Love's Bounty Read online

  Love’s Bounty

  Rosanne Bittner

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2000 by Rosanne Bittner

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition April 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-68230-337-5

  There is no greater wonder than the way the face of a young woman fits into a man’s mind, and stays there, and he could never tell you why; it just seems it was the thing he wanted.

  “Catriona”

  —Robert Louis Stevenson

  Chapter One

  Late May, 1884

  Callie walked slowly around the hanging platform, hardly aware of the bustle of people around her, the clatter of wagons, dogs barking, children laughing and screaming, playing tag. The hanging planned for tomorrow had turned the streets of Rawlins, Wyoming, into a virtual circus, with people coming in from as far away as Cheyenne to watch the gruesome event.

  A train whistle wailed in the distance, and she did not doubt the train’s passenger cars were stuffed with more gawkers. A hanging was big news. Whole families were coming in to watch. After all, seeing men justly punished was a good lesson to children, showing what could happen if you make the wrong choices in life.

  Callie was herself curious. The newspaper said a good hangman fixed things so a man’s neck would break instantly once the noose whipped tightly around his throat. Otherwise he’d kick for a while. She hoped that if she ever found her mother’s murderers, their necks wouldn’t break right away. She wanted to see them kick.

  The smell of fresh lumber permeated her nostrils as she studied the sturdy crossbar, which displayed three drops of heavy rope, each with a beckoning noose at its end. A sudden gust of wind swirled particles of sawdust into her face then, forcing her to look away and cough. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes as she walked around where she could be out of the wind.

  With the sun behind her, she could better see the professional hangman who stood atop the platform looking like the grim reaper. According to the town newspaper, his name was Jack Krebbs. A tall and bony man, with a cracked and weathered face, his attire fit his profession. The black frock coat and tall black hat reminded her more of a mortician than a hangman, but then, she supposed there wasn’t much difference. Men of each profession relied on death for their income, but someone had to do this.

  The men to be hung were train robbers, men bent on getting rich quickly and easily. The railroad had presented a new way to do just that. These men had killed innocent people during their robbery. She could not tolerate thieves, especially those who would kill to get what they wanted. How could a man enjoy his money when he got it that way?

  She pulled a hand-knitted shawl closer around her narrow shoulders. In spite of a week of abnormally hot weather, there was a chill in the air today, maybe because of the gray clouds that spoke of death. Whatever the reason, her simple calico dress suddenly felt too thin. A person couldn’t depend on the weather this time of year, not in Wyoming. Heck, many times she’d hung out wash in warm sunshine in February, only to huddle inside against a May snowstorm. The mountains liked to fool a person that way. Sometimes she pictured them talking to each other, planning their next surprise.

  That was when she was little, when she could tell her stories to her mother. God, she missed her. Ellie Hobbs’s passing wouldn’t be so unbearable if she could have helped the woman…if her death had not been the horror that haunted her sleep every night.

  The platform’s trapdoors suddenly banged open, interrupting her thoughts and making Callie gasp and jump back. Her gaze darted toward the hangman, whose hand was still on the lever that controlled the doors, and she realized he was testing the door springs one last time.

  “Come away from there, Callie!” Sheriff Taylor told her. “It isn’t good for you to watch these things.”

  Callie turned to scowl at the man, whose gray hair and potbelly reminded her of her father. They’d been good friends before her father got himself kicked in the head by Buster, a big, sometimes ornery plow horse. Her mother had shot that horse, but Callie never really blamed the animal. Clayton Hobbs and Buster just plain never did get along, and sometimes her pa was kind of mean to the horse.

  After her father’s death, her mother managed to keep the farm going, even raised a few horses and cattle…until the day the outlaws came.

  “I’m eighteen years old now, Sheriff Taylor. I might still have freckles and I know I’m not much for size, but I’m old enough to be anyplace I want and watch anything I want.”

  She thought how Rawlins could use a new sheriff, especially since the arrival of the railroad had brought so many new settlers. Court Taylor spent most of his time sitting on the front porch of the jailhouse, drinking coffee and eating biscuits and cookies townspeople brought to him, or having a smoke with one of the business owners. He could handle the common drunk who might get riled and start a fight in one of the town taverns, but if any big trouble rose, Court usually telegraphed for help from soldiers or a U.S. marshal.

  Rawlins was growing in size, and so was Court Taylor, physically. His big belly made it hard for him to chase anyone down, and his two deputies weren’t much help. Sam Tate and Johnny Corbin were both family men who were not eager to put their lives on the line for any cause.

  “Besides,” she added, “it does my heart good to watch bad men die.” She walked closer to the sheriff so she didn’t have to shout above the crowd.

  Taylor looked down at her with a frown, putting his hands on his hips authoritatively. Callie thought how his sunburned nose looked extra red against his white mustache. It was almost comical.

