CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As soon as he arrived back in town, Henry went straight to the sheriff’s office to see if Clint had found Praig and to inquire if the sheriff’s younger half sister, Nicole Day, wanted to make easy money by staying out at the ranch with Belle.
John’s second oldest had insisted on remaining to help with Moses—who had three broken ribs but would heal—and to see how the roundup worked. Henry had tied his horse to the back of the buggy and driven the other four sisters back to Eden in abject silence, an indication they were shaken by what they’d witnessed.
Nicole packed a bag while Mavis gathered a few essentials for delivery to Belle. Nicole was usually game for just about anything; she did odd jobs around town and on the ranches. Henry thought she could be a friend for Belle. She’d stay in the house and help show her the ropes.
He was too diplomatic to say this to anyone, but he hoped Nicole could also ride interference between Belle and Blake. Those two were circling each other like wolves from rival packs. After witnessing their argument earlier, he knew Belle could skillfully get Blake’s goat. But Blake didn’t realize just how sensitive Belle really was. She covered her hurt with bravado. He hoped Blake would figure that out sooner than later.
Now, back in his office, Henry went about straightening his desk. He was exhausted. He wasn’t one to hang out in a saloon every afternoon or evening, but tonight he needed a beer. Something to take the edge off his ragged nerves. He’d head over to Poor Fred’s, listen to the chinwag as he drank a mug, and see if anyone knew Praig’s whereabouts. Or that of Riley and Bush. He also wanted to see what people were saying now that John’s daughters had arrived. The best place to find out much of anything was bellied up to the bar.
But first, he tackled the task of writing several ads to run in the Santa Fe New Mexican, Cheyenne Daily Leader, and Denver’s Rocky Mountain News. The girls would need permanent help once the new home was built. A cook and a housekeeper. He wondered if there were other employees a flock of young women living miles out of town might need.
A warm goodness slid through him as he remembered their faces as they’d climbed out of the buggy today, before Garrett had come galloping in with Moses. Yes, someone who might help them decide to stay after the six months were up. He’d have to give that idea more thought.
Feeling older than his forty-five years, he stood and stretched. If he didn’t get moving, he just might fall asleep stretched out over his desk. He went to the door, turned the sign, pulled down the shade, and locked the door.
He entered his living quarters from a door in the back wall of his office. Well, they were less living quarters than bachelor’s cave. Small and easy to keep. A tiny sitting room held two chairs, a small table, and a stool opposite. His bedroom was about the same size as the sitting room, with just enough space for his bed, a dresser, and a wooden wardrobe constructed from intricately carved birch wood, the satiny texture shiny.
He paused at the framed photo of his mother and father, melancholy tightening his chest. He’d been in love once, long, long ago, with the daughter of his mother’s best friend. But she didn’t feel the same. After her rejection, he threw himself into law school and his profession.
Shrugging off the mood, he splashed several handfuls of water on his face, scrubbed briskly, then washed again. He toweled dry. After checking his reflection, he lifted a light jacket from the haphazardly tossed covers of his unmade bed. He was about to go out through the back door, but felt movement on the front steps.
Everyone local knew he closed up shop around five thirty. Maybe one of John’s girls had a question. With a fleeting thought for the beer he should have already had in his hands by then, he tossed his coat back on the bed and entered his office. He opened the door to a stranger.
A woman stood before him, her hand firmly grasping a small boy’s. She was pretty, perhaps midthirties, with soft-looking caramel-colored hair and striking blue eyes.
“Hello,” he said, surprised. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I hope you can. I’m sorry to show up so late in the day. Earlier, Johnny wasn’t well. I’ve been waiting for him to feel well enough to come along. I didn’t have anyone to leave him with.”
Ah, a newcomer.
The boy looked about three, four, or five—Henry wasn’t much good with children’s ages. His sandy-blond hair was in need of a trim, and his flushed color and faraway look said he truly was ill. Henry put out his arm in invitation.
So much for that beer.
“That’s fine. Please, come in. I’ll do what I can to help.” His curiosity more than roused, Henry walked with her to the chairs in front of his desk. “Would your boy like to lie down? I have a bed in my rooms behind the office. Perhaps he’d be more comfortable there.”
She brushed back the hair that had fallen over her son’s brow. “Thank you, but no. I think he’d be frightened.”
“Fine, then.” Henry waited until she and her boy were both seated, after which he went around his desk and took his own seat. “What’s this about?”
