The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption

To protect Henry and ensure that happy life she wanted for him, she must first save their home and livelihood.

Help me, Lord. Please, save my shop.

She kissed Henry on both cheeks, and then walked to the door. “Sleep tight.”

“’Night, Mama.” Henry’s eyelids were already lowering, his mouth opening in a wide yawn.

Once satisfied her son was asleep, Carly began her search for the deed. In the attic, Max’s trunk was tucked in a dark corner of the back wall, off by itself. Much like the man. During the eight years of her marriage, Max had dwelled on the fringe of her life. What did she know about him, really?

Inside the trunk under a pile of photo albums, Carly found Lillian’s Bible, the binding wobbly, the pages worn, verses underlined. Stuck beside the Twenty-third Psalm was an envelope addressed to Max, the flap open. She pulled out and unfolded a single sheet of paper, the words written with an unsteady hand.

Dearest Max,

I pen this letter knowing my time on earth is coming to an end. I love you, son. I will die with a prayer for you on my lips, that you will return to the Lord and one day we will meet again.

Your loving mother

Tears stung Carly’s eyes. From what she knew, Lillian’s prayer had gone unanswered. If she’d tried harder, could Carly have led Max to the Lord? Or would she have paid dearly for suggesting he needed God and should attend church?

The choice had been Max’s to make. The consequence, his doing, yet Lillian had also paid a price for her son’s rebellion.

What would Carly do if Henry made bad choices, turned his back on God? To be both father and mother to her son weighed heavily on her, but better to rear him alone than to expose him to another bad influence, another heartless man.

“I’m sorry, Lillian. So very sorry.” With a sigh, Carly returned the letter to the envelope and closed the flap. If only she could shut out her regrets as easily.

Life was never that simple.

Please Lord, if the deed is here, help me find it.

Filled with a surge of energy, Carly scoured every nook and cranny, then left the attic. She would turn the house inside out and upside down, search every drawer, clothespress and cupboard. The deed had to be here somewhere.

* * *

What could Nate say to convince his sister that her future depended upon that deed lying on the table in front of her?

Dressed in black, her tidy bun perched high on her head and her mouth set in a stubborn line, Nate knew all too well that Anna was prepared for battle. Yet Nate knew he would win. He had logic and necessity on his side. Even his softhearted sister would see she must accept reality.

Still, that deed would force another widow from her home, from her place of business. Who would help Mrs. Richards move her things? What would happen to her and her son?

Nate steeled his spine. The widow was able-bodied and strong-minded; like a cat, she would land on her feet.

“Are you ready, sis?” he said, reaching for the deed.

Anna thrust out her hand, palm up. “I don’t want anything to do with that shop. Walt lost his life over that deed, same as his killer. And you could’ve been killed.” She shook her head as if trying to rid her mind of such ugliness.

“I didn’t want to kill Richards. He forced my hand.”

“You’d never kill anyone unless you had to,” Anna said, her tone gentle without a speck of condemnation. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want any part of that deed.”

Nate tapped his forefinger on the document. “Anna, this piece of paper means you’ll have a place to do your stitching, a business with customers ready to pay for your efforts. God’s bringing good out of bad, giving you a fresh beginning.”

“I know God’s in control and I need to trust Him, but I hate change, you know that. I’d much rather stay here.”

“The new tenants are moving in tomorrow.” He grinned. “Doubt they’re expecting a boarder.”

Anna fiddled with her handkerchief. “What if things don’t work out in Gnaw Bone? Just the name of the town makes me think twice. I’ve never run a shop before.” She shoved the deed away. “This could be a mistake.”

“Or an opportunity. Last I knew, you were mighty good with a needle. Did you make that dress?”

“Yes. I had enough black fabric to make a couple dresses and a skirt.”

“To own a dress like that would give any woman confidence. Think what your talent could mean to ladies living in a town with the name of Gnaw Bone.”

Anna chuckled. “You should consider becoming a salesman.”

With a wink, Nate scooped up the deed and slipped it into his saddlebag before Anna changed her mind, then helped his sister to her feet and out the door.

All morning Anna had dithered here and there, cleaning nonexistent dirt from the corners and under the bed. Scoured the sink, watered the flowers and garden, straightened the curtains covering the windows, putting off the inevitable.

