Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (7 page)

What she was doing so far west, traveling the Colorado mountains unescorted—or at least not properly so—wasn’t clear. She and that Negro journeying together wasn’t proper. Even being from the North, she should know better. He’d wager his rifle that she’d come west for something more than just a hobby of picture taking. She was hiding something. He felt it.

And the way she’d wanted to strike hands with him . . . He tore off another piece of jerky and tossed some to Beau. He did like her spunk, though, and she had plenty of it. Might be fun to take her out and see how she could handle a rifle, see how that spunk held up under pressure. Spending time with her might prove more entertaining than he’d originally thought.

“It’s a wonder you got a spare penny to your name, Ranslett.” Lolly humphed. “All my life I’ve waited for a kill like this, and you just pull up at my door, sled loaded with the biggest bull elk I’ve ever seen, acting like it’s nothing. You and I need to discuss right priorities, son.”

Daniel laughed to himself, appreciating the false censure in Lolly’s tone, and that the man referred to him as
son.
Leaning against the doorpost, he watched the town of Timber Ridge slowly awaken. The Maroon Bells stood sentinel over the town while rocky troughs and peaks rose and swooned around them in stony admiration.

Sometimes he felt almost one with this place, as though he belonged here, instead of like the misplaced son he knew he was. How could he have lived in these mountains so long when his heart, his thoughts, the root of who he was, lay buried on a battlefield back in Tennessee?

Then again, perhaps therein rested his answer.

He stretched his shoulders, tired and stiff from days of hunting. By the time he’d gotten down the mountain, it had been dark and he’d been bushed, so he’d bunked with Lolly last night, on a cot in back.

Directly across the street, the door to the boardinghouse opened and Daniel took a hasty step backward, hoping she hadn’t seen him. With that riot of copper curls caught up and a package of some sort tucked beneath her arm, she set out at a swift pace, looking like a woman being chased by a fire.

People on the boardwalk turned and stared in her wake, yet she seemed unaware of the attention. Most folks waited until after she’d passed before leaning close to whisper to one another, probably thinking they were being mannerly. But in his estimation, anything you wouldn’t do or say to a person’s face shouldn’t rightly be done or said behind their back.

Miss Westbrook took the corner at breakneck speed. Presented with her shapely backside, Daniel found double enjoyment—first, in watching the tempting sway of those hips as she moved. And second, in simply watching her go, knowing she wasn’t his concern. Hard to say which gave him the greater pleasure.

“You sure don’t seem to hang on to much for long, Ranslett. Except for that rifle there. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you carry another one. Which strikes me as odd, if you’re askin’, you bein’ a man who makes guns for a living. Which you didn’t ask me, I know. But if you ever did”—the chop of the cleaver accentuated his point—“that’s how I’d give answer.”

Not one to require an abundance of company, Daniel did enjoy an occasional visit with Lolly. The man could carry a conversation all by himself, which suited Daniel just fine, and the gem of wisdom or insight that often fell from the man’s lips kept him returning too. That and Grady Lolliford’s unfailing honesty.

“Speaking of not askin’ me . . .” Lolly blew out a breath. “You haven’t asked whether I’ve gotten any orders for you lately.”

“Guess I figured you would’ve said something if you had.”

“Well, consider it said. An order came in this week.”

Daniel looked back to find Lolly watching him, and he knew why. “Who’s it from?”

“Fella new to town. Said he’d just left Mullins’s store and didn’t find the gun he was looking for. He’s huntin’ elk and bear, looking for a guide too. I told him about you, that you made the best guns I’ve ever shot with. Told him I wasn’t sure when I’d see you next, but that I’d ask you when I did. So . . . you got any rifles ready?”

“I do. Two of them. I’ll bring them in tomorrow and leave them with you.”

Lolly laid his axe aside. “Glad to hear it.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Sounds like you’re doing better . . . since the last time we talked.”

Daniel approached the cutting table and fingered the rough edge of the wooden counter. “I am. It’s just taken some time.”

“Like I told you before, it wasn’t your fault, son . . . what happened last fall.”

Daniel nodded, having told himself that over and over.

