Lawman In Disguise
Should she take him at his word or not? Why should she take a chance that he was telling her the truth?
There was sincerity shining in his dark eyes, but she’d learned from bitter experience that sincerity could be faked. William Henderson, Billy Joe’s father, had been a sweet-talking man with a sincere expression on his face when they’d courted, but shortly after they’d wed, he had turned her life into a nightmare that had lasted until he’d been taken away to prison.
“Again,” Thorn continued, “I know you have no reason to believe what I’m about to tell you, but I’ll say it, anyway—I’m a Christian, law-abiding man, Mrs. Henderson. The Bible is my guide.”
William had said he was a Christian man, too, but he’d twisted the Scriptures to excuse his cruelty to her till she’d almost stopped believing there was a God who cared what happened to her and her little boy. It wasn’t until her husband was killed in a prison riot that she felt able to take an easy breath and start to believe in God’s care for her again.
“Then why are you—” she began, then caught herself. “Never mind—you said you couldn’t say, so I won’t press you to give me an answer you can’t give. I’ll just say that I’m a Christian woman, too.”
At least she tried to be, even though it was hard. Was it truly Christian of her to distrust Thorn—to distrust nearly every man she encountered—because of her abusive late husband? Forgiveness was something she struggled with. She knew it was her duty as a Christian, but it was so very hard to find forgiveness in her heart for the man who had beaten her and Billy Joe for all those years.
Had the Lord sent Thorn to her as a test, to see if she could show compassion and understanding to a man who, by all appearances, was a criminal like her husband? Maybe. The Bible said the Lord worked in mysterious ways—certainly they’d never been clear to her. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to bring herself, and especially her son, closer to God—to live within His plan for their lives.
“We go to church every other Sunday,” she informed Thorn, “which is all I can get off from work, whether Billy Joe’s wanting to attend or not. And I try to get him to go without me when I’m working. I’m trying to be the best ma I can to him. I’m hoping if I ‘train my child up in the way he should go,’ as the Bible says, he’ll turn out to be a better man than his father was.” And what of the example she herself set for her son? Could she teach him a lesson in Christian compassion by letting Thorn stay with them?
The man in question was now staring at her, and she guessed he was wondering if she was always so forthright with strangers. But she had always used that very plain speaking as a sort of armor against the world.
“I have an idea,” he began with some hesitation, “if you’re going to let me stay, that is. You might use that permission to motivate your son, since he wants you to help me. Tell him I can only stay if he does whatever you say, whatever he’s been reluctant to do...such as finishing his chores, going to church, minding his manners and suchlike. But that’s up to you, ma’am, of course—you know your son best, and I hope you don’t mind the suggestion.”
She blinked in surprise, then considered what he’d said. “You know, that’s actually a good idea,” she murmured after a moment. She could use this to teach her son about being a Christian, and give him a reason to behave, all in one. “Very well, Mr. Thorn...you may stay—for now.”
“Much obliged, ma’am. I won’t give you cause to regret it.”
But could he really promise that? Even if she believed him, that he was riding with the outlaws for an honorable reason, he was still technically on the run from the law. If her neighbors found out she was harboring a fugitive, she’d never survive the scandal...
She asked another question to distract herself from that worry. “Umm, you didn’t say, exactly—is Thorn your first or your last name?”
“First name,” he said, and his face twisted as if the name caused him to feel bitter. “Last name is Dawson.”
He must have seen the skeptical look on her face. “I’m telling you the truth, Mrs. Henderson.”
“All right then,” she said. “You can stay here until you’re well enough to ride off, Mr. Dawson. But I can’t have you dying on me. Having a dead outlaw’s body in my barn would be a little hard to explain. Simpson Creek has a very good doctor, and I insist on having him see you. I have no nursing experience, so I need his guidance on how to treat you, if you’re to recover. You can tell him the same thing you told me,” she added quickly, guessing he was about to protest. And that made her irritable. She was trying to help him, and he wanted to question that?
“And you needn’t look so doubtful,” she snapped. “Dr. Walker isn’t your usual small-town quacksalver. He knows all the latest things in medicine, and I’ve seen him save folks who were at death’s door. He doesn’t use all those snake oil remedies like calomel, either.”
