Katie and the Marshal (Montana Women Book 1) Page 6

  Cane hadn’t been able to save the woman he loved, but, by God, he would find a way out of prison and find his son.

  He thought about Judge Hopkins, the man who’d deliberated over his trial. He’d come to know the judge a bit the few times he’d come to Bozeman before being accused of the train robbery. Had sat and drank a beer with him and played a few hands of cards. From that little interaction, he knew the judge was a good, honest man. Before Cane went to prison, after his trial, the judge had taken him aside and said he believed in his innocence. Unfortunately, the jury hadn’t. Then the judge had told him to keep his ears and eyes open while in prison.

  Prisoners came and went—none of them shedding any new information—until a month ago, when two new prisoners had arrived. Prisoners were allowed out of their cells only a few hours a day. Cane was watchful, planting himself near these men to hear more talk whenever he could. The longer he listened to them, and the more he watched them, he began to recognize them. They’d been two of several cowboys working a cattle run with him before he was arrested. One of the men bore a striking resemblance to Cane.

  In the letter he’d just written, Cane asked Judge Hopkins to open his case once more, based on what he’d heard. Meanwhile, he would keep his ears open for more information. He’d befriend the two men, hoping they’d take him into their confidence.

  CHAPTER ONE

  October 1888

  Bozeman, Montana

  Annie Callahan sat patiently, waiting for her seven-year-old-brother, Mark, to leave the schoolhouse, even though she had chores to do at the ranch. Waiting for Mark was never a waste of time. Besides, these precious moments gave her the opportunity to mentally organize all of the tasks she needed to complete in preparation for the holidays.

  She’d already started sewing chambray and woolen shirts for the ranch hands, a tradition that had been passed on to her from her mother, and a task she thoroughly enjoyed. She still had several more shirts to sew for the men, plus the new pants and shirts for her brother. She smiled. Unlike the ranch workers, Mark wasn’t as excited about getting new shirts. His Christmas wish list included a gun, slingshot, a bow and arrow, and a tomahawk. The thought of Mark handling a weapon made her shudder.

  Suddenly, like lightning on a stormy night, a premonition struck Annie from where she sat outside the schoolhouse in her wagon. She saw herself sitting on the ground. A man’s shadowy form stood over her. She fought to remain conscious; fought to ascertain the man’s identity.

  No!

  She didn’t want to know him!

  Pull yourself out of it, Annie!

  Forcing away the presence, the man disappeared and sanity returned. Breathing easier, she blinked several times. Looking around at the calm, peaceful schoolyard, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was still sitting on the bench in her wagon, her horse’s reins gripped tightly in her hands.

  She tugged her shawl close around her shoulders to stave off the cold, wishing Miss O’Gara would release the class. The temperature had been tolerable during the day but, with the lowering of the sun, the air had grown chilly.

  Suddenly, searing pain pierced her skull. She slammed her eyelids shut and collapsed against the back of her seat as the premonition returned, full force this time.

  A man with a muscular build stood over her as she clutched Mark in her arms. Her eyes widened in horror when he bent closer. She saw nothing but his shadowy form, unable to make out his features. He reached for her brother, big hands stretched out, fingers clawed. Screams tore from her throat. Her mind screamed, Run! But she couldn’t. Her feet seemed to be locked in place. The man wrestled Mark away from her and fled, her brother’s screams piercing the air. Sobbing inconsolably, she remained helpless as the child’s shouts dimmed.

  Annie’s breathing calmed as the premonition faded away. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes closed. No, Mark was safe. He was here, in school.

  She had no desire to look into the future, no desire to feel any pride or satisfaction in the “gift” God had given her. Why He’d chosen her, she had no idea. Due to skepticism in town from some, fear and suspicion from others, she’d learned to keep the premonitions to herself. She guessed if hunting witches were in fashion, she’d be gone from this earth by now.

