Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(15)
The hard look on the sheriff’s face indicated he was not satisfied with the answer, but the man’s satisfaction, or lack thereof, was the least of Caleb’s concerns this morning.
“What were you doing in Laramie, Mr. Beckett?”
Caution invaded Caleb’s veins.
“Just passing through,” he said, searching the sheriff’s face for clues as to what the man was fishing for.
“How’d it be you came to bring Robert’s body home?”
“I was there when he was killed.” He kept his tone even, gave nothing more away.
“Who killed him?”
“Man by the name of Sinjin Drake.”
Something in the lawman’s face altered. “Sinjin Drake?”
“You know him?”
“By reputation only. Not a lawman north of Tucson who doesn’t, I expect. Man’s said to be one of the fastest draws in the west with a body count to prove it.”
“That so?”
“Did you meet the man?”
“We sat at the same table. Can’t say we shared much conversation.”
“Did they arrest him?”
“Drake? No. The law said it was self-defense. Sutter went for his gun.”
The sheriff’s gaze sharpened. “His guns weren’t on the body.”
“I said he went for his guns. I didn’t say he was wearing them at the time.”
Shock registered on Sheriff Donovan’s face. “What do you mean he wasn’t wearing them?”
“A man needed at least fifty dollars to sit at the table. Word was Sutter sold everything but the clothes on his back to raise the capital.”
“And Drake shot him anyway?”
Caleb didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Robert Sutter had come home in the back of a wagon with a hole through his heart. That was all the confirmation needed as far as he was concerned.
“We done here?”
“For now.”
Caleb headed for the door but the sheriff’s voice stopped him cold.
“You won’t mind if I wire out to Laramie and verify your story?”
Every fiber in Caleb’s body stilled. He glanced at the sheriff out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t matter none to me.”
Chances were he’d be nothing more than a fading memory in the minds of Salvation Falls residents by the time the sheriff got news back from Laramie. And that suited him just fine.
After Rachel managed to get the boys fed and Freedom tracked down, she arranged to send them back home in the wagon. She’d get back on her own after she conducted her business with Mr. Beckett and figured out where things stood. She would need the time to formulate a plan, determine what to do.
Did the man plan on kicking them off their land—his land, now? A sick sense of displacement filled her, followed by burning frustration. Her entire world had been pulled out from under her and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Rachel took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over her skirt. She still wore her widow’s weeds, but she didn’t plan on making it a habit. She didn’t have time to dye her meager wardrobe black to mourn a man who didn’t deserve her tears.
She made her way down Main Street. When she’d inquired about Mr. Beckett this morning, Cletus at the front desk told her he’d left for the livery thirty minutes earlier. She picked up her skirts and hurried her steps. The last thing she needed was him showing up at the ranch ahead of her, announcing his ownership before she had a chance to explain it to her family herself.
She needed to talk to him, to settle this thing. She couldn’t live in a sickening limbo land wondering what would happen. She had to keeping moving. If she stopped...
Well, if she stopped everything would catch up with her and she’d end up passing out again from the weight of it all.
Her skin burned anew with the humiliation of succumbing to such weakness, a luxury she could not afford. Muriel, the waitress who’d brought her breakfast, had told her Mr. Beckett moved with lightning speed, shoving the table out of the way to get to her before she hit the floor.
The woman all but swooned retelling the story, as if it were some romantic tale from a dime novel and not the most embarrassing thing to happen to Rachel since...well, since she didn’t know when. Last night’s debacle left her mortified. One minute she was standing to leave and the next...
The next she was swooped up in a pair of strong arms.
The memory came unbidden. She tried to remember specifics, but the entire episode was hazy, save for the sensations his touch had conjured. The strong arms carrying her, the solid chest where she’d rested her head. The rapid beat of his heart as he rushed her upstairs. And the gentle way he had laid her upon the mattress, his palm touching her cheek. She’d tried to answer him when he called her name, but she’d been too weak to respond.