The Outlaw's Return (22 page)

M
ary didn't expect J.T. to show up to wash dishes, and he didn't. She served breakfast as usual and then went upstairs to check on her sister. When Adie arrived with a box of chocolates for Gertie, she told Mary that J.T.'s buckskin was missing from the carriage house, but that he'd left his pack horse.

“Maybe he just went for a ride,” Mary said hopefully.

“I don't think so.” Adie's eyes filled with sympathy. “Someone kicked down the side door to the Newcastle.”

It had to be J.T. Mary imagined Roy dead at his desk with a bullet between his eyes. She hated the man, but she couldn't tolerate murder. She braced herself for bad news. “Has anyone seen Roy?”

“Josh saw him this morning.”

Relief flooded through her, but it disappeared in a wave of fresh worry. Had Roy bested J.T.? It was possible but unlikely. She'd been about to bring Gertie a lunch tray, but she set it down and headed for the door. “I have to find J.T.”

Adie gripped her arm. “You can't go after him.”

“Why not?”

“Roy might try to hurt you the way he hurt Gertie. Josh is talking to Deputy Morgan right now, then he'll go to J.T.'s boardinghouse. Brick offered to check Market Street, and some of the other workers are looking, too.”

J.T. had friends, and he didn't even know it. Mary felt a bit calmer, but nothing could ease the burden of having parted with angry words. She'd thought a lot about Caroline's story. She could forgive J.T. for anything, and she loved him enough to wait for him to come to his senses. She might not always trust J.T.'s judgment, but she could trust God. She just had to be patient.

Adie broke into her thoughts. “Do you have any idea where J.T. might be?”

She thought for a minute. If Roy was walking around Denver, J.T. would have stayed in town to watch him. Was he lying low until Lassen made a move? Perhaps he was setting up a ruse of his own for Roy and Griff Lassen. The other possibility, that he was dead or dying, scared her to death.

“He could be anywhere,” she admitted to Adie.

Her friend squeezed her hand. “When J.T.'s ready, he'll come to you.”

“I hope so.”

“He loves you,” Adie said with confidence. “He'll be back.”

Mary wanted to believe her, but she knew life could be unkind. She didn't always understand God's ways, but she could pray for J.T. with every breath. It was the best and only thing she could do.

 

The remainder of the first day passed with J.T. trying to climb out of the air shaft. He found a rope, but it
crumbled in his fingers. Even if it had been strong, what could he have done with it? His shoulder was hanging like a broken wing, and he'd fallen too far.

He took off his gun belt and set it on the ground. Of all the useless things to have…he needed water and food, a blanket and clothes that weren't soaked in sweat. He needed someone with a rope and a horse to pull him out, but no one knew where he'd gone. He controlled his fear by looking up at the circle of sky, but dusk brought total darkness. He preferred physical pain to the panic, so he decided to try and fix his shoulder.

Lying flat, he maneuvered the arm forward and back. His groans echoed in the shaft, but he worked the joint until it popped into place. Relief from the pain was instant, but the panic made him sweat again, and sweating reminded him of how badly he needed water. He tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue felt sticky and dry. A man couldn't go long without water, and J.T. had consumed just one cup of coffee at breakfast. The day before he'd been so worried about Mary that he hadn't eaten anything, and he didn't recall drinking more than a few sips of water while cleaning the café. The coolness of the mine worked to his advantage, but he didn't have more than three days, maybe four, before he'd be a corpse.

Fighting to stay calm, he searched the patch of sky for even a single star. A white dot emerged from the gloom, growing brighter as he stared. He wanted to pray, but he'd pushed God away. Mary had pleaded with him to wait before going after Roy, and he'd pushed her away, too. Now he was buried alive and Roy was walking around Denver, a threat to Mary and her family. He wanted to shout and break things, but no one would hear him and he had nothing to hit. Instead, he closed his eyes and
recalled the nights Fancy Girl had warmed his toes. He remembered his talk with Gus about babies and love, and mostly he thought about Mary. For a short time, she'd carried his child. He couldn't think of a more generous gift, and what had he given her in return? Nothing but heartache.

