Molly Noble Bull (3 page)

The ride had been bumpy since they’d left town that morning, but now, all at once, it felt like the carriage hit something large and hard. The coach rocked and tilted to the left. Annie and Simon were jolted awake as they tumbled toward the door. With the stagecoach canted to on one side, Honor slid across the seat, landing in Jeth’s arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed.

He gazed down at her, and she felt the warmth of his smile.

If the man weren’t a minister, Honor would say he enjoyed their brief encounter. Then the rig straightened, and she returned to her half of the padded bench.

Squeaking and jerking, the stagecoach continued down a road, which really wasn’t much more than a set of deep ruts. Then the vehicle stopped. The driver got down from his perch and came to the window on Jeth’s side of the carriage.

“We’re gonna be going up a steep hill,” the driver told him. “And the horses could sure use some help pushing the load if you two men are of a mind to lend a hand.”

“Of course we’ll help.” Jeth glanced at Simon. “At least, I will.”

“Reckon that makes two of us,” Simon added.

“Now, you be careful, Simon,” Annie warned. “You ain’t as young as you used to be.”

“Neither are you, my dear.”

When the two men exited, the driver turned his gaze on the women. “Both you ladies better sit on Mrs. Carr’s side of the coach. ’Cause you’ll be thrown to her side anyway, once we start up that hill.”

Honor considered offering to help push. She certainly felt fit enough. But Aunt Harriet would have said it wasn’t ladylike to do such a thing, and Honor didn’t want to draw more attention to herself or to be judged improper.

The stagecoach slowly moved upward at a steep angle. Honor fell against the back of the seat and held down the skirt of her dress to keep it from slipping up and showing her ankles. If she had thought the journey jolted her back and forth before, she needed a new word to describe the ride from that point on.

At the top of the hill, the carriage stopped again. Honor checked the condition of her clothing. The tan dress had been her aunt’s wedding gown, and the wide lace collar looked soiled—no doubt the result of her dash into town through the woods and a night spent sleeping in it. The pearl buttons that went up to her chin appeared clean enough, but her sleeves were dirty.

After she’d bought her ticket, she’d placed her remaining paper money in the lace-edged cuff of her right sleeve. After the rough ride to the top of the hill, she wondered if she still had the bills. Pressing her fingers against the cuff at her wrist, she felt the stiff wad and breathed easier.

Honor moved back to her original seat. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, then stuck her head out the window to see what the world looked like from the top of the hill. She saw three riders coming up behind them at a fast gallop, and her pulse began to race. They wore masks. For a moment, she couldn’t react.

Outlaws.

“Jump back inside!” she heard the driver shout to Jeth and Simon Carr. “I’m gonna try to outrun ’em.”

Both doors flew open. The stagecoach lurched forward—starting off at a fast pace, while the two men crouched on the floor.

“Get down!” Jeth yelled to the women. “Both of you.”

Honor jumped to the floor beside Jeth, Annie Carr right behind her. The men pulled pistols from their belts.

Honor hadn’t expected Jeth to be armed—he was a preacher. However, she felt relieved, knowing he carried protection.

“Will we be able to outrun ’em?” Annie asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeth replied. “I think so. At least, I hope so.”

Every muscle in Honor’s body tensed as the carriage rolled on down the hill. Clinging to the edge of the bench, she tried to imagine the driver and the man riding shotgun
whipping the horses, urging them to run even faster. She could only hope the two men driving the stage could outrun their pursuers.

The carriage took a sharp curve, wobbling and swaying back and forth over the big rocks. Honor was tossed against Jeth again and again, and he jostled against her.

She felt a sudden jolt as the carriage lurched sharply. “What’s happening?”

Jeth peered out a window. “We lost a wheel! I can see it rolling down the hill.”

The carriage swerved to the right. The screeching cry of iron against rock rang out. All four passengers tumbled to the side of the stagecoach. Honor could scarcely breathe until Jeth pulled her out from under Annie. The crippled rig careened down the hill, half rolling, half dragging. They were coming close to the edge of a cliff. Annie screamed.

“Move out of my way, Miss McCall!” Jeth shoved Honor to one side and crawled to the door.

The stagecoach lost speed, then banged against the side of an embankment. They were all thrown to and fro. The rig slid a few more feet. Then stopped.

“Praise the Lord!” Jeth released a big breath of air and wiped his brow. “Someone must have cut those horses loose. Anybody hurt?” He glanced around and smiled. “Guess not. What a blessing.”

“We’re safe, then?” Honor asked, feeling a first rush of relief.

Jeth shook his head and cocked his pistol. “Now we’ll have to deal with the outlaws.”

