Wandering Home (Dorado, Texas Book 1) Read online

  Pushing her skirts to one side, she squatted and helped Timmy gather the remaining nuts. “Yer doing a good job, son.”

  “Yep, I’m big enough to be your helper, Mama.” He tossed a handful into the basket and grinned. “That’s what Mr. Hawksen says.”

  “Oh?” Kell has been instructing my son? “Did he say how ye might do that?”

  Timmy walked a few steps away and filled both hands. “By learning how things work and how to fix stuff.” He dumped the nuts into the basket then stood at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have my own tools now.” He paused, his little mouth drawn into a serious line.

  She bit back a gasp but kept her features tight. Surely, Kell wouldn’t let a small boy handle tools? Had the man no idea how dangerous that was? “Be that the truth, or be ye fibbing?” She searched her son’s face, but his gaze was steady and no smile brightened his features.

  “Not fibbing.” Blond hair flew across his cheeks at a vehement head shake. “Mr. Hawksen built me a carrying box, and I have a hammer, a file, and a saw all my very own.”

  “When we get home, maybe ye’ll show me?”

  He gave a solemn nod and scampered around, grabbing nuts and tossing them toward the basket.

  Straightening, Vevina wrapped her arms over her stomach and lifted a hand to finger the smooth jet stone. Praise granted, Goddess, for the blessings in me life.

  Leaves crunched underfoot, announcing someone’s approach from behind. By the rhythm of the steps, she knew the person was Kell and turned with a smile.

  His eyes widened, but he flashed a quick grin. “Myrna has the picnic laid out.”

  “Wonderful.” Vevina nodded. “This fresh air has given me an appetite. Come along, Timmy.” She held out her hand and waited for her son to grab it.

  When he did, he also reached out for Kell’s, and they walked through the tree canopy of the orchard three abreast. Leaves underfoot crunched with each footstep. Echoing through the brisk air were the chirps of swifts and the warning whistles of ground squirrels. From a distance came the rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker searching for beetles or grubs.

  “Figure we’ve collected about five bushels. Hank and Curly loaded them in the back of the wagon.” He ran his free hand over his chin as he looked at her. “If you don’t mind me asking, what will you do with all those pecans?”

  “Five, that’s wonderful.” She beamed, thinking of the yummy treats to be baked. “I save some for our kitchen, and I send a peck or two to me family back East at Christmas time. Mostly, I sell the nuts to the Othmanns at the mercantile. Some folks don’t take the time to locate the wild trees outside of town to harvest. Last year, I made batches of me ma’s nougats and added chopped pecans. Those sold well.”

  “I like Mama’s candies.” Timmy ran three steps then lifted his feet to swing between the adults’ grasps. “Whee.”

  Vevina watched her son’s gleeful face and couldn’t hold back her own smile. This was how she’d envisioned a family would act—combining work tasks with a bit of fun. But when Eugen was alive, all he did was work the cattle and study his ledger books.

  They’d reached the others who were already seated in the shade under a wide-branched tree. Each found a place on the edge of the old quilt and the prepared food was spread in the center.

  “You talking about them square chewy candies?” Hank placed a thick slice of bread on his plate then made a show of licking his lips and waggling his eyebrows. “They were a sure-fire winner.”

  Curly brandished a fried chicken leg. “Wish you ladies had figured out the receipt for a southern pecan pie.”

  Vevina accepted a plate of food from Myrna then turned to Kell. “Curly was raised in Georgia and brags about his mama’s pie but doesn’t know all the ingredients or their portions.” She nibbled on a piece of chicken, enjoying the lightness of Myrna’s buttermilk coating. “More people have moved to Dorado during this past year, and I plan to ask for a—”

  A quick succession of gun shots rang out, hushing all other sounds. Dirt spat up in puffs all around the quilt.

  Panic clutched at her throat, and she swallowed back a scream. Vevina grabbed Timmy close, using her body to shield his. A strong hand shoved from behind, pushing her down.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  A chorus of no’s whispered through the silent air.

  “Hank, do you see anything moving from your spot?”

  Vevina heard the tension of Kell’s voice and tightened her hold, making sure Timmy didn’t lift his head to look around.

  “Nah, Hawksen, just rocks and trees.”

