by Tess LeSue
Georgiana craned her neck to see over the crowds. Sure enough, there he was, under a sycamore. He was speaking quietly to a small group, and his friend Doyle was next to him, holding a ledger and scratching down names. The group in front of Matt included no small number of women, Georgiana noticed. The one in the blue bonnet said something, and he laughed politely. She couldn’t see from her vantage point whether his dimple flashed or not when he laughed. Blue Bonnet would have been able to see. She felt a stab of jealousy and crept closer, straining to hear what they were saying. Another group had moved in behind Blue Bonnet and her companions, and Georgiana had to step sideways to get a clearer view of Matt. He caught the movement and looked over. Without thinking, she waved at him. She saw a faint frown pass over his face, and he turned back to Blue Bonnet. Georgiana wanted to die from embarrassment. Why had she waved like that? Like some kind of ninny schoolgirl.
“Well, look who we have here.” As she was shriveling with mortification, a horribly familiar voice slid out of the crowd behind her. “If it isn’t Mrs. Blunt . . . or is it Mrs. Smith now?”
Georgiana jumped out of her skin and snapped around. How had they found her? They were supposed to be waiting for her in the town of St. Joseph’s. They weren’t supposed to realize she wasn’t coming to meet them until she was well on the trail, out of their reach!
Wendell Todd and Kipp Koerner slunk into view. The weeks since she’d seen them hadn’t been kind to them. They were travel stained and gaunt.
“You look overwhelmed by the crowds, missus,” Wendell said, his lip curling into a sneer. He was older and bigger than Kipp, and clearly furious with her. “Why don’t we escort you somewhere quieter?”
“No, thank you.” Georgiana took a step back, hastily taking stock of her escape routes. There weren’t any easy ones. She was hemmed in by people.
Wendell grabbed her arm and she gasped. He wasn’t gentle. “That wasn’t really a question,” he hissed. “Move.”
“No.” She didn’t know where her bravery came from, except she felt reasonably safe, surrounded by so many people. “Get your hands off me or I’ll scream.”
Wendell’s gaze was feral with anger. “You seem to be forgetting that we have your son.”
“You seem to be forgetting that you need my signature on that deed.” She yanked her arm away.
The air whistled through Wendell’s teeth as he drew a sharp breath. “You see Kipp here, missus? I can send him on ahead, you know. We won’t kill the boy, but we can make him suffer. Is that what you want?”
Of course that wasn’t what she wanted! Georgiana felt shaky and on the verge of tears. God damn it! She’d nearly got ahead of them! She hadn’t wanted them standing over her for the next few months, dogging her every step, scaring the life out of her children. She was going to California, just like they wanted; she was giving them the land, just like they wanted. She wished they’d just leave her alone and let her do it.
But of course they wouldn’t. They wanted to make sure she didn’t hire men to come after them, or alert the marshals. If she’d still had money, she would have hired someone, someone lethal. And the only reason she hadn’t told the law about the kidnapping was that she’d read enough dime novels to know that lawmen could be as bloodthirsty as the criminals out west, and she didn’t want Leo caught up in a gunfight . . .
“And,” Wendell said, his voice dropping and getting more vicious by the moment, “don’t forget we can take one of the others. How many do you have again? Four here in town? I reckon we can get a lot of cooperation out of you with four little ’uns to play with.”
Georgiana wilted.
“There’s a girl.” Wendell had her arm again. “Now, let’s go somewhere private and talk about what ‘Mrs. Smith’ has been up to, shall we?”
“I don’t think the lady wants to go with you.”
Oh my. Georgiana watched in shock as Matt Slater’s giant paw closed around Wendell’s wrist. Where had he come from? She looked up. He towered over them, and even without his bristling beard and wild hair, he looked like he’d just wrestled a bear. And won.
