“You’ll pay for that and anything else you destroy.”
He just smiled.
I spun and headed for my bedroom where I found one of Clay’s men pulling my clothing from a trunk. He’d already stripped the blankets and pillows from my bed and flung the mattress to the floor, and the crash had been an oil lamp that lay in a shattered sheen next to the mattress.
“Boyd Hansen,” I barked at him, and he looked up, startled. “Get out of my clothing. I hardly think I’d hide a wounded man in a trunk and smother him with my undergarments.”
His cheeks pinked briefly, and then his lips pulled away from his teeth in a hateful sneer. It occurred to me then that it might not be the best idea to provoke a thug, but the damage had already been done. I pointed an imperious finger at the door, summoning my most intimidating voice.
“Get out of my house.”
He hesitated, but only for a moment, then threw a handful of underthings and stockings onto the pile of clothes he’d already made, and marched past me into the main room where Lydia, Daisy, and Nellie had gathered together near the fireplace. I followed Boyd and made the same command to Robert.
“There’s nobody here, Robert. Nobody but us dregs. So you’re welcome to leave now. And take your brutes with you.”
Robert raised a brow and considered my anger with what looked like amusement, which only made me want to slap him that much more. Before I could, he called his men.
“We’ll check the barn and then be out of your hair. But be warned, Beth. Isaac Collins is a dangerous man. He tried to murder Clay Dearborn in cold blood. If you see him at all, you be sure to let us know.”
“I seriously doubt I’ll be seeing Isaac Collins.” Although it did occur to me, now, that I had already seen him in my barn, and I wondered where he’d disappeared to.
“Let’s hope not.”
After they cleared out I reassured the ladies, and Lydia and I left Daisy and Nellie to clean up the mess the deputies had made. We headed for the barn and I was relieved that they’d made less of a mess there than in the house. Together we hitched Lydia’s mare, Dusty, and Daisy’s mare, Jade, to the buckboard and made our way into town.
We rode to the mercantile, where I climbed down from the seat and tied the reins to the rail.
“You go take care of your shopping,” I told Lydia as she climbed down. “I’ll look in on Mary.”
Lydia disappeared into the store and I walked around to the other side of the block, where the Dawsons lived. When I knocked on the door, Gil answered. He looked surprised to see me, as if he’d forgotten his wife had just given birth the day before.
“Mrs. Caldwell.”
“Sheriff. I’m here to check on Mary.”
He stepped out onto the boardwalk. Shorter than Clay, Dawson was still considerably taller than me. His light brown hair was touched by silver at the temples, and disheveled. He shoved his hat on his head and straightened his vest, which was buttoned crooked, as if he’d dressed in a hurry.
“Her mother and sister are here looking after her.” He pushed past me. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Having that many women in the house, as well as a new baby, was probably enough to send any man running, but he still owed me for my services. Now more than ever, I needed all the money I could get.
“Should I ask Mary for payment, then?”
He grunted his frustration, but dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. After rifling through it, he extracted several bills and offered them to me before shoving the wallet back in his pocket.
“What we agreed on. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He didn’t even wait for a response. I counted the bills. It was, indeed what we’d agreed on, but given my new debts, hardly a drop in the bucket.
I put the money in my reticule, then pushed the door open and entered the sheriff’s house. Mary’s mother stood at the stove.
“Good morning,” I offered. “I’m here to check on Mary. How’s she doing?”
“Very well. She’s in the bedroom with Becky.”
I found Mary sitting up in the bed, her babe at her breast. Her haggard expression suggested she hadn’t slept, but that was to be expected. Becky sat on the bed next to her, beaming at the baby. She’d be next, and she seemed eager to hold her own infant in her arms.
“Hello, Mary. How are you today?”
“Beth! I’m doing well. Come see baby Charles.”
I held him, checking him as I did. He was a handsome boy with good color and a healthy cry. After checking Mary, too, I advised her to continue the medicinal tea for several more days, and to take it easy until she’d regained her strength. She looked to be on her way to a good recovery, though, and she’d bonded well with her baby.
By the time I’d finished with Mary and Becky, and returned to the mercantile, people crowded main street, milling around and clustered near the jail where Sheriff Dawson stood on the boardwalk speaking to the crowd. Clay stood next to him, his eye blackened and swollen, his lip split and bruised, and his left arm in a sling.
I moved closer to the sheriff’s office so I could listen. Clay noticed me and tipped his hat with his free hand, then motioned for me to join him. I hesitated, but without spurning him completely, I didn’t really have any choice.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He took my elbow in his hand, a possessive move I didn’t welcome. I tried to remove it from his grip, but he squeezed tighter and fixed me with a menacing gaze.
“That bastard Isaac Collins tried to murder me last night. He had the nerve to walk right into my house and tried to stab me to death in my own bed.”
“You fought him?” I indicated his injuries with a gesture.
“I managed to get to my gun and took a shot at him. I’m sure I hit him, but apparently not fatally because he got away.”
