Chapter Eleven
John felt awful for snapping at Mary the way he had, making that dig about her name.
He didn’t know her. It wasn’t his place to judge her standing with the Almighty. It was just that…well…when that cat had been stalking them, he’d not been afraid for himself.
All his fear had been for her
He was growing too close. Getting too attached, bringing too many complicated feelings.
And those feelings could get him killed if he wasn’t careful.
So, maybe his dig had hurt her, but that was for the best. She needed to be reminded of the nature of their relationship, in case she too was battling the same crazy feelings he was.
She’s not, John. The moment she can, she’ll turn on you and try to escape. That’s for damn sure.
By design, there wasn’t much conversation as he led her down the road. The cave was far behind them now and it was about ten in the morning when she said, “Have you picked up the trail of the horses?”
“Nope. Rain washed that away. It’s time to admit I’ll probably never see those mounts again. And I loved my horse. We’ve ridden together a good many miles.” He shot her a stern look before turning his eyes back to the road. “Anyway, right now, I’m just trying to get us to Garrettsville.”
“Is that a town?”
“If you could call it that. More of an outpost, really. But it’s got a post office, store, and saloon. A livery stable, too, I expect. Maybe we can find some horses there.”
“I’ve never been there,” she said. “And I’ve been all over this area.”
“You’ve been all over this area runnin’ from the law,” he reminded her. “But like I said, not much to Garrettsville. It’s easy to never wander that way unless you have reason to. Should be coming up soon if my memory serves correctly.”
Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, they rounded a bend and then saw the tiny village spread out before them.
That wasn’t all John saw.
There, tied in front of the saloon, were his two horses.
And they were sure a sight for sore eyes.
***
John wished there was a marshal around Garrettsville, but they weren’t even big enough to have that. The county sheriff rode through there every so often to check on things. Of course, he’d come if someone fetched him. But right now, there was no time for that and no one for John to leave his prisoner with.
Maybe he didn’t need a marshal or sheriff, though. He’d been in some mighty tough scrapes that he’d gotten through all by his lonesome. Surely this couldn’t be any harder than those times.
“Come on,” he said, guiding Mary into the store.
“But the horses are at the saloon,” she said.
He ignored the comment and approached the counter where a short, balding, slightly round man in an apron was diligently counting money. Suddenly, he seemed guarded, probably worried John would steal the cash. He put the till back in the register, closed it, and said, “What can I do you for?”
“My name is John Hardin. Deputy United States Marshal.”
The man’s eyes fell to the tin star and he looked up at John with a newfound appreciation. “Are you here to do something about those damn ruffians over at the saloon?” The shopkeeper’s eyes darted to Mary. “My apologies for swearing in front of the lady.”
John fought back a laugh. Running with the likes of the outlaw gang she had, she’d probably heard a lot worse. But of course, this feller didn’t know any of that.
“There are outlaws at the saloon?” John asked. He figured there were, since the stolen horses were there. But any information he could glean from the shopkeeper before charging into battle blind would come in handy.
The man snorted but then shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars of any crimes they’ve committed. But the whole place is a den of iniquity! A lair of wickedness! You ask me, they all need to repent.” He stood up as straight as possible. “Are you here to help them see the error of their ways?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” John jerked his head toward Mary. “But she’s a prisoner and I can’t leave her unguarded.”
The older man’s jaw fell slack in astonishment, causing his sizable jowls to look even heavier. “She’s a prisoner?”
“Yes, sir.”
The shopkeeper shook his head. “What is this world coming to? A young woman breaking the law.” He looked at her. “Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your job, young lady, is tending to a family!” He gave an emphatic nod.
“I couldn’t agree more,” John said.
“Raisin’ young ‘uns and such,” the shopkeeper continued. “It’s what the Good Book commands!”
“Amen. Preach, brother,” John said. He couldn’t help but give Mary a little smirk.
She simply cast daggers at him with her eyes but held her tongue.
“May I inquire your name?”
The old man once again stood up as straight as possible, but even then, he was still pretty short compared to John’s towering frame.
“Augustus Reilly, sir. At your service. Are you in need of provisions? You’ll find a well-stocked trading post here.”
“I might need some later,” John said. “But right now, do you have a room I could lock her up in? A back storeroom or something?”
Mr. Reilly appeared nervous but finally bobbed his head. “Sure. I think we could secure her in the storeroom.” Even though there wasn’t anyone else in the store, he leaned closer, putting his hands on the counter, and asked quietly, “She isn’t the dangerous sort, is she?”
John looked at Mary, considering his answer. “No,” he finally said.
She looked pleased at his response.
Turning his focus back to Mr. Reilly, he said, “But she will try to escape if given the chance. So once we put her in, I’d thank you kindly if you didn’t unlock that door until I come back to collect her.”
He heard Mary huff a bit.
“Yes, yes. That’s fine,” the store’s proprietor said.
“Are there any weapons in that room?”
“I have some guns,” he said, his eyes turning proudly to a glass case just a few feet away. “I sell them, you know. I keep the extras in the back until it’s time to restock the case.”
“We’ll need to move them before she goes in there,” John said.
Augustus Reilly left his spot behind the counter and got busy removing any items a fugitive might use as a weapon.
“Much obliged,” John said. “Judge Parker’s court in Fort Smith thanks you for your assistance.”
The older man puffed his chest out in pride. “You know, I once thought of being a lawman. Mother forbade it, though. Wanted me to go into preaching instead.”
“But you wound up running your own store?” John asked.
“Yes, but also spreading the good word, sir. You see, every Sunday, I roll out a pulpit and have meetin’ for anyone around these parts who wants a little old-time religion. Why, this place is really packed some weeks! I bring in itinerary preachers, too.” The portly man looked at Mary. “I’ll be leaving a Bible in that room, ma’am, in case you’re so led to read it and change your wicked ways!”
With that, he stormed off, presumably excited to retrieve a copy of the Good Book.
John couldn’t help himself again. He looked at Mary and said, “You should take him up on that offer. I think there’s one of the chapters in Proverbs that talks about being a virtuous wife, if my Sunday learning serves me right. You might want to start there.”
He laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.
Damn, she was cute.
But it was all he could do not to give her a smack on the bottom for her sassiness.
You’re doing it again, John. Getting too familiar with her. You best take a step back.
He heeded his own advice and cleared his head. Right now, the important thing was getting those horses back—and not getting himself killed in the process. He didn’t need any distractions, no matter how pretty that distraction was.
So, once Mary was safely locked in the storeroom with that Bible, he left the store and strode toward the saloon.
His horses were still there. And he was ready to get them.