Her stepfather might have been a gambler and her brother was a murdering robber, but she was undoubtedly the smoothest manipulator he’d ever seen in action. He’d almost get sucked into believing her tales but at the last moment would remind himself that she’d been able to live a lie for weeks on end without any trouble.
Mrs. Kunstler bustled into the jailhouse. Chris shot to his feet. “Guten Tag, Frau Kunstler.” After greeting her in German, he continued to tell her very politely that because of the safety risk, he wasn’t permitting women in the jail.
“Unser Katie—Sie ist eine Freulein.”
“Yes, I ken Miss Regent is a lass. But she’s also a prisoner.” He fought the urge to sniff the air. The aromas coming from the covered basket Mrs. Kunstler held made his mouth water. No matter—she’d been baking him treats ever since he transported a baby to her cousin’s cousin. Cinnamon. This time, whatever it was, it had cinnamon.
“Katie,” Mrs. Kunstler called. “I baked cinnamon rolls for you.”
What?
“How kind of you! Thank you.” Wren left her sewing machine and approached the bars. “How is Ismelda?”
“Fat.” Mrs. Kunstler laughed. “My grandson should come any day now. The quilt you made for the cradle—she loves it so much, we are piecing one to match for their own bed.”
“Have you seen Mercy? I’m worried she’ll work too much and tire herself out.”
Mrs. Kunstler looked ready to settle in for a nice, long visit. Chris cleared his throat. “Frau Kunstler, mussen Sie gehen.”
She waggled her finger at him and answered in English. “Don’t you tell me I must go. It is bad how you have her in here like a lonely chick in a big coop. My Otto—he is a good man, ja?”
Chris nodded.
“But did you know I had another son? No, you didn’t. I do not speak of him. He shamed us all by coming to town and drinking the beer and whiskey. One day, with a broken bottle, he fought another man. They killed one another. No one talks of this. It was bad, shameful. But does anyone blame Otto? No, because he was not responsible.
“The pastor—when Otto was blaming himself for not being there to stop his brother—the pastor, he came and talked to him. He said in the Bible, you did not see the brother go seek the prodigal son. The bad son—he had to decide by himself to come back. The good boy—it was his job to stay home and be good. It is better that I have one good son than that I lost two bad ones.”
Frau Kunstler mopped her face with a crumpled hankie. “What our Katie’s brother has done—it is sinful. But it is not her fault.” The woman thumped on her ample bosom. “In here, it hurts to know you cannot stop someone you love from doing wrong. Is that not enough? Why do you punish her?”
“Mrs. Kunstler, here.” Wren extended a hankie she’d tatted around the night before. “I’m so sorry about your other son. I’m glad you have Otto. He’s a fine man, and he’s a good husband to Ismelda.”
“Ja.” Mrs. Kunstler accepted the hankie and straightened her shoulders. “I should be cheering you up, but I came and cried.”
“You shared your heart with me. Even though it was a sad memory, you trusted me with it. That means everything to me.”
“Ach!” Mrs. Kunstler kissed her own hand, slid it through the bars, and patted Wren’s cheek. “It is a shame I did not have one more son. I would have him marry you so you could be my daughter.”
As Mrs. Kunstler left, she called over her shoulder, “If soon you are not free, I will bake you a cake with a file in it!”
Chris picked up the basket and headed toward the cell. “Here.”
“Please help yourself.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Watching that won’t make it do anything.”
Wren’s head jerked up at the sound of Rob’s voice, and she almost dropped her cinnamon roll. “The basket is full. Help yourself.”
“I don’t know that I want one out of the basket. That one seems mighty interesting to you.”
She nodded. “It’s special.”
“It’s a roll—just like the others,” Chris muttered.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.
Chris swiveled around and glowered at her. “Make up your mind. Either it’s special, or it’s like all the others.”
“They’re all special. Mrs. Kunstler made them”—Wren’s voice cracked—“for me.”
Rob regarded her solemnly. “Aye, Katie. She went to the trouble just for you, and ’tis because she cares for you.”
Tears welled up as she nodded.
