Lawman in Disguise (10 page)

Daisy straightened, blinked and forced a chuckle. She hadn't even seen Tilly entering the kitchen. “No, we certainly wouldn't. It's hot in here,” she added, hoping the woman would think the tear was a bead of perspiration.

“So what else is new?” inquired Tilly, patting her own dewy forehead. She winked. “Besides the patched roof on your barn, and the fella doing the patching Sunday morning, that is.” She smirked at Daisy's startled expression. “That's right, your handsome workman was
seen,
Daisy Henderson,” Tilly announced, a look of triumph on her face. “Mrs. Donahue overslept and didn't make it to church, but when she came in here for a late breakfast, she was quick to tell me she'd been awakened by the sound of someone poundin' on your barn roof next door. She also said he was mighty good-looking, from what she could see from her upstairs window. So who is he, Daisy, dear? Do you suppose he might have some time to come down to the boardinghouse and do some odd jobs for Mrs. Meyers? Or does he solely work for
you
?”

There was a wealth of wicked innuendo in the other woman's tone and a gleam of mischief in her eyes that revealed she was only too glad to have this juicy bit of scandalous gossip to hold over Daisy's head.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Don't be ridiculous, Tilly. He was a traveling man looking for work. I'd saved some money to have the barn roof fixed and he offered to do it in return for a few dollars, a couple of meals and permission to sleep in my barn until he was ready to head back on his way. And I'm sure he'd have been happy to work for Mrs. Meyers at the boardinghouse, too, but unfortunately, he left for Austin this morning. Too bad,” she said, feigning regret. “I was very satisfied with the job he did.”

But Tilly was not to be so easily vanquished. “And would this traveling workman be the same fellow you were out strolling with the other night? Saw you with my own eyes, I did. But you both looked so
serious
—what was that about?”

Daisy froze at the thought of how much trouble Tilly could now make for her. It was true that there could be no secrets in a town the size of Simpson Creek. She'd been foolish to believe she could have Thorn stay with her and not have anyone notice.

“And what were
you
doing out on the street at that hour, Tilly? As I recall, it was about midnight when I discovered Billy Joe was missing and Th—” she swallowed, realizing she'd almost said “Thorn” “—the workman heard me calling for him in the yard and offered to help me look for him. We found him swimming with his pals in the creek.”

“Boys will be boys, I guess.” Tilly giggled. “As for me, I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a stroll. That boardinghouse can be so stuffy on summer nights,” she added with another elaborate wink. “But you know what a stickler our boss is for propriety in his employees. It wouldn't do to have Mr. Prendergast catch wind of your midnight promenades with the handsome hired man, would it?”

“Tilly—” Daisy began to remonstrate with her coworker, only to freeze in horror at the sight of the very man she had just named standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his cavernous chest and an expression of indignation on his face.
When had he entered the kitchen? What had he heard?

“Mr. Prendergast? Is there a problem?” she said, pretending to concentrate on the chicken parts she was turning once again.

The proprietor harrumphed. “Only if you consider slow service a problem,” he pronounced in his pompous way. “I came through the dining room and found the mayor and his lady waiting on their dinners, and while they didn't complain, it sounds to me as if they'd been waiting for a considerable while. And then I find the two of you back here gossiping—and I believe I heard
my
name mentioned, did I not, Miss Pridemore?” he said, addressing Tilly.

As Daisy feared, the waitress had no scruples about throwing a coworker under the wagon wheels rather than herself.

“Yes, Mr. Prendergast,” Tilly said, the picture of innocent virtue. “I was merely reminding Daisy that you insist on the highest standard of morality in everyone you employ—for your female staff in particular—and I pointed out that going out for a midnight walk with a traveling hired man was not, shall we say,
consistent
with that image, especially considering she is a widow with an impressionable son.”

The proprietor glared at Daisy and wrinkled his nose as if he suddenly smelled a skunk, while Daisy fought down the urge to call Tilly out as the conniving schemer she was.

