The Cowgirl Gets The Bad Guy (Cowgirl Mysteries Book 1)

by Susan Lower

  His accent isn’t from the south. It sounds more eastern, and to the north. I met some black folks in the mountains when I was younger. Their accents were thicker and held a longer drawl compared to the gambler. Although by the time he left me at Ruby’s door, he claimed New Orleans was originally where he was born.

  He’d come a long way to be here.

  Instead of gold or silver shimmering in his eyes, like most men out to find their fortunes, all I see in his eyes is the reflection of dollar signs.

  I don’t see the bounty hunter in the morning as I help Ruby clear away the breakfast dishes. I’ve got washing duty, and she’s on the drying side.

  “You hear anything from the sheriff?”

  My hands are wrist deep in dish water. “Nope.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. Many people could have shot your father. Most did not like Earl. He had a way of rubbing them the wrong way. Never knew when to keep his mouth shut.” Ruby towel dries a plate and puts it on the clean pile.

  “He could be downright mean after drinking too much firewater. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why my mother took off. He used to keep a photo of her. I’ve got it now. I should have buried it with him.”

  I’ve looked at that photo a hundred times in the last few days. I tell her Chord, the bounty hunter, delivered the photo and my face turns hot thinking about referring to him by first name.

  Ruby gets this dreamy gaze and sighs. “He’s a good man, Chord Townes. It’s a shame life jilted him.”

  “What do you mean?” I hand her another wet plate.

  “No business of mine to tell.” She dries the last plate and changes the subject. “Have you talked to the Swanson sisters? Maybe one of them know something. Your father would have gone there before the saloon, or maybe after? He would have wanted to get all cleaned up for his daughter’s wedding.”

  I give her a look and we both laugh. Earl? Cleanup for my wedding? There’s a thought. She might not be far off from thinking he would have gone there. The three places my father always visited in town were the bathhouse, the saloon, and the claims office.

  “Or how about the barber?”

  I shake my head. “I do the sheering and the shaving. Earl wouldn’t have paid someone to chop at his mop or his chin. He liked his beard.” I shove away the memories floating up and try to swallow down the lump in my throat.

  Mean ornery goat, don’t know why I miss him.

  “You should talk to Emma or Eva.” Ruby dries her hands in her apron. “Right after you take a bath of your own and try on that dress on your bed. I was the one who was here when Robbie delivered it. I figured it came from Grace’s. That gambling man isn’t wasting any expense on you.”

  “Then I suppose he won’t mind paying for me to take a bath now, will he?”

  Ruby catches my drift and grins. There is one way for a person to get inside the Swanson sisters’ place, and I’m feeling downright dirty.

  “You better watch your step, Jo. You’re going to end up the talk of the town.”

  After the pink dress appearance at church, I’m afraid I already am. Maybe a few stains to my reputation will send the gambling man running in the opposite direction.

  After all, there is always Daphne Davenport for him to go courting. She’d be better suited for him and his fancy duds than a plain Jane like me. I glance down at my dusty pants and muddy boots. I’m far from fetching and I’ve been wearing my hair in this style since I was nine.

  I bite my lip and contemplate.

  What do I have to lose?

  It’s not like I want to marry the gambler. Do I?

  No lady in her respectable manner would ever go traipsing into the Swanson Bathhouse. It’s a regal-looking mansion on the upper end of town. It’s said to have belonged to the original settler in this valley. At one point, it belonged to Jeremiah Redwood, the first mayor of town. The old Redwood estate soon got swallowed up as part of the town when new settlers came to claim their parcels in search of their fortunes. Old Redwood died, leaving no kin behind, and Redwood soon became Deadwood. The man never took a wife in fear he might one day have to share his estate. Legend had it, it ended up in the hands of a far relative and later passed on to the twins’ father. No one has seen old man Swanson in a decade, but the sisters still swear he’s alive in the house.

  As many men frequent the establishment, no one dares contest his existence.

  Boy, do I feel dirty stepping inside.

  The place is sparkling with white columns and a second-story balcony. The front porch runs the entire length of the house, where a few rockers sit in front of the tall windows. Black shutters hang beside the windows, far taller than I.

