She shivered, rubbing at the backs of her arms. Would he live? He was out there suffering alone. Who would help him? Would the posse shoot him? Could she in good conscience take the reward money if they caught him? There was something barbaric about that—taking money for a man’s body, dead or alive. Apparently Luke Putnam had thought nothing of it, but it gave her the chills.
Bonnie returned from her kitchen. “I’ll have some water boiling soon,” she told Miranda. “I wonder if my husband knows what has happened. The sawmill is on the other end of town, and those men don’t always hear right away what’s going on.” The woman, only a year younger than Miranda, led her to a brocade love seat and made her sit down. “Randy, do you realize how rich you’ll be if they catch that man?”
Miranda shuddered and immediately rose again, feeling restless. “I don’t think I could take money for shooting someone, Bonnie.” She turned to face her friend, and Bonnie was concerned at how pale she looked. “What frightens me is the possibility that Jake Harkner will not be caught! Do you think he would try to find me, to seek revenge? He’s an outlaw, wanted for murder and robbery and…and rape!”
Bonnie rose, grasping her arms. “Randy, the man would be crazy to come back and look for you. For one thing, he’s hurt. To come back here would only spell disaster for him. He’d be caught for certain. Besides, everyone would know who did it, and he’d have another crime added to the list of things he’s wanted for.”
Randy put a hand to her forehead and walked to a window. He was out there somewhere, bleeding, hurting. Why did she care? “He told that bounty hunter that he didn’t do the things he’s wanted for.”
“Of course he did. Randy, a man in a pinch will say anything.” Bonnie walked up behind her and patted her shoulder. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this, Randy. You just relax and I’ll get you a sweater. You look so cold. And I think you should stay here tonight. As far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t go home at all, after what happened to your father. This just shows you, you shouldn’t be living out there alone. Look what happened right here in town! I wish you’d sell that farm and get yourself a place here. I’ve told you before you can stay with us.”
“No.” Randy rubbed at her arms again, turning grateful blue-gray eyes to meet Bonnie’s. “I won’t intrude on young marrieds. I remember…” She smiled sadly, “You’re lucky you met Charles toward the end of the war and that his duty was already over with. Now you can have him for a good long time.”
Bonnie gave her a look of pity. “I’m sorry about your husband, Randy. You’ve lost so much.”
Randy sighed deeply, keeping her arms folded in an unconscious protective stance. “I’ll survive. I am going to sell the farm. That’s part of the reason I came to town. I’m going to find someone who can take me to Nevada to try to find Wesley. I was at the supply store to try to decide what I might need for the trip.”
Bonnie sniffed in a gesture of disgust, her taffeta dress rustling as she moved toward the doorway to go back to the kitchen. “Your brother doesn’t deserve your risking your neck going to wild country like that to find him. If he cared anything at all for either you or his father, he never would have left.”
Randy shrugged. “He’s my brother, Bonnie. He should know what has happened. And he’s all I have left.”
Bonnie shook her head. “I’ll go fix your tea.”
The woman left, and Randy walked back to the window, which faced away from town. Somewhere out there rode Jake Harkner. What was it like to be so alone? Why did he live the way he lived? He had told Monty Lake that it took more than the war to make a man an outlaw. What had he meant? She would surely never know. He would either die from her bullet or be caught and hanged. Either way, it was her fault; and whether he was an outlaw or not, she could not help feeling she had done something terrible. She closed her eyes and whispered, “God forgive me for pulling that trigger.”
***
Jake wasn’t sure how far he had ridden in the creek. He could only hope it was far enough that anyone following him had lost his tracks. Besides that, the water washed away the blood trail he might have left if he’d stuck to land, and all the overgrowth along the creek had given him lots of protective cover.
He was almost to the point of going back and allowing himself to be caught if it meant finding someone to treat his wound. His gut felt on fire, and he was still bleeding. “Damn slip of a woman!” he grumbled. He still could not quite get over it, that young, innocent woman he had watched tying those horses had shot him! If she’d been a man, he could have blown her away before she ever found the courage to pull that trigger. But a woman! He’d done a lot of things, but he’d never killed a woman. He was just lucky she’d carried a tiny pistol in that handbag and not something like the Army .44s he used, or he would most certainly already be dead.