“Indeed it is not,” he said. “Miss Pridemore, will you be so kind as to serve the mayor and his wife their meals, then come back and take over the cooking while I speak further with Mrs. Henderson about this matter?”

“I'd be ever so happy to do that, Mr. Prendergast,” Tilly simpered, with much fluttering of her lashes. “You know my goal is always to serve the hotel in whatever way I can.” After plating the food, she flounced out of the kitchen after a last malice-filled, triumphant sneer at Daisy.

With leaden feet, Daisy followed the hotel proprietor out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his office. This was it. Tilly's scheming had succeeded at last. Daisy was about to be fired, and with Tilly and Mrs. Donahue blackening her name all over town, very soon no one would even let her do their laundry. She would be unable to earn any wages, and Billy Joe might well think his mother had earned her disgrace and the precarious situation it would put their family in.

If only she hadn't had to lie to Tilly about Thorn. She'd never been a liar before, but now she was stuck with the story that he was a traveling workman. Though perhaps in this situation, sticking with the false story would be wiser than telling the truth. She couldn't very well tell Mr. Prendergast she'd been harboring a fugitive. That would hardly be—what was Tilly's phrase?—consistent with the high standards of morality for the hotel's employees. Daisy didn't feel she'd done anything wrong, or compromised her morals by taking care of Thorn, and she couldn't be sorry she'd helped save his life. But her own life would have certainly been easier if he hadn't picked her barn to collapse in.

Mr. Prendergast's office was airless and stank of the cigars he favored. By the end of the grueling half hour she spent being interrogated—there was no other word for it—her clothing stuck to her damply, and she felt weak and defenseless as a newborn kitten. But through it all, she had stuck to the same explanation she had given Tilly, and at the end of it, she still had her job.

“But mind your step,” Mr. Prendergast warned her when at last he told her she could resume her duties. “If there is any repetition of scandal connected with your name, Mrs. Henderson, you will be seeking employment elsewhere—at the saloon, perhaps.”

It was all Daisy could do to smother her indignation. He hadn't even questioned why Tilly had been a witness to her late-night walk down Simpson Creek's main street with Thorn. He seemed to think his waitress could do no wrong.

But at least Daisy had the pleasure of seeing the nonplussed look on Tilly's face when she told the other woman she could resume to her waitressing duties, since Daisy was going back to work in the kitchen.

By this time, however, the noon rush was over and the dining room all but empty. “You might as well take your break,” Tilly told her stiffly, when Daisy began to put her apron back on. “If I could handle both your job and mine at our busiest time, I can certainly do it now.”

The events of the last half hour had left Daisy without an appetite, but while she'd been pinned to the chair in Mr. Prendergast's office, she'd thought of an errand she'd better do.

Sheriff Bishop needed to know that Thorn had gone back to the Griggs gang last night. Notifying him was the right thing to do, whether or not Thorn's assertion that he wasn't really an outlaw had been true. And while her short break didn't give her time to walk down to the jail—nor did she want to create any speculation about why she'd be visiting such a place, especially when her reputation was already at risk—the back of the hotel was on Travis Street, just a few yards away from the Bishops' house. Prissy, the sheriff's wife, could notify her husband for Daisy, for the sheriff always kept his wife informed of what was going on in town.

Prissy Bishop was one of the kindest women who'd ever breathed, and a fellow Spinsters' Club member, though Daisy rarely had time to take part in any of the social club's events. It had been far too long since she'd had a visit with a friend, and this afternoon she felt very much in need of one.

Chapter Nine

P
rissy, with a bright-eyed baby on her hip and a small, yipping dog of mixed heritage dancing at her feet, welcomed her into her home. “Daisy, come in! It's been too long! Houston, don't jump on our visitor! Your timing is perfect, Daisy—I just took some blackberry muffins out of the oven. Can you sit down and sample them, and a glass of lemonade, with me?”

