KeepingFaithCole (16 page)

Goose?

No, it couldn’t be. The Mexican had ridden off too long
before and was surely warm and secure in
Lupita’s
loving arms—and bed—by now.

Tom’s heart pounded as thunder rumbled over the earth
again. He clenched the reins of his horse and held on, but the stranger before
him must have been caught unprepared. When his horse bucked and reared, the man
took a hard fall. The horse fell, too, pinning its rider against the ground.
The frightened horse kicked its forelegs, struggled to its feet, then galloped
off. Its hoof beats pounded over the ground.

Tom shouted to the man, but the wind and rain drowned out
his voice. Pressing his legs against the roan’s flanks, he moved cautiously
onward, reaching the fallen rider moments later.

“Stay still, mister. Don’t try to move.” He dismounted
and rushed to the stranger.

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw the panicked horse
circle back toward them, its gait slowing. He’d tend to the man first, then
catch the horse.

“Where you hurt at?” he asked, bending down. He already
had a pretty good idea. From the way the horse and rider went down, Tom
suspected the man probably had a few broken ribs. If not broken, at least badly
bruised.

“Can’t—breathe…” The words wheezed out from a
gray-headed, gray-bearded old geezer.

Tom stared down into the gentle eyes of an old man. Must
be in his fifties, if he was a day. Maybe his sixties. Old, grizzled, and tough
enough to survive just about anything.

“Keep still. You’ll be all right.”

The man coughed, turned his head, and spat into the
dirt. No blood, thank goodness. If his ribs were broken they hadn’t punctured
the lungs. The important thing now was to get him bound up and moved out of the
rain to shelter. Tom scrambled to his feet and headed for his horse. He never
rode out without emergency supplies. In a harsh land like this, accidents
happened.

“Don’t live—far—” The man made an attempt to gesture
toward the north.

“Don’t try to talk yet,” Tom suggested, seeing how much
effort the words had cost the man. He surveyed the landscape again. Moving the
injured fellow would be risky, but if he had a cabin close by, he’d probably be
a damned sight better there than lying on the cold, wet ground.

The skittish horse had slowed its pace. Tom made a few
noises, held out his hand, and began speaking in a soothing, sing-song voice.
He knew the mare’s fears. He knew, too, how to calm her. Within moments, she
stood docilely at his side while he stroked her soft muzzle. He looked at the
old fellow who’d worked his way to a sitting position. “I’m not sure what’s the
best way to get you home.”

He waved Tom’s concerns away. “I’ll be all right. I can
ride. Man’s got to be able to take a little pain.”

“You sure you can make it?”

“It’s not far. Just past those pines.” Although the
man’s face showed his agony, he mounted up with Tom’s help. “Sweet Jesus, it
hurts. We’ll just take it easy. You stay with me, all right?”

“Sure thing, partner.”

Both men were drenched by the time they reached the
pines. They rode on into the clearing where a small, but tidy little house sat,
surrounded by a few outbuildings.

His brows rose. “Joe Love’s old place?”

Well, to each his own. Nobody around Sunset wanted to
come near the land where outlaw Joe Love had been ambushed and shot to death.
Maybe this old geezer was some sort of hermit, a bit like that Bradford fellow
who used to live out in the woods, whittling ducks and geese from blocks of
pine.

Cody Bradford had actually turned civilized now. He’d
found love in the arms of Miss Maddie Marlowe, she’d taken him for better or
worse, and the last Tom heard, they were living happily ever after in
California.

Funny thing, love was. It could sure as hell change a
man’s circumstances.

For better. Or worse.

He pushed aside his philosophical thoughts and carefully
helped the wizened old gent down from the mare.

“I think you’d best have a doctor take a look at you.”

“No doctor’s going to ride out here in foul weather, my
friend. Just help me to my bed, will you?” He nodded toward the back of the
house. “Name’s Leland Chappell, by the way. I appreciate your assistance, young
man.”

“Tom Henderson.” He held out a hand which the man
clasped with a surprisingly strong grip. “Glad to help.”

