Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three

by Lee, Caroline

  “Dear Heavens, no!” Ruth shuddered theatrically, while flapping her hand dismissively. “If we’re eating chicken, I’ll cook it! My jaw still hurts from your last attempt.”

  Tavie couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll make the biscuits then.”

  “Excellent. That was my plan all along. Now, dear, quit dilly-dallying and get your coat.”

  The unexpected knock on the front door caught the two of them as they were just tying off their hats. They exchanged a quizzical glance, before Tavie reached for the knob.

  Mrs. Regina Hartwell, wife of one of the ranchers outside of town and daughter of Doc Vickers, bustled in. Her cheeks were rosy red, and a cariole stood out in the yard, the horse stomping impatiently.

  “Mrs. Hoyle!” she exclaimed breathlessly, taking the older women’s gloved hands in hers. “Thank Heavens you’re ready to leave. I need you to come at once.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from Ruth’s face as her eyes met Tavie’s. She jumped toward the older woman, wrapping her arm around her plump shoulders and sharing her fear.

  Jack. Something had happened to Jack?

  But they couldn’t ask, not when Regina—no one—knew who Jack was.

  She could feel Ruth shaking, but when the woman didn’t speak, Tavie knew it was up to her.

  “What—” The fear lodged in her throat made the question difficult. “Why do you need Ruth?”

  Regina looked between the two of them, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, she squeezed Ruth’s hands comfortingly.

  “You know Mr. Caplan has been convalescing at my father’s house, right? I’ve been coming into town to help since the weather has cleared, and Hart and his grandfather are busy with the horses.”

  Ruth nodded shakily, so Regina continued, dropping her hand to her stomach, which Tavie now realized was a little bit bigger than she remembered.

  “I doubt I’ll be able to help next winter, what with this little one on the way, but Papa’s been pleased to have me around to help with Millard. He’s taken a turn for the worse—Millard, I mean. Papa doesn’t think he’ll last much longer, but he’s been asking for you, Mrs. Hoyle.”

  And God forgive them, but both Ruth and Tavie breathed a sigh of relief.

  It wasn’t Jack. He was safe.

  Then Ruth straightened her shoulders. “That poor dear. I know you and your father have done everything you can, and we’ll keep praying. But you say he wants to speak to me?”

  As Regina nodded, Tavie squeezed the older woman’s shoulders. “I guess those socks really meant something to him, huh?”

  Ruth’s little huff of breath wasn’t exactly a laugh, but then she elbowed Tavie in the side. “Shame on us, making jokes at a time like this. Come on, dear, get your gloves on.”

  Regina looked back and forth between them. “I didn’t expect… Well, it’ll be a tight fit, but I think all three of us can ride in my cariole.”

  “Then what are we waiting for, dear?” Ruth poked the young woman in the arm. “Let’s get going! Millard wants to talk to me!”

  Regina was right; the ride to town was cramped, but it was faster than walking. When they reached the doctor’s house, Ruth immediately scrambled down without any help and headed for the front door. Tavie turned to Regina.

  “Do you need any help getting the horse back to the livery stable?”

  The younger woman waved away the offer. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid.” She rolled her eyes slightly, then continued with laughter in her voice. “But neither Papa nor Hart realizes that! Mr. Blake or little Maggie will help unhitch the cariole, so I promise not to exert myself!”

  A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Tavie’s lips. She hadn’t meant to offend the young woman; it was clear she was used to doing things for herself.

  But she had one more request before she joined Ruth. “You haven’t…?” Tavie cleared her throat. “You haven’t seen Mr. Douglas anywhere, have you?”

  Regina pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side. “His sister was in town a few days back, wasn’t she? I didn’t meet her, but everyone said she was quite elegant. I heard he left town the morning she did.”

  But not with his sister Nina, Tavie knew that for certain. “Was he on the train?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you like me to ask around?”

  Tavie hesitated. Did she? Obviously, she and Ruth were desperate to know he was safe, but would Regina—or any of the townspeople—guess their connection, if the widow Hoyle started asking after Jonathan Douglas?

