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He scooped her into his arms and headed for the lobby, ignoring the gaping stares of the waitress and the sorry excuse for a chef who lumbered out from the kitchen, a stunned expression on his face and a dripping ladle in his hand.
Caleb took it all in with one sweeping motion, sizing up the situation and ruling both of them out as able to offer assistance. The pimply faced boy behind the front desk, with his wide-eyed expression, didn’t fit the bill either.
What was he supposed to do now? It served him right. He had watched her growing paler, noticed the way she wavered. He’d offered her food, such as it was here, and tried to get her to sit down. When she didn’t, he should have stopped. She’d been through enough today. His news could have waited. He could have waited.
“Sir! Sir!” The boy jumped out from behind the counter and ran up the stairs behind Caleb, slipping in front of him as he reached the first floor landing.
“Out of my way,” Caleb snarled. He was in no mood to be polite. This day—heck, this week—had gone from bad, to worse, to downright catastrophic. “You want to make yourself useful go get the doc and send him to my room.”
“Your room? Wouldn’t...uh...” The boy had yet to clear out of his way and the way he was fidgeting back and forth raked across Caleb’s taut nerves.
He bit the words out. “Wouldn’t I what?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he flattened his back against the wall. “Her room is over there,” he said with a jerk of his head pointing in the opposite direction to where Caleb was heading.
“Her room?”
“Y-Yes, sir. Mrs. Sutter and the boys. They’re in room 205. T-To your right.”
Caleb blinked. He hadn’t realized Mrs. Sutter was staying at the same hotel. He wasn’t sure why her being here made him uncomfortable. Part of him didn’t like the idea of her in such squalid surroundings. The other part...well, the other part didn’t like it, was all.
He turned toward room 205. “Open the door,” he ordered.
The boy obeyed without argument. “I’ll go get the doc,” he said, then disappeared, his clumsy footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Caleb walked to the narrow bed in the center of the room and placed Mrs. Sutter in the middle of it, settling her limp body against the horse-hair mattress. He was surprised by how light she was curled in his arms and how reluctant he was to let her go. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her cheek with his hand.
“Mrs. Sutter?” Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his calloused palm. “Mrs. Sutter?”
A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Caleb spun away from the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun but coming up empty.
The young boy he’d seen in the church stood frozen in place next to a cot pushed against the far wall. Wide gray eyes stared up at Caleb.
When he spoke, the boy’s voice barely made it to a whisper. “Is she dead?”
Caleb shook his head, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. “Just a faintin’ spell.”
To her credit, Mrs. Sutter stirred, adding credence to his words. The boy relaxed, and for the first time Caleb noticed the raggedy toy in his arms. A dirty old rabbit sewn together out of canvas. The kid clung to it as if it were a lifeline.
“She’ll be fine,” he added. “It’s been a rough day, burying your pa and all.”
“Mr. Sutter weren’t my pa.” The boy pulled the rabbit up under his nose and hugged it tighter.
Caleb absorbed the information but couldn’t make sense out of it. Maybe the widow had been widowed before Sutter.
Mrs. Sutter stirred again, and the young boy crawled out of the chair and drew closer to the bed. A tentative hand reached out and touched hers, little fingers curling inside her palm. “She doesn’t get sick. She said she don’t have time for it.”
Caleb nodded. Sutter had been dead wrong about his wife. In the few short hours Caleb had known her, she’d proven herself capable of withstanding tragedy and facing ugly truths. This was a woman who knew the harsh realities of life. A sense of reluctant kinship filled him. He knew what it was like to have your life destroyed.
He pulled a rickety chair out from a corner, lowering his aching body into it. It had been a long few days.
“You got a name, son?”
“Ethan.”
Caleb nodded and scanned the room. “Where’s the other boy?”
Ethan crawled up onto the bed and laid his head down on the pillow next to Mrs. Sutter. It bothered Caleb how motionless she was. He didn’t have much experience with fainting, but he found it worrisome she still hadn’t woken. He watched her expressionless face. Beneath the black wool dress, the gentle swell of her small breasts rose and fell. Relief made him breathe easier.
A minute had passed since he’d asked his last question. The boy, Ethan, stared at him over the top of the rabbit’s head. He tried again.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Brody ain’t my brother, he’s hers.” A small finger released its hold on the rabbit and pointed at Mrs. Sutter. Another mystery solved.
“Where is Mrs. Sutter’s brother, then?” Caleb knew when someone was evading a question, and this boy was doing a brilliant job of dancing around its edges.
Silence.
“Son?”
The boy’s gaze met Caleb’s then slid away. Unease itched at the back of Caleb’s neck and he rubbed at the spot. He did not want to get involved with these people any more than he already was.
“Ethan, tell me where he is.”
“Brody told me not to. He made me promise.”
