Hope (23 page)

Hope unlaced her shoes and handed them over the counter, then went to see about the soap. She smelled each and every bar before she selected one that smelled like the roses that vined along Aunt Thalia’s backyard fence.

“Now let’s see, little lady. Think these will fit?” Mr. Burk held a sturdy brown pair of shoes aloft for her inspection.

“They look as if they might.”

Sitting on a stool Mr. Burk provided, Hope slipped her feet into the shoes and stood up, testing their length.

“They look mighty fetching on you.”

“They’re perfect.” She sat down and pulled them off.

“Don’t you want to wear them? I could wrap up this old pair—”

“No, I won’t wear them until I have a bath,” Hope said.

Mr. Burk smiled, nodding with understanding. “Just what my wife, Beulah, would say.”

Reaching for her parcels, Hope smiled. Sometimes a person just knew when she was in the presence of angels. This was one of those times. “God bless you, Mr. Burk.”

The old clerk looked almost angelic. “It’s mighty nice to be of service. You send your man in, and I’ll fix him up too.”

Hope didn’t bother to correct Mr. Burk’s assumption that Dan was her husband. She rather fancied the idea herself.

Hurrying out of the store, she anticipated the hot bath, rose-scented soap, shampoo for her hair, clean, new clothes, and a night’s rest in a real bed with clean sheets and feather pillows.

Not looking where she was going, she ran smack into a tall man just exiting the mouth of the alley. She opened her mouth to apologize.

“I’m so—no!” She shrieked as Joe Davidson’s filthy hand clamped over her mouth.

“Thought ya could escape Big Joe, huh? Well, think again, missy.”

Hope’s heart hammered wildly in her chest as the outlaw hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her into the alleyway. Her packages scattered. Struggling, she pawed at his hand, but Big Joe’s grip was far superior. He stifled her cries by stuffing a dirty bandanna into her mouth.

“Now, hush up!”

Manhandling her onto a waiting horse, he stepped into the saddle, digging his spurs into the horse’s flanks.

The gelding burst from the alleyway and headed east.

Dan emerged from the boardinghouse and strode toward the mercantile, whistling.

Stepping onto the porch, he cupped his hands, peeking through the store window. His gaze swept the empty store, and he frowned. A moment later he entered through the front door.

The portly man behind the counter glanced up. “Can I help you?”

Dan’s eyes scanned the empty aisles. “I’m looking for a woman. Dark hair, wearing a yellow dress, silly hat?”

“Mrs. Kallahan! You must be the mister.”

Dan smiled. “Is she still here?”

“No, she left a moment ago—you must have passed her on the way in.” The friendly clerk stepped to the front window and looked out. “Now that’s odd. She couldn’t have gone far.”

Dan joined him to look out. “I didn’t pass her on the way over. I’d have noticed that.”

The clerk walked outside, and Dan followed him. The two men stood on the porch, their eyes searching the street.

“I think she was heading over to the boardinghouse. Said something about wanting a bath.”

Dan suddenly bounded off the porch and started running.

“Mister! Hey, mister!” the clerk called. “I’m sure she’s all right—”

Dan dodged the packages spilled in the dirt—a dress box, a pair of brown shoes. A small bar of feminine-looking soap.

“Hope!” He ran faster, his breath coming in bursts, his eyes searching the sidewalks and walkways.

“Did anyone see anything?” he shouted as a crowd started to form.

Serious expressions stared back. Not a man, woman, or child indicated they’d seen anything peculiar.

His eyes swung to an old-timer dozing in a chair propped against the saloon wall on the opposite side of the street. Dan sprinted across the road.

“Did you see a young woman come out of the mercantile a few minutes ago?”

The old man cracked a sleepy eye, peering up at him. “Eh?”

“A young, pretty woman. Coming out of the store—just a few minutes ago.”

“Young woman?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty?”

“Tall, slim, dark hair, wearing a silly straw hat.”

“Oh, that woman.” The old fellow stroked his bristling jaw. “Yes, sir, I did see that little filly. Wearing a dirty yeller dress, leastwise it looked yeller—could have been white. Can’t even say it wasn’t faded brown; could even have been coffee-colored—knew a woman once who had a coffee-colored dress. It was real pretty. Or it could have been—”

Dan cut him off. “Where did she go?”

