The Christmas Journey. Winnie Griggs
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in handy since he wasn’t planning to stop in Quinlinn. He’d push on as far as he could until darkness made traveling dangerous, then get up with the first lightening of the sky. The sooner he reached Foxberry, the sooner he could get the answers he wanted.
He had to hand it to Miss Wylie, though. He gathered she was her family’s provider—a responsibility she appeared to take seriously. Even if life had set him on a different path, he could certainly respect that.
How big a family was it? He’d already met Danny and she’d mentioned a sister. Were there more?
“You got any kind of weapon with you?”
He raised a brow at her unexpected question, then reached into his coat and pulled out his pocket pistol. “I carry this when I travel.”
She surprised him with an unladylike snort. “That peashooter won’t be much protection on the trail.” Moving with quick strides, she retrieved the rifle she’d wielded earlier. “Here, take this. Never know what kind of varmints you’ll meet up with—and I don’t mean just the four-legged kind.”
Ry slipped his unjustly-maligned derringer back inside his coat. The double-barreled pocket pistol was more formidable than it appeared. “Don’t you need that rifle yourself?” He wasn’t about to compound his first blunder by riding off with her best means of protection.
But she shrugged off his concern. “I’ve got another one.” A nod toward the far wall indicated a second rifle.
He studied her a moment, noting her earnest expression, the tightly concealed concern lurking in her eyes. It appeared she was making a peace offering and it would be rude to brush it aside.
He took the weapon. “Thanks. I’ll return it when I bring the horse back.”
She nodded. “Once you leave Quinlinn in the morning, it’ll be an easy half day’s ride to Foxberry.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t imagine you’ve had lunch yet.” She fiddled with a straw she’d plucked from the pitchfork. “If you were of a mind to remedy that before you head out, you could head over to the boardinghouse. Just tell my sister I—”
Ry held up a hand. “Thanks, but I’ll just purchase a few supplies from the mercantile and head out.” The itch to be on his way had returned with a vengeance. He’d wasted too much time already.
He mounted the horse, gathered the reins and turned to say a quick goodbye. Then paused.
She’d shoved her hands in her overall pockets and stood watching him. For just a moment, despite her outspokenness, Ry sensed something wistful, something almost vulnerable about the unorthodox female. He had the strangest urge to climb back down and lift some of the weight from her shoulders.
Which was strange. She wasn’t at all the sort of girl he was usually attracted to.
Then she straightened and her eyes narrowed. “You take good care of Scout, you hear. I raised him from a colt and I’d take it poorly if you let something happen to him.”
So much for his instincts. There was nothing vulnerable about this woman. If he offered to help her she’d no doubt throw the offer back in his teeth. And Belle, who actually wanted his help, was waiting in Foxberry.
“Don’t worry.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll treat him as if he were my own prize thoroughbred. See you in about a week or so.” With that, he set the horse in motion.
Jo felt another stab of jealousy as Mr. Lassiter turned to go. What must it be like to just pick up and head out anywhere, anytime you took a notion to? Someday she’d find out.
Or so she prayed every night.
She rubbed the side of her face. I truly am trying to be patient, Lord. But I’m twenty-three and not getting any younger.
With a sigh, she let it go and watched Mr. Lassiter ride the short distance to Danvers’ Mercantile. One thing she could say for the man, he sat a horse well. Seemed to have a knack for appearing both relaxed and in command at the same time.
Seemed he’d do all right with Scout, after all.
At least he wouldn’t have the weather to worry about. November was one of those changeable months in these parts. You could have mild weather one day and frost the next. This was one of the sunnier days.
Jo watched him step past the table of pumpkins and gourds Mr. Danvers had set up out front and enter the mercantile. With a shake of the head, she decided she’d wasted enough time worrying about the stranger, and turned back to the livery. Then frowned.
Otis’s and Clete’s horses were hitched in front of the saloon. Now, why in blue blazes were they still hanging around town?
She retrieved the second rifle and carefully loaded it. They probably wouldn’t be back to bother her, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. Especially if those polecats were getting liquored up.
Jo sat at her worktable where she had a clear view of the street, and picked up a harness that needed mending. From here she could watch both the mercantile and the saloon.
A few minutes later Mr. Lassiter stepped back out on the sidewalk. Sure hadn’t wasted any time. He quickly attached a bundle to Scout’s saddle and gathered up the reins.
Yep, something had definitely lit a fire under that man.
As if he felt her watching, he glanced up and his gaze locked on hers. Even from two blocks away, Jo felt the impact of that look down to the tips of her toes.
Land sakes—what was it about this man that could irritate her, confuse her and make her want to squirm all at the same time? And if he thought she would look away first he could just—
A wagon passed between them and the connection was broken. When Jo’s line of sight was clear again, Mr. Lassiter had already mounted up and was headed out of town. Not wanting to be caught staring again, Jo managed to watch his progress without looking directly at him.
When he passed in front of the livery, Mr. High-and-Mighty Lassiter gave her a brief tip of the hat, but didn’t bother to pause or speak. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t care if he paid her any notice or not.
After he’d passed by, she slammed the bridle down with a thunk and stood, stretching her muscles. She suddenly felt restless, felt the urge to do something physical.
Then she stilled. Someone else was watching Mr. Lassiter leave town. Otis and Clete lounged outside the saloon, all but licking their chops, nudging each other like a pair of weasels who’d spied a way into the chicken coop.
Even after they stepped back inside the saloon, Jo couldn’t shake the notion they were up to no good. And that Mr. Lassiter was their target.
She retrieved her lunch pail and absently picked at her meal, not tasting a single morsel.
Sure enough, ten minutes later Otis and Clete swaggered out of the saloon, mounted their horses and rode off in the same direction as Mr. Lassiter.
Otis glanced her way and the ugly smile he flashed sent alarm skittering up her spine like a frightened centipede.
She had to do something. But what?
Jo tugged on her earlobe. Business wasn’t exactly brisk right now. She could likely afford to leave things unattended for a bit.
A few minutes later she was marching down the sidewalk, her pace just short of a trot, trying to figure out exactly what she’d say to Sheriff Hammond.
Otis and Clete had caused enough trouble in town lately that she was sure the sheriff would be inclined to believe they were up to no good. But she didn’t really have any proof, other than a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And even if he agreed with her that Mr. Lassiter was in danger, would he be willing to take action now that they were headed away from Knotty Pine?
A few minutes later Jo