Tom soon had Chappell settled into his bed, as
comfortable as he could make him. The storm had all but blown over, and the
late afternoon skies were a few shades lighter now. For certain, the worst was
past. “I still think you ought to have somebody take a look at those ribs, and
if you give me a couple hours, I might be able to find a doctor for you.” It
was about time
Abner
Kellerman made himself useful
once more. “You hang on now, all right?”

“Sure thing. Takes more than a fall to do me in.”

With a tip of his hat, Tom headed home. Most likely
that’s where he’d find
Abner
. He and Tom’s mother
were keeping company again. The question, of course, was whether or not the old
doctor would be sober enough to answer a call for help.

As expected, the doctor’s antiquated black buggy sat
parked outside the cabin. Where the old
sot
had once
passed his time on a leather-covered barstool at the Red Mule, he now spent it
instead on the comfy settee in Charlotte’s tiny parlor. He appeared to have
taken a genuine liking to Tom’s mother. Or maybe he just liked her ability and
willingness to match him drink for drink. Quite the pair they made, indeed.

Tom stepped inside. Sure as the sun went down in the
west, his mother and
Abner
sat side by side, each
with a glass in hand.

Kellerman raised his drink. No doubt he meant to propose
another toast.

To their growing friendship, perhaps, or maybe to the
fast-approaching holidays. Neither of the pair needed any real reason to down
another shot of whiskey. What they both needed was a reason a stop.

“Put that down, Doc.” Tom didn’t wait for the man to
comply. He snatched the glass away. Kellerman’s reactions were too slow to stop
him. “Haven’t got time for this right now,” Tom said. “I’ve got a mission of
mercy for you.”

“What are you prattling on about now, cowboy?” He leaned
forward. “Give me that drink.”

Tom ignored him. “A man’s been hurt. He needs a doctor.
You happen to be the nearest one, so grab your hat, put on your coat, and let’s
get going.”

“Hurt?” He seemed to have difficulty grasping the word.

“Broken ribs,” Tom said. “That’s my guess.”

“Well, then, there’s nothing I can do for him.”
Kellerman shook his head.

“You can take a look.”

“Why? Broken ribs will heal up on their own. A few
week’s rest in bed, that’s all that’s needed.”

Tom could hold onto his patience no longer. “You’re a
doctor, damn it! And it’s time you start acting like one. By all accounts, you’ve
spent the last twenty years in a stupor, so by now, you should have figured out
that nothing’s going to ease your pain. I reckon my mother’s trying her best,
but meanwhile a lot of good folks are hurting.”

The man averted his gaze. “There’s a doctor in Denver.”

“And Denver is hours away.”

“Mrs. Phillips—”

“Listen to me will you? Amanda Phillips knows a hell of
a lot about birthing babies, and she’s good at treating aches and pains. She
can stitch up cuts and yes, she can set broken bones, but she’s not a doctor,
damn it! She’s a woman with a home, a family, and a sick husband of her own. I
won’t be bothering her, especially not when you’re standing right in front of
me. Now, are you going to get in that buggy of yours or not?”

“
Abner
, maybe he’s right.” His
mother placed a hand on the man’s forearm. “If somebody needs help…”

Her words, her gentle voice, her touch must have given
the doctor pause. Confusion rippled across his face, but then he nodded. “Yes,
maybe so.”

“It’s time, Dr. Kellerman,” Tom said, his own voice
hushed, almost reverent. “Time to start anew.”

Kellerman suddenly seemed to change before Tom’s eyes.
His spine straightened. He lifted his chin and nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been
a drunken ass long enough.” His face reddened and he bowed toward Charlotte.
“Excuse my language.”

Tom reached for the man’s hat and overcoat and tossed
them to him. Kellerman, however, hesitated.

“Wait, Tom,” he said. “I’ve got no medical supplies.” He
looked toward the table beside the settee, then grabbed the bottle. “Guess I
could give the fellow of shot of whiskey. It might help dull the pain a
little.”

“All right. Bring the whiskey. But remember, it’s for
him
, not you.” He gestured toward the
door.

Abner
hesitated, then squared
his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

When they returned late that night, the old doctor took
out a rag and wiped his spectacles. “Tom, I want to thank you.”

“For what? All I did was try to help a man. Anybody
would have done the same.”

