Wyoming Lawman (5 page)

Carrie looked at Pearl. “It's going to work out, cousin. You'll see.”

Pearl hoped so, but she felt like Sarah alone in the middle of the street staring at a team of mules. Needing to be brave, she thought of the ribbons. Matt belonged to Carrie, but Pearl valued his friendship. Hopefully, his letter would tip the scales in her favor.

 

Matt didn't like cooking supper, but he did it for Sarah. He liked washing dishes even less, but it had to be done. As he dumped the scrub basin out the back door, he thought of his little girl tucked in bed, wrapped in the pink quilt she'd clutched all the way from Texas. The blanket no longer
reached her toes, but the fabric still held the softness of a mother's touch.

As he shook the basin dry, he thought of his last chore for the evening. This morning he'd bought stationery and a bottle of ink. All day he'd composed the letter for Pearl in his head, but nothing sounded right. With her interview just two days away, he had to deliver the letter tomorrow. He didn't regret his offer. He just wished he knew what to say.

He looked at the sunset and thought of her cheeks, flushed pink as she weighed his offer to write the letter. He stared up at the sky, a medium blue that melted into dusk. He thought of the ribbons and felt good that he'd brightened her day. Inspired, he went back into the house, stowed the basin under the counter and fetched the stationery and ink from the shelf where he'd put them out of Sarah's reach. He sat at the table, smoothed a sheet of paper, uncorked the bottle and lifted the pen. In bold strokes he wrote the date, then added, “To Whom It May Concern.”

He wrinkled his brow.

He scratched his neck.

He'd have been more comfortable throwing a drunk in jail, but he'd made a promise and he'd keep it. He inked the pen and wrote, “It's my pleasure to provide a letter of reference for Miss Pearl Oliver.”

So far, so good. He dipped the pen again, wiped the excess and described how she'd run in front of the wagon to save Sarah. As the nib scratched against the paper, he relived the rattle of the wagon. He imagined his little girl lying in the mud and Pearl protecting her with her own body.

He owed this woman far more than a letter. Not only had she saved Sarah, she'd restored a sliver of his faith in human beings, even in women with blond hair. Bettina had
thrown Sarah to the wolves. Pearl would have died to save her. The thought spurred his hand and he told the story with ease. By the time he finished, he couldn't imagine anyone not hiring her. In closing, he described her as loyal, honest, dedicated and kind. After the way she'd handled the awkwardness of the ribbons, he believed every word.

He blew the ink dry, then closed his eyes. As he rubbed the kink in his neck, his mind drifted to Jed Jones hanging from a cottonwood tree. Matt had seen men hanged, but he'd never cut one down after three days. He'd lost his breakfast and done his job, but he'd paid a price. The nightmares from Virginia had come back with a new intensity. He hadn't slept well since then, and he doubted the dreams would settle until he figured out who was behind the recent violence.

His mind wandered until he felt a tug on his sleeve. As he looked down, Sarah leaned her head against his arm. The warmth of her temple passed through the cotton and went straight to his heart. Earlier he'd laced her hair into a single braid. Long and smooth, it gleamed in the lamplight. Thanks to Pearl, he'd gotten the hang of fixing hair. The trick was to pull with a firm hand. Before he'd seen how she did it, he'd worried too much about hurting Sarah's head.

Dressed in a store-bought nightie, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes. “Daddy, I can't sleep anymore.”

He draped his arm around her shoulders. With her tiny bones, she reminded him of a baby chick. “You will if you try.”

“I want to hear
Cinderella
again.”

The week they'd arrived in Cheyenne, he'd bought a storybook with colored pictures for Sarah's birthday. He'd found it at the fanciest shop in town, and a clerk had told him the story behind it. A Frenchman named Charles Perrault had collected fairy tales in a book called
Tales of
Mother Goose.
Someone else had translated the stories into English, and someone else had drawn pictures that sent Sarah into raptures of delight. She didn't like the gruesome parts, but she enjoyed the rest. Matt had read
Cinderella
so many times that he had passages memorized.

“We already had a story,” he said. “It's bedtime.”

“Pleeeease.”