“Chris, this has gone on long enough. Look at the lass. She’s miserable, locked away in there.”
“I’m not miserable.” Wren sniffled. “Saint Paul was content in prison, and I understand why now. He took the time to ponder the things that matter most.”
“Then why—” Chris started out gruffly.
“—are you crying?” Rob finished.
Wren took an unsteady breath. “Be–cause Duncan pr–prays with me. And—and Mr. Rundsdorf wa–wants to be my first customer. And”—she took a big gulp of air—“Mrs. Kunstler…another son…marry!” To her embarrassment, she dissolved into a sobbing wreck.
Chris clipped out, “Frau Kunstler came by and said she wished she had another son so he could marry Wren.”
“Ahhhh.” Rob stretched out the sound. “Now wasn’t that a grand thing for you to hear? Folks here love you. Aye, they do. You’re just now figuring that out, are you?”
She nodded as her tears dissolved into hiccups.
“Oh, for cryin’ in a bucket. You’d think no people ever said they loved her.”
Wren’s gaze dropped to the cinnamon roll she still held, and she whispered, “They haven’t.”
Chris had to get out of there. Wren had everyone wrapped around her little finger. Her pity-me tales already set his teeth on edge, but this one—it defied any scrap of truth. “Stay here,” he ordered Rob. “I’m getting some air.”
Sitting around waiting for something to happen was driving Chris daft. After Da lost his arm, Chris knew he had to provide for the family. He hated going down to the mine—the walls always closed in on him—but he’d forced himself to. Rob pestered him about the few occasions when he’d gone to Thurber to give some advice on the mining conditions, but he could have saved his breath. Braver men than he would have to pry bounty from the depths of the earth.
Just sitting in the jailhouse left him restless. Cooped up, playing nursemaid to that woman. Everyone’s mollycoddling her. Have they forgotten Connant? Or the three other men her brother wounded?
I canna fault them. I was taken in by her at first. I e’en brought her here. The most I can do is keep them away.
He scanned the street. A strange horse was hitched outside the mercantile. Actually, two. He started striding that direction.
“Ja, Leonard. I’ll tell her you said so.” Mr. Stein came through the door. He unhitched one of those two horses and swung up into the saddle. He rode toward Chris and halted. “Chris Gregor!”
“That’s a fine-looking horse you have.”
“I bought him last week. Perhaps it is foolish for an old man to buy a new horse, but I’ve told myself that when my grandson is a little older, he will need a solid workhorse.”
“Peter will be a lucky man when you hand over the reins.” From the corner of his eye, Chris saw a flash. He pulled his pistol as he slapped the horse. “Hee-yaww!” The horse bolted, carrying Mr. Stein to safety.
Two men sauntered down the boardwalk. In the scorching summer weather, they both wore coats. At midday.
Mercy’s grandda halted his horse at the far end of the street. “José! Nestor!” he called. “Come here. I have something to tell you!”
The boys dashed past Chris to relative safety.
One more man rode by.
Four. Four of them. Whelan’s not here yet. Chris scanned the street as he took ground-eating strides cutting across the road diagonally toward the jail.
Jakob Wahl s
tepped out onto his veranda and shouted, “Everyone! God gave us a little girl!” Jakob and his brother lived in that home. They were both bachelors. They’d come up with that warning call, saying it was the truth. God had sent Katie to them.
The momentary distraction allowed Chris and two other men to close the net. They waylaid one of the men wearing a coat. Chris had yet to spot Whelan, but he knew one man was in the jail, and another just stepped into the doorway, as well. Chris kept his gaze trained on the remaining one in the coat.
Suddenly from somewhere behind him, Chris heard a shotgun blast. Gunfire started, but Chris spent only one bullet. The man pulled a rifle from his coat. Chris yelled, “Drop it!”
The man fired at him, but Chris dove behind a water trough. Whether it was his shot or someone else’s he didn’t know, but that man fell. Chris didn’t pause. He saw the muzzle of a pistol from the jail’s doorway and fired a mere breath later. The man dropped his weapon while cursing profusely.
