Authors: Leah Atwood
“What are you going to do?” Sitting at one end of the table, Ma had her hands clasped in front of her.
“Find out what he is after.” All afternoon Patrick had thought about Burl’s visit to the spread earlier in the day.
It didn’t make sense. Candace and he were married, good and well. He’d been there for the ceremony, recited his vows in front of God. So had Candace. All of which begged the question, what was Burl after? The craggy, ill-tempered man hadn’t come around for pure motives, that much was certain. If he cared that much about his daughter, he wouldn’t have married her off to a prodigal like Patrick.
“You don’t think there is any possible way that Burl’s telling the truth?” Sam’s question agitated his nerves.
“Absolutely not. Judge Thomas married us and gave us a certificate.” Patrick looked at his wife who sat beside him at the Simpson’s oval table. “It’s in the family Bible now, isn’t it Candace?”
“Yes.” She nodded, and he saw her fingers fidget in her lap. “I put it there the day Ma Holden asked me to so that all the records would remain in one place.”
“There’s one problem—” Ma began.
“Judge Thomas you—?” Sam said at the same time. He stopped. “You first, Ma.”
Ma took a deep breath, a crestfallen expression written on her face. “The family Bible, it was in the house and didn’t survive the fire.”
An air of melancholy filled the room. It seemed every day brought another reminder of something lost in the fire. The family Bible, while holding little monetary value, was irreplaceable and had been in the Holden family since the turn of the century, nearly a hundred years ago.
Patrick wasn’t to be swayed from his belief. “That’s not a problem. I’ll take a trip to Pine Prairie and have Judge Thomas give us another one. While I’m there, I’ll do some poking around and see what prompted our visit from Burl.”
“That’s not possible.” Everyone turned to look at Sam.
“Why not?” Shrugging his shoulders, Patrick didn’t see the problem.
“Because Judge Thomas died last spring, was thrown off a spooked horse. I remember hearing about it in town one day.” Sam rubbed his jaw. “Judge Williams and Judge Donald have been riding in, taking alternate turns serving.”
Candace’s head shook. “The man who married us definitely was called Judge Thomas. There must be another judge.”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Sam rested his chin on a fist. “Were there any witnesses?”
“Just Burl.” A sick feeling took root in the pit of Patrick’s stomach. Things were looking a lot clearer. From this angle, it seemed they’d been duped.
“What about when you went to the sheriff for help? Didn’t he say anything?” Sam’s eyes squinted in concentration as they all attempted to figure this out.
The tangled web of lies he’d woven grew larger. He dropped his voice to a low octave. “I didn’t go to the sheriff, never left the hotel.”
Jumping from his chair, Sam slammed his fist on the table, drawing a gasp from Maeve, Liza, and Candace. “Of all the stupid things. Someone forces you into a marriage and you don’t even question it?”
Patrick stood, meeting Sam’s glare with his own. “I questioned it the best I could at the moment, but next time someone pushes a rifle into your chest, afterward, you tell me how clearly you thought.”
“Enough.” Ma’s bellow silenced the room immediately.
Mrs. Simpson poked her head through the doorway. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Patrick answered. “We’re sorry to intrude on your hospitality.”
“We’re almost done here, then the girls and I will finish cooking.” Ma gave Mrs. Simpson an apologetic smile.
Rosie Simpson nodded and gave a quick but genuine smile. “Take all the time you need. Glen and I are happy to offer your family a home while your new one is being built. Dinner will be ready in an hour.” She left the room.
“I’m sorry for shouting, boys, but only because it disturbed our hosts, who have been overly generous in allowing the children and me to stay in their home. This is not the time for arguing.” Ma rubbed her jaw. “This matter must be settled, one way or another.”
Beside him, Candace’s shoulder began to quiver. Patrick sat down and draped an arm around her, openly displaying affection. The thoughts which hounded him all morning pushed to the forefront of his mind.
If it was true that they weren’t legally married, that “Judge Thomas” was an imposter with no legal authority to wed them, was that his sign to let go of Candace and free her to a better man? Who that better man might be, he didn’t know. And if he did go that route, then he’d make sure she was taken care of in the meantime. He wouldn’t throw her out to the wolves, er, her father.
One step at a time. His chest hurt too much when he thought about setting her free.
