High Mountain Drifter (14 page)

The walk went quickly, downhill all the way. Kellan filled her in on all the latest--adding a dash of humor to his tales of the men hearing a rattle in the bushes and surrounding it, guns drawn, ready to apprehend the low-life Craddock, only to discover a rather surprised raccoon. When they'd safely reached Beckett's back door, Kellan tipped his hat and disappeared into the night.

A little princess with a wooden sword answered the door.

"Why, hello Queen Aumaleigh of the Meadow Realm." Hailie curtseyed, royalty that she was, and adjusted the paper tiara on her head. Brown curls bobbed around her button face, pink with delight. "Do come in and pardon the dragon. Me and Sally rescued her from the Mountain of Fire."

"I see." Aumaleigh bit her lip (really, Hailie was too adorable) and closed the door behind her. Since she didn't see a dragon, she reckoned it was an imaginary one, and nodded politely to the space of air Hailie had gestured to. "Hello, Miss Dragon, it's nice to meet you."

"Her name is Bitsy," Hailie explained, her imagination in overdrive. "Because she's just a baby."

"I see. A baby dragon. Did you save her from a terrible fate?"

"Yes, the evilest of all dragons was about to eat her." Hailie brandished her wooden sword, as if ready for battle. "But Sally and I saved Bitsy and her sister Mitsy. We vanquished him."

"I'm not surprised, since clearly you are a superior princess." She eased around the spot on the floor where Bitsy stood and set the food on the small kitchen counter.

Footsteps rushed into the kitchen. Daisy, glowing with happiness. "Aumaleigh, so glad you could stop by. Come sit by the fire with Beckett. Warm up while I set out the meal."

"You'll do no such thing," she said stubbornly, unwinding her scarf. "I'm helping and that's that. Hailie, perhaps Bitsy would like to set the table?"

"Okay. She needs to learn and I'm going to train her up good." Hailie skipped over to the round table in the corner, tiara slipping to one side as she went.

"Milo is taking what happened pretty hard," Daisy confessed in a low voice as she unwrapped the plate and bowl. "He and his daughters were over for a while to visit. I think it was good for him and Beckett to sit and talk things over. They're friends, and friendship makes a difference in this life."

"Very much so." Aumaleigh shrugged off her coat and hung it on one of the door-side pegs. The cottage was cozy, nothing fancy, but filled with love. Nothing could be better. She thought of her quiet, lonely rooms in town and was glad--no, thankful beyond measure--that Daisy would not know that future. That she'd risked her heart and opened it up to love. She'd grabbed hold of that chance and hadn't let go.

If only I'd done the same back then, Aumaleigh thought, musing, laying a hand on her pocket. Gabriel's letter was safely there, she could feel the shape of it through the wool. Come to think of it, considering how they left things with both of their hearts broken, maybe it was better off left unread.

"Beckett is able to sit up all day now," Daisy said, carrying the plate of gravy covered roast beef to the table. "He's getting stronger. When the doc comes by tomorrow, I can't wait to hear what he has to say. Everything is going to be okay, Aumaleigh. I just know it."

"Me, too." She felt it to the bottom of her soul. "And guess what that means. We have a wedding to plan."

"Oh, the wedding!" Daisy lit up, absently setting the platter on the table. "It hadn't even crossed my mind, I've been so busy. What do you think about that, Princess Hailie?"

"I want it at Christmas time," Hailie answered, carefully setting out the forks in all the right places. "Because that's the prettiest time. You know, because the Christmas trees are decorated and because I want a red dress with a Christmas bow."

"You've thought this all out, I see." Aumaleigh set the bowl of potatoes on the table and knelt so she was eye level with Hailie. "Do you know what that means when you and your pa marry Daisy? You and I are going to be officially family. I hope that's okay with you."

"Yep." Hailie's smile beamed. "That's a good thing because I already love you, Aumaleigh."

