Chapter Four
Jeremiah took a swig of whiskey from his canteen as he rode into the tiny Texas town. He weaved in the saddle as he fumbled to shove the cork back into the canteen and then stick the canteen into the waistband of his trousers.
Jeremiah nearly toppled backward off his horse when he swiped the sweat from his dirty brow and his eyes widened as he clutched at the reins for support. Jeremiah glanced around him as he scratched at his dirt crusted shirt. The streets were pretty damn empty and it was pretty damn hot.
His belch filled the silence and he tipped his hat to a proper little lady walking down the road. Her face filled with disgust as she covered her mouth with her glove covered hand and hastened her pace away from him.
"Well don't you think you're somethin' special, ma'am," he grumbled as he tipped his hat again and pitched sideways. Jeremiah was laughing as he righted himself.
He was drunk. More drunk than he normally allowed himself to get. Honestly, he'd been drunk more than he'd been sober since he'd let his nephew get shot and arrested. And since that same nephew had thoroughly ripped him a new backside.
Jeremiah had never bothered with worrying what anyone thought about him but, dammit, Langley's words had cut him to the core. Jeremiah might not be a Marston but what was so wrong with that? He wasn't just a whore hopping drunkard. He should have knocked that boy's teeth a full foot down his throat for saying so.
Oh well. Jeremiah was here now and the brat would have to eat his words. Jeremiah rode to the jail and hopped off his horse. Normally he avoided places like this so he wasn't real comfortable climbing the wooden steps to enter one. But he'd given his word to Langley that he'd be there to pick him up and he meant to keep it.
Jeremiah stumbled to the window of the cell Langley had been in before but instead of seeing his nephew, he saw an old man snoring in the chair. Jeremiah frowned. Where was that boy?
A knock on the door found it answered by an old lawman who glared at him with annoyance. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for someone," Jeremiah replied, trying real hard not to slur his words too badly.
"Do I know you?" the sheriff asked suspiciously.
Jeremiah flashed a sloppy grin and gripped the doorframe to steady himself. "Nope. I don't believe I've ever been here. I got a letter from my nephew saying he was in jail and would be getting out the twenty-eighth."
"Langley Jacobs?"
Jeremiah nodded and covered his hand quickly when he hiccupped. "Yep. That's the one."
"He was a good kid," the sheriff stated. "He just got caught up with the wrong people. He was released right on schedule."
"You let prisoners out this early in the morning?" Jeremiah asked as he pulled out his pocket watch and squinted to see it was indeed only nine in the morning.
When he turned his gaze back to the lawman, the man was frowning. "Usually I let them out around lunch time. And that's about the time it was when I let Langley out—one week ago."
"But he told me it would be July Twenty-Eighth!" Jeremiah exclaimed, taking a step forward.
The lawman gagged a bit before covering his mouth and nose and taking a step back. Jeremiah knew he smelled—maybe he should have taken a bath. It probably wasn't a good idea to go waltzing into a jailhouse smelling like a whiskey vat with a month's worth of sweat and dirt clinging to you.
"Sir, do you know what day it is?" the man asked from behind his hand.
"Of course I do!" Jeremiah assured him. "It's July twenty-eight. I'm not that drunk."
The lawman shook his head. "It's August fifth. You're a bit late if your intention was to pick the boy up. He's done left town."
"Shit!" Jeremiah stumbled back and hit his hip on the banister. "Where did I lose a whole week at?" he demanded, scratching at his gut.
The sheriff curled his nose. "Judging by the smell coming off you, I'd say it was in a saloon." He shrugged. "Or perhaps a pig sty."
Jeremiah sneered before turning and stumbling away. It was hard to storm off when you were seeing more than one set of boardwalks stretching in front of you. Jeremiah hated lawmen. He hated them on the best of days and today certainly wasn't one of those.
Where was his damn nephew? If he wasn't in town then where would he go on his own? Hell, the boy had never been on his own! He was so damn green and wet behind the ears, he'd be lucky to last five minutes out there.
Jeremiah tried to put himself in Langley's boots and decided the boy had probably gone back home. He'd have gone someplace safe and familiar and that would be straight back to Rose and Marston's house up in the Dakotas.
But if Langley had gone home..... Shit! He'd tell Rose and Marston all about what had happened and Jeremiah's big-fisted brother would beat the hell right out of him for sure!