He turned to Sam. “If I leave tomorrow, will you be okay without my help for a few days?”
“I will if I bring Benjamin and Lucas home with me.” He directed his attention to Ma. “Is that okay with you?”
“That is fine. They can sleep in Patrick’s cabin, and Candace will stay here.” Ma looked at Candace. “Is that sufficient for you?”
Candace stared at the grooves on the table, her shyness returning. “I don’t want to be a bother. I can stay at the cabin alone until Patrick returns.”
“Absolutely not.” He removed his arm from her shoulder and held her hand. “Your Pa is erratic, and I don’t trust him to have the sense to stay away. You’ll stay here until I return.”
Her eyes glittered, and he saw the fight brewing to defy him. Fortunately for him, she hadn’t changed enough to do it directly in front of his family. Something in her had snapped this morning, and he rather admired her new gutsy spirit—however, this was one issue on which he wasn’t about to budge. “I’d like to at least gather a change of clothes and personal items.”
He breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to press the issue. “The boys can stay with us tonight, and I’ll bring you back in the morning, on my way out.”
“No, sir.” Ma eyed them both. “Until we know for certain that your marriage is legal, you’ll not be sleeping under the same roof.”
“Oh.” Candace gasped and her cheeks turned pink.
He didn’t embarrass easily, but he’d admit to a touch of it now. Since they didn’t act as husband and wife in all ways, he’d not given thought to all the repercussions if their marriage wasn’t valid. If they truly weren’t married then immediately, they needed to act as an unmarried couple, or Candace’s reputation would suffer for real this time, unlike the imagined backlash Burl had created.
“Then we’ll take our leave now, so I can get her back before too late.” A round of orneriness struck him. “Are you going to send someone as a chaperone?”
“Sharp words and snide retorts will accomplish nothing good, my son.” Ma stood. “Go on and hurry back. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
He pushed away from the table and stood. Extending an arm, he assisted Candace in standing. They left the Simpson’s house and boarded the wagon. The sun was already low in the sky, setting in the early hours of the late autumn evening. A chill permeated the air. Patrick reached under the seat and retrieved a blanket. After unfolding it, he spread it over Candace’s lap.
“Thank you.” In delicate motions, she tugged at the blanket and tucked one side under her right leg.
“Shouldn’t get much colder before we return, but you should bring back a heavier coat.”
“I will.”
Guiding the team, Patrick drove the wagon into the street. Few people in Weatherton were outside, not uncommon for this time of day. It was the hour people packed up and went home, prepared a warm meal, spent time with their family after a long and hard day at work.
Ten minutes closer to home, Candace still hadn’t said much. Patrick watched her eyes travel the horizon of the plains, and he wondered what she thought. In light of the new circumstances, potent feelings of failure twisted his insides into knots. He could have prevented the whole lousy business had the Winchester at his chest not thrown him off kilter.
There was a time he would never have allowed himself to be conned. He’d been the one pulling the wool over someone’s face.
You reap what you sow
. Every person has a day of reckoning—apparently his was going to be stretched out over the course of months. Raw nerves and frustration churned out a virulent laugh.
“Our lives refuse to settle, don’t they?” Candace still gazed at the vista, even as she spoke. “Upheaval seems to be my lot in life.”
A protective hand patted her shoulder. “But you’re not alone this time.”
“Your family has been wonderful. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
But no specific mention of him, not that he could blame her
. “Will you be all right in town for a few days?”
She finally looked at him, then nodded. “I’ll miss spending the days with Maeve and seeing the progress on the house, but I’ll enjoy the time with Liza and your ma.”
“I won’t be gone longer than necessary. I’m praying someone in Pine Prairie can give me insight.” He needed a clue, somewhere to begin. “Do you have any idea of the true identity of the man who married us?”
“No. Pa didn’t let me in on much of his life, and since we’d only recently moved to Pine Prairie, I didn’t know any better.” She bit down on her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. None of this is your doing, and I take full responsibility.” This morning, he should have kept Burl around long enough to answer questions, but he hadn’t believed the old coot. Hindsight always displayed a more vibrant vision. “He mentioned taking you to Cheyenne. Think he’s already living there?”
Candace sighed. “I thought perhaps he was then realized, no. Pa doesn’t think much ahead.”
