Redemption's Edge (34 page)

Abby rode straight down the main street through town, fighting the dust swirling around her. She’d thought of stopping to say hello to Suzanne at the restaurant, then decided against it as the wind increased. The distance between the church and boardinghouse amounted to a couple hundred yards, yet the gusts had increased to a point where it had become hard to see. She brought a hand up to rub the dust from her eyes, realizing in the course of a few minutes, visibility had been lost. She tried to see in front of her, reining Willy one way, then another before she felt a tug on the reins. Someone had grabbed the horse and was leading them.

A moment later, they entered the safety of the livery, Noah’s hands lifting to help her down. “What do you think you were doing trying to ride out in this storm?” Noah’s voice held a concerned edge and none of the usual warmth.

She dusted dirt from her dress and tried to spit sand from her mouth before answering.

“Here. Drink some of this.” He handed her a canteen.

“Thank you.” The mumbled words were lost as the sounds of the intense wind continued. She drank a few swallows before handing the water back to Noah and accepting the cloth he held out so she could wipe the dirt from her face. She felt the grit and realized how horrible she must appear.

“Do you want to tell me why you were out in this wind storm?” He sat on a bench and leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

Abby tossed the dirty cloth back to him and crossed her arms in front of her chest, embarrassed at being treated like a child. “I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Brandt, but I don’t owe you an explanation.” She straightened her spine as her chin jutted out, trying her best to look insulted.

His mouth crooked upward at her show of defiance. He’d never seen this side of Abby and found he liked it. Noah stood, picked up his hammer, and walked to the forge.

“You’re right, Miss Tolbert.” He turned from her to focus on his work.

Noah’s reaction, turning his back on her as if she held no significance, irritated Abby even more. Deciding the time had come for her to leave, she glanced outside to see the winds had become even stronger, obliterating the view of the boardinghouse across the street. Her arms fell to her sides as she lowered herself onto the bench Noah had vacated moments before.

She watched him work, his strong arms raising and lowering the heavy hammer, and wondered what pushed him to work so hard. He never seemed to close the livery. Even when she and her father would ride past on their way to Sunday services, he’d be inside, the forge burning hot, concentrating on the task before him. Abby stood, debating if she should keep her distance or move closer. Her curiosity won out.

“What are you working on?”

Noah didn’t turn or answer right away. After a few more heavy strikes of the hammer, he set it aside and looked over at her.

“New bars for the jail. The sheriff doesn’t like the current ones.”

Abby wandered toward the wall where Noah hung his tools and ran her finger over several of them, trying to figure out how he used each one.

“Is this for Suzanne?” She picked up a half-completed pot and held it out to him.

“It is.”

“And this?” She pointed toward a flat piece of metal.

“A frying pan.” He studied Abby as she walked around the livery, fingering one item, then another, trying to pass the time until the windstorm subsided.

“What do you do when you aren’t working, Mr. Brandt?”

“Noah.”

She turned to him. “What?”

“My name is Noah.”

A smile broke across her face. “All right. Noah. But you must call me Abby. So what do you do when you aren’t here?”

“Eat, sleep, play cards sometimes.” He picked up the hammer once more.

She pursed her lips. It sounded like a solitary life.

“Will you be going to the church picnic in a few weeks?” The question popped out before she’d thought through it.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s such fun, with lots of food, games, and even music. The whole town will be there.” As she spoke, Abby realized how much she wanted him to attend.

“I don’t go to picnics, Miss Tolbert.”

“Abby, remember?”

“Abby.”

“You wouldn’t have to bring anything. I could pack enough food for you.” Her gaze lifted to his when she realized what she’d said.

A grin split Noah’s face. “Are you asking me to accompany you, Abby?”

She could feel heat creep up her face and wished she’d learn when to stay quiet. “I, well… I thought—”

“Abigail, are you in here?” The sound of her father’s voice cut her off and she shifted to see him looming in the entry. “What are you doing in here? I expected you home long before now.”

She noticed the wind had stopped, no longer blowing and forcing her to remain in the livery. Even so, she didn’t want to leave.

“The windstorm began as I left church. It blinded me and Mr. Brandt was kind enough to lead Willy inside. I was waiting for the wind to pass.”

King glanced from his daughter to Noah, giving the blacksmith a hard stare.

“Well, it has stopped. Get Willy and we’ll leave.”

“I’ll get him.” Noah walked over to the stall and brought the horse out, helping Abby onto the saddle.