  “Tell me where it’s hidden.” A male voice called out, the statement coming from across the creek.

  Her whole body shook, a combination of her own reaction to seeing how close the shots were and a trembling little boy who clung to the arms she’d wrapped around him. Vevina turned her head and barely recognized her hired man. Eyes narrowed, body poised, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, Kell was a staunch warrior, a stalwart guardian. He’d positioned himself between her and the creek, his revolver held level but scanning the space in front of him.

  “Damn busted leg.” Tully growled, doing his best to protect his wife from where he sprawled.

  “Curly, Hank, get yourselves behind the nearest trees. I’ll cover you.” Never looking away from the scene before him, Kell leaned close. “Soon as I see they’re in position, I’ll walk you and Timmy to the safety of the wagon and then come back for Tully and Myrna.”

  “What does this person want? What’s hidden?” A threat had surfaced, and she instinctively turned to Kell for answers. His take-charge attitude commanded a quick response.

  His gaze flicked to hers for a second then lifted. “Don’t know.”

  “In position, Hawksen. Get the women and boy out of here.”

  Giving a confirming nod, Kell cupped a hand around her elbow and pulled. “Go, keep low.”

  “Come, son. Walk fast.” Vevina braced an arm over Timmy’s shoulders and hurried as best she could, scuttling through the dirt and leaves while bent at the waist and holding up her skirts. Timmy’s whimpers tore at her heartstrings, but she kept him moving forward. Her breath was rapid, and blood pounded in her ears. What does this person want?

  After only a few minutes, they reached the wagon they’d left parked along the road. Cursing the bulk of her skirts, Vevina scrambled into the bed and held out her arms, needing her son close.

  “Shove the baskets to the outside and curl up in the middle behind the driver’s seat.” Kell faced outward, keeping vigil over the surrounding area while holding a crying Timmy tight against his chest.

  As if she’d always been taking orders from the man, she complied, trusting him to know the proper way to keep them safe.

  Kell came to the side of the wagon, lifted Timmy over the plank siding, and lowered him in front of her. “Cuddle up with your mama, little buddy. And don’t move.” Meeting her gaze for a long moment, he pressed a hand to her shoulder, squeezed once, and then he was gone.

  To calm them both, Vevina hummed a favorite lullaby she used when getting Timmy to sleep as an infant. Gentle caresses of her thumb along his soft jaw probably soothed her more that the gesture did him. In stages, she felt her son’s body relax, and his sobs quieted. “We’ll be fine, son. We have Tully and Hank and Curly and Kell to protect us.”

  “Don’t like guns. T-that’s a bad man?”

  She nodded, feeling the softness of Timmy’s cheek as she moved. “Aye, shooting at people is bad.”

  From nearby, rustling sounded and she stiffened, wishing for the shillelagh her da had insisted she take anytime she left their Ohio farm. Once she married and got to know the townsfolk, she stopped carrying the club.

  “Vevina, it’s Kell. Can you help Tully climb up?”

  “Coming.” She scooted to the end of the wagon and assisted Myrna to lever the man into the bed.

  Grunting at the effort, Tully scuttled backward, shoving himself with his go
od leg.

  From the orchard, Curly jogged toward them, leading his horse.

  Kell nodded then turned his head and connected with her gaze. “Curly’s driving you back to the house. Hank and I will head across the creek to search.” He reached over and rested a hand on Timmy’s head. “Curly will secure the animals in the barn before taking up watch from the loft. Tully will guard the house. Bring the dogs into the house, and no one goes outdoors until I return. Agreed?”

  “I know how to handle a scatter gun.” Myrna spoke up and glanced at her husband. “I’ll cover the kitchen door.”

  “Sorry. I’ve never handled a gun.” Glancing around the group, Vevina felt useless, and she hated that feeling.

  “Come tomorrow, we’ll change that.” Kell gave her a grim smile then moved along the wagon, setting the half-filled basket inside, and then he loped into the trees.

  Vevina watched Kell’s form as he disappeared, murmuring a silent prayer to the Goddess for his and Hank’s safety.

  Three hours later, the household was relatively quiet. An exhausted Timmy napped on the sofa in the parlor. Vevina couldn’t bear the thought of her little boy being so far away in his room on the second story.

