“God, help me,” she whispered. She didn’t want Mitch to leave. She wanted him to stay right here beside her. What was happening? It couldn’t be love, because she barely knew the man, and she suspected his own life was one big mess like her own. Yet she found herself caring what happened to him. The thought of him being out there in the streets the next couple of days where men who hated him lurked in the shadows was unnerving. She wanted to scream at him to come back and stay in hiding with her.
She went to the door and opened it, looking out. He was nowhere in sight. The man kept appearing just when she needed him most, then disappearing again, and she had no idea how to find him.
She turned away and closed the door, feeling better remembering he’d promised to take her to Virginia City and maybe even out to the mines. She went upstairs to her room, leaving her pistol in the box and slipping it under some clothes in a dresser drawer.
Twelve
“What should I do, Claire?” Mitch downed a shot of whiskey.
Claire McGuinnes smiled through painted lips. “I think that for tonight you should forget about that girl and concentrate on matters at hand. Sam Wiley could be out there anywhere. In fact, you should probably get over to the jail and help Randy out. He doesn’t have the skills you have, if somebody should try to get the lowdown on him and break into that jail.”
“I know.” Mitch sighed. “I’m headed over, but for now Len is there. Not many men would try a jailbreak with that mean skunk around.”
Claire grinned. “That’s true enough.”
Mitch drank down one more shot of whiskey. “I just had to tell somebody how I’m feeling, and you’re always easy to talk to.”
Claire stroked his arm. “I’d rather be helping you in other ways, you big lug.”
Mitch studied the lines around her eyes, the scar on her cheek left by a man who’d told her that older whores weren’t worth paying and that he’d fix it so no man would want her again. Mitch had beat the man to death.
“I’d gladly oblige,” he told Claire, “but that woman over at Ma Kelly’s has a hold on me, Claire. I’ve never wanted just one woman before.”
Claire leaned against the bar, putting one hand on her hip, her bosom spilling over the top of her dress. “Then go charm her into your bed. You’re damn good at that.”
Mitch just grinned. “She’s not easily charmed.” He frowned then, growing more serious. “Something happened to her, Claire. She’s afraid of everything and everybody, especially men.”
“Well, then, it’s up to you to find out just what it is that’s got her so scared. And while you’re at it, ask yourself how you managed to fall in love with a complete stranger in just three days. I thought you had more common sense than that.”
Mitch downed yet another shot of whiskey. “Lord, Claire, I didn’t say I was in love with her.”
“Really? Why else would you suddenly not want any other woman?” Claire tapped his chest. “You’d better be careful, young man. You don’t know a thing about her.”
“I know enough.” Mitch began rolling a cigarette. “I know she’s hiding something, and I think she’s running from someone. Whatever it is, I know she’s a victim.”
“You see all women as victims. It’s your one big weakness. And don’t confuse feeling sorry for her with being in love.”
Mitch shrugged, licking the cigarette paper and sealing it. “I’ve felt sorry for plenty of women without wanting them in other ways—and I’ve never been in love with one, nor do I intend to let that happen.” He shoved his shot glass aside.
“You just might not be able to fight this one, young man. Just be on guard. See what you can find out about her.”
“I know when a woman is no good just the same as when I can pick out the no-good men.” Mitch walked over to an oil lamp at the end of the bar and used it to light his cigarette, taking a deep drag. He returned to Claire, frowning. “I don’t know a damn thing about love, Claire. I’ve never felt it before, and Lord knows I’ve never been loved, so it’s all new to me and I don’t know how to tell for sure.”
Claire re-pinned a curl that was coming loose from her graying hair. “You loved your mother, didn’t you?”
An old pain stabbed at him at the words. “All kids love their mothers. Mine died so long ago, I hardly remember how it felt. Besides, this is different. Something about her makes me want to follow her around and keep her safe. Eventually I’m going to break that wall she’s built around herself and find out why in hell she came to a place like Alder.”
Claire walked closer and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Promise me that for tonight you will forget about her and stay alert.”
