Heartbreak Creek (25 page)

“What are you grinning about?” a voice whispered.

He almost jumped from the chair. Jerking the rifle up, he whipped around to see a ghostly white figure floating toward him. “Ed?”

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

Christamighty.
Letting out an explosive breath, he slumped back into the chair. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I suspect you have plenty bejesus left.”

As she drew closer into the faint lamplight, he saw she wore a white robe that didn’t reach to her ankles and her feet were bare. Her hair was loose, hanging in dark waves down her front, hiding from his wandering gaze those attributes she was so worried about. Just thinking about them perked him up. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked her.

“Looking for paper.” She sank into the chair across from his, fluffing out the robe and carefully arranging it so that everything of interest was discreetly covered. “I wanted to make a list.”

He propped the rifle against the side of his chair, then settled back into the cushions. Her face was a pale oval in the dim light. He couldn’t read her expression. “What kind of list?”

“I have questions. But now that you’re back, I’ll just ask you.”

Not liking the sound of that, he tried to head her off. “Save it for morning. You should get some rest.”

“Who is Lone Tree?”

Hell.
Thunder thumped in the distance, a single, muffled sound, like a shoe dropping on the floor above. “Who said anything about Lone Tree?”

“Pru. She heard you and Thomas talking. Why is he after you?”

“I put him in jail once.”

“Why?”

“For fighting.” He could feel her impatience, heard it in the rhythmic tap of her fingers on the arm of her chair, and knew she would keep at him until she heard it all. “He has an aversion to closed spaces. I didn’t know that when I locked him in his cell.” Having his own demons to contend with, Declan would have devised a more humane punishment had he known. “He went a little crazy.” More than a little crazy. Wild. Like an animal. Howling. Pounding on the walls until his hands bled. Crouching in the corner, shivering and weeping and wetting himself. Declan had never seen anything like it. He just prayed nothing like that ever happened to him. “He wouldn’t eat or drink. Didn’t sleep.”

“What happened?”

“The circuit judge sentenced him to ten days. When I saw how hard it was on him, I shortened it to five. But he didn’t come out the same as he went in. During those five days, something broke in his head. He blames me for it.”

More lightning. Thunder. Wind rattling the windowpane like a cat trying to get in. He thought of Lone Tree out there waiting for his chance and hoped the rain would keep him hunkered down for the night.

“So now he wants revenge?”

Declan nodded. “But it should be the other way around. I think he’s the one who killed my wife.”

A sound escaped her. A sigh of sympathy, maybe—for him or Sally—he wasn’t sure which. But she didn’t speak, and for that he was grateful. It didn’t seem right talking to Ed about his first wife. Maybe because his feelings about Sally—their life together, his guilt, her death—were so confused he still hadn’t sorted them out.

“Are the children in danger?”

“I’ll protect them. And you. I swear it.”

“I know.” She smiled. He couldn’t see it, but he heard it in her voice. Felt it like a hand against his cheek. “I trust you, Declan.”

Hearing that, something cracked inside him, a tiny fissure that spread through him so fast it reached every part of him in an instant.

He almost went to her then. Desperate to be inside her. Now. Here on the soft carpet with her eyes wide open, so he could see into her mind when he took her, and hear her say his name, and feel her spirit wrap so tight around him the ghosts of the past couldn’t find a way in.

Instead, he turned to the window and the darkness beyond, where thunder rumbled, and rain danced against the glass, and a wet, red dawn spilled like blood over the bared teeth of the peaks.

 

 

Lone Tree didn’t come that night. Or the next day.

But Thomas did. And he brought more bad news than good.

Declan’s house was still standing. The barn had been set afire, but the roof had burned first, then caved, allowing enough rain in to keep the rest of the structure from burning completely. The milk cow and chickens were dead. The supplies in the cold cellar had either been taken or destroyed. Cattle had been run through the kitchen door, then slaughtered when they tried to escape out the back. In addition to the damage they caused, the house had been ransacked.