“I can't stay long, but a muffin and a cool drink would be very nice. I see little Samantha is teething,” she remarked, having caught sight of a single gleaming white nub of a front tooth as the baby seized on a biscuit Prissy handed her and started gumming it with enthusiasm.

“Yes, and she's been remarkably cheerful about it, as long as I keep her supplied with something to chew on,” Prissy said with a laugh. She poured lemonade from a tall jug and handed Daisy a glass. The muffins were already cooling on the kitchen table. The enticing smell of them made Daisy decide she hadn't lost her appetite, after all.

“You said you didn't have long—are you on a break from the hotel kitchen?” Prissy asked, as both women settled into chairs.

Daisy nodded. “I really should speak to the sheriff, but time is short and I was hoping you could give him a message for me.”

“Of course.”

“I imagine your husband has told you about the fact that one of the bank robbers has been recuperating from his wounds in my barn,” Daisy began, then stopped. What if Sam Bishop hadn't confided in his wife as he usually did? What would Prissy think of her then? “Only, he's not really an outlaw—I don't know if Sam told you that...”

Oh, why had she come and opened her mouth? What if she'd lost Prissy's good opinion of her for nothing? What a mess this was turning into!

“Yes, Sam told me about the man—his name is Thorn Dawson, I believe? Goodness, Daisy, how shocked you must have been to find a wounded man in your barn after that awful robbery,” her friend said. “Sam told me he's really a Texas Ranger secretly working with the State Police to bring down the Griggs gang. How daring of him! I'm sure Billy Joe is over the moon getting to talk to such a fellow. Sam says he seems a decent sort of man...”

“Yes, he is, but I need to inform the sheriff that a couple of men from the gang showed up last night, and Th—Mr. Dawson—had no choice but to ride off with them. So he's back with the Griggs gang. And if they're gathering up their members, then they might be planning another raid or robbery. I thought Sheriff Bishop would want to know.”

Prissy's blue eyes widened. “Oh, dear, and after he fixed your barn roof and everything...”

Now it was Daisy's turn to be startled. “How did you know about that, Prissy?”

Her friend's expression was rueful. “I'm afraid Mrs. Donahue's tongue has been wagging all over town, Daisy, after she saw him up there Sunday morning. And anyone
she
hadn't told, Tilly has. I'm sorry... I've been trying to assure those who brought up the topic that there was more to it than what it appeared, though I could say no more for the sake of Mr. Dawson's safety. But you and I both know that you've done nothing wrong by helping the man recover...”

Daisy gave in to the urge to cover her face with her hands. She could imagine no one would listen to what Prissy had tried to say, after the titillating news they'd heard from Tilly and Mrs. Donahue. Daisy's reputation was in ruins. Despite what Mr. Prendergast had said today, he'd never let her keep her job once he knew how widespread the scandal was. And there was nothing she could do to combat it. The only thing that would quiet the scandal would be if Thorn came forward himself to say that he had honorable intentions toward her, and that he meant to marry her. And he wouldn't do that. Even if she could ask it of him, he was gone now—back with the Griggs gang. There was no safe way to get a message to him, and certainly no safe way for him to respond.

Thorn's safety, while he played this double role, depended on the Griggs gang believing he was as much a criminal as they were. If she tried to tell people in town the truth—that Thorn was planning to return to her, but had to finish his mission for the State Police first—there was too much of a risk that word might get back to Griggs and his men. If the gang somehow heard that their wounded cohort might not be a genuine outlaw at all, and they began to mistrust him, his life could be at risk. Could gossip put Thorn in danger much more serious than any harm it could do to her?

She felt Prissy's gentle touch on her hand. “Don't worry, Daisy. As soon as some new tale gets passed around, everyone will forget about this one. And remember, no Spinsters' Club member is going to stand still while anyone speaks ill of one of their own! Did you know, we asked her once to join the club and she couldn't have been more scornful about it—guess that was a warning what she was made of then! It was as if the idea of women helping and supporting each other to find husbands had never occurred to her, since the only person she ever cared about was herself.”

