The Mail Order Bride's Secret Page 2

  Monty Roman rested a finger on his chin. “I can ask any question I want?”

  “No. You can ask anything except questions that might incriminate me. I’m not itching to get hanged. I’ll tell you anything else.” Tait held his breath and prayed that Roman would agree to the easy way. Otherwise, he’d be forced to break into the newspaper office and take the photograph back himself.

  Roman scribbled something on his pad. “You’ll tell me what brought you to Hope’s Crossing all shot up and dying?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll tell me why you stayed?”

  “As best I can explain it.” It still wasn’t that clear in Tait’s mind.

  “Deal.”

  Tait released a long breath, relieved to have arrived at a good trade-off. But hell! He didn’t relish the notion of an interview. He tried to swing away only to have Jack lay a hand on his arm. “Not so fast. Did you and Ed fight during the night?”

  “No.” Tait shrugged and forced an even tone, stilling his trembling hand. “He rode into town late. Got a room at the hotel and this morning wanted to settle our differences. I’m tired and hungry.”

  “Did you shoot Berringer’s brother, Mr. Trinity?” asked Monty Roman.

  Irritation crawled up Tait’s neck. “I have nothing further to say.” As he pivoted, his attention wandered to the set of twins standing with Jack Bowdre. He took in the boys’ rumpled clothes and the matched set of unruly cowlicks sticking from the crowns of their towheads. Obviously no one had given them much care of late. Both strained for a closer look at the dead man. Tait caught their attention and motioned them back with a jerk of his head. They sullenly returned to Jack’s side.

  Their parents needed to tend to them. They shouldn’t be here.

  The town only had a total of fourteen children, not counting the three babies, and these bore no resemblance to anyone. Neither did the little blond girl—couldn’t be more than three years old—clinging to Jack’s hand for all she was worth. Something in her face sparked a faint memory, but his head pounded too hard to try to call it up.

  Jack stuck to him like a determined horse nettle. “We need to talk.”

  “Later.” Tait inhaled some calming breaths. “You know where to find me.”

  “Dammit, Tait. I have something to tell you.” Jack adjusted his hold on the little girl, now staring up at Tait with wide brown eyes.

  Again, something familiar called to him. He shook it off. “After I get about ten years of shut-eye.” Tait took three long strides toward his soddy.

  “Nope, afraid this can’t wait.” Jack’s grim voice made Tait stop and swing back around. Off to the side, Clay selected some men from the crowd to carry Ed’s body away.

  One of the boys stepped in front of Tait, his hard eyes flashing anger. “Our pa always said you were a no-account.”

  The other, his spitting image, glared. “And we don’t wanna live here either.”

  Live here? What the hell did that mean? And who was their pa anyway?

  “You’ll get no argument from me on being a no-account, kid.” Tait swung a hard gaze to Jack. “Talk.”

  “This is best done behind closed doors. My office.” Jack transferred the little girl’s hand to Tait’s. “Might as well get used to this now.”

  The child puckered up to cry. Hell! Tait picked her up and marched toward the sheriff’s small office in the hotel. She clung to his collarless shirt, gave him a shy smile, and quickly buried her face against his shoulder. Despite everything, his heart lurched and turned inside out. The girl was no bigger than a minute and couldn’t weigh much more than his gun belt.

  The sooner he found out what was going on, the sooner he could get some sleep. Jack had hinted that these three were his responsibility, but they didn’t belong to him, and that was the end of the discussion. This was nothing but a misunderstanding. He’d always lived by one cardinal rule—no kids in his life. He and children mixed about as well as do-gooders and outlaws. Preachers and ladies of the night. Snow and hell.

  Once in Jack’s office, Tait sat the girl in a chair. The twins stood next to the scarred desk, both glaring at him like he’d stolen their lollipops. They couldn’t be more than nine or ten and masquerading as mini-outlaws facing down an enemy.

  And right there was the main reason for his no-children rule. You never knew what nonsense was going through their heads.

