youngster,” Crusty went on, “albeit a masculine scar across his cheek. Might still be staying in Cahoots.”
“Crusty…” Something in her voice must have alerted the old man, for he took her hand.
“You’re not thinking, are ye, Eliza? This is a stolen piece of goods?”
“I’m thinking so, Crusty. I’m sure I recognized Granny’s Oneida. And she me.”
“I’ll be damned.” Crusty Bowman ran his gnarled fingers through the few strands he had left atop his head. “What do we do now?”
Chapter Six
“Alert the law, of course,” Eliza said, her beautiful eyes shining. “And of course I’ll repay you whatever you spent on her.”
Ransom held on to his calm. A fine-looking youngster with a masculine scar on his cheek. Rolly Gitts wore that scar as a proud badge, having battled with a drunk and a Bowie in a bar fight not six weeks past. But the fool knew damn well how to cover it with mud.
Same time a punch of anger clamped Ransom’s shoulder, cold sweat ran down his backbone. Gitts getting caught by the law would sure as hell get fingers pointed at Ransom. Too yellow to face a noose by his lonesome, Gitts would squeal for sure. Somehow Ransom had to find the gang, let Ahab know one of them had left a clue behind this time.
Then get back quick as he could to his woman.
“I’ll send a ’hand to Cahoots at daybreak,” Crusty said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. The old man looked done in, and Ransom felt a pang for his worries, for Miz Ida’s empty Christmas.
Eliza’s face lit up like a summer day, and she turned to him, lips parted. He longed to devour them. “Why, Ransom. You should be able to find him in a heartbeat.”
“You the law?” Crusty asked.
“No. Tracker.”
As Ransom spoke, the old man held his hand to cup his ear like he had trouble hearing. Ransom stopped himself from raising his voice just in time. His catarrh might be gone, but more than ever now, he needed to keep his voice disguised.
“He’s a tracker.” Eliza spoke for him. “Oh, Ransom. This is a true blessing. Leaving tonight, that is. We likely wouldn’t have gone inside the barn if we passed through in daylight.”
Crusty sighed. “Can’t do much before dawn. Now, you get to them vittles I set up in the parlor. I recall you need some time together. And Eliza, don’t you worry. We’ll get it sorted out.”
“I can’t wait for the vandal to rot behind bars,” she said, standing tall on tiptoe to kiss the old man’s cheek. “Or better yet, get his neck stretched.”
A worse chill tightened Ransom’s bones this time. But his empty stomach was his main concern just now. While they ate in the parlor, Eliza set up the primer and slate. At least her sitting so close kept his mind on bodily needs and away from thoughts of the noose. Even through the suede of her split skirt, he could feel her heat. Even with a stick of chalk in his fist, his fingers itched to touch her. Undress her. Love her like mad just in case she found out who he really was and turned him in.
He might have vowed to be respectable but fact was, he wasn’t, not one single bit. And his wicked past might be catching up unless he did something about it.
“I can hardly believe how quickly you’re recalling your alphabet,” Eliza said in a proud school-teacher voice.
At least that was good news. Somehow his brain had soaked up more than he’d allowed Gram-maw to know those years ago.
“I see the letters making more and more sense,” he told her. “Must be your teaching. Thing is…”
“Yes, Ransom?”
“The poem about grannies that made you cry? You think I could try learning to read that? Seems to go easier when I sound out real words.”
“Of course.” Quicker than a blowfly, she wrote something on the slate and leaned into him, going over each word slow and careful. He liked the sound of her, the scent of her, but he fixed his brain on the job at hand. Just like he’d recognized different brands and now to fix them,
“Crusty…” Something in her voice must have alerted the old man, for he took her hand.
“You’re not thinking, are ye, Eliza? This is a stolen piece of goods?”
“I’m thinking so, Crusty. I’m sure I recognized Granny’s Oneida. And she me.”
“I’ll be damned.” Crusty Bowman ran his gnarled fingers through the few strands he had left atop his head. “What do we do now?”
Chapter Six
“Alert the law, of course,” Eliza said, her beautiful eyes shining. “And of course I’ll repay you whatever you spent on her.”
Ransom held on to his calm. A fine-looking youngster with a masculine scar on his cheek. Rolly Gitts wore that scar as a proud badge, having battled with a drunk and a Bowie in a bar fight not six weeks past. But the fool knew damn well how to cover it with mud.
Same time a punch of anger clamped Ransom’s shoulder, cold sweat ran down his backbone. Gitts getting caught by the law would sure as hell get fingers pointed at Ransom. Too yellow to face a noose by his lonesome, Gitts would squeal for sure. Somehow Ransom had to find the gang, let Ahab know one of them had left a clue behind this time.
Then get back quick as he could to his woman.
“I’ll send a ’hand to Cahoots at daybreak,” Crusty said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. The old man looked done in, and Ransom felt a pang for his worries, for Miz Ida’s empty Christmas.
Eliza’s face lit up like a summer day, and she turned to him, lips parted. He longed to devour them. “Why, Ransom. You should be able to find him in a heartbeat.”
“You the law?” Crusty asked.
“No. Tracker.”
As Ransom spoke, the old man held his hand to cup his ear like he had trouble hearing. Ransom stopped himself from raising his voice just in time. His catarrh might be gone, but more than ever now, he needed to keep his voice disguised.
“He’s a tracker.” Eliza spoke for him. “Oh, Ransom. This is a true blessing. Leaving tonight, that is. We likely wouldn’t have gone inside the barn if we passed through in daylight.”
Crusty sighed. “Can’t do much before dawn. Now, you get to them vittles I set up in the parlor. I recall you need some time together. And Eliza, don’t you worry. We’ll get it sorted out.”
“I can’t wait for the vandal to rot behind bars,” she said, standing tall on tiptoe to kiss the old man’s cheek. “Or better yet, get his neck stretched.”
A worse chill tightened Ransom’s bones this time. But his empty stomach was his main concern just now. While they ate in the parlor, Eliza set up the primer and slate. At least her sitting so close kept his mind on bodily needs and away from thoughts of the noose. Even through the suede of her split skirt, he could feel her heat. Even with a stick of chalk in his fist, his fingers itched to touch her. Undress her. Love her like mad just in case she found out who he really was and turned him in.
He might have vowed to be respectable but fact was, he wasn’t, not one single bit. And his wicked past might be catching up unless he did something about it.
“I can hardly believe how quickly you’re recalling your alphabet,” Eliza said in a proud school-teacher voice.
At least that was good news. Somehow his brain had soaked up more than he’d allowed Gram-maw to know those years ago.
“I see the letters making more and more sense,” he told her. “Must be your teaching. Thing is…”
“Yes, Ransom?”
“The poem about grannies that made you cry? You think I could try learning to read that? Seems to go easier when I sound out real words.”
“Of course.” Quicker than a blowfly, she wrote something on the slate and leaned into him, going over each word slow and careful. He liked the sound of her, the scent of her, but he fixed his brain on the job at hand. Just like he’d recognized different brands and now to fix them,
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