Wandering Home (Dorado, Texas Book 1)

  Wandering Home

  By

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Book #1 of the Dorado, Texas series

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, place, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright ©Linda Carroll-Bradd All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means without express permission from author or publisher.

  Published by Inked Figments

  Cover artist: Tamra Westberry (writing as Tara West)

  Edited by: Shenoa, Lustre Editing www.lustreediting.com

  Formatted by: Author's HQ

  Manufactured in the United States

  ISBN: 978-1-940456-06-3

  First printing November 2015

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. Purchasing this e-book gives you the right to one copy for your reading enjoyment. The purchase does not grant resale rights, sharing rights (either individual file sharing or sharing through peer-to-peer programs) auction or contest prize rights, or rights of any kind to sell or give away a copy of this book.

  Doing so is considered piracy and criminal copyright infringement—an illegal act in violation of U.S. Copyright Law and can be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by a maximum of five years in federal prison in addition to a $250,000 fine.

  Please respect Lind Carroll-Bradd’s right to earn a living from her creative endeavors. If you have knowledge of misuse of this e-book, do not hesitate to contact Inked Figments at inkedfigments@gmail.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Epilogue

  Titles Coming Soon in Dorado, Texas series

  Author Biography

  Excerpt: Storybook Hero

  Chapter One

  Central Texas

  October, 1874

  A cool breeze blew from the north, scuttling scrub oak leaves across the dusty ground dotted with sagebrush and mesquite bushes. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, trapping the afternoon sunlight and chilling the solitary rider on the Texas prairie. The Appaloosa, Pepper, tossed his head and tensed. Kell Hawksen clucked his tongue to soothe his stallion back into an easy lope. On the northern horizon ahead were the rooftops of a prairie town, complete with several plumes of smoke.

  The idea of a peaceful place to rest his weary body and work at an odd job or two held great appeal. His year-long enlistment with the Texas Rangers had been cut short…again. Damn legislators and their budgets. Everyone knew the sparsely settled land still posed dangers, but no one wanted to pay for protection.

  At least, until a band of Indians escaped the confines of a reservation or a bold-faced robbery in broad daylight happened not thirty miles from the state capitol. Following such an event, of course, the politicians in Austin wanted action from the Frontier Battalion. Unfortunately, normal official duties for members of said battalion were restricted to not more than ten hours per week. Well, a man needed more in wages than what those duties provided to keep body and soul together.

  Kell figured to find a job in a small town like this where he could settle in and wait out the winter. Over the years, he’d done his share of soldiering, riding herd, fixing fences, tracking, and he’d wielded a hammer to construct buildings a time or two. If the smart men in Austin hadn’t come to their senses when spring arrived, Kell could always sign on with a cattle drive heading north. His Ranger training learned in Company C under Captain Ransom could always come in handy against rustlers.

  When he reached the edge of town, he spotted the livery stables and the blacksmith shop and slowed Pepper to a walk. From the dark interior came the sharp peal of metal on metal, and a thick smoke roiled from the stone chimney. Kell cut his gaze to the adjacent lot, noting half a dozen horses in the livery’s paddock. None were the black stallion with three white stockings like the one he tracked. Working as a bounty hunter wasn’t his favorite occupation but one he’d handled enough times over the years to gain competence.

  Kell headed toward the sheriff’s office that was most likely located in the center of this small town. A quick scan of the storefronts revealed the usual—a dry goods store, a dressmaker, a doctor’s office, a couple of saloons, a bank, a café, a leather shop, and a building that was probably the stage depot. Set back a block stood a white-washed church with a bell tower that probably doubled as a schoolhouse and town meeting house. A bisecting street showed a row of small houses set in both directions from the center of town. The wooden storefronts, some with a false second-story facade, had wide roofs extending over boardwalks edging the buildings. The shade probably created much-needed relief in the heat of summer and protection from rain and snow in the winter.

