White Deception

by Susan Edwards

  Most viewed ’breeds with loathing, distrust and hatred, so Reed stayed cloaked in the deepening shadows. Crossing his arms loosely over his chest, he rubbed his buckskin-clad shoulder against the rough surface to quell an itch, then resumed his deceptively casual slouch as several families drifted away from the celebration.

  A group of rowdies staggered toward him. One unkempt man took a long pull from a silver flask in his hand, then passed it to one of his pals. The sour stench of booze hit Reed like a fist to the face.

  The drunks caught sight of him. One even took a step forward. “Don’t like ’breeds ha-hangin’ ’round watchin’ ’r wo’en,” he slurred.

  Reed lifted a brow. “Nice friendly welcome you boys give,” he drawled. Inside, he was resigned. First night in town, and he might end up spending it in jail.

  He straightened, halfheartedly jingling his holsters. Any fight he got involved in would end up being his fault, and he didn’t have time to spend in a cell. Reed kicked himself for not sticking to routine, but some bit of the devil had surfaced, making him determined to stay where he pleased despite his welcome.

  And once more, his foolish stubbornness would land him in jail. He sighed. With Granger’s expected arrival, he didn’t have time for jail, so he pulled out his meanest, darkest expression.

  The other two drunks took one look at Reed, then they grabbed their pal and pulled him away. “Don’t want no trouble,” one of them muttered.

  “Smart,” Reed said as he watched the trio head off into town. He might hate being a ’breed, but he could defend himself as well or better than any man. Growing up on the streets had taught him to fight with both fist and blade. And setting out to find a gang of killers, he’d learned fast to be one of the best shots around.

  He let out a long breath as fatigue washed over him. Why was he standing here, wasting his time? He could easily get himself a bite to eat—and more—at the saloon.

  So leave, he told himself. Yet he didn’t move, just continued to scan. Pheasant Gully wasn’t any different than any other small, Western town he’d drifted through during the last year, and not much different than the town that had betrayed him. It didn’t matter where he went; people were the same.

  As though to prove him right, a woman standing in front of the church yanked on the sleeve of another woman, leaning in close to whisper to her. The second’s gaze shifted, and the pair turned to stare into the crowd. Smiling smugly, they hurried over to join a separate group of women. Immediately, the talking behind gloved hands started anew.

  Backstabbing gossips. Every single one of them. Reed would bet the bank on it. Nearby, a group of smartly dressed men puffed on cigars. He snorted silently. Self-aggrandizing bastards.

  Reed had once owned fancy shirts, trousers and suits. He’d attended school and social gatherings. He’d had everything that the son of a banker could expect to come his way. Except acceptance. No matter what he did or achieved, his heritage was still held against him. Even by the man who’d adopted him.

  Shoving aside the spill of bitterness that could make a man careless, Reed pushed away from the tree. Still, his feet refused to retrace his steps. He blamed it on the rumbling of his belly. His stomach was throwing a major tantrum. Food at the saloon would be piss-poor compared to the offerings only feet away.

  Of course, it was food that kept him there, a silent watcher. It couldn’t be the laughter or music that tempted him to move closer. Unlike the moths drawn to the lanterns being lit for those who wished to stay past dark, Reed resisted that temptation.

  He crossed his arms across his chest. Those poor, unfortunate insects would singe their wings and die. But not him. He’d do as he’d planned—head for the saloon. Didn’t matter that he was in no mood for the trouble his presence was bound to cause; of his two options, it was the smarter.

  Damn, he wasn’t in a mood to fend off drunks who took exception to having a ’breed in their midst. Especially one who didn’t touch liquor.

  He’d learned the hard way the consequences of too much drink. Pain speared his heart. Drink had torn his world apart, ripped all he’d held dear from him. Drink had brought him through here a year ago, and drink was the reason he could not go home.

  His hands clenched into tight fists. Home, he thought bitterly, the dream of the abandoned child he’d once been.

  Surviving on the harsh streets as a child, he’d seen the worst that life had to offer. He’d fought his way out, fought to have a shot at what most kids took for granted. And he’d gotten it. A home. And a family. He’d held on to it, taken what he wanted, what he’d needed and craved for all of his miserable life. Then, in one drunken moment he’d lost it all.

  The pain of loss stabbed him deep, making him bleed all over again. He closed his eyes. Soon, he thought. It would be over soon. Determination to right the wrongs of his past gave him the strength to continue. He allowed nothing, not even his own bitterness and despair, to interfere with what had to be done. Righting the wrongs could not bring Anne back, but he prayed it would return him his soul.

  Out of nowhere, a ball flew at him, tearing him from his dark thoughts. His sharp reflexes allowed him to catch the brown sphere before it could smack him in the head. Lifting his hand to toss it back to the group of boys he’d seen kicking it around earlier, he slowly lowered his hand, bringing his other palm up to frame the ball between his hands.

  A lump formed in his throat as he remembered another ball from another life—a past that seemed a lifetime away. The group of boys chasing the ball stopped a short distance away to stare at him warily.

  One boy with a wild shock of red hair stepped forward. “Good catch, mister.” He held out his hands for the ball.

