Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 11

  He tore his gaze off her and forced himself to concentrate on unsaddling his horse. “What can I do for you?”

  “Did you find him—the outlaw?”

  He brushed past her and put the saddle on the rack, laying the blanket out beside it. “No.” He pushed by her again. Led the horse into its stall, hooked on the tie rope, and set to brushing it down. What did she really want? Surely a woman like her hadn’t sought him out to talk about an outlaw hunt.

  “Joe, I need your help.” Her words were soft and wheedling.

  The brush stilled midstroke. His heart rate kicked up a notch. With a huff of disbelief, he forced himself to return to currying. He’d heard that cajoling tone in her voice on more than one occasion in McGinty’s when she was urging a man to her room. She’d even tried it on him a time or two.

  “I’m not the man you’re looking for, Liora. Can’t help you.” He stepped around to the other side of the horse.

  She sighed, and when she spoke, seduction no longer colored her tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I know you’re not…that kind of man. Which is why I know I can trust you with my money.”

  “If you need something, just ask. Don’t try to manipulate me.”

  “It’s my ma. I need someone to take her my pay.”

  Once again her words, and her frankness, suspended his movements. He hadn’t expected her to take his command to heart. He looked at her over the top of the horse.

  She stood, head bowed, fingertips pressed together, and tears shimmering on her lashes. Her shoulders hunched. She seemed fragile and tense, like if he turned her down she might just crumble.

  Tossing the currycomb back onto the shelf, he unhooked the tie, stripped off the harness, and swatted his horse’s rump to urge it farther into the stall. Stepping out, he shut the gate and draped the harness on the hook next to the stall. Folding his arms, he looked down at her. He clenched his jaw. Were her tears just another form of manipulation?

  “Why can’t you take it?”

  She looked up, her blue eyes seeming even larger with the tears pooling in them. “Ewan won’t let me leave town.” She shrugged. “He’s afraid I won’t come back, I suppose.”

  Joe clenched his teeth. Everything in him urged that he turn her down. And yet if she were any other woman asking for his help, he would agree without hesitation. “If you want to quit working for Ewan, you know the sheriff and I would help you, right?”

  Something like hope flared in her eyes, but she didn’t take the lifeline. “You have to take Doc Griffin with you. Ma’s been without her medicine for near six weeks now. There’s a doc in the camp where she lives, but I’m not sure I trust him. Nothing he’s charged us for has helped her.”

  Joe frowned. “You working for Ewan just to help pay for your ma’s medicines?”

  Her jaw jutted to one side, and her eyes narrowed in a way that told him her business was her own. “Will you do it?”

  He sighed. “Where does she live?”

  “Camp Sixty-One.” She pulled an envelope from her dress pocket and held it out. When he took it, she released a puff of air, and her eyes dropped closed for a moment. “Thank you. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”

  He tipped his hat and headed for the barn door. “I’ll see when Doc has time to ride out.” With that, he left her inside, willing away the image of Liora Fontaine looking broken and needy. Looking like a woman who just needed a man to wrap her in his arms and assure her all would be well.

  He lifted his hat and scooped a trembling hand back through his hair before resettling it.

  Maybe it was time he paid Belle Kastain another call.

  Dixie Pottinger eyed the table she’d just set and ticked off a list on her fingers. Yes, everything was in place. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and reminded herself to breathe normally and not to be nervous. Just because the new teacher was posh and perfect didn’t mean Dixie couldn’t make friends with her, and she certainly could use a friend in this tiny little corner of the Northwest, Lord knew.

  She’d been doing her best to tamp down her excitement over the prospect of another single female in town, ever since Sheriff Callahan had brought Miss Brindle in and paid for her room the evening before. She hoped the woman wouldn’t be averse to joining her for breakfast this morning. She probably shouldn’t even think about imposing on one of her guests in such a manner, but she was so hungry for another woman to talk to that she simply had to try.

