Whirlwind Wedding (8 page)

“They probably think we wouldn't look for them in a place they'd just left,” Davis Lee said.

Jericho nodded. “Have you heard any news from those nuns in New York City?”

“Not yet.”

The sound of galloping hooves had both men turning toward the open window. A stocky, red-haired man reined up his spotted mare in front of Catherine and slid out of the saddle.

“It's Jed Doyle,” Davis Lee murmured.

The man jerked off his hat and gave her a half bow. “Miz, I'm the gunsmith in Whirlwind. I heard Sheriff Holt was out here.”

“Yes. He's inside.”

“Jed, what's happened?” Davis Lee called out the window.

Catherine glanced at Davis Lee, then back at the man fingering the brim of his hat. He stared uncertainly at her.

“Go on inside,” she urged, her questioning gaze flicking to Jericho.

He wondered if the McDougals had struck again. Did she suspect the same thing? As her gaze followed the man to the house, worry furrowed her brow. Jericho wondered if it was because he had another visitor who might tire him out. Or something else entirely.

The man hovered in the bedroom doorway. “Pardon me, Sheriff. I wouldn't have come except it's important.”

“That's all right. Jed Doyle, this is my cousin, Jericho Blue.”

“How'do.” Jed bobbed his head, his fingers crimping the edge of his hat. “I rode over from Abilene this morning, so I was late opening up my shop, but when I did I noticed some rifle and shotgun cartridges were missing.”

Davis Lee stiffened. “How many?”

“Two hundred. I had them in some old military cartridge boxes.”

“Was the store broken into or did someone perhaps steal the ammunition while you were open yesterday?”

“The glass in the door was broken.”

“Okay.” Davis Lee clapped the man on the shoulder. “I want to come over and look at your place.”

Jed nodded, his gaze shifting to Jericho. “You're one of the Rangers who was shot in that ambush, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you're healing up. I was sorry to hear about your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The gunsmith paused. “It's occurred to me that someone from the McDougal gang might've stolen those cartridges.”

“Could be, but let's not speculate.” Davis Lee patted Jed on the back. “I'll be along directly. Just need to finish up here.”

“Very good then.” The man bobbed his head at Jericho again and left.

Jericho wondered once again if Catherine knew anything about the outlaws' latest movements. “Looks like you're right about the McDougals picking up a few things for their hideout.”

“I think I'll give the town another once-over after I've had a look at Jed's place.”

“Good idea. I wish I could go with you.”

“I'll let you know what I find out.”

Jericho nodded, frustrated that he had no more energy than a baby bird.

Catherine appeared in the doorway. “Is everything all right? Mr. Doyle seemed upset.”

“Someone broke into his shop last night and took some things,” Davis Lee said.

Jericho watched her face carefully to see if suspicion or fear that her brother might be the culprit crossed it, but she only looked concerned. “I hope Mr. Doyle's things can be recovered.”

They probably would be—from someone's back,
Jericho thought darkly.

“I brought you something to read.” She handed him a book worn on the spine and edges. “I thought you might want some diversion.”

He certainly needed to focus his mind somewhere besides her sweet self. He nodded, glancing at the book, entitled
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.
“Thank you.”

His cousin said goodbye, giving Jericho a silent glance to let him know he'd be back with information when he had some.

Catherine started out, as well, then paused in the doorway. “I'll be outside awhile longer, then I'll bring you some lunch. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

She smiled and left.

She was taking real good care of him. Too good. Maybe she didn't know about Haskell's store being burglarized, and so didn't suspect her brother. But did she wonder if Andrew had anything to do with the break-in at the gunsmith's? Jericho sure as hell did. The kid's absence last night was too much of a coincidence, and Jericho didn't believe in coincidences.

He'd seen nothing on Catherine's face to indicate that she feared the thief might be her brother. In fact, she'd given no indication today that she even suspected he had sneaked out of the house last night. Was it possible she really didn't know?

She walked out with Davis Lee to his horse, her hands clasped behind her back as she looked up at him.

