Kelly Boyce - Salvation in the Rancher's Arms

“Sir! Sir!” The boy jumped out from behind the counter and ran up the stairs behind Caleb, slipping in front of him as he reached the first floor landing.

“Out of my way,” Caleb snarled. He was in no mood to be polite. This day—heck, this week—had gone from bad, to worse, to downright catastrophic. “You want to make yourself useful go get the doc and send him to my room.”

“Your room? Wouldn’t...uh...” The boy had yet to clear out of his way and the way he was fidgeting back and forth raked across Caleb’s taut nerves.

He bit the words out. “Wouldn’t I what?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he flattened his back against the wall. “Her room is over there,” he said with a jerk of his head pointing in the opposite direction to where Caleb was heading.

“Her room?”

“Y-Yes, sir. Mrs. Sutter and the boys. They’re in room 205. T-To your right.”

Caleb blinked. He hadn’t realized Mrs. Sutter was staying at the same hotel. He wasn’t sure why her being here made him uncomfortable. Part of him didn’t like the idea of her in such squalid surroundings. The other part...well, the other part didn’t like it, was all.

He turned toward room 205. “Open the door,” he ordered.

The boy obeyed without argument. “I’ll go get the doc,” he said, then disappeared, his clumsy footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Caleb walked to the narrow bed in the center of the room and placed Mrs. Sutter in the middle of it, settling her limp body against the horse-hair mattress. He was surprised by how light she was curled in his arms and how reluctant he was to let her go. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her cheek with his hand.

“Mrs. Sutter?” Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his calloused palm. “Mrs. Sutter?”

A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Caleb spun away from the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun but coming up empty.

The young boy he’d seen in the church stood frozen in place next to a cot pushed against the far wall. Wide gray eyes stared up at Caleb.

When he spoke, the boy’s voice barely made it to a whisper. “Is she dead?”

Caleb shook his head, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. “Just a faintin’ spell.”

To her credit, Mrs. Sutter stirred, adding credence to his words. The boy relaxed, and for the first time Caleb noticed the raggedy toy in his arms. A dirty old rabbit sewn together out of canvas. The kid clung to it as if it were a lifeline.

“She’ll be fine,” he added. “It’s been a rough day, burying your pa and all.”

“Mr. Sutter weren’t my pa.” The boy pulled the rabbit up under his nose and hugged it tighter.

Caleb absorbed the information but couldn’t make sense out of it. Maybe the widow had been widowed before Sutter.

Mrs. Sutter stirred again, and the young boy crawled out of the chair and drew closer to the bed. A tentative hand reached out and touched hers, little fingers curling inside her palm. “She doesn’t get sick. She said she don’t have time for it.”

Caleb nodded. Sutter had been dead wrong about his wife. In the few short hours Caleb had known her, she’d proven herself capable of withstanding tragedy and facing ugly truths. This was a woman who knew the harsh realities of life. A sense of reluctant kinship filled him. He knew what it was like to have your life destroyed.

He pulled a rickety chair out from a corner, lowering his aching body into it. It had been a long few days.

“You got a name, son?”

“Ethan.”

Caleb nodded and scanned the room. “Where’s the other boy?”

Ethan crawled up onto the bed and laid his head down on the pillow next to Mrs. Sutter. It bothered Caleb how motionless she was. He didn’t have much experience with fainting, but he found it worrisome she still hadn’t woken. He watched her expressionless face. Beneath the black wool dress, the gentle swell of her small breasts rose and fell. Relief made him breathe easier.

A minute had passed since he’d asked his last question. The boy, Ethan, stared at him over the top of the rabbit’s head. He tried again.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Brody ain’t my brother, he’s hers.” A small finger released its hold on the rabbit and pointed at Mrs. Sutter. Another mystery solved.

“Where is Mrs. Sutter’s brother, then?” Caleb knew when someone was evading a question, and this boy was doing a brilliant job of dancing around its edges.

Silence.

“Son?”

The boy’s gaze met Caleb’s then slid away. Unease itched at the back of Caleb’s neck and he rubbed at the spot. He did not want to get involved with these people any more than he already was.

“Ethan, tell me where he is.”

“Brody told me not to. He made me promise.”

Caleb pursed his lips. If Brody made this kid promise not to give up his whereabouts it was a sure sign he was up to no good. He glanced at Mrs. Sutter. She’d been through enough today without someone else adding to her misery.

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Ethan, if your ma was awake right now—”

“She ain’t my ma. My ma’s dead.”

Caleb hung his head. This was one convoluted family tree. He straightened and took a breath. “If Mrs. Sutter was awake right now, what would she ask you to do?”

Ethan hesitated then scowled. “Tell the truth.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at the boy and waited. After a minute of ruminating, Ethan let out a frustrated huff then lowered the rabbit from his mouth, as if that’s what kept the secret in.

“Brody said he was gonna go to the Seahorse Saloon to win some money to pay off Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

Caleb cursed under his breath. Great.

The pimply faced boy from the lobby arrived with the doctor. Caleb explained what had happened—well, at least the fainting part. He kept what had led up to it to himself. The deed was no one else’s business, at least until he determined what he planned to do about it.

All the way back from the funeral, Caleb had mulled over his prospects, none of which left him satisfied. His original plan of signing it over and walking away had been knocked about good with the insertion of Kirkpatrick. If what he’d heard was correct, signing over the deed to Mrs. Sutter would only result in her losing the property to Kirkpatrick in payment of her dead husband’s debts.

He rubbed a hand over his face and took one last look down at the woman unconscious on the bed. When had this become so complicated?

Caleb left Mrs. Sutter in the doctor’s capable hands and slipped out of the room.

It seemed he had to go collect a boy from a saloon.

It was easy enough to find, as the Pagget was at the same end of town. Caleb followed the sound of the tinny piano. There were three saloons in all. The Seahorse had a faded sign hanging from the second-floor balcony. The slight breeze made its hinges creak as it swayed back and forth. Caleb pushed through the swinging doors where the stench of watered-down whiskey, sweat and cheap perfume rose up and assaulted his nostrils. Desperation permeated the sawdust strewn about the floor and soaked into every crack in the wall.

He hated places like this. They brought a man to his lowest then dug the hole a little deeper. The patrons here wouldn’t think twice about letting a kid buy his way into a game. Hell, they’d probably encourage it, seeing him as an easy mark.

Brody wasn’t hard to find. The room was small, the crowd sparse. One back table had a game going. A few others were occupied by solitary drinkers who looked as though they’d taken root in their seats with no intention of leaving any time soon.

The boy was facing away from the door. Dumb move. A man should never leave himself exposed in such a manner, especially in a place like this. Fastest way to take one in the back. A motley crew of men flanked the edges of the table. They paid scant attention to him, save for one old-timer who glanced up long enough to down a shot of whiskey before pouring another and returning to the game.