Authors: A Dime Novel Hero
He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t afford this surge of protectiveness he felt toward Kit. Besides, she didn’t seem like she needed anyone’s help anymore, and she had managed fine on her own for this long.
But she’s never come up against a bastard like me, either
.
Not liking the direction of his thoughts, he stood and grabbed his hat and sheepskin jacket. After donning them, he left the oppressive silence of his empty office.
He headed over to the Red Bird, a saloon across the street, and ordered whiskey.
As he downed his second shot, he overheard the
mayor and Alford Mundy, the bank manager, conversing behind him. Snagging the bottleneck in hand, he joined the two men.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Jake said with a quick smile.
“It’d be an honor,” Mayor Walters replied magnanimously. “I heard a rumor that you’re fixing to set up a law practice here in town.”
Jake filled his shot glass, and held it up to the light to admire the amber color. “It’s not a rumor. It’s a fact.”
If Walters’ grin grew any wider, Jake was certain his round face would bust open. “That’s good news, Jake. Your father would’ve approved.”
Jake shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so. Speaking of the wonderful Judge Cordell, either one of you know why I didn’t get his ranch?”
Walters’ pig eyes narrowed, and he looked at the banker. “Why don’t you tell him, Alford?”
Mundy smoothed a hand across his bald pate. “His will gave explicit directions concerning the ranch.”
“And?” Jake prodded.
The banker glanced at Walters, who nodded. “If you didn’t take residence within six months following his death, it was to be offered to Theodora Thornton for a fair price.”
Jake glared at Mundy. “Why her?”
The diminutive man shrugged. “I was not privy to that information. Only Miss Thornton can tell you that.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this stipulation?”
Mundy pulled a starched handkerchief from his breastpocket and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “You never showed up at the reading of the will.”
Jake came forward in his chair and planted his elbows on the table. “That’s because I’d gone after my father’s killer.”
Mundy shook his head. “No, it was because you were too busy with your saloon friend. At the time of the reading, you and Miss Maggie Summerfield were ‘visiting.’ ”
Jake thought back to the evening after the funeral. Mundy was right; he
had
been with Maggie. At the time, Jake hadn’t wanted to hear the will. He didn’t want to believe his father was truly dead.
He took a deep breath and settled back. “You’re right, Mr. Mundy. So you sold the ranch to Kit?”
The banker nodded. “She was more than willing to purchase it, and with the sale of her father’s newspaper, she had a good down payment.”
Jake frowned. “She had to take out a loan?”
“That’s right.”
“Has it been paid?”
Mundy tugged at his lapels. “That is confidential, Mr. Cordell.”
“For God’s sake, it was his father’s ranch, Alford,” Walters said impatiently. “Tell him.”
Mundy’s tongue darted across his lips, and he lowered his voice. “When Miss Thornton bought some horses two years ago, she borrowed against the ranch. She was delinquent with her last payment, and if she doesn’t pay off the balance, the bank will begin foreclosure.”
Jake kept his expression blank as he digested the information. The solution to his problem had just fallen into his lap. He could buy the loan, and if Kit missed her payment, the ranch would become his. “When’s it due?”
“Three and a half weeks,” Mundy replied, a note of reluctance in his voice.
Jake’s excitement was tempered by his concern for Kit and her son. Where would they go if she lost the place? She’d worked hard to make a go of it, and Jake didn’t want to be the bad guy. He could offer her a
partnership. The idea had merit, but what would Jake do with her and Johnny?
He drank another glass of whiskey. No, it was simpler to take possession of the ranch. He would offer Kit a fair price for her horses so she could move far from Chaney and start a new life with her son.
He rose. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Mundy. I’ll be in to the bank soon to see you with a business proposition.”
Jake walked out of the saloon, wishing he’d brought the bottle of whiskey with him. He could’ve used it to keep his conscience at bay.
K
it turned to help Johnny down from the buckboard seat but found him already on the ground, smacking the dirt from his knees. She reminded herself that Johnny was growing up and becoming more independent. And although she encouraged his independence, a part of her was fearful he would turn out as footloose as his father.
“Are we going to see Mr. Cordell?” Johnny asked as he skipped onto the boardwalk.
