Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton Read online

  “Uncle Tom?” The tentative voice floated toward them, followed by a sob.

  They pulled apart and Tom jumped up. “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

  Eddie flew into his uncle’s arms. “It’s . . . it’s getting dark out here. I want my pa.” Tears flowed down his cheeks and sobs wracked his thin, small body. Holding the boy in his arms, Tom met Mary-Jo’s gaze and they exchanged a knowing look.

  The boy had found his hurt.

  Tom lifted Eddie tenderly in his arms and carried him out of the barn. Mary-Jo had to run to catch up.

  Inside the house, he set Eddie ever so gently on the couch while she lit a lamp. Eddie’s body shook with sobs and the tears streaming down his face nearly broke her heart.

  It took awhile, but Eddie finally stopped crying. “I’m sorry I locked you in the . . . the b-b-barn.”

  Tom ran his mouth across the boy’s forehead. “It’s okay, buddy.” He brushed hair from Eddie’s wet face.

  Eddie made a sobbing sound. “You’re . . . you’re n-not mad?”

  “I’m not mad.” Tom glanced back at her. “Actually, you did us a favor locking us in the barn. You helped me persuade Miss Parker to stay awhile longer.”

  Eddie knuckled away his tears. “I did?”

  She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “You did.”

  Tom straightened. “Does this mean what I think it means, Miss Parker? That I can begin to properly court you?”

  At that moment she felt as if her heart would burst with joy. “I believe that’s exactly what it means, Tom.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a shiver ran down her spine, filling her with dismay. According to her aunt, such a shiver meant someone had just walked over her grave.

  Garrett and Barnes were just about to check on a disturbance at Buck’s Saloon when old man Walters walked into the office.

  “What can I do for you, Chuck?” Garrett asked. A farmer by trade, Walters seldom came to town except to haul his produce to the general store. Appearance-wise, he was a man of extremes. A long white beard hung from a prune-like face and a barrel-shaped torso sat upon matchstick legs.

  Walters pushed his chewing tobacco from the inside of one cheek to the other and thumbed his suspenders. “Just thought you should know I saw Link’s paint out at the old Coldwell cabin.”

  Garrett’s hands tightened into fists. It was the break he’d been waiting for, hoping for, praying for. He wouldn’t rest until he put his brother’s killer behind bars, and it was all he could do to contain the rage building inside.

  He plucked his hat off the wall peg and slapped it on his head. Barnes looked at him for direction. “You check out the problem at Buck’s and meet me at Coldwell’s.”

  Barnes looked about to argue, but Garrett stormed outside and raced for his horse.

  GARRETT HID BEHIND A WATER TANK, HIS GAZE FOCUSED on the sod house some thirty feet away. The abode had a windmill, barn, and an assortment of rusty farm equipment. Old man Walters was right; it was Link’s paint, all right. No question. Garrett would recognize the brown-and-white horse anywhere.

  The only sign of life was smoke curling from the pipe sticking out like an afterthought on the thatched roof. Garrett pulled out his watch. Where was Barnes? His deputy sheriff should have been here by now. What was taking so long?

  The cabin had only one door and one window and Garrett had them both covered. Link wasn’t going anywhere except to jail.

  Minutes passed and still no sign of Barnes. Suddenly, the cabin door flew open and Link walked out and headed for his horse.

  Garrett stood. “Drop your weapon.”

  Link spun around and reached for his gun.

  Garrett moved forward. “I said drop it!” he yelled.

  “I didn’t mean to kill your b-brother,” Link stammered. “I—I was out of my mind.”

  “I said drop your weapon.”

  Finally Link did what he was told. His gun hit the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. “Come on, Garrett.” He shook his hands in the air. “We’ve known each other a long time. I got a family. You put me away, what’s gonna happen to them?”

  “You should have thought of that before you entered the courtroom with a loaded gun.”