Chris rolled to his feet and sprinted to the jail. That man was trying to shove the door shut. Chris kicked it open. It caught his assailant in the chest and knocked him across the room. His head hit the wall with a loud thud, and he collapsed into a heap. Chris didn’t want Whelan sneaking in behind him, so he slammed the door shut and shoved the bolt into place.
The last man backed up to Wren’s cell.
He had his gun to Rob’s neck.
Chapter 11
Drop your gun, or I’ll kill him!”
“He’s the one! He’s the ranger!” Wren, still in her cell, stood directly behind the gunman. From his angle, Chris couldn’t really see her, but he knew exactly where she was. She kept yanking on the man, goading him.
His brother’s life depended on the smallest twitch of a trigger finger. Chris had already resigned himself to the fact that she’d betrayed his trust—but it took all of his discipline not to roar at her. “Turn loose of him, Wren. He’s got a gun on Rob.”
“No one’s gotten hurt in here yet.” Rob’s voice sounded slow and steady—it carried the same tone as when he handled medical emergencies. “If Whelan wants his sister back, I’m not going to argue.”
“He’s the one!” Wren’s voice grew more urgent. “He’s got the keys.”
Sweat rolled down the man’s temples. He rasped, “Drop your gun!”
“Easy now.” Chris tilted his head toward the desk. “I’ll set it on there. It’s got a hair trigger, and I don’t want it to go off.” He slowly edged toward the desk. If he got the right angle…Lord, please safeguard my brother. Help me. Give me guidance and perfect my aim.
“Where’s my brother?” Wren continued to pester the man. “Is he outside?”
“Shut your trap!” the man roared. “Whelan ain’t payin’ me half enough to put up with your mouth.”
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Wren persisted. “Tell me he’s here.”
The man let out a dirty bark of a laugh. “That’s far enough, mister. Set down your gun, and put the keys on the desk, too.”
Chris gave his pistol a longing look as he set it down on the edge of the desk closest to himself. He took the keys and started to put them in the center of the desk.
“Don’t let his brother go get the keys.” Wren stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. “He could snatch the gun, too.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid!” He waved his gun at Chris. “Just you step back until you hit the wall. Then toss the keys to me.”
Chris intentionally threw the keys so they’d land short.
“Now keep your hands up where I can see them.”
Chris raised his hands, threaded them together, and held them behind his head.
“Careful-like,” the gunman rasped to Rob, “you stoop over and fetch me that ring of keys.”
Rob waited a moment after he’d been turned loose, then inched forward. As his brother moved, Chris pulled the knife out of his sleeve. The moment Rob squatted down, Chris threw the knife.
The gunman reacted as soon as Chris’s hand came into view, firing twice. The knife pierced the man’s chest. Having not been struck, Chris assumed the worst: Rob had been shot. Chris let out a roar as he charged the assailant.
The man thrashed but didn’t move far.
“Hurry,” Wren pled. “I can’t hold—”
Chris could see how she’d seized the gunman’s sleeve in two places and fought to restrain him. Taking the gun proved quite easy. Chris grabbed for it, and when he met resistance, he dug the knife deeper into the gunman’s shoulder. Curses and blood flowed as Chris took possession of the gun.
“Rob!” Wren finally stepped into view.
Chris couldn’t turn and look yet, but the devastated look on Wren’s face made him want to howl.
“I’m fine. Just knocked my hard head on the corner of that desk.”
The air rushed from Chris’s lungs. “Rob, get the handcuffs. Top drawer.” He motioned with the gun. “You. Down flat on the floor. Facedown.”
A twist and a few curses later, the man spat, “I can’t.”
“Dinna tell me what you canna do. Down. Now.”
“He can’t.” Wren grinned. “I tied him to the bars.”
“You what?”
“His suspenders. He thought I was just yanking on his shirt, but that was a distraction. I slid material through and knotted—oh, just come look.”
