Caleb's Rain Lily Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 1) Page 4

  Putting the Colt back in the holster, she stepped outside to the big brown and took the saddle bags from the horse, taking note of the empty scabbard. A sting of guilt passed through her for snooping through someone else’s possessions, but there might be a clue as to his identity inside one of them. Taking them in the door, she set them on the counter by the still warm cast-iron stove.

  The first held only a shirt and some extra cartridges, along with a few horseshoe nails. The second contained a Bible, a picture of a very pretty woman, and…an old army issue revolver. Union army. Old Captain Bledsoe, a resident of Martha Jones’s boarding house, owned one that he took off a dead Union Army officer during the war. It was his pride and joy to show around town.

  Maggie glanced at the sleeping man. So he had been a Union soldier. Maybe even an officer. She felt a coldness run through her blood as she returned the items to the bag. What was he doing in Chance, Texas? And why had God allowed her to find him?

  She checked his bandages again to make sure the bleeding had stopped. Her own eyes heavy with sleep, she padded the chair with another quilt and sat to watch him.

  ***

  Caleb blinked and stared at the ceiling above him. Planks, yellow pine from the look of it. He had seen enough of it in shacks and little houses in Tennessee and Georgia. Boards nailed to cedar frames, the breeze freely blowing through. How people had kept warm in the buildings in the winter had been a mystery to him. Then again, the entire region had been a mystery to him. Most had been dirt poor even before the war. What would convince a people like that to take up arms against their neighbors?

  A bitter laugh worked its way up his dry throat. Those people, the shop owners in small communities, the hand to mouth farmers, they hadn’t wanted war anymore than he had. The memory of their hunger caused by so much of the Union tactics was forever scorched in his mind.

  Young women, old women, both slave and white, children, old men, all thin as skeletons, begging for their lives, and pleading to keep what little they had left to eat. Sometimes the children threw rocks and sticks at them, shouting names through their tears as they ran to hide from the evil Yankee soldiers.

  And for a short time, he had been one of those that had burned their homes, their crops, all in the name of war. Maybe that bullet in his side had saved him from more physical harm, but participating in such wanton destruction had left different kinds of scars. There had been evil on both sides of the war. Thank God it was over. Or would be, when all of them could forgive each other. After ten years, the wounds were still raw.

  Risking more pain, he turned his head toward the woman in the chair. As long as he didn’t try to move his body, he was alright. “Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” Caleb raised his voice to the sleeping woman. It seemed a shame to wake her. The light shining through the window behind her, gave a soft glow to the blond hair, and slumber imparted a gentleness to her strong face.

  Her lids fluttered and she looked momentarily confused. Then her eyes rested on him. The reality of the moment came back to her. Gone was the ease and softness he had witnessed, replaced with a wariness and concern.

  She was up from the chair in a rush. “What is it?” She pulled back the quilt and checked his bandage. “You don’t seem to be bleeding anymore,” she told him, busy with retying the cloth.

  “Where am I?”

  Her large eyes met his and stirred something in his memory. Or was it just a feeling? It was gone as quick as it came.

  “You’re on my ranch at the moment. Five miles west of Chance, Texas. Do you remember why you came here?”

  ***

  Maggie waited. His face was tight with pain and his eyes looked away from her, as if he was trying to think.

  “I’m sure it will come to you soon. It isn’t uncommon after an injury.” Why was she being so nice to a Yankee? For all she knew he was a fugitive on the run from the law. She must keep that in the front of her mind.

  He turned his gaze back to her. “My name is Caleb Hatcher. I came down here from Kansas City to do some ranching. I…I’ve been riding for a couple of weeks, just looking around. I liked the way it looked in this direction.” He offered a weak smile. “Guess I took a wrong turn.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “This area is a good place for ranching. But there are a lot of scoundrels on the loose. You have to be careful. Sometimes it’s easy to walk into a trap.”

  His eyes wandered back to the ceiling, then to the walls. “This is your home?”

