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Outlaw Love. Judith Stacy
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“Who’s riding the circuit around here?”
The sheriff shifted. “We lost Kingsley.”
Clay had crossed paths with Judge Kingsley a time or two in the past “No loss. Most judges practice law from the bench. Kings ley did it from somebody’s back pocket.”
Sheriff Bottom shrugged indifferently. “We got a new judge now. Some fella name of Winthrope.”
The name coiled a tight knot in Clay’s belly. “Harlan Winthrope?”
He nodded. “Could be. I never met the man. He ain’t been out this way yet. You know him?”
Clay’s stomach churned. “I know him.”
“You’ll be gone before he gets here, huh?” Billy asked.
Clay nodded. He definitely intended to be gone from this town before Harlan Winthrope arrived. “I’ll be here a few more days, that’s all.”
He opened the door, then turned back. “Do you know about a gang called the Schoolyard Boys?”
“I sure as hell do.” Billy rose and swiped his blond hair back with his palm. “Them boys are making a name for themselves around here.”
The sheriff nodded wisely. “They hit the stage at Flat Ridge just this afternoon.”
“This afternoon? You sure it was today?”
“’Course I’m sure. Why?”
Clay nodded toward the cells. “Luther claimed it was the Schoolyard Boys that shot him.”
Billy’s brows drew together and he sucked his teeth. “Now let me besure I got this straight, Marshal Chandler. You were tracking Scully Dade, but lost him and got ambushed by Deuce and Luther and nearly hung. Then you came across the Schoolyard Boys, but they slipped through your fingers and robbed the stage coach not an hour later. Is that about the size of it?”
Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and gritted his teeth. “That about sums it up.”
Billy nodded slowly. “Much obliged, Chandler. Good having you federal boys on the job.”
Clay turned and left the office. He strode down the boardwalk of Eldon’s Main Street, his gut churning.
He didn’t like being made a fool of. It was one thing that Scully Dade—a hardened lifelong outlaw—had eluded him. And even the likes of Deuce and Luther getting the drop on him could be palated. But he couldn’t abide being made a laughingstock by a bunch of kids—school-age kids, with a woman among them, at that.
Clay pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Watering Hole Saloon. He caught a few curious stares from the sparse afternoon clientele as he made his way to the bar. The badge on his chest always attracted attention.
“Beer.” He tossed a coin on the bar and took the mug the bartender slid his way. Clay settled in at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. He took a long drink and ran his fingers across the rope burn on his neck.
Clay pushed his hat back and rested his boots on the rung of the chair beside him. Here under special appointment from the governor, he and dozens of other marshals spread out across the country had been directed to get rid of the outlaws terrorizing honest, law-abiding folks, and make it safe for families and businesses alike. He’d been on the trail for months.
Clay took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d asked specifically for this assignment. He’d bring in the Dade gang himself, and not just because it was his job.
Kelsey hurried down the boardwalk, doing her best to conceal the carpet bag in the folds of her pale blue dress, and slipped into the kitchen of the Eldon Hotel.
“Well, I wondered if I was going to have to cook this whole meal myself.”
Etta Mae Brown’s disapproving gaze met her when she stepped through the door. Kelsey untied her bonnet and hung it on the peg. “Like you’d let me help cook even if I were here all day long?”
Etta Mae giggled and stirred the boiling pots on the cookstove. “Oh, Kelsey honey, you know me too well.”
She smiled and darted into the small bedroom just off the kitchen. Quickly Kelsey dumped the contents of the carpetbag into the bottom drawer of her bureau and shoved it shut.
Kelsey hurried into the kitchen again. The large room held a massive cookstove, a pie safe, a sink, a sideboard and cupboards, with a worktable in the center. A pantry stood at one end, and a narrow service staircase to the second floor next to it. A small round table sat near the doorway to the bedroom Kelsey used when she stayed overnight at the hotel, which lately had been more than in her own bedroom at home.
“Smells delicious.” Kelsey made her way to the sideboard, careful to avoid the bits of dough, squashed peas and flattened potatoes that littered the floor. Etta Mae was a wonderful cook, but as messy as the day was long. She was short and stout from years of tasting her own creations, and her gray hair was streaked with white and arranged neatly on top of her head. Etta Mae had worked at the hotel since her husband passed away, over a year ago.
“Anybody new check in today?” Kelsey took a fresh apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist.
“Hmm?” Etta Mae looked up from the pots she tended. “Oh, no. No new guests.”
Kelsey sighed and mentally calculated the number of guests already in the hotel and the amount of income they generated. She hoped the supper crowd would be good.
“How’s things at the house today?” Etta Mae turned to Kelsey, water and greens dripping from her spoon.
“Everything’s fine.” Kelsey washed her hands at the kitchen pump, then took out a knife and sliced the apple pie cooling on the sideboard. She kept her head turned, avoiding Etta Mae’s probing gaze.
“And your pa?” She leaned closer, her brows bobbing.
“Pa’s fine, too.”
It could be true, Kelsey told herself. In fact, it probably was true. She just hadn’t actually been home today to know for sure. So it wasn’t really like lying. Was it? After all this time covering up her whereabouts, Kelsey still wasn’t used to it.
Etta Mae stirred the boiling potatoes, splashing water onto the cookstove. “Do you think your pa will be coming into town anytime soon?”
“No, Etta Mae, I don’t expect so.”
“He trusts you to run this place without him, hmm?”
She couldn’t remember the last time her pa had come to town to check on his hotel or any of his other holdings. He didn’t want to come, and Kelsey didn’t encourage him. It served no purpose for the town to see what Emmet Rodgers had become; it would only anger Kelsey further.
“You poor dear.” Etta Mae sighed wistfully. “I don’t know how you keep up with it all. If only your brother—”
“Seth will be home soon enough.” Kelsey pulled off her apron. “I’m going to check the dining room.”
They took turns preparing the tables. Etta Mae had done it today, in her typical fashion. Kelsey hurried about the room, turning the white cloths so that the stains and mends weren’t so readily apparent, straightening the silverware and refolding the napkins. The dining room faced the street, so Kelsey kept one eye on the boardwalk and one on the lobby, waiting and hoping for diners to appear. She desperately needed a large turnout tonight Tonight and every night
The supper crowd proved disappointing. The hotel guests were there, all four of them, and Bill and Virginia Braden, who owned the dry goods store down the street
Kelsey stood by the door, fretting over the number of diners, mentally