by Lough, Loree
Frank’s lips drew back in a thin, sinister smirk. “You haven’t been with me long, Ben, so it’s no surprise, really, that you don’t know me very well.” He took great pride in his precise diction, his practiced tone, both self-taught skills. He flicked an ash at Ben’s feet, and then, using the cigar tip as a pointer, counted his men. “You might want to consider buying a drink for Tom and Amos, here. I’m sure they’d be glad to enlighten you on the subject of how I don’t tolerate shirkers.” His smirk became a sneer when he added, “I don’t pay them, either.”
“But I rode hard, Frank,” Ben protested feebly. “Rode more’n two weeks, sometimes in mighty foul weather.” He slapped his sweaty hat against his thigh. “Nearly got snakebitten once, and come within spittin’ distance of a cougar a time or two, but I kep’ on a-goin’. An’ when I finally did catch up with your girl, there were half a dozen Rangers with her.”
“Texas Rangers?”
Ben lifted his bristly chin. “That’s what I said.”
“And they didn’t haul her off to jail?”
“No, sir. The lot of ’em lit out in a terrible rainstorm, leavin’ her with that fella she was with.”
That the Rangers were on the trail didn’t worry him. To Frank’s knowledge, no wanted posters with his name or face existed, and there was a very good reason for that. He’d made a practice of settling into a town before relieving its good folks of their money. Courting a local girl, experience had taught him, provided the perfect cover; if any witnesses survived the robbery—and, mostly, they didn’t—they’d identify her, not him or his men, since hers was the face and name they recognized and remembered most.
Hearing that the Rangers had closed in on Kate didn’t surprise him, but the news that she wasn’t traveling alone—now, that was troublesome. She was a chatty, fickle little thing; no doubt, she’d bared her soul to her companion. And the type of man she’d attract? Well, she was a beauty, not even he would deny that. The image of her flashed in his memory—big, green eyes with thick lashes and long, luscious curls that a man could drown in….
Frank took another puff of his cigar and nodded pensively. She had the look of a savvy, sophisticated woman, but he’d never met anyone more naïve. He’d bet every dollar of his next heist that this “fella” she’d hooked up with had played the hero role, thinking it might just get him a cut of the loot. Frank nearly laughed out loud at the thought, because, by now, the poor, dumb fool had figured out that the only way to get any affection from Kate was to take it by force. By the time he figured out she didn’t have access to the loot, well, that would only add insult to injury. Did Frank dare hope the idiot would do his dirty work for him?
“Mind if I order up a beer, Frank?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Tell me more about this ‘fella.’”
Ben’s stupefied expression made it clear that he had no idea what information Frank wanted. “What’s he look like, for starters—tall? Fat? Old?”
“I don’t hardly see what that’s got to do with anyth—”
“Did he look familiar?” Frank didn’t move, save for narrowing his eyes.
“Like somebody on a wanted poster, y’mean? No, can’t say I ever saw the man before. He weren’t nothin’ special. If he hadn’t been with your girl, I probably wouldn’t have paid him no mind.”
“Let’s get something straight right here and now, Ben—she most assuredly is not my girl.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw Tom and Amos exchange a disbelieving glance with Ben, but he chose to ignore it. Let them think anything they please. “If I had a mind to link up with a woman, it wouldn’t be someone like Kate.” But the words sounded false and hollow, even to his own ears. Unlike the women he’d used in other towns, he’d genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. Yes, she was delightful to look at, but she was so much more. Once, he’d sneaked in to a practice session and heard her playing Beethoven. She crooned popular tunes, but she could sing classic ballads as beautifully as any prima donna, as far as he was concerned. She could discuss politics or history, music or art, and make it sound equally fascinating. In truth, if he had a mind to link up with a woman, it wouldn’t be with someone like Kate. It would be Kate.
On the night of the robbery, the boys had warned him to get rid of her, but he’d convinced them she could prove useful—she could cook their meals and scrub the trail dust out of their clothes. She’d performed those duties handily, but not without making it patently clear that she found him contemptible and disgusting. He didn’t tolerate disrespect, and he didn’t put up with betrayal. By running off like she did, Kate had violated both rules, and he hadn’t slept the night through since, worrying that, to keep her own pretty neck out of the noose, she’d draw the Rangers a map to his favorite hiding places.
