Page 13 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 13

Callie glanced at the sky, noting the lateness of the hour. She shouldn’t have spent so much time perusing Dr. Chellingworth’s Collection of Oddities tent as she had. She’d stayed because she’d hoped to meet the talented Miss Gates, as well as to view the unusual men and women found inside. However, when she’d asked her new friend, the bearded lady, whether the sharpshooter would come out to meet with the audience, Miss Ralston had cut that idea down quickly, explaining in her charming southern drawl that Miss Gates usually required rest after all the physically taxing riding tricks.

Disappointed, Callie hurried to the livery to collect Lady and the fishing supplies she’d stashed there before going to the medicine show. She’d promised Mrs. Ingram she would catch their dinner before returning. But where was the best spot? Perhaps the hostler could give her some direction. After she’d saddled Lady and led her to the front, she asked, and he directed her to his favorite fishing hole with a plea to keep the location quiet.

Thanking him, she mounted and set off, grateful the spot was just a little way up the mountain. As she headed to Adams Street, where the young man said she’d find the trail to the stream, a familiar voice called out. As she turned, Joe hurried across the road, a pail and paintbrush in hand. Maybe she should pretend she didn’t see him. But no. He was still her partner. She headed over to speak with him.

“Afternoon. Where are you heading, Miss?”

Miss … The courteous distance in that word struck like a slap across the cheek.

“I suppose that’s my business, isn’t it, Mr. Nesbitt?”

He drew back, brow furrowed. “Forgive me. I suppose it is.”

Swallowing her hurt, she shot him a half-hearted smile. “Did you need something?”

He transferred the wet paintbrush into his left hand and wiped his hand on the rag trailing from his hip pocket. Then, pulling something from his back pocket, he handed it over.

“Hattie asked me to deliver this to you this evening.”

Mama’s stationery … and her beautiful script. Homesickness flooded her. She cleared her throat, pressing her lips together until she was certain she had her emotions under control.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You all right?”

“Fine, Mr. Nesbitt. Thank you for asking. Anything else?”

“Just curious.” He paused. “Did you ever get those white marks out of your dress from that day our horses got scattered?”

“No, why?”

“I didn’t think you had. I recall you scrubbing it.” He waved at a white slash across his pant leg above the knee. “A couple of young boys were playing in the paint drops while I spoke to Miss Hattie, and one of ’em slashed paint across my pants with a vine or something he’d gotten in the paint. The marks reminded me some of your dress, so I was wondering if you’d found a way to get those stains out.”

She shot him a smoldering look. “I’m not doing your laundry, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Joe’s cheeks turned a deep red. “I wasn’t suggesting that. Just asking.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nesbitt, but I can’t imagine there being fresh paint on the mountainside that night our horses were run off, so whatever it was had to be from nature. So even if I had gotten the stains out, my methods may not work for your pants. Now if you haven’t any more business with me, I need to be off.”

“To …?”

“I promised the young man I wouldn’t tell.”

His eyes rounded then went stormy, and he shifted the pail and brush to his right hand and braced his left against Lady’s shoulder. “You’re going to meet a young man?” His words leaked from between his clenched teeth.

She met his gaze with a fierce look of her own. “I’m going fishing—for our dinner tonight. But the young man who kindly told me where his best fishin’ hole is doesn’t want it widely known. Now I’ll thank you to move. Mrs. Ingram’ll want to eat at a reasonable hour.”

Joe’s jaw hinged open as he stepped back. Tucking the letter from home underneath her vest, she touched her heel to Lady’s side, ready to be away from the discomfiting discussion.

Two blocks down, she found Adams Street and, traversing the steep thoroughfare, found the path her hostler friend had mentioned. Following his directions, Callie found the stream, tied Lady, gathered her rifle and fishing supplies, and settled on the bank. Once she’d dropped her baited hook in the water and coiled the loose end of the string in her hand, she unsealed the letter.

Her mother addressed her by her real name, gave the general news that everyone was well, and promised she would write a proper letter soon—but that the included correspondence had come from St. Louis, and she wanted to forward it quickly. Hands trembling, Callie turned to the included letter, written in a neat but unfamiliar hand, addressed to Callie Wilson, with a postmark from St. Louis, Missouri.