“Well, I’m glad he didn’t kill you,” I offered, although the sentiment was just a polite reflex. It wasn’t meant as any indication of my feelings for him, because on second thought I realized I had no feelings either way about the fact that he hadn’t been killed. Shouldn’t I feel some sort of relief that the man I was considering marrying hadn’t been murdered in his bed?
“I’m just glad you weren’t there. Imagine if he’d done this after we were married. It could have ended in disaster.”
I lifted a brow, instinctively taking offense at his casual expectation that marrying him was a foregone conclusion. Somewhere in the fog of confusion in the back of my mind I knew it was ridiculous for me to object to his possessiveness when I’d done nothing to deter his belief I would eventually be his wife. When the decision was all up to me and I could push him away to some vague undefined future date, the whole thing didn’t seem so real, but now the hard reality of his certainty brought my hackles up.
“That’s an awfully big assumption there, Clay.”
He turned an agitated look on me, his eyes a hard, icy blue.
“You can drop the act, Beth,” he snarled. “You and I both know you’re going to be my wife. All this dancing around the issue doesn’t change the inevitable. Although, I have to admit, it would make things a lot easier if you’d just accept the fact.”
His confidence made me shiver because I hadn’t decided. Not really. Here he treated me like I’d already said yes and soon we’d be picking out new curtains together. I didn’t appreciate his proprietary behavior.
Whereas life with Frank had been a mutual indulgence in each other, as well as all the other finer pleasures to be found on the gambling circuit, apparently life with Clay would consist of belonging to him. Chattel was the last thing I ever wanted to be, but I reminded myself about the money he’d offered against my debt, and gritted my teeth against my doubts. I needed Clay, even if I wasn’t sure I wanted him. There was still one more issue to be settled before I swallowed my pride and said yes.
“This marriage is far from a done deal. But assuming I do agree to marry you—which I haven’t yet—what about my friend
s?”
He laughed, but it came out more like a cough, or a bark, and the way his face twisted with disgust made his opinion clear even without words. He had words to share, nonetheless.
“Why should I care about some whore, a she-Injun and her worthless bastard, and an ass-ugly old maid?”
That shot some steel into my spine, regardless of any deals he offered. Nobody insulted my family, certainly not someone who wanted to marry me.
“Because I won’t marry you until you do,” I said. No amount of money was worth marrying this man. I’d find another way.
“You do not get to put conditions on the deal,” he warned.
“Then I guess we won’t be getting married.”
His fingers tightened on my elbow, and he leaned in until his face was only inches from mine, and I could see clearly the angry impatience roiling in his eyes.
“You listen up, Beth Caldwell, and listen well because I’m only going to say this once. The men in this town are going to come together and find Isaac Collins. After he’s tried and hanged, you and I are going to be married and I will have you in my bed and add your property to my ranch. You will not complain, you will not disagree or fight with me, you will do as you’re told, and you will like it. Is that perfectly clear?”
He’d worked himself into quite a rage, and in a moment of epiphany, I knew I was looking at the real Clay Dearborn—the stripped-down, not-for-public Clay Dearborn—and it actually frightened me into silence. Then the thought of receiving this kind of treatment for the rest of my life struck me and I became just as angry.
I wrenched my elbow from his grip and with one swift move I swung my hand in an arc, ending with a resounding slap on his cheek that echoed through the street and brought the crowd to relative silence.
“There is no way in holy hell I’ll ever marry you, Clay Dearborn.”
Because we stood on the boardwalk in front of everyone, it was impossible to avoid the attention my slap and announcement drew. People forgot all about the sheriff and Isaac Collins and stared at me and Clay, but only long enough to absorb what I’d said. Then they started whispering among themselves. The gossip had begun, and knowing the town like I did, it would turn ugly fast.
I could have sworn a large, dark pit opened in my stomach, and at that moment I wished I could fall into it and disappear.
Clay drew himself up to his considerable height and looked down his nose at me in contempt.
“We’ll just see about that,” he said loud enough for the crowd to hear, and then he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You’ll be sorry you did this, Beth. I’ll make certain of it. Mark my words.”
I did. I had no doubt at all that he’d make my life as miserable as humanly possible, starting now.
Sheriff Dawson, noticing that he’d lost the crowd, followed their attention to where it rested on us, then did his best to draw it back—by mentioning money.
“There’s a five-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who captures Isaac Collins.”
That did the trick. All eyes returned to Dawson and although I’m certain Clay and I weren’t completely forgotten, at least they’d be thinking more about how to collect that money than about Clay’s public humiliation.
“Is that dead or alive?” someone called from the crowd.
“I’d prefer alive, but if you find him already dead, you’ll get paid for his hide.”
“So what’s all the commotion?” Lydia’s voice startled both me and Clay. He took one look at her and grunted, then turned on his heel and rejoined Dawson, leaving me and Lydia alone on the boardwalk.
“Dawson just offered a five-thousand-dollar reward for Isaac Collins.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Where’d the town come up with that much reward?”
“Clay’s putting it up.”
“That’s generous of him.”
“I suppose.”
We made our way back to the buckboard where the boy who helped out at the mercantile was loading the last of Lydia’s purchase into the back.
“Thank you for your help, John,” Lydia said.