Honor shrank to the floor as shots blasted from both directions. Jeth placed his hand on her back to keep her there. At the ring of a bullet hitting metal, Honor glanced out the window just as a rifle flew by.

“The stagecoach driver lost his weapon,” Jeth announced.

Jeth and Simon aimed their pistols at the three riders who had caught up with them. Before the two men inside the carriage could discharge a single shot, the outlaws surrounded the crippled stagecoach.

“Everybody out with your hands up,” a bandit with gray hair shouted down from his horse. “And be quick about it.”

Jeth tucked his pistol in the waistband of his trousers. “Do whatever they tell you to do, Miss McCall,” he whispered. “This is not the time to try anything risky.”

Honor stepped down from the stage and stood between Jeth and Annie Carr. When she raised her hands above her head, she noticed that the edge of one bill protruded from the cuff of her dress.

Two of the robbers had dismounted. A young-looking man with a pimply face above a red bandanna held a basket that reminded Honor of the one she had discarded back in Falling Rock. Another outlaw stood beside him, aiming a gun at the hostages. The man with gray hair remained atop a big, reddish horse. He held a rifle on the group as well.

“Put all your money and valuables in the basket there,” he ordered them. “And hurry up, or you’ll be sorry.”

When Honor thought nobody was watching, she attempted to push the money back in the cuff of her dress. The next moment, everything went black.

L
ucas awoke with a jerk. Someone was pounding on his front door.

“All right, all right,” he shouted. “Hold on to your horses. I’m comin’!”

He sat up. A massive headache made him wish he were still flat on his back. He pressed a hand over his forehead and looked around. He was shivering on the hard kitchen floor. Had he been there all night?

He stumbled to his feet. His legs felt like jam. Slowly, he made his way to the door and opened it. An icy wind swept inside. His shoulders shook from the cold.

The grave diggers he had hired stood on his porch. All three men wore dark clothing, gloves, and something furry-looking covered their ears.

“Mr. Scythe,” the tallest one said. “Remember me? Hector Brown?” He motioned toward the other two. “And these are my brothers, Joey and Abner. We hate to bother
you at a time like this, but you forgot to pay us for burying your wife yesterday.” He handed Lucas a sheet of paper.

“A bill?”

Hector nodded.

“Oh, yes. The money.” Lucas searched for something to say, to stall for time. “You’ll have to excuse me. I ain’t feelin’ well today.”

Hector nodded again. Joey and Abner just stood behind their brother, staring at Lucas.

Lucas shook his head. If it ain’t one thing, it’s somethin’ worse, he thought. “Wait here, and I’ll go see what I can do.”

He started to close the door, to shut out the chill, but when he saw the hard look of warning in Hector’s eyes, he left it open.

Lucas stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the cookie jar, one of the places Harriet liked to hide money. He removed the wooden lid of the clay pot and tossed it on the floor. Then he poured out the contents of the jar. Broken cookies, crumbs, and a sprinkling of sugar spilled onto the table. A few coins clinked together. They rolled around and stopped.

He scooped up the money and counted it. Thirty-six cents. He winced. The diggers expected more. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now.

Lucas pasted a smile on his face and walked back to the door. “Here’s thirty-six cents. Sorry, I know it ain’t enough. But it’s all I’ve got until I sell them calves I’ve been feedin’. This’ll have to hold you ’til then.”

Hector Brown stepped forward, filling the doorway. “We expected to be paid in full. When will we get the rest?”

“As soon as I can find the time to drive my calves into
town and sell ’em.” Lucas grabbed the door and began to swing it shut as he spoke. “I’ll keep in touch. And much obliged to ya.”

“Wait, Mr. Scythe.” With the toe of his black boot, Hector prevented the door from closing all the way. “We’ll be back. You can be sure about that.”

When Lucas finally closed the door, he leaned against it for a moment, listening to the three men depart. He felt hungry as well as cold. Thirsty, too. For something stronger than cow’s milk or water.

Now, where was that Honor-girl? “Missy,” he shouted. “Get in here!”

No answer.

“Don’t play games with me. I ain’t in the mood.”

Lucas grimaced. That girl was never around when he needed her.

As he moved toward the kitchen, he glanced in a mirror on the parlor wall—then stopped and looked again. His eyes seemed more red than usual. His face had a drawn, pasty look.

He remembered why he was wearing his gray suit—to attend the burial of his wife—but he couldn’t recall arriving at the graveside, much less leaving it. Come to think of it, he’d been having a lot of memory problems lately.