It could have been worse.

But not for Jubal Parker. He and his wife were dead, their house reduced to a smoldering framework, their livestock slaughtered.

The message was clear: Lone Tree wanted Declan home. That’s why he had left his house standing, so that he would have something to come back to. And when he did, the Indian would be there waiting. Which left Declan with no choice but to take the sheriff’s job and stay in town where his family would be safe.

T
he next morning, after arranging for the ladies and the two younger children to continue staying at the hotel, Declan, the oldest boys, Thomas, Amos, and the Parker ranch hands moved into Declan’s house on Elderberry Creek and started the renovations necessary to make it livable. He didn’t expect it to take long with so many able hands to share the task, especially when several townspeople pitched in, too. Others donated pieces of furniture and kitchen supplies, and Emmet Gebbers arranged through the bank for building materials so Declan could add on a room for the boys and convert the small carriage house into a usable stable. Even Cal Bagley, apparently anxious to show Declan there were no hard feelings, helped out by forking up a box of foodstuffs to fill the pantry.

Meanwhile, Edwina and Maddie put their talents to work making quilts out of the discarded curtains from the hotel and patching old linens to use as bedding. Pru helped in the hotel kitchen and with supplies donated by Lucinda provided hearty meals for all of them.

Thank goodness for kind friends and generous neighbors.

Throughout the busy week, Declan insisted to anyone who came by that he was only taking the sheriff job temporarily, and as soon as the Indian issue was settled, he’d go back to ranching. Nobody seemed to believe him. Edwina was gratified by the outpouring of support, and although her husband tolerated the help with good grace, she sensed he hated to accept charity, especially from people who had been so quick to misjudge him in the past.

Only a few continued to hold him in suspicion, the most flagrant being Alice Waltham. Her animosity even carried over to Edwina, as the “usurper” of her friend’s children. Despite the woman’s determination to spread gossip wherever she could, most of the townspeople took little note of it, so Edwina held on to her temper and continued to smile and pretend it didn’t matter. But she resolved that as soon as the family settled into the refurbished house, she would confront the woman and set her straight about Declan.

On a cool, overcast morning several days after the shivaree, Tom Hamilton and his new wife left to catch the train to Santa Fe, and that afternoon, in the back room of the sheriff’s office, Mayor Gebbers swore Declan in as Heartbreak Creek’s new “temporary” lawman.

The first thing Declan did after pinning on the badge was to name Thomas his “temporary” deputy. The second was to wire Fort Lasswell and ask what they intended to do about the Indian unrest in the area.

“Inquiries,” he told Thomas with a sly grin, “always sound more official when there’s a title attached to the inquirer’s name.”

An hour later, word came that Lieutenant Haywood Guthrie and a dozen mounted troopers would be arriving in Heartbreak Creek in a couple of days to assess the situation.

“Now maybe we’ll catch the bastard and I can get back to ranching,” Declan muttered to Thomas as they left the telegraph office and headed down the boardwalk.

“An hour as sheriff, and already you talk of leaving,” Thomas observed.

“I didn’t ask for the job.”

“And yet you took it.”

“As did you.”

Thomas turned his head and looked at him, his expression bland. “I said I would stay until Lone Tree is stopped. If this piece of metal on my shirt will make that easier, then I will wear it. If,” he added with a wry smile, “your fine white friends let me.”

“If they want me as sheriff, they’ll let you.”

Even though Declan expected a few raised brows over his naming an Indian his deputy, he hoped that since Thomas had become such a frequent sight around town, it wouldn’t cause too big a stir. It probably helped that Thomas had started dressing in real trousers, rather than a breechcloth and open-hipped leggings, and had traded his fringed leather war shirt for a cowboy work shirt with a banded collar. He still wore his front braids, but now pulled back with the rest of his long hair and tied with a leather thong from which hung his eagle feather. Thomas referred to his new look as being “whitewashed.” Even so, he cut quite a figure, and Declan had seen more than one woman eyeing him as he walked by.

