Maureen McKade
Authors: A Dime Novel Hero
A DIME NOVEL HERO
Kit shook her head, unable to resist the glimmer in Jake’s dark eyes. Despite the gunbelt slung low on his hips, she glimpsed a piece of the teasing young man she’d known before he’d left to track down his father’s killer.
She took one of Jake’s strong hands in hers, pretending to inspect it. The long slender fingers curved around her palm for a moment, and the light sprinkling of hair across the back of his hand tickled her. Her breath seemed to rasp more loudly in her ears as her heart kicked her ribs. Startled by her body’s response, she glanced at Jake. His rugged face had gone still except for his untelling eyes which studied her closely.
She swallowed, releasing him like a hot branding iron. “You pass inspection.”
A Dime Novel Hero
Maureen McKade
Copyright © 1998, 2013 by Maureen Webster
Thanks to the Friday night gang—Cheryl, Bernadette, Barb, Lea, and Janie—who keep each other going with love, encouragement, and chocolate;
Edie—I will always be grateful that our last names started with the same letter;
Mom, who instilled in me the love of reading at an early age and who continues to share that love of the written word;
and my real-life hero, Alan, who believes in me even when I falter.
Wyoming, 1880
“F
atty Fatty Four-Eyes, blind as a bat; take off her glasses, she don’t know where she’s at.”
The boys’ cruel words stung like salt rubbed in a wound, and Kit Thornton’s eyes filled with tears. Blinded by the moisture, she tripped on a loose slat in the boardwalk and fell. Her wire-rimmed glasses skidded off her face, and her books flew out of her arms. Cutting laughter erupted around the ten-year-old girl as she groped for her spectacles. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her, taking her far away from her taunting schoolmates.
“What’s going on here?” Seventeen-year-old Jake Cordell’s glare sent her tormentors scurrying away.
The lanky young man hunkered down beside Kit, but she kept her watery gaze on his boots, humiliation washing through her.
He settled gentle hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she managed to say past the lump of embarrassment in her throat.
Jake snagged her glasses and handed them to her. “Here you go.”
With trembling fingers, Kit hooked the curved ends over her ears and settled the spectacles on her nose. His scuffed boots came into focus.
“C’mon, let’s get up.” Jake took hold of her arms and helped her stand.
Dull, throbbing pain in Kit’s knee brought an involuntary groan.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Did they hurt you?”
The anger in his voice startled Kit. She gazed up at his handsome face, the cleft chin and square jaw, and nearly forgot her name. She glanced away, heat rising to her cheeks. “It’s my knee.”
She leaned over and lifted her hem a couple of inches. Her stockings were torn, and blood welled from a cut.
“Looks like you scraped it pretty bad.” He removed his red bandanna and handed it to her. “Tie this around it.”
Kit accepted the neckerchief with a mumbled thanks. The material was warm and slightly moist from resting against Jake’s neck, and she concentrated on tying the makeshift bandage around her wound.
“You’d best get home and have your ma clean it up for you,” Jake said.
“I don’t have a mother,” she said softly.
Jake appeared surprised. “What’s your name?”
“Kit Thornton.”
“Your pa owns the newspaper?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll take you over to his office so he can take care of you,” Jake said.
Blue eyes widened behind the glass lenses, and she
took a step back. “No. He doesn’t like me pestering him. I can take care of myself.”
She leaned over to gather her scattered books, and Jake picked up a couple. “You like to read, huh?”
Kit’s round cheeks reddened. “Yes.”
He handed the books to her, then pushed back the brim of his hat and grinned. His roguish smile nearly stopped her heart. “Not many girls I know like to read.”
“I do.” She lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her.
Jake’s grin grew. He liked the young girl’s spirit. “You won’t get any arguments from me.” He leaned close to her. “Don’t tell anyone, but I like a good book myself.”
She stared at him. “But you’re the marshal’s son.”
His smile faded. “So?”
Her blush deepened. “Everybody
likes
you.” He stared down at her a moment, and Kit’s embarrassment grew. “I have to go.”
She turned to leave, but Jake grabbed hold of her arm. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to.”
He shrugged. “I want to make sure you take care of that cut.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”
Trembling with nervousness, Kit reached out and wrapped her fingers around his palm. Wonder filled her as she walked beside Jake, who’d reduced his stride to match hers.
The handsomest boy in Chaney was walking her home! Too excited to speak, Kit gripped Jake’s hand and allowed him to lead her around to the back door of the newspaper office.
Once there, he released her. “Are you going to be all right by yourself?” he asked.
