Lawman in Disguise (2 page)

Her eyes left his and focused on his bloodstained shirt. “How badly are you wounded?”

“I was hit in the shoulder and the leg, and bled a lot. I think the leg wound may just be a graze. With a little care, though, I'm hoping I won't get lead poisoning,” he added, with more confidence than he actually felt. But he hadn't expired yet, so maybe there was reason to hope. “Soon as I'm fit to ride, I'll leave here.”

* * *

Daisy Henderson heard the unspoken questions within his statement—
would she provide the care he needed to recover, and let him stay hidden here until his wounds were healed?

“Oh, so you're a gentleman bank robber, is that right, Mr. Thorn?” she retorted, allowing an edge of scorn into her voice. “So you weren't the one who shot the bank president, or the teller?”

“Ma,”
her son protested, clearly embarrassed that she was questioning his new hero. “He told me he didn't want to hurt nobody. I think we should take him at his word.”

She rounded on the boy. “Billy Joe Henderson, I'll thank you not to question your mother when I'm doing what I must to keep us safe,” she said. She wasn't at all happy about the admiring tone in his voice in regard to the wounded man at their feet, and the way her son seemed to want to protect an
outlaw.

“But, Ma...” Flushed and crestfallen, the boy stared at the hay under his boots.

A glance at the wounded man showed traces of discomfort in his eyes as his gaze shifted from her to her son.

“Billy Joe, mind your mother,” he said gently. “She only wants what's good for you, and she has no reason to believe that I'm no danger to either one of you.” He turned back to Daisy. “And no, I wasn't the one who shot the bank president or the teller. I was as surprised as the ones who got shot when the lead started flying. Griggs—that's the leader of the gang—had said there was to be no shooting unless it became necessary. And it wasn't necessary from my point of view—none of the bank employees had offered any resistance. The gang shot them purely for their amusement, far as I could tell,” Thorn said.

“If no one in the bank was putting up any resistance or trying to fight, then how did you get shot?” she asked, perplexed by his story. He talked about the gang as if he wasn't one of them himself. But he must have been right in the thick of the robbery to have gotten shot.

“As we turned to leave the bank, I heard a bang and it felt like someone had punched me, and then there was this stinging in my shoulder. I looked around, and saw that the bank president was suddenly holding a revolver, of all things, aimed at me. And that was funny, really, since I'd put myself in range by trying to stop Zeke—Zeke Tomlinson, he's one of the Griggs gang and the one who first started firing off his gun—from shooting anyone else. Then another member of the gang—Bob Pritchard—shot the bank president in the shoulder in retaliation, just as he was aiming to fire again. That's the shot that grazed my leg. And then it was time for us to skedaddle.”

“No one's looked at those injuries since then?”

“That's why I wanted to go fetch the doctor for him, Ma,” Billy Joe interjected.

“As I was about to tell your son when you came in, ma'am, I figure your town doctor is pretty busy right now, just tending the bank president and the teller. He doesn't need another patient.”

Daisy ignored that comment for now. “Billy Joe, go back into the house and stay there—right now,” she said firmly, when the boy seemed loath to leave. “You're to keep out of the barn until I decide what's to be done.”

Billy Joe's lower lip jutted out rebelliously, but after uttering a big sigh, he trudged out of the barn, much to Daisy's relief. She sighed herself and looked after her son for a moment before turning back to Thorn.

“I don't know what I'm going to do with him,” she murmured. “He's been through a lot in the past couple of years...and I don't want you being here to disrupt our family after everything that's happened already.”

Thorn looked puzzled. “Ma'am, I promise you that I'm no threat to your family, but if you think your husband would object to me staying here in your barn till I'm able to travel, I can move on.” Left unspoken was the fact that he also wanted her to avoid telling the sheriff his whereabouts. She saw that he was watching carefully for her reaction. “If you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer to wait to move till nightfall, though...”

She'd hoped he wouldn't guess her family's situation, but he was too clever. “I... I probably shouldn't tell you this,” she said, avoiding his eyes, “but I won't lie. I'm a widow...have been for a couple of years now,” she added, when his gaze dropped to her clothes, which were shabby and threadbare, but definitely not the black of recent mourning. “Billy Joe is my only child, and there's no one living here but the two of us. I don't even have any kin still living. So there's no one else to object to your presence. And that's why I said Billy Joe had been through a lot lately...”