His only hope of saving his own neck was to find her before they did.
He took a long draw on the cigar. “So, tell me, Ben, why didn’t you take care of ‘the fella she was with’?” He blew a ring of smoke and poked the glowing cigar tip through it. “Especially after the Rangers rode off into the raging storm, and your odds improved?”
Ben narrowed his eyes and thrust out his chest. “You callin’ me a liar, Michaels?”
Chuckling softly, Frank gave a nonchalant shrug. “Calm down, Ben, because I’m really not in the mood to kill anyone tonight.” And then he waited while the meaning of his carefully chosen words sunk in. Did Ben realize, Frank wondered, that he’d taken half a step back? That everyone within earshot could hear him swallow? “You can take this to the bank: If I was at all confident that your story is more tale than truth, our kindly barkeep over there would have already sent for the undertaker.”
Ben ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Well, but, still—if I was lyin’, I wouldn’t’ve come here to let you know where you could find—”
In an eyeblink, Frank went from annoyed to angry. “Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re here for any reason other than to collect the money you think you earned,” he said through clenched teeth.
The man might as well have been a five-year-old boy being told by his daddy that there’d be no dessert after supper since he hadn’t done his chores. “B-but—but, Frank—I did earn it! You hired me ’cause I’m a good shot, and ’cause I got no qualms about killin’, but even I can’t take out five Rangers.”
“Which was it, Ben? Five Rangers, or six?”
The gunman stood blinking, shaking his head. This time, he ran trembling fingers through his beard. “Five, six, what difference does it make? They each had two good hands, and a revolver, a rifle, a shotgun….” He whipped out his Colt, quick as a flash. “And all I had was this.”
Tom and Amos scooted their chairs back. The plinking piano fell silent, replaced by the rumble of boot heels as the bar patrons raced for the door.
Frank leaned forward, letting the front legs of his chair hit the floor. Propping one elbow on the table, he stared at his cigar as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. True, he’d hired the man for his skills with a gun. But he’d seen Ben shoot and knew that he was faster. Slowly, calmly, he took a long pull on the cigar and let the smoke escape slowly, slowly…. “Take care where you point that thing, Ben.”
Ben gave the warning a moment’s thought, then cocked his wrist so that the barrel was aimed at the ceiling instead of at Frank.
“Better,” Frank said. “Much better.” He inhaled another mouthful of smoke and then let it out deliberately. “Now, then. I want to be sure I heard you correctly,” he said, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. When the last blue wisp slithered into the rest of the fog, he began counting, touching his thumb to a different finger in succession. “You trailed her. You found her. You saw the Rangers, then you didn’t even try to get her, because she was with some ‘fella.’” Staring hard through the smoke, he added, “Would you say that’s a fair summary of what you’ve said so far?”
Ben swallowed again, harder this time. “Yeah, I gue
ss you’d say that ’bout sums it up.”
“I guess so.” Then, “When’s your birthday?”
The man tucked in his chin. “My birthday?”
Frank let out a sigh of exasperation. “Yes, Ben. Your birthday.”
“October—”
“Interesting,” Frank said, cutting him off. “Mine is August 12.” He grinned over at Tom and Amos. “Maybe one of my women will bake me a cake.”
He noticed that as his men laughed at his joke, the bartender cowered behind his cash register and every windowpane glowed with the wide eyes of the men who’d scurried outside with their jiggers of whiskey and steins of beer. Evidently, the time he’d spent with that dime novelist a year or so ago had paid off, albeit in a cockeyed sort of way. Despite the lack of wanted posters, they’d all recognized him from the description the writer had woven into his story. Chest puffed and chin high, he leered back at every face because not one had the courage to fetch the sheriff or his deputy, for fear of becoming the latest statistic in Frank Michaels’s murders.