  She’d finished setting the table at just the right time, because Miss Brindle stepped into the room at that very moment. She had done an admirable job of cleaning the watered green silk that brought out the exquisite green of her eyes and made Dixie all the more aware of her own plain features and dress.

  For a moment she wavered, but the table was already set for two, and Dixie was not going to let a little thing like money and status derail her from making a new friend. Dixie motioned her over and boldly asked, “I hope you don’t mind if I join you for breakfast?”

  Miss Brindle blinked in surprise, but a ready smile immediately lifted her lips. “Of course not. It would be a pleasure.” At that moment the woman’s stomach rumbled loudly. A flush touched her cheeks, and she put one hand to her middle. “Oh, do forgive me. I haven’t eaten anything since the tomato and hard-boiled egg I had for lunch yesterday.”

  Dixie offered her a grin. “Grumbling bellies are just exactly what we like to hear in this establishment.”

  Charlotte’s eyes softened. “You’re very kind.”

  “Please.” Dixie motioned to one of the chairs, and Charlotte eased into it with a grateful smile.

  Dixie tried not to be anxious as she sank to the seat opposite and lifted the silver lids off their plates. She was ever so thankful that Ma had offered to cook for her a few days a week so she could get some other things done around the place. Dixie lifted her fork and tucked into her food, and was immediately embarrassed when Miss Brindle’s eyes widened a bit and she bowed her head in silent grace. But despite Dixie’s obvious embarrassment, Miss Brindle offered nothing but a gracious smile a moment later when she lifted her head and picked up her own fork.

  “So tell me what made you want to start a boardinghouse in a little town like Wyldhaven?”

  Dixie nearly choked on the bite of egg in her mouth. She doubted the elegant, put-together Miss Brindle knew anything about running for her life or hiding from a man who had promised to kill her the next time he saw her. “Oh, you know, Ma and I sort of came to the end of the trail, and this was where we found ourselves. She’s a passable good cook, and I knew how to run a house. I figured adding a few more bedrooms wouldn’t be too hard.” She offered what she hoped was a normal-looking smile.

  Miss Brindle raised a forkful of Ma’s ham-and-egg scramble with an appreciative lift to her brows. “She’s more than a passable cook, if she made these.”

  Dixie felt her chest swell with pride. “She did.” But that was enough about her and Ma. She needed to keep details about herself as vague as possible. It was time for a subject change. “So what made you want to come teach in a town like Wyldhaven, Miss Brindle?”

  The woman wrinkled her nose. “Charlotte, please. And in answer to your question, I actually thought Wyldhaven was going to be quite different. More to the point, Mr. Zebulon Heath led me to believe Wyldhaven was quite different. I don’t think I’ll be staying.”

  Dixie’s disappointment shouldn’t have been so deep since she’d only known the woman for less than twenty-four hours, and yet it was. Somehow, now that she’d set her mind on having a friend in town, the thought of letting that go could not be borne. “How is it different?”

  Charlotte’s lips pursed in tight irritation, and she raised a finger. Digging through her reticule, she finally pulled a brochure from within and handed it across to Dixie.

  Dixie studied the pictures. One panel portrayed a town much larger than Wyldhaven actually was, with a church on one end and a schoolhouse across the river in the field.
Another panel had three sketches—one of quaint stone cottages, one of an arched stone bridge over the river, and the third of a beautiful range of mountains looming over Wyldhaven nestled in a verdant valley. The rest of the trifolded pamphlet talked about how Wyldhaven had been founded, its bustling economy, and its upstanding citizens.

  Dixie actually chuckled at the audacity of it. She dropped the parchment back onto the table. “Well, he got the mountains and the upstanding citizens right. And I’d give just about anything to see those boardwalks actually built.”

  Charlotte didn’t appear to appreciate her attempted humor, but she tried to smile anyhow.

  “I’m sorry you were deceived into coming here, but that doesn’t mean the children here need a teacher any less than they did when you thought they lived in a fancy little town. In fact, the children here might need you more than children like that.” She tipped a nod to the brochure.

