The Accidental Lawman (17 page)

He watched her a moment longer, admired the cut of her neat white blouse and the way her fitted navy skirt showed off her slim waist—but when he noticed the way she was staring at the poster, he crossed the street and hurried to her side.

By the time he reached her, the basket hung perilously close to her fingertips. Shaded by her hat brim, her face was drained of color, her lips faded and set in a grim line. He expected tears, but there were none.

“Amelia?” He slipped his fingers beneath the handle of her basket and gently took it from her. She didn’t even seem to notice—until she spoke without even looking at him.

“I can’t really believe I’m seeing my brother’s name listed alongside thieves and murderers,” she said softly. When she finally turned to him, her green eyes were wide with disbelief and confusion. “How can this be?”

She glanced around, watched as a buggy rolled by. “Everything appears so normal, so ordinary. There’s Harrison sweeping off the walk outside the mercantile. There’s a rancher delivering a side of beef to the Butcher Shoppe. There are two cowboys riding down the street, probably headed for the Slipper.”

She turned her huge eyes his way. “It’s all so routine, and yet, my life will never be the same. Evan’s life will never be the same.”

He reached for her hand, held on tight, afraid for her. He knew the pain of loss, saw it in her eyes. Evan might not be dead, but life as both the Hawthornes had known it was surely over. Witnessing Amelia’s pain stoked Hank’s temper. He hoped he would eventually have an opportunity to talk to Evan Hawthorne face-to-face. He’d tell the young man exactly how deeply his actions had hurt his sister.

Hank knew she was right. Her life would never be the same. Her brother would forever be labeled an outlaw. Amelia would be known as the sister of a wanted man.

Suddenly, he was a writer without words. He had no idea what to say to console her. He looked into her upturned face, into eyes that were so clear, so open and once so trusting. Then he remembered that, unlike him, she was a woman of faith.

“Surely there are some words of wisdom in the Bible. Something to help you carry on in times of adversity. Cling to them,” he told her, even as he tightened his hand around hers. “And remember I’m here, Amelia. I’ll help in any way I can.”

She looked down at their clasped hands, then met his eyes again.

“Thank you, Hank, for your friendship.”

“I hope someday I’ll be able to offer you much more, Amelia.”

In his heart he thanked her for her understanding.

“What’s this?” He looked into the basket he was holding. Inside, she’d nestled six slim brown bottles in a dish towel. They were lined up like glass soldiers.

“I was delivering those to Harrison at the mercantile. They’re bottles of walnut hair dye.” He kept the basket and offered the crook of his arm. Together they headed toward the dry goods store.

“Walnut hair dye?”

“Walnut shells, rectified alcohol and cloves.”

“Does it work?”

“Fairly well. It stains the skin longer than it dyes hair, though.”

“I had no idea you had such far-reaching talents, Miss Hawthorne.”

She shrugged. He wished she’d smile but figured that was too much to ask today.

“I concoct whatever people might need. I like experimenting.”

“Ever had any real disasters?”

“What do you mean?”

“Elixirs gone bad. Hair dye that made someone’s hair fall out?”

“You ask the oddest questions, Hank.”

It was his turn to shrug. “There’s a story in everything.”

“I’ve never poisoned anyone, if that’s what you mean. And no one’s hair has ever fallen out.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her face had finally taken on some color. The corners of her lips twitched a bit as if she might even smile.

“Here we are,” he said as they reached the mercantile. “I’ll wait while you deliver these and then we’ll be off.”

“I didn’t realize
we
were going somewhere, Mr. Larson.” She took the basket and paused there in the doorway.

“We’re heading out to the Ellenbergs’. I’m going to interview Rebekah and I want to talk to Joe, too. I figured you might want to see how the new baby’s doing.”

“You figured that, did you? I don’t recall you asking if I’d like to go along. Or if I had anything else planned.”

After the way she’d looked a few minutes ago, so worried, so lost, he was bound and determined to keep her spirits up and her mind occupied.

He immediately swept his misshapen hat off his head and gave a courtly bow from the waist.

“Miss Hawthorne, I’d be grateful if you’d do me the honor of accompanying me to the Rocking e Ranch today. That is, if you have no other plans.”