7
DON’T GET CAUGHT up in it. Matt didn’t want drama and difficulty. And yet, what was a man supposed to do, when he saw a slip of a woman being terrorized by thugs? Especially this woman, who looked like she should be packed in cotton wool. Was he supposed to stand by and let it happen?
Why not? She’s not your responsibility.
She wasn’t anyone’s responsibility; that was the problem. The damn fool woman was running amok, placing ads for husbands and wandering around a half-wild town unescorted. Didn’t she know that she stood out a mile, with her fancy dress and fancy ways? Didn’t she know what a temptation she was? She was the female version of gold dust. One look and men got fever-struck. They just didn’t have women like her in Independence. Hell, they didn’t have women like her anywhere he’d ever been.
She was breathtaking. Who’d ever seen eyes that blue on a person? They were the color of a June sky. The color of prairie flax in summer. They made a man daft with how pretty they were. And then there was her curvy little figure. He’d seen the way men looked her up and down as she passed them by. Like this morning at breakfast. She walked through the room and every head turned.
And now here she was, wandering about the town square on her own, when it was packed full of all kind of rough sorts, who were just passing through on their way to the shimmer of gold over the horizon. Gold most of them would never see, the idiots. And each and every one of them turned their covetous gazes on this woman the minute they saw her. And then, when they learned she had a gold claim and was advertising for a husband, that covetousness turned to pure greed.
Didn’t she see that?
No. He could tell she didn’t. There was a palpable naïveté about her. She acted like the town was one big cotillion that she could waltz through until she found a partner to stick with. But things just didn’t work like that. These weren’t eligible gentlemen, waiting to fill out her dance card and fetch her lemonade; they weren’t bound by the social mores she was used to. If she went into the saloons and whorehouses on the backstreets, she would be able to see for herself. These men saw, they wanted, they took. Someone needed to tell her so, before she got herself and those young ’uns tangled up with the wrong sort.
The sort like these two right here. They were scrawny, underfed-looking types, greasy and travel stained. One was so young he barely counted as a man, but he had a crafty rat weasel look, and Matt wasn’t prepared to underestimate him.
Matt had seen Mrs. Smith the minute she sailed into the square. She was impossible to miss: her skirts were the size of a church bell, twice the size of any other woman’s, and her dress had glittery black things all over it, which sparkled in the sun. No one else around here sparkled like that. The women around here all wore homespun and gingham. They had straw hats. Mrs. Smith didn’t have a straw hat; she had a tiny, decorative black excuse of a bonnet and a black parasol made of lace; its fluttery edges caught the breeze as it bobbed above the crowd, loudly proclaiming her whereabouts. Everything about her was eye-catching, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore her and concentrate on his business, he was painfully aware of where she was as she paraded about. And then she’d neared his group, and he’d broken out in a prickly sweat. He felt those prairie flax blue eyes sweep him from head to toe, and it was an effort to concentrate on what the lady in front of him was saying. And then the two thugs had appeared behind her, and whatever they’d said had seemed to shock the hell out of her. He’d clenched his teeth and tried to resist the urge to get involved. Because it was none of his business. But then the idiot had gone and grabbed her.
Matt bent the man’s wrist back until he let go of Mrs. Smith’s arm. When the idiot finally did let go, Matt stepped slightly in front of her, to shield her.
“You’ve got no place in this,” the strange
r warned. His gaze flicked about, trying to gauge if anyone else was going to step in too. It didn’t look it. The square was insanely busy and too chaotic for anyone to take notice of a low-key altercation like this one.
“Tell me about it,” Matt snapped. “You think I want to be interrupting my transaction to deal with you two? But you got no call to be manhandling a respectable woman in plain day.”
“Stay out of it, mister. You got no idea what you’re getting into.”
Something was off here. Matt stole a glance at Mrs. Smith. Her face had drained of color, and those big blue eyes were haunted . . . but she didn’t look surprised. Or affronted. She looked watchful, like she was waiting for something inevitable . . .
Damn it. It was clear as day: she knew them.
