“Is that her? The one who was kidnapped?”
“Sure Lord looks like her!”
“That’s going to be some trial! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” The woman was tall and buxom with sharply etched features and eyes that looked Leslie over as if she were one of the women of ill-repute that congregated in the saloons.
“I heard two men discussing it with my husband just last night, and one of them was a barrister. He said that trial could go on a mighty long time. They’ll drag everthin’ out into the open—strip her bare. You mark my words. Find out what really happened!” The second speaker was short and stocky with a sturdy, self-satisfied look about her.
“Do tell! Skinny little thing for a Powers, ain’t she? Probably asked for it! She has flirty eyes—I’ve seen her type before!”
“Ain’t that the beatingest thing you ever heard of? I wouldn’t want my husband on the jury. I just hope they don’t let her attend church with decent folks.”
The other woman laughed, a prim, sanctimonious sound. “I doubt if she spends time in churches—else she wouldn’t have ended up the way she did.”
“Did you see Cantrell? Right pert handsome man, if I do say so myself…Bet she could tell some tales!”
“Kin tell he’s a killer by the eyes. He looked my way just onct, and I felt the chill all the way to my bones. He’ll hang—no doubt about that. My husband said he was withholding judgment—probably because he hates Powers!”
“Kept her long enough, didn’t he?”
The heavyset woman snickered, and Leslie had the urge to walk over there and rip the woman’s gown off so she would know how it felt to be stripped naked in front of a whole townful of people. Anger burned inside her. They hadn’t once acknowledged her, except as an object to be talked about! She watched their backs as they walked away, feeling stunned by the force of her own reaction. If she’d had a gun, she would probably have shot them both.
As their voices faded, she heard one of them remark, “’Bout the only good thing Powers does is to get rid of some of the riffraff that drifts into town. They’ll hang Cantrell. Serves him right.”
Cheeks burning, Leslie turned abruptly and walked back inside the Bricewood, oblivious to the contrast of the cool, sky-lit Garden Courtyard that served as the lobby of the hotel. Palms ten feet high swayed gently. Fans hung down on slender, almost invisible cords and stirred the tepid air, swaying the graceful fronds of the ferns that were interspersed between palms and clusters of chairs.
Her room was on the second floor this time. Annette helped her bathe and slip into a cool green organdy gown, a frosty lime color that matched her eyes and had long sleeves and a high neckline with a crisp white collar. The gown was frilly and lacy with intricate pleats falling gracefully from the bustle. She chose a small straw hat with a white velvet ribbon trailing down behind her, barely damaged at all by the crush of her satchel. Annette recombed her hair and pinned it in a mass of artful curls off her slender white neck. By the time they were finished, Leslie’s heart was pounding frightfully, and she barely cared what she looked like.
They dawdled so long with her toilet that Younger was banging on the door before they were ready. They let him wait. When she finally went down to the lobby, he and her uncle were with Sheriff Nieves. She recognized his scar-slashed face immediately.
“Leslie, the sheriff here wants you to identify the man who kidnapped you before he goes back to Flagstaff.”
“Very well,” she said docilely, turning smoothly as she deliberately ignored the arm her uncle offered her.
Younger had changed his shirt. She had to admit that he really wasn’t a bad-looking man, just despicable. Leslie walked beside Sheriff Nieves at the head of the procession, ignoring the eyes, hostile, curious, or indifferent, that watched her.
The jail was a block and a half away. The men chatted desultorily, but Leslie wasn’t listening. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she was going to shake apart from it. Would the jail be a good place to make her stand? Would Nieves help her again, or would they all treat her like her uncle had? She was faint with fright and fear by the time they got there—breathless and half-terrified—but determined nonetheless.
Another lawman met them at the door. He looked like a schoolteacher who had by some accident of fate become a sheriff in a small town. He seemed confused by so much authority. He introduced himself as Sheriff Tatum, and then introduced Kincaid and Nieves and turned to her. “Miss Powers, I’d like to present Chantry Kincaid the Third. He owns most of the Texas and Pacific Railroad. He’s here to pay the reward if Cantrell here is his train robber.”