If they’d asked him, Frank would have admitted they had nothing to fear. He hadn’t just been joking when he’d told Ben he wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone tonight. Bullets weren’t cheap these days, and he saw no point in wasting them on the likes of these cowards. Oh, he’d shoot if he had to, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. He didn’t believe in making the same mistake twice; far better to let his fury build so that, when he got his hands on Kate Wellington and looked into those beautiful, green eyes, he wouldn’t be tempted to spare her life a second time.
The novels and newspapers said he’d gunned down nearly two dozen men. Who was he to tear down their castles in the sky, especially when those fantasies delivered the respect he craved? Truth was, he’d killed only six. Five, if he didn’t count the gap-toothed boy in Durango who, when Frank had caught him eavesdropping as he and the boys had been planning their next heist, had jumped from the second-floor window of a hotel. One less loose end. Frank hated loose ends.
He didn’t like the unsettled feeling roiling in his gut, either. According to Ben, the Rangers had left without Kate, meaning she probably hadn’t told them anything. The only logical reason he could come up with was that the shame of having been touched by the notorious Frank Michaels outweighed her fear of what he might do if he caught up with her.
He did his best to overlook the disappointment and hurt that notion aroused and focused instead on the thought that if that’s how she felt, he might just have caught a lucky break.
Then, he remembered what she’d said before he’d passed out on the night she’d run off: “Someday, you’ll pay for every evil thing you’ve done, Frank Michaels. It could be tomorrow, or next year, or even ten years from now, but you will pay.” He’d laughed it off at the time. But with the memory of her words, Frank also remembered the conviction gleaming in her enormous eyes.
He might have caught a lucky break, but she might just wake up one morning and decide that today was the day he’d pay.
Frank didn’t want to kill her now any more than he had on the night of the San Antonio bank robbery, but what other choice had she left him?
He pulled a silver dollar from the pocket of his trousers. Oh, how he loved the way it caught the light as he turned it heads up, tails up. Holding it like an auction paddle, he gave it a little wave, then tossed it to Ben, watching as it flipped end over end before being swallowed up by the man’s free hand.
“Consider that payment for your nonproductive Eagle Pass tip.” Before Ben could accept or reject the offer, Frank said, “Now, I’ve got a tip for you.”
The man’s scowl lessened when he heard the unmistakable sound of Frank’s pistol, cocking under the table. “If you want to live to see your next birthday in October, you might want to return that Colt to its holster, friend.”
Moments later, once Ben was gone, the piano player resumed his tune, and the bartender started splashing rye and beer into the glasses of the men who’d come back inside. Laughter mingled with the sounds of cards being shuffled and the saloon hall girls’ skirts swishing. The near-fatal incident seemed all but forgotten in every mind, except for that of the man who sat quietly with his back to the wall, playing solitaire and calculating how many banks, stagecoaches, and trains he could rob between Kansas City, Missouri, and Eagle Pass, Texas.
18
Meester Neville, he try to get fireworks,” Lucinda said, handing Kate a fresh basket of mending, “but just like last year, he realize it is imposible.”
Kate continued her darning as George frowned. “You will wear out the poor chica’s fingers,” he told his wife. “Where you find all these shirts with no buttons and skirts with torn hems?”
“In the laundry basket,” she said matter-of-factly.
He responded with a resigned sigh, then smiled at Kate. “One of these years, Meester Neville will order those fireworks, and the train, she will bring them. Is good that he never gives up, no?”
She started to nod when Lucinda got up and left the parlor, waving both hands beside her dark-haired head, muttering, “Men, siempre los soñadores. Why not be happy with what they have instead of wishing for el imposible?”
“There is a difference, mi amor, between dreaming and hoping. What can it hurt to dream a little more, anyway?” George plopped his floppy-brimmed hat onto his head. “But all in good time, sí? All in good time.” From the doorway, he added, “Maybe you should not try so hard to keep up with the sewing, or my Lucinda really will wear your fingers to nubs!”
On the heels of a good-natured laugh, he left her to thread her needle, and from out of nowhere, a tall, good-looking cowboy stepped up beside her and held out his hand, startling her so badly she nearly pricked her finger again.
