by Carol Finch
“Any more questions?”
Goggle-eyed, the men staggered back. They cast Nate cautious glances while they retrieved their damaged hats from the dirt. The crowd dispersed immediately and Rachel peered up at him with a wry smile twitching her lips.
“It appears that you are handy to have around,” she said. “Who would have thought?”
“And you sing like an angel and look like one, too,” he retorted as he returned her pistol. “Where did you practice voice lessons and study the Cheyenne culture before you joined Doc’s unique medicine show?”
She smiled impishly as she pivoted on her heels. “I’ll be back in two shakes. Guard the alley, sharpshooter.”
“Whatever you say, angel face.” He watched her walk away and he wondered if he’d ever get a straight answer out of Rachel Whoever-she-was.
Nate wasn’t surprised to see the city marshal striding purposefully down the boardwalk five minutes after he’d fired off two shots to discourage the lusty hounds trailing at Rachel’s heels.
The round-bellied marshal drew himself up in front of Nate. “I don’t approve of gunplay in my town.”
“I don’t approve of young bucks throwing themselves on the lady I am paid to protect from unwanted attention,” Nate countered in the same authoritative tone.
“That’s not the story the two plowboys gave me.”
Nate appraised the marshal, who looked to be a decade older. His thick red brows reminded him of fuzzy caterpillars. Same went for the mustache on his upper lip. “The plowboys lied.”
The marshal smirked. “And why should I believe you? From the looks of you, you enjoy a good fight. Did you win or lose the last one?”
“Surprise attack. Lopsided odds. I lost.”
Nate glanced over his shoulder when Rachel, dressed in a simple calico gown, emerged from the shadows of the alley. She took one look at the badge on the marshal’s chest, nodded stiffly, then strode over to rejoin Doc. Clearly, she preferred to keep her distance from law officials. But then, he already sensed that Rachel had something to hide.
“There’s the evidence.” Nate directed the marshal’s attention to Rachel. “Too temptingly pretty for her own good.”
The marshal’s appreciative gaze followed her progress across the street. “Yep, that explains it.”
Nate gestured toward the marshal’s office. “I’d like to file complaints against the three men who jumped me last night. They stole my horse, my saddlebags, my badge and a roll of cash. I’d also like to look at your Wanted posters to see if anyone fits their descriptions.”
The marshal regarded him pensively, then offered his hand in greeting. “Daniel Stocker,” he introduced himself.
“Nathan Montgomery, U.S. Marshal. I’ve been on a six-month leave of absence.” He was glad he hadn’t divulged that information to Rachel. Leery as she was, she would have steered clear of him completely, he predicted.
Marshal Stocker gave him another quick once-over. “On leave because you were injured in the line of duty?”
“No, tending an ailing father.” Nate made a supreme effort to keep the seething irritation from lacing his voice.
Every time he recalled his father’s deception, it annoyed the hell out of him.
“I hope your father is better now,” Marshal Stocker said.
“Miraculous recovery.”
Casting Rachel a sideways glance to make sure she was still safe, Nate walked down the boardwalk with Dan Stocker. Nothing he’d like better than to find out the names of the men who had attacked him, round them up and haul them to jail. He smiled at the gratifying thought. Those brutes would be his first order of business after he checked out the goings-on in Edgar Havern’s investments in the Dodge City Freight Company.
While several of the locals approached the wagon to praise Rachel’s singing and acting ability, she kept a watchful eye on Nate’s departure. The fact that he was chumming with the city marshal shouldn’t have surprised her. Birds of a feather, after all. She also predicted that he was going to check Wanted posters so he could identify his attackers. Still, it made her anxious, wondering if a sketch of her face was printed on a poster.
She didn’t want to be forced to leave town in a flaming rush. Traveling with Doc and performing in the medicine show was the perfect occupation. She never remained in the same place for too long.
“You look tense, hon. Has someone been bothering you?” Doc Grant asked as he circled the wagon to examine his next patient.
