Janet Dean - The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption

“You’re not dead!” Henry beamed up at her.

She kissed her boy’s wet cheeks. “I’m fine, Henry,” she said. “Just fine.”

But she wasn’t fine.

Carly had poured her life’s blood into this shop. Found satisfaction in the work. Earned a living here. She’d made a life for herself and her child in the four small rooms at the back. Without this shop, how would she manage? Where would they go?

“I won’t give up my business,” she said, her voice high, thin, almost a screech.

“Don’t worry, Mama.” Henry pointed at Max’s killer. “The man said he’d help you. He promised.”

Carly’s eyes darted to Nate Sergeant. Under the force of her gaze, he all but squirmed. He’d help her, all right. Help her lose her shop and everything in it.

Still, she’d lashed out at the man, not a good example for her son. “Let me up, Henry.”

Her son scooted out of the way.

In one fluid motion, the bounty hunter sprang to his feet. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and helped her rise. The startling warmth and gentleness of his touch felt nothing like Max’s cold, hard grip.

Chiding herself for falling for such trickery, Carly pulled herself erect and faced her enemy.

Broad-shouldered, feet apart, he towered over her, expression closed, gaze firm, as if trying to squash her with a mere look. Well, she wasn’t some helpless bug.

Not with her pistol buried in the deep pocket of her skirt. She’d bought the Smith and Wesson and learned to shoot, determined to do whatever she must to protect her son.

She bit back a sigh. No matter how strong the temptation, she couldn’t shoot this sidewinder for claiming her business.

Still, no one was going to take away that security. No one.

“I want you to leave,” she said. “My son has had a scare. I won’t allow you to subject him to more.”

His brow furrowed. “We have to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about. Come, Henry,” she said, guiding the boy toward the back. “Go to your room and close the door. I’ll be right there.”

Henry complied with lagging steps and backward glances.

She waited until she heard the door to their quarters click shut, then rounded on him. “The only person I will be speaking with is Sheriff Truitt. Max’s name may be on the deed, but as you well know, my husband is dead. As his widow, everything he owned is mine. He had no right to gamble his son’s future.”

“I agree with you, Mrs. Richards, but the fact is he did.”

“If you actually have the deed, you’d show it. I don’t believe 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.