Loving the Lawman Page 9

  Uriah got to his feet, and tried the belt. It was too big, until he used the tip of his pocket knife to add a hole that made it fit perfectly. With the belt on, he inserted his pocket knife, as well as the Colt he'd had tucked into his waistband, into slots on the belt. When he finished, his face was beaming with pride.

  Noah couldn't help smiling. While he still had his reservations about letting Uriah do a patrol, he remembered what it was like to be a green lawman, just itching for some action. He hoped for Uriah's sake that it proved to be a quiet day.

  Rising from his desk, he gathered his pack, shrugged into his long duster, and placed his hat atop his head. "Greg, see that Officer Stevens is properly outfitted. See you two later this morning." With a wave, he stepped out into the still-dark morning.

  It was just before sunrise, and as he dropped his pack onto the seat of his old wagon, he could see the band of light hanging low on the horizon. He was getting an early start on purpose, so he could be away from town for as short a time as possible. Buggy traffic on the main roads between towns would only increase after the breakfast hour, so by leaving now, he hoped to beat the rush.

  Climbing up on the seat, he snapped the reins and urged Justice forward.

  **

  Valerie hitched up her voluminous silk skirts and ran as if her life depended on it, because, as far as she could tell, it did. All the odd feelings she'd had during last night's storm now seemed perfectly justified. The street, filled with the muddy remains of yesterday's rains, hampered her speed, but she dared not stop her flight. Behind her, someone was there, bearing down on her like the very hounds of Hell.

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that one of them was chasing her. The man, with his long, dirty blonde hair peaking from beneath a battered bowler, was a few yards behind her. Seeing him so close spurred her on, and she picked up her pace. If she'd had it to do over, she'd have chosen a simple day dress instead of the traveling costume that was now weighing her down.

  Two more bandits had exited the Ridgeway Savings and Loan, filling the saddlebags of their horses with the hard-earned money of the townsfolk. Seeing her step out the newspaper office, where she'd gone to give her opinion on her father's new position as mayor, they'd given chase. She had no idea what made them target her, but she assumed they thought her wealthy because of her fine dress and fancy heeled slippers. She cursed the infernal things now; while fashionable, they were not made for running.

  All around her, chaos reigned. Gunshots rang out, sending frightened horses and other beasts scurrying about. Women hurried inside the butcher's shop, pulling their children along to seek safety. Men of the town raised their rifles to defend their families and businesses. Henry Carl, the blacksmith, stood on his stoop, his Colt 1877 aimed.

  "Look out, Miss Valerie!"

  As she ducked away, Carl fired a shot that clipped the leg of her pursuer. The man cursed a blue streak while the bullet whizzed into the side of the library, splintering the wood.

  Sending a silent but sincere thanks to her neighbor, she headed for the mercantile, where she dearly hoped her parents were safely inside. Even though he was the newly elected mayor, Bernard insisted on continuing to run his store, as opposed to "sitting on his duff" in the mayor’s office.

  Valerie saw the mercantile door swing open. Her barrel chested father stepped onto the plank walk, a pistol in each hand. Relieved beyond measure, she crashed into him as he folded one arm around her, keeping the other pistol trained on her pursuer. She wept her fear into his shoulder, her tears soaking the front of his shirt. "Compose yourself, my dear. We have guests." He was normally an easygoing fellow, but today, his steely tone made it clear he was a man prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect what belonged to him.

  A second later, Valerie heard the telltale pop as a shell exploded from one of her father's pistols. The strong, acrid smell of the gunpowder filled her nostrils. She didn't have to look to know that the man chasing her had been felled. She heard his scream of pain and the thud of his body hitting the ground. Her face still buried in her father's chest, she heard him shout, "Where the hell are my lawmen?"

  Deputy Simmons staggered out of the sheriff's office, clutching his shoulder. Blood spurted from behind his hand. His voice filled with pain, he shouted to those who passed him. "Somebody, ride for help!"

  In answer, a female voice called out, "There's Sheriff Rogers!"

  Raising her head, Valerie could see him off in the distance, coming from the edge of town. Where he had been this morning, she had no idea, but she dearly wished he'd been at his post this morning instead. He was astride the black stallion, leaning forward and galloping in fast.

