The Bride's Prerogative (12 page)

“Good coffee.” Ethan raised his mug in Hiram’s direction before he took another swig. “You make it?”

Hiram just nodded, but he smiled as he picked up his horse’s bridle and a rag.

“I don’t know what to do next,” Ethan said. “Oh, not tonight. I know what I have to do tonight. Go over to the Nugget again and tell them to pipe down.” He cocked his head to one side and listened. Was it his imagination, or could he hear loud music and laughter from the saloon? “It’s what I should do about the crimes that’s got me puzzled. What does a lawman do when he can’t figure out who’s committing crimes in his town?”

Hiram frowned and polished away at the leather cheek straps. “You’ve asked everyone if they saw anything.”

“Yes, I think I’ve talked to every adult in Fergus, and a few of the children and horses.”

Hiram laughed.

Ethan stretched out his long legs and sipped his coffee again. “Did I tell you Spin and Johnny showed up at my ranch on Monday?”

Hiram nodded and picked up a can of neat’s-foot oil. He tipped it up, sloshing a little on his rag.

“They’re taking care of the place while I loaf around town doing nothing.” Ethan shook his head. “Useless, that’s what I am.” He looked around the Dooleys’ comfortable kitchen. Did the plant on the windowsill and the bright tablecloth make the difference that marked this as a home?

“Do you think the same person jumped Griff as killed Bert?” Hiram asked.

“I’ve thought about it, and I can’t begin to tell you. It would seem likely.”

After a few minutes of silence, Hiram put the bridle aside and walked over to the cupboard near Gert’s worktable. He returned with the coffeepot in one hand and a plate of ginger cookies in the other.

“Thanks. Gert make these?”

Hiram nodded and set two cookies on the table in front of his own chair and topped off his cup of coffee.

“Gert’s a good woman,” Ethan said around a bite of cookie. He’d almost said
girl
, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. He chewed appreciatively. She knew how to bake. And shoot. And sew. And do a thousand other things. Hiram was a lucky man to have a sister so steady and diligent. And willing to keep house for him.

“She’s all right.”

That was high praise from her brother, as Ethan was well aware. He’d heard tell how Gert had come on the stagecoach to Boise, before it ran all the way to Fergus, and Hiram had driven over there to fetch her. She’d come three thousand miles of hard road, expecting to find Violet and a new baby to care for. Instead, Hiram had met her with the news that he was all alone now. That was back while Ethan was off in the army. And Gert had stayed. She’d grown from a lanky girl to a competent housewife—only she wasn’t a wife.

“Has she got a name, other than Gert?” he asked. Somehow, he felt she ought to have a softer name, the same way he sometimes thought she ought to have a softer hairdo or a fancier dress.

“Trudy.” Hiram sat down again and shoved half a cookie in his mouth.

“Trudy? Oh, of course. Gertrude.”

Hiram nodded as he chewed. When he’d swallowed, he said, “Our pa used to call her Trudy.”

They lapsed into silence again. Ethan pictured a little girl with flaxen braids tagging along after her big brother. That would have been in Maine, though, not out here. What did Maine look like? Lots of forest that came down to the ocean shore? Maybe he’d ask Gert someday. Hiram wouldn’t string enough words together to give him a proper picture.

When his cookies were gone and his mug was empty, Ethan stood and stretched. “Well, Hi, thanks for the grub. Time to mosey.”

“Watch yourself.”

Ethan nodded and went out the back door, grabbing his hat from a peg on the coatrack. The noise from the Nugget hit him as he rounded the corner of the house. With a sigh, he headed north on the boardwalk, past the jail and the vacant boardinghouse.

“Trudy,” he said to no one.

CHAPTER 13

T
en women showed up for shooting practice on Monday, counting Gert and Libby. Gert could barely trust her eyes.

“Where’d they all come from?” she asked Libby as they dismounted.

“Word gets around.” Libby ground tied Hoss and took the Peacemaker from her saddlebag.

Gert hefted her Sharps rifle and walked slowly toward the waiting women. Bitsy and the two girls who served drinks and who knew what else at the Spur & Saddle had come in their short skirts and low-cut blouses. Emmaline Landry had brought her neighbor, Starr Tinen. Both wore faded housedresses with aprons tied over their skirts. Florence was there. Libby had given her the afternoon off, leaving Oscar Runnels’s oldest boy, Josiah, who helped her unload shipments of new merchandise, to watch the store for an hour. And to Gert’s surprise, Annie Harper and her oldest girl, Myra, had come.

Annie walked toward her with a sheepish smile on her face and an old shotgun resting on her shoulder.

“Hello, Gert. Will you take two more pupils? I told Myra about this club, and we both decided we wanted to learn to shoot.”

