Ballad Beauty

by Lauren Linwood

  His gut tightened. “You got some news?”

  “Yep.” Patch stared into his eyes. “They done pulled a doozy of a bank robbery, nigh on two days ago. Up in Deep Creek. Looked like the jackpot of their careers. But,” he added, his voice dropping low, “Pistol Pete done took a bullet in the getaway. He’s deader ‘n dead. Sam and another fella escaped. Vanished without a trace.”

  The news stunned Noah. From the time he’d been able to walk, Pete seemed invincible to him. He sadly realized that even his father was mortal—like all the rest of the gunslinging outlaws that peppered the West.

  And he was dead, courtesy of that no-good charmer.

  When his uncle Johnny, Pete’s long-time partner, passed from a sudden heart attack, Pete immediately brought home a new partner. Sam McShan. The quick-witted Irishman was full of fun and mischief, everything that appealed to a boy of fourteen.

  It didn’t take long for Noah to realize that his father’s new friend was Famous Sam, the West’s version of a modern-day Robin Hood.

  Sam captured the public’s eye with his daring robberies. What captivated them more was how he gave most of it away. Widows, orphans, the aged and infirm—many made it by just a bit longer thanks to the generosity of Famous Sam McShan.

  Sam encouraged the young Noah to participate in their escapades—larks, according to Sam. His mama had hit the roof. He could still remember her eyes wild as Sarah reached over and drew Sam’s own gun on him.

  “There won’t be anyone taking my son and bringing a life of crime upon him, Sam McShan. I don’t care how amusing your adventures seem. It’s wrong. No son of mine will ever follow his father into a sordid life of crime.”

  Of course, being young, it was exactly the kind of thing Noah wanted to do. He’d always been a good boy. Listened to his mama. Went to church regularly. Even faintly disdained his father’s lifestyle. But now he was ready to see if there was more to life than hanging onto his mama’s apron strings and getting educated. A whole new world waited out there for him. He knew he was almost a man. He was ready to take on life.

  It was an unmitigated disaster.

  Noah shifted from one foot to the other. He was nervous but would never have admitted it. Sam had talked Pete into letting him come on this lark. At the time, it seemed like a terrific idea. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  He stood next to the horses, which were hitched to the railing in front of Shaw’s General Store. Directly across the street stood the First National Bank. Actually, the only bank in town. He glanced at the clock above the structure. He was to give them two more minutes before he unhitched the horses—in order to make a speedy getaway.

  But the girl sure was distracting him. He’d watched her go into Shaw’s with her mama. She came out again, lingering in the doorway, casting sideways glances at him.

  He decided there was no harm in speaking to her. “Hey, there.”

  “Hey.” She smiled shyly at him, blushing furiously. He knew it was because of his good looks. Mama always told him how handsome he was, with his dark hair and sky blue eyes. She warned him never to trade on those looks and never to break a young lady’s heart. It was left unsaid how her own heart had been broken by Pete. Noah promised her he’d never be unkind to anyone, least of all a woman.

  “Are you waiting on your mama?” He nodded at the store. “I saw you go in together.”

  She looked over her shoulder and then back at him. “Yes. Mama’s getting some thread. She’s making me a new dress for the barn dance. You from around here?” She grinned at him. “You look like you’d be a good dancer.”

  Suddenly, a loud boom sounded. Sam and Pete raced from the bank in his direction. Noah stood dumbfounded as the men came his way.

  They jumped on their horses and turned to speed off, only their reins were still wrapped around the post.

  “Boy!” Sam screamed at him. “You done been flirting and not manning your post.” He struck Noah hard with the pistol still in his hand.

  Stunned, he fell to the ground as Sam and Pete quickly untied the reins. Without a backward glance, both men rode off.

  He stumbled to his feet, wiping at the blood that dripped down from the lump at the top of his forehead. He couldn’t believe they left him behind.

  “Papa!”

  He turned, as if under water, and saw the pretty girl lift her skirts and dash across the street. He watched a tall, thin man wearing a silver sheriff’s badge and holding his bleeding gut slowly fall to the street. The crying girl dropped to her knees and cradled his head in her lap.

  People ran out from the few storefronts, and as he fumbled to untie the reins and leap onto his horse, he heard the piercing scream of the girl’s mother. He quickly rode past the commotion. But as he went by, his eyes met the girl’s.

  Her look of anguish still haunted his dreams.

  He’d never known such fear as when he hightailed it out of the sleepy town. He managed to reach Sam and Pete before a posse could form and track down the three of them for robbery. And murder. He was reasonably sure that Pete had never shot anyone before. He might be a thief, but he was an honorable one. He’d supposed Sam was of the same caliber. Now he wasn’t sure about anything. The only thing he did know was that he’d never do wrong again. He’d stay on the right side of the law, even past the right side, but he never wanted to be on the lam. He would never be a man like Famous Sam McShan or Pistol Pete Webber.

