Lawman in Disguise (7 page)

What sort of man shirked his duty to his home and family instead of taking care of his property? Silly question, Thorn told himself as he lay down to sleep. William Wilbur Henderson had obviously not been any sort of responsible family man. Daisy and Billy Joe deserved better, and Thorn hoped and prayed that they would find it someday—in the future, when he was long gone and wouldn't have to see it happen.

* * *

“Where did you go last night?” Daisy asked him when she brought his meal at midday. She'd debated asking him this question all morning, while she worked. He might say that it wasn't any of her business, but she had to at least try to ask.

His face took on a sheepish look. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I tried to be quiet,” Thorn said. “My horse was getting a mite fidgety from lack of exercise, so I took him out for a ride.”

“Oh, I didn't hear you, Billy Joe did.” Her son had come to her room, his face stricken. “He...he was afraid you were leaving us without saying goodbye.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Thorn told her. “It'd be a poor return on your kindness for letting me recuperate here.” Of course, his departure was inevitable. He'd have to leave someday. But it was a relief to hear that he wasn't intending to leave them just yet.

“I didn't believe you'd sneak away like that, either—and I told him so.” She wouldn't tell Thorn how Billy Joe had lain awake, fretting—and she had, too, not only because her son was upset, but because the idea distressed her—until they'd heard him return. “Did you meet up with your outlaw friends while you were out?”

He gave a wry smile and shook his head. “The Griggs gang is probably on the other side of the Rio Grande by now, if they're smart.” At least he hoped they were. “No, Ace and I didn't encounter a soul out there, just a mule deer and a jackrabbit out for a stroll. But it was good to get out of this barn for a while.”

“You didn't overdo it, did you? Doc Walker won't thank you for aggravating your wounds.”

“I'm feeling better every day,” he assured her.

She'd probably sounded silly, fussing over him like that. She'd seem like a nagging wife—something Thorn surely wouldn't appreciate. Unless he had a wife already? She never had asked him about that Selena he'd mentioned when he'd been delirious. But if he had a wife to fuss over him already, then he'd appreciate her nagging even less. “Th-that's good... Where
is
Billy Joe, by the way? I'm surprised he's not out here bothering you.”

“He's no bother,” Thorn told her. “He brought me the breakfast you left for me—thank you kindly for that, Miss Daisy. Then I heard some of his friends come and invite him to go fishing at the creek with them.” He shrugged. “The boy's probably getting tired of my stories.”

She gave a skeptical laugh. “I doubt it. But it's hard to compete with the lure of the creek on a hot June day. Don't count on fish for supper, though—they rarely catch much, because they end up swimming more than fishing. Even when they try I think they end up making so much noise they scare all the fish away.”

Thorn smiled wryly. “Too bad. I was already tasting fried fillets. If you cook fish as well as everything else, it'd be tasty.”

She was so warmed by the unexpected compliment, she had to look away. “Thank you, Mr. Dawson.”

“Reckon you could see your way clear to calling me Thorn?” he asked. “We've been acquainted for quite a spell now...”

Still not meeting his gaze, she murmured, “I suppose so...when no one else is around...”

I shouldn't have agreed to that
, she thought,
nor made that additional remark that implied a certain intimacy when it was just the two of us. I'd only meant to indicate I wouldn't do it in front of Billy Joe, because it wouldn't be proper. What would my son think if he heard his mother calling our unlikely guest by his Christian name? And what is it about this man that makes me abandon common sense?

Perhaps Thorn sensed her discomfort, for he started speaking again. “When I was a boy, I used to play hooky from my chores and fish in a creek that ran through our ranch. As I recall, I did more swimming than fishing then, too. The fish wouldn't bite on a hot day, anyway.” His chuckle made her smile, too, and relax, at least a little bit.

It was time to get back to work. Tilly had made another of her snide remarks just this morning about Billy Joe, and Daisy's supposed need to rush back to the house lately so she could be constantly checking up on him, so she dared not give the waitress any more reason to be nosy.

“That was a mighty big sigh,” Thorn commented, when she'd stood up. “Is your boss giving you a hard time?”

