The Tracker

by Mary Burton

  “It’s late in the season, so you won’t see too many customers,” Annie said. “Maybe a few miners. There’ll still be fools who haven’t gotten word the mines are almost played out.”

  Annie had told all this to Ellie four or five times.

  “Go!” Ellie said, shooing them away. “At the rate you two are moving, it’ll be snowing before you leave.”

  The three laughed. Annie and Mike mounted their horses and reined them around toward the stage road that threaded toward the distant mountains. Ellie watched Mike and Annie ride off until they vanished into the horizon.

  She turned back toward the cabin. Except for the gentle whisper of the wind in the trees, there was nothing but silence.

  Ellie folded her arms over her chest. The silence could be louder than the drunks in the brothel and at times just as unnerving. A deep loneliness settled inside her. Except for the two weeks when she’d traveled from Butte to the coach stop, she’d never really been alone before. And the truth was, it didn’t sit well.

  But Rose was thriving in the fresh country air, and they were far away from Butte and Frank Palmer. A little quiet was a small price to pay.

  Ellie headed toward Annie’s two-story stone building. A wooden front porch roped along three sides of the first floor. Black shutters flanked the glass-paned windows. The place was simple, practical to a fault, but there was an inviting air about it.

  Ellie climbed the three front steps and moved inside the coach stop. The first floor was divided into three rooms. A great room on the east side dominated most of the space. This room was the heart of the stop, housing the large dining area and the kitchen. The dining area was simply furnished with an oversize eating table surrounded by eight rope-bottomed chairs. Twin rockers sat in front of a tall stone hearth. The kitchen had a large black stove, worktable and ample wood counter.

  Across from the great room were two other rooms. The one in the back of the house was a large storage room. The second, located near the front door, had also been a storage room once. Though Annie had offered Ellie a room upstairs, she’d always preferred to sleep as far from customers as possible. Annie had allowed Ellie to clean the storeroom out and turn it into a bedroom for her and Rose.

  The upstairs housed Annie’s room, along with three guest rooms for overnight visitors.

  The smell of rabbit stew and fresh bread filled the cabin as Ellie went inside and peeked into her room, where a quilt-lined cradle sat by her bed. Baby Rose slept on her back in the cradle, her little lips pursed into a frown. Ellie smiled, her heart warming as she stared at the child.

  Annie had produced the cradle from the attic when Ellie had first arrived. Later, Mike had told Ellie that Annie had lost her first husband, the original coach stop owner, and a daughter more than twenty years ago. She’d lived here alone since then.

  Emotion tightened Ellie’s throat. She didn’t know what she’d do if she lost Rose. She touched the baby’s cheek. In her heart, the child was hers completely now. “I’ll never leave you, baby girl, never.”

  Being this close to Rose soothed any worries Ellie had about spending the next few weeks alone. They had made it this far.

  “There’s no sense worrying,” she whispered, hugging her arms around her chest.

  She and Rose were far from Butte and Frank Palmer.

  No one was going to find her out here.

  They were safe.

  IT WAS PAST NOON when Nick Baron reached the hill overlooking the Spring Rock station. His gaze skimmed the two-story stone building, corral, barn, pigpen and henhouse.

  He spotted the redheaded woman taking in laundry and knew he’d found the right place. The wind rustled her calico skirts around her ankles and flapped the edges of a sheet she wrestled into a fold.

  For a moment he just sat and stared at her. He’d spent weeks tracking her and now he’d found her. For such a little bit of a woman, she’d been hard to find.

  He watched as Ellie subdued the sheet and put it in the basket.

  Nick had been a fool to let her go that night in Butte. But he’d been so sure that he had Frank, Monty and Jade Palmer and he’d seen no reason to entangle a young woman and a baby in his fight.

  But the precious seconds he’d hesitated with Ellie had been all it had taken for Frank to slip away. He’d questioned Adeline about Jade and Monty and learned that Ellie, a Silver Slipper sporting girl, had disappeared with Jade’s baby. Adeline had grumbled that Ellie was a greedy, ungrateful girl who’d likely learned of the gold from Jade and had run away so she could get it for herself.

  Nick had set out after Frank but heavy rains had washed away the outlaw’s tracks and Nick had lost his trail. He’d searched for Frank for more than a month before he’d given up and directed his sights on Ellie.

  Ellie picked up her laundry basket and headed inside the house.

  If Frank were smart, he’d head north to Canada or south to Mexico, but Nick suspected he’d do neither. He’d not leave Montana without his gold, even though every lawman and bounty hunter in the region was looking for him. Soon, he’d figure out Ellie had been the last to see Jade and he’d come after her.

  Nick didn’t like the idea of using Ellie to get Frank, but there seemed no way around it now. She was his only link to the outlaw now. And until Frank was captured, her life was in danger.

  He kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and rode across the flat land.

  He leaned forward in his saddle. “Ellie Watson!”

  The redhead appeared at the door. She gripped a shotgun in her small hands. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, her skin moon-pale and her hair a bit wild, as if the topknot couldn’t quite hold it. “What can I do for you, mister?”