  The boy’s bright and eager blue gaze brought a sharp, twisting pain to Reed’s gut.

  Danny.

  The boy’s image swam before him, settling into a much younger child with blond curls, chubby cheeks and bright eyes the shade of a summer sky.

  His firstborn. His pride. His Danny boy.

  In his mind’s eye he saw himself tossing a ball to the child, felt again that burst of pride when Danny’s short arms shot out in a wide hug to catch it. Reed heard his son’s triumphant shout before the red ball came winging toward him in a wild throw.

  A wave of longing speared through Reed, leaving a path of bitterness and a pain so intense he couldn’t breathe.

  “Mister? My ball?”

  The hesitant voice shattered the memory and yanked Reed from images of yesteryear. The past was best left alone. Although not forgotten—not until he’d righted those wrongs.

  Hardening his heart, he tossed the ball from his left to his right hand, then flipped it to the boy whose grin had faltered. “Be careful,” he growled. “Could’ve hurt someone.”

  “Yessir,” the boy answered. “Sorry, mister.” Slowly he backed away, his blue gaze flicking to the guns dangling from Reed’s hips. Then he was gone.

  A long shadow moved to his right. Reed caught the gleam of metal on a man’s broad chest. His senses went on alert; his body tightened with tension. With a deceptively casual move, he crossed one ankle over the other, then folded his arms across his chest.

  “Sheriff Tyler.” It took effort to keep his voice disinterested and cool.

  The lawman stopped a few paces away. Eyes narrowed, mouth set in a grim line, he nodded. “Been a long time, Reed. Didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to return.”

  Chapter Thre
e

  Reed eyed the law of Pheasant Gully. The man was an inch or two taller than he was, broad as the side of a barn and had eyes hard as flint. He also wielded a mean punch that could knock a man out cold, Reed knew from experience.

  Wearing black from head to toe, Sheriff Tyler presented a formidable obstacle. Any man walking on the wrong side of the law would be a fool to tangle with him. Unfortunately, Reed walked a very thin line.

  “Well?” Menace rumbled deep in the lawman’s throat.

  Reed folded his arms over his chest, keeping them far from his guns. “Just come for a hot meal, Sheriff Tyler.” A year ago, the man’s title had been deputy.

  Deliberately, Reed slouched farther against the tree, giving every appearance of being unconcerned. But deep inside he was fully alert. Here stood the one man who could stop him.

  Sheriff Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Don’t see you eatin’. Gut tells me you’re here for more than food.”

  Reed thumbed his hat back an inch. “Not breaking any laws by standing here.” He lifted a brow.

  The sheriff gave a slight nod. “And…after you eat—if you decide to eat?”

  Reed’s hungry gaze was pulled back to the tables of disappearing food. Oh, he planned to eat. Damned if he wasn’t going to help himself to a nice home-cooked meal. He was here, and a man had to eat.

  “Depends.” His gaze roamed the peaceful meadow where the festivities were taking place. In the center of it all sat the whitewashed church. Men smoked a respectful distance to one side, while women bustled back and forth: some going inside, others coming out and still others obviously in charge of keeping food on the tables.

  The scene spread before him gave the appearance of a close-knit community filled with law-abiding, loving citizens. But appearances were deceptive. In many cases, smiles and laughter hid the dark side of man: scorn, contempt, hate, greed. And somewhere out there, a man walked with blood on his hands.

  Reed’s gaze found the group of boys. The only innocents in this town, or any other town, were the children. He deliberately ignored those.

  Tyler moved, blocking Reed’s view. The sun behind him cast his features in shadow. “Last time you rode through, a man died.” Tyler’s voice had turned harsh, warning that if Reed wasn’t careful, all hell would break loose between them.

  Food forgotten, Reed straightened, planted his feet apart and met the formidable accusation in the sheriff’s gaze. “Four,” Reed spat bitterly. “If you’re going to toss it in my face, toss it all!”

  Four lives lost, and he was responsible for each of them. He hadn’t pulled any triggers, but the death of his wife, the previous sheriff of Pheasant Gully and an innocent homesteading couple rested heavily on his shoulders. They filled him with bitter remorse.

  His gaze traveled back to the boys kicking their ball across the meadow. Unbidden came the image of his own children, screaming as they were taken from him. The weighty guilt he carried threatened to crush him into the ground. His stupidity had cost so many so much.

  He said, “Let’s cut the chitchat. It’s a free country. If you’re going to throw me in jail, at least let me eat first.” He half expected to spend the night in jail no matter what he did. There was no love lost between he and the sheriff. The lawman killed two years ago had been Tyler’s older brother.

  Damn, Reed was too tired for this confrontation. Exhaustion that was as much emotional as physical swept through him. So much depended on what happened in the next few weeks. He’d either vindicate himself, or he’d forever lose his chance to clear his name.

  “Might just do that if you don’t tell me why you’re here.” Tyler’s voice was deep, quiet, authoritative.

  At the threat, Reed relaxed and got up the nerve to smile, amused. “You won’t. Another man of law might—has, just because he could—but not you.”