“Thank you again, Mr. Brandt. I appreciate your kindness.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Tolbert.” He shot a look to her father. “Mr. Tolbert.”

Noah waited until they’d ridden out of sight, then turned back to his work. A small weight lifted each time he saw Abby. Everything about Abigail Tolbert caused him to feel better. He knew nothing would ever come of it, yet he couldn’t keep himself from wondering if things were different, if he’d come out of the war a different man, perhaps he might stand a chance. He shook his head at the foolish thought, poured water over his head, then walked back to the forge.

Chapter Eighteen

“Whiskey.” Cash took off his gloves and laid them on the bar before turning to survey the other occupants of the Wild Rose. He’d gotten an early start. By midafternoon, he’d spotted a camp south of Splendor and gotten close enough to identify Duff and Whitey Mayes. He didn’t recognize the third man. He’d accounted for three of the five men Sheriff Sterling had seen leaving town early one morning a couple of days before Cash arrived in Big Pine. Now he had to find the other two. He’d ridden around to the north end of Splendor, hoping to avoid running into the two outlaws who weren’t in camp with the others.

“Here you are.” Al set the whiskey down and picked up the coins Cash handed him. “You’re new in Splendor.”

“That’s right.” He took a sip of whiskey, looking over the rim of the glass at the bartender. “I’m trying to locate Dax and Luke Pelletier. Do you know them?”

Al eyed the stranger. This was the second gunman to ask for the Pelletiers in as many days. “What do you want with them?”

“That’s my business.”

Al glanced up as another man joined them at the bar. “Sheriff. What can I get you?”

“Whiskey.”

Gabe turned toward the stranger and extended his hand. “Gabe Evans.”

“Cash Coulter.”

“You just get into town?” Gabe picked up the whiskey Al placed in front of him and tossed it back.

“Yep.”

“Staying or passing through?”

“Don’t know yet. Depends if I find the men I’m looking for.”

“And who would that be?” Based on the man’s distinct southern accent, Gabe thought he already knew.

“Dax and Luke Pelletier. Do you know them?”

“I do.”

The two men fell silent, each waiting out the other.

“He’s looking for the Pelletiers,” Al said as he topped off each whiskey glass.

“I heard.” Gabe turned his attention back to Cash. “Have you known them long?”

“We grew up together in Savannah, but I lost track of them after the war. It’s important I find them.”

Gabe finished his whiskey and clasped Cash on the shoulder. “Finish up. I’ll take you to them.”

“I thought it best to get this to you right away.” Bernie Griggs, the Western Union and mail proprietor, had ridden to Tolbert’s ranch to deliver the telegram. He’d known the rancher had sent urgent messages to several contacts in the east. Tolbert had received his first response.

King opened the message and read it, his brows furrowed, exposing deep creases between his eyes. “Of course, you know what it says.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you heard any of this before?”

“No. Most of us have had a bad feeling about the man ever since he arrived.”

“I see.” King set the message on his desk and walked to the window.

“Do you need to send a response?”

“No. Thank you for bringing it to me,” King said over his shoulder, never turning his gaze away from the circle of men standing by the barn, his foreman one of them. He’d sent the messages a few days before, hoping for a quick response. He now understood the motivation Drake had for creating a war with the Pelletiers. The problem would be deciding what to do with the information.

He picked up his gun belt, strapping it around his waist before grabbing his hat and walking outside. Abigail sat on the porch in one of the rocking chairs, engrossed in a book. She looked up at his approach and set the book down.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I need to go to the Pelletier ranch. Would you like to ride along?”

She saw as well as heard the concern in his voice. “That would be lovely. I’ll be right back.” Abby hurried into the house while King continued toward the barn, motioning for one of the men.

“Boss?”

“Saddle my horse and Abigail’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Drake asked as he walked up beside Tolbert.

“Abigail and I are taking a ride. I doubt we’ll be gone long.”

Drake had seen Bernie Griggs go into the house, then leave about ten minutes later. He wondered if Tolbert leaving had to do with Griggs’ visit, or if it was a coincidence. He didn’t put much stock in coincidences.

“I’m ready, Father.” Abby strolled past Drake and straight into the barn. Within minutes, she and Tolbert were riding out.

“I’ll watch the place while you’re gone.”

“You do that, Drake,” Tolbert said, glad to get Abby away from the ranch and the menace he unwittingly welcomed into their lives.