  Ellie was just as he remembered. She wasn’t a great beauty, but her froth of red curls and moss-green eyes gave her a freshness uncommon to sporting girls. Something about her made him think of afternoons spent naked in a feather bed.

  “I’ve been looking for you for several weeks,” he said.

  She stiffened. “I don’t see why.”

  He climbed down off his horse, but he didn’t approach her. A skittish woman with a loaded gun was nothing to be trifled with. He pulled off his hat so she could see his face clearly. “We met at the Silver Slipper two months ago.”

  She lifted her chin a fraction. The color drained from her cheeks. “I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He could almost hear her mind working. She was wondering if she could make it to that barn behind him and reach one of the horses. She rightly figured she couldn’t. “What do you want?”

  “I want Frank Palmer.”

  A panicked look settled in her eyes. “I don’t know any Frank Palmer.”

  “I spoke with Adeline.” He dropped the horse’s reins and took one step toward her. “Adeline said that you were the last person to see Jade alive. She also said Frank knows that, too.”

  “There were a lot of people in and out of her room toward the end.” Her voice was tight and tense.

  She was a bad liar. “I’ve come to find out what Jade told you about the stolen gold.”

  Her brow knotted. She seemed genuinely confused by his comment. “Jade never said a word to me about gold.”

  She was afraid, but he was willing to be patient. If they stood here long enough, he knew she’d slip up or he could rush her and snatch the gun from her hands. “I know you delivered her baby. It’s understandable that two women who shared what you two did would have a bond.”

  “I don’t know—” A cry drifted out of the cabin. Ellie glanced over her shoulder and then met his gaze again.

  “I see you kept the child,” he said. Admiration washed over him. It couldn’t have been easy to travel the rough country between here and Butte with a baby.

  She was silent and he thought she’d not answer him until she finally said, “Jade gave me the baby to raise, but she never said anything about gold.”

  He sighed. “That’s not the kind
of secret Jade would take to her grave.”

  “She didn’t plan on dying so quick.”

  “Ellie, you better think real hard about that gold. Unless I take it off your hands, Frank will. And I can guarantee that he won’t be as polite as me. Be grateful that I found you before Frank did.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know Frank?”

  “He and I have business.”

  Her gaze flicked over him. He knew he looked rough. “I want no part of whatever business you and Frank are about. I want to be left in peace.”

  “Like it or not, you are part of it. So is that baby.”

  “She’s my baby.”

  “Jade birthed her.”

  Her face tightened. “Leave me alone.”

  He took several steps toward her. His spurs jingled with each step. “I won’t hurt you or the baby, Ellie. But I need that gold. Give it to me before Frank comes looking for it.”

  She took a step back. With trembling hands she raised the double-barreled shotgun. “Don’t come a step closer, mister.”

  If he sprang forward, he would have a good chance of getting the gun. “I’m not leaving here without the gold, Ellie.”

  She lifted her gun a fraction higher. “One more step and I’ll shoot.”

  He hesitated. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “Try me.”

  Her tone, more than her words, had his eyes narrowing. “That gun’s old,” he said.

  “And very well oiled.”

  “You’ve got grit, girl. But I’ve been riding hard for weeks now and I’m in no mood for games.”

  She swallowed.

  “If you shoot me, there’ll be no one here to protect you from Frank.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “For all I know, you are working with Frank. And I’m not here alone. I’ve got friends.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Where are they?”

  “Close.”

  He laughed, but the sound held no joy. His gaze still on her, he held up his hands as if in surrender. “I don’t want trouble.”

  Ellie’s gaze dropped to the six-shooter at his side. She gripped the barrel so tight her knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to kill you. Just leave me be and let me return to my life.”

  “Can’t do that.” He took another step and then another.

  She squeezed the trigger.

  Nick reacted quickly, diving to his left. He’d hoped he’d be quick enough to get out of the way of the gun, but he wasn’t.

  Buckshot splayed out of the barrel, striking him in the right leg. Blinding pain seared through his thigh as the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He hit the ground hard.

  Ellie screamed. She stood on the porch, frozen, her hands still locked around the gun. Tears welled in her eyes as the truth of what she’d done sank in. The baby cried louder.

  Nick sucked in a breath, doing his best to ignore the blinding pain. “I didn’t think you had the guts.”

  “I told you to stop.”

  Wincing, he pushed himself up so that he was standing. Warm blood ran down his leg. He didn’t have to look at the wound to know it was bad.

  Upset, she lowered her gun.

  He took the opportunity and lunged at her like a wounded bear. He grabbed the gun and jerked it out of her hand. He gripped her arm.

  She tried to twist free. “Let go of me.”

  He could smell the coppery scent of his blood. He’d taken down men twice his size and meaner than Satan. Yet here he stood, likely bleeding to death, shot by a little bit of a woman.

  “You should have listened to me,” she wailed.

  “Thanks to you, it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere.” His pant leg was wet with blood.

  The baby’s cries echoed in his skull. He felt dizzy.

  Soon his wound would get the better of him. Soon he’d pass out.

  His gaze dropped to hers. She was all that stood between him and death. A man could do all the planning he wanted but the truth was, plans were fragile. People who were quick to respond to change were the ones who survived.