Nate understood it was hard to leave memories behind. “Thought we’d stop at the cemetery on our way past so you can say goodbye to Walt.”

“He wanted only to give me an easier life...” Anna fell silent, blinking back tears. “Now he’s gone.”

The pain in Anna’s soft gray eyes told of her love for Walt Hankins, a gentle, unassuming man, but not much of a provider. He’d risked and lost the family farm. Then year after year, he’d toiled on this tenant farm for half the crop, barely scrimping by. Whenever Nate earned a reward, he’d sent Anna money. Money that Walt soon lost on one fool scheme after another. More than once Nate had been tempted to knock some sense into Walt. If he had, perhaps his brother-in-law would be alive today.

He inhaled the cool morning air and let his gaze travel the shed and barn, then on to the rolling fields and budding woods beyond. The nearest farm was barely visible over the next rise. With Walt gone, Nate would rest easier knowing Anna lived in town surrounded by people. Had a doctor nearby.

At the wagon, Nate tugged the brim of his Stetson low to block the glare of the rising sun, then shoved the last trunk further into the back crammed with every item Anna owned.

She turned to him, disquiet in her eyes. “I won’t know a single person in that town.”

No doubt reeling from the sudden changes in her life, his sister had grown timid, not at all like her. Once they were settled, Anna would handle the move as she’d handled every hardship in her life, with strong faith in God.

“Won’t take you long to get acquainted.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be there ready to step in should an unhappy matron complain you made her hem too short.”

A gentle smile riding her lips, Anna laid a palm on Nate’s cheek. “My protector,” she said. “You’re always looking after me. How can I thank you?”

“Make me a cherry pie, sis, and we’ll call it even.”

“A cherry pie it is.” She accepted a helping hand onto the wagon seat. “Now, if you had a wife, she’d make all the pies you could eat.”

“Why bother, when you make the best pies anywhere?”

Nate tied Maverick to the back of the wagon, then tossed his saddlebag on the seat and clambered aboard.

He shot his sister a grin, to keep her from seeing how much the responsibility for her weighed on his shoulders. Not just for her, but for all the defenseless. He’d seen firsthand how quickly life could make a detour, how quickly life could end.

He had promised God he would do whatever it took to protect Anna.

Walt had left her with no home, no money, in a mess. Nate had spent his life cleaning up the messes others left behind.

This time he’d clean up the mess created by Max Richards and see that Anna got the future she deserved.

* * *

Up ahead, Nate caught a glimpse of a small white church, void of stained glass and steeple. Not much of merit compared to the grand churches he’d seen on his travels. Except here in this simple house of worship, at the age of twelve, he’d given his heart to Jesus. He’d been young, innocent.

No longer. The path he’d chosen stood between him and God.

He drove past the church to the cemetery, following the beaten-down grass winding between the rows of gravestones. Near the back, he stopped the team with a spoken word, set the brake and helped his sister down.

As he unhitched his horse to graze, a pair of cardinals darted into the evergreens surrounding the property. From the small barn across the way, a cow lowed. A reminder of his youth when he’d helped Pa milk their Holsteins twice a day, every day, all year long.

Nate offered his arm and Anna slipped hers through the crook. They climbed a small slope and stopped in front of the simple headstone marking their parents’ grave. Weeds grew at the base, tangling up and onto the engraved surface.

He knelt, ripped out the vines and tossed them aside.

“Who’ll do this when we’re not here?” Anna said, her voice as bleak as the black she wore.

“We’ll get back.”

Though he saw the doubt in her eyes, she gave a nod, then gathered the weeds and carried them to the compost.

As she walked on to Walt’s grave, seeking a private moment with her husband, Nate sat back on his heels at their parents’ headstone.

He traced the inscription, his fingers slipping over crevices forming the names Ephraim and Victoria Sergeant. Beloved parents. Good, hardworking, God-fearing people. They’d taken the first trip of their lives to visit Ma’s sister in Kansas. They’d never made it. Outlaws robbed the train, killing four passengers, his parents among the dead.

For what? A few dollars and a paltry sack of jewelry.

Shifty Stogsdill had been the leader of the gang.

Nate saw Stogsdill’s face in every fugitive he tracked down.