Whining couldn't be tolerated. It reminded him of Bettina. “No, Sarah. It's time to sleep.”

She tried to climb on his lap. Matt picked her up by her underarms and plopped her down on his knee. Rather than march her to bed, he'd play one last game of Horsey, then tuck her in with a kiss on the nose. She liked that.

As he scooted the chair back, Sarah saw the stationery. “What's that?”

“A letter.”

“Who's it to?”

“It's for Miss Pearl.” He wanted Sarah to show respect, so he'd used the “Miss.”

“We're helping her get a job as a teacher.”

“
My
teacher?” She wiggled with excitement.

“Maybe.”

Twisting in his lap, she put her hands on his shoulders. The lashes fringing her eyes fluttered upward. “Maybe she could be my mama, too.”

The question didn't surprise him. Sarah had been talking about mamas since the day she'd seen Pearl. At supper she'd asked him why she didn't have one anymore. Matt had given the only answer he could manage.
Something happened, sweetheart. She had to leave.

What else could he say?
I let your mother down and she ran off. She found another man…a better man.

A five-year-old couldn't fathom such things, but someday Sarah would want to hear the truth. What could he say?
That he'd been a rotten husband? The thought turned his stomach. Sarah needed a mother, but there was no reason to think he'd become a better man. Never mind Pearl's pretty hair and easy manner. Matt had no business noticing her.

“Come on,” he said to Sarah, lifting her as he stood. “You talked me into one more story.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, darlin'.”

He galloped her into the bedroom, tucked her against the feather tick, sat on the stool by her bed and opened
Mother Goose.
If he angled the book toward the door, enough light came from the hall that he could make out the words. He could also see the picture of Cinderella with her blond curls and blue eyes.

Sarah rolled on her side. “I think she looks like Miss Pearl.”

So did Matt. “A little.”

“A lot.” Sarah folded her hands across her chest. Then she did something Matt had never seen her do. She closed her eyes and mouthed words he couldn't hear.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I'm praying.”

Matt had no such inclination, not anymore. A long time ago he'd prayed the prayers and he'd felt relieved of his misdeeds, but not anymore. That boy had turned into a man who had to live with his mistakes. All that remained of his faith were the pangs of guilt that had driven him to work harder than any lawman in Texas. The effort had cost him Bettina, who hadn't liked playing second fiddle to his badge.

Matt couldn't change the past, but he could stop others from making the same mistakes. That's why he'd do any
thing to protect the innocent…anything except put Sarah at risk.

“Daddy?”

He stumbled back to Sarah's land of fairy tales. “Yes, darlin'?”

“I'm praying for a mama.”

Matt didn't expect God to answer Sarah's prayer, but neither could he burst the bubble of a child's faith. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Go ahead and pray, sweetheart. There's no harm in it.”

“Mrs. Holcombe says it's good to pray. She says God listens.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She reads me Bible stories.”

“That's nice.”

“I like fairy tales better,” Sarah said with authority.

So did Matt, though he didn't believe in either one. “Close your eyes now.”

As she breathed out a sigh, he started to read about the poor girl enslaved by a wicked stepmother. By the time he reached the second page, Sarah's eyes had drifted shut and her breathing had settled into the rhythm of sleep. He closed the book without making a sound, then went to the kitchen where he reread the letter for Pearl. Satisfied, he folded it into thirds and sealed it.

As he put the stopper in the ink, he wished he could bottle his feelings as easily. His insides were churning and not only because of Pearl. Tonight he'd dream about Jed Jones and bullets flying at the Silver Slipper. Neither could he forget Jasper Kling and his strong reaction to the Peters kid. No one got away with anything in front of Jasper, not even a crude joke. Matt knew all about men who lived two lives. They did things in the dark they'd never do during the day.

Jasper had that tendency. So did the other members of the Golden Order. Matt knew how easily a good organization could go bad. Politics had turned the Texas Rangers into the Texas State Police, and not everyone had been honorable. Rather than become part of it, he'd come north with Sarah. They'd done well together, and he hadn't had nightmares until Jed Jones's lynching. Since that day, he hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time. He doubted he'd sleep tonight, but catnaps were better than nothing. Hoping the dreams wouldn't come, he blew out the lamp and went to bed.