Where Andromeda had been adopted years ago.

Information Rion confirmed. He’d said he’d gone back, trying to find both of them on multiple occasions without success.

She tucked a finger under the wax-sealed flap and opened it, though before she could unfold the pages, something tugged on her fishing line.

She dropped the letter and gave a sharp pull to set the hook. The line sliced the surface of the water as the fish zigzagged, attempting to flee. She let it go a short way before she began pulling it in. As she drew the line in, hand over hand, she saw that the fish appeared to be a sizable specimen.

A gunshot rang out as she reached to pull the fish from the water. Heart pounding, she lurched sideways for her rifle and jerked it to her shoulder. A moment later, a deer burst through the brush on the far side of the stream, raced past, and careened into the trees beyond.

Leaves rustled and heavy footsteps sounded, then Rion Braddock stalked up the same path, his own gun cradled in the crook of his arm. He stopped short at the sight of her.

“Well, howdy, Miss Jarrett. You see my dinner come runnin’ this way?”

She lowered the rifle slowly. “If you mean a frightened deer, it went that way.”

“That deer ain’t long for this world.” He eyed her. “What’re you doin’?”

She set the rifle aside and tried to lift her fishing line, though it was no longer in her hand. Perturbed, she found the coil of twine bobbing along the water’s surface some distance downstream before it disappeared around a bend. With a sigh, she flung a hand in that direction.

“I promised everyone at Mrs. Ingram’s boardinghouse a fish dinner tonight, but your gunshot startled me, and like a ninny, I dropped the line.” Both the fish and her hook were long gone by now.

His features turned sheepish. “Real sorry. Ain’t used to many folks bein’ up ’round here.”

“You frequent these parts, do you?”

Rion shrugged. “Like I told your Mr. Nesbitt, I sleep wherever I find to lay my head.”

“He’s not my Mr. Nesbitt.” He’d made that plenty clear …

Brow furrowing, Rion shot her a strange look. “All right, then. But like I told him, I move around a lot. There’s a cave just up that way that makes a good campsite when I need easy access to Cambria Springs.” He hooked a thumb in the direction he’d come from.

So he was near enough, maybe she could find him as needed. Not with an address where she could send her correspondence, like with—

Andromeda! The letter. She shot to her feet and spun in a circle, searching for the papers she’d dropped to focus on the fish. The gentle breeze had carried them several feet away and trapped the papers against the brush along the riverbank. Heart pounding, she snatched the pages up, looking to be sure she had both her mother’s note and the yet-unread missive, then tucked them deep into her skirt pocket. When she faced him, he watched her with interest.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks flamed. “A letter from home. I set it aside when I hooked the fish.”

“Where’s home, Miss?”

She tugged her vest down and smoothed her skirt. “Illinois.”

“Oh?” His attention perked. “What part?”

Careful, Callie … She still needed to maintain her cover. “I’ve spent time in several areas. Barrington, Sycamore. Most recently, Chicago.” It wasn’t untrue. Extended family had lived in the other places, and she’d spent much time there as a child. “I understand you’ve made some trips to Chicago yourself?”

“Yes, Miss. Lookin’ for my baby sister.”

The directness of the statement caught her, and she coughed, her eyes tearing up.

“You all right, miss?”

She coughed again, as if trying to clear something from her throat. “Forgive me. I think I inhaled a gnat.” She collected herself, dabbed at her watery eyes, and squared her shoulders. “When would you have been there? I wonder if your visits would’ve been during the time I might have lived there.”

“Been there a few times. The first was … I don’t know, maybe five or six years ago. Whenever they had that big meetin’—to nominate Ulysses S. Grant for President.”

“The Republican National Convention?”

“Don’t rightly know what it was called. I just recall thinkin’ my timin’ couldn’t’ve been worse. Rode the train from Denver to Chicago, not knowin’ what was happenin’ there that week. There was so many people, just gettin’ through town was hard. And tryin’ to find one girl in the midst of all that mess? It wasn’t likely to happen.”

