Chapter 4
His boots thundered on the wood sidewalk as he stomped toward the hotel. He didn't even pay attention to the people who stepped back and gave him a wide berth. If Brisco thought he would take up his backhanded invitation to stay at his house, he had another think coming. He should have known something was wrong if he couldn't just come out and ask, instead of putting the responsibility on Dixie. Now Brisco was letting a murderer walk the streets. Bowler's eyes shifted around as he neared the hotel, searching for the man. He didn't care what anyone said. He would take him into custody, and as planned drop him off with the Feds and let them sort it out. Then he could get his bounty and move on to the next scum.
It had been a decade or more since he remembered Amelia. He kept himself so busy hunting down bad guys, he had no time to think about her. Sure, he'd been attracted to other women over the years, but she was the one who held his heart. Now that she was forefront in his thoughts again, instead of a living, beating heart in his chest, he felt as if there was an empty hole as cold as the air around him. She'd stolen it all over again.
Somewhere in his traveling pack he kept her tintype. He checked in and sent his horse to the stable next door, unpacked his sack, and at the very bottom he found it. Bowler sat on the bed and held his breath as he opened the cover that was supposed to protect it. He sucked in a deep gasp when he saw what time and exposure to the elements had done. Water seeped in between the glass and the plate. Mold grew in the corners, nearly obscuring the background.
Ameila's embroidered skirt, the one she'd been so proud of and intended to wear as her wedding dress, looked grotesque. He scanned up to her face. An eye peered out behind a curtain of smudged silver, making her look like a prisoner behind a door with only a small slit to see through. She was a prisoner, alright. Death had captured her, thanks to that murdering John Jacobs, and he would never be able to see her or touch her silky smooth skin again.
Seeing the remnant of Amelia underneath such ugliness startled Bowler and angered him. He should have taken better care of the tintype. He should have taken better care of her. If he'd had a home for her in San Francisco way back then, she might have been safely ensconced in it now with their children. Instead, she'd been dead and buried for two decades. He was alone, and he would never hear her voice again, because somewhere along the way he forgot the sound of it. Sadness ripped at what was left inside his chest. Anger bubbled up within. With a roar he threw the tintype against the wall, but the emotion quickly dissipated when he heard glass tinkling and he watched the frame hit the floor.
"What have I done," he whispered. Bowler lunged forward and picked up the frame. A sliver caught in his finger. He pulled it out and almost wished for a wound that would leave a scar so he would never forget. With a piece of folded paper from his pocket, he swept the shards into a pile and scooped them up, then tossed them into a waste basket near the wash stand. The tintype itself was still intact, but the glass protection was gone. Not that it mattered. With a sniffle, he placed a kiss on his fingers and touched the surface, then dropped the frame into the basket.
It took less than a minute for him to retrieve it. All he had left was a portion of her skirt and her eye, but as long as he had that, he would hold onto it. Maybe even after that. He couldn't bear to throw it away, because it would be as if he'd thrown her away and completely forgotten the only woman he would ever truly love.
When Bowler stormed out of Socrates' office, he didn't realize what he'd left behind. The three people looked at each other, unable to speak. Finally, Socrates found his voice. "Brisco. Did Bowler ever tell you about a fiancee?"
"No. And I thought I knew just about everything about him." He shook his head, feeling a deep sadness for his friend. Lord Bowler could be gruff and tough, but inside he had a heart of gold. He was a man of deep feelings, and for him to hide this away for so long, he must have been seriously in love with the woman. "I think I need to find him and talk to him. Dixie, you stay here with Soc and talk to him about that thing..."
"Thing?" Dixie's eyebrows rose. "Oh yes! That thing!"
Brisco left the office and walked east in the direction he knew Bowler had gone. As he neared the hotel, he thought that would be his friend's first stop. He didn't find Bowler's mount at the hitching post, but he saw the black mare prancing around the stockade next door. Brisco nodded. Bowler was intent on digging in for awhile.
He entered the hotel and went straight to the front desk. The balding man behind it grinned when he saw the sheriff.
"Sheriff Brisco! How are you today?"
"I'm doing well, Harry. Did Lord Bowler check in here?"
"He sure did, just a few minutes ago!" The man's expression turned to a furrowed brow. "I'm a little worried about him. He wasn't himself. Very sad."
"I know. Is he in his room right now?"
"Yes, he's in 220. Right upstairs." Harry pointed toward the staircase.
"Thanks." Brisco took the stairs two at a time. When Bowler got emotional, he usually scared people. For the innkeeper to say he looked sad, that worried him. Brisco found room 220 and knocked on the door. "Bowler? It's me, Brisco. Can I come in?"
"I ain't talkin' to you, Brisco. We got nothin' to discuss!"
He was afraid he'd say that. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"That don't help me catch Jacobs!"
Brisco sighed and removed his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and replied. "Bowler, contrary to what you might believe, this man is not the one you're looking for. Socrates vouched for him. You know Soc wouldn't lie, and if he had any suspicions, he'd look into them."
"Maybe he's been hoodwinked, like all of you."
Something thumped on the other side of the door, followed by another, and then silence. Brisco knocked again. "Bowler? Are you okay?"
"No, I ain't, Brisco. I just... I need some rest."
"Oh, okay. Please, come for dinner tonight? Lou is cooking something secret. Only Dixie knows what it is, but she promises that it'll be excellent." His lips turned up into a hope filled smile.
"I'll think about it."
"Six o'clock."
"I'll think about it."
