Lawman in Disguise (6 page)

* * *

Selena
. She'd been the reason he'd stayed in Texas when war broke out, instead of joining the army and going to fight with Hood, as so many of his friends had. Anyway, Thorn couldn't see the point in leaving to fight the northern half of these United States for the right to own other people, when he didn't own any slaves and never wanted to. He'd seen the danger in all the men going off, too, since if they all left their wives and sweethearts, it was as good as issuing an invitation to the Comanches and Kiowas and lawless white renegades to come and attack as much as they pleased, taking whatever they wanted and leaving nothing to come home to when the war was over. So he'd signed on with the Texas Rangers and fought with them to protect the state, while the other men went to fight the Yankees. Of course, working with the Rangers had had its share of dangers, but at least he was still there in Texas, could still see Selena often and make sure she was safe.

But she had died, anyway, caught in a vicious ambush purely by chance when she rode to meet Thorn for a picnic on the Llano River. He'd been late to arrive, for he'd bought her a ring at the mercantile, intending to propose marriage, and thought it only fitting to present it along with a bouquet of Indian paintbrush that grew in a field about a mile away. While he'd been picking flowers, Selena had been attacked at the riverbank by a roving gang who thought the lone woman easy prey. No doubt they'd planned to make a slave of her and sell her to the highest bidder after violating her, but she'd apparently resisted to the point where they had decided it would be easier to stab her and leave her dying, for him to find moments before she took her last breath. She'd never known he'd planned for this to be the happiest day of her life.

Now in his delirium she floated above him, looking just as she had when he'd found her that tragic day—pallid as a bleached bone except for the crimson slashes of her wounds, reaching for him desperately, longingly, her dark eyes huge in her too-white face.

“Selena...”
Come back. Give me another chance to save you, to protect you. I'll never leave your side again...

He heard another female voice, and saw a woman bending over him, her face full of worry. Her hair and eyes were as pale as Selena's had been dark, and she was pretty, though in a way that revealed she had known much care in her life, where Selena's had been carefree until that fateful day.

The fair-haired woman spoke now, and he had trouble understanding her words because of the hot swirling, choking fog that surrounded him. But he thought she said, “I'm not Selena, I'm Daisy, and you have to fight this, Thorn,
fight
. You have to
live
.”

He couldn't see the point, honestly. If he gave in to the fever that burned like an inferno within him, he'd be with Selena, and he knew he could be happy wherever she was. But the woman just kept sponging him with that cold, cold water, no matter how much he tried to protest and push her away, so he doubted he'd get his druthers.

Chapter Six

T
wo days later, Thorn woke from his feverish delirium, clear of mind but weak as a day-old calf. Every joint and muscle ached. His mouth was dry as the middle of a dust storm. He felt like a washcloth that had been wrung dry of every drop of water it had held. When he managed to focus his eyes, he made out the figure of Billy Joe, not Daisy, sitting on the hay bale beside his cot. Had Thorn only dreamed that she'd been there by his side every time he'd wakened while the fever held?

“W-water,” he croaked, startling Billy Joe so badly that the boy nearly fell off the bale.

“You—you're awake,” the boy breathed, eyes goggling as if he could hardly believe it.

“Yes...th-thirsty... Need water...”

Billy Joe jumped to his feet and went to another hay bale, where a pitcher was sitting, and poured a small amount of water in a tin cup. This he held to Thorn's lips, murmuring, “Take it slow, now. Don't try to drink it fast or you'll choke.”

The first few swallows didn't reach their destination, for Thorn's throat was so parched all he could do was cough and sputter, not swallow, bringing him no relief. But once he realized that the boy was right and he'd have to sip, not take big drafts, he was more successful, and the water finally cooled his mouth and reached his gullet. He could practically feel himself coming alive again. He drank the entire glass as slowly as he could force himself to take it.

“Wh-where's D-Daisy?” he asked, when the boy told him he'd have to wait a bit before drinking any more.

Billy Joe stared at him. “Ma's sleeping, and I'm not going to wake her,” he said, his chin jutting forward a bit pugnaciously. “She's about dead on her feet after three days of working all day and watching over you all night. I told her to go to bed, that I'd watch out for you tonight, but she only agreed to 'cause she said you were getting better.”

“S-sorry to make so much trouble,” Thorn said, feeling bad that Daisy was exhausted because of him, though he certainly wouldn't have chosen to fall ill as he had. “No, there's no need to wake her. She needs her sleep.”

His response must have mollified Billy Joe somewhat, for the boy said, “She left some soup on the stove for you, if you woke up. You want it?”

It seemed to take an enormous effort just to nod, and Thorn wasn't entirely sure he'd succeeded, so he added aloud, “Please. Soup w-would be g-good.” Sleepiness was creeping over him, threatening to reclaim him. He hoped he could remain awake long enough to eat the soup, for he knew instinctively that nourishment was the key to getting his strength back. He doubted they'd been able to get much food into him during the course of his fever.