Kit joined him. “How about if we visit Aunt Freda first?”
“Okay,” he agreed.
She turned to Ethan, who’d come into town with them. “Do you need some help with the supplies?”
The young man tugged his hat brim low on his forehead and shook his head. “I can get ’em, Miz Thornton. First I’ll go on over and pick up the bridles.”
“Thanks. We’ll meet you in front of the general store in a couple hours.”
Ethan nodded, then strode across the street to Harvey’s Leather Shop.
“Good morning, Kitty.”
She turned to see Will Jameson standing behind her.
“You come to town to visit your hero?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.
She wrapped a protective arm around Johnny’s shoulders and drew him behind her. “What do you want, Will?”
He leaned, hip-shot, against a hitching rail. “How long we known each other, Kitty?”
“Too long,” she shot back. “And stop calling me Kitty.”
Feigned indignation claimed his expression. “Long enough for me to worry about you all alone on that ranch with that breed and nigger. I hear you can’t trust ’em around white women, even ones like you.”
Swallowing back white-hot rage, Kit restrained herself from punching him. “You’re still the same ignorant bully you were back when we were kids. Go back to playing lawman and leave us alone.”
Jameson’s smile faded and his eyes slitted. “Just because Cordell’s back in town doesn’t mean he’s going to stand up for you like he done before.”
Kit lifted her chin. “I don’t need Jake or anyone else protecting me. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a child anymore.”
“Anything wrong here, Kit, Will?” O’Hara asked.
“Uncle Patrick,” Johnny exclaimed, and threw himself at the Irishman.
O’Hara scooped the boy up in his arms and grinned. “Hello there, lad.” He looked at Will, his smile fading. “What mischief are you up to, Jameson?”
An oily smile spread across the younger lawman’s face. “Kitty and I were discussing old times.”
O’Hara’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Kit. “That so, lass?”
She pressed her lips together. “You could say that.”
“Be seein’ you around, Kitty.” Jameson tipped his hat in a mocking salute and swaggered away.
Kit’s shoulders slumped. She thought she’d gotten past her childish timidity, but a part of that self-conscious little girl remained.
Johnny stuck out his tongue at Jameson’s back. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” Patrick asked.
“He smiles a lot, but it’s a mean smile. And he says things that make Ma mad.”
Kit laid a hand on his back. “That’s because he never grew up, sweetheart.”
“You sure there’s nothin’ I can do?” Patrick asked.
Kit shook her head. “I can handle him.”
“So, where were you headed?”
“We were going to Aunt Freda’s for doughnuts,” Johnny said.
Patrick winked at Kit. “I was just headin’ there myself.”
With the Irishman carrying Johnny, they walked to Freda’s neat whitewashed house. Stepping into the warmth of her kitchen, Kit breathed in the comforting aroma of fresh baked goods.
“Hello, Freda,” she greeted. “I hope you don’t mind us dropping in like this.”
Freda clucked her tongue. “Take off your coats, and I will fill a plate with donuts.”
A few minutes later, Kit poured coffee for herself, Patrick, and Freda, then joined them at the table. Johnny had already begun eating and had a white moustache from his glass of milk.
“What is it between you and Jameson, lass?” Patrick asked Kit.
She grimaced and pressed her spectacles up. “When we were children, he was one of the boys who used to tease me. Fact is, he was the worst of the lot.”
“Iffen you like, I’ll have a talk with him,” Patrick volunteered.
“Thanks, Patrick, but he’s only a mean-minded little boy in a man’s body. I can handle him,” Kit reassured him. She paused, lost in years-old memories. “My mother died when I was born. Father raised me the best way he could, but I think he unconsciously blamed me for my mother’s death. He loved her very much. I started wearing glasses when I was very young, and I was chubby, to say the least.” She grinned ruefully. “I think I was a disappointment to him. He found fault in everything I did. Anyhow, because I was different, the other children made fun of me.”
Freda laid a veined hand on Kit’s arm. “Cruel children can be, without realizing it.”
“I know that now, but back then, when they called me Fatty Four-Eyes and Tubby Kitty, all I know is that it hurt.”