“I was in San Arroyo when you arrived the other day. Been busy on the river acres ever since. Name’s Daniel,” he added when she took it, “but mostly, they call me Dan around here.” He winked conspiratorially and whispered, “And you can wipe that confuzzled look off your face. Soñadores means ‘dreamers.’”
His mustache grazed her knuckles as he kissed her hand, and then he gently let go.
She watched him ease onto the sofa across from her. “You’re a man of many talents, I see.”
It was his turn to look confused.
“You move like a cat,” she said, to answer his unspoken question, “and you’re a mind reader, to boot.”
Dan shot her a crooked grin.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dan. I’m K-Dinah—Dinah Theodore.” Would she ever get used to calling herself that?
“So, how’d you hurt your foot?”
“I’m ashamed to admit it to a rancher, of all people, but I fell off a horse.”
“Ah,” he said, “I guess you didn’t see me wobble into the room.”
“I didn’t see or hear you! Perhaps you ought to put bells on your boots.”
Dan stood up and walked back and forth between her hassock and the sofa to show her his limp. She couldn’t bear to ask if the hitch in his step was caused by pain or permanent damage to his leg. “How’d you hurt your foot?” But even as she asked the question, Kate knew he’d injured more than just his foot.
He perched on the arm of the sofa. “Well,” he drawled, “I hate to admit this, being a rancher and all, but I fell off a horse.”
He smiled when he said it, and yet Kate sensed an underlying despair to go with his story.
Nodding, Dan added, “Fell off my horse—and landed square in the middle of a stampede.”
Kate had heard stories about cattle stampedes, and the mental picture of thousands of thundering hooves—plus the imagined sound of the terrified bellows of cows and men—made her wonder how Dan had survived. If he wanted to tell her about it, she’d listen. Otherwise, she would not meddle. He had as much right to protect his secrets as she had to protect hers! Pretending to hunt for a button that matched those on the shirt in her lap, she asked, “When did it happen?”
“About three years ago.”
Her heart ached for him. She’d been off her feet and coping with the pain in her foot for only a few days. It must have been quite a fall to have left him with so pronounced a limp, three years later. “Were you laid up for very long?”
“Couple of months.” He shrugged slightly. “Broke some ribs, cracked my skull—which, they tell me, put me out like a light for almost a week—but the leg….” Dan shook his head. “The leg took the brunt of it.”
“I’m so sorry, Dan.”
“Don’t be. God has perfect timing. I was right where I needed to be when Sadie died. It gave Josh something to do, acting as my round-the-clock nursemaid.” He chuckled at the memory. “Some days, I didn’t make it easy on him, asking for this and whining about that, but it gave him a purpose, and I think that took his mind off all he’d lost, at least for a time.”
Kate didn’t know which cousin she felt sorrier for, Dan or Josh, but she wouldn’t let her pity show, for she had already figured out that pride ran deep in the Neville men.
“Now that I think of it, it happened in June, right about this time. We were moving a herd to Kansas City and were hunkered down one night when rustlers spooked the cows. It was the first time Josh wasn’t with us on a drive, and I think that’s part of the reason he threw himself into caring for me afterward.”
He’d stayed home to mourn, Kate realized, and, in that moment, it was Josh she felt sorrier for.
“Wasn’t like he could have done anything to prevent it. Except he convinced himself he’d have been where I was, and since he fancies himself a better rider….” Dan grinned slightly. “June never was my favorite month, but at least now I have a specific reason to dislike it—other than the unpredictable weather, that is.”
Kate had never given much thought to things like that. In her mind, one month was pretty much like another. It had been like that, at least, until Frank Michaels had come along.
She’d met him at the beginning of May, and he’d managed to sweep her off her feet in no time, so that, by the fifteenth of the month, it had taken nothing more than a simple invitation for ice cream to embroil her unwittingly in a plot of murder and robbery. By Sunday, May 27, she’d escaped the horrors of being held his captive, and she’d wandered into Josh’s camp on May 30. The days following that had been a blur of harsh weather and Ranger encounters, hard-riding days and cold, dark nights. And, through it all, Josh had done his best to make her feel safe and protected, right up until June 7, when they’d ridden side by side onto Lazy N land.