Mitch kept the cigarette between his lips as he smiled wryly. “I will.” He laid money on the bar to pay for his drinks and left the Saddleback Saloon, heading for the jail. Night had fallen, and every saloon was alive with drinking and gambling and dancing and talk of tomorrow’s hanging. Several miners had come in from the gulch for the big event. Mitch had seen neither hide nor hair of Sam Wiley or Bobby Spence, Hugh Wiley’s friend who’d also threatened him the day of the trial. He wore two six-guns and carried a rifle in one hand, ready for whatever might come, forcing himself to stop thinking about Elizabeth Wainright and keep all senses alert for any wrong movement or odd shadow.
His deputy, Randy Olson, was at the jail with two volunteers who’d agreed to stand guard over Hugh Wiley and Jake Snyder. Mitch headed over there, keeping to the shadows himself and stopping to eye each alley he came to before crossing it. He stayed under overhangs whenever he could to help protect him if someone was on a rooftop figuring to ambush him. Luckily there were more tents than buildings in this town, making it difficult for a man to find many rooftop angles.
When he reached the jail, which was made of cemented stones and barred windows, he finished his cigarette and stepped it out, tapping on the door. “Randy? Let me in.”
The door opened and Mitch stepped inside. “Where have you been, Mitch?” Randy Olson asked. The young man walked to peer out a window, fingering his rifle nervously.
“With that new gal, I bet,” Len Gray answered wryly. The older, graying man cast a sly grin at Mitch. A drifter all his life, Len feared nothing and was dependable in a pinch. He was known for his expertise with a rifle. The man constantly needed a shave yet never actually grew a full beard. He wore a plaid shirt with a cowhide vest that he seemed to wear constantly. Sometimes Mitch wondered if he slept in it. The dark-eyed, gray-haired man had the angled, weatherworn face of someone who’d lived outside more than inside most of his life, spending most of his years helping ranchers herd cattle.
Randy, on the other hand, still had the taut skin of an eighteen-year-old. He was a kid from somewhere back East, come to get away from an abusive, alcoholic father. Randy always wore clean clothes whenever possible, kept his hair cut, and was usually clean-shaven. The green-eyed kid was a real hit with the whores because of his youthful good looks. He landed in Alder one day just as Mitch was cleaning out a saloon full of drunks, helped Mitch, and decided to stay on as a deputy just for the excitement and because he had no particular place to go.
Mitch laid his own rifle on the wooden table that served as a desk in the tiny jail entrance. “If you want the truth,” he answered Randy, “I was with Claire over at the Saddleback.”
“Whooee!” The jab came from a third man there to help guard the prisoners, Benny Carson—thirty, a farmer from Missouri who’d lost everything, including his wife, in the Civil War, which had affected thousands of men who then headed West to start life over. Benny was medium in every way—age, build, looks—and was a quiet man who never talked about himself but who’d done a lot of hunting in his life, so was handy with a rifle.
“Let it be, Benny,” Mitch answered with a frown. “We were standing at the bar talking, that’s all.”
“Well, I hope you didn�
�t drink too much,” Len told him, walking to the other window to look outside. “You need to be at your best tonight.”
“I had three shots of whiskey. That’s like drinking a glass of water to most folks.”
“What the heck does a man talk about with a whore?” Benny asked. “I don’t generally waste my time with talk.”
“It’s that new girl in town,” Len repeated. “What’s wrong, son? Need a woman’s advice on what to do about her?”
“One more word about Miss Wainright and I’ll open that door and throw all of you out in the street,” Mitch answered.
“By God, Len, I think he means it,” Randy joked.
“Getting nervous, Mitch?” The goading came from Hugh Wiley, who leaned against the bars of his cell. “You do know that my brother and some friends will make sure me and Jake here don’t hang tomorrow, right?”
“You’ll hang, all right. You’d better think about making things right with the Almighty tonight. If you don’t, after we stretch your neck tomorrow, you’ll be someplace where it’s damn hot.”
Hugh chuckled, but Mitch could see the terror behind the man’s fake confidence.
