He moved them toward the tree until he pushed her against it, holding her up with his body and arms. She threaded her fingers through his hair as he devoured her fully, expressing with his kiss just how much she meant to him.
Although he was confident he could go up against Hardin, a niggle of doubt crept in the back of his mind. What if I’m not that fast?
Then Frances would lose her fiancé.
ELEVEN
FRANCES WAS ASTONISHED that everything was going so smoothly. She kept waiting for something to go wrong, but so far, nothing was. Vincent had shown her how to tie the rope to their hands, and once she was finished, Vince and Tom lifted the men – who smelled strongly of whiskey – to a section of the camp and finished tying them to a tree. A few times the women stirred, or one of the children, and thankfully, nobody woke up.
As she crept into another tent, her hopes were high that Vincent’s plan had been perfect. Her life had told her not to get too excited until the very end because something always went wrong.
This time eight months ago when she’d been Claudia’s maid in Charleston, South Carolina, Frances had tried to help protect Claudia from her evil cousin. Everything had gone smoothly, and Frances had relaxed her guard... only to have the evil Phillip burst through the bedroom door, surprising both Frances and the mistress of the plantation. The first thing Phillip did was knock his fist against Frances’ jaw, and she fell to the ground, unconscious.
There was no way she was going to let her guard down now. Vincent would be the one to get tortured instead of her. She couldn’t have that happening to the man she loved more than life itself.
It didn’t take her long before she had the man’s hands tied – testing the ropes one last time before she crawled out of the tent. Only three more men to tie up before they were done. From off in the distance, a man’s drunken murmuring ripped through the air. The fool needed to be shut up. Immediately.
She jumped to her feet and dashed toward the tree where the men were tied. The man’s voice grew louder the closer she came. When she was close enough to see who it was, she recognized Willy’s clothes. He’d been the first man they tied up.
“Ah, there ya are, ya lil’ vixen,” Willy slurred.
She fell to her knees beside him and slapped him across the face. “Be quiet!”
“Ohhh, the vixen is rough and demandin’. I think I’m in love.”
She grumbled under her breath. “Would you like more whiskey?” If that was the only way to shut him up...
“I’d like something better than whiskey.”
Hopefully, whatever he wanted, was a stronger drink. “What is that?”
“I’d like a kiss.” He puckered.
She scowled. “That you will never get.”
“Oh, right... b’cause yer engaged to that Pinkerton agent.”
“You’re exactly right.”
Willy shook his head. “He’ll never make ya happy.” He snorted in disgust. “He couldn’t even keep his wife happy.”
She sucked in a quick breath. What was Willy talking about? Her heartbeat thudded anxiously. “Why do you say that?”
Behind her, she heard heavy footsteps coming her way. Without looking to see who it was, she waved her hand in back of her, hoping to tell the person running toward her not to interrupt.
“I’m sure ya didn’t know the agent back then,” Willy continued, “but he was never at home... leavin’ his pretty wife to unsuspectin’ men like me.”
The low gasp in back of her sounded like Vincent. She couldn’t look at him now, not when she had Willy confessing. She gently touched his shoulder. “Willy? Do you know what happened to his wife?”
He hiccupped a laugh. “Of course, I do. I was there.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t believe that you were really there.”
“Oh, I was. The pretty lil thing was with child. Before I shot her in the forehead, she begged for her life and for the life of her unborn babe. She threatened that her husband, Agent Brooks, would avenge her death.”
Frances’ heart shattered and her gut twisted. From behind came Vincent’s deep voice, cussing. The next thing she heard was the clicking of his pistol before he resumed hurrying toward her.
Vincent dropped to his knees, pressing the gun against Willy’s forehead. Fear jumped inside of her. Vincent was going to kill him. She knew it as she knew the sun would rise in one hour. But she also knew that using his gun would awaken the camp. They weren’t finished tying all of the men. And the gunshot noise might even reach Hardin’s ears as he was on his way here.