M
att woke up tired but not because of the usual nightmares. Instead of dreaming about Jed Jones or that night in Virginia, he'd been visited by Cinderella. Blue ribbons had graced her hair, and Sarah had called her “mama.” He didn't know which dreams he found more disturbing. He knew how to deal with shame and darkness. Cinderella's smile filled him with false hope. As much as Sarah needed a mama, Matt had no desire for a wife.

Yawning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbed his jaw and decided not to shave. After splashing water on his face and chest, he got dressed and went to the kitchen to fix Sarah a bowl of mush. As he lit the stove, a cantankerous thing he wanted to shoot dead, he thought of mornings back in Texas, the good days before he'd gotten short-tempered with Bettina. He had his doubts about marriage, but he'd have welcomed bacon and eggs in place of the fare more suited to life on the trail. When he'd ridden with the Rangers, he'd lived on jerky and had been fine. Sarah had taken to calling their morning meal “gruel.” Today he had to agree with her. It looked awful.

As he filled a chipped bowl, she walked into the kitchen. She'd dressed herself for school, but her hair was a tangle.
She chattered mindlessly while she ate, then she fetched her hairbrush and Matt did the best job ever of fixing her braid. Just as Pearl had done, he pulled the hair tight and tied it off fast.

With Sarah helping, he washed the dishes and put an apple, cheese and good bread from Mrs. Holcombe in her lunch bucket. Sarah picked it up and headed for the door. Matt put Pearl's letter in his pocket and together they walked to Miss Marlowe's School. Knowing she had the interview tomorrow, he wanted to hand it to Miss Marlowe himself.

Still tense from his dreams, Matt enjoyed Sarah's chatter as they walked. When they arrived at the school, he saw Carrie waiting for her students and waved at her.

Smiling broadly, she waved back. Matt considered asking her to deliver the letter, but he wanted to do it himself. As he handed over Sarah, he spoke quietly to Carrie. “Is Miss Marlowe around?”

“Not yet.” Carrie beamed at him. “She'll be in around noon. Can I help you with something?”

“No, that's all right.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes clouded with worry. “If it's about Sarah—”

“It's not.” He wanted to keep the letter to Pearl as private as possible. “I'll catch her later.”

Carrie's expression dimmed. “Sure.”

Matt glanced around for Sarah. She'd joined a group of girls and looked happy today. The move to Cheyenne could have been far worse than it had been. He owed Carrie a great deal for making the move easier. He looked at her now and saw a good woman.

“Thank you, Carrie,” he said in a quiet tone. “You've made things easier for Sarah and I'm grateful.”

Her eyes sparkled, an indication of how much she loved
children. “Thank you, Matt. She's a wonderful little girl. If there's anything more I can do, I'd be glad to help. I could take her to buy clothes or teach her to sew. I'd love to…” She kept rambling, but Matt stopped listening. He'd never understand why women talked so much.

When Carrie paused to catch her breath, he excused himself with a tip of his hat and headed for the sheriff's office. He pushed through the door and saw Dan looking cantankerous. Matt didn't bother to sit. His gut told him there had been trouble and he'd be making calls this morning. “What happened?”

The deputy made a show of rolling his eyes, then he clapped his hand over his heart in a display worthy of the actor playing Romeo. “It was terrible, Mr. Deputy. Just
terrrrible!
”

Matt grimaced. “This has to involve Jasper.”

“Yep.”

“The Peters kid again?”

“Nope.”

Matt propped his hips on his desk. “Spit it out.”

“You're not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

“One of Scottie's girls did some shopping in Jasper's store yesterday. Only she didn't buy anything. She just looked.” Dan threw up his hands in mock horror. “She
touched
a hairbrush. Jasper says he can't sell it because it's tainted.”

“That's silly.”

“It gets sillier.” Dan rocked forward in his chair. “I know this girl. Her name's Katy. She cleans the saloon because it's the only work she can get. Her husband died, and she wants to go back to Indiana. She's saving for train fare.”

A ticket to Indiana wasn't cheap, but Matt knew the stationmaster. Maybe he could get the girl a bargain. He
went to the potbelly stove in the corner and poured himself coffee from an enamel pot. “What does Jasper want?”

