Sourdough Creek (12 page)

He gently pushed her to a sitting position on the side of the bed and reached for her boot. She drew it back abruptly out of his hands. “I can do that.”

The corners of his mouth tilted up as he rocked back on his heels. “Still as prickly as ever, huh? It’s just a boot the last time I checked.”

“Oh, really? And to think I thought it was a turnip,” she retorted, trying to put some emotional space between them. “I can take it off by myself.”

Sam stood, shaking his head, but his grin remained. “Sometimes I think the fairies dropped you in my path just so you could aggravate me and torture my every waking moment.” His eyebrows arched, making him devilishly handsome.

Cassie looked away and mentally chastised herself. She liked Sam Ridgeway way too much.
Certainly
more than she ever expected to. She felt flustered with his nearness.

“Well, suit yourself, then,” he said when she didn’t respond. “Leave your boots on if it’ll make you feel better.”

At the door, he turned back. “But, don’t you dare show your face downstairs until you’ve slept at least—” he looked to the window where the early morning light filtered in, “—at least two hours. We’ll be watching over Josephine. She’s fighting the infection, so don’t worry. Get some sleep.” He closed the door quietly behind him.

Cassie sat for a moment, and then slowly removed her boots. She was stiff and sore, and her eyelids fairly drooped. She lay back onto the soft quilt and pulled a corner of the cover over her body, a weary sigh escaping her lips. She closed her eyes.

After three ticks from the clock on the nightstand, her eyes eased open and she glanced around. Was it just her imagination, or was the room more shadowy now that Sam had gone? Around the highboy and under a brown corduroy chair that sat sadly along the wall, darkness seemed to shift softly, as if to taunt her. When something moved in her peripheral vision, she jerked the quilt over her head. Moments passed. She peeked out. It was just the breeze waving the curtain. Still, the quiet
tick, tick, tick
, sent a tiny shiver up her spine. It felt odd to be in the doctor’s room—and on his bed—with his passing away just moments ago. She took a deep breath, glancing at the tintype of him on the wall. Was his soul still lingering nearby?

She was too worn out to worry over anything. Her eyes drifted down, and she let the tension that had been building in her body fade from her thoughts. “The Lord is my shepherd,” she whispered. “There is nothing I lack. In green pastures you let me graze…”

Sam stood patiently at the closed door, his ear pressed against it, making sure Cassie wasn’t going to get up. She was mumbling something. So many responsibilities on her small shoulders. When the soft drone of her voice quieted, he tip-toed down the stairs.

With enough light now coming in the window, Sam turned down the wick in the lamp and put the flame out. People braving Main Street were out talking excitedly about the shooting that had jarred them from their beds. Sam opened the door, looking for Jonathan, but found the two boys from the saloon instead. They were sitting on the chairs outside the door.

“Howdy,” one offered, jumping to his feet. His brown hair fell into his eyes and he quickly pushed it back.

“You’re the boys from the saloon this morning.”

They nodded. “I’m Frankie, and he’s Bill. Jonathan is our brother.”

Sam stepped out and shut the door, keeping his voice low. “I thought as much. I’m looking for Jonathan now. Do either of you know where he is?”

“Yes, sir,” Bill answered. “He’s down at the jail, guarding Spencer.”

Jonathan was going to get himself killed yet.

“I’d like you,” Sam said, gesturing to Bill, the taller of the two, “to run down there and tell Jonathan that the doctor is dead and we need to discuss what we’re going to do about it.”

Both boys’ eyes opened wide.

“Also tell him to circulate the word that we’re having another meeting at ten this morning, back in the bar. Is there an undertaker in town?”

Frankie shook his head. “He died. But there’s still a few coffins left in the back of the mercantile.”

“Good. Go tell whoever’s in charge we’ll need one this afternoon.”

Frankie turned to go.

“Hold on,” Sam said, handing the boy a silver dollar he pulled from his pocket. “When you’re done with that, stop over to the café and get three plates of breakfast. That should cover the cost. If it’s not enough, tell them the new sheriff will settle up a little later on today.”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison, and hurried off.

