Rico (The Rock Creek Six Book 3)

by Lori Handeland

  “Hang on, folks!” The driver yelled his warning just a moment too late.

  Hannah grasped the seat and the gold head of her ebony cane as the coach ran carelessly over yet another rut. Yes, it was probably money Rose needed. Perhaps she thought it would be easy for Hannah to refuse by telegram but difficult to refuse the same request face-to-face.

  Rose doesn’t know me anymore, Hannah thought with a hardening of her heart as she watched the most desolate, ugly landscape she’d ever seen fly past. Beyond the window was rock and dirt and dust, the barrenness broken, here and there, by a few stunted and scraggly bushes that were more brown than green.

  “Why on earth does anyone choose to live here?” she muttered.

  Everyone ignored her except, again, the oaf across the way. He didn’t open his eyes, though. “There’s beauty most everywhere,” he muttered. “Only sometimes you have to look real hard for it.”

  She was glad his eyes were closed, so he wouldn’t see her blush. Hannah Winters didn’t need any man to tell her, in a subtle or not-so-subtle way, that she wasn’t pretty. She’d known it all her life, and she had accepted the fact years ago. Her hair was too red, her nose was slightly crooked, her chin was pointed, and her eyes were a very ordinary gray. Growing up side by side with Rose, who had their mother’s blond hair, vibrant greenish blue eyes, and angelic face, Hannah had been forced to face the sad fact of her plainness from a very early age. She wasn’t beautiful, even if the kindest eyes looked “real hard.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” Mrs. Reynolds said, her voice lively. “When I first came here I thought the very same thing, that this was the ugliest place on earth. But once you’ve seen the sunrise or the sunset you just know this land has been blessed.”

  Still without opening his eyes, Jed Rourke smiled. It was difficult to be certain, with that drooping mustache and scruffy beard, but yes... he definitely smiled.

  Maybe he hadn’t been talking about her, after all.

  Hannah looked out the window again, trying, really trying, to see beauty in the rocky landscape. She failed miserably; already she missed the green of Alabama.

  Movement caught her eye, and she dismissed her displeasure at the desolate nature of the landscape and her unexpected bout of homesickness. There was nothing between the last station, a miserable town called Ranburne, and Rock Creek but this sadly neglected roadway, so what might she have seen out there?

  Suddenly a single rider, with a black bandanna covering the lower half of his face, shot from behind a boulder, followed by another masked rider on a dappled horse. Each of them brandished a weapon.

  “Bandits,” she whispered, a moment before she was startled by the explosion of a gunshot from the other side of the stagecoach. Bertie and Irene whimpered, Mrs. Reynolds emitted what might have been a weak, short scream, and the portly drunk slunk low in his seat and cowered. The large, hairy man, Mr. Rourke, was immediately alert.

  “How many?” he asked as the stage began to slow.

  “Two on this side, at least one on the other,” Hannah said. Mr. Rourke didn’t have a good view, seated as he was with his back to the driver, so she felt it her duty to keep him informed. “Masked and armed,” she added.

  He spread his legs and reached between them and beneath his seat to pull out his saddlebag. His hands moved quickly and efficiently, opening the leather bag, withdrawing a six-shooter, and checking to make sure it was fully loaded before the stagecoach came to a complete stop. He barely had time to conceal the weapon at his spine before the door flew open and the passengers were instructed, with the silent motion of a gun, to disembark.

  Hannah was first to step from the coach, refusing to take the offered hand of the bandit who waved a gun in her direction. She hesitated long enough for Mr. Rourke, who was squirming and trying to inconspicuously adjust the six-shooter he’d hurriedly jammed at his back, to make sure his weapon was safely hidden beneath his leather vest. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod once, and only then did she step down, leaning on her cane for support as her feet hit the hard road.

  “Heathens,” she muttered loud enough for the bandits to hear. There were four of them, all armed, all masked. One dragged the stagecoach driver, a miserable, sickly looking old man, to the ground, while the others impatiently herded the passengers off the conveyance.

  The four bandits were all dressed in typical Western fashion, in denim trousers, badly scuffed boots, and dirty shirts, along with the requisite wide-brimmed hats and heavy gunbelts. They were masked with bandannas, black on one face, red on two, and a bright yellow on a very tall, very thin outlaw.