“For us to arrest her.”

“On what charge?”

“He didn't say, and I didn't ask.” Dan shook his head. “I figured you'd have better luck with him.”

“Thanks,” Matt said drily.

His friend flashed a grin. “That's what you get for being new around here.”

“It's been two months.”

“I've got seniority. That means
I
don't have to deal with Jasper and
you
do.”

Matt swallowed the dregs of the coffee, then put down the cup. “As my mama used to say, there's no time like the present.”

As he headed for the door, Dan called after him. “Good luck. You'll need it.”

With the sun in his eyes, Matt walked the four blocks to Jasper's store. Merchants opened their doors and bid him good morning. Wagons rattled by and drivers nodded in greeting. In the time he'd been in Cheyenne, he'd made a point of getting to know people. They talked to him. They trusted him. To stop the rash of violence, he'd need those eyes and ears on every corner.

As he approached Jasper's shop, Matt passed the display window where he saw wares from back east. Jasper changed the merchandise often, and today Matt saw women's hats, lace gloves and hankies. No wonder Katy had stopped to browse. Matt went inside and sauntered down the aisle, taking in the assortment of whatnot. The clutter irritated him, but Sarah would have been enchanted by the pretty things.

“Good morning, Deputy.”

Matt turned to the counter where he saw Jasper. What
the shopkeeper lacked in height, he made up for in fancy clothing. Today he was wearing a green-and-yellow plaid vest, a starched shirt and a fancy tie. A mustache hid his upper lip, and wire spectacles sat on his pointy nose. With his hair slicked behind his too-small ears, he reminded Matt of a rat. “Good morning, Jasper.”

“It's about time you got here.”

“You're my first call of the day.” Matt spoke amiably, but the sniping annoyed him. The clock had just struck nine. Jasper's store had been open for three minutes. Annoyed or not, Matt resolved to be polite. “I hear you've got a complaint.”

“I do.”

“Tell me about it.”

“One of Fife's girls came in here and touched things. She left
marks
on them.”

Matt kept his face blank. “What kind of marks?”

“Smudges.”

If the girl had done real damage, he could have asked her to pay for it—or paid for it for her—and been done with the entire mess. Instead he had to reason with Jasper about smudges. “Could you wipe them off?”

The man reared back. “I don't think you understand.”

Matt hid a grimace. “Maybe not.”

“She besmirched my property!”

Matt had arrested a lot of people for a lot of crimes, but
besmirching
wasn't on that list. Did he explain to Jasper that nothing had been damaged? Did he fib and tell him he'd speak with Katy? What Matt wanted to do—call Jasper a two-faced hypocrite—wouldn't solve the problem. The man had a lot of nerve to accuse a cleaning girl of “besmirching” when he himself had visited prostitutes and possibly bribed Ben Hawks to cover it up. If Matt's hunch was cor
rect, Jasper had done other things, too. He'd been one of the riders who busted out the windows at the Silver Slipper.

Annoyed, Matt tapped the counter. “Let me see the brush set.”

“Of course.”

Jasper stepped into the back office and returned with a box holding a silver-plated brush and comb. Sure enough, Matt saw a fingerprint on the handle. He also thought of blue ribbons and Pearl braiding Sarah's hair.

He looked at Jasper. “How much is this?”

The shopkeeper named a high but manageable price.

“Tell you what,” Matt said. “Sarah likes pretty things, and she's too young to know about…besmirching.”

“Of course.”

“I'll give you half price for it.”

“Half?”
Jasper's nostrils flared.

“You said yourself it's damaged goods.”

“Well, yes. But—” He clamped his lips. If he kept talking, he'd trip over his own greed.

Matt ran his palm over the bristles. They tickled. “That's fine quality.”

“The very best.”

“What's a fair price?” If Jasper believed the brush had been rendered worthless, he had no call to charge full price. On the other hand, he liked money.

The shopkeeper drummed his fingers on the counter. “I'll take off ten percent.”

“Make it twenty.”

“Fine,” Jasper answered.