“Be careful until we know where those McDougals are,” he said, mounting and tipping his hat to her. “Let me know if you need anything at all. My office is just a holler away.”

“Thank you.” She stepped back when he turned his buckskin toward town.

As Davis Lee rode off, she went back to her washing. Jericho watched her, fighting the hot rush of blood in his veins. He didn't like Davis Lee showing an interest in her, but it was none of his concern. No other woman had ever distracted him from his job. Catherine wasn't going to be the first.

 

After a lunch of beans and bread, Jericho slept off and on for the next couple of hours, waking midafternoon feeling sore
and out of sorts. He knew it was because of the interest Davis Lee had shown in Catherine. Or rather, because she hadn't acted one bit skittish with his cousin.

Jericho rubbed a hand over his face, pushing away thoughts of her.

A movement caught his eye and he looked up in time to see Andrew pad softly past the bedroom's half-open door on the way to his own room.

Still feeling weak, Jericho pushed himself up with his elbow and clutched the bedside table for balance. He stood, sweat breaking out across his back as pain jabbed into him. His injured hand hung uselessly at his side. He limped to the door and braced one shoulder against the frame, hoping he looked more in control than he felt.

Andrew's door opened and he stepped out, rolling up the sleeves of a dingy white work shirt. He saw Jericho and froze. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

“Gotta do it sometime.”

The kid chewed the inside of his cheek, then started past Jericho.

“You were right to protect your sister last night.”

The boy paused at the kitchen table, glancing over his shoulder. Jericho kept his tone casual and easy, talking to Andrew as he had dozens of suspects before. “I guess you're the only protector she has. Unless she's got a beau.”

“She doesn't.” Andrew took a step toward him. “Well, the sheriff is kinda sweet on her.”

Jericho clenched his fist. “You sure did handle that gun well. Who taught you to do that?”

Wariness darkened the kid's blue eyes and drew his stocky body tight. “I just practice.”

“I don't imagine that's what you were doing last night, when you were out after midnight.”

The boy's gaze shot past Jericho to the front door. “Did you say something to my sister?”

“What were you doing last night, anyway?”

Andrew angled his chin stubbornly, but Jericho saw fear in his face. “I don't have to tell you.”

“Nope.” He deliberately lowered his voice, hoping to intimidate the boy into revealing something. “You don't.”

Andrew shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze fixed somewhere behind Jericho's head. “I was with Creed Carter and Miguel Santos.”

“Friends of yours?”

“Yes. From school. We were out behind Creed's pa's saloon.”

“Doing what?”

Again defiance blazed in his eyes, and also distrust. “Smoking,” he said grudgingly.

Jericho didn't believe him for a minute. “Funny, I didn't smell any smoke on you last night. And if your sister had, she probably would've said something.”

Andrew glowered at him. “You're not gonna tell her, are you? About me being out?”

“That's up to you.” Jericho sank against the doorframe, cursing the sweat that trickled down his spine. His legs were ready to fold; he hoped the kid couldn't tell.

“Really?”

Jericho shrugged. “You're old enough to know what's right, what you oughta do.”

Andrew stared hard at him. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

Jericho gave a curt nod.

Andrew went outside, his voice carrying as he told Catherine he was going to clean the stalls and pump some fresh water for their horse and Jericho's. Jericho pushed away from the door and hobbled back to bed, easing himself onto the mattress with a groan.

The apprehension on the kid's face said he figured Jericho was on to him, but he didn't know how much he knew. Jericho intended to keep the kid guessing. And find out whatever he could while he was laid up.

A couple of hours later, as the sun began to set, Catherine asked Jericho if he thought he could eat dinner with them at the table. He accepted. Surely he could manage to sit in a chair for half an hour without keeling over.

As they ate, Andrew kept his gaze fixed on his plate or on Catherine. Jericho could tell by the sideways looks the boy gave his sister that he hadn't confessed his absence yet.