  Spotting the stone structure that must be the jail, Kell drew close enough to read the “Dorado Jail” sign. So, that’s the town I’m in. After weeks on the trail, he accepted the fact all the towns blurred into one. His usual contacts were only the sheriff and the proprietor of whatever saloon or boarding house had the cheapest room rate. Once his questions were answered about the quarry he sought this time, he’d be riding toward the next town.

  After he reined in Pepper and dismounted, he fought back a groan at the dull ache in his legs. On the fourth day of his trek from Victoria, covering thirty miles a day, he was ready for a night spent on a straw-filled mattress, instead of the hard-packed caliche. First, he needed to check in with the sheriff to let the man know he was on the lookout for the stage robber Bert Benton.

  Old habits died hard. Then, he’d seek out a quiet room, a cleansing bath, and a hot meal—in that order. Tied to the hitching rail was a bay horse and partway into the alley next to the jail stood a single horse buggy.

  With swiping motions, he cleared the dirt from the day’s long ride from his shoulders and the front of his clothes, then shrugged off his long duster and tossed it across the saddle. Removing his wide-brimmed hat, he ran a hand through his too-long wavy hair, hoping for an appearance that looked a bit less wild. As he settled his hat on his head, he climbed the wooden steps, hearing the thud of his boot heels on the wood planks, aware of the rattle of his spurs.

  At that same moment, he registered the sound of a pair of raised voices and a child’s cry coming from inside the office. Training kicked in, and he moved on instinct. Leaning flat against the rough-wood wall, he scanned the almost-deserted street for anyone watching the jail. Seeing nothing suspicious, he steeled himself for what he might find then threw open the door, letting it crash against the wall. He stepped inside, knees bent and hand hovering over the Colt slung at his hip, and took note of the room’s occupants.

  A short woman jostling a tow-headed boy on her hip stood in front of the battered desk. A plain brown bonnet covered her head. Whimpering, the youngster rubbed at his eyes with fisted hands.

  Lounging in a wooden chair resting on its back legs sat a dark-haired man smoking a thin cheroot. His shiny boots were propped on the desk, and a tin star adorned the breast pocket of a chambray shirt pulled tight over a bulging stomach.

  All three people turned toward the door and stared.

  No dangerous situation here. At the sight of the attractive woman, Kell straightened to his full height and dragged his hat off his head. “Beg pardon. I heard the young’un’s cry and thought to be of assistance.” Might be I need more than a single night’s rest. He glanced to the side, saw a chair next to t
he wall, and pointed his hat in that direction. “I’ll just sit here and wait until your business is complete.” As he closed the door and moved a few feet into the office, Kell glanced around and spotted a peg sticking from the wall that held several wanted posters. Careful to take quiet steps to still hear the conversation, he moved to where he could look through the papers.

  “As I’ll be saying, Sheriff Woodman, I saw those lights again last night. In about the same place, past the barn at the edge of the farthest fields.”

  “Now, Mrs. Bernhard, how can you be sure?” The sheriff’s drawl was as slow as cold molasses. “The barn has to be at least a hundred feet from the back of your house. And you say the lights were past that and out at the edge of the hayfield?”

  “Right.” She leaned forward and braced her free hand on the edge of the sheriff’s desk. “The details being the same as the last three times I reported such happenings to ye.”

  The woman’s words were spoken with a foreign cadence, but not like those of Kell’s Norwegian grandparents. Still a lilt sounded in her tone, but was different. With a forefinger, he lifted the top poster and recognized the image on the one underneath as the man he sought—Bert Benton, $500 reward announced May 23, 1874. A month earlier in Houston, he’d come close to catching Benton, but the wily thief escaped out the saloon’s back door and disappeared. He eased his body sideways to the posters so he could watch the room’s occupants from the corner of his eye.

  The boy had settled his head on his mama’s shoulder, and now stared in Kell’s direction with wide blue eyes.

