Unbroken Hearts (19 page)

    
Their voices bended together like a
flowing stream. Cal's bass wove through Emily's contralto. Roy joined them and
the trickle ran to a river full of harmony, so lovely that Sarah's eyes shone
bright with pleasure. When the song finally ended the room fell silent. Mist
clouded the eyes of the mute group in the Easton parlor, but most deeply
touched was Mrs. Easton. Cal leaned forward, quietly untied his bandanna, and
gently wiped tears from his mother's face.

    
He swallowed. "Now I'll bet you
thought ranchers like us couldn't sing. Mama taught us that, too." Then he
smiled and lightly kissed Mrs. Easton on her cheek, but he couldn't keep his
eyes off of Sarah.

    
She played another waltz, and Emily danced
again.

    
Sarah didn't want the evening to end, and,
from the looks of it, neither did Cal or Roy or Mrs. Easton. After nearly two
hours of singing, laughing, and dancing, they were all exhausted. The Easton
household retired to their beds, each feeling more like they were truly a
family.

Chapter 17

    
Sarah wore her new combs. She hummed as
she scrubbed egg from a cast iron frying pan. Cal had woken early and prodded Sarah
to get Mama dressed quickly, telling her that he and Roy were going out to rope
strays. The men shoveled down their biscuits with gravy, gulped their coffee,
and flew out the door.

    
When Sarah gave Emily the choice of doing
her sums or scrubbing pots she promptly chose math on the porch with Mama. Ned
was cutting firewood, and his chopping echoed off the bunkhouse and barn.

    
Sarah was cleaning up when she heard
horses whickering in the front yard.

    
Emily opened the front door and shouted
down the hall.
 

     
"Sareee, we got company!"

    
Hastily she wiped her hands on a towel,
walked to the front door, pausing momentarily at the high shelf where the
Winchester rifle was kept. Cal had never mentioned what she should do if strangers
came when he was away. Through a side window she spied Ned on the porch. She
decided it was needless worry.
 

    
When she poked her head out the door her
eyes met with Sheriff Aiken, alongside a stranger, who looked like one of the
miners from town. The strange man was standing beside a supply-laden mule with
a stocking on the right front leg; she was sure it was one Roy had taken up to
the mining camp.

     
Aiken pushed his hat back on his
head, leaned against the rail and smiled. "Howdy, Miss Anders." His
eyes lit briefly on Ned. "Howdy, Ned.
 
Congratulations on landing yourself a job."

    
"Yah, I was lucky." Ned allowed.
Aiken's idle tone and posture didn't change what everybody knew: The man was
re-branded beef, and his mark changed so often there was no telling which ranch
owned him. "Heard talk about Dishwater Sal and Belle headin' up to
Ingston."
 

    
Aiken cleared his throat. "They did,
an' Dode an' Jess are working at the Copper Strike now." Then the
sheriff
 
shifted and spoke with cool
authority. "I'm aimin' to investigate the trouble Miss Anders ran into a
couple days back." He glanced at Sarah as he touched the brim of his hat.
"I hope you're OK, Miss." Then he swiveled back to Ned and waved a
hand at the man standing ten feet off. "This hombre's Peck, a detective
from Denver. Peck tracks the toughest criminal sort of outlaws. He'll have a
gander around."

    
The man named Peck colored and shifted
uncomfortably.

    
Sarah knew something about such agents;
she'd read stories of Allen Pinkerton and his National Detective Agency in the
papers. An Illinois neighbor used to bring the papers back from Chicago. She'd
pictured the detectives as fine looking men in sleek dusters who rode fast,
elegant horses -- not at all like this grizzled five-day-bearded goat who was
leading a stubborn-looking pack mule. And it didn't bear mentioning that a
detective's mule likely wouldn't be hauling shovels and pick axes.

    
Aiken's arrogance began to chap Ned's
hide. Like Sarah, he'd figured this man wasn't a detective. And he didn't
resemble the bloodsucking bounty hunters that used to drift into Lola's place
either.

  
Ned stepped in front of Sarah and grunted. "You ask your questions,
but I can't give you leave to go poking around the place. The Eastons ain't far
away. I'll call them in."

   
Ned stepped up to the bell and rang it long and loud. "Go on. Ask
your questions while you're waitin' on the Eastons," he spat.

                                               
*
    
*
    
*

    
Roy and Cal heard the distant ring. Both
men grimaced and stomachs twisted.
 
The last time they'd heard the house bell mid-morning Mama had fallen,
during her first fit of apoplexy. A ranch hand found her lying in the garden.

   
Ten minutes of hell-bent riding felt like an hour as they approached and
saw men sitting on the porch. Save for the fact that one was sitting too close
to Sarah for his liking, Cal was greatly relieved. He could see Mama in her
chair; Ned and the women looked fine. And, although he couldn't yet hear their
words, the tone of the floating voices was amiable. Emily was looking at rocks
with an older man wearing blue work pants and a plaid shirt.
 

    
As he drew closer it grated to see the man
next to Sarah was Aiken.

    
The sheriff rose and came down the steps.

    
"Morning boys." His salutation
lacked starch, as he had to bend his head back to look up at a man six inches
taller than himself.

     
"I brought the fellow I told
you about," Aiken announced. "This here's Mr. Peck, the agent from
Denver. " He motioned toward the man sitting next to Emily on the porch.
"We talked to Miss Anders. We're ready to ride to the site of the
crime." His expression tightened. "Just head us in the right
direction, and we'll be on our way." He spoke the words quickly, hopeful
that his casual manner would elicit the desired response.

