He snatched up his gun from off the bed, stuffed it into its holster, and strapped on his gunbelt, settling it low over his right hip and tying the rawhide thong around his tensed thigh. Every movement was deliberate, no wasted motion. He then grabbed his heavy buckskin overcoat, threw it over his arm, reached for and donned his Stetson, and then grabbed her arm.
That surprised her. “Where are you taking me?”
Not deigning to answer, he marched her out of his room. His long-legged strides forced her to hop-skip along beside him in the lamp-lit hallway or be dragged. He handed her into her own bedroom, stepped back, grabbed the doorknob, snatched the key out of its hole, and said, “Here’s where I’m taking you. You stay put, Glory Bea Lawless, or I’ll turn you over my knee again.”
Outrage with his high-handedness caused her to forget her “manly” ways. Glory sucked in a breath and ran for the door as he edged it closed. “Don’t you dare, Riley Thorne. I have every right to”—he closed the door in her face—“go with you,” she shrieked at the impassive barrier. Gritting her teeth, she dove for the knob and tried to turn it. It wouldn’t turn. Glory beat on the door. “You let go of that knob right now, Riley Thorne, you hear me?”
No answer. Glory stepped back, her head tilted at a listening angle. Bootsteps receded down the hallway. She eyed the knob and attacked it again. It didn’t turn. Sure enough, that darned Riley had locked the door from the outside. Fairly bursting with temper, Glory flung herself upright and stared at nothing in particular, trying to think this through. What would a man do?
She turned to stare at the gable window across the room. And grinned. It opened onto the verandah roof. She could carefully edge her way down the sloping shingles, grab onto a verandah support beam and climb down that.
She took a deep breath as her smile faded. Well, Jacey could. And had on several occasions when they were young girls—and then named her a ’fraidy-cat when she wouldn’t follow. Glory frowned at the memory. If I were a man, I’d already be climbing out that window. She blinked at the locked door. If I were a man, I wouldn’t be locked in here to begin with.
That settled it. Glory tugged on her clothes over her nightshirt. Mimicking Riley’s swift yet controlled motions as best she could, she readied herself for the outdoors. Stockings and her lace-up boots completed her wool-skirt-and-blouse outfit. She then stomped over to her armoire and snatched out the first heavy coat she touched—a fancy, maroon satin-serge coat—and tugged into it.
As she tore for the window, she swooped up her fringed shawl from the end of her bed and flung it over her hair, twisting and turning it until it formed a hood. The cold night air and Riley Thorne be hanged. Opening the window, Glory ate those words as the intruding cold wind sent shivers through her, in spite of her clothes. Still, she pulled up the bottom sash as far as it would go and then bent over and climbed outside.
Immediately sitting down, remembering now why she hadn’t attempted this before—it was so high off the ground—Glory took a deep breath. And then another. Steeling her resolve, telling herself to be a man, she scooted on her bottom—at great snagging expense to her satin and ruffled coat—to the very edge of the eave. Exercising extreme caution, and swallowing hard, she peered over the roof’s lip.
Right into Riley Thorne’s upturned face down below. Blast and drat. Hands to his waist, a knee bent, Riley called up, “Took you long enough.”
* * *
Riley watched to make sure Glory made her way back inside her room. Ornery, stubborn, little … woman. He grinned. Just what the hell was he supposed to do with her? Several steamy options presented themselves instantly.
Jerking in his denims, tamping a lid on those images, Riley turned away and made his way to the bunkhouse … although, he didn’t really see any need to, at this point. Like as not, whoever’d attacked Glory was either innocently back in bed or halfway to Kansas or the Indian Territory by now. That’s how long she’d delayed him. Lucky for the guilty bastard that she had, too.
The son-of-a-gun better hope he took off for parts unknown. Because if I find out who it was, I’m going to kill him, plain and simple. That was twice, Riley reflected, that he’d said he would kill a man. Both times had to do with Glory. As the darkened windows of the bunkhouse loomed larger, Riley focused on their blank facade and wondered if he could kill a man. In his life he’d only seen one man killed—that cattle rustler Pa had shot. Riley again heard his father explaining how necessary the killing was. But the sight hadn’t set well with twelve-year-old Riley. It’d also done something to his feelings toward Pa after that. There had to be another, better way, that’s all.
