High Mountain Drifter

by Jillian Hart

  "Do you think?" Magnolia asked gently, nodding in agreement.

  "And I took it out on an unsuspecting man, even if he did splash me with mud."

  "True." Rose nodded, digging in her pockets for a handkerchief too. "But he seemed pretty tough--"

  "I know," Magnolia agreed. "He was like a mountain. Almost scary."

  "Intimidating," Iris agreed.

  "--so it probably didn't hurt his feelings at all," Rose finished.

  "Do men even have feelings?" The thought burst off her tongue. She slapped a hand over her mouth. See, she had a bigger problem about this than she realized. "Aside from your Tyler, of course, Magnolia."

  "Of course. Tyler is a stellar guy. A paragon among men," Magnolia quipped, pulling out a folded handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at Verbena's hair. "How much money did the surly guy give you?"

  "I don't know." Now that all three sisters were cleaning up the little bit of dirt, water and mud the stranger had missed, she reached into her muddy pocket and came up with her package of embroidery floss. Drenched and muddy. A sense of helplessness washed over her, making her want to march down the road and right all wrongs--those done to her and done to others. To hunt down that scary, totally intimidating and really handsome guy (he'd parked two blocks down the street, she'd noticed) and give him another piece of her mind.

  Oops, she'd done it again. Plus she was starting to understand Iris's anger at the sheriff now. Perhaps it wasn't a romantic thing as much as it was simple outrage. Upset with the generally unacceptable behavioral standards of some men and it just bubbled over at all of them.

  She tried her other coat pocket and came up with a handful of money.

  "Wow, let me see that." Rose tugged the wad free from Verbena's hand to count it, mud and all. "There's forty-five dollars here. You could buy a couple really nice new dresses for that."

  "It's guilt money," she said. "Money to keep me quiet. I saw the way he looked at me."

  "Like you were fed up with men?" Magnolia asked, going up on tiptoe to swipe at a glop of mud at the top of Verbena's head.

  "Like he felt sorry for me." There--that was why she was angry now. "He saw the bruises on my face."

  "A blind man could see them from a hundred yards," Rose said gently.

  "Exactly. And I can't get away from what happened up on that mountain," she confessed. First she was angry at the mud, then the pity and now the memory flashed back, her stomach gnarling at the vivid details that she could not stop--the cold mountain air against her thigh, the burn of the ropes cutting against her wrists, the metallic taste of terror in her mouth. "I looked into Ernest's eyes and realized, he could hurt me, he could kill me but he couldn't take what really mattered within me. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I was angry and I still am. What gives him the right to treat me like that?"

  "Nothing," Iris assured her, gathering up the muddy handkerchiefs. "He has no right. We aren't going to let that happen again, right, Burton?"

  "That's right." Burton had pulled his horse up alongside the buckboard, and looked embarrassed. "Guess we should have been on the lookout for mud puddles. Sorry about that, Verbena."

  "It's certainly not your fault, you were watching for Ernest. I'm sorry you have to spend your time like this." She was glad when Iris gave up swiping. Look at all the upset and trouble Ernest was causing. "You and the men could be playing checkers or something."

  "True. I do play a mean game of checkers," Burton winked. Grizzled, but kindly, he had a grown daughter about their age. "But I don't mind. Things are quiet at the ranch this time of year, and I like to stay busy. Besides, I always beat those clowns anyway."

  "Who are you calling a clown?" Kellan called from the hitching post.

  Male laughter filled the air. They were ready to ride, and the horse hitched to their buckboard blew out his breath in a little horsy comment, and waggled his head, shaking rainwater from his coat.

  "Poor Marlowe," Magnolia crooned, holding the reins. "You're drenched, standing out in this weather for an hour. Let's go home so you can get dry."

  Marlowe nodded, as if that sounded fine with him. At the first snap of the rein, he ambled forward, hauling them down the street. He was such a good horse.

  "I get to drive him next time," Rose announced. "And no argument, Magnolia. I'm totally in love with him."

  "Me too," Verbena said fondly, unable to deny the soft spot in her heart for sweet old Marlowe. "He's my kind of man."