“No, Vincent.” She touched his arm. “You mustn’t shoot.”
“He... killed... my wife!” His voice was hoarse and almost unrecognizable.
“Yes, and you can beat him to a bloody pulp later, but you cannot use your gun. The noise –”
“I don’t care about the noise.” Vincent snapped.
“No... no... I didn’t kill her.” Willy’s voice shook as he stared at Vincent with wide eyes.
“You just told Miss Carlton that you did.”
“I... I... was lying.”
Vincent pressed the barrel against Willy’s head harder, making the frightened man whimper. “You’re a terrible liar.” Vincent’s breaths were fast and harsh. “I’m going to enjoy torturing you just as you did to my wife. I’ve been planning how to kill you for four years.”
Willy whimpered more and squirmed. “No, please... don’t...”
“You can beg all you like, but it’s not going to help. Weasels like you should die a nice, slow death.”
Tears filled Frances’ eyes. Who was this man? As she looked upon her beloved, she knew he’d been possessed by something evil. Where was the forgiving man she’d grown to love?
It was difficult to understand his feelings. She’d never had someone in her life purposely killed. But a God-fearing Christian would know to forgive and forget.
But maybe not when they’d just found their wife’s killer...
“Brooks, no!” Tom’s out of breath voice sounded weak as he stopped beside Willy. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not until we’ve completed every aspect of our plan.”
“Jenkins, this is none of your concern.”
“It is when your gunshot will awake the whole camp.”
“Most of the men are tied up, anyway,” Vincent snapped.
“But Hardin will be here any time now.”
“I don’t care.”
Frances’ heart continued to crumble as she witnessed Vincent’s breakdown. She must be the one to stop him since he wasn’t listening to Tom.
She stroked her hand from his shoulder, down his right arm, still grasping the butt of the gun as it pressed against Willy’s head. “Vincent, my love.” She licked her dry lips. “Please don’t kill him here. I’m not saying you don’t have the right to seek out justice, but what if you wait a day or two? If you want to torture Willy – as he well deserves – making him wait will definitely be torturous for him. You can take him someplace away from here to exact revenge. But for now, please don’t fire your gun.”
He remained in the same position, and although he didn’t lower his arm, at least he wasn’t arguing with her. His silence told her that he was thinking.
“Vincent, my darling man, I want you to beat the gunslinger, but you won’t be able to in this condition. What Willy has done is unforgivable, I know, but don’t let your anger override your plans for capturing Walter Shipp’s gang.”
A growl tore from Vincent’s throat and he turned to glare at her. She sucked in a breath. He’d never looked at her like this before, and she never wanted to see this fierce anger on his face ever again.
“Frances,” he ground out slowly. “You don’t know what I’m feeling right now. You don’t understand how long I’ve been trying to find the one responsible for killing my wife. The anger – and pain in my heart from her loss – has left a hole inside of me that’s been replaced by hatred so deep that it’s festered and grew.�
� He shook his head. “I can’t just let this go.”
“Brooks,” Tom said. “She’s not asking you to let go of your anger. All she’s saying is that you should not shoot him today. You’ve waited this long, I don’t think two more days of waiting is going to make a difference.”
Vincent’s breathing increased as he looked at Willy. Suddenly, Vincent’s fist flew through the air and connected with Willy’s nose. Blood poured down his face as the man’s head tilted weakly to the side. Frances doubted he was dead, but at least he was out of commission.
Grumbling, Vincent jumped to his feet and stormed away from the tree. Relief washed over Frances as tears streamed down her face. She prayed her love for him could carry his tender emotions through their marriage until he was ready to leave the past behind.
She also prayed that he would forgive her for convincing him to wait to kill Willy.
“HERE HE COMES,” TOM whispered.
Frances’ body shook as she watched Hardin ride toward the camp. The sun had just barely started to peek on the horizon. The men were still tied to the tree, and the few women and children were still asleep. She and Tom hid behind a tree not far from camp. They were able to see everything that happened, but at least they wouldn’t be in the gunslinger’s range of fire when he realized what had happened while he’d been gone.