Or so he’d thought until tonight when some bastard hurt Glory. No one had to tell him that if she hadn’t freed herself, he and Biddy would’ve awakened to the sight of her body on the verandah. A gut-weakening throb of dread made Riley misstep, but strengthened his resolve. I’m capable of taking a man’s life if he so much as lays a hand on Glory. It’s that simple.
And that hard. He frowned for what it all meant. For both families. He loved Glory. Always had. Always would. In fact, if she said it was best he go away and never see her again, he was prepared to do that, too. The West was a big place. A man didn’t ever have to see another person if he so chose.
Glad he’d reached the bunkhouse door, so he could abandon his thoughts of loving or leaving Glory, Riley opened the heavy door and stepped inside. He closed it quietly behind himself. And wrinkled his nose. After the fresh, bracing air outside, the warm, close air inside reeked of the noxious miasma of unwashed men and their other more-lingering scents.
His way lit by the fire in old wood stoves, one at each end of the narrow building, Riley walked quietly among the snoring men in their bunks. He peered at each one, checking to see if he really slept. He examined boots and clothes. If a man’s boots were muddy and his clothes felt cold, he’d just been outside. Almost to the end of the bunks, Riley turned when a kerosene lamp was lit in the office and the door opened with a squeaking of hinges.
His eyes widened. Smiley Rankin stood there. Fully dressed, down to his hat and coat. Curious. Riley stepped out into the aisle between the two rows of bunks. The older man sucked in sharply, clearly startled, and then signaled for Riley to come to him. Riley’s eyes narrowed … his thoughts exactly. He stalked down the aisle, toward the man, suddenly realizing that the foreman had more of a reason to suspect his presence out here than Riley did his.
Once at the open door to the office, Riley stepped through when Mr. Rankin backed out of his way. Closing the door behind Riley, he turned to him. “What’re you doing sneaking around in the bunkhouse, Thorne? We already had one fight over stolen money.”
Riley’s temper flared enough to heat his cheeks, but he held it in check. “It’s not the Thornes who’re the thieves, if you’ll remember back enough years, Mr. Rankin.”
The man’s long face set into hard lines and shadowed hollows. “It’s late, and I ain’t wantin’ to git into that with you.”
Riley met his gaze. “You brought it up.”
Mr. Rankin clenched his jaw and stepped behind his desk. “Suppose you tell me what it is you’re doing out here in the middle of the night. You’re liable to git yerself shot, bein’ as how everyone’s so skittish.”
Riley quirked his mouth as he considered the foreman. No matter what he thought of the man, Smiley Rankin was loyal to the Lawlesses. To a fault. To death even, he suspected. In some convoluted way, that put them both on the same side. “I’m out here looking for the man who attacked Miss Lawless less than fifteen minutes ago.”
Rankin straightened up, his face sobering to the point of showing pain. “What the hell—attacked Miss Glory? She okay? Where’d this happen? What—?”
Riley held up a hand. “Hold on. She’s fine. I locked her in her room.”
The foreman’s gray and bushy eyebrows rose. “Locked her in her room? What in tarnation for?”
“Safety. Hers and ours. She wanted to get a gun
and help find the man responsible. But that’s what I’m here to do. I was checking the bunkhouse to see if I found anything suspicious.”
“And did ya? Like maybe one of them two hands you hired?”
A jet of impatient anger narrowed Riley’s eyes. He notched his Stetson up and looked away long enough to calm down. Only then did he continue. “Maybe. It was either someone already here, or someone who came onto the place after the lights went out. Those are the only two explanations.”
Smiley scratched his head and nodded. “Yep, guess so. But like as not, we’ll never know which … since you pulled my guards off the front gate. They’d have been the only two to see anything.”
Riley met the older, shorter man’s accusing stare and said, “I didn’t pull anybody off their posts. Who said I did?”
“Yer own two hires did. Brown and Justice. They both came in at dark and said you was speaking for Miss Glory and she didn’t see any need to have men out in the cold.”
