The Last Renegade (6 page)

She stepped closer, close enough for him to catch the fragrance of lavender. Her dress was plain, severely cut, and crisply pressed. He imagined her flicking lavender water over the dull green fabric before she set an iron to it and thinking herself daring for having done so.

“Mr. Church?”

Kellen watched her put out a hand, not to take his, but more tentatively than that, in the way a person does when there’s a need to confirm that something is real. Her slender fingers hovered just above his elbow for several long moments then fell away. She didn’t step back as he’d expected her to. Rather, she subjected his face to the kind of scrutiny that a wife was apt to employ when she expected to catch her husband in a lie. He stood for it because there was no harm in doing so, and just as important, it amused him.

The commotion at the entrance as the boys and Walt carried in the first trunk did not distract her from her study.

“Which room, Mrs. Berry?” Rabbit asked.

“Mr. Coltrane needs the biggest one you have,” said Finn.

“Two trunks and a bag,” Walt said. “Room six would probably be best.”

“You’re not Mr. Church,” Raine said.

“You’re the Widow Berry,” said Kellen.

Finn nudged Rabbit when the three adults began talking at the same time. “When people get to talking like that, I’m always wishing I had Pap’s bell.”

Kellen stopped unpacking to respond to the knock at his door. “Who is it?” There was a long pause, so long that Kellen began to think he’d only imagined the interruption.

“Sue Hage, Mr. Coltrane. The maid.”

Kellen opened the door just enough for his frame to fill the space. The young woman in the hallway showed no interest in trying to see past him. On the contrary, not only did she keep her eyes averted, she took a rather sizable step backward. He thought she was probably not yet twenty, but certainly she was old enough to give a better accounting of herself. Her fingers twisted nervously in her apron, and she was biting down hard on one corner of her lower lip.

“Mrs.Berrysentmetoaskifyouraccommodationsaresatisfactory.” She darted him a glance as she sucked in a breath. “Are they?”

Kellen had to mull the words over before he could seize their meaning. “I have need of a table and a chair,” he said. “If that can be arranged, my accommodations will be entirely satisfactory.”

The request appeared to flummox the maid. She fidgeted
with one of her long, straw-colored braids and shifted her slight weight from side to side.

Finally she said, “We do not serve meals to guests in their rooms.”

“Then it’s a good thing there are other uses for a table and a chair. You may tell Mrs. Berry that I intend to take my meals in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kellen did not wait to hear if she had more to say. He shut the door.

Emily Ransom cornered her friend in the deserted dining room. “You spoke to him?” she whispered. “What is he like? Was he wearing his guns?”

Sue glanced around—the second check she’d made of her surroundings since Emily waylaid her. “You better let me pass, Emily Ransom. Mrs. Sterling is going to give you what for if she catches you lollygagging.”

“I do not care about what for.” Emily held her ground, giving Sue no opportunity to escape. “Just warn me if she’s waggling her wooden spoon.”

Sue grabbed the ends of her braids before Emily took to yanking on them like they were udders. “He shut the door in my face.”

Emily’s bright blue eyes widened a fraction. “He did not.”

“There is no point in you asking me questions if you are not going to believe what I tell you.”

“I believe you.” She crossed her heart to add emphasis. “Did you speak to him at all?”

“Of course I did.” Without releasing her braids, Sue recounted her conversation word for word. “And then he shut the door.”

“Well, had you finished your piece?”

“Yes, but he did not know that.”

“Perhaps he did.”

“I should have known you would take his side, Emily
Ransom. You already have it in your mind that you can flirt with him.”

Emily was not at all offended. “What I would like to know is why you don’t have it in your mind. The man is as handsome as sin, and he’s traveling alone.”

“Maybe that’s because no good woman will have him.” Sue let go of her braids and set her hands on her hips. “And how do you know he is handsome as sin? You didn’t see him.”

“Ah-ha! He
is
handsome. I knew it. You only get yourself in a knot when they are prettier than dew on a rose.”

Sue flushed. “Now you’re speaking nonsense.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he was wearing his guns. Did you think of that? Maybe that’s why I’m tongue-tied.”

“Was he?”

“No.”

“Could you see them in the room?”

“No.”

“Do you think Rabbit and Finn were lying about the guns?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they were. They like to make themselves important.”

Emily could not disagree with that. “Maybe I’ll ask him about the guns.”

Sue’s mouth parted, snapped shut, and then parted again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.” She showed Sue her saucy smile, the one that rarely failed to get noticed by male guests at the Pennyroyal. “I just might.”

Sue pursed her lips in disapproval. She was one year Emily’s junior, but in ways calculated by maturity and common sense, she was her senior by a decade.

“Oh, do not be such a prude,” Emily said dismissively. “What color are his eyes?”

Sue hesitated.

“Did you even look at his eyes?”

“I looked,” said Sue. “I’m thinking. It’s not easy to describe that color that sits on the horizon in winter. You know, when
the sun is still low in the sky, and the day is going to be nothing but cold. Bitter cold.”

Emily blinked. “Why, Sue, you
did
look.”

“I told you I did. Looked away, too. That’s the kind of eyes he has. You want to look, but then you want to look away.”

Emily was thoughtful. “Maybe the boys weren’t telling tales. It sounds as if Mr. Coltrane has the eyes of a killer.”

“I did not say that.”