It seemed like only seconds later that the boy was shaking him awake. “I thought you wanted this soup, Mr. Dawson. You gotta wake up.” He sounded put out that Thorn had fallen asleep instead of waiting for his return, and Thorn considered that the boy had gone to some trouble to warm the soup, so he roused himself enough to sit up and eat it. It was chicken with vegetables, and he decided he'd never tasted anything better in his life, not even steak. But he only had enough strength to down half a dozen spoonfuls before he felt his eyelids drifting shut again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I'll eat the rest...later. You...go on to bed, B-Billy Joe.”

The boy shook his head, his eyes fierce. “No, sir. Ma said to sit up with you and make sure you didn't need anything, so that's what I'm a-gonna do,” he declared.

“No n-need,” he told Billy Joe, but he could see it would do no good to argue, so didn't bother to protest any further. He just let his eyes drift shut again.

As he sank back down onto the cot, he caught a whiff of himself. One thing was certain—he was going to ask for some water to wash with as soon as he was strong enough. He smelled worse than a mildewed saddle blanket. He felt a flash of embarrassment for having let Daisy see—and smell—him in such a state, but then the drowsiness took over and everything, even embarrassment, faded away.

* * *

“You sure look better than you have in the last few days,” Tilly commented when she arrived at the hotel restaurant the next morning, close to being late, as usual.

Her remark caught Daisy by surprise. The waitress usually had nothing nice to say to her, and this was as close to a compliment as she had ever offered.

Daisy stirred the scrambled eggs cooking in the huge iron skillet in front of her. “Thank you. I got a good night's sleep last night, so I feel pretty chipper.” It
had
been restoring to get a solid amount of sleep in her own bed, knowing her “guest” in the barn was improving, and Billy Joe was on watch during the night. It had been even better to go out to the barn after she'd arisen this morning and find Thorn Dawson sitting up on his cot, eyes alert, his color good, and his voice strong and steady as he assured her he was eager to devour breakfast.

He's going to live
, her heart had sung within her. She hadn't failed this time. He wasn't going to die, as her brother had.

“Oh, too bad,” Tilly said in a disappointed tone. “I thought maybe you'd met someone, and had a gentleman caller visit you last night.”

Daisy felt a flush threatening to bloom on her cheeks. Thorn was certainly no “gentleman caller,” but the woman had come too close to the truth with her insinuation that there was a new man in Daisy's life. “Where would I meet a beau, Tilly? No, my son is the only man I need or want in my life.”

“Don't knock it if you haven't tried it,” the waitress said in her sly way. “That son of yours is going to be all growed up and gone someday, and then where will you be? All alone, that's where. I have a beau, and I highly recommend it.”

Daisy wondered idly where Tilly had met such a man, then figured it was better not to ask. She knew the other woman flirted tirelessly with cowboys and other bachelors who came in for a meal, and knew too that their boss would fire the waitress if he knew about it, for Mr. Prendergast was a stickler for propriety in his employees. If Daisy was as ruthless as Tilly, she'd tell Mr. Prendergast all about the waitress's behavior...but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Tilly needed this job, just as Daisy needed hers. It would be unkind and unchristian to try to get her dismissed as waitress. And anyway, Daisy wasn't the sort to tattle.

“I'm glad you have a beau, but Billy Joe is my priority,” she said, and was relieved when the tinkling bell at the entrance of the restaurant announced their first customer. Tilly would have to turn her attention to business now. Daisy began to think of what she would cook for the noon meal, and of taking it home to Thorn for his lunch during her break.

As she'd been leaving the barn, he had asked Billy Joe to bring him his razor from his saddlebags so he could shave. After checking with Daisy for her approval, Billy Joe had offered to lend him her hand mirror, too. The idea of seeing Thorn clean-shaven and wearing a fresh shirt put a spring in her step that hadn't been there before.

Careful
, she told herself.
Don't get too used to his presence. He's no “gentleman caller” like Tilly has been gushing about. Now that Dawson is on the mend, he'll be leaving soon and chances are you'll never see him again.

* * *

Two days had passed since he'd woken after his fever, and although his wounds still pained him some, Thorn wasn't remotely tempted to ask for any more laudanum. Who needed the sort of weird, fantastic dreams the medicine brought on? He was finally feeling “on the mend” as both the sawbones and Daisy had pronounced him to be.

Recovery was making him restless. While he wasn't at all eager to return to the outlaws and their constant plotting about who to steal from next, not to mention the danger involved with those escapades to the outlaws themselves and to their hapless victims, Thorn figured they would have ways of hearing that he hadn't died of his wounds. After all, if he'd died then his body would have turned up by this point. Since it hadn't, they had to be curious about where he was right now.

Before long they'd come looking for him, if they weren't already. No one left the Griggs gang unless Griggs himself wanted you gone—and that usually meant he was sending you straight to your Maker. If the gang figured Thorn was alive then they would find him and bring him back into the fold, whether he wanted to go or not.

