reached town, or in the hectic moments when he packed his gear, or even before he started out to the street. There was no sign... none, that he cared for her. No sign they’d made love in each other’s arms. No sign he’d pulled her into his lap and held her through the night while they waited to see if Will would be all right.

With a sigh, Samantha climbed the hotel stairs to the room Will and Jake shared, bracing herself for a long wait.

The posse rode out on Monday afternoon, ten strong. By Wednesday morning they were back. Nine of them.

Samantha was sitting in Will’s room, reading to him. The leg was healing nicely. Old Doc Shelton had stopped in after Mrs. Tew had told him of the injury. His hand trembled only a little and the words were not too slurred for understanding as he declared the boy on the mend.

“Nice even stitches you took there, Samantha,” he’d said, examining Will’s head. “See you used horsehair.”

“Yes, but I didn’t...” Samantha paused. If Jake didn’t want it known that he was a doctor, it wasn’t her place to tell. In the end she thanked Doc Shelton and sent him on his way.

“So what did Gulliver do then?” Will fidgeted in his seat, reaching out to rub his broken leg. It was propped up on a chair and covered with a woolen blanket.

“Do?” Samantha realized she’d stopped reading and scanned the page to find her place. She was glad Will was showing more interest in books—and she knew she had the Rebel to thank for that—but right now she didn’t feel like reading. And when she heard the commotion down on the street, she wedged a crocheted bookmark into the page and shut the book:

“What’s going on?” Will inquired, turning his torso toward the open window.

“It looks like the posse’s back.” Samantha pulled her head inside the room and smoothed the cotton curtains.

“Do they have Landis Moore?”

“It doesn’t appear so.”

“Any of his men?”

“No.” Samantha pulled down the sash, leaving only about a two-inch opening to allow a stirring of air.

“Well, I hope Jake comes up here quick to tell us what happened.”

Samantha checked the pistol Jake left for them, handing it to Will. “Jake isn’t with them.”

“He’s not?” The gun fell on Will’s lap. “Where do you think he is?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Samantha wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. “You going to be all right?”

“Sure.” Will slid his fingers around the gun butt.

“I’ll ask Mrs. Tew to look in on you.” With that, Samantha marched out the door and down the street.

The sheriff had already left his office, if in fact he’d gone there at all. Samantha scanned the street and spotted the sheriff’s roan, among a group of horses tied in front of the States’ Rights Saloon. Squaring her shoulders, Samantha headed down the boardwalk.

She’d never darkened the door of this particular establishment... and not just because of its Rebel sounding name. But she did so now, pausing only a moment when her entrance caused conversation to cease. After all, embarrassment was the least of her problems.

“Sheriff Hughes.” Samantha moved next to him at the polished mahogany bar. “I see you returned empty-handed.”

Hughes turned, squinting over the rim of a shot glass filled with amber liquid. “What are you doin’ in here, girl?”

“I might ask you the same. Didn’t you leave town with the intention of finding Landis Moore?” Samantha could feel the attention of the other men standing at the bar, but she tried to ignore them.

“Couldn’t find him,” Hughes offered before upending his glass and noisily gulping down the spirits.

“I see.” With arms crossed tightly under her breasts, Samantha continued, “And may I inquire where you looked?”

Hughes straightened, backhanding the liquid from his thick lips. “Well, little missy, I don’t usually answer to anyone about how I do my job, but I’ll give you this in hopes you’ll stop chewing on this bone. We checked out the old Colt place, and then rode over Missouri way. Talked to some of his kin... an uncle.

“Said Landis and Ab set out for Tennessee just that morning.” The sheriff puffed out his considerable chest. “Also said Landis and his brother was home last Sunday night. Says he’ll swear to it.”

“Then he’s lying,” Samantha countered. “Where’s Jake... Mr. Morgan?”

Hughes’s eyes narrowed until she could hardly see them in his cauliflower face. “Funny thing about that man of yours. He just rode off. Don’t rightly know where he was off to. He tell any of you men?”

Samantha glanced around to witness a general shaking of heads and negative grunts from the members of the posse, who seemed to hang on Hughes’s every word.

“Well, there you have it, missy. If you ask me, you and your brother should—”

But Samantha didn’t wait around to hear what Sheriff Hughes suggested. Head high, she swept out of the saloon, not stopping for anything until she reached the quiet haven of her hotel room. She closed the door behind her, leaning into it and wringing her hands.

Her emotions were near the boiling point and she couldn’t even decide what it was she felt. Anger, of course, at the potbellied, ignorant sheriff and his contention that Landis Moore was innocent of hurting Will. But there was more.