His voice was more forceful, and Brisco knew better than to press it. Maybe if Bowler came to dinner, he would tell them about his fiancee, finally grieve over her loss, and let his friends help him through it. Until then, he had a town to monitor. Brisco returned to the office, checked in with Cal, and mounted Comet to check on the farms and ranches nearby. It would take him a good part of the day, so he took along something to snack on when the urge hit, although if he happened to visit anyone around lunch time, most likely he would be invited inside for a hot meal.
On his way out of Sunset Ridge heading west, Brisco passed the school yard. Louisa had the students outside building castles in the snow. He stopped to watch for a few moments and she caught him watching. She said something to one of the boys leading a group of six students of various ages, and he nodded. She moved out of the yard, closed the short picket gate behind her, and approached Comet. The horse nickered at her.
"Hey, Comet. Sorry, I don't have any carrots for you today."
He protested and nuzzled her coat pocket. Brisco pulled on the reins.
"Comet, that's not polite! Lou said she didn't have anything for you."
Louisa smiled up at the two. Her hand dove into her pocket and she came up with one carrot. "Oh Brisco, I can't help it, I'm a sucker for Comet and his antics. Here you go, boy. Enjoy!"
"What are the kids doing? Making snowmen? I didn't know there was such a subject in school."
"Not snowmen. Buildings. I'm teaching them the physics of construction. With many of their folks building cabins and homes out on the prairies, I figured it would be a good thing for them to learn. The textbook is so stuffy on the subject, I practically re-wrote it last Sunday afternoon and came up with this plan. I just had to wait for enough snow to pull it off." She turned when a shout came up from the yard.
A group of students created two towers with a bridge between them, but the bridge collapsed. Not to be defeated, the oldest student, a boy, instructed the others on how to rebuild it.
"It's fascinating how well they work together," Brisco said with amazement in his voice.
"It's part of the way I operate the classroom. The older ones are given responsibility to assist the younger ones." She turned back to Brisco with a light in her expression. "It's really cool when they start to see how their guidance helps the little kids understand things that they learned a long time ago. When they realize that they had a hand in that child learning something, it sets them on fire to learn more themselves."
"Has the superintendent seen this for himself yet?"
Louisa rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me! He's coming next week. I just received a telegram this morning." Her nose wrinkled. "Do you think I could make up some school holiday for that day?"
Brisco laughed. "I don't think he'd buy that."
"Yeah, you're right." She shrugged and let her hands fall to her sides. "I'm trying to be creative."
"Lou, don't be afraid of him. I think he's going to be blown away by what you're doing. Besides, it doesn't matter what he thinks. It's getting results, and those kids are happy as can be in your classroom. Just keep it up."
"I will. Thanks, Brisco." She shielded her eyes from the glare that her sunglasses wouldn't cut. "Hey, is something wrong with Lord Bowler? I saw him practically tear up the sidewalk going over to get his mount and head to the hotel."
"It's a long story. I'm hoping he'll come to dinner tonight and talk about it. I hope you don't mind that I invited him."
"Not at all. I'm looking forward to cooking."
"Any hint on what it is?"
"Nope." She grinned. "You'll just have to wait."
Brisco snapped his fingers. He was hoping for something to entice Bowler. Moving his fingers up to tip the edge of his hat, he said, "I better get to my rounds then. Six o'clock will be here before I know it."
"Be careful out there." Louisa waved and Brisco turned Comet away from the fence. She watched him leave, the straight line of his shoulders slightly bent. Whatever was bothering Bowler bothered Brisco as well.
"Miss Allen."
She turned to the stranger's voice. It was him, the man with dark hair and the equally dark eyes. He'd shaved off the mustache, and Louisa found herself disappointed. She unconsciously raised her gloved fingers up and touched the space above her upper lip.
John smiled at her reaction. "Yes, I shaved it off. Too many people thinking I'm someone else with it on."
"That's a shame, because I thought it looked pretty nice on you." Louisa's eyes widened. Had she really said that aloud? What was she thinking! Afraid of sounding like a mindless idiot, she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but amusement and appreciation for her statement. "I'm sorry, Sir. I shouldn't..."
"No, that's quite alright, Miss Allen."
"You know my name, but I don't know yours."
"John Barry, madame. We met the day before on the sidewalk when you fell. Remember?"
"I remember running into you and you being so kind to help me to my feet, but your name..."
He smiled in a charming fashion. "I don't believe I gave you my name. You ran off so quickly, I had no time!"
"I'm sorry. I was in such a hurry." She shook her head. "I'm kind of glad you didn't introduce yourself Mr. Barry, because I'm really great with faces, but terrible with names! Just ask anybody, except Socrates Poole. For some reason, I remembered his name from the get go." She stopped blathering and flushed. It was just the cold air, and she'd been in one place too long. "Well."
"Well." He smiled and extended a hand, hoping she would do the same and he could greet her properly.
Louisa stuck out her hand, gripped his and shook it with a sincere, firm grip, like a man's, to his surprise. "Very nice to meet you... again... Mr. Barry! But I must get back to my students. You have yourself a fantastic day, okay?"
John's smile widened at the way she spoke and shook his hand. Miss Louisa Allen was a unique woman indeed. He hadn't met anyone like her in a long time. "I will, Miss Allen. I hope that we run into each other again soon, although I hope that the landing won't be so hard for you."
Lou chuckled. "No doubt. I think my butt is still sore from that." She gave him a short wave and turned back to the yard.
John let out a long sigh. If he wasn't careful, Louisa Allen would give him a reason to stay in this little burg. But he had more pressing matters and things to do. He'd hoped to at least snag a dinner date with the progressive woman, but it was not meant to be. Maybe tomorrow he would try again.