His leg cramped, a sign of needing water. Straightening it to kill the pain, he opened his eyes and looked again at the star. It hadn't moved, and he drew comfort from the point of light. He'd have given anything to climb out of the hole, but he could only lie in the dark, dreaming of Mary and wishing he'd done things differently.

 

On the second day, Mary woke up early and dressed for church. She'd never seen Gus so glum, and Gertie's mood matched the plum-colored bruises on her face. The girl didn't feel ready to answer questions, so she asked to stay home from the Sunday service. Gertie needed time to heal, so Mary hugged her sister and left with Gus.

They arrived at Brick's place early. Instead of an empty saloon, she found Josh in a circle of men, quizzing them for news about J.T. Brick had made another tour of Market Street, and he'd learned J.T. had met with Roy at the Alhambra. The meeting had seemed amiable to the barkeep, and the men had left separately and an hour apart. Mary didn't know what to think. Had J.T. set up a future confrontation with Roy? And what had happened to Griff Lassen? No one knew what he looked like, which made finding him impossible.

Just as disheartening, Josh had made a second visit to J.T.'s boardinghouse. This time he'd asked the landlady to unlock the door and he'd inspected the room. Wherever J.T. had gone, he'd taken his things.

When people started arriving for the service, the
meeting broke up. Mary took her place in the front row, but she couldn't stop turning to the door with the hope she'd see J.T. She sang the usual hymns, but today they brought no comfort. She could believe J.T. would do something stupid to Roy, but she couldn't believe he'd leave without a final goodbye. He loved her. He loved Fancy Girl, and he cared about Gus. Nor would he have left Denver with Roy still a threat.

At the end of the service, Josh led a prayer for J.T.'s safety, ending it with a hushed “Amen.” He gave the usual invitation to supper at Swan's Nest, but Mary made excuses and left. Alone and scared, she walked the streets, looking in every crevice and corner for the man she loved, until her feet were sore and her knees were throbbing. At the end of the day, she dragged herself up the steps to her apartment.

Gus came out of his room. “Is he coming back?” he asked.

“I hope so.”

But with every minute, she grew more convinced he was dying or dead. Aching inside, she went to the window and stared at the horizon. Clouds towered in the west, boiling and churning as thunder announced the coming of a storm. Mary bowed her head. “Please, Lord,” she said out loud. “Keep J.T. safe. Show Yourself to him, and remind him that You love him.”

Choking on tears, she whispered, “I love him, too.” She'd have given anything to have said the words before he left. Instead she'd let him leave in bitter silence. Tomorrow she'd look for him again. She'd search until she found him, just as he'd been looking for her when he'd come to Denver.

 

J.T.'s second day in the mine began with a shift in the light from black to gray. His belly ached with hunger,
and his throat felt as dry as sand. Predictably, his head hurt worse than yesterday. He could move his shoulder but not easily. As the hours passed, the pain sharpened his thoughts to the simplest of facts.

He was going to die here.

He'd left Gus without saying goodbye.

He'd never see his dog again.

Worst of all, he'd left Mary twisting in the wind. Not only had he left her in danger from Roy, but she'd never know what had happened to him. They'd quarreled, but J.T. didn't doubt she cared for him. By dying in this hole, he'd done the unthinkable to the woman he loved. He'd left her to worry and wonder forever.

“Mary, forgive me,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes and pictured her face. Two days ago he'd earned back her trust. He'd had hopes for marriage and had wanted to find a decent way to make a living. He'd dared to believe that God cared. Then Gertie had been attacked, and again he'd lost confidence in anyone but himself. Prideful and sure, he'd dug this grave with his arrogance.

For hours he stared at the circle of sky. As the sun rose to high noon, the pale glow turned into hot gold. It warmed his face and blinded him with the same light. He couldn't see, couldn't blink. He felt the goodness of the light and almost wept. He wanted to be a man, not a squalling child, so he took a breath to steady himself. It worked, but just barely.

More hours passed. His mouth turned to cotton and he felt feverish from lack of water. He thought of Fancy Girl and the puppies and how she'd licked them into life. He relived the camping trip with Gus and the water fight, the way he'd fallen back in the stream and how the water had rushed over him. He imagined Mary singing songs
he'd heard in Abilene, then the hymn she'd been singing when he'd found her in church. Two weeks had passed, but it seemed like a lifetime.