“So you would say he’s still living in Pine Prairie?”
“Not necessarily.” She adjusted the blanket on her lap, a frown on her face. “But if he’s not there still, I can guarantee he’s left behind a trail of disgruntled men, who would willingly offer information on him.”
“I hope so.”
“Will you be back before Thanksgiving?”
With everything happening, he’d forgotten the holiday, but one look at Candace’s hopeful eyes, and he knew there was no way he’d miss it. “Yes.”
That gave him two days to sort out their mess and make decisions if need be.
A bitterly cold wind howled across the prairie, leveling tufts of wheat-colored grass to the ground. Another strong gust whipped across the land, startling even Salt and Pepper, the team of beloved workhorses pulling the wagon. High-velocity winds weren’t uncommon, but something about this one chilled Patrick to the bone. Its deep bellowing seemed an omen of sorts—every wind he could remember that blew this strong had brought with it change.
Change that wasn’t always for the best.
Pine Prairie, Thanksgiving Eve
“Renfro, over at the saloon, told me you have info about Burl Tibbet.” Patrick stood in the sheriff’s office on the second day of his visit to Pine Prairie, talking to the sheriff. A broken wagon wheel had delayed his arrival until last night, too late in the evening to find much information.
Adam Bartholomew, Pine Prairie’s sheriff, leaned against the metal bar of a jail cell. “Burl Tibbet died two days ago.”
Patrick did some figuring and quickly came to the conclusion the man had died the same day he’d been out to Weatherton. “How’d it happen?”
“Died in his sleep. By all accounts of those who’d seen him last, he was drunk as a skunk Monday afternoon. When he failed to pay his room fee Monday night, Leroy at the hotel went up to his room to kick him out and found him dead.”
He muttered under his breath. How would Candace handle her father’s death?
“I’m sorry, Patrick. I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Sheriff Bartholomew shook his head, offering small condolence, for something, if not for the man’s death.
“It was unexpected, but I can’t say that I’m too sorry. A man’s body can only take so much.” Thank goodness he’d turned his life around, or he could have met the same fate.
Suspicion rose in the sheriff’s expression. “What’s your business with him anyway?”
Clearing his throat, Patrick shifted his feet. “He may or may not have been my father-in-law.”
“What exactly do you mean?” Sheriff Bartholomew’s head tilted up a degree and his forehead crinkled.
“It’s a complicated story.”
The sheriff pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at its face. “I’ve got time.”
Patrick scratched his neck, which itched something fierce under Sheriff Bartholomew’s scrutiny. He took a deep breath then proceeded to tell the tale of his possible marriage.
When he finished, the sheriff looked at him with a mix of sympathy and amusement. “That’s quite a predicament you’ve found yourself in.”
“You’re telling me,” Patrick muttered.
“I can’t say I think it’s a bad thing. To be truthful, I’m right pleased to see you on the better side of society now.”
A grimace squeezed Patrick’s features. He’d had a few previous run-ins with Sheriff Bartholomew, all of which shamed him now. “I’m sorry for my past behavior, Sheriff. Let it be known I haven’t touched a drop of whiskey in months and have been faithful to my wife.”
“
If
she’s your wife.” The sheriff smirked then sobered, “You said the man who married you tried to pass himself off as Judge Thomas?”
“Yes, sir, and I realize now how dumb I was to not suspect anything.” At least he owned up to his mistakes. That had to count for something, didn’t it? He told the sheriff everything he could remember about the fake judge. “By any chance, do you recollect the man?”
“Around the timeframe you told me, I do remember a gambler drifting through, but he only stayed a few days. However, I can tell you unequivocally that there is no other Judge Thomas in these parts, other than our own late judge.” Sheriff Bartholomew rubbed the square line of his jaw. “Unless the imposter is a rogue minister, I’d venture to say you ain’t married.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Selfishly, he’d wanted the marriage to be valid so he wouldn’t have to make a decision on what to do next. If the marriage had been legitimate, he would have continued on with it, but now what was the honorable thing to do? He felt responsible for her but wasn’t certain he was the best husband for her. There wasn’t a black or white answer, only muddled gray choices.
“Looks like there will be a real wedding coming up soon.” A wide smile spread on Sheriff Bartholomew’s face, and he slapped Patrick’s shoulder. “There’s a good many people who won’t believe Patrick Holden has turned into an honest man.”
