The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption. Janet Dean

her incompetent husband and now his violent death.

      “I’ll fix a nice supper. Get whatever looks good from the butcher. I intend to fatten you up.” She leaned down and patted the mutt. “You, too, Maizie.” Tail thumping against the floor, the dog raised her head, tongue lolling.

      Anna probably hoped her home cooking would entice Nate to stay, as much as food enticed the stray. He had put on weight with her delicious meals. If he stayed, living a life of ease, he’d get soft. “Be back soon as I can.”

      As Nate stepped onto the porch, Mrs. Richards and her son strolled toward him. The widow carried a pot, holding the handles with dishtowels, as if the metal was hot.

      In three strides Nate reached her side. “Can I help with that?”

      “Thank you, but I’ve got it.”

      Henry beamed up at Nate. “You came back.”

      “Yes, and brought my sister with me,” Nate said, unable to resist rubbing a palm over Henry’s cowlick. As soon as he removed his hand, the tuft sprang aloft.

      Henry gazed up at his mother. “Is that the lady that’s going to help you sew?”

      “Yes,” Carly said, her gaze darting to Nate, then away.

      It didn’t take a mind reader to see her disquiet about relying on the woman who held the deed to her shop. That order she’d mentioned must be a whopper.

      “I thought Anna might appreciate not having to cook.”

      “Chicken and noodles,” Henry said.

      “My favorite.” Nate inhaled. “Smells delicious.”

      “I like chicken and noodles best, too!” Henry all but danced around Nate’s knees. “I could eat with you.”

      “It’s not polite to invite yourself,” Carly said, tugging her son close, obviously unwilling for Henry to spend time with a bounty hunter. “Besides, I saved some for us.”

      Nate didn’t blame her. He wasn’t someone a boy should look up to, but with Max Richards for a father, Henry had no idea what made a man admirable and might latch on to any man.

      As he reached the stoop, Nate opened the door and called to his sister. He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to sit at the table with Carly and her son. To enjoy a meal and a bit of conversation, assuming they could squeeze a word in between Henry’s little-boy chatter.

      Anna appeared in the doorway. “Carly, what a lovely surprise.” She smiled at Henry. “This handsome young man must be Henry.”

      “We bringed chicken and noodles for your supper.”

      “How thoughtful.” She opened the door. “Please, come in.”

      At his mother’s side, Henry turned to Nate. “Are you coming?”

      “My sister asked me to run an errand, but I’ll see you around.”

      The light in Henry’s eyes dimmed. “Oh, okay. ’Bye,” he said, taking the hand Anna offered and walking inside.

      Nate tipped his hat at Mrs. Richards. “Thanks for supper. That was considerate of you.”

      Her sapphire eyes held a chill. “Don’t be misled, Mr. Sergeant. If not for you, Anna would not consider taking my shop. That makes you and me adversaries. I’ll do what I must to ensure my son’s future.”

      “As I will with my sister’s.”

      “We understand each other, then,” she said, closing the door with a click.

      Carly Richards might be hospitable to Anna, but she obviously viewed him as the enemy. She somehow knew Anna would forgo ownership of the shop if not for his insistence. And that was why he would stay until the judge ruled.

      Nate strode past the livery out to Main Street. Always alert for trouble, his gaze spanned the street and buildings as he turned toward the mercantile.

      Most businesses in town looked prosperous and well kept. Ruffled curtains hung on either side of the window of Sarah’s Café. A red-and-white-striped pole heralded the town barbershop. First State Bank, the name hand-lettered in gold across the glass, looked as solid as its stone facade. On down the street Nate spied a grocery and doctor’s office.

      Apparently the livery was the only run-down building in town. Gnaw Bone was a nice place for his sister to settle. From what he’d seen, folks here had pride of ownership and weren’t afraid of work.

      Nate stepped through the open double doors of Stuffle Emporium, the scents of spices, kerosene, soap and vinegar warring in his nostrils. He zigzagged through a maze of tables piled with stacks of readymade clothing, linens, pots and pans. Along the back wall he found wrought iron rods that would fit the bedroom windows. The curlicues on each end would please Anna. He gathered them up, along with supports and screws. No need to buy a hammer when Anna had Pa’s metal box filled with tools.

      Toting his finds, he walked to the long counter. Behind it, shelves reached from the wooden floor to the stamped-tin ceiling. J. B. Stetson hats lined a section of one shelf. A brown Stetson caught his eye. An exact replica of the hat Pa had given Nate on his twelfth birthday. “When you do a man’s work, you need a man’s gear,” Pa had said, placing the hat on Nate’s head. Though his father’s praise had been overstated, Nate had worn the hat with pride and tried to live up to his words.

      A lanky, tall man, his large hands folded over the apron covering his middle, stepped over and flashed a smile. “I’m Clarence Stuffle, proprietor of this here establishment. You must be new in town.”

      “Name’s Nate Sergeant. My sister and I just moved into Morris Mood’s house.”

      “Ah, that makes you the bounty hunter planning to fix up the livery.” He thrust out a hand and they shook. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Morris can use the help. Like an old clock, he’s harder to wind and keep a’tickin’.”

      “I’m glad for the work.”

      “So what brings a bounty hunter to Gnaw Bone?”

      Nate had no intention of sharing his reasons. But, word would get out. “Gnaw Bone seemed like a nice little town for my widowed sister to make a new life for herself.”

      “Carly Richards is doing the same. I reckon you’d know about that, having killed her husband.”

      Nate straightened, holding the proprietor’s gaze.

      Stuffle raised a palm. “Not that I’m not holding it against you, leastwise as long as you keep that revolver holstered. Most folks didn’t cotton to Max.”

      “I’m not a threat to anyone on the right side of the law.” When had Nate spoken a bigger lie?

      “In that case, welcome.” Stuffle motioned to the items Nate had laid on the counter. “Our blacksmith made the rods. A wooden rod, even a strong cord would do, but womenfolk like things fancy.” He glanced at the paper in Nate’s hand. “Anything else you need?”

      Nate handed over the list. Apparently, Stuffle hadn’t gotten wind of the controversy over the shop’s ownership. Once the judge arrived, the entire town would know. If the judge ruled in his sister’s favor, as Nate expected, would Anna be an outcast? As if his occupation didn’t already bring enough censure.

      Nate’s jaw tightened. He might have the skill to track and bring outlaws to justice, but he had no way to protect his sister from mistreatment. If folks gave Anna a chance, they’d like her. How could they not? She always thought of others, put them first. Still, to ensure her happiness, he would come back to Gnaw Bone as much as he could while pursuing Stogsdill.

      Obviously not a man to hurry, the proprietor shuffled back and forth from the shelves to the counter, piling up the items on Anna’s list. Finally he rang up each on the brass cash register and told Nate the tally.

      If