by Carol Arens
To her way of thinking, if Coulson died it would be because Billings was a better town.
She looked with interest at the lawman standing behind and to the right of the speaker. His matted hair stood on end, and his long beard brushed the shotgun that he clutched across his chest.
All of a sudden she felt Lantree stiffen. Grandfather cursed, his bony hand fisted into a ball.
“He’s noticed her,” Lantree said.
She shifted her gaze to find the speech giver staring directly at her while the crowed cheered his remark about Coulson becoming a great hub of commerce.
“I was hoping to announce the engagement before Mike told him about our girl.” Grandfather curled his arm about her shoulder and squeezed.
“He’s Smothers?” It made her stomach turn to think that if it hadn’t been for a convenient hole in the ground she might, at this moment, be that man’s very miserable bride.
“You have nothing to fear from him.” Grandfather patted her shoulder. “He’s got a big mouth and loves power, but when it comes down to it, I reckon he’s yellow to the bone. He won’t try anything, not with your big, strapping fiancé to protect you.”
Grandfather and Lantree exchanged a quick glance that they probably didn’t want her to notice. Perhaps this Smothers was more dangerous than her protectors were letting on.
“That’s right. Our engagement will keep you safe.” He grinned at her and winked, a silent acknowledgment of their private agreement.
Lantree clicked to the team and steered them toward the general store.
While her big strapping “intended” went inside to purchase some things for Barstow, Grandfather took her for a walk.
He introduced her to the folks they passed on the boardwalk. She was surprised that nearly everyone knew him.
“Doc Brody, I’d like to introduce my granddaughter, Rebecca Lane,” he said to a saloon-keeper who had come out of his establishment to breathe some fresh air. “She and my foreman, you recall Lantree, are engaged. We’ve come to town to spread the good news.”
“You have my best wishes, Miss Lane.” The saloon owner appeared pleased with the announcement. “Walker is a good man. I’ve reason to know that.”
By George, she’d never met a saloon-keeper before. He didn’t seem to be a wicked person. There would be the devil to pay, though, if Aunt Eunice ever discovered that she had shaken his hand and accepted his good wishes.
But Aunt Eunice would not find out. A sense of lightness, an awareness of new freedom, made her smile from her heart. If Rebecca turned cartwheels in the street...barefoot...her aunt would never know.
It wasn’t as if Grandfather did not put restrictions on her behavior, but those were simply a matter of her safety. As far as social behavior went, she was free to shake Doc Brody’s hand.
Grandfather and Doc Brody spoke for a few moments about the arrival of the railroad in August.
When the men finished their conversation, she and Grandfather walked on, speaking with this farmer and that drunk. Once he even introduced her to a woman named Sweetbriar who wore rouge on her lips.
“I know that your aunt raised you with high standards, Rebecca, and I hope you aren’t offended by the folks I’m introducing you to, but the more people who know about your engagement, the less chance there is of Smothers getting away with anything.”
“What Aunt Eunice does not know will not shame her.”
After an hour of strolling with Grandfather she discovered that there was something that respectable folks and not-so-respectable folks had in common.
One and all, they were excited about the arrival of the railroad. The thrill of what was coming fairly buzzed in the air. Prosperity was on the way...the threat of Billings notwithstanding.
As they walked, passing the trading post, a saloon and then the bank, she said, “Coulson isn’t quite as wicked as I first thought.”
“It’s early, Rebecca. Come sundown, people will get drunk and mean. Even some of the ones that you met who seemed polite as pie.”
Approaching the sheriff’s office, she spotted the lawman studying the wanted posters tacked to the outside wall.
“He seems an odd one,” she muttered.
Grandfather blew out a breath. “Liver-Eating Johnson is not a man to cross.”
With a grunt and a shake of his head, Johnson went back inside his office.
If the broadsheets were anything to go by, there were certainly a lot of wanted men...and even one woman. Some of the posts looked old and crinkled, others new and bright.
In Kansas City, she had never even seen a—
All at once, she gasped. She dashed toward the wall and snatched a broadsheet off its nail. She prayed that Johnson had not seen her do it. This had to be an illegal act.
Well, by the saints, she did not care.
“Moreland!” a voice shouted.
The mayor strode toward them, his well-fed belly leading the way. She dashed the paper behind her back, wadded it into a ball.
“Stand behind me, Rebecca,” Grandfather ordered, as if by doing so she would be hidden from Smothers’s sight.
She felt silly ducking behind him, but Grandfather had his pride and she would not injure it. That didn’t mean her mind was not at work figuring a way to best avoid the portly mayor in the event he made a move to snatch her. She ought to have brought Screech along. The bird was protective and he had a mean beak.
“Did your man deliver my message?” Evidently Smothers was not big on social talk. He went straight to the heart of the matter. “I need trees... I’ll pay fair price.”
“Get your trees from somewhere else. Mine aren’t for sale.”
