Sundown, p.9
Sundown, page 9
“I can explain. We were old school friends.”
“Jeb Colfield?”
“No... yes, Jeb and I went to school together, but we weren’t friends.” Maybe the judge hadn’t heard about Wyatt spending the night with Grace. Surprising since Wyatt had come to suspect few things happened in town Judge Rawlings didn’t know about. “Never mind.”
“You have blood on the collar of your shirt.” The judge tossed another handful of seeds. “Let’s see if I have this right. You were in a barroom brawl, broke a man’s nose, and you were publicly intoxicated. Have I left anything out?”
Actually, quite a bit, and Wyatt intended to keep it that way. “Jeb Colfield started a ruckus in the saloon and had physically assaulted a saloon girl.”
“She’s your school friend, I take it.”
“Right.”
A pigeon hopped onto the bench beside the judge, who shoed the bird away and tossed more seeds.
Wyatt argued his case. “I came to her defense and was forced to use my fists to subdue Colfield.”
Judge Rawlings tilted his head. “You beat up Jeb Colfield and broke his nose?”
“I did.”
The judge emptied the last of the seeds and stood. “That’s what a number of people told me, but I wanted to hear it for myself.”
A sense of relief came over Wyatt. “That’s why you sent for me?”
“That’s right. You might want to go home and clean yourself up. As an attorney, you have a duty to the public to present yourself in a professional manner.”
“Yes, Judge.” He waited as Rawlings climbed the steps. When he went inside, Wyatt blew out a breath of relief.
Wyatt rode back to the ranch with a cautious sense of optimism. He arrived before sundown, and Amos was shoeing Travis’s younger horse, Ginger.
Amos set the horse’s hoof down and wiped sweat from his brow. “How’s Travis doing?”
“He would be doing swell if he had a better attorney.”
“He wouldn’t want another.”
Wyatt climbed off Clementine and led her to the water trough. “Don’t you have your own ranch to run?”
“I hired a couple of hands. I just came by to see if anything needs doing.”
“We appreciate it.” Wyatt peered into the barn. “Is the buggy in good condition?”
“You taking some gal for a ride? That’s what Travis used it for. She’s in good working order, at least she was last time Travis took her out a few months ago. Should be some clean rags on one of the stalls.”
“Thanks. Can I help you shoe Ginger?”
“All done.” He clapped the mare on the neck. “You should take Ginger. She’s more of a buggy horse than Clementine.”
The two men led the horses into the barn and into separate stalls. Wyatt took the saddle off Clementine while Amos uncovered the buggy. “You’ll have to clean her up if you want to impress a lady.”
Wyatt couldn’t help but smile. Emma a lady? Outside the barn, Amos climbed onto his horse and waved as he rode off.
Wyatt went inside and washed up, then ate a meal of Ruby’s leftover cornbread and a bowl of canned beans. He fell asleep thinking of all he needed to do to defend his brother.
The next morning Wyatt rose, fed the horses and chickens, then gathered the eggs in a basket and set them on the counter in the kitchen. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, but cleaning up would have to wait.
He returned to the barn and gazed at Travis’s most prized possession, the fancy buggy that always turned heads when he went to town. The rig was a handsome sight, a gleaming example of craftsmanship. A black fringe canopy provided shade from the summer sun. The carriage was a deep red with silver pinstripes. However, a layer of dust covered the leather seats along with a few clumps of straw.
The wheels were made of dark wood that complemented the gleaming brass hubs. Travis had a taste for finer things, and the buggy was a prime example.
With a towel from the gate of Clementine’s stall, he wiped down the leather seats. He knew Travis wouldn’t mind him borrowing his prize buggy, but he’d be stunned when he found out who would be riding beside Wyatt to the dance.
He reached under the seat to brush away a stray tumbleweed, and his fingers touched something soft. Curiosity piqued; he pulled it out. It was a woman’s white handkerchief, delicate lace on the edge. His breath caught as he unfolded the fabric and discovered and embroidered graceful flowing E.
