Calder stared at the shack where Wilda slept. He wanted the man who’d done this to her, wanted to make sure Rachel was okay. “No, I’m just going to ride off in that direction. I’ll be careful, look around, see what I can see.”
For a long moment, Baron said nothing, just tongued the straw around. “I don’t think you want to leave her here with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You ain’t going to do something to her, are you?”
“Well, no, but she don’t like me much, and I think she might not want to be here alone with me.”
Calder tilted his head and studied his friend. What was going on here? Something strange, off kilter. Before he could think on it further, Baron went on. “Suppose they get you, you don’t come back. Then what am I supposed to do with her?”
“Well, hell, how should I know? I don’t even know what to do with her myself. This crazy idea of her helping us rob that bank. What if something happens and she gets hurt, killed even? What do you think came over her, she wants to be an outlaw? Thinks maybe it’d be a lark?”
“Who knows with women? I say she wants to she can help us. She knows the layout and hell, she wants to do it. Who are we to deny her? I just don’t aim to carry out the robbery without you, not in broad daylight.”
“Well, I’m coming back, so there’s no need to worry about that. I’ll just go in there and tell her I’m going on over to Rachel’s for a bit.”
Baron shrugged. “Whatever you say, but I ain’t fetching and toting for her, and I sure as hell ain’t taking her to the outhouse, so you’d best hurry on back.”
Calder punched his friend’s arm. “Not afraid of a little ole woman, are you? Hell, she cain’t weigh no more than a sack of feed.”
“Afraid, no. Leery, yes. I don’t rightly trust her completely. Can’t figure out why a girl like her wants to be stole and dragged off to a place like this.” He swept an arm around to indicate the mean surroundings. His eyes squinted and he stared toward the shack. “You don’t suppose it’s a trap, do you? What if they sent her to trick you into this and she gets word to them about the bank robbery and they’re waiting for us? Did you ever think of that? Huh?” Baron grew agitated with the idea.
“Hell, no, why would I? She wouldn’t do that. All she wanted was to get away from marrying that remittance man. He’s mean to her, she told me so. Besides, she coulda had them waiting for me at Fairhaven if she’d been in cahoots with them.”
“Unless they want all of us.”
Calder stared past Baron toward the open door. She’d never agree to such a thing. Doubt clouded his mind. He really didn’t know her that well. Suppose—?
Baron interrupted his train of thought. “What does she intend to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she surely didn’t figure to ride the trail with us the rest of her days. I say she’ll be right back in that old stone castle snuggling up to that Englishman, and we’ll be locked up in some pen somewhere. You just got your head set on poking her, cain’t see the truth for that purty smile of hers.”
“No, it’s not possible.” In spite of his denial, Calder wasn’t all too sure. Baron made a crazy kind of sense. It would explain why Wilda approached him with that crazy kidnapping scheme.
If it was true, who beat her and why? When he thought about it, that was easy to figure out. After all, she hadn’t really been hurt, just slammed around a bit. She could be faking the headache and dizzy spells. Her arms were bruised, but that was all. No other marks on her. Well, what part of her he could see. What if she did have second thoughts about betraying him and they gave her a little lesson? How could he have thought a girl like her could fall for his sweet charms? That’d be the day, huh?
“I’m telling you, it is possible,” Baron said, after giving Calder a while to ponder what he’d said. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Let me talk to her,” Calder said, his plan to ride over to Rachel’s forgotten. If what Baron said was true, Rachel was in no danger. The only ones in danger were he and Baron.
“What good that’ll do, I have no idea. She gives you one little look and winds you around her finger like warm taffy candy. Why don’t I talk to her and you stay outside and listen? Maybe I can trip her up. Course, she’s apt to say anything, so we gotta be careful what we believe. Right?”
Gripped once again by Baron’s flint-eyed gaze, Calder could only nod.
On the way up the steps, he said, “You don’t lay a hand on her, you don’t hurt her, you hear? And I’m coming in with you to make sure.”