“The future of this town is at stake. It’s your civic duty to hand them over.”
“My duty is to protect my granddaughter. Just so you understand, I’ll skin you if you look sideways at her. Mike might have given you some ideas in regards to her, but you’d best forget all about them. Let’s go, Rebecca. Your intended is waiting for us at the hotel.” Grandfather took her arm and turned her away, but not before she noticed that the mayor’s face was turning red...nearly purple to be accurate.
“Intended? My congratulations to the bride.” Smothers’s lip lifted at one corner in an unattractive sneer. “I wish you...luck.”
That was as bald a threat as she’d ever heard. It didn’t set well to let it go without a response but Grandfather was hustling her away so quickly that all she had time to do was toss back a glare.
* * *
Hershal had done his part by escorting Rebecca about town and announcing the engagement. Now it was time for Lantree to play his role.
“You ready for this?” he asked Rebecca.
She slipped her arm through his and nodded.
They stood on the front porch of the new hotel. It hadn’t been here last time he was in town. Evidently the place had been tacked together in a hurry in anticipation of the newcomers who would be arriving by train in August.
“I don’t think it’s the best idea to be out in the open,” she whispered.
“I understand this is uncomfortable for you, but I can’t think of another way to make sure folks believe we are in love, ready to make the big leap.”
“It’s not that, Lantree, I need to tell you what—”
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Smothers coming out of the barbershop across the street. There was nothing to be done but cut straight to the matter at hand.
He kissed Rebecca Lane. She had been in the middle of speaking but he cut her off. Let her protest later if she wanted to.
Her lips lay under his, tense and unresponsive. He couldn’t say why he was disappointed. This was all for show and they both knew it. Maybe he had hoped to taste more of the fire that he had sampled in the barn. He had reason to
know that there was a great deal of passion inside this self-appointed old maid. Some devil inside urged him to put kindling to her flame.
Deepening the kiss, he drew her in, closer to his heart.
Next, he brushed her ear with his lips, as though he were whispering endearments.
“Sorry...didn’t mean to pounce, but Smothers is across the street,” he murmured and caught a whiff of her scent, the very scent that had intrigued him from the very first day.
He felt her sudden intake of breath. She leaned into him then looped her arms about his neck.
“He frightens me and I don’t mind admitting it...but what I was trying to tell you—” She gazed up at him, so pretty and sincere. Her lips pouted as though she wanted another kiss. Anyone watching would believe it. By hell, he nearly believed it. “—was that I found this.”
“I love you, too, Muffin,” he declared loud enough for a man weaving down the boardwalk to overhear.
“Not as much as I love you, Tadpole.”
Tadpole? She reached into her pocket then pressed a wad of paper into his hand. It felt suspiciously like a broadsheet.
Smothers walked one door down then entered the Scarlet Dove Saloon. There was no missing his parting glare before he closed the big red door behind him.
The man might be the mayor, but there was nothing of the upstanding citizen about him. He was as crooked as most everyone else in Coulson.
“Don’t be frightened... I’m here, Becca.”
She lifted up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Even though the affectionate gesture was not genuine, it sent a thrill racing through his blood.
“Let’s skip the rest of our walk,” she whispered, her breath beating warm against his ear. “You need to see what I just handed you. Besides, Grandfather is waiting for us in the dining room.”
He nibbled her lips, whispering between pecks, “I’ve seen the like before. You need a ring.”
“But you—”
“I’m relieved to know that my brother has not been hanged yet.”
He kissed her again but she did not respond to the coaxing of his mouth, not even with a sigh. In the end, as much as he’d like to get a reaction from her, it was best that he hadn’t.
For both of their sakes, it might be best to leave some fires unstirred.
He led her across the street with his arm about her shoulder, demonstrating to anyone who was watching, and many people were, that she was his.
At the trading post, he bought her a set of glimmering gold rings. He slipped the engagement ring onto her finger then tucked the wedding band into his pocket.
No one was looking at them, but her eyes widened anyway. When she glanced up at him with a smile, it did something to his heart.
Twenty minutes later, he and Rebecca sat at a table in the hotel dining room sharing a bottle of wine with Hershal.
As much as he didn’t want to dwell on the poster that Rebecca had snatched from the sheriff’s door, he wondered how many people had seen it. Perhaps he ought to make some kind of public announcement that he was not Boone Walker.
But hell and damn, he’d tried that once before and still spent a week in jail. He couldn’t afford to be locked up for even a day, not with having to watch out for Rebecca.
Tonight his boss was full of satisfaction, believing that his harebrained scheme was working.
So far, nothing had happened to indicate that it wasn’t.
But there was a feeling in Lantree’s bones that trouble was coming.
Could be that the uneasiness was due to seeing Boone’s image and the dollar amount that his brother’s life was going for. Or it could be something more imminent.
Either way, it would be a long, restless night.
