Free Under Starry Skies by Judy Ann Davis Page B

his son, Lenny.” She looked at her sister. “You’ll probably have him in school.”
    “I doubt it,” Brett spoke up, thumbing back his hat. “He doesn’t believe in sending the child to school. They keep to themselves up there and rarely come into town, except to buy supplies. I don’t even think either of them can write their names. Lenny is half-Indian, his mother was an Arapaho, I believe. River Roy lost his wife when Lenny was only a few years old, then lost his oldest son in the war.”
    Wide-eyed, Abigail pointed to Brett. “What’s he doing here?”
    “Hush, Miss Abby. Mind your manners.” Amos put a calming hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Why, Brett, here has been generous enough to supply all the lumber and shingles for the cottage porch and roof.”
    “What?” A soft gasp escaped from Abigail’s lips as she whirled on Brett. “Is this some sort of a joke?”
    He rewarded her with a cocky grin. It sent her pulse racing and her temper rising.
    “Now, now, Abby,” Tye said. His voice was gentle, but firm. “The school board asked for his assistance. You can’t rightly turn away those eager to put a roof over your sister’s head so our young-uns might have an education. Brett’s father is on the school board along with my brother.”
    Brett pushed himself from the wall he was leaning against. “Ah, yes, my friend, my sentiments exactly. You couldn’t have put it more eloquently.” He touched a finger to his hat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get the wagon unloaded. I’ve a business to attend to.” He stared at Abigail a moment, daring her to challenge him. When she only glared at him, he merely winked and strolled insolently out the door.
    “That man is a cad.” She huffed.
    “He’s a very generous man,” Maria countered.
    “And my friend,” Tye added.
    Abigail’s mouth fell open. “You knew all along he was the mail thief? You were in cahoots with his devious little plan?”
    Tye nodded.
    “Who else knows about this?”
    Amos, Maria, and Tye shifted uncomfortably in their stances, peering guiltily at the floor.
    “You all know?” Abigail shot them an incredulous look.
    “And we need to keep it a secret,” Tye said. “Gossip flows around here like the water in Cherry Creek.”
    “Well, good luck with that,” Abigail said and flounced out the door.
    Later that day, when Abigail told her aunt about the incident with the lynx she was surprised by Emma’s reaction. The woman nodded indulgently, then suddenly broke out into a long, hysterical ripple of laughter. “I told you to go back to Utah, if you know what’s good for you.”
    It was only when Maria mentioned the fresh flowers on their uncle’s grave that the woman stiffened and grew sober, staring at her in confusion before her eyes glazed over in hostile fury. And much earlier in the evening than before, and later into the next day, they were tormented by the same plaintive and repetitious sound of the spinet.

Chapter Six
    Abigail hesitated in the entranceway of the Mule Shed Inn inhaling the sweet smell of newly sawed wood and the tangy odor of linseed and shellac. It had been three weeks to the day since she and Maria had arrived in Golden and settled into their cottage. To her relief, Maria spent every minute of every day caught up in arrangements for opening the school, which left Abigail a free hand with the inn.
    Under the skilled direction of Amos, the shabby-looking structure had come alive like a pauper putting on a suit of fine clothes. Abigail had decided immediately the Mule Shed should be perceived as a new establishment and under new management. She wanted it to be a place where a gentleman could take a lady to dine, an establishment where a man could play cards and imbibe in good whiskey, a place of entertainment, and center of activity for the local town folks.
    Inside the barroom, she tore down all the undesirable pictures of robust, scantily-clad women and replaced the back wall behind the bar