  The foyer is grander than the Warner Hotel. An open sweeping staircase greets me. From down the hall, a woman wrapped in a shawl looking like she rolled straight from bed pauses at the sight of me.

  Her voice is husky from sleep. “You looking for someone?”

  “I’m looking for a bath.”

  Her eyes are smokey, smeared from sleeping with kohl around her eyes. She turns her head and shouts, “Eva!”

  The shorter of the two sisters comes to the top of the stairs. Her hair hangs down, long and draping over her shoulders. She’s dressed primly in a button-down blouse and a skirt that slims her. The bustle is pinned up in the back and she slowly makes her way down the staircase towards me. Her hand glides over the polished banister.

  “You’re not at all what I thought you would be from afar. Turn around.” She twirls her fingers and I oblige. “You’re one of those folks from up in the mining claims, aren’t you? I can’t say I blame you for wanting to escape. I suppose you might do.”

  Eva presses out her lips. She steps down from the last step and places her hand on my shoulder. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “I was hoping you might remember my father.”

  “If you’ve come here looking to peek in my rooms to find him, I have to tell you, I have a strict policy of confidentiality of my customers.”

  “My father’s dead.” It comes out softly, as a whisper.

  “I see.” Eva glances down the hall where the previous woman reappears with a slightly taller version of Eva’s twin. Emma holds her head high, her dark hair piled on top of her head. “Emma, we’ve got ourselves a lost one.”

  Emma presses her hand to her heart. “Do we now?”

  “Did either of you know my father? He might have come here before he died.”

  “Was it recent?” Emma asks, lifting a brow.

  “Saturday night. Earl Dean. He comes here every time we visit town.”

  Eva taps her finger over her mouth.

  Emma nods, staring off in the distance, then shrugs. “A lot of men come here to get cleaned up before going out for a night on the town.” She winks. “We can’t remember them all. Policy.”

  Eva shakes her head. “I knew him. Complained about paying extra for a back scrub. As if soap were free.” She clucks. “Just what happened to him?”

  “Somebody shot him.”

  Eva frowns. “Oh, that’s dirty.”

  Emma crosses her arms, stepping back to take a good long hard look at me. “I take it you got nowhere else to go? No other kin? No husband?”

  The way she says husband makes my insides roll.

  Eva chides Emma, “Come now, poor girl lost her father. Knowing them prospectors, she probably doesn’t have a dime to her name. It isn’t her fault she’s been cooped up in those mountains for so long she doesn’t have a husband.”

  “Well, we could take her. Tilly ran off last week, and we could use a maid.” Emma waves her hand.

  “Or we could send her to Edith. She’ll have her matched up with a man in no time.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a man. I have a man. I mean. There’s one that wants to marry me.” I glance around the foyer, thinking this might be a good time to escape. Obviously, these two aren’t going to help me find my father’s killer.

  “Then why are you he
re, sugar?” Emma asks.

  “A bath.”

  Eva laughs. It’s rich and delightful and puts a scowl on Emma’s face. Eva leans in close and whispers, “You know you’re the first woman who has had the nerve to come here for that.”

  Emma coughs and Eva belts her one on the back.

  “Really, ladies. I came for a bath.” I hold out my arms. I tell them about the gambler, my father’s last bet, and the dress awaiting me on the bed.

  “If you’re staying at the boarding house, old Ruby’s got a tub,” Emma says in her southern drawl.

  “I’ll have to drag it into the kitchen and I’m not about to do that with all her other boarders,” I’m quick to make up an excuse.

  “Well, then,” Eva says when Emma interrupts. “Who did you say wanted to marry you?”

  “Pierce Weston.”

  Eva’s eyes light up along with Emma’s and the two sisters get identical sly smiles on their lips.

  “Did you hear that, Eva?” Emma says, “She’s Mr. Weston’s bride.”

  “I think we can arrange for a bath.” Eva shakes her bustle and winks. “And don’t you worry, we’ll charge your soon-to-be husband.” Eva claps her hands. “Minnie! Prepare a bath in the private room on the east wing.”