This small piece of cloth just might be the key to learning the identity of Travis’ girl and proving his brother’s innocence. Wyatt shook the dust off the hanky and brought the handkerchief closer. It still had plenty of dust but smelled of a woman’s perfume.
Travis was hardly the courting type. Wyatt never knew him to take a girl on a picnic next to a stream or a slow ride beneath a full moon. Was the hanky left by a woman who had changed Travis’s life like so many people had mentioned? Wyatt tried to control the pounding in his heart. If he was right, this fragile piece of cloth would be the key to providing Travis an alibi for the night someone murdered Silas Thornton.
With his heart pounding, Wyatt left the barn and took a closer look in the sunlight. Definitely a lady’s hanky, not just a woman’s, but a lady’s. His quest to unravel Travis’s secret romance, a hidden alibi nestled in the shadow, just got easier. Two undeniable clues, a perfume unmistakably enchanting, and a first name that began with the elegant letter E.
His earlier frustration faded. A new-found optimism lay in the delicate fabric that might just unravel the truth and bring justice for his brother.
Inside, Wyatt headed for Travis’s bedroom. Ignoring his previous guilt over snooping through his brother’s things, he opened the door. The room smelled the same, but something else hung in the air, the clear scent of optimism.
He slid back the curtains, letting in the morning sun. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, just anything that might offer a clue to the woman’s identity.
He picked up the book of poetry and flipped through the pages. He searched in every nook and cranny. As he was about to give up, he pulled open a drawer on a table beside his brother’s bed. A sheet of yellow paper caught his attention. It smelled of the same perfume as the hanky. Wyatt opened the paper, I enjoyed our time together, your caring and your tender touch. I long for the day we can be together without hiding our love. E. It wasn’t just a note, it was a damn love note!
Wyatt stared at the words on the yellow paper and then the hanky. He felt certain he was close to proving his brother’s innocence. He fought the urge to saddle up Clementine and demand the truth from his brother, but he wasn’t certain Travis would reveal the woman’s identity. The dance was more important than ever to discover the identity of E.
Wyatt heated water on the stove, filled the tub and eased into a hot soapy bath, in spite of his newfound optimism, it did nothing to wash away the frustration he felt. Why hadn’t the woman come forward to clear Travis?
He scrubbed himself from head to toe and scraped two days of stubble from his face. When he dried himself off, he tried to decide whether to wear one of the suits he’d brought from Sacramento for trial or something a local man his age would wear. Not wanting to come across as a lawyer, he opted for comfortable and casual.
He laid out three shirts before settling on a white one and a burgundy vest with black trousers. He gave his black boots a spit and polish shine.
Wyatt had attended dozens of dances but was more nervous over this than any before. By the end of the night, he just might find out the identity of E.
After laying out the clothes, he stared into the mirror, satisfied with the white shirt and black silk tie he had selected. He looped the tie around the collar of his neck, growing increasingly frustrated. He’d tied a western bow tie a hundred times preparing for court, so why was he struggling to tie this one? As he looked in the mirror, his fingers caught in the fabric, and he had to start over. He finished the second time, but it was a lopsided mess. He yanked the cloth from his neck.
Wyatt was spending way too much time on his appearance, but he didn’t want to look like an attorney. He let out a sigh and started again.
This time, his movements were slower and more deliberate. He looped, tucked and pulled. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the tie fell into place, forming a neat knot beneath his collar, and the two ends of the bow were perfectly level. He had conquered the silk; now, he had to conquer the dance.
When he arrived in Sundown, Wyatt never contemplated he'd attend a dance. He slipped the hanky he found in the buggy and the perfumed note on yellow paper in the inside pocket of his vest and grabbed his Stetson. As the sun began to set, he hitched Ginger to the buggy and set off for Sundown.
Before picking up Emma he had one stop to make, a very important one.
Wyatt drove the buggy slowly over the familiar trail to town, careful not to kick up dust and dirty the buggy or his clothes.