She took her focus off Hardin long enough to scope out the camp and the surrounding area. She hadn’t seen – or heard – from Vincent since he stormed off. Her chest clenched with worry, not knowing what had become of him. Was he injured and needed her help? Or had he left her to deal with the soon-to-be irate outlaw?
If someone would have asked her two days ago if the man she fell in love with – the one who was a trusting, devoted Pinkerton Agent – would up and leave the case he’d been working on, she would have laughed in their face. Vincent was a courageous man. A dedicated man. A law-abiding man.
Until he’d found his wife’s killer.
Part of her wanted to believe he’d return to the camp. After all, Willy was still tied up to the tree. Frances doubted Vincent would let the murderer out of his sight.
“Where is Agent Brooks?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know.” Sadness coated her voice and made it squeak. She cleared her throat. “But I hope he’s all right.”
“He’s been through so much in four years. I’m glad you were able to convince him not to shoot Willy.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She aimed her attention to Hardin. The second he rode into camp, he stopped his horse as his gaze moved around the area. The hairs on the back of her neck stood. The man knew something was amiss.
Slowly, he dismounted and pulled out his gun. He walked toward the make-shift tent where Frances and Vincent had been held. When Hardin didn’t see the guard, he rushed inside the tent. Loud cussing quickly followed.
He rushed out of the tent. “They’ve escaped,” he shouted.
He stood still as if waiting for men to scramble out of their tents toward him, but when nothing happened, a louder cuss ripped from his throat.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re over here,” came a voice in the direction of the tree.
Frances groaned softly and rubbed the throb pounding in her forehead. Where are you, Vincent?
As Hardin ran toward the tree, Tom and Frances darted behind another tree to get a better look.
Hardin stopped in front of the tree. He removed his hat and scratched his head. “What happened?”
“Well,” Willy said, “the Pinkerton agent and his woman escaped, but before they left, they tied us all up so we couldn’t follow. I tried to fight him, but... well, ye can see what he did to my nose.”
Frances rolled her eyes. He was such a liar. However, she knew he had been the one to kill Vincent’s wife.
“Augh!” Hardin shouted before punching Willy in the face. More blood poured from his nose.
She held back a laugh. The man got what he deserved, but yet... there was still more punishment coming from Vincent.
“You just let them get away?” Hardin shouted at the group.
“They tied us up in our sleep,” one man complained.
“And none of you woke up during the transfer from your tent to the tree? What are you? Drunken imbeciles?”
Whether Hardin knew it or not, the two words he’d called his so-called friends went together perfectly. Indeed, drunks were imbeciles.
Shaking his head, Hardin reached down to untie the men. Out of nowhere came a gunshot, knocking the gun out of Hardin’s hand.
Frances gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Her gaze shifted in the direction where Hardin’s head had turned toward.
Vincent came back!
And yet... if Vincent got his way, the two men would have a showdown to see which one was the faster draw.
TWELVE
THIS TOWN ISN’T BIG enough for the two of us...
Vince couldn’t count how many times he’d heard gunslingers say that to the people they wanted to kill. And now, the phrase filled his head. There was a different reason that the town wasn’t big enough for them both. Because Sheriff Brooks would not have a wanted outlaw in his territory.
For the past hour, he’d been riding around in the dark, thinking over his anger. He rode back to town, only for a few minutes because he needed to return to camp and rescue Frances. His blood boiled over the murderous man that Vince wanted to choke to death or torture in the worst way. But the lovely face that flashed through his mind was Frances – and especially her frightened expression when he had snapped at her earlier.
Sorrow overcame him a couple of times during his hour of wandering, and he found himself crying... and then screaming with frustration. He owed it to Jessica to find justice somehow. And yet, his heart ached more for the woman he’d fallen in love with. He didn’t want to disappoint her, either.