Rachel pasted on a nonchalant smile. “I’m just a bit on edge because Nate had to confront those pesky men while I changed clothes.”
Doc nodded in understanding. “You can lie low this afternoon if you’d like. I’ll treat the last few patients myself, then we’ll be on our way this evening.”
Casting another apprehensive glance at the marshal’s office, Rachel walked off. She decided to look over the bolts of fabric at the local boutique and dry-goods shop. The owner of the boutique had allowed her to change her costumes in the back storeroom, then exit into the alley. Making a purchase was her way of showing her appreciation to the shopkeeper.
Thanks to Jennifer Grantham’s instructions, Rachel had become an experienced seamstress, and it was an easy task to design her costumes and clothing. Of course, she had learned to sew her own garments years earlier as part of her Cheyenne training, but the practical styles were drastically different from Jen’s fashionable designs.
The thought of Jen provoked Rachel’s rueful smile. She had lost contact with a good friend because of Adolph Turner. Even now, he was tormenting her life. Not knowing if he had survived, and wondering if his henchmen would show up to capture her, frustrated her to no end.
Adolph Turner swore foully when his three henchmen showed up in his office—empty-handed again. It was the fourth time in three weeks that they had reconnoitered the area and had turned up not one productive lead or sighting.
“Where the hell could she be? How is it possible that one pint-size female can disappear into the night and three experienced ex-hunters can’t track her down?” He scowled.
Max Rother shrugged his thin-bladed shoulder. “Don’t know, boss. We’ve tracked all over three counties and haven’t seen anything of her.”
Adolph absently rubbed the shoulder he had dislocated the night Rachel St. Raimes had plowed into him and sent him sprawling backward. Plus, he’d had to have stitches in the back of his head, thanks to clanking his skull on the sharp edge of the shelf. Then there was the blow from the point of the heavy anvil that had gouged him in the breastbone. It had hurt to breathe for two weeks. He’d been in bad shape, thanks to that scrappy hellcat.
“Maybe you oughta file charges against her,” Warren Lamont suggested. “A few Wanted posters floating around might turn up some information.”
Adolph shook his head adamantly. “In the first place, too much time has passed since the incident, and I explained my injuries as a careless accident caused by stumbling around in the dark storeroom.”
An angry snarl puckered his lips. “But most importantly, I want to personally get my hands on that firebrand. She is mine to deal with.” He shook a lean finger in his henchmen’s faces. “When you find her, I want her first. Do you understand me? Don’t cross me…or else.”
“Yeah, boss, we get it,” Bob Hanes replied. “We’ll bring her to you straight away.”
Adolph frowned speculatively. “Are you certain you checked every boutique in every town in the area you’ve searched? She hasn’t taken up her profession again?”
“We’re sure,” Warren Lamont confirmed.
Adolph flapped his arm dismissively. “Before you head out to scout around tomorrow, I want you to collect from the sodbuster west of town. He’s delinquent on making his payment for the goods we ordered and delivered to him. Make sure he knows better than to hold out on me again.”
When all three men trooped from the office, Adolph plopped into his chair behind his desk. “Where the devil has Rachel go
tten off to?” he asked himself bewilderedly.
He supposed it was possible that she’d been set upon and perished. The thought ruined his mood because he had spent three weeks planning his revenge.
He huffed out his breath, then frowned pensively. Enough time had passed for him to approach Jennifer Grantham with a casual inquiry about her employee at the boutique. If Adolph sensed that Jen was concealing information, he would send his men to pay her a visit after she closed up shop. Threatening to harm her young daughter should encourage Mrs. Grantham to talk.
However, he preferred that his hired gunmen track down Rachel St. Raimes and drag her to Dodge City so Adolph could deal privately with her. The less anyone knew about the confrontation in the storeroom the better for him.
Especially after the circumstances surrounding the death of his former mistress. No one tried to blackmail Adolph Turner and lived to brag about it!