  She shook her head and smoothed back the wayward strands of her hair. “Not right now. I live in town. And that’s where I need to take you, so you can rest.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I think I can ride.”

  She shrugged and pulled back the quilt. “If you feel like you can make it, we’d better start for town soon. I’d like to get there before dark.” She hesitated, then added, “My name is Maggie Price. Let’s see if I can get you on my horse.”

  Chapter 6

  “I declare, Maggie, he’s about the handsomest thing I’ve ever seen!” Reba smiled, adding a spoonful of honey to the hot tea in the cup.

  Maggie snorted. “Yes, I suppose he is pretty to look at. But you could say the same for a lot of those outlaw fellas, too. Have you seen that wanted poster for John Wesley Hardin? What about Jesse James? You can’t go by looks, Gram.” Really, the woman ought to know that.

  “I think he has a very honest face,” Reba said, smoothing out the linen cloth she was arranging on the tray.

  “He’s not a prince,” Maggie said, snatching the cloth away. “A plain tray will do fine for him. For all we know, he’s on the run from the law.” Or a girl named Amanda. She was determined to ask him about the woman with the pretty name.

  Reba sniffed. “Whatever you say, Granddaughter. Now be sure and take some extra butter for his toast,” she reminded her, spooning a smooth ball onto the plate.

  Maggie sighed. Why was she being so unreasonable about an injured man? A little piece of linen wasn’t going to hurt anything, and it would make Gram feel better. She removed the plate from the tray and reached for the cloth. “Maybe you’re right, Grammy. No need for him to think we’re uncivilized.”

  ***

  She watched as he ate, stuffing the bread into his mouth like a starving wolf. The toast and jam was devoured in only a few moments. Curiosity got the best of her as he licked the sticky fruit from his fingers. “When is the last time you ate?” He looked strong and well-fed, able to hunt and take care of himself.

  He picked up the napkin and wiped the smear of jam from his lips. He smiled. “Last night I had a nice plate of beans and biscuits. But when I got an early start this morning, I thought I’d skip a meal and try to get some fresh meat around noon. Instead, someone got me,” he grinned, showing a mouth of perfect teeth.

  Reba, standing in the door way, came for the tray at once. “I’ll go make an egg for you, sir. It will help give you some strength. You just finish your tea and I’ll be back soon. Tomorrow, I’ll make a nice pot of chicken and dumplings for you. That’ll get you up and around before you know it!”

  “Thank you,” he answered. “And it’s Caleb. Caleb Hatcher. No ‘sir’ necessary.”

  Maggie barely blinked at Gram’s knowing look as she walked out the door. This man would have that woman waiting on him hand and foot if she didn’t keep a close eye on the situation. And Gram would be glad to do it. It was just her nature to help others.

  “Your mother is a good woman,” he said, leaning back on the pillows Maggie had propped behind his back.

  Maggie smiled and settled herself on the padded rocker near the bed. “She’s my grandmother. Her daughter, Hannah, was my mother. She and my father died when I was young, so Gram took over and raised me.”

  He nodded and took a sip from his cup. “I sure do thank you for all you’ve done, Miss. . .”

  “Price. Maggie Price. Please call me Maggie.” She cleared her throat. “Have you recalled anythin
g else about what happened to you this afternoon? Maybe remembered a face?” She waited, and listened to the strains of piano music drifting from Bailey’s. He must have hired a new man. The music was better than usual. Or possibly the player hadn’t had his full quota of whiskey for the night.

  He stared into his tea and shook his head. “No. I don’t think I ever saw who it was. I barely heard a sound when I turned and heard the shot.” He arched his eyebrows and studied her face. “Just how did you come to find me?”

