Victoria Bylin - The Outlaw's Return

Caroline stirred the gravy. “Gertie’s with Bonnie Reynolds. Last I saw, they were looking at a Godey’s Lady’s Book.”

Bonnie was a year older than Gertie and had a good head on her shoulders. Mary liked her. She didn’t feel the same way about the other girl Gertie had met. Katrina Lowe was older by five years and had traveled alone from Chicago. She worked in a dress shop and dreamed of designing theater costumes. She’d been raised in a well-to-do family and had excellent manners, but she also had a defiant way about her.

Mary worried about Gertie because of her ambition. She worried about her brother because his shyness. “What about Augustus?”

Caroline kept stirring the gravy. “I haven’t seen him.”

Bessie chimed in. “I sent him outside with a bowl of apples.”

“Maybe he’s with the other boys,” Adie said hopefully.

Doubting it, Mary untied her apron. “I’d better check on him.”

As she headed for the door, Caroline spoke over her shoulder. “You might wander by the rose garden.”

“Why?”

She grinned. “I saw a new man at church this morning. He’s single and handsome.”

Ever since she’d caught Pearl Oliver’s wedding bouquet, Mary’s friends had been conspiring to find her a husband. She wished Caroline had caught the bouquet. She wanted a husband. Mary didn’t. All men weren’t as untrustworthy as J.T., but she’d never take that chance. She tried to sound lighthearted. “I don’t care about a husband. I’ve got Gertie and Augustus.”

“You did catch the flowers,” Bessie reminded her.

“And I wish I hadn’t!” she laughed. “You’re all impossible!”

Closing the door behind her, Mary stepped into the yard. Her friends didn’t realize it, but the teasing stirred up memories of J.T. and the miscarriage. She needed to shake off the upset, so she put on a smile as she approached the visitors in the garden. She saw a group of boys playing tag, but Augustus hadn’t joined them. Disappointed, she approached Gertie and Bonnie, who were seated on a bench under a crab apple tree. “Have you seen Augustus?”

“He left,” Gertie replied.

Worry shivered up Mary’s spine. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.” Gertie indicated the street. “The last I saw him, he had some apples and was walking that way.”

Mary saw horses hitched to the fence. Maybe Augustus had gone to give them treats. “Thanks, Gertie.”

As Mary headed for the street, Bonnie called to her. “Miss Larue?”

“Yes?”

“I saw some boys with him about twenty minutes ago. One of them was Todd Roman. He’s older, and he’s not very nice.”

“You saw him talking to Augustus?”

“Sort of.” Bonnie knew the boy stammered. “I don’t know why, but Augustus went with them.”

“Where did they go?”

“I didn’t see.”

“Thank you, Bonnie.” Mary hurried to the gate and worked the latch. Her brother would never leave without telling her, nor would he have willingly gone with a group of boys he didn’t know. Determined to find him, she stepped out to the street and called his name.

With his hat pulled low, J.T. guided his horse down the road that led to Swan’s Nest. After leaving Roy, he’d returned his pack horse to the livery and gotten directions to the mansion, bought fresh clothes and gone to a bath house for a good scrubbing. Bay rum wafted off him, and he’d never had a closer shave. If he looked respectable, maybe Mary would believe him about Roy.

“What do you think, girl?” he said to the dog trotting at his side. “Is Mary in as much trouble as I think?”

Fancy Girl looked at him with a doggy grin, a reaction that gave J.T. comfort. For a while he’d been worried the mutt was going to trade him for Mary.

“S-s-stop it!”

The cry came from behind a wall. High-pitched and quavering, it sent J.T. back to a filthy alley in New York and his brother beating him for losing four pennies. Judging by the tone of the voice and the way it cracked, it belonged to a boy nearing adolescence…a terrified boy who needed help.

“Come on, Fancy.”

J.T. turned the buckskin and dug in his heels. The horse wheeled and broke into a run. At the end of the wall, he reined the animal to a halt and leaped out of the saddle. Fancy Girl arrived at his side, growling and ready to attack if he gave the word. At the sight of a boy up against a brick wall, his nose bloody and tears staining his cheeks, J.T. wanted to rip into the attackers himself. The boy being beaten had blond hair and no muscle on his bones. The ones doing the hitting were older, heavier and mean enough to laugh at the boy’s whimpering. Two of them were holding him spread-eagle against the wall, while a third threw a punch hard enough to crack a rib.

“Hey!” J.T. shouted.

The boys doing the attacking glared at him, but they didn’t release the blond kid. The kid tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the strength.

“L-l-l-let me go,” he whimpered. “P-p-p-lease. I—I—I—”

The stuttering made J.T.’s throat hurt. The boy doing the hitting laughed. “Wh-wh-what d-d-did you say, Au-au—”

“I heard him just fine,” J.T. dragged the words into a growl. “He said to leave him alone.”

The boys holding the kid’s arms watched him nervously but didn’t budge. The third one—the leader, J.T. surmised—held his ground. With his small, dark eyes and lank hair the color of coffee, he had the look of a buzzard determined to pick the boy’s bones—or his pockets—clean. He stared at J.T., then lowered his chin. “This ain’t your fight, mister.”

“It is now.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed with a compulsion to fight. J.T. would be glad to oblige, but not in the way the boy expected. He paced toward the two holding the blond kid spread-eagle, letting them see his knotted fists and cold stare. In unison they stepped back and raised their hands in surrender. The boy who’d been beaten groaned and slid into a heap.

“Get outta here!” J.T. shouted at them.

The two sprinted for their lives. J.T. turned to the third one. He looked closer to manhood than the others, maybe sixteen or so, and he’d stood his ground. He spat, then glared at J.T. “Get lost, mister.”

With his duster loose and his gun belt tight on his hips, J.T. walked straight at him.

The boy didn’t budge.

J.T. kept coming. When he got within a foot, he saw sweat on the boy’s brow. “You want to fight?” he said in a singsong tone.

The kid said nothing.

He had no intention of using his fists, but this boy-man didn’t know that. J.T. smirked, tempting the kid to take the first punch. It would be unwise and they both knew it. J.T. was faster, stronger and meaner. He didn’t twitch, didn’t blink. He simply waited.

The boy swallowed once, then again. When he blinked, fear showed in his gaze. The boy knew J.T. outmatched him, just as he’d outmatched the blond kid.

“How does it feel?” J.T. said in an oily voice.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“N-now who’s afraid?”

“Look, mister—”

“Shut your mouth.” He grabbed the kid by the collar. “I could have you on the ground in two seconds and you’d be dead in three.” He shoved him back and out of reach. “You leave my friend alone.”

The boy answered by glaring.

J.T. strode toward him as if he were going to kick him. Instead he kicked up a cloud of empty dust. “Come on,” he shouted. “Take a swing at me.”

Just as he expected, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran. He got twenty feet away and turned. “I don’t know who you are, mister! But you’ll be sorry.” He jerked a finger at the boy slumped against the wall. “So will you, Au-au-gustus!

The stutter mocked the boy who’d been beaten, but it was J.T. who felt punched in the gut. Mary’s brother was called Augustus. How many boys in Denver would go by that awful name? Looking at the kid again, he saw Mary’s wheat-colored hair and distinct cheek bones. He watched to be sure the boy who’d done the bullying kept running, then he turned back to Augustus. The resemblance couldn’t be denied. “Do you know Mary Larue?”