Kincaid took Leslie’s hand and held it in a protective embrace while his clear green eyes engaged hers in mutual appraisal. She met his piercing gaze proudly, determined that she would not be cowed by anyone in Phoenix no matter who they were or what they thought of her. She nodded stiffly, and he patted her hand, taking her by surprise.
Kincaid was imposing and darkly handsome—probably in his mid-thirties, and she detected none of the condemnation she had expected to see in his eyes. They were clear and admiring. Leslie relaxed ever so slightly and noticed that while he might look like a pirate of a man, he was dressed in the height of fashion, even for the East—wearing an English “lounge suit” of blue serge with the popular wing collar and black silk scarf instead of the more cumbersome cravat. Altogether a comfortable style, and he wore it exceptionally well.
“How do you do?” she murmured, grateful she had on gloves so he couldn’t feel how cold her hands were in spite of the heat.
“This must be quite distressing for you, Miss Powers. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought my wife along.” He had a pleasant masculine voice. She found it surprisingly reassuring.
Leslie shot him a grateful look that Kincaid did not miss. Her response made him wonder if anyone else had bothered about her feelings. Powers had never impressed him—except as a man who was probably more accustomed to using women than taking care of them. He cursed himself for not bringing Jennie. Leslie Powers looked like she could use some female support. He hoped that this wouldn’t take too long or be too unpleasant for her.
“Might as well get on with it,” Sheriff Tatum said.
Kincaid stepped back, blocking Powers and Younger to allow Leslie to precede them into the jail. It took him only seconds to realize that Younger and Powers were acting as if they had forgotten Leslie Powers was a lady. Kincaid could feel his anger rising.
Nieves and Tatum took their lead from Kincaid, ignoring Powers and Younger in deference to the young lady. Kincaid was one of the most influential men in the territory. His financial holdings included a shipping line; the Texas and Pacific Railroad, with offices here and in San Diego; and a chain of hotels, including the Bricewood West, which boasted appointments unheard of in the West. He built hotels along his tracks to rival those in large eastern cities, and he was rewarded with vast profits. People paid the extra money to stay in luxurious surroundings. There was something exciting about eastern comfort on the western frontier. And it was no longer impossible. Railroads were tying the states and territories together more effectively than anything else could ever have done. The refrigerator boxcar had made it possible to transport anything that ice could preserve. The West was no longer cut off from the conveniences that made life enjoyable.
Men rarely ignored Kincaid. And now he was treating the Powers girl with every respect due a young lady of substance. Tatum could do no less. He smiled at her. This was his opportunity to show Mr. Kincaid, who was also active in town politics, that he was doing a good job. As the host sheriff, he cleared his throat and interrupted the several low-voiced conversations that had started up.
“Well, I guess you know what we’re here for, but I’ll say it officially. Miss Powers is here to identify the man who kidnapped and uh…”
Kincaid scowled him into silence.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Uh…” He turned toward the cell where Ward Cantrell l
ay stretched out on the thin mattress, his eyes closed. “Cantrell! Stand up! The lady’s going to take a look at you!” Cantrell came up easily. He was thinner, and his nose had a new hump in it, but the eyes, those sky-blue, pitilessly cold eyes, jolted through her like a shock wave. He looked more like Alexander the Great than a train robber. Even in his ragged, dirty clothes, with his hair longer and wilder than she remembered it, he had the kind of bearing that was unmistakable.
Or had she read too many nickel novels? His eyes never flickered. He just looked at her in that opaque, unemotional way he had about him and she turned away, frowning.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Tatum; that isn’t the man who kidnapped me.” Her voice was clear as a bell and very firm in the sudden silence.
“Wha—?” Powers turned on her. Younger grabbed her arm and jerked her back around to face Cantrell. “Take another look!” he snarled. “That is the man!”