She glanced at her son, around the room, and then back at him. “I heard about John Brinkman dying.” A shadow of grief crossed her face. Again, her gaze skittered from his. “A Denver newspaper with a halftone image showed up at my place of employment.”
“Yes, it’s been hard for all of us. We’ll miss him greatly.”
She nodded. “I was shocked, seeing his image. It was also the first time I knew his full name.”
“You’re a friend of his?” He couldn’t help but lead her; she seemed so befuddled, and a bit weak. He wondered when she’d eaten last.
“Yes, I was. A good friend.”
His attention went on high alert. What does that mean? The beer he’d been dreaming about flew from his mind. “Why don’t you begin with your name and where you’re from. Whatever you tell me is completely confidential.” He glanced at her boy and smiled, but that didn’t produce any response.
“First, I must say that I have no money to pay you.”
All right. He’d done charity work many times. The Mother of Mercy Orphanage was one of his steady customers. “That’s not a problem.”
“Thank you. My name’s Elizabeth Smith. My son and I are originally from Virginia, but have been living in Denver since just before his birth.”
“About four hundred miles from here.”
She nodded. “It took almost all my savings just to get here.” When she put a protective arm around the boy, a slim band of gold on her fourth finger glimmered in the lantern light.
Could this all be an act? Why do I feel suspicious? He didn’t know.
“I’m sorry to be so evasive, Mr. Glass,” she said. “I understand you were John’s attorney, and are still the attorney for his ranch and businesses. I would have gone to someone else if there’d been another in town.”
This is getting more interesting by the moment.
“That’s all right. I can handle more than one client at a time. Like I said, what you tell me remains within these walls. Don’t be frightened.”
The small smile his comment induced seemed to break the ice. She let out a large breath and rubbed Johnny’s back. The child was being unobtrusive, fiddling with a small toy he’d pulled from his pocket. His flushed cheeks weren’t a good sign, or his glazed eyes.
“Johnny is John’s son.”
Henry snapped his gaze up to hers.
“It’s true.”
Could that be? Had John known of a son? Surely not. He would have included him in his will. And he would have brought him and his mother here to Eden long ago. Sent support, as he’d done for his girls all their lives.
An instant dislike pushed up within him. His first thought was that Elizabeth wanted to cash in on John’s dying. Just because the boy was named Johnny didn’t mean a thing. She’d seen the announcement about his death, knew he was worth a fortune, and came sniffing around to see what she could find. Who could refute her story? Or maybe the boy’s real pa put her up to the charade. They might be working together. Or . . . she might be telling the truth.
Unable to control himself, his gaze dropped once again to the child, looking for any resemblance to his friend. If this was John’s son, Henry felt sure he hadn’t known of his birth. He’d have been overjoyed.
So many questions . . .
Elizabeth’s hands began to shake. He’d taken so long to reply, she was probably frightened to death. “Have you eaten today?”
She sat looking at him.
“Mrs. Smith?”
She shook her head. “I just had enough for Johnny to have a little soup.”
“Before we go any further, you need to eat.” Henry couldn’t turn a blind eye to her distress, even if she was lying. She didn’t have any extra weight to lose. Most likely she’d had little to eat on the trip there. He stood, circled the desk, and helped her to stand. “I’m taking you back to the hotel. Johnny will be more comfortable, and I’ll have supper brought to your room.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she looked away.
“Come on,” he said gently. Throwing caution to the wind, he hefted the small boy into his arms. “I assume you’re rooming across the street since you said the hotel, but I have to ask because there is a boardinghouse in town too, though no one ever seems to find it when they’re new.”
Her face turned up to his. “I didn’t know. I’m sure the cost is much more affordable than the hotel. Can you direct me?”
“Later. If need be. Tonight you’re staying in the Eden Hotel, where there’s a kitchen right downstairs.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glass.”
He held back the offer for her to call him Henry. She could be playing him for a fool. He had to keep a professional distance as he researched her story—once he got one from her. Heat from Johnny radiated through the child’s clothing. The boy in my arms might be John’s son!
“As soon as you’re settled, I’ll fetch the doctor.”
With the boy in his embrace, they descended the stairs in Eden’s evening light.
John, do you have something to tell me? Is this boy your son? Did you know Elizabeth on one of your trips? I’d greatly appreciate any clues you can send my way . . .