“Thomas Boyd was a good man. He just wasn’t a very good hunter. And that’s no fault to you. You were teachin’ him, but he wasn’t ready to go out on his own. That’s all there was to it.”

Daniel stared outside. “Some people still think it was my fault—I can see it in their eyes.”

Lolly moved from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron front. “They’ll come around, given time.” He sighed. “Something like this happens, ’specially to a good family like the Boyds, and folks look for a person to blame. Guess it helps them cope with the loss. Makes them feel like they’re more in control, maybe. Less at the mercy of some fickle-handed fate. And you bein’ so private a man . . . well, that doesn’t help.”

The blame Daniel had seen in Rachel Boyd’s eyes at the funeral last fall had worn a guilty rut in his conscience. He wondered how she was faring, and her two boys, though he was none too eager to see her again. Nor she him, he felt certain. Which seemed odd after having grown up together. She’d tried to blame her husband’s death on the gun Thomas had been carrying that day—one Daniel had custom made for him—but the rifle had been examined and had fired repeatedly without fail.

Lolly gestured to Daniel’s rifle. “You ever want to sell that beauty, just say the word. Those Whitworths are rare. I know plenty of men around here who’ve admired it, and they’d pay you a sinful price for it too. I think they figure it’d be like owning a piece of history. Albeit from the losin’ side of the war.”

Stung by that last comment, Daniel knew the man meant no harm. He ran a finger down the overlong barrel. Lolly knew the gun’s history, and his, yet had never judged him over it. “Much obliged, friend, but I think I’ll keep her.”

Lolly opened his mouth, then closed it and motioned behind him. “Help me with something out back?”

A whispered “Stay” kept Beau by the door, and Daniel followed Lolly to the icehouse. Though the man stood a few inches shorter in stature, his forearms were the size of Daniel’s thighs. Whatever needed carrying, Lolly could’ve managed it himself. But Daniel appreciated being asked, while also suspecting an ulterior motive.

Lolly pointed to the other half of the elk hanging upside down from the rafters. “I told you he was a big one.”

Daniel exhaled, his breath clouding the frigid air. “How did I ever get this thing back to town?”

“You didn’t. That fine mare of yours did.” He retrieved a saw hanging on the far wall. “Don’t seem fair to me”—his gruff voice took on a shine—“you owning both her and that rifle.”

“Tell you what . . .” Daniel gripped the lower portion of the carcass and secured it as Lolly started the cut. “You can have both of them . . . once I’m dead.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man who has a saw in his hands, boy.” Lolly grinned as he sliced through meat and bone.

Knowing where this meat was going gave Daniel a sense of satisfaction. It always did. It took every ounce of strength to manage the elk quarter alone, but he wasn’t about to ask for help. Lolly would never let him live it down. The man’s kidding could be merciless.

Back in the shop, together they heaved the carcass atop the cutting block.

“Little out of breath there?” Lolly laughed and wriggled his bushy brows.

Daniel kept his grin from showing. “Maybe when I’m old like you, I’ll be able to lift more.”

Lolly popped him a good one in the arm. “Listen . . . ah . . .” He shrugged. “Why don’t you take the meat on out to the Tuckers’ yourself this time? It’d mean a lot to Mathias and Oleta to see you again. And the kids would like to see you too.”

So that is it.
Daniel had sensed something was coming. “I think it’d be best to have it sent over, like we’ve done the last couple of times. I’m not sure my going out there would be a good thing right now.”

“Whose good are we talking about? Theirs? Or
yours
?”

Daniel crossed the room to retrieve his rifle. “There’re times, Lolly, when your honesty oversteps its welcome.”

“Surely you don’t think the Tuckers will treat you any different than before. If you think they will, then you’re not giving them enough credit.”

Daniel picked up his rifle and got his hat from the rack. He knocked the hat against his thigh, and dust plumed. Truth was, part of him wanted to go back out to Mathias and Oleta Tucker’s home, to see them and their children. He’d been thinking about it for some time now. None of the boys or girls were natural-born to the couple, but they loved and cared for them as if they were. But the kids had known Thomas Boyd, and they played with the Boyds’ boys.

In the space of a breath, a memory sunk deep inside him worked itself loose and rose to the surface.