  “I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. All that was goin’ through my head was that my sister’s killer was goin’ free. I didn’t mean to kill Dan. You know I’ve always had bad aim. I couldn’t shoot my way out of a chicken coop.”

  Garrett pulled out his handcuffs with his free hand. “Well, unfortunately, your aim wasn’t bad enough.”

  He stepped closer. With lightning speed Link grabbed his gun and they struggled. The handcuffs went flying. Link matched Garrett in height but he was a good fifty pounds heavier. The gun went off with a deafening blast and Garrett reeled back. Time stood still. Vision blurred, he slowly sank to his knees before his head hit the ground.

  Mayhem. Confusion . . .

  Someone spoke but the words made no sense. Two blue eyes stared at him. How did she get here? “Mary-Jo?” She smiled and faded away. He tried to call her back but his lips wouldn’t move. He blinked but this time it was Deputy Barnes who came into view.

  “We got him.” Barnes’s voice sounded muffled. “He tried to get away but I got here just in time.”

  Garrett tried to speak, but everything went black.

  Mary-Jo sat at her sewing machine smiling to herself as she repaired a rip in Eddie’s shirt. Honestly, she didn’t know what the boy did to his clothes that they were in constant need of repair. Turning the hand crank with her right hand, she guided the fabric beneath the needle with the other. After sewing the seam, she snipped the thread with scissors.

  Turning the scissors over, she slipped her finger through one of the gold-handled rings. Turning it to collect the light, she envisioned a gold band instead of the humble tool.

  “Does this mean what I think it means, Miss Parker? That I can begin to properly court you?”

  The memory made her smile, but thinking about his kiss filled her with unspeakable pleasure. Maybe the third time would be a charm. Oh, God, she prayed. Please don’t let anything happen to Tom!

  She laid the shears down and knocked on wood before reaching for another shirt. But just as she started the machine, Eddie burst through the door. Startled, she jumped and the scissors flew to the floor. More bad luck.

  “Heavens to Betsy, you near scared me to death.” She reached down, but seeing Eddie’s pale face she promptly forgot the scissors. “Eddie, what is it?”

  “Uncle Tom’s been sh-shot.”

  “No!” For a moment she sat there, stunned, then she jumped to her feet. Oh, God, please! Not again, not again. At last she found her voice. “Where is he?”

  “At Doc Haggerty’s place. Hurry!”

  The doctor lived in a two-story brick house just outside of town. Mary-Jo frantically pounded on the door and a round-figured woman quickly ushered them inside. “I’m Mrs. Haggerty. The doctor’s removing the bullet now.”

  “Is h-he g-going to die?” Eddie, white-faced and trembling, stammered the words.

  His question sent chills down Mary-Jo’s spine. It was bad enough to think the unthinkable without hearing the words aloud. “Your uncle’s very strong.” She spoke to Eddie but she kept her gaze fastened upon the woman’s face, looking for some sign of hope.

  Too young to know that death showed no favoritism between the strong and the weak, Eddie accepted her answer as only a child could.

  Mrs. Haggerty laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I just made some gingerbread. Come with me. You can be the official taster.”

  Eddie hesitated, but Mary-Jo gave him a gentle shove. “Go along. I’ll stay here.”

  The doctor’s wife tucked Eddie’s hand in her own. “You’ll find the sheriff right through that door.” She then led Eddie down the hall.

  No sooner had the two vanished from sight than Mary-Jo whirled about and reached for the doorknob. With a bracing breath, she charge
d into the room.

  Tom was stretched out on a table, the doctor standing over him. She rushed to his side. He looked pale, his bare chest covered in blood. Nevertheless, he managed a wan smile.

  “Oh, Tom . . .” She lifted his hand and held it tight, biting back tears.

  “Don’t worry.” His voice sounded strained. “It’ll take more than a little lead ball to keep me down.”

