Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) (17 page)

Unable to stop her reaction, she gasped. What a burden he’d held to himself. Charity could understand why, now that she knew. “Brandon, I’m not mad, just sorry for you. What you went through.”

He nodded. A shadow in his eyes, one she’d never before seen, twisted her insides.

“My pa tossed me out of the moving wagon and into some bushes when he feared the worst was about to happen. But I was still close enough to see. After my mother gave the robber the little money they had, he shot them both. A moment later, a lawman came down the road. He quickly assessed the situation and took the outlaw down. His name was Timberlake. I never forgot the name. The memory and emotions, even the guilt, have bound me to him over the years. Now there may be a chance I could actually work with him and—”

She put her finger on his lips. “You don’t have to say another thing. I totally understand why you’d be drawn there—and to the marshal. I do. And I wouldn’t want anything else for you. You have to go and see how it feels.” She meant every word, even if they were breaking her heart.

He kissed her again, and she could tell he was relieved. It wasn’t the sad good-bye it had been before, but filled with a hope that he could sway her to move away with him when he took the marshal’s job. Her heart thumped painfully in her breast. What would become of them? He wanted that job, there was no denying it.

Brandon ran his hand down the side of her face. “Thank you for coming, Charity. You’ll never know what it means to me that we had a chance to talk this out. I feel a lot better.”

“I think I do, Brandon,” she said against his lips, one last time.

“I need to go, sweetheart, or I’ll miss the train in Waterloo. As it is, I don’t know if I’ll make it.”

Fear skittered around inside, threatening to bring tears to her eyes. She willed them away. She stood and pulled him to his feet. “You get going, then,” she said, swallowing down a lump of sadness. “Don’t worry about anything here. I’ll make sure Jack Jones is doing his job.”

“You just stay out at the ranch, so I won’t worry over you. Hayden will be sure Jack toes the line until I get back.”

If you get back.

He went over and retrieved Charity’s horse and slung the reins over its neck. He helped her mount. “Is Luke in town with you?”

She nodded, almost too overcome with regret to pull this off. Somewhere she found the fortitude to say, “Yes. I’m meeting him over at Lichtenstein’s.”

“Good.” He gazed up at her with so much love, she thought she might faint. “You give everyone out at the ranch my regards.” He had his hand on her knee and she had the urge to pick it up and kiss it, but she knew he’d think she’d lost the last of her sanity.

He disappeared into his house and reappeared wearing his black Stetson. Locking the door, he strode over to his horse and mounted, spinning him around. He trotted back to Charity to kiss her again. “I just needed one more to get me through.”

Choked up, she forced a little smile. “Get going. They won’t hold that train for you forever, you know.”

He laughed, then shook his head. She was sure he thought everything had worked out just fine.

“All right, I’m going, I’m going. You take good care of yourself. I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know. Still wish you were coming along.”

“I’ll see ya when I see ya, Sheriff.” Her throat burned so tight, she could hardly get the words out.

He nodded and loped off around behind his house to the path that would take him to the road that led to Waterloo—taking Charity’s heart with him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
he early morning clamor of Kansas City made Brandon’s head swim. After debarking at the train depot, he ambled down the street, reins in hand, taking in the bigness of the town while he looked for a modest hotel in which to register.

He’d made the ride to Waterloo with no problems, but with only seven minutes to spare before the train was scheduled to pull out. Once he bought his ticket and loaded his horse into a stock car, he’d hurried to the passenger car and took a seat just as the train blew its whistle, then lurched forward.

Crowds of cowboys, wagons, and stock all jockeyed for space on the road. Tall brick buildings, four and five stories high, lined the street for as far as he could see. Some looked as large as a whole city block. There were bookstores, general stores, fine-furniture establishments, and eateries galore. Some with white awnings, others red striped—some shading small tables and chairs. He stopped in front of a clothing store that would make Berta May green with envy, with hats, bolts of fabric, and knickknacks crammed in the window.

A steer came out of nowhere from behind and jostled his shoulder, forcing him to step back.

“Out of the way,” the drover called crankily, and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt-packed street.

