Black John Carver had been a man no one had dared cross. A man so evil it was rumored that, in a fit of rage, he had single-handedly killed half of the cavalrymen at Fort Sill in the Oklahoma Territory two years earlier. A sometime horse thief and cattle rustler, he took great pleasure in ruthlessly murdering unsuspecting male settlers. Their women and children brought him a tidy sum in the slave trade.
Treadwell nodded and looked down, his skin turning chalky white at Jax’s way of letting him know he better play straight.
Now, as Jax sat thinking back on his meeting with Treadwell, he wondered what had made him accept this job. Certainly, it wasn’t because he thought Treadwell was truly worried about his stepdaughter’s disappearance. The man had tried to hide the calculating cruelty in his expression when he’d spoken of the girl, but Jax had instantly seen behind the affable façade.
Why had he agreed to find her? If Treadwell treated her badly, it was no wonder she’d run. And he’d be damned if he’d send her back to Treadwell for more of the same.
He carefully pulled the necklace from his pocket and opened it. She was a beauty, no doubt of that. She wouldn’t be too hard to spot. Sun-burnished hair and a flawless, tawny complexion, high cheekbones and full lips pouted prettily at him from the locket. And unusual eyes… He was drawn by the compelling lure of her caramel-colored eyes. They seemed defiant, but there was also a wistful sadness in her expression that puzzled him. It just didn’t seem to mix somehow, but the artist had captured the look perfectly.
Maybe the girl, herself, was the real reason he had agreed to this lunacy; it could be that Treadwell’s request was only the catalyst. With a grim chuckle, he looked back down once more at the portrait before closing the silver heart and returning it to his shirt pocket. And, once he did find her, just what the hell was he going to do with her?
****
Callie took ten dollars from the inside pocket of her valise. She counted her remaining funds. She would have the money to get to California, but it wouldn’t stretch far enough to pay her rent, as well. She’d have to find employment immediately upon her arrival.
She picked up her bag and walked out of her hotel room, not bothering to lock the door behind her. There was no need. She was carrying everything she owned.
“Checking out, Miss Smith?” the clerk asked as she made her way down the staircase.
Callie returned the man’s smile, noting the blush that crept into his cheeks. “Not yet, Mr. Daly. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Miss Smith. Won’t be a stage leavin’ until Monday morning.”
Callie’s face fell. “Oh. Well, yes, I suppose you’re right. I—I hadn’t thought of that.” She came to stand in front of the short, balding man as she peered anxiously out the front plate glass window. “Do you think the stage station is still open?” she asked doubtfully.
The building looked deserted, with no sign of customers going in or out.
Daly glanced at the grandfather clock beside the blue velvet sofa in the hotel lobby. “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he assured her. “They won’t close until four o’clock today. Still a whole hour from now.”
She gave the clerk a sunny smile, then turned for the door. “Thank you, Mr. Daly.” Resolutely, she crossed the street to the stage station. As she turned the knob and pushed open the wooden door, a bell tinkled to announce her arrival. The station smelled of musty ledgers and ink, of leather bags and stale cigar smoke. She put a hand to her nose quickly, then removed it, not wanting the man at the counter to think her ill-mannered.
The ticket agent was making an entry in his ledger. He didn’t glance up from his work. “Be with you in just a minute.”
“All right, thank you.”
After a moment, he pushed the book aside and raised his eyes to Callie. “Don Albright, at your service. What can I do for you, young lady?”
“I need to buy a ticket, please.”
“Where to, miss?”
Callie paused. If she purchased a ticket to San Francisco, it would attract attention as well as deplete her funds. “A-Amarillo, Texas,” she stammered, looking down.
Albright gave a low whistle. “Amarillo, huh? Got relatives there?”
Callie’s head came up swiftly. She took a steadying breath. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do, Mr. Albright. I’m going to visit my aunt and uncle. And cousins,” she added hastily.
“Are you…traveling alone?”
Callie’s look was cool, and the agent was quick to add, “What I mean is, if you’re buying tickets for any others besides yourself, I’ll need to know how many bags they’ll have.”
