Outlaw Hearts(42)

Seven


Jake tipped his hat and nodded politely to an elderly woman who was stepping off a boardwalk to cross the street. “Morning, ma’am,” he told her, giving her his best smile. He hoped Miranda was right when she said he looked very different when he was clean and shaved and smiling.

“Good morning, sir,” the woman replied, responding to his smile with one of her own. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” What the hell had gotten into him, risking his neck like this, sweet-talking an old lady, all to find a woman who probably would rather he didn’t show up in her life again now that he was out of it. “I’m wondering if you might tell me where a man could go to find out about others traveling west. I figure most come here to Independence first. I’m looking for someone who would have needed to find decent, Christian traveling companions. Where might she have gone for that kind of help?”

The old woman squinted at the sun that was at Jake’s back and eyed his horses and gear. Jake had purchased an extra horse from a farmer, loading part of his gear onto it so he could hide his rifles under blankets and keep them from being noticed. Besides that, he needed the packhorse for the extra supplies he had gathered for his journey. His revolvers were also put away, and he felt naked as a jaybird without them, but he wanted to look like a common traveler, and he knew Miranda was right about that too. He couldn’t expect to go unnoticed when he wore two six-guns and packed a Winchester and a shotgun besides. Once he got out of civilized areas like this, he decided he would at least carry his revolvers again. Being without them made him too damn nervous.

“Well, sir, if a person is looking to find good, Christian folks to travel with, they would surely see the Reverend Bishop at the Presbyterian church just up the street,” the old lady was telling him. “He helps good people find traveling companions. Otherwise, the person you’re looking for might have just gone to the docks along the river and asked around, or north of town there’s a big area where people with wagons gather. Some start right out from there by wagon, others with a little more money take the steamboats up to Omaha first.”

“Thank you very much. You’ve been a big help.” Jake nodded to her again and rode on, heading for the church. It was his last hope. He had already checked at hotels and boarding houses, had already been to the docks and to the “jumping off’ area, which was what some still called the gathering place for those going west by wagon train. Rumor had it that a transcontinental railroad would someday span the West, and he knew tracks were already being built out of Omaha, but he found it hard to believe such a project would ever be completed.

The fact remained that people still had to go west by wagon, and he didn’t even like to think about the danger that would be for someone like Miranda. The more he searched for her, the more anxious he became to find her, and the more guilty he felt for not going with her in the first place. He hoped that he would find his answer at the church. He had to get out of this town before he was recognized.

What if she hadn’t even come to Independence first, as she said she would? He had stopped at her cabin, found a man living there alone. He had felt a terrible ache at seeing the cabin bare and unkempt, not at all as homey and warm as when Miranda lived in it. The man had said she’d been gone nearly three weeks already, that all her friends in Kansas City had thrown a farewell party for her. He imagined it must be nice to have good friends like that, and he was almost surprised Miranda hadn’t stayed after all; but then she was a stubborn, independent woman who stuck to her guns once her mind was made up.

Because of the information, and the danger of being recognized, he had bypassed Kansas City and had come straight to Independence. He had hoped against hope that she would still be in town, but he had found no trace of her. His last hope was the Presbyterian church the old woman had told him about. He headed in that direction, passed a stage station on the way, then drew Outlaw to a halt when he spotted a poster on the outside wall of the station. The packhorse meandered to a halt behind him, and Jake dismounted, holding Outlaw’s reins as he stepped closer to look at the poster, seeing a hand-sketched picture of himself, his dark eyes looking mean and threatening, his hair hanging long and stringy, a grizzly beard hiding most of his face. He moved to catch his reflection in a nearby window, and he grinned. By God, Miranda had a point. He didn’t look much like that poster at all. Still, it was eerie to see his own mug plastered up that way, with the words $5,000 Reward printed in huge, bold letters at the top.