  "Bridled?" Magnolia teased.

  "Gentle," Verbena answered back with a grin, but she wasn't kidding. Kind, thoughtful, selfless. The only kind of male she wanted to be around.

  A donkey plodded up ahead of them in the street, pulling a little cart. Lawrence Latimer turned around on his seat and tipped his hat in greetings.

  "Howdy again, Verbena," he called, as their buckboard passed him on the left. "It's always good seeing you, the fairest of the fair."

  Heavens. She did her best not to roll her eyes. She was covered in bruises, and he was still trying to charm her? She managed a weak finger wave in acknowledgement as they overtook his much slower donkey and cart and zipped by.

  "I think he's in love with you," Rose whispered.

  "Totally," Magnolia agreed, nodding vigorously. "Big time."

  "You think the mud would have discouraged him." Verbena sighed, her anger fading away now that she'd vented it. She was left feeling miserable about the way she'd behaved toward a total stranger--that was his vehicle, parked in front of the sheriff's office. Panic licked through her. He wasn't reporting her, was he? Deranged woman scolds innocent buckboard driver with cane in hand. What a headline that would make for the local newspaper.

  She hung her head. Yes, she really was under duress. What if everyone in town had witnessed it? She felt awful, she felt shamed, but mostly she wondered about the man who'd wiped her face as if she'd been a child. He'd been gentle, that big rugged man. Hard to say why she felt compelled to glance over her shoulder, zeroing in on the team standing obediently in the rain, hitched to the man's buckboard.

  "I wonder who he is?" Rose twisted around in the seat studying that buckboard too, squinting through the rain and the droplets plopping off the edge of the buckboard top. "We don't get a lot of strangers to town."

  "We came to town," Verbena pointed out.

  "Yeah," Magnolia called out from the front seat. "And we're strange."

  "Speak for yourself," Iris joked, sitting very straight and ladylike, but a corner of her mouth gave a little playful twist.

  "That's right, Mags." Rose tossed over her shoulder. "You might be the only strange one here."

  "I wish I could argue with that," Magnolia answered laughing good-naturedly. Bright and joyous, it was a wonderful sound. Magnolia had been kidnapped too on that terrible night, but she'd bounced back just fine. Of course, maybe getting engaged to handsome and dependable Tyler Montgomery had something to do with that.

  "Maybe he's come to visit family," Iris suggested, glancing over her shoulder. "It's almost November. Thanksgiving will be coming up. Perhaps he's here for the holidays."

  "Oh, that reminds me. This year we need to have a real Thanksgiving." Rose sighed as their rolling buckboard took them out of sight of the stranger's vehicle and the town's main street--and Lawrence.

  "Yum, I haven't even thought of Thanksgiving yet." Magnolia smacked her lips, reining Marlowe around the sweeping curve in the road toward home. "Where do we get a turkey around here?"

  "Well, they run wild," Rose pointed out.

  "Maybe one of the cowboys could round one up for us," Iris suggested sensibly. "I'm sure Aumaleigh over at the ranch cooks up a turkey dinner for all the hired hands who don't have family to spend the day with. How hard would it be for them to get an extra turkey?"

  "We'll have to have all the trimmings." Magnolia clearly was already making plans. "Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce and baked beans. And pumpkin pie."

  "Ooh, you're making me hungry." Rose clampe
d her hands over her midsection as her stomach gave a loud growl. "But it sounds so good. Remember our last few Thanksgivings?"

  "Yes." Verbena answered. They'd shared a meager meal of bread and beans warmed in their boardinghouse's kitchen. The dining room had been shut down for the holiday, most of the residents had traveled to stay with family. Bread and beans had been all they could afford. "Remember how Rose and Daisy brought tarts home from the bakery for dessert?"

  "Only one apiece," Rose nodded, her pretty, high-cheek-boned oval face smiling at the memory. "They were the irregular ones that didn't come out right. Our boss said we could take them. Daisy and I were so thankful."

  "We were thankful." Iris's sweet alto dipped with gratitude. "We had so little then, but we were lucky to have it."

