The Bounty Hunter's Redemption (5 page)

The pain in Anna’s soft gray eyes told of her love for Walt Hankins, a gentle, unassuming man, but not much of a provider. He’d risked and lost the family farm. Then year after year, he’d toiled on this tenant farm for half the crop, barely scrimping by. Whenever Nate earned a reward, he’d sent Anna money. Money that Walt soon lost on one fool scheme after another. More than once Nate had been tempted to knock some sense into Walt. If he had, perhaps his brother-in-law would be alive today.

He inhaled the cool morning air and let his gaze travel the shed and barn, then on to the rolling fields and budding woods beyond. The nearest farm was barely visible over the next rise. With Walt gone, Nate would rest easier knowing Anna lived in town surrounded by people. Had a doctor nearby.

At the wagon, Nate tugged the brim of his Stetson low to block the glare of the rising sun, then shoved the last trunk further into the back crammed with every item Anna owned.

She turned to him, disquiet in her eyes. “I won’t know a single person in that town.”

No doubt reeling from the sudden changes in her life, his sister had grown timid, not at all like her. Once they were settled, Anna would handle the move as she’d handled every hardship in her life, with strong faith in God.

“Won’t take you long to get acquainted.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be there ready to step in should an unhappy matron complain you made her hem too short.”

A gentle smile riding her lips, Anna laid a palm on Nate’s cheek. “My protector,” she said. “You’re always looking after me. How can I thank you?”

“Make me a cherry pie, sis, and we’ll call it even.”

“A cherry pie it is.” She accepted a helping hand onto the wagon seat. “Now, if you had a wife, she’d make all the pies you could eat.”

“Why bother, when you make the best pies anywhere?”

Nate tied Maverick to the back of the wagon, then tossed his saddlebag on the seat and clambered aboard.

He shot his sister a grin, to keep her from seeing how much the responsibility for her weighed on his shoulders. Not just for her, but for all the defenseless. He’d seen firsthand how quickly life could make a detour, how quickly life could end.

He had promised God he would do whatever it took to protect Anna.

Walt had left her with no home, no money, in a mess. Nate had spent his life cleaning up the messes others left behind.

This time he’d clean up the mess created by Max Richards and see that Anna got the future she deserved.

* * *

Up ahead, Nate caught a glimpse of a small white church, void of stained glass and steeple. Not much of merit compared to the grand churches he’d seen on his travels. Except here in this simple house of worship, at the age of twelve, he’d given his heart to Jesus. He’d been young, innocent.

No longer. The path he’d chosen stood between him and God.

He drove past the church to the cemetery, following the beaten-down grass winding between the rows of gravestones. Near the back, he stopped the team with a spoken word, set the brake and helped his sister down.

As he unhitched his horse to graze, a pair of cardinals darted into the evergreens surrounding the property. From the small barn across the way, a cow lowed. A reminder of his youth when he’d helped Pa milk their Holsteins twice a day, every day, all year long.

Nate offered his arm and Anna slipped hers through the crook. They climbed a small slope and stopped in front of the simple headstone marking their parents’ grave. Weeds grew at the base, tangling up and onto the engraved surface.

He knelt, ripped out the vines and tossed them aside.

“Who’ll do this when we’re not here?” Anna said, her voice as bleak as the black she wore.

“We’ll get back.”

Though he saw the doubt in her eyes, she gave a nod, then gathered the weeds and carried them to the compost.

As she walked on to Walt’s grave, seeking a private moment with her husband, Nate sat back on his heels at their parents’ headstone.

He traced the inscription, his fingers slipping over crevices forming the names Ephraim and Victoria Sergeant.
Beloved parents
. Good, hardworking, God-fearing people. They’d taken the first trip of their lives to visit Ma’s sister in Kansas. They’d never made it. Outlaws robbed the train, killing four passengers, his parents among the dead.

For what? A few dollars and a paltry sack of jewelry.

Shifty Stogsdill had been the leader of the gang.

Nate saw Stogsdill’s face in every fugitive he tracked down.

Before his parents had left, they’d asked him to look after Anna, always concerned someone would take advantage of her sweet, giving nature.

He’d tried. With everything in him, he’d tried.

