The Winter Pearl. Molly Bull NobleЧитать онлайн книгу.
leaving it. Come to think of it, he’d been having a lot of memory problems lately.
Lucas laid two small logs in the woodstove. When he had managed to start a fire, he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. Honor must be out in the garden, he decided. Reaching out, he held his hands in front of the fire, to warm them while he made his plans.
First, he’d get Honor to fix him something to eat. Then he would look for any other hidden money. Harriet had always hidden money from him, but she must have put it somewhere else this time.
Later, he would drive into town, buy a couple of bottles of whiskey, and maybe pay Miss Ruby a visit. His slow smile became a chuckle.
He vaguely remembered asking Honor to marry him, but he would worry about getting hitched some other time.
Lucas went out onto the back porch. “Missy! Come in here this minute!”
Calves bellowed. Chickens squawked from the henhouse. But not a sound from Honor. Lucas spent the next ten minutes searching the farm buildings, but he was unable to find her.
She could have hiked into town to buy supplies, he supposed. He’d noticed the flour sack was almost empty. Yeah, that must be what she done, he convinced himself.
Cursing his late wife for selecting a hiding place he couldn’t discover, Lucas tore up the house and barn looking for money. Honor could clean up the mess when she got back from Falling Rock.
His breath became rapid from all the labor in his quest, and he felt a little shaky. He wanted alcohol—bad. He wouldn’t hold out much longer without it.
Honor had been gone a long time. Too long. How much time did it take to go into town, buy a few things on credit at the general store, and walk back to the farm? Was that girl really shopping? Or had she left with the rest of his money?
The word left roared inside his head. Lucas stiffened, and he felt rage rising in his blood. “Why, that little—”
The truth hit him like a sock in the jaw. His late wife had hidden money, and Honor had taken it. The muscles around his mouth tightened. She’d robbed him. He still didn’t want to believe it. Lucas balled his hands into fists. Yes, that’s what happened. He would like to strangle her.
Hadn’t Harriet always saved every penny she could get her hands on? And wouldn’t she have told Honor where she kept it? His late wife had called Honor her cherished niece, her sweet little Rose of Sharon.
Lucas swore, kicking a kitchen chair. The chair banged the back wall, then fell on its side on the floor. Those two had always plotted against him. Whispering behind his back. Exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.
“But no more!”
Lucas picked up the cookie jar and threw it across the room. The clay pot crashed against the iron stove, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.
Grabbing a loaf of bread from the bread box, he tore off a chunk and crammed it in his mouth. Then he reached for a slice of jerky and gobbled it down. Lucas looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. Honor had a head start on him. If he expected to catch up with her and recover his money, he would need to ride out as soon as possible.
Jeth lifted Honor gently onto the back of the wagon. Then he climbed up, wrapped her in a warm blanket and sat down beside her.
The outlaws had disappeared as soon as they’d collected their spoils. The passengers and the crew were left behind with the crippled stage. Jeth had ridden one of the stagecoach horses into Hearten for help, returning with blankets, two wagons, a local doctor, and a few other folks from Jeth’s church.
Jeth glanced at Dr. Harris, seated up front in the wagon and taking the reins. The doctor had examined Honor and bandaged her head as soon as he’d arrived. Now he was acting as their driver. Annie and Simon were in the other wagon.
Jeth cradled Honor’s head in his lap as the doctor cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward slowly.
A cold breeze whistled around them. When locks of Honor’s long auburn hair blew across her eyes, Jeth pushed them back from her face.
Her thick mane looked shiny, and the strands felt soft in his hands. Jeth frowned. He shouldn’t notice such things. He yanked his hands back as if her hair had scalded them.
When he looked down at her again, he felt a grip of fear. Honor looked pale. She hadn’t moved at all, and now seemed gravely ill.
Lord, he prayed. You know all about this young woman, and I’m sure You have a plan for her life. Heal her, Lord, I pray—spirit, soul and body—to Your honor and glory.
Lucas carried his riding gear into the horse stall. His gray mare pulled back her ears, as she always did when she was about to be saddled.
“You turning on me, too, Lady?”
The horse blew out through her nose, making a gentle, snorting sound. Lucas put down his load and stroked the animal’s head. Merely touching her velvety nose softened him a little.
“Easy, girl.” He reached down and patted the mare’s round belly. “You’re getting big, ain’t ya? I’ll be riding ya nice and slow today. So don’t fret none. Gotta take care of that colt inside ya, don’t we.”
The mare snorted again.
An image of Honor flashed before Lucas. His gentleness vanished. Wait ’til I get my hands on that girl. She’ll be sorry for running out on me, he vowed.
Lucas arrived in town at three and went straight to the saloon. He hoped to buy a drink on credit.
Standing at the bar, he grinned at the bartender. “A shot of whiskey, Mitch. Just put it on my bill.”
“Sorry, Lucas,” Mitch said. “Your credit is all used up.”
“I sure am dry. Couldn’t you spare me one shot?”
“Not unless you’re willing to wash dishes.”
“I reckon I could.” Lucas hid his hands in his pants pockets so Mitch wouldn’t see how they shook. “But I have a couple of things I need to do here in town first.”
“Then I suggest you go and do them. This here saloon will still be open when you get back.”
Lucas had been counting on that drink to make it through the day. Knowing he wouldn’t get a drop without working for it made him even thirstier. He licked his lips. He could almost taste whiskey in his mouth.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna give me nothing to drink,” Lucas said, “will you at least give me a little information?”
“Yes, I can do that.” Mitch wiped a glass with a white cloth. Then he put it on the counter and cocked his head. “What kind of information?”
“That niece of mine has done run off with all my money. Would you have any idea where she might have went to?”
The bartender shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The sheriff might.” Mitch glanced toward one of the tables. “He’s sitting right over there.”
Lucas had never liked Sheriff Manning. Years ago, the sheriff had made it clear he had no use for Lucas Scythe. Still, if the sheriff knew something, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
There were two local men at the round table in the corner with the lawman. Lucas ambled toward them.
Sheriff Manning was leaning back in his chair, drinking from a beer mug. His fat belly hung over his belt, and his blue shirt was stretched to the limit. Some of the buttons looked like they might pop off at any moment.
“Well, Scythe,” the sheriff said, “what dragged you to town in the middle of the day? Whiskey?”
Lucas stiffened.
The other two men grinned.
Arms at his sides, Lucas clenched his fists. His jaw hardened. He should punch all three of them