  Not fast enough. The cold, steady click of a shotgun being cocked drew her attention. Another of the bandits, this one with dark hair and even darker eyes, had a Winchester pressed into her father's back. With deadly intent in his voice, he barked, "Drop the pistols, fat man."

  Her father, shaking like a leaf against her, did as he was asked. "We don't want no trouble," he managed to say.

  The outlaw smiled, showing a mouth full of brown, rotting teeth. "I don't neither. Empty out your cash box and it won't be none." He was so close, she could smell his sour, rancid breath as he spoke.

  She stepped back as her father gently nudged her, and watched with tears in her eyes as the cretin followed him inside. In a moment's time, he stepped back outside, with the store's deposit bag in his free hand.

  Her heart sank. All her life, she'd seen her parents pour their souls into their business. As a little girl she'd helped her mama sweep up, and helped her father keep the inventory organized. How could this worthless outlaw just barge in and steal what her family had worked so hard for?

  Noah rode up then, dismounting from his horse and leveling his Remington repeating rifle on the thief. “Drop the sack, Charlie.”

  Grinning, the outlaw held the bag closer to his body. “Oh, so you know me? Well, ain't that something? Old Crazy Charlie done finally arrived.”

  With cold eyes, Noah pumped his shotgun. “I ain't gonna ask you again.”

  At that moment, Doris trudged out of the store, rubbing her eyes. She walked towards her husband, inquiring in a sleepy voice, "What's all the commotion--"

  Charlie barely turned his head toward Doris.

  Bernard tried to reach for his wife. “Doris, don't...”

  Two shotgun blasts pierced the air. Valerie squeezed her eyes shut against the carnage, and covered her ears to block the sound.

  When she opened them again, what she saw made her hand fly to her mouth. A sob escaped anyway.

  Her mother was sprawled in the street, and ever growing spot of blood soaking the abdomen of her blue gingham dress.

  Nearby, the outlaw Charlie fell to the ground, cursing and clutching his arm. Blood also ran down his leg, where Carl's bullet must have grazed him.

  She ran with her father to her mother's side. Kneeling next to her, Valerie put a hand gingerly beneath her mother's nose, hoping to feel the warmth of her breath.

  No breath came.

  She ran her eyes over her, looking for any sign of life.

  There was none.

  Another sob escaped her throat. She looked at her father and found his gaze hollow.

  Noah approached, his expression grim. He removed his Stetson, holding it in front of him. “I'm mighty sorry, Mr. Ridgeway.”

  Her father only nodded in reply. She found she couldn't even manage that. All she could manage at the moment was to stare at her mother's face, wondering how to breathe life back into her.

  Noah touched her shoulder, his hand holding the same gentleness he'd always shown her. "Valerie. Please forgive me. I'll see these fools to justice, I promise."

  She never looked up, never acknowledged him. She simply continued to look on her mother.

  Noah stepped back with a heavy sigh. “I'm hauling Charlie in on murder charges. I'll send Eunice around for the body.” He replaced his hat, setting the
brim low over his eyes, and slowly walked away.

  They were left there, she and her father, kneeling in the mud by her mother's lifeless form. She knew her dress was ruined, but it didn't matter. Her father's quiet, rattling sobs tugged at her heart, increasing her pain. She'd lost a mother, and he'd lost the love of his life. How would they go on without the anchor of their family?

  Soon, Eunice Stevens, the undertaker, came with her assistant Hattie. Over six feet tall, the plump, pear shaped Eunice looked even more imposing from the seat of her buckboard. Despite her appearance, Eunice was a kind woman who truly cared about her neighbors. She halted the team in front of the blacksmith shop and stepped down, with Hattie close behind.

  Eunice and Hattie helped Bernard up first, then they assisted Valerie to her feet. Eunice lay a gentle hand on her back. “I'm so sorry, Miss Valerie. We'll fix Miss Doris up real nice for the services.”

  She felt herself being gently pulled away, and turned around to see Prissy's somber face. “Come now, Val. Let me get you cleaned up.”