Before his parents had left, they’d asked him to look after Anna, always concerned someone would take advantage of her sweet, giving nature.

He’d tried. With everything in him, he’d tried.

A gust of air heaved from his chest. In truth, the very day Anna married Walt, Nate had left home, compelled to bring Stogsdill to justice. More than once, he’d come close to capturing the villain. But somehow Stogsdill had managed to slip away.

Then he’d met Rachel, a pastor’s daughter, a sweet, gentle young woman, and he’d gotten complacent, thinking he could trade the life of a bounty hunter for a small-town sheriff’s badge.

Until the day Stogsdill had come to Rachel’s hometown, gunning for Nate. As they’d crossed the street, Rachel had been chattering about their upcoming nuptials.

The thud of pounding hooves raised the hair on his nape. Drawing his gun, Nate whirled toward the road.

A flash of red, the glint of metal from Stogsdill’s hand.

A blast.

Nate fired just as a bullet whizzed past.

Rachel tumbled. Down, down, down.

Stogsdill’s aim had been off, a few inches to the right, and Rachel, an innocent young woman, lay on the street, her shirtwaist oozing red as life seeped out of her.

Tears stung his eyes. He’d been a fool to put aside the life of a bounty hunter for a sheriff’s job, enabling Stogsdill to track him to Rachel’s hometown. Even four years later, Nate could barely live with his failure to avenge her death.

If it was the last thing he did, Nate would see that Stogsdill got what he deserved. He couldn’t expect God to help him. Not when he had blood on his hands and vengeance in his heart.

A gentle hand pressed into his shoulder. “You okay?”

Nate slowed his breathing. “I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “And eager to see your handiwork walking the streets of Gnaw Bone.”

“Walking dresses?” Anna laughed. “That’s something I’ve got to see.”

The jingle of the horses’ harness brought Nate to his feet. “We’d better get going if we hope to reach Gnaw Bone by supper.”

As they walked to the wagon, a blue jay squawked from a tree branch overhead. Puffy clouds inched across the topaz sky. In this peaceful moment, the earth had righted on its axis.

Yet, out there somewhere, Stogsdill waited. Armed and dangerous. Nate had given up normalcy, peace, to protect the defenseless.

His grip on Anna’s arm tightened.

“Is something wrong?” Anna said.

“Everything’s fine.”

Or would be. Once Nate saw Stogsdill rot in jail or buried six feet under.

Chapter Four

The grand dame of Gnaw Bone, all three of her stacked chins quivering with intensity, leaned toward Carly. “Surely you can handle my daughter’s wedding gown and trousseau. I’ll pay you well. More money than you can earn in six months or more,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her no-nonsense tone carrying an edge.

An edge that held a warning Carly couldn’t miss.

The wealthiest family in town, the Schwartz women gave Carly considerable business. Business she welcomed and appreciated. But the sketch of an elaborate creation Mrs. Schwartz had laid on the counter wasn’t just any dress that could be whipped up in a couple of days. This confection was to be Vivian Schwartz’s wedding gown.

A spoiled young woman accustomed to the finest. In Vivian’s estimation, the finest wedding gown could only be created in Paris, France. Not Gnaw Bone, Indiana. Vivian had made that abundantly clear—twice—in today’s meeting.

The bride’s glum expression conveyed her resentment of turning to a small-town seamstress. A miscommunication with the French fashion designer meant the gown and trousseau would arrive long after the ceremony. Telegrams back and forth had riled the designer, who’d refused to rush the order. Apparently the matriarch of Gnaw Bone was no match for a Paris modiste.

Her auburn hair and pale green eyes partially hidden by a flower-festooned hat, turned up in the back and held in place by two hat pins, Vivian jabbed a manicured nail at the front and back sketches on the counter. “Can you reproduce this dress exactly as you see it here?” she said, her young voice rising to an unladylike shrill. “And I mean exactly, down to the last button.”

Carly forced a patient smile. “With less than a month till your wedding, there’s no time to send for the exact lace and silk you specify.”

“Gracious,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her ample bosom heaving, setting the ostrich plumes on her hat in motion. “We would have told you sooner if we’d known about this debacle. Surely you have something similar. At least you had a decent array of imported lace and fabric when I made the selections for my dress.”

A dress that was almost completed. Almost. And now adding a large complicated order to an already tight schedule...