“Not necessarily. Furthermore, you helped not one man,
but two.” He tucked the rag into his coat pocket. “You could have let me go on
being the worthless sot I’ve been for the last two decades. That’s what
everybody else has done, you know. They’ve looked at me, seen me in my cups,
and figured I wasn’t worth saving.”

“Everybody’s worth saving, Doc.”

“In the eyes of a good man, yes.” He put a hand on Tom’s
shoulder. “You are a good man.”

Tom’s chest actually swelled. He felt it and drew in a
long, deep breath so he could enjoy that sense of pride coursing through his
body. Nobody had ever called him
a good
man
, before.

“Thanks, Doc,” he said. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He
grinned. “I think there’s hope for you yet.”

And hope for him, too.

All the dreams in his heart surged again, renewed by the
power of a few kind words. Wild horses. Lucille’s love. Most of all, Faith. He
could truly have it all, if he believed in himself.

Chapter Eleven

Hard to keep a good man down, Tom knew, and to his mind,
Leland Chappell was one of the finest fellows he’d ever met. Despite his age,
his bruised ribs healed swiftly. He didn’t need Tom,
Abner
,
or anybody else checking on him every day, but it was obvious from the way his
old eyes lit up that he enjoyed it when company did come to call.

He’d been a drifter for all of his life he told Tom one
early December afternoon as they sat together by the hearth. In his rough,
work-worn hands, he held a small carving knife. While he talked, he whittled
away at a piece of ash, fashioning a spinning top—a gift for Faith.

“Reckon I’ve been most everywhere and seen just about
all there is to see. Loved me a lot of pretty ladies, too.” Chappell paused in
his work, ran a finger over the smooth edge of the toy, and nodded. “You know,
I’d do things a bit different if I had it to do over again.”

The remark caught Tom by surprise. From the sound of it,
Chappell had led a fulfilling life, one of excitement and adventure. He’d
fought in the Black Hawk War of 1832, prospected in California, spent a little
time with the Rangers in Texas, and to hear him tell it, barely escaped with
his life on more than one occasion.

“What is it you’d want to change?” Tom reached for the
tinderbox, grabbed a piece of oak, and threw it onto the fire, then cast a
curious gaze at the grizzled old man.

“I would have settled down. Would have found me a good
woman and had a family.” Chappell set the top aside. “I’ve always had friends
wherever I’ve gone, but a man needs a home, a place to call his own, sons and
daughters.” He stared into the flickering flames. “Sometimes I regret the way I
let life pass me by. Always figured there’d be time enough later, but the years
go by awful fast. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Tom leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Seems
like my whole life has been a mistake.” He hadn’t meant to utter the words
aloud. They’d come out of their own volition.

Chappell made an odd grunting noise and shook his head.
“How come you to always be so down on yourself?” He chuckled. “You think I
can’t see it? It’s in the way you walk, the way you hunch your shoulders
forward, like you’re doing right now.” He gestured, and Tom straightened at
once. “I hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes. What’s put it there?”

Never before had anyone posed questions to him in such a
blunt manner. Tom shook his head. No need to inform Chappell about the sad
particulars of his life. But the man sat waiting for a response.

“Long story,” he said with a slight shrug. “You don’t
want to hear it.”

“Nah, I reckon it’s more like you just don’t want to
tell it.” Chappell shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“What’s the point in talking about it? Talking never
changes anything.”

“The past, you mean? Right you are. Can’t change the
past. That’s what I meant before, about having regrets. Too late for me to do
anything about it.” He cleared his throat. “But you’re still young. Young
enough to have dreams. Young enough to go after them.”

Tom stared off into the flames.

“What dreams have you got?” The old man began whittling
again, keeping his eyes on his work.

“None to speak of.”

“That’s a damned lie. Every man’s got dreams, or if he
don’t, he damned sure ought to have a few.”

“Well, yeah, sure, I’ve got dreams.” Tom hesitated. “But
that’s all they are. Don’t see that they do a man much good.”

“What kind of fool-headed talk is that?” Chappell set
the carving aside and turned his full attention on Tom. “It’s having a dream
that makes a man what he is. It’s dreams that lead a man to become all he’s
supposed to be.”

“Maybe for other men, but not for me.”

