Strange, sure didn’t act like a boy. Still, the way he was dressed…
Calder shrugged and followed Smith across the dusty road toward the Manor. He was hungry enough to eat a horse with a bear chaser, but anxious as he was to read that note, he dared not open it until he was alone.
What could she possibly have written him about?
By the time they returned from a tasteless English supper, and he scooted off to his small room and lit a lantern to read by, he was nervous as a stallion around a filly.
The note looked as if it had been wadded. Perhaps she’d had second thoughts. He read the neatly scripted words twice before he made sense out of them, and even then he wasn’t so sure he understood. She wanted him to come to Fairhaven, hide in the barn and signal her he was there. Hell of a thing. Sounded almost like he might be saving her life. He couldn’t figure that out at all. Still, who could say no to a woman like her? Maybe it was a trick and the sheriff would be there waiting to clap him in chains and drag him off to jail. Or worse, some vigilante posse ready to string him up to a beam. Right there in that fancy barn.
That was stupid. If that was her wish, why go to such trouble when all she had to do was turn him in to the sheriff? Whatever it was, he couldn’t very well not go. Curiosity would soon get the best of him. He’d be a fool not to answer a call for help from such a lovely lady.
Calder hesitated, gazed at her handwriting, ran a fingertip over the swirl of each letter, so feminine and exquisite. Sniffed at the paper and its flowering fragrance.
God, what was wrong with him? This could mean nothing good for him at all. What in the world could this woman want with a no-account outlaw fixing to rob the bank in the very town where she lived? Such a meeting was dangerous and foolish. For both of them. Well, he wouldn’t go out there and wait in the dark like a summoned servant. His turn to wad the blamed thing up and throw it away before he did something so utterly dumb he ought to be taken out and shot. Might be, in fact. He held the balled paper in his palm for a moment, then opened it carefully, smoothed out the wrinkles and folded it into his pocket.
Blowing out the lantern, he fetched Gabe, threw a saddle on him and led him around front. Ought to go now, before he lost his nerve. Find out what this was all about. Smith was staying with a family up the street, so he didn’t have to explain where he was going to anyone. All he had to do was mount up and ride out to Fairhaven.
Once there, what then? Signal her. Perhaps there’d be a lantern in the barn he could light. Wave it around like some fool. Who knew who might see it? Who might come a running. Who might shoot him for a trespasser, no questions asked. Or she could expect him to hoot like a blamed owl.
Toeing the stirrup, he lifted himself into the saddle and clicked his tongue at the bay. Called himself all sorts of a fool. Might as well face it. There wasn’t a chance in hell of him not going out there. She might as well have waved a sack of gold coins in front of him. Or lifted those cumbersome skirts to reveal a shapely ankle. Trap or no trap, it was set and him faunching to spring the blamed thing. Couldn’t wait.
Women could very well be the death of a man. Could turn ’em all stupid and gaga eyed, tripping over our own tongues with our whackers stuck out like a pump handle. He chuckled at the amusing picture.
With the lights of town at his back, he kicked the gelding into a gallop, all the while muttering aloud, like Gabe might care what was up. “Always were a fool for a pretty face. Especially one you know you don’t stand a chance with. Don’t need…don’t want. Got better things to do. Got to rob me a danged bank.”
A golden moon slipped above the horizon to shine in Calder’s face, and bask the rolling plains in its glow. A night breeze cooled the heat of day, carrying the scent of prairie flowers and the Smoky River off to the south. Tempting to simply ride on down there, stop by the hideout and have coffee with Deke and Baron, forget all this nonsense. But he didn’t. Sure as hell, they’d want to know what he’d done about casing the bank, which was absolutely nothing. In the two days he’d been in Victoria City, he hadn’t once gone near the bank. The only reason he was there in the first place.
The nearer he got to Fairhaven the more he squirmed. He carried an itch worse than when he went without bathing for a long spell. And at the nape of his neck, a creepy feeling that something was about to happen that might change his life forever. But he couldn’t know a thing like that, could he? That was fear of the unknown, the same as he felt every time he boarded a railroad car, pulled the hammer back on his Colt and shouted, “Be easy, ladies and gents, while I relieve you of your valuables.”
Only this time, he figured someone was about to relieve him of something, and it might be more valuable than a gold watch or ring. He touched the pocket that held her cross. Ought to return it to her, even if he couldn’t help her out any.
At the crest of the hill, he reined up and stared down at the Englishman’s castle. Eerie sight, out here on the plains. Over yonder was Hays City, the wildest town in the west, where almost daily someone got shot or hung. A town even Wild Bill Hickok hadn’t tamed. Close at hand, the fort was filled with soldiers who had two things on their minds. Women and fighting. And these folks come across the waters to build castles almost within shooting distance of both. Sure was strange.
He forced his mind back to Fairhaven and this most unusual assignation. Best if he didn’t go riding right in. Most of the windows were lit, like these foreign folks didn’t have anything to spend their money on but candles and coal oil.
Considering the bright moonlight, he gave the place a wide berth, circled around to the west and came in behind the barn, just in case anyone was watching.