  Regina seemed to sense her indecision, because the other woman reached across the cariole’s seat and placed her gloved hand on Tavie’s arm.

  “Tavie, I know you’re new in town, but I hope you realize that my husband and I are firmly on Ruth’s side. We’ve done everything we can to thwart Mr. King’s machinations, and my husband in particular— Well, that doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m just saying that, if Ruth is in trouble, even though it might be hard to share that information, please know anything you say is safe with us. My father holds Ruth in the highest regard, you must know.”

  The woman ended her convoluted speech with a blush, which told Tavie exactly what Doc Vickers must really think of Ruth. She’d heard stories about how Regina’s husband had been accused of being the Black Ace, until the real Black Ace had shown up to stop the lynching.

  Of course, you know for a fact Jack is now the Black Ace, so who’s to say there hadn’t been more of them?

  Her mind made up, she patted Regina’s hand where it rested on her arm and nodded. “Thank you, Regina. Yes, please do let us know if you hear from Mr. Douglas, or learn where he went. It’s…it’s rather important to both of us.”

  “It…or he?” Regina asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Oh dear. How to deflect the woman’s curiosity, without admitting anything? “Well, he is quite handsome.”

  Regina giggled, “Quite!” then sobered and nodded toward the house. “You’d better go stand with Ruth. I don’t know what Millard wants to tell her, but it must be important, because he’s fighting hard.”

  “Thank you,” Tavie whispered, then scooted to the edge of the seat and climbed down.

  As Regina clucked at the horse, Tavie turned to climb the doctor’s front porch.

  “Quite handsome, eh?”

  His voice had her whirling back to the street. There, standing exactly where the cariole had stood a moment before, was Jack.

  Her mouth dropped open. “How—! When did you—?”

  It seemed impossible to make coherent sentences. Instead, she took two stumbling steps toward him.

  He didn’t move. Instead, he lifted his hands away from his sides, as if presenting himself. Her eyes desperately raced across his face and torso, looking for any injuries or illness which would’ve kept him away.

  Nothing. He looked as gorgeous as always, wearing the same fine suit he’d worn to dinner with King. The same clothes he’d been wearing in the hotel that evening.

  Except now, under the long overcoat, Tavie could see he wore his gun belt and revolver.

  Her tongue darted over her lower lip. “How…?” she repeated.

  He shrugged. “I’m the Black Ace, remember.”

  The casual admission, here in the middle of the street, where any of the passersby might hear them, jerked Tavie forward once more. She halted right in front of him.

  “How long have you been there?” she hissed, her eyes darting left and right to ensure King or Stevens wasn’t listening.

  “Long enough,” he said casually. “Do you think you ought to have asked Mother before you started revealing her secrets?”

  Secrets? Oh. “I trust Regina when she said she’d help. And I revealed nothing.”

  Jack grunted softly. “Are you sure you’re good at this espionage stuff?”

  That was it! He’d just gone too far.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she asked in a furious whisper, torn between
poking him angrily, and running her hands over his chest to ensure his safety. “And what right do you have—”

  To her surprise, he interrupted her.

  “Sorry,” he said, as he blew out a breath and scrubbed one hand over his face. “I haven’t had much sleep.”

  Her eyes narrowed at his mumbled apology. “Where have you been?” she repeated in a calmer tone.

  “Denver.”

  “Denver?”

  He shrugged. “You kicked me out of your hotel room without a kiss. I decided none of the saloons in town were good enough to drown my sorrows, and I remembered a bartender in Denver who makes the best Sazerac outside of New Orleans.”

  Exasperated now, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You— Let me get this straight. I refused to kiss you, so you spent two days on the train, to go to a different state and get drunk?”

  He shrugged again. “Perhaps I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  God help her, she even loved the way he apologized.

  She could feel a smile tugging at her lips, but tried to swallow it down. “I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid!”

  “Truthfully, me neither.”

  “And you didn’t stop to think your mother might be worried about you?”

