Chapter 16
The morning after Chloe had shown him the bullet she’d found, Nathaniel sat at his desk in the sheriff’s office, one leg crossed over his knee, his hand turning the bullet cartridge over and over and gently tapping each end on the desktop blotter while he mulled over possibilities.
Of course, he also thought about the kiss they’d shared.
What had come over him like that? He’d never been impulsive before, so why now?
He frowned, lips pressed together as he considered what to do about it; about both the bullet and the kiss. Should he just forget about it? As for the bullet, it could’ve ended up in a bale they’d picked up at the feed store without anyone the wiser, but he doubted it.
The kiss was another matter though, one he didn’t want to consider too deeply at the moment. Even so, the memory of her soft, warm lips on his, the way she’d leaned into him, the tightness of her arms around his waist …
“Stop it,” he growled. “It was just a kiss. You felt sorry for her, that’s all.”
No, that wasn’t all, but he had other things to focus on at the moment than his confused feelings about the kiss he and Chloe had shared.
It wasn’t going to happen again. He had no time nor inclination to get involved with her in that way.
He had to concentrate and focus on the bullet he kept turning in his hand.
As he stared at it, he couldn’t help but wonder if someone had deliberately placed it there.
If so, why? A warning to him? Had he stepped on someone’s toes and didn’t realize it?
He couldn’t imagine why such a thing would’ve been left at the boarding house and not the sheriff’s office if that was the case.
Or was it meant for someone else? He frowned and shook his head.
His mother and sister didn’t have any enemies.
He couldn’t imagine elderly Millicent Evans having any, but Thomas was new to town. For that matter, so was Chloe. He—
Boot steps on the wooden planks in front of the sheriff’s office distracted him and he glanced out the open doorway and beyond to the hitching post where his saddled horse waited. He heaved a sigh and shook his head. He had work to do and here he was sitting around pondering a bullet.
Moments later a figure filled the doorway and Thomas leaned against the threshold, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Spencer over at the mercantile told me you wanted to see me.”
Nathaniel tossed the bullet aside on his desk and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Now that the thought was in his head he couldn’t get rid of it. “I need a favor.”
“Sure, Sheriff, what is it?”
“I need you to ride over to Dolan and then to Silverwood with messages for the town marshals there. Then I need you to head over to the telegraph office in Cottonwood and send a couple of messages for me.” He paused and glanced at the piece of paper sitting on his desk, the stub of pencil beside it.
“Probably take most of the day before you can get back.”
Thomas pushed himself away from the doorframe and stepped further into the office, the floor creaking beneath his boots. “Sure.” He eyed Nathaniel for several moments. “Something wrong? Do you need me to wait for replies?”
Nathaniel eyed the young man and nodded. “I’d appreciate it. The messages to the marshals can be answered quickly, but the telegraphs might take a little longer.”
“Where they going?”
Nathaniel looked past Thomas and out the door once more. Across the wide dirt street he watched two horses milling in the livery stable. “One to Dallas, one to Lincoln, the other to Deadwood.”
“Deadwood?” Thomas asked, eyebrows raised. “Dakota Territory?”
“It’s South Dakota, Thomas,” Nathaniel sighed. “Has been for nearly three years now.”
Thomas flushed. “Yeah … forgot. Now it’s north and south Dakota. Forgot.” He shrugged. “Old habits, you know.” He frowned. “Didn’t Chloe come from Deadwood?”
Nathaniel gave him a slow nod. “Yes she did.” He noticed Thomas’s lifted eyebrow and knew a question was brewing.
“Those outlaws causing trouble in these parts,” he said softly.
“A group of them attacked the stage Chloe was on. She …” He hesitated, not caring to talk out of turn but this was important.
“Just between you and me, Thomas, I think Chloe is running from something.”
“Or someone?”
Nathaniel sighed. “Yes, or someone.”
Thomas remained silent for several moments.
“And you think the outlaws that’ve been causing some trouble around here are …
that the stage was attacked because of her?
” He shook his head. “For what reason? Lillian’s told me about that, but Chloe didn’t have any money, no …
” He stopped talking and glanced down at the floor.
“Sorry.” He looked back at Nathaniel. “But you can’t think she’s the reason the stage was attacked, can you? ”
“I don’t know, but it’s something I’d like to find out.” He eyed Thomas. “This doesn’t go beyond this room, you hear?”
