Kisses With KC (Cowboys and Angels Book 11)(27)

He shook himself. He’d have to get a home built quickly and ask for her hand. He wanted her in his life. Eliza had shown him the difference between love and lust. KC had wanted women before, but not to be his family. He wanted to see her each morning and night. He wanted to share her sorrows and joys. He wanted to see her beauty renewed in their children and grandchildren over the decades to come.

KC looked behind him into the barn and scanned the stalls. MayBelle hadn’t come back. He’d thought she’d beat him back, but he supposed she’d return sooner or later. It surprised him that she’s gotten spooked like that. Or maybe she wasn’t spooked at all. There seemed to be a lot more to that little donkey than being a donkey. He never knew what she was up to, but he was coming to learn there was always something.

That night, KC lay in bed trying to put the pieces together. The biggest piece was missing. He had no proof that Anders threatened the settlers. A telegram he had sent seemed to refer to buying the land in the future. But KC couldn’t prove it wasn’t just a coincidence.





10





Eliza Turley



Eliza served KC a large stack of pancakes. She placed a jar of chokecherry jelly beside him, knowing it was his favorite. When KC finished eating, he jumped up and cleared the table while Eliza ate. Then he hung around to help with dishes.

She was in no hurry to clean the kitchen. If KC wanted to stay, she’d love to have him. “Tell me a little about your family. You never talk about them.”

“I grew up in Kansas—not a mountain in sight. My parents came from Ulster in Ireland. Their dream was to have land of their own and raise a family.”

“Were they homesteaders?” She placed another plate in the rinse water, and KC fished it out.

“They were. A whole group came from their province and settled together. They had lots of friends, and they could offer protection for each other. By the time I came along, there was plenty of work to keep me busy on the farm or helping a neighbor.” Although he didn’t say more, Eliza knew he was thinking about something. He continued to dry the plate in his hands though it was dry long ago.

She washed another in silence and put it into the rinse tub. As her elbow grazed against his, his attention came back to what he was doing, and he placed the plate on the stack of the others. When he reached for the next, Eliza slipped her hand in his under the water.

He held it for a moment, then said, “They were murdered, shot. What little they had was stolen. I returned home that night and found them.”

Eliza squeezed his hand, and he continued. “We had a funeral. There were no suspects. Maybe they were drifters. In one violent act, I had no family. I couldn’t live in that house. I didn’t see all the happy times—just their deaths. It was a time of decision for me. I wanted to be an agent and help someone if I could.”

Eliza leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping us.”

“Time we left for church,” Ellis said from behind them.

“We’re about done,” Eliza replied.

“You are now,” Ellis said as he left the room.



Worry over her family and neighbors consumed Eliza’s attention during the church service that Sunday. She felt that Mr. Anders must be involved. Why else had he been at Baldwin’s house? She stared at the bald spot on the back of his head. What was he up to? She supposed that there could be any number of reasons he’d been there. He could have been buying it. Or selling it. Or maybe he was wondering what was happening to the homesteaders like she was. The first two seemed plausible, but he was no philanthropist.

She pushed her hand into her pocket and felt the crinkled paper. Bad Egg Baldwin didn’t just disappear. Her gut felt sure of that.

At the end of the meeting, Eliza watched as Mr. Anders followed Reverend Theodore to the door. She waited until the men began their little ceremony of shaking hands before she stood—on the pew.

Ellis grabbed her hand. “What are you doing? Get down.”

“Friends and neighbors.” Her voice raised above the whispered conversations around her. “Some of you are homesteaders and others are merchants or workers here in Creede. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the trouble the homesteaders are having from here to Lake City.” Eliza saw Mr. Anders listening, his ear turned to her but his face turned away. His hand had stopped mid-shake.

“I went to Bad Egg Baldwin’s house and found this note in the fireplace. I don’t believe he moved.” Eliza pulled the soot-stained note from her skirt and began to read. “‘This is your last warning to sell. Leave this house alive or dead. You have one day to decide.’” Eliza waved the paper. “I don’t think he left town. He said he’d never sell his place. I think someone made good on this threat.”

Voices raised. “What can we do about it?” a man called from the back.

“I’m asking you to watch out for the homes along that road. If you drive there to take merchandise, supplies, or to go to the mines out that way, look around. See who’s there. Watch out for us. Report anything you see that looks out of place to Marshal Wheeler.”

The voices of the congregation increased while Mr. Anders left without looking back.

KC helped Eliza down. “We should go.”

The family went directly to their wagon and left town.