Laurie Kingery - Lawman In Disguise

Thorn had been quiet, watching both of them as the doctor spoke to her, but now he spoke up. “Maybe I can fix that for you, Mrs. Henderson, before I ride on.”

By an effort of will, Daisy kept a skeptical look from her face. Even if he was sincere in his offer—which she doubted, for why would a stranger concern himself with the state of her barn roof?—he must realize there was no feasible way for him to complete the task. It would be a while before he was fit enough to climb up onto her barn roof and repair it. And even then, he’d need to stay hidden, not be working up there in full view of anyone passing by.

“Mmm,” muttered the doctor. “I’d best get on with it, I suppose. Miss Daisy, would you be able to fetch me some clean water, please?”

“Of course. I set some to boil when I sent my son to fetch you, then took it off the fire so it could cool down when I saw that you’d arrived. And there’s a spare cot in the tack room—I’ll bring out some bedding for it.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Walker stated. “I didn’t like the idea of him lying in the dirty straw with these wounds.”

Daisy was grateful for an excuse to get some fresh air before she helped the doctor, even though she had a feeling Nolan Walker would use the time to ask some pointed questions of the stranger in her barn.

She wondered if Thorn would give more answers to the doctor than he’d shared with her. Men tended to do that—hide more troubling details from her, as if she wasn’t strong enough to handle the truth. As if she hadn’t dealt with an abusive husband, and then the shame of a jailed husband while raising her son on her own. She was stronger than most folks realized. Strong enough to deal with this new complication in her life.

Much later, when the ordeal of cleaning out the wounds with carbolic acid and bandaging them was over, the doctor gave Thorn a dose of laudanum, instructed Daisy about his care and then departed, promising to check on him tomorrow.

Back in the house, she scrambled the eggs and set a plateful in front of Billy Joe. Then she loaded up a second plate with eggs, a thick slice of fresh bread and some of her preserves.

“Is that for Mr. Thorn?” Billy Joe asked eagerly. “I can take it to him, Ma!”

“Call him Mr. Dawson, honey. And no, I need you to stay put and eat your supper,” Daisy ordered.

Billy Joe pouted. “But I thought you wanted me to help take care of him. Wasn’t that what you said?”

“I do. And you will. Don’t forget what we agreed,” she reminded him. “You’re to look after Mr. Dawson while I’m at work.”

Her shift as cook at the hotel restaurant lasted from dawn until suppertime. She got only half an hour for a break after the midday crowd thinned out. She usually sat down on the back porch and ate whatever could be spared from the leftovers on the stove, while Tilly Pridemore, the waitress, kept an eye on the dining room.

“I’ll rush back here during my break,” Daisy told her son, “and check on Mr. Dawson then. But you’re responsible for seeing to it that he has whatever he needs the rest of the time.”

“I know, Ma.” Billy Joe rolled his eyes. “You already tole me a hunnerd times.”

“I don’t like that tone, young man. Remember our deal? You promised to be on your best behavior. Have you changed your mind?” Please, no, she prayed. I need this chance to get through to him.

Billy Joe was a good boy at heart—she knew that as surely as she knew her own name. But even good boys could be persuaded to make bad decisions, especially when their friends were leading the way. If Billy Joe was busy looking after their houseguest, it would keep him away from his troublemaking friends, which had to be a good thing. It might even help her boy learn some responsibility.

“No, ma’am,” Billy Joe said meekly. “I’ll look after Mr. Dawson real good, I promise.”

“And you won’t go wandering off with your friends and leave him alone?”

“No way! Not when I can stay here and talk to Mr. Dawson about outlawing.” He looked far too excited at the idea, and Daisy winced. Was it foolish of her to leave her son alone with a man who would fill his head with tall tales that would glamorize the wild life of an outlaw? No, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Thorn would do that, not after he had already acknowledged that it wasn’t good for the boy to admire outlaws as he did.

“Just see that you don’t bother Mr. Dawson when he’s trying to rest,” she said. “He’s going to need time to heal.”

“Maybe he’ll heal real slow,” Billy Joe said hopefully. “Then he can stay for a long time. I want him to stay and teach me stuff!”

“Teach you stuff?” Daisy echoed, aghast. “Such as what?”

“Like how to do a fast draw,” Billy Joe told her, in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious to her.

“What makes you think he’s a fast draw?” Daisy asked. Had Thorn Dawson been boasting of gun-slinging skills to her impressionable son? Wounds or no wounds, he’d be out of her barn tonight if that was true!

Billy Joe shrugged. “Ma, an outlaw has to be a fast draw,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “I’ll just bet he’s good at it, that’s all. Fast as lightning. You can tell.”

They’d do better to hope the man would heal as fast as lightning—and go on his way before anyone else found out he was here. Mr. Prendergast, the hotel proprietor, wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest hint of a scandal when it came to the people he employed. If he found out she was harboring a fugitive, she’d lose her job, and then how would she support herself and her son?

“Ma?” Billy Joe said, interrupting her thoughts. “You sure you don’t want me to take that plate out to Mr. Dawson? I’m all done with my supper, see?” He gestured to his plate, which he’d emptied while she’d been woolgathering. The boy always shoveled down food as if he thought it was going to try to run away from him. And he was always hungry for more. Keeping him fed only got more challenging the bigger he grew—and the challenge wouldn’t get any easier now that they had another mouth to feed. She’d just have to take it one day at a time.

“No, I’ll do it,” she insisted. She could tell that the process of cleaning and bandaging his wounds had been painful and exhausting for Thorn. The last thing he needed was an excitable boy bouncing around him, trying to pump him for exciting stories. Picking up the plate, she headed for the door. It was dark now, and she carried a lantern to light her way into the dark barn.

She found Thorn Dawson asleep in the stall on the cot, covered with the spare blanket she’d brought out. He didn’t stir when she set the dish of food on a bale of hay and softly called his name. The laudanum must have taken effect faster than she’d expected, on top of the exhaustion the man must already have been experiencing.

He was sleeping on his side, his ribs rising and falling with his soft, regular breathing. Seeing his features relaxed in slumber, Daisy found it impossible to believe this man could be an outlaw. But appearances could be deceiving, couldn’t they?

It would be best if Thorn left as soon as he was physically able, as he’d said. But she shouldn’t be thinking of him by his first name, Thorn, as if he were a friend. He should be strictly “Mr. Dawson” to her, even in her thoughts, Daisy told herself. She didn’t know him, not really. And she saw no sense in trying to get to know him when he would just be on his way as soon as he recovered. She’d treat him with courtesy and with simple Christian compassion—no more than that. But no less than that, either. Not when she’d decided that it was her Christian duty to care for him.