Thomas stared at him a moment and nodded. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
“Appreciate that.”
Thomas approached the desk and Nathaniel handed him the folded piece of paper containing a short message for the marshals and another one for the telegraphs.
Thomas didn’t open it. “From the marshals, I need to know if there’s any word of the Blackwell gang in this part of Texas recently.
” How many times had he asked the question over the years?
Still, word of the gang up in Deadwood was new.
Expanding their territory? A sudden thought struck.
Chloe had recently come from South Dakota.
His heart skipped a beat, but then he shook his head.
She didn’t know about the Blackwell gang.
She hadn’t lived in Deadwood. Besides, when he’d mentioned them earlier and she’d heard of them, she would have said something.
“The Blackwell gang?” Thomas asked, his voice barely audible and his frown deepening.
Nathaniel noticed. “You know them?”
Thomas didn’t answer for a moment but swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ve heard of ‘em,” he murmured.
“More specifically, I’m looking for information on the leader, Everett Kane, and his partner, Silas Crowe.” He shook his head. “I don’t have descriptions of either, but the names, well, that’s a different story.”
He felt Thomas’s eyes on his and met the young man’s gaze. “They killed my father, the sheriff of this county before me. Been looking for them ever since.”
Thomas shifted from one foot to the other, his face suddenly pale as he quickly turned away and glanced out the door. “I’ve heard they’re trouble.”
“They are, Thomas, so you keep your eyes open and your gun handy.” He gestured. “Before you leave, stop by the boarding house and have my mother pack you some food. You might be gone overnight, depending.”
“I’ll wait until I get answers,” Thomas said. “Even it takes a few days.”
Nathaniel nodded, his thoughts disarrayed and his focus not what it should be.
All he could remember at the moment was finding his father’s dead body.
For years he’d sought revenge against the gang, the only one in the area at the time, so he was positive that they’d done it.
If it was the last thing he did, he would see them either in jail or hanged, preferably the latter.
“Sheriff … you hear me?”
He blinked and looked up at Thomas. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if there was anything else you needed me to do while I was gone.”
Actually, there was, but he felt guilty for doing it.
“When you send a note to Lincoln, I also need to know if the sheriff there knows anything about … about Chloe Whitfield. She’s got a husband out there somewhere, someone who she’s afraid of.
I want to know if there’s anything I can do about that, to put her mind at ease. ”
“Yes sir,” Thomas murmured. He hesitated briefly. “I’ll keep that to myself too.”
Nathaniel sighed as he slowly stood. “I’d appreciate that.” He shook his head. “I’d rather not have my mother and sister knowing that I’m checking on all this, at least not until I know a little more. Something’s not right, but I can’t figure out what it is and I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”
He reached for the bullet lying on the desk near his inkwell and picked it up, showing it to Thomas. He eyed the bullet again, turning it over and over in his fingers before looking up at Thomas. “Chloe found it in one of the chicken hutches yesterday.”
Thomas’s eyes widened as he eyed the cartridge. “She found a bullet in one of your chicken hutches? How’d it get there?”
“No idea,” Nathaniel murmured. “But I can’t forget the fact that her stagecoach was attacked on the way here. I need to find out if it was a coincidence or … or if she’s being …”
“Followed?” Thomas asked. “Or worse?”
Nathaniel glanced sharply at the young man. “Something like that.” He heaved a sigh. “Anyway, you’d best get going. I’ve got rounds to make. Thanks for making the ride.”
“No problem, Sheriff,” Thomas said. “I’m glad to be of help.”
*
It was after noon when Nathaniel returned to the boarding house.
He had spoken to Jackson Gibbons at the livery stables, asking him to let him know if any newcomers came to town needing to board or loan out any horses.
He moved on to the bank, where he stepped inside to have a word with Orval Ainsworth, the bank manager.
It was a small bank with one teller window fronted by rod iron railings.
A bench sat in the corner, a coat rack next to it, a spittoon underneath.
A small clock hung on the right-hand wall, its pendulum slowly ticking off the seconds.
The moment he entered, Orval appeared from a room in the back, a smile on his face.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” he nodded, taking his place behind the teller’s desk, palms flat. “What can I do for you today?”
“I wanted to ask if you’d heard about the outlaw gang roaming the area lately and are taking precautions.”