Jane Bonander (2 page)

F
rom beneath the rim of his hat, Nathan Wolfe scanned the street in front of him. He sure as hell didn’t know what he expected to find. Every town he’d stopped in from St. Louis to Sacramento had greeted him with the same message. If Susannah Walker was there, no one knew about her.

But he knew she’d come this way. He had proof she’d taken the train out of St. Louis. He supposed she could have headed south, but his gut told him that she’d want to hide. Where better to hide than in mountains that were nearly impassable?

A commotion across the street in front of the grocer’s caught his attention. A young woman carrying a large package and holding the hand of a small child was fighting off the advances of Eli Clegg, the town drunk. Nate had seen him the day before, staggering about, accosting every woman he met. He appeared harmless. Nate watched and listened, mildly interested.

“C’mon, Red,” the drunk whined. “Ya cain’t avoid me forever. I know where ya live, ya know.”

The woman tried to tug her arm free, but Clegg held her fast. “And I’ve got a shotgun at home that I’m itching to use, Mr. Clegg. Take your hand off me or I swear next time, I’ll bring it with me and use it.”

Clegg giggled, a high-pitched, drunken sound. “Ooooh, ya scare me, Red.”

The boy with her started to whimper and cry.

“You’re scaring my son, Mr. Clegg.”

The drunk briefly switched his gaze to the boy. “Where’s his pa, Red? Why ain’t he here to lay claim to his property? If’n ya was mine, I shore wouldn’t let ya leave my bed.”

“Well, you’d have to chain me to it, Mr. Clegg, now please, just leave us alone.”

Through the sarcasm, Nate heard the edge of panic in her voice.

“Oh, I’m ’fraid I cain’t do that, Red.”

Nate swore. Clegg was getting nasty. He pushed himself away from the wall of the livery and crossed the street just as Clegg was pressing in for a kiss.

Nate grabbed Eli’s shoulder and pulled him away. “The lady asked you to leave her alone.”

Squirming under Nate’s grip, Clegg glared up at him, his face obscured by the strands of black beard that weaseled unevenly out of his sallow skin. The sour smell of stale whiskey radiated from him like bad air. “Who’n the hell are ya to tell me what to do?”

Nate shoved the drunk toward the bench that sat under the grocer’s windows, sending him sprawling.
“Mr. Clegg, I’m your worst enemy if you don’t quit bothering this lady.”

Clegg shifted nervously on the bench, leaned over and spat, missing the ground and hitting his dirty and badly scuffed boot. “How’d ya know my name?”

“Just get along and leave her alone,” Nate ordered.

It was a request that Clegg appeared unable to ignore. Mumbling something under his breath, he stood, teetered a moment until he got his footing, then staggered down the street toward the saloon.

Nate glanced at the woman, but couldn’t see her face or her hair, for her bonnet obscured both from his vision. But when she turned, he found himself looking into a pair of beautiful brown eyes. She tried to smile at him, but it faltered. He wasn’t surprised; most women found him intimidating.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, before taking her child’s hand and scurrying away.

Nate watched her leave, stiff and self-conscious. When she disappeared inside the dress shop, he crossed the street to the livery to get his mount. The woman bore watching. He’d ask around, find out who she was. But hell, could he be so lucky as to have finally found Susannah Walker?

Susannah was grateful to be rid of the cumbersome dress she’d been hauling around, and even more thankful for the money she’d gotten for it. It was wonderful that Lillian Graves, the owner of the dress shop, needed a dressmaker; Susannah was happy she allowed her to work at home.

As she and Corey stepped onto the sidewalk, the man who had scared off Eli Clegg came out of the livery and rode past her. He didn’t acknowledge her . . . which suited her fine.

She knew that not every stranger in town was there to spy on her, but she couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Fear of discovery had become a familiar, albeit unwelcome, companion. This man had come to her aid, and then gone away. So why couldn’t she shake off the feeling that she had not seen the last of him?

Still frowning, she clutched Corey’s hand and walked to the livery where Kito, the Negro black-smith, was waiting to take them home.

“Ouch! Mama hurting Corey’s hand.”

Until then, she had not been aware that she’d been clutching her son’s hand so tightly. “I’m sorry, honey.” She relaxed her hold.