Chapter Twenty-One

S
am didn’t have to wait long before he heard footsteps on the boardwalk and the door opened.

“Good morning, Sheriff Ridgeway. I’m Grace Hearthgrove. I’ve—” Unable to go on she dabbed at her puffy, red eyes with a handkerchief that was twisted in her hand. “I’m sorry. I just got the news about David.” She stopped and looked away for a moment. Her voice was smooth as honey, with a soft southern drawl.

Sam marveled at how fast the news had traveled. A warm, cinnamon scent followed her through the doorway. She was tall and slender and a few years older than he. Her chestnut hair was piled high on her head, with several locks falling down around her attractive face. “I just returned this morning to the heart-breaking news,” she continued. “Where is his…”

Sam pointed to Annabelle’s room. “In there, ma’am. But,” he added quickly as she turned to go, “I’m sorry to be so tactless—but…” he began again. “As you know, the doctor is already dead, but this little girl here, isn’t.” He indicated Josephine, lying on the examination table. “She has a high fever. Is there anything you might know of to help bring it down?”

Seeming to see Josephine for the first time since entering the room, a small sound escaped her mouth and she went over to the child’s side. “Of course, Sheriff Ridgeway. There will be time for grieving later. I’ll do whatever I can.” She placed the back of her hand on Josephine’s forehead, and then ran it down her cheek. “She’s extremely hot. What happened?”

“She was scratched by an animal and it’s gone into infection.” In his mind he could see Josephine standing on the cliff’s edge, her eyes as round as saucers as she firmly gripped her cat. He pointed to the marks on Josephine’s small arm.

Grace Hearthgrove looked at Josephine for several moments. She lifted each eyelid. “We packed her in ice a few hours ago. I think it helped. And the doctor’s daughter put sulfur on her wound.”

“Both very good.” She nodded in thought. “At this point, I’m afraid it’s mostly up to her. Our efforts will be for our own peace of mind, with the outcome left to God.” She smiled sadly at him again across Josephine’s small, unconscious body. “But that won’t stop us from trying, will it? Is she your daughter?”

Sam shook his head. He could see she had more questions, but kept them to herself.

She went back to the door and opened it, looking up and down the street until she saw someone. She waved, calling, “Mr. Fennimore, over here. Can you go over to my house and wake my father? Tell him I need some goldenseal, as much as we have, and bring it to me. Can you do that?”

Sam heard a mumbled response.

“And then go over to the ice house and get me a load of ice. I need it right away.”

Sam looked around the woman to the door. The one-legged man stood there, his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry to hear about David,” he said to her. “Such a sorrowful shame. And the two of you to be wed next week.”

The woman straightened, as if gathering her courage. “That it is, Mr. Fennimore. Thank you for your kind words, but now time is of the essence. Can you hurry?”

He slapped the tattered, black hat back on his head and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

She closed the door. “If you could get me some tepid water, Sheriff Ridgeway, I’ll give her a little bath while we wait. That will help cool her.”

***

Air caressed Cassie’s face, causing her eyelids to flutter. She was so warm and comfortable, languishing in a sea of utter euphoria. Then a strange sound made her eyes pop open with a sense of urgency. Someone was lurking nearby. She lay still.

Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. Was this somebody’s house? Fatigue, stronger than her fear, drifted over her like a heavy blanket, numbing her limbs and immobilizing her. Then another bump on the windowsill made her catch her breath.

“
Meoooow
.”

Cassie pushed up on her elbow and looked up. Ashes! Not only alive, but standing right there in the bedroom window. The cat jumped down effortlessly and started rubbing against the carved leg of the big mahogany bed, mewing her every complaint.

Cassie reached for the cat and held her close to her face, relishing her warm, soft-as-silk fur. “I thought you were dead! You aren’t hurt, are you?” she asked, quickly turning her upside-down and rolling her back and forth, looking for any type of wound.

Ashes purred all the louder, obviously happy to be reunited. Cassie set her on the quilt and the cat flopped over instantly, her paws kneading the cover. She stared at her mistress in a long, shuttered gaze.

