“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Will, but things have changed here. I’m afraid it will be a problem. The bluebellies have a list of everyone who wore the gray. If you buy the Kitner place, there’s sure to be the worst kind of trouble.”
Will counted out the money and pushed it forward. “No sir, there won’t be trouble. Because I’m not buying the Kitner place. Miss Dunne is.”
CHAPTER 15
Will drove from the hardware store to Pelton’s General Store and parked in the alley. Lumber, nails, whitewash, feed, and seed filled most of the wagon bed.
He didn’t expect anyone to bother his stuff during the short time he’d be inside Pelton’s, especially not with the bluebellies out in force today, but he didn’t like taking stupid chances, so he hid his tool purchases under feed sacks.
Beside him, Maggie still sat there with the same expression she’d worn since leaving the county office: a dreamy smile and faraway eyes, as if she were happily dazed.
At least she’d finally stopped thanking him. For a while there, it looked like she never would.
“I just can’t believe it’s real,” she said, as he helped her down from the wagon. “I mean… it’s a dream come true.”
“It’s real, all right. Now, come on. Let’s go inside and get what we need and get back out here before somebody decides to steal our stuff.”
“Oh, that would be terrible.”
“It would. Let’s go.”
Will held the door for Maggie, and they went inside, where Mr. Pelton once again greeted them warmly.
This time, they really loaded up. Will hated to spend the money, but this was exactly why he’d worked so hard in Colorado, and why he’d gone without and saved his pennies: to provide for his family.
There would be much work to do at the new place. Things to clean and fix. Fields to plow and plant. Livestock to gather. They would need chickens and pigs and a milk cow first.
So he was in no hurry to return to town. Especially not with bluebellies prowling the streets. The very sight of them made him hear trumpets and smell gun smoke.
So he filled the rest of the wagon with bacon, eggs, butter, lard, corn meal, sausages, beans, cheese, salted pork, smoked hams, dried cod fish, pickled mackerel, sugar, molasses, maple syrup, soap, a gallon of coal oil, bedding, rice, three bushels of potatoes, a barrel of flour, more tea for Mama, and, for Maggie, some sour pickles.
“Don’t go falling in the barrel now,” he joked.
Maggie finally snapped out of her daze and made a face. “I won’t, thank you very much. I learned my lesson.”
“Your papa sure was angry that day,” Mr. Pelton laughed.
“Yes, sir, he was. On rainy days, I still can’t sit quite straight,” she joked.
Will examined Pelton’s guns. He wanted the ladies to be better armed, so he purchased all three derringers in stock: a pair of .41 caliber Remingtons and a four-barreled, .32 caliber Sharps pepperbox with a birdshead grip.
Figuring he should have a shotgun of his own, he also purchased a cut down, double-barrel, 10-gauge, Wm. Moore Company messenger gun, along with a bandolier that would hold fifty shells.
Mr. Pelton added these firearms and ammunition to Will’s bill and announced the total, less apologetically this time, the man obviously happy to be back in business. “One hundred, sixty-one dollars and twenty-seven cents.”
Maggie gulped and looked like she’d swallowed a peach pit. “That’s a lot of money, Will.”
“It is, but that’s all right. This’ll set us up for a while. Besides, we have enough money. This is exactly what I was saving for. So don’t worry about it.”
She clasped his hand. “This is so kind of you, Will. I don’t know how to?—”
“And please,” Will interrupted, “don’t set to thanking me again. I’m worn out with your gratitude. Let’s get this stuff loaded up.”
When they came out of the store, Will felt a prickle of apprehension. A second later, he knew why.
Across the street, just to one side of the sheriff’s office, a small boy was pointing directly at him.
Beside the boy stood someone Will had totally and blissfully forgotten, a man he had once hated, a man he wished he never would have seen again.
