Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (36 page)

Reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze, he cleared his throat. “I heard back from the sheriffs.”

Hope lit up her face like sunshine, but she must have noticed his frown, because that hope quickly vanished, replaced by reddened eyes. “They haven't seen him.” Her voice broke.

He shook his head, emotion blocking any words of sympathy he might try to speak.

“Oh, Jimmy, where did you go?”

Her forlorn tone broke his heart and he didn't have much at hand to cheer her. Just one thing came to mind.

“Is it possible your brother changed over the years?”

“I don't think so.” Her frown deepened. “He was always a younger version of our father, except he had Mam's red hair. I wish I still had the letter he wrote from Del Norte. Maybe the postmaster over there would remember him.” She stared toward the café door as if she wanted to go right now and find out.

“Say, that's a good idea.” He liked anything that might encourage her, and he hadn't even thought of the postmaster. Or, in this case, the postmistress of many years. She would have been the one to handle the letter, and maybe Marybeth's brother just never crossed paths with Sheriff Hobart. The only other possibility, one he'd refused to give much thought, was that maybe Marybeth had made up the whole story. Maybe she didn't even have a brother. But that didn't make any sense. Why would she have agreed to come out to Colorado, not even wanting to get married, if there was no Jimmy O'Brien?

He tried to dismiss the notion, yet he couldn't resist testing her. “Tell you what. How about we ride over there tomorrow and find out?” As much as he hated to return to the town where he'd killed a man, he had to find out the truth about this matter. He'd always known he'd have to go back if he had a good enough reason. This seemed to be it.

Again, her face lit up like sunshine. “Could we? You said the other day it's a full day of travel to go both ways. If we left early, would we be back before dark?”

Her eagerness dispelled his suspicions. It also reminded him that she didn't ride. They'd have to take the buggy, which would make the trip slower.

More time in her company. More time to prove to her that he might make a pretty good husband, after all. Of course they'd have to take a chaperone. He'd ride over to the Eberly place to see if any of the sisters was free to go along.

* * *

Saturday brought sunshine and warmth with just enough of a breeze to make the trip to Del Norte pleasant. Their picnic basket once again tied to the back of the buggy, Marybeth sat beside Rand, with Beryl Eberly perched on a makeshift seat behind them. The hilly scenery and an occasional fluffy cloud floating over the distant San Juan Mountains only added to the enjoyment of the ride. Hope and excitement filled Marybeth's heart. Perhaps today they would learn where Jimmy had gone. But even if they didn't, she would be grateful to Rand for trying to find her brother.

She could hardly believe his generosity and that of his neighbors in helping her search. Truly this community was a warm, wonderful place to live. Not like Boston, where the Irish were still fighting for respect. Here no one blinked or frowned upon hearing her last name. In fact, she'd met several folks with Irish names, though none of them from Ireland itself, just second-or third-generation Americans. While she and Jimmy had been born in the old country, they'd come to America when she was a baby and he was not quite five years old. Da had come for the opportunity to better himself, or so he'd always said. But Mam, in one of her weaker moments when his cruelty had beaten her down, had revealed Da had left behind many debts.

Shoving aside bitter memories, Marybeth leaned back in the buggy to enjoy the ride. They traveled a fairly wide and well-worn road, which Rand told her had been an Indian trail, a path for prospectors and finally a stagecoach route extending all the way to Wagon Wheel Gap. Each time she heard the name of the mining town far up in the mountains, her heart skipped. On another day, would Rand take her that far if they learned Jimmy had gone there? Or would she have to purchase a stagecoach ticket and go on her own? It would be some time before she could afford to do that.

For today, she would use the fourteen-mile trip each way to become better acquainted with another Eberly sister. Beryl was the middle sister and somewhat quieter than Maisie and even Laurie. Still, with a little coaxing, Marybeth was able to persuade her to describe the various plants and trees they passed.

“Up in those hills—” she pointed south of the road “—those are aspen. They turn yellow in the fall and look real pretty fluttering in the wind. Farther down you can see the piñon trees.” She indicated a grove of tall, bushy trees that appeared to be evergreen. “They bear nuts that are right tasty. We gather them in the fall and use them for baking.”

