Knocking at Her Heart (Conover Circle #1) (26 page)

Peter, the husband she’d never
met, had died.  The man had lost his brother.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Sorry she’s not around? 
I’ll bet you are.”  He looked at her with such disgust that she felt
dirty.  “Don’t be getting any crazy ideas about going to town to see
her.  You’ll keep your little backside here until Wednesday morning, and
then I’ll personally see to it that you get on that stage.  She doesn’t
need anymore heartache from you.”

“I don’t want to cause anybody
any heartache,” Sarah protested.  “Can you at least loan me a pair of
shoes so that I can walk to town?”

“No.  I just told you why.”

She wouldn’t know his mother if
the woman stood next to her.  “Fine,” she said, trying hard to hold on to
her temper.  “I’ll walk the opposite direction.”

“I suppose you’ve forgotten that
the closest town in that direction is a day’s ride?  That’s a three-day
walk.”

She didn’t care.  She had to
do something.  Any action seemed better than no action.  “I like to
walk,” she said.

“Your feet are in no shape for a
walk like that.”

“So, I’m stuck here,” she said,
not even trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“Yeah.  And there’s nobody unhappier
about that than me.”

Debatable.  She tried to
think of other options but the dog’s barking interrupted her.  John walked
over to the window.  “Hell,” he said, and rubbed his hand across his face,
as if trying to rub away the last twelve hours of his life.  “Stay
back.  I don’t want Fred to see you.”

“Fred?”

He sighed, loud enough that it
was easy to hear.  “Were we all that easy to forget, Sarah?”

She ignored his question. 
Instead, she peeked around his shoulder and saw a giant of a man get off his
horse and stoop to pet the dog, who had stopped barking and now lay on his
back, his four legs pointed at the sun, his tail wagging.  “At least one
of us is happy,” she muttered.

“I’m not the one who just decided
to drop in.”

She’d dropped in all right. 
“Why can’t he see me?”

“Fred Goodie gossips with the
church ladies every Sunday.”

He didn’t sound angry.  More
like half-amused.  Fred didn’t look like a man who’d have a lot in common
with church ladies.  He looked as if he might like to hang around with
other giants, maybe lift some small trees, or for a real workout, shot-put some
boulders.  “Why does he do that?”

“He’s hungry for some good
cooking.  He and the children eat Sunday dinner at a different house every
week.  When your father-in-law is the preacher, things like that get
arranged.”

She probably should have known
Fred had children.  She decided to go for broke.  “So his oldest is
about ten now?” 

“Not hardly,” John said. 
“She can’t be a day past eight.  And the twins were just five last month.”

“Still as pretty as ever?”

“Don’t let Thomas hear you call
him pretty.  The girls are real beauties though.  Spittin’ image of
their momma.”

“Mrs. Goodie doesn’t go to dinner
with them?”

He shook his head.  “She got
the fever.”

The fever
?  Yikes.  She wished
she’d packed a few antibiotics for the trip. “How is she?”

“Franny died four months ago.”

She could hear the genuine
sadness in his voice.  He grabbed his hat off the nail by the door. 
“I’ll be right back,” he said.  “Stay here.  I mean it.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. 
He opened the door and walked outside, intercepting Fred a good twenty yards
from the house.  Sarah peeked around the edge of the curtain. 
Somehow he’d managed to turn Fred, and now the giant’s back faced the
cabin.  It gave John a straight shot at the door.

He acted as if she might make a
run for it.  Unless an express bus back to the future waited at the
corner, that didn’t seem like an option.  Of course, John didn’t know
that.  He thought she’d returned home to fleece his unsuspecting mother
out of her retirement money.  Sarah Number One must have been a real piece
of work.  Not that that was any of her concern.  Her issue was
finding a way back, but first she needed to find a way past the formidable John
Beckett, who, at this very moment, seemed determined to keep her separated from
the rest of the living world.  The men had moved over to Fred’s horse, a
huge beast of an animal, and Fred had his saddlebag open, his head down, as he
looked for something.

Even to Sarah’s inexperienced
eye, the saddlebags seemed to be bulging.  Fred, it appeared, had packed
for some kind of trip.  What if he was headed west?  What if, at this
very moment, the two men discussed such a trip?  Would John think to tell
his friend that Sarah would appreciate a lift?

She hadn’t had the chance to tell
him that California loomed as her final destination.  Sarah debated all of
five more seconds, then pushed open the front door.

She walked with purpose, as much
as one could with a bandaged foot, her head held high, her shoulders
squared.  At least until the moment the two men saw her.  She’d
expected John’s reaction.  Rage.  Even though it hurt her, she’d
prepared for that.  But Fred surprised her.  The big man who looked
like he ate small, uncooked animals for breakfast stood still for a few
seconds, his broad mouth hanging open.  Then, with each step she took, he
took an equal step backwards.  As if he were prepared to walk forever to
keep distance between them.

“Christ Almighty,” Fred said, his
voice loud in the quiet morning.  “How the hell did she get here? 
And why doesn’t she have a dress on?”

Oh boy, did she have a story for
him.  He wouldn’t be able to get away fast enough.

Sarah looked at John, waiting for
him to explain.  He, however, had his lips locked together, as if afraid
of what might come out if given half a chance. 

“I had a bit of bad luck,” Sarah
said.  Let them make of that what they would.  She didn’t feel
inclined to say more.  She remembered just enough history to know that the
crazy people, or those at least perceived to be crazy, faced all kinds of
inhumane treatment over the years.  She didn’t want them to add two and
two and come up with the answer that she was one fry short of a Big Deal Meal.