And now, as he stared at the outlaw, all he could think about was what Frances had said – I want you to beat the gunslinger, but you won’t be able to in this condition. What Willy has done is unforgivable, I know, but don’t let your anger override your plans for capturing Walter Shipp’s gang.
Vince tried his hardest to focus on Hardin and nothing more. When he’d shot the gun out of the outlaw’s hand, Vince grinned. The shocked look on the other man’s face was priceless. But Vince knew he couldn’t feel too elated.
“I wouldn’t untie those men if I were you,” Vince said.
The outlaw’s face hardened. “Who put you in charge of this camp?”
“I did. After all, when I was in town about an hour ago, I heard that your leader, Walter Shipp died from his injuries. Not only that, but I’m a Pinkerton agent and the sheriff of this county.”
Hardin chuckled and shook his head. “And you have been drinking too many cups of Mrs. Shumway’s moonshine. I haven’t heard about Shipp’s death.”
Vince wanted to laugh at the thought of the gossipmonger cooking up moonshine. “Sorry to disappoint, but I have friends who tell me the truth. Walter Shipp is dead.”
Hardin slowly lifted his hands, but not quite in surrender. “What do you plan on doing with me? Tie me to the tree, with the others?”
“As much as the idea is tempting, nonetheless, another idea is more tempting.” Using his gun, he motioned toward Hardin’s gun still lying in the dirt. “I’d like to see which one of us is a faster draw. You or me.”
Hardin laughed. “Do you know who I am and what I do for a living?”
Vince nodded. “You’re an outlaw who is supposed to be a quick draw.”
Slowly, Hardin bent to retrieve his gun. Vince kept his gun pointed at the man, not trusting him.
“I’m not supposed to be. I am the faster draw around. Didn’t your wife tell you?”
Vince’s mind froze. What in the blazes was he talking about? “How do you know my wife?”
Hardin’s grin grew more evil the wider it stretched across his face. “Willy and I went to f
ind a woman and... dispose of her. We were given the wrong information and ended up on your doorstep. I think her name was Jessica, right?”
Bile rose to Vince’s throat as the world spun around him, but he couldn’t allow this to happen. Staying focused meant staying alive, especially around Hardin. “Did you kill her or did Willy?”
Hardin barked out a harsh laugh. “You think Willy killed her? That miserable excuse for a man couldn’t shoot the side of the barn.”
Tightening his fingers around the butt of the gun, Vince kept it pointing at the outlaw. Challenging the other man to a showdown seemed more reasonable right now. It would solve two issues – knowing who was the faster draw, and killing the man who killed his wife.
“Then I suppose,” he said in a tight voice, “you are the one I’m after. Not Willy.”
Hardin held out his arms away from his body. “I’m right here. But I warn you, I’m fast.”
Vince shrugged. “And my friends have told me I’m pretty darned quick, too.”
“It’ll be interesting to see, then.”
Vince watched carefully as the outlaw slid his revolver in his holster before he did the same thing. The camp grew quiet. Not even a child was heard whining. The birds even seemed to realize there was tension in the air and had silenced their morning songs.
Anger grew inside of him, and yet, it was more controlled than what had happened last night with Willy. Stay focused! No matter what, he must keep his eyes – and mind – on his opponent.
Each man’s hand hovered closely over the holster. Vince kept his stare on Hardin, jumping back and forth between the man’s eyes and his hand. Vince’s heartbeat shook through his body. Part of his mind had a niggle of doubt that this was not going to end well, but he pushed the negativity aside. He would win. He’d show this good-for-nothing outlaw that evil never prevails, and then finally, Jessica’s memory could be put to rest.
And if he wasn’t fast enough... Well, hopefully Tom Jenkins was somewhere watching and had Vince’s back.
Suddenly, Hardin reached for his weapon. Vince whipped his revolver out, aimed, and fired. Another shot had blasted through the air and he felt the bullet whiz by his head, but there was no pain with it. He must have had an angel watching over him just now.
An Agent for Frances Page 8