  “Could be youngsters playing pranks.” The sheriff removed the cheroot, squinted toward the smoldering end, and blew until the tip glowed red. “With Halloween coming up on Saturday, all sorts of funny things can happen.”

  “Funny, huh? I’ll not be seeing the humor in mysterious lights on me land.” The petite woman stood straight, her shoulders squared and her chin jutted out. “I have a young child to protect. Since Eugen’s death, I’m made aware of that fact each and every day.”

  Kell registered the determination in her tone, a trait he always admired. Especially in a woman who probably wouldn’t measure as tall as his shoulder. The woman showed grit to confront the law man with her expectations and hold his feet to the fire regarding his responsibilities.

  “And you expect me to ride out to your ranch in the middle of the night?” The chair creaked as he swung down a foot. “Which might not be so bad iffen I knew there’d be a slice of your peach pie and a cup of hot coffee waiting.”

  Muscles tense, Kell pressed his lips tight to hold back a protest. What kind of sheriff expected this personal treatment from a widow? Not one who was on the up and up. Maybe he didn’t need to introduce himself or reveal his purpose for being in town. At least, not yet. Attitudes changed when folks learned he was a bounty hunter. Better to wait and see how this plays out.

  He stepped out onto the boardwalk and, with quick strides, moved to his saddlebags and grabbed the carving stick he liked to whittle. From his pocket, he pulled a jackknife and settled into a chair opposite the hitching rail, stretching out his legs full length. In his experience, people were more liable to start up a conversation with someone otherwise occupied than with a stranger sitting and staring at passersby. Several minutes passed and he moved the knife in even strokes, his hands shaving at the wood. The rhythmic motions proved calming, but he kept his gaze alert and moving over the sleepy town.

  At his right, the metal knob rattled and the door opened, increasing the volume of the conversation.

  “I expect ye to do yer job and check me fields fer evidence of mischief, sheriff. I’m not promising ye’ll be allowed entry farther than me front porch.” The door shut with a bang, and Mrs. Bernhard huffed out a sigh. “Blasted lazy man. Oh now, Timmy. Don’t ye be using that bad word.”

  “As cuss words go, that’s one not too bad.” Kell pulled his long legs close, stood, and lifted fingers to the brim of his hat. The sweet scent of lilacs teased his nose, and he pulled the scent into his lungs. “Ma’am, I couldn’t help but overhear what you said inside. About problems at your ranch.”

  Mrs. Bernhard turned to face him and her head made the slow climb until their gazes met. “I suppose our voices were a wee bit boisterous. I’ll not be apologizing. As a widow, I have to take charge when issues arise.”

  The woman was just a mite of a thing, had to be eight or nine inches shorter than his more than six foot height. But she apparently had the heart of a lioness. “Name’s Kell Hawksen, and I’m new in town. Actually, I arrived only minutes ago.”

  “Mr. Hawksen.” She bobbed her chin, making her bonnet strings bounce. “I’m Vevina Bernhard, and this is me son, Timothy. With such a big name for a little boy, he’s known as Timmy.”

  The boy gazed upward, his eyes a perfect match to his mother’s.

  “Since you live around here, maybe you can point out a good hotel.” He hadn’t seen one on his ride in and had no doubt he’d locate one with little trouble. But he couldn’t deny he was intrigued by this spirited woman, and he wanted to keep her talking. Granted, he’d been without female companionship for a while now. Some quality he’d not yet defined drew him to this woman. Her face was alight with intelligence surrounded by strawberry-blonde wisps of hair at the edges of her bonnet.

  “Of course.” A smile emerged before she twisted her stance toward the street and pointed with her free hand. “No hotel, but I’ve heard of a rooming house operated by Mrs. Treadwell that also serves good meals. Go to that corner, turn right, and it’s the third house down that block.” She turned and glanced at the full length of his body then squinted at his face for several seconds. “Ye being here in Dorado on business? Is that yer purpose in town?”