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said, and hurried back into the store.
“That was a mighty impressive show you put on there, Beth.” I heard a voice from just behind me, and I turned to find Silas standing there with a smug grin on his face.
“It wasn’t my intention.”
“Well, you certainly don’t disappoint, that’s for sure. I always did enjoy your company.”
I flushed a bit at the reminder of how lively I often was while working the tables with Frank.
“I’m quite sure, at the moment, Clay doesn’t share your assessment.”
“No, I’m sure he doesn’t.”
Lydia climbed onto the seat, and I untied the reins from the rail.
“It was good to see you again, Silas.”
He tipped his hat. “Likewise. Oh, and Beth? I couldn’t help but notice that the bounty offered on that murderer is more than enough to cover your debt.”
“Are you suggesting I become a bounty hunter?”
He chuckled. “Certainly not. That would be unseemly. But you could hire someone to do the job for you.”
I joined Lydia on the seat.
“I appreciate your opinion, and the fortuitous reminder of my debt, lest I would have forgotten it so soon. Good day to you, Silas.”
After my encounter with Clay, it was impossible for me to keep the sour edge from my voice, despite the fact that it was never a good idea to agitate a gambler to whom you owed money.
He tipped his hat again and moved out of the street as I urged the horses on the course home.
“How are Mary and the babe?” Lydia asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us.
“They’re good.”
We rode in silence until we got out of town.
“Who was that man?”
“Silas Devol. He’s a gambler I knew from my days on the circuit with Frank.”
I waited for her to bring up the inevitable, which she did, after a moment’s hesitation. “What did he mean about the debt you owe him?”
I sighed, not happy about airing this unpleasant bit from my past.
“Frank ran up a debt with him before he died, so now it’s my responsibility to pay it back.”
“But that’s ridiculous. How could he expect you to pay a gambling debt your husband incurred? It’s not yours, and it was made under nefarious circumstances.”
“The gambling world runs on its own rules, nefarious or otherwise. Frank’s debt is mine, and there’s no way around it.”
“I have to disagree with you. If you explain your position to Mr. Devol, he’ll have to excuse it. Any honorable man would.”
I turned to her, at the end of my patience. “What you fail to understand, Lydia, is that not only is Mr. Devol not an honorable man, but the debt stands. There will be no excusing it or making it go away. It will haunt me until I deal with it.”
She hmphed and sat stiff in her seat, staring straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. I’d offended her, but it was important she understood the gravity of the situation.
“I’m sorry to have been short with you, Lydia. It wasn’t very considerate of me. But I have a lot on my mind right now, and I suppose I let it get the better of me.”
She glanced in my direction, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “What did Clay have to say?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Nothing much. Just pushed me for an answer to his proposal.”
“He looked mighty angry. Did you turn him down?”
I met her gaze, and before she dropped her eyes I could see the worry there.
“To be honest with you, he offered to pay off the very debt Mr. Devol mentioned.”
“That was generous of him,” she said.
“Even though he’d add our land to his spread, he promised to find a home for you and the others.”
�
��So you accepted.”
She sounded defeated. I knew well enough how aware she was that if I accepted Clay, she and the others would lose their home and family. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Silas’s threat to seize the homestead. She didn’t need to worry about that, not yet anyway.
“No, I didn’t accept. In fact, as Mr. Devol alluded to, I did pretty much the opposite. I refused him publicly. In front of everyone. I even slapped him. It was horrible.”
Lydia’s hand went to her mouth, and her eyes flew open wide. I had to agree. I couldn’t believe I’d done it, either.
“That wasn’t very prudent.”
“No, it certainly wasn’t. I’m afraid what will happen to us now.”
I felt Lydia’s hand on my shoulder. “You made the right choice.”
“I certainly hope so. I have no real desire to be that man’s wife. The odd thing is, he didn’t seem inclined to accept my refusal, despite how badly I disgraced him. I just can’t imagine how he thinks he can force me to marry him.”
Chapter Four
~Beth~
We rode into the lane of the homestead and parked the buckboard near the front door to unload supplies, but before I even had the brake set Daisy was out the front door.
“Beth. Thank God you’re home. Come inside. And hurry.”
The worry on her face was so uncharacteristic, I thought for sure something had happened to Nellie or the baby. My breath caught in my throat at the thought of it, and I lifted my skirts and ran inside. But Nellie was nowhere to be found.
“What’s wrong, Daisy?”
As an answer, she took my hand and led me to my bedroom. Inside, my clothes had been piled into a corner. The shards of broken lamp were gone and a new one stood on my nightstand, lighting the room with a soft glow. Daisy and Nellie had reassembled my bed and I was surprised to see my barn stranger—supposedly the outlaw Isaac Collins—filthy and unconscious, laid out on it bleeding all over my sheets.
“What the hell?” I asked, language from my Frank days sneaking back into the conversation.
“He just showed up,” Daisy said, tossing her hands in the air. “We heard a knock and when I opened the door he’d already collapsed. We had a horrible time hauling him inside and getting him onto the bed.”
Gambling on the Outlaw Page 4
