Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 4

  She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, savoring the moment. She had no doubt that someday Kent would find a woman who would be swayed enough by his money to turn a blind eye to his wandering. She was only glad that woman didn’t have to be her.

  Chapter Three

  Wyldhaven, Washington

  Liora Fontaine curled onto her side on her bed and drew her knees to her chest. Across the room, her broken triangle of a mirror angled in just such a way that she could see her face. She closed her eyes against the loathing expression reflected back to her.

  For today, it was done. The night was over. At least Ewan McGinty didn’t make her serve clientele past closing.

  Would there ever come a day when she didn’t hate herself at the end of a shift? When she could look in the mirror and be proud of what she saw? Or if not pride, at least feel something north of repugnance?

  Girl, why can’t you ever amount to anything? She remembered the words as clearly as if they had been spoken to her only moments ago. They had been accompanied by a backhanded blow that had cracked across the side of her head, jarring her eardrum with ringing.

  She flinched. She could still to this day feel the sharp slice of pain as her ear split open. She reached up slowly and fingered the scar hidden by the swoop of hair. She remembered the words. She remembered the blow. She remembered the blood that had gushed down the side of her neck and across her shoulder. But she never could seem to remember what her infraction had been that particular day.

  With a grunt, she rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, still hugging her knees.

  Trash, that’s what you are. Nothing but trash. I curse the day you came squalling into the world!

  Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

  And here she was proving him right, yet again. Just like she had every single day of her life. If only that job at the restaurant in Seattle had worked out. But when the bank had been robbed two weeks back, she’d known bad luck had caught up with her again. And sure enough, Mrs. Pendergast hadn’t been able to pay her for the month of work she’d already done. The final kick had come when she’d called Liora to her office to say she’d lost near everything in that robbery and had to let Liora go.

  How was it the man could afflict her, even without knowing he was doing so? It was the way of life. At least where Liora’s seemed concerned. Nothing ever went right.

  At least this way she’d be able to get Ma back on her medicine as soon as she got her first paycheck.

  She tugged the blankets to her and curled them around her head.

  She had a whole twelve hours before she would be expected downstairs again, and she planned to spend them in the oblivion of sleep.

  Charlotte had forced herself to wait a full day before penning her acceptance letter to Mr. Heath. Her hand had trembled to the point of near uselessness as she’d written it, but written it she had.

  After Senator Sherman had betrayed her, she’d been nearly overcome by despair for months. But not this time. Because she’d learned the futility of despair. Come to realize that despair was naught but a lack of trust in God. This time she would shake it off, and she wouldn’t think about it. She would put all her efforts into teaching the children of Wyldhaven. That was one way God could bring good out of this.

  So for the next week she immersed herself in a flurry of activity. Much to Mother’s horror, she disenrolled from the finishing school and let Miss Gidden know she wouldn’t be returning. Mother recovered from her pique in record time and insisted on taking her in to buy several new dresses, which meant fittings and the choosing of accessories, and more fittings after the first adjustments had been made.

  All week she added to her list of school supplies that Father had promised he would ship to her, since she wouldn’t be able to take them on the train. For despite Mr. Heath’s assurances that all supplies would be provided, she found her excitement couldn’t be quenched without the purchase of at least a few luxuries for her future classroom. A phonograph and several waxed cylinder records. A brand-new stereoscope and a set of slides that she would use in her history classes. Another set of slides to bring geography to life. Besides those, there were books, some artwork for the classroom walls, and several sets of flash cards for different subjects.

  There was a bevy of good-bye luncheons and teas that Mother insisted on putting together.

  And in between it all, Charlotte put up with Mother, who fussed and wheedled and cajoled in an attempt to change Charlotte’s mind about leaving. Thankfully, Father seemed to have resigned himself to her departure, and several times he gave Mother a sharp rebuff that tempered her pestering. Otherwise, Charlotte felt sure she would have gone raving mad before the day of her departure arrived.