She hadn't realized she had sighed out loud. “No, Mr. Prendergast mostly keeps his nose out of the kitchen, unless there's a problem. It's just that Tilly, the waitress, would really like my job, so she never misses a chance to try to make me look bad. She's mighty curious about why I'm suddenly checking up on Billy Joe so much during my break time.”

Thorn seemed to tense slightly. “Then I reckon you better stop coming home on your breaks,” he said.

His tone was so unwontedly sharp that she realized a nosy Tilly could be a danger to him if she came to check up on Daisy. The waitress had never come to her house before, but Daisy wouldn't put anything past the girl if she thought there was some advantage to gain. Daisy had been so worried about safeguarding her own reputation that she had forgotten Thorn had the threat of jail or even hanging awaiting him if his presence was discovered.

“But you have to have something to eat,” she protested, knowing he was right, but aware that she would miss these stolen moments of his company. “It's not as if Billy Joe could fix you an actual meal.”

“He can fix me a snack well enough, and as for a proper meal, it won't hurt me to wait to eat till suppertime,” Thorn told her. “And you don't need to be skipping meals by giving them to me, either,” he added, sending her a meaningful look. “A good gust of wind would blow you away as it is, Miss Daisy.”

She knew she was too thin.
Did Thorn think she looked scrawny? And if he did, why should she care?

Regardless, she couldn't dillydally any longer. “I'd better go. I'll check on you after work,” she told him, and left the barn.

* * *

The afternoon seemed endless, with nothing more to do than wish the time would go by faster so he could see Daisy again. Thorn realized he was becoming quite attached to the woman in whose barn he had taken refuge. Attached? No, that was too tame a word for what he was starting to feel. He thought he could very easily fall in love with her.

He imagined being able to marry her and whisk her and the boy away from Simpson Creek. They could settle on his ranch near Mason, and she'd never have to work so hard for a living again. There the only meals she would need to cook would be for the three of them, and Thorn would show her his appreciation for each and every delicious bite. Lord willing, there would be other little mouths to feed around the table in time, and he'd thank God every day for finding her barn when he'd thought he was dying.

If she was his wife, he'd resign from the State Police and make his living as a rancher. It was hard work, and the cattle could be just as ornery as outlaws some days, but it wasn't likely any of the cows would start shooting at him. And Daisy could forget about silly young women like the one who thought tattling her way into the cook's job was the pinnacle of success.

But he was fooling himself to even consider such a future. Without the reward money he could earn from bringing the Griggs gang to justice, he would have no funds to start his new life as a rancher. No cash meant he couldn't buy cattle. The cattle already on the ranch properly belonged to his sister and brother-in-law, as they were the ones who had raised and tended the cattle for all these years. Taking the herd as his own would be unfair—but purchasing a new herd wouldn't come cheaply. Daisy's life would be just as hardscrabble as before.

How could she respect him then, let alone love him? How could she even consider accepting him when he had so little to offer?

The barn door was thrown back so hard it slammed against the wall next to it. Thorn dived for the pistol he'd hidden in the hay once Daisy had given it back to him, and was poised against the side of the stall, ready for whatever was coming, when Billy Joe cried out, “Mr. Thorn, Mr. Thorn! Wait'll you see what I got for us!”

With a sigh of relief at the false alarm, Thorn shoved the pistol back into the hay in the far corner of the stall, then put his finger to his lips as the boy came bursting into the stall. “I reckon a body could hear you clear to San Saba, Billy Joe. You want to give away my hideout location?” He kept his tone mild, not wanting to stifle the boy's enthusiasm, but Daisy had told him about nosy Mrs. Donahue next door, and he didn't want the woman to overhear.

Billy Joe clapped a hand to his mouth. “Sorry, Mr. Thorn. Guess I forgot.”

“So, did you catch a mess of bluegills?” Thorn asked, looking over the boy's shoulder as if a stringer loaded with freshly-caught fish might be hidden there, instead of the canvas poke he could see. But his nose was already hinting at what the lad had brought, and it sure wasn't anything Billy Joe could have caught at the end of a fishing line.

