“You’re the bounty hunter,” she said breathlessly. “The one chasing the outlaw.”
His icy blue gaze sent shivers prickling up her back. “That’s right.”
Without thinking she blurted out the question she most wanted to know. “Did you catch him?”
A half smile curved his lips. “Not this time.”
Her heart sank. Hopefully, her disappointment didn’t show on her face. Then she remembered. “I don’t know if this will help, but I did get a glimpse of his face. If you like, I could describe him.”
His gaze narrowed. “That won’t be necessary.” His tone hardened. “I know the faces of the Everett brothers like the back of my hand.”
Her spine stiffened at this harsh tone.
“I’m much obliged,” he said, not sounding in the least so. “But I wouldn’t go sharing that information.”
She bristled at his insolent tone. “Whyever not? I’m sure the sheriff will be pleased to know I can identify him if he’s caught.”
Randall flashed her a mocking smile. “That’s conscientious of you, but not very wise. The only witness at the Everetts’ last trial in Carson City was found dead in a stock-pen the morning he was supposed to testify.”
Her pulse quickened. “They killed him?”
“That’s what a bullet through the head does, ma’am.”
She swallowed hard. “But surely they wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
“They’d hurt just about anybody who got in their way, whether they were wearing a fancy blue bonnet or carrying a gun.”
Her knees went weak.
It felt as though all of the blood was slowly leaving her body. He was right. They were outlaws — cold-blooded killers. They’d do whatever they had to, to save themselves from prosecution, and apparently already had. Still, she had to stand up for what was right.
At any rate, it was too late. She’d already told the deputy. He would have told the sheriff by now. She couldn’t deny it. That would make her a liar, or at the very least, a hare-brained fool.
Good gracious!
What had she done?
Her knees began to tremble so violently, she feared Randall might hear them knocking beneath her skirt.
But she refused to let him see her terror.
She straightened her shoulders, managing a half-watered smile. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Randall. But I’m not a coward. If I have to choose between myself and doing what’s best for the people of Murdock, I shall choose the latter. My conscience could never allow me to do otherwise.”
He gave her a long hard look. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but that would make you a damn fool.”
A spark flashed through her. Just who did he think he was? At least she had the courage to stand up for her convictions. She lifted her chin. “Maybe so, but someone has to bring those men to justice. They almost killed my uncle in the post office today. I would be another kind of fool if I let them get away, allowing them to do that to someone else.”
A cynical smile spread over his face. “Getting yourself killed isn’t a good way to do it.”
She sucked in a cleansing breath, then assumed what she hoped was a dignified tone, “You needn’t worry over my safety, I’m sure the sheriff will protect me.”
He sent her a look of pure condescension. “You haven’t been here long, have you?” His gaze traveled up and down her with insulting familiarity. “No, I can see by that fancy getup you’re an Easterner, and from the nonsense you’re spouting, a real green one at that. So I’ll do you a favor and let you in on a little secret. If the Everett brothers are out to get you, no small town sheriff is going to get in their way.”
Outrage swelled in her chest, but she willed her voice to calm. “I’ll take my chances,” she told him stiffly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to return to my uncle before he wakes. Good evening.” She inclined her head then marched off toward the hotel.
Arrogant devil!
She might be an Easterner, but she knew what was right!
To her complete surprise and annoyance, he fell into step beside her, reaching in front of her to open the door.
As she strode past the small round tables spread with neat, white linens, she imagined him sitting down for a meal. But while she waited at the counter for the proprietor to fetch the chicken broth, she turned to find Randall climbing the red-carpeted stairs.
She’d assumed he would have taken one of the extra rooms above the saloon. They were cheaper and came with the kind of female companionship his type usually desired. Not that she cared whose company he kept. On the contrary, she hoped she’d never have to set eyes on him again.
His arrogant self-assurance grated on her fiercely. What did he know about justice? He was a bounty hunter, for pity’s sake — a questionable occupation to say the least. He wasn’t a real lawman, simply a contorted version of the real thing. She wasn’t about to let him frighten her.
But as she hastened back to the mercantile with the jar of warm chicken broth clasped in her hands, his words echoed in her head.
Her flesh turned cold and her legs began to tremble all over again.
Not from remembering the day’s events, but from the hardness she’d spied in the cool depths of Nathan Randall’s eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
Nat kept one eye on the window and his back against the wall. He was dog tired and impatient to be on his way, but he needed the sheriff’s co-operation to haul the Everetts back to Carson City to stand trial. He didn’t want any loose ends, once they were apprehended.
Murdock’s jail wasn’t big enough, nor could the sheriff provide adequate protection should the townsfolk decide to take the law into their own hands. He had an obligation to protect his prisoners. But once the trial was over, he’d gladly sit back and watch them swing.
Sheriff Brimley sat silent at his desk, shuffling through wanted posters delivered that morning by the stage bound for Carson. He studied one black and white sketch after another, dark head bowed, countenance growing increasingly grim.