Patrick didn’t bother correcting his assumption about a wedding. “There’s hope for all of us yet.”
“Burl’s personal effects are at the hotel. Leroy was holding them there until we could trace Candace. When she disappeared a few months ago, Burl told everyone he’d married her off but didn’t say to whom.” Regret flickered in Sheriff Bartholomew’s eyes. “You know in these parts, that’s not too uncommon, so no one pressed for more information. They hadn’t been here long, and we all assumed she had a beau back home that had come to claim her.”
“What happened to the shack they’d been living in?” Patrick asked, realizing a few minute after the revelation that Burl had been living at the hotel.
“It wasn’t his. When the land’s owner found out Burl was squatting, he kicked him out of the place.” Sheriff Bartholomew grabbed the keys from a peg on the wall. “The misses told me I better not be too late. When are you heading back?”
“Tonight. I want to ask around some more, find out if anyone has useful information.” Patrick stiffened his back, realizing the task before him would be substantially more difficult with Burl dead. “I have my answers regarding the marriage, but not about Burl’s visit. Something motivated his trip to Weatherton, and we both know it wasn’t pure.”
Sheriff nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any news, but I have to agree that his visit would cause me alarm if I were in your shoes.”
“Thank you.” Patrick tipped his hat farewell and left the jail.
Dark clouds loomed in the westward sky, and frosty air nipped at his cheeks. He said a quick prayer that the impending storm would hold off until he returned to Weatherton. A strong wind came and lifted his well-fitted hat. Not a good indication. He placed one hand atop his head to keep the Stetson in place, ducked his head to ward off the cold and rushed to the hotel.
He walked inside, immediately glad he’d paid the extra money to stay at the boardinghouse. The foul stench of men who hadn’t bathed in a month filled his nostrils. Raucous laughter came from a room attached to the rear side of the lobby. Cringing, Patrick tried not to think about the time he’d spent there—gambling away the money his family had worked hard for, dallying with his choice of Edna Grosgel’s girls.
Had it only been three months since he’d participated in those sort of activities? It seemed so long ago.
A woman with unnaturally red cheeks and lips stood by the entrance smoking a cheroot. A cagey man with a dozen or so wrinkles on his tan, leathered face leaned over her with hungry eyes, all while puffing on the cigar in his mouth. Revulsion spun in Patrick’s gut. Winding his way through the haze of smoke which pilfered the fresh air, he made his way to the front desk of the insalubrious establishment.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Holden.” Arthur Laude, Leroy’s assistant, stared at him. His obsidian eyes gave the illusion of beads and slicked backed hair that made his ears appear to protrude even further, gave off the appearance of a rat.
In Patrick’s estimation, it wasn’t too far off. The man wasn’t known for his honesty or integrity. “Is Leroy around?”
“He stepped out for a minute. Can I help you?” A scandalous smirk appeared. “Leroy’s running a special right now.”
“No.” Patrick crossed his arms, not interested in any specials. He didn’t drink anymore, never did smoke, had no need for a woman, and didn’t need a place to stay, all of which eliminated the need to hear further information from Arthur. “Where is he? I’ll go to him.”
“That really isn’t
necessary.
I’m sure he won’t be much longer.”
Catching the meaning of Arthur’s emphasized word, Patrick turned and walked out of the hotel, waiting on the boardwalk where he could breathe again. During the few minutes he’d been inside snow began to fall, already leaving a thin layer of white dusting on the boards and dirt. He might not be able to poke around and ask more questions if he wanted to be back in Weatherton tonight. And he did want to be back—he’d told Candace he would—and he would keep his word.
When he heard the hotel’s door open behind him, he instinctively turned to see who exited.
“Heard you’re looking for me.” Leroy Mullins mustache twitched. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Patrick grinned, seeing the older man. Leroy was a character, a tough-as-nails man unafraid to mince words, but loyal to a fault once someone came into his good graces. He’d bestowed that honor upon Patrick two years ago when he had stopped one of the hotel’s guests from taking advantage of one of Edna’s girls. Strange as it was, even gamblers, womanizers, and other unsavory characters had a code of honor they lived by that didn’t allow for unwanted, physical advances toward a woman, whether she was a society lady or soiled dove.