  “You’re just lucky you took it in the shoulder,” the doctor said. A bespectacled man with a balding head, he applied gauze to the wound and wrapped a strip of cotton around Tom’s upper torso. “You lost a lot of blood.”

  “Will he be all right?” Mary-Jo asked.

  “Should be.” After the doctor finished bandaging the wound, he held up a pair of tongs to show her the bullet. “Far as I know, it didn’t do any major damage.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered.

  “We still have to watch for infection.” The doctor dropped the bullet back into a bowl and set the tongs down. “Lots of rest and some good home cooking and he’ll be good as new.” The doctor washed his hands in a basin and left the room.

  She pushed a lock of hair away from Tom’s forehead. “Jumping catfish, you nearly scared the life out of me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Mary-Jo . . . we got him. We got the man who killed Dan.”

  She tried to be happy for him. “I’m glad,” she said. It didn’t bring Daniel back, but maybe now Tom would know peace of mind. Maybe they all would.

  “If anything happened to you . . . ,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine. Can’t you see?”

  She laid her head on his good shoulder and closed her eyes. He was fine now, but what about next time? And the time after that?

  The door flew open and Eddie ran into the room. “Uncle Tom!”

  Not even the joy on Eddie’s face upon seeing his uncle could chase away her worry.

  For the next two days, Mary-Jo took care of Tom. He slept on the couch and she plied him with homemade soup and stew. Every morning she cleaned his wound and changed his bandage.

  It did her heart good to watch him and Eddie grow close. He helped Eddie with his schoolwork and the two spent hours playing draughts and dominoes.

  Deputy Sheriff Barnes stopped by daily to report on the latest town happenings. After one such visit she walked into the parlor to find Tom up and dressed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To work.”

  “But the doctor said—”

  “Someone stole a bunch of horses from the Dobson farm. I’ve got to check it out.”

  With dismay, she watched him buckle his holster. “It’s so soon. You hardly have your strength back.”

  “I’ll take it easy.”

  “But . . .”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s my job.” Without another word, he left.

  It was late by the time he arrived home and Eddie was already asleep. Tom walked into the house, took one look at her carpetbag and sewing machine by the door, and stopped.

  “What’s this?” His gaze sharpened. “Mary-Jo?”

  Mary-Jo lifted her chin and forced herself to say the well-rehearsed words. “I’m going back to Georgia.”

  FOR THE LONGEST MOMENT HE STARED AT HER. “IS IT something I did?” he asked at last.

  “No.”

  He glanced at Eddie’s bedroom door. “I know he can be a handful but—”

  She shook her head and moved away from him. It was the only way she could keep her wits about her. “My decision has nothing to do with Eddie.” Actually, she had grown quite fond of the boy and would miss him terribly.

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Then why? I thought . . . we’d made headway.”

  She swallowed hard. No doubt he was referring to the kiss in the barn. Her cheeks burned with the memory. “I can’t be a sheriff’s wife. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  “Because of Dan and your other fiancé?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And you’re afraid something will happen to me.”

  “Something did happen to you.” Tears burned her eyes and she blinked to hold them back. “You were nearly killed.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  She hugged herself to ward off a sudden chill. “I’m just not lucky where men are concerned.” She wasn’t lucky at all.

  Anger flashed in his eyes and his face grew dark. “I don’t believe in luck. I only believe in God.”

  “I believe in God too.”

  “But you don’t trust Him,” he said.

  “Do you blame me?” she lashed out. This time there was no holding back the tears. “If He’s so trustworthy, why does He let bad things happen? Answer me that!”

  “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t think anyone can. Dan’s death is about as bad as it gets, but God can take something like that and turn it into something good. That’s what I believe He’s trying to do here.”

  “I—I wish I could believe that.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But I can’t.”

  He beckoned her with his one good arm. “Mary-Jo, please, we’ll work this out. We’ll find a way.”