“I was in Chicago at that time.” She remembered it well. “You’re right. It was incredibly crowded.” If he’d not known where to look for her, finding her would’ve been a miraculous feat. “When did you go back again?”

He waved in the direction the deer had run. “I really need to track down my dinner, Miss, before the meat goes rancid or some predator makes a feast of it.”

Disappointment wound through her. “Yes, you do.” She needed to get along herself. “I suppose, since I won’t be providing fish for Mrs. Ingram, I should try to hunt something up myself.”

She tucked the cloth with the dough balls inside the lidded basket and gathered her things, turning toward Lady as she did.

“Why don’t you wait here, Miss Jarrett?”

Callie spun. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Once I track down that deer, I’ll have more than enough to feed myself and all y’all.”

“You would share your meat with us?”

“Y’all shared Miss Hattie’s fried chicken with me, and that was a whole lot less than a deer. Ain’t that called bein’ neighborly?”

She grinned. “I suppose it is.”

“All right, then. Wait while I track down that whitetail, and we’ll all eat good tonight.” Rion punctuated his statement with a nod.

How long had it been since her brother had provided food for her? “I do appreciate it.”

“Least I can do, Miss. My fault you lost your fish.” He headed into the trees and brush but paused and turned back. “Is there some reason you painted a handprint on your horse?”

Wide-eyed, she spun to stare at Lady, who did, in fact, have a partial white handprint on her shoulder. She stomped her foot. “Oh, that man!”

Rion laughed. “Nesbitt, I presume?”

“He was painting a building in town and stopped me to talk.”

With another laugh, he disappeared into the foliage.

Callie snatched the cloth she’d wrapped the dough balls in, wet it in the stream, and paced to Lady’s side to scrub the paint away. As she did, her tears welled. Lord, thank You! You heard my prayers, and You’ve let me see Rion again.

She allowed herself a moment of emotion as she looped the basket’s leather strap around Lady’s saddle horn, but quickly swallowed her feelings and retrieved the letter from her pocket. This time, without delay, she unfolded the pages.

My dearest sister, Calliope,

Yes, you’ve found the right woman! I can hardly believe it! I never imagined I would speak with either you or Orion again, and yet, you’ve found me. Your letter was an answer to more than a decade of wondering. Tell me, have you had any success in finding our brother? Oh, I’ve missed you both.

Callie’s eyes welled again, and she clutched the pages to her chest, a sob wrenching free as she stared at the place where Rion had just disappeared.

“Yes, Andromeda,” she whispered. “I’ve found Rion.”

Oh, Lord, how like You to line it all up so that within a day’s time, I’d have connected with both my brother and my sister.

“Bad news, Miss?” Rion’s voice startled her, and she jerked to see him standing at the spot where he’d disappeared moments before.

She corralled her emotions. “Good news, actually.”

He cocked his head. “Reckon I don’t understand women much. If it’s good news, why’re you cryin’?”

Because years of searching were done—and hopefully soon, the three of them would begin rebuilding fifteen years of bonds they’d missed.

She brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. “Happy tears, Mr. Rion.”

He shook his head, then motioned. “I found the whitetail. Won’t take long to field dress it, and I’ll see you home.”

At the sound of Rion Braddock’s low laughter coming from the parlor, Joe twisted his neck one way, then the other. The movement did nothing to release the tension in his muscles.

“If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.” Joe whispered the words to himself as he stared at Mrs. Ingram’s large Bible, open to Romans chapter twelve.

Lord God Almighty, how in blazes did Callie meet up with him again? She’d said she was going to fish, but instead of returning with a basket full of bass, she’d brought Braddock and a freshly killed deer. And Mrs. Ingram, being her kind self, had invited him to stay for supper. Since the meal’s end, Callie and Braddock sat in the parlor, talking in hushed tones with occasional laughter.

He looked again at the page. “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.”

So why did it feel like the coals were burning him, not Braddock?

“Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”

With a huff, he placed the heavy Bible back on its wooden stand in the corner, then poked his head into the kitchen where Mrs. Ingram and the other women cleaned up the dinner mess.