  Now as they stood on the train platform, Mother had turned her fretting in another direction. “Do you think you have enough dresses, dear?”

  Charlotte hoped her smile didn’t appear too thin. “Rose packed both trunks to the gills. I’m certain I’ll have enough.”

  In the distance the train whistled, and Charlotte wanted to jump up and down in relief.

  Father pulled his billfold from his back pocket and extracted several large bills. “I want you to take this, Charlie. You never know when you might run into an emergency.”

  Charlotte accepted the bills and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Father. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” She folded the money and stuffed it into the bottom of her reticule.

  “I know you will, darling.” He bussed her cheek. “Your mother and I are just going to miss you, is all.”

  Mother sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, and Charlotte drew her into a hug as the train chuffed into the station. “I’ll write to you every week. I promise!”

  Mother squeezed her tight. “See that you do! And don’t hesitate to come back home if you change your mind. I think Father and I may have pushed Mr. Covington on you overmuch. We promise not to do that again. We only want what’s best for you.”

  Charlotte’s heart softened. Perhaps telling her parents what she’d seen, which she had done the moment Kent had stormed from the house last week, had been the right thing after all. “I know you do.”

  All around them, passengers bustled off the train and streamed past them into the station.

  Mother put her at arm’s length. “Are you sure this is what is best for you right now, Charlie?”

  Charlotte almost smiled at her mother’s use of the childhood nickname she’d insisted Charlotte was too old for now. “I’m very certain, Mother. And I promise to come home if things get to be too much for me.”

  “It’s just…it’s the Wild West.”

  Charlotte swallowed and wished Mother would quit talking like this might be the last time this side of heaven that they saw one another. She squeezed Mother’s hand. “You’ve seen the pictures of Wyldhaven. It’s a most civilized place with lots of amenities. I’m going to be just fine!”

  Mother sniffed and dabbed her eyes, giving a nod. “I’m sure you will. The Lord will watch over you.” Her face crumpled, and her words pitched into the high squeal she got when she was doing her best not to cry. “He’ll have to because your father and I won’t be there to do it!”

  Father folded his arms and scuffed one toe against the platform, blinking hard.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called in a loud voice.

  Charlotte glanced around to see where the entry to the car was, and that was when her gaze collided with Kent’s. He stood just down the way, his hands thrust into the pockets of his slacks. He looked like a little boy who had just lost a puppy.

  Charlotte’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she couldn’t be so rude as to ignore him altogether. She lifted a hand of farewell toward him. He returned the gesture, and she was thankful to see that it didn’t look like he planned to come any closer. She would pray for him. The thought surprised her. Only a week ago she might have gladly confronted him with a knife if one had been available to her. But…she eased out a b
reath. He was obviously a man in need of true repentance.

  She returned her focus to her parents and reassured, “Yes, the Lord will watch over me.” Charlotte pulled first her father and then her mother into another hug.

  Mother clung to her tightly, and Charlotte had just begun to fear she would never be released when Father took Mother’s elbow and gave it a tug. “Come, Etta. Let’s get Charlie aboard before she’s left without a window seat. I know she’s going to want to watch the countryside pass by.”

  As Mother reluctantly let her go, Charlotte gave him a grateful smile. He knew her so well.

  She blew a final kiss to Mother, tightly squeezed Father one last time, and then she was inside the car and settling into a window seat about midway down. Relief at being free of Kent Covington coursed through her. The relief was quickly followed by the emotion she’d been keeping carefully tucked away for the past two weeks since she’d caught him in the bawdy house. What was so wrong with her that both men who had shown an interest in marrying her couldn’t seem to stay away from other women?

  The train started forward, and her hands trembled as she waved good-bye to Mother and Father, who still stood on the platform. When they were out of sight, she curled her fingers into fists to stop the trembling. Deep breath in. Ease it out. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to work herself into a full-blown breathing attack. And wouldn’t that be something were she to die before the train even crossed the state line?

  Forcing herself to relax, she pulled out the brochure for Wyldhaven and smoothed it open on her lap, carefully studying the pictures of the little town.

