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“The same as she always is. Fretting over Walter and wringing her hands.” The man blew out a breath. “Her face is pretty bruised up. Doc Tibbens said he’d look after her when he was finished with Walter.”
“Is it serious?”
“No. The bullet caught him in the shoulder but he’s making a fuss loud enough to make a person think he was riddled with bullets.”
“Not surprised.” The marshal turned back to face him. “You’re not from around here.”
It wasn’t a question. “No, sir. I’m from Willow Creek. I’m just passing through.”
“So you’ll be leaving, then?”
“Had planned on cutting out first thing in the morning unless you mean to keep me.”
The marshal eyed him for long moments. He glanced at the man still standing by the door, then back at him before reaching into the desk drawer. He laid Aaron’s gun on the old battered desktop and slid it across to him. “I trust you to not shoot anyoneelse. Anymore trouble out of you and I’ll throw you in that cell and let you rot.”
Aaron grabbed his gun and tucked it back into his hip holster, then stood. “Wouldn’t think of it, Marshal.” He tipped his hat to him, did the same with the fellow by the door and left before either of them could call him back.
The streets were quiet now, full dark cloaking the valley. He walked the wooden boardwalk that ran along the crooked row of buildings in town to the end of the street, to the two-story house with a sign that read, “Mabel’s Boarding House,” in bright red letters near the front gate.
He blew out a shaky breath as the day’s events filled his head again. Most of it had been pleasant and took his mind off things weighing heavy on him for months now. Meeting Morning Dove had distracted him enough he’d forgotten his troubles but as usual, more came chasing on its heels. His life was one catastrophe after another as of late. He was beginning to think the universe had it in for him. Luckily others had seen what happened or he’d still be sitting in that jail right now, probably in the small cell he’d seen along the back wall of the building.
His ma always told him curiosity killed the cat and now he believed her. An innocent conversation with an Indian girl nearly cost him everything. His thoughts went back to Morning Dove and the strange look she’d given him as she was led away. Had he seen her smile? The thought would puzzle him from here on out because he wasn’t about to go in search of her to ask. Wherever she was, he hoped she stayed there. He had enough problems in his life without heaping on more. His ma’s angry words, Noah’s disapproving gaze, and the broken look on Betsey’s face when he left her standing underneath the willow trees that grew along the bank of the creek would haunt him forever.
He’d tried to outrun all his problems but woke too many nights with the image of Betsey standing under those trees, raindrops mingling with the tears falling down her face, and healways woke with a hollow ache in the center of his chest and knew, telling himself he didn’t love her wasn’t going to work much longer. His heart wouldn’t let him forget it.
He’d left a mess back in Willow Creek and the longer he ran from it, the worse the festering wound in his heart would grow. He’d disappointed so many people in his life and he had to fix it. His twenty-second birthday was coming up and it was high time he started acting like a man and stopped running. It was time to go home.
Thoughts on how to fix all the wrongs he’d done filled his head until he reached the gate outside the boarding house. He’d returned too late. Mabel had told him she locked up promptly at seven and if he wasn’t there, he’d have to sleep in the street. He’d hoped she’d been joking but the windows were all dark except for a single glowing pane at the back of the house. He stared at that light wondering if Mabel would answer the door if he knocked long enough and had opened the gate and stepped onto the rock walkway to the porch when he heard someone calling his name. He turned and saw a shadowy figure hurrying his way. When they were close enough to see clearly, he sighed.
Morning Dove offered him a tiny smile as she stopped on the other side of the gate. Her buckskin dress hung to her knees, matching trousers covered her legs, and her boots looked well worn. Her hair was a silky fall of thick, straight strands that fell down her back clean to her waist and it was so black it had looked blue when he’d first saw her standing by the mercantile.
He nodded his head to her in way of greeting. Her face was bruised, her lip twice the size it should be but it was the look in her eyes that puzzled him. She looked almost—happy.
“I would thank you,” she said, her soft voice holding a melodic, musical cadence that still surprised him.
“No need.”
“You are wrong, Aaron Hilam. Not many have ever stopped Walter when he felt need to punish me and I thank you.” Sheshifted on her feet and looked behind her, back down the street. When she faced him again she asked, “Will you be staying in Silver Falls?”
“No, I’m leaving in the morning.” The moon wasn’t bright enough to see much but he didn’t miss the brightness in her eyes at his words.
She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, then took a step closer to him. “I would ask a favor of you”
“What kind of favor?”
“One I will repay to you tenfold.”
Chapter Two
Willow Creek, Montana - May 1885
Miranda Talbert wasWillow Creek’s oldest living spinster. She was thirty-two years old, tall, had a trim figure, and was pretty in a mousey kind of way. She was also head over heels in love with Dr. Evan Reid, who barely knew she existed. Miranda tried to act indifferent to him but everyone in town knew. Everyone, that is, but Evan Reid. Miranda was also a kind soul and would help anyone in need, which is what brought Betsey to her door once again.
Betsey had wished most of her life she wouldn’t end up like Miranda but at the ripe old age of nineteen, she’s changed her mind. After the pain the men in her life seemed to dole out, she was perfectly happy taking the title of town spinster. If Miranda could do it and survive, she would too. “You’re sure this is all right, Miranda?”
“I’m positive, Betsey” Miranda beamed. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Betsey watched her turn back to the house, the door slowly easing shut and told herself everything would be fine. Shehurried down the steps in front of the house Miranda shared with her mother and headed across town, hurrying past those who chose to dally on the wooden sidewalk. The evening sky was painted in shades of purple, orange, and red and cast the town in soft light. If she could have her way, she’d be at home, rocking on that old chair on the porch, watching the day give way to night but one rarely got what they wanted, especially her.