Gert eyed her for a long moment. “You could have asked Mr. Harper to show you.”

“I’d much rather learn from you.”

“Pa’s got no patience,” Myra noted.

Gert nodded. She wouldn’t want to learn shooting—or anything else—from an impatient man, and she’d seen Mr. Harper lose his temper over little things. What would he say when he heard his womenfolk attended the gun practice?

“Well, let’s see your weapon. You got shells?”

“Only eleven. Figured I’d stop by the emporium for more on the way home.”

Libby glanced at Gert. “I keep having to order more ammunition. It’s a hot commodity in Fergus right now.” She turned her lovely smile on Annie and Myra. “We’re glad you ladies could be here.”

“I had no idea how popular this shooting circle was.” Myra turned wide eyes on Gert. “Miz Dooley, I’ve never fired a gun before. You’ll show me how to do it right, won’t you?”

Gert looked over the cluster of eager women and pulled in a long, slow breath. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at Myra. “I surely will. But this is a lot of people. We’ll take turns in an orderly manner. Everyone gather in close. First, let’s talk about how we make sure none of us gets hurt while we practice.” She looked at Libby and gave her a firm nod.

“Ladies,” Libby called in her cheerful voice. “I didn’t know how many of us there’d be today, but I’ve brought a small prize for the lady who shoots her personal best today.” She held up an embroidered velvet needle book.

“Aw, now ain’t that fine,” said Emmaline.

“And if more than one of you qualifies, I’ll bring extra prizes when we meet next on Thursday.”

They murmured approval at Libby’s promise. She was an excellent merchant, Gert noted, and would no doubt have all these ladies inside the Paragon Emporium ere nightfall.

An odd, unpleasant smell struck Gert’s nostrils. She turned slowly. Another woman had come quietly down the path to join them.

“Mrs. Peart!”

Milzie grinned at her, revealing a gap where one of her front teeth had once resided. “Miz Dooley. Miz Adams. Ladies.” She looked around the circle of faces a bit defiantly. “Mind if I shoot with you’uns?”

Gert eyed the Hawken rifle resting on Milzie’s shoulder. With its heavy barrel and chunky stock, the gun would take down a grizzly with one shot if need be.

“This here was my husband, Franklin’s, buffalo gun.” Milzie lowered the stock to the ground and stood waiting. “I got some bullets for it, but no powder. Thought p’raps I could borry a mite.”

Gert’s stomach churned as she surveyed the old woman. Her heart did a little squirming, too. She tried to ignore the stench that hovered around Milzie. The other nine women were as silent as the school yard on Saturday, waiting for her to either cast Milzie out or …

She forced herself not to look to Libby for aid. This was a matter for the Almighty.
I think I hear You whispering in my ear, Lord
. She looked straight into the watery gray eyes.

“You’re welcome here, Milzie. Show me what you’ve got for ammunition. We can help you with powder for today. But let me check your rifle over first, to make sure it’s safe for you to fire.”

Hiram jumped from his chair when Libby followed Gert into the kitchen. Libby hoped she hadn’t embarrassed him by coming home with his sister after the shooting practice.

“Hello, Hiram. Gert said I’d best consult you before I place my next order for ammunition.”

His soft, gray blue eyes widened, and his pale eyebrows rose. #x201C;Ma’am?”

Hiram didn’t come into the emporium much. Libby seldom thought about him, but when she did, she pegged him as a quiet young man, probably about her age, who liked peace and solitude. In another time and place, she could imagine Hi Dooley as an artist or an inventor. Here in Fergus, he was the sad-eyed gunsmith.

Gert pulled off her bonnet and hung it on a peg near the door. “We’ve got all sorts of ladies coming out of prairie dog holes with odd-sized guns. Libby needs to know for certain what ones will take the same size cartridges. Then there’s the odd ones, like Bitsy’s Deringer. Annie Harper’s got a shotgun—”

Hiram blinked, and Gert went on as if he’d spoken aloud.

“Yes, Annie was there, and Myra, too. You know, her big girl. They both want to learn to shoot in case the killer comes around when Mr. Harper’s away.”

“Killer?”

Hiram’s single word set Gert off again.

“You know what I’m talking about. The man who murdered Bert Thalen and tried to kill Griffin Bane. All the ladies in town are scared, and the men don’t seem to be doing anything about it. Except for Ethan. I know he’s trying to run down the killer, but so far, he hasn’t had any luck. And the ladies are nervous, I’ll tell you.”

Hiram drew in a breath as though he would speak, but then he closed his mouth and shook his head.

Libby stepped forward and smiled. “So, Hiram, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate your advice. Milzie Peart brought the oddest rifle today.”