Chappell took a pipe from a wooden rack and tapped it
against the hearth. He pulled a pouch of tobacco from the pocket of his flannel
shirt, then carefully filled the pipe’s bowl. “You’ve got as much right as any
other man to think about the future and how you want it to turn out. Don’t ever
let anybody tell you different.” He tamped the tobacco down, his unyielding gaze
still fixed on Tom.

Tom’s breath caught. There it was again…that crazy idea
that he was good enough to have a dream, maybe even good enough to have a dream
come true.

“So?” Chappell bent forward, picked up a splinter of
wood and held it to the fire. When it caught flame, he lifted it to his pipe,
sucking in deep draughts of air. “Speak up. What is it you’re wanting? And how
are you going to get it?”

As quickly as Tom’s hopes had risen, they fell again. He
wanted so much. Love. Faith. Lucille. He wanted land of his own, a home, a few
good horses. Most of all, he wanted to prove his worth, prove that his life
meant something.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, how you’re
trying to encourage me, but I can’t do it, Leland,” he said, turning away from
the man’s steady gaze. “Wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“You begin right where you are. Right here, right now.”
The old man got up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You hear what I’m
saying?”

“Yeah, I hear you talking, old man, but—”

“But there you go with that bad attitude again.”

“Not a damned thing wrong with my attitude.”

“No?” The older man returned to his chair. “I think
there’s a lot wrong with it.” He sucked in his cheeks as he took short draws on
his pipe. “I think you’ve got your priorities a bit skewed too.” He took the
pipe from his mouth, then pointed it toward Tom as he gestured. “Every
afternoon you come riding out here to help me. You’ve done my chores, helped me
keep things going around this place, and you won’t take a cent.”

“I’m not asking you to pay me.”

“Never said you were, but every time I offer, you shake
your head, or else you act like you didn’t hear a word I said.” He put the pipe
stem back in his mouth and clamped his teeth around it. “Don’t go telling me
you don’t need the money.”

“I wouldn’t feel right taking money from you, Leland.”

“I understand. Just don’t ever let foolish pride stand
in the way of good sense.”

“Money’s not all that important to me, I guess. I mean,
sure, there’s never enough of it, but that’s the thing, don’t you see? There’s
no way I could ever get enough money saved up to have all the things I want.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught Chappell grinning
at him. The man’s friendly demeanor put him at ease again. He stretched out his
long legs, leaned back, and let the dreams come. Now, he eagerly shared his
cherished dreams with the old man at his side. Somehow, just talking about them
made them almost feel real.

“You know, Tom, it’s not always about money. Folks are
always going on about how bad things happen to good people, but don’t ever lose
sight of the fact that good things happen too. Sometimes dreams come true in
unexpected ways. Never give up hope.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned to stoke the fire
again.

“And what about that pretty little gal you’ve talked
about? The one taking care of your baby girl.”

“Lucille.” The name brought a smile to his face, a smile
so big and broad he was damned glad he had his back turned so Leland wouldn’t
see what a fool he was. “Yeah, well, I don’t stand much of a chance with her.”

“You ever kiss her?”

Tom’s cheeks grew warm, and it wasn’t because he was
standing so near the fire. He did his best to wipe the smile from his face and
put on a serious expression as he turned back to Leland. He crossed his arms
over his chest. “I’ve heard it said that a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Goes to show what a good man you are.” Leland laughed.
“But I’d lay odds you’ve kissed that gal a time or two. Now, here’s the deal,”
he went on quickly. “There’s ways a man can win over a woman, and listen up,
’cause I’m about to tell you how it’s done.”

Tom returned to the chair, drew in his legs, then bent
forward. “I’m all ears.”

“There’s a dance coming up at that social hall in town,
right?”

“Right. Next Saturday.”

“You asked that gal of yours yet?”

“Lucille isn’t my gal.”

“She will be if you do what I tell you. What you do,
Tom, is listen to what she says. Simple as that.” He sucked on the pipe and
nodded. “Yep, that’s what you do. If she says she wants to dance, then whirl
her out onto the floor and kick up your heels with her. If she says she wants
to sit a spell, lead her to a chair, pull it out for her, then pull up a chair
of your own, scoot up close, and spend a little time putting your heads
together, talking about life. If she says she’s hungry…”

“Grab
her a plate of food,” Tom interjected, quickly grasping the man’s strategy.