“You need anything from me, ma’am?”

Every eye turned his way.

“No, Mr. Nesbitt. You had a full day painting the mercantile. Time to rest. Besides, we’re nearly done here.” She handed a wet plate to one of the women.

“Yes, ma’am. Think I’ll take a walk then. Check on Miss Hattie and her friend.” He’d made sure to ask for directions so he could check in at will.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Her brow quickly furrowed. “Take your gun and be careful. Until that murderous fiend is caught, no one is safe.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He motioned her nearer. “Do you want me to stay until Rion’s gone?”

“That’s not necessary. If he doesn’t take his leave soon, I’ll ask him to go.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then one of us will run next door for the neighbors,” one of the women said as she tucked a dried bowl in its place. “Though I doubt it will come to that.”

“Go. Check on Hattie.” Mrs. Ingram waved him away. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He climbed the kitchen’s spiral staircase to the second floor, retrieved his gun belt, and buckled it around his hips as he headed downstairs again. After pausing near the parlor doorway to tie the holster down against his thigh, he marched out, letting the front door close harder than he should’ve. Thoughts churning, Joe headed toward Hattie’s friend’s place.

Braddock appearing when he did yesterday was a surprise, apparently even to Callie. The way he’d watched them all the way back to the boardinghouse had been unsettling at best. Now Callie met him unexpectedly while fishing and brought him home with her. Even more uncomfortable. Was Braddock watching Callie? If so, why? What were his intentions?

The questions kept flowing as he walked, only leaving him more uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have left a houseful of women alone with the uncouth bounty hunter. Such men were known to be rough—good with guns, knives, and fists, as needed. He turned onto Annie Tunstall’s street and eyed her house—the second one after the last storefront. He should’ve stayed until Braddock left. But no—like a jealous schoolboy, he’d heard Callie chattering with Braddock, and his occasional laughter, and he’d run away so the green-eyed monster wouldn’t possess him.

He cursed himself. “You’re an idiot and a fool, Trenamen.”

Turning, he hurried back the way he’d come, though before he’d gone more than twenty paces, a shadowy form stepped from between buildings and caught him with a hand to his chest, just under his throat.

Heart rate ratcheting up, Joe slammed the big, scruffy silhouette into the wall and, forearm across the fella’s windpipe, leveled his pistol at his gut.

“Whoa, now, Nesbitt! It’s just me.” The sheriff’s voice quavered as he lifted his hands.

“Downing?” He grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt and hauled him out into what little light there was. “What’s the wise idea, scaring a man?” He holstered the pistol again. “You just about ate a belly full of lead.”

The lawman glanced around, then hauled Joe back into the deep shadows. “You didn’t hear me callin’ out to you?”

Calling out? If that was true, he must be distracted. “I didn’t. Why were you calling me?”

“Got a question—and maybe some news.”

Already irritated, he huffed. “And?”

“Who was the big fella with the dark hair and beard that sat with Mrs. Ingram’s group in the meadow yesterday?”

He squinted, trying to recall whether he’d seen the lawman at the medicine show. “I didn’t know you were in the meadow yesterday.”

“I wasn’t. Had other business.”

“So how’d you know about him?”

“Answer my question. Who is he?”

If Braddock was a bounty hunter of any repute, shouldn’t Downing know him?

Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t figure if it was because Downing startled him or because he was already on edge. Perhaps it was better to give less information than more.

“We did have a big, dark-haired fella sit with us—invited by one of the ladies. What about him?”

“He have a run-in with a soiled dove there in the meadow?”

“What about it?”

“She came to see me after that tussle. Says he’s the fella she last saw with Serafina before she disappeared.”

Joe’s stomach knotted at the memory of that altercation. She’d grabbed Braddock and said something. You’re the one. You were with—

And like a fool, he’d cut her off in his haste to get Mrs. Ingram’s boarders out of the meadow before things went catawampus.

Ice dripped down his spine, and he stalked off.

“Nesbitt, where you goin’?”

“He’s at the boardinghouse now, but he won’t be for long!”