  A little piece of New England blooming on the wild frontier. There was absolutely nothing to be anxious about. What a grand adventure this was going to be!

  Reagan Callahan strode down the street toward Dixie’s Boardinghouse. His day had started out with a trip to the logging camp to collect statements about a fight that had taken place between two crewmen the evening before. He had yet to put a morsel of food into his stomach, and just the thought of a hot bowl of Dixie’s beef stew had his mouth watering.

  Behind him and across the street, a door banged open. “Sheriff?”

  He squelched a groan, giving Dixie’s a longing look before turning to see what Ben King wanted this time. “Yeah?”

  Ben held up a telegram. “Got something you will want to see.”

  “Can it wait till after I eat lunch?”

  Ben’s head tilted. “It’s a telegram from Lionel Schantz, sheriff down in Ellensburg.”

  Reagan grunted. Ellensburg was a city a few days southeast of Wyldhaven. And what with all the doings last week… Reluctantly, he changed direction and crossed the road to meet Ben. He took the telegram from his fingers with a sigh that didn’t do much to disguise the grumbling of his stomach.

  Ben’s gaze dropped to his midsection, and his lips quirked. “Sorry, man.”

  Reported to me P. Waddell may be on Wyldhaven stage.

  Reagan’s pulse spiked. He pinned Ben with a look. “You get anything other than this?”

  Ben shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Reagan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Ellensburg was two days from here. The stage would stop for the night in Cle Elum. But Cle Elum didn’t currently have a lawman. So that left only Shantz and himself. “Wonder if that sheriff would go after him? You know anything about Schantz?”

  Again, a shake of Ben’s head. “Not much. Never met him. Only hearsay here and there. But from what I’ve heard, as long as the trouble is leaving his city, he’s not going to stir the pot. Especially in this case where it sounds like someone came to him afterward and reported they saw a man who might be Waddell getting on the stage. It could be anyone.”

  Reagan rubbed his jaw. That was likely true enough. Still… He glanced toward McGinty’s Alehouse. This could be an opportunity to round up the rest of the Waddell gang, if they played their cards right. If it really was Patrick Waddell on that stage, then so much the better. They would get the whole gang. But if it wasn’t him, a trail of honey could still be squeezed out to attract the rest of the crew.

  With a sigh of resignation, Reagan tucked the telegram into his shirt pocket and clapped Ben on one shoulder. “I guess today I’m giving up a bowl of Dixie’s stew in favor of a plate of Ewan’s greasy chili.”

  Ben’s face scrunched into a sympathetic twist. “Sorry.”

  Reagan grinned. “Comes with the job, Ben. Sacrifices.”

  Ben chuckled and headed back into the post office while Reagan went in search of his deputy, Joseph Rodante. A plan was coming into place, but he’d need some help to pull it off.

  Most of Wyldhaven’s residents were honest, upstanding citizens, and Reagan Callahan couldn’t complain any about the many quiet days he had on his job. But for the entire week he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Lenny Smith might have ties to Waddell’s gang. And so it was that twenty minutes later, after a brief powwow with Joe, Reagan found himself in McGinty’s Alehouse settling onto the barstool next to Lenny.

  “Evening,” he said.

  “Sheriff.” Lenny gave him a nod before shifting his gaze away and lifting his glass with an unsteady hand.

  Reagan tapped the bar with two fingers as though drumming the bass line to the bawdy-house song Liora Fontaine was banging out on the tinny piano in the corner. Liora pursed her ruby-red lips at him and raised her blond brows seductively. He looked away as though he hadn’t noticed. Nothing but trouble there. He’d been careful to maintain a strictly polite but distant relationship with her since she’d come to work for Ewan two weeks ago, but Liora was nothing if not persistent.

  Ewan stepped over and wiped the counter in front of him. “Sheriff. What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take a bowl of your chili.”

  Ewan’s mustache lifted into a near straight line. That was as much of a smile as anyone ever saw on Ewan. “Good and fresh this time. I only made it three days ago. Coming right up.”

