have,” he said. “The kind with two legs.”
“Castle Rock seems safe to me.”
His eyes glittered like broken glass. “It was—before I got here.”
Chapter Two
Looking at Daniela Baxter, Beau felt the cut of sudden change. The last time he’d seen Patrick had been five years ago. His brother had come to the funeral for Beau’s wife, traveling alone because his own wife, Beth, had been close to delivering their third child. Beau and his brother hadn’t been close, but he’d appreciated the kindness. Patrick had made him promise to write now and then. He’d even offered him a place to stay.
Beau had said he’d keep in touch, but he’d broken the promise so badly he hadn’t known about Beth’s passing. He hadn’t known a lot of things when he’d arrived in Castle Rock two days ago. Hot on the trail of an outlaw named Clay Johnson, Beau had found himself within a few miles of his brother’s farm. He’d decided to pay a visit and had arrived to find a fresh grave and an old man in the barn. The fellow and his wife were neighbors who’d come to care for the cows and the girls until other arrangements could be made.
The girls could have been farmed out to friends, but the cows needed their routine. A lightning strike…of all the foolish things. Even more surprising was the news from Patrick’s attorney. Seven years ago, Patrick had written a will. It named Beau as guardian of his children—a fact Beau vaguely remembered. He’d have made a good guardian in the past, but not anymore. An ex-lawman, he sold his gun to the highest bidder. Like most shootists, he lived in the canyons between good and evil. He enjoyed the freedom and the money, but mostly he burned with the need to bring Clay Johnson to justice.
Whether God or the devil had given him a thirst for Johnson’s blood, Beau didn’t know. He only knew that Clay Johnson had killed the most precious person in his life. Lucy, his young wife, had put on her prettiest dress, a pink thing with puffy sleeves, and brought him supper at the sheriff’s office. What happened next was an abomination. Beau no longer dreamed about that day, but he remembered every detail. Looking at Miss Baxter in her pink dress, he swallowed a mouthful of bile. He hated that color and the memories it brought. He always would.
Sending her to the hotel tempted him as much as that roast beef dinner. He’d lied about Emma’s cooking. The girl made a mean pancake, but a man needed more than starch in his belly to do a day’s work. He also needed to sleep at night, something Beau hadn’t done since he’d arrived. He couldn’t. Since Lucy’s murder, he and Johnson had been playing a game of cat and mouse. Sometimes the outlaw vanished for months, leaving Beau to search aimlessly for his prey. Other times Johnson went on the prowl, leaving threats for Beau at local saloons. Sometimes he wrote notes. Sometimes he left tokens that chilled Beau’s blood.
Daniela Baxter’s eyes drilled into his. “Who are you, Mr. Morgan?”
“I told you. I’m Patrick’s brother.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Beau held back a smart remark about jabbering females. If Miss Baxter ended up at the hotel, she might blather to every busybody in town. She looked like the kind of woman who’d want to go to church on Sundays. Beau knew all about gossip cloaked in prayer. He’d been the focus of his share after Lucy’s death. Wishing he’d been less of a blowhard, he tried to smile. “Forget the bluster. I’m no one.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Beau said nothing. In truth, his reputation stretched from Bozeman to El Paso, across the plains and over mountains that dwarfed a man’s pride but not his pain. If word spread he was in Castle Rock, anyone he touched would be a target for Johnson. That included Miss Baxter. He didn’t need another female in his care, but honor required him to see to her safety. Like it or not, he’d have to keep an eye on her.
No hardship there…Daniela Baxter was just plain pretty. Slender but womanly, she filled out the dress in all the right places. Not that Beau cared. Being a man, he couldn’t help but notice her looks, but he knew the rules. When he’d married Lucy, he’d promised to love, honor and cherish his wife until they were parted by death. Lucy was gone, but Beau took comfort in keeping his vows. His eyes locked on Miss Baxter, saying things with a look that acknowledged the deepest of truths. He was male. She wasn’t. He had the power to harm her. She needed to know he never would. He made his voice solemn. “I’m an honorable man, Miss Baxter.”
“You’re the one who mentioned wolves,” she replied. “I understand they come in sheep’s clothing.”
“I’m not one of them.”
Before she could reply, footsteps padded on the landing at the top of the stairs. He turned and saw Ellie and Esther peeking around the corner. Esther, as always, had her thumb in her mouth. She was five and too old for the habit, but Beau hadn’t tried to stop her. Human beings, no matter their age, took comfort where they could find it.
“Are you Dani?” Ellie asked.
“I am.”
The girls hurried down the steps and threw themselves into her arms. More hugs, more tears. Beau was tired of the flood but knew the girls would pull on Miss Baxter’s heart in a way common sense couldn’t. With a throat as dry as sand, he watched the swirl of pink and ribbons and locks of golden hair. All four of them were blond, though the girls’ hair would darken with time as Patrick’s had. Beau’s hair had lost its shine a long time ago, though it lightened up in the summer.
He watched as the woman kissed Ellie’s forehead, then lifted Esther on to her hip. In a voice choked with tears, she rambled about God and Patrick looking down from Heaven.
They loved you, brother. I wish I’d known you better.
Even as he thought the words, Beau stifled his regrets. He’d learned to live one day at a time. To take what pleasure he found and be content with it. A can of beans for supper. A lantern on a moonless night. If a man didn’t have a home, he couldn’t lose it. If he didn’t love, he couldn’t get hurt. Beau had drawn that line the day Clay Johnson shot Lucy and not once had he crossed it. He hoped Daniela Baxter would be wise and draw a similar line for herself. She had no future in Castle Rock. Even if he’d wanted to hand her custody of the girls, he couldn’t do it. Running a farm required both brains and muscle. The thought of leaving a woman and three children at the mercy of hired hands struck him as gutless.
Beau glanced at the mantel clock. In two hours, he had an appointment with Trevor Scott, the attorney handling Patrick’s will. If things went as planned, the girls would leave for boarding school at the end of the month.
Ellie, a tomboy in coveralls, broke the hug and looked at Dani. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
Miss Baxter tousled the child’s hair, then looked at Beau. Her eyes soothed his soul and laid it bare at the same time. “Can I trust you, Mr. Morgan?”
“With your life.”
“In that case, we have a deal. If you’ll stay in the barn, I’ll tend to the house.”
When she held out her gloved hand, Beau noticed the cupped shape of her fingers. His own hand, loose and open, was just a clench away from the violence that defined his life, but he offered it in good faith. He expected to see trepidation in her eyes. Instead she squeezed back with surprising firmness. The grip, he realized, came from hard work.