He shook the hand Leroy extended. “You heard right. I’m here to collect Burl Tibbet’s personal belongings.”
“What’s Burl to you?” Leroy’s reaction was similar to that of the sheriff.
“He was my father-in-law. Maybe.”
Leroy’s jaw dropped. “You’re joshing me.”
“I wish.” He didn’t regret meeting Candace one bit, only the trouble the relationship had caused.
“Come inside and have a drink. I think this story calls for some whiskey.” Turning around, Leroy gave a backward wave, motioning for Patrick to follow.
The snow fell at a faster pace with each passing minute. Patrick’s gaze swept the panorama of Main Street, noting the precipitation was accumulating rapidly. His window of opportunity to leave today and safely make it to Weatherton tonight was narrowing. However, Leroy was sure to have some information on the fake Judge Thomas.
He entered the hotel on the heels of Leroy. “I’ll tell you the story, but I’ll pass on the drink because I can’t stay too long.”
“Fair enough.” Leroy led him to a small room behind the front desk, which was used as an office. The interior was surprisingly mundane compared to the gaudiness of other parts of the establishment. “Take a seat.”
For the second time in an hour, Patrick recounted the now humiliating tale, shifting in the red velvet upholstered chair, the only object with bold color in the room, when he told how easily he’d been conned.
“That so?” Leroy said when Patrick finished telling the story. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you conjured up one mad stallion of a story.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the man who posed as the judge, do you?” Gripping his hat, which rested in his lap, Patrick willed himself not to sound as eager as he actually was to collect information.
“Was he about this tall?” Leroy stretched his arm upward until it hovered six feet above the ground.
“Yes.”
“One blue eye and one gray eye?”
“That’s him.” Excitement pounded through him and he scooted forward in the chair. Finally, he might get something to go on.
“His name’s Roscoe Dalkin, a gambler who comes through twice a year. Struck it rich during the early day of gold fever in the black hills, but has squandered most of it away.” Leroy lit a cigar and took a puff.
“Any idea how he joined up with Burl?” Patrick tried piecing together the puzzle, but nothing added up yet.
“Far as I know, they were strangers until Burl moved here and they met playing cards.” Setting down the cigar, Leroy regarded him solemnly. “I wish I’d known about you and Candace. Not just so I could’ve warned you, but then I would have made it a point to know Burl and Roscoe’s business.”
“Is there any possibility that Burl’s death could have been attributed to Roscoe?”
“Possibly, but it’s improbable. Roscoe hasn’t been seen since shortly after you left. And while I don’t claim to know him too well, he doesn’t strike me as a murderer.” Leroy tapped on his desk. “Besides, there’s no reason to suspect anyone murdered Burl. The man was a drunk and good-for-nothing. It seems his body plumb gave up on him.”
Patrick drummed his fingers on the wooden armrest, contemplating. There must be a reason Roscoe impersonated a judge, but the only reason Patrick could call to mind was to settle a gambling debt—a likely story since the men were known for financial recklessness. Unfortunately, it still didn’t answer any questions about Burl’s visit, and it seemed the reason went with him to his grave.
Too bad the weather turned for the worst and he didn’t have time to investigate further. He rose from the chair and took a step forward, reaching into his pocket. “How much did Burl still owe you?”
“Just a night’s stay. Only my best customers I know and trust are allowed to settle their debt at the end of their stay. Everyone else pays upfront every night.”
“Take this.” Patrick handed over a dollar to cover the cost.
“I’m not taking your money.” Leroy pushed the money away as he stood then moved to the front of his desk.
“I didn’t care for the man, but he’s Candace’s father. Married to her or not, she’s my responsibility now, which means his debt became my obligation.”
Leaning against the desk, Leroy crossed his arms and looked Patrick square in the eyes. “I always knew you had an honest heart hiding in you, but Burl’s debt isn’t yours to settle. You want to fulfill your obligations? Go make that marriage to Candace good and legal.”
Patrick’s mouth curled into a half smile, and he laughed. “Says the man who runs a brothel with his sister behind the guise of a hotel and doesn’t believe in marriage?”
Sadness briefly flickered in Leroy’s eyes. “I don’t believe in it for me. Edna and I treat the girls well. They can leave at any time, but here, they’re safe and have shelter and plenty of food.”