when he saw doubt creep into the boy’s eyes.
“I’d never let no outlaw steal from my ma,” the boy insisted. “Not ever.”
“But you’d steal from someone else’s ma? Any lady you robbed might have a boy of her own, waiting for her to bring that money home. What are they to do if you take that money away?” Billy Joe didn’t have an answer for that, so Thorn let him chew on it for a bit before attacking the argument from another angle, one he hoped would be even more persuasive.
“I reckon you’d like to get married someday, wouldn’t you? Find a nice lady like your ma and have sons of your own? Daughters, too.”
“Well, sure. I’d settle down some day, after I’d had enough outlawin’... Amelia Collier at school, one of the twins, said she’d marry me when we grew up if I stayed around Simpson Creek,” he said proudly. “She’s pretty and sweet, and her father owns a big ranch outside of town.”
“You think Mr. Collier would let his daughter have anything to do with a man who used to be an outlaw? A man with a price on his head, who’d robbed folks, maybe killed someone?”
Billy Joe was quiet. “I’d never kill no one, ’less they were bad. And I wouldn’t hurt nobody here, anyway. I’d go away somewheres, and have some fun where there ain’t nobody I know to stop me, or to tell my ma mean stories of what I done an’ make her sad. I’d be far away, till I’d had my fill of outlawin’, and then this here town is where I’d come home to. But I ain’t ready to be stuck here for the rest of my life just yet. I wanna get out and see the country—maybe the world, even.”
Thorn couldn’t argue with that hunger to see what the world looked like outside of the place where you were born and raised. He’d been eager to escape from his home and his father’s bitterness, though he’d stayed in Texas and protected the state against the Indians during the war years.
Other young men he knew had gone to the army, eager to see a bit of the country. He’d heard many a sad tale of what they had encountered from those who returned—and of course, there were many of them who had never made it home to boast of all that they had witnessed.
During Thorn’s own travels, he’d seen many different places, and found that the world outside of his hometown wasn’t so very different from what he’d known before. No matter where he went, some people were kind and others were cruel. Some spots were beautiful and others were ugly. Some folks were happy and settled, while others were restless and sad. That was just life, no matter what scenery surrounded it.
The only thing that truly made one place more special than any other was having people there who loved you, and who you loved. That was what made a place a home—and it wasn’t something Thorn had had in a long, long time. Billy Joe had that right here, with a mother who would clearly do anything for him, but he was too young to really appreciate it. The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side of the fence, but Thorn would never convince this boy of that.
“You could serve in the army for a spell,” he pointed out. “You’d see some sights that way, then you could come home and marry your Amelia, knowing you had your good name and something to be proud of.”
“Join the army? Then I’d have to take orders all the time,” Billy Joe said, his voice scornful. “Besides, I’m a Texas boy—no way I’d join up with a bunch of bluebellies tellin’ me what to do.”
Thorn couldn’t suppress a wry smile. “Billy Joe, unless you’re the president or a king or something, you’re always going to be told what to do by someone,” he said. Come to think of it, he doubted even presidents or kings really got to do whatever they wanted; they had too many responsibilities on their plate for that. “That’s part of living, and being a man.” But he could tell the boy wasn’t convinced.
While he was still wondering how to persuade Billy Joe that being an outlaw wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he heard footsteps outside. Tensing, he reached for the Colt he’d left under his pillow—and found it was no longer there. Had Daisy Henderson disarmed him, while he was under the powerful influence of laudanum? He couldn’t exactly blame her for taking the precaution, but it left him feeling entirely too exposed. As injured as he was, he couldn’t fight his way out of trouble with his fists. He needed his gun. Foolish, to have let his desire to be free of pain put him in such a vulnerable position.
He hadn’t long to wait to see who it was. A moment later Dr. Walker pushed the creaking door aside and stepped into the stall. But he wasn’t alone. A tall, well-built man with a tin star on his chest followed.
Thorn stiffened. He’d hoped the doctor would keep his presence here a secret, as he had requested, but Walker hadn’t. Evidently his concern for the town’s safety overrode his promise.
Thorn couldn’t argue with the man’s priorities. In Walker’s place, he’d have done the same.
Billy Joe’s face went white with shock, his eyes gleaming with anger at the betrayal. He’d have to be careful here, Thorn thought. Billy Joe was already inclined to sympathize more with lawbreakers than with the men who upheld justice and order. And if he saw Thorn, whom he seemed to like and respect, hauled away by the sheriff, it would just worsen his opinion of lawmen.
“Mornin’, Dawson. I see you made it through the night all right,” the doctor said in his breezy Yankee accent. It had been quite a surprise to hear it the previous evening. To distract Thorn from the pain of having his wounds cleaned and bandaged, the doctor had told him the story of how he’d grown up in Maine, but then befriended a Confederate colonel who had been badly wounded near the end of the war. The doc had explained how he’d helped his friend journey home to Texas once the war was finally over, and had found himself falling in love with the state and choosing to make it his home. That he’d found love with a Texas belle in Simpson Creek had merely cemented it. “How’s the pain?”
“Tolerable,” Thorn said, his eyes darting from the Billy Joe to the Simpson Creek sheriff. “Billy Joe, go back in the house.” He didn’t want the boy to be present when the lawman led him off with the come-alongs he saw sticking out of his back pocket.
Billy Joe had evidently seen them, too. He leaped to his feet and faced the sheriff, fists clenched at his sides. “No! You can’t take Mr. Dawson! He ain’t one of the ones you’re really after, one of them men who went firing off their guns—he didn’t shoot nobody!” Billy Joe cried. “Besides, he’s wounded! He needs to be here where we kin take care of ’im!”
“Billy Joe, I said go into the house,” Thorn said, keeping his voice calm, even as he kept an eye on the sheriff. “Remember, we were just talking about how a man always has to take orders from someone, and this is one of those times,” he said. “Go inside, and everything will be all right.”
Billy Joe whirled to face Thorn. “I won’t let him take you!” he cried, red-faced now with fury. “I won’t!”
“Billy Joe, I said to go inside,” Thorn repeated. “Please.” His eyes dueled with the boy’s for a long moment, then all at once Billy Joe abruptly turned away and ran out of the barn. A moment later the sound of a door slamming door reached their ears. Thorn guessed the boy had been close to tears, and hadn’t wanted anyone to see that.
He glanced at the sheriff, then turned to the doctor.
“Dawson, this is Sheriff Bishop,” Dr. Walker said. “I thought it best to apprise him of your presence, and let him hear your side of the story.”
“I understand,