He could tell by the way her cheeks flushed pink that she was well aware that a handful of shoppers were watching and listening to every word of their exchange.

“I’ll go with you,” she whispered, “if you promise never to make a scene like this again.”

A
melia was quiet on the way out to the Rocking e and Hank was content to let her dwell in silence. He knew that no matter where she was or what she’d be doing, worry wouldn’t be far from her mind. At least this way, he could be with her and when shadows haunted her lovely eyes, he could try to chase them away for a while.

It felt natural to have her beside him on the narrow buggy seat. They were so close their shoulders touched with every dip and sway as he drove down the dry, dusty road toward the Ellenberg ranch.

As soon as they saw the house itself, Hank decided that if he was a rancher, this was exactly the kind of spread he’d like to call his own. The log structure, modest in appearance but not size, was nestled in a wide open valley. A gentle rise sloped upward behind the many corrals, barns and outbuildings.

Topped by a spreading oak, the low hill was home to two graves. Their white crosses, shining in the sunlight, were the opposite of a mournful sight. The grave site spoke of timelessness and blood ties to the soil, of com
mitment to the land and the memories, happy and sad, that were made here.

As before, Hattie greeted them as he pulled his buggy up near the hitching post. She stepped away from the low fence surrounding a hog pen and set down the empty slop bucket in her hands.

“When I saw you driving in, my heart jumped for joy,” Hattie said as she hurried over to greet them. “What brings you out this way in the heat?”

“I came to interview your daughter-in-law, if she’s still willing. I thought Amelia here could use a little time away from town.” He turned to the buggy, offered Amelia his hand.

As her fingers touched his palm, Hank wondered if she felt the same rush of warmth that he did. She was smiling at Hattie now, but when she stepped out of the buggy, she held his hand a little longer than necessary before she let go.

“I thought that as long as Mr. Larson had invited me, I might as well come along and see how little Mellie is doing.”

“She’s eating more than a newborn shoat, that one.” Hattie laughed as she started toward the house. “You’re just in time for the noon meal so come along with me and I’ll fatten you up with some of my corn bread, white beans and ham.”

After they ate, Hattie asked Amelia to watch over the baby while she tended to a newborn colt and Hank interviewed Rebekah on a side porch overlooking a tall mulberry tree.

He found Rebekah as lovely a woman inside as she was out and marveled at the story of her life among the Comanche before the U.S. Army attacked and recovered her along with nearly a dozen other white captives.

He hadn’t realized the vast numbers of settlers who
had been taken by the various renegade tribes over the years, nor had he any idea before listening to Joe’s wife, that many captives became assimilated into the tribe, took Comanche spouses and fought to the death beside their captors.

His mind was racing with possibilities for stories, so much so that he hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by until Rebekah excused herself to relieve Hattie of the children. Hank walked back around the veranda to join Amelia.

He found her with little Mellie in her arms, staring out over the corrals and rolling prairie beyond. The infant was sound asleep on her shoulder.

As he watched Amelia place a kiss on Mellie’s crown and smooth her hand gently down the baby’s back, he felt a tug on his heartstrings. It was followed by a sensation that he could only liken to the way a frozen lake melts under the warm spring sun. Staring at Amelia with the baby in her arms, he was convinced he could actually feel his hardened heart begin to thaw.

She looked up, caught him staring and smiled across the space that separated them. He thought—he hoped—he saw a light in her eyes that reflected the warmth in his own heart.

“How does it feel,” he wondered aloud as he joined her, “to hold a child in your arms that you helped bring into the world?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, “As if I’m holding a miracle.”

“I hope you’ve forgiven me.” He stared at the gingham tablecloth on Hattie’s table.

“For what?” Her brow puckered.

“For the things I said to you when I found out that you were a midwife.”

“You’ve already apologized and, yes, I’ve forgiven you. You were reacting to your loss, Hank. Dealing with your own heartache. People tend to lash out when that happens.”

He leaned across the table until he could touch the back of her hand where it rested on Mellie’s back. “Has anyone ever blamed you for their losses?”

The minute the words were out, he saw the light in her eyes dim. He pictured himself the night Tricia and the baby died. He’d nearly torn the house apart, so great was his anger, so deep his sorrow. If his father-in-law hadn’t held him back, his own blind fury might have led him to strangle the life out of the drunken sot who had not known enough to send for a doctor when the delivery made a turn for the worse.