A gust of air heaved from his chest. In truth, the very day Anna married Walt, Nate had left home, compelled to bring Stogsdill to justice. More than once, he’d come close to capturing the villain. But somehow Stogsdill had managed to slip away.

Then he’d met Rachel, a pastor’s daughter, a sweet, gentle young woman, and he’d gotten complacent, thinking he could trade the life of a bounty hunter for a small-town sheriff’s badge.

Until the day Stogsdill had come to Rachel’s hometown, gunning for Nate. As they’d crossed the street, Rachel had been chattering about their upcoming nuptials.

The thud of pounding hooves raised the hair on his nape. Drawing his gun, Nate whirled toward the road.

A flash of red, the glint of metal from Stogsdill’s hand.

A blast.

Nate fired just as a bullet whizzed past.

Rachel tumbled. Down, down, down.

Stogsdill’s aim had been off, a few inches to the right, and Rachel, an innocent young woman, lay on the street, her shirtwaist oozing red as life seeped out of her.

Tears stung his eyes. He’d been a fool to put aside the life of a bounty hunter for a sheriff’s job, enabling Stogsdill to track him to Rachel’s hometown. Even four years later, Nate could barely live with his failure to avenge her death.

If it was the last thing he did, Nate would see that Stogsdill got what he deserved. He couldn’t expect God to help him. Not when he had blood on his hands and vengeance in his heart.

A gentle hand pressed into his shoulder. “You okay?”

Nate slowed his breathing. “I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “And eager to see your handiwork walking the streets of Gnaw Bone.”

“Walking dresses?” Anna laughed. “That’s something I’ve got to see.”

The jingle of the horses’ harness brought Nate to his feet. “We’d better get going if we hope to reach Gnaw Bone by supper.”

As they walked to the wagon, a blue jay squawked from a tree branch overhead. Puffy clouds inched across the topaz sky. In this peaceful moment, the earth had righted on its axis.

Yet, out there somewhere, Stogsdill waited. Armed and dangerous. Nate had given up normalcy, peace, to protect the defenseless.

His grip on Anna’s arm tightened.

“Is something wrong?” Anna said.

“Everything’s fine.”

Or would be. Once Nate saw Stogsdill rot in jail or buried six feet under.

Chapter Four

T
he grand dame of Gnaw Bone, all three of her stacked chins quivering with intensity, leaned toward Carly. “Surely you can handle my daughter’s wedding gown and trousseau. I’ll pay you well. More money than you can earn in six months or more,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her no-nonsense tone carrying an edge.

An edge that held a warning Carly couldn’t miss.

The wealthiest family in town, the Schwartz women gave Carly considerable business. Business she welcomed and appreciated. But the sketch of an elaborate creation Mrs. Schwartz had laid on the counter wasn’t just any dress that could be whipped up in a couple of days. This confection was to be Vivian Schwartz’s wedding gown.

A spoiled young woman accustomed to the finest. In Vivian’s estimation, the finest wedding gown could only be created in Paris, France. Not Gnaw Bone, Indiana. Vivian had made that abundantly clear—twice—in today’s meeting.

The bride’s glum expression conveyed her resentment of turning to a small-town seamstress. A miscommunication with the French fashion designer meant the gown and trousseau would arrive long
after
the ceremony. Telegrams back and forth had riled the designer, who’d refused to rush the order. Apparently the matriarch of Gnaw Bone was no match for a Paris modiste.

Her auburn hair and pale green eyes partially hidden by a flower-festooned hat, turned up in the back and held in place by two hat pins, Vivian jabbed a manicured nail at the front and back sketches on the counter. “Can you reproduce this dress
exactly
as you see it here?” she said, her young voice rising to an unladylike shrill. “And I mean
exactly
, down to the last button.”

Carly forced a patient smile. “With less than a month till your wedding, there’s no time to send for the exact lace and silk you specify.”

“Gracious,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her ample bosom heaving, setting the ostrich plumes on her hat in motion. “We would have told you sooner if we’d known about this debacle. Surely you have something similar. At least you
had
a decent array of imported lace and fabric when I made the selections for my dress.”

A dress that was almost completed. Almost. And now adding a large complicated order to an already tight schedule...