Why had she—? Chris couldn’t distract himself with any questions just now. He shoved the confusing fact aside and kept the gun trained on the men until Rob had them both handcuffed. He also satisfied himself that the one who’d crashed into the wall was waking and suffered no real damage. Winding a temporary bandage over the knife wound, Rob declared, “When things settle down, I’ll have to suture this.”
Gunshots still resounded outside. Swiftly shoving bullets into the empty chambers in his own weapon as well as the gunman’s, Chris ordered, “I’m going out there to finish this. Rob, get over here and bolt the door once I’m out. Dinna open it unless Duncan or I tell you to. Whilst I’m gone, lock them into the second cell.”
“Be careful,” Wren called to him just before he opened the door. Desperation and sincerity colored her voice.
He no more than looked out the door than something struck the boardwalk and rolled past. Chris scanned the area. The gunfire grew sparser, but something hit again. A marble. Chris cranked his head to the side. Mercy’s grandda motioned to him, then disappeared between two buildings.
Chris reached him seconds later. “What is it?”
“The bank. There are men in the bank.”
The bank was located on the opposite side of the street, on the other side of the churchyard. Chris knew at once Whelan used the jailbreak as a distraction so he could hit the bank again.
“How many?”
“Just two. I found their horses. Those bad men—they might come out, but they will not go far.”
“Fast thinking.”
“Rundsdorf, he said there are two men still on the street.”
Chris nodded. He’d listened to the gunfire and had a good notion where each of those men were. “Do you know who’s in the bank?”
“Mr. Meisterson was in the diner. I think Horst was alone in the bank.”
Chris nodded curtly. Chris looped behind several buildings and sneaked toward the bank. Suddenly, the bank’s door flew open. One man exited. He spied Chris and fired. Chris was faster.
“Surrender, Whelan!”
“I’ve got a hostage!” Whelan shouted back.
Bang! Thud.
Horst yelled from inside the bank, “He’s wrong. The hostage has him! I got his gun and knocked him out.”
Chris took a single step toward the bank. His leg didn’t want to move. He glanced down and noticed red blossoming from just above his left knee.
“Kathryn Regent, I’m placing you under house arrest.”
“House arrest!” Wren stared at Chris in utter disbelief. She’d stayed in the clinic with Dunc
an, waiting and praying as Rob removed the bullet from Chris’s leg. The last thing she expected was for him to hobble out under his own steam. Well, the second to last. “Rob, check his head. He must have gotten another injury. It’s the only reason he’d say anything so—”
“Dinna be kickin’ up a fuss,” Duncan warned, “else he’ll put you back in the jailhouse.”
“You’re a material witness to several crimes.” Chris stared at her.
“And I’m enduring another here and now. You’re stealing my freedom and peace of mind, Chris Gregor.”
“You’ll survive,” he responded in a dry tone. He folded his arms across his chest. “I wonder how ’tis you say I’m taking your peace of mind. You’ve got it twisted backward, woman. ’Tis you who’s givin’ me a piece of your mind every time I turn around.”
“That’s just another reason why I shouldn’t be trapped under house arrest.”
Carmen and Mercy rushed in. “Chris—is he—”
“Right as rain. No need to make a fuss.”
“He’s putting up a fine show, but he needs rest.” Rob motioned to Duncan. “We’ll take him o’er to the house. I dinna want him walking for a few days.”
Chris glowered. “I’ll walk.”
“Mercy, you and I had better have daughters.” Carmen gestured toward the men. “The Gregor men are all stubborn as mules.”
“Aye. And dinna forget it.” Chris took one hobbling step and halted. His eyes narrowed. “Duncan, you didna tell us!”
“Tell you what?” Duncan yanked Chris’s right arm about his shoulder and supported him.
Chris shook his head. “Rob and I got all the brains, Carmen. Duncan, your wife just told us all she’s carryin’ a bairn.”
Duncan turned so fast, he almost knocked Chris over. Instead of helping his brother to the house, Duncan insisted on carrying his wife there.
Wren lagged back. This might be a good opportunity to break free.
Chris must have read her mind. He ordered, “Mercy, I’ve put Wren on house arrest. Dinna let her out of your sight.”
Brides of Texas Page 30