Brandon smiled and looked around. That man wouldn’t dim his spirits in the least. Nothing could now since his talk with Charity and the chance to explain himself. Thank God she’d come around to his way of thinking. The sensation of her in his arms was just about the best feeling in the world. Life was too short to stay rooted in one place year after year. There were places to discover. Might as well start right here in Kansas City.

MABLE BROWN’S INN AND ESTABLISHMENT. He read the sign positioned high on a blue-and-brown clapboard building.

“Just the kind of place I’m looking for,” he said, knowing that the ratty-appearing hotel couldn’t charge more than a dollar or two a night. A sign shaped like an arrow was tacked on the side of the building and pointed down the alley. It read: MABLE BROWN’S STABLE.

He nodded, pleased with himself on the good find. Right in the middle of everything. Couldn’t be more convenient if it tried. After hitching his horse to the rail, he brushed the cinder and ash from his shirtsleeves and pants, then kicked the dirt from his boots against the well-worn boardwalk. He pushed open the door at the same time as he removed his hat. A couple of men talking in the lobby paid him no mind. A girl behind the counter looked up.

“May I help ya, sir?” She gazed at him expectantly. Her dress, ragged around the cuffs and collar, looked as if it could use a good scrub.

“Yes, I’d like a room for a couple of nights.” He’d start with that and see how it went.

Her eyes brightened. A toothy smile broke out on her thin face, as if she’d expected him to turn on his heel after viewing the rundown interior of the lobby.

“Then you’ve come t’the right place. I have several rooms left, which is unusual for a Saturday night.” She turned a large ledger around and handed him a pen. “Just sign here.” She pointed to the middle of the page. “Beneath th’last name entered.”

Sure, sure,
Brandon thought. He reached in his pocket to pay her.

“That’ll be eight dollars.”

His hand froze inside his pocket, the leather pouch where he kept his money in his palm.

“Eight dollars for two nights? Isn’t that a mite steep?”

She pulled back, as if surprised. “Why, no, sir. We’re the most reasonable place in Kansas City.” Her brow arched. “Well, one of ’em. There’s a washroom at the end of the hall, an outhouse around back, and a simple breakfast comes with the price of the room. Now, do you have a horse you want to stable?”

The men standing in the lobby behind him stomped up the narrow staircase, glancing down at him for one brief second. They looked none too prosperous.

“Yes.”

She bobbed with excitement. “Fine! That’ll be a dollar more each day.”

A bit grudgingly, Brandon fished out two five-dollar gold coins.
Ten dollars for this place?
Oh well, he’d make the best of it. Cattlemen’s popped into his mind, and the bridal suite he’d looked into reserving for the wedding night. The spacious room had a large four-poster bed made of bird’s-eye maple, and a nice view out back. It was expensive at three dollars and fifty cents a night, but that included a bottle of champagne, a soaking tub, breakfast in bed the next day—he hoped it wouldn’t be Lenore Saffelberg serving—and a handmade pillow keepsake.

A smile teased his lips as he thought of Charity enjoying all those comforts…

The clerk cleared her throat. She looked at his hand. “The money, sir?”

He handed over his hard-earned pay, and looked around while she reached for a key in the slots behind her head. “Here ya go. The front door is locked at twelve o’clock, but if you’re out late, just knock loudly and the cook that sleeps next to the kitchen will hear you and unlock the door.”

“Thank you.” He pocketed the key. “Is anyone around back?”

“No, sir. Da stable is self-serve.”

Of course it is.
He took out the letter. “Do you know where South Fillmore Street is?”

“Oh yes, sir! You just follow the street out front till you come to Blackstone. Turn left, follow to the end.” She squinted again at the address. “On Stag Lane, go right, and that will run into Fillmore. I’d guess the address you’re looking for will be on the right, but I’m not sure.”

He smiled. “Thank you, miss. You’ve been very helpful.”

That brought a bright, toothy smile aimed straight at him. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached under the counter. “Here’s a voucher for a half-price dinner at Henry’s, just down the street about half a block. Pepper steak or gravy-covered pork chops are their specialties.”