Adolph had grown up in the East and had battled his way out of destitution. Years ago, he had vowed to do whatever was necessary to gain wealth and influence. No one was ever going to look down on him again, as if he counted for nothing. No one was going to strip him of his possessions, either. Nothing was going to stand in the way of the good life he had designed specifically for himself.
He only had to answer to those two uppity businessmen in Kansas City occasionally, he reminded himself. It wasn’t as if the citified dandy or his silent partner would lower himself to interrupt his life of leisure and tramp out West to check on one of dozens of wide-ranging investments.
Adolph scowled, remembering the feisty woman who had resisted his attempts to charm her. Rachel could have benefited from his wealth, for as long as she amused him. However, that hellion refused his offers to set her up in a suite at the hotel so she could be at his beck and call.
When Adolph located Rachel, she would serve his purpose—without the fringe benefits of expensive trinkets and a furnished hotel suite. She could have had it all, but she had rejected him. When he finished taking out his revenge on her, she would have nothing, be nothing.
The thought brightened his mood considerably.
Max Rother counted out the money he had received when he sold the U.S. marshal’s horse and pistols to a besotted Texas cowboy on South Side. If he had found the badge in the saddlebag before they rode away, he would have made sure the lawman was dead. He hoped like hell the oversight didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.
“You should’ve let me keep the horse,” Warren Lamont complained as he pocketed his share of the money. “It was a helluva lot better than the nag I’m riding.”
Bob Hanes rolled his eyes at his younger cohort, then scoffed. “You’re dumb as a rock, boy. If somebody recognized that horse, you’d be arrested for horse thieving. You think Adolph Turner would defend you and save your scrawny neck?”
“Hell, no, he wouldn’t.” Max snorted. “The minute you cause Turner problems you’re gone.” He took a step closer to the man who was sixteen years his junior and got right in his unshaven face. “You are never to mention the U.S. marshal we beat up to anyone, especially Turner. The extra money we make robbing and plundering is our private business. Understand?”
Warren bobbed his head and his stringy brown hair flopped around his face.
Bob shoved the rolled-up clothing and boots into Warren’s midsection. “Sell this stuff to one of the cowboys who’s headed back to Texas. Don’t take nothing but money for the items we stole from the marshal.”
“Then bring us our third of the profit,” Bob insisted. “It’s share and share alike.”
“Right. But when we find the St. Raimes woman, don’t think I’ll keep quiet if you make me wait my turn until last, just because I’m the youngest,” Warren grumbled.
Bob crowded Warren’s space, forcing him to back up a step. “We’ll draw straws when the time comes, kid. But I’m telling you that no one will lay a hand on that chit before Turner takes his turn with her. I watched him kill the man you replaced because he took a turn with Turner’s mistress of the moment. Turner may dress like a dandy but that bastard is crazy and he’s as ruthless as they come.”
Warren’s Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably when he swallowed. He clutched the clothes and boots they’d stripped off the unconscious marshal the previous day, then strode off.
“And hurry it up,” Max called after him.
Warren headed for the nearest boardinghouse on South Side to sell the clothing to the highest bidder.
“That kid will never see thirty,” Max predicted as he spit a wad of tobacco in the dirt. “He doesn’t have the brains God gave a goose.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Bob spun on his boot heels and swaggered toward his favorite saloon to quench his thirst.
Chapter Five
Rachel kept to herself during their jaunt from Crossville to their next destination at Riverview. Nate hadn’t mentioned seeing her sketch on a Wanted poster at Marshal Stocker’s office. All he’d said was that he hadn’t found any information about the men who had attacked him. But Marshal Stocker had agreed to ask the circuit judge to write out bench warrants for their arrests.
When they made camp for the evening, Ludy helped her unload their gear while he taught her the lyrics and melody to a new song to add to the show.
“Don’t know why you don’t settle into a big city where you can perform regularly in the theater,” Ludy commented as he arranged logs on the campfire. “The accommodations have to be better than this.”