Lucas laid two small logs in the woodstove. When he had managed to start a fire, he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. Honor must be out in the garden, he decided. Reaching out, he held his hands in front of the fire, to warm them while he made his plans.

First, he’d get Honor to fix him something to eat. Then
he would look for any other hidden money. Harriet had always hidden money from him, but she must have put it somewhere else this time.

Later, he would drive into town, buy a couple of bottles of whiskey, and maybe pay Miss Ruby a visit. His slow smile became a chuckle.

He vaguely remembered asking Honor to marry him, but he would worry about getting hitched some other time.

Lucas went out onto the back porch. “Missy! Come in here this minute!”

Calves bellowed. Chickens squawked from the henhouse. But not a sound from Honor. Lucas spent the next ten minutes searching the farm buildings, but he was unable to find her.

She could have hiked into town to buy supplies, he supposed. He’d noticed the flour sack was almost empty. Yeah, that must be what she done, he convinced himself.

Cursing his late wife for selecting a hiding place he couldn’t discover, Lucas tore up the house and barn looking for money. Honor could clean up the mess when she got back from Falling Rock.

His breath became rapid from all the labor in his quest, and he felt a little shaky. He wanted alcohol—bad. He wouldn’t hold out much longer without it.

Honor had been gone a long time. Too long. How much time did it take to go into town, buy a few things on credit at the general store, and walk back to the farm? Was that girl really shopping? Or had she left with the rest of his money?

The word
left
roared inside his head. Lucas stiffened, and he felt rage rising in his blood. “Why, that little—”

The truth hit him like a sock in the jaw. His late wife had hidden money, and Honor had taken it. The muscles around his mouth tightened. She’d robbed him. He still didn’t want to believe it. Lucas balled his hands into fists.
Yes, that’s what happened.
He would like to strangle her.

Hadn’t Harriet always saved every penny she could get her hands on? And wouldn’t she have told Honor where she kept it? His late wife had called Honor her cherished niece, her sweet little Rose of Sharon.

Lucas swore, kicking a kitchen chair. The chair banged the back wall, then fell on its side on the floor. Those two had
always
plotted against him. Whispering behind his back. Exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.

“But no more!”

Lucas picked up the cookie jar and threw it across the room. The clay pot crashed against the iron stove, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Grabbing a loaf of bread from the bread box, he tore off a chunk and crammed it in his mouth. Then he reached for a slice of jerky and gobbled it down. Lucas looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. Honor had a head start on him. If he expected to catch up with her and recover his money, he would need to ride out as soon as possible.

Jeth lifted Honor gently onto the back of the wagon. Then he climbed up, wrapped her in a warm blanket and sat down beside her.

The outlaws had disappeared as soon as they’d collected their spoils. The passengers and the crew were left behind with the crippled stage. Jeth had ridden one of the stagecoach horses into Hearten for help, returning with blankets, two wagons, a local doctor, and a few other folks from Jeth’s church.

Jeth glanced at Dr. Harris, seated up front in the wagon and taking the reins. The doctor had examined Honor and bandaged her head as soon as he’d arrived. Now he was acting as their driver. Annie and Simon were in the other wagon.

Jeth cradled Honor’s head in his lap as the doctor cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward slowly.

A cold breeze whistled around them. When locks of Honor’s long auburn hair blew across her eyes, Jeth pushed them back from her face.

Her thick mane looked shiny, and the strands felt soft in his hands. Jeth frowned. He shouldn’t notice such things. He yanked his hands back as if her hair had scalded them.

When he looked down at her again, he felt a grip of fear. Honor looked pale. She hadn’t moved at all, and now seemed gravely ill.

Lord,
he prayed.
You know all about this young woman, and I’m sure You have a plan for her life. Heal her, Lord, I pray—spirit, soul and body—to Your honor and glory.

Lucas carried his riding gear into the horse stall. His gray mare pulled back her ears, as she always did when she was about to be saddled.

“You turning on me, too, Lady?”

The horse blew out through her nose, making a gentle, snorting sound. Lucas put down his load and stroked the animal’s head. Merely touching her velvety nose softened him a little.

“Easy, girl.” He reached down and patted the mare’s round belly. “You’re getting big, ain’t ya? I’ll be riding ya nice and slow today. So don’t fret none. Gotta take care of that colt inside ya, don’t we.”

The mare snorted again.

An image of Honor flashed before Lucas. His gentleness vanished. Wait ’til I get my hands on that girl. She’ll be sorry for running out on me, he vowed.

Lucas arrived in town at three and went straight to the saloon. He hoped to buy a drink on credit.