“That gun’s the size of a cannon.” Gert snatched her apron from a hook and tied it on. “You ever seen it? She said it was her dead husband’s gun.”

“Once. Big old Hawken.” Hiram nodded as if he could see the thick barrel and heavy stock.

“That’s right. And Milzie has no idea what load it takes.”

Hiram scratched his head. “That one can handle most any powder load. But you don’t want to turn her loose with it, do ya?”

Gert had neared the cupboard, but her step faltered. She turned to face Hiram and brushed back a wisp of hair that had come loose and fluttered about her cheek. “I couldn’t send her away.”

Libby nodded. “I know how you feel. She comes into the store, and other people don’t like it because she …” She stopped, feeling an unwelcome flush creep up her cheeks. Even though Milzie wasn’t present, Libby couldn’t bear to speak ill of her. “Well, she looks … unkempt.”

“And she smells,” Gert added.

“Well, yes.”

Gert opened the cupboard and took out an empty pottery bowl. Her jaw dropped, and she stared at her brother. “Don’t tell me you ate all those cookies.”

Hiram ducked his head. “Me ‘n’ Ethan.”

“Oh. Well, that makes it all right then.” Gert slammed the bowl back onto the shelf and shook her head. “I’ll tell you, Libby, since Ethan Chapman took the sheriffing job, I don’t think he ever eats at home anymore.”

Libby smiled as she watched Gert’s jerky movements about the kitchen. “Well, you’re so handy to the jailhouse.”

Hiram’s eyes lit, and he nodded at her with a slight twitch to his lips. Libby nearly laughed aloud, but Gert kept up the injured air.

“That man eats twice as much as my brother, and that’s the truth.”

Libby started to speak but caught herself.
Perhaps he needs a wife
. That’s what she’d wanted to say. But something about Gert’s agitation told her this wasn’t the time to tease. If Gert had feelings for the sheriff, teasing might cut deep, especially if Ethan didn’t look at her in the same light.

Ethan hadn’t showed an interest in ladies since he came home from the Indian wars. He’d seemed a normal, fun-loving young man before he went away, but now his face stayed frozen in serious lines. He kept to his ranch. Unlike a lot of former cavalrymen, he didn’t frequent the saloons. The single women had hoped he’d enter the limited social circle of Fergus, but he’d disappointed them. Even Florence had sighed over him for a while, but she’d given up, declaring Ethan immune to feminine charms. Libby wasn’t so sure. The fact that he and Hiram Dooley had drawn together made her think they understood their mutual sorrow. They could be friends without talking about Hiram’s dead wife and baby or the Bannock War, or whatever it was that kept Ethan bottled up.

And Gert was in the middle of it. She probably saw Ethan more than any other woman in Fergus, and she saw him more often than she did any other man except her brother. Why shouldn’t she have feelings for him? But if Ethan didn’t wish to marry, Gert could expect nothing more than a broken heart. No, this wasn’t the time to tease her.

Libby cleared her throat. “I’ve made a list of the women’s firearms, Hiram. When I get back to the store, I’ll inventory what I have for ammunition, but we go through a lot when we practice. The shipment I got last week is nearly gone already. I plan to order in a large supply. If you can give me a few guidelines, I’ll make sure no one has trouble getting the proper cartridges again.” She handed him a slip of paper.

Gert lifted the lid on the teakettle sitting on the cookstove. “Say.” Her smooth brow wrinkled. “Where’s my kerchief?” She touched her hand to her neckline, feeling inside her collar.

“You took it off out in the valley,” Libby said.

“Yes. It was warm in the sun. I stuck it in the saddlebag. But when we put the horses up, I took everything out again, and I didn’t see it.”

Hiram shrugged and bent over Libby’s list. His light hair spilled over his brow, and he pushed it back absently with almost the same gesture Gert used.

“Get this for Milzie.” He pointed with his pencil to where he’d written the ball size and powder grains for the load. “The rest looks fine. But if you think some others might bring muzzle loaders, you may want to lay in some extra lead balls in a smaller size.” He scrawled another note. “You usually have plenty of powder.”

Libby nodded and took the paper. “Thank you. I’ve decided to go to Boise on the stagecoach and see about the order. When I send it by mail, they don’t always ship exactly what I want.”

“When are you going?” Gert asked.

“Maybe Wednesday, if Florence thinks she can handle the store all day. And now I’d better get back over there. Florence went ahead to the store alone, but she may need me.”

As she turned to leave, she noted that Gert had set out a large mixing bowl, a crock of rolled oats, and another of brown sugar. She grabbed a small jar of cinnamon off the shelf. Unless Libby was mistaken, Hiram and Ethan would soon have a new supply of cookies.