The horse knew the trail better than he did. Wyatt gave the mare the reins and pulled the handkerchief and the note from his pocket. He stared at the embroidered E and the signed note. Who had taken a buggy ride with Travis and written him a love note on perfumed yellow paper? E.
Wyatt’s breath caught. Could the handkerchief be Emma’s? Had she written the note, and had Travis spent the night with Emma the evening Thornton was shot?
E couldn’t be Emma! She’d never write the romantic words he’d read on the note. If it was Emma, it meant everything she’d shared with him had been a lie. It made no sense, but neither did Travis’s lies about where he had been. He stuffed the two items in his vest pocket. He snapped the reins, and Ginger picked up the pace.
Before the night was over, Wyatt vowed to do whatever it took to find out the identity of E, and hoped it wasn’t his date to the dance.
CHAPTER 13
Sheriff Black let Wyatt into Travis’s cell and sniffed the air. “Did you take a bath?” Travis let out a whistle when he saw Wyatt’s getup. “Looks like my little brother has himself a date to the dance.”
“If you don’t mind, Sheriff, may I have a minute with my brother?”
“Sure thing.” He unlocked the cell door, let Wyatt in and locked the door. The sheriff headed down the hallway and went into his office.
Wyatt didn’t waste any time. He pulled out the perfumed note and showed it to his brother.
“You looked through my things?”
“I’m trying to save your life. Well?” Wyatt tapped the note. “Who is E?”
Travis dismissed Wyatt with a wave of the hand. “That’s an old note from an old girlfriend.”
“That you keep in a drawer by your bed?”
“If you’ve been in my room, you’ve seen that I haven’t cleaned in a long time.”
Actually, his room and the whole house were clean and tidy. “Smell the perfume on the paper. It’s not an old note.”
“Of course it is.” Travis held the paper in front of Wyatt. “Look. It’s so old, the paper’s yellowed with age.”
Wyatt’s frustration boiled over. He shouted, “It’s yellow paper, not yellowed paper!”
Wyatt sank onto the cot.
If Travis lied about the note, what else had he lied about? Why was his brother refusing to help himself? He showed him the hanky.
Travis turned it over in his hand. “Where’d you find it?”
“In the buggy.”
“It’s probably Ruby’s. Amos borrowed it a couple of weeks ago.”
“Ruby starts with an R, not an E.”
Travis gave the hanky back. “I think Ruby’s middle name is Evelyn.”
Wyatt let out a gasp of exasperation. “Is E Emma?” “Emma Sullivan?” Travis chuckled. “Jesus, Wyatt, she’s pretty and has a nice shape, but she dresses like a man.”
Travis put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t get yourself all worked up. Someone in Sundown killed Silas Thornton. You’ll find out who it is, and we’ll both have a good laugh over a stiff drink.”
“A good laugh. Is this funny to you?” He rose and shook the cell door. “Let me out!”
“Wait, you’re not taking Emma to the town dance.” Travis bent over with uncontrolled laughter.
Wyatt rattled the cell door again. “Let me out!” Outside, Wyatt sat in the buggy, trying to handle his frustration. He’d left a promising career and a devoted fiancé and traveled a thousand miles to help a brother who didn’t seem willing to help himself.
Despite it all, Wyatt wasn’t willing to give up. He took the reins. “Come on, Ginger, let’s go.”
Wyatt pulled the buggy in front of Emma’s house, located behind the Sundown Gazette. A once-white picket fence had weathered from neglect, but well-kept flowers were growing near the front porch.
He was determined to find out who the handkerchief and note belonged to. He couldn’t imagine the items were Emma’s but as an attorney, he’d learned to be thorough. He left the items in his pocket and knocked. Would she wear her familiar ponytail, and had she found a dress?
The door creaked open, and Emma stood in the doorway, backlit by the flickering lamplight in the room behind her. Her auburn hair tumbled in loose curls around her shoulders like autumn leaves.
She’d found a dress all right. It was some dress, not a humble garment he'd imagined but a deep blue satin that matched the twilight sky. It revealed considerable skin and clung to her curves in a way that made him at a loss for words.
