Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens
like I was one of them. I wanted their respect so badly that one day I began to boast. How could it hurt if I confided a secret? So I bragged and told them there was a safe full of money in the store. I realized later that the only reason they befriended me was to get at the safe. It was December tenth. Our family was supposed to go to a Christmas music recital that night, but Ma and Pa stopped by the store first while I went on with my sisters.”
Melody bit her lip. She gave a slight shake of her head, probably guessing where the story was going.
“Pa went after the intruders with a gun. My bravado cost my father his life and my mother her legs.
“The criminals disappeared and my family was broken.”
There was her touch on his hand again, hesitant at first but gaining courage as her fingers warmed his skin.
He couldn’t help but wonder what she had gone through to make a simple touch so difficult. For all that she flinched at the contact, her touch was powerful in its emotion. It gave him the strength to finish his story.
“I worked odd jobs to see Ma and the girls fed and sheltered, but those were hard times. When I came of age I became a lawman, in part so I could find those men.”
“And did you?”
“Within that first year. The two of them will spend the rest of their days behind bars.”
“I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have just shot them. Maybe the Traverses got to me more than I know.”
“I wanted to...almost did. The gun shook in my fist, I wanted to do it so badly.”
“What stopped you?”
“It would have been one more betrayal to my folks. They had tried to raise me to be law-abiding and honorable. Those fellows lured me from that path once. I wasn’t going to let them do it again.
“Besides, over time I’ve found that justice lasts longer than revenge.”
She nodded, then turned her face to watch the sleet slide down the window. It was a moment before she spoke.
“Have you been able to forgive yourself, Reeve? I’m not sure that I can, for what I did.”
“I don’t know that I’ve forgiven myself. But I have learned to get on with my life and live it in a way that honors my parents. Whenever I lock up a criminal, I’m doing that. It’s a hard life, on the move. I don’t think I’ll ever have the comfort of settling down in one place, but I reckon that’s my penance.”
“Someday, Reeve, I’m certain that one of my boys will act in a way I wouldn’t choose. But I’d be sick at heart if he paid for that by sacrificing his own happiness.”
“Serving up justice makes me happy.” It did. It filled the crater that his transgression had carved in his soul. As long as he could do that and provide for his mother and his sister, he would be content with his life.
His nieces would stand in for his own children. And as far as never having someone of his own—a wife? Well, that was also part of his penance.
* * *
Cottonwood Grove had not changed in three years. Melody stood in the wagon bed gazing down upon it from the hilltop north of town.
From up here, one could see that the town was designed like a wheel. Grove Circle, the business district, formed the hub of the wheel and the center of town. Radiating out from it, like spokes on a wheel, was the residential area.
Come spring, the whole town would be shaded by huge leafy trees. The open land spreading away from town consisted of miles of lush grassy hills cut by three creeks lined with cottonwoods.
Cottonwood Grove was a world away from the Broken Brand.
This late in the afternoon, smoke rose from chimneys all over town as folks got ready to settle in for the evening. The familiar scent of burning wood floated up the knoll.
Melody’s heart squeezed so tight she thought she might bawl out loud. The sights and sounds of home made her want to leap from the wagon, run down the hill and hug the first person she saw, stranger or not.
Did the boardwalk in front of Miller’s Dry Goods still squeak? She spotted Mary Weller coming out of her bakeshop. Did she still bake the most delicious cinnamon muffins in the county? A hammer striking an anvil told her that the blacksmith was working late, as had always been his custom.
And there, the last house on the spoke of town leading due west, was the home she had grown up in. Its three stories gleamed white in the late-afternoon sunshine.
It was odd that no smoke rose from the chimney. Mama loved nothing better than a cozy fire, and Papa loved nothing more than pleasing Mama.
“Are you ready?” Reeve’s voice snapped her away from a dozen memories that crowded her all at once.
She glanced toward the side of the wagon. He sat tall on his big horse, peering at her under the brim of his Stetson. She was going to miss Reeve once he went on his way.
She’d had many friends growing up, most of them she’d known all her life. But she had never taken to one as quickly as she had Reeve.
Was it foolish to trust him so quickly? Possibly, but he was everything a man ought to be and not like Ram in any way at all.
She could not deny that with Reeve, it was almost as though they were kindred spirits with the common bond of a guilty past. He was struggling to make amends, and she would be in just a few minutes.
She watched him move ahead of the wagon, riding tall with his broad shoulders and narrow hips rocking with the horse’s gait. He was a rare man, and she would be a long time forgetting him.
“As ready as I’m going to be,” she whispered under her breath.
“I’m worried, too,” Joe said, then jiggled the reins and clicked to the team. “It won’t be a secret that we’re outlaws’ kin.”
“These are good folks.” She clutched the back of the wagon seat, too nervous to sit down. “We might be a surprise to them at first, but they’ll come around.”
“Can we attend school?” Libby knelt behind her, close to her knee.
“Mama will insist upon it.”
“I think I’m going to like your mama.”
“And she is going to adore you.”
“’Dore me, too, Meldy?” Pansy asked, hugging tight to her sister’s arm.
“Especially you, little flower.” Melody turned about and ruffled the little girl’s curly hair.
Then, all of a sudden, she was home. The large white house came into view. A sob tore from her throat.
She couldn’t help it. She leaped from the wagon, picked up the hem of her skirt and ran.
“Mama!” she cried, opening the gate of the faded picket fence.
That was odd. Papa never let paint fade.
She ran up the walk. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t care. She was home. She was safe. “Mama!”
She tried the doorknob. It was locked. She pounded on the door. Paint chipped against her fist. She pounded some more.
“What do you think you are doing?” a shrill voice called from the other side of the road.
She spun about to see a woman charging forward from the house across the street. She was not the round and cheerful Mrs. Cherry whom Melody had known all of her life.
This woman was tall, lean and pinch-faced. Her eyes snapped with indignation, as though Melody were an intruder.
The woman wore a dress that looked as if it had come from Paris, France. She had rouge on her cheeks and even a dash of kohl around her eyes.
“Who are