  I hope Mr. Weston’s got deep pockets in those pinstripe trousers he likes to wear.

  As we go up the stairs, I ask, “My father wouldn’t have by chance left a boot here when he left?”

  “Men leave a lot of things here. They usually always come back for their boots.” Emma takes off down the hall.

  “Not both, just one,” I clarify.

  “One?” Eva holds up a finger.

  “He was missing a boot.”

  “You won’t find it here.”

  As we reach the top of the stairs, a door swings open and a curvy brunette slips out. Inside, I glimpse long hair, a square jaw and naked shoulders. His head turns and grey eyes the color of the recent storm widen with recognition. I duck my head and hurry along.

  What’s it any of my business if the bounty hunter is having a private bath? I know for a fact there’s a community room downstairs. My father wouldn’t have afforded a private bath like the ones upstairs.

  Was it getting hot in here?

  I follow Emma to the other end of the hall. Inside, I get the full spa treatment. Two women prepare my bath. Hot steaming water and lots of suds. Eva brings me bath salts and a cube of jasmine smelling soap. “You’re going to have to take off your clothes if you want to bathe.”

  It’s a porcelain tub, one of those fancy ones from back east. “Don’t be shy now, just us girls.”

  I look down at the sisters. I haven’t ever shown them to anyone. Well, not on purpose. I have a sneaking suspicion Chitto might have spied on me a time or two.

  Eva snaps her fingers at me. I grab the linen and start stripping behind it. Wrapped in the fabric, I go to the tub. Minnie grabs the fabric and I slide down below the suds.

  Eva departs and leaves me in Minnie’s hands.

  By the time I’m through, my skin glows a gentle hue of pink and my hair has never been this clean. Minnie, a petite girl with olive-colored skin, sets to untangling my wild mane. She’s none too gentle and offers to put it in a fancy braid.

  When she’s done, I don’t recognize the woman staring at the mirror. “You should have your own shop styling hair.” I twist my head back and forth. She braided my hair from one side to the other, then twisted it up in the back. It’s all held in place by some pins.

  “I was a lady’s maid back east.”

  “What brought you west?”

  Minnie sighs, “I answered one of those mail-order bride ads.”

  “So, you’re married?”

  “Widow. Dumb fool got shot two days after the wedding. Left me nothing but a lame horse and a worn bedroll.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” I can’t imagine coming all the way out here to end up widowed and working in a bathhouse. It makes me think of the bounty hunter and for once, I’m a little envious of Minnie and her co-workers.

  And I can’t believe I let my mind go there. It’s no business of mine what goes on in that room. For all I know, the bounty hunter is relaxing and getting the spa treatment, too. Who am I to judge a man for liking a bubble bath?

  I’ve got my own motives for being here. Sure, I could have taken a bath at Ruby’s, but not as fancy as this, and I wouldn’t have gotten any information from the Swanson sisters. Not that they were all too helpful in that department, anyway.

  While I soak and relax in the bubbles, Eva sends one of her girls to the boarding house, where Ruby gave her my dress. Shame on me for taking off without it. There is no way Eva would let me leave with a clean body and put on dirty duds.

  It’s past lunch by the time Minnie helps me figure out all the buttons and clasps to get into the dress.

  “Now, that’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” Eva declares. She snaps her fingers. “Minnie, be a dear and dispose of these filthy clothes.”

  I rush to grab them, and Eva rolls her eyes. “Now why would you want to keep these when you can look like that?”

  And by looking like that, she means like an entirely different woman. I’m all squeezed into the slim skirt with the big bustle in the back. The sisters aren’t uncomfortable, but the way this skirt hugs my hips should be outlawed.

  The blouse collar goes up my neck, but the jacket is my favorite piece. It fits nicely, and I think I’ll wear it all the time.

  “Tilly!” Eva screams at the girl who fetched my dress. “You forgot the shoes!”

  “Oh, I’ve got my boots.”

  Eva goes white. “Boots? You can’t wear cowboy boots with a dress like that!”