The reminder that she had a strong group of friends who understood and supported her—and who knew what was truly behind Tilly's malice—warmed Daisy's heart, but she didn't like thinking Thorn was out there somewhere in danger, riding with desperadoes.

“You've come to care about this man, haven't you?” Prissy murmured. There was no condemnation in her voice, only sympathy.

Was she that obvious
? “What you must think of me, caring about a man who may or may not be an outlaw, falling for him after only a few days,” Daisy murmured, trying to hold back tears. Did she look like a desperate widow, needing a man in her life, even though her marriage had been nothing but a misery?

“He must be a very good man, to make you care in so short a time,” her friend said. “And remember, there was a time when Sam's reputation was in doubt, too,” she reminded her.

Daisy could barely recall the dishonor that had once clouded Sam Bishop's name, when he was exposed as a down-on-his luck gambler who'd stolen a valuable ring from a powerful criminal who'd tried to kill him. By this point she, like all of Simpson Creek, believed in Sam Bishop's integrity as much as they believed the sun would rise each morning. He'd overcome his past and earned the respect of everyone. Surely Thorn could do the same, especially considering he was only masquerading as an outlaw so that he could see the true outlaws locked away.

“I'll give Sam your message,” Prissy promised. “You're right, he'd want to know. And I'll remember Thorn Dawson in my prayers. Keep your head up, Daisy. No one who really knows you will believe Tilly's nonsense. The Lord will work this tangle out, I just know it.”

A good friend was like a tonic, Daisy decided—one she wouldn't deny herself in future. Oh, how she hoped Prissy was right!

* * *

“I'm right pleased at the way things went today,” Gordon Griggs declared as they sat around the campfire that night at a new site they'd chosen to use as a hideout. “None of us wounded, didn't have to wing any townsfolk to keep 'em docile and the idea to rob the Lampasas saloon at the same time as the bank, so we could have ourselves a safe, private celebration complete with whiskey—pure genius, Pritchard!”

“Thank ya, boss,” the outlaw said with a grin. “I reckon the only thing we're lackin' now is saloon girls. Next time we'll have to steal us a couple of them, too.”

A chorus of guffaws met his sally. The trouble was, Thorn thought, Pritchard wasn't actually joking, and next time, a couple of unlucky saloon girls in the wrong place at the wrong time might find themselves kidnapped and abused. He had to find a way to stop this gang, as soon as possible.

“How 'bout you, Dawson? You enjoy bein' back in the saddle again?”

Thorn kept his features relaxed, knowing that the others were still wary around him after his time away from them. And even before then, he'd been the newest recruit to the gang and therefore viewed with an unending amount of suspicion. He'd felt them watching him during the holdup at the bank and knew it might be a long while before they relaxed around him and trusted him. Infiltrating the group to begin with hadn't been easy; the Griggs gang hadn't stayed on the loose as long as they had by being gullible fools.

When he'd first agreed to this scheme of pretending to be an outlaw, it hadn't mattered to Thorn how long he would have to be with them in order to gain their trust. He wasn't doing anything of lasting value with his life, after all, just trying to avoid being a dirt-poor rancher. And he'd wanted to do something to strike a blow against the gangs that ran rampant in Texas. Nothing he could do would bring Selena back, of course, but fighting against gangs like the one that killed her seemed to be the least he could do to honor her memory.

But now that he'd met Daisy and Billy Joe, and had glimpsed the possibility of an infinitely more satisfying life, each day Thorn had to postpone starting that life loomed ahead of him with agonizing slowness. Plus there was always the possibility something could go wrong and he'd miss out on having that chance with Daisy entirely.

He wondered what she and her son were doing back in Simpson Creek. How was Billy Joe dealing with Thorn's abrupt disappearance without a proper good-bye? Had Daisy been able to explain why he hadn't said goodbye, in such a way that Billy Joe didn't hate him? How was Daisy holding up?