  “Looking for work, actually.” And getting to the bottom of your mysterious lights might be quite entertaining. “I’ve served as a sleuth and a guard, I’m handy with a hammer and know my way around horses and cattle.”

  “Oh, be ye a farrier, by chance?” Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “Several of me horses need tending, and the new blacksmith is busy enough here in town he doesn’t often travel to outlying ranches.”

  Outlying? He wondered how far outside of town the ranch was. Too far and he couldn’t keep an eye on arrivals in Dorado. “Not by profession, but I’ve always tended my own horses.” He watched several emotions cross her expressive face as she considered his statement. Speculation changed to caution and then to resignation.

  After a long look at her son’s face and a few strokes of his shiny straight hair, Mrs. Bernhard dipped her chin then lifted her gaze to meet his. “I can offer ye room and board plus twenty dollars a month. Ye’d be rooming in the bunkhouse with two cowhands who are wintering over following this fall’s cattle drive.”

  Her words were music to his ears. This was just the type of job he’d been hoping to secure. Not having to pay rent at a boarding house meant he could save almost all his wages. “No foreman on the place?” His preferred job.

  “Tully and his wife have their own small house. Right now, he’s laid up with a broken leg.”

  Biting back a satisfied smile, he gave a curt nod. “I thank you for the job offer and accept, ma’am. How far outside of town is your ranch?”

  “Shady Oaks is about three miles on the westerly road.” She shifted her son within her arms and jerked her head in that direction. “I need to shop at the mercantile before heading back. But if ye’d like—”

  Lifting a staying hand, he shook his head. Although the thought of a hot bath beckoned, he wanted to stick close to his new employer. Lured by lilacs.

  Eyebrows lifted, Mrs. Bernhard tilted her head and pressed her lips together, waiting.

  “I’ll accompany you, if that’s all right. Maybe help with carrying your purchases.” No better way to check out a town than to linger a while in the general store. He’d overheard a good amount of gossip while lingering in mercantiles under the guise of evaluating merchandi
se. Shopkeepers soon lost interest and turned their attention to those ready to complete a transaction.

  “Good. That will allow me to introduce ye to the owners. In case you need to charge supplies to the Shady Oaks’ account.” She leaned forward to lower the boy to his feet, squared his billed cap on his head, and clasped his hand. “The mercantile’s on the other side of the street in the next block heading east.”

  The wide smile and bright flash that lit her eyes gave her face a gamine look. One that hit him square in the chest. Needing to pull his attention from the surprise of that reaction, Kell glanced to where she pointed and made note of the sign proclaiming Othmann Dry Goods-Hardware-Meat. “I aim to walk my horse over. Do you need help with the buggy?”

  “No, but thank ye. I’m quite able to handle this small conveyance. On me family’s dairy farm during me growing years, I handled draft horses pulling heavy wagons.” Her eyebrows dipped into a frown before she shook her head. “I shall meet ye there, Mr. Hawksen. Come with Mama, Timmy. We must buy the things Mrs. MacElroy needs fer tonight’s supper.”

  “Can I have some lemon drops?” The boy craned his neck to gaze into his mother’s face, displaying a big-eyed pleading look. “I been good.”

  Mrs. Bernhard walked down the wooden steps, pausing on each to allow for her son’s short legs, and turned toward the parked buggy. “I imagine we can choose a treat or two.”

  Kell’s throat dried. Lemon drops. Those treats had been his sister Guri’s favorite. He clamped his jaw tight, holding back the bitter memories of that cursed Comanche raid that had cost his family dearly, and turned to untie the reins from the split rail. Leading Pepper across the dirt street loosened his leg muscles, and he looked around, both to distract his thoughts and to take a fuller measure of the town.

  Not many people were on the street—an older couple approached the mercantile from the opposite direction, and three men headed into the Golden Door Saloon across the street. A beer would sure rid his throat of the road dust, but he’d made another promise. And Kell Hawksen followed through on his word.