"I already love you too, sweetheart." Her heart filled--so lonely for so long, but it just kept filling. Grateful, happy tears burned behind her eyes. "And what about Bitsy? She'll be family too. I'd like to get to know her, so why don't you tell me all about her."

As Hailie lit into a long narrative featuring her imaginary pet dragon and exciting battles, they finished setting the table, Beckett ambled painfully into the room to join them and, after setting a spot for Bitsy, they all sat down together.

In a little protected cubby beneath a rock outcropping tucked in the shelter of pines, Ernest Craddock raised his rifle, the one he'd talked George into trading his horse for. This was a fine rifle, just what he needed, but it didn't solve his most immediate problems. He was angry, he was exhausted and he wanted the comfort of his Chicago mansion, the staff bustling about to do his bidding and see to his every comfort. Another thing he could blame on that worthless rag of a woman.

Well, she could entertain all the men she wanted in her library. Ernest patted his gun. He'd make her pay for it in the end. Something to look forward to.

A snap of a twig alerted him someone was coming up the overgrown trail. Heart pounding, Ernest lifted the rifle, aiming it at the tree boughs where the cover broke, ready to shoot whoever was splashing closer--just in case it wasn't George back from town. He eased his finger onto the trigger, at the ready. With any luck, maybe it was that sheriff he hated and he could blow him away before he knew what hit him. He grinned at the thought of seeing the lawman, dead and lifeless, his body sprawled on the ground.

"Ernest?" A voice called out. George.

About time. Disappointed, he lowered his rifle, watching as a familiar shadow emerged on the trail. George--thin, stoop-shouldered, past his prime. Clearly, he'd had too much fun in town playing checkers at the feed store, collecting local news and gossip.

"What took you so long?" Ernest set his rifle aside. "I'm starving here."

"Sorry, had to make sure to cover my tracks real good." George sounded weary. Worse, George was weak. He said he wanted revenge on the Rocking M, that he wanted that family to pay for what was done to him, but he lacked the real spine for killing in cold blood. As soon as Verbena got the lesson coming to her, he'd be a liability. A witness that would need to be dealt with.

"No one followed you, right?" He had to make double sure. That sheriff was tricky. "You sure?"

"I know what I'm doin'." George frowned. His old, wide-brimmed hat sagged almost as much as his grizzled face. "Ain't I kept us safe so far?"

"There's always a first time." Ernest limped out of the shelter. Pain radiated up his leg, the break from that fall last summer had mended but it didn't like the damp or the cold. Well, if his plan came together, he'd be heading for a warmer climate soon under an assumed identity. Something else to look forward to.

"What'd you find to eat?" he demanded, stomach twisting with hunger pangs. The sheriff had the town zipped up so tight, they had to resort to living in the woods like squirrels. "Give me that saddlebag."

"I got fried chicken." George slung the pack off his shoulder. "It ain't much, but I snuck into the Gunderson's kitchen. Took the leftovers right off the counter. They were gabbing in the parlor and didn't know I was ten feet away."

"Fools." He could smell the food as he yanked the pack out of George's grip, tossed it on top of a boulder and loosened the buckle. "Good job, George. About time you did something right."

Instead of answering to that, George clamped his lips together, angry, his weathered face sagging as he frowned deeply, his mouth an upside down U. He didn't look happy. He sighed. There was no fight in him. He didn't even argue, just let the insult go by. "I got biscuits too."

The delicious aroma of herbed chicken rose up strong and steamy the instant Ernest tossed back the leather flap. He reached inside the pack and fished out a chicken breast, still warm. He tore in with his teeth. "Did you find out about that man, the one sniffing around Verbena in town? The same one I saw alone with her in the library."

Then the curtains had shut, blocking his view. Remembering Verbena and that man, anger churned in his blood, lava hot. No telling what had gone on there. You had to watch women, you couldn’t trust them. Batting their eyes, thinking all they had to do was snap their fingers and get their way.

Well, no woman could brush him off, decide she was done with him. He was Ernest Craddock. No little female could dictate to him. She was his to do what he wanted with. She hadn't learned that lesson well enough.

