Truth Be Told Page 6

  Amelia thanked him again and tucked the pencil and notebook back in her reticule, making a mental checklist of the things she still needed to accomplish that day. The afternoon train was due to arrive momentarily. She could stop by the station to take note of new arrivals before she went back to the newspaper to write up her story on the mountain lion and warn residents to be watchful.

  And that would probably be the most exciting item on this week’s front-page news. She grimaced, then realized Emmett Kingston was still speaking.

  “ . . . thinkin’ I ought to put another ad in the paper. I got a new shipment of ladies’ hats and dresses day before yesterday, and I need to let folks know about it.”

  Amelia brightened. “We’ll be happy to accommodate you. Just stop by the paper. I’ll be out and about for a while, but Homer is there now. He can work with you to set up the ad.”

  “Maybe I’ll wait ’til you get back.” Emmett shoved his hands in his apron pockets and rocked back on his heels. “No offense to Homer, but this one needs a woman’s point of view.”

  “Why don’t we work on it tomorrow morning? That will give us time to have it ready for this week’s issue.”

  “Sounds good.” Emmett turned back toward the store. “I’ll see you then.”

  Bidding him good-bye, Amelia started toward the station, trying to keep her excitement from showing.

  Why was Great Western interested in Virgil Sparks’s property and the land around it? As far as she could remember, that area had been used for nothing but farmland. Had her father discovered some other plan that would be detrimental to the region and purchased the property to keep Great Western from moving ahead? Was that the truth he hoped his successor would uncover?

  Amelia’s pulse quickened. The Sparks place lay only a couple of miles beyond the sawmill—barely an hour’s journey by buggy. She would have to make plans to go out there one day soon and see what she could discover. Perhaps it would be her chance to gain her first tangible piece of evidence of what had been preying on her father’s mind.

  Her steps slowed, and she halted to check the sun’s position in the western sky. Why wait? The train would arrive any minute, but Thomas Rafferty would be glad to fill her in about new arrivals later. She knew how much he enjoyed his role as a ready source of information.

  She swung around and headed for the livery. A few steps later, she stopped to reconsider. While she felt perfectly safe strolling the streets of Granite Springs on her own, the area beyond the sawmill was only sparsely settled. Would venturing out there alone be a wise thing to do?

  But she was a journalist, and a journalist followed the story. How many times had she heard her father say that? The answer to her questions might lie within easy reach. She needed to go out and take a quick look around. She ignored her misgivings as she checked the sun’s position again. A few minutes for Carl Olsen to get the buggy ready, then an hour out and another hour back—less, if she kept the horse to a brisk trot. That left enough time to do some investigating and still be back in town before sunset.

  With her mind made up, she angled across First Street and headed toward the livery. A man stood leaning against the corner of the Great Western building. As she drew nearer, he stepped out, and she recognized Ben Stone.

  Her steps faltered. She had no desire to converse with anyone from Great Western. Maybe later, when she had gathered more information and could formulate specific questions, but not now. Avoiding his eyes, she focused on a point farther along the street and picked up her pace.

  To her chagrin, he stepped off the boardwalk and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Wagner.”

  Amelia drew herself up and hitched her reticule higher on her arm. “Good day to you, Mr. Stone.” She sidestepped, intending to sweep past him. Instead, he turned and fell into step beside her.

  She swallowed back an indignant huff. Why couldn’t he have taken the hint? True, he wasn’t doing anything wrong; he had as much right to walk down the street as she did. But the man worked for Owen Merrick, and she didn’t trust Great Western’s vice president one bit.

  On the other hand . . . She tried to tamp down her impatience and shot a quick glance to her side as they stepped up onto the boardwalk, remembering the look of compassion she had seen on his face at the cemetery. But a fleeting expression didn’t necessarily reflect what lay within a man’s heart.

  He cleared his throat, and her shoulders tensed. The obtuse man obviously hadn’t picked up on her lack of desire to speak with him. What was she supposed to do to make her feelings clear, swing her reticule at his head? Tempting as the idea seemed, she pushed it aside and walked faster.

  “I hear the Ladies Auxiliary is holding a poetry reading at the church next Saturday.”

  “Oh?” Amelia kept her tone cool.

  “I was wondering if you might like to attend it with me.”

  Amelia stopped dead and gaped up at him. “I . . . Thank you, but I believe I’ll be attending with Mr. Crenshaw.”

  “Oh.” Her unwelcome escort seemed at a loss for words. “Well, then . . . I hope you have a pleasant time. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

  Amelia dipped her head in a curt nod. “Perhaps. Excuse me, but I must be going now. There are some matters I must attend to.” She moved on quickly, relieved when he didn’t follow as she walked toward the livery at the corner of First and Railroad. She would have to remember to mention to Homer that he would be escorting her to the poetry reading . . . if he wasn’t put off by the prospect that Hyacinth Parmenter would probably also be in attendance.

  Her steps slowed when she came to the weathered, board-and-batten building with Olsen’s Livery lettered over the door. The rich scent of hay and horses filled her nostrils when she stepped inside. “Mr. Olsen?” she called.