  No-account, huh?

  Tait straightened and glanced down at his rumpled, stained shirt, aware that he reeked of whiskey. He met their angry stares and raised an eyebrow. They probably would’ve stuck out their tongues at him if they’d thought they could get away with it.

  “What’s going on?” Tait asked.

  “Better read this.” Jack handed him a letter and settled into the chair behind his desk.

  Tait moved to the window for better light and opened the envelope. Adjusting the paper at arm’s length, he made out the flowing script of Flat Rock’s sheriff, Hondo Rains. Hondo informed Tait that both his sister, Claire, and her husband had been gunned down by a group of murdering bastards on their remote ranch, leaving the children with no one to care for them.

  Shock rippled through Tait. He blinked hard and read the words again to make sure.

  “Rains sent the kids here to me, since he didn’t know where to find you,” Jack said.

  Everything inside Tait turned to ice.

  Of course, Hondo would’ve known Jack would care for the kids until Tait could be found. Tait, Jack, and Hondo had grown up together, hunting and fishing. With Tait and Claire’s other brothers scattered across the West Coast and Alaska, finding them would’ve been much harder if not impossible.

  Claire was gone. His only sister. It didn’t make sense. Claire had been the one he talked to, the one who understood his troubles, the only one who’d ever given a damn about his sorry ass.

  He inhaled sharply, folded the paper, and stood in stunned silence. What kind of sick joke was this?

  No one was safe around him—especially these kids. He was an outlaw with a five-thousand-dollar bounty on his head. Bullets could fly at any given moment. Or he could wind up dangling at the end of a rope if the law caught him.

  His legs tried to go out from under him. He needed to sit down. But first he needed a stiff drink. No, the whole damn bottle. What did he know about caring for children? He’d done a pitiful job raising himself, and he’d only taken over after he was half-grown.

  “I know this came at you from the blue, but it seems you’re all these kids have.” Jack’s chair squeaked as he leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “You needed a reason to keep living, and here are three good ones.”

  “No, there’s got to be some other way.” Tait paced back and forth in front of the window. “Other family to take them in. What about their father’s relatives? I don’t know the first thing about raising kids.”

  Jack shook his head. “Hondo said he couldn’t find any. I’m afraid you’re it.”

  “I told you Uncle Tait wouldn’t want us,” one the twins sneered.

  “We don’t want him either,” declared the other, folding his arms across his chest.

  The little girl let out a piercing sob that grew into a regular dam burst. “Mama! Mama!”

  The twins clapped their hands over their ears and looked at each other.

  What the hell was Tait supposed to do now? He shot Jack a helpless plea.

  His friend shook his head. “Nope. This is your bailiwick to handle, and I suggest you get to it before every guest in this hotel checks out. Oh, and the kids’ luggage is waiting outside the stage office.”

  “What are their names—if you can tell me that much?”

  “Rebecca is our sister,” said the smirking twin, giving him the evil eye. “I’m Jesse.”

  The other half of their act spoke up, “
And I’m Joe. You’d better not hurt us either.”

  Tait snorted. “Hurt you? Why in blue blazes did you say that? I’ve never hurt a child in my life.”

  “A warning, just in case you want to start,” Jesse replied matter-of-factly.

  “How old are you—thirty?”

  Joe put his arm around Jesse’s neck. “We’re eleven, and Becky is three. And she ain’t housebroke yet, for your information.”

  Housebroke? She wasn’t a dog. Tait snorted again and strode to pick up the girl. That only made her cry harder. “Come along, boys.” He didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. His head had split plumb open, and little leprechauns were dancing a jig on what was left of his brains.

  It didn’t help that Jack was grinning, apparently thrilled by Tait’s present predicament. If Tait hadn’t been holding Becky, he’d have been sorely tempted to slug him.

  “Some friendly advice.” Jack chuckled as he held the door. “You might want to think about sending for that mail-order bride you’ve been writing. She might be your only hope.”

