Before the Larkspur Blooms (35 page)

Rome jabbed his gun at Thom. “I should have
killed
you. Killed you when you were nothing but a hungry, stupid kid. Couldn’t even tell we were hiding from the law!” He looked at Chase. “Let go, Logan, unless you want a bullet through your brain.”

A flash lit up the night as a six-shooter boomed in the tight area. Acrid smoke burned Chase’s throat. Rome fell from his saddle and landed on the ground with a thud, still clutching his gun. His horse jerked free and took off at a gallop.

Jake!
Chase dove for the lariat. A zinging sound filled the air as the rope scorched leather as it pulled free from the saddle horn, painfully burning Chase’s hands. The rope snapped off, flipped into the air, then fell limply to the earth.

Jake wobbled on his feet, his smoking revolver hung at his side. He wrested the rope from his neck and threw it to the ground. Chase ran to his side.

Albert turned on Dwight, his gaze suspicious. “What are you doing out here so far?”

“What! I’m not a rustler! I was just doing my job!”

“Of hanging innocent people?” Albert said angrily. “You’re fired.”

Hoskins snapped straight. “What are you talking about, Albert? I tracked—”

“Shut up! You’re relieved of your badge until I find out what’s going on. Toss your gun away.”

Albert rode forward, dismounted, and picked up the gun. “Gabe, you go catch Rome’s horse. We’ll need him to get Littleton back to Logan Meadows.”

Gabe nodded and took off.

Two hours later, the town’s young physician worked to remove Jake’s bullet from Rome’s side. The men stood around in a wide circle, making sure the half-conscious outlaw didn’t somehow get away.

Chase looked at the group through gritty eyes. Jake slumped in a chair. Thom and Gabe stood beside him.
Getting too old for shenanigans like this
, Chase thought.
Just glad we’re all here and alive.
The doc had finished Jake’s examination ten minutes ago. Except for a lump on his head, he’d be fine.

“I still owe him seventy-five dollars,” Jake said quietly.

Albert shook his head. “Considering it was stolen money in the first place, I’d say anything you owed Rome was paid in full tonight.”

“Thom, I’m still trying to figure out how you got those tracks,” Gabe said. “That plaster is hard as a rock.”

“I was just wondering that myself,” Albert said, the square piece of wood with the print dangling from his hand.

Thom shrugged. Lines of exhaustion etched his face, and he rubbed his eyes. “Well, actually I didn’t.”

A smile crept over Albert’s face.

Thom nodded. “You’re correct in your thinking, Albert. I was bluffing my way through.”

“But the plaster prints?” Albert insisted. “It’s right here.”

“Remember I told you Rome’s horse was stabled at Win’s? Had a stone bruise and needed time off. As long as I had access to his horse, I knew I should be doing
something
. But I didn’t know what. Then Hannah shared a story about how she’d accidentally spilled wallpaper paste into her biscuit makings. So I took the gelding’s prints and waited for my chance to use them. I felt certain that if Logan Meadows was having problems with rustlers and Rome was here, the two went hand in hand. I could’ve been wrong.”

Gabe’s smile split his face. “You were banking on his reaction to your made-up story.”

“That’s right, Gabe.”

From the operation table, Rome gave a loud moan. Dr. Thorn tossed the bullet into a tin bowl at his side.

Albert whistled. “That’s interesting thinking. I could sure use a deputy like you. Someone who uses the brains God’s given him, not going off half-cocked all the time. What do you say, Thom?”

Jessie paced to the window and looked down the road. She’d lain awake last night for hours waiting for Chase. When he’d returned, he’d told her how Thom had tricked the leader of the rustlers and Jake had saved the day. It was an amazing story, and she was happy about the outcome. But she couldn’t concentrate.

Frank had ridden out last night with a message. As she’d feared, Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge had shown up in Logan Meadows a few days ago and were coming out today. They wanted
to talk about Sarah. About her little girl. Jessie’s heart thundered in her chest.
How, Lord? How has this happened? And why now?
Chase had gone out this morning to talk with the ranch hands, but he’d promised to be back as soon as he could.

Jessie fiddled at the table, making sure everything was perfect. It was set with her best dishes and linen. Her first larkspur of the season had just bloomed that morning, so she’d cut several velvety-blue stems and a handful of pink roses and had arranged a pretty bouquet. It now sat in the middle of the table.

Last night, she’d been too keyed up to even think about going to sleep once the children were put to bed. Instead, she’d baked a chocolate pound cake and a batch of huckleberry oatmeal cookies. Now, she turned at the sound of hoofbeats and ran to the door.

Chase came in and hung his hat on a hook. “Anything yet?” He strode over and wrapped her in his arms.

She shook her head. “I expect them anytime.”

“And the children?”

“Gabe and Jake took them on an outing to the meadow for me. They’re confused but didn’t ask why.” She stepped out of his arms. Chase looked worried and tired. Any other day he’d have skipped shaving and gone to work. Not today. He’d bathed at five even though he’d gotten home at three. Neither of them had slept a wink.

He tried to smile, but the corners of his lips pulled down. “It’s going to work out, Jessie.” He couldn’t hold her gaze and looked away. He didn’t believe that any more than she did.

“How did the men react to the news about the rustlers?” she asked, wanting to take his thoughts off Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge.

“Funny thing. Blake cleared out sometime last night. I don’t know how he found out about Rome, unless he was hiding somewhere in the dark. No one’s seen hide nor hair of him.”

“Blake?” Bile rose in her throat.