The thought of a good steak brought moisture to his mouth.

When he left the lobby, the blur of goings-on out on the street didn’t feel quite so exciting anymore. Most pedestrians kept their heads down to watch where they set their feet, and the ones who did look up kept their gazes trained far away, proficient in avoiding any eye contact. God forbid they smiled and said hello.

Brandon gathered up his horse and proceeded around back. He’d give the gelding a nice rubdown after the long and fast gallop to Waterloo and the train ride, then follow it up with a generous portion of oats. Entering the quiet, shed-like barn, he found all six stalls empty. Plain dirt covered the stall floors, bare of any straw bedding, and after a quick search, he found only a small portion of dusty hay. No grain, no grooming tools. He shook his head in disgust. He should have checked this out before paying for two days.

Resigned, he unsaddled and stored his tack in a small room. With the towel from his saddlebag, he went over his horse’s coat with a firm hand. Grasping the hay, he did his best to divest it of dust. It wouldn’t do to have his horse up and colic on him.

Finished, he brushed the grime from his hands and clothes. As he listened to the munch of his horse eating, a pinch of hunger burned deep in his belly. Excitement once again zinged along Brandon’s backbone. On Monday, he’d be reunited with the man who had been a father figure in his mind for years. A rush of pride warmed him when he pictured Timberlake’s face from so many years ago.

Was this his destiny? To follow in Timberlake’s footsteps? What better way than to work with him every day. He hadn’t expected the renowned marshal to remember a sniveling boy grieving his parents, who had then shaken his small fist at the outlaw stretched out on the ground next to them. Had it been coincidence that brought the lawman along the road at the exact time of the robbery? Brandon had always wondered about that. Perhaps it was because he was meant to come to Missouri and make a name for himself. One equal to or greater than Timberlake himself.

Remembering the voucher in his pocket, he gathered his saddlebags and went in search of Henry’s.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
hree days had passed since Brandon left Y Knot, and Luke wished there was something he could do to cheer up Charity. The expression on her face when she thought no one was looking was enough to make even him cry. Word had leaked out to the rest of the family—thought to have come from Jack—that Brandon had gone to Missouri to see about a deputy marshal’s job. The family was hurt and confused.

“How could he even think of doing such a thing at a time like this?” Faith had asked last night over supper. She’d tried to hide her disquiet, but it proved difficult. “They just set the date, for heaven’s sake. I can’t say I’m not disappointed in him.” He hadn’t had an answer for her.

Fox Dancing was now up and getting around, although still weak. Luke was catching on to her signs and some of the words. They brought a lightness to his heart, although he never let on around Flood. He wished there was something he could say to his pa, but what? There was a hurt so big there, resurrected by the appearance of Fox Dancing, that Luke didn’t know if they’d ever get back to normal. With Charity, and Fox Dancing, and Flood and his mother, the Heart of the Mountains felt under siege.

The sound of horses arriving brought Luke out of his barn, where he’d been lamenting the state of affairs as he cleaned out a stall. Chance rode up, along with Tobit Preece.

“Chance. Tobit. What brings you out our way?”

Chance dismounted, followed by Isaiah Preece’s grandson. He’d met the young farmer a few times over the last two months.

“I heard about the lumpy jaw, Luke,” Chance said. “That’s unfortunate. How many infected animals you got?”

“Only about nine, so far. But we’re still finding ’em.”

“I’m watching my cattle, but I haven’t seen any sign, and that’s a huge relief. With a small herd like I have, every head counts.”

“Every head counts in a large herd too.”

Chance nodded. He tipped his hat back, taking stock of the place. A surge of pride in his homestead flowed through Luke.

“You’re right,” Chance agreed. “But lumpy jaw’s not why I rode out. Seems we had a visitor to our new chicken coop last night.”

Luke leaned back on the fence and propped his boot on the bottom rail. When he glanced toward the house, he noticed Fox Dancing watching from the front window. Faith liked her well enough, and little Dawn was totally smitten. His daughter was learning Cheyenne faster than she had English.