by Carol Arens
"Well, adversity does hold the seeds of adventure." She took a sip of water then returned the nods of the folks sitting nearby, still clapping in delight. "Besides, it's hardly the first time I've landed in a fix. I discovered long ago that it's a simple thing to win a woman over with a compliment to her hat or her shoes. Even the stiffest souls will soften to dear Ludwig van Beethoven."
"Come morning, you'll be famous in Dewton." A twinge of apprehension twisted Zane's gut.
The eyes of the town would be on the scarlet angel, for sure, and possibly the eyes of a bounty hunter. A woman like Missy did not fade into the scenery. It couldn't be long before a man of questionable scruples matched the wanted poster to her.
"That's bound to be helpful when I look for a job." Missy took another sip of water and blinked at him. Her eyes grew round. Something was brewing in that adventure-loving brain of hers. If he had the sense of a prairie dog he'd run for the door before he knew what it was. "Is there a place like Pete's in Dewton, do you know?"
Blood flooded Zane's face. He viewed the waiter's approach through a red haze. He slammed his fist on the table and the waiter backed away.
"There is no place in Dewton like Pete's," he ground out through clenched teeth, striving for patience, but the bruise under his eye still throbbed from Missy's misadventure in Luminary.
"That is a shame." She waved the waiter forward and the man advanced with a wary eye on Zane's hand, open flat against the table but still tense. "Well, there is always sweeping. I've picked up a talent for that, did you know?"
He couldn't see Missy sweeping floors any more than he could see her playing piano in a low-life saloon.
The waiter stood beside the table with his arms crossed over his apron glancing from Missy to Zane.
"Two steaks," he stated and the man hurried away. "You could go home where you wouldn't have to sweep at all. I'll pay your way."
Lightning blanched the room into a scene from a daguerreotype. An instant later thunder rattled the dining-room windows.
"Zane Coldridge." She folded her hands in her lap and fixed him with a narrow stare, the teasing gone from her eyes from one heartbeat to the next. "When I go home it will be because I choose to. I came to write an adventure for my sister and that is what I am going to do."
She lifted the cloth napkin off the table, opened it with a snap and settled it on her lap.
"What lovely shoes," she stated, flashing an admiring smile to a woman walking by.
The lady paused beside the table and seemed unable to take her eyes off the feathers ruffling with Missy's breathing.
"I've never heard the piano played so well," she said. "If you and your husband will be in town for a while, would you consider playing for the Ladies of the Afternoon Society? All the ladies would be delighted to hear you."
Husband! Silence hissed like an irritated rattler in the instant before Missy flashed him a bright smile.
"That would be a decision for my husband to make." Missy reached across the table and linked her fingers through his. "What do you say, darling?"
Had he stepped into another world? If he let go of reality for an instant, he could feel Missy as his wife. His insides warmed to the notion of friends and family. If he were a butterfly-moon type of man he would step right into her game.
Since he was not that kind of man, he mumbled that their plans were unclear. The woman nodded and walked away with a flick of her toe, smiling at the tips of her plain brown shoes.
Zane stared at the slender fingers linked with his. They lay in his hand like delicate petals in need of protection. Yet there was something about Missy that made folks do her bidding. No doubt, by week's end every lady in town would be her bosom friend, enamored of their hats and shoes and likely sporting a red feather or two.
"What is it that scares you so, Zane?" Her whisper sounded like honey.
"You scare me, darlin'," he murmured, letting go of her hand. He had to leave before he told her the whole truth of it. She had a way of seeing past the shadows in his heart. "You run into danger with your arms wide open and never give the consequences a thought. I'll say it again, go home to your family."
This was not the amiable way he had meant to bid her goodbye. He had planned a lingering handshake or maybe a friendly peck on her cheek. He stood up, offering neither.
"Folks will talk if you don't give your wife a proper kiss goodnight."
She was toying with him, playing with a fire that she didn't understand. The woman needed a lesson in caution.