A big, solemn-faced man, he had a slow way of talking that might lead a stranger to forget the badge on his lapel. The card cheats in the saloon certainly had. His hands moved so fast and smooth to his gun, the men at the table didn’t have time to stand, let alone draw their six shooters. The dispute ended almost before it began.
“There aren’t enough walls in this room to pin up all the outlaws in these parts.” The sheriff’s gravelly voice seemed to rumble up from the soles of his boots. “Gold and silver shine brighter than the blistering sun in Nevada, and every man wants a piece of it.” He raised one dark bushy brow, leaning back in his chair. Then his philosophical tone changed to business. “So you’re trailing the Everetts, are you, son?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Heard you used to be a Pinkerton man.”
“I worked for the agency briefly at the end of the war.”
“Always wondered how a man got involved in work like that.”
“By accident, usually.” Nat cracked a wry smile, remembering how Senator Mackenzie recruited him. There was no bargaining. Mackenzie took a long draw on his cigar, then told Nat, if he wanted to help his friend keep his home in Charleston, Nat would have to offer something in return. Two days later, Nat was traveling south, under the name of Randall, his mother’s maiden name — a name he used to this day.
The sheriff rubbed is chin thoughtfully. “But you’re not working for them now?”
“No, sir.”
“Struck out on your own, did you?”
“I had personal business to attend to.”
“And the Everetts have something to do with that, I reckon.”
Nat never discussed his connection with the Everetts. But he knew in order to gain the sheriff’s trust he’d have to show s
ome of his own by supplying some information. “They killed my wife. I swore on her dying breath I’d bring them in.” Heather’s face sprang to his mind as clear as if she’d been sitting there, her long black hair flowing down her back as shiny as a mink. For a moment, he could almost hear her laugh — smell the scent of lily of the valley on her skin. Guilt twisted in his gut, rising up in his throat like sour whiskey. He swallowed hard, blocking the image from his head.
Brimley leaned forward in his chair. “How long have you been on their trail?”
“Three years next month.” The day Heather died — two days before his twenty-eighth birthday.
The sheriff gave a grunt. “Then I don’t need to tell you what a pack of damn cut throat dogs they are.”
“No, sir, you don’t.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear this time we’ve got a witness.”
Nat ground his teeth.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the sheriff held up his hand. “I’m well acquainted with what happened in Carson last spring, but if Miss Wallace is willing to testify, I can’t rightly refuse.”
Nat’s jaw tightened. How could she be so foolhardy? Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said? Clearly he’d been wasting his time trying to warn her off. Apparently, there was nothing beneath that beautiful mop of honey curls. “Have you advised her of the risks?”
“She understands.” The Sheriff nodded. “Says she isn’t frightened — says she has a mind to make those responsible for her uncle’s injuries pay.”
Nat sucked in air between his teeth.
Damn!
Why hadn’t she listened?
Just what he needed — an avenging angel.
He’d warned her to stay out of it and keep her mouth shut.
Well, the sheriff would have to protect her now.
She was his witness.
Nat heaved a long sigh. He didn’t have time to waste worrying about it. His partner, Holt, was waiting for him. They were damn close to discovering the Everetts’ latest hideout, and he wasn’t about to let the trail go cold.
• • •
“You did what!” Leigh’s eyes looked as though they might jump right off of his face.
“I told the sheriff I could identify him,” Christie said in as firm a tone as she could muster.
“Are you loco?”
“Shhh! Lower your voice. You’ll wake up Uncle Will.” Christie closed the storeroom door. Uncle Will had taken an early supper and was resting again. With any luck he’d get some sleep and be up and about come morning, chatting and bargaining with the customers as he always did. At least Christie prayed he would.
Someone needed to keep Leigh in check. Putting up with Leigh’s nonsense got her blood up. He was getting altogether too big for his britches.
Christie sailed briskly away from the storeroom toward the counter, determined to keep busy and ignore him.
Leigh followed like a dinghy tied to a ship. He slapped his hands flat on the counter in front of her, gritting, “Look, you don’t know what you’re doing! You don’t know how things work around here. You ain’t in Boston anymore.”
Christie snatched up her red flannel dusting cloth to begin rubbing a chubby black licorice jar. “I know what I saw. Are you saying I should deny it? Lie?” She leveled a sharp look on him. “Because I’ve never lied about anything in my life.”
She thought she saw a spark of guilt in his eye before his expression turned spiteful. “Don’t go gettin’ all high and mighty. You may look as pure as the morning dew, but I know different.”
“What?” She gasped in outrage. “Whatever do you mean?”
A sly smirk spread over his lips. “You’ve been doing everything your Papa won’t allow since you got here! That’s what I mean!”
“Ha!” A tinkle of laughter escaped her. “Eating a few pickles is hardly a sin.”
