Chapter 8
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Morgan announced, and Owen figured that was only sensible.
Still, he itched to keep moving. The Duncans had been set afoot so they should be far behind at this point.
He at least was glad to see that Morg had let go of that woman. And her boy had let go of the rifle.
Owen opened his mouth to ask a question, realized he had ten, and closed his mouth again. He had too many questions to even start.
“Roz, this is my boss and fellow U.S. Marshal, Owen Riley. And our partner, Tex Mitchel.” He ran through the other introductions.
Roz, with her fine white-blond hair to match her son’s, paid strict attention as if every word were fascinating. Owen had to wonder just how much time she spent alone out here.
He, Tex, and Morgan got the prisoners off their horses. He took Delaney along as lookout when their woman prisoner asked for a moment of necessary privacy.
Owen untied Stella and turned to Delaney. “Don’t trust her for a second.”
Delaney nodded, her eyes fixed on Stella. That was the extent to which she was mistrusting.
Owen stayed close enough to hear the low murmur of voices. But he kept a tree and some shrubs between himself and the women.
When they reemerged from cover, Stella extended her hands to be bound up, doing so willingly.
Seeing Boone talking with Morgan and Roz, Owen began gathering sticks for a fire. There was a blackened area with the grass cleared all around it. The woman must’ve built a fire there many times before.
Owen said to Delaney, “Is your brother up to this? I’ve known men who took a hard blow to the head like that, and they stayed dizzy for a couple of weeks. Sometimes their heads hurt for months. It can take a while to get over feeling light-headed and seeing double.”
“He’s holding up okay.” Delaney glanced at her brother. Owen could see she didn’t want him to know they were talking about him. “A concussion, that’s the word for what happened to him. Good news is, the ground is softer here, not so much stone as we’ve been seeing.”
“What difference does that make?” Owen took his eyes off the prisoner once her hands were tied again.
“If he falls while he’s working around the camp, or if he passes out, he at least won’t crack his head open. He should heal fine.” Delaney sounded sure of herself, but gave her brother long, thoughtful looks often.
Owen figured she was right about him falling. It seemed he was building a fire outside rather than invading the rustic-looking cabin. The cabin was set against the canyon wall, so it looked as if the mountain formed the back of the house.
Morgan dug coffee out of his saddlebag, handed it to Roz, then set out on foot and vanished into the trees to the west of the cabin. In the fading light, Owen wondered where the man was off to, but he didn’t waste his time asking.
The woman and the child went back inside the cabin with no invitation for them to join her, though Owen wouldn’t have gone in anyway. He had three prisoners to watch.
Marley was limping around helping Boone build the fire, moving slow but steady. His leg still had a raw, ugly wound. Boone had a stack of kindling ready to go and a second stack to feed the fire later. Once he got the fire going, the woman came back out toting a pot, which sloshed with water.
Roz told Owen, “I’ll help you get a soup going. I expect that’s all you’re eating on the trail. If I’d had more time, I could have fed you better.” The boy was following close behind her, carrying a coffeepot nearly as big as he was.
“Can I help you with anything?” Delaney asked.
The woman looked at Delaney uncertainly with huge blue eyes.
“I’ve got it handled. I haven’t had coffee in a coon’s age.
I had water heating inside for washing up later, but instead I cleaned up my coffeepot and filled it with hot water.
You’ll have to add the coffee, of course, but I’ll leave that to you.
” She jerked her chin at the steaming pot of water the boy carried as he headed toward the fire.
Owen wanted to wrest it from the hands of the child, who was too small to be carrying a heavy coffeepot. Yet the coffee might end up spilling and burning the youngster, so Owen stood back to let the boy set it on the fire.
“What’s your name, boy?”
The boy gave Owen a suspicious look, then said, “Jesse. Jesse Beck. My pa died afore I could remember him. Ma and I live here together, and we get by just fine.” His tone was defiant, as if Owen was being disrespectful in some way.
Or maybe others had disrespected him, and he was learning to fight back.
Owen nodded. “Good to meet you, Jesse.”
Jesse’s clothes looked like they’d come out of the same bag his ma’s had. They’d been hemmed and taken in some, but it was clear both of them were wearing men’s clothes. His pa’s maybe? Did they go to town? Did Roz have what she needed to make clothes for the boy and herself?