  Quicker than she could blink, he had her hand in his.

  “And you, Tavie?” he murmured, ducking his head to look into her eyes. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Of—of course I was.” She tried to tug her hand free, but he refused to let it go. “Your mother is my friend.”

  He hummed disbelievingly. “And that’s the only reason? Not because, secretly, deep down, so deep you don’t want to even acknowledge it to yourself, you might possibly like me a bit? Since you think me so handsome?”

  Deep down? Tavie swallowed. Like him? Hell, she was in love with him.

  Still, she lifted her chin and yanked her hand away from his. “No. And you shouldn’t be talking with me here in public. People will talk.”

  Did he look a little disappointed when he straightened once more?

  “Quite right. Why are you here, anyhow?”

  Oh, damn and blast! She’d forgotten the frantic reason for their trip to town! “Millard Caplan!”

  Jack’s gaze immediately hardened. “What about him?”

  “He’s dying, and he sent for your mother. She’s inside with him right now.”

  Over the last months, since Caplan had been shot by the corrupt Sheriff McNelis, who thought he was acting on King’s orders, she and Jack had discussed the assayer’s actions.

  Marshal Diamon’s investigations proved the man had been embezzling money from the mine and putting it in bank accounts, which were then emptied periodically. But Caplan wasn’t wealthy, and the amounts exactly matched “donations” from the Black Ace to various people in need.

  So she and Jack agreed that, up until the end of last year, at least, Caplan had been working secretly with whoever had been the Black Ace, embezzling funds to be used for the townspeople.

  And if he was now dying, they had all sorts of questions about King.

  “Right.” Jack’s nod was hard, determined. “You go in with Mother now. I’ll loop around to the alley and come in the back door, so it’s not so obvious.”

  She wanted to object he couldn’t get more obvious than standing in the street holding her hand, but before she could, he’d whirled and was stalking off toward the High Stakes saloon.

  With a deep breath, she headed inside.

  Doc Vickers had a lovely two-level home, with bedrooms upstairs. His examination room was off his office at the front of the house, and had originally been a parlor. There was a small bed set up in it so he could tend to patients overnight, but once it became obvious Caplan would be a long-term patient, he’d been moved upstairs to Regina’s old bedroom.

  Tavie crept through the house, following the low murmur of voices, until she found the crowded room. Marshal Diamon himself was standing in the doorway, probably curious about the same questions she and Jack were. Reverend Trapper stood in the corner clutching a Bible, likely ready to pray with Caplan, if and when he woke up. Doc Vickers was standing at the foot of the bed, explaining to Ruth, who sat in the chair beside the bed, that Caplan was under heavy sedation.

  “He made it clear yesterday he had things to tell you, so I lowered his laudanum this morning. He should be coming out of it soon, although I can’t promise how coherent he’ll be.”

  Ruth paled as she reached for the small man’s hand. “How bad is it, Cyril?”

  The doctor sighed, then shrugged apologetically. “That last bout of infection was too much, I think,” he said sadly. “We’ve fought the good fight, but I think Millard is just tired.”

  At that, Reverend Trapper moved up to the other side of the bed and sat down. He didn’t take Caplan’s hand, but instead, placed his hand over the smaller man’s head and began to murmur in prayer.

  When Tavie tapped Marshal Diamon’s shoulder, he slid to one side to let her by, politely nodding as he did so. She pressed herself against one wall and tried to be inconspicuous.

  It seemed forever before Caplan began to toss a bit. The doctor breathed a little sigh of relief, then nodded to Ruth. “Get that water glass ready, please.”

  But when Caplan finally opened his eyes, he didn’t ask for the water. He ignored the reverend completely, but when his gaze rested on Ruth, an expression of relief seemed to pass across his face.

  “Ruth?” he croaked.

  “I’m here, Millard,” the older woman said, her voice shaking as she leaned forward. “I’m here.”

  He whispered something which might’ve been “Thank God,” but then his eyes closed once more.