The stew and fresh bread were delicious, but Jericho felt a palpable tension in the room. Catherine talked to her brother about his schoolwork, in particular his sums. But she spoke to Jericho only to ask if he wanted more food.

The fact was the lady had probably had all of him she wanted. Which was just as well. He ripped a piece of bread savagely in half, trying to cool the ire in his blood, and narrowed his attention on the Donnellys. They didn't exchange looks that hinted at secrets. No silent messages passed between them. Jericho could tell by the way Andrew grew quieter and quieter that the boy was nervous.

At his sister's request, he went out to the spring house to get more buttermilk. Silence enveloped the room, so deep that Jericho thought he could hear Catherine's heart racing. Their utensils scraped the last of the stew from their bowls. Outside, a quail called.

“The meal was delicious.” Even though he told himself not to care, he wanted her to be at ease with him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She was polite but didn't meet his eyes or relax her stiff posture.

“That pie sure smells good.”

“It's cherry.”

Andrew returned, putting a jar of buttermilk in the center of the table before taking his seat. He reached for another helping of stew, ladeling up twice as much as even Jericho would eat.

“Slow down, Andrew,” Catherine said. “There's plenty to go around.”

He returned half the stew, then sat down and began to spoon it into his mouth.

Having eaten his fill, Jericho picked up his cup of coffee. “The sheriff was out today.”

“What did he want?” Andrew fired the question at him so fast that even Catherine gave him an odd look.

“Why would you think he wanted something?” Jericho drawled.

Catherine frowned at Jericho as if she thought he might have a fever. Then she turned to her brother. “Sheriff Holt came to check on Lieutenant Blue.”

Andrew met his gaze, trying for defiance, but looking apprehensive.

“He thinks the McDougal gang may be nearby,” Catherine said. “We all need to be careful, try not to go anywhere by ourselves.”

The boy swallowed, putting his spoon down as if he couldn't eat one more bite.

She glanced at Jericho, holding his gaze for the first time since that morning. “Is it safe for Andrew to go to school?”

“I'm sure the sheriff would've said if he didn't think so. He checked all over town today and didn't find any sign of them. Even looked at the school, I believe.”

Andrew was wound so tight Jericho thought he might bounce right out of his chair.

“Did you see the sheriff today, Andrew?” Catherine asked.

“Oh. Yeah.” He seemed mighty interested in the table.

Jericho leveled a look at the kid. “Haskell's store was burglarized night before last. And last night someone broke into the gunsmith's shop.”

Andrew paled considerably.

“Does Davis Lee thinks the gang did both things?” Catherine crossed herself. “Why would those horrid men come back here?”

Worry chased across Andrew's freckled features and satisfaction curled through Jericho. The boy was hiding something about those outlaws, maybe even the outlaws themselves. Every instinct Jericho had honed over the last thirteen years told him Andrew knew where they were. “Maybe they have some unfinished business.”

“With you, you mean?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe me. Maybe someone else.”

“We must be extremely careful then.” She gave Andrew a warning look, and Jericho wondered if it meant she knew the boy had been gone last night, or if she were simply trying to make him understand there was a threat.

The kid was now a deathly shade of gray, and he scratched nervously at the table beside his bowl. “Catherine?” he said quietly.

She looked over at him.

“I snuck out last night. That sound the Ranger heard was me.”

A sigh of disappointment broke from her. “Why? Where did you go?”

“I was with Creed and Miguel.”

His pause told Jericho he'd been right about the boy lying the first time he'd used the alibi. It wouldn't be hard to check his story.

Catherine frowned. “I don't know them.”

“Creed's pa owns the saloon and Miguel's uncle runs the telegraph.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, visibly searching for control as she asked tightly, “And what were you doing?”

Andrew's gaze shot to Jericho before he said, “We were smoking.”

“By the saints!” She stood, her chair scraping across the floor. “I won't have it! I know you don't want to obey me, but in this you will. No more smoking and no more sneaking out. I'll catch you if I have to set a trap outside your window.”