“Men like you enjoy watching a man kick and gag, don’t you?” Hugh sneered. “Vigilantes love stringin’ men up, and that’s what all four of you are—vigilantes. Vigilantes ain’t no better than outlaws and murderers.” He grinned. “What does that new little gal you rescued think of you, Mitch? Does she think you’re a murderin’ vigilante, or have you already charmed her into bein’ your own personal whore?”
Mitch stepped close to where Hugh stood gripping the cell bars. Without warning he slammed the butt of his rifle against Hugh’s fingers. Hugh screamed out and went to his knees, cussing a blue streak and calling Mitch names that would make even the lowest man in a saloon cringe. “Shut your damn mouth, Wiley, or I’ll come in there and beat you till you can’t stand up,” Mitch fumed.
More curses flowed from Hugh’s mouth, but they were mumbled as he curled up against the wall. Jake Snyder sat on his cot in the same cell, watching everything and saying nothing. He looked truly scared. Mitch threw him a warning glance and turned away.
“It’s going to be a long night,” he told the others. “If one of you wants to go lie down on the cot in the corner there, we’ll take turns getting an hour or so of shut-eye through the night so we aren’t all four of us so damn tired by morning that we aren’t alert. I’ll be glad when this shit is over with.”
“You’re not the only one,” Benny answered.
“I get first dibs on the cot,” Randy stated. “I’ve been here watching those two worthless bums the longest.”
“Hell, you’re the youngest among us, kid. You shouldn’t need any sleep at all,” Len teased.
Randy shook his head and walked over to the cot, setting his rifle aside and lying down, leaving on boots and guns and putting his hat over his eyes.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Len asked Mitch. “Only a couple days ago you were lyin’ over there at Doc’s place passed out from loss of blood.”
“I’m fine,” Mitch argued, not wanting to admit that his side ached fiercely and he still had a strong desire to go back to bed. “I’ll get some more rest after the hanging.”
“Suit yourself. I—”
Len’s words were interrupted by a shout from outside.
“Mitch Brady! Come on out here and have them friends of yours release my brother!”
Mitch recognized Sam Wiley’s gruff voice. Randy jumped up and grabbed his rifle. Benny doused the oil lamps to darken the jail.
“I told you Sam would come for me!” Hugh Wiley groaned.
“Shut up!” Mitch ordered.
Hugh rose from where he was curled up on the floor. Holding his smashed right hand, he joined Jake Snyder as the two outlaws pressed themselves against the bars to hear what was going on.
Mitch went to a window, pressing his back against the wall beside it and turning his head just enough to look outside. By the dim light of an evening not quite all the way dark yet he saw Sam Wiley standing in the street surrounded by four other men. Beside him, forced to stand there by Sam’s arm crooked around her neck, stood Elizabeth, looking terrified.
“I’m ready to trade, Brady,” Wiley told him. “My brother for this pretty little gal here.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Mitch muttered. “They have Elizabeth!”
Thirteen
Mitch raged inside at the sight of Sam Wiley’s grip on Elizabeth’s neck as he held a cocked six-gun to her head. Four other men with guns sat mounted on their horses, holding three more horses that were saddled and ready for a quick escape.
“Shoot me, and this gun goes off, taking this little gal down with me!” Wiley shouted gruffly. He was a big man, and Elizabeth looked so small and helpless in his grip. Mitch could see the terror in her eyes, and it reminded him of another woman helpless in a man’s grip, her face pummeled until she was nearly unrecognizable. The memory of his mother’s beating when he was too small to help her would live with him forever.
“Send my brother out, Brady, or I ride off with this little lady here!” Wiley yelled. “And you won’t like what we do to her! Send Jake Snyder out, too! And you come out yourself—unarmed!”
“What do you want us to do, Mitch?” Randy asked, standing at the other window and gripping his rifle.
“Let them out.”
“What?” Benny asked.