  She shook her head and her heart squeezed in anguish. Why was this so hard? It wasn’t as if she loved him. She’d only known him for a short time. What she felt wasn’t love, couldn’t be love. And yet, in some ways it felt as if she’d known him all her life.

  “Nothing you say can make me change my mind. I’m leaving on the morning train.” He started to say something, but she cut him off. “Don’t try to stop me.”

  A look of despair spread over his face. “At least let me drive you to the station.”

  “It’s better if you don’t.” The harsh reality of a future without him hit her full force and she fled the room in tears.

  It was a good mile-and-a-half hike to the train station and Mary-Jo had to keep stopping to rest her arm. It was hard to know what was heavier: her sewing machine or her heart. Still, she arrived nearly an hour early. She cried most of the way. Whenever she was tempted to turn back, she deliberately stepped on a crack. While passing through town she walked under a ladder and then she chased a black cat until at last it crossed her path.

  She did everything possible that morning to tempt fate so as not to turn back; it was only a matter of time before something awful happened. To go back now would only subject Tom and Eddie to the bad luck that was surely heading her way, and that she would never do.

  Tom. Just thinking his name nearly shattered what little control she had left. If only she could have his faith. She wanted to put her trust in God but she didn’t know how.

  For as far back as she could remember, everything, from the roof over her head to the food on the table, was the result of her father’s luck at the gambling tables. He even blamed her mother’s death on an unlucky roll of dice.

  How much easier life would be if she could leave everything to God and not have to worry about every little wayward grain of salt. If only . . .

  Ticket in hand, she lowered her sewing machine next to the wooden bench and sat.

  She tried not to think of Tom. Better to concentrate on the people around her. A woman walked by holding two small boys by the hand. A man with a walrus mustache and a cane sat on the other end of the bench.

  A boy around Eddie’s age ran past her and she closed her eyes to block him from view, but that only brought back memories of Tom and how much she had hurt him.

  She shook her thoughts away and chewed a fingernail. Tom’s voice came back to haunt her. “God can take something bad and turn it into something good . . .”

  What if Tom was right? She wanted so much to believe that was true, but it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. It was only a matter of time before her reckless stepping on cracks and walking under ladders that morning caused something awful to happen. Let’s see what God will do then!

  And so she waited.

  Nothing fell from the sky.

  The station didn’t collapse.

 
; The world didn’t end.

  She opened her reticule and pulled out her father’s lucky playing cards. Holding them in her hand, she hesitated. Finally she flung the pack into the trash receptacle behind the bench.

  She waited some more. Still nothing bad happened.

  The train pulled into the station in a cloud of hissing steam and came to a screeching stop. Passengers filed off in orderly fashion. People called to each other and hugged. Minutes passed and no one fell or suffered a mishap. She turned to retrieve the playing cards, but something stopped her.

  The deck of cards was the only gift her father ever gave her. That was why she’d held on to them all these years. Now they only reminded her that gambling had ruined his life and pretty near ruined hers too. It might not be possible to throw away unhappy memories, but leaving the cards in the trash might well be a start.

  “All aboard,” shouted the dark-skinned conductor hanging from a handrail.

  She reached for her sewing machine, but all that greeted her grasping hand was empty space. She looked down. Oh no! Her Singer was gone!

  Jumping to her feet, she quickly glanced around. No, no, no! Don’t let this be happening!

  She stopped a woman cradling an infant in her arms. “Excuse me, ma’am. Did you see anyone carrying a wooden case this size?” She indicated the length with her hands. “It was a sewing—”

  The woman shook her head and kept going.

  At her wit’s end, Mary-Jo ran toward the train, her sweeping gaze checking each passenger’s baggage.

  “Sir!” she called to the conductor. “Someone stole my sewing machine.”

  “Report it to the stationmaster.” He tossed a nod to the ticket booth and vanished inside the passenger car.

  The train whistle sounded and the train began to move. It was taking off without her, but she couldn’t leave without her precious sewing machine. She knew it! She knew something awful would happen.