“Rode out of town.”

“Rode out?” Dan whirled to look down the road.

“Yep. On th’ back of a horse . . . with a big ol’ fella.”

Dan grabbed the front of the old-timer’s vest. “How long ago?”

The old man showed surprising strength. He struggled to break Dan’s grip. “Now hold on, you young whippersnapper—”

Relaxing the clench, Dan stepped back. He swiped a hand over his face. “This is important. What did the man look like?”

Frowning, the old man shook his head. “Big—tall, hat pulled low. Beard. Ridin’ a big gelding. That one’s trouble, I tell you. Why any woman would want to—”

“Joe Davidson,” Dan muttered. “Which way did he go?”

“Thataway.” The man pointed up the street. “If you want to catch him, you better lasso yourself a cyclone, sonny. That feller was in a powerful big hurry.”

Leaping off the porch, Dan sprang aboard a big roan standing at the saloon hitching post.

A cowpoke just coming out from the watering hole threw his arms in the air, yelling, “Hey! That’s my horse!”

“I’ll return it later!” Wheeling the mare, Dan spurred the animal’s flanks and galloped out of town.

Chapter Fourteen

Well. This is getting out of hand, Lord! Is there a particular lesson you want me to learn from this insanity?

Hope huddled beside the fire, glaring at her captors—Big Joe, Boris, and Frog. Why hadn’t she been more cautious? In her eagerness for clean clothing and a hot bath, she had been careless, thinking only of herself. Now once again, an oafish lout and his two similarly oafish sidekicks were holding her prisoner. If there was a lesson to be learned, she didn’t have the slightest notion what it was.

She had no idea where they were. They had ridden for what seemed like hours. Dan would be hunting for her, trying to determine who had taken her, and where—or at least she hoped he would. He’d have a fair idea of who was responsible for the nefarious act, but how would he find her? They could have taken her anywhere.

Lord, I don’t know how you’ll work it, but guide Dan’s steps—lead him to me, Father.
“God, please be here,” she murmured.

“Lo, I am with you always,”
the wind seemed to whisper.

Big Joe, Frog, and Boris sat around the campfire, bandannas tucked into their collars, slurping pork and beans from tin bowls.

“Want some?” Boris asked when he caught her staring.

She shook her head, averting her gaze. “No.”

“Still snooty, huh? Well, good. Jest more for me.” The bandit leaned over and dipped his bowl back into the iron pot hung over the fire.

Their manners were still atrocious. They’d forgotten everything she’d taught them.

Boris grinned as if he’d read her thought. “Aw, she don’t like our ettin’ skills, gentlemen.” He winked at the others. “We’re jest a bunch of heathens—but right fine-lookin’ ones, right, Joe?”

Big Joe nodded. “Right fine.” He belched, loud enough to wake the dead.

Boris sopped up stew broth with a cold biscuit. “Ain’t changin’ the way I eat for her again. Iffen it’s good enough for Ma, it’s good enough for Miss Snooty here.”

“Animals,” Hope murmured.

Big Joe glanced up. “What was that?”

“I said you are like animals, eating like pigs, dripping broth down your front, slurping, burping. I’ve met pigs with better behavior.”

At least the Bennett pig didn’t have slop dripping off its chin.

“She ain’t happy with us,” Big Joe said, falling over Boris’s shoulder to sob mock tears. “Don’t that jest break yore hearts, boys?”

“Aw, let up on her, Joe. Cain’t you see she’s what she is, and she ain’t gonna change?”

Heads pivoted to stare at Frog.

Boris swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Whadda ya mean, ‘let up on her’? You goin’ soft on us, Frog?”

“No. But you do et like a pig, Boris. You got drippin’s on yore face. Wipe ’em off.”

Boris took a swipe at his mouth with his shirtsleeve. Big Joe leaned over to swat him. “You don’t hafta do what she says!”

Hope looked away.
Where are you, Dan? Please hurry. Please, Lord, give him wisdom and a strong sense of direction.