She nodded. “I won’t be alone. I have my animals.”
He frowned. “Animals?”
“Would you like to see them?” she asked, her blue eyes suddenly sparkling.
“Theodora Katherine, where are you?” a man’s voice sounded from within.
Her expression dulled. “I have to go.”
“Would it be okay if I came over some day to see your animals?” Jake asked.
She nodded, too tongue-tied to speak.
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you ever need any help, just holler and I’ll take care of those boys for you.” He bowed at the waist gallantly. “Your wish is my command, madam.”
Tears filled Kit’s eyes again. “Thank you.”
He chucked her chin lightly. “Don’t mention it. You take care of that knee, Kit Thornton.”
He waved and turned away, his long legs eating up the distance.
As Jake disappeared from view, Kit sighed wistfully. She knew the marshal’s son was a troublemaker; her own father had often complained about Jake’s no-good behavior. But Kit had seen the gentle side he hid from everybody else—and no matter what anyone said, he would always be her hero.
1894
J
ake Cordell’s search had finally come to an end.
He leveled the brim of his worn brown hat against the bitter north wind. After having been gone for so many years, he had forgotten how cold an April day in Wyoming could be.
His palomino sneezed and shook its head.
Brushing a gloved hand through the horse’s cream-colored mane, Jake said, “Look, it’s not my fault. It’s supposed to be springtime.”
Standing in his stirrups, he stretched his stiff legs. He studied the drab landscape, the withered grass and skeletal trees still hibernating in winter’s embrace. “Besides, I want to see if Maggie’s still around.” Jake smiled, remembering the good times they’d shared in her room above the saloon.
Zeus snorted.
“You’re probably right. Odds are she’s married with a couple of screaming kids, not to mention a husband, making her life miserable.” Jake sighed. “But then, I’ve got nothing better to do.”
He rode on in silence, his thoughts centering on the
changes coming about in his life. For six years he’d searched for Frank Ross, the man who’d murdered his father, Judge Jonathan Cordell. Now that Ross was behind bars, it was time to settle down. The problem was, Jake didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He’d considered putting his law degree to use, something his father would have approved of. However, the prospect of twisting words into unintelligible sentences brought a frown to his lips. More to Jake’s liking was the idea of raising horses, preferably on the old family ranch.
The woods on either side of the road opened up to reveal a bustling town and Jake drank in the sight, surprised by how much he’d missed it. He urged Zeus down the middle of the busy street, noting how much his hometown had grown and changed. The mercantile where he used to make mischief was gone, replaced by a stonefront bank. And the little saloon where he’d had his first drink had been rebuilt into a fancy dance hall, complete with hurdy-gurdy girls all the way from Chicago, according to the sign. Rose’s House of Hospitality, where he’d lain with his first woman, no longer existed. A church stood in its place, and Jake grinned at the irony.
He stopped at the first livery and tossed the stable boy an extra nickel to brush Zeus’s coat and give him fresh hay. The towheaded kid pocketed the coin and promised to take good care of him.
With his rifle in one hand, Jake threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and walked across the street. His gaze scoured the false fronts, and he wondered where to start looking for Maggie Summerfield. While he had searched for his father’s murderer, he’d made the sheriff’s office his first destination in every new town. Most of the lawmen had known everyone in their jurisdiction, and Chaney was bound to be no different.
The old sheriff’s office now sported a recently painted sign that read Police Station, proclaiming Chaney’s transformation from frontier town to civilized city.
Stepping up onto the boardwalk, Jake entered the jail-house. There were some noted changes since the days when he’d been an overnight guest, sleeping off a rowdy evening. The cells were now hidden from view by a brick partition with a solid wood door. Two desks instead of one adorned the office, with a brown-uniformed policeman behind each.
The younger officer, his feet propped on his desk, looked up and down at Jake’s dusty clothes, then scowled. “Are you looking for something, mister?”
“Someone. Maggie Summerfield.”
The man shook his head and yawned. “Never heard of her.”
Jake took a step forward, not liking his insolence. “Have you ever thought about using your brain for something other than filling up that canyon between your ears?”
The police officer’s face flushed a deep red and he sprang to his feet. “You son-of-a—”
“Hold on, lads.” The older man insinuated himself between them and turned to his colleague. “Now, Jameson, don’t you be gettin’ in over your head. If I’m not mistaken, the gentleman you’re tanglin’ with is Jake Cordell.” He spoke with a deep Irish brogue.
Surprised, Jake looked at the husky red-haired man. “How’d you know?”
