Chapter Fifteen
Arlen stretched, tryingto ease the ache in his back that came from sleeping on the Darcys’ small settee. He’d spent most of the previous night tracking—or attempting to track—the movements of Finnegan and the men he was with. Arlen had hoped to determine whether the scarred man was with the others from that ranch back in Wyoming Territory. It was entirely possible the man had taken up with a new gang of men.
Or this was the same group, come here for the express purpose of revenge.
If he could only lay eyes on the man in charge, the one for whom Finnegan was working, then he’d know for certain. If it was the one from Wyoming, he’d never learned the man’s name. He’d only succeeding in running them out of the county, but he would recognize the leader of that gang if he could only lay eyes on the man. He’d been as tall as Finnegan was short, with white-blond hair and a menacing sneer. Even through the pain from his shoulder, that expression had been burned into Arlen’s memory as the man eyed him for a good several minutes before following his men off the property Arlen had evicted them from.
Not to mention that it was his gun that had put the bullet in Arlen’s shoulder.
But the watch he’d set up with Darcy the night before had been to no avail. The only man they’d seen had been Finnegan, coming in late from an evening spent in the saloon down the road. Finally, once it became clear they wouldn’t lay eyes on anyone else in Finnegan’s group that night, Darcy had invited Arlen to sleep in their parlor rather than riding back to the Cummings’ ranch in the dead of night. Exhausted, Arlen had taken him up on the offer.
After enjoying a quick yet filling breakfast from the vivacious and entertaining Mrs. Darcy, Arlen collected his horse and set back out for the ranch. He’d given Sheriff Darcy a thorough description of the blond man who had shot him back in Wyoming, and Darcy promised to keep an eye on the boardinghouse. Arlen planned to ride into town again that evening or tomorrow, as soon as he’d caught up on the work that needed doing at the ranch.
As the Cummings’ ranch came into view in the early morning sunlight, Arlen hoped his absence hadn’t worried Josie too much. Surely George would have assured her that Arlen had simply found a place to sleep in town.
He smiled as he dismounted General and turned the horse out into the corral. He relished the thought of seeing Josie’s sweet face again. Even if she was angry at him, as her downturned lips and that little line that formed between her eyebrows could hardly erase how pretty she was. He moved quickly across the yard to the porch steps, although given the absence of Josie’s horse in the corral, she was likely out in one of the pastures or off checking on the cattle. He’d run inside, wash up and change his clothes, and then go find her.
Turnip greeted him on the front porch, and Arlen stopped for a second to scratch him between the ears. Passing through the parlor, he stopped still once he entered the kitchen, where George sat alone with no coffee, no breakfast, and a worried look on his face. He stood the second he spotted Arlen.
“What’s the matter?” Arlen asked. The man should’ve been out on the ranch already, not sitting around in the kitchen looking distressed.
“Did you see Josie?” George asked.
Arlen paused. “I didn’t. I only just arrived from town. The sheriff and his wife were kind enough to give me a place to sleep overnight. We had no success in determining who precisely Finnegan is working for.”
George frowned deeper and shook his head. “She went looking for you.”
He must have misheard. “She did what?”
“Went looking for you. Late last night, apparently, after I’d turned in. She left a note.” George snagged a piece of brown paper from the table and handed it to Arlen.
Arlen skimmed her words, his heart dropping. “I didn’t see her.” Where could she have gone? And more importantly, why hadn’t she returned yet?
George closed his eyes, and Arlen knew exactly how he felt in that moment. It was difficult not to picture the worst.
“If she ran into Finnegan . . .” George finally said, putting Arlen’s worst fear into words. “It’s unlikely, right? If anything, Gretchen threw a shoe and perhaps that’s delayed her.”
“Or she stopped in to visit with Mrs. Landry.” Arlen wanted to believe what he was saying, but he couldn’t shake the heart-stopping fear that sat deep in his bones. “I’m going to look for her. You stay here in case she returns.”
George nodded, his lips pursed. “If you find her, return immediately. Please.”
“You have my word.” Arlen took up his hat again—and grabbed his rifle for good measure—before heading back outside and re-saddling General.