Jake Morgan.

What could have happened to him? Did he really ride off without a second thought to Will... to her? Samantha bit her lip to keep the tears from pouring over her lashes. It made sense. Why would he want to hang around here? He made it clear from the beginning that he was only passing through. What better time to continue his trip to Texas than when he could accomplish it with no drawn-out good-byes or explanations?

Samantha sniffed and moved farther into the room, feeling guilty because Will was next door wondering what was going on and she didn’t have the courage to face him.

She sank on the bed and another thought came. What if Jake didn’t leave? What if he was still looking for Landis Moore? By himself? Or worse, what if something had happened to him and the sheriff didn’t tell her?

She jumped up and paced to the window, then back to the bed. How could she find out the truth? And what could she do about it even if she knew?

A thump sounded, then another, and Samantha stared at the wall separating her room from Will’s. He was using the crutch she’d purchased for him at the mercantile—and not the way she’d intended.

Sighing, Samantha opened the door and walked to the adjacent room, wondering what in the world she was going to tell Will.

~ ~ ~

Nearly three days passed and still there was no word of Jake. Samantha returned from selling milk she got from Faith to Sam Jenkins at the restaurant and knocked on Will’s door. His voice sounded crotchety when he said to come in. He was hobbling around on his crutch, bumping into the washstand, then turning to knock into the bed.

“You seem to be getting the hang of it,” Samantha offered, then settled down in a chair by the window when he only scowled at her. She picked up the blue silk gown and began stitching the bodice... more for something to do with her hands than anything else.

She’d decided not to remake the dress for Peggy Keane. Too many things bound her to the gown to sell it. Instead—and she really couldn’t come up with a sensible reason for doing it—she was altering the dress for herself.

“I told Mr. Kelsy at the livery we’d be leaving tomorrow.” Samantha looked up from her stitching to watch Will lower himself into the other chair in the room.

“I’m still not sure we should go back to the farm just yet. Jake said—”

“What Jake said or didn’t say no longer matters.” She rammed the needle through the ruffled silk. “He isn’t here. Landis Moore is supposedly off in Tennessee and we’re running out of money. Besides”—Samantha glanced up and smiled. “I still have a corn crop to harvest. I spoke with Jim Farley about coming out to help and he—”

“Jake wouldn’t just run off and leave us like this.”

Samantha’s lips pruned. She’d ended up telling Will everything because she hadn’t known what else to say. No great surprise to her, Will chose to believe that Jake was off looking for Landis Moore by himself.

“But the point is, Jake didn’t come back.” Samantha didn’t see any reason for Will not to face reality. “And we need—”

“You have more money. Jake gave you some.”

“Yes. But I’m not going to use it. It’s bad enough he had to pay for our hotel rooms and food. I’ll pay that back. And—” Samantha held up her hand to quiet Will’s next objection. “If he doesn’t come back, I’ll hold it for him. Maybe someday, when he gets settled, he’ll write, and I’ll send it to him.”

“I still say he’ll be back.”

“Then he’ll find us at the farm.” Samantha bit off a thread. “The sheriff said Moore’s off somewhere in Tennessee, so I don’t think he’ll cause us any more trouble.” At least she hoped not. Though she definitely felt safer in town, she couldn’t leave their only source of livelihood for too long.

“Can we at least go to the dance?”

“The dance?” Samantha looked over into Will’s face, noticing a touch of color seep into his cheeks.

“Yeah. There’s a town dance tonight. Didn’t you know?”

Of course she knew. Peggy Keane made sure she did—or rather that Jake did. “Yes. I saw them laying the dance floor out in front of the school. But Will, what do you want to go to a dance for? You can barely get around.”

“I can watch. Being stuck in this room is awful. Besides, you could wear that blue dress you’ve been sewing on.”

What was it with this dress? Did everything else she wore look so bad that people longed to see her in the blue gown? Samantha didn’t want to answer that—even to herself. But for heaven’s sake, she had a farm to run. That didn’t leave much time for gussying up.

But what would it hurt for one night? Will had had a rough time of it. They both had.

“All right. I’ll see if Mr. Tew will help you down the stairs, and we’ll go for a little while. But we’re not staying late,” Samantha cautioned when Will’s face blossomed in a smile. “We have to get an early start for the farm tomorrow.”

The gown was lovely. Samantha took another turn in front of the mirror nailed over the washstand, and smiled. The skirt swirled around, then floated down on the one petticoat Samantha had. It might look better if the skirt stood out more, but there was no help for it.