  Ruth squeezed his hand. “Millard! Did you want to say something to me?”

  The older woman was being quite brave, but Tavie could hear how scared she was.

  Scared of what Caplan might say about King? Or scared he might declare his undying affection and force Ruth to make an awkward choice?

  But instead, Caplan opened his eyes and managed to turn his head toward her. “Needed…to tell you.”

  “Yes, dear Millard!” She shifted forward again, her tone a little frantic.

  Tavie jumped when she felt a hand in hers, and jerked her head to see, sometime in the last few moments, Jack had slipped into the room. He really was good at this mysterious Black Ace thing, wasn’t he?

  Not counting Caplan, there were three men in the room who had no idea of Jonathan Douglas’s connection to Ruth Hoyle, and holding hands with Ruth’s companion could blow their entire story.

  Still, standing there, watching a dying man confess, she couldn’t let his hand go. Didn’t want to be alone.

  Everyone could hear how labored Caplan’s breathing was, a sort of death rattle. Tavie had seen death before, but this…? This was painful.

  “King… Your husband’s deed.”

  The deed? Tavie felt Jack jerk away from the wall and pulled him back, even as Ruth leaned forward a bit.

  “Yes, dear Millard?”

  “He keeps it with…him. Always. Breast…pocket.”

  Ruth lifted the man’s hand to her cheek. “Thank you, dear friend,” she choked out, slow tears leaking from her eyes. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Don’t unders…” He sucked in another breath and closed his eyes. “Blood. On it. Jim’s.”

  Jack and Tavie turned to stare at one another as, on the bed, Caplan turned toward the reverend and began to whisper the Lord’s Prayer. Ruth continued to hold the small man’s hand and cry quietly as she attempted to pray along with them.

  Doc Vickers was already mixing up another batch of laudanum, and Diamon was frowning thoughtfully.

  Jack jerked his head toward the door, and Tavie followed him out.

  Jim’s blood.

  Caplan had stated it as if he were certain. There was blood on the deed, and it was Jim Hoyle’s. Therefore, King hadn’t come by it legally.


  One mystery solved, at least.

  Jack was already striding toward the kitchen, so she hurried to catch up.

  “He carries it in his breast pocket, huh?” Jack muttered, as he reached for the back door. “That explains why I could never find it.”

  “We need him to produce it. I can’t believe he must have had it that night at the restaurant, and we never knew!”

  Jack was shaking his head as he stepped out into the cold alleyway behind the house. “I wouldn’t have thought he was that smart.”

  Wasn’t he though? Tavie paused in her frantic rush to consider. Augustus King was a cheat, a conniver, and a liar, but he was intelligent. For years now, he’d been using the mine as an excuse to milk the town for all it was worth.

  “I don’t know. Caplan’s probably right, and the man does carry it with him everywhere.” She shook her head and stepped out into the back alley. “But your father’s blood means—”

  The rough grip on her arm caused her to squeak in surprise, then she was yanked backward.

  At her cry, Jack spun around, his hand dropping to the gun he wore on his hip, but it was too late. The man who’d been waiting off to one side had his arm wrapped around Tavie’s middle, pressing her against him, and Jack wouldn’t be able to protect her now.

  She was shielding her abductor, albeit against her will, and even without being able to see him behind her, she knew who it was. She remembered the feel of his large hands, and his sweaty musk. And she remembered the cruelty of his dry chuckle.

  “Looks like I finally caught you, Miss Pinkerton,” he chortled.

  Dick Stevens.

  10

  Control control control control.

  The mantra was helping a little, as long as he remembered to breathe.

  There was a moment there, when Jack swore his heart stopped beating. Just flat-out stopped. Seeing her in another man’s arms would be bad enough, but this wasn’t just any man.

  Dick Stevens was a known murderer, who had to want revenge on Tavie. Had he recognized her?

  It wasn’t until he called her “Pinkerton” that Jack had his answer, and his heart decided to let him know it was definitely working by slamming suddenly against the inside of his ribs so hard, he actually stumbled forward.