“No, it isn’t!” She jerked her arm free. “Sheriff, I would like to make a complaint of my own, though, against Dallas Younger and my uncle. They are trying to force me to marry Mr. Younger, and I have refused. I am half owner of the Lazy P Ranch, and if they can force me to marry Younger, my uncle and he will have full control. I am asking you to intervene in my behalf before they force me into marriage with a man I despise.”
“You little baggage!” Younger stepped forward menacingly as if he were going to hit her, and Kincaid dragged Leslie back and placed himself between them, but not without noticing the reaction of the prisoner. There was murder in those blue eyes for Younger.
“That’s enough,” Kincaid said flatly, staring coldly and unflinchingly at Powers and Younger.
Leslie could feel the hate like a tangible cloak surrounding her. Thank goodness for Kincaid! He stood protectively close while the sheriff from Flagstaff who had been there at the capture questioned her.
“But Miss Powers, this is the man you were with,” he insisted gently, in deference to Kincaid’s protective posture.
“I know that, Mr. Nieves. Don’t you remember what I told you? I said, ‘That man is a train robber. There’s a reward for him.’”
Nieves frowned. “That’s right, by Jove, that’s what she said! But—how did you get away?—How did you happen to be with him?”
“The kidnapper left me at the road and went south. I saw this man and started to ride toward him when I saw you. He fled and I panicked. I thought perhaps you were bandits…I had no idea why he ran away…”
“How did you know he was a train robber?”
“I recognized him. He robbed the train I was on.”
“That right?” Nieves asked, turning to Cantrell. “You a train robber?”
Ward Cantrell’s eyes gave nothing away. They flicked over her once, bringing a warm flush before he chuckled. “You’d try to steal meat from a grizzly, wouldn’t you?”
“Now wait just a goddamned minute! This man’s name is Cantrell! He rode right into my camp, killed my men, and threatened to cut my throat. He signed a note telling us he was going to sell her to the Indians. He signed it Cantrell,” Younger ended furiously. “Cantrell!”
“D’ya have the note?”
“Hell, no! My word is good enough,” Younger blustered.
“’Fraid not,” Tatum said gallantly, earning him a reward when Leslie smiled at him. “’Fraid, Mr. Younger, that courts only act on evidence, either hard evidence like that note, or an eyewitness account. We have a witness who says this ain’t the man,” he said, enjoying Younger’s rage, since there was nothing he could do to him at the moment. Everyone knew Younger always kept up the pretense of staying on the right side of the law.
“Ask him how he got shot,” Younger demanded. “One of my men shot that bastard up in the mountains.”
All eyes were on Cantrell then. Leslie held her breath, praying Kincaid, who was standing protectively close, couldn’t hear her heart pounding in the stillness. But Kincaid was engrossed in Cantrell. Ever since he had entered the jail he had been thinking that he knew Cantrell from somewhere, but so far he hadn’t been able to remember from where.
Tatum grunted. “Check ’round—we’ll probably find out there was another train robbery that day.”
Younger wouldn’t be stopped. “He wounded four of my men in front of your eyes, Nieves! You saw him go riding at us like some fiend out of hell! Do you deny that?”
Cantrell let his eyes, still cold blue, but now with glints of amusement flickering in the depths, rake over the red-faced Younger. “Guess I’m the excitable type, Sheriff. Men in front of me, shooting at me, men behind me, shooting at me—I guess I took it personally. Didn’t realize they had me mixed up with somebody else,” he drawled coolly.
“You lying bastard! I’m gonna get you for this!” Younger snarled viciously.
“I may not be unconscious next time, Younger,” he said quietly, his husky voice steely. Cantrell dismissed Younger and turned his attention back to the girl, wondering what had made her decide to lie for him. He had been shocked to learn that she was Powers’s niece. Sounded like she had troubles of her own with both Younger and her uncle. There was real loathing in her pretty eyes whenever she glanced at either of them. He saw her sweet face, so fresh and tense, and knew that he had been worrying about her. It had been blind and hidden from him until now, but seeing her so crisp and demure and ladylike freed him from some burden he had been carrying without knowing or being able to identify it. All dressed up in cool green organdy that matched her defiant green eyes, she was a vision of rare loveliness. Her cheeks, as velvety smooth as carnation petals, were flushed with warm rose. She looked as if she had survived with little permanent damage to her fine feminine spirit, and he felt a surge of relief in that knowledge.
