Where the Wind Blows (10 page)

Chase rode down the muddy street of Valley Springs, a small town that looked like any number of the small towns he’d traveled through over the years. Since it didn’t claim a sheriff’s office, he decided the next best place to deliver the news about Nathan would be the mercantile.

First, though, he’d stop at the saloon. Have a drink. It was a good way to get a feel for this sleepy little town, and to wet his dry throat.

As he tied Cody to the empty hitching rail, a man stepped out of an eatery from across the street. The man stood for a moment and stared boldly. Chase gave him a nod before stepping into the dark interior of the bar.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, and his sense of smell was bombarded with unpleasant odors. There’d been a time in his life when hanging around a bar, gambling, and plain cutting up had seemed enjoyable pursuits. But those days were long past. Whatever the attraction of those activities, he didn’t feel it anymore and couldn’t believe he ever had. Especially since spending the last few days with Jessie, where things were clean, sweet-smelling, and homey. There had to be more to life than this. Now the reek of unwashed bodies and stale smoke turned his stomach.

“What can I do ya for, mister?” the barkeep asked.

“Whiskey.” Placing two bits on the shiny bar top, Chase looked into the mirror behind the bar, studying the room through its reflection. He was alone except for a single man sitting at a corner table, shuffling a deck of cards. The man
caught Chase’s gaze in the mirror and held out the deck in silent invitation.

Without turning, Chase shook his head. “No, thanks.” Lifting his whiskey, he took a slow drink.

“You new in town?” the bartender asked as he polished a clear glass tumbler. “Plannin’ ta stay?”

He was a short, stocky man with a shiny bald head. A bushy black handlebar mustache made up for the lack of hair on top.

Chase shrugged. He didn’t give out information about himself—a survival tactic he’d learned long ago. “Maybe.”

There was a sound from outside, and a youth came striding through the swinging doors. His hair, scruffy and long, was in need of a good scrubbing.

“Sorry I’m late, Pops, but Ma wouldn’t let me out any sooner.” He stood looking Chase up and down as he waited for the barkeep to answer.

“Oh, go on now and get your apron. If it’s not one thing, it’s surely another. Start with the sweeping and then empty the trash.”

“Sure thing.” The boy hurried into the back room, emerging with an apron in one hand and a broom in the other.

“This town have a place a man can get a bath and shave?” Chase asked as he watched the boy sweep. The lad reminded Chase of himself at that age. He’d had just such a job for a man named Rattlesnake. Meanest son of a cuss this side of the Mississippi. As soon shoot you as sell you a drink.

“Yeah. Across the street in the back of the eatery. Isaac Mahoney and his sister Megan have a tub they let out for fifty cents. Iffen you want a haircut and shave, Megan’ll do that for an extra two bits. Would you be wantin’ it now?” he asked.

“The sooner the better. I’m about as strong as I can stand.”

Pops turned to the boy. “Jake, run across the street and
have Ike warm some water. And tell Megan to sharpen her razor. Don’t want no dull blade, haw haw.”

Chase didn’t see the humor in the old man’s remark but laughed anyway. “How ’bout a telegraph office?”

“Yes, indeedy. Just got a line in last year. Sure has been handy,” the little man announced proudly. “It’s down at the stage office on the north end of town.”

Chase took a sip of his drink. “Don’t suppose you’ve also got a smithy around here.”

“Well, I’m sure surprised you didn’t see the blacksmith shop as you rode in. Can’t miss it, block down from Holly-hock’s.”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember seeing the place. He any good with horses?”

“About the best in the territory. Name’s Garth Shepard. People think right highly of him around here.”

I’ll bet they do, Chase thought, tossing back the last of his drink.

“Another?”

“No, thanks.”

Jake, humming a tune, came back into the saloon, remnants of pastry clinging to his mouth. “Water’ll be hot in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, kid.” Chase dug into his pocket and flipped him a coin.

Jake caught it midair.

“Thanks, mister. If you have need of anything else, let me know.”

“Hey, you work for me. Remember?” Pops said, wagging his finger at the boy.

“Sure, Pops, I know.” Jake went back to his sweeping and humming.

“You know anyone by the name of Lonnie?” Chase asked.

“Can’t rightly say I know him, but he’s been in here a time
or two. Said he’s a prospector and has a claim upriver a ways. I think he’s just some no-account, blowing smoke. I haven’t seen him for a while, though,” Pops said, pausing to wipe his bald head with the cloth he’d been polishing the glasses with.

Chase looked down at his glass and frowned.

“Jake! You seen that gold digger Lonnie around lately?” the bartender called.

“Naw. Been nigh on a week since I seen him.”

“If he happens in while I’m still in town,” Chase said, “I’d appreciate you letting me know.”

“What’s your name, mister?” Pops asked. “Need to know who’m asking for.”

“Chase Logan. Don’t forget, now.”

“Sure thing.”

“Mr. Logan,” Jake called from the back. “I’m Jake. If you need anything, don’t forget to ask
me.
” Hefting the trash barrel, he stepped out the back door.

“Little hustler,” Chase said under his breath. The kid would do all right for himself if he stayed out of trouble.