He was horrified to think that anyone in his right mind would blame Amelia for something outside the realm of her expertise. How could anyone want to harm this fine young woman who gave so much? Cared so much?

“Of course, some blame me.” She said it so calmly, with such acceptance. “After the initial hurt subsides, most folks apologize for the things they’ve said when they were in pain and shock. Anger is a way to give grief a voice. It’s easy to blame the person that you’ve pinned all your hopes on.” She patted the baby’s back, shifted her a bit higher on her shoulder. Then she smiled and her face took on a tranquil glow.

“When I walk into a house to help someone, I always say a prayer and ask for God’s guidance. I know I’m not the one who will save a patient. I’m merely there to help ease their pain and suffering. God is the One in whom we must trust. It’s His will that is played out.”

“Sometimes I wish I had your faith, Amelia.”

Their eyes met across the child in her arms. “All you
have to do is trust in the Lord and know that He is there for you whenever you are ready to accept Him into your life and into your heart.”

Just then Rebekah came around the corner of the house. Joe walked beside her beating trail dust off his clothes with his hat. “Good to see you, Amelia,” he called out to them. “You, too, Mr. Larson. My wife says you’re a good listener. She claims that’s the sign of a good storyteller.”

Hank stood up as the couple joined them. “Thank you, Rebekah.” He nodded toward Joe’s wife, then he turned to Joe. “Mind if we take a walk? I’d like to see that new colt your mother mentioned.” He hoped the look he shot Joe said more than his words conveyed.

The rancher picked up on his meaning immediately. Hank was relieved as they left the women at the table and Joe led the way toward the barn.

“Thanks,” Hank told him when they were out of earshot. “I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“What’s going on?” Joe shoved his hat to the back of his head. His forehead, rarely exposed to the sun, was paler than the rest of his face.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Amelia, although she already knows, but there’s now a price on her brother’s head.”

He slipped a folded poster out of his vest pocket and handed it to Joe. The man didn’t open it, merely shoved it into the back pocket of his denim pants. He walked a few paces away from the barn and Hank followed.

He told Joe what he knew about the Perkins Gang to date and added, “Oz Caldwell trailed them this way but lost the sign. I’d like word to get out to the surrounding ranches and homesteads to be on the lookout.”

“I’ll help pass the word.”

“Much appreciated. By the way, I hear Silas Jones worked for you.”

“He did. A couple years back. I had to fire him.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“He has a bad habit of running off at the mouth. He insulted Rebekah.”

Hank knew that’s all it would take for him to fire a man, too. “Can’t say as I blame you. You should probably keep an eye out for him and the others.”

“Don’t worry.”

Hank hadn’t failed to notice Joe wore a gun. “Why is it a rancher feels the need to walk around armed?”

Joe shrugged. “Snakes, wolves, injured animals that have to be put down.”

“I guess I should have thought of that,” Hank said.

“There are two-footed varmints around, too,” Joe added. “You’re not comfortable around guns, are you?”

“Not really.”

“Funny quality for a sheriff.”

“I’m still trying to find my replacement. Any suggestions?”

“Nope. Good luck.” Joe leaned against the rails of the corral, his brow creased. “I doubt the Perkins Gang ever stays in one place very long, or they’d have been caught by now. I just hope Evan stays clear of Amelia.”

Hank nodded. “I hope so, too.” He pictured Amelia standing in front of the Wanted poster that morning. Remembered the lone tear streaking down her cheek. He let his emotions do the talking. “I hate him for hurting her the way he has. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“Next to my ma, Amelia’s one of the strongest women I know,” Joe said. “But when it comes to Evan, she’s the
most vulnerable. She raised him and thinks of him more as a son than a brother.”

“I got as much from talking to folks around town.”

“You sweet on our Amelia, Mr. Larson?”

“Call me Hank.” He thought for a minute before he committed. “I am, Joe. I’m sweet on Amelia and it’s getting worse by the day.”

Hank watched Joe’s expression harden and was shocked at the change in the man’s disposition. This was a hard-edged, no-nonsense side of Joe Ellenberg that Hank had never seen.

