a word you’ve said.”
“I left the deed with my sister for safekeeping. Her husband hid it so carefully, took me a month to find it.”
“So you claim.” She flung out a hand, pointing her forefinger at him. “I will fight you! This shop provides our living and our home. I’ll do whatever I must to protect that.”
“Sorry to bring more trouble to your door, ma’am, but—”
“I’ve faced trouble, Mr. Sergeant. All a man could throw at me.” She straightened her shoulders and slapped hands on hips. “I’m not intimidated.”
“I’m not trying to intimidate you.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to make you understand the outcome is beyond your control. Your husband lost the deed to my brother-in-law before he died.”
“How convenient he can’t deny your claim. And you—” she raised a hand and pointed a steady finger at him “—did the killing.”
“I had no choice. It was either him or me.” Jaw jutting, face flushed, the bounty hunter clamped his hat on his head. “The law will decide who owns this property.”
“Gnaw Bone doesn’t have a lawyer, much less a judge—”
“At some point, a circuit judge will pass through. In the meantime, I’ll bring my sister—and the deed—to town. She’ll be the one running this shop. You might want to look for someplace else to live.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.” She stalked to the door, opened it. “I suggest you make other arrangements for your sister, Mr. Sergeant. Good day, sir.”
As the door closed behind him, Carly wilted into a chair. “Why, Lord?” She spoke aloud. “Why, after all we’ve been through, have You allowed a new threat? Do You even hear my prayers?”
* * *
Nate strode out, the widow’s sarcasm in the “sir” and the slamming door behind him ringing in his ears. He’d let his temper get the best of him. Still, the widow had all but called him a liar and had pointed that dainty finger at him like a gunslinger taking aim.
He unwound the reins from the hitching post, swung into the saddle and rode toward the livery he’d seen earlier. Each clop of Maverick’s hooves thudded against his conscience. Why should the widow trust his word? He’d killed her husband. Claimed he had a deed he hadn’t produced. When he came back with that deed, she’d fight him tooth and nail. Carly Richards wasn’t a woman to take things lying down. No doubt life with that scoundrel of a husband had made her hard, tough.
If a husband’s property belonged to his wife as much as to him, a judge might rule Richards had no right to gamble away shared property. But from what Nate had seen, even if that property belonged to his wife, a husband had the authority to do with marital assets as he saw fit.
Once Carly Richards realized Nate had no intention of backing down, she’d give up the fight.
Where would she and the boy live then? How would she earn an income? Who would look after them?
Nate clamped his jaw. He couldn’t get soft about the widow’s plight. Anna had no other means to make a living. Carly Richards was able-bodied; a good housekeeper and cook from the tidy appearance of her shop and the robust look of her son. Surely she had numerous skills to find another job in Gnaw Bone. Perhaps she had family nearby.
He had to focus on his sister, the one person he owed everything. Anna was depending on him to make things right, which he would do.
Then he’d settle the score with Shifty Stogsdill, the outlaw he hunted.
At the thought of hitting the trail, Nate’s stomach twisted. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was tired. Tired of huddling near a campfire and eating lousy food. Tired of sleeping under the stars on the hard, cold ground. Tired of endless hours in the saddle chasing lawless, brutal men.
As weary as he was of his life, he was a skilled bounty hunter. Bringing Stogsdill to justice would silence his loved ones calling to him from the grave.
The reward money, along with the proceeds from the shop, would set Anna up for life. Then he would have kept his promise to his parents and repaid his debt to his sister. No amount of money would compensate for the handicap she would live with her entire life.
Stogsdill’s trail had gone cold, but rumor had it the outlaw was sweet on a woman living in the area. The reason Nate had ridden this way, planning to bunk with Anna and Walt while investigating the rumor.
If only he’d arrived four hours earlier, he might have saved Walt’s life. One more if-only Nate couldn’t fix. A long list of regrets that plagued him.
But he could move his sister to Gnaw Bone. It meant hiring a wagon to haul her possessions. Not all that many, certainly nothing of material value, but she’d never leave family keepsakes behind.
Outside the livery Nate looped Maverick’s reins to the rail. A hand-painted for-sale sign caught his eye. If the lettering over the doors meant anything, how did the proprietor, Morris Mood, hope to sell this run-down property?
Hmm, the small print indicated the sale included a vacant house. If it was habitable, perhaps Nate could work out a deal with the owner. Now that he’d met the pretty widow and her small son, he couldn’t stomach the idea of evicting them from their home.
Inside the stable, he inhaled the scent of hay, leather and manure; heard the soft whinnying of horses, easing the tension in his neck and zipping him back to the time he’d wrangled horses on a Texas ranch. The pay had been lousy. Not nearly enough money to provide for Anna, but that year had taught him plenty about horses.
Maybe, just maybe, he could do this: run a livery and settle in one place. He tamped down the silly notion. He was not good at staying put, but he was good at his job.
Still, with Walt dead, Anna had no one to look after her but him. He couldn’t ride off as he’d done many times before, leaving his sister behind with the hope his inept brother-in-law would make a decent living. This time he had to stay long enough to see Anna find her place in the community. Once she was settled in the rooms behind the seamstress shop, he’d be on his way.
He strolled down the aisle between the stalls, studying the horses. Unlike the dilapidated barn, the animals looked healthy, their coats groomed, their bedding clean, water buckets full. Clearly the owner cared about his horses.
Nate passed the tack room, then stopped outside the door leading into the office. A stoop-shouldered man with grizzled hair hunched over a ledger, his spectacles sliding down his nose. A broken bit and two shabby halters lay scattered on the desk, alongside a tattered saddle cinch and a rusty horseshoe. The owner and his office looked as frayed as his business.
“Mr. Mood?”
With a startled squeak, the elderly gentleman jerked up his head and then staggered to his feet, his face tinged with pink. “Didn’t know anyone was about. Need a horse? Rig?”
“A wagon.” He motioned toward the entrance. “And information about that sign out front.”
“You’re new in town.” The old gent tugged at his suspenders. “Looking to buy this place?”
Why
