“Just leave it with me. I’ll see that she gets it.”
“Wish I could, but I can’t. Feller that hired me, he said to give it to her personal.”
The clerk considered a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he consulted the registration ledger. “Mrs. Will Barry,” he said in an officious tone. “Room two-oh-one.”
“Much obliged.”
Doolin crossed the lobby. He took the stairs to the second floor, checking room numbers as he walked along the hall. He hadn’t seen his wife since before the baby was born, and his pulse quickened as he stopped outside 201. He rapped softly on the door.
“Yes?”
“Package for Mrs. Barry.”
Footsteps sounded on creaky floorboards. A moment later Edith Doolin opened the door. “Who—” she faltered, recognition flooding her features. “Omigod!”
Doolin shushed her with a finger to his lips. He stepped into the room, nudging the door shut with his foot, and took her in his arms. She went up on tiptoe, her arms around his neck, and gave him a long, lingering kiss. Finally, short of breath, she broke the embrace. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh, Bill,” she said joyously. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
“With bells on,” Doolin said, grinning. “When’d you get in?”
“Yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to knock on that door.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
She suddenly became aware of his clothes. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Just being careful,” Doolin said. “Folks don’t give a bum a second glance. Here, I brought you something.”
“For me!”
She took the package and swiftly unwrapped it. The shawl was clearly inexpensive, but she hugged it to her breast, kissing him again. “You always were a sweet man.”
“Forget me,” Doolin said. “I hear I’ve got a son. Let me see him.”
“How on earth did you hear that?”
“Honey, there’s no secrets on the owlhoot grapevine. News gets around.”
She led him across the room. The baby was asleep on the bed, tiny arms and legs stretched out in repose. Doolin stared down, stock-still with awe, his features oddly gentle. Several moments passed in silence, and then he let out a slow breath. His mouth creased in a wide smile.
“You’ve done us proud, Edie. He’s a fine boy.”
“Poor little thing,” she said, her eyes on the baby. “The trip up here just wore him to a frazzle.”
“Any trouble?” Doolin said. “Everything go like we planned?”
“I did just what you told me in your letter. Traded horses and wagons with that Osage man, and came on here. Nobody tried to follow me.”
“Somebody did,” Doolin said with a bitter smile. “You can bet the law’s been keepin’ an eye on you.”
“After all this time?” She looked downcast. “Wouldn’t they have given up by now?”
“Not on your tintype! Why do you think I laid low so long?”
Doolin had no doubt that his life was at risk. After the death of Jack Blake, he had decided to put distance between himself and Oklahoma Territory. Along with Dick West, he’d crossed the plains on horseback and drifted into New Mexico Territory. There, under the names of Bill Hawkins and Dick Porter, they had found work as cowhands. The rancher who had hired them, Eugene Rhodes, suspected they were operating under aliases. But men were asked few questions in that part of the country.
The ranch was located in Socorro County, deep in the San Andres Mountains. A short distance from the border of Old Mexico, the area was widely known as “Outlaws’ Paradise.” Wanted men from across the West came there to hide out until their trails cooled down. At times, half the cowhands in the county were thought to be on the run. But they generally behaved themselves, and the ranchers found them to be a strong deterrent against cattle rustlers. The law usually turned a blind eye, and on those occasions when men were sought, nothing came of it. They skipped across the border into Old Mexico.
The third week in August, after mailing the letter to Mary Pierce, Doolin had headed for Kansas. Dick West had tagged along, drawn by the notion that the gang would be reformed in the Nations. Doolin gave him no reason to believe otherwise, for he’d confided in no one about his plans for California. Instead, he had sent West on ahead to deal with the Osage couple, who had assisted the Wild Bunch in the past. All he’d told West was that he wanted his wife and child out of Oklahoma Territory, away from the law. Then, his destination still a secret, he had proceeded to the spring outside Burden.
“Hey, I forgot to ask,” he said now. “What’d you name the boy?”
Edith smiled. “I waited till we could talk about it. But I sort of like Bill, Junior.”
“I dunno,” Doolin said haltingly. “We’ll have to change our names in California. Let’s think about it on the train.”
“When were you planning on leaving?”
“Since you’re here, we ought to leave tomorrow. No sense takin’ chances.”
“I can’t,” she said, not looking at him. “This morning I had to go see a doctor. I started spotting … bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” Doolin appeared confused. “You mean from—” He hesitated, clearly embarrassed. “From having the baby?”
She nodded. “The trip in that wagon must have jarred something. The doctor said I needed bed rest.” She paused, her head lowered. “Otherwise it could turn into something serious.”
“How serious?”
“He wants to keep an eye on me for a few days. But if it gets any worse, he said he might have to operate.”
“That settles it,” Doolin said forcefully. “You’re not movin’ till the doc gives you the go-ahead.”
Tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks. “Oh God, Bill, what about the law? I’d sooner die than have them catch you now.”
“Forget the law,” Doolin said with grim assurance. “I’ve stayed a jump ahead of them so far. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Will you stay here, with me?”
Doolin paced across the room, thinking. She saw his limp, the wince of pain when he put weight on his foot. He stopped at the window, staring down
