Cindy Holby (4 page)

“I thought she said the saloon made enough noise to wake the dead,” Banks said. “Could she hear barking over that?”

“Bettina can hear everything,” Leah said. “She has
special
ears.”

“Don’t you mean big, Momma?”

“I do,” Leah said and yanked on a wayward lock of her son’s bright hair. “But don’t go telling anyone that.”

Banks flashed his father’s grin at her as they walked to the door. Leah grabbed her shawl from the hook and threw it over her shoulders. As soon as she stepped onto the porch she wished she had taken the time to put on her heavy winter coat. And her hat. And her gloves. The wind hit her with a blast of stinging ice that took her breath away. Leah pulled the shawl up tight around her neck and called for Dodger. He stopped barking, gave a high-pitched yip, and then started up again. She could hear him, but could not see him through the blowing snow.

“Stay here,” she instructed Banks and stepped off the porch into the street. The wind was stronger now, swirling around her skirts and grabbing at her shawl. Tendrils of hair escaped the pins that held it captive and teased her face with their freedom before falling flat with moisture and sticking to her cheeks.

The main and only street of Angel’s End sloped downhill. The entire valley was nothing more than a bowl, broader on the down end and narrow at the top. A stream tumbled down from the mountains and ran through the valley. Angel’s End sat on the north side of it. Leah’s house was on the upper end, with the only thing past it being the brand-new church. They’d found someone to come be their pastor, but so far, after four years, there’d been no takers on the sheriff’s job.
Having your last one murdered in the street by a drunken outlaw wasn’t much of a recommendation.

From the looks of things, they would be going a bit longer still without a pastor. There’d been talk that he’d be here before winter set in, but it was only talk. No one had heard from Pastor Key since August, when he’d accepted the job via letter. Leah had mixed feelings about his arrival. She was to provide room and board in exchange for a small pittance from the town. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to keep Banks in new shoes and a nice winter coat every year. She was anxious for the income, but not happy about having a stranger living in the house Nate built for her, even if he was a minister.

Leah wiped the snow from her face and plodded through the foot-deep snow to the stone statue of an angel that sat directly in the middle of the street. Luckily she still wore her knee-high boots or she would have floundered after the first few steps. The snow drifted badly, especially on her side of the street. She’d have to dig their way out of the house come morning.

A dark form that had to be Dodger stood on her side of the statue. The base, which the townspeople had built from piled stones to raise their angel up to a more heavenly height, was covered with a thick drift of snow. Leah’s skirts drug with each step and grew heavy with moisture. Her shoulders were already covered with white, and her lashes stiff with frost.

“Dodger! Come here!”

Dodger ran a lap around the statue and yipped.

People were funny, Leah mused. Hauling a six-foot-tall stone statue of a winged angel out west only to abandon it in the middle of nowhere. How did they think they would get it over the mountains? Did they have no concept of how big the Rockies were when they struck out in the first place?

Leah didn’t think they were any more foolish than those
who came along later and erected a town around the statue and then went so far as to name the town after it. The same people who, seven years ago, hired Nate to be sheriff. Angel’s End, Colorado, located somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, just short of nowhere. Her home now. Dodger ran to her and whined. He crouched before her, his head on his forelegs and his rear in the air, and then with a bark he turned and ran ahead. Leah put her hand over her eyes to block the stinging snow. She saw something, a movement on the opposite side of the statue. Was someone there?

Leah looked toward Heaven’s Gate. Light poured forth from the saloon but any sound that came from within was lost in the howl of the wind. She saw a few lights farther down the street. Most everyone was in their homes with their doors barred against the storm. All of the small businesses, the general store, the telegraph and stage office and bank, the assayer’s office, the livery, were dark. Only the saloon showed signs of life. So what was moving around the statue?

Dodger came back for her again. If there was a threat he would have attacked. Leah rounded the statue to find a horse standing patiently. The animal’s coat was covered with snow, but enough of it showed that she could see that it was either white or dappled. Which made it practically invisible in the storm. It jerked its head at her approach.

