Chapter 8
Rider was hoping that Deadshot would stay and help.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a connection with him.
Maybe it was because the man had saved his life, or maybe it was simply because he was trying to grab onto anything tangible.
His mind was reeling, and his body was nearing its breaking point.
He was exhausted, but he couldn’t give up.
It didn’t feel real. None of it. He was struggling to accept the reality of the situation.
He knew it was really happening, but at the same time, he didn’t want to believe it.
His father was dead. The man who had raised him and taught him everything he knew was gone forever, and his mother and sister .
. . The idea of their lifeless bodies somewhere out there was almost too much to bear.
Rider had been close to his father. They had spent a lot of time together working in the fields, but he loved his mother and sister dearly. His family meant the world to him, although he hadn’t always shown it.
He followed Sheriff Stewart into town and back to his office.
“Sit,” Sheriff Stewart instructed. “I’ll let you help with the search, but only if you agree to eat and rest first.”
“I’ll eat later,” Rider objected.
Sheriff Stewart shook his head and turned to one of his deputies.
“Go to the bakery and get some pastries,” he told him before focusing his attention back on Rider.
“We have to gather volunteers and figure out a route before we start searching. It’s going to take a while.
You eat and rest, and when it’s time to start searching, I’ll tell you. ”
“But—”
“No buts,” Sheriff Stewart cut him off. “You’ll be of no use if you don’t take care of yourself, and if you don’t listen to my instructions, I won’t allow you to help.”
Rider didn’t want to sit there and eat while his mother and sister were out there somewhere.
What if they were still alive and needed him?
He desperately wanted them to be alive, but at the same time, he knew that being abducted by bandits was likely worse than death.
Grown-ups tried to keep the stories away from kids, but they weren’t as discreet as they thought.
Rider had heard about the things that happened to women if they were taken by bandits.
The thought caused a chill to run down his spine. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted his mother and sister to be found, alive and unharmed.
“I can’t just sit here,” Rider finally said, but the conviction in his voice was gone. He knew he didn’t have any other choice.
“Oh, yes, you can, and you will. In fact, I think you should go into my office and wait there. I’ll have Carl bring you your food.”
Rider looked toward Sheriff Stewart’s office and then at the door. He could make a run for it and start searching by himself.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sheriff Stewart warned as he grabbed his shoulder and urged him toward his office. “Go on, and if you so much as set foot out of the door, I’m taking you to my Aunt Maggie.”
Rider had met Aunt Maggie, and her house was the last place he wanted to be.
She was a horrible old lady who hit kids who didn’t listen with her cane.
Every single kid in town under the age of ten was afraid of her.
Rider wasn’t exactly scared of her but would prefer to avoid her.
That woman hated him with a passion and would take pleasure in keeping him locked up until the search was complete.
“Your Aunt Maggie hates me,” Rider pointed out as he reluctantly made his way into Sheriff Stewart’s office.
“With good reason. You broke her cane.”
Rider did, in fact, break her cane, and he was proud of it. She deserved it. Nobody got to give him a hiding except his father and mother. The thought caused his heart to leap in his chest, and he had to steady himself against the desk.
“She hit me,” he whispered.
Sheriff Stewart shook his head. “Just sit and wait. I’m trying to help you, and you’re wasting my time.”
Rider walked around the desk and sat down.
He wanted to argue and to fight. He wanted to punch something, to let his anger out, but instead, he started crying.
Sheriff Stewart had already left, and he could hear voices coming from the front office, but he couldn’t make sense of what they were saying through his sobs.
Lying down on his arms, Rider closed his eyes and tried not to choke on his cries.
***
Deadshot didn’t push Bullseye on the way home.
He loved his horse and didn’t want to risk him getting hurt.
He had already overexerted himself with the ride to the kids’ ranch.
He wanted to get home, though, but wasn’t willing to risk going any faster than a trot.
By the time he got home, it was already noon, and Deadshot’s body was about ready to give in.
Some things needed doing before he allowed himself some much-needed rest, though.
The bandits’ bodies were still strewn across his porch and to the side of his house.
He couldn’t just leave them there, so he pulled them to the back of his shed.
His body protested from the strenuous work, but he ignored the pain and finished his task.
He would take them into town later and hopefully get a reward, not that he needed the money.
For now, he needed to rest, or his body was going to give in. He was starving, too, but that would have to wait. Not bothering to change his clothes or do anything else, Deadshot crawled into his bed.
He didn’t dream, and he didn’t wake once until the next morning.
He woke slowly, his mind still groggy from sleep as memories of the previous day flooded in.
It had been quite the adventure, but he was glad that it was over.
Sitting up, Deadshot stretched his arms above his head.
Every muscle in his body ached, but at least he wasn’t tired anymore.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so long and so well.
Testing his knee, he gently swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
A sharp pain shot up his thigh, and he groaned in frustration.
It was going to take weeks for the pain to settle again.
His stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding him just how hungry he was.
He’d gone days without eating before but had gotten used to having three meals a day over the last couple of years.
He needed to eat. His knee was just going to have to deal with it.
Pushing himself to his feet, Deadshot made his way to his kitchen and started a fire in the coal stove.
Wanting to eat as soon as possible, he threw some eggs in a pan to fry while he cut two slices of cornbread.
It was a little stale but wasn’t rotten, so it would do just fine.
As soon as the eggs looked edible, he dished them up, sat down, and wolfed them down.
Feeling better, he made himself some coffee, ate another slice of bread, and then headed back to his bedroom to change his clothes and clean himself. He had to take the bodies to Sheriff Watkins, and he might as well stop and get some supplies while he was in town.
Deadshot didn’t care much about appearances, but walking around town wearing clothes that were splattered with blood and dirt wouldn’t go over well.
He had done it many times before while he was still working as a bounty hunter, but now that he was retired and had settled down, it was best he made himself at least semi-presentable.
With that done, he stopped in the kitchen to eat yet another slice of bread, which he washed down with some more coffee, and then made his way outside.
Not wanting to have to move the bodies any further than necessary, he attached his wagon to Bullseye and led his horse behind the shed.
He had no choice but to lift the dead men onto the wagon, and although he had the strength to do it, his body protested with every move.
Deadshot couldn’t wait for it all to be over so that he could go back to planting vegetables, fishing, and leisurely rides. The fight had made him feel young again, but his body was reminding him that he was, in fact, forty-nine.
As Deadshot moved the bodies into the wagon, he looked at their faces, but he didn’t recognize any of them.
That didn’t mean they weren’t wanted; it just meant that they weren’t wanted from when he was still bounty hunting.
He hadn’t really been checking the wanted posters in Sheriff Watkins’ office since he retired.