Authors: Penny Richards
“Thomerson is dead.”
Colt nodded, taking in the implications of the grim pronouncement. A plethora of emotions assaulted him. Stark terror at the knowledge that things could have ended differently. Gratitude. Joy at being alive to go home and take care of his kids. And at being given a second chance. He'd almost been killed. Mosquitoes and Ace had saved him.
It was almost too much to deal with, so Colt focused on his job. “What happened?”
The expression on Ace's face could only be described as “bleak.” His voice matched. “Thomerson must have gone far enough around me from behind that I didn't see or hear him. He didn't see me, either. Thank God I did see the movement to my left when he stood up and took a bead on you.”
“Yeah,” Colt murmured. “Thank God. Do you think Dan got Joseph?”
“My guess would be yes,” Ace said. “We need to go inside and see about Meg and the children.”
“Not until I know Jones is out of the picture.”
About that time, they heard the crashing of brush as two people entered the clearing from the woods to the left. Joseph Jones, his hands tied together in the back, walked in front of Dan, who was prodding him with his rifle. Blood seeped from a wound in the outlaw's side.
Colt heaved a sigh of relief and pushed unsteadily to his feet. He met Ace's dark gaze. “Thanks.”
Ace offered one of his rare, quicksilver smiles. “That's what friends are for.”
Colt clasped Ace's shoulder. “Let's go see about Meg and the kids.”
Chapter Thirteen
A
llison stared down at the piece of paper Cilla had handed her. It took mere seconds to scan the page. What she saw sent her heart plunging right down to her toes.
PROSPECTIVE BRIDES
She pressed her fingertips to her lips to hold back a sob, but she couldn't hold back the tears that filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.
Colt had made a list of eligible women. Her name was at the bottom.
“What's the matter, Miss Grainger?” Cilla asked with genuine concern.
Instead of answering, Allison asked in a trembling voice, “Where did you get this, Cilla?”
The child's eyes held an expression of bewilderment, as if she had no idea what the problem was.
“Brady and I found it when we were looking for some paper to leave Pa a note on. I thought it would make you happy that he put you on his list. It shows he was interested in you for a while. Maybe even before we started spending so much time with you.”
Oh, he put me on the list, all right,
Allison thought. The last name on the blasted list! As an afterthought. She scanned the names once more. Interested in her? Hardly. Even though he had crossed out the other names, her name was even below Gracie's. Not that Gracie wasn't perfectly wonderful. It was just...hard to be pleased when one attained success by default. Another thought struck her. Had Colt crossed out the names, or had Cilla and Brady done it in an attempt to make her feel better?
She jumped to her feet and began to pace, something she did when she was upset or thinking something through. She was both. And fast becoming angry.
What kind of man made a list of credentials when he was looking for a wife? What kind of man was so choosy he recorded a woman's good and bad points? What kind of man had certain conditions a potential candidate must meet before she would even be considered?
The answer to her question came to her quietly and squelched her irritation.
A man who had loved his wife and probably always would. A man who was perhaps looking for a helpmeet, but not love, at least not the kind of love Allison wanted. To her, those two went hand in hand.
“Miss Grainger?”
The sound of Cilla's voice roused Allison from her thoughts. “Yes?”
“Why aren't you happy?”
The child's disappointment would have to be addressed. Allison folded the paper. She didn't have the heart to ask if the young woman had scratched off the other names. “May I keep this?”
Cilla nodded, and Allison stuffed the square into the pocket of her skirt. She squatted in front of the young girl's chair and took both her hands. “I'm unhappy because no one makes a list to find someone to marry. And you don't write down their good and bad points and mark them off as if it were a chore you've finished.”
She sighed.
“It's true that people get married for many reasons, and often love has no place in their decision, but for me, love and respect and putting one another's happiness before your own is important for a marriage to succeed.”
“Pa says everyone has problems.”
“That's true, and maybe I'm romantic and idealistic, but it's how I feel. We know that your father didn't love any of these women. He's just written down the names of the single ladies in town, most of whom he's courted for a while and then moved on.”
Cilla had the grace to look embarrassed. Both she and Allison knew the reasons some of those fledgling relationships hadn't lasted long.
“Pa says that's what courting is all about,” Cilla said, leaning toward Allison, the expression in her eyes begging her to understand. “He says a man considers the single ladies and decides which one he likes, and then he courts her to see if they have common interests and if they're compatible and love could grow in time.”