“I saw you only yesterday stepping out the door without your bonnet.” He raised one golden brow. “You can’t tell me Uncle Ian would approve of that.”
Christie’s mouth flapped wide. Then she clamped it shut, renewing her polishing efforts with quick jerks. “Mr. Molson forgot his tin of tobacco. I was trying to catch him before he left. I’d hardly call that stepping out.” She sent forth a puff of exasperation. “Yesterday, I was a stick in the mud — today I’m a notorious pickle eating temptress without a hat. Make up your mind. Which is it to be?”
“And what’s his name … ” Leigh tapped one long finger against his chin. “Who’s that fellow you’ve been making eyes at every Sunday in Church?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Mathew Sutton! That’s it! He’s the one. I saw you giving him the eye across the aisle — near blinding him with one of your coy smiles. You had him so flustered last Sunday, he dropped his hymn book.”
Christie replaced the lid on the empty jar, then placed it on the shelf under the counter. She straightened, giving Leigh a long look down the length of her nose. “That had nothing to do with me.”
Leigh guffawed loudly. “What do you think Mr. Cavanaugh would have to say about that?”
“I don’t give a fig what Mr. Cavanaugh thinks.”
“Maybe I’ll post me a letter and let that fancy banker’s son know what you’ve been up to.”
“Go right ahead.” She spread her hands in a broad invitation. “We have no formal attachment. I’ve never laid eyes on him.”
A knowing smile spread over Leigh’s face. “Your Papa doesn’t see it that way. He’d be right put out if you went against his plan for you to marry his future partner’s son.”
Christie stiffened. “Plans change.”
“Ha! So that’s why you agreed to come out here. You’re hoping he’ll change his mind.”
Christie inhaled sharply. “Of course not! I came to help Uncle Will.” The nerve of him, implying her motives were selfish, when he’d never preformed a single charitable act.
“Sure you did,” he smirked.
She planted her hands on her hips, slashing him a hot glare. “Don’t you have something better to do? Have you delivered Mr. Wilkes’ flour to the hotel? They’re almost out. They’ll be lucky if they make it through the dinner hour.” She could see by the look on his face he hadn’t. It was all she could do not reach across the counter and box his ears. Frustration puffed in her breast, like an engine building steam, but she forced her voice to calm. “If you hurry, you can have it there before the stragglers leave.”
“I’ve got more important things to worry about than Mr. Wilkes’ flour.” Leigh turned fidgety, jingling the coins in his pocket and rocking on the balls of his feet. “Did you get that order ready I left you?”
“It’s at the back door.”
“Good.” He pulled a flask of whiskey from his pocket. He took a quick slug then wiped his hand across his lips. “I’ll load the wagon when I get back from the hotel.”
“There wasn’t any name on the order.” She plucked the list from the counter to examine it again. “Who shall I charge it to?”
“Me,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Just doing a favor for an old friend, who fell on hard times.”
Christie lifted a skeptical brow. Leigh wasn’t in the habit of doing favors for people. It was Uncle Will who always added a small bag of candy to the orders for the children of his poorer customers. It was Uncle Will who pressed the odd coin into the dirty hand of a drifter down on his luck. Leigh usually scoffed at his father’s charity, grumbling about how these acts of kindness were eating away at their profits.
What was he up to?
If Leigh was buying whiskey to water down to sell to the Indians again, Uncle Will would skin him alive. But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She couldn’t accuse him without any proof. It was bad enough using his own money to finance
such a scheme, but using supplies from the mercantile was quite another.
There was blessed little profit to be made as it was. She understood. She’d assisted Uncle Will balancing the books on several occasions. Leigh knew that.
What was he thinking?
She suppressed a groan of frustration. Coming to Nevada should have ended her playing mother hen, except now she had Leigh to contend with. He was worse than both of her sisters put together. At least in Boston she’d been at the top of the pecking order, excluding her father, who she usually managed to bring round in the end. Here, she had no say. Every man was a law onto himself, and women fell somewhere in behind or between, depending on their convictions.
But taking orders from Leigh was a bigger pill than she could swallow. She wasn’t about to let that unscrupulous rascal get the better of her.
If Leigh was up to his old shenanigans, she’d find a way to stop him. But first, she needed to catch him in the act. There was nothing left to do but to follow him.
As soon as Leigh left to deliver the flour to the hotel, Christie hustled herself out the back door to the stable to saddle Blossom. Uncle Will had taken in the little palomino on trade. He knew how much she loved to ride, and thought she’d enjoy accompanying him on deliveries. Uncle Will was always so thoughtful and kind. How was it that none of these qualities had been passed along to his son?
By the time Leigh returned, Christie was back inside closing up the store for the night. He seemed in such a hurry to get the wagon loaded and be gone, he paid little heed to what she was up to.
No sooner did the back door bang shut behind him, did she make a grab for her blue wool cloak. She swooped it around her shoulders, fastened the frog clasp, then lifted her straw hat from the wooden peg by the door.
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