  A door creaked, and Annie looked up to find the door wide open. Then the schoolchildren poured from the building. Still, Mark didn’t appear, but she knew the teacher was helping with his arithmetic for a few minutes after school.

  She looked around again and saw a man walking toward her. Seeing him pause as he watched the children scattering in all directions, she shivered.

  With the sun low in the sky behind him, she saw only his silhouette. Apprehension settled in. Could it be the man she’d just seen in the vision? The man’s hair was dark as the night, framed by a black Stetson. The closer he came, the more she saw of him. She noted that the color of his hair was identical to Mark’s.

  “Miss Annie Callahan?”

  “Yes.” At his low, raspy tone, she froze in her seat. “Are you here for a student? I’m afraid they’ve all left for the day.”

  Removing his hat, he strode toward her, then stopped beside her wagon. “I’m here for my son.”

  “As I said, they’ve all gone home. I’m just waiting for my brother.”

  His son, he’d said. She knew everyone in Bozeman, but not this man. Her heart stalled at the handsome, square-jawed face. His dark eyes were hard and searching. His finely chiseled lips made her wonder for an unbidden moment what their touch would feel like. She also caught the weariness etched in his face, and the thick, dark hair that bristled along his jaw and on his chin. He appeared as though he’d been away from civilization for a while. A shave and haircut were certainly in order.

  She swept him another look from head to toe. Never had she seen such a tall man save for her neighbor, Jed Porter. Lately Jed had gotten pushy about trying to court her, forcing her to be firmer in declining his suit.

  The man drew even closer, and she stiffened once more in her seat.

  She stood up despite the awkwardness in the wagon. “Who are you?” Because no evil thoughts entered her mind, no premonitions concerning him filled her heart and soul, just those few shivers, she guessed this man wasn’t violent and would do her no harm. But then she hadn’t seen the features—only the shadowy bulk—of the man in the premonition she’d had…

  “My name is Cane Smith, and I’ve come for my son.”

  She frowned. “What’s his name, sir?”

  “Your family named him Mark.”

  Cane Smith grimaced when he saw her face drained of all color. “Miss Callahan? Maybe you should have a seat.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She just stood there, showing no signs of heeding his advice. Reaching up, he gently took her elbow and pulled her back down on the bench seat. Breathing in deep, he enjoyed the sweet honey scent of this pretty, fair-haired young woman.

  Eight months of befriending the bastards he believed committed the crime he’d been accused of had finally afforded Cane the proof he needed. In front of several prisoners and a few guards, the braggarts confessed they had indeed robbed that train. The prisoners and guards had promised Cane they’d stick up for him when he went to court with the new evidence. In late August, Cane had his day in court and, after all testimony was given, was finally released. He made it a point to find Judge Hopkins once he arrived in Bozeman to thank him, and to claim his son.

  Heaven help the man or woman who stood in his way—even this Callahan family who’d taken the boy in.

  Upon his arrival in Bozeman, he’d inquired in town about the Callahan family. Katie Freeman, proprietor of Katie’s Palace, informed him that the Callahan family lived several miles outside of town on a spread called the Moonstruck Ranch. She also informed him Annie worked at Katie’s Palace and had just gone to pick up her brother at the schoolhouse on the outskirts of town. Cane left Bozeman on foot, since he had no carriage or horse, to meet Miss Annie
Callahan and his son.

  He settled his hat on his head, watching her gather her composure. When she rose, he assisted her down from the wagon. She stood before him, the sweetest confection of womanhood he’d ever seen, with tears in her eyes.

  He couldn’t see much of her since she had averted her gaze. After a moment, she visibly squared her shoulders, tossed back her head and glared up at him. “Mark may be your son by birth, but my father and I have raised him since infancy. He’s a Callahan now.”

  Cane felt his face turn hot as he straightened to his full height. First irritation, then anger, flared through him but it quickly subsided. If he’d learned anything in prison, it had been the virtue of patience, which would serve him well for the rest of his life. Long gone were the angry, impetuous days of young manhood.