I should have said, “
We've
been through a lot lately,”
she realized as soon as she had spoken. It sounded as if she didn't miss her husband much, which was a horrible thing to admit to a stranger, even though it was true.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” the wounded man said automatically. “And for how it's affected your son. I'd guess that without a father around to set him straight, you're not happy to hear your boy talking like an outlaw was someone to look up to,” he concluded for her.

“No, I'm not,” she agreed, and thought he saw too much with those dark, knowing eyes. She met his gaze with her chin upturned, daring him to criticize her parenting. He certainly wouldn't be the first to think she couldn't raise her son properly as a single mother. There were plenty of good people in Simpson Creek, as she knew firsthand. But there were plenty of mean-spirited gossips, too.

“And I can understand that,” he told her, looking as if he wanted to say more about why he understood. “Mrs. Henderson, I can't tell you the whole truth about my situation—for the sake of yours and the boy's safety and my own—but I can tell you I'm
not
an outlaw, and that I have an honest and honorable reason for riding with the gang. And I promise, you and your son have absolutely nothing to fear from me. If you'd be willing to let me hide here, I'll leave as soon as I can after that, and you can forget you ever laid eyes on me.”

Should she take him at his word or not? Why should she take a chance that he was telling her the truth?

There was sincerity shining in his dark eyes, but she'd learned from bitter experience that sincerity could be faked. William Henderson, Billy Joe's father, had been a sweet-talking man with a sincere expression on his face when they'd courted, but shortly after they'd wed, he had turned her life into a nightmare that had lasted until he'd been taken away to prison.

“Again,” Thorn continued, “I know you have no reason to believe what I'm about to tell you, but I'll say it, anyway—I'm a Christian, law-abiding man, Mrs. Henderson. The Bible is my guide.”

William had said he was a Christian man, too, but he'd twisted the Scriptures to excuse his cruelty to her till she'd almost stopped believing there was a God who cared what happened to her and her little boy. It wasn't until her husband was killed in a prison riot that she felt able to take an easy breath and start to believe in God's care for her again.

“Then why are you—” she began, then caught herself. “Never mind—you said you couldn't say, so I won't press you to give me an answer you can't give. I'll just say that I'm a Christian woman, too.”

At least she tried to be, even though it was hard. Was it truly Christian of her to distrust Thorn—to distrust nearly every man she encountered—because of her abusive late husband? Forgiveness was something she struggled with. She knew it was her duty as a Christian, but it was so very hard to find forgiveness in her heart for the man who had beaten her and Billy Joe for all those years.

Had the Lord sent Thorn to her as a test, to see if she could show compassion and understanding to a man who, by all appearances, was a criminal like her husband? Maybe. The Bible said the Lord worked in mysterious ways—certainly they'd never been clear to her. But that didn't stop her from wanting to bring herself, and especially her son, closer to God—to live within His plan for their lives.

“We go to church every other Sunday,” she informed Thorn, “which is all I can get off from work, whether Billy Joe's wanting to attend or not. And I try to get him to go without me when I'm working. I'm trying to be the best ma I can to him. I'm hoping if I ‘train my child up in the way he should go,' as the Bible says, he'll turn out to be a better man than his father was.” And what of the example she herself set for her son? Could she teach him a lesson in Christian compassion by letting Thorn stay with them?

The man in question was now staring at her, and she guessed he was wondering if she was always so forthright with strangers. But she had always used that very plain speaking as a sort of armor against the world.

“I have an idea,” he began with some hesitation, “if you're going to let me stay, that is. You might use that permission to motivate your son, since he wants you to help me. Tell him I can only stay if he does whatever you say, whatever he's been reluctant to do...such as finishing his chores, going to church, minding his manners and suchlike. But that's up to you, ma'am, of course—you know your son best, and I hope you don't mind the suggestion.”

She blinked in surprise, then considered what he'd said. “You know, that's actually a good idea,” she murmured after a moment. She could use this to teach her son about being a Christian,
and
give him a reason to behave, all in one. “Very well, Mr. Thorn...you may stay—for now.”

“Much obliged, ma'am. I won't give you cause to regret it.”

But could he really promise that? Even if she believed him, that he was riding with the outlaws for an honorable reason, he was still technically on the run from the law. If her neighbors found out she was harboring a fugitive, she'd never survive the scandal...

She asked another question to distract herself from that worry. “Umm, you didn't say, exactly—is Thorn your first or your last name?”

“First name,” he said, and his face twisted as if the name caused him to feel bitter. “Last name is Dawson.”

He must have seen the skeptical look on her face. “I'm telling you the truth, Mrs. Henderson.”

