Texas Lonesome (24 page)

I
n the wee hours of the morning, Dustin lay on his back staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. The temperature was warm for a November night, and he couldn’t sleep. Sounds of the night filtered in the open window across the room, and thoughts of the dustup with Billy Burger yesterday kept taunting him. Someone could have been killed.

He had decisions to make. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet falling down around his hips. He rubbed a hand across his chest.

Only one thing left to do. He’d been weighing the pros and cons for the past two hours. Lighting the candle on his bedside table, he pulled on a pair of pants, picked up the candle, and crossed quietly to the door on bare feet.

Being careful not to make any noise, he turned the doorknob and slowly pulled open the door. The deserted hall loomed back at him, as if he were doing something wrong. The clock in the entry chimed three times.

At his father’s office, he entered and then quietly closed the double doors behind him, making sure they didn’t click.

Indecision kept him rooted to the spot. He could be opening a can of worms he might be sorry for later. And yet, he had to try. The sight of Sidney in Lily’s shop had removed all doubt. He had to do something to clear their family’s name, at least in her mind. The answer might lay hidden here.

Going to the shelf on the back wall, Dustin held the candle close to the spines of the ledgers. The most recent was 1875 to current. He passed that by and reached for 1860–1875. He set the archive flat on the desk and quietly lowered himself into his father’s chair.

Dustin opened to the middle pages. His best guess was the incident happened in 1866, twenty years ago. If the brothers Diaz had alluded to weren’t mentioned here, then he’d have to search earlier. The first column held the names of the ranch hands who had worked for the Rim Rock then—Alex Peabody, Drag Bag, Lester Marshal, Oren Newell—not near as many as there were today.

January, February, and March were the same. But in April, Drag Bag was gone. None of the names rang any bells.

He flipped several pages back to January of 1865. Same names minus Oren Newell, plus Henry Baker.

Nothing.

He flipped several more pages back to 1864, his father’s penmanship totally recognizable, and traced his finger slowly down the column. More of the same, but—

His heart tripped. Law Harris and Shorty Harris, the brothers Diaz had mentioned. The old man had a suspicion but no proof, nothing solid to go on. That was for Dustin to find—if he could locate the brothers. He flipped back three years, seeing their names.

The office door opened. His pa stood in the doorway, a lantern in his hand. Exactly what Dustin had feared.

“Dustin.” His tone said he knew exactly what his oldest son was up to. “Find what you’re looking for?”

Dustin closed the ledger and stood. He had no idea how to answer.

Had Law and Shorty Harris had something to do with the ambush of Jock Calhoun? Had his father buried the truth for all these years?

No! He’d never believe that. Another reason had to exist for the distrust he saw illuminated in his father’s eyes by the lamp he held.

Turning, Dustin replaced the two books he’d taken down and started for the door.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

The lame words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He wasn’t ready to share with his father what he was doing. The man might misconstrue Dustin’s intent. Best to keep quiet.

T
he day after her shop had been destroyed, dismay filled Lily’s chest as she gazed around the room. The area was straightened and put to rights, but the lingering residue of gunpowder in the air kept her nerves on edge.

Boon . . . jail break . . . jewel.
A shiver crawled up her spine.

“What’s wrong, honey?” John came through the back door, carrying the trash can. “I saw you shiver.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “The scent of gunpowder on the air reminds me of Lecter Boon. The night my aunt killed him.”

“And it’s a good thing she did.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged. “Don’t think about that. We’ll get through this, just like we did then.”

When her gaze moved to the bloodstained floor just inside the front door, he squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll get rid of that if I have to pry out the boards and add new.”

The door opened and Dustin came inside, hat in hand. He looked around, his expression mirroring how they felt.

“I told Lily you’d help me remove the bloodstains, even if we have to replace the floor.”

Dustin nodded. “Absolutely. Don’t you worry about that, Lily. How’s the patient?” he asked, directing his attention from the floor to John. “Still locked up?”

“You bet. He’s stretched out on a cell cot, wallowing in his pain. One bullet went clean through the boot and his foot, and the other I had to dig out. A month will pass before he’s putting on any boots. He was so inebriated I didn’t have to sedate him, but now that he’s sobering up, he’s none too pleased. From time to time, we hear him hollering.”

“Sorry about this, Lily,” Dustin said, sweeping a hand toward the room. “I hate to see such damage come to your shop.”

She lifted a shoulder, tamping back a desire to let her tears flow one more time. The thought of Mrs. Tuttle’s beautiful velvet dress torn to shreds was nauseating her. The woman lived out of town and hadn’t yet heard what had transpired.

“Thank you, Dustin,” she said. “We appreciate your concern. Even though Billy Burger deserves whatever he gets—and thank God, Sidney knows how to use a gun—I do feel a little bad for him. He’s such a nice man when he’s sober. Mrs. Knutson is pressing charges for ‘almost’ hurting her daughters and scarring them emotionally.”

He gazed around. “Need my help?”

“Thanks, but Sidney was here for the past two hours. Everything is pretty much done, except for the bloodstain on the floor. Martha is lending me a small rug until we decide what to do. As you can see, I’m closed for the day. One Saturday won’t hurt.”