The thought of her at Dallas Younger’s mercy did unaccountable things in his chest.
Younger wasn’t about to give up, but it was Powers who stepped forward. “Sheriff, my niece lied about that man not being the one,” he said stoutly.
Tatum sighed heavily. “Cantrell ain’t going no place. Even if he ain’t the one, she identified him as a train robber. I’ll be checking through all the warrants. Mr. Kincaid here’s been looking for Cantrell for some time himself. From what I hear about Cantrell we’ll get enough to hang him anyway.”
“You’d better see to it! My niece may have been taken in, but I damn sure ain’t! I mean to see justice done!”
Powers and Younger turned and stalked out the door.
Tatum faced Leslie, clearly flustered. “Now—uh—Miss Powers, ma’am—about that—uh—complaint of yours, ma’am.”
“I’m willing to drop it if you can guarantee that Mr. Younger will not be allowed to molest me while I am in Phoenix. I intend to leave town as soon as I can get a train out of here,” she said firmly.
Kincaid smiled admiringly and offered her his arm. “Miss Powers, my wife and I would like to invite you to be our guest for the duration of your stay in Phoenix. I can assure you that no one will molest you again. If you would be so kind, we can go directly to the bank and arrange for a transfer of the reward money to your account. I’m in your debt, Miss Powers.”
Leslie glanced at Cantrell, saw the flush of anger come into his face, and then looked quickly away, wondering why the thought of her going with Kincaid should evoke a reaction in his stubborn eyes where very little else did.
“You’re very kind, Mr. Kincaid, but I couldn’t accept a reward. But I do accept your hospitality. I must confess that I feel the need of your protection.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Mr. Kincaid, I want to apologize for airing the family laundry and putting you in an awkward position…”
Kincaid shook his head. “Please, Miss Powers, don’t be embarrassed. I know something of your uncle. People don’t choose their relations. I only hope that you weren’t too badly treated.”
They were on the sidewalk now, and Leslie squinted against the brightness of the sun as she looked up into Kincaid’s face. “I
didn’t tell the sheriff everything, Mr. Kincaid. My uncle will not be satisfied until Mr. Cantrell is dead…What will happen to him now?”
Kincaid noted the quiver in her voice and the sudden paling of her cheeks. Gossip that she had fallen in love with her kidnapper had reached him. Everyone in town had heard about Younger’s anger at her for trying to save the outlaw from being hanged on the spot in Flagstaff. Kincaid instinctively felt pity for her. Not just because she was so young and so lovely; the West needed young women with the fire and spirit Leslie Powers had exhibited. Unfortunately, the West was so raw and in such a hurry that its justice was oftentimes as crude as it was abrupt. He felt sorry for her, but he didn’t want to give her false hope.
“I’m convinced in my own mind that Cantrell is the leader of the gang that has been robbing the Texas and Pacific. I’ll have some of my men who’ve seen him come in to take a look at him. I, uh, expect, with all the other things he’s wanted for, he’ll spend a good many years behind bars.” He stopped short of telling her that Cantrell would probably hang. No sense upsetting her at this point. He took her arm and steered her toward his carriage. “Do you need to pick up anything before we ride out to the house?”
“I have some bags and my lady’s maid, if you’re sure your wife won’t be upset…” She was remembering the women who had talked about her that morning in front of the Bricewood West. What if Mrs. Kincaid were one of those?
“Nonsense,” he said, helping her into the buggy. “Jennie will love it. I’ll drop you at the house and come back for your things.” Leslie Powers was obviously determined to do whatever had to be done—she was spunky as hell—but he wanted to spare her another confrontation with her uncle so soon.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” she said gratefully, settling back against the upholstered seat.
The Lady and the Outlaw Page 15