“All right then,” she said. “You can stay here until you're well enough to ride off, Mr. Dawson. But I can't have you dying on me. Having a dead outlaw's body in my barn would be a little hard to explain. Simpson Creek has a very good doctor, and I insist on having him see you. I have no nursing experience, so I need his guidance on how to treat you, if you're to recover. You can tell him the same thing you told me,” she added quickly, guessing he was about to protest. And that made her irritable. She was trying to help him, and he wanted to question that?

“And you needn't look so doubtful,” she snapped. “Dr. Walker isn't your usual small-town quacksalver. He knows all the latest things in medicine, and I've seen him save folks who were at death's door. He doesn't use all those snake oil remedies like calomel, either.”

“All right, all right,” the wounded man said, waving a hand in surrender. “Have him come—if he's not needed treating the others in town.”

She saw him wince and guessed that the movement sent fresh, stabbing waves of pain lancing through his wounded shoulder. Either that, or he felt guilty at the thought of the bank president and teller who had been shot.

“I'll send Billy Joe for him,” she said. “And don't worry, I'll tell him to go straight to the doctor's house, and not to breathe a word of your presence here to any of his no-account friends.” She could easily picture Billy Joe, flushed with triumph at having a “real gen-u-ine outlaw” in his barn, bragging to all his pals. As Daisy turned to leave the stall, she said a little prayer that her son would be obedient enough to follow her command. She still didn't know whether or not to believe the man who lay in the stall when he said he wasn't an outlaw, but just this once, she'd take on faith something she'd been told. She just hoped she wouldn't come to regret trusting him in her and Billy Joe's lives.

And if he wasn't an outlaw, what was he doing riding with them?

Chapter Two

D
aisy sighed as Billy Joe took off down the street at a run toward Dr. Walker's house at the other end of Simpson Creek, leaving the kitchen door gaping open behind him, as usual. Out of habit, she went and shut it, but her mind wasn't on the flies she was trying to keep out, or her son's surprisingly quick agreement to her conditions for letting the wounded man stay. It was fixed on Thorn himself.

Thorn—odd first name; short for something else, like Thornton?—Dawson was a puzzle to her. She'd told him so much about herself, but had learned so little about him in return. All she really knew was that he was hurt—and that she'd promised to help.

And that meant she shouldn't be just sitting here, gazing out the window at the barn and wondering about the man lying in one of the stalls. She should be getting bandaging materials ready—or would Doc Walker bring them? At the very least, she could put a pot of water on to boil in case the doctor needed it.

By the time she'd gathered an old sheet and set some water to boil on the stove, though, Billy Joe still hadn't returned with the doctor. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was getting late and she still hadn't done anything about supper. She was sorely tempted to go out to the barn to gather the eggs that her son hadn't collected, but to do so would mean being alone with the stranger out there. Yes, they were alone in the barn before, when she'd sent Billy Joe away, but in that moment protecting her son had been her top—her only—priority. But Billy Joe was fine now, and there was no reason for her to pass any more time than necessary with a strange man. She'd have to face him again at some point, of course, since he'd be staying with them for who knew how long, but it wasn't something she was ready to do again just yet.

Minutes later, Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the shadow of a man's figure ripple into the yard between the house and the barn. There hadn't been many full-grown men on her property since her husband had been taken away to jail—and she still felt the familiar sense of dread at the sight of a man's shadow. But it was the doctor, finally, carrying his big black leather bag. Billy Joe ran before him, looking back over his shoulder with an obvious impatience for the physician to reach the wounded man. She'd better go out and see what assistance Dr. Walker might require from her. Would he think she was a foolish woman for calling the doctor first before the sheriff, under the circumstances?

By the time she got out to the barn, Dr. Walker had already hung his frock coat over the half door of the stall and rolled up his sleeves, and was peering at Dawson's shoulder wound. The doctor had already pulled away what remained of the bloody shirt off the outlaw's shoulder.

“Thanks for coming, Dr. Walker,” Daisy murmured, feeling her stomach roil as she flinched away from the sight of the dried streaks of blood, as well as the man's bare, well-muscled shoulder. She never dealt well with the sight of blood—not since she was a girl, and Peter...but no, she wouldn't think of her brother now. That was a memory best left buried.

“Mmm. I'd have been here sooner, but I was a mite busy with Mr. Amos and his bank teller. I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that they'll live, by all indications,” he muttered.