He seized her slender wrist and swallowed it with his fist. He drew his arm around her back and hauled her out of her chair, up tight against his chest.
"Goodbye, my love," he murmured then kissed her hard. He opened her mouth with his tongue and tasted her surprise. He slipped his hand to the curve of her round derriere and squeezed.
That should teach the imprudent woman not to play with flame. He let go and she fluttered into the chair, looking at him with great doe eyes. For once she didn't seem to have a thing to say.
The waiter stood behind her with a plate of steaming beef in each hand and his jaw hanging open. The dining room boomed with silence. The report of his boots across the oak floor was not muted by the thunder rolling overhead.
* * *
At noon the next day, Zane stood outside the general store loading supplies into his saddlebags and watching Missy from across the street.
As it turned out, it did not take a week for her to win over the ladies of the town.
Gathered like pale chicks about a bright-red hen, six women ushered her up a flowered walkway and through the front door of a white clapboard house.
That was that, then. His responsibility for Missy had been handed over to the tittering ladies of Dewton. He watched her pass in front of one lace-curtained window then another before she disappeared into the depths of the house.
He shoved a tin of beans on top of a bag of coffee then cinched the saddlebag closed. This was one episode of his life he would never forget. The days he'd spent with Missy would stand out like flowers in a patch of weeds. Too bad he wasn't a different sort of man; settling down with a woman like her would never be dull.
"Hold up, Ace, we'll be on our way in a minute."
He stroked the horse's mane then walked three doors west to the marshal's office. He'd have a few words with the lawman and check to see if there were any newly wanted men he could pick up while he trailed Wage.
The Dewton jail was a solid structure made of new red brick. The marshal's big oak desk sat on a polished wood floor. This quiet town of farm families was growing faster than the spring weeds. It was almost a shame, since crime was sure to come with prosperity.
The marshal stood by the wall of wanted posters speaking with a bear of a man in a long dusty coat.
"Afternoon, Marshal," Zane said. "Willie Sue."
The big man turned with a fleshy grin that was missing more teeth than the last time Zane had run across him.
"Coldridge," Willie Sue answered with a nod. From six feet away Zane could smell the grease in his matted hair.
Willie Sue was a filthy man inside and out.
"Surprised to see you in Dewton," Willie mumbled around a wad of chewing tobacco.
"Just passing through, Willie." Zane scanned the wall behind the marshal, relieved to see that Missy's poster was not pinned up with the rest. "How about you? Not many criminals in this town."
"I'm after me a lamb this time." Willie Sue presented the poster gripped in his fist. "Don't suppose you've seen her?"
The marshal plucked the poster from the fat hand and tacked it back on the wall. Zane felt a little sick seeing the bounty hunter's sweat smeared across Missy's smiling face.
"Willie Sue, you just remember what it says about the lady being returned pure," the lawman admonished. "There won't be a penny in it for you if she isn't."
"Now, Marshal, there's just all kinds of rewards in this world and not all of them have to do with cash." Will
ie Sue glanced about for a spittoon and, not finding one, hacked the wad in his mouth onto the floor. "Now and then there's just the satisfaction of a job well done. Seeing this sweet thing home would be a reward all of its own. Know what I mean, Coldridge?"
He knew. The nasty laugh shaking the man's belly told it all.
"I recall the woman, now that I look at her likeness close up." Zane smiled, trying for a look of camaraderie, but he hated the meanness of some in his profession. "She was working in Luminary at Pete's before it was trashed."
Willie Sue squinted his eyes at the poster. "This one worked at Pete's?"
"I saw her myself, just last week. I heard, though, that when Pete's fell, she moved on, toward Kansas is the rumor. Chances are, a woman like that is headed for Dodge."
"I do thank you for that word, Coldridge." Willie Sue stumped toward the door then turned. "It's a rare day that one of our kind helps another."