“I wouldn’t have been mean to you, Ma,” Johnny stated.
Kit squeezed his hand, and smiled. “I know you wouldn’t have, sweetheart. Jake wasn’t mean, either.” She glanced at Freda and Patrick. “He used to chase the other children away when they teased me.”
“He could not remember you the day you brought him here,” Freda said with a frown.
“I know, but I wasn’t surprised. We’ve both changed. How is he settling in?”
Freda shrugged. “Nightmares he has. Last night I heard him call out so I went to his room and knocked on his door, but it was quiet. This morning, he looked like he did not sleep at all.”
Kit’s throat tightened. She traced the cup handle over and over with her forefinger. “I guess it’s not surprising. He’s led a violent life.”
“Will you go visit him?”
“I promised Johnny we would,” Kit replied.
“He’s teaching me how to ride,” Johnny mumbled through a mouthful of doughnut.
“Sounds like Jake might be thinkin’ of settlin’ down in more ways than one,” Patrick teased.
“Don’t bet on it,” Kit said lightly, although disappointment flickered in her. Seeing Jake every day was a tempting thought.
Yet how could they be friends when lies stood between them? Lies of omission, lies of deceit. Every instinct told Kit Jake would tolerate a lot of things, but deception wasn’t one of them.
Johnny washed his hands and face. “Can we go see Mr. Cordell now, Ma?” he asked excitedly.
Kit nodded. “All right. Did you finish your milk?”
“Yep.”
“What do you say?”
Johnny turned to Freda. “Thank you for the milk and doughnuts. They were damn fine.”
Patrick guffawed and slapped his knee.
“What was that?” Kit asked her son, struggling to keep her voice stern.
“Pete says that all the time,” Johnny defended. “He says it’s the highest complaint a body can give.”
Freda coughed, choking back laughter, her eyes dancing with merriment.
“Damn is still a cussword, and you will not use that type of language, young man,” Kit scolded. “And that’s compliment, not complaint.”
Sulking, Johnny tossed the towel on the counter. “I don’t see why it’s all right for Pete to say it and not me.”
“Because I’m your mother, that’s why.”
Still grumbling, Johnny tugged on his jacket.
“Do not be strangers,” Freda said.
“Be seein’ you,” Patrick said.
Echoing their farewells, Kit ushered Johnny out of the comfortable kitchen.
Freda thoughtfully watched them leave.
“Now, what would you be thinkin’ about that?” Patrick remarked.
Freda studied the burly Irishman. Her Hans had been a small man, and when she’d first met Patrick, his massive size had frightened her … until she’d learned his heart was as big as his body. She smiled. “Happiness Kit deserves, and I think Jake could give that to her.”
“I wouldn’t be arguin’ with you there, but I’m not certain how Jake would take to gettin’ hitched. Men like him are sometimes better off alone.”
Freda clucked her tongue. “Alone he is unhappy. With Kit he would be better off. And a family he would have.” She shook her head. “I know what it is like to have no one.”
Patrick stood and wrapped his arms around Freda, resting his chin on her braided coronet. “You aren’t alone anymore, lass.”
She laid her cheek against his solid chest, aware of how tiny she was in his embrace. Freda had earned her hard-fought independence, but sometimes she missed a man’s strength and protection.
“So when are you goin’ to be sayin’ yes?” Patrick asked softly.
“When you stop drinking.” She gave the same answer she’d given him a dozen times since he had asked her to be his wife.
Patrick sighed. “Askin’ an Irishman to give up his ale is like askin’ a banker to give up his money.”
She drew away from him. “Then my answer will not change.”
He shook his head. “I’m thinkin’ you Prussians are even more stubborn than we Irish.” He clapped his hat
on his red hair. “I’ll be over this evenin’ to finish that game of checkers.”
“And for supper?”
Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Alone in her kitchen, Freda questioned her reason for not becoming Patrick’s wife. Liquor had destroyed her Hans; she refused to see that happen to another man she loved. It was better she remain alone than bear that pain again.
Despite her hope that Kit and Jake might find happiness together, she worried about Jake’s penchant for whiskey. She wouldn’t wish such heartache for Kit, either.