“
I'm
real glad to hear it,” Thorn said, and he sounded like he meant it. “It was a lowdown, cowardly thing, what Zeke did, firing like that when there was no cause for it at all. If I'd noticed him aiming just a minute sooner, maybe I could've...” He shook his head. “Makes no difference what I would or
could've
done—I know that. There's no changing what happened. But I sure am mighty glad to hear that both of those men will be all right.”

Dr. Walker gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “You'll recover, too, once I get the bullet out of your shoulder. But you must know, you've lost a lot of blood...”

She was aware that her son was staring at the shoulder wound with a fascinated horror. “Billy Joe, go inside the house.”

“But I'm gonna help the doctor!” Billy Joe protested. “He said he'd need someone to hold the lantern so he could see to clean and dress the wounds.”

She was sure a clear view of Thorn's injuries was not a sight that a young boy should be seeing. “I'll do that,” she said in a tone that brooked no disobedience. She would simply have to push past her distaste for the sight of bloody injuries. Perhaps she'd be able to keep her focus on the lantern and not look at the wound at all. “Billy Joe,” she continued, “you gather those eggs like I told you to, then head inside.”

“Are you going to be able to help me without getting faint, Miss Daisy?” Dr. Walker asked. “We don't want to risk you dropping the lantern and setting your barn on fire, do we?” His tone was no-nonsense, but his eyes were kind.

She set her chin. “I'll do what needs to be done, as I always have,” she insisted, though her legs already felt like jelly. “Will you have enough light out here with the lantern, or should we move him into the kitchen?”

“Oughta be enough light with that hole up there.” The doc nodded toward the gap in the roof that let in the last of the day's light at the moment as the sun slowly set, but allowed rain in as well, whenever the rain came. She was just thankful that hill country in Texas rarely got truly cold, or the draught the hole let in might be harmful to the animals. She knew she should get it fixed. She should do a lot of things to maintain her run-down property.

Daisy acknowledged the barn roof's state of disrepair with a rueful grimace. “I've been meaning to get that roof repaired forever,” she muttered. “There just hasn't been any spare cash—or anyone to do it.”

Thorn had been quiet, watching both of them as the doctor spoke to her, but now he spoke up. “Maybe I can fix that for you, Mrs. Henderson, before I ride on.”

By an effort of will, Daisy kept a skeptical look from her face. Even if he was sincere in his offer—which she doubted, for why would a stranger concern himself with the state of her barn roof?—he must realize there was no feasible way for him to complete the task. It would be a while before he was fit enough to climb up onto her barn roof and repair it. And even then, he'd need to stay hidden, not be working up there in full view of anyone passing by.

“Mmm,” muttered the doctor. “I'd best get on with it, I suppose. Miss Daisy, would you be able to fetch me some clean water, please?”

“Of course. I set some to boil when I sent my son to fetch you, then took it off the fire so it could cool down when I saw that you'd arrived. And there's a spare cot in the tack room—I'll bring out some bedding for it.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Walker stated. “I didn't like the idea of him lying in the dirty straw with these wounds.”

Daisy was grateful for an excuse to get some fresh air before she helped the doctor, even though she had a feeling Nolan Walker would use the time to ask some pointed questions of the stranger in her barn.

She wondered if Thorn would give more answers to the doctor than he'd shared with her. Men tended to do that—hide more troubling details from her, as if she wasn't strong enough to handle the truth. As if she hadn't dealt with an abusive husband, and then the shame of a jailed husband while raising her son on her own. She was stronger than most folks realized. Strong enough to deal with this new complication in her life.

Much later, when the ordeal of cleaning out the wounds with carbolic acid and bandaging them was over, the doctor gave Thorn a dose of laudanum, instructed Daisy about his care and then departed, promising to check on him tomorrow.

Back in the house, she scrambled the eggs and set a plateful in front of Billy Joe. Then she loaded up a second plate with eggs, a thick slice of fresh bread and some of her preserves.

“Is that for Mr. Thorn?” Billy Joe asked eagerly. “I can take it to him, Ma!”

“Call him Mr. Dawson, honey. And no, I need you to stay put and eat your supper,” Daisy ordered.

Billy Joe pouted. “But I thought you wanted me to help take care of him. Wasn't that what you said?”

“I do. And you will. Don't forget what we agreed,” she reminded him. “You're to look after Mr. Dawson while I'm at work.”

Her shift as cook at the hotel restaurant lasted from dawn until suppertime. She got only half an hour for a break after the midday crowd thinned out. She usually sat down on the back porch and ate whatever could be spared from the leftovers on the stove, while Tilly Pridemore, the waitress, kept an eye on the dining room.