There was no way Allison could argue with that reasoning. She gave Cilla's hands a squeeze. “That's true, but that doesn't change our situation. He hasn't courted me, and prior to us being thrown together to help you and Brady, he didn't even know I existed.”
And it hurts to be last on the list.
“I think it's best for everyone if we just leave things as they are. He will find someone one day who will love you all and be exactly what you need.”
“But we want you, Miss Grainger,” Cilla said, as tears pooled in her blue eyes. “We all want you.”
Unable to speak for the tears clogging her own throat, Allison pulled Cilla into a close embrace. She wanted them, too. Badly.
“I know, Cilla, and I think that would be the most wonderful thing in the world, but sometimes we don't get what we want, and sometimes that turns out to be the best thing after all.”
* * *
After their talk, Allison and Cilla took the checkers outside and played to fill the silence growing between them and avoid the heat of the house. The good news was that clouds were beginning to move into the area. Maybe they'd bring some much-needed rain and cooler temperatures.
Brady woke and they snacked on cookies and lemonade. They spent the rest of the time until the evening church service with Cilla working on a new piece of embroidery and Brady and Allison working on his reading.
After church, Allison, who didn't want to try to fill the silence between her and Colt's disappointed children by herself, took them back to Ellie's for a quick supper. It was beginning to look as if Colt might not make it back before bedtime, which meant the children would have to spend the night.
While Allison and Ellie cleaned up the kitchen, the kids drew pictures on brown paper. Brady had grown tired of his sister picking at him and had gone to the window to look out at the dark clouds blowing across the sky. “Pa's back,” he yelled after a few moments.
Allison, who was drying her last pan, froze. She wanted to run to the window to see, but stubborn pride held her in place. Ellie smiled gently. “Go on and see if he's okay. No sense worrying yourself sick.”
Without a word, Allison dropped her cloth and hurried to the upstairs window to see if the group of men who had gone in pursuit of the escaped prisoners was alive and well.
It was that rare few minutes when daylight seemed reluctant to give over to the encroaching darkness, and the fading light was soft as the world started settling down for the night. This evening was different, the gloom more intense. Thunder rumbled, and a sudden gust of wind sent dust devils twirling down the street.
Allison looked down. Colt, a child nestled in his arms, led the solemn procession. Allison sucked in a shocked breath and made a quick survey of the group, as Ellie joined her at the window. Meg's son, Teddy, sat in front of Dan, clinging to the saddle horn for dear life. Ace held Meg against his chest. Her head lolled from side to side with each step the horse took. Allison sucked in a frightened breath, wondering what had happened to her and if she was badly hurt.
“Pa's okay,” Brady said, looking up at Allison with a wide smile.
“Yes,” she said, her answering smile encompassing him and his sister. “It looks as if God answered our prayers, doesn't it?”
“Is Miss Meg dead?” Brady blurted.
Allison looked at her sister.
“I don't know, Brady. I hope not.” Ellie was often brutally honest.
“Me, too,” he said. “I like Miss Meg.”
“Everyone likes Miss Meg,” Cilla said.
“Is that Joseph Jones?” Ellie asked, indicating a fourth man who sat astride a horse Big Dan was leading.
“His hands are tied behind his back, and he looks Indian, so it must be,” Allison said. Her troubled gaze met Ellie's. If the man still able to ride was Jones, it meant that the body draped over the saddle of the horse following Colt was Elton.
“Do you think Elton is wounded or dead?”
“From the looks of things, I'd say dead.”
“Poor Meg,” Allison whispered. “How will she manage now?”
“Much better than she has with Elton whipping up on her whenever he took a notion,” Ellie said in a sharp tone. “She'll be fine.” With that, she marched away from the window.
The line of horses wandered down the street. A flash of sheet lightning lit the gloom, quickly followed by a faraway rumble of thunder that brought Allison to her senses.
“Cilla, Brady, help Bethany pick up the mess, please. We'd better get home before the storm hits, or your father won't know where to find you.”
“Do you think he'll be there soon?”
“You and Cilla would know more about that than I do. I imagine he'll have to see that his prisoners are secure and that Doc Rachel fixes up anyone who was hurt. I'm not sure how long that will take.”
“Long,” Cilla offered with weary resignation.
“Then I think the best thing to do is plan on the two of you staying at my house tonight. Cilla, you can sleep with me, and Brady you can have the sofa.”
