The Rustler (19 page)

Doc slapped him on the shoulder. “I'd say he was right to do it. Now, let's get those hands of yours treated.”

 

W
YATT HAD BANDAGES
on both hands, and he looked disconsolate, as well as dirty from head to foot.

Sarah, who had slept away the morning, was up and dressed now, about to put the midday meal on the table. Her father would be home from the bank soon, to have his lunch, and Owen was playing in the backyard, with Lonesome, who was slow but managing to move about a little.

She would have been pleased to see Wyatt standing there, if it hadn't been for the bandages.

Seeing her concern, Wyatt managed a slight smile. “I'm all right, Sarah,” he said. “Doc just wanted to fuss a little, so I let him.”

Relief swept through her. “Sit down,” she said. “You must be starved.”

He nodded, almost shyly, drew back a chair, and sat.

“You've been with Doc all morning?” Sarah prattled, unable to help herself.

“Most of it,” Wyatt said. “We had to bury those bodies.”

Sarah sobered, nodded. Set a cup of fresh coffee and a plate of sandwiches before him, loving the feeling it gave her. For the briefest fraction of a moment, before her practical side took over again, she allowed herself to pretend they were husband and wife.

The bandages made eating his sandwich an awkward proposition, but Wyatt bravely undertook it. He was clearly starved—the breakfast Ephriam had prepared had probably worn off a long time ago.

“You're entitled to a second helping,” Sarah said, when he'd finished.

He grinned. “Thanks,” he said, “but the first will hold me, I think. Aren't you going to eat?”

Sarah merely shook her head. Then she went to the back door and called for Owen. The dog followed him inside, laboriously, but with an eagerness that touched Sarah's heart in a very tender place. She gave Lonesome a plate of cold sausage gravy, and he lapped it up gratefully while Owen washed his hands at the sink.

Sarah knew perfect happiness in those few minutes; the world, always fractured before, seemed, well,
complete.
Made whole by the mere presence of a man, a boy and a dog.

When the back door sprang open, though, and Ephriam stomped in, the fleeting joy was gone. Clearly, from his red face, quivering whispers, and one waving hand, something was wrong.

“Telegram from Charles Langstreet,” he announced.

Sarah felt the floor go soft beneath her, like a thin blanket suspended by its four corners and ready to rip.
Don't be alarmed,
she told herself.
It probably concerns the money he promised to send for keeping Owen.

Owen, who had just taken his seat at the table, face and hands still wet from washing up, stared at Ephriam with an expression just shy of terror.

Her hands trembling a little, Sarah took the wire, which was inside an envelope, and broke the seal. Inside, she found a Western Union voucher for a sizable amount of money and a terse message.

Marjory ill. I will be detained in Philadelphia, once I arrive there, for several weeks, if not longer. Please see that Owen enrolls in school. C.L.

Sarah felt relief—and fury. Charles had sent money and instructions. But
not one affectionate word
for his son.

“Is he coming for me?” Owen asked, pale. “Do I have to leave Stone Creek?”

Sarah went to her child, laid a hand on his shoulder, though she would have preferred to gather him into her arms and hold him very close. “No, Owen,” she said quietly. “Your mother is unwell, and he may be detained for a few weeks. He's asked me to put you in school.”

It was the first day of September—classes would be starting up at the schoolhouse soon, with Fiona officiating.

“I hope he never comes back,” Owen said.

Wyatt, Sarah and Ephriam all looked at him.

“Owen,” Sarah scolded, “what a terrible thing to say!”

“He'll just leave me somewhere else,” Owen insisted, sticking out his chin and folding his arms across his narrow chest. “If I'm going to be left, why can't I stay here with you and Ephriam and Wyatt and Lonesome?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wyatt react to the child's words. “Lonesome and I won't be around long,” he said. “Rowdy and Sam are on their way home, on account of the jailhouse blowing up, and we'll be living out on Sam's ranch.”

“Can I visit you?” Owen wanted to know.

Sarah put her hand to her throat. She'd known Wyatt's plans, but she'd hoped for a little more time before he moved out.

“I reckon you'll be in school,” Wyatt said.

“I'm already smart,” Owen said. “I don't need school.”

“You definitely need school,” Sarah said.

“All I've got are stupid back-East clothes,” Owen argued. His trunks had been brought over from the hotel upon Charles's hasty departure, and they were filled with velvets and wool. “The other kids will call me a sissy.”

Sarah waved the Western Union voucher. “We'll go over to the mercantile and get you some new ones,” she said.

Owen brightened a little. “Long pants? Boots, like Wyatt's?”

“Long pants and boots like Wyatt's,” Sarah confirmed, smiling, even though her throat felt thick and her eyes stung.

“And a six-gun?” Owen pressed.

“No six-gun,” Sarah said.

Ephriam, who had watched the whole exchange in silence, hung his hat on the peg with a harrumph, washed his hands at the sink, and sat down next to Owen.

Sarah served them both lunch, and refilled Wyatt's coffee cup.

“Best put the Henson place up for sale,” Ephriam said, causing Wyatt to sit up straighter in his chair, for a reason Sarah did not understand. “We've got too many abandoned farms and ranches on the books.”

“How much?” Wyatt asked.

“How much what?” Ephriam boomed, grabbing up a sandwich with both hands.

“How much are you planning to ask for the Henson place?”

“Three hundred and fifty dollars,” Ephriam said decisively. “It would have been worth five, if it wasn't so run-down. Sarah, we can't be lending money to every footloose yahoo with a yen to start up in the cattle business. What possessed you to let Hiram Henson have that place on a five-dollar down payment?”