Was she looking for him? Or was this some big joke she’d concocted to play him for a fool? Why in God’s name did she need his help? That had a funny ring to it. Like something a man might tell a woman to lure her into his bed. That in itself might not be too bad, but he was certain there was way more to it than a roll in the hay.
At the back of the barn, Calder dismounted quietly, dropped the bay’s reins to the ground and slipped into the shadows. In one of the stalls a horse nickered and Gabe replied. Whispered horsey secrets in the night. He froze and waited, but nothing happened. The smell of leather and droppings mingled with the scent of fresh cut hay. Moonlight splattered like liquid gold through gaps in the unfinished barn. When all remained quiet he moved on toward the other end, which offered a full view of the castle.
He found a lantern hanging on a hook just inside the opening. Hunkered behind the stub of finished rock wall, took a sulfur match from his breast pocket, struck it and touched it to the wick, lowering the glass globe carefully. Well inside the doorframe and down out of the line of fire, he extended the lantern as far as he could into the open. Slowly, he counted to ten, drew the light back, waited a while, then did it again. If she didn’t see that, she’d gone blind. Hope to hell no one else had. With a shrug he turned down the wick until it spluttered and went out.
Now he’d wait. Pretty simple, really. Except everything could go wrong. He wished he’d decided how long to give her to show up when he was making his plans. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what a reasonable length of time would be. Five minutes? Twenty? She might have to sneak out and that could take a while. So, he’d give her a while. Why? Because, well…because he wanted to see her again.
Backing his butt up against the wall, he slid to the hay-strewn floor to wait.
****
As soon as everyone retired to their rooms for the night, Wilda crept silently to the library to begin her vigil. How long she would have to await the arrival of Calder Raines, she had no idea, but from the large windows there she would have a clear view of the barn. The servants kept lamps burning in all the ground floor rooms until they retired, so she didn’t have to creep around in the dark getting settled. On the other hand, she must be careful not to get caught if he hadn’t arrived by the time they came to extinguish the lamp in this room.
&nbs
p; Sitting on the floor between the heavy drapes and the window, she hugged her knees and waited. A late rising waning moon peeked above the horizon and trailed across the starlit sky. Its silvery glow illuminated the prairie and barnyard, cast shadows around the skeleton of a barn. After a while, the groom extinguished the lantern in the tack room and in a few minutes rode off toward home. The echo of horse’s hooves faded into the night, and still there was no sign of the outlaw. Perhaps he could not get away…or worse, perhaps he simply would not answer her summons. Ever. How many nights would she wait before searching for another solution to her problem?
The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the silence, chimed its way past ten o’clock. A servant padded into the library and extinguished the lamp. Still no sign that the outlaw had arrived.
Maybe he wasn’t coming. She had been a fool to think he would, a fool to summon him in the first place. Relief and regret left her weak with indecisiveness. There must be another solution to her problem. While she could no doubt survive in this new world, she did not want to be the cause of Rowena and Tyra being turned out as well. Though the way Prescott had looked at Rowena at the table this evening, that might not happen. How nice if he decided to court her sister instead, and be rid of the nuisance of a woman who did not love him, did not even like him. Pride would probably keep him from doing so, though, and the dolt was stuffed to the ears with that.
She had almost made up her mind to give up her vigil and speak to Rowena about such a possibility when a light flickered from amidst the framework of the barn. Rubbing her eyes, she looked again. Yes, it was a lantern burning, though it appeared to float there like an apparition. Keeping her eyes on the wavering light, she rose on legs that trembled so she was forced to brace herself against the windowsill.
There it was again. She must go. Now.
Before she could take a step the light went out. Disappeared, just like that. Panic surged through her. What if he thought she was not coming? What if he left? She could not let him go.
She scurried to the door, inched it open and peeked out. No one was about. With a deep breath, she raced to the big front doors, grabbed the handle and heaved. It refused to open.
They had been locked for the night.
Wait for me. Oh, please, wait. It was all she could do to prevent shouting the words aloud.
Fleeing back to the library, she fumbled with the cumbersome latch on one of the windows. The drumming of her heart most certainly could be heard throughout the immense house. Under frantic fingers the latch finally gave, but the window was stuck. Muscles straining, she shoved upward with all her might. The wooden frame shifted with a squeal. She shuddered, paused, listened for someone to come investigate. All remained quiet. Frantic, she shoved the window wider. It groaned and squealed again. Surely someone heard this time.
With scarcely space enough for her to slip through, she bundled her skirts and the accursed crinoline hoops and squeezed her way out of the gap. When she dropped to the ground, she felt a tug, heard a rip, but kept moving. No doubt she had left a part of her dress hanging out the window, but there was nothing to do about that now.
The open space between the house and barn, lit almost bright as day by the moon, made for perilous crossing. All someone had to do was glance out a window and they would see her. It would all be over and Prescott would have himself one royal fit. Probably tie her to the bed until their wedding day. Even as she ran, she imagined eyes boring into her back, hunched against a shout that could come at any moment. But heard only the song of the wind through the prairie grasses. With a great sigh of relief, she plunged into the huge stone structure, stood there panting. Squinted beyond long fingers of moonlight. Saw nothing. No one.