“All right, all right,” the wounded man said, waving a hand in surrender. “Have him come—if he’s not needed treating the others in town.”
She saw him wince and guessed that the movement sent fresh, stabbing waves of pain lancing through his wounded shoulder. Either that, or he felt guilty at the thought of the bank president and teller who had been shot.
“I’ll send Billy Joe for him,” she said. “And don’t worry, I’ll tell him to go straight to the doctor’s house, and not to breathe a word of your presence here to any of his no-account friends.” She could easily picture Billy Joe, flushed with triumph at having a “real gen-u-ine outlaw” in his barn, bragging to all his pals. As Daisy turned to leave the stall, she said a little prayer that her son would be obedient enough to follow her command. She still didn’t know whether or not to believe the man who lay in the stall when he said he wasn’t an outlaw, but just this once, she’d take on faith something she’d been told. She just hoped she wouldn’t come to regret trusting him in her and Billy Joe’s lives.
And if he wasn’t an outlaw, what was he doing riding with them?
Chapter Two
Daisy sighed as Billy Joe took off down the street at a run toward Dr. Walker’s house at the other end of Simpson Creek, leaving the kitchen door gaping open behind him, as usual. Out of habit, she went and shut it, but her mind wasn’t on the flies she was trying to keep out, or her son’s surprisingly quick agreement to her conditions for letting the wounded man stay. It was fixed on Thorn himself.
Thorn—odd first name; short for something else, like Thornton?—Dawson was a puzzle to her. She’d told him so much about herself, but had learned so little about him in return. All she really knew was that he was hurt—and that she’d promised to help.
And that meant she shouldn’t be just sitting here, gazing out the window at the barn and wondering about the man lying in one of the stalls. She should be getting bandaging materials ready—or would Doc Walker bring them? At the very least, she could put a pot of water on to boil in case the doctor needed it.
By the time she’d gathered an old sheet and set some water to boil on the stove, though, Billy Joe still hadn’t returned with the doctor. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was getting late and she still hadn’t done anything about supper. She was sorely tempted to go out to the barn to gather the eggs that her son hadn’t collected, but to do so would mean being alone with the stranger out there. Yes, they were alone in the barn before, when she’d sent Billy Joe away, but in that moment protecting her son had been her top—her only—priority. But Billy Joe was fine now, and there was no reason for her to pass any more time than necessary with a strange man. She’d have to face him again at some point, of course, since he’d be staying with them for who knew how long, but it wasn’t something she was ready to do again just yet.
Minutes later, Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the shadow of a man’s figure ripple into the yard between the house and the barn. There hadn’t been many full-grown men on her property since her husband had been taken away to jail—and she still felt the familiar sense of dread at the sight of a man’s shadow. But it was the doctor, finally, carrying his big black leather bag. Billy Joe ran before him, looking back over his shoulder with an obvious impatience for the physician to reach the wounded man. She’d better go out and see what assistance Dr. Walker might require from her. Would he think she was a foolish woman for calling the doctor first before the sheriff, under the circumstances?
By the time she got out to the barn, Dr. Walker had already hung his frock coat over the half door of the stall and rolled up his sleeves, and was peering at Dawson’s shoulder wound. The doctor had already pulled away what remained of the bloody shirt off the outlaw’s shoulder.
“Thanks for coming, Dr. Walker,” Daisy murmured, feeling her stomach roil as she flinched away from the sight of the dried streaks of blood, as well as the man’s bare, well-muscled shoulder. She never dealt well with the sight of blood—not since she was a girl, and Peter...but no, she wouldn’t think of her brother now. That was a memory best left buried.
“Mmm. I’d have been here sooner, but I was a mite busy with Mr. Amos and his bank teller. I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that they’ll live, by all indications,” he muttered.
“I’m real glad to hear it,” Thorn said, and he sounded like he meant it. “It was a lowdown, cowardly thing, what Zeke did, firing like that when there was no cause for it at all. If I’d noticed him aiming just a minute sooner, maybe I could’ve...” He shook his head. “Makes no difference what I would or could’ve done—I know that. There’s no changing what happened. But I sure am mighty glad to hear that both of those men will be all right.”