Carly’s smile wobbled. “I’m sure I can duplicate the Paris design. I have a bolt of white silk and several options for lace. Would you care to look, Miss Vivian?”

“Is there no other choice?” Vivian turned to her mother, as if she expected to be whisked off to Paris that very afternoon.

The melodramatic sigh sliding from Vivian’s lips had Carly wondering if this young woman was mature enough to handle life’s disappointments, much less enter a marriage.

For Carly they’d been one and the same.

Would things have been different if she’d waited, been older, more sure of herself and her place in the world? As she was now. She would have seen Max for what he was—a man with no sense of right and wrong—and would have known to refuse his proposal.

She didn’t plan to marry again, but if she did, she’d marry a man of faith who shared her values.

Well, that thought was foolish. Besides, no such man was available.

Nate Sergeant is available.

Absurd. The bounty hunter was another Max—violent, unreliable and chasing after trouble.

“Well, are you going to show us the options?” Mrs. Schwartz asked, jerking Carly back to the task at hand.

“I’m sorry, of course.”

“Mother...” Vivian whined. “Do I have to?”

Mrs. Schwartz took her daughter’s emerald-bejeweled hand. “Yes, unless you want to postpone the wedding.”

“No! What would people think?”

“Then you must be realistic. I’m perfectly happy using Carly for my dress. She’s familiar with both our measurements, and her work is excellent.”

Vivian’s lower lip protruded. “I had my heart set on the wedding dress of my dreams.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but your dream gown wouldn’t have done you much good riding the high seas on your wedding day. To think that snobbish woman refused to rush the work, as if our order was of no consequence. The reason I prefer using Carly, thereby keeping the work in the country.”

“If you’ll follow me, Miss Vivian, I’m sure you’ll find something just as beautiful,” Carly said, leading them to her stock of the finest fabric and lace tucked inside a case, protected from sun and dust.

Across the way, Lester and Lloyd stopped scrubbing the shop window to wave at her, and then returned to the task. Even from here, Carly could see smudges they’d missed.

“This is it?” Vivian’s nose wrinkled, as if picking an unacceptable pig from a poke, but then with a sigh, she begrudgingly made fabric choices from the case and cupboards.

Carly showed her several designs for gowns and day dresses, and then entered selections into a notebook under the
S
page for Schwartz. “Miss Vivian, I have a record of your measurements from six months ago.”

“That should be fine. Vivian never gains an ounce.” Mrs. Schwartz handed Carly a list of the number of undergarments, nightgowns, day dresses, traveling suits and evening gowns they’d discussed. “Can you finish everything in three weeks? We’ll need a week to pack her trousseau.”

Carly couldn’t risk alienating her best customer. Yet how could she finish all these garments in time?

Somehow she’d find a way, if she had to work day and night.

What if the circuit judge ruled against her, forcing her out of the shop before she could finish this order? Carly’s hands trembled. What would she do then?

She straightened her spine. She couldn’t think about that now. “I’ll have them ready before the wedding,” she vowed.

“Thank you, Carly. You’ve lifted a terrible weight off our shoulders.” Mrs. Schwartz patted the bride’s cheek. “Now come along, Vivian, and I’ll buy you a sweet cake.”

The two women left the shop. Lester and Lloyd doffed their hats and bowed at the waist, as if greeting royalty. Were they poking fun? Or merely acknowledging what everyone knew? The Schwartz family ran the town.

The bell jingled. Lester stuck his head in the door. “We finished the window, Miz Richards. See you tomorrow, first thing,” he said, then joined his brother.

They sauntered across the street toward home; their idea of a full day apparently included an afternoon siesta.

Actually a nap sounded good. Carly dropped onto the settee, surrounded by a pile of tagged fabric and laces. This order was far more than she’d expected.
Her pulse skipped a beat. If the judge ruled against her, perhaps with the money she would earn, she could entice Nate Sergeant’s sister to sell. That is, if Carly could finish all those garments in time to earn payment.

No one else in town had the expertise to create Vivian Schwartz’s wedding finery. Normally nothing would please Carly more than turning lovely fabric into fashionable gowns. But this time she might’ve taken on more than she could accomplish.