Riley cocked his head at this bit of information. “I never said such a thing. And neither did Miss Lawless, that I know of.”
Smiley’s expression clouded. “That’s interestin’, I’d say. And maybe just about all the proof you’d need of their dishonest and lazy ways.”
Riley liked this turn of events less and less. “You’re right. I’d expect it of Carter Brown. But not Abel Justice.”
“Well, it was Abel as did the talkin’.”
Riley’s mouth worked right along with his brain as he put all this together in a matter of seconds. “I aim to find out right now on whose orders they were acting.”
The old foreman nodded as Riley spoke and even relaxed his dogged expression some. “So, while you was looking around in there, did you see anything to make you think we got a skunk in the flowerbed?”
Riley shook his head. “No. But I hadn’t exactly finished looking around when you came in.” He narrowed his eyes. “No offense, Mr. Rankin, but what are you doing up at this hour and dressed for the outdoors?”
Smiley’s face colored. His mouth worked. He looked down at his desktop, moved a few papers around. And finally admitted, “I go out to see ole Skeeter of a night before I turn in. That dog’s behavior is the dangedest thing I ever saw.” Then as if realizing with whom he was sharing this observation, he sniffed and frowned. “But I didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Or I would’ve come runnin’ right then.”
Riley nodded. “I know you would. Then that means whoever did it is long gone … or still here.”
It was Rankin’s turn to nod and meet Riley’s gaze. “Yep. I reckon so. May as well stir the men. It’s been a long day, what with the fire early this morning. They ain’t goin’ to be none too happy about gittin’ up.”
Riley stepped out of the foreman’s way when he shouldered past him to the closed door. “I reckon they won’t be,” he finally said when Smiley’s hand was turning the knob, “But then, Miss Lawless isn’t any too happy about nearly being killed, either.”
The older man’s hand stilled on the knob. Keeping it there, he pivoted to look into Riley’s eyes. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. It weren’t none of these things happening until you came to stay and then hired on Abel Justice and Carter Brown.”
Riley suddenly had a crawful of this man’s bellyaching about the two hands. “If you can show me one shred of proof that points to either man, beyond being lazy, then I’ll fire them both. And I’ll leave with them, come sunup.”
Smiley notched up his stubbly chin and raised an eyebrow. “You’re on, Thorne. You just start yer packin’.”
* * *
Fighting a nightmarish shadow she couldn’t elude, Glory wrenched awake with a sharp cry and sat straight up in her bed, blinking and staring at the opposite wall. Her heart pounded, but her mind soothed, It’s okay, Glory, you’re awake. You’re in your room. There’s no one here but you. Deep breath after deep breath began calming her. Until she looked down at herself and frowned. She was fully dressed, including her satin serge coat twisted all about her. She fingered the fringed shawl around her neck. What in the—?
Sudden remembrance and fear clutched fistlike at her heart, held her in its grip. Her hand went to her mouth as she saw it all again. The verandah. Dark. A man grabbing her, choking off her air. Her getting away. Riley locking her in here. It was all so horrible, and she’d been so angry at him. But then—her frown deepened—she’d simply fallen asleep while Riley searched the place for her attacker. How long ago was that?
She turned to the gable window. Bright daylight streamed in, dappling the hardwood floors with warm yellow. Morning. Late morning. Where was Riley? Was he unharmed? Glory began scooting off her bed, telling herself she had to—The doorknob turned, freezing her in place, centering her attention on the closed door. Riley, at long last, no doubt. Glory reached back for a pillow. Let him show his face in here. She’d give him a thing or two to think about.
But it was Biddy who popped in when the door opened. “Well, the good Lord be praised—’tis awake she is. I’ve checked on ye twice before now and found you snoring away, I did.”
Vexation met with Glory’s eyebrows, lowering them. “I don’t snore.”
Biddy cackled as she crossed the room. “Look who yer talkin’ to, child. I raised ye from a babe. But let’s have a look at ye.” Trundling up to the bed, she gripped Glory’s chin, firmly turning her head this way and that as she considered her in critical appraisal. Finally, the older woman announced, “Yer none the worse for wear, I s’pose, seein’ as how ye slept right through the excitement.”