  He now looked at Sam with new eyes as they rode hard, hundreds of miles to Prairie Dell, to lie low for a few weeks. Sam’s sister Moira lived there, and he guaranteed she would take them in.

  Most people would have been afraid of Moira, due to her having only one eye, but Noah took to her like a duck to water. He never bothered asking her how she lost her eye—though he did beg to try on her patch.

  Moira had a few long talks with him during the time they stayed with her in Prairie Dell. She realized how shocked he’d been by the events surrounding the robbery. She encouraged him to continue to grow straight and strong. She promised him he would grow into a better man than his father. And Sam.

  Noah fingered Moira’s last letter that sat in his pocket. She’d made a habit of writing to him a few times a year for the last ten years. His friendship with her was the one good thing that came from his association with the outlaw Sam McShan.

  It almost surprised him how little he felt at hearing that Pete was dead, but the hate for Sam McShan that coursed through his veins didn’t surprise him at all.

  He pulled himself together and asked Patch, “Who drew the assignment?”

  “Not quite sure, sonny boy. I just heard the news not ten minutes ‘fore you waltzed in.”

  He looked the older Ranger square in the eye. “I’m taking it, Patch. And no one’s going to stop me.”

  He thought again of the young girl from long ago. How she’d been raised without her daddy. How the sheriff hadn’t been there to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day or squeeze his own wife’s hand as their grandchild was baptized in the local church.

  He thought of all the people who’d done nothing wrong, yet they’d suffered the loss of their life savings in bank robberies too numerous to count. Maybe they’d gone bankrupt. Had to pull up stakes and move elsewhere. Maybe they gave up on what little dreams they had. But now he could finally do something about their devastation.

  He’d toyed with the idea of his days as a Ranger being over after the disaster at Las Cuevas, but he only fooled himself. He loved the work too much and was proud he was a part of a group of men who cherished honor and the law. He also knew he could never settle down. Rangering suited him just fine.

  He squared his shoulders as he moved from the tent and made his way to HQ. He would be the one to bring in Pistol Pete’s sorry partner, the infamous Sam McShan. Maybe there was some justice in the world, a
fter all.

  CHAPTER 2

  Riley Withers leaned against the building as the raw December wind whipped about him.

  Damn. Wasn’t the girl ever going to come out?

  He glanced up and down the quiet street as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. He hated winter. That’s why he left New York in the first place. And yet here he was in Boston, of all places, slowly freezing to death. He longed for a hot cup of black coffee. He could imagine the smell as it wafted up to his nostrils before he took that first, welcomed sip. The liquid would scald like fire going down, warming a trail to his belly.

  He shivered again. His head ached from the cold. The cook said the girl would leave today. He’d spent enough time sidling up to the woman to know everything that happened at The Thompson School. He’d even kissed the homely creature more than once, all to get the information he needed. Sometimes he amazed himself at the lengths he would go to, but his mind had been set. A fortune hung in the balance.

  And Jenny McShanahan was the key.

  A cab pulled up, and a man in his late forties stepped from it. He gingerly picked his way up the icy walkway and entered the school. Moments later he emerged, a valise in one hand and a young woman that Riley assumed was Jenny McShanahan on his arm. They climbed into the cab and signaled the driver to leave.

  He didn’t panic. The train station was but a few blocks. He’d checked the departure schedule. He could walk to the depot and still be there in plenty of time to purchase his ticket and begin his task.

  He could taste the money. And Jenny McShanahan would lead him to it.

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Randolph. I do appreciate you escorting me to the train station.” Jenny tugged on her hat, which the winter wind tilted slightly. She reached into her reticule for her ticket.

  “No problem, my dear.” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “I only wish I were going with you.”

  “You? In the West?” She stared at him incredulously. “I can’t imagine someone being a less likely candidate, sir.” She eyed his immaculate white shirt and gray suit, the buffed nails and fresh haircut, and sighed. “You are far too well bred to consider it.”

  “Now, Jenny, you aren’t the only one who longs to see the West. I have often thought that once the children are grown, Mrs. Randolph and I might travel there. If we like it, who knows? I can’t name a place on earth which couldn’t use a good doctor.” He grinned mischievously. “Especially with all those outlaws shooting innocent people. And each other.”

  She laughed. “You get enough trouble in Boston, I’m afraid. I’ve learned so much helping you at the clinic.”

  “And I have enjoyed your capable assistance, child.” He looked at her fondly. “Although you aren’t a child anymore, my dear.”

  She gave him a nervous glance. “A part of me is afraid Papa won’t even recognize me. I’ve missed him so much, Dr. Randolph. I don’t know how we’re going to adjust being together after so many years apart.”