As soon as the door closed the marshal went to the window to stare after the figure crossing to the general store.
"I retire next month and I tell you I can't wait to be rid of men like that." The marshal turned away from the glass and cast Zane a sharp look. "Dodge, you say? The word is a man rode in here yesterday with a scarlet woman. My wife can't talk of anything else."
The marshal's wife would not be the only one talking about Missy. She was like a tropical bird dropped into a nest of sparrows.
"Marshal, can you point me to the new telegraph office? I've got a wire that won't wait."
Chapter Nine
Missy jingled the coins in the pocket of her gingham dress. In addition to sweeping she could now add bartering to her list of skills. In trade for her harlot's costume Mrs. Homer Crump had given a blue gingham frock plus enough money to purchase more writing supplies.
Respectable-looking once more, she stood outside the general store with Muff tucked under one arm, savoring the day. Last night's storm had been blown away by a day of sunshine and birdsong. Life sparkled.
She closed her eyes, feeling the warm rays touch her face. The red feather adorning her hat caught the fresh breeze and tickled her nose.
Mrs. Crump had begged to trade her matching gingham bonnet for the feathered hat, but Missy had refused. The satin and feathers were more than a head ornament, they were a keepsake, a memento of the days she had spent with Maybelle, Moe and the girls.
Still, Mrs. Crump had been correct when she'd warned that blue gingham and red satin did not complement each other. In Boston the fashion offense would be the fuel of gossip for a month.
In Dewton, a thoroughly Western town, her hat might draw a few stares, but was not likely to cause fainting spells. It was hard to know what would cause the biggest scandal back home, the homey gown or the crimson headpiece. A gently reared lady would never wear the softly worn cotton of a hired woman. That same lady would shave her head before she would cover it with a hat that hinted of sin.
Western women had the freedom of dressing with common sense. Suzie would be thrilled when she discovered that farmer's wives sometimes worked wearing their husbands' pants!
Day by day, the comforts of home seemed like restrictions. Memories of neck-scratching lace and corsets drawn too tight chafed at her skin as well as her soul. Had it only been a few days since she had given up proper tea in favor of rich brown coffee? Since the gentlemen of the east had faded to ghostly wisps compared to the dark mystery of Zane Coldridge?
She had pretended not to see him watching her earlier, while he loaded his saddlebags, but his gaze had followed her all along the boardwalk. She knew that he had stared at Mrs. Crump's front door long after it closed behind her.
Chances are he had been saying a silent good-bye. The truth hadn't yet hit him, as it had her.
It would never be good-bye between them.
She stepped out of the sunshine and into the dim interior of the general store.
A large man with a dirty coat and a face that looked as though it couldn't recall a washing was speaking with the clerk about coming into a fortune soon. Missy took a spot at the counter several yards down from him hoping his new wealth would enable him to afford a bath.
The clerk handed the man a stack of blankets to look at then gave his full attention to Missy. She'd like to tell him that the customer's sweaty palms were ruining his stock, but surely he would have noticed that on his own.
"How can I help you and your little dog, miss?" he asked with a pleasant smile.
"I'd like an ink pen, a journal and an extra bottle of ink, if you please."
"I keep those in the back. I'll be just a minute." The clerk disappeared behind a drape-covered doorway.
The big man turned. She felt his unnerving stare studying her from head to toe. Muff curled his lip, baring sharp puppy teeth.
"It's a fine afternoon," she said to redirect his rude perusal.
"So it is, ma'am." He presented a smile with more teeth missing than intact. "Getting finer by the minute, as a fact."
The clerk returned with Missy's supplies, and not a moment too soon. The man had moved closer by a yard.
She paid for her goods and had a coin left. "I'll take a ribbon, as well."
"Right up there by the window, miss."
Missy tried to forget the man in the dusty coat as she placed the coin on the counter then walked toward the front of the store, but she felt his stare prickling her back.
Pale afternoon sunshine streamed in through the window glass. A rainbow of bright ribbons lay across a wood dowel attached to the wall.
"Which one do you like, Muff?" she asked, setting him on the deep windowsill. She picked up a green ribbon then set it back on the dowel and selected a red one. "This is sweet, we'll match."
She lifted the fur hiding his face and tied it up with the ribbon.
"Aren't you a handsome boy?" she crooned and twisted the loops of the ribbon into a perfect bow.
"What's yer name, lady? Where'd you get that hat?"
Missy spun about. Muff barked with wild, ear-shattering yaps. The man took a step forward, backing her up until her spine pressed against the dowel of ribbons.
She couldn't speak without breathing and breathing meant smelling the rotten stench coming out of his mouth.
"See here, mister." The clerk hustled out from behind the counter. "You can't treat the lady that way."
"Not your business." The offensive customer shot the clerk a glare that seemed to pin the poor man's feet to the floor.
"Neither is my name your business." She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. His belly butted to within an inch of her ribs. It would be fitting to poke her finger into that roll of fat and drive it backward but she'd be washing for a week. "Kindly stop scaring my dog."
In truth, Muff was not scared but outraged at the intrusion of his territory, which he considered to be Missy.
"You'll fess up your name if you're smart." The threat hissed like a snake loose in the store. The clerk inched forward half a step, then scuttled back two.
A shadow blocked the light coming through the door but her assailant didn't appear to notice.
"Coldridge..." the shadow announced. "Mrs. Zane Coldridge."
The menace in Zane's voice spun the man about, unbalanced like an oversized top. Muff snapped at the filthy coat twirling past his muzzle. His sharp teeth ripped a jagged tear.
"Never heard you was married, Coldridge." The man backed away a step, looking from Missy to Zane. He touched the hole in his coat with an offended glance at Muff.
"You know it now." Zane reached out his hand. "Come on, darlin'."
With a single motion she grabbed Muff and her writing supplies. She scooted around the belly that nearly blocked her way then latched onto Zane's fingers.
Out on the boardwalk Zane rushed her toward his horse, tethered a few doors up. She ran to keep pace with his long strides. A duet of light and heavy footfalls echoed along the quiet street. A button popped off her boot.
Zane hoisted her onto the sadd
le and jumped up after her.
She nearly slipped over the other side trying to keep a grip on both Muff and her purchases but Zane's arm clamped quick and tight about her waist.
"Don't even think of climbing down." His breath whispered hot against her cheek.
Let him misunderstand her near tumble. If he believed she was struggling to be free he would hold her tighter against his flexing muscles.
"If you're going to be a bully about it," she mumbled. She oughtn't to feel a grin spreading from top to toe, not with Zane pushing Ace as though they were trying to outrun Lucifer himself.
But whoever that man was, the devil or just a creepy patron of the general store, by rights she should thank him.
Left on her own it might have taken some time to catch up with Zane.
She couldn't guess where he was taking her now and it didn't matter. This was adventure at its most romantic. In a dozen childhood daydreams shared with Suzie she could never have conjured one so fine.
* * *
Zane reined Ace to a halt and listened. The land seemed as peaceful as creation day. Birdsong and grass whispering in the breeze were the only sounds that came to him.
The horse dipped his head to munch on a weed. Ordinarily, Ace became agitated when they were being trailed. Four hours out of Dewton with no sign of pursuit indicated that Willie Sue had fallen for the wife story and was probably racing his unfortunate mount toward Dodge.
"Wake up, darlin'. It's time to give the horse a rest."
His sweat-dampened shirt felt cool when she lifted her head from the hollow of his shoulder. Sable-colored eyelashes winked open. She stretched both arms over her head and wiggled her fingers at the sky. The cramped fit of the saddle squeezed her plush hindquarters against him.
"Where are we?"
"About in the middle of nowhere."
"It's pretty here."
Seventy miles of open land between towns is all it was, along with dust, heat, wind and cold.