“I'll rush back here during my break,” Daisy told her son, “and check on Mr. Dawson then. But you're responsible for seeing to it that he has whatever he needs the rest of the time.”

“I
know
, Ma.” Billy Joe rolled his eyes. “You already tole me a hunnerd times.”

“I don't like that tone, young man. Remember our deal? You promised to be on your best behavior. Have you changed your mind?”
Please, no
, she prayed.
I need this chance to get through to him.

Billy Joe was a good boy at heart—she knew that as surely as she knew her own name. But even good boys could be persuaded to make bad decisions, especially when their friends were leading the way. If Billy Joe was busy looking after their houseguest, it would keep him away from his troublemaking friends, which had to be a good thing. It might even help her boy learn some responsibility.

“No, ma'am,” Billy Joe said meekly. “I'll look after Mr. Dawson real good, I promise.”

“And you won't go wandering off with your friends and leave him alone?”

“No way! Not when I can stay here and talk to Mr. Dawson about outlawing.” He looked far too excited at the idea, and Daisy winced. Was it foolish of her to leave her son alone with a man who would fill his head with tall tales that would glamorize the wild life of an outlaw? No, she couldn't bring herself to believe that Thorn would do that, not after he had already acknowledged that it wasn't good for the boy to admire outlaws as he did.

“Just see that you don't bother Mr. Dawson when he's trying to rest,” she said. “He's going to need time to heal.”

“Maybe he'll heal real slow,” Billy Joe said hopefully. “Then he can stay for a long time. I want him to stay and teach me stuff!”

“Teach you stuff?” Daisy echoed, aghast. “Such as
what
?”

“Like how to do a fast draw,” Billy Joe told her, in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious to her.

“What makes you think he's a fast draw?” Daisy asked. Had Thorn Dawson been boasting of gun-slinging skills to her impressionable son? Wounds or no wounds, he'd be out of her barn tonight if that was true!

Billy Joe shrugged. “Ma, an outlaw
has
to be a fast draw,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “I'll just bet he's good at it, that's all. Fast as lightning. You can tell.”

They'd do better to hope the man would heal as fast as lightning—and go on his way before anyone else found out he was here. Mr. Prendergast, the hotel proprietor, wouldn't tolerate even the slightest hint of a scandal when it came to the people he employed. If he found out she was harboring a fugitive, she'd lose her job, and then how would she support herself and her son?

“Ma?” Billy Joe said, interrupting her thoughts. “You sure you don't want me to take that plate out to Mr. Dawson? I'm all done with my supper, see?” He gestured to his plate, which he'd emptied while she'd been woolgathering. The boy always shoveled down food as if he thought it was going to try to run away from him. And he was always hungry for more. Keeping him fed only got more challenging the bigger he grew—and the challenge wouldn't get any easier now that they had another mouth to feed. She'd just have to take it one day at a time.

“No, I'll do it,” she insisted. She could tell that the process of cleaning and bandaging his wounds had been painful and exhausting for Thorn. The last thing he needed was an excitable boy bouncing around him, trying to pump him for exciting stories. Picking up the plate, she headed for the door. It was dark now, and she carried a lantern to light her way into the dark barn.

She found Thorn Dawson asleep in the stall on the cot, covered with the spare blanket she'd brought out. He didn't stir when she set the dish of food on a bale of hay and softly called his name. The laudanum must have taken effect faster than she'd expected, on top of the exhaustion the man must already have been experiencing.

He was sleeping on his side, his ribs rising and falling with his soft, regular breathing. Seeing his features relaxed in slumber, Daisy found it impossible to believe this man could be an outlaw.
But appearances could be deceiving, couldn't they?

It would be best if Thorn left as soon as he was physically able, as he'd said. But she shouldn't be thinking of him by his first name, Thorn, as if he were a friend. He should be strictly “Mr. Dawson” to her, even in her thoughts, Daisy told herself. She didn't know him, not really. And she saw no sense in trying to get to know him when he would just be on his way as soon as he recovered. She'd treat him with courtesy and with simple Christian compassion—no more than that. But no
less
than that, either. Not when she'd decided that it was her Christian duty to care for him.

He'd said he hadn't done the shooting and wasn't really an outlaw, after all. Why, if either of the wounded bank employees took a turn for the worse and died, she could be sending Thorn Dawson to the gallows, even though he wasn't the man who had shot them, Daisy realized. A judge might be so bent on making an example of Mr. Dawson that, innocent or not, he'd pay the ultimate price for another man's actions. She shuddered at the thought of Thorn Dawson with a rope around his neck.