Matt slid a silver dollar across the counter. As Jasper put it in the cash drawer, he looked over the top of his spectacles. Matt saw questions in his eyes and prepared himself for another inquisition. Jasper never asked a direct
question. His thoughts twisted like a lariat, going round and round until he tossed the loop.

The shopkeeper made a show of pushing up his spectacles. “I hear your daughter had a near miss with a freight wagon.”

“That she did.”

“I also heard a new woman in town came to her rescue.”

Matt didn't care for Jasper talking about Pearl behind her back. Gossip ran fast and furious, and Jasper served on the school board. She didn't need word to leak that she had a baby out of wedlock. “That's right,” he answered evenly.

“I hear she's pretty.”

Matt thought so, but he shrugged.

Jasper tugged on his cuffs. “I'm looking forward to meeting her.”

He wouldn't be so pleased when he learned about her son. Matt had no intention of spilling Pearl's secret. She deserved to handle the situation as she saw fit. “I'm in the woman's debt,” he said simply.

“Do you recall her name?”

The shopkeeper sounded far too eager. Why the interest in Pearl? Matt had an idea and it turned his stomach. He didn't dare let the irritation show. The less Jasper knew before the school board meeting, the better off Pearl would be.

Matt worked to sound bored. “Her name is Pearl Oliver.”

“Ah!” Jasper said. “Carrie Hart's cousin.”

“Yes.”

“A preacher's daughter.”

“That's her.”

Jasper's nose twitched as if he smelled cheese. “We need
a new church, a disciplined one. Her father might just be the man to lead it.”

Matt thought Cheyenne had enough churches. He felt no call to worship a God who let men do what he'd done in Virginia, or who gave sweet girls like Sarah to women like Bettina. Matt didn't know which he loathed more—his own failure as a man, or God's failure to protect the innocent. He snatched up the comb and brush. “I've got work to do.”

“One more thing, Deputy.”

Matt met Jasper's stare. “What is it?”

“The Golden Order meets next week. I'll be mentioning today's vandalism. You should be there to explain what you're doing about it.”

Matt would have rather punched a beehive, but Jasper's invitation served another purpose. If he attended the meeting, he could watch and listen. He'd see who had the biggest axes to grind. He wouldn't leave early, either. In his experience, the real business took place after the meeting when men shared cigars.

“I'll be there,” he said.

As he left the shop, Matt thought of the letter in his pocket. He wanted to be at the school at twelve sharp. With a man like Jasper on the board, Pearl would need all the help she could get. The shopkeeper, he felt certain, would judge her as unfit because of her son. Matt had no such prejudice. People made mistakes. He'd made a bad one when he'd married Bettina, and a worse one during the war. No way could he judge Pearl for giving in to the oldest of temptations.

But Jasper would. A man who'd be offended by a smudge on a hairbrush would see an illegitimate child as the blackest mark a woman could have. The thought made Matt furious. A woman like Pearl deserved understanding, not judgment. She also needed protection from the likes of
Jasper Kling. Matt hoped his letter would be enough to give her a fresh start. If it wasn't, maybe he could help her find a job. Or maybe…his mind went down a road that led to a nice supper at the hotel and that horrible performance of
Romeo and Juliet.

“Don't be a fool,” he muttered. If he wasn't careful, he'd do something stupid like ask Pearl to supper. He had no business courting her. None at all. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, he whistled “Dixie” all the way to the sheriff's office.

 

Someone knocked on Pearl's bedroom door. Before she could say “Come in,” Carrie cracked it open. “Hi!”

Pearl wished her cousin would wait for permission to enter. Toby had nursed and fallen sleep, giving her a moment of quiet. With the interview tomorrow morning, she'd been fighting an upset stomach all day. She'd been about to lie down when she'd heard the knock.

“Come in,” she said belatedly.

Turning, she saw Carrie displaying the dress she'd ruined helping Sarah. To Pearl's amazement, the gown looked brand-new. Gone were the mud stains at the knees and bosom. It had been laundered and pressed into immaculate folds.

“You worked a miracle!” Pearl declared.

“Mrs. Dinwiddie helped.” Carrie hung the gown in the wardrobe, then sat on the edge of the bed with a grin. “Guess what?”