“Just myself. And I only have the one bag.” She held it up for him to see.
“Well,” he smiled, “that’ll be no problem at all. You do travel light, ma’am.”
Callie wanted to say something waspish to the man about his running commentary on her travel habits, but she bit her tongue. If anyone came asking, he’d be more apt to remember her for her sharp words than for traveling light.
“Name?” He stood waiting expectantly, pen poised over the ticket.
Callie cleared her throat. “Sarah,” she answered. “Sarah Smith.”
He began to write the name she had given him.
“What time does the stage leave, sir?”
“Nine o’clock sharp. Leave at nine and keep to the schedule, you’ll be pullin’ in at the Jensens’ station just about suppertime. Drivers like to make it before sundown, and I don’t blame ’em.” Albright stamped Callie’s ticket and handed it to her across the counter.
“Is it–dangerous?” Callie swallowed hard. She just wanted to get someplace safe. Someplace where she could stop running, stop being afraid.
He gave her an easy smile. “Not so much this time, miss—that is, if Marshal McCall decides to ride along a spell. You get attacked by them red devils, why, he’d be the one to have along with you.”
Callie gulped. “Wh-Why is that?”
“He’s awful gun-handy. Shoots better’n anybody else I know. But he’s also half Injun hisself. Might be he’ll convince ’em to parley rather than scalp–” Albright stopped himself quickly at Callie’s look. “Ma’am, I-I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”
“And—he’s accompanying the stage through the Territories? Why is that?”
The agent shrugged. “Don’t know that he is for sure. But he’s here, and sometimes they do that, if they’re headed the same way. If he rides along a spell, it don’t mean he’ll be with you the whole way. Just however far it is ’til he catches up with whatever it is he’s got to do. Then the stage’ll go on without him.”
Callie turned to leave, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Turning her ticket back in would call attention to herself that she couldn’t afford. If McCall was as good a lawman as the agent believed, he’d have her figured out before they ever got to the first station. She would not give him any clues to her identity—and returning the ticket would certainly seem suspicious now.
“Don’t you worry none, Miss Smith. That Marshal McCall, he’s a good man. If he does ride along, he’ll make sure nothing happens out there. He’ll see to it you get home safe.”
Callie tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. A Federal Marshal. Now, she had to contend with her earlier fears in the flesh. She tucked her ticket into her valise. Maybe this was her warning not to get too sure of herself. Not to feel too secure. She nodded, murmuring a quick thanks as she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.
He’ll see to it you get home safe, the agent had said.
Get home safe. That was the one thing that could never happen. No matter how good a man Marshal McCall was.
Chapter 3
Jaxson watched the girl as she made her way out of the stage station across the street to the mercantile. She wore a harried look, and he felt almost ashamed. She had to know, or at least suspect, that she was being followed. She was frightened, for sure. There was no mistak
ing that she was the same girl in the locket portrait. He shook his head, still amazed at just how easy it had been to track her straight to Fort Smith.
The girl had made no effort at trying to cover herself. She’d taken one alias and kept it throughout her travels. With her extraordinary beauty, the alias did her no good. She was unforgettable.
Conniving, Treadwell had called her, and headstrong. Jax smiled to himself. Headstrong, maybe. Conniving, impossible. Beautiful, most definitely.
She wore her tawny hair pulled into a bun, wispy strands artfully arranged about her face. Shoulders squared, head high, she kept her eyes open for possible danger. She didn’t glance around, but Jax felt her wariness, her caution.
Did she sense he was there, that he was observing her every move?
He stood, watching her from inside a shadowed doorway just across the street from the Gold Leaf Hotel. She entered the mercantile, and he knew she’d be shopping for a few minutes, at least. Maybe he’d walk over to the stage office and talk to the agent, see what he could learn from him.
Don Albright glanced up. “Hello, Jax!” he said warmly. “What brings you in here? I know it’s not to buy a ticket.”
Jax grinned at the agent. “Not when I can ride a horse instead, Don.”
“Just had a young girl in here a few minutes ago.” Albright gave Jax an embarrassed look. “I think I scared the daylights out of her. Didn’t mean to.”
Jax laughed. “What did you do?” He stepped up and leaned on the counter.
“I got to shootin’ off my mouth ’bout the Injuns and all–no offense–and said more than I shoulda.” Albright fidgeted with the inkpad on his countertop as Jax remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. “Well, confound it, I was just trying to let her know she’d be safe if you happened to be riding that way—which I figured you might this time out—”
Jaxson swore softly and stood up straight, all easy relaxation gone, his eyes keen. “You told her I was going?”
“No, I said you might be. Might. Big difference in might and the sure thing. I wouldn’t have no way of knowin’ for certain,” he said defensively, “less I was a mind reader. Which I ain’t. Purty little thing seemed scared.”
Jax forced himself to stand easy once more, looking down. Albright couldn’t have known his intentions. Now, he had to hope it hadn’t spooked the girl; that she would go on with her plans. Jax glanced up at Albright, his voice casual.
“How’d she take it, maybe having a lawman along? Did she turn her ticket back in?”
“Not hardly. Said she was goin’ to Amarillo to visit her kin. Sarah Smith’s her name.” The agent shook his head in remembrance. “Naw, it was more like she was afraid of bein’ attacked by Injuns than anything else. I was just trying to make her feel better, uh–you bein’ part Injun yourself. No offense.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “None taken,” he said quietly. “I’m not ashamed of it, Don. And I am half white, you know.”
“Oh, sure, I know. I just–well–”
“Is she alone?” Jax interrupted curtly, knowing the answer already.
“Yeah,” Albright responded quickly. He loosened his string tie.
“Anything else you can tell me about her?”
“She’s–uh–she seems pretty–young.”
Jax smiled frostily. “What’s wrong, Don? You worried I might try and rob the cradle? Or is it that I’m only half white?” He put his hat on and turned for the door. His hand on the knob, he looked at the ticket agent once more. “No offense.”
****
Jax moved leisurely down the boardwalk, stopping in front of the first saloon he came to, The Watering Hole. It was too early in the day for a drink, but he needed to be somewhere inconspicuous.
From a table at the front of the saloon, he’d be able to watch both the mercantile and the hotel entrances. That would do for a while. Then he’d walk over to the Gold Leaf Hotel and have an early supper before heading upstairs to his room. The one right next door to Miss Callista Buchanan. Sarah Smith. Whatever she was calling herself right now.
He took the table that afforded him the widest view across the street as the bartender raised a bottle of his best Scotch whiskey in silent question. Jax grinned and shook his head, indicating an approximate inch or so with his thumb and index finger. The bartender nodded, poured the small glass, and brought it over to the table.
“That still a two-bit shot, or has it gone up since I was in here last, Dave?” Jax teased the short, stocky owner of the bar.
“Keep your money, Marshal. Lawmen always drink free in my house, and you know it. Keeps the riff-raff down, and the damage to a minimum.” He grinned. “Besides that, you tin stars don’t drink much, as a general rule.”
Jax laughed. “Especially this early in the day, huh? I’m just killin’ time, Dave.” He pulled out a chair, and the bartender sat down, nervously wiping his hands on his apron. Jax didn’t miss the gesture, nor the way Dave Lewis sat on the edge of his chair.
“Somethin’ wrong? You seem…kinda edgy today.”
Lewis moistened his lips and leaned forward. “There was a man in here earlier askin’ about you, Jax. Don’t know who he was, but he looked mean as hell. I didn’t know you were back in town. I told him I hadn’t seen you. He tells me it’s best I keep my mouth shut when I do see you. Wants to know, do I ‘savvy’? I said yes. But I wanted you to be warned.” He stood up. “I ain’t afraid of most men who come through my doors, Marshal, but this one–he’s different. Got a real mean feel about him–like he’d shoot from behind…aim for a fella’s back.”