  "Exactly." Verbena's throat felt tight. The financial hardships they'd known in Chicago were behind them, gone. But if not for Grandmother Maureen's inheritance, they would still be those girls, living a life filled with long endless workdays struggling to make ends meet. They had a lot to be thankful for.

  That truth lingered in the air among them, unspoken but not unfelt, and the appreciation for the comfort and easiness of their lives. Feeling even worse about how she'd acted over her dress, the weight of the man's money felt like an anvil in her pocket, in her heart.

  "Don't worry," Iris leaned in to take her hand, understanding and love soft in her voice. "Once the sheriff does his job, you'll be safe. Ernest will be in jail where he can't hurt you or any of us, and your anger will stop. It's going to be okay."

  "I know." She wanted to believe Iris, really. But she felt watched. Somewhere up in those mountains, Ernest was out there. She could feel it. He was watching and waiting.

  He would attack again.

  Chapter Three

  Zane leaned back in the chair the sheriff had set by the stove for him, taking a look around. "Can't believe you're a sheriff these days. Are you telling me folks elected you?"

  "Yep, they did it on purpose." Grinning, Milo crossed the room with two clean cups. "Had an official election and everything. Of course, no one was running against me so I won by default."

  "That explains it then," Zane winked, glad to be joking with his old friend again. Just like old times. "You've done good for yourself. This is a nice little town."

  "I know it's not your kind of place, but it's good for my girls." Milo handed over one of the cups. His face softened at the mention of his daughters. Not hard to figure out he was a good pa.

  "How old are they now?" Zane held up the cup, remembering when the first was born. Just a wee thing, so frail and delicate he'd gotten as far away from her as he could. Milo's late wife too, who'd never taken to him.

  "Sadie will be nine years old in December." Milo grabbed a towel, hefted up an old stoneware coffee pot and moved in to pour. "Sally will be seven come spring. Can't believe how fast time flies by."

  "It seems like yesterday we were working together." His one and only mistake at trying to settle down, Zane recalled as he watched his cup fill with strong, bitter brew. "See you're still making coffee the way I like it."

  "Burned and bad?" Milo turned away, filling his own cup. "Some things never change. You still take it black?"

  "Yep. Wouldn't want to risk any sugar sweetening me up."

  "Agreed. It wouldn't be right for the biggest, baddest bounty hunter in four territories." Milo returned the pot to the stove top and eased into the nearby chair. "I'm surprised you got here so fast. I told the McPhee family not to expect you until end of the month at the earliest. Last I heard, you were down New Mexico way."

  "I caught a big bounty after that and trailed him through northern Wyoming. Not far from Pine Bluffs, our old stomping grounds." Zane blew on his coffee, not mentioning that those few years working with Milo, having him for a friend was one of the highlights. Not that he looked back on his life often, but he'd had few friends in his life. And only one true friend. One who'd stood up for him when it truly mattered. "Finally caught him east of Dillon. The marshals had another high-end capture for me to hunt down, but when I saw your note, I came straight here."

  "I appreciate that more than you know." Milo blew on his coffee, turning thoughtful. Muscles along his jaw bunched, a sign something was wrong. "I have a tough situation here. Me and my men hunted down a kidnapper, found him but he took off into the mountains."

  "That's not like you letting a criminal slip through your fingers, Gray." Zane took a sip of coffee, felt it burn down his throat. A welcome feeling. It had been a long, cold drive. He stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, ready to listen. "Tell me, are you getting soft living in this little town?"

  "I see that grin. Can't say we get a lot of hard crime up here, but it happens. I run a tight ship. This fellow I'm after is from Chicago. Smart as a whip, I have to grant him that. He stays one step ahead of me, which tells me--"

  "He has someone in town keeping an eye on you," Zane finished.

  "Exactly. Who, I couldn't tell you. On our last manhunt, we rescued the woman he kidnapped and beat badly, but there was a blizzard raging at the time up in the high country. We pursued as long as we could, but with the conditions and avalanche danger, I had to think of my men. They're family men. They've got kids and wives depending on them."

