The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption. Janet Dean
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Sheriff Truitt came by earlier to warn me that he’d seen you ride into town.”
Truitt was looking out for the widow’s welfare. Someone needed to. As much as Nate wished things were different, that man wasn’t him. He was here to protect his sister’s interests, not this woman’s.
How many women had suffered from actions taken by the men in their lives? Including his? He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, refusing to think about that now.
“Max was known for his temper. Still, far as I know, he never shot at a complete stranger.” Her eyes narrowed, filling with suspicion. “Why would he fire at you?”
“He killed my sister Anna’s husband. Shot Walt in the back. That made it personal.”
She winced, as if seeing the cowardly act.
“When I explained I’d be taking him back to Kentucky to stand trial for murder, he...”
“He didn’t want to go.”
“No, ma’am.”
“So what happened then?”
Why ask? Surely she didn’t want to hear the gruesome details. Still she waited for his answer. Unable to cope with a weepy female, Nate fought to keep his tone detached. “He grabbed his gun from his holster and fired. I reeled away, pulling my revolver, and answered before he got off the next round.”
“Max wasn’t much of a shot, leastwise not with a moving target.”
Nate clutched his hat, turning the rim ’round and ’round in his hands. “No, ma’am.”
Not much of a man, either. No point grinding that truth into his widow. Perhaps she already knew. She wasn’t wearing widow’s weeds and appeared more somber than distraught. But then, everyone handled grief differently.
Well, she’d be distraught soon enough, once he got to the point of his visit. Mrs. Richards seemed like a good woman, a good mother with a small boy depending on her. If only he could express regret for taking a life, perhaps do a chore or two and be on his way.
But he couldn’t. Anna needed this chance. For once in her life she’d have a way to handle her future, set her own course.
The widow considered him and then nodded, as if she’d accepted his lack of options. “I’m sorry about your sister’s husband.” Moisture welled in her eyes. “Please give her my condolences.”
He shoved past the tightness in his throat. “I will.”
“If that’s all, I need to check on my son.” Mrs. Richards turned away, as if finished with the conversation.
“Ma’am.”
She turned back, eyes wide, as if surprised to find him standing there instead of heading for the door. “Yes?”
A gust of air escaped his lips. No decent man relished bringing a woman trouble. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
“Worse than killing my son’s father?”
At a loss for words, Nate merely stared at her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sergeant. That was uncalled-for, but I have a boy who needs my attention and a shop to run.” Her gaze traveled to the door, her desire for him to walk through it abundantly clear.
No point in putting off what he’d come to say. “This shop is mine,” he said, settling his Stetson in place.
The air stilled, caught in the heavy hush of surprise. She took a breath, then another; in, out. Her gaze hardened. “You’re mistaken. The deed to this shop is in my possession.”
“My brother-in-law Walt won the deed in a poker game. Your husband killed him for it, and then terrorized my sister Anna, who had no idea where Walt had hidden it. Richards never found the deed before he rode off. But recently I did. As my sister’s representative, I’m here to take possession.”
“That can’t be true!”
She met his gaze. As if seeing the truth in his eyes, the blazing confidence in hers ebbed.
With a gasp she whirled to a small wheeled safe on the back wall. The dial clicked right, left, right. Then, with the chink of moving tumblers and the clank of the latch, the thick door opened on quiet hinges. She knelt, reached inside, patted the interior. Came up empty.
She staggered to her feet and crossed to him, her skin ashen, eyes dazed. “It’s...it’s...gone,” she said in a reedy, strangled voice.
Then she wobbled, as if the starch had gone out of her. In one slow motion she crumpled, limp as a rag doll.
Nate caught her before she hit the floor. With the pale woman in his arms, his mind zipped back and remembered another woman.
“Mama!”
Nate’s head snapped up, his vision cleared.
Eyes wide with fear, the son ran toward them. “Is she dead?” he said.
Rachel was dead. Not this woman.
Poor tyke had lost his pa and now must believe he’d lost his mother, too. “Your ma’s fine. She’s fainted, that’s all.”
“What’s fainted?”
“It’s like falling asleep.” Nate forced a reassuring smile. “She’ll wake up soon.”
Beside Nate, the little boy settled on his haunches and patted his mother’s arm. “Mama, are you tired?”
Nate removed his hat and fanned the widow’s face. Smelling salts would bring her around. Not something Nate carried in his line of work.
He brushed a tendril of hair off the widow’s pale cheek. Under his fingertips, her skin was soft as silk.
The click of a clock’s pendulum echoed in the silence. With each passing tick, the boy’s bravado crumbled. “Mama, wake up! Please!” he said, tears spilling down his face.
In way over his head, Nate groped for words. He’d never been around children. How could he comfort this one?
The widow groaned, rolling her head from side to side.
Her son gazed up at him, panic sparking in his eyes. “Something’s wrong with my mama. Help her! Please, mister!”
“I’ll help her, I promise.” As soon as the words left his lips, Nate knew he’d made a hasty promise to stop the boy’s pleading. A promise he couldn’t keep.
Once again. Another failure. More lives ruined.
He tamped down the remorse swirling in his gut. This woman wasn’t his responsibility. How could Richards wager his family’s future on the turn of a card? His wife and son deserved better.
A temptation to give back the deed slid through him. Only for a moment. Nate couldn’t sacrifice his sister’s future. Not after what she’d sacrificed for him.
Once Mrs. Richards had time to think about it, she would know, as he did, she’d lost the shop. Though he didn’t relish the pain he would cause, Nate would not help the widow as he’d promised her son.
All he would bring Carly Richards was trouble.
Where am I?
Carly closed her eyes, giving her head a little shake, and then opened them again, the scent of soap, leather and peppermint filling her nostrils. Shadows slowly came into focus.
She peered into gray eyes. Gray eyes rimmed with charcoal and filled with concern.
Intriguing eyes. Who was—?
A small face popped into view. Henry. Tears spiking his lashes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying?