The Half-Breed’s Woman
Cheryl Pierson
The Half-Breed’s Woman by Cheryl Pierson
Copyright 2014 Cheryl Pierson
Cover Design by Livia Reasoner
Prairie Rose Publications
www.prairierosepublications.com
Licensing Notes
All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This story may not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
The Half-Breed’s Woman is a work of fiction.
Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
Chapter 1
November 15, 1879
“It must be obvious how desperate I am to get Callista back, Marshal. She is…quite insane.”
Marshal Jaxson McCall watched Dunstan Treadwell impassively. McCall’s years as a U.S. lawman in the Twin Territories had made him callous to many things. But growing up in the Cherokee way had made him cautious, as well.
“I’m…sure you must find this story hard to believe, but I assure you, all I want is for my stepdaughter to be returned to me–er, to come home.” Treadwell stopped and cleared his throat.
Asking for help was definitely something Treadwell was unaccustomed to, Jaxson thought. “Even though she tried to murder you, Mr. Treadwell?” he asked in a low voice. “Your forgiveness is to be commended.”
Treadwell’s head shot up, his hard gray eyes meeting Jaxson’s unperturbed gaze. Treadwell looked away after a moment. “She’s young, Marshal. She’s only seventeen, well…eighteen in a few months. And she is beautiful. Too beautiful for her own good…in her state of mind, that is.”
Something didn’t ring true. “I’m not sure I understand you, Mr. Treadwell. Just what is her state of mind?”
Treadwell snorted, standing up suddenly from where he sat behind his oak desk. He grimaced at the sudden movement. “Good God, man! Surely, you must realize Callista is demented! She never would have tried to stab me with a pair of scissors if she wasn’t–insane.”
Or desperate, Jaxson couldn’t help thinking. He leaned back into the overstuffed leather chair. “That would seem the case, Mr. Treadwell,” Jax responded quietly. “But why did she attempt it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Treadwell walked to the wide picture window that looked out on Washington’s busy Fifth Street. He pushed back the green velvet draperies, then released them. Indecisively, he turned and strode back to face Jaxson once more. The grandfather clock just beyond the study door chimed three times. Finally, Treadwell spoke. “Not at all, Marshal.” He braced his arms on the polished wood of the desk in front of him. “After all, if I’m paying you to go after her and bring her back, you need to know exactly what you’re dealing with, don’t you?” He gave Jaxson a cold smile. “She has hated me for a good while now.”
Treadwell seated himself once again, reaching for the stone paperweight that lay nearby on his desk, running his finger along its rough edge. “Callie and her mother were quite close after her father died. She didn’t want to share her mother with anyone, and became very upset four years ago when Anna and I decided to marry. Tragically, Anna passed away two years ago, and I have cared for Callista—Callie—since that time.”
He set the paperweight aside, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “I think she blamed me in a roundabout way for her mother’s passing. She just let it build up inside her until–” he shrugged.
“Was her mother’s death the cause of her…insanity?”
Treadwell nodded. “Oh, I’m sure of it. She just began to slip away, to regress. Kept to herself, holed up in her room, never attended any of the balls and soirees she was invited to. Got to where she hardly even spoke to me.” Treadwell took a slow breath, grimacing in pain.
Jaxson waited for him to regain his composure before he spoke. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Treadwell. I’m used to running outlaws to ground and bringing them in, but I don’t make a practice of chasing down young women and returning them. Why did you ask for me?”
Unconsciously, Treadwell ran his palm over the wad of bandaging that bulged beneath his shirt. After a long moment, he said, “I am a very powerful man here in Washington, Marshal. I wanted the best to track Callie down. She’s…very resourceful. By all accounts, you are the best man for the job.” He sighed. “I am aware that this is a special case. I had to contact Judge Parker for special dispensation—he wasn’t happy about it, but he granted me one deputy marshal. I chose you.”
“I’m flattered. But my price is steep—steeper than some of the other marshals you could’ve hired.”
Treadwell’s gray eyes glittered harshly. “No one else has your tracking skills, Mr. McCall. Being half Indian does have…certain advantages. As for your price–name it. I want Callie back. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
Jaxson’s eyes narrowed. He was sure a large part of Treadwell’s zeal to have the girl returned stemmed from his embarrassment and unwillingness to have it known in those powerful Washington circles that she had not only tried to murder him, she also just wasn’t “quite right.”
“One thousand dollars,” Jaxson murmured. “Five-hundred in advance, five-hundred when I bring her in. And, you pay all expenses.”
“Tha–That’s highway robbery!”
“That’s my price.”
“But…I thought…” Treadwell’s voice trailed away, and he gave Jaxson a grim look. After a moment, he shrugged as if it were of no consequence. He shrewdly took Jaxson’s measure once again. “I’ve checked you out, Marshal. From all counts, you’re as professional as they come. They say you’ll get the job done. I only want the best…and sometimes, that comes with a price. You’ve warned me. But you better by damn be worth it.”
****
Callie stretched out on her bed, her thoughts scattering in all directions. She’d stayed here in Fort Smith too long. By now, she knew they’d be searching the entire country for her. But, maybe by coming west, she would elude the whole bunch of them. She sighed as she turned onto her stomach.
The hotel was nice, with a clean room and a comfortable bed. The people in Arkansas seemed so friendly. Much more so than in Washington. They wouldn’t be so friendly if they knew what she’d done.
Who would have thought she’d become a murderess before her eighteenth birthday? She had killed a man, but her stepfather had left her no choice. Not after the things he’d said to her.
Tears filled her eyes, and she flopped restlessly onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. A life for a life. Deep in her heart she knew Dunstan Treadwell had killed her mother. She just couldn’t prove it. And who would’ve believed her anyway?
Her stepfather was a very well-respected and influential man in Washington. He’d been in a hurry to marry her mother for her money, but Callie knew Treadwell already had run through most of it.
Did anyone else know? He’d kept it well-hidden. But, she was certain his gambling cronies knew what kind of financial distress he was in. That was why he was determined to—
She jerked her thoughts away quickly. Unbearable thoughts.
When she’d murdered her stepfather, at least she’d had the forethought to take the pepperbox derringer and the wad of money he always carried. Sh
e still had a good deal of the latter left. She shuddered, unable to put that night out of her mind. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the memories that assailed her. How often had she relived the events of that night? It had changed everything…
She’d been coming down the steps from her room to see if there was a bit of leftover cake in the kitchen. The stairs were silent, if one knew where to step. Voices drifted through the cracked door from her stepfather’s study. Her steps slowed, finally coming to a halt just outside the doorway in the darkness of the hall.
“I want her, Dunstan. I want her first. If she suits, we’ll arrange…weekly liaisons.”
From where she stood in the shadows, Callie could hear the amused laughter in Dunstan’s voice. “My dear Rodney. Surely, you realize that I cannot promise Callista’s virginity to you. That wouldn’t be…good form, shall we say.” He chuckled softly. “I intend to sell lottery tickets. We’ll draw for her. Tickets for that…first time will require very deep pockets.”
“I have an appointment,” Rodney Stiller said regretfully. “Perhaps we can meet again, later this week, to discuss it further.”
Dunstan clapped him on the shoulder. “Count on it. We’ll figure out something…beneficial. For both of us.”
Rodney Stiller breezed by where Callie stood, unseen, in the darkened hallway, an anticipatory smile on his thick lips.
When he had gone, Callie forced herself from the shadows. Her heart pounded, the pulse reverberating through her whole body. If everything else hadn’t fit so neatly into place, she might have doubted herself. But it had all happened so…quickly. Papa dying, Mama marrying Dunstan, and then dying a scant two years later. Now…it all made sense. Fear rose up inside Callie, warring with indignant, self-righteous anger. How could he?
But he had.
She’d heard it…dear God, she had listened to every word…
Treadwell turned to her as she entered the study, as if he had been expecting her. A gloating smile slid across his face, his sparse, pale hair falling over his forehead. “Callista, my dear, how good to see you. I…thought perhaps you had retired early for the night.”
His tone was assured, and Callie hated him so at that moment she could scarcely speak. When she did, her voice trembled. “Dunstan—what…what are you planning to do?”
“With you?” He laughed, putting his drink to his lips. “So you heard.” He wagged a finger at her. “You shouldn’t be listening at keyholes, my dear.” He took another slow sip, savoring the taste. “Surely you aren’t that naïve.” He stepped closer to her. “Don’t you know what big boys and girls do, Callista? Hmmm? Shall I tell you? I think I’ll be first, dearest. I can just imagine you, under me, submitting.” His eyes roved over her body, and he licked his lips.
“Dunstan—”
“You won’t dare to defy me,” he continued. “I’m going to have you, any which way, and as often as I choose—”
The pine scent of his shaving cologne made the bile rise in her throat as he moved closer to her. A cold, mindless fury settled over her, replacing the helplessness that had engulfed her only moments earlier. Her hand closed instinctively over the desk scissors that lay nearby as Treadwell came toward her. “Give us a kiss, Callista. Give your lover a kiss.”
As she raised the scissors high, his eyes widened in terror. He grabbed for her hand—and missed. It had been easier than she had ever thought possible; satisfying, as the metal slid through layers of wool suit, silk shirt, cotton undershirt, and finally, flesh. Dunstan’s cry of protest was cut off abruptly. She’d pushed the scissors in as hard as she could, nearly hysterical with fear that she wouldn’t succeed…terrified that she would.
He went to his knees, and when he met her eyes, his expression was pure evil. It was then that Callie knew that her stepfather wasn’t worried about what would become of him, not even his impending death. He only wanted to keep to his plan for her. Countless, nameless men, paraded through her bedroom, paying their money to— Horrified at the thought, she’d reached for the stone paperweight and brought it down sharply on Dunstan’s temple.