Fred ran his long, thick fingers
through his red hair, making it even wilder.  He looked from Sarah to
John, then back to Sarah.  She smiled at him.  He frowned at her and
looked at John.  “Say something, man,” Fred instructed.  “Don’t just
stand there and pretend she’s not there.”

“Go back inside, Sarah,” John
said, not looking at her.  “It’s not proper for you to be out here dressed
in such a manner.  I know you probably don’t care about things like that,
but I do.”

That stung a bit.  “I’m
sorry to interrupt,” Sarah said.  “I couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Goodie
is headed west.  I’m interested in getting to California.”

“California?”  Both men
spoke at the same time, their voices vibrating over the quiet land.  The
dog barked, too, as if he couldn’t quite believe it either.

“Yes.  I…I have a friend
there.  I thought maybe I could ride along.”

“I ain’t going to California,
Mrs. Beckett,” Fred said.

Sarah was so disappointed that it
took her a moment to realize that Fred spoke to her. 
Mrs. Beckett.
 
She didn’t want him calling her that.  “Sarah is fine,” she said. 
“There’s no need for formality.  After all, we’re friends.”

Both John and Fred looked
surprised.  She realized too late that Sarah One probably didn’t have a
lot of friends.  “If you’re not going all the way, maybe I could catch a
ride partway.”

“Fred is only going to town,”
John said.  “He’ll be home tomorrow.  He can’t leave his children
alone longer than that.”

“I’ve got to find me a woman,”
Fred added.

That was certainly blunt. 
Sarah could feel the heat rush to her face. 

“Not like that,” John said,
frowning at her.  “He needs someone to watch his children so he can get
his spring planting done.  He had an old Indian woman helping out but she
ran out yesterday, leaving him high and dry.”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can
watch the children?”

“My father-in-law would,” Fred
said, “but he’s got his ministry and anyway, he doesn’t get around too fast
anymore.  Not fast enough to keep up.  Missy’s as ornery as a wild
goat.”

“Missy?”

“The deaf one,” he said, no doubt
thinking Sarah rude for not remembering his children.

Deaf
.

Sarah’s heart constricted. 
She wondered how much was known about deafness in 1888 Wyoming.  Was the
poor little girl locked in her own quiet world, battling to be heard?

“I better get going,” Fred
said.  “I’m going to try old Mrs. Warner first.  She’s a sour thing
but she doesn’t have any kin of her own to look after.”

“Who is with your children now?”
Sarah asked.

“Nobody.  That’s why I can’t
be dawdling here.  Helen will do the best she can but she’s only
eight.  Barely fair to her to have to be responsible for both her brother
and sister.”

Eight.  Just like
Miguel.  Both of them with responsibilities no eight-year-old should
bear.  “Maybe I could help out for a couple days,” Sarah said.

“What?”  Again, both men
spoke at the same time.  They were starting to sound like a regular
chorus. 

“I’m taking the next stage out of
here,” Sarah said, “but since that doesn’t go for another six days, I might as
well make myself useful.  Then maybe you won’t have to settle for sour
Mrs. Warner.”  She smiled at Fred, choosing to ignore John.

“I don’t know,” Fred said,
shaking his head.  I guess I never expected you to…”

“Volunteer to help.”  John
finished his friend’s sentence.  “What’s going on here, Sarah?”

She realized her mistake. 
Mindful that she needed to be careful, she said, “Of course, I’m assuming you
paid the Indian woman something.  I’d expect the same.  Maybe even a
bit more since I’m getting you out of a jam.”

John stopped stroking his
chin.  “It always comes down to the money, doesn’t it, Sarah?”

Right.  Like anybody
interested in money picked social work as a career.  “A woman has needs,”
she said, thinking she sounded positively Victorian.

He didn’t respond, choosing to
turn toward Fred.  “You might want to take her up on it,” he said. 
“You don’t have a lot of choices right now.”

Gee thanks.  Sarah wished he
stood close enough to kick.

“I don’t know.”  Fred
shifted from foot to foot, his big frame swaying dangerously from side to side.

Great.  Snubbed by a
desperate man.  What he didn’t know was that she was pretty desperate
herself.  “Look, I could ride back with you now.  You could be in
your fields by mid-morning.  I just need to be back to town by next Wednesday
to catch the stage.”

“You can’t stay at his house at
night,” John said.  “It wouldn’t be proper.”

God save her from narrow-minded
idiots.  “I need a place to stay.  What’s the difference if I stay
here or at Fred’s house?”

“I’m your brother-in-law,” John
hissed.  “Fred is a widow.  People might start to talk. 
Especially when they find out it’s you.  I wouldn’t want his children hurt
by that.”

Now she wouldn’t be content just
to kick him.  She wanted to rub his snooty nose in the dirt.  She
looked at Fred but he’d suddenly developed an interest in his worn boots.

“I won’t compromise your friend,”
she said.

“You’d have to put some clothes
on,” Fred said, looking up.  His face was almost as red as his hair.

“I’m a little short on clothes right
now,” Sarah tried to explain.  “Maybe I could borrow a shirt, John?” 

He snorted.  “About all I
got left is the one on my back.”

What had Sarah One done to put
that chip on John’s shoulder? 

Fred reached into his saddlebag,
digging deep.  “Here,” he said.  “I packed an extra shirt.  You
might as well wear it.”

Sarah unrolled the bundle he
handed to her.  She held it up.  “Perfect,” she said, and slipped it
over her head.  She pushed her arms through and pulled the material down
over her hips.  It came almost to her knees.  She knew she looked
like she’d stepped into a brown sack.  “I’m ready,” she said, looking from
Fred to John. 

“John?” Fred questioned, clearly
not sure what to do.

“Take her,” John said. 
“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  He turned on his heel and walked
toward the barn.

That did it.  She’d make him
eat the damn dirt.

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