    
Roy managed to hold his surprise in check
when he saw the man Emily was chatting up on the porch. Peck winked and put his
finger to his lips. Then he rose from the swing and clambered down the steps to
shake hands.

    
"Pleased to make your
acquaintance."

    
Roy played along. The men shook and
grinned at each other.

    
Aiken puffed out his chest and turned to
Peck. "I was sayin' these boys don't need to tag along. They ken just
steer us."

    
Peck ignored the hint in Aiken's tone.
"I say they oughta come along. I've already paid for the guide
service." His grin broadened and amusement danced in his eyes.
"Didn't you say Mr. Cal Easton was there? He'll, no doubt, give useful
information." Peck smirked as he watched Aiken's eyes dart back and forth.

    
Cal eyed Peck's mule. His expression was
curious, as the animal looked damn familiar. He was thinking about that when he
heard the slam of the front door and looked up. Sarah emerged, balancing a pot
of coffee in one hand and a fresh baked apple pie in the other.

    
Cal had a full view, and he forgot about
the mule and instead savored the curve of her neck and gentle sway of her hips
as she crossed the porch. When she turned he noticed the silver combs
glittering against her dark hair. The sight pleased him more than he expected.
He began thinking about the perfect way to gently remove those combs, along
with her hairpins, as he trailed his lips up her smooth neck and inhaled her
sweetness.

    
He shook himself, and with some difficulty
he forced his focus to Emily, who was trailing Sarah's backside, juggling cups
and plates.

    
"You men like pie?" Sarah asked.

     
Cal stiffened as the sheriff raked
narrowed eyes over his territory. Hell, Aiken was grinning at Sarah like a
fool. And after he was served he gulped his coffee and wolfed down pie.

    
"Sarah, this here's the best apple
pie I've had in years," Aiken lowed as he groped at her with his lusty
gaze.

    
When did the buzzard start calling her
Sarah?
Cal had the urge to slug the
sidewinder sheriff and figured he would have, if not for the fact that his Mama
was sitting there.

    
"Thank you, Sheriff," Sarah
accepted the compliment. "And thank you and Mr. Peck for your hard work
trying to catch those outlaws." She looked around at the men congregated
near the porch. Twisted scowls jagged across their faces, and Cal's held a look
of dark fury. Mr. Peck seemed like he'd rather be anywhere else. He shifted his
weight from one foot to the other.
 

    
Aiken nodded.

    
Peck averted his eyes.

    
Minutes later, as they were preparing to
leave, Aiken saw Ned limp a path to Cal. The lame leg was worse than Aiken had
remembered, and the sheriff briefly wondered why the Easton men bothered to
keep the man around.

    
Cal's eyes searched for Sarah as they
passed the house, and when they caught hers he touched his hat brim. She
grinned shyly.

    
Just past the corral Cal put his heels to
his powerful mount, and he galloped ahead to lead the small party.

                                       
*
                    
*
                      
*

   
On her walk back from the porch Sarah spied Ned's silhouette cast in the
sunlight pouring into the study. His head was angled to read titles on spines
as he browsed the bookshelves. Curious, Sarah stepped into the room.

    
"Oh, it's you Miss. I'm trying to
find one that I ain't read."

    
She was stunned. "You read? Mr.
Easton lets you borrow?"
 
She
hadn't dared pluck one from the shelf herself although she'd made a mental list
of which she'd choose first.

    
"Yah, Mr. Cal says I can. My ma was a
teacher. Lately I like Whitman." He
turned from her and continued his search. "Trouble is, most of these is
those blood and thunder dime types. Cowpunchers like to read 'em. Ya' see, the
title gives away the action."

    
"Oh sure, plenty of folks read those.
Why I--" She dropped to her knees, reconsidering the wisdom of confessing
her reading habits. "You read 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?"

    
Ned uttered an affirmative grunt.
"Lost it in the fire." He sniffed. "Stored my books in Lola's
pantry. I taught her."

    
Ned frowned at the memory. "Sometimes
books is what gets you through tough times. Like during the war . . . don't
know what I'd do without a book when my leg's achin'." He sighed.
"Yep, books and whiskey is all a man needs."

    
"I know what you mean," she
replied. She blushed. "At least the books part."
 

    
Ned laughed.

    
Sarah thought about the lonely times at
Uncle Orv's.
 
Often an escape into
a book borrowed from the local schoolteacher was all that stood between her and
despair.

    
Ned's face brightened. "Ah, here it
is." Pulling a tome from the lower shelf he wiped the dust off the top
with his bandanna. He rose and limped past Sarah, out the door.

    
Ned set his book on the porch rail and
dragged a chair to the place where he had a good long view of the path, barn, and
corral. He could easily guard two sides of the structure. Then he sent Emily
and Mrs. Easton inside the house.
 

                                        
*
              
*
              
*

     
After a while Ned's eagle eyes
spotted a rider coming along the main path. He reached for his spyglass and
peered out through wavy heat, across dancing grass. It was the bay from the
local Western Union office. He could make out the distinctive leather message
pouch slung over the young rider's slim shoulders.

    
Working for the Western Union Telegraph
Company was a good job. Ned had considered it after the war, as he could read
and write, and he'd taught himself the Morse code. But when he applied for the
job the station manager told him he'd have to start as a messenger, walking
miles each day to deliver telegrams around town. Ned knew his leg wouldn't hold
up. He'd reluctantly given up on the prospect.