Jeremiah knew he had to get back to Windfall and hopefully catch up with Langley along the way. That way Marston would never have to know about the whole mess and Jeremiah would be saved from a world of pain.
***
Langley barely recognized Harper as he rode down the dusty street. There were new buildings that had popped up including a bank, a gunsmith shop and a jail. The buildings were all freshly painted and the signs looked new. There was even a fresh new boardwalk connecting everything so folks didn't have to walk through the mud and dirt to get from shop to shop.
It appeared that in the last six years or so Harper had come into a hell of a lot of money. Langley could smell the scent of fresh cut cedar coming from the sawmill just outside of town and he wondered if that's what had caused the increase in the town's size and wealth.
For reasons Langley couldn't explain, he felt the urge to go inside the H&H Mercantile. Maybe he just wanted to look upon the women who had been so mean to his mama for so long... or maybe he wanted to force the woman who had taken Marston from them all them years ago to look him in the eye.
He hitched his horse to the newly polished rail and stepped inside the shop only to stop and go slack jawed at the sight he was met with. He remembered this place as being dusty and dark and having merchandise that was older than the women running it.
Clearly the sister's had had a run of good luck and remodeled the place. Everything was open, bright, neat and tidy. The shelves were lined with supplies and fabric—more than Langley had ever seen on them before. Sacks of onions, copper pots and lanterns hung from the ceiling and barrels of candy and different flavors of dried meats and fruits filled the store with their tempting scents.
"Hello sir. I'll be with you in a moment," Hattie said, without looking up from the notebook she was writing away in. The woman was just as round and fat as Langley remembered but her hair was whiter than he recalled it being.
He waited patiently for her to finish and when she finally looked up, her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You look familiar...do I know you?"
Langley pulled off his hat, it was the gray one that Marston had always worn, and while it was a bit big for Langley's smaller head, he wore it anyhow. "Yes ma'am. I'm Langley Jacobs—you might remember me as Langley Howell since that was my name most of the time I lived here."
Hattie's eyes widened and she clutched at her large, trembling bosom. "Oh dear me! Are you here for revenge? Please don't tell me you're here for revenge! I wasn't me that turned Marston in, it was my sister and she's dead and gone."
"I..." Langley couldn't think of anything to say. Hester was dead? He wouldn't be able to tell the woman what was on his mind and that disappointed him.
"You get out of here now!" Hattie ordered. "I know it was one of your family who had something to do with Hester's death. It was one of you outlaw lovers or the trash you ran with that slit her throat while she was sleeping."
"None of us would have done something like that," Langley countered, even as a picture of Jeremiah flashed in his mind.
"Get out!" Hattie screamed. "You shouldn't have come back here!" She slammed her meaty fists on the counter and her wrists jiggled.
Langley raised his hands as he began to back out of the store. "I'm sorry I bothered you, ma'am." He shouldn't have come in here given his family's history with the sister's. He'd been hoping to have his say with Hester but what did it matter now? Hester had certainly paid for her crimes.
Had Jeremiah really slit her throat? Langley wondered if his mama knew. Langley shivered at the thought. No matter what a woman did, a man should never lay his hand on her. Hell, Langley wasn't sure he could harm a woman even if she was intent on killing him.
Langley decided to cross the road to the blacksmith shop to say hello to Tray. Tray had always been a good friend to his family and had helped out him and his mama before Marston had come along. Surely Langley's reception from him would be a bit warmer. And maybe he'd be able to see Travis. Travis had been the closest thing to a friend that Langley had had growing up.
Langley's hopes were dashed when he stepped into the blacksmith shop and found a middle-aged blond man pounding a horseshoe with a hammer. The man glanced up and quickly set aside his tools and yanked off his gloves. He wiped his dirty face on his dirty shirt sleeve and stepped around the table.
"Can I help you?" he asked with the friendly tone of someone accustomed to dealing with many customers a day.
"My name is Langley Jacobs, sir. I was hoping to find the man who used to run this shop."
"Tray was my brother," the man replied. "I'm afraid his wife passed away a few years back and he and Travis moved to California."
Langley's shoulders sagged. "California?"
"Yeah, I thought they were pretty crazy myself," the man chuckled. "My name's Clarence," he added, holding out his hand.
Langley shook his head and sighed. "I used to live here but my family moved away about six years ago. Tray was real good friends with my mama and pa and Travis and I played together as kids."
"Let's walk outside," Clarence offered. "I don't know about you but I could use some fresh air."