  The owner of the livery appeared from one of the farther stalls with a pitchfork in his hand. His face lit up when he saw Amelia. “Well, hello, Miss Wagner. What can I do for you?”

  “I apologize for the short notice, but could you hitch up my father’s horse and buggy for me?”

  “Sure, I’ll have it done in a jiffy.” Mr. Olsen glanced outside and looked back at her with a trace of a frown. “You aren’t going to be gone long, are you? The days are growing longer, but it’s a little late to start on a lengthy drive.”

  Amelia smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

  Looking relieved, he pulled a harness from its peg on the wall and headed to the stall that housed Smokey, the dapple-gray gelding her father had purchased three years before. He slipped the bridle over the horse’s head and led him back to the center of the alleyway.

  While he finished putting on the harness, Amelia walked over and ran her palm down the gray’s sleek neck. Smokey whickered and nosed at her hand, looking for a treat.

  Amelia laughed and stroked his velvety nose. “I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t bring anything with me this time.”

  Carl Olsen led Smokey outside, where he made short work of hooking him up to the shiny black buggy. Extending a work-worn hand, he helped Amelia up into the seat and handed her the reins.

  “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  She clicked her tongue at the gelding and guided him along First Street before turning left onto Jefferson Road, leading out to the sawmill. Smokey covered the dusty ground at a smart clip. With every turn of the wheels, Amelia felt her spirits rise, and a sense of peace seeped into her mind. How wonderful to be free—if only for a brief time—of the responsibilities for keeping the paper afloat!

  Fragrant, pine-covered slopes rose above the road on her right, while off to the south, the rolling Bradshaw Mountains loomed in the distance. The warm sunlight, the twittering birds, and the white puffy clouds scudding their way across the late afternoon sky combined to bring back memories of carefree childhood days, before her parents’ marriage fragmented and her family was torn apart.

  As if sensing her nostalgic mood, the
gelding’s pace slowed, and Amelia turned her attention back to the moment. She and Smokey were on a mission. This was no time for wool-gathering.

  She slapped the reins against the gelding’s hindquarters, moving him back into a brisk trot. Sitting erect with both hands on the reins, she tilted her head slightly, the better to enjoy the light breeze that fanned her face.

  She and the horse noticed the snake at the same time—a long, mottled brown shape that slithered to the edge of the road and coiled itself into a threatening posture, head up and ready to strike. A sharp rattle buzzed through the air.

  Smokey let out a sharp whinny and sprang to the left, jerking the buggy and throwing Amelia off balance. She recovered quickly, guiding him over to the far left side of the road and leaving the rattlesnake behind.

  “Good boy. You didn’t let him spook you.” She kept her tone low and soothing. After a fearful glance over his shoulder, the horse nickered and went on his way, though his high-stepping gait gave proof of his agitation.

  The road curved, and a stretch of dense cedar growth came into view. Amelia’s lips curved into a smile, remembering the happy hours she had spent exploring the heavily wooded grove with her best friend, Callie Jacobs, and her siblings. The dark tangle of trees formed a nearly impenetrable thicket, providing the perfect setting for countless games of hide-and-seek.

  A wistful sigh escaped her lips. Those days were long gone. Like herself, her friends had grown up and moved on. Callie now lived in Phoenix, where her husband managed a hotel, and her sister had moved to Tucson. Their oldest brother headed to California, where he’d planted orange groves in the San Bernardino Valley. A few other schoolmates still lived near Granite Springs, but they were married now and busy with families of their own.

  A sudden jarring brought her back to the present. The buggy jounced into the air and thudded back to earth, where it began swerving from side to side. Amelia let out a yelp and looked back over her shoulder, berating herself when she saw a large rock in the road. She should have been paying more attention.

  Smokey, already jittery from the encounter with the snake, put on a burst of speed. Amelia tugged on the reins, fighting to keep the vehicle under control as the buggy careened from one side of the dusty road to the other.

  She seesawed on the reins, hauling back on them for all she was worth. The buggy bounced again, and she saw one of the wheels roll past her and veer off the road to the right. Without warning, the buggy tilted to one side and the tip of the axle jammed into the dirt, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt.

  With the buggy thus anchored, Smokey had no choice but to stop. He pranced and snorted while Amelia clung to the slanting buggy seat with one hand and the reins with the other.

  It took her several moments to catch her breath and send up a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been injured. But what about Smokey? With the hand holding the reins, she reached for the brake handle, then realized there was little point in setting it. The buggy wasn’t about to go anywhere. Looping the reins around the brake, she slid down to the end of the seat and lowered herself to the ground.

  Smokey pawed the dirt with his front hoof when she approached, sending up clouds of tawny dust. Amelia stroked his neck and murmured calming words. After a few minutes he settled somewhat, though his eyes still flared wide. She ran her hand down each leg, assuring herself the horse had escaped injury. With that done, she walked back to assess the damage done to the buggy.

  The axle wasn’t broken, as far as she could determine. That was a relief, but what was she to do now? She couldn’t move the buggy in its present condition. And even if she could find the wheel and somehow fashion a lever, she couldn’t lift the buggy to replace the wheel on her own.