Carly’s smile wobbled. “I’m sure I can duplicate the Paris design. I have a bolt of white silk and several options for lace. Would you care to look, Miss Vivian?”

“Is there no other choice?” Vivian turned to her mother, as if she expected to be whisked off to Paris that very afternoon.

The melodramatic sigh sliding from Vivian’s lips had Carly wondering if this young woman was mature enough to handle life’s disappointments, much less enter a marriage.

For Carly they’d been one and the same.

Would things have been different if she’d waited, been older, more sure of herself and her place in the world? As she was now. She would have seen Max for what he was—a man with no sense of right and wrong—and would have known to refuse his proposal.

She didn’t plan to marry again, but if she did, she’d marry a man of faith who shared her values.

Well, that thought was foolish. Besides, no such man was available.

Nate Sergeant is available.

Absurd. The bounty hunter was another Max—violent, unreliable and chasing after trouble.

“Well, are you going to show us the options?” Mrs. Schwartz asked, jerking Carly back to the task at hand.

“I’m sorry, of course.”

“Mother...” Vivian whined. “Do I have to?”

Mrs. Schwartz took her daughter’s emerald-bejeweled hand. “Yes, unless you want to postpone the wedding.”

“No! What would people think?”

“Then you must be realistic. I’m perfectly happy using Carly for my dress. She’s familiar with both our measurements, and her work is excellent.”

Vivian’s lower lip protruded. “I had my heart set on the wedding dress of my dreams.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but your dream gown wouldn’t have done you much good riding the high seas on your wedding day. To think that snobbish woman refused to rush the work, as if our order was of no consequence. The reason I prefer using Carly, thereby keeping the work in the country.”

“If you’ll follow me, Miss Vivian, I’m sure you’ll find something just as beautiful,” Carly said, leading them to her stock of the finest fabric and lace tucked inside a case, protected from sun and dust.

Across the way, Lester and Lloyd stopped scrubbing the shop window to wave at her, and then returned to the task. Even from here, Carly could see smudges they’d missed.

“This is it?” Vivian’s nose wrinkled, as if picking an unacceptable pig from a poke, but then with a sigh, she begrudgingly made fabric choices from the case and cupboards.

Carly showed her several designs for gowns and day dresses, and then entered selections into a notebook under the S page for Schwartz. “Miss Vivian, I have a record of your measurements from six months ago.”

“That should be fine. Vivian never gains an ounce.” Mrs. Schwartz handed Carly a list of the number of undergarments, nightgowns, day dresses, traveling suits and evening gowns they’d discussed. “Can you finish everything in three weeks? We’ll need a week to pack her trousseau.”

Carly couldn’t risk alienating her best customer. Yet how could she finish all these garments in time?

Somehow she’d find a way, if she had to work day and night.

What if the circuit judge ruled against her, forcing her out of the shop before she could finish this order? Carly’s hands trembled. What would she do then?

She straightened her spine. She couldn’t think about that now. “I’ll have them ready before the wedding,” she vowed.

“Thank you, Carly. You’ve lifted a terrible weight off our shoulders.” Mrs. Schwartz patted the bride’s cheek. “Now come along, Vivian, and I’ll buy you a sweet cake.”

The two women left the shop. Lester and Lloyd doffed their hats and bowed at the waist, as if greeting royalty. Were they poking fun? Or merely acknowledging what everyone knew? The Schwartz family ran the town.

The bell jingled. Lester stuck his head in the door. “We finished the window, Miz Richards. See you tomorrow, first thing,” he said, then joined his brother.

They sauntered across the street toward home; their idea of a full day apparently included an afternoon siesta.

Actually a nap sounded good. Carly dropped onto the settee, surrounded by a pile of tagged fabric and laces. This order was far more than she’d expected. Her pulse skipped a beat. If the judge ruled against her, perhaps with the money she would earn, she could entice Nate Sergeant’s sister to sell. That is, if Carly could finish all those garments in time to earn payment.

No one else in town had the expertise to create Vivian Schwartz’s wedding finery. Normally nothing would please Carly more than turning lovely fabric into fashionable gowns. But this time she might’ve taken on more than she could accomplish.

Lord, I asked for a big job, but now I don’t know how I can manage. Please help me finish in time.