“I had a fine time,” he drawled at last, “and like the boss, I always appreciate getting away without the lead flyin'—'specially in my direction, after last time.”

There were knowing grins and chuckles around the fire as men passed whiskey bottles from hand to hand. Their haul from the saloon wasn't going to last long at this rate.

“Not me,” countered Zeke. “I kinda like lettin' daylight into fancy fools in frock coats, seein' the stupid surprise in their eyes that they've actually gotten shot and might be about to die—and cheatin' death myself.”

Thorn had known the other outlaw had a bloodthirsty turn of mind, but the callousness of his words was chilling nonetheless. If he continued thinking that way, Zeke would probably end his days on a gallows someday soon—or bleeding out on the street beside a bank.

Thorn thought about saying something about not being able to count on staying bullet-free forever, but decided to hold his peace. Tomlinson had to know that already, deep down, and if he didn't, he wasn't likely to listen to any advice on the subject.

“Say, boss, mind if I ask you something I was curious about?” Thorn inquired.

“What's that?” Griggs looked at him out of slitted eyes, and Thorn wondered if he'd made a big mistake by speaking up and drawing the suspicious man's attention onto him.

“Just wondering how the fellas managed to locate me at the widow's house without callin' attention to themselves. I mean, Simpson Creek's not all that big a town, but did they search every barn or what? Pretty slick work, however they managed it.”

Griggs's grin was smug. “It was, wasn't it? Well, Thorn, my boy, it pays to have informants here and there, and it so happens I have a lady friend in Simpson Creek who'd been keepin' her eyes open, so to speak.”

Thorn felt a prickling at the back of his neck.

“That so?” he said, injecting as much of the slavish admiration Griggs seemed to require into his tone as he could stomach. “Boss, you're a wonder.”

“Yup. Happens I visited the town a while back, an' while I was havin' a meal at that restaurant in the hotel, I met a gal named Tilly, the waitress there. She was right hospitable, if you know what I mean, and we had ourselves a fine time after she got off work. I didn't figure I'd be seein' her again after the bank heist, but then you went missin', and we was worried about ya...”

Worried I'd get arrested and turn informant in return for a lesser sentence, you mean.
Thorn remembered Daisy telling him about the waitress who coveted her job, and felt chilled to the bone at the knowledge that the same woman had a connection with the outlaw leader. From what Billy Joe and Daisy had told him, Tilly wouldn't have hesitated to blacken Daisy's name because Thorn had stayed with her, he was sure, even though she herself was consorting with the outlaws' leader. So now, because Daisy had helped him, she would pay the price in the loss of her good name.

“So...I snuck into Simpson Creek the night after the robbery and went by her place. Asked her to keep an eye out for a fella of your description, and told her where she could leave me a message. Well, sure 'nough, she knew somebody who was out and about Sunday mornin' and happened to see you climbin' around on top of a barn. As soon as my little waitress heard the news, she got in touch with me just like I told her to. We wasn't sure that meant you was stayin' there, but it just so happens you was...”

“So here I am. That was right smart work, boss.”

“Women come in handy sometimes, don't they? And the only reward I had to give her was a pair of gold earbobs I took off one of the lady customers in the bank when we robbed it.”

Thorn hoped the spiteful waitress would be foolish enough to wear the earbobs around town and have the owner recognize them. Daisy was probably already suffering the consequences of Tilly's vicious tongue, and bemoaning the day she'd met him. She'd never want to see Thorn again. But somehow, if he managed to live through all this, he had to make sure she was all right.

“So what's next for the Griggs gang, boss? Are we gonna lay low for a while?” He should probably have quit with the questions while he was ahead, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went. Maybe Griggs had drunk enough that his tongue would be looser than it usually was, and Thorn would finally be able to prepare a trap for the gang and its leader.

The others fell quiet as they waited to hear how their leader would respond to the question.