Tucking a strand of loose hair into her braid, Freda took her rolling pin in hand. Her mother had said work was the cure for anything that ailed her, and Freda often found solace in her kitchen. Today would be no different.
Johnny led Kit down the boardwalk toward Jake’s new office, and Kit wondered if she’d made a wise decision in seeing Jake again. But when she saw the carved wooden sign hanging over the door, new resolve filled her. If he was going to become part of the town, she would have to get used to seeing him.
Johnny opened the door, and the first thing she saw was Jake sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes of books and odds and ends.
Jake scrambled to his feet, brushing the dust from the seat of his pants. “Kit, Johnny—you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Having a little trouble getting organized?” Kit asked, as she gestured toward the mess on the floor.
He grinned sheepishly. “I never was very good straightening up.”
His boyish expression warmed Kit, and she found herself laughing softly. “That’s pretty obvious.” She looked beyond the piles of books and journals and found the rest of his office had been scrubbed clean and the walls newly painted pale blue. She nodded her approval. “It already has your touch.”
Jake hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and stood with his feet planted, a totally masculine stance that drew Kit’s appreciative gaze to his muscular legs.
“Kinda reminds me of the wide open sky,” he said. “I already miss getting on Zeus and riding over the next hill. But I have to get this straightened up before I can start taking on clients.”
“Your room looks like mine before Ma makes me clean it up,” Johnny interjected.
Jake ruffled the boy’s hair. “I doubt if your room has ever looked this bad.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Kit said. “How about if we give you a hand?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but we want to. Right, Johnny?”
“Yep!”
They removed their jackets, and Kit set to work organizing law books on the newly made shelves. Jake and Johnny sat on the floor, and together they opened boxes and arranged the supplies that were inside.
“Hey, Ma, Mr. Cordell’s got all his books,” Johnny exclaimed.
Puzzled, Kit turned to see which books her son referred to. Stacked in front of him were all the dime novels she’d written.
She licked her lips nervously. “I thought you didn’t like those.”
Jake shrugged. “Patrick lent me one, and I was curious to read the others.”
“This one’s my favorite,” Johnny said, holding up
Vengeance Rides a Black Horse
.
Jake took it from him and riffled through the pages. He frowned. “Whoever this T. K. Thorne is, he sure knows a lot about me.”
Kit held her breath; her palms grew moist.
“Did anyone ever come around town asking about me and my father?” Jake asked.
She shook her head, afraid to speak lest her voice betray her nervousness.
Jake opened the novel to the first page.
“Read it to me, Mr. Cordell,” Johnny urged, moving close to Jake.
“I thought you heard this one already.”
“I did, but only five times.”
Jake chuckled. “I guess we can take a break. Is that okay, Kit?”
“Fine,” Kit squeaked out.
He stood. “C’mon, let’s sit by the desk.” Jake lowered himself to the chair, and Johnny eagerly moved to sit on his knee. Jake put an arm around Johnny’s waist and held the book up on the desk. He began to read.
“ ‘Jonathan Cordell rode tall in the saddle of a prancing black stallion as his son rode beside him, equally as prideful as his sire. The two men were a matched team, a deadly duo who courted danger as most men courted a lady. There had been a robbery in their town while they had been tracking down the notorious Ace Hardy. When they returned with their prisoner in irons, Deputy Logan greeted them with his arm in a sling.’ ”
Kit continued shelving the law books, listening as intently as her son to Jake’s rich, mellow voice. It gave her a strangely unsettled feeling, hearing Jake’s voice speak the words she’d written in tribute to him.
Ten minutes after he’d begun reading, Jake stopped and Kit glanced up to find Johnny asleep. His head
rested against Jake’s shoulder, his mouth open as he breathed deeply in slumber.
“He must’ve been tired,” Jake said softly.
Kit gazed at Jake and noted the softening of the lines in his forehead. He seemed truly fond of Johnny, and the observation brought a recurrence of guilt. “He’s been up since before sunrise,” she said.
Jake settled Johnny in the desk chair, and Kit turned back to the books she was organizing by author. She sensed Jake’s nearness a moment before he pulled a book from her hands. “You’ve done more than enough, Kit.”