“You all right, Miz Susannah?”

Grateful for his concern, she touched his arm, her fingers grazing the deep, ragged scar on the inner surface of his forearm. “I’m fine, Kito.”

She’d healed that wound and countless others, especially the ones that gouged into the hard muscles on his back. They shared a history, yet neither spoke of it.

“Did Mr. Barnes bring over my groceries?” She strained to look into the back of the wagon and found it empty. She’d often wished she had some chickens or a cow so she wasn’t always doling out her hard-earned money for eggs and milk, but at least she had her vegetable garden.

“Yes, Miz Susannah. I kept them inside, in the shade.” He left, returning with a box filled with grocery items Susannah had ordered earlier. He put it carefully in the corner of the wagon.

As he helped her into the buckboard, she asked,
“Who was that man who just rode out of here?”

Kito shook his head. “Jus’ passin’ through, so he says.”

“Did he tell you his name, or maybe where he was from?”

Kito’s deep, baritone chuckle expressed his humor at her question. “Most white folk don’t tell a Negra nothin’ worth knowin’, Miz Susannah.” He limped around to the driver’s seat and hoisted himself beside her.

Nodding absently, Susannah lifted Corey onto her lap. As the wheels creaked and groaned over the rutted road, she thought back to the day, months before, when she’d first arrived in Angel’s Valley.

Of all the dusty little mountain towns she’d ridden through, looking for a safe place to hide, Angel’s Valley was the one to which she’d been drawn. Nestled in a valley where the mountains ran on and on, enfolding granite and clouds and evergreens and even, on occasion, thunder, the town seemed lost in a breathtaking tangle of tree-studded hills.

The grocer, Ed Barnes, had been quick to tell her Angel’s Valley had once been a mining town. Raw. Wild. Lawless. “See that tree?” All smiles and puffed-up chest, the grocer had pointed to an ancient oak, whose gnarled limbs reached grotesquely outward and skyward. “The lynchin’ tree. Many a thief met his Maker on that tree, yes indeed.”

Everyone took pride in the town’s gruesome history. It made Susannah think the town had gotten its name because those poor hanged men had been transported to heaven by the angels.

Despite its name, the town was not the perfect place she’d come looking for. Sometimes Angel’s Valley was a moody hollow between the giant, swelling hills, where long shadows moved fast and dark across the snow covered peaks. Despite her fitful nightmares, she’d felt safe. So far, anyway.

As they drove into the yard, Max, the big black dog that had been left behind by his previous owner, loped up to them, barking a greeting.

Susannah lowered Corey to the ground, then jumped down herself. “I just baked bread this morning, Kito. Don’t leave until I can give you some.”

“I’d like that, Miz Susannah.” Kito stepped to the ground and carried Susannah’s supplies to the cabin. He put her provisions away while she fixed him a basket of fresh bread and molasses cookies.

As she watched him leave, her thoughts went to Louisa. Every time she was with Kito, when he picked her up to take her into town, or after he’d dropped her off, she thought about her friend back in Missouri, and wished she were here with them. The impish matchmaker in her even wondered if Louisa and Kito would get along. With a rueful smile, she realized that Louisa had the kind of personality that frightened most men away. However, Kito wasn’t most men. If anything, she thought, mildly amused, he was big enough to take down most men. Surely he could handle a smart-mouthed woman.

After fixing a small supper for herself and Corey, she bathed him, told him a story, and tucked him into bed. She went into her own room to undress, hating this time of day. There was no dusk here; the sun disappeared behind the western hills, and suddenly it was dark.

She turned out the lamp and crawled into bed, listening to the cold wind as it howled around the cabin, clamoring for a place to get in. Like a frenzied beast, the branches of the mountain alder that stood near the cabin scratched and clawed at the roof.

She huddled under her covers, dreading sleep. For with sleep came the nightmares, leaving her frantic and laden with fear. And she was always running . . . running. Awake or asleep, she was running. Each morning she awakened more exhausted than when she went to bed. And with her exhaustion came that dread that perhaps this was the day she’d be discovered. She yearned for sweet restful dreams and wondered if they’d ever come.

Who . . . who . . . who . . .
The great gray owl that had taken up residence in the oak tree in her yard asked her the same old question.