Caleb pursed his lips. If Brody made this kid promise not to give up his whereabouts it was a sure sign he was up to no good. He glanced at Mrs. Sutter. She’d been through enough today without someone else adding to her misery.
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Ethan, if your ma was awake right now—”
“She ain’t my ma. My ma’s dead.”
Caleb hung his head. This was one convoluted family tree. He straightened and took a breath. “If Mrs. Sutter was awake right now, what would she ask you to do?”
Ethan hesitated then scowled. “Tell the truth.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow at the boy and waited. After a minute of ruminating, Ethan let out a frustrated huff then lowered the rabbit from his mouth, as if that’s what kept the secret in.
“Brody said he was gonna go to the Seahorse Saloon to win some money to pay off Mr. Kirkpatrick.”
Caleb cursed under his breath. Great.
The pimply faced boy from the lobby arrived with the doctor. Caleb explained what had happened—well, at least the fainting part. He kept what had led up to it to himself. The deed was no one else’s business, at least until he determined what he planned to do about it.
All the way back from the funeral, Caleb had mulled over his prospects, none of which left him satisfied. His original plan of signing it over and walking away had been knocked about good with the insertion of Kirkpatrick. If what he’d heard was correct, signing over the deed to Mrs. Sutter would only result in her losing the property to Kirkpatrick in payment of her dead husband’s debts.
He rubbed a hand over his face and took one last look down at the woman unconscious on the bed. When had this become so complicated?
Caleb left Mrs. Sutter in the doctor’s capable hands and slipped out of the room.
It seemed he had to go collect a boy from a saloon.
It was easy enough to find, as the Pagget was at the same end of town. Caleb followed the sound of the tinny piano. There were three saloons in all. The Seahorse had a faded sign hanging from the second-floor balcony. The slight breeze made its hinges creak as it swayed back and forth. Caleb pushed through the swinging doors where the stench of watered-down whiskey, sweat and cheap perfume rose up and assaulted his nostrils. Desperation permeated the sawdust strewn about the floor and soaked into every crack in the wall.
He hated places like this. They brought a man to his lowest then dug the hole a little deeper. The patrons here wouldn’t think twice about letting a kid buy his way into a game. Hell, they’d probably encourage it, seeing him as an easy mark.
Brody wasn’t hard to find. The room was small, the crowd sparse. One back table had a game going. A few others were occupied by solitary drinkers who looked as though they’d taken root in their seats with no intention of leaving any time soon.
The boy was facing away from the door. Dumb move. A man should never leave himself exposed in such a manner, especially in a place like this. Fastest way to take one in the back. A motley crew of men flanked the edges of the table. They paid scant attention to him, save for one old-timer who glanced up long enough to down a shot of whiskey before pouring another and returning to the game.
The pot in the center of the table was meager by most standards, but he guessed the high stakes games didn’t happen in a place like this. The Seahorse appeared to cater to the dregs, picking up whatever the other two saloons had cast out.
Caleb sauntered up to the table and stood at the boy’s shoulder. It didn’t take long for the kid to glance up as the game came to a stop.
“You lookin’ to git in?” the old-timer asked, his voice thin and reedy. What few teeth he had left were nothing more than tobacco-stained stumps.
Caleb gave his head a slow shake. “Come to take the boy home.”
Brody stiffened and threw Caleb a hostile glare before turning back to the cards. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I got me a game here and—”
Caleb’s hand came down firm and heavy on the boy’s scrawny shoulder. “The game’s over.”
Showing more balls—or stupidity—than most men, Brody tried to shrug his hand off, but Caleb held firm.
“I don’t know you, and I sure as shootin’ ain’t leavin’ here with you, mister.”
Caleb applied more pressure, gripping the ill-fitting wool coat with his fingers. Brody flinched beneath his hold. “Your sister is ill and needs you,” Caleb said in a low voice.
The boy’s stiff posture registered his shock. Caleb didn’t hesitate. He hooked his foot around the leg of the chair and pulled it back, hauling Brody to his feet in one swift movement. The boy grabbed what few coins were in front of him. It went against Caleb’s instinct to get involved like this, but responsibility for Mrs. Sutter’s current predicament weighed on him. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type of man who shrugged off his honor when it became inconvenient. Much as he would have liked to.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us.” He tipped his hat to the men sitting down. No one made a move to stop him.
He led Brody through the saloon, pushing him past the swinging doors and dragging him down the steps. Once they hit the street, the boy turned surly again and yanked his arm from Caleb’s hold.
“Get your hands off me! I was winning. You had no right!”
“You were losing,” Caleb told him. “You think for one second the pair of twos you were holding would stand up against the set of jacks the old timer had ready to play? You think every man at that table wasn’t markin’ you to take a fall?”
“I knew what I was doing.” But the telltale surprise widening his eyes told Caleb different. The bravado was all for show. The kid didn’t have a clue he was being played.