At the mention of Sidney, Dustin had straightened. Lily had the feeling that perhaps he’d come looking for her, as well as checking on the shop. Yesterday, they’d hardly kept their gazes off each other, but in the uproar, nobody had noticed except herself.

“You can find her walking around town. I think she was going down by the school.”

Dustin left his horse tied in front of Lily’s and walked down to the schoolhouse, where Sidney sat on a log in the playground. Not much there besides two rope swings attached to the branch of an old oak tree, and the dusty diamond-shaped path in the barren field. Her back was to him as she gazed over the terrain, as well as the road that led to the Rim Rock.

Is she thinking about Noah? Is she missing me?

He wondered if she’d seen him ride into town ten minutes ago. She seemed to be mesmerized by a handful of small wild goats climbing around a rock formation out behind the schoolyard a hundred yards away.

The crunch of his boots on the dirt drew Sidney’s attention. When she turned, he smiled.

“Did you see me ride in? I came right by here.”

She nodded. “I did.”

So she wasn’t as eager to see him as he was to see her. He’d probably scared her off by his declaration alongside the Knutsons’ barn. Not to mention the kiss. Disappointment pressed his shoulders.

“Noah’s fine, in case you’re wondering. I’m trusting him with Manolito today. Gave me his word he’d behave.”

“And your men?”

“Most have come around. No one wants to lose the good job they have at the Rim Rock.”

She heaved a sigh. “Poor Lily,” she said. “I feel so bad about yesterday. For an instant, I feared that brute would kill her.” She turned back to the goats.

He wondered what she would do if he picked up her hand and held it in his. Rejecting the idea, he sat beside her.

“I’m thankful you were there, Sidney. John, me . . . we all are.” He shook his head as dread climbed up his spine. “Billy Burger could have easily killed Lily with one hand.”

“I’m thankful as well.”

She sounded strange, almost a bit angry. He couldn’t fathom why.

“Lily isn’t the only one I was relieved about.”

She glanced into his face, a deep
V
drawing her brows together. Her eyes held a myriad of questions deep within.

“I’m awfully glad you weren’t hurt either. Can’t tell you how long that thought kept me awake last night.”

She didn’t respond to his statement.

Was he pushing her too hard? He couldn’t help his feelings.

A handful of brown wrens caught her eye, and she followed their progress across the sky.

“Sidney, I learned something a few days ago. Went digging for information about the feud. Well, more pointedly, the attack.”

She turned and held his gaze. Color came up in her face. “You think your pa was involved? Like I’ve been saying all along.”

“No.” He shook his head. “But I’d like to prove to you that he wasn’t. You’re loyal to your family, and I’d like—”

“And you’re not?” she responded quickly.

Her tone wasn’t angry, just tired. Beaten down.

When he placed a gentling hand on her arm, she didn’t pull away. They were making progress.

“I am loyal to my family, of course. Just as strongly as you are to yours. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. This wrongful accusation has gone on long enough. Ride with me over to Draper Bottom. The area is safe, and won’t take but a couple of hours. I have a lead I’d like to check out.”

She just stared at him, thinking.

“And then again, the clue might just be a dead end. A wild goose chase.” He shrugged and smiled. “Don’t know about you, but I could use a wild goose chase about now.”

“Just you and me?”

He turned his body so he had a better view of her face. “I don’t want what I’m doing to get back to my father. He already thinks . . .”
I’m a turncoat.
Best to keep that thought to myself.
“That I’m spinning my wheels. I’d rather keep this between you and me. The fewer people who know, the better.”

“Riding out together without a chaperone?” she said hesitantly. “Those Knutson girls are everywhere, and they spread gossip faster than bunnies multiply. I don’t know.”

“When did you ever worry about propriety?”

A ghost of a smile pulled her lips. “Pretty much never.”

“That’s what I thought. Still, best if we meet just past the split in the road where a large deserted barn sits. Again, the barn is close enough to be safe.”

“That’s what you said before the outlaws attacked.”

He chuckled. “You got me there, Calhoun. I can watch your approach, keep you safe.”

Her brows tented as she mulled that thought. “Where am I supposed to get a horse?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m not riding behind you!”

He chuckled again, bumped up his hat, and rubbed his forehead. “Didn’t say you were. I’ll get you a mount from the livery.”

“How’ll you explain needing an extra horse?”

“Holy smokes, Calhoun, you ask a lot of questions.” He smacked his hands down on his thighs. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Most people don’t give me the third degree like you do.”

She nodded. “Fine then. One last thing. Where’d you get this information? And why didn’t anyone go looking before this?”

“An old ranch hand who’s living out his days in a small cabin on the ranch. I trust him. He’s a good man. And why not before? I don’t really know. That’s a very good question.”
And one I hope doesn’t come back to haunt me.

She studied the goats scrabbling amongst the rocks.

“Will you be missed?” he asked.

With a sigh, she turned and searched his face. “By who?”

The bareness of her voice gave him pause. Was she sad? Hungry? Was she loved at all at home? He couldn’t do anything about the last question yet, but the other two he’d take care of on the ride to Draper Bottom.

“All right. Give me time to change into my riding clothes,” she said. “Say, half an hour?”

He smiled inwardly. “Make that forty-five minutes. I have a few details to attend to, and I want to be there first.” He stood and reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet.

The next few hours would prove very interesting.