Dr. Walker gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “You’ll recover, too, once I get the bullet out of your shoulder. But you must know, you’ve lost a lot of blood...”
She was aware that her son was staring at the shoulder wound with a fascinated horror. “Billy Joe, go inside the house.”
“But I’m gonna help the doctor!” Billy Joe protested. “He said he’d need someone to hold the lantern so he could see to clean and dress the wounds.”
She was sure a clear view of Thorn’s injuries was not a sight that a young boy should be seeing. “I’ll do that,” she said in a tone that brooked no disobedience. She would simply have to push past her distaste for the sight of bloody injuries. Perhaps she’d be able to keep her focus on the lantern and not look at the wound at all. “Billy Joe,” she continued, “you gather those eggs like I told you to, then head inside.”
“Are you going to be able to help me without getting faint, Miss Daisy?” Dr. Walker asked. “We don’t want to risk you dropping the lantern and setting your barn on fire, do we?” His tone was no-nonsense, but his eyes were kind.
She set her chin. “I’ll do what needs to be done, as I always have,” she insisted, though her legs already felt like jelly. “Will you have enough light out here with the lantern, or should we move him into the kitchen?”
“Oughta be enough light with that hole up there.” The doc nodded toward the gap in the roof that let in the last of the day’s light at the moment as the sun slowly set, but allowed rain in as well, whenever the rain came. She was just thankful that hill country in Texas rarely got truly cold, or the draught the hole let in might be harmful to the animals. She knew she should get it fixed. She should do a lot of things to maintain her run-down property.
Daisy acknowledged the barn roof’s state of disrepair with a rueful grimace. “I’ve been meaning to get that roof repaired forever,” she muttered. “There just hasn’t been any spare cash—or anyone to do it.”
Thorn had been quiet, watching both of them as the doctor spoke to her, but now he spoke up. “Maybe I can fix that for you, Mrs. Henderson, before I ride on.”
By an effort of will, Daisy kept a skeptical look from her face. Even if he was sincere in his offer—which she doubted, for why would a stranger concern himself with the state of her barn roof?—he must realize there was no feasible way for him to complete the task. It would be a while before he was fit enough to climb up onto her barn roof and repair it. And even then, he’d need to stay hidden, not be working up there in full view of anyone passing by.
“Mmm,” muttered the doctor. “I’d best get on with it, I suppose. Miss Daisy, would you be able to fetch me some clean water, please?”
“Of course. I set some to boil when I sent my son to fetch you, then took it off the fire so it could cool down when I saw that you’d arrived. And there’s a spare cot in the tack room—I’ll bring out some bedding for it.”
“Excellent,” Dr. Walker stated. “I didn’t like the idea of him lying in the dirty straw with these wounds.”
Daisy was grateful for an excuse to get some fresh air before she helped the doctor, even though she had a feeling Nolan Walker would use the time to ask some pointed questions of the stranger in her barn.
She wondered if Thorn would give more answers to the doctor than he’d shared with her. Men tended to do that—hide more troubling details from her, as if she wasn’t strong enough to handle the truth. As if she hadn’t dealt with an abusive husband, and then the shame of a jailed husband while raising her son on her own. She was stronger than most folks realized. Strong enough to deal with this new complication in her life.
Much later, when the ordeal of cleaning out the wounds with carbolic acid and bandaging them was over, the doctor gave Thorn a dose of laudanum, instructed Daisy about his care and then departed, promising to check on him tomorrow.
Back in the house, she scrambled the eggs and set a plateful in front of Billy Joe. Then she loaded up a second plate with eggs, a thick slice of fresh bread and some of her preserves.
“Is that for Mr. Thorn?” Billy Joe asked eagerly. “I can take it to him, Ma!”
“Call him Mr. Dawson, honey. And no, I need you to stay put and eat your supper,” Daisy ordered.
Billy Joe pouted. “But I thought you wanted me to help take care of him. Wasn’t that what you said?”
“I do. And you will. Don’t forget what we agreed,” she reminded him. “You’re to look after Mr. Dawson while I’m at work.”