  Charlotte seemed taken aback. “That’s true, I suppose. It’s just…it goes against my every grain to cooperate with deceit. And if I stayed, I would feel like I was…” She searched for a word. “…rewarding Mr. Heath.”

  Dixie swallowed her regret. She was going to lose this friend before she’d even made one of her. Still, she had to try and convince her. The children did need a schoolteacher. “Well, I hope that you’ll at least keep an open mind until you’ve had a chance to meet everyone at the party this afternoon. I think you’ll find that the people here are quite easy to love.”

  Charlotte’s smile was thin, but she did respond with, “Okay. I can agree to that.”

  And in that moment, Dixie somehow felt all was not lost.

  They ate in silence for just a moment before Charlotte spoke again. “Sheriff Callahan tells me there will be no coach through here until next week. I’ll need a project to keep me busy until that time. Do you know of anything around town that I could help with?”

  As soon as the question left Charlotte’s lips, an idea popped into Dixie’s mind. Until that moment she hadn’t even considered trying to raise money to go toward the building of a church or school, yet… “As a matter of fact, I know just the thing. It’s a project born on the spur of the moment, but what would you say to organizing a boxed supper as a means of raising money to build a combined church and school?” Not that she had much need of a church, considering the way God had abandoned her, but others generally seemed to take comfort from a religious institution, and it would be good for the town to have one.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened, and Dixie could see she was seriously considering the idea.

  Dixie rushed on. “The coach comes through next Friday. We could set the boxed supper for Thursday night. And that way you’d at least be leaving the next teacher, and any minister that decides to settle here, in a better position than they are now.”

  Charlotte’s eyes sparkled. “I like it!” She lifted the brochure and examined the drawing. She tapped the location of the church on the image. “I think the building should go here. It can be built more like a church, and the school can just use it during the week. Then once we—uh, the town—gets some more funds, an actual school building can be built in the location where it is in the drawing.”

  Dixie hid her smile by downing her last forkful of eggs. She had a feeling Miss Brindle was going to be staying in Wyldhaven longer than she anticipated.

  Chapter Nine

  Patrick heard the wagon coming long before it arrived. A man was whistling, but he heard no other voices, so maybe the man was alone, just as he’d hoped he would be. It was one thing to rob a grown man. It was quite another to rob him in front of one of his children. No man ought to be humiliated in such a manner.

  He continued to lie still, conserving his energy. Willing himself to fight through the coming pain.

  The wagon pulled up beside him. Trace chains rattled as the horses bobbed their heads. Boots thumped to the ground, and he heard a man’s heavy stride coming toward him.

  He felt his heart rate ramping up. This was going to hurt. He remained motionless. Appearing helpless was going to be a key element if his plan was going to work. He only hoped the man wasn’t a Quaker or some such who didn’t pack a weapon.

  But as the man stepped into view and leaned over him, Patrick noted the Colt strapped to his hip, and he relaxed a bit.

  The man assessed him from head to toe, rubbing a hand over a short graying beard. “Wife tells me you’re in a bad way.”

  Patrick offered a pitiful smile. “I’ve been better.” And he was about to be better again.

  “Well, let’s get you to the house so’s you can rest and get some food in you. Sound good?”

  “More than you know.” Could he do this left handed?

  The man reached down to help him up. “Name’s William Kastain. My wife and the kids headed into town to a social to welcome our new teacher. But she’s put on a pot of soup that should be ready by the time I get you back to the house and settled in. She also sent you some biscuits and jam. I’ll give them to you just as soon as we get you settled on the blankets in the bed of the wagon.”

  The news couldn’t get any better. He didn’t plan to kill the man, and he’d been worried about having enough time to escape. Waddell had pictured the man running back to his house for a fresh saddle horse and sending one of his family to town for the law while he backtracked to chase him down. But with his family off to town, that would be that much farther the man had to go before being able to get word to the law about the incident and come after him.