  Maggie relaxed and leaned back in her chair. He had a nice voice, friendly, despite the accent. And he was sharp, that was easy to see. “Your horse wandered up to my cabin. A saddled horse without a rider is always worrisome. So I figured that either someone was sneaking around, or they were hurt. I could tell by the piece of rope hanging from the halter that it had been pulled, maybe in a panic, and not cut. So I went looking.” She shrugged. “The wooded grove behind the cabin seemed a reasonable place to start searching since the horse came from that direction.”

  “No doubt you saved my life,” he said, taking a final sip from his cup and settling it on the small table next to the bed. He took a short breath and held his side before he spoke. “Now, if he’s still in his office today, shouldn’t I be telling some of this story to the sheriff?”

  Maggie sighed and snuggled closer into her shawl. “We haven’t had a sheriff for a while.” She paused to gather her thoughts. A hard thing to do when his blue eyes, dark in the low light seemed to pierce into her very being. “My…my husband, Ian Price, was the sheriff for almost five years. He was killed by a man named Hobart Sayer. Nearly two years ago,” she added, stopping lest her voice begin to tremble.

  Caleb nodded. “I’m sorry. Sorry for your loss.” He swallowed. “But why hasn’t there been another sheriff hired?”

  This was the hard part. Making a stranger understand what the town had been through for the past few years wasn’t easy to explain. However she put it, they would all sound like cowards. And maybe they were.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, for starters, there really aren’t all that many men, and most of them are older. Then there’s the Sayers. Three of them, all brothers. They live on a ranch about nine miles west of town. They’ve spent a lot of time stealing from people, threatening them. Once they even kidnapped a young boy. They returned him the next day–left him tied up outside his folk’s cabin. There was a note on him explaining this was just a warning. Next time they might kill him, or all of them.”

  “And have they? Killed anyone else?”

  Maggie shivered. “A few. Of course, they claimed self-defense. Once there was a fight over one of Bailey’s saloon girls, and the other over a disagreement down at the livery. Both were shot by Job, the middle brother. Allen, the youngest ran an old man down with his horse last year. Claimed it was an accident.” She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t like this before Hobart killed Ian. People trusted Ian, looked up to him. Most of the town came out here from Georgia with us. And when he died. . .”

  Her eyes met his. Did he understand? “Like I said, there aren’t many young men in town. We lost a lot of them in the war. Now, it’s mostly old soldiers sitting around at Martha Jones’s Boarding House, talking about the glory days of the war.” She gave a slight laugh. “Or glory days in their minds, anyway.”

  She tried to avoid his eyes, but they held her, searching her face before he spoke. “And no one tried to hire any outsider for the job?”

  Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek. “We did advertise a time or two. But when they came and understood the situation, nobody took the position. I’ve wired the Texas Rangers a few times, but they’ve never come.”

  “So what about problems in the town? Who do they come to when something happens?”

  Maggie studied her fingers before she reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out the gold star. “Mostly to me.”

  ***

  An hour later, stomach full of Mrs. Barkley’s good cooking and somewhat medicated by a shot of whiskey, Caleb allowed himself to be arranged and tucked into bed. The oil lamp on the table beside the bed had been turned low; Maggie was saying she would be back to check on him later.

  Through the window, he could see the lights from the saloon as they poured onto the dusty street. The music was fast and loud, punctuated by rolls of laughter and shouts. Boots stomped and spurs jangled on the wooden sidewalk. Almost as if the customers were outside his very window. But he had spent enough time awake in the outdoors to understand how sound carried in the dark. Horse’s hooves pounded the dry street as cowhands, full of liquor and a good time, were making their way out of town and back to the ranches.

  He sighed and pushed harder into the mattress and pillow. Maggie and her grandmother must be half deaf to sleep through all of this noise every night. A body would have to be mighty tired to drift off with all the racket out there.

  He closed his eyes and smiled. Maggie. Eyes dark as walnut shells, and golden hair that glowed in the lamplight. Listening to her speak, she was so sure of herself, so confident. Until you took a good look into those brown eyes of hers. They told the true story of who she was. A woman alone, struggling to make things work. Trying to be responsible for things that shouldn’t be her worry. The town was putting too much pressure on her. No widow should have to step into her dead husband’s boots and carry on what he was meant to do.