The men went back to eating. Big Joe crammed a wad of biscuit into his mouth, talking to Boris at the same time. Crumbs flew in Boris’s face and sprayed out on the front of the outlaw’s chest.

“Et with some manners, Joe!” hollered Frog.

Big Joe scowled as he whirled to face Frog.

Frog looked down at his plate, refusing to meet Joe’s glare. “Don’t jaw with yore mouth full—it ain’t appetizin’.”

The ruffian gestured to Hope with his spoon, slinging beans. “You sidin’ with her? She’s a troublemaker. Has been from the minute we took her off that stage. Nothin’ but trouble. And now, she’s gonna be more trouble until we git rid of her, which we gotta do right off. She can identify ever’ last one of us, and don’t you fergit it, Frog.”

“No I can’t,” Hope said. “I mean, I won’t, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you’ll let me go, I’ll lose my memory—I won’t be able to identity myself, let alone you, I promise.”

Big Joe scooped up another bite. “Like I’m gonna believe that.”

“I won’t,” she contended. “And Dan—” Realizing she’d just given them Grunt’s real name, she bit her tongue.

“Dan?” Big Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You talkin’ about that low-down, connivin’, yeller-bellied dog, Grunt?”

“No, I don’t know why I said Dan—I meant—”

“Dan, huh? So that’s the polecat’s name. Well, you kin jest tell
Dan
for me that when he shows up to git you—which I figure he’s tryin’ his best to do right now—we’ll have a little present waitin’ for ’im.” He patted the Colt revolver at his side.

“He isn’t looking for me; he couldn’t care less what happens to me. He’s happy as a tick at a dog fair that I’m your problem now and not his. I’m nothing but a headache, honest. And mean, real mean-spirited.”

She prayed Dan didn’t feel that way about her, but if they thought for a moment that Dan cared about her welfare, she would endanger him more.

Big Joe scoffed. “Mean? You ain’t mean, little missy. I’ve met women meaner than a scalded cat.”

Her temper flared, and she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists. “You untie these ropes and I’ll show you mean, Mr. Davidson.”

“Ooowee. You scarin’ the puddin’ right outta me.”

“What are we gonna do with her?” Boris grunted. “Her and her highfalutin ways are gettin’ on my nerves.”

“Gonna git rid of her, and the sooner the better.”

“No!” Hope cried.

“Whadda ya mean, no? You ain’t talkin’, I am. Now pipe down.” Big Joe rammed another wad of bread into his mouth.

“Maybe that ain’t so smart, Joe.” Frog set his bowl aside.

“What’re you talkin’ about, Frog?” Joe said, talking with his mouth full.

“We’re jest wanted for robbery. I don’t hold with no killin’.”

“Too bad. I’m still not convinced Ferry ain’t her pa. Maybe he had that newspaper article planted so’s to catch us.”

Not my father, Hope mouthed in astonishment. And no ransom money.

Didn’t he get it?

The three men tossed their bowls in a pile and swigged down the last of their coffee. Hope watched the appalling exhibition, wondering what would happen to her. She hoped Dan was trying frantically to find her. He’d have seen her scattered parcels and put two and two together. Any moment, he would come bursting into camp and save her.

But what if he didn’t? What if he didn’t have an inkling who had taken her or in what direction they had ridden? Joe said they had to do away with her and soon.

How soon?

She focused on Frog, who was quiet now. Of the three outlaws, Frog seemed the most—what? Certainly not intelligent, but perhaps the one most open to suggestion. He sat beside the fire, staring into the flames, apparently removing himself from the fray. In an odd way, her heart went out to him. Perhaps it was the innate sympathy one felt for a weaker brother. Had anyone ever told Frog about God and his love? “The rain falls on the just and unjust,” Papa used to say. It was hard to convince herself that God loved Joe and Boris and Frog as much as he loved her. But his Word said that he did.

Could it be that simple? If these men knew someone cared about them, really cared about them, would they change?

Warming to the thought, her mind ricocheted in lightning fashion. If these men—Boris, Frog, and Big Joe—were to experience God’s saving grace, their lives would change forever. And if their lives changed, it would be because of God’s unending love.