“I like wide-open spaces,” she insisted as she watched Nate and Doc stroll toward the creek for a refreshing bath.
Nate was ambulating faster this evening, she noted. The swelling in his face had decreased noticeably. She wondered how much longer he would remain with the wagon. She knew he was anxious to reach Dodge City so he could begin his job.
Rachel frowned pensively as she unloaded the food supplies. She hadn’t thought to ask if Nate had a particular line of employment in mind. Was he hoping to become a deputy to the city marshal…?
“Rachel. Yoo-hoo,” Ludy prompted.
She smiled apologetically. “My mind is a million miles away. What did you say?”
“I said…why not head to Saint Louis or Kansas City? You could live in the lap of luxury instead of roughing it out here like a homeless vagabond.”
I am a homeless vagabond. “Maybe I will eventually.” She shrugged lackadaisically. “Right now I enjoy the spirit of adventure and touring the Kansas plains.” I also have to lie low until I know for certain if I’ve become a fugitive of justice.
“Not me.” Ludy stirred the kindling, and sparks popped and crackled as the logs caught fire. “I’d settle into the theater without a backward glance. But I’m a mediocre talent who entertains pioneers when they need a pleasurable diversion.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Of course, I do enjoy the added benefit of meeting scads of women. Maybe one day I’ll find one who suits me perfectly and we’ll settle down to raise our own four-piece band.”
Rachel chuckled as she added dried beef to the pot of water. “You can start your own theater while you’re at it.”
“I just might do that, so don’t be surprised if I invite you to be my star performer.”
Ludy frowned curiously when Rachel motioned for him to follow her to the back of the wagon. She grabbed several bottles of elixirs. “Keep an eye on supper while I drain these bottles, then replace them with water.”
Ludy clucked his tongue. “Doc is going to pitch a fit when he finds out you’re destroying his stock of alcohol.”
“It’s for his own good,” she defended.
“Try telling him that. And please do it while I’m not around.”
“I’ve already told him that drinking his inventory of elixirs—the very same ones he refuses to sell to his patients—is burning holes in his stomach,” she grumbled. “He won’t listen, so now I’ve moved to my last resort.”
“Cure him or kill him. Good thinking.” Ludy winked and gr
inned before he lurched around to tend the fire while Rachel scurried off with an armload of glass bottles full of patented medicine that had become Doc’s spare supply of alcohol.
Eventually, Doc would come upon the bottles she had replaced with water. She knew he would rant and rave at her. She also knew she couldn’t restrain him from buying bottles of whiskey at saloons in the nameless towns they visited. Yet she vowed to do what she could to deter Doc’s self-destructive tendencies. If he’d just tell her what tormented him she would find a way to help him.
Besides, it would help distract her from this ridiculous fascination with Nate, who would never be a part of her future.
The next evening Nate sighed audibly as he sank into the creek. He completely submerged, enjoying the feel of the cool water soaking his puffy skin and bruises. Bathing had become his favorite pastime lately.
By now, most of the swelling in his face was gone. His ribs were still tender. But thankfully, every step and every breath weren’t new experiences in agony. Honestly, he had suffered gunshot wounds that hurt less. And that was saying something.
His thoughts trailed off when thunder rumbled overhead. The wind picked up and rustled through the overhanging trees, signaling the approach of a storm. Nate had endured inclement weather plenty of times during his forays of tracking criminals. He wondered if storms worried Rachel. Then again, he doubted that she frightened easily. That was one of the things he liked about her. Clinging, sniveling women didn’t interest him. Rachel’s courage, free spirit and self-reliance captivated him thoroughly.
Which was the main reason he planned to leave the medicine show after the two upcoming performances in Possum Grove and Evening Shade. This dead-end attraction to Rachel exasperated him. She took great pains to keep her distance from him, after the intimate encounter at first meeting. In fact, the only time she wanted him around was to guard the alleys when she hiked off to change costumes for her performances.
