“You think so?”
“I do. Besides, we all knew who you were before you were appointed. We know about Big Bill Cassidy and Smiley Burdette, two of the most notorious gunslingers ever to roam New Mexico, and how you brought them in when the odds were against you. We may be a small town, but we still get news from across the country. In fact, we have our own newspaper and telegraph office.” He fitted his hat to his bald head. “You’re a legend among lawmen.”
While the praise was earned—sort of—he didn’t think he deserved it, especially since it was while he was chasing Big Bill that he’d lost Hannah. No, it wasn’t Big Bill’s fault that Hannah passed, but he blamed the man just the same—as much as he blamed himself. If he hadn’t been searching for the outlaw, he’d have been there when Hannah went into early labor. “I don’t know about that, Merrill, I was just doing my job.”
As if sensing the subject was a sore one, Merrill changed it. “You ready to start meeting the townspeople?” His hand moved to the gun belt slung low around his hips. He pulled a pistol from the holster, checked that the gun was loaded, and put it back before checking the other.
“You expecting trouble?”
Merrill shook his head and patted the guns at his hips. “Never do, but it doesn’t hurt to be ready. Wouldn’t be doing my job if I walked out of here unprepared.” He turned toward Rafael even as he reached for the door. “We’ll be back.”
Rafael smiled and gestured to the man sleeping in the cell. “We’ll be here.”
CHAPTER 5
“Is this Marshal Devlin Goodrich’s house?” A young man asked when Tresia answered the knock on the door just after noon.
Her gaze swept over him. Big and brawny, he wore a slouch hat, a light jacket and a big smile. “It is.”
“Got your trunks.” He gestured to the wagon on the dirt road in front of the house then reached into his jacket pocket and removed a folded sheaf of papers. Once he had the papers in hand, he fished around in his pocket a little more and came up with a small stub of pencil. “You gotta sign for ’em.” After handing them to her, he signaled to his companion.
Tresia took both and paused as the other young man—just as big and brawny—climbed down from the wagon and grabbed a small trunk from the wagon bed. He lifted it to his shoulder like it weighed nothing, strolled up the walkway and deposited it on the porch. She looked at the trunk, then back at the young man. “Would you mind terribly bringing that upstairs?”
“Uh, we were paid to deliver, ma’am, not bring ’em in.”
“Please.”
They looked at each other.
“I just made some gingerbread men. You’re welcome to them if you’ll bring the trunks upstairs.”
Again, they looked at each other and the first young man said, “Uh, sure.”
“If you’ll leave them in the hallway upstairs, I can do the rest.”
By the time they were done and had gingerbread men still warm from the oven in their hands, the hallway upstairs contained four small trunks and two big ones. She closed the door behind the delivery men and went upstairs. Now to figure out which trunk belonged to who and put everything away.
She knelt down on the floor and flipped open one of the bigger trunks as Avery watched. It was filled with frilly dresses in all the colors of the rainbow and shoes in Avery’s size. She picked up a shoe, recognizing high quality when she saw it, then glanced at the well-worn boots on her charge’s feet. Those were high quality, too, but old and well-worn.
She pulled one of the dresses out of the trunk and shook the wrinkles from it as nothing seemed to have been folded—just tossed, like whoever had packed them had been in a hurry. Bright pink, it possessed an inordinate amount of bows, both big and small, and lace—lots of lace. She glanced at Avery, taking in her plain calico dress, sans bows and lace and fancy buttons. It definitely did not match the garments in the trunk.
These dresses looked like the little girl who wore them was more porcelain doll than flesh and blood, a child who did not know the freedom of running around, getting all dirty, a child who was put on display—seen but not heard. She didn’t know Devlin well but hardly thought he would insist upon that kind of behavior. In all the interactions she’d seen between Devlin and Avery, she witnessed none of that. Oh, he loved his daughter, that much was evident, but he didn’t treat her like she’d break.
Had it been Hannah? Perhaps.
Her gaze rose up to Avery’s face and her heart melted a little. There was a smudge of jam on her cheek from lunch and her hair was a curly mess around her head, a soft brown halo of sorts as she had brushed it herself, refusing all help.
“We should put all this away. What do think?”
Avery nodded. Tresia had decided to try to engage the child in conversation. She picked herself up off the floor, closed the lid, then bent low and pushed the trunk toward Avery’s bedroom. It was heavier than she thought. She pushed again but only managed to move the thing a few inches. She should be able to do this. She was a strong woman. Hadn’t she spent years receiving and unpacking goods at the store?
She glanced at Avery, who simply stood off to the side, clutching her doll, but there was a certain gleam in her blue-gray eyes. “How would you like to give your doll a ride?”
The gleam turned to curiosity.
“Let’s put…uh…what did you name her?”
“Cecily.”
