“Constable Allen, I need your help.”
* * *
Blue held out his hand to the stranger. “All the best in locating your brother.”
Harv Winch squeezed Blue’s hand hard. “Thanks.”
Blue reached for his horse, then paused. “No need to camp out in the cold. You’d find a warm place to sleep at Eden Valley Ranch. Someone there might have seen or heard about your brother.”
Harv stepped back, his arms folded across his chest. “I might pass by.”
Blue nodded. Some people preferred to be alone. Not too long ago, he would have placed himself in that category. Now he couldn’t wait to get back to town and assure Clara this man posed no threat to her.
As he rode toward Edendale, he tried to plan what he’d say and guess how she’d react. Would she agree to stay in the area?
He sucked in a deep breath. One step at a time, he reminded himself.
He reached the church, the first building on this side of Edendale, glanced through the windows at the empty room, then rode directly to the shed at the back of the lot and tended his horse. He took his hat off and swatted the dust and horsehair from his clothes before he trotted over to the shack.
At the door, he stopped and took three steadying breaths.
“Hello. It’s me. Blue.” When no one answered him, he knocked and called again and cocked his head to listen. Not a sound emanated from within. He edged the door open. The shack was empty. Disappointment filled his thoughts; then he turned toward the river and strained to hear little girls’ voices that carried a great distance. Nothing. Maybe they were visiting Bonnie.
He covered the distance in long, hungry strides and knocked, then threw open the door. One look informed him they weren’t there.
“Bonnie, have you see Clara and the girls? They aren’t at the shack.”
“I haven’t. But then I’ve been working on this quilt so I wouldn’t have seen them if they went down to the river. They seem to like being there.”
“Thanks.” He dashed back outside before she could ask why he was interested and jogged down to the river. He looked both ways, listened hard. Was it possible he wouldn’t hear them if they were within shouting distance? It seemed unlikely.
He strained for any telltale sound but heard nothing.
No reason for concern, he assured himself, which did nothing to ease the sinking sensation in his stomach. He’d planned that he would give her his good news and she’d be so happy, so relieved she’d—
Well, he wasn’t quite ready to decide what she’d do but the thought of a grateful hug and kiss had entered his mind.
And now nothing. Where had she gone? He returned to the yard. Perhaps she’d gone to the store. He looked in that direction and saw the stagecoach. His throat closed so tight he couldn’t swallow. In double-quick time he returned to the shack and stepped inside. All her things were gone. The bedding, Libby’s dress that recently hung near the stove. The place had been swept clean and vacated.
She was leaving on the stage.
Not without him. He raced toward the store, up the steps and inside. He skidded to a halt at the surprised look on Macpherson’s face and the annoyed one on the face of a stranger. A city fellow who glanced at Blue and then away again as if Blue was only a minor disturbance.
“Blue, this here is Mr. Creighton. Come all the way from Toronto.” Macpherson tipped his head toward the city man.
Blue nodded a greeting.
Mr. Creighton managed to look offended. “It’s been a long trip. If you could offer any assistance—”
Blue wondered how a carefully worded sentence could sound so much like an order meant to be obeyed with all due haste.
“By all means. Maybe Blue can help.” Macpherson turned to Blue. “Mr. Creighton is looking for his daughter and grandchildren. Says the woman’s name is Mrs. Westbury.”
“She has two little girls,” Mr. Creighton said. “She’d be needing help because she doesn’t know how to take care of herself, let alone the girls.”
This was Clara’s father!
Shock scalded Blue’s veins.
Macpherson continued to look at Blue. “I told this fine gentleman I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description. Have you?” His look said far more than his words. What he meant was Clara didn’t fit the description of helpless female.