“What are you doing out here?” Leah cooed. She held her hand out beneath its nose and he nibbled at her palm. She didn’t recognize the animal as belonging to any of the townspeople. “And where is your rider?” The horse wore full gear. Leah looked toward the saloon once more. When she found the idiot who left his horse out in this weather to suffer, he would definitely get a piece of her mind.

Leah took the reins. She pulled on them, determined to get the horse to the shelter of Martin’s livery, but they were stuck. Dodger yipped again and dug at the snow that
surrounded the angel. Leah yanked on the reins again. Were they frozen to the ground?

“Oh my goodness!” They were attached to a hand. Someone was buried in the snow. Leah dropped to her knees to help Dodger dig. Her hands, already chilled, turned to ice as they both flung the snow away. Dodger whined and stuck his nose in the man’s face.

“Is he dead?” Dodger couldn’t answer her. He looked at her expectantly. Leah pushed him out of the way. She shook her hands to relieve the numbness, slid them under her arms to warm them, and then touched the man’s face. It was covered with frost, yet she felt heat coming from his skin. “He’s burning up with fever.” Leah was so accustomed to talking to Dodger as if he were human that it was second nature to her. She brushed the snow away from the man’s head. His hair was dark, soaking wet and plastered around his face. He wore a heavy wool coat that reached to his knees. Even though he was crumpled in the snow she could tell by the breadth of his shoulders and length of his legs that he was big. Too big for her to move on her own.

Leah gathered her skirts and quickly made her way to the saloon. The wind gusted as she pushed the door open. It flew out of her hand and hit the wall behind with a bang. Ward Phillips, the owner of Heaven’s Gate and Jacob Reece, a local rancher, both reached for their guns with the noise but relaxed when they saw it was her. Priscilla, who waited tables, gave her a friendly wave and Bob the bartender nodded from behind the bar. Leah recognized a few of the cowboys from Jake’s ranch and some of the miners who were scattered about as frequenters of the Devil’s Table.

“I need help,” Leah said.

Jacob jumped up so quickly that his chair fell over backward. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is it Banks?” Concern flashed across his handsome face as his gray eyes looked her over for any sign of injury.

Once more Leah felt the guilt of not being able to return Jake’s feelings for her. How could she ever love another man after what she had with Nate? Yet Jake didn’t want to take no for an answer, as he’d made it very plain that he would wait her out until she came to her senses. “N-n-no.” Her teeth chattered. “There’s a m-m-man in the snow.” Jake looked past Leah into the night. He took the time to grab his coat from a hook and place it over Leah’s shoulders before he went out.

“What kind of man?” Ward was a few years older than Jake and far more jaded. His coal black eyes avoided her gaze as he asked his question, searching out the window. Even though she’d forgiven him, he had yet to forgive himself for not being there the day Nate was shot down on the street.

Leah pulled Jake’s coat close and immediately felt warmer. “A sick man,” Leah replied with a shrug. Ward gave Bob a look that said
don’t give away the place while I’m gone
and followed Jake.

“As if it makes a difference,” Priscilla said, “what kind of man it is.” She was sweet to everyone, no matter what the situation. “Obviously he’s hurt and needs help.” She put her tray on the bar and went for her coat.

“It could be an Indian,” one of the miners volunteered.

He wasn’t Indian. Leah wouldn’t dignify that statement. “He’s burning up with a fever,” she said.

“Hope he don’t have the pox,” another miner said.

Miners. They stuck together like glue, yet were afraid everyone was after their claims. There was nothing more to say. Leah went back out into the night and Priscilla followed with a lantern.

“Holy Mother of God,” Priscilla exclaimed when the wind hit her. “It’s colder than a nun’s lonely bed out here.” Pris had been raised in a Catholic orphanage. She’d left it behind when she was sixteen and headed west. She knew at a young age that her personality was better suited to the
atmosphere of a saloon than a convent. “Hard to believe it’s only the middle of October.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Leah admitted. Dodger stood in the snow, halfway between the statue and the saloon, anxiously awaiting her return and yet not giving up on his rescue. Jake and Ward were already with the man. Ward took something from the man’s pocket and walked to a pool of light that poured from Heaven’s Gate’s window.

Priscilla held the lantern over the man while Jake turned him onto his back. He unbuttoned the thick coat, and pushed aside another one beneath. The lamplight was not needed to see the dark frosty patch of blood that covered his shirt.