Caleb shook his head. “You don’t know nothin’, kid. You’re so wet behind the ears you might as well have just had a bath in the creek. You don’t think your sister’s got enough to worry about without you gallivanting around acting the fool?”
“We need the money. I’m the man of the family now. It’s my responsibility to watch out for us.”
“There’s better ways to put bread on the table—” Caleb stepped down off the sidewalk, his boots landing in a pile of muck and horse dung. “Aw, crud!”
“It ain’t about bread, mister.” Brody rounded on Caleb while he stomped the dung from his boot. “Maybe my sister believes Robert was in Laramie buying cattle, but I know better. He went to gamble and he lost. It ain’t the first time he’s done it, either.”
“I’m guessin’ it’s the first time he got himself shot dead.” Caleb stepped around the kid and kept walking, heading across the street. He could feel the rain coming. The moisture sank deep into his bones. He didn’t care to be out in it, even if it meant sleeping at the Pagget, a lousy excuse for a hotel. At least the rooms were big enough so that he didn’t feel the walls closing in on him. He’d pass the night under a dry roof and worry about everything else tomorrow.
Brody caught up with him. “We owe money. And if we don’t pay it we’re gonna lose everything. Kirkpatrick bought up Robert’s gambling debts and he was pressing him to pay off the markers or sign over our land for payment. Why do you think Robert went to Laramie? Figured he could make a big strike at the tables and come back and save the day. Instead he got himself shot.”
“And you think you can walk into some hole of a saloon and make all your problems go away?”
“Ain’t none of your business!”
“You got that right.” He didn’t want to hear anything else about their problems. He had enough of his own. All he wanted was to go back to his room and sleep this day off. Although having to face Widow Sutter again tomorrow to iron out the news he had dropped on her tonight didn’t bode well for things improving any time soon.
“And my sister ain’t ill. She don’t get ill. Says she doesn’t—”
“—have the time. So I’ve heard. But she passed out cold in front of me, so I guess she found a few spare minutes.”
Brody stopped, the last of his bravado falling away. “You ain’t foolin’?”
“You ever say anything other than ain’t?” Caleb shot the kid a glare and kept walking. Let him figure it out on his own whether he wanted to follow or not. He’d done his part. He got the kid out of the game before he lost money the family didn’t have. He was done with it. He’d deal with the rest tomorrow. Maybe between now and then he’d be hit with some brilliant epiphany showing him a quick way out of this mess that wouldn’t stress his conscience.
Brody hurried to keep up. “Is she okay?”
Fear edged the boy’s voice, erasing his earlier anger. “Doc came over. I suspect she’s fine. Shock and exhaustion, is all.”
At least he hoped it was nothing more. It sure would be a terrible thing if she were to find herself in the family way now, with no husband to provide for her. His honor might have dictated that he drag her fool brother out of a saloon, but it didn’t extend so far that he’d be taking on the responsibility for a dead man’s family by offering up marriage.
He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a good husband.
He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a good man.
When they reached the hotel, Brody bolted up the stairs ahead of him and ran down the hall, bursting into Room 205, letting the door slam against the wall. Caleb followed at a slower pace, feeling every last one of his thirty years. The life he’d been living all these years was starting to catch up with him. Sooner or later the time would come when he’d have to stop drifting and start thinking about settling somewhere.
But now was not the time.
And Salvation Falls wasn’t the place.
Chapter Four (#ulink_78e02540-71c5-5745-b292-8ce7ff2733e2)
Rachel cracked open her lids. Warm sunlight pierced her eyes and sent a sharp shooting pain straight through her brain. She bit down on her back teeth to keep from cursing. She sensed Ethan hovering nearby.
“Rachel?”
The mattress depressed and his small body crawled onto the bed. She moved her arm and let him nestle into her side.
“I’m all right, sweetheart. Don’t fret. It was a bad day, is all.” Dr. Bolger had come by and given her the once-over and announced the same thing. She’d decided not to contradict him. She didn’t know how many people Caleb Beckett had spoken to since arriving in Salvation Falls, but it only took one person to spread the word. The news that she and her family were homeless and penniless would travel like wildfire.
Then what? Would they expect her to behave as her mother had, bartering herself to make life easier? The idea made bile burn at the back of her throat. It would be a cold day in July before she ever stooped that low, prostituting herself in such a way. And to what end? Her mother’s actions had done nothing more than make their situation worse, wrecking her father and destroying their family beyond repair. Were the pretty baubles she’d earned worth that?
Rachel pulled her mind away from the dark memories. She was not her mother. Every decision she made, every action she took was painstakingly made to ensure that.
But what could she do now to improve her perilous situation? Her land, the land her father had left her, belonged to a man she didn’t know. Who knew what he would decide to do with it? She’d had no time to ask and he’d given no indication.