What the hell was he getting himself into?
“She’s with us,” the young one told Matt. He had a wicked-looking scar down one side of his face and another one on his upper lip that made his mouth lopsided. They weren’t good signs. He might be young, but he’d clearly survived a few bloody brawls.
“That true?” Matt searched her face, trying to work out what to do.
“In a manner of speaking,” she admitted, her voice not entirely steady. Her June blue eyes had a suspicious shine. Was she about to cry? Hell.
“Look,” he said, adopting as reasonable a tone as he was able, “Mrs. Smith has an appointment with me right this minute. Why don’t you wait for her back at the hotel, like all the others? She’ll talk to you when she returns.” Buying her some time seemed the least that he could do. Hopefully, it was all that he’d have to do.
The older one snorted. “And who do you think you are to be telling us what to do? We don’t need an appointment to talk to her.”
“I’m afraid you do,” Matt said. “Ain’t you seen the line?”
“And what’s your appointment about?” The young one’s gaze slid back and forth between Matt and Mrs. Smith. “You answering that advertisement?”
Matt felt, rather than saw, Mrs. Smith flinch. The parasol jerked at the edge of his vision. So she was surprised that they knew about the advertisement, was she?
But everyone knew about it; it was the talk of the town. Why shouldn’t they know?
Except, of course, her name wasn’t really Smith, was it? It was Fairchild or Leavington or Bee or Blunt, or some arrangement of all of them, at least judging by her boys’ names. And these two might be well aware of that. The “Smith” might even be because of them.
She was plainly scared to death.
“If you want to know, Mrs. Smith is thinking of joining my wagon train,” he told the two thugs. He didn’t know why he was lying for her, except it seemed the decent thing to do.
“No, she ain’t,” the older one said.
“She’s coming in ours,” the young one told Matt forcefully.
“Yours?” Matt couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “You captain wagon trains?”
“No,” the young one sneered, “but we’ve already signed up for one.”
“You have, have you?” Matt had never liked bullies. And these two were bullies, plain and simple. “But has she?” Matt turned to Mrs. Smith.
She seemed uncertain.
“She has,” the older thug said firmly.
“Who’s your captain, then?”
“None of your business!”
“I think it is my business, since the lady already has a verbal contract with me,” he continued to lie, silently cursing himself for a fool. What was he doing? He wasn’t even going to California. But these idiots didn’t know that. He hoped Mrs. Smith didn’t look too shocked by his storytelling. If she could go along with him, perhaps he could extract her from this. Even if only for the afternoon.
“I’m getting mighty sick of you, mister,” the older one growled. “Why don’t you move along now.”
“Slater! Matthew Slater! Don’t move a muscle! I need to talk to you!” Someone’s arm waved above the crowd, trying to catch Matt’s attention.
“Well, look at that,” Matt said, peering over their heads at the beefy man cutting through square toward them. “If it isn’t the sheriff.”
They got all rodenty at that, twitching like rats in the henhouse. He thought they might scamper off, but they didn’t. If anything, they only grew more threatening, fixing their hateful stares firmly on Mrs. Smith. She made a small breathless noise, and without thinking, Matt found himself taking her hand. She flinched, and then he felt her fingers curl around his, clamping onto him. She was trembling.
Goddamn it all to hell and back.
She was terrified. Matt didn’t know what to do about it, except to hold her hand a bit tighter and to keep brazening his way through it.
“Slater!” Sheriff Keeley was puffing as he reached them. “I need your help with a matter. Fill me in on that mess in Kearney.”
“Always happy to help,” Matt said, relieved. He’d dug himself a pretty hole here, and he was glad someone was offering him a ladder out of it. He kept tight hold of Mrs. Smith as he pulled her away from the rodents. “Come on, Mrs. Smith.”
“She needs to talk to us.” The young one was clearly furious. “We got business together.”
The older one held her gaze. Something awful passed silently between them.