Her shift as cook at the hotel restaurant lasted from dawn until suppertime. She got only half an hour for a break after the midday crowd thinned out. She usually sat down on the back porch and ate whatever could be spared from the leftovers on the stove, while Tilly Pridemore, the waitress, kept an eye on the dining room.
“I’ll rush back here during my break,” Daisy told her son, “and check on Mr. Dawson then. But you’re responsible for seeing to it that he has whatever he needs the rest of the time.”
“I know, Ma.” Billy Joe rolled his eyes. “You already tole me a hunnerd times.”
“I don’t like that tone, young man. Remember our deal? You promised to be on your best behavior. Have you changed your mind?” Please, no, she prayed. I need this chance to get through to him.
Billy Joe was a good boy at heart—she knew that as surely as she knew her own name. But even good boys could be persuaded to make bad decisions, especially when their friends were leading the way. If Billy Joe was busy looking after their houseguest, it would keep him away from his troublemaking friends, which had to be a good thing. It might even help her boy learn some responsibility.
“No, ma’am,” Billy Joe said meekly. “I’ll look after Mr. Dawson real good, I promise.”
“And you won’t go wandering off with your friends and leave him alone?”
“No way! Not when I can stay here and talk to Mr. Dawson about outlawing.” He looked far too excited at the idea, and Daisy winced. Was it foolish of her to leave her son alone with a man who would fill his head with tall tales that would glamorize the wild life of an outlaw? No, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Thorn would do that, not after he had already acknowledged that it wasn’t good for the boy to admire outlaws as he did.
“Just see that you don’t bother Mr. Dawson when he’s trying to rest,” she said. “He’s going to need time to heal.”
“Maybe he’ll heal real slow,” Billy Joe said hopefully. “Then he can stay for a long time. I want him to stay and teach me stuff!”
“Teach you stuff?” Daisy echoed, aghast. “Such as what?”
“Like how to do a fast draw,” Billy Joe told her, in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious to her.
“What makes you think he’s a fast draw?” Daisy asked. Had Thorn Dawson been boasting of gun-slinging skills to her impressionable son? Wounds or no wounds, he’d be out of her barn tonight if that was true!
Billy Joe shrugged. “Ma, an outlaw has to be a fast draw,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “I’ll just bet he’s good at it, that’s all. Fast as lightning. You can tell.”
They’d do better to hope the man would heal as fast as lightning—and go on his way before anyone else found out he was here. Mr. Prendergast, the hotel proprietor, wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest hint of a scandal when it came to the people he employed. If he found out she was harboring a fugitive, she’d lose her job, and then how would she support herself and her son?
“Ma?” Billy Joe said, interrupting her thoughts. “You sure you don’t want me to take that plate out to Mr. Dawson? I’m all done with my supper, see?” He gestured to his plate, which he’d emptied while she’d been woolgathering. The boy always shoveled down food as if he thought it was going to try to run away from him. And he was always hungry for more. Keeping him fed only got more challenging the bigger he grew—and the challenge wouldn’t get any easier now that they had another mouth to feed. She’d just have to take it one day at a time.
“No, I’ll do it,” she insisted. She could tell that the process of cleaning and bandaging his wounds had been painful and exhausting for Thorn. The last thing he needed was an excitable boy bouncing around him, trying to pump him for exciting stories. Picking up the plate, she headed for the door. It was dark now, and she carried a lantern to light her way into the dark barn.
She found Thorn Dawson asleep in the stall on the cot, covered with the spare blanket she’d brought out. He didn’t stir when she set the dish of food on a bale of hay and softly called his name. The laudanum must have taken effect faster than she’d expected, on top of the exhaustion the man must already have been experiencing.
He was sleeping on his side, his ribs rising and falling with his soft, regular breathing. Seeing his features relaxed in slumber, Daisy found it impossible to believe this man could be an outlaw. But appearances could be deceiving, couldn’t they?
It would be best if Thorn left as soon as he was physically able, as he’d said. But she shouldn’t be thinking of him by his first name, Thorn, as if he were a friend. He should be strictly “Mr. Dawson” to her, even in her thoughts, Daisy told herself. She didn’t know him, not really. And she saw no sense in trying to get to know him when he would just be on his way as soon as he recovered. She’d treat him with courtesy and with simple Christian compassion—no more than that. But no less than that, either. Not when she’d decided that it was her Christian duty to care for him.