Chase luxuriated in the steaming hot water. It’d been a while since he’d actually washed in a tub, so he decided to soak as long as the water stayed hot.

The tub was large, but then, so was Chase. His shoulders weren’t fully submerged, and his knees protruded out of the soapy bubbles like twin mountain peaks. Still, the hot water caressed his torso like a loving bride, easing away the pain of his sore ribs. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes.

Uninvited visions of Jessie in a tub of bubbles popped into his head. Her hair was swept up in an enticing fashion on top of her head, just begging for him to pull out a pin to set it free, and little beads of water slipped slowly down her neck, stopping when they reached the firm swell of her breasts.

“Ah, hell.”

“Did ya say somethin’, Mr. Logan? ‘Tis anythin’ you be needin’?” Megan Mahoney’s lilting Irish brogue made its way through the locked door.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He wondered if the woman was sitting with her ear plastered to the door. She’d almost insisted on helping him off with his clothes and into the tub. He’d finally succeeded in shooing her out and turning the lock.

“My razor’s sharp, and I’m ready anytime you be. But take your time, don’t let me rush ya, now. I know how delightful a hot, bubbly bath can be.”

“Meg!” Ike’s scolding voice rang sharp. “Leave Mr. Logan alone. How can he relax with you squawking like a jabber bird? Now, skedaddle from that door until he’s ready to come out.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly, Isaac,” Megan said plaintively.

Chase reached for the large cloth he’d been given before getting into the tub. It was thin and threadbare from many washings. Standing, he quickly rubbed himself dry and redressed in his clothes.

As promised, Megan was waiting for him on the other side of the door. She hadn’t left, just stopped talking. She had her scissors and shaving kit all lined up, ready to give Chase a barbering.

“Now, just sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Logan. Don’t be worrying…I’ve done this many times,”
she said, smiling as he seated himself, then slapping a hot rag across his stubbled face.

Chase tried to relax, but Megan seemed awfully featherbrained to be trusted with a razor so close to his throat.

After lathering his face, she began to scrape. The first few strokes were nerve-racking, setting his heart thudding. But distracting noises floated in from the other room, where Megan’s brother was serving meals, and soon Chase was relaxed and enjoying himself.

It was close to noon, and the hearty aromas of lunches being served next door wafted in to taunt his empty belly. His stomach rumbled.

“Oh, my,” Megan said, sitting up and wiping the razor on her towel. “You’re hungry. You must try some of Isaac’s mutton pie. ’Tis as heavenly as hot cocoa for Christmas.”

It occurred to Chase that as recently as a week ago he would have loved the attention he was receiving now. Welcomed her flirtatious ways and pretty face. Megan was the sort of female any man would find very attractive. But now all he could think about was tying up loose ends and getting back to the cabin to make sure everything was all right…with Jessie.

“Meg!” Ike called from the other room. “Are you almost done with Mr. Logan? We’re gettin’ plenty busy out here, and I need your help.”

“I’m just about done. I’ll be right there.” She mopped the remaining bits of lather from Chase’s face and held up a mirror.

“Looks fine. How much do I owe you?” Chase pulled out his money bag.

“Don’t ya want your hair cut?”

“Not today—too much to get done. I’ll be back if I find some extra time.”

As Chase was leaving the building, he nearly ran into the
blacksmith, who was entering the room at the same time. The door opening wouldn’t accommodate both large men.

“Are you Mr. Shepard, the blacksmith?” Chase asked, stepping back to give him room to enter.

“That’s me, all right. You need some work done?” Garth asked with a friendly smile. His gaze roamed the room until it landed on Megan, and he gave her a wink.

“I’m looking for a horse to buy. Has to be gentle.”

“Have a couple down at my place I just traded for some work on a prairie schooner. I don’t know too much about them yet, but you’re welcome to come take a look.”

“I’ll do that when you’re done with your meal.”

Chase set out for the stage office and sent two telegrams: one to the Rocking Crown, informing them of a short delay in his arrival, and one to the First National Bank of Logan.

Chase made it a practice to wire the better part of his pay to his bank account every few months. He kept on him just the bare minimum to make it to the next job, with a little extra left over. His savings were something he took seriously, a nest egg for the future. This time he kept most back, planning on using it for Jessie’s supplies. That way she could save what she had from Nathan for the future.

Back when he was eighteen, Chase had been as wild as they come, and after one particularly rowdy night he landed in jail for disturbing the peace. The town banker, Frank Lloyd, came and bailed him out. At the time it had been a mystery to Chase why he’d do such a thing. To pay off his debt to him, Frank had had Chase do small jobs here and there, all the while instilling in him a curiosity for finance.

Frank Lloyd turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to Chase, teaching him the principles of saving and investments and such. Chase was a willing pupil, with a quick grasp for figures. The two made contact every few
years, and Frank watched over Chase’s money, making small investments for him now and then.

After wiring his money, Chase entered the mercantile and looked around. Heat from a potbelly stove enveloped him, and tangy scents of spice and sugar made his mouth water.