“Eyes like a wolf, I bet.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Emily ignored her. “Was he still wearing his hat?”

“No.”

“What about his hair?”

“What about it? Do you think there is such a thing as hair of a killer?”

“I won’t know until you tell me about it,” Emily said practically.

“It’s thick and unruly. Too longish for my tastes, riding on his collar the way it does. Maybe he’ll want the barber. You could point him in Mr. Stillwell’s direction. Better yet, tell him to ask for Dave Rogers.”

“And see him scalped? I do not believe I will, no.”

“Then perhaps you’ll suggest a shave.”

Emily lightly rubbed her cheek and pretended to think about it. “I suppose that depends on how much his stubble burns my tender skin.”

Sue had had enough. She put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and gave her a push. “Go. I know who you’re sweet on even if you won’t say. Just put Mr. Coltrane out of your mind. I have work to do, and I have to find Mrs. Berry.”

“You found her,” Raine said, entering the dining room from the lobby. Both girls flushed deeply, unsure how much she had heard. “Emily, I believe you have better work to occupy you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turned sharply on her boot heel and hurried toward the kitchen.

Raine watched Emily go before she set her sights on Sue.

Without preamble, she asked, “Mr. Coltrane?”

“He asked for a table and chair,” said Sue. “He says if he has them, his accommodations will be entirely satisfactory.”

“Entirely satisfactory. He said that?”

“His exact words, ma’am.”

“You told him we don’t serve meals in the room.”

“I told him. He said they have other uses.” When Raine did not immediately respond, the maid added in confidential tones, “I had a premonition that he was going to be bothersome.”

Raine felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. It was a relief to know amusement was still possible. She was certain she had lost all appreciation for it upon making the acquaintance of Kellen Coltrane. “A premonition? Really? What do you suppose provoked it?”

Sue looked at Raine in surprise, as if the answer should be obvious. “You saw he has two trunks same as I did. A man hauling two trunks across the country must be persnickety about his person. I don’t know anyone in Bitter Springs with enough clothes to fill two trunks.”

“And a bag,” Raine said, tempering her smile. “Do not forget he also has a valise.”

“Well, yes, but we know there are guns in the bag.”

“Rabbit and Finn say so. Did you see them?”

“No, ma’am, but then Mr. Coltrane kept the bag close. Carried it in himself and didn’t hand it over for Walt to carry up to his rooms. I say that’s a man who is persnickety about his belongings, and persnickety about every other thing. Mark my words; it’s a table and a chair today and johnnycakes in his room tomorrow. Plain bothersome.”

“Let us hope you are wrong, but remember, what cannot be changed must be endured, and Sue…”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“We will endeavor to endure in silence. Please keep your premonition to yourself. If you’re correct, everyone will realize it soon enough.” Raine waited to receive Sue’s assurance that she would not breathe a word before she went on. “There’s a small table and some chairs in the storage room. Help Walt clear the table and give it a polish, then tell him to deliver it and a chair to Mr. Coltrane.”

Sue left in search of Walt, and Raine contemplated her next step. It was a certainty that she had to speak to Mr. Coltrane. Their brief exchange was wholly unsatisfactory, taking place as it did in front of an audience.

Kellen waited until the table and chair arrived before he began to unpack the valise.

Are you figurin’ on endin’ trouble in Bitter Springs or causin’ it?

Finn had posed a good question, and Kellen had no answer for it. He was hoping the contents of the valise would provide a clue. Nat Church’s intentions remained a mystery.

Should find her…tell her…she’s waiting
. That told him exactly…nothing. Nat Church’s message did not seem cryptic when Kellen thought Pennyroyal referred to a person, not a place. Now that he knew differently, he had at least as many questions as Finn Collins and nowhere to direct them.

Kellen removed the guns and examined them one at a time. The lighter model was a .45 caliber centerfire Colt with a four-inch barrel and pearl grip. It was the preferred weapon of shopkeepers and sheriffs. Kellen was not surprised that Nat Church owned one. The second weapon was another in the Peacemaker line, a .44-40 caliber centerfire six-shooter with a seven-and-one-half-inch barrel and ivory grip. With a practiced hand, it was renowned for its accuracy at longer distances, the kind of weapon drawn by one man with the express intention of killing another.

The chambers of both guns were loaded. Kellen left them that way. Under his shaving kit, he found two boxes of ammunition, one for each of the Colts. He set them beside the weapons before he dug deeper into his valise. He removed two shirts, an extra pair of suspenders, a nightshirt, the brush and comb set, and his journals before he came to the books that filled the base of the bag. He removed the books and riffled the pages of each one.

He found one letter tucked between the pages of
Nat Church and the Watchers.
Two others had been secreted in
Nat Church
and the Committee on Vigilance.
Kellen could only shake his head. The man who called himself Nat Church had a deeply ingrained sense of the absurd.

Kellen glanced toward the door when he heard footsteps approaching. He waited, sensing a hesitation in the footfalls as they neared his door, but the person in the hallway passed on. It wasn’t until quiet returned that Kellen realized he had dropped the letters and that his right hand was hovering over the .44.

Kellen stretched his legs under the table and leaned back, then he examined the letters for their chronology and began to read.

The letter was unsigned. Prudent, Kellen thought, given the nature of the correspondence. He turned the paper over, saw it contained no afterthoughts, and set it aside. Choosing the letter dated September 2, he began reading.