  “A hanging is just more violence, Callie Hobbs,” he told her. “You’ve seen enough death and violence to last a lifetime. Besides, I let you come to the jail and look at these men, and you said they aren’t the ones you’re looking for, so why don’t you just go home? Watching these three hang won’t erase what happened to your mother. Get out of here and try to forget. Find some peace, Callie. Let it go for once and for all.”

  Callie raised her chin. “I will never find peace, Sheriff Taylor, until I see the men who killed my ma hanging from nooses just like these men,” she answered. “Or dead some other way; don’t matter to me how they die. And I didn’t come here just to watch the hanging, Sheriff. I came to talk to the man who brought those murderers in. The paper said he’d be back to watch, that he gets another five hundred dollars once the deed is done. Besides that, he supposedly watches the men he captures hang, whenever possible. I expect that for some reason he takes pleasure in it. I reckon that’s his business, but it means he must be ruthless, and that’s the kind of man I need. I want you to point him out for me. I intend to hire him.”

  Taylor frowned, folding his arms in front of him, looking big as a bear to Callie, with his huge belly and his big arms and shoulders, a mixture of muscle and fat. He stood a good six feet, big, like her pa was. “Hire him for what?”

  “What do you think? To help me find my ma’s killers.”

  Taylor sighed and shook his head, his hands again moving to his hips. “Callie, it’s been over a year, and there’s been no trace of them. I couldn’t find them, soldiers couldn’t fi
nd them, and the U.S. marshal couldn’t find them. How do you think a bounty hunter totally unfamiliar with the matter will find them, especially after over a year since the crime. Where in heck would he even begin to look?”

  “I have some ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s between me and the bounty hunter.”

  He shook his head. “Callie, your pa and I were good friends. I feel responsible for you, especially now that your ma’s dead too. I’ve asked you time and again to just sell that farm and move into town, where you’ll be safe, meet yourself some nice young man who can take care of you, and—”

  “I can take care of myself, thank you. And I’m not ready to let go of the farm yet. There’s too many memories there. And Pa was good at paying his bills, so I don’t owe any money. I even have a little saved, enough to maybe pay that bounty hunter.”

  Taylor drew in his breath in a long sigh. “Christian Mercy comes high.”

  “Christian Mercy?” Callie frowned. “His name is Christian Mercy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Callie shook her head. “What kind of a name is that for a bounty hunter?”

  Taylor shrugged. “A name is a name. He’s damn good, so they say. I doubt he’ll help you out, since we don’t even know the names of the men who killed your mother, so technically there is no bounty on them—no reason for the man to go after them.”

  “Sure there is! They raped and killed my mother!”

  The sheriff pushed back his hat. “Callie, bounty hunters hunt men for the money, not because of what they did.”

  “Well, I don’t believe you. I think most of them must have more reason than that—something burning in their insides that makes them want to go after bad men.”

  Taylor watched her sadly. “And you’re an innocent who doesn’t understand a damn thing about men like Christian Mercy. You’ve got no business trying to hire the likes of him. Men like that don’t have hearts. He won’t care about your mother, or your own little broken heart, or the fact that you’re alone now.”

  A wagon clattered by, stirring up a cloud of dust. Callie moved up onto the boardwalk. “Well, now, I expect all of that is for me to find out, isn’t it?”

  “Callie, you’ve got to let this go. I’ve got U.S. marshals all over asking questions, talking to other men they bring in, seeing if they can find somebody who knows somebody who knows anything about what happened at your ranch. That’s the best we can do. Hiring a bounty hunter to look for men who don’t even have a bounty on their heads, men who don’t fit the descriptions of wanted men we’re aware of…it just won’t do you any good at all.”

  Callie fought tears, absolutely hating it when anger and frustration made her want to cry. “Sheriff, I have to do something myself or go crazy. Every one of those men’s faces is carved into my memory as clear as seeing my own face in the mirror. The least I can do for my mother is find the men who killed her and see that they pay for it! Are you going to introduce me to the man who brought in these train robbers, or do I have to march into every tavern, hotel room, and rooming house in town, looking for him?”

  Taylor rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head again. “I’ll see if I can find him.”

  “Have him meet me out back of Chet Willis’s stables.”

  Taylor looked around, pressing his lips together in frustration. “You don’t even know what kind of man he is. Lord, girl, he kills men for money. Maybe it’s not safe for you to meet with him alone.”

  Callie shrugged. “He goes after men who break the law. I doubt he’d turn around and break the law himself. Besides, there’s enough people in town right now that a man couldn’t get away with much without being noticed or without people hearing someone scream. And I can scream darn loud, had plenty of practice calling Pa in from the fields.”

  Taylor grinned resignedly. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

  “Thank you for looking. I’ll be at the stables.” Callie marched off, dodging her way through the unusually crowded boardwalk. She passed a vendor selling medicine, another selling hats. Yet another was trying to sell small wooden carvings of hanging platforms, little pieces of rope and all.