“You will go with the blue coats to your ranch?” Thomas asked now as they headed back to the office.

“I need to see what’s left and check on the stock.”

“You will take the women and your children with you?”

“The oldest two. Miss Lincoln will stay here with Brin and Lucas.” Declan shot the Cheyenne an amused look. “Which probably means you’ll be staying, too.”

“As deputy, it is my duty to stay when the sheriff leaves.”

“Sure it is.”

Two ladies came out of the mercantile. They nodded politely, their gazes flicking between the two men, then going wide when Thomas flashed his startling grin. Another thing that boosted his acceptance. Having no wish to stop and chat, Declan touched the brim of his hat and walked on.

“And your wife? Will she be staying, too?”

A wagon rolled by, kicking up tiny breaths of dust behind the wheels. Declan gave the driver a nod even though he couldn’t remember his name. Henson? Hendrick? A miner. Son with a squint. “She said there were some clothes she needed to get. And she wants to see if there’s anything left we can use to fix this place up.” He hoped that would be enough explanation for Thomas because that was all he was going to say.

Things with Ed became more confused every day. Which kept him thinking about her more than he should. And looking forward to her trips to the house to supervise him and see how the work was going. And wanting her in his bed.

She amused him. Kept him wondering. And ever since she’d mentioned consummation—did anyone even use that word anymore?—getting her under him was all he could think about. Hopefully, once he got her away from her friends and all the people who seemed to be crowding into their lives, they could address that issue again.

In private. In his oversized bed. With just enough moonlight streaming through the tall window to see those attributes she’d brought to his attention.

Later.
Everything seemed to be waiting for later.

 

 

“You sure you don’t mind staying behind?” Edwina asked as she buckled the strap on her valise.

The soldiers had arrived yesterday evening, and Declan had insisted they leave for the ranch this morning. She expected him to come pounding on the door any minute. The man had the patience of a five-year-old. A really big, really handsome five-year-old. Smiling, she pinned on her bonnet.

“Whatever,” Pru said.

Confused by the tone of disinterest, Edwina studied her sister’s form, silhouetted against the pink dawn as she stared out the hotel window. Throughout the bustle of trying to get the house ready, she had seen little of Pru, other than in the evenings when they were both too exhausted to do more than wash, change into their nightclothes, and fall into bed. Yet now, she sensed a widening of that awkward space that had lingered between them ever since Pru had told her about Shelly’s proclivities.

“It should be no more than three days. And Thomas promised to take Brin and Lucas fishing every day, so you won’t have to watch them constantly.”

Turning back into the room, Pru tightened the sash on her robe with a quick, sharp jerk. “It doesn’t matter.”

Edwina frowned. Instead of being delighted that she would have time with Thomas, Pru seemed unhappy at the prospect. Edgy. Almost angry.

“Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Is it Thomas? Has he done something?”

Pru straightened the lamp on the table by the wingback, then went to stand at the window again.

“I thought you liked Thomas.”

Her sister didn’t respond.

“He certainly seems taken with you.”

“Is he?” The tone was mocking.

Which confused Edwina even more. “I think so. Don’t you?”

Pru gave a harsh, sharp bark of laughter and whipped around, her eyes snapping fire. “And what about this?” In a gesture so sudden and unexpected it sent Edwina back a step, she jerked aside the lapel of her robe to expose the fine web of pale scars that marred the darker skin across her right shoulder and down beneath the crocheted neckline of her gown. “Do you think if he saw this he would still be
taken
? I doubt it.” Yanking the robe closed, she faced the window again, her back stiff, her arms folded tightly across her waist. “How could he?”

It was a moment before Edwina could respond. They never spoke of Pru’s scars. Just seeing them made Edwina recoil. Not in disgust, but guilt. It was her fault her sister had been burned. It was her fault the jug of milk had spilled. But when Pru had rushed in to take the blame as she so often did, Mama had whirled on her, the pot of scalding water clutched in her hand.