And he sure didn't want them to find him here, nursed by the lovely Daisy Henderson. Exposing her to danger would be a poor return for her kindness and care. Just the thought of Gordon Griggs looking at Daisy Henderson made Thorn's blood boil and his fists clench. No, he had to get strong so he could leave and make sure Griggs's and Daisy's paths never intersected.

In any case, he was eager to see his mission finished. And it couldn't be finished till the Griggs gang was behind bars.

He'd been forcing himself to get up and walk the length of the barn several times that day, and he was feeling stronger as a result of even that little exercise. He'd have liked to step out in the sunlight and fresh air, to see if he was strong enough to walk from one end of the little town to the other, but of course he didn't dare show his face outside. But now, under the cover of darkness, he was eager to feel the night air on his face.

Daisy had just bid him good-night and left. He slipped out of his stall and opened the barn door enough that he could watch the house. He saw a light in one room—Billy Joe's?—and then it was extinguished. Then another window was lit by a lantern. It burned for a few minutes, and he wondered if Daisy was reading. If so, what would she read—her Bible? Thorn felt that he knew a great deal about her character—about the kind of person she was. And yet he knew so little about her tastes and preferences. Was she fond of reading? Did she like novels, or poetry? Did she have a favorite Psalm, or a particular verse she turned to for comfort in times of trouble? He had no idea.

Then that light, too, went out. He saw that she'd left her window open a few inches, no doubt to catch the breeze. She would fall asleep soon. Was there a chance she would dream of him? She had started appearing in his dreams—a sweet and comforting presence that soothed him into peaceful rest. Perhaps he could be a comfort to her in her dreams? Never had he seen a woman so in need of the comfort and reassurance a man could give. If only he could—

No. Thorn forced himself to stop his imaginings. No good could come of such thoughts.

He waited until the house had been still for a while, then slipped out the narrow opening, enjoying the feel of the warm summer night breeze on his skin as he walked around the perimeter of the property, swinging his arms and stretching his muscles. He wished he dared take Ace out for a night run, but it would be too noisy. Even if he was able to avoid the creaking when he pulled the barn door open just far enough to let Ace out, and the chances were high that his horse would whinny in excitement at the prospect of a gallop, which would waken Daisy or the boy. If Thorn was going to risk it, he'd need to make sure that the conditions were just right.

He studied the night sky. Tomorrow the moon would be full, so it would be better to wait till then for his ride. He'd just have to hope he didn't happen to run into members of the Griggs gang, out prowling around looking for mischief. He had no idea where they were hiding out, for Griggs had made no advance plan for a rendezvous spot in case they were scattered after the bank robbery. And they might have done more than one heist since then, which would have caused them to relocate anyway. No, the Griggs gang could be anywhere...so there was no point in trying to avoid them. It wasn't as if he could hide for the rest of his life.

Thorn thought about telling Daisy what he was going to do, so she wouldn't worry if she heard him go out. But no, she'd be concerned that he was overextending himself so soon after his infection and fever.

Worry? She won't worry
, he told himself. She probably couldn't wait to be shed of him and the chance of scandal he represented. It would be too bad if she was shamed again because of a man—and this time one she hadn't even chosen for herself.

Feeling pleasantly tired, but stronger than he had since the day of the bank robbery, he returned to the barn, hoping the fresh air he'd gotten would put him quickly to sleep, so he wouldn't think of Daisy. But he lay awake till early dawn, his mind awash with thoughts of her.

* * *

The next night, after all was quiet in the house again, Thorn stuck to his plan of taking Ace out for a ride. He was careful to walk the horse onto Main Street and a good ways beyond Daisy's house before he mounted. He reached the far edge of town before he let the gelding have his head and accelerate to a full gallop, always watching in the moonlight for any hazards in the road ahead. He reveled in the smooth play of the gelding's muscles beneath him, and it seemed that Ace savored the wind whistling through his mane as his hooves ate up the road. He felt that the gelding was still eager to run when Thorn reined him back toward town and forced him into a walk, but he was too good a horseman to return a lathered animal to his stall without a proper cooling down. Nearing the Henderson house again, he was careful to dismount and lead the horse back into the barn, moving as quietly as possible to reduce the chance of a neighbor hearing him and Ace pass by. No flares of light illumined any windows inside the Henderson house, so it seemed he had not been missed.

Both of his wounds stung from the unaccustomed exercise as he unsaddled his horse and put him back in the stall Ace had been occupying, but Thorn doubted he'd set his healing back any by his ride. It was a good hurt—the kind that came from hard work that left you stronger for having done it. If he kept exercising each day, soon he'd be fit enough to climb up onto the barn roof and repair that hole. When he'd finally explored the barn fully, he'd found a ladder in the tack room tall enough to get him up there, along with a pile of cedar shakes and a sack of nails, as if at some point the late Mr. Henderson had intended to repair his roof, before his untimely death. But if he had the materials, then why had he waited?