He’d said he hadn’t done the shooting and wasn’t really an outlaw, after all. Why, if either of the wounded bank employees took a turn for the worse and died, she could be sending Thorn Dawson to the gallows, even though he wasn’t the man who had shot them, Daisy realized. A judge might be so bent on making an example of Mr. Dawson that, innocent or not, he’d pay the ultimate price for another man’s actions. She shuddered at the thought of Thorn Dawson with a rope around his neck.
No, she had to help him, even though it would be hard. It was the right thing to do. Blessed are the merciful, Jesus had said. So she was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? She could urge him to turn himself in once he was healed and ready to leave, couldn’t she? Sighing at the complexity of the question, Daisy left the barn and returned to the house.
* * *
He’d thought at first she was a dream, a vision conjured up by the effects of the laudanum, which fogged his brain and made opening his eyes wider than slits seem impossible. But he’d been aware of her presence and had even stolen a peek when she turned to stare at his wounded leg and shoulder, both now all properly cleaned up and bandaged.
Daisy. He’d heard the doctor call her that. The name suited her. Thorn could see that she’d been a beautiful woman once—and could be again, if someone cared enough to look after her. That careworn look would fade, he knew, with the right man at her side. Evidently, Billy Joe’s father hadn’t been the right man, not by a long shot, but Thorn could tell Daisy Henderson was a good mother to her son.
Suddenly—and quite illogically—he wondered what it would be like to be that right man for her, and for her boy. But there was no way that could happen. Not with him living a lie, pretending to be one of the Griggs gang. And not even as his true self, an officer of the law, constantly gone on missions to keep the peace.
He’d been so proud, so happy when he’d become a Texas Ranger. He’d been confident that his work would help make Texas a better, safer place. But he wasn’t a Texas Ranger anymore, he reminded himself. Not officially. There were no Texas Rangers—they had been disbanded when the carpetbaggers’ government took over the reins after Texas’s defeat in the War Between the States, and E. J. Davis, the new governor, had set up a new police department. The State Police were largely despised as tools of the Reconstruction government. Moreover, most of the men were motivated by greed rather than by an honest desire to serve, which meant that far too many were open to bribes and other dirty dealings. Instead of acting as an effective force against the growing lawlessness in the state, they were, in fact, part of the problem. But a Ranger leader whom Thorn respected, Leander McNelly, had encouraged him to join the State Police, anyway.
“Better times are coming, Dawson,” McNelly had told him. “This carpetbag Federal government won’t keep Texas under its thumb forever, and when it loses its grip, we’ll want to be able to start the Rangers up again. So go ahead and join the State Police if they’ll have you, and you can be our eyes and ears till those better times come. This way there’ll be at least one officer that’s not corrupt.”
The State Police had accepted his application, either because they were too disorganized to investigate his background and realize he’d been a Texas Ranger, or because there were others doing the same thing. It was a living, Thorn supposed, but it was quite a comedown from the real thing. Instead of keeping bandits out of the state, they were used as instruments to keep the conquered Texans afraid and compliant. It had been a relief when his division had been tasked with bringing down the notorious Griggs gang, and Thorn had agreed to go and join the gang to report on their movements.
So now I am a Ranger in disguise, disguised further as an outlaw, he mused. It was enough to make his head ache, trying to remember who he really was.
What he did know was that Daisy Henderson was a lady, as well as a kind and generous woman, and he was in no position to court her. But perhaps he could do some good while he stayed here, even if that “good” consisted only of providing temporary mentoring to a boy sorely in need of a father’s guiding hand.
Thunder rolled overhead, and a moment later rain began to patter on the roof overhead—or what’s left of it, he thought, as several drops found their way onto his head from above. Yes sir, if he stayed here, he was going to have to find a way to fix that roof for Daisy Henderson.
Groaning with the effort, he raised himself off the cot and dragged it to the side a few inches so the rain fell next to him, rather than on him. In doing so, he found the cloth-covered plate of food she’d left on the bale of hay, complete with a fork to eat with.