  She had saved his life today, and he owed her. Somehow he would make all of this right.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie stood behind the curtains, her eyes on the scene across the street, but not seeing any of it. It was all too familiar to keep her attention. The only thing crowding her thoughts was the man downstairs. Caleb Hatcher had been ambushed sometime this morning. But what time? Had it been one of the Sayers? Job and Allen had been in town before noon. Hobart wasn’t with them. He could have been anywhere. And without an exact time, she had no way of knowing if Job and Allen could have shot the man.

  She swallowed hard. Whoever the shooter, he had been near her cabin. Had he been watching the place? She shivered and dropped the curtain. Taking a seat in the old rocker, she picked up the Bible she had left on the small table. But the words only blurred together as she tried to focus.

  The clock in the hall chimed twelve, its chords echoing in the quiet house. She closed the book and picked up her shawl. It was time to take another look at Caleb’s wounds. And maybe spend a little time with him if he was awake.

  The house was quiet and she walked softly as she stepped down the staircase. She opened the door a crack, and peeked inside. The soft light cast shadows on his sleeping face. Her heart barely skipped a beat and she smiled at the absurdity. But Gram was right. He was about the handsomest thing they’d seen in this town in a few years. She stepped inside and walked to the bedside.

  Her fingers brushed the good side of his forehead. His skin was warm, but not hot. A good sign. Feeling the breeze on her face, and seeing the curtains waving in the night winds, she walked softly across the room and pulled down the sash, leaving a couple of inches to let in the fresh air.

  Caleb stirred in the bed and his eyes opened. She watched as he glanced around the room, his vision finally finding her. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

  She smiled and walked to the bed. She hadn’t meant to wake him. “Yes. I just thought closing down the window might help keep out some of the noise. But it looks like you were managing to sleep, anyway.”

  He gave a short chuckle, then grimaced with pain. He bit his lip a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know how you and Mrs. Barkley manage to get any sleep at all with the racket from the saloon and street.”

  “You can adjust to anything,” she said. Checking the curtains again, she went back to the other side. Pulling the rocker closer to the bed, she sat. “When my husband and I lived out on the ranch, it was just as noisy. Only then it was crickets and frogs, howling coyotes, barking dogs. But it was better sounds to sleep to,” she smiled, reachi
ng for the quilt and folding it back a bit.

  “It’s not hurting so much now,” he said, watching her fingers.

  She nodded as she touched the bandage, making sure it was secure. “I think maybe it has completely stopped bleeding. And so far there is no sign of infection. I know it’s early to tell, but there’s not as much swelling as I would have thought.”

  “I take it there’s not a doctor in town, either?”

  Maggie settled the quilt on him and sat back, folding her hands across her lap. “Only the barber, who fancies himself a sort of physician. But, if you like, I can let him have a look at you.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I think you’ve done a fine job.”

  She shrugged and rearranged the shawl on her shoulders, pulling it together in front, shivering a little, as if the slight breeze was making her cold. “My uncle James was a doctor. Killed in the war. Before that, he used to let me go on calls with him. I was always willing to give him some assistance with his patients. But don’t worry; I’ll watch the wound carefully. If it doesn’t do well, I’ll send someone to Fredericksburg and bring back one of their doctors.”

  “How far is it?” he asked.

  “A few hours ride if the weather is good and you have a fast horse.”

  “The town must be fairly isolated.” He turned his head to the window and stared out the dark panes.

  “As soon as you’re better, you can get out and walk Main Street yourself. We have a lot of buildings, most of them empty. With no lawman and the Sayer brothers running wild, a lot of folks have left.”

  She waited a moment, then added. “A few years ago, Chance was thriving, growing every year. But after Ian died, a good many of them moved away. No one wants to live in fear.”