  “What’s wrong with my boots?” I glance down at them. There is still a little mud crusted around the soles.

  “It’s too bad you already have a groom, or Edith over in Cripple Creek would have you instructed on the proper etiquette for a wife.”

  “I ain’t in need of any etiquette.” I’m headed back up those mountains to ensure the peace between Tail Feathers and keeping our mine claim from falling into the wrong hands. I don’t tell Eva and bite my lip from doing so.

  “Ain’t isn’t a word, missy.” Minnie plops a navy hat with netting and a ribbon flower on my head.

  “I don’t recall that as mine.”

  “It’s from a few seasons ago. Consider it a wedding gift.” Eva laughs and heads for the door.

  “Well, I’m sure that fancy-pants husband of yours will make sure you know all you need to of being a wife. If not, invite me to tea.” She grins, sly like before. “Now you tell Mr. Weston it was the Swanson sisters that got you all cleaned up and ready for your big day, you hear?” Her fake southern charm and accent come out to play.

  “Thank you. And I’ll be taking my other clothes with me.” I roll them up and follow Eva out.

  Going down the stairs is much harder than when I went up. I keep my clothes rolled under one arm and my other hand clutching the banister.

  The skirt is so restricting, a girl could fall on her face taking a regular stride. No wonder Eva Swanson thinks I need lessons on being a lady. I never claimed to be one of those fancy ladies like back east or even from the south. I’m mountain born and, in this skirt, there won’t be any running for the hills any time soon.

  I nearly trip and fall down the stairs at the sight of the wide shoulders and long dark hair belonging to the bounty hunter standing in the foyer. Emma Swanson has her hand on his chest, and I swear I can’t go anywhere without seeing a female swoon all over the man. For once, his duster is over his arm, revealing the gun belt hanging low on his hip, and the six-shooter tied to his thigh.

  The man is one lean, mean, gunslinging machine.

  My legs would buckle if it wasn’t for this darn skirt. I think I’d rather take my chances with the pink number Ella Mae gave me once belonging to her sister.

  “If there’s anything else I can do for y
ou.” Emma runs a finger down his chest.

  The bounty hunter politely moves her hand away. He nods in my direction. “You clean up nice.”

  “I could say the same about you,” and I do. Two flares of heat hit my cheeks, and he tilts his head back, about to laugh. The man is more solid than a rock.

  “Don’t smile now. It might ruin your reputation,” I say.

  He laughs, and it makes me bust a smile. I might not have gotten what I wanted from the Swanson sisters but hearing the deep rumbling sound from Chord Townes vocals makes it all worth it.

  He offers me his arm. “May I escort the lady out?”

  “Be careful, this one is taken.” Emma steps back beside Eva. “See you again soon?”

  “Ladies.” The bounty hunter puts on his hat, and we head outside to a dry sky.

  8

  There is no other way to avoid getting the edge of my skirt dirty than to hike it up a bit and show off my cowboy boots. The bounty hunter is a gentleman. “Nice boots.”

  “Thank you.” I doubt he meant it as a compliment. While he doesn’t go throwing his duster across the way for me to walk on, he keeps his arm at my disposal as we cross the street.

  “So, you decided to marry the suit.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  His face is chiseled perfection. He’s lips press in, and I wonder what it would be like to have lips like his kiss a girl. They’d pack quite a wallop, I imagine. Not that I want to find out. Okay, maybe I do, but obviously, the bounty hunter doesn’t see me that way. I surmise he’s not married, otherwise he better hope his wife doesn’t find out he had a private bath at the Swanson Bathhouse.

  “You don’t seem the type.” We reach the plank boardwalk under the local diner. I bristle a little at his remark.

  “Type?” Because I was at the bathhouse. I open my mouth to give him a good piece of my mind and drop the hold on my skirt.

  He holds up his free hand. “You look uncomfortable, Dimples.”

  I am. I take two steps and forget I can’t stretch to my regular stride. I tip forward and heaven be. The man catches me for the second time since we’ve met. “It’s the bustle in the back,” I say. “It throws a girl off balance.”