  “If I die, you hang,” he lied. He regretted the raw fear in her eyes but there was no avoiding it. He needed her help.

  Ellie lifted her chin. “Who would care if I killed an outlaw? I’ll likely collect a reward.”

  A tense smile curved the edges of his lips. “Lady, I’m no outlaw.”

  She twisted her hands. “Of course you are.”

  He reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out the silver star that had belonged to Bobby Pool. He’d carried the star as a tribute to his friend. Now he prayed it would convince Ellie to save his life.

  Nick handed the star to Ellie before he dropped to his knees.

  She held it in her small hand. Her face contracted. She looked as though she was going to faint.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELLIE HAD SHOT a marshal!

  Her head spun. She could feel a hangman’s noose sliding around her neck.

  “You should have said something! If I had known you were a marshal, I wouldn’t have shot you.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll remember that next time.”

  She knelt beside him. Her hands trembled. “I thought marshals were supposed to wear their stars on their lapels? The sheriff in Butte always wears his star on his coat.”

  The marshal met her gaze. “Ellie, do we really have to go into this right now? I’m bleeding.” His voice was calm, as if they were sitting in church on Sunday.

  Ellie swallowed her panic and glanced down at his leg. “No, no. Of course not.” She reached for the torn fabric of his pant leg, ready to rip it free so she could get a better look at the wound.

  The marshal grabbed her wrist. “You know anything about bullet wounds?”

  Her skin tingled where he touched her. “Yes.” She’d seen her share at the Silver Slipper. “Let’s get you to bed.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and helped him up. He kept the bulk of his weight on his left leg.

  He winced. “Where’d you learn about wounds?”

  “Chin Lo, a medicine man who worked for Miss Adeline, taught me everything he knew.”

  “Let’s hope he knew a lot.”

  His dry humor caught her off guard. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Instead of a menacing monster, she saw a man. A very attractive man.

  She refocused. “I’ve seen bullets dug out, wounds stitched, and I’ve mixed the salves.”

  “You ever doctored anyone alone?”

  “Only once.” She’d delivered Jade’s baby.

  “Should I ask?”

  “No.” Hugging him close, she guided him into the house and toward her room. He’d never make it upstairs.

  His face was as pale as her petticoats, but he didn’t complain as he limped inside. Gingerly she lowered him onto her mattress. The springs groaned as the mattress sagged. The baby’s cries had quieted. Ellie glanced into the crib. Rose had stopped crying and her face had turned in Ellie’s direction.

  Ellie helped the marshal shrug off his coat and then tossed it onto the floor. A deep stain of blood spread from his right thigh up to his hip and down to his knee. “Mister, you should have stopped when I said to.”

  Pain deepened the sun-etched lines at the corner of his eyes. “Looks like I underestimated you,” he said quietly.

  “You’re not the first.” The man’s breathing was getting shallower. She prayed he wouldn’t die.

  He glanced at the wound. “This is a complication I never considered.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  As gently as she could manage, she lifted his feet onto the bed. When he stretched out, his large frame barely fit the mattress. Ellie pulled off his boots and set them on the floor beside the bed.

  She reached for the buckle of his gun belt.

  He grabbed her hand. “No.”

  “It’ll be hard enough cleaning the wound as it is. I’ll never get to it if I got to work around a holster.”

  He swa
llowed and pulled his gun from the holster. “Take the belt.”

  He glanced at the crib at the foot of her bed and looked at the sleeping baby. He frowned, as if the sight of the child troubled him.

  Immediately, Ellie pushed the cradle away from her bed toward the corner and away from his gaze.

  “I would never hurt her,” the marshal said, his voice oddly gruff.

  She could feel his gaze on her as she positioned the cradle. “I don’t take chances with Rose.”

  She hurried to the kitchen and retrieved the medical kit Annie kept over the stove and the kettle she’d only just heated for tea.

  She poured hot water into the washbasin, mixed it with some cool well water and then washed her hands. Her hands cleaned and dried, she carried Annie’s stash of bandages and the rest of the hot water to the bed.

  The marshal laid his head back on the pillow, his face tight with pain. His body was all muscle, long and lean, sinewy but not bulky. An injured predator was twice as dangerous.

  “You got a name?” she said.

  “Nick Baron.”

  “Well, Marshal Baron, I’ll make this as painless as I can for you.”

  He nodded.

  She pulled a half-full bottle of whiskey from the medicine box. “I don’t have any herbs to help you sleep, but if you drink the whiskey, it will help a little with the pain.”

  The marshal shook his head. “No booze.”

  “This is no time to be tough. It will help you relax.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not going to be easy.” She dreaded what was to come.

  “No whiskey.”

  Frustrated, she set the bottle on the table. “Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She removed a very sharp knife from the box, submerged it in the basin of hot water and then doused the blade with whiskey. Carefully she dried the knife, aware the marshal’s gaze tracked her every move.

  She leaned toward him, the blade gleaming in the sunlight from the one window at the head of her bed.

  Likely by reflex, he grabbed her wrist. “What are you planning?”

  The man was tough but the hint of worry in his voice was unmistakable. “I’ve got to cut the pants off.”