Who, indeed, Susannah thought, rolling onto her back. Who had she ever been but someone’s property? Someone’s chattel? Someone’s whipping post?

Even now she didn’t dare be herself, for if someone should discover who she was, she’d lose everything. Who would ever believe she had killed her husband in self-defense? Who but Louisa would even understand that in that moment when Harlan was choking her, she had only thought of her son? Had stabbed Harlan because it was the only way to keep Corey safe?

The wind kicked up again, rattling the window-panes. Susannah was growing accustomed to the sounds of the mountains. So different from those of the plains. She hadn’t meant to journey so far, but as she and Corey had traveled over the long, flat land, over the vast space where the sky never ended, she had known she wouldn’t be safe until she found just the right place. And a person couldn’t feel safe in the flatlands. There were no big rocks, no hills, hardly a tree to hide behind. Then she’d seen the mountains. High, mysterious, with hidden clefts and valleys. The mountains were perfect.

Susannah had relaxed and was just drifting into sleep, when she jerked to a sitting position, her blood pounding in her head. She’d heard something. She waited, straining to hear over the beating of her heart. There it was again. . . . Startled, she discovered it was Max. He was barking, but it sounded anxious, and muffled, as if he were far away.

Clutching the covers to her chest, she looked at the window and listened, wishing she could hear better over the sound of her own fear. Max continued to yelp, furious, frustrated sounds.

Shivering from head to toe, Susannah groped for the shotgun, scrambled from the bed and crept to the door. On shaky legs she crossed to Corey’s room and lifted aside the curtain that covered his door. He was safe and sound asleep, curled up in a tight little ball, his quilt pushed down to the end of the bed. Susannah covered him, then stood a moment just watching him sleep.

She went back into the main room, listening again. Max continued to bark, but softly now, less frantically. And he sounded closer, near the door. A shadow passed by the kitchen window, going toward the porch, sending Susannah’s heart into her throat. With the shotgun raised and her finger on the trigger, she moved to the door and listened.

Footsteps sounded on the porch.

“Who’s there?” She was surprised her voice didn’t quiver and crack.

“It’s me, ma’am.”

She frowned, and held the shotgun tighter. “Who are you?”

He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “I . . . ah, I helped you get rid of Eli Clegg outside the grocer’s this afternoon.”

Susannah’s heart sped up in both fear and surprise, for she remembered. “What do you want?”

“If you’ll open the door, I’ll tell you.”

What did he take her for, a fool? “I don’t think so, mister. And . . . and what have you done to my dog?”

“If you won’t open the door, then meet me at the window, on the east side of the cabin.”

Susannah expelled a frustrated sigh, but went to the kitchen window and waited for him. He arrived, Max at his heels. She lifted the window a crack and rested the nose of the shotgun on the sill, keeping her finger on the trigger. “My gun is pointed at your head. Now, what do you want?”

“I don’t want to scare you, but I followed Eli Clegg out here tonight.”

Frustration edged with panic spread through her. “Out . . . out here? Why did he come out here?”

The stranger glanced around, then reached down and scratched Max’s ears. That action alone surprised her. Max was very picky about who touched him. “I heard him being egged on at the saloon earlier this evening.”

Susannah swallowed hard. “To . . . to come out here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was awake now, fully alert. “Why should I believe you? I’ve been here for months, and he’s never been out here. He only bothers me in town.”

“How do you know he’s never been out here?”

That question shot a fresh jolt of fear through her. “I’d like to know what proof you have.”

“Well,” he began, scratching Max’s ears again, “your dog, here, was locked in the shed with some steak bones to keep him quiet.”

She narrowed her gaze. “How do I know
you
didn’t do that?”

“As you can see, I don’t need to bribe him.” She heard the smile in his voice as he continued to stroke the dog.

“That’s no proof,” she shot back.

The stranger stood, pulled off his hat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Clegg is sleeping off a drunk outside your bedroom window.”

She gasped. “My—” She whirled around and raced to her bedroom, stumbling over the rocking chair to get to the window. She hissed a curse as pain shot through her foot, then limped to the window and pulled it open. She peered outside—and found Eli Clegg slumped against a tree, snoring deeply. Lord, how could she have missed
that
?