Matt wasn’t about to leave her with them. If she had to talk to them, she could do it somewhere safe, where people would know if something happened to her.
Not that it was his business.
Except, idiot that he was, he seemed to have made it so.
“We should be back at the hotel in a couple of hours,” he told them, “should you wish to continue this conversation. Does that suit you?” He turned to Mrs. Smith. Her eyes were shinier than ever, and she was white with tension.
She nodded and tried to find her voice. It cracked when she spoke. “Yes. Yes, thank you.”
“There you go.” He didn’t give the rodents time to protest. “We’ll see you at the hotel, gentlemen. Shall we say 4 P.M.? I’m sure Mrs. Smith will be finished with her day’s business by then. Don’t be late.”
The older thug gave her a look of pure poison. “We’ll bring the children with us, shall we? Save you having to collect them from the teahouse.”
Damn it all to hell. They were using the children to threaten her? What kind of mess was she tangled up in?
He saw the sheriff giving them a look over. Keeley was no fool. Maybe Matt should take Mrs. Smith along with him, so Keeley could have a chat with her. Then Matt could wash his hands of the whole affair.
“The children are fine where they are,” Matt said, and it was impossible to keep the anger out of his voice.
“What children?” the sheriff asked.
“My children,” Mrs. Smith said, and Matt could hear that she was angry too. Angry, but also intimidated. “They’re staying with Mrs. Tilly, and I’m quite happy for them to remain there until suppertime. I’d prefer it.” Her voice grew firmer and steadier.
“And you’re meeting these gentlemen at four?” The sheriff rested his hand on his holster.
She nodded nervously.
“Seems like it’s all arranged, then.” The sheriff’s tone brooked no argument. “The lady will see you at the Grand Hotel at four. And I’ll be over at Mrs. Tilly’s this afternoon,” he said, an undercurrent of warning in his voice, “and I’ll be sure to check on the little ’uns while I have my afternoon teacake.”
The rodents were silent, but their eyes glittered with fury and frustration.
“Four o’clock, then,” the older one agreed, his lip still curled in that feral sneer. If looks could have killed, Mrs. Smith would have fallen stone-cold dead as they slunk away.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Smith said, her fingers abruptly going limp in his. “Do you think they’ll go after the children now?”
“You just want me to sit at Mrs. Tilly’s all day?” The deputy didn’t sound happy about it.
“Until this lady here or I come and tell you otherwise.”
The deputy grumbled under his breath but went along. As he left, Mrs. Smith pulled her hand away from Matt’s.
“I have to get him out of the jailhouse anyway,” the sheriff confided after he’d ambled off. “At least while that whore is locked up. He don’t do nothing but moon over her, so I might as well have him being useless over there at Mrs. Tilly’s as useless back at the jailhouse with Seline.” The sheriff gave Mrs. Smith a long look. “I think you’d best come along with us, Mrs. Smith. Give us an idea of who those two are and what they’re up to. But you might have to wait with the whore while I take care of my business with Mr. Slater.”
She looked horrified at the idea. But she didn’t protest.
“Let me just tell Doyle where I’m going.” Matt excused himself and headed over to where Seb was standing, juggling the ledger and trying to answer questions from the party Matt had abandoned.
“I’ll try and get back this afternoon, but if I don’t, just take as many bookings as you can,” he told Seb. “But you make sure they’re capable and not too dumb, you hear? No more disasters like the year we had the McCappins. I ain’t going through that again.”
“You want me to organize a meeting time at the Saturday dance again, like last year?”
“Yeah, we’ll do it every Saturday till we leave. Good chance for them all to get to know one another.” He clapped his hand on Seb’s shoulder and headed off.
By the time he got back, Mrs. Smith was looking edgier than an unbroken filly, like she might bolt at any moment. It’d be easier for Matt if she did. But, sandwiched between Matt and the sheriff, she came along, edgy or not.