  Patrick accepted Kastain’s hand and let him pull him to his feet, then he clung to the man as though he needed a moment to steady himself. Truth was, he did need that moment, because another wave of agony swept over him. But he couldn’t take too long. Gritting his teeth, he reached with his left hand and snagged Kastain’s gun from its holster before the man could pull away and start them toward the wagon.

  “What in the—” Kastain thrust his hands into the air.

  Patrick tipped his head. “Sorry. I just need the wagon and the horses.”

  Kastain’s face paled, and Patrick realized he thought he was going to shoot him. He took a step back. Pain knifed through his leg, and he almost lost his balance when it threatened to give out from under him. He gritted his teeth and forced his body into submission. “Just stay back and you won’t get hurt.”

  Kastain tilted his head. His eyes hardened as he swept a glance over him.

  Patrick could tell the man was trying to assess just how injured he really was.

  Kastain stepped toward him. “I can’t let you take my wagon and my horses. My family depends on those.” He inched a little closer.

  Patrick shook his head. “Don’t do it. I don’t want to hurt—”

  Even before he could finish the sentence, Kastain lunged toward him.

  Patrick gasped. White bursts of light exploded across his vision as Kastain crashed into his right arm.

  “Give me my gun!” Kastain grappled to yank the piece from his grasp.

  Patrick knew he only had a moment before he was overpowered. He pulled the trigger.

  Kastain froze. His mouth slacked open, and his face turned pale. He stumbled a couple steps back. Blood bloomed across the man’s shirt on his right side.

  Patrick’s face scrunched into regret. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t want to shoot you. I really didn’t. It was you or me.”

  Kastain looked from the wound in his side to Patrick’s face and then back again. Shock still coated his features. “I came here to help you…”

  Waddell’s conscience pricked him. That was true enough. But he needed to get out of here. Anyone could have heard the shot and be heading this way to see if someone needed help. “Listen to me. Listen careful now. Take off that shirt and press it as hard as you can against the wound.”

  Kastain just stared at him, still in shock.

  “You want to live? Do it!”

  Kastain started fumbling with his buttons.

  Waddell nodd
ed. “Good man. Turn around and let me see your back.” He didn’t dare get close enough to the man for him to try for the gun a second time. They might both end up gunshot.

  Kastain groaned as he stripped off his shirt and turned so Waddell could see his back. Waddell felt all the blood drain from his face, and he swallowed hard. The bullet had gone clean through, and a stream of blood already soaked Kastain’s pants nearly to his knees.

  A scene he hadn’t envisioned for years flashed into his memory. His mother gasping for breath on the rug before their hearth, blood spurting with each beat of her heart from the wound in her chest. His father waving his gun. Cursing her. Spittle catching glimmers of firelight as he disparaged her from near the doorway to the cabin, screaming that it was all her own fault. And Patrick’s own small hands slick and sticky with blood as he knelt on the rug by his mother’s side and uselessly pressed against the wound in an attempt to stem the flow. His father had walked out that day, and Patrick had never seen him again. His mother had died only moments later.

  Now, he scrunched his eyes shut and shook the memory away. No matter how badly he wanted to escape, he couldn’t leave the man to die in such a manner. “All right, listen. See that red fir right there? I’m going to help you. But if you so much as move, I’m going to walk away and let you bleed out, you understand? So put your hands on the tree and stay still.”

  Kastain followed orders.

  Waddell tucked the pistol into his waistband and took the shirt from Kastain’s hand. He stripped off his own shirt and wadded it into a ball. Pressing that firmly against the hole at Kastain’s back, he tucked the body of Kastain’s shirt against the smaller hole in his stomach and then used the sleeves of the shirts to tie the compress into place. He stepped back and palmed the gun once more. “All right now, you walk home, and your wife will find you when she gets there. But don’t move any more than you have to once you get there. You just lie yourself down and rest a mite, else you’ll bleed out.”

  Kastain turned to look at him, disbelief in his eyes.