Page 3 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 3

“Miss Jarrett!”

Joe Trenamen’s voice sliced through Callie’s pounding skull, and a large shadow blocked the sunlight.

“Can you hear me? Kezia?”

She groaned again. Not good. Not good at all. Everything hurt …

“Say something … please.”

She blinked at Mr. Trenamen and, over his shoulder, the sheriff. “Stop yelling. I hear you.” Despite the ringing in her ears.

“What happened?” The sheriff’s voice was gentler than before.

“A black horse … with three white stockings.” She pressed her eyes closed, hoping to clear her head.

“We saw it.” Mr. Trenamen took her hand, his voice and touch both soothing. “Did it charge you?”

She cleared her throat. “Lady spooked and drove her shoulder into me. Knocked me flat.”

“Did she trample you?”

“No.”

“Anything broken?”

Callie tested her limbs. “Nothing feels broken.” Just tender. Probably bruised. And her throat was so dry. She’d been reaching for her canteen when the rider appeared.

“Can you stand, Miss?”

“I—I think so.”

Both men helped her, first to a sitting position, then to her feet. Once standing, she leaned heavily into Joe’s side.

“I know you said not to ask, but … are you all right?” he whispered.

Realizing the inappropriateness of their proximity, she separated herself. “I’m fine, thank you.” But that had been quite a wallop. “Would either of you have a canteen?”

“Mine’s on my saddle. And who knows where that is now …” The sheriff huffed.

“Same as mine.” Joe shook his head.

She swallowed hard, attempting to work moisture to her parched throat. “I’m thirsty.”

“Ain’t no well on the property.” Sheriff Downing waved up the mountain. “The former owner hauled water from a nearby crick, and it’s bone-dry right now.”

Eyes on the ground, Joe bent to retrieve something. “Here.” He rose. “Settle this under your tongue.” When she didn’t immediately take the offering, he pushed it into her palm.

“A pebble?”

“Put it under your tongue. It’ll cause you to produce more saliva.”

“It’s … been on the ground.”

He arched a brow. “It’ll keep you from feeling so dry until we can find fresh water.”

Sheriff Downing grinned. “That’s right good advice, Nesbitt!” He retrieved his own pebble and, after brushing it against his shirt, deposited it under his tongue.

“Saved me more than once in the war.” Joe also placed a pebble under his tongue, staring at her the entire time.

“You’re joshin’. You were in the war?” Downing looked skeptical. “You’re too young.”

“I was twelve when it started. Served as a drummer.”

While they dickered over Joe’s war service, she rubbed the tiny stone between the folds of her skirt then slipped it under her tongue. To her surprise, it did help.

“Gentlemen?”

Both went silent.

“Could we find our horses, please?”

Sheriff Downing stared. “You feelin’ up to traipsin’ through these mountains whilst we search, or do you want Nesbitt to walk you back to town whilst I go after ’em?”

They were only a mile or so from Cambria Springs, and the hour was growing late. The last thing they needed was to be stranded on foot on these steep, wooded paths after dark, but she also couldn’t leave Lady. The mare had been a gift from her parents. Having her close helped keep the homesickness at bay—a reminder of their love.

If only she could stay and search for more clues while the men tracked the horses, but her companions would never agree. “Let’s find them before returning.”

Mr. Trenamen loosed an ear-piercing whistle. After several seconds, he turned. “If Rusty’s able, he’ll return at my call. Hopefully, we’ll catch ’em quickly and be back before Mrs. Ingram serves supper.”

With a sigh, she retrieved her rifle from the grass, pain lashing her as she straightened.

As he settled his hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushed the crook of her neck, sending something akin to lightning through her. “You sure you’re up to this? If not, I’ll walk you back to town.”

His touch still sparking, she brushed his arm away. “I need to find Lady. She’s special to me.”

“All right, but speak up if you need a rest.” He stalked away, and the sheriff hurried to catch up.

She rolled her eyes heavenward, pulse racing. What on earth was that? Joe Trenamen was a fellow operative. She must guard against any schoolgirl infatuations and other entanglements.

“Kezia, are you coming?”

Sheriff Downing had already started down the path, so she scrambled to catch up, falling in behind him, and Joe brought up the rear. Despite her aching muscles, Callie stayed primed to throw her rifle to her shoulder. Once more, Joe split the air with his shrill whistle.

“Sheriff, did you recognize that black horse?” she called, grasping a tree trunk for balance.

“Don’t reckon so.”

Per Allan Pinkerton’s instructions, she shouldn’t let anyone know she was an operative, so she couldn’t be too direct with her questions—but she could play the part of an inquisitive woman.

“Why would anyone want to drive off our horses?”

“Prob’ly just be some young buck havin’ him a drunken time.”

“But the way he yelled, startling our horses, makes it seem more purposeful.” Could it have been the murderer?

If so, was he trying to lead them into a vulnerable position? They made easier targets on foot, especially with the sun sinking in the afternoon sky.

They walked in relative silence, though the rustling underbrush and crunching leaves would easily give their location away. Callie scanned the ground, then craned to see past Sheriff Downing. The rider had certainly disappeared quickly in the dense trees.