  Reed knew firsthand that Tyler was a fair man. Hard but fair. Reed was alive today only because the man had prevented his unjust hanging. Back when Reed had been blamed for the deaths of Tyler’s brother, along with those of the man and woman who’d been unlucky enough to have been in the path of the Granger gang, Tyler had put a stop to it.

  Reed figured he at least owed the man an answer.

  “Don’t want no trouble.”

  Trouble.

  That one word summed up Reed’s life. As a boy, he’d been trouble to his whoring mother who just dumped him in the street to fend for himself. Growing up on the streets he’d been trouble to those he stole from to survive, and to the lawmen trying to lock him up.

  Later, after Reed found a home with a man who adopted him, he’d figured his troubles were over. Reed had thought the man loved him, accepted him, but when he’d fallen in love with the man’s daughter, he was back to being a ’breed. Not a son.

  A thread of bitterness crept unbidden into his tone. “Don’t always get what you want. You ought to know that, Sheriff.”

  Seeing the man’s jaw tighten, Reed winced inwardly. Damn, if he didn’t hold his tongue, he’d end up in jail as sure as the sun rose in the east.

  Sheriff Tyler glared furiously at him. “Heard you paid for a month’s stay with the Jensen sisters.” He tossed his cigar to the ground, then crushed the butt beneath his heel.

  Deciding it was better to keep silent, Reed returned his attention to the celebration. It was winding down.

  “You’re here because of Leo Granger.”

  Reed didn’t bother to agree to or deny the statement. The bounty was high for the Granger gang, dead or alive. Reed had already brought in three of the five, dead. And another had died here, in this small Western town.

  His lips twisted. Four for four. He should feel avenged. But each life taken, though sanctioned by law, was just another reminder of the mess he’d made of his life.

  He turned his attention back to the sheriff. “Figured you’d want the bastard who killed your brother.”

  Sheriff Tyler gave him a long, considering glance. He rubbed his chin with three fingers. “You plan to turn him over to me?”

  Reed shrugged. “Don’t have to. Wanted dead or alive.”

  Leaning in, the sheriff lowered his voice. “And the money? Heard it was never recovered. If you’re here and Granger’s returning, that means the money’s still here. Somewhere.”

  “Give the man with the star a hand,” Reed joked, glancing around. He didn’t need anyone overhearing them. While it had been no secret that the posse chasing the Granger gang hadn’t recovered the money stolen from Reed’s adoptive father’s bank, it was generally assumed it had been divided by the gang before they’d split up. Yet Reed knew from capturing three of the gang that the money had been stashed while they were on the run. With the posse hot on their heels, they hadn’t had time to split it. Only one man knew where it was, and that was the man Reed was here to find.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea of the man’s new identity or what he looked like, just that his trail led here. He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was only one man who knew who Malcolm Arthur Clemmings was: Leo Granger, his partner.

  Leo would lead Reed to “Mac,” the mastermind behind the bank robbery and the death of Anne, the love of Reed’s life.

  Reed held out little hope of gaining forgiveness from his adoptive parents or regaining custody of his children, but he was determined to recover the money and restore his father’s reputation.

  And maybe he could regain a bit of his own honor, though nothing could put to rights what that night of foolish temper and drink had done. Reed drew in a deep breath. “Sometimes a man has to do the right thing.”

  He stared sightlessly out toward the flowing stream, noted the glow of the lowering sun on its surface.

  Anne. Her hair had been golden, like ripe wheat at sunset, with just a hint of fire in it. How he’d loved her hair.

  Sheri
ff Tyler took off his hat and smacked his thigh with it, startling Reed. “Dammit, Reed. Don’t need this kind of trouble. If Granger is coming back to find the money, then every thief in the territory will be hot on his heels.”

  Reed didn’t care about them. He didn’t even really care about Leo Granger. The man was as good as dead. It was just a matter of time. There had been many opportunities over the last year when Reed could have taken the man out. But he hadn’t. Reed needed him alive, and had even made sure the law hadn’t gotten their hands on him.

  Reed would never forget that day at the bank: the fear of those around him during the robbery, and his own shock upon seeing Leo Granger, his drinking buddy, as part of the gun-wielding men demanding the newly arrived railroad payroll being held at the bank for safekeeping before it headed westward.

  Then another man, masked and heavily disguised, had stepped forward. He’d ordered Anne brought to him, and before Reed could reach her, he’d shot her in cold blood.

  A daughter for a daughter. The words uttered by the man before he pulled the trigger haunted Reed day and night.

  Feeling the past closing in on him, Reed glared at the sheriff. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day.” He walked past, toward the tables laden with food.

  Sheriff Tyler reached out and stopped him. “You were a hothead with something to prove a year ago.”

  Reed smiled grimly. “Still have something to prove, Sheriff.” He turned and walked away. Appetite gone, he still headed for congregated people.

  He was a stubborn fool with something to prove all right. Right now he’d prove he could go where he wanted, be where he wanted, and it didn’t matter one damn bit whether folk wanted him around or gone. Reed was here to stay until he found justice for his wife. For his children. For that boy he’d once been, who’d thought he’d found it all, and for the grown man who had nothing.