Baron didn’t reply and Calder grabbed his arm. “You hear?”
“I hear,” the dark man growled. “Dammit, I hear.”
****
Wilda’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the day before. A kettle stood on the cook stove and she moved carefully, favoring her injured hip, lifted the cover and peered in. A rancid smell drifted from the mess inside and she slammed the lid back down, nearly gagging.
Footsteps at her back startled her and she turned too quickly, leaning against the cold stove to keep from toppling on her face.
“Feeling better?” Baron asked with a sneer.
Calder punched him.
“I’m starved. You can’t mean to eat this, it’s spoiled.”
“There’s some side meat in that sack,” Calder said. Something in his voice alerted her to a change in his demeanor, yet his expression remained friendly.
He fetched the greasy cloth from its hook and peered inside. “It’s a little green, but we can trim it.” He tossed the meat onto the table.
Disgust shriveled her hunger pangs. “This is a wonderful way to live. Eating rotten food or none at all. I should think you’d both be ashamed, grown men going about stealing from people who work for a living and settling for such as this.”
“You asked to come here,” Baron growled, retrieving the side meat. He pulled a hunting knife from the sheath on his belt and began to trim away the mold. “You might fetch some kindling for a fire while I do this.” He pointed a stare at Calder.
She didn’t miss Baron’s raised eyebrows, nor the look that passed quickly between them. Calder glanced at her, then back at Baron, who jerked his head toward the door. Shooting her another glance, Calder headed for the door.
He was leaving her alone with this monster, this beast. Clutching at the stove, she sent a silent plea his way, but he kept right on going.
Baron continued to prepare the meat, flicking her an occasional glance. “You feeling better, are you?”
Throat so dry she could hardly speak, she managed to murmur, “I suppose.” Her knees wobbled and she moved to sit in one of the chairs as far from Baron as possible.
He pinned her with a deadly stare that sent a shiver down her spine. “That’s good, cause we need to get this job done and be off. Think we’ll light out for Dodge City or Abilene when it’s done. No sense setting around waiting for a posse to show up. What’re your plans?”
“My plans?”
“Yeah, your plans. After we pull this off, what’re you going to do?”
“Why, I guess I didn’t think.”
“We’re not gonna let you out of our sight, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Before we pull the job. If I have to tie you up, you ain’t leaving here.”
She cleared her throat, tried to find her voice, but couldn’t. What was he getting at? One good thing, he hadn’t come near her. If he did, she’d scream and tell Calder everything. Let the two of them fight it out. She was tired of being afraid of this man. And if Calder didn’t defend her, then she’d find some way to escape the two of them.
Calder clattered in with a few sticks of wood in his arms. He knelt by the stove, stirred up the ashes from the day before and started a fire. Not once did he look her way. Soon the small cabin heated up, and she went out on the porch and sat on an upturned crate. Despite what the meat looked like, it smelled good cooking. She was only too
glad to eat her share when he brought it outside still in the skillet. Baron joined them, grabbing up a few pieces before sitting on one of the porch steps.
The meat was hot and Calder juggled a piece back and forth before handing it to her.
“Sorry about the accommodations. Reckon you’re used to better.”
“Some. But damask tablecloths and silver and china don’t make up for bad manners.”
He glanced at her, a strange expression in his green eyes. “No, I don’t reckon they do. But some folks will tolerate anything to be comfortable…rich.”
“What will you tolerate to be rich? The law always on your heels? Nightmares about hanging at the end of a rope? That is what they do to outlaws out here in your wild west, is it not?”
He handed her another slice of meat. “Not unless they catch ’em, ma’am. Do you reckon they’re gonna catch me?”
Oh, dear Lord, I hope not, she prayed, but kept her mouth shut. It was not pleasant, the way he called her ma’am like that. So formal, cold. She squeezed her eyes closed to keep from looking into his handsome face, reading what she feared might be there.
Baron grumbled something, rose and stomped back inside. Silence hovered over both of them like a dark cloud. She concentrated on chewing the last bit of meat.
From the shack came a clattering and she glanced in. Baron sat at the table cleaning his pistol. The hostile gaze he shot in her direction sent a fresh wave of alarm through her that clutched at her insides like a great fist.
“You can’t change me, you know,” Calder said with a sharpness she’d never heard in his voice before.
When she didn’t reply, he went on.
“Turn me into one of your English dandies.”
She touched his rigid arm. “I don’t want to change you. I like you just the way you are.”
“So, instead of changing me, you’ll change. Turn into an outlaw? Somehow I can’t see you doing that.”
“Why are you angry with me?”
He still refused to look at her, but stared toward the river, where fish hit the surface gleaming like silver dollars in the sunlight.
“Look at me. Tell me what’s happened to make you so angry.”
Instead of answering her, he rose and went inside. She sat there a long time, listening to the two men talking in low tones. Something bad was going on and it terrified her. She felt abandoned and alone, afraid of what would happen.
Chapter Thirteen
Rowena’s Diary
June 6, 1875, Sunday Night
Tyra did not return to the house until after the moon rose over the horizon. It was very late; the grandfather clock had struck one when I heard her. I am so confused and disturbed, I know not what I should do. For I confronted her when she crept up the stairs, and learned something dreadful.
“Where have you been and how did you get in the house? Look at you, scurrying about carrying your shoes so as to not be discovered.” All these words I uttered in a harsh whisper, all the same afraid someone would hear.
She had not seen me lying in wait and squeaked like a little mouse. “You frightened me half to death. What are you doing out of bed?”
“Answer my question, I will answer yours. Where have you been?”
Tousled hair awry, she stuck her firm little chin out, challenging me. “Riding.”
“Until this hour? And with whom?”
“No one. I went riding, that’s all.”
I did not believe her, but that was not the reason I had sat up long after my bedtime to confront the little scamp. “Shall we go to your room? I want to talk and I am afraid we will be overheard here in the hallway.”
She scurried along ahead of me, both of us being careful not to make a sound in our stocking feet. Inside her room, where she had left the lamp turned low, I saw that she wore men’s riding breeches and shirt, both of which were much too large for her small frame. Flushed from whatever activity she had actually been about, she stubbornly refused to say much. I am afraid I thought the worst, for at that moment I suspicioned she must be messing about with the groom in the haystack. Considering how she smelled, there was no doubt about her riding activities.
She turned up the lamp beside her bed, its flame reflecting in her wide blue eyes glaring at me in accusation. “Just what are you up to, spying on me in such a fashion?”
“How dare you be indignant, you little scamp. Running about like a wild animal, and you barely seventeen. You are just like your mother.”
Well, I guess I should have watched my tongue, for she came at me enraged. “Don’t you talk about my mother in that tone. Yours was the same. They were just alike, and I’m proud to be like them as well. Wilda is too. You’re the old maid prude.”
“Just what do you mean, Wilda is too? What do you know about all th-this disgraceful occurrence?”
She turned away from me quickly. “Nothing. I know no more than you do.”
I took her by the shoulders, fairly shook her until her teeth rattled. “You will tell me now, young lady. Something horrible could happen to her out there with God knows who or what. Do not be foolish. Do you want to be the cause of her death?”
“She won’t die. It’s nothing like that, I promise you.”
“Then tell me.” I am ashamed to say it, but at that moment I lost control and slapped her quite soundly across the face. “Is this all a game, cooked up by the two of you? Who helped you? You’ll tell me or answer to Lord Prescott. He will not be so kind to you, I promise you that.”
The imprint of my hand bloomed on a cheek suddenly awash with tears. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t tell him. He’s why she—”
“Why she what? What has she done?”
“You can hack off my fingers and cut out my tongue, I’ll never tell you. So there. Now, get out of my room.”