“Don't tell anybody I said this—” Rand waved a hand toward the picnic basket “—but Beryl's the best cook in the whole Eberly clan.”

While Beryl snorted, grinned and gave his arm a shove, Marybeth bit back a laugh. Rand needed to be careful with all of his compliments about the cooking of his various female friends. If those women ever got together and compared his praise, probably none of them would invite him to a meal again. And if they were all such fine cooks, what would he say about her skills if they got married?

Oh, dear.
That thought was occurring entirely too often these days, and she'd only known him a week, not counting the six months they'd been writing back and forth. If she didn't watch out, she'd find herself more than liking him. She'd fall mindlessly in love with him, and then where would her search for Jimmy be?

* * *

They reached the outskirts of Del Norte in good time due to dry roads and no headwinds. Rand drove the horses off the trail to a shady spot under the tall cottonwoods that grew along the Rio Grande. If Marybeth was going to get more bad news, better to hear it on a full stomach. Beryl had kindly offered to prepare the picnic, and she'd packed a fine basketful, with chicken sandwiches, potato salad, pickles, apple crumb cake and cold coffee.

Not for the first time, Rand wondered whether Marybeth liked to cook. She hadn't been bothered by his compliments to other ladies' cooking, which could mean either she had confidence in her own skills or she'd never learned and didn't care to. He wasn't sure how that would work out if they married. All the women he knew, especially ranch gals, were pretty jealous about their cooking, so he was always quick to praise their efforts.

Odd the random thoughts he had about Marybeth. What kind of music did she like, other than hymns and Irish folksongs? Did she like Christmas as much as he did? Would she feel trapped being a ranch wife like a few local women he knew? Or would she be like Susanna and find her calling in having her own home and children to care for? At least now he knew she loved children. Lizzy had been won over by a lemon stick, but Marybeth had been won over by his niece's sweet baby ways. Did she want to have a few children of her own? Not a question he could ask until he'd won her heart.

As he lifted her down from the buggy, he couldn't help but notice her nervous glances around the site, so he gave her hand a squeeze.

“Looking for snakes?” Beryl quipped with a grin.

Rand wanted to throttle her, but Marybeth laughed. A shaky sound, but still a laugh, which showed her spunk. He liked that.

“Yes, indeed. I suppose Laurie told you all about our encounter last Saturday.”

“Yep.” Beryl untied the picnic basket. To Rand, she said, “You want to get the blanket?”

They settled down, offered a prayer and began to eat, making quick work of the picnic and saving some in case they got hungry on the trip back to Esperanza.

On the road again, they headed toward town. Rand saw in the corner of his eye that Marybeth was twisting her hands nervously. He prayed she wouldn't be disappointed this time. Prayed that this mysterious Jimmy O'Brien had somehow made an impression on someone who would remember him all these years later.

He made a quick stop at the sheriff's office, mainly to let the lawman know he was in town, but also to tell him about Dathan Hardison and his threats. Hobart had been more than good to Rand after the shooting, refusing to charge him with a crime and insisting he take reward money that had been offered for Cole Lyndon, dead or alive. He'd also suggested it might be a good idea not to come back to Del Norte for a while. Rand wasn't sure three years was a long enough while, but for Marybeth's sake, it would have to do. Concerned that some unsavory sorts might be in the jail cells, he left the girls in the buggy and entered the office on Grand Avenue.

“Come on in, Rand.” The sheriff seemed glad to see him, offering his hand and a warm pat on the shoulder. “I'm glad you came by. Have a seat.” He waved Rand to a chair in front of his desk. After the usual polite inquiries about each other's families, the sheriff said, “I shouldn't have been in such a hurry to answer your letter the other day. After thinking on it, I do recall some redheaded cowpokes coming through town from time to time.”

Rand felt a happy little kick in his chest, but he cautioned himself not to get too excited. Jimmy wasn't a cowpoke; he was a prospector. Marybeth had been adamant about that. “That's some memory you have there.”

