The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption. Janet Dean

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      “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Mood said. “I could use the help, but as I said, I can’t afford to pay a wage. What if I applied what you should earn toward buying the place?” He pointed over his shoulder. “And throw in the living quarters behind the livery? Me and the missus live a few miles out now, so the house sits empty. Has two bedrooms, kitchen, small parlor—nothing fancy but it’s livable and furnished.”

      “I’m not interested in buying the livery, but I’m moving my sister to Gnaw Bone. We’ll need a place to bunk.” His gaze roamed the cobwebbed corners, the glass in the window caked with dirt. “Anna is, uh, persnickety.”

      “The house is in better condition than the stable. I’ll spiff the place up, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

      Mood’s plan didn’t fence Nate in. He could make improvements until the judge settled the shop ownership. Nate offered his hand. “I’m willing to try each other out, see if the arrangement fits.”

      The old codger reached a blue-veined hand and shook, his grip surprisingly strong. “Gives us both time. You might like working here and change your mind.” He gave a nod. “If I like you, trust you with my horses, you could finish buying the livery on contract, a set amount each month.”

      Nate wouldn’t be changing his mind. He had no interest in staying in this two-bit town tethered to a livery and half a dozen horses. Nate had spent much of his adult life wandering. He had no idea how to handle that kind of permanence. The one time he’d tried to settle down had ended in disaster. A moving target was safer for everyone.

      Nate paid the rate for a wagon and team. “I’ll return the rig tomorrow,” he said, following Mood toward the stalls.

      Anna wanted him nearby. Nate would give her that for now. He had enough money to ignore the wanted posters in his saddlebags. If the circuit judge ruled in Anna’s favor, as Nate expected, she’d have a solid income to handle her bills. Then he would leave the good folks of Gnaw Bone before Stogsdill came looking for revenge and someone got hurt.

      Mood tramped toward him, leading two draft horses. Nate joined him and they moseyed to the open end of the livery where a wagon waited, its green paint peeling. While in Gnaw Bone, Nate would scrape and repaint that wagon.

      Perhaps if he kept busy enough, he could hold memories at bay.

      A yellow, shaggy dog crawled out from under the wagon, his tail giving a slow wag.

      Mood reached a hand. The dog stepped into his touch. “She’s got me pegged as a softy.” He raised the dog’s chin. “Soon as I get this team hitched, I’ll share my lunch. But I’ll be moving West, too far a trip for you.” Mood glanced over his shoulder at Nate. “She’d make a fine watchdog, if you’ve a mind to keep her.”

      The mutt couldn’t harm a flea. “I’ll be moving on, too.”

      “She’d be good company for your sister.”

      A dog underfoot might trip Anna. Mood would see that soon enough.

      With slow, patient motions and gentle words to the horses, the old man hitched the team to the wagon. “This here is Mark. The other is Matthew. Named ’em after the Gospel writers. Feed, water and rub them down tonight.”

      As if Nate hadn’t the faintest idea how to care for horses. “Yes, sir.” Nate tied Maverick to the rear of the wagon. “Once we’re settled in, I’ll start making repairs.”

      “Your coming proves the Good Lord is watching over me and Betsy, that’s sure.”

      Mood wouldn’t believe Nate was the answer to his prayer if he knew the trouble he was bringing Widow Richards.

      With a nod, Nate climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and drove down the alley behind the livery, passing the cabin where he and Anna would live.

      Across the alley, what had to be the backside of the seamstress shop, a female dashed out the door and across the yard as if chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

      Ah, Mrs. Richards. Where was she going in such an all-fire hurry? She caught sight of him, slowed and dropped her skirts, then strode on, her mouth set in a grim line.

      He hauled back on the reins. “Is something wrong?”

      She gored him with her gaze. “Perhaps. I’m on my way to speak with Sheriff Truitt. About you.”

      “I have nothing to hide.”

      “So you say.” She motioned to the wagon. “Glad to see you’re leaving town. Don’t let me hold you up.”

      “Only be gone long enough to bring my sister and her possessions back to Gnaw Bone.”

      Mrs. Richards’s cheeks paled. “Morris wouldn’t rent you that wagon if he knew your intentions.”

      “Mr. Mood has hired me to make improvements to the livery. Anna and I will be staying in his vacant house.”

      Chest heaving, she plopped dainty hands on her hips. A female version of David pitted against Goliath. The stones in her sling of the verbal variety. Yet the fire in her eyes made her a formidable foe. She’d stop at nothing to protect her child’s future.

      Nate had dealt with violent men, cagey men, the vilest of men, but he had no idea how to handle this tiny woman’s colossal loathing. Of him.

      What did she despise him for most? Killing her trigger-happy, back-shooting husband? Or threatening ownership of the shop? Well, he wasn’t here to win anyone’s approval, especially a woman trying to stand in the way of his sister’s new beginning.

      “If you think by working and living under my nose, you’ll bully me into giving up what’s rightfully mine, you’re wrong.”

      “The judge will decide who’s entitled to the shop. Until then, my sister and I need a place to live.”

      “In that case, I suggest you keep your distance.”

      She hustled off. A woman on a mission, no doubt hoping Sheriff Truitt would ride him out of town, tarred and feathered.

      Well, he had no desire to remain longer than necessary. The life of a bounty hunter suited him. He had two purposes; locking up violent men who preyed on the innocent and seeing Stogsdill pay for his crimes.

      “Move on, Mark, Matthew.” As he turned onto Main Street, a strange, unsettling awareness sank to his gut. In the livery, for the first time in ages, he’d felt at home, at peace. The prospect of staying put dredged up a long-buried desire to belong somewhere, filling him with a yearning he didn’t understand.

      He shook his head, trying to dislodge the foolish notion. To stay meant settling down, letting others in. The mere idea tightened an invisible band around his neck.

      Once he’d been complacent. Had believed he could be a small-town sheriff and have a wife and children. Whenever he got close and cared about others, people got hurt or...died. He’d never again take that risk.

       Chapter Three

      Carly СКАЧАТЬ