It was a fleeting glimpse, only a second or two captured in his mind’s eye, filed away somewhere deep inside him all these years. Of his pushing Benjamin on a swing beneath a two-hundred-year-old oak behind their home. He was twelve or thirteen at the time, and Benjamin was just a little thing, tow-haired and smiling, not even walking yet. He’d built the swing as a Christmas present and remembered tying knot after knot after knot in that looped rope to make sure it held good and tight.

Little good did all his protection do in the end. . . .

A snap of Daniel’s fingers brought Beau to his side. The dog had the elk bone wedged between his teeth. “I appreciate your work on the elk, Lolly. Be sure and keep a portion of the meat for your trouble.” He paused in the doorway, hearing the resigned sigh behind him. He adjusted his hat, reconsidering, his eyes misting as he looked anywhere but back at Lolly. “Have the meat ready come morning. I’ll pick it up on my way out to the Tuckers’. ”

He left the shop before Lolly could respond, and before he could change his mind. He headed down the street. Since last fall, he’d all but stopped coming to town, and when he did, he made extra sure he didn’t go anywhere near the sheriff ’s office. With that in mind, he took the long way around town on his way to the general store.

7

W
hen Elizabeth rounded the corner to the general store to post her package, she was greeted by the sight of the stagecoach driving off in the opposite direction. She stopped midstride on the boardwalk and let out a frustrated sigh—then bit back a much harsher response when someone plowed into her from behind.

She turned and glared at the man, and heard every word—including the not-so-watered-down expletives—he spat at her through his tobacco-spittled beard.

She stared at him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t follow so closely next time. And give thought to a bath . . . that would prove useful.” Seemed the farther west she traveled, the fewer people practiced good hygiene.

A vulgar gesture accompanied his sneer—a gesture she’d unfortunately seen used by soldiers and officers. Though she’d known many soldiers of upstanding character, the military seemed to also attract the worst of men. She chose not to respond and turned away.

So much for being the first to get her photographs to Goldberg. With heavy steps, she covered the remaining distance to the telegraph office. She’d have to settle for wiring Goldberg to notify him that she would mail the package on Monday, along with the next installment in E.G. Brenton’s column.

Dreading having to cross the messy thoroughfare, she carefully negotiated the mud-caked steps leading from the boardwalk down to the street. She gathered her skirt at the sides, grimacing at the thick layer of sludge and muck left from last night’s rain. And her with her favorite dress on. Not a good decision on her part.

Her second miscalculation of the day.

Whenever Washington received rainfall, the air was thick and muggy, pressing over the city like a wet woolen blanket. Why the forefathers of this country had chosen to build the nation’s capital on a swamp, she’d never understand. Yet that wasn’t the case in these mountains. Yesterday’s dirt might’ve been churned to mud, but the air still felt dry and light. Pungent evergreen scented the chill along with a sweetness she would’ve sworn was honeysuckle, but neither scent improved her attitude.

She climbed the stairs to the boardwalk and arrived at the telegraph office, only to be stopped cold by a sign posted on the door. Her last strand of patience evaporated. She strode inside. “How long will the telegraph be down?”

The man behind the counter quickly rose from his stool, his once-white apron smeared with ink and dingy with stains. At least he wasn’t the young boy who had assisted her earlier that week. It had taken that inexperienced youth three tries to relay the telegram to the next station. And even then, she’d wondered if Goldberg would ever receive it and if it would still resemble her original message in any form.

“Good day, ma’am.” The man gave a conciliatory nod, his expression showing regret. “I wish I could say, but I’m not sure. They think it’s a problem down in the canyon. I heard something about the rains causing a slide during the night.”

“A slide?” She briefly glanced outside. “That much rain fell?”

“Doesn’t take much here, ma’am—especially this time of the year. Not with the snows thawing and beginning to melt. If you want to leave your message with me, I’ll send it as soon as they have the lines repaired. That way you won’t have to come back in.”

She reached for a slip of paper, aggravated at the situation but also with herself. “Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that.” It was her own fault she’d missed getting that package on the stage. Still, Timber Ridge was primitive compared to Washington—rain taking out the lines. She thought she’d factored in the remoteness and what effect it would have on her situation, but she hadn’t.