  Tait ran a hand across the bristles on his jaw and released a silent string of curses. He’d only been corresponding with Melanie Dunbar for the past month. The dressmaker was still as good as a stranger. If he did what Jack suggested, then not only would he have a niece and nephews to get acquainted with—but a bride too?

  He suddenly lost his fear of hanging.

  Two

  His head spinning, Tait gathered the children’s luggage in no time. Listening to the twins bellyache about having to help carry the small trunk, on the other hand, took a good half hour. Becky was still bawling no matter how much he jiggled her. By the time they reached his sod house, Tait was two seconds away from losing every bit of sanity he had.

  Before following the twins inside, he held his wailing niece in one arm and a case under the other and shot a longing glance toward the saloon.

  The boys dropped the trunk and gave the one-room shack a disgusted stare.

  “Is this all there is?” Jesse—no, that was Joe—asked. “Looks like a pigsty if you ask me.”

  No one had asked the boy. Whichever one he was.

  Hell, Tait was already entirely lost as to which was which. They were identical in looks—and in sour disposition. He sat Becky on the bed and dropped the bag on the floor.

  “This is it. I’ll have to do some rearranging.” Tait threw the words over his shoulder while gathering up a couple of empty liquor bottles. He stuffed them in a burlap sack along with old newspapers and empty bean cans. “It’s not like I had any kind of warning that you were going to show up today.” A little advance notice would’ve been real nice.

  Becky stopped crying, and the silence jolted him around. She stood on the floor, eyes wide, as pee ran down her legs and created a puddle around her.

  “Damn it, Becky, you should’ve said something.” He realized he’d uttered the curse word too late to take it back.

  “Saw-wee.” Tears filled the girl’s brown eyes. She stuck out her bottom lip, and the waterworks started again. The twins snickered.

  “We told you she ain’t housebroke. And you ain’t supposed to cuss around kids. Don’cha know anything?”

  Which twin had said that? He was going to have to devise a way to tell them apart—and fast. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having kids around.” He motioned them toward Becky with a finger. “Change your sister.”

  “We ain’t allowed.”

  Tait inhaled a deep breath and took a wild stab at guessing which of them had spoken. “Jesse, why aren’t you allowed?”

  “I’m Joe.”

  “Okay, Joe.” Tait shifted his weight, narrowing his gaze at the boys. “Why can’t you change Becky?”

  “I’m just a kid. And besides, her parts are different from ours.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  “Are you fixing to cuss again?” asked Joe.

  Tait was sure he had them right this time. “No, Joe, I am not.” He was going to deal with the problem in a calm, logical manner. As soon as he could think of one.

  “I’m Jesse.” The boy grinned.

  Tait wagged a finger. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. We’re not playing the confuse-the-stupid-uncle game. Once I get Becky cleaned up, we’re having a talk.”

  The boys looked at each other then shrugged with wide-eyed innocence and snickered.

  “Are you gonna shoot us?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Where did you get that idea?”

  Another shrug, and Jesse—Tait was certain this time—answered, “’Cause you shoot people you’re mad at. We saw you.”

  Regret that they had witnessed the gunfight wound through him. Not a good way to start off.

  “I’m not shooting you, so get that out of your head.” Tait directed his attention to Becky. “Would it be too much to ask that you find me some dry clothes for her? Or is that also not allowed?”

  The boys opened the small trunk, and one of them yanked out a white dress and some underclothes.

  Good Lord! White was the last color this little girl needed, but Tait took the garments, anxious to finish the unpleasant job.

  He picked Becky up and laid her on his narrow bed. The child had stopped crying, but tears clung to her long lashes. She stared up at him with a quizzical expression. His headache had gotten considerably worse, and he could barely see. After working what seemed hours, he finally let Becky up, praying she wouldn’t wet her clothes again. But where did he need to take her next time? The outhouse seemed too big for such a small little girl. And too far away.

  Sweat had drenched his shirt, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he needed to eat. There was only one thing to do. He picked Becky up. “Let’s go, boys.”