“Nope, I caught
this!
” Billy Joe proclaimed, reaching into the sack and bringing out a pie—peach, by the smell of it, Thorn thought. “One of Miss Ella's pies, fresh outta the oven at the café!”

It was a beauty of a pie, perfectly browned, and its savory smell hinted at how good it would taste. Thorn remembered seeing the sign for the café at the eastern edge of town the day the gang had ridden into Simpson Creek. It seemed to be a competitor for the hotel restaurant where Daisy worked. “And how did you happen to come by that?” he inquired.

Billy Joe stood up even straighter than he had before, obviously proud of himself. “I sneaked up on it stealthy as a Comanche.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” But he was afraid he already knew.

Billy Joe grinned. “It was coolin' on the back windowsill at the café, fresh outta the oven. One of my pals told me he didn't think I could snatch it without Miss Ella or her helper catchin' me. If I proved him wrong, I got to keep the whole pie and didn't have to share it with the rest of the boys.”

“And if you lost?” Thorn asked grimly.

“Then I would've had to do whatever Miss Ella made me do. But she never saw me and I got clean away, slick as any outlaw.”

“What if you hadn't gotten away?” Thorn asked him, his voice stern. “What if Miss Ella had caught you?”

“Oh, she'd probably just make me wash dishes or somethin',” Billy Joe said, his tone careless. But Thorn could tell he was beginning to sense his listener's disapproval. “She's a nice lady.”

“And do you think that's the way you should treat nice ladies—stealing from them when they've never done you any harm?” Billy Joe was starting to look a little embarrassed, so Thorn pressed the point.

“Your ma's a mighty nice lady. How would you like it if someone used that as a reason why it would be all right to steal from her?”

“I wouldn't let nobody steal from my ma!” Billy Joe protested, indignant.

“You'd be real angry if someone tried to, wouldn't you?”

“'Course I would!”

“Then why do you think it's fine and dandy to steal from a nice lady like Miss Ella?”

Billy Joe seemed to be pondering this, so Thorn let him think undisturbed, hoping he was finally realizing that what he'd done was wrong.

“So...” the boy said thoughtfully a minute later, “I shouldn't rob nice people, just mean people, instead? Is that what you do, Mr. Thorn?”

Thorn sighed. Apparently the message hadn't quite gotten through, after all.

“No, Billy Joe. It's never right to steal. You've got no right to take something that you know belongs to someone else.”

“But if the person ain't nice to others then they don't deserve to have folks be nice to them, right? I don't gotta be all that sorry when bad things happen to bad people, do I?”

Thorn bit back a sigh. Had he been this much of a handful when he was Billy Joe's age? He wanted to believe the answer was no, but he had no doubt that his sisters would say he had been a handful and a half. And there had been five of them to keep an eye on him—Billy Joe's mother was all on her own, and working herself to the bone while raising her son, to boot.

“Look at it this way,” he suggested. “You weren't worried about Miss Ella making you do anything real bad even if she caught you taking the pie, because she's a nice lady. But if you'd stolen from someone who wasn't so nice and gotten caught, that person might have summoned the sheriff. Then Sheriff Bishop would have marched you off to a cell in his jail and charged you with theft. What would your mama have said to that? Do you think she'd be proud of her outlaw son?”

Billy Joe's head sank on his chest as if he suddenly couldn't hold it up anymore. “I reckon not...” he murmured. “Okay, I won't steal no more food,” he said. “But we might as well enjoy the pie, now that I got it.”

“I don't think so,” Thorn said. “I think you need to escort that pie back to Miss Ella's café, and take whatever punishment she wants to dish out—unless you've got money to pay her for it, that is.”

“I ain't got any money. And I ain't gonna take it back,” he insisted, a stubborn look coming over his features. “The boys might see me, and they'd laugh at me.”

“So you care more about what your friends think than about doing what you know is right?”

Billy Joe dropped his gaze to his dusty shoes. “I—I guess not,” he mumbled. “Aw, Mr. Thorn, do I
hafta
take it back?”