Sarah stood perfectly still, watching Wyatt. Her heart rose into her throat and fluttered there, though she could not think of a single reason why she ought to be excited. She was, though. She surely was.

Then she remembered the question her father had put to her. “Hiram seemed like a hard worker,” she said, “and he had a family, so he needed what he had to buy food for the winter.”

Her father harrumphed again. “We're running a bank, Sarah, not a charity.”

Wyatt, interested only a moment before, was now staring down into his coffee cup. There was a slight stoop to his broad shoulders.

Had he been thinking of buying the Henson place? Sarah wondered. Settling down, right outside of Stone Creek? Her heart fluttered even more.

“Of course,” Ephriam went on, intent on his sandwich, and talking between bites, “if I could find somebody handy enough to fix it up, we could write the mortgage for the full three hundred and fifty and count the work as a down payment.”

Wyatt lifted his head, and his shoulders straightened. “How much land comes with it?” he asked quietly.

“Fifty acres or so, if I recall correctly, and there's a spring, too.” If Ephriam had guessed that Wyatt wanted that old place, he gave no sign of it. On the other hand, he was a crafty old cuss when he was in his right mind, and the chances were good that he knew exactly what he was doing. “You ever done any carpentry work? Rowdy's pretty handy with a hammer and saw. Does it run in the family?”

Wyatt's grin dazzled Sarah, bright as a winter sun gleaming on snow. “Yes, sir,” he said. “It sure does.”

Sarah wanted to hug her father.

“Reckon you ought to ride out and take a look at the place, then. If you're of a mind to take up ranching, I can have the mortgage papers ready by closing time. First payment is due one year from today, and if you fail to meet it, don't think I won't foreclose.”

Wyatt stood up, put out a bandaged hand to Ephriam, who looked at it with raised eyebrows, then turned a satisfied little smile on Sarah.

“I'll have another sandwich, if you please,” he said.

Wyatt thanked Sarah for the meal, set his plate and coffee cup in the sink, and went out.

“Time to give Lonesome some more medicine,” Owen said.

Sarah did the honors, and the dog lapsed into sleep again.

“Can we go buy my school clothes now?” Owen asked. “Can we go see the school?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, giving in, for the first time, to the urge to ruffle his hair. It felt like silk between her fingers.

Sarah crossed the room, put out a hand to her father. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, as he squeezed her fingers affectionately.

“It feels good to be running the bank again,” Ephriam said. “No telling how long it will last, though. You've done a good job, Sarah, but you're too soft-hearted to be a banker.”

She smiled, bent, and kissed the top of Ephriam's head.

Soon after that, she and Owen went out, heading for the mercantile. Ephriam remained behind to eat his second sandwich.

While Owen was trying on long pants, cotton and flannel shirts, and boots, selecting tablets and pencil boxes, Sarah stood at the mercantile window, watching as her father reopened the bank, having closed it for the lunch hour, as he always had.

He had come back, the strong, confident father she had always known. With luck, the interval would last until Charles had returned, gone through the ledgers at the bank, and found everything in good order.

But when Charles left the second time, he would take Owen with him.

Sarah blinked back tears at the thought.

“Sarah?”

She turned, saw Kitty standing behind her. She hadn't realized the other woman was in the store.

Kitty's face was waxen; she hadn't applied the usual paint and powder and kohl to darken her eyelashes. “I had a letter,” she said, in a strangled whisper.

All thoughts of asking Kitty why she'd lied about finding her children fled Sarah's mind. The woman looked shattered, even shrunken, standing there in her ordinary calico dress. If not for the improbably red hair, she might have been a ranch wife, come to town for supplies.

“A letter?” Sarah asked, concerned. She took Kitty's arm and led her over to the bench where people sat to try on shoes, sat her down firmly.

“It's from—it's from Davina,” Kitty said. Tears rose in her eyes, and she sniffled.

“Is she all right?” Sarah asked.

“She's coming here,” Kitty replied, fitful, almost moaning the words. “She's been hired to teach school right here in Stone Creek!”

Sarah took Kitty's hand in her own. “But we already have a teacher—”

“I don't know about that,” Kitty said. “All I know is, my baby is coming to Stone Creek, and she's going to find out—”

“You've been corresponding with her?”

Kitty bit her lower lip, nodded. When she met Sarah's gaze, her eyes were full of sorrow. “I'm sorry I lied to you, Sarah. I don't know why I did it—I guess I liked having you and Maddie and Lark act like friends—”

“Kitty, we
are
your friends.” Sarah watched as Owen gathered school things, laid them on the counter in a pile to be paid for. She understood only too well how Kitty felt, and all the reasons there were to lie. All the countless reasons, every one of them a trap bound to spring at the least opportune time.

“I've got to move on,” Kitty said frantically. “Pack up and go. I told Davina I was a rancher's wife. The minute she steps off that train, she's going to know what I really am.”

“Kitty, you're her mother. You must want to see how she's turned out—”

“I want that more than I ever wanted anything,” she said. “But it's too late, Sarah. I've told so many lies. And Davina grew up with a doctor and his wife. She's educated, and cultured. I can't meet her train like—like I am.”

Sarah was subdued. She'd chosen a different path in life than Kitty had, it was true, but if it hadn't been for her father's understanding and support, she might well have ended up in a brothel herself. Her degree in music wasn't worth much when it came to earning a living—her parents had insisted on it, primarily because they wanted her to attract a husband with a taste for the finer things—and she knew only too well how despair could drag people down into circumstances that would normally be far beneath them.