“I’m glad you woke me up,” she said quietly to the cat. “I may have slept all day if not for you.” She slipped her boots on and tied up the laces.

Halfway down the staircase Cassie stopped, an unfamiliar voice drifting up to her. It wasn’t Annabelle. And it certainly wasn’t Josephine. Cassie took a slow step, listening to the soft, silky, unhurried words, her hand tracing down the hallway railing as she went. She stopped in the doorway. A woman stroked her sister’s forehead with a rag and then dipped it into a basin of water. Although she didn’t think so, Cassie must have made some sort of sound because the woman turned around.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I
s everyone here?” Sam asked Jonathan in the back of the saloon, the morning well underway. They’d pulled some chairs into rows so they could have a meeting without the attendees thinking too much about drinking.

Sam had eaten a portion of the blackened bacon and plenteous flapjacks that Frank had gotten from the Blue Bell, leaving more than enough for the remaining people in the house, including Cassie.

The doctor’s fiancée had prepared his plate, smothering the warm, doughy cakes in melted butter and syrup from the doctor’s icebox, making Sam feel a wee bit uncomfortable at being helped to another man’s provisions. He’d been hungry though, and had eaten his fill at her encouragement.

Jonathan looked around. “This is everyone.” It was the same group as before, with two additional young men around the ages of Frankie and Bill. The two drunks slept on in the corner, never having left the saloon at all.

“Wake up those two,” Sam directed.

Frankie went over and picked one of the men up off his face using a handful of hair and began firmly patting his cheek. When this failed the bartender handed the boy a bucket of water and the youth dumped it over their heads. They came up sputtering.

“What the heck,” Larry cried, blinking and trying to figure out what just happened. When he saw Chester in the same condition he was in, he began to laugh.

Sam cleared his throat. “Men, thanks for coming back. As you know we have some planning to do. We don’t know when the outlaws will make their next move, but I believe it will be sooner rather than later.”

Walter had removed the white apron he’d had on the last time Sam had seen him banging the gavel on the bar top, and now had two six-guns strapped to his hips. In one hand he held a rifle and in the other a biscuit, crumbs from which dotted his mustache.

Sam looked at a stout farmer with his bulging legs and arms. “Your name?”

“Broxton Lee. But I go by Brox.”

It will be easy to remember his name, Sam thought fighting a smile. It rhymed with ox, an animal he resembled.

“You?”

The one-legged man stood a little straighter in response, his suspenders taut on his shoulders.

“Jasper Fennimore.” He sniffed and looked around the room importantly. “Friends call me Jasper.”

A few men laughed and Sam held up a hand. “As of now we know we have three men outside of town and one in the jail. That’s not a solid number—there could be more. Those are just the ones we’re sure about.”

As he looked from face to face, Sam felt as if he had a boulder in the pit of his stomach. What were their odds against a bunch of outlaws? He needed to keep Cassie and Josephine and the rest of these townsfolk safe.

“We all saw what kind of men we’re dealing with by the one who rode in here this morning shooting at anything and anyone. Not to mention murdering the sheriff and brutally beating the doctor to death. They don’t care who they kill in their quest to free their leader. Now, I’m not thinking we have many sharpshooters here. Am I right?”

Walter elevated his rifle.

“I saw this morning just how sharp
you
are. It’s a wonder your wild shot didn’t kill an innocent bystander,” Sam said, leaning over and pressing the rifle back to the bartender’s side. “What we have to remember is that this is a town filled with women and children, and these houses aren’t made of rock. Every shot has to count. I don’t want any unnecessary shooting on our part, sending bullets everywhere. That’s why we’re going to do things a little differently from the usual shoot-out. If it came to that, we would be outnumbered and out-gunned. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“What exactly are you thinking?” Jonathan asked. His hat was tipped back, eyes earnest.

“Brox, you have a couple of strong horses you use for plowing?”

“Sure I do.”

“I want you to go get them.” Sam motioned to the group of boys sitting together. “Take one of these fellows to help you. On your way back find a couple of big logs and bring them along.”

Broxton stood. “Come on, Danny.” The boy jumped up importantly and took off after the farmer, who was already out the door.