“He’s been shot.” Jake’s diagnosis was quick, yet accurate. “We need to see if the bullet’s still inside him.”

“You can put him in my bed,” Priscilla volunteered brightly.

“Pris,” Leah chided.

“Have you looked at him? He’s gorgeous.”

Leah couldn’t admit in front of Jake that she had. Not that it meant anything. Jake was as handsome as sin if you liked the carved from stone type.

“Pris, you are going straight to hell,” Ward said. “According to this letter I found in his pocket, this is our new pastor, Timothy Key.”

“What a waste,” Pris sighed. She tilted her head to get a better look. “If the priests back in Boston had looked like this I might have stuck around.”

“Maybe he’ll inspire you to repent,” Jake said as he tucked the coat back around Pastor Key. “That’s supposed to be his job after all.” Jake scooped up a handful of snow to clean his hands as he stood.

“From the looks of him he might not live that long,” Pris said.

“God only knows.” Ward stuck the letter inside his coat. “I guess we best take him to Leah’s place.”

“My place?” Leah’s heart jumped in panic against her breast. The wind swirled around the statue and picked up her skirts.

“Isn’t that where he’s supposed to live?”

Visions of Nate when he was carried into their home, blood pouring from his chest, staining his clothes, the sheets, the mattress, and even the apron she wore filled her mind. Memories of the frustration that no matter what she did, she couldn’t stop the flow of blood. Of knowing he was dying right before her eyes. Of keeping Banks from the room so he would not be haunted with nightmares of his father’s death. The plaintive sound of Dodger howling when Nate finally gasped out his last panicked breath.

Dodger looked at her hopefully and gave a slight wag of his tail. “Bring him on,” Leah sighed. “It’s not as if we’ve got a doctor to take care of him.”

“Leah, are you sure you want to do this?” Jake asked.

The plain and simple truth was, there was no place else to take him. There was no way they could take a preacher to the saloon, especially a Baptist preacher. God would surely strike them dead. The Swansons, even with all of Bettina’s posturing, were not that charitable, although she did deign to let the schoolmarm, Margy Ashburn, live with them. Jim Martin, the blacksmith, and his wife, Gretchen, were generous people, but had no room in their house next to the livery since they were the parents of three sets of twins and had Gretchen’s grandmother living with them.

Jake’s ranch was too far away. He’d likely be staying in one of Ward’s rooms tonight. Zeke Preston, the assayer, was about as friendly as a rattlesnake. There was Dusty…but Dusty was Dusty and about as predictable as the weather. The other few families that lived close to Angel’s End were full up, another reason Leah was chosen to board the preacher in the first place.

They were waiting on her. As they waited for her mind
to stop its dithering, Pastor Key could freeze to death. “I’m sure.”

“Pris, take the horse over to Jim’s,” Ward instructed as he and Jake picked up the preacher. “Dang,” he grunted. “He’s pretty solid for a preacher.”

“Go tell Gus too,” Jake said.

“What if his wife answers the door?” Pris complained. “I’m not walking all the way down there in this weather in these shoes just to be left out on the step freezing my backside.”

“He’s the mayor, Pris,” Jake said. “He should be told.” He shifted Pastor Key’s shoulders into a better position with his knee. “I wonder how he got shot.” Jake grunted with his heavy burden.

The wind whipped against Leah’s body and she practically had to bend over to make any headway up the street. With Dodger bounding excitedly ahead of her, she let her mind race with the impossible task set before her.

Bandages. She’d need bandages. And hot water.
What else?
Something for the pain; no doubt Ward would recommend whiskey. Well then he could supply it.
Oh my goodness, I can’t give whiskey to a preacher.
If only she knew more about herbs and such like the Indians used. What if the bullet was still inside him? They wouldn’t expect her to dig it out would they? Not after she’d failed with Nate. It had been in too deep and she couldn’t get a hold of it. He’d screamed in agony when she tried. Why, oh why, Lord, didn’t they have a doctor in town. Wouldn’t it make more sense to save lives instead of souls? Or course, it wasn’t that often that men showed up shot on the streets of Angel’s End. Only twice to her knowledge.