“Whatever
she wants, you give it to her. And in return,” he added with a sly grin,
“she’ll give you whatever it is you’re wanting.” He leaned back. “I guarantee
it.”

* * *
*

Life
didn’t come with any guarantees, and Tom knew it, but as he rode toward home
late
that evening, his thoughts veered off toward places
they probably shouldn’t go. Ever since Chappell had given him that bit of
advice about pleasing a woman, he hadn’t been able to get his mind off Lucille.

He
wanted to call on her and ask her to go to that dance, but it was awfully late.
Most likely the lovely Miss McIntyre was getting ready for bed. Maybe she’d
already slipped out of her clothes and put on a sleeping gown and a flimsy
robe. Or maybe she was stepping into a tub of sweetly scented bathwater,
standing naked in all her glory.

His
thoughts skittered out of control, rushing headlong toward intimate territory.
It was wrong to think of Lucille that way, but damned if he could stop. Nor
could he stop himself from heading straight through town, right out toward the
old McIntyre place.

As he
rode up, he caught sight of a light burning at the front window. Someone was
awake. Tom tethered his horse at the gate, then strolled toward the porch, his
heart beating excited rhythms in his chest. He knocked softly at the door, and
when Lucille opened it, his breath caught in his throat. In the soft gleam of
the lamplight, she looked ethereal, as though she’d stepped from one of his
dreams.

Her
long hair was unbound, falling in thick waves around her beautiful face. She
was still dressed in a simple, high-necked frock, and she held Faith in her
arms. She looked pure, she looked innocent, and she looked more enticing than
ever.

“Tom?”
She peered up at him, confusion written in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Her voice had an urgent, breathless quality about it.

“Can I
come in?” he asked.

She
hesitated, then opened the door, allowing him to step inside.

Although
he’d come to see Lucille, the sight of Faith sleeping contentedly in her arms
filled his heart with different yearnings.

“May I
hold her?” He stared down at the little angel. For a moment, he worried that
Lucille would refuse, but she nodded and handed him the precious child.

“I was
rocking her to sleep,” Lucille said, gesturing toward the chair in the corner.
“I was getting ready to put her in her bed.”

“I’ll
do it. Lead the way.”

She
nodded. With careful, quiet steps, he followed her through the house to the
room where Faith slept. Her crib awaited her with its cozy knitted coverlet
thrown back. Gently, he placed the baby into her bed and tucked the blankets
around her. Faith did not so much as flutter an eyelash. Her tiny cheeks were
rosy with sleep. Impulsively, Tom reached out to stroke the warmth and softness
of her skin. Something deep within him stirred.

Someday
he wanted children of his own, and he wanted the woman beside him to be the
mother of those children. She stood so close he could hear each breath she
took. Lucille smelled faintly of flowers, a sweet, tantalizing scent like the
lilies of the valley that blossomed in the spring.

She
reached over to smooth the covers. Tom straightened and smiled at her. After a
moment’s hesitation, she returned the smile.

“Lucille,
I wanted—”

She
placed a finger to her lips, shook her head, then motioned for him to follow
her from the room. Together, they returned to the parlor.

“I
wanted to talk to you about something,” he whispered.

Again,
she hesitated, her gaze going to the stairway. “Mama’s sleeping. I’d hate to
disturb her,” she said in a quiet voice. “Let’s step outside.” Lucille picked
up a woolen shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders.

He
gestured toward the door. “After you,” he said, remembering Chappell’s advice.
Whatever Lucille wanted, he’d give—within reason.

The
moment they stepped out into the chill night air, her demeanor changed.

“All
right, let’s not beat around any bushes. What are you doing here?” She clutched
the edges of the shawl with a fierce grip.

“I
wanted to ask you…” He felt his nerve slipping away.

“Ask me
what?”

Figuring
it might be best to work his way up to the real question, he threw out another
instead. “I heard you opened up your little shop again. How’s it going?”

She
peered at him with an odd look. Obviously she hadn’t expected the question. “I
think I’ll be able to make it work. Seems a few ladies did miss me while I was
closed, plus with the big holiday dance coming up, I’m keeping busy. Lots of
girls want new dresses.”