Standing at the bar, he grinned at the bartender. “A shot of whiskey, Mitch. Just put it on my bill.”

“Sorry, Lucas,” Mitch said. “Your credit is all used up.”

“I sure am dry. Couldn’t you spare me one shot?”

“Not unless you’re willing to wash dishes.”

“I reckon I could.” Lucas hid his hands in his pants pockets so Mitch wouldn’t see how they shook. “But I have a couple of things I need to do here in town first.”

“Then I suggest you go and do them. This here saloon will still be open when you get back.”

Lucas had been counting on that drink to make it through the day. Knowing he wouldn’t get a drop without working for it made him even thirstier. He licked his lips. He could almost taste whiskey in his mouth.

“Well, if you ain’t gonna give me nothing to drink,” Lucas said, “will you at least give me a little information?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Mitch wiped a glass with a white cloth. Then he put it on the counter and cocked his head. “What kind of information?”

“That niece of mine has done run off with all my money. Would you have any idea where she might have went to?”

The bartender shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The sheriff might.” Mitch glanced toward one of the tables. “He’s sitting right over there.”

Lucas had never liked Sheriff Manning. Years ago, the sheriff had made it clear he had no use for Lucas Scythe. Still, if the sheriff knew something, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

There were two local men at the round table in the corner with the lawman. Lucas ambled toward them.

Sheriff Manning was leaning back in his chair, drinking from a beer mug. His fat belly hung over his belt, and his blue shirt was stretched to the limit. Some of the buttons looked like they might pop off at any moment.

“Well, Scythe,” the sheriff said, “what dragged you to town in the middle of the day? Whiskey?”

Lucas stiffened.

The other two men grinned.

Arms at his sides, Lucas clenched his fists. His jaw hardened. He should punch all three of them out for their taunting. They had it coming, even if he landed in jail. However, to get the information he needed, he had no choice but to rein in his anger.

“My niece, Honor, has done run off with my money, Sheriff. She’s a low-down thief and that’s the truth.”

“Well, well. What a shame. Have you tried paying that girl for the work she does for ya, Scythe?”

“She gets room and board.”

“Room and board.” The sheriff exchanged a glance with the other men at his table. “Maybe she thought she deserved more. Ever think of that?”

The other men looked straight at Lucas, waiting for him to answer.

Lucas felt his face heat up, and fury burned like hot coals inside him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep calm. He’d learned the hard way that if he hoped to be looked on favorably by the sheriff and others in the community, he must pretend to agree with them, whatever the cost.

“Any idea how I could find her ’fore she spends all I got?”

“If your niece had money, she might have taken the stage to Pine Falls or on to Denver,” the sheriff said. “Or she could have taken the stage to Cold Springs. Who knows?”

Slim Perkins sat across from the sheriff. He set his mug on the table. “Since Ben Kraken sells stagecoach tickets down at the livery, he might know.”

Why hadn’t Lucas thought of that? “Thank you kindly, Slim.”

Lucas glanced toward the door. His absentmindedness appeared to be growing by the minute. He swallowed, wishing for a drink. “I best go on over there and see what Ben can tell me, then.” He looked back. “And I’m much obliged to all of ya.”

Nobody at the table made a comment. They merely watched him go like they all had a secret they weren’t will
ing to share with him. Lucas turned, clenching his jaw. If he hoped to find Honor, he’d better just walk away.

Lucas brushed through the swinging doors, but he stopped before stepping off the covered porch in front of the saloon. Snowflakes were floating down, melting before they hit the ground. The chilly air and the refreshing sight of falling snow lifted his spirits. He straightened his shoulders and turned up his collar against the wintry breeze. If he expected Ben to provide him with answers, he would need to look composed.

Glancing up and down the street, he took in his town. Until now, he’d seldom seen the place in daylight.

Falling Rock reminded him of Cold Springs, the town he grew up in. He had never realized the similarity until now. Trees lined both sides of the street, and snow-tipped mountains towered in the distance. Neatly dressed people strolled in and out of the hotel and the general store.

Looking down at the gray suit he’d worn since Harriet’s burial, Lucas wished he’d cleaned up a bit before leaving the cabin. A week ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he did. He should look respectable if he expected folks to give him the information he wanted.

Lucas started down the street and turned left at the corner. He’d almost forgotten he would have to pass by the church to reach the livery. He considered turning back, selecting a different route, then decided he just wouldn’t look at the little church with its whitewashed walls and stone porch. Not this time. As a child, he’d had his fill of church and religion.

Yet when he reached the small structure, he found himself peering inside the open doorway. Harriet had once been a member of that church. He guessed she must have been considered a member until the day she died.