  “He’s a Smith, and he’ll soon learn the fact of the matter. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me from telling him.”

  She jammed her index finger into his chest. He stumbled back a step out of sheer surprise.

  “No, you can’t claim him! You aren’t the one who fed him, clothed him and changed his diapers. You aren’t the one who stayed up all night caring for him when he was ill and burning up with fever,” she choked out.

  She reacted much as a mama bear would when her cub was threatened. He liked that; liked how she had so much love for his son. It meant that she and her father had cared for him well. Cane ached for her…just for a moment.

  It was time to make the woman understand he wasn’t backing down, though he had to admit he admired her lack of fear of him.

  He took a step forward, and she backed up a step but still kept her chin tilted up at him. Stubborn woman! He saw unshed tears sparkling in her eyes and groaned inside. Tears were the worst weapon she could use on a man, especially this one.

  Cane tried reasoning with her. “By no choice of my own did I not claim him earlier. I want to experience everything I can now. It’s my right. He’s mine.” Cane had been born illegitimate himself and never knew his father. He wouldn’t allow that to happen to Mark.

  “No!” she wailed. “My father adopted Mark. He won’t let him go without a fight.”

  “I understand. If I were your father, I’d do the same. If you don’t mind, Miss Callahan, I’d like to speak to him now, as soon as Mark comes out.”

  Cane wound his hands around her tiny waist and lifted her easily onto the seat of her wagon. Off balance, she plunked down hard on the seat and grimaced. She gasped but held her tongue. Sitting in the driver seat, her eyes focused straight ahead, tears tracking down her cheeks.

  “He might fight me, but, when all is said and done, Mark will be mine. I came all the way from Texas to claim my son.”

  Cane understood men better than women. He’d spent most of his life with them and quite frankly knew little about the fairer sex—with the exception of prostitutes who’d serviced him when he needed a woman. He’d spent months crossing the country without fair company, except for the occasional town he passed through. And, when the opportunity arose to spend a night in a willing woman’s arms, Cane, like most cowboys, took it.

  He guessed, in the end, Tom Callahan would give Mark up. He would understand that the boy belonged with his true father.

  “I need to get home,” she whispered.

  “I’m riding with you, so scoot on over.”

  She scanned the area, then looked at him. “How did you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  “From the stagecoach depot?”

  He nodded.

  “Why, that’s three miles!”

  “A mere Sunday stroll,” he said dryly. “I told you that I’m claiming my son. Nothing can keep me from him. Now move on over.”

  She obliged him.

  Good. The woman was sensible and smart. He smiled to himself. She was far from the quiet type. The element of surprise had changed what he guessed was usually a confident, bossy woman. But he’d also heard the softness in her voice, especially when she spoke about Mark.

  He wasn’t fond of the name Mark, but hell, the boy was nearly eight now. Mark he’d remain.

  The school door swung open, and a child’s voice shouted, “Annie!”

  He centered his attention on a boy running toward them.

  Mark! Cane recognized himself in the boy who had to be his son tearing down the walkway with black hair flying and dark brown eyes filled with joy. Then he noticed how Mark’s gaze was riveted on Annie. Turning toward the woman next to him, Cane’s heart wrenched at the aching love he saw on her face. For a fleeting moment, he had doubts about taking the child away from her and the only life he’d known since birth.

  He hardened his heart. He deserved some happiness, some love in life, damn it all. He would find it with his son.

  He hungrily watched Mark while the boy ran to Annie’s side of the wagon. She helped him scramble up onto the seat, then hugged him. Cane watched her take him into her arms, saw her breathe in deep to catch his little boy scent. Once again, Cane’s heart ached to hold the boy, but he couldn’t. He would have to take things slowly.

  “You learning your arithmetic?” She tousled the mop of dark hair.

  Mark nodded then pulled out of her arms and jammed his hands against the sides of his head. “No scrubbing my head! It’s not bath time.”

  She laughed.