  “Where?” asked one, never mind which one it was. He couldn’t tell.

  “To the café. Bet you’re hungry.”

  “Daddy never took us to a café.”

  Probably because they acted like little heathens. But letting someone else handle the cooking right now was better than trying his luck. Besides, he needed time to consider how to enlarge their sleeping quarters. That, or find some large nails to hammer into the walls and hang each kid up on one. Somehow, he didn’t think a nail would hold these twins or the little missy.

  Before they went out the door, he rifled through a cigar box for a safety pin he knew he’d put in there. Finally spying it, he pinned it to Joe’s shirt collar. He knew it was Joe because Becky had nodded when Tait asked her to confirm it.

  “There.”

  The twins winked at each other. Tait wasn’t sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. He led the mini-gang across the wide-open space in the middle of town. In other villages, that might have been a green or a proper town square, but here drivers used it to turn the stage and wagons around so they could head out the way they came in. Hope’s Crossing sat in a canyon, steep rock walls surrounding what had once been an outlaw hideout. This town had been Clay Colby’s dream. If the townsfolk’s hard work was any indication, one day it would probably amount to something.

  Becky stopped crying and clung to Tait’s shirt, snot running from her nose. He paused and fetched a kerchief from his pocket. Probably wasn’t clean, but the girl didn’t mind. Ridge Steele, the town mayor, rode in through the pass and waved.

  For once, the Blue Goose Café was only half-full. Usually the place was booming. Sid Truman had opened four months ago and never had more than two tables empty at a time, except at closing. Tait aimed the boys toward a table where they scuffled, trying to get the same seat.

  He gave them a heavy scowl. “Do you want to take your meal outside with the dogs?”

  “No, sir,” Joe mumbled.

  “Then straighten up. I know your mother didn’t put up with ruckus, and I won’t abide it either.” Tait sat Becky
in a chair. He nodded to Sid’s wife, Martha, who came from the kitchen to see the commotion, her six-month-old daughter Noelle propped on her hip. She was the only girl out of ten boys. “Mrs. Truman, how are things going?”

  The woman approached their table. “If my life was any better, I don’t know what I’d do.” She smiled at Noelle and ran a loving hand over the baby’s red curls before swinging her attention back to Tait. “And who are these sweet children? I don’t recall ever seeing you with youngsters before, but I can see the resemblance. The boys have your unusual gray eyes and mutinous profile.”

  Mutinous? He snorted. Hardly. “They’re my nephews, Jesse and Joe, and this little girl is my niece Becky. They’re staying with me for a…bit.” Tait hated to hedge, but neither did he want anyone to think this was permanent.

  “Well, she’s a beautiful angel. You look like you could use some help.” Martha sat her pride and joy on the scrubbed floor and whipped out some white cloths from her pocket. In short order she had tied one around each of the children’s necks and brought a stack of seed catalogs for Becky to sit on that allowed her to reach the table. “There. Now they’re set.”

  The eleven-year-old twins glared at Tait. He smiled back. They really were too old to be treated like babies, but a reminder of who was in charge didn’t hurt.

  “My sons will be happy to have your boys to play with, and so will Sawyer and Ely.” Mrs. Truman smiled at the twins. “In fact, Sawyer is in the kitchen helping out now. He’s twelve. I’ll bring him out and introduce him.” She collected Noelle and returned to the kitchen.

  Tait leaned across the table. “Not one sour word or we’ll do this at home. I know you don’t want to be here, but we all have to make the best of it.”

  Becky patted Tait’s arm. “Saw-wee.” Her shy grin twisted something inside him.

  “Not you, honey.” Tait kissed her cheek.

  Martha Truman returned with Sawyer and introduced him. Jesse and Joe wanted to know why he worked there and if someone forced him.

  Sawyer shrugged. “I like it, and it’s only an hour or two each day. Gives me a little spending money. You can sign up to work too, if you want.”