  He squeezed her elbow affectionately. “You’ll get on admirably. I fear the only problem will be his regret in how long you’ve been separated.”

  She swallowed hard. “It has been a long time.” She straightened her shoulders. “But there’s new country to see and a decade to catch up on. I know we’ll be fine.”

  She saw the shadow that crossed the physician’s pleasant features. She knew how upset he was with her father for practically abandoning her all these years. He’d warned her once he read the letter how she must temper her expectations.

  “You’re a romantic, Jenny. Practical? Yes. Full of control. But you’ve built your father into something no man could live up to. You’ve got to take it slowly.”

  “It’s almost time to board,” she said aloud, putting his warning aside.

  He led her to the track and handed the valise to a porter. “Please telegram me once you’ve arrived.” He enveloped her in his arms for a brief moment and brushed a fatherly kiss upon her brow. “We’ll miss you. And remember,” he said almost wistfully, “if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a place with us here in Boston.”

  Quick tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you.”

  She stepped up carefully into the railcar, the porter guiding her gently. She turned and waved once and then entered the narrow hallway. As they had arranged, he would now leave. She didn’t think she could stand the thought of seeing him fade to a small dot as the train pulled out from the station and picked up speed.

  Her emotions were a conflicting bundle at this point. More than anything, she was ready to unite with her father—yet Dr. Randolph had been like a father to her these past few years. Guilt tore at her for leaving him—and at her conscience for the small part of her that wanted to stay in Boston.

  The porter assisted her in finding a seat, placing her case above her.

  “Let me know if you need anything, miss.” He smiled kindly at her.

  She placed her sewing basket next to her and sat back in her seat, her reticule and its holdings clutched tightly in her lap. She closed her eyes.

  She was scared to death.

  Riley let her ride a day. He sat in the same car as she did, but he didn’t speak to her. Once or twice she must have sensed him studying her because she turned slightly in his direction. He made sure he was looking out the window or at the newspaper in his lap. He didn’t want to tip his hand or frighten her in any way.

  She was a pretty little thing. Or he supposed little wasn’t the exact word he had in mind. She was taller than a lot of men, maybe five-eight, five-nine. She hunched down a lot, her shoulders rolled forward as if she were self-conscious of her height. She had a trim figure and thick, blond hair. She kept to herself, not starting any conversations, but politely answering when addressed.

  A family of five had been seated around her, the three children climbing everywhere—even over her—but she didn’t seem to mind. He watched her mouth go soft when the mother asked her to hold the little baby for a moment. She cooed to it, rocking it gently, lost in the moment. He filed it away. He was used to looking for information, and that included any weaknesses. He needed to know everything he could about Jenny McShanahan.

  He shifted in his seat, tossing the paper aside. The family and their brats had disembarked at the last stop. He was glad. He hated kids. Couldn’t stand their non-stop prattle. He stood, stretched, and then moved down the aisle. As he neared Jenny, he paused and looked out the window.

  “Mighty pretty,” he said softly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Jenny looked up at the stranger hovering over her.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  She looked nervously about, but no one came to her aid. One just didn’t begin conversations with strangers on a train. Especially with a woman traveling alone. It simply wasn’t done. Before she replied, the tall man seated himself across from her. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and then stared out the window. She hoped he wouldn’t address her again.

  As he focused on some object outside the moving car, she fiddled with the needlework in her lap as she took surreptitious glances at him. He was what Mr. Johnson, The Thompson School’s janitor, would term slick as spit. She’d heard him use the expression a thousand times over the years, but the living example now sat in close proximity to her.

  The stranger was tall, very muscular, and probably in his mid-thirties. His dark hair was thinning, his mouth cruel, and his nose had been broken more than once. Of that she was certain. If not for the hard mouth and crooked beak, he would have been termed a handsome man.

  But he made her nervous.

  His easy motions and smooth tones seemed to hide something. What, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was leery of him. He reminded her of Simon Legree from Mrs. Stowe’s novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. For all his comfortable airs, this man seemed out of place in hi
s fancy suit. She recognized a slight drawl when he spoke to her, but she refused to ask him about it.

  “Where are you headed? Out West?” he asked suddenly, startling her into pricking her finger with her needle. She lifted the needlepoint away from her so as not to spill any blood on it.

  Then he boldly reached over and took her hand. He wrapped a handkerchief around it and pressed the injured finger tightly. Her skin crawled at his clammy touch. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm.

  “Just a prick, ma’am. It’ll be fine in a minute.”

  She very impolitely yanked her hand this time, which broke the contact between them. He smiled at her as she flushed, as if he knew how uncomfortable she was with her hand held intimately by a stranger.