The rustling of skirts drew his attention to the first aisle, where a small woman was dusting the shelves with a brown feather duster.

“Oh—may I help you?” She bustled over to him, dusting as she came.

“Yes, ma’am. I need a few supplies.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, young man,” she said, boldly looking him up and down. “Do you have a list of the things you need?”

“No, I don’t. I want supplies sent out to Nathan Strong’s place. Enough for passing the winter without having to scrimp.”

The second he’d mentioned Nathan Strong, the woman nearly stood at attention. “Be sure to include coffee, tea, sugar, and flour. Throw in any canned goods you have and some candy. Some bolts of fabric would be good, and three blankets, if you have them.”

“Mercy me, that’s a big order.” The quantity and variety of things he wanted seemed to surprise the wiry little woman. “You must be kin—a brother maybe of Mr. Strong’s?” Curiosity burned in her intense blue eyes.

“No, I’m not.” Chase was relieved the store was empty except for the two of them. “I’m an acquaintance of Mr. Strong’s. I rode with him on his last job. He was killed, and I brought the news to his widow.”

Her face went white. “Oh, my! Poor Jessie!” The woman was clucking her cheek now, and Chase couldn’t help but notice her resemblance to a chicken.

“Poor child. My, my, my. Have you told her yet?” The
woman was fanning herself with the feather duster, and little bits of fluff were floating around her face.

“Yes. I just came from there.” Chase spotted a rope coiled on the wall. “And throw in that rope,” he said, pointing.

“Yes, yes.” The old woman was scurrying here and there, piling things on the counter. “I’ll ride out with Virgil when he delivers your things. I need to see how Jessie is takin’ the news.”

“Fine, but I have some other business I need to take care of first. I’ll be back in about an hour, and then we’ll go out together.”

The blacksmith’s shop was small, with corrals around the sides and out back. A small living area was built above the lower stable. Chase was struck by how neat and well kept everything was. A new coat of white paint made the little building stand out in a town where everything else was in drastic need of repair.

The ring of metal on metal reverberated, telling Chase the man was finished with his nooning. Entering the smithy, he found Mr. Shepard bending over the hoof of a massive black horse.

“Howdy.”

“Howdy, Mr. Logan,” Garth said, straightening. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face and the back of his neck. “Megan over at the eatery told me your name. I reckon you know my name since my shingle’s hanging out front.”

Chase, trying hard not to like this man, flexed his shoulders. He’d seen him yesterday enjoying Jessie’s company entirely too much. But his sunny disposition and generous manner were hard to dismiss.

“That’s so.” Chase held out his hand, and Garth took it in his. The men shook while sizing each other up.

“I’d like to take a look at those horses you have for sale.”
Chase said after a pause. “I need something real gentle and broke solid.”

“They’re ’round back. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Chase peered into the corral at the motley group—three horses and a mule, standing ankle deep in muck. Garth took a rope and, not giving notice to the mud he was trudging through, brought the horses over for Chase’s inspection, one by one.

Chase stepped into the corral and studied their conformation. The first horse, a gray, pinned his ears and bared his teeth when approached. Chase ruled him out instantly.

“The gray’s unsuitable. The other two? Are they gentle?”

“Seem to be,” Garth answered. “Haven’t seen them bite or kick or do anything dangerous. I think either one would be a good choice.”

Chase walked around the gray to stroke the neck of a little chestnut mare. She stood patiently, enjoying the attention. A paint, head hung low, ignored the men completely.

“How much?”

“Ten each.”

“I’ll take them both.” Chase stepped through the gate back onto solid ground. “With saddle and bridle, if you have them.”

“Fine. I’ll get them saddled up.”

Chase tied the horses in front of the mercantile and entered. Mrs. Hollyhock was busy helping a young lady who was straightening some bolts of fabric. Both women looked up as he approached.

“Looky who’s here, Beth—the man I was telling you about,” the storekeeper said, rushing forward to greet him.

He cringed inwardly. The last thing he wanted to do today was chitchat in the house-goods section. Mrs. Happyhill, or whatever her name was, took hold of his arm and towed him toward the young woman.

“Beth, this is Mr…uh…”

“Logan,” Chase filled in for her.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Logan,” she replied, her cheeks instantly darkening to a crimson color.

“He’s the one who worked with Mr. Strong and is sendin’ all the food and such out to the Strongs’ homestead,” Mrs. Hollyhock said as she gazed up at Chase. “Don’t he look just like my Tommy? The resemblance is strikin’.”

Pausing, she took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Logan, I didn’t mean to go on like that. It’s just been so long since my handsome boy rode away. I’m always hoping, waiting…”

“There, there,” the young woman said a bit impatiently. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m set to go,” Chase broke in. “Are the things I ordered ready?” The sooner he was out the door, the better. Females put him on edge, especially crying ones.

“Yes, they’re ’round back on the buckboard, Mr. Logan. Just let me grab my shawl, and Virgil and I’ll be ready to go.” Turning to the other woman, she asked, “Beth, would you mind closing up tonight? I want to ride out with Mr. Logan and check on Jessie. I’m jist sure she’s takin’ the news real hard, poor little thing.”