  She eyed Smokey and pursed her lips. Could she unhook the buggy and ride him back to town? If she did manage to get him loose, would he stand still long enough for her to find a way to mount? She shook her head, dismissing the idea. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. If the horse ran off, she would be utterly stranded.

  Shielding her eyes, she checked the sun’s position. It had dropped nearly a handspan lower in the sky since she’d left the livery. She chewed on her lower lip. If she left Smokey and the buggy and walked back to Granite Springs, it would be nearly dark when she arrived. Then she would have to ask Mr. Olsen to come out to retrieve her horse and repair the buggy. He’d be out there half the night.

  Her shoulders slumped. Look what her impulsive decision had cost her! It wouldn’t be right to leave poor Smokey out there alone. He’d already been spooked enough. No telling what danger he might get himself into if she left him on his own. She would either have to stay with him until someone happened to come along, or figure out a way to ride him back to town.

  Or . . . she took a deep breath. If she could get Smokey free of the buggy, she could lead him. It would still be late when she arrived, but at least she would be sure the horse was safe. Stepping over to his side, she lifted her hands and started fumbling with the harness when the gelding flicked his ears backwards. He nickered again, and his eyes grew wide.

  Amelia took a step back and scanned the ground. Had Smokey’s keen senses detected another snake?

  A moment later, she heard the faint clip-clop of hooves on the packed dirt road, somewhere beyond the curve. Her heart leapt. A rider was coming!

  She took a stance in the middle of the road, ready to greet her potential rescuer. Then caution asserted itself. What was she thinking? She had no idea what kind of person might be coming her way. Without further deliberation, she left Smokey standing in the road and faded back into the close-set cedars.

  Chapter 7

  Amelia ducked under a low branch and moved back into deeper cover. The hoofbeats grew nearer, but the thick tangle of branches screened the approaching figure. The rider must have spied the wreck, because she heard the horse pick up its pace.

  When he reached the disabled buggy, the rider stopped and dismounted. Holding her breath, Amelia peeked between the cedar branches and could make out a figure rushing to the buggy and looking inside. He turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Miss Wagner! Where are you? Are you all right?”

  Relief flooded Amelia when she recognized Ben Stone. Had it only been an hour before that she was ready to swat him away with her reticule? Now he seemed more like a knight in shining armor, come to rescue her from her plight.

  Pushing the concealing branches aside, she stepped out of her hiding place. “I’m over here.”

  Ben rushed to her side, concern written on his face. “Are you hurt? Were you thrown from the buggy?”

  Heat tinged Amelia’s cheeks. “I heard you coming, but I didn’t know who it was. I wanted to be sure it was safe before I showed myself.”

  A light glowed in Ben’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re all right . . . and that you felt you could trust me.” Turning back to the buggy, he walked over and bent to study the axle. “The cotter pin is missing.”

  Amelia frowned. “How could that have happened? Did it break? And what can we do about it?”

  “I have an idea that may work.” He turned around in a slow circle. “Do you have any idea where the wheel went?”

  Amelia pointed toward the right side of the road. “It rolled off that way.”

  He disappeared into a dense clump of manzanita and buckbrush. A moment later he reemerged, carrying the wheel by its spokes. Back at the buggy, he leaned the wheel against the side and set the brake. Then he squatted next to the axle and gripped the underside of the buggy. “When I pick this up, can you slide the wheel onto the axle?”

  Amelia nodded, and he began to lift. She could see the muscles in his shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt as he strained to raise the buggy high enough. She watched for the moment as the axle lined up with the hub of the wheel, then she wiggled the wheel onto the shaft.

  “Is it in place yet?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “It’s on as far as I can make it go.”

&nb
sp; He eased his grip, not turning loose completely until he assured himself the wheel would support the buggy’s weight.

  Amelia looked up at him. “Now what? How can we keep it from coming off again?”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll show you.” Ben eyed the hole where the cotter pin had been, then he walked over to a scrub oak. Pulling out his pocketknife, he cut off a small branch. As he walked back to the buggy, he began whittling the smaller end. After tapering it down, he jammed it into the hole and tapped it into place with a rock.

  “There you are.” He stood back, admiring his work.

  Amelia tilted her head. “Are you sure that will work?”

  “If we take it easy, it should hold long enough for us to get back to town.” When Amelia eyed him doubtfully, he chuckled. “What do you think they used on the old Conestogas that rolled all the way across the prairie?”

  “Surely they used something more sturdy than a twig.”

  “Granted, but it’s the same principle. If it worked for them, it should work for us . . . at least as far as Granite Springs.” Ben walked back to lead his own horse to the buggy and tied it to the rear.

  Amelia stared at him. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t think I was just going to send you off on your own, did you?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then reconsidered. What if the improvised pin broke on the way back? Who knew how long it would take for someone else to come along. Did she really want to be out alone on this road after nightfall? Catching up her skirt in one hand, she scrambled into the buggy, not waiting for him to help her up.

  Without comment, he circled around to the other side and took his seat before gathering the reins and setting Smokey off at a walk. Amelia sat rigidly upright, hands folded primly in her lap. Being stranded had unnerved her enough to let her guard down when Ben arrived, but now that the danger was over . . .