“Amelia’s got no family to speak for her, so seeing as how I’ve known her for a long, long time, I feel it’s my duty. She was hurt once before. Left at the altar you might say, so you take care, Mr. Larson. Do not toy with her feelings or break her heart, or you’ll have me to answer to, understand?”

“Completely.” Hank was shocked to hear there was more to the story of Amelia’s love life than she had already told him. After hearing what Joe said, he was determined to take even greater care with her feelings.

Having seen this other side of Joe, Hank had to ask, “You sure you don’t want to be sheriff?”

Joe laughed. “Fat chance. I’ve got enough to do right here. There’s no way you’re going to find a rancher worth his salt who can sit around waiting for trouble to find him.”

“So far, trouble hasn’t managed to find me,” Hank said. “Not since that first day at the bank.”

“It’s just a matter of time. Trouble has a way of finding us all. Hopefully, I’ve put my hard times behind me for a while.” Joe pushed off the fence rail and headed for the barn door. “Guess we ought to go see that colt, just so you can say you did.”

“You know anything about the Harroways?” Hank asked as they stepped into the shaded interior of the horse barn.

Joe led the way to a stall where a newborn colt stood on wobbly legs before he answered.

“I know some, but not much. Old man Harroway founded the town in the early fifties. Came to Texas from Louisiana with most of his family. Lost his two brothers and their families to Comanche and Kiowa raiders early on. He was a determined old buzzard and stuck it out. Had two children, a boy and a girl. Built the first church in Glory and ran through a passel of preachers before one took. My ma would know more than I do.”

“You know anything about the son, the one who lives in Harroway House now?”

“Lemuel. He built the mansion. The house his pa had in town wasn’t grand enough for him. He’s rich and handsome. Looks younger than his years. Got him a beautiful wife from San Antonio, the granddaughter of some Spanish landowner down there. Doesn’t matter how beautiful she is, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lemuel is a womanizer. Always has been. Leaves her to run the place.”

“Amelia said he has a sister—”

“Fanny. Haven’t seen her for years. Not that I’ve seen either of them for years. They stick to themselves. Old man Harroway might have founded Glory, but Lemuel’s always thought the town and the folks in it were beneath him.” He paused to study Hank for a moment. “Why all the questions?”

“Just curious,” Hank admitted. “Amelia was called out there last week. Before that, I had no idea any of Emmert’s descendants lived nearby.”

“If you’re thinking of talking to them about a story, they won’t oblige.”

“I thought I should go by and at least warn them about the Perkins Gang sighting, but it sounds like I might not get a very good reception.”

Joe gave the mare a carrot as Hank marveled at the size of the colt. Within minutes they were headed toward the house again. Even from a distance, Hank could tell Amelia was laughing and smiling as she spoke to Hattie and Rebekah. He was glad he’d brought her along.

Just then, a rider appeared on the road leading to the ranch house.

“Looks like somebody’s in a hurry,” Hank commented as Joe watched the rider approach at breakneck speed.

“That’s not one of my men.” Joe rested his palm on his gun handle.

Hank waited with Joe as the rider reined in and dismounted right in front of them.

The man couldn’t have been a day younger than sixty-five. The old cowhand tipped his hat. “I’m Isaac Brown. I work over to the Harroway place. I’m looking for Miss Amelia. They told me in town she might be here.”

“She’s here.” Joe nodded toward the house. “You’d best walk that horse and cool him down.”

“Miss Amelia’s needed over at the Harroway’s. Pronto,” Isaac said.

Joe turned to Hank. “Well, it looks like you’re going to find out about what kind of a reception they’ll give you a lot sooner than you planned.”

Amelia asked Joe to lend her a horse but Hank insisted on driving her to Harroway House.

“This is no time for you to be gallivanting around the
countryside alone,” Hank reminded her. “Not with the Perkins Gang at large.”

Joe concurred. Amelia began to protest until Hattie chimed in.

“Being independent is a fine quality unless it borders on stupidity, Amelia. This is no time to be stubborn. You let Hank drive you over to the Harroways’.”

Amelia grudgingly agreed.

As they headed away from the Rocking e and turned onto a well-traveled road that led northeast, Hank said, “I’m glad I’ll be getting a look at Harroway House.”