  Reagan thanked the Lord Almighty that he hadn’t gotten that telegram a day later. He’d always thought if he died in the line of duty, it would be from a bullet, not from a meal in a questionable eating establishment. A moment later when Ewan placed the steaming bowl in front of him, he offered what he hoped passed as a smile of thanks and not a grimace of dread.

  Beside him, Lenny studied him with a curious furrow in his brow. “Don’t you normally eat down to Dixie’s, Sheriff?”

  Reagan picked up the spoon Ewan had dropped on the bar by his bowl and chipped off some crusted remnants. He slanted Lenny a look. “Always good to mix things up once in a while, don’t you think?”

  Lenny’s brows nudged toward his hairline. “There’s mixing things up, and then there’s suicide.”

  Reagan chuckled and wished Lenny’s attempt at a joke didn’t cut so close to his own feelings on the matter. He gingerly sampled a bite of the red beans and coughed. “Well, Ewan puts enough red pepper in his chili to kill anything that might make a man sick, I suppose.”

  Lenny slurped his beer. “True ’nough.”

  “And you seem to have survived.”

  Lenny smirked. “I never eat here. Only drink.” He lifted his mug in a sloppy salute.

  At that moment, Deputy Joseph Rodante burst through the batwing doors, calling, “Boss! Boss! You gotta come quick. It’s Patrick Waddell!”

  Reagan thanked the good Lord for the timing. Hungry as he was, he didn’t think he’d have been able to choke down another bite of Ewan’s concoction. That stuff was hotter than Satan’s breath. He leapt off his stool and pretended to shush his deputy even as he noticed the jolt that shot straight up Lenny’s spine.

  Liora left the piano and wrapped both hands around Joe’s upper arm, leaning in to smile coyly.

  Joe’s face turned crimson. He swallowed and fixed his focus back on Reagan. “Boss!” Joe stage-whispered just like they’d practiced. “Somebody saw him, and he’s supposedly going to be arriving in town on tomorrow’s st
age!”

  Reagan was proud of the kid for staying on task. “That’s enough, Joe! I said quiet now. If we aim to catch this rattler, we have to keep our wits about us! Liora, if you’ll excuse us…” He rushed Joe out the door, and they hurried to the alley.

  Joe rubbed at his arm as though trying to dismiss the feel of the woman who’d just been clinging to him. “Think it’ll work?”

  “It will if he’s the man I think he is,” Reagan replied, peering carefully around the barrel he’d squatted behind. The road in front of the saloon still lay empty.

  “And if Liora doesn’t turn her charms on Lenny next.”

  Reagan smirked. The kid sounded a trifle jealous. For one long minute, he feared they’d overplayed their hand, but Lenny Smith didn’t disappoint him—well, other than to prove that he was the outlaw Reagan had suspected him of being—and a moment later he bustled out of the alehouse, looked both ways, and hurried down the street.

  Reagan batted Joe with the back of his hand. “Don’t lose him. I’ll meet you at my ma’s place at midnight.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  “And Joe?” Reagan waited till he had the younger man’s full attention. “Don’t try to be a hero. Tomorrow’s soon enough to capture these buzzards.”

  “Understood.” With that, Joe disappeared around the back side of the saloon. Reagan knew he would run down Second Street and pick up Lenny’s trail on the other side of the river.

  Wherever the outlaws were camped out, it was certain Lenny was going to let them know that their chance at revenge was arriving on tomorrow’s afternoon stage.

  Reagan stepped out of the alley and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Not only could he finally head to Dixie’s to get a decent meal, but by this time tomorrow he might have the entire Waddell gang locked up in his jail.

  That made for a good day, in his book.

  Chapter Four

  Charlotte stepped out of the coach house and set her traveling bag by her feet. She hoped her trunks were still attached to the stage. The driver had assured her the evening before that they would be fine, but the farther she got from civilized society, the harder it was for her to let her things out of her sight each night.