Carly sighed. She’d wanted more time with her son not less. But what choice did she have?

The clock on the shelf chimed three. Soon Henry’s teacher would release the students for the day. She’d walk to meet her son, give herself a chance to think of how to proceed and to ease the tension knotting her stomach. Somehow things would work out.

She flipped the sign in the window from open to closed and hustled out the door.

Into a wall. A wall of hard muscle.

Large hands steadied her.

Heart thundering, she met Nate Sergeant’s dark gaze. “If you came back here to coerce me into giving up my shop, you’ll deal with the sheriff.”

As if he believed she might bite, the bounty hunter set her away from him and took a step back. “Quite the contrary, Mrs. Richards. I brought the deed.”

Carly closed her eyes and fought to slow her breathing before she again fainted on the ruffian. “Where is it?”

He waved a hand toward a wagon. On the seat sat a pretty woman dressed entirely in black. She was wearing a stunning black traveling suit befitting a well-dressed widow that immediately caught Carly’s attention.

Carly’s stomach dipped. The newcomer looked too much like Mr. Sergeant to be anyone other than his sister, the woman who held the deed to the shop and had lost her husband at Max’s hand.

“Mrs. Richards, this is my sister Anna Hankins.”

At the mention of Carly’s name, Mrs. Hankins gave a tentative smile, her eyes filling with uncertainty. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

With every ounce of her well-honed will, Carly fought for composure, and then said the only true and nice thing she could think of to the woman who had the power to ruin her life. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you.” Anna smoothed her skirt with gloved hands. “I designed and made it myself.”

Tiny tucks adorned the bodice, each one exactly like the next. Covered buttons down the front and on the cuffs had not the slightest pucker. The buttonholes were neat and evenly spaced. From collar to waist, the bodice fit Mrs. Hankins’s slender frame to perfection.

Apparently the woman had the skill to create exquisite clothing. Skill and time and most certainly an interest, but that didn’t mean she had the know-how to operate a seamstress shop.

“I love to sew,” Anna said. “I can while away an entire day making a dress. I’ve only done a little sewing for ladies at my church. Just pin money, really.” She waved a gloved hand at the shop. “I admire your talent for running a business.”

The compliment didn’t match Carly’s image of Nate Sergeant’s sister. “Well, thank you.”

“I know the circumstances are unusual, even uncomfortable,” Anna said, shooting her brother a pointed glance. “I’m very sorry about all that’s happened.”

The bounty hunter clamped his jaw, wisely keeping his own counsel.

“Me, too. You have my sympathy,” Carly said, her face heating with humiliation that Max had not only killed this woman’s husband, he’d threatened her life.

“As you have mine.”

Did Mrs. Hankins actually believe Carly grieved for a man like Max? “From what the sheriff said, the decision on the shop’s ownership rests with the circuit judge.”

“When’s the judge expected?” Nate Sergeant said.

Carly shrugged, refusing to discuss the matter with him and turned to his sister.

“I’d love to spend a day in your shop,” Anna Hankins said. “The idea of running a business feels a lot like jumping into a dark pool without knowing what rocks lay hidden beneath the surface.” She sighed. “I know I’d be way over my head. Not that I expect to need the information,” she added quickly, her cheeks flooding with color.

Without wanting to, Carly found herself connecting with Anna Hankins. Almost liking her. Almost.

Carly didn’t want to help this woman succeed if the judge ruled in Mrs. Hankins’s favor. Still, Carly well remembered those feelings when she’d first reopened the shop.

Anna Hankins had talent and a sweet spirit. Carly’s breath caught. Could she be God’s solution to Carly’s dilemma? She’d prayed for help making the wedding trousseau, never expecting that help to come from her adversary. But no one else had the time and that kind of skill.

“You’re welcome to spend a day in my shop.”

From the look on Nate Sergeant’s face, he found Carly’s offer startling. Had he expected her and Anna to put up their fists and fight for ownership? Probably. What bounty hunter could conceive of peaceful opponents?

If the woman worked in the shop, perhaps Carly could learn exactly what had happened at that poker game. If the judge ruled against Carly, Mrs. Hankins might agree to sell. Or as they got to know each other better, she might see that taking Carly’s shop was akin to taking food out of Henry’s mouth.