  “Something to remind the children of the wages of sin,” he told parents.

  In the distance the train whistle blew again, and Callie thought how convenient trains would have been for her parents when they first came out here in 1860 by covered wagon, six years before she was born. Her father had dreams of going all the way to California to look for gold, but he’d come across a family returning from there who told him finding that gold was not nearly as easy as some made it out to be, told him he’d be better off picking up a good piece of free land and staking it out for himself. Clayton Hobbs had done just that.

  Callie remembered how unhappy her mother seemed when she was growing up, silently putting up with the hardships of settling in this harsh land, often talking wistfully about what life had been like back East. Callie knew Ellie Hobbs stayed only because of Callie’s pa. The ranch became his dream, and a woman’s place was with her husband. For her poor mother to die the way she did…it just wasn’t fair.

  She reached the stables, where her own horse was being held for her. She nodded to Chet Willis. “I’ll be picking up my horse soon,” she told him. “I’m meeting someone here first.”

  Willis nodded in reply, and Callie walked around behind the stables and climbed up on a fence to sit and wait for the man who’d caused all this commotion by bringing in three wanted train robbers. She tried to picture what he’d be like, imagining a burly, mean-looking, mean-spirited gunslinger who smelled bad and needed a shave. Oh, well. Who cared, as long as he was good at finding outlaws?

  Chapter Two

  An hour passed before Callie noticed someone walking toward her from around the front of the stables. He looked too young and too clean to be the bounty hunter she was expecting. He wore guns on both sides of his slender hips, and the gun belt that held them was slung low and packed with bullets.

  Just in case he was the man she was supposed to meet, she took a close inventory as he approached. He looked strong, his upper torso obviously muscular from the way his shirt fit. The shirt was a simple white cotton front-button shirt, and he wore the same denim pants most men wore now. They were good, rugged pants, well suited for the rough life of a rancher or miner.

  This man’s pants fit him snugly. The brown leather boots that showed at the bottom of his pant legs looked worn but in good condition.

  He was watching her now as he came closer. He wore a common wide-brimmed hat, and from under it she saw a few straight shocks of sand-colored hair that became wavy where it touched his shirt collar at the back of his neck. She thought how although he looked clean shaven, he needed a haircut. He stopped to light a cigarette before finally coming close enough that she could see his face better.

  Lordy, he’s maybe thirty, she thought. Thirty seemed old to her but still too young for what she expected. An emotion she couldn’t even describe shot through her chest when she first met his eyes. They were the most amazing blue! His nose was straight, his chin square, his build just about right, with broad shoulders and powerful-looking forearms that showed from his rolled-up shirtsleeves.

  He was just about the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The thought surprised her, since after witnessing what happened to her mother she felt no appreciation for any man in a womanly sense. Such feelings had left her. She acknowledged that he was simply quite handsome, and that was that.

  When he reached to take the cigarette from his mouth, she noticed his hands also looked strong. They weren’t soft and well manicured like Eddy Lewis’s. Eddie was the young banker who’d shown an interest in her. They were tanned and weathered, and showed a dusty look, like when a man had been grooming his horse.

  “You Callie Hobbs?” he asked, unsmiling.

  Callie climbed down from the fence, realizing then that he stood perhaps not quite six feet tall. H
e wasn’t huge all over like Sheriff Taylor, just a good, strong-looking man. “I am,” she answered. “You the bounty hunter?”

  He put the cigarette to his lips and took another draw from it before answering with a nod. Callie saw something there, a coldness. Yes, there was at least one little thing she’d expected. He was capable of no feelings at all when necessary.

  “You don’t look like a bounty hunter.”

  He kept the cigarette between his lips as he answered. “What the hell is a bounty hunter supposed to look like?”

  Still that coldness there…no hint of a smile.

  Callie shrugged, folding her arms. “I don’t know. I just figured you’d be older, meaner-looking.”

  Now he showed a little smirk. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Those cold blue eyes showed no particular emotion as he raked her body with a discerning gaze that made her stiffen. Were all men rapists at heart? Was she taking a chance in planning to travel alone with this man in search of her mother’s killers? Maybe he was just as bad as some of the men he searched for after all. Sheriff Taylor could be right about her being wrong to trust this one just because he tracked down outlaws and brought them to justice.

  Lordy! Here came the urge to cry again. She turned away. “Maybe we should just forget this.”

  There was a pause before he answered. “I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to forget. Sheriff Taylor just said there was a young lady waiting here back of the stables with a job for me. He didn’t explain. He just seemed kind of peeved about it and said to let you explain.”

  Callie walked a few feet away. “He’s peeved because he thinks he has to watch out for me on account of he was good friends with my folks and kind of watched me grow up.” She turned to face him, squinting from the sunlight. “You called me a young lady. Does that mean you have respect for women? I mean, could a woman travel alone with the likes of you and trust you to be a gentleman?”