They both nodded, and Ellie insisted that she and Bethany would clean up. After thanks and hugs all around, Allison and the kids ran down the stairs and across the street toward her house. Though they reached the front door in record time, they were pelted with fat drops of rain the last few yards.
They barreled into the small parlor, and Allison went to fetch a towel. When they'd blotted the dampness from their faces and arms, she said, “Let me find something for you to sleep in. I think I have some old shirtwaists that will do.”
“I'm not a girl, and I'm not wearing no woman's blouse,” Brady said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Rather than argue after the stressful day they'd had, Allison said, “Good point. I suppose you can sleep in your clothes. You aren't too wet, so they should be dry by bedtime. And the correct wording is âI'm not wearing
any
women's blouse.'”
Brady rolled his eyes.
“Cilla, will a shirtwaist do for you?”
“That'll be fine, Miss Grainger.”
That settled, Allison got out the Chinese checkers and they played until Brady began to yawn.
Colt still hadn't come to fetch them, and the storm had arrived in earnest. Both children seemed edgy, but unless they were really violent, storms had never bothered Allison much. She actually liked a good storm. There was something about the intensity that made her think of God's power; however, this one was about to cross the line from incredible to worrisome. In the middle of the game, it started blowing so hard that she had to shut the front door to keep the rain from coming through the screen.
After they put away the game, she settled Brady on the divan, and then she and Cilla got ready for bed, taking turns braiding each other's hair while Brady watched from his makeshift bed.
The moment was bittersweet. Allison knew the independent Priscilla could do her own hair, but sensed she needed the comfort that could only be found in the monotony of day-to-day routine.
“I remember when my mother used to braid my hair,” she said.
“Me, too,” Allison confided. “Those are special memories.” She tied off the loose braid with a length of ribbon, and then impulsively put her arms around Cilla's neck from behind. Leaning down, she pressed her cheek to the top of the child's head.
“It's going to be all right, Cilla,” she promised. “However things turn out for all of us, it will be what's meant to be.”
Giving her another hug, Allison released her and went to tuck in Brady for the night. When she leaned over to give him a good-night kiss, a bolt of lightning cracked. A deafening boom of thunder followed. Brady grabbed her around the neck, holding her as if he'd never let her go.
“I'm scared, Miss Grainger,” he said in a trembling voice. “I don't want to sleep in here by myself. Is it okay if I sleep with you and Cilla?”
Allison disengaged herself from his stranglehold. There were tears in his eyes, though he was working hard to keep them from falling. He'd had a trying day, worrying whether or not his father would come back alive. Now he would be sleeping in an unfamiliar place. It was pretty clear that he was terrified of the storm. Did they all bother him? If so, where did he seek comfort? He had no mother to crawl into bed with, and somehow, Allison couldn't see him climbing into bed with his pa.
Without a second thought, she stood and held out her hand. “Come on, then. It will be crowded, but we'll make do.”
* * *
It was the wee hours when Colt made his way to Allison's. He knew they were all sleeping, and he didn't want to wake them. On the other hand, after the day he'd experienced and coming so close to death, he wanted to see his children, to reassure himself that everything was all right in his little corner of the world. He wanted to see Allie, too. He needed to talk to her and try to explain how he was feeling.
He walked to her place. He'd have ridden his horse, but he'd pulled off the saddle to keep it from getting drenched when they'd arrived at the jail, and he was flat-out too tired to resaddle him. Walking seemed the lesser of two evils.
The rain had stopped around midnight, and a strong wind had blown the clouds off to the northeast, thunder complaining all the way. Except for the clean smell of the rain and the cooler temperature, the storm might never have happened. The sky looked as if it were littered with diamonds. An almost full moon lit his way, its glow flowing over the still-dripping leaves like molten silver. The streets were a muddy quagmire, but at least his clothes had mostly dried out from his first dousing.
Declaring there was no way he could sleep just then, Ace had agreed to stay with the prisoner while Colt and Dan caught a few hours of shut-eye. Colt had seen the torment in his friend's eyes and knew he was taking the killing of Elton Thomerson hard. Being the cause of a second man's death, accident or not, was bound to bring a lot of guilt and grief to a man who valued all living things as Ace did. Colt wondered just how long Ace would disappear this time before making what peace he could with his actions and deciding he was ready to come back and join the rest of the world.