  Cane was caught, mesmerized by how she looked even younger and prettier, as she grinned at his son.

  The boy slanted his gaze away from Annie, turning serious when he faced Cane. His son stared at him for the longest time, his gaze riveted on him. After a while, he said, “You have black hair like me.”

  Annie’s heart started racing at Mark’s words, and she saw the curious look in his eyes. It’d only been in recent months that he’d questioned why his father and sister had blonde hair while his own was black. Until he grew older, Annie and her father had decided they’d wait to tell him about his parentage, though they had informed him in the past year that they’d adopted him. She’d easily managed to divert his attention in the past but guessed it wouldn’t be easy for much longer. Especially if Cane Smith had his way.

  “Yes, it is. Almost the same exact color.” Cane held out his hand. “I’m Cane Smith, a friend of your sister’s. I’ll bet you’re Mark, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.” Mark pumped Cane’s hand, squeezing it as tight as he could. “Mark Callahan.”

  Cane’s smile widened while he shook the boy’s hand. Annie couldn’t help but notice that Mark was a “chip off the old block.” Releasing Cane’s hand, Mark looked at Annie again.

  “Can we go home? I’m hungry!”

  “Of course! Mr. Smith is driving us home tonight. He’ll be having supper with us. How does that sound?”

  “Great!” Mark shouted.

  “Then let’s be on our way,” she said.

  Mark settled between the two of them on the wooden seat and Cane snapped the reins to get the horse moving.

  “What do you think Mrs. Williams made us for supper?” Mark asked.

  “Mrs. Williams is under the weather today, so I’m cooking supper, honey.”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “You are?” At her nod, he yelled, “Yippee! I like your cooking a lot better.”

  “Mark! Mrs. Williams is a wonderful cook.”

  “But not like you, Annie.” The boy turned a brilliant smile on Cane. “Annie makes the best fried chicken, and taters and cornbread.”

  “Sounds mighty good,” Cane said.

  To Annie’s mind, the man looked about ready to salivate. She wondered when he’d eaten last. She glanced at Mark. “How did you know I was making chicken?”

  “Saw Pa kill a chicken this morning.”

  “You watched?”

  “Yup, sure did. You shoulda seen Pa wring his neck, then chop

  its—”

  “Enough. I believe you. Father knows I don’t want you watching such violence.”

  “It’s not violence,” Cane interrupted.
>
  Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “Nope. It’s a natural life cycle for an animal that we use for sustenance. Mark needs to learn these things. Your Pa’s right to show him.”

  She frowned. “That may be, but not yet. Mark’s only seven years old.”

  “Old enough.” Cane looked at Mark. “While your sis is cooking, we can talk and get to know each other.”

  Giving Cane a coy look, Mark asked, “You play checkers?”

  Cane nodded. “Sure do.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Mark whooped with delight.

  Annie smiled at Mark’s exuberance and glanced at Cane. He wore the biggest smile. The stone-faced, taciturn man’s expression softened as he gazed at Mark. She found it hard to believe him capable of having a soft bone in his body—for anything or anyone.

  The wagon rumbled through town. They were just passing Katie’s Palace when Annie saw her friend Katie Freeman step outside with a broom, her two-year-old daughter, Melanie, on her heels with a smaller broom in hand.

  Mark hollered, “Hi, Mrs. Freeman! Hi, Melanie!”

  Katie waved and called out, “How you doing, Mark? Annie?”

  “Stop a moment, please,” Annie said.

  Cane stopped the horse in front of Katie.

  Katie leaned on her broom. “Any chance you can serve on Saturday, Annie?”

  “Serve, not cook?”

  “Doc says since I’ll be having this baby any day, I need to put up my feet more often.” She grinned. “Tough to do running this place though. After I have the baby, I know I’ll need even more help. Judge Hoskins knows of a woman who needs employment so I’ll be meeting with her soon. For now, it would help if you served and I cooked. Think you can help me out on Sundays, too?”