Langley followed the man outside and Clarence lounged against the wall and pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to Langley but he refused. Clarence shrugged. "So, who's your pa?"
"Langston Howell was my blood pa but he got taken off to prison when I was a baby and passed on before he ever made it home. Marston Jacobs was the man I knew as pa, at least until he was hanged awhile back after being turned in by a coward."
Langley's gaze instantly flickered back toward the mercantile and Clarence nodded. "I heard about that. Tray really liked Marston. He said he seemed like a good man who was always willing to help those in need." Clarence chuckled. "He said he didn't like being thanked though. Said he complained about his stomach hurting if you did offer gratitude for what he'd done."
Langley laughed. "Yeah, that was my pa." Langley didn't like lying but knew that he had to uphold the image that Marston was dead—especially here. There were only a handful of people who knew the truth and the family was in no hurry to make that group grow.
"Tray told me once that most people believed that Hattie's sister was the one that turned Marston in," Clarence noted.
Hate burned in Langley's gut—he hated that feeling. "Yeah, she did."
"Well that's where Hattie got all the money from. She started fixing up the town and luring in new business with the reward money."
Langley frowned. "Reward money?"
Clarence threw down what was left of his cigarette and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot. "Five thousand dollars from what I've heard."
Langley's temper flared, his blood boiled and that hate grew. "They got five thousand dollars for all but murdering my pa?"
"Hester got it for turning him in," Clarence stated. "And then it went to Hattie when Hester was murdered."
Langley tipped his hat. "It was nice meeting you, Clarence."
His strides long and purposeful, Langley headed back across the street to the mercantile. He stomped inside, leaving dirty prints on the gleaming floor. "What part of leave me alone don't you understand?" Hattie hissed. "We have law in this town now and I'll go to him if you continue to harass me!"
"I'm leaving in a minute but I got something to say first," Langley replied.
Hattie's chins wobbled. "What's that?"
"I want to know how it feels to know that all this fanciness you surround yourself with came to you because your sister sent a good man to his death?"
"He would not have been sent to his death if he was a good man," Hattie countered. "The man was a murderer and a thief."
"The man Marston was before he came here was not a good man. I can admit to that much," Langley conceded. "But the man Marston was once he came here was different. He took care of my mama, he took me in and claimed me as his own. He helped out anyone in town who asked and he even set up a business here."
"He murdered poor Gilliam Montgomery and kidnapped his daughter," Hattie countered, laying her hand over her wrinkled cheek. "From what heard, he tortured the man," she added in a disgusted whisper.
Langley snorted and tapped at a knot in the wood of the polished countertop. "Let me let you in on a secret, Hattie, since you seem to think you know so much. Poor Gilliam deserved what he got. Do you know why Marston hunted him down and killed him? It was because he kept my mama prisoner from the age of ten and forced her, a little girl, to work as a whore. He beat her, whipped her and scarred her inside and out. Obviously, when Marston found out, he went after the man—any man would have to defend his woman." Langley shook his head. "And Gilliam's daughter that Marston kidnapped was another girl being forced against her will to lay with men by that bastard. Marston brought her home, gave her a family and a chance at life."
Hattie's eyes filled with tears and she began shuffling papers. "I wasn't the one that turned him in, Langley. Hester was. I knew nothing about it until they came and took him and she was crowing with pride." Hattie sniffled and dabbed at her eye with a fancy lace handkerchief that no doubt had cost a pretty penny. "Once Hester was dead, I took most of the money and put it into the town. I didn't know what else to do with it."
"You could have given it to the widow and three orphans your sister created."
"I didn't know where you were!"
Langley let out a disgusted breath. "I saw that fancy house with those stained glass windows behind the mercantile, Hattie. Is that where you're living?"
Hattie jaw wobbled violently. "Yes."
Langley snorted. "I hope you sleep good at night under the roof you built with blood money."
He turned and left the mercantile angrier than when he'd went in. Langley wasn't sure why in the hell he'd come back to Harper. There wasn't anything here for him any longer.
He hopped on his horse and decided to head to the old cabin. It was probably in ruins now but Langley wanted to see the place one last time before he moved on.
When Langley topped over the small rise and the cabin came into view, Langley realized that ruins had been too nice a word. Half of the barn had caved in on itself. The chicken coop leg had broken and the coop was laying on the ground. The woodshed door had fallen off and the cabin itself appeared to be one good gust of window away from being a pile of rubble.