Hobart grimaced and scratched his head. “Not what it used to be. I don't think I can add anything. If a man doesn't have a distinctive scar or maybe an accent of some sort, it's hard to pin down a memory of him.”

Rand nodded. “We thought we'd go over to the post office to see if Mrs. Sanchez remembers anything.”

“Good idea.” Hobart grimaced again. “I should have asked her myself and saved you a trip.” He shuffled some Wanted posters on his desk. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Yessir, I'll do that.” Rand wouldn't tell him he was more than happy to have another full day with Marybeth. More than happy to help her search for her brother. “Say, while you're looking through those posters, do you have anything on a Dathan Hardison? He's a cousin of Cole Lyndon.”

Frowning, the sheriff eyed him. “Cole's kin, eh?”

Rand nodded and gave him a brief account of Hardison's actions in Esperanza, including his threats and his so-called conversion, which even had the preacher suspicious.

The sheriff scanned the papers on his desk and then dug an envelope filled with more Wanted posters from his drawer. “These are new. Help me take a look.” He gave half of the pile to Rand.

They sorted through the heavy paper sheets, some with photographs, others with drawings of men, most wanted dead or alive. Rand didn't recognize any of them as Hardison.

“Nope, nothing here.” Hobart scratched his chin. “If he committed a crime, he could have done it under a different name. Or he could have served his sentence.”

“I suppose.” Rand glanced out the window at the girls. Marybeth was making good use of her fan, so she was probably getting too hot. “Let me know if you hear anything, would you?”

“Sure thing.” Hobart grunted. “I'll send out some queries and see what I can come up with.”

“Much obliged.” After taking his leave of the sheriff and setting aside his concerns about Hardison, Rand reported to the girls about Hobart's retrieved memories of red-haired cowboys. As he expected, Marybeth's pretty hazel eyes lit up with hope.

“Thank you, Rand.” She clasped his arm as he drove the buggy farther down Grand Avenue to the general store, where the post office was located.

Despite the momentary hope he'd felt in the sheriff's office, as they drew closer to their destination, he had a sinking feeling this was all a waste of time.

* * *

Marybeth could barely contain her excitement. As hard as she tried to quiet her giddy emotions, she couldn't subdue her hopes. Even the bright, sunny day seemed to portend good news.

The streets were crowded with all sorts of people, both men and women, both decent community folks like those in Esperanza and some ruffians very similar to the worst she'd seen on Boston's waterfront. Rand explained that Del Norte was the stopping off place where prospectors on their way to the silver fields bought their gear. He said those men were pretty much harmless.

“On a Saturday, you can tell the difference between the cowboys and the prospectors.” He nodded toward a rowdy group of men. “Those are the cowboys. They're here to waste their hard-earned pay. That's why they're cleaned up and in their best clothes.” He snorted his disgust and shook his head. “Now that fellow over there, he's a prospector.” He indicated a dusty traveler. “You can tell by his clothes and his sharp-eyed look. He'll be buying his gold pans and picks over at the general store before heading farther west right past Del Norte Peak.” He pointed toward a mountain that rose above the town.

Marybeth studied the landmark, whose highest valleys still bore remnants of snow. Was Jimmy somewhere beyond that peak? Did he look like this shabbily dressed man so clearly determined to change his fortunes? If only her brother knew he held the key to enough treasure to take care of them both. That was, if he still had the locket.

“Here we are.” Rand reached out to hand her down from the buggy.

Back in Boston, buggy rides had been few and far between. Yet after only a few times out with Rand, Marybeth was becoming more adept at getting in and out of the conveyance without tripping on her skirts. She still needed to take his hand to step down, and his strong grasp sent a pleasant shiver up her arm. Only when he gently squeezed her fingers did she realize she was shaking. A quick look up into his gentle eyes calmed her and sent more agreeable feelings churning through her chest.

Oh, my. How will I ever keep hold of my heart when it seems to have a mind of its own?
Yet how could she not respond to his kindness? His sacrifices for her sake? Mrs. Foster had told her how much work it took to run a ranch. With Rand neglecting his duties to help with her quest, she must at the very least be grateful.
Grateful enough to marry him?
She was far from ready to answer that question.