The officer smiled, revealing even white teeth beneath a bushy moustache the same rusty color as his hair. “Sergeant Patrick O’Hara. It’s a pleasure to be makin’ your acquaintance, Mr. Cordell.”
Jake shook his beefy hand.
O’Hara pointed to the other policeman. “And the barkin’ pup there is Officer Will Jameson.”
Recognition dawned on Jake, and he studied the younger man. “I remember when you were a snot-nosed brat throwing rocks at old lady Harrigan’s place.”
Jameson dragged his palms across his trousers, his face ruddy with anger, embarrassment, or both. “Look who’s talking. Seems to me you done more than your share of raising hell yourself.” Guarded respect glinted in his eyes. “I read in one of them books where you’re faster’n a rattler on a hot rock.”
“Take my advice, kid, and don’t believe everything you read.” Jake looked back at O’Hara. “Is that how you recognized me?”
O’Hara shrugged sheepishly, then retrieved a dogeared book from a desk drawer and held it up. “Aye. I’ve read them all, but this is my favorite.”
Jake reached for the copy of
Ambush at Andrews Crossing
and thumbed through the worn pages. He swore in disgust. “I remember when this happened. I was only eighteen—my father took me with him to track down a gang of bank robbers. That’s when he was still a marshal.” He clapped the book shut with irritation and glanced at the author’s name. “What the hell did I ever do to T. K. Thorne?”
The Irishman appeared startled by his outburst. “I’d be thinkin’ you’d be flattered to have so many books written about you.”
Jake shook his head in frustration. “All it’s given me is a reputation. Every young buck trying to make a name for himself wants to gun down the famous Jake Cordell. If I ever find this T. K. Thorne, he’s going to wish he never heard of me.”
“Well, he seems to be knowin’ a lot about you.”
Reluctant curiosity prodded Jake. He’d never read one before, scorning the exaggerated lies, but now that he’d put that life behind him, he felt the urge to do so. “You mind if I borrow this?”
“Be my guest, lad. You were inquirin’ about the whereabouts of Maggie Summerfield?”
Jake stuffed the book in his jacket pocket. “That’s right. Do you know her?”
A grim expression sobered O’Hara’s round face. “I’m sorry to be havin’ to tell you this, but she died a few years back.”
Jake’s breath caught in his throat. “How?”
O’Hara shook his head. “I don’t know, lad. Considerin’ what she did to make a livin’, it could’ve been most anything.”
“Because she worked in a saloon?” Shock made his words bitter.
O’Hara cleared his throat self-consciously. “It’s a tough life for a lass.”
Sadness overwhelmed Jake. He’d known he might find her gone or married but hadn’t even considered her death. He hoped she’d found some happiness before she died. Maggie had deserved a better hand than life had dealt her.
“She didn’t have a helluva lot of choice,” he said. “Her mother had to sell herself to keep them off the streets, and people figured Maggie was the same way. Folks in this town didn’t give her a chance.”
O’Hara stepped up to Jake and gripped his shoulder. “Sounds to me like you gave her a chance. Let’s go across the street, Cordell, and I’ll buy you a pint.”
Jake nodded and followed O’Hara into a small saloon. Sitting at a corner table, the officer caught the attention of the barmaid. “Two ales please, lass.”
A few moments later a young woman set two filled mugs on the stained table. Jake stared after her, thinking how Maggie had been in her place not so long ago.
“Drink up, laddie,” O’Hara urged, his voice surprisingly gentle, considering his massive size.
“To Maggie.” Jake clinked his mug against
O’Hara’s, then drained the cool beer in a few swallows.
Now, when he was finally ready to quit bounty hunting and come home to stay, Maggie was gone. She’d been a friend and a lively bed companion. He didn’t know if he’d loved her, but he sure would miss her.
Jake ordered a bottle of whiskey.
“Had you known her a long time?” O’Hara asked.
“Ever since I was about sixteen,” Jake said, his voice as hollow as his insides.
The waitress set a bottle and a shot glass in front of Jake. He poured some of the amber liquid into the glass, then swallowed it in one gulp and refilled it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Maggie’s husky voice and smell the perfume he’d bought her when he’d come home for his father’s funeral.
“Did you come back just to see Miss Summerfield?” O’Hara asked.
“I came back to start over. Thought I could do it right this time.”
O’Hara leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers across his belly. “Do you think it’ll be that easy? Being a legend, and all?”
Disgust twisted Jake’s lips into a grimace. “I never asked to be some kind of dime novel hero.”