  "It was the right call. Immediate jeopardy is what you had to consider." He slurped at his coffee, troubled, thinking of the woman on the street. Her cane, her bruises. The armed men. He didn't even need to ask to confirm it. He already knew. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her and what she'd been through. "Tell me about the family, the kidnapped woman."

  "Women, actually. He's gone after the family twice since August." Milo ran a weary hand over his face. The responsibility weighed heavy on his brawny shoulders. "He took two gals at gunpoint then, and we hunted him down. Fought him, and he went off a cliff during a hand-to-hand. That fall would have killed any normal man, but if he snagged one of the trees, he could have lived. We tracked, we searched, nothing. Really had hoped he was gone."

  "But not so lucky?" Zane wrapped his hands around the hot cup, letting the heat soak into his skin. "This Chicago fellow keeps coming back. What does he want?"

  "The youngest McPhee girl. She's awful pretty, maybe the prettiest woman anyone around here has ever seen. That can make some men do some awful crazy things." Milo blew out a troubled sigh, his brow lined with worry and angst at his own perceived failures, concerned about the people he protected.

  "What's her name?" he asked quietly, thinking of the mud spackled young woman and her beauty. Her incredible beauty. The back of his neck tingled something fierce. No doubt taking this case was a bad choice, but it really wasn't a choice. Not at all.

  "Verbena." Milo took a sip of coffee, swallowed, debated what to say next. Clearly he knew what the problem was. "There are five sisters. The man--Ernest Craddock--will not hesitate to use any of the other McPhee girls as hostages. Verbena told me afterward that Craddock admitted his plans to rape and kill her."

  "I see." Zane blew out a heavy sigh. Men like Craddock he understood. The deep narcissism, the supreme sense of self-importance, the lack of empathy on any level for anyone else, the joy and victory he felt knowing someone was hurt or dead. "You didn't mention five women in the note."

  "I failed to mention them, that's true. I know how you feel about the fairer gender." Milo looked sheepish. It hadn't been easy for him to be deceptive even in a small way. "It's one of those greater good things."

  "I saw that woman on the street when I drove up." He couldn't bring himself to mention the mud. He really did feel bad about that. This explained her outburst. Trauma affected a person, especially someone as delicate as a woman. He was just thankful the ending hadn't been like so many he'd come across. "She had a half dozen armed men with her."

  "I told her to stay at home." Milo rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if his patience was tested to the limit. "Well, I'm sure the cowboys will keep them safe. They're tough and t
hey're good shots."

  "The cowboys?" Zane tipped his cup back for the last scorching, bitter drops. "I figured they were her family."

  "No, there's just the five girls and their aunt."

  Great. Zane closed his eyes, took a moment to let the upset at that news settle. "You mean I'll be dealing directly with the women. All five of them?"

  "You'd be dealing with me." Milo seemed sure about that. "Look, I remember Pine Bluffs? I haven't forgotten what happened or how those women in town treated you. Your past wasn't their business and they had no right to drive you out of town."

  "You stood up for me, tried to save my job. It's water under the bridge." He steeled his heart--or the last, cold shreds left of it. He didn't need a heart, he didn't do feelings and he didn't think about what happened in his deputy days. He should have known he wasn't a man who could be tamed. "As long as I don't have to talk to those women much, I'll be fine."

  "Good." Milo slumped against the chair back, relieved. "Thanks for taking this on, Zane."

  "I don't have a choice." He meant that. Without a doubt, he'd be here for Milo. Time and distance couldn't change it. He'd never forget that Milo had risked his own job for him. "You need help, end of story. I'll need more background before I start hunting this Craddock fellow, but I'd like to get settled in. I didn't notice a hotel on my way in."

  "That's because there isn't one." Milo stood, set his cup on the edge of his desk and stared out the window at the town, gray with rain, brown with mud. "I spoke with Aumaleigh who owns the Rocking M Ranch not far from here, and she has room for you in her bunkhouse. It's a slow time for them, so there's plenty of space. You'll have a room to yourself and three squares a day."

  "I've had worse." He was just glad he'd have a roof over his head considering the weather out there. Lately, he'd spent most of his nights in a bedroll on the ground. "Do these McPhee sisters live on the ranch?"