Jaxson took a sip of the whiskey, noting Callista Buchanan’s exit from the mercantile. “Thanks. I appreciate the warning. What’s he look like?”
“Tall—got a couple of inches on you, even. Must stand at least six-feet-six or –seven. And he’s heavy. Not muscle, but fat. His eyes are two different colors. Damnedest thing I ever did see. One’s brown, one’s blue. And they’re mean. He’s got red hair, missing one of his front teeth, smells like he’s never had a bath. Like old blood…maybe a buffalo hunter. Like–death. You be careful, Jax. He carries a fancy gun, too. Looks to be one of them foreign makes. German or Russian. All silver, special-made, for sure.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.” Jax tossed back the rest of the liquor, ignoring the slow burning anger Lewis’s description had ignited. He knew the man…would never forget him. Half a lifetime stood between him and the memories that sickened him, but Wolf Blocker was a man he would remember forever. He casually stood. “Thanks for the drink—and the warning. You still haven’t seen me.”
“No. You never came in. See ya, Jax.”
Jax headed across the street for the Gold Leaf. He’d been doing some hard riding over the past three weeks to catch up with the girl. Sometimes, it had seemed as though he never would. Not because she’d been hard to track, but because she had such a lead on him. She hadn’t stayed more than one night in any one place except St. Louis. She’d spent the better part of a week there, and when the stage headed south, she had allowed herself the luxury of spending a few extra days in Fort Smith.
Absently, Jax put a hand to the back of his neck and gave it a quick rub to massage the tension away. A bath and a shave would feel good right about now. First, though, he thought he’d go over to the mercantile and see if he could find out what Miss Callista Buchanan had purchased.
The clerk was all too willing to divulge every piece of information he could remember. She hadn’t tarried long among the aisles of Whitman’s Mercantile. She’d known what she was after.
Jaxson made a few discreet inquiries, slipped a coin to the young man in charge of the cash register, and left just minutes later knowing exactly what the lovely Miss Buchanan had bought.
Most of her purchases were necessary items; nothing out of the ordinary. Her only luxury item, if you could call it that, was a small cake of lavender-scented soap. She seemed like a practical young woman. Practicality could be the forerunner of a
kind of cold-bloodedness. Still, Jax thought, she didn’t seem to have the characteristics of a would-be murderess. He’d watched her; made his own observations.
And one thing he knew for sure. She wasn’t crazy, as her stepfather had tried to convince him when he’d hired Jax to track the girl and bring her home. Callista Buchanan wasn’t the only one hiding a secret.
****
“May I join you, Miss Smith?”
Callie’s head came up quickly from her perusal of the dinner menu. The Gold Leaf Hotel boasted excellent cuisine. She looked at the man uncertainly. He was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen–in a dangerous sort of way. Her hand clenched around the menu involuntarily, and she tried to keep her expression neutral. He stood watching her with a surety in his gaze that she didn’t understand. His black eyes held her pinned in place, until finally, she shifted in her chair, unable to speak, her heart hammering against her chest.
“I realize we haven’t been properly introduced, ma’am. My name is Jaxson McCall.” He pulled a chair out and sat across the small table from her.
“Th-The Federal Marshal,” she murmured, her eyes still lost in his.
He smiled, and she thought she would stop breathing. She took a deep gulp of air, trying to steady her racing pulse.
“One of them,” he admitted. “There are several of us deputies.”
“The—um, the station agent told me you might be riding along come Monday. That’s when the stage leaves. I mean—” she broke off in utter embarrassment. Everything she’d said had come out sounding silly.
“Yeah. I know what you mean. And you’re right; I will be riding with the stage. For a while, anyway.” He smiled again.
“When will you be leaving us, Marshal? The agent said it—that you—well, you probably wouldn’t be riding the whole way with us.” And it was a good thing, she thought, for she was about one hundred percent sure that Lucifer himself couldn’t contrive to look any better than Jaxson McCall did at this very moment.
The dark-haired, buxom waitress approached their table and gave Jax a sultry look as she spoke.
The Half-Breed's Woman Page 2