But he would teach her. His heart ached with the need to throttle her. To squeeze until her eyeballs bulged, to watch the life drain from her, feel it leave her body. That's what she deserved for leaving him. Ernest reached for the flask he kept tucked in his coat pocket and took a few swallows, head pounding with fury.

"It's bad news about that man." As if resigned, George bit into a chicken leg. Chewed. "He's a bounty hunter."

"What? No, that can't be." Ernest ripped into the chicken, gnawing off another bite. "There's no bounty on me."

"Milo brought him in." George sounded choked. His hands shook as he rotated his piece of chicken, but didn't take another bite. Just stared at it. "As a favor, the bounty hunter is here to track you down."

That sheriff. Again. Getting in his way. Ernest ground his teeth, seething. He threw the flask and smashed it against the rock wall, heard the satisfying crash. He saw red. "I ought to kill him first."

"You ain't gonna get the chance." George set down his drumstick, put his hand to his chest like he was having some sort of an attack. "The guy's some famous bounty hunter. They say there ain't a man alive he can't find and capture. Alive or dead don't matter none to him. He gets the job done. He don't ever fail."

"Well, you're a good shot, you've got your uses. If I see him coming you'll put a bullet between his eyes." Blood pounded through him hard and fast, making him shake. He stared down the hillside, at the faint glow of light from the McPhee mansion's windows. Their curtained windows. "No bounty hunter is going to catch me. What do you look nervous for?"

"Cuz everyone was talkin' about your accomplice, and we know that would be me." George was jittery now, eyeing the flask on the shadowed ground as if he needed a good stiff drink. "Milo wants the accomplice caught too and brought to justice."

"So?"

"You done swore to me that if'n I helped you, I'd be okay. That we wouldn’t get caught. Fact is, you guaranteed it."

"And I still do." Dumb country hick, Ernest thought, smiling as if he and George were the best of friends. That's how you treated folks--placating them along, let them think you liked them, that you were looking out for them. So they wouldn't see exactly how beneath you they were. He sucked every scrap of meat off the bones before giving it a toss into the underbrush. "Now eat. You've got nothing to worry about. I told you. I'll look after you."

"The thing is," George took a shuddering breath. "I've heard about this one bounty hunter. There was an article on him in the
Deer Spring Gazette
years back. He'd tracked some big outlaw that had killed all kinds of people. This here bounty hunter finally caught him a few towns over. It was real big news. I told ya. He never fails, so that means we'd be smart to get outta here."

"Do I look worried?" Still hungry, Ernest grabbed a roll from the pack and shoved it into his mouth. "No bounty hunter is going to stop me."

"You mean we're stayin' here, we ain't leavin'?" George gulped. "I think we should lay low, go south or something. If we ain't out here, then that bounty hunter can't spot us."

"If I'm not here, I can't get Verbena." He smiled, calm now. Committed to his purpose. "Don't worry, we'll kill anyone who gets in my way. Did you get extra ammunition like I wanted? We're going to need it."

"I want to help you, really I do." George looked a little gray, like a man having second thoughts. Like a man about to be uncooperative. "I'm real worried."

"That bounty hunter should be the one worrying about us. You're a good shot, George, better than I am." He looked in the saddlebag, wanting another roll. "You see him coming, you shoot. We'll be fine."

"Sure." George didn't look sure as he stared at his drumstick miserably. "Whatever you think, Ernest."

"Good to hear." Ernest nodded, satisfied. Little did George know, he was expendable. When he'd served his purpose, he'd wind up in a shallow grave in these mountains. He finished his meal standing up, devouring food like a savage.

This is what Verbena had done to him, what she'd driven him to. He was going to hurt her and bad, even if it was the last thing he did on this earth. No one--not those mangy cowboys, that backward sheriff or even that famous bounty hunter--could stop him.

The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting heat and light through the quiet library. The supper dishes were done and put away, the house tidied, all chores complete for the day.