He tossed down another shot of whiskey.
“Easy does it, lad. I didn’t think you were a drinkin’ man.”
“Why? Because those books say I’m not?” Jake grinned without humor. “I’ll tell you a secret, Sergeant: T.K. Thorne doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does.”
The officer rubbed his whisker-stubbled jaw. “What’ll you do now?”
Jake shrugged listlessly. “Drink this bottle of whiskey, and if I’m lucky, get drunk.”
O’Hara shook his head and stood. “Take it easy, Cordell.
I wouldn’t want to be throwin’ you in our new jail.”
Jake only poured himself another shot and lifted it in a mocking salute. “It wouldn’t be the first time Jake Cordell slept it off behind bars.”
Kit Thornton dismounted in front of the Chaney
Courier
building and retrieved her round spectacles from her jacket pocket. Slipping them on, she stepped up onto the boardwalk and walked into the newspaper office.
“Good morning, Kit.” David Preston gave her a welcoming smile.
“Hello, David.” She glanced at the smudged apron he wore to protect his immaculate shirt and trousers. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing ink-dotted forearms. She could recall her father looking much the same when he’d owned the
Courier
.
“What’re you doing in town?” David asked.
“Business,” she replied vaguely, not wanting to burden him with her problems. She’d just come from the bank, asking for another extension on her loan repayment—a request Mr. Mundy, the bank manager, had denied.
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Before sunrise,” she replied.
He shook his head as his fingers placed type in the press with experienced ease. “You wouldn’t have to get up at such an ungodly hour if you lived in town.”
Kit was tired of the same old argument. “The ranch is my home.”
Crossing the room to the press, she studied the letters David had strung together:
FRANK ROSS SENTENCED TO LIFE IMPRISONMENT
.
Her knees unexpectedly trembled, threatening to collapse beneath her. “Wasn’t that the man who killed Judge Cordell?”
David nodded. “That’s right. His son finally captured him. You haven’t heard, have you?”
“What?”
The newspaperman’s hands paused in his task, and he gazed at Kit. “Jake Cordell is back in Chaney.”
Panic widened Kit’s eyes. “Jake’s back in town?”
Disgust flitted across David’s classically handsome features. “Cordell got drunk last night and Jameson threw him in jail. Some legend.” He brushed back a lank of sandy hair from his forehead with ink-stained fingers. “How long will you be in town?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied distractedly.
Jake had returned to Chaney! The last time she’d seen him had been at Judge Cordell’s funeral six years ago. Jake hadn’t even recognized her, and she’d been too busy with her own ailing father to offer her condolences.
“Is he still in jail?”
“I suppose,” he said. “I was planning on interviewing him later, after he’s sobered up.”
Kit moved toward the door. “I’ve got to go.”
“You just got here.”
She shook her head. “I have to go see Jake Cordell.”
He sighed. “I know you’ve read all those dreadful novels about him, but the real Cordell is much different from the fabricated hero.”
Kit glared at David. “How would you know? Maybe he had a good reason for getting drunk.”
“Or maybe that’s his usual state.”
“Or maybe you’re jealous,” she retorted.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I knew those books would be a bad influence on you, Kit, but I didn’t say anything. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so lenient.”
“Lenient?” Incredulous, Kit stared at him. “You bought my father’s newspaper,
not
his daughter.”
Hurt replaced David’s haughty expression. “It’s only that you need a man to take care of you. I knew your
father, and he’d have wanted me to look after you.”
Livid heat crawled up Kit’s neck. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I have to go.”
“All right, but when Cordell doesn’t measure up to his reputation, remember what I said.”
Kit wanted to deny his words. Jake Cordell
was
a hero; he was
her
hero—but the words stuck in her throat. “Good-bye, David.”
Ignoring the bustling people on the boardwalk, she hurried to the police station. There was no reason to think Jake would recognize her now; she bore little resemblance to the shy, chubby girl with spectacles he’d protected as a child.
Suddenly uncertain she wanted to see Jake after a night of drunkenness, she slowed as she approached the stone building. Would he resemble the boy she’d known at all?
It didn’t matter. She owed him.
Kit opened the door and entered.
“Top o’ the mornin’, lass,” O’Hara said with a wide grin.
Met with such a friendly greeting, Kit smiled back. “Good morning, Patrick.”
“What can I be doin’ for you on such a beautiful mornin’?” O’Hara frowned and leaned forward. “Nothin’s happened to Johnny, has it?”
She laid a reassuring hand on his forearm. “No, he’s fine. Pete is watching him.”