He tried to moisten his lips, but he didn't have enough spit. He wished he'd stayed with Mary. He wished he'd done things her way instead of his own. His belly hurt with hunger, but the thirst plagued him far more. He had the shakes and his legs wouldn't stop cramping. He didn't have much time, maybe a day or two. The end would come soon. He'd go crazy and soil himself like a baby. He'd die alone and without dignity.

His gaze slid to his gun belt. He looked at the Colt for several minutes, then he stretched his arm and curled his fingers around the ivory handle. He slid the pistol from the holster, pulled it to his side and closed his eyes. He imagined the gun barrel in his mouth. It would taste like metal and gun oil, smoke and traces of sulfur. He knew exactly how far to cock the hammer, how gently to pull the trigger for a clean, quick shot.

He opened his eyes wide and stared at the patch of sky, refusing to blink as the blue vanished behind a cloud. Instead of blocking the sun, the cloud made it brighter. He recalled standing on the roof of the church and how he'd longed to take off his guns. He remembered Fancy giving birth, how he'd cried out and how God had answered. And he remembered praying with Josh and calling God by name.

“I don't know how you can stand me, Lord Jesus,” J.T. said to the cloud. “You know how weak I am, how stubborn and stupid. You saved Fancy Girl, and I turned my back on You. You gave Mary to me, and I walked out on her. And Gus—” He thought of the boy standing up to him. “I walked out on him, too.”

J.T. tried to swallow but couldn't. There was nothing
left in him, not even a drop of spit. He licked his lips, felt the dryness and spoke again to the unreachable sky.

“I don't deserve another chance, Lord. But I'm begging You to be good to Mary. I love her and I let her down. Keep her safe. And Gus—” he could barely speak. “Help him grow into a good man, a better man than me. And for Gertie, heal her nose and help her to grow up.” He thought next of Fancy Girl. “Fancy's just a dog, but I love her. Make sure she has lots of bones and someone to scratch her.”

He took comfort in knowing Mary would give his dog a good home. She'd always had a heart for strays. He thought of the way she loved him when he didn't deserve it and how she saw the good in him when there wasn't any. He took a final breath. “Spare Mary the pain of missing me, Lord. I have so many regrets—” He choked on his dry tongue. “I wish—I wish I'd trusted You.”

Trust Him now.

The thought was in his head, but it seemed as loud as thunder. He thought of the hot bench, vengeance, darkness and turning the other cheek. He thought of Gus, boys eating hotcakes, puppies being born and Gertie running home to her family. Mostly he thought of Mary and the baby they'd lost, how much he loved her and how she'd forgiven him.

J.T. had asked God to show Himself, and He had. He was showing Himself now in a shaft of light that pierced the dark of this living grave. J.T. had taken fourteen lives. He'd hurt the people he loved. He'd done terrible things, yet the light had found him in the darkness, and he knew the light to be love. It pinned him to the ground and on his back. He couldn't fight and he didn't want to try. The light warmed him to the bones. It comforted him and promised hope. He felt the mercy of it on his face
and knew he'd lost this final battle. He had no right to take another life, not even his own. Defeated by love, he shoved the gun out of reach.

He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. He felt a tear on his cheek, except it wasn't warm. Another one trickled toward his ear. His eyelids flew open and he looked at the sky. Instead of a burning white mist, he saw the gray bottom of a thunderhead. A drop of water hit his cheek, then another…and another. Rain…blessed rain was falling from the sky.

Bolting upright, he stared at the sheen of water mixing with silvery light. Thunder rolled down the shaft. He blinked and the mist turned into a torrent of rain. Laughing crazily, he tipped his face upward and opened his mouth. He tasted the water on his tongue, felt the moisture on his lips and cheeks. The water was coming in buckets, running down the sides of the shaft and making puddles the size of wagon wheels. When he'd drunk his fill, he grabbed his hat and held it to catch a supply for later. He wouldn't die today and probably not tomorrow. He didn't know when he'd die, but he wouldn't die alone. God had shown Himself yet again, and J.T. wouldn't ever forget.