He rode closer and saw a flash of movement through the window just before the shutter was slammed closed. He pulled up on the reins sharply to stop and heard a horse whinny from inside the dilapidated barn.
Langley frowned. This cabin and land still belonged to his mama but someone was making themselves right at home. He really didn't care and figured his mama wouldn't either but he still wanted to know who this someone was.
Langley guided his gelding to the porch and dismounted. He went up the steps, dodging the rotting spots and was about to knock on the scarred wooden door when a rifle barrel suddenly appeared through the opening carved into it.
"You better stop right there before I blow them freckles clean off your face!" a feminine voice stopped him in his tracks.
"That would probably take more than one bullet," Langley warned with a grin. He wasn't too afraid of being held at gunpoint. He'd been around guns and such since he'd been young.
"Who are you and what do you want?" the woman demanded from behind the door.
"I could ask you the same question, ma'am. This was my family's home and still belongs to them. I came to check on it and found you. Who are you?"
"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve to be asking me questions when I'm waving a gun in your face!"
"I always have been told I talk too much, ma'am," Langley agreed.
Suddenly the gun was pulled away. "Hold on one cotton pickin' minute! I know that ma'am and I know them freckles. I've laughed at 'em both quite a bit over the last few month whenever I thought about them."
The door opened and Langley found himself staring at the woman he'd dreamt about quite a few nights since she'd left that outlaw camp. "Now what was your name?" Jessie asked as she tapped that dimple in her chin.
"Langley," he replied, his mouth feeling a little dry.
"Right. You remember me, don't you? You helped me with my horse."
"Yes, ma'am. You're Jessie. I remember you."
"Of course you do," she crossed her arms over her chest. "They always remember the ones with tits."
Her violet eyes lit with amusement and Langley's ears began to burn. "It looks like the last few months have been good to you," she said. "You look a little less like a kid now."
"A little huh?" Langley asked dryly. He shook his head. "I spent the last few months in jail. There's no place that'll grow you up quicker."
It was clear that Jessie was surprised. "Jail? What was a good guy like you doing in jail?"
"I'm not always good," Langley grumbled. "And I made the mistake of trusting the wrong person."
Jessie clicked her tongue. "You shouldn't trust anyone. That's always been my motto anyhow. If you don't trust anyone then they can't let you down or get you caught. Why don't you come on in for a while, Langley, and take a load off. I made some stew."
Langley could have reminded her that she'd just invited him into his own home but instead he nodded and followed her inside. He couldn't help but let his eyes scan her body as she walked in front of him. She was wearing those buckskin pants that fit her like a second skin and that backside of hers had been haunting his dreams. Women sure did look good in a pair of trousers.
Then his eyes stopped and widened at the sight of the rust colored stain and the hole in her white blouse at the bottom left side of her waist. "Are you hurt?" he demanded.
Her violet eyes narrowed as she turned to look at him. "Why do you ask?"
"Well you seem to have a bullet hole in the back of your shirt and I've heard that getting shot hurts a person. I've only been shot once and that was just a graze to the leg so it really don't count. The doc...."
"You talk too much," Jessie snapped.
Langley nodded and pulled off his hat. "I believe I warned you of that on the porch, ma'am."
Langley was pleasantly surprised when Jessie laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm fine so don't worry your head about me. Now if this used to be your house, you'll know if there's any spoons and bowls left and you can get us some."
Langley nodded and went into the kitchen. It was strange to be back in this cabin after so many years and even stranger to be here with this woman. Was it luck that they had ended up here together or was it something more like destiny? Langley was a firm believer in true love and someone meant to be. He'd seen proof of it with Rose and Marston, Pete and Kaitlyn and with Carol and Duke.
While it was too soon to know if Jessie might be his someone, he certainly was attracted to the woman. Sure she was a bit rude and completely unladylike but she was beautiful. Her brown hair shot with gold still reminded him of a lion's mane, her nose upturned a bit at the end and her eyes were wide and bright.
He certainly wanted to get to know Jessie better.
Langley returned to the rickety sofa with two bowls and spoons. Jessie looked up at him from where she sat. "You might as well fill those bowls up," she stated.
Langley did and he handed her one. He noticed that her face seemed to have paled and she looked shaky. He wondered if she was hurt more than she was letting on. Langley sat down with his good smelling bowl of stew and blew on a spoonful.