  Everyone else maintained their guard positions. Bandit and Scout lazed on the rag carpet near Tully’s chair.

  To lessen her worry, Vevina busied herself in the kitchen, chopping dried Mexican plums and chokecherries to add to the raisin-dotted batter for the traditional brambrack cake her ma always baked for their Samhain celebration.

  Myrna alternated from her guard post at the back door and overseeing Vevina’s cooking efforts. “Coffee’s boiled. I’ll take a cup to Tully.” She lifted the pot and poured a cup.

  Vevina watched with sideway glances, waiting for Myrna to disappear into the front room. Then she took a measuring cup, slipped down the hallway to the den, and poured a sizable splash from a whiskey bottle stored in the bottom drawer of Eugen’s old desk. On the way back to the kitchen, she took just a wee swig to help settle her nerves and dumped the rest into the mixing bowl. With one hand, she stirred the thick batter with a wooden spoon and with the other, she waved her apron to clear away the scent of alcohol.

  Footsteps sounded on the wooden kitchen floor, and she dropped the edge of her apron. “Myrna, could ye check if the oven is ready?”

  The dark-haired woman set the long gun against the wall then opened the oven door and held her hand a few inches inside. “Give it five more minutes. Do you have the three items ready?”

  “I do. Do ye want to place them or stir after the final pouring?”

  “I’ll stir.” She grabbed up the gun and eased to the door, moving the curtain a bit to peer out.

  Vevina spooned part of the batter into the bottom of a large loaf pan and then placed a coin, a metal ring, and a twist of clean rag down the center of the batter. The remaining batter spooned on top buried the items. “All right, they’re ready.” She carried the bowl to the sink then poured hot water from the kettle inside.

  Myrna swirled a clean knife through the batter, jumbling the items within the pan. Frowning, she leaned close and sniffed. “What’s that strong smell?”

  Guilt stiffened her shoulders. Vevina knew her housekeeper didn’t like Tully to drink so she told a little white lie. “I’m trying a new tea Mrs. Othmann had at the mercantile. Comes all the way from China.”

  “They’re riding in,” Tully called from the front room. “Unlock that door, Myrna.” The clumping of his crutches was muffled on the front room’s rag rug before he reached the wooden kitchen floor. “Just the two riders.” On alert, the dogs followed him.

  Vevina hurried to slide the cake pan into the oven and glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall, noting the time was five minutes to four. “Good thing we’ve got fresh coffee.” Although she hated to, she rushed into the parlor to awaken her son, knowing if he slept much longer he’d fight going to bed this evening.

  The back door opened wide. Three men stepped inside, bringing a wash of chilly autumn air and the scents of leather, horseflesh, and hay.

  Standing at the edge of the room, Vevina shot her gaze to the tallest among the three and saw that Kell scanned the area until he spotted her location. Her pulse kicked up. “Well, what did ye find?” She rubbed a hand on her son’s warm back.

  Kell lifted off his hat and hung it from the post of a cane-backed chair. “Only tracks.”

  Tully plopped into a chair, resting his crutches against the table. “How many? Leading where?”

  The dogs danced between the new arrivals and where Vevina stood.

  “Hey, mutts.” Hank yanked open the door. “Git out.”

  The dogs scampered outside.

  “Hold on.” Myrna waved her hands, herding the men toward the sink. “Wash up first then gather at the table for a cup of coffee so we can all hear the whole story.”

  Within minutes, the group sat around the table with coffee for the adults and milk for Timmy. A plate of oatmeal cookies had been heaping when the housekeeper first set it on the table but now held only crumbs.

  “Hank and I followed the tracks from beside the creek for a ways until they disappeared. I noted one hoof print contained a bent nail head, which is recognizable.” Kell finished his coffee and set down the cup. “We split up, but once the rider hit the dirt and rocks of the grazing lands, he became invisible.”

  “Only one set? That’s good.” Tully nodded and glanced around the table.

  “What was so special about the print?” Curly leaned forward on his elbows to look at Kell who sat on the same side of the long table.

  “Seen the same mark made by the rear shoe in Houston when I missed the stagecoach thief by mere minutes.” Kell leaned, balancing on the chair’s back two legs. “But that was a month ago.”

