The Fire in Ember - DiAnn Mills [41]
The portly woman waved from behind the registration desk. “Evening Bob, John. You two hungry?”
“We sure are,” Bob said.
John swallowed a laugh and smelled the roast and potatoes. Liver and onions, whether hot or cold, weren’t his favorite. His stomach growled, and his mouth watered at the same time.
“Have a seat, and I’ll be right with you. Just made fresh coffee, so I’ll get a couple of cups.” She made her way toward the kitchen, then swung around. “I bet you two are here on business.”
“That we are,” Bob said. “Can you spare a few minutes?”
She glanced around the dining area. A couple sat at one table and three men talked at another. “I’ll see what I can do. Heard something interesting since we talked about Leon.”
Shortly thereafter, Bess waddled toward them with two steaming mugs of coffee and wearing a smile that would open the gates of heaven. “This must be about the cattle rustlin',” she said. “The place was buzzing like bees on rotten apples last night with all the talk.”
John chuckled. Leave it to Bess to find something amusing about a dire situation. “Did you hear anything we can use?”
She sobered. “Heard some talk about the boy you stopped from being hanged. A couple of men think he might be a diversion for rustlers.”
John wished there was a way to free Bert from the list of suspects. “He’s a she, and she’s been at the ranch helping Mama.”
Bess’s eyes widened. “That’s a twist of fate if I ever heard one.”
John frowned, the reminder of the whole mess worsening his day. “I’ve made better decisions than bringing home a girl.”
“I think it’s sad a little girl’s on her own.” Bess shook her head. “That’s how some of the women here ended up working at the saloon.”
“She’s not a little girl,” John said. “Seventeen.”
Bess blinked. “Ouch. Sounds like a sore subject, John Timmons. From the frown you’re wearing, I’d say you’ve seen happier days.”
“Twenty-three years of ‘em.”
Bob tried to disguise his laugh with a cough. “So what else have you heard?”
Bess appeared to ponder the question. “Oh, the typical. Blaming ghosts, Indians, town drunk, various outlaws. Sounds like speculation to me.”
“Nothing to hang your hat on, huh?” Bob rubbed his whiskered jaw.
“One of the Wide O hands brought up Leon Wilson again.”
“Maybe so.” John focused on reading Bess’s eyes. “He didn’t have time to put together a clever plan unless he had help.”
She stared at him, then at Bob. “Help? As in a seventeen-year-old girl?”
“If he and Bert were working together,” Bob said, “hanging her would have made him look good until he was ready to do something with the cattle.”
John hadn’t considered that aspect. “Except he was fired. Was most of the talk about Leon and who might be working with him?”
Bess nodded. “So the girl’s name is Bert?”
“Yes ma’am.” John needed to get Bert off his ranch—away from those he loved. Or did he? “I’m wondering if my family’s safe. I need to make a few decisions about her.”
“Get some food in your belly first,” Bess said. “Hard to figure out what’s the right thing to do when your stomach is protesting.”
John and Bob talked through supper, tossing out suggestions about how best to proceed. Their ideas were as varied as how to pitch horseshoes at a church social. They paid their bill and thanked Bess for her help. Once they were outside the hotel, John felt his exhaustion clear through to his bones. But concern for his family weighed him down more. “I’m going back home tonight.”
“I understand,” Bob said. “And in your boots, I’d feel the same. You don’t know if those cattle thieves are taking advantage of your being gone or if that gal is in the thick of it all. But you’re tuckered out. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep and ride home tomorrow?”
Loud voices rose from inside the saloon, and both men turned to check on the source. When nothing else was said, they walked toward the office. “You can bring her back here where we can keep an eye on her. Not sure where she’ll stay,