“You heard me,” Mitch answered, still watching Sam Wiley. He wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the man’s head, but Wiley was right. If he was hit, his cocked pistol would go off and Elizabeth would be dead. Damn her! This would be a lot easier if he didn’t care so much.
“That sonofabitch!” Len Gray grumbled. “He won’t get away with this! I’d like to see him hang tomorrow right along with his brother.”
“We’ll make sure they both hang,” Mitch answered. “Right now we’ll just let him think he’s getting away with this.”
Benny unlocked Hugh Wiley’s cell and Wiley walked out, Jake Snyder following close behind. Wiley grimaced at the pain in his hand. “I told you my brother would come for me,” he sneered at Mitch. “And I’ll pay you back for smashing my fingers. I’ll smash every bone in your body!”
The look Mitch gave him caused Wiley to back away. “Enjoy your five minutes of freedom,” Mitch told him, moving away from the window. He laid his rifle on a table and removed his six-gun from its holster. “Get your ass out that door.”
“I want a gun.”
“Let your brother give you one. You’ll not get one from me.”
Wiley spit at Mitch. “You’re fixin’ to make a mess of this, ain’t you?”
“I’m just doing what your brother asked so he’ll let the woman go.”
Wiley smiled nervously. “You know damn well Sam won’t let her go right away. If he did that, your men would shoot him and me both soon as she’s free. He’ll take her with us for a ways, for insurance.”
“I don’t doubt that. Now get going.”
Hugh hesitated and Jake Snyder looked confused and afraid. “Go on, Hugh! This is our chance. Do you want to feel a rope around your neck tomorrow? I’d rather go down with a bullet than get my neck broke and my breath cut off. It’s a hell of a way to die, Hugh!”
Wiley kept his eyes on Mitch. “I’m just tryin’ to figure what this bastard vigilante has in mind.”
“There’s no time for that. Just go!”
“Shut up, Jake!”
“The hell with you!” Jake made for the door. “I’m comin’ out, Sam!” he yelled. He opened the door and walked outside.
“Hurry it up!” Sam told him. “Go mount up!”
With the door open, Mitch could see Jake walk around Elizabeth and climb up on a horse. “You’re next,” Mitch told Hugh. “Let’s get this over with.”
Hugh stood there a moment, eyeing Mitch closely. “I don’t trust you, you sonofabitch. Somethin’ tells me you don’t give a damn what happens to that little lady out there.”
“It’s up to you, Wiley. You can die today…or tomorrow. You know damn well that if I let you ride off right now, whether that woman is with you or not, I’ll find you. And you and your brother will both hang.”
Hugh Wiley looked around at the others. Randy just smiled. Benny Carson shrugged and Len Gray spit tobacco juice on Wiley’s boots.
“A man ought not hide behind a woman’s skirts,” Len snarled. “You and your brother just keep diggin’ the hole deeper and deeper.”
Hugh swallowed, glancing outside.
“Get the hell out here, Hugh!” Sam shouted. “’Fore I choke this little lady to death!”
Hugh took a deep breath and headed out. Mitch glanced at Len. “You know what to do.” He walked out unarmed, his hands in the air and his gaze fixed on Sam Wiley while Hugh ran over to climb up on one of the free horses. “My men are inside with guns leveled on you,” he told Sam. “They won’t shoot as long as you ride off without the woman.”
Hugh grinned. “Come on, Mitch. I ain’t that stupid. She’s goin’ with us. It’s the only way there won’t be no shootin’.”
Mitch shook his head, refusing to look at Elizabeth because it tore at his heart to see her fear. “You take her, we start shooting,” he told Sam. “She’s better off dead than going with the likes of you. I mean it, Sam. I’ll let her die first.”
Elizabeth let out a whimper.
“The only reason I’m letting Hugh go is so you leave the woman behind,” he told Sam. “That’s it. You can shoot me dead now if you want, but half the town will witness it—you shooting down an unarmed man and kidnapping an innocent young woman. You didn’t think this through very well, did you, Sam?”
Sam glanced at the jail to see a rifle leveled out of each front window.
Desperate Hearts Page 10