“Psst, over here.”
“Is that you?” she asked in a subdued voice.
“Unless it’s someone else.”
“Mr. Raines?”
“Not hardly. He’s dead.”
She almost choked, feared she would lose her dinner right then and there. “Dead?” She could hardly get the words out. “Then who are you?”
A figure materialized from the shadows. “It’s his son, Calder Raines. Good Lord, girl, did you send for an army? Just who were you expecting, anyway?”
“But why did you say you were…? Oh, never mind. We need to talk.”
“I got that from your note, but not much more.”
“Oh, I am so glad you came. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
“Well, I did. Could you tell me why? I did so, that is, why you… Durn it.”
She drew herself up, grateful she could not see his expression, nor he hers, when she voiced her request. Before she could, he went on impatiently.
“Well? It must’ve been damned important for you to ask me out here. I got the feeling you didn’t think too much of me the last time we met.”
“Oh, that’s not true. I mean, I do not, really. I mean…it is not you I do not think…that is precisely why I asked you, because you are…I mean…”
“Well, for God’s sake, woman. I’m feeling sort of like a calf at a branding. I’m a no-good thief, I think we’ve established that. Now please stop your babbling and tell me what could you possibly need with such a man as me?”
“That isn’t the only reason. I mean, that you’re a thief. I didn’t know anyone else to ask, and frankly I thought you might be, well, you are of the criminal element, and so—”
“Funny way to talk to me if you want a favor.”
“I only meant that it would be something you would know how to do.”
“Look, can’t we get to whatever this is before my horse dies of old age?”
She was beyond understanding him, but certainly hoped he would understand her. “Talking to someone in the dark is difficult.”
“I get the feeling this is going to be difficult anyway. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
“Spit? I don’t think so.”
“Say what you asked me here for, is what that means.”
“Spit it out? Oh, that is…uh, humorous.” So she presented her idea, with fits and starts, trailing off when he began to laugh.
“You want me to kidnap you so you don’t have to marry this remittance man?”
“Remittance? I… Never mind, that is essentially it, yes. I don’t wish to marry Lord Prescott.”
“What do you think they’ll do to me if they catch us?”
She shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Well, but they are already going to hang you if they catch you. Is that not so? So what difference would it make?”
He uttered some words under his breath that she didn’t understand, but she decided it was best that way. ”I suppose that’s true,” he finally said. “But tell me one reason why I ought to do this. Just one would do, two would be better.”
“Reason?”
“Or are you uppity English so used to having your way you thought all you had to do was ask? What’s in it for me, lady?”
Uppity? How dare he? Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth, and it was a moment before she could go on. Afraid to reply to his second question, for fear he might be getting at something she wouldn’t want to deal with, she answered the first.
“No. I don’t recall ever having my way. Not since my parents were killed and they sent me to that orphanage.”
A short silence, followed by a snort. “Oh, that’s good. Make me feel sorry for you. I watched my father murdered and my mother died of the pox when I was off fighting the damned Yankees, who burned down our house and killed both my brothers. Nobody’s ever given a damn about any of that, and they sure as hell won’t give me any breaks when they go to hang me, so why should I give you any?”
She thought about that. He was right of course. She had said nearly the same on occasion. “I’m sorry about your family, but at least I didn’t start robbing and killing people.”
“No, you just sold yourself to a man and now you want out of it.”
“That’s not exactly true.�
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“And it’s not true I’ve killed…well, except in the war, and that doesn’t count. Where’d you get that idea anyway?”
“I suppose I…oh, I have no idea. I just thought—”
“Thinking’s not good. Tell me, what do you suggest I do with you…that is, if I agree to this crazy idea?”
“Do with me?”
“Well, I can’t carry you around on the back of my horse the rest of my life, or stuff you in my saddle bags and only let you out to…uh, do your business once in a while. I do have one, you know. A life, I mean. Plans too, me and the boys.”
“Boys? What boys?”
“You’re really hard to talk to, you know that?”
“Well, I don’t understand half of what you say. It does make it difficult to converse. Do you have children? Sons?”
“Holy shit. No, I don’t have children. The boys, that’s my gang.”
She batted her eyes at the expletive, tried not to be judgmental. After all, this was another culture, but he certainly possessed a gutter mouth. “The boys are your outlaw gang?”
He snapped his fingers, startled her. “Hey, I got it, you could join the gang. Do the cooking, help us rob banks. How about that?”
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid—”
A low, pleasant laugh interrupted her. “I was only kidding. Don’t you see how impossible this is?”
“I only see how impossible my situation is. Take me to another town where I can hide from him. I cannot marry him, I simply cannot.”
“Then why don’t you just tell him so, and then leave? He can’t force you to stay, can he?”
“Yes, yes he can.” What more could she say? He was not going to help her. Tears gathered, spilled down her cheeks, but she refused to let him know she was crying. He would only see it as a trick of some sort to get her way.
After a moment, she wiped her cheeks and said, “Thank you for coming. Under the circumstances, it was good of you to do so, when you don’t even know me.”
“You’re crying. I’m sorry. Wilda? That is your name?”
Wilda's Outlaw Page 9