  She allowed herself to be folded into Prissy's embrace as Eunice and Hattie lifted her mother's body from the mud, placing her gently in the flat bed of the old buckboard. Hattie placed a white covering over her, then climbed up on the seat next to her employer. Eunice touched the brim of her large feathered hat, then slapped the reins.

  As the buckboard rattled down the muddy road, Valerie felt the world around her begin to revolve. Heat rushed to her face, and she swooned. Braced by Prissy's arms, she gave in and let herself be carried her away into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 13

  With Charlie Ray locked up in one of the three cells in his office, Noah holstered his Remington repeating rifle in the sleeve strapped to his back.

  “You ain't never gone catch Bud.” Charlie's taunts echoed in the empty building, but Noah ignored him as he walked out, locking the door behind him. He didn't have time for such foolishness. One of his citizens was dead, and Bud was still out there, terrorizing folks. At least Bernard Ridgeway had done him the favor of killing Joe Nims; the man was known for his misdeeds against women. Who knew what horror would have befallen Miss Valerie had that deviant caught up to her.

  "You should be glad I let Doc Wilkins patch you up, you worthless maggot. Now keep your opinions to yourself." Noah turned and strode up the short hall back toward his desk.

  Prissy Parker marched into the office, her face set in an angry scowl. "That varmint that killed Mrs. Ridgeway is the same one who stole my purse, Sheriff."

  He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "I'll add that to your report, Miss Parker."

  She propped a fist on her hip. "I'd like a word with him, if I might." The expression on her face said that she had every intention of getting to Crazy Charlie, and was only asking him as a formality.

  "Be my guest." He gestured to the hall leading to the cell block, and followed her as she marched down the corridor.

  She stopped at Charlie's cell, and shook the bars. "You stole my purse, you brute."

  Charlie, leaning against the back wall of the cell, only shrugged. "So what, you little heifer."

  Narrowing her eyes, Prissy gave a come-hither gesture, curling her index finger. "Why don't you come a little closer, and say that again?"

  As Noah watched in cautious amusement, Charlie took her up on the offer. As he half-sauntered, half-limped up to the bars, he opened his mouth, probably intending to say some other crass remark.

  Before the outlaw could speak, however, Prissy rared back and swung. Her fist was small enough to fit through the bars, and since Charlie hadn't anticipated the blow, he had no time to dodge it. Her fist connected with his right eye, making a loud smack.

  "Ow, damn it!" Charlie backed up, his hand over his eye. "Sheriff, you gonna let her get away with that?"

  Noah shrugged. "I didn't see a thing. Let me escort you out, Miss Parker." He offered his bent arm.

  She linked her arm with his, tossing back to the angry, sputtering Charlie, "Maybe that'll learn you some manners, you no-count varmint."

  Outside on the walk, he gave her a small smile. "Mighty impressive aim back there, Miss Parker. I may have to deputize you."

  With a chuckle, Prissy broke away from him. "Mama wouldn't have it, but thanks just the same for the compliment."

  "How is Valerie holding up?" He couldn't let her leave without asking.

  Prissy sighed. "She's crying a lot, won't take any food. I think she just needs time to process it all now."

  Waving, she crossed the street and disappeared into the library.

  As he stepped out into the growing darkness, he closed and locked the door behind him. Charlie wasn't going anywhere, and he had tasks to see to before he could form up a posse to go after Bud. He wanted to go to Valerie, to wrap his arms around her and give her comfort, but his duty took precedent. They had to catch Bud while the trail was still hot. If it rained, or got too windy, all his tracking skills would be useless. Dash it all, Bud Bitters was not going to get away with this.

  Across Founder's Avenue, he went into the telegraph office to wire the marshal. It would likely take several days to a week for the marshal to arrive, and he wanted Charlie's filthy carcass out of his town as soon as possible. With that done, he headed toward the bank to survey the damage.

  He strode through the wooden door, now hanging on one hinge, with its glass panel shattered. The broken shards crunched under the soles of his boots as he approached the counter.

  Behind the tall counter sat the beleaguered banker Tim Parson. He sat slumped over his desk, with his head in his hands. For a moment, all Noah could see was the shiny bald patch atop Tim's head, until he looked up to acknowledge his presence.

  Tim's voice sounded shaky and sad as he spoke. "Evening, Sheriff."

