Page 1 of A Groom for Heather
Chapter One
November 1878, New Mexico Territory, along the southern border
Dalton James looked at the body on the travois. The scent of blood and decay filled his nostrils, forcing him to take a step back. Not even the spruce branches someone laid around the body could cover the scent of death.
Five long years were ending as Dalton gazed on the deceased body of Frank Drummond. His skin was mottled in black, blue, and red. It was almost as if someone had beat the man to death.
Too bad it wasn’t me that did the deed, Dalton thought. He watched as the Marshal placed two pennies on Frank’s eyes to keep them closed.
“Yeah,” he said turning away. “That’s him. How did it happen?”
The marshal looked at Dalton and moved his cigarillo to the corner of his mouth with tar-colored fingers. “Mule.”
“Mule?” Dalton scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a year. He needed to find a bathhouse once he dealt with the matter at hand. “You sure?”
“Yep. I guess he snuck in the barn where Widow Hendricks had her mule. Sally don’t take kindly to strangers. Took several days before she found him; the stench gave it away.”
“It took her several days to realize there was a dead man in her barn?”
The marshal inhaled deeply and blew the bitter smoke tinged with cherry wood in the air. “She’s a peculiar sort.”
“Widow Hendricks or the mule?”
The marshal chuckled. “I guess both. He mustava crawled to the back of the barn and died in some hay. She don’t go in there too often. The animals normally let themselves out.”
Dalton shook his head. He didn’t want to ask any more questions about the widow, or her animals. He released a heavy sigh and scrubbed his hand down his face. Disappointment coursed through his body. This wasn’t the way he expected it to end.
“Thanks, Marshal,” Dalton said reaching out to shake the marshal’s hand. “I appreciate you finding me.”
“It just so happened that several men knew you were in town, so I was able to find you. Your reputation precedes you. If’un you don’t mind me asking, what was your business with Drummond?”
Dalton took a deep swallow and gazed out at the Colorado landscape. “He killed my brother,” he finally said. “I wanted to kill him myself.”
“How long you been looking for him?”
Dalton watched as a large black bird flew in circles, hovering on the gusts of wind.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled. “Five long years.”
“That’s a long time to chase someone.”
Dalton opened his eyes and looked at the weathered marshal. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very good at it.”
The marshal spat on the ground. Dalton wrinkled his nose. His mother taught the boys that smoking was a horrible habit, and she pressed that point home when she caught Dalton and his brother smoking in the hayloft. Neither could sit for a week after that. He recalled that the barn a few miles down the road from where they grew up went up in flames from a cowboy sneaking a smoke inside.
Those were the type of impressions that stayed with him.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about him now.” Dalton nodded. “You headed home?”
“Not sure. I think I’ll stay for a few more days and then head out. I’ve spent so long trying to figure out Drummond’s next steps that I don’t know what’s next?”
“Stop by and see me before you head out of town.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“Just want to know you are leaving. That way no one gets any ideas of trying to goad you into a gunfight.”
Dalton headed back across the street and lifted his hand towards the marshal. “Will do,” he said.