As he lay in the floor, blood pooled around him in a steady, crimson flow. Callie dropped the paperweight, her fingers numb. Reality, and the fear of being caught, nearly suffocated her. She had to get away! But how? And where? She had nowhere to go, no other living relative. She’d never traveled, never even been outside of Washington! She didn’t even know how to purchase a train ticket… Calm reasoning settled over her. There would be the need for money, no matter where she went, no matter how she traveled.
Callie knelt beside her stepfather, avoiding the encroaching tide of blood beside him. Dunstan would have cash. He always carried a huge roll of money. She shuddered as she reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Her breathing harsh, she squeezed back the stinging in her eyes. She did not have time to cry. She had just murdered a man. She rose on rubbery legs, crossing to the gun case. The pepperbox derringer would do. She seized the small box of bullets that lay beside it on the shelf.
She had almost reached the front door when she remembered something else. The jewelry. Her mother had given her the beautiful heirloom rubies. She would not leave them. She’d hurried back up the long flight of stairs to her room and removed the loose floorboard she’d hidden them under, tucking them into her worn carpet valise along with the other items.
A grim smile touched her lips now, in remembrance of her pell-mell flight into the lonesome darkness of the crisp October night. She hadn’t even thought to get a wrapper. Somehow—foolishly, she thought now—she’d hoped the jewels might protect her; a talisman against anything that might befall her as she fled.
She stood, crossing the room to where her valise rested on the chair. She put her hand inside and took out the case, opening it slowly. The rubies glimmered up at her just as radiantly as they had three years ago when her mother had given them to her.
At least, Dunstan Treadwell had never gotten his hands on the jewels. He’d pawned and sold every other valuable piece that had belonged to her mother, but Callie had managed to hide this set under the loose board in her bedroom floor. He’d never found her secret hiding place, though she knew he’d trespassed in her room often. She could always smell the sweet, cloying odor of his pine-scented cologne that lingered behind him.
She closed the jewelry case and replaced it at the bottom of her valise with shaking hands. She knew the consequences her actions would bring down upon her. Death by hanging. If they caught her. She could just imagine Dunstan Treadwell in the crowd of onlookers, watching it all, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
Oh, Mama, why did you ever marry that man?
Callie pulled the curtain back, not far, so that she could look out into the street below. It was Saturday, and most people had come into town to shop and do their errands.
The day was cool, but it was November, after all. In Washington, the foliage would have turned completely by now. Autumn was one of her favorite seasons. She’d loved to see the changing colors of the leaves–but not this year.
For November meant the passing of another month, the midway mark to winter. Her birthday was only a few months away. Her eighteenth birthday. A day that should have been a joyous cause for celebration. But not for her.
Callie let go of the curtain as if it burned her. She would not think of that. She would lose her mind if she did. She moistened her lips nervously, and walked slowly back to sit on the bed.
She needed to go. She had to keep moving, keep running–to California, if need be. Then what? a little voice challenged from the back of her mind. She sighed and lay back on the bed, once more staring up at the ceiling.
“Anything can happen,” she said to herself softly.
She knew it was fanciful thinking. She would never be free again, never be at peace. There would always be someone after her…a lawman of one kind or another. Federal Marshals were a tenacious bunch, Callie thought. She had no doubt that someday, somewhere, one of them woul
d catch up with her. But she needed to believe that there was hope. She closed her eyes. Yes, she needed hope for her future, and she had to create it. More firmly than before, she repeated, “Anything can happen.” She shook her head slowly. “No matter what…I’ve got to leave. Tomorrow.”
Chapter 2
As Jaxson McCall distractedly watched the scenery rush by the train window, he began to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into this time.
At the end of the meeting with Treadwell, he had surprised himself by reluctantly agreeing to go after Callista Buchanan and bring her back.
Treadwell had given Jax a locket containing a painted miniature of the girl inside so that he might have an idea of what she looked like.
“Callista is very…headstrong, Marshal,” Treadwell had told him. “And she will do anything, say anything to get what she wants. She’s very conniving–” he broke off, recovering himself quickly at Jax’s odd look. “Well,” he chuckled, “let’s just say that she may seem normal at times, Marshal, but you’ll do well to keep in mind that she is a would-be murderess. And she is insane.” He cleared his throat and looked down humbly. “I just want her home, Mr. McCall, where she can be cared for properly. I promised Anna that I’d look after her daughter, you know.”
Jax stood up to leave, dropping the necklace into his shirt pocket just under the place where his badge rested. He sighed. “All right, Mr. Treadwell. I’ll find your stepdaughter. It shouldn’t be all that hard.”
Treadwell reached for his pen and ink to make the draft out for the five hundred-plus that Jax had requested. “Probably the easiest grand you’ve ever made,” he grumbled.
“No. Not at all.” Jax replied coldly.
Treadwell looked up, startled. Jax had fixed him with a penetrating stare. “The easiest grand I ever made was killing Black John Carver. Surely, you read about…that.”
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