The trail narrowed, underbrush pressing in. In places, the scrub snatched at her skirt like grasping hands. The sun dipped lower, and she slung the rifle over her shoulder so she could pull herself up by the nearby tree trunks. Her foot slipped, and she toppled face-first into the dust. Downing spun, and Joe was at her side.

“You hurt?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Only my pride …” She wouldn’t mention her stiffening muscles.

Joe helped her up and retrieved her rifle as Callie brushed the front of her dress bodice. He stifled a laugh.

“What?” She glared.

“There’s dirt smudged from your nose to your chin, and there’s something white slopped all over your dress.”

There were, in fact, several whitish streaks marring the dark blue fabric at about knee level. Brushing at them only smeared the thickest line. She’d probably brushed against a bird’s droppings.

She dabbed the sticky white substance with her handkerchief and rubbed her face with her sleeve. Unladylike, but she’d known she’d get her hands—and more—dirty as an operative. “Better?”

Joe looked almost pained. “May I?”

Face flaming, she let him rub away whatever smudge marked her face. After an instant, he stopped. “That’ll do for now.”

Embarrassment complete, she slung her gun over her shoulder and grasped the nearest tree. “Then let’s carry on before we lose the light.”

It was well after dark when they’d rounded up the horses, and Callie Wilson was obviously exhausted and in pain. He’d insisted she ride in front of him when they’d found his mount, Rusty, miles from the cabin. She hadn’t argued, which told him what bad shape she was in, especially when she’d leaned into him and closed her eyes. From what he remembered of her three years before, she took the Pinkerton motto of “We Never Sleep” to heart …

But she was asleep now. Or was she passed out?

Lord God Almighty, please let her be all right. Please. I should’ve taken her back to Mrs. Ingram’s immediately.

Why hadn’t he?

Because she hadn’t acted like she was in pain at first. Because she’d already scolded him for coddling her. Because he’d enjoyed watching her work inside the cabin—seeing her sharp eye for details and how quickly she was able to capture the scene with her drawing.

And because, durn it all, he found her attractive, and that made it hard to think straight.

“Cambria Springs ain’t got a real doctor.” Sheriff Downing twisted in his saddle as they approached town. “Got a barber who serves as undertaker, dentist, and doc as needed. Want I should fetch him?”

He glanced at Callie, so still in his arms. Was she injured—or simply exhausted? “I’ll ask Mrs. Ingram to look at her. If he’s needed, I’ll fetch him.”

“Want I should take your horses to the livery?”

“Thanks, but the fewer people who can make connections between us, the better.” And he wanted a good reason to escape the boardinghouse if Mrs. Ingram lit into him for his ill-advised decisions.

“Suit yourself. Should we come into town from different directions?”

“Probably best.”

“Fine, then. I’ll circle ’round.” Downing let them pass. “You need me, I’ve got a small room behind the jail.”

“Noted.”

“Night, Nesbitt.”

“Night, Sheriff.”

Once he finally made it back to town, he drew up outside Mrs. Ingram’s house.

“Miss Jarrett? Kezia …” He used her undercover name to remind her of what role she was to play. “Let’s get you inside.”

She stirred slightly as he dismounted and pulled her into his arms. Thankfully, as he approached, the boardinghouse door opened.

Hattie gasped. “What happened? Is Miss Jarrett—”

“Alive.” He hefted Callie into a better position, and her head lolled to his shoulder. “Though she may be injured. Please call your mother while I take her to her room.”

“I’m here.” Mrs. Ingram hurried down the hall. “What happened?”

Joe climbed the stairs, relating how their horses had been driven off and Callie knocked down. By the time they reached the third floor, his muscles burned.

Mrs. Ingram hurried inside to light Callie’s lamp. “Bring her in, son. Hurry.”

He gingerly laid her on the bed, and Mrs. Ingram took over, shooing him out. As he exited, Hattie shuffled in to assist.

“Ma’am, I need to take care of our horses,” he called from outside the door. “You want that I should send for anyone before I do?”

“Thank you, Mr. Nesbitt. If that’s necessary and you’re not back, I’ll have the neighbor boy go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As he descended, the other boarders asked after Miss Jarrett. He told them Mrs. Ingram was looking after her then slipped into the darkness beyond.

After watering their mounts thoroughly outside the livery, he found two stalls next to each other and rubbed both horses down. His mind churned between Callie Wilson and the case. Questions about both percolated in his brain—though mostly all the questions he hadn’t thought to ask Downing due to his concern for his fellow operative.

“Pull it together, numbskull.”

He couldn’t afford costly mistakes. Not with a seven-time murderer on the loose.

With the horses settled, he searched the livery for any black horses. He’d not seen the animal well through the cabin’s filthy windows, and by the time he and Downing made it outside, the horse was nearly swallowed up by the trees. Callie had said the animal had three white stockings. Which three legs? Had she seen the rider? He’d not asked …

His shoulders slumped. There were no black horses—with or without stockings. And even if there had been, that didn’t mean they’d found the killer. As Downing said, it was probably a drunken idiot raising Cain. Or … it could be their target trying to keep his identity hidden.

Leaving the stable, he scanned the deserted street. Maybe he’d pay Downing a quiet visit to ask the questions he’d not asked earlier. Perhaps by then, Mrs. Ingram would have Miss Wilson settled so he might calm his racing thoughts and sleep.