  Noah touched his hat brim. "I'm sorry you're going through this, Parson." He looked around the bank's interior, taking in the chaos. The tall desks where patrons filled in their paperwork were overturned, and the floor was littered with scattered papers. "How much did they take?"

  His eyes still focused on the desktop, Tim shook his head. "All of it, Sheriff. Five thousand and sixty dollars and seventy-eight cents of the people of Ridgeway's hard-earned money."

  That made Noah's jaw fall into a hard set. He was glad he kept his money in his own home, but he felt angry on behalf of his citizens. "Don't worry. I'm going after Bud. I'll get the money back."

  "I sure hope you do, Sheriff. If not, Ridgeway Savings and Loan is going out of business." Tim's shoulders slumped again, and he said no more. He simply stared at the cluttered surface of his desk.

  Noah turned and left, the blood heating in his veins like water in a kettle. The list of Bud's offenses was as long as Town Road: inciting terror, robbery, and assault on an officer. He'd been the one to wound Deputy Simmons. Doc Wilkins had said Greg would be on the mend for at least several days from the bullet he'd taken trying to thwart the gang. Bud was going to pay for his crimes, and he was resolute in personally seeing the cad to justice.

  There would be no sleep tonight. He strode back toward his office, and whistled for his horse. He knew Uriah would be busy helping his mother tend to Doris Ridgeway's body, so he knew his posse would be reduced to the remaining officers: Rod Emerson, Ricardo Benigno, and Thad Stern. Still, with the four of them against Bud Bitters, he liked their odds just fine.

  Thinking of Thad made him wonder where the young man was. Now that the chaos of the day had calmed, he realized he hadn't seen Thad since he'd left town this morning.

  When Justice trotted out of the corral behind his office and came near where he stood, he mounted up and rode toward the border of town. First, he'd search for Thad. Then, he'd round up his men so they could go after Bud, and there was no time to lose.

  ***

  Outside the Ridgeway Mercantile, the doors remained shuttered in the days following Doris' death. Folks came by to pay their respects with flowers and handwritten notes, but no one knocked. Inside,
a dark pallor settled over the store and the upper apartment as Valerie and Bernard tried to survive the loss of the heartbeat of their family.

  Valerie sat in her room, staring into the dimness of the space. She was vaguely aware of the sliver of sunlight that split the heavy drapes, which had remained drawn shut since that horrible day. She made no move to open them, as she had no interest in whatever might be occurring outside her window. Her stomach growled from lack of food, but she ignored it. Sadness consumed her like a disease, eating her alive from the inside out.

  A knock sounded against her closed door, breaking the thick silence.

  She didn't respond.

  Her father's voice penetrated the wood door. "Val, baby. We have to get ready for the service. It's starting soon." His voice was a monotonous as she'd ever heard it. He was hurting, too, but she was jealous of his ability to get up and continue to live. Going on with life was a desire that still eluded her.

  "Yes, Papa." Her voice was low, barely a whisper. It was all she could muster, but she knew he could hear her in the silence of the apartment.

  She lay across her bed, listened to his footsteps as he walked away from the door. So, the time had finally come to commit her mother to the earth. She had no idea how many days had passed since she'd cradled her mother's lifeless body in the muddy street. Her friends had been in and out, trying to talk her into eating, or getting some fresh air. She'd done neither. This loss was so deep, so unfathomably painful, she didn't know if she'd ever recover.

  When Prissy had brought her home, stripped her out of the muddy dress, she'd been unconscious. As soon as she was placed in the water in the claw-foot bathing tub, though, she'd awaken, and the sobbing began. Prissy and Prudence had gotten her into a clean nightgown and into her bed, with no assistance from her. She'd cried until she had no more tears to shed, then she'd wailed until she was too hoarse to make a sound. Now, her voice was returning, but she had no words to speak.

  She'd only left her room to use the indoor privy, and had it not been for her friends, would still be wearing the same gown they'd first dressed her in. Through the dark, bleak hours, Prissy, Lilly, and Prudence came. They brought her tea to soothe her nerves, helped her bathe, and changed her gown. They offered her food, even though she had no appetite. When the sorrow became too burdensome, and the sobbing and wailing began anew, they embraced her until it passed.