  “You’re a bounty hunter?” Hank frowned over the rim of his cup then shot a glance to his boss. “Did you know this, Mrs. B.?”

  A bounty hunter? Weren’t those men ruthless? Vevina clasped her hands in her lap. The first day they met, he’d told her he’d been a sleuth. So, why am I surprised? She’d seen how he reacted to the shots and observed his protectiveness first hand. And had been drawn to that same protectiveness.

  “At times, I am.” Kell dropped the chair forward and turned to the head position of the table. “I’m truly sorry, Ve—, uh, Mrs. Bernhard. I had no notion that my tracking a stage robber might bring about this situation. The danger to you and your boy.” Holding his jaw tight, he swept a hand around the table. “To all of you.”

  She looked into his worried gaze and shook her head. “But ye did no such thing. That man didn’t call out to ye by name or by profession, Kell. He asked where something was hidden. He thinks something of value that he has a right to is to be found on this ranch.” Finally, an explanation for the strange lights at night that doesn’t include a fairy curse.

  “The lights.” Kell widened his gaze and nodded. “That makes sense.” For a moment, he scratched his chin then he leaned forward. “The robbery I’m concerned with occurred in May of this year. What has changed on the ranch since then?”

  Frowning, the ranch residents looked around the table at each other.

  “Mr. Bernhard died that same month.” Tully shrugged before sipping from his mug. “Is that what you mean?”

  “That, but more. Have you seen other areas of disturbed ground? Maybe a change in the size of the garden or the corral?”

  The discussion lasted through supper and into the evening. Possibilities were listed, and Kell vowed he and the men would check them out the following day.

  Vevina offered a couple suggestions but an answer pulled at the back of her mind. Even by closing her eyes and letting the conversation flow around her like a stream bypasses a boulder, she couldn’t recall the change that teased her thoughts. The voices around her faded, and she saw an image of Eugen, but not really Eugen. His outline wavered like when she looked at a reflection in the stock pond, and he wore several hag st
ones on leather thongs around his neck. He lifted shimmery hands to the thongs and shook them, his mouth opening and closing like he spoke.

  “Mama!” A little hand pushed on her shoulder. “You sleepin’?”

  Vevina shook herself, rubbed a hand on her stiff neck, and blinked at her grinning son. “I was just resting my eyes, Timmy.” Unable to make sense of her wandering thoughts, she shook away those disturbing images.

  “Tully and I are bunking here tonight.” Myrna stood at the counter, lighting the portable lamp they used for nighttime trips to the outhouse. “The sofa’s all made up for the mister, and I’ll sleep in Timmy’s bed. Figured you’d want the boy in bed with you. That all right?”

  “Efficient as ever, Myrna. Thank ye.” Suddenly realizing how quiet the kitchen was, she glanced around but the hands and the dogs had already cleared the room.

  More tired that she wanted to admit, Vevina allowed Myrna to light their trek to the outhouse then stand guard. In turn, she watched through the kitchen window as Myrna accompanied Tully there and back.

  “Good night, Mrs. B.” He stomped through the kitchen, grumbling the whole way.

  After wrapping the cake pan with a clean towel, she slid it onto a shelf in the pie safe. Then she quickly wiped down the table and the counters, although Myrna had probably already cleaned them. She procrastinated as long as she could, but a cranky Timmy forced her up the stairs. Vevina dreaded falling asleep and experiencing a repeat of that awful dream.

  Chapter Five

  The Saturday of Halloween dawned crisp and clear. From the sight of the bleary eyes around the breakfast table, Vevina guessed no one but Timmy got a good night’s sleep. The men were jumpy and tense, and Kell repeated the order to stay inside with the doors locked.

  Eugen had never let her celebrate Samhain like she’d done with her own family. But she’d vowed this year to start the tradition with Timmy and introduce him to part of his heritage. Her sweet son had been looking forward to this party for days, and Vevina wasn’t about to disappoint him. “The Samhain celebration will go on this afternoon as planned. We’ll use a kettle on the kitchen floor, instead of the wash tub on the veranda, for the apple bobbing.” She planted both hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze, touching it on all the adults present. “But that’s me only concession.” Well, that and placing lighted gourds on the edges of the veranda, instead of around the yard, to ward off evil spirits.