"I don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but why exactly are you staying alone in a house that doesn't belong to you?"
Jessie rolled her eyes. "I didn't think anyone would mind if I camped out in this old shack." She blew into her stew and Langley couldn't help but stare at her lips. "You might as well forget about wherever your mind is wandering and quit calling me ma'am. My name's Jessie."
"Is that short for anything?" Langley asked.
"Like what?"
"Jessica maybe?" he offered.
"Nope. Just Jessie. My pa wanted a boy."
Langley realized that sweat had begun to dot her pale brow and she winced as she blew out a breath. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Fine," she quickly replied.
Langley nodded and went back to eating. It was only a matter of moments before Jessie's bowl clattered to the floor and she nearly tumbled off the sofa. Only Langley catching her in his arms stopped her from colliding with the floorboards.
When he sat her back up, Langley realized that Jessie was unconscious. He laid his wrist on her forehead and hissed when he realized she was hot with fever. He laid her down on her stomach upon the sofa and begged for forgiveness as he lifted up her shirt to examine her wound.
He cut the dirty, blood stain cloth she'd wrapped around herself and shook his head. "Damn." The wound was oozing and red. From what Langley knew of anatomy from having a doctor for a sister, nothing important had been hit and the wound should heal—but not with that infection in it.
Langley went to his mama's old room and grabbed up a quilt and pillow. The dust had him coughing as he shook them out and took them to the sofa. Langley propped the pillow beneath Jessie's head and covered her with the blanket.
"I'm gonna go get help," he told the unconscious woman and then he quickly left the cabin and headed for Harper.
***
"I have to say it's a surprise to see you again, Langley," Doctor Brinkley admitted. "And now to find an unconscious woman on your old sofa with a bullet wound has only added to that surprise. What happened to her?"
Langley stared down at Jessie who was sleeping fitfully upon the dirty sofa. "I can't give an answer that I don't know, doc. My guess would be that she got hurt somewhere near here and took refuge in the cabin. I just happened to be wandering through and stopped in for old time sake. Of course at that time she was awake and waving a gun in my face."
Doctor Brinkley nodded. "Does she have a name?"
"Jessie."
"Well why don't you go on outside and find something to busy yourself with and I'll tend to her?"
Langley swallowed hard and walked back out into the afternoon heat with a book in his hands to distract his mind. The worry in his gut made no sense considering he didn't even know that woman inside but Langley had always been the type to care about others. He didn't want to see anyone suffering. That and Jessie intrigued him. He wanted to know more about her and what exactly made her tick. He'd never in his life met a woman like that one.
***
Langley was sitting on the porch steps and had read the same page at least two dozen times when Doctor Brinkley stepped out nearly an hour later. "How is she, doc?" Langley asked as he scrambled to his feet.
Doctor Brinkley rolled down his shirt sleeves and tucked his black satchel under his arm. "The wound wasn't too serious in itself but she didn't treat it properly and that's why infection set in. I cleaned it up the best I could and left some laudanum for pain. If her fever hasn't broke by tomorrow morning, you need to try to bring her in to my office."
"Yes sir. Thank you, doctor. I'll make sure you get some money before I leave town."
Doctor Brinkley shook his head and patted Langley on the arm. "I'm not worried about that. I'm just glad to see you again, Langley. I've always wondered about you and your mama and what became of you."
"We just settled somewhere new where mama wouldn't have the memories of the man she'd lost," Langley lied.
Doctor Brinkley sighed. "I'm sad that Marston's life had to end the way it did," he admitted. "Well I'll be heading back to town now. It's not often I treat gunshot wounds in young women. Are you sure you don't know who shot her?"
Langley could see the suspicion in the doctor's eyes and it riled his temper. "It wasn't me if that's what you're thinking. I already said I didn't know who shot her. We didn't get around to that before she went out like a light."
The doctor tipped his head. "Fair enough." He hopped up onto his waiting buckboard and left on the road to town.
Langley went back into the house and shook his head at the sight of Jessie on the sofa. Surely she'd be more comfortable in a bed. He scooped her up gently. She was completely limp and her arms flopped down while her head rolled to the side.
Langley would have laughed if not for the heat he could feel radiating off her fevered skin. Langley laid Jessie down in his mama's old bed and then left the room to get water and rags to help fight her fever. He'd have to tell Kaitlyn thank you when he made it home. Having her for a sister had taught him a thing or two about taking care of the sick.