* * *
Rebecca sat on her bed and gazed about the hotel room. It was small but clean. The paint still smelled fresh. If one did not hear the debauched heartbeat of Coulson’s nightlife pulsing through the thin walls, one would be able to sleep.
If she could close her eyes without reliving Lantree’s kiss she might be able to doze. She sighed, suspecting that the memory of that hot, earth-tipping moment might keep her awake forever.
It had taken her entire power of will not to melt and moan against him. It would have been so easy to forget they were actors in a skit.
Even if circumstances were not what they were, a man like Lantree, so big and well muscled, so very virile, would not be attracted to a big, plain-looking woman. The sooner she laid to rest the forbidden feelings that he had stirred up inside her, the better off she would be.
Perhaps the fact that these feelings were forbidden was what made them so intense. That was something to consider.
Drumming her fingers on the coverlet, she continued to glance about the room, looking for some distraction.
Maybe she ought to recite her well-practiced reasons why remaining a spinster was for the best.
One, no man would tell her what to do... Two... Blame it, the reasons were beginning to fade. However, the part about no man ever telling her that he loved her was thundering in her mind.
By the saints! She looked high and low for something of interest to douse that thought.
Lantree had warned her not to open the window. Grandfather had threatened dire consequences if she did.
But it was near midnight and the room still held the heat of the day. The temperature outside had to be cooler than it was inside.
She could scarcely breathe the heavy air. Her shift was drenched in sweat. It stuck to her skin, hot and clammy.
If she disobeyed and opened her window, Grandfather had guaranteed that a reprobate would climb through it. But if she did not open her window she would suffocate.
She got out of bed and slid the window up a few inches.
In the unlikely event that an intruder tried to creep through the crack, she would make sure to be prepared.
She glanced about the dim space. There was a brass candlestick on the writing desk. Beside the desk was a wooden chair. She would make simple work of the miscreant by knocking him over with the chair then rendering him unconscious with the candlestick.
This was an excellent plan for two reasons. The first was that an unconscious intruder would be unable to assault her. And the second was that it would prove to Grandfather and Lantree that she was well able to take care of herself under any circumstance.
When she thought about it, she would be doing Lantree a favor. Now, with Boone’s likeness having been on public view for who knew how long, he was going to have to leave the ranch and look for a safer place to live. But where could that possibly be? If Montana was not safe enough, where would be?
By George, she really was doing him a favor. When he discovered how well she was able to take care of herself and Grandfather, he would be able to ride off with a clear conscience.
She plucked the candlestick from the table then scooted the chair across the floor and set it beside the bed.
She was right about the air being cooler outside. A blessed draft blew in through the crack. She fanned the neckline of her shift against her skin and then climbed back into bed. Sitting up, she rested her head against the headboard.
By the saints, her eyelids were heavy. What could it hurt to close them, as long as she kept her ears open in the odd chance that Grandfather was right?
* * *
Grandfather was right!
From outside, someone slid the window open, the new wood barely scratching the frame.
Beneath the quilt, she curled her fingers about the candlestick. As desperately as she wanted to see who the intruder was she squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep.
A hand shook her shoulder, gripping hard.
“Mama play ball with baby,” she murmured, slurring her speech. She hoped the villain would
make a comment and she would recognize his voice.
“A sleep talker, eh?”
Mike! She ought to have known it would be him. Anger snaked through her chest while her heart beat as fast as a trapped bird’s.
He leaned close to her ear. His breath smelled like alcohol and sausage. She would have wrinkled her nose in distaste if she hadn’t been so deeply “asleep.”
“I don’t think the talking will trouble Smothers, girlie. You’ve got other ways of keeping him entertained at night.”
She yawned loudly and let the cover slip off one breast. This was not the type of bait she cared to use, but her chest was covered by her shift and this was a desperate situation.
He sucked in his breath. “I reckon the mayor won’t mind if I take a squeeze of you since the vows between you all aren’t said yet.”
“Slimy frog in your pants,” she murmured faux-sleepily, then slammed the candlestick against his temple.
Mike crumpled to the floor.
She knelt beside him, quickly searching his pockets for a weapon. The inside pocket of his coat bulged, but not with a gun. She withdrew a wad of money.
Moving quickly, she backed away and counted it.
“Well, Mike, just points out the truth in the old saying, ‘crime doesn’t pay.’”
She took what he had stolen from her then rained the rest down on his slack-jawed face.
By George, things had worked out well. Here her attacker lay on the floor, just as she had envisioned. He had given back what he had stolen, and as soon as she dashed down the hallway and told Lantree and Grandfather what had happened, they would finally understand that she was well able to take care of herself.
Brimming with the pride of a job well-done and wishing she could tell Melinda all about it she tossed the door open.
“Oh!” She had nearly rushed out without her robe. She spun about to take it off its wall peg.
An arm closed about her throat, squeezing. A fat belly pressed against her derriere.
“See here.” The speaker was not the one holding her and making her see stars. “That’s no way to treat the woman—”