She turned down the light behind her, stepped outside and closed the door.
He swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “That dress would have made some quilt!”
“This old thing?” She said with a smile.
He stepped back. “I like your flowers.”
As if reading his mind, Emma took a quick glance at them. “They’re wildflowers. They tend to themselves.”
A yellow-striped cat ran to a bowl next to her front door. Emma didn’t seem to be the cat type. “What’s her name?”
“His name.” Emma snickered as they watched the cat gobble down table scraps. “How should I know his name? He’s not my cat. He’s a stray that came around last week looking hungry, so I leave leftovers out for him from time to time.”
Wyatt wasn’t certain she was telling the truth about the flowers or the cat. Why did she try so hard to keep people from seeing her softer side?
He gestured toward the buggy. “Shall we?”
Wyatt held out a hand and helped Emma into the buggy. He walked around and climbed beside her.
She smoothed her dress and set her black draw‐string purse that matched her shoes between them. “You approve?”
A warm tingle crept up his neck. She was beautiful. “It’ll take some getting used to.”
Emma laughed with a flip of her hair. Her blue eyes were the same, but everything else about her looked different.
“Before we go…” He reached into his vest pocket and showed the hanky to Emma.
She took it. “What’s this?”
“I found it in the buggy.”
She ran a finger along the scripted E., then studied Wyatt’s face. She snorted laughter. “You think I would own something frilly like this?”
“Not before tonight.”
“I don’t even own a hanky, Wyatt. She lifted it closer to her face. “Not my perfume.”
Emma tilted her head. “Go ahead.”
Wyatt leaned closer and inhaled the perfume on her neck. The first time they met, Emma smelled of a combination of printer’s ink and trail dust. His face lingered closer to her than was necessary.
“Well?”
“Not a match.”
She opened her purse and showed him a sachet, “I bought this at the general store. Lavender Delight. Quite some time ago,” she added.
She tossed the hanky to him. “This fragrance is something expensive, from France, I’d guess. Definitely not something one would pick up in Hook's store. Your job tonight became easier. Dance with as many women as you can to see if they’re wearing French perfume.”
Wyatt handed Emma that perfumed note.
She read the words and chuckled when she gave it back. “Poor girl is a hopeless romantic. Again, not mine. Even if it resembled my handwriting, which it doesn’t, do you really think I would say something like that?”
“To the right man, you might.”
“Then I guess I’ve yet to meet the right man.”
“Travis denied everything. He said E is a woman from his past.”
She took the note and inhaled again. “You wouldn’t be able to still smell the perfume if it was old.”
Emma handed the note back with more than a little impatience. “Are we going, or are we just going to sit here?”
Wyatt slipped the two items into his vest pocket and took another quick look at Emma. The moon‐ light danced across Emma’s face. Her dress fluttered with the grace of a summer breeze. Her hair framed her face like a picture in a faraway gallery. She hardly resembled the shotgun-toting buckboard driver who chased Jeb Colfield off the day Wyatt stepped off the train.
Should he tell her what he was thinking? The words tumbled out before he could bring them back. “I’m glad the hanky and the note weren’t from you.”
Emma studied his face. “I hope you mean you’re glad they weren’t mine so we can still work together to find out the truth about the night Silas Thornton was murdered.”
Emma disappointed him with her cold reaction. What else could he have meant, that he was glad because he was developing feelings for her?
Wyatt took the reins. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
CHAPTER 14
When they arrived at the dance, Wyatt helped Emma from the buggy.
She gave him a pencil and a sheet of paper from her purse. “After each dance, make a list of the women you danced with whose names start with E and whether they were wearing perfume.”
She slipped her arm in his as they approached the town hall. A fiddle’s high, lonesome wail harmonized with a banjo’s tight, rhythmic plucking. As they stepped inside several couples danced and twirled as the fiddle player called out the square dance moves. Their faces were flushed, and the room crackled with energy and laughter.