I did as she asked, having no choice, for she looked about to shout down the house. But I knew that I had to go to Blair with the story. He was beside himself with worry and had to know that this so called kidnapping was no more than a prank that could surely be set to rights. Even so, I am sure he will be furious.
At that very moment I contemplated going straight to his rooms with my story, but decided to wait until morning. He had no doubt drank himself into slumber, and nothing could be done before daylight, in any case. I must admit that I am sorely tempted to say nothing, now that I know in all probability Wilda is in no immediate danger. Blair is sure to turn to me one day if she never returns. But that I cannot do, for I love my sister as much as I love him. And I know what is best for her as well. And it is not running about out in the wilds with some ne’er-do-well who would agree to such a plot. A scruffy outlaw who robs trains.
So I must stop writing and go to sleep if I am to awake early and speak to Blair. I am sure in time Tyra will forgive me, but perhaps Wilda never will.
****
Late Sunday afternoon, Wilda awoke from a nap bathed in perspiration. The sheltering cottonwood trees around the shack only slightly tempered the heat of the afternoon sun. Grateful that her headache appeared to have abated, she rose gingerly, pampering her sore muscles.
Around her all was deathly still. She heard no conversation, no movement about the place. Only the singing of tree leaves in the incessant wind. Surely they had not gone off and left her here alone.
Creeping onto the porch, she took in her surroundings. No sign of men or horses. She crossed the yard, picked her way to the privy. When she came out nothing yet stirred except the wind that lifted her heavy hair, played around her skirts, cooled her body through the perspiration-soaked bodice. From nearby the sound of flowing water beckoned and she followed its call to a small pool nearby. The catch basin where she had seen Calder fill a bucket of water earlier.
A growth of bushes sheltered the place somewhat, so that no one riding in could see it. How good it would feel to bathe in that pool of clear water. What if someone came along? Caught her? She lifted her hair, ran a hand over gritty skin. It was worth the risk.
After a cautionary glance, she slipped into the shelter of the copse and quickly removed her dress, shoes and shredded stockings. The bruise on her hip where Baron had kicked her was ugly and sore, otherwise, she felt a bit better.
How wicked to be naked in the sunlight that filtered through the overhanging trees. What if Calder came? Saw her? Tore off his clothes and joined her? For a moment or two she enjoyed the fantasy, then dipped one foot into the pool.
The water was unexpectedly cold, and she gasped but waded in up to her waist. She washed Rachel’s soiled dress as best she could without soap and spread it across an overhanging bush.
Then she submerged herself completely and surfaced spluttering, closed her eyes and lay back, letting the icy water support her. How delightful to just lie there, thoughts drifting.
She had no idea how long she floated there, eyes closed, mind embracing the peculiar idea of lying so exposed. It was unusually liberating.
Nearby something splashed, sent ripples over her mouth and nose. Rising, she wiped her eyes, saw Calder peering down at her. Folding both arms over her bare breasts, she gazed up at him in an attempt to gauge his mood.
“Hello, there. I’ll bet that feels good. It sure looks good.” He squatted beside the spring, a stone in one hand, grinned outrageously at her and dropped it into the water. “You looked so peaceful I hated to disturb you.”
“Then why did you?” Glancing down, she realized that he could see her wavering naked form in the clear water.
As if he knew precisely what she was thinking, his lips curled in a crooked grin. “I’m asking myself the same thing. I could sit here and watch you all day.”
“Go away. Turn around. Stop staring at me.”
He nodded, but didn’t go away. “That’s not so easy. You are one fine looking lady, you know that?”
At this very moment she could have this man. His expression told her so, but the rigid Victorian principles by which she had always lived forbade such a thing. Forbade even the thought, though heaven knew she’d broken that rule often enough since meeting him. Yet she no longer trusted him. He ought to have prevented what happened with Baron. An irrational thought, yet one she couldn’t get rid of.
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