Chase nodded. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I would never have suspected him.” She fiddled with the lace on the collar of her best Sunday dress. “I guess you don’t really know someone at all.”

“No. Don’t be suspicious of everyone, though. One or two rotten apricots don’t spoil the whole tree. Here’s a bit of good news. Happy Jack is back in the pasture with the heifers. He was in the group of cattle retrieved last night.”

“Chase, that’s wonderful!”
Chase.
What would she do without him? Always looking on the bright side.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

She gasped. She’d been so wrapped up with Chase she hadn’t heard the buggy arrive. “How do I look?” She smoothed her hair with a shaky hand.

“Prettier than you’ve ever been.”

Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge didn’t care about pretty, or pound cake, or that Sarah was an important part of a loving home. Maybe they wanted her back no matter what. Jessie gathered her courage to face them with dignity.

They went together and opened the door.

“Please, come in,” Chase said.

She was shocked to find that Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge looked to be in their sixties. In awkward silence, they filed into the parlor, Mr. Stockbridge bringing up the rear with his cane. Remembering herself, Jessie quickly asked, “May I take your shawl, Mrs. Stockbridge?” The woman smiled kindly and handed the delicately crocheted garment to Jessie. She folded it nicely, placed it on the table in the entry, and hurried back to Chase.

“You seem shocked by our arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Logan,” the old gentleman began after he’d settled onto the sofa. He was dressed in business-type attire that spoke volumes about their finances. White hair capped his head, and his face, crisscrossed with wrinkles and embellished with silver glasses, was thoughtful. Jessie tried not to be drawn to him, but that was next to impossible.

“Yes.” Chase’s tight voice was so uncharacteristic. Jessie chanced a quick peek in his direction. “We are. We’ve had Sarah over three years. We thought you were her parents.”

Mrs. Stockbridge smiled and shook her head. “Her uncle and aunt.” She was delicate.
Cultured
, Jessie thought. Her hair, not white like her husband’s, was chestnut and streaked with silver. Her soft emerald dress looked expensive.

Jessie found her voice and asked, “How do we know, Mr. Stockbridge, that you are who you say you are? I’m sorry to be mistrustful, but…” It was the question that had been rolling around in her head ever since the first letter had arrived.

Mrs. Stockbridge reached over and patted her husband’s hand. “First, you must call us by our given names. I’m Bridget, and my husband is William. Do I have permission to call you Chase and Jessie?”

Chase nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” She pulled a small book from her satchel. Black ink splotches dotted the cover, and the pages were worn. “I told William you’d ask that very question, so I’ve brought along the way we found out about Sarah.” She opened the book and skimmed through the pages. “This belonged to my twin sister, Bethany Camble. When she passed away last year, we traveled to Texas to settle her estate, her being a widow. I found this diary in the attic. It first belonged to her daughter, Emma Camble, Sarah’s mother.”

Unable to control her shaking hands, Jessie huddled close and pressed them into Chase’s. His warm skin calmed her soul. This was all too familiar and yet very strange. Sarah’s relatives sat right before her eyes. Her mother’s name was Emma. Did Emma have Sarah’s dancing blue eyes and soft chestnut hair?

“Although you might think it wrong, I read it. I learned Emma had been engaged to a man named Eugene. I’m sorry, but I don’t know his surname. Before the nuptials had taken place, she found herself with child. When she told her betrothed, it seems
his true colors surfaced, and he ran off, abandoning her. He never contacted Emma again. Emma was the only child my sister had, and her father, strict as the day is long, worshipped the ground his daughter walked on. Fearful of his reaction, Emma planned an extended trip to visit her cousin in New Mexico Territory. She stayed almost a year. After the birth, her cousin put the baby girl in a basket and left her at the orphanage.”

Tears slipped from Jessie’s eyes as she struggled to control her emotions. She remembered that day very well. How sad for Emma. And Sarah. And everyone concerned. Chase wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. Shivers racked her body as the memories came thundering back.

“Please, go on,” Jessie whispered. “I’m all right.” She wiped her eyes with a white cotton hankie Bridget had pulled from her pocket.

“Are you sure, dear?” Bridget waved the hankie away when Jessie tried to give it back. “You might need it again when I read this page. It will erase any doubt that we are Sarah’s kin.” She cleared her throat, brought the book close, and began reading. “‘My precious tiny girl is perfect in every way. Although we thought it best that I give her up the moment she came into the world, I just could not do it. I fed her and bathed her, and she never even cried. Her eyes, so full of wonder, took in her surroundings as if trying to figure out where she was. Her birth was easy, nothing like I’d heard from others. How I wish I could take her home to my mother, and share this miracle with my auntie Bridget. On her tiny back, just above her shoulder, is a birthmark that reminds me of a beautiful little butterfly. Oh, if only I could keep her. Love her. That is all my heart yearns to do. I long to feel her in my arms already, even though that is where she is now. Oh, my sweet girl. I pray God will keep you safe.’”

Jessie was drowning. A million sensations swirled inside, and tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
Oh, Sarah.
So tiny,
so precious. She remembered thinking those exact same things when she’d opened the wicker basket and looked inside. Jessie’s heart cried for her own mother, too. Had she suffered like Emma?

“W-what about Emma? Is she still—” Jessie put her hand over her mouth to stop what she’d almost asked. But she needed to know.

“Still alive?” Bridget finished for her. “No, I’m afraid not. She passed on at an early age, only twenty-two. She’d never married. She contracted tuberculosis and spent some years in a sanitarium, but it didn’t heal her. Bethany and Robert were devastated.”