Now wasn’t the time to ask such things. But Owen had to wonder if he shouldn’t offer to guide this woman and child out of this place along with the prisoners and the wounded. If the Duncans were coming, she didn’t dare stay behind. At this rate, he’d be bringing a small town to Fort Russell.
Delaney approached Roz as the woman set a pot on the ground, then adjusted the layout of the fire a bit to make room for both her stewpot and the coffeepot.
When Roz had both on the fire, Roz glanced at Delaney and produced a tin coffee cup from her pocket. “Want coffee? Reckon it’s plenty hot enough.”
“I’ve got a cup in my saddlebag. I’ll fetch it shortly. But what can I do in the meantime?”
Delaney saw Roz looking at her riding skirt, then her shirtwaist. It was a dark color, so she wouldn’t stand out against the background while riding through the wilderness.
No sense making a target out of herself.
But it was well-made, definitely meant for a woman, and it fit properly.
She suspected Roz was noticing all of that.
“I’ve got potatoes that need to be pared and chopped.
I’ve got green beans from my garden. Jesse’s picking them right now.
You can help snap them. I’ve got a few other things to throw in too, and I’m counting on Morgan to show up here with a rabbit, a few grouse, or even a deer.
I’d appreciate your help preparing everything. ”
She wasn’t exactly friendly, but neither was she rude—more like she had no idea how to talk to another woman, or maybe how to talk to anyone.
Delaney had the sudden urge to take Roz and Jesse with them when they left.
Ma would know how to help them. Even though it looked like they managed on their own, and the meadow was breathtakingly beautiful, life here had to be hard as well as lonely.
Delaney got herself set up next to the stewpot with potatoes in her skirts and a paring knife while Roz got busy chopping onions.
She shifted around in her head how to find out what she wanted to know.
Jesse had already mentioned his pa had died.
So that settled just how well Morgan had known this woman.
But just what kind of “old friend” was she? “Um . . . have you known Morgan long?”
A sound that came close to a quiet huff of laughter, but didn’t quite reach it, escaped Roz’s lips.
“You rode over here from his place. Long old ride in the wilderness. Funny, but he used to be my closest neighbor. My pa was out here same time as Morgan’s pa and his two boys.
Pa ran into them somewhere out scouting or hunting. In time we got real friendly.”
Delaney had a hundred questions, most of them probably rude. One did seem fair to her, though. “You’ve got a beautiful place here, Roz, but do you want to ride out with us? Your cattle could manage well grazing even if you were gone for a time.”
Roz gasped, and her eyes almost blazed with hope.
“Can we come with you? I haven’t left this place since my husband died .
. . no, longer than that. Herman went to town some and brought things home, but he never took me with him.
” There was a long pause. “Pa hardly ever took me with him neither. The last time I went with him, there was trouble. Some men paid me attention in a way that scared me, and my pa was furious at the men. After that, we left town, and he never took me again and hardly ever went himself. When I married Herman, he went and found a parson, and Pa rode with me to meet Herman and hold the wedding. We didn’t ride all the way to town.
My boy has never been off the property.”
“And he’s how old?”
“Jesse is ten. I lost Herman when he was not yet two, but closing in on it, I reckon. He was born in the fall of the year, but then we’ve no calendar. I’d put his birth at the end of September. It seemed that the days and nights were about even when he came to be born.”
“And how long did you live out here friendly with Morgan? How old were you when he left?”
Roz tilted her head as if she’d never had to figure such a thing before.
“We never did such as birthdays. I’d say Morgan left when he was fifteen or sixteen.
We’d been best friends most of our lives.
Morgan’s pa came to our place now and again, and then one day he came and told us his oldest son, Gavin, had died in the war.
I knew Morgan and Gavin had gone off to the war, but I didn’t know much about the fighting.
Morgan’s pa was on his way out of the country, next thing to a madman was my impression.
I stayed well away from him. Pa told me later he was all torn up over his son dying, and he’d told Morgan he wasn’t welcome at home. ”
Roz gave Delaney a weak smile. “Only then did I realize I’d been living all that time, waiting for him to come back. I gave up then, and Herman came along. Before I knew it, we were married and there was a baby on the way. Then Pa and Herman died, and here I’ve stayed ever since.”