Glory tugged her chin free and clutched her pillow to her stomach as she flopped back, groaning, onto the remaining pillows at the bed’s head. “Please, no excitement. Not today, Biddy. I can’t take anymore.”
Creaking floorboards announced Biddy’s shifting stance. Glory opened her eyes and saw the beloved older woman fluffing her wide flower-printed skirt out around her, like so many feathers, as she perched her weight on the side of the bed. “Well, then, can ye maybe do with ‘less,’ if ‘more’ is such a bother?”
Glory impatiently brushed tangle after tangle of her long hair out of her face as she cocked her head at a questioning angle. “What?”
Biddy self-importantly pursed her lips and clutched her hands together over her ever-present apron. “’Tis ‘three less’ I’m talking about. If ye didn’t lay about all day, ye’d know these things.”
Glory bopped Biddy on the arm with her pillow, drawing a snort of displeasure from her nanny, which she ignored. “Just tell me straight out, Biddy. Have mercy. I was nearly killed last night.”
Biddy slapped her hands over her heart. “Are ye tryin’ to put me in me grave, child, with such talk? Now, ye just sit there and listen. Mr. Rankin himself told me only this morning when he came in for—well, never ye mind why. The truth is we’re still not knowing who it was who attacked ye last night. But it appears there was enough reason—as well as yelling, I don’t mind tellin’ ye—to fire those two men Riley hired. They’re already gone, they are.”
Surprise jerked Glory to a sitting position. “Who fired them?”
“Why, Riley himself. And then he came up here and packed his things, saddled that gray horse of his, and without so much as a word, rode right outta here this morning, he did.”
Glory sat openmouthed, her hands flattened over her tripping heartbeat. “Riley left? But why, Biddy?”
Biddy pulled back in a dramatic show of surprise. “After all the fussin’ and evil-eyein’ between ye two, now yer goin’ ta be upset about his leavin’? Why, the only times ye were decent to each other was when I sent ye out to see to Skeeter and to pay yer respects to yer folks and Old Pete … may God rest their souls.”
Glory lowered her head for Biddy’s sort-of prayer, but from under her lowered lids, she cut her gaze over to her nanny. And immediately looked away, afraid the sharp-eyed old dear would see the indecent truth written on her face. She and Riley had
come very close to being just that—indecent—on more than one occasion. And the last time, they’d approached complete indecency. Glory picked at the fringe on the shawl wadded up in her lap, and wondered if Riley’s feelings for her had anything to do with his leaving.
* * *
About halfway home, and flanked by Abel Justice and Carter Brown, Riley’s temples pounded in time with the horses’ hooves as they loped over the autumn-browned hills. As tired from a lack of sleep as he was from his troublesome thoughts, he concentrated on the flat, treeless horizon of the trail ahead and hoped that looking forward, instead of over his shoulder, wasn’t a fatal mistake.
Because he couldn’t trust either of the men behind him any farther than he could see them. But a deal was a deal. And mud was mud.
Both Brown and Justice had mud on their boots last night. Mud not yet dried to clumps. Each man had a different story, though. Brown said he’d gone out to relieve himself shortly before the bunkhouse was roused. And Justice said he thought he’d heard something and went to investigate. He said he hadn’t seen anyone beforehand, but considering Brown’s story, figured as he’d most likely heard him going outside.
Not for the first time, Riley noted, the men backed each other’s stories. Were they the strangers to each other they pretended to be? Hadn’t Glory raised that same question? Riley’s thoughts pricked his conscience. Could everyone else see something he was determined not to see, because he’d hired the men? Was his stubbornness clouding his judgment? Riley knew he’d never forgive himself if his mistake or carelessness hurt Glory in any way.
But a search of the Lawless yard, incomplete at best with nothing but moonlight to aid them, yielded only the two men’s boot prints around the bunkhouse, exactly where they’d said they were. No suspicious hoofprints leading on or off the place. Nothing missing or disturbed. Well, except for Smiley. He’d been pretty disturbed when he reminded Riley this morning of his pledge to fire the two men and also to leave himself.
Seasons of Glory Page 14