  She glanced at Mr. Rourke, waiting for him to make his move. Perhaps he was a quick-draw artist and could take all four men before they even knew what was happening. For a long moment she held her breath and waited anxiously. Her heart even skipped a beat in anticipation.

  But Jed Rourke stood meekly with the rest of the passengers, while two of the bandits began to paw through their belongings, taking whatever struck their fancy. They were looking for cash, but seemed delighted with the jewelry they found. Hannah pursed her lips and bit her tongue. Most of the pieces they gloated over were hers, taken from the tapestry bag she’d stored beneath her seat. They tossed Rourke’s buckskin coat onto the ground, barely giving it a second glance, but they seemed pleased with the rifle they pulled from beneath that coat. Rourke grumbled a curse as they admired it.

  Mrs. Reynolds was visibly shaken, and Irene sniffled once or twice. Bertie, meek as she was, had the good grace not to humiliate herself by sniveling like the drunk who stood beside her. Mr. Rourke, quickly if grudgingly abandoning his rifle to the bandits, yawned and shifted restlessly on his big, booted feet as he readjusted the dust-covered hat on his head.

  Perhaps he was right to keep calm in this situation. It didn’t look as if the bandits planned to harm anyone. As long as that was the case, it would be foolish for Mr. Rourke to initiate gunplay.

  Hannah sighed in disgust and resignation. It infuriated her to know that perfectly able men chose thievery as a profession, but she knew that everything the bandits were so gleefully taking could be replaced.

  Satisfied with what they’d found, the masked men loaded their saddlebags with stolen goods. One impatient thief guarded the passengers. Even with his bandanna and a wide-brimmed hat worn low, Hannah could tell he was fairly young. And mean. He seemed to delight in making the detained passengers stand in a straight line, and in harassing the more distraught victims of this holdup. Walking before them like an inspector, waving that weapon in a dangerous fashion, he looked them all up and down.

  The elderly driver was rubbing his head as if it pained him. He hadn’t said a word—they’d been instructed to maintain silence while the thieves went about their work—but Hannah suspected one of the brigands had hit the poor old man over the head. The young watchman laughed at the old man in a way that was hideously disrespectful. The driver ignored the taunt.

  Standing before Hannah, the outlaw gave her a quick once-over. He was either trying to intimidate her or he was searching for pockets that might contain a valuable they’d missed. In any case, he was an insolent bandit. Her traveling dress was plain, but it was constructed of the very best materials and would tell anyone who knew anything about fashion that it was quite expensive. She didn’t expect this oaf would recognize the fact.

  “Coward,” she said when his eyes rose to meet hers. Pale eyes above a red bandanna flashed at her.

  Mr. Rourke, who stood beside her, groaned, but the bandit didn’t seem to take offense. He merely smiled and moved on. Since Jed Rourke was a powerfully built man and stood a good head taller than the young bandit, he wasn’t subjected to an impertinent examination. The outlaw moved on to Bertie.

  “You ought not to be so scared,” he said. “Why, as long as you behave yourselves we ain’t gonna hurt nobody. Just think of the story you can tell your friends when this is all over with.” He moved on to the drunk, curling his lip i
n disgust.

  He called Mrs. Reynolds “Granny.”

  In a voice that wavered ever so slightly, she bravely answered him. “If you have a grandmother, Junior, she would surely be ashamed to see you now.”

  Hannah couldn’t help but smile.

  And then he reached Irene, at the end of the line. The poor girl bowed her head and sobbed.

  “Now, now,” Junior said in a voice that was a mixture of glee and solace. “Don’t cry, sugar.” He reached out and touched her face, wiping away the tears. “Ain’t nothing to cry about, I promise you. Oh,” he mumbled when she tried to gently move her face out of his reach, “you’re a pretty one.”

  Hannah took a step forward, but a hand snaked out and very firmly grabbed her arm, then yanked her back into line. She glared up at Jed Rourke and with a swift jerk freed her arm from his grasp.

  Junior cupped Irene’s chin and forced her to look into his face. She sobbed loudly, once, which only delighted the coward who tormented her. “I think I’ll take you home with me, sugar.”

  “Take your hands off her,” Mrs. Reynolds insisted indignantly.

  The grin disappeared. “Shut up, Granny.”

  This time Hannah moved quickly, stepping past Rourke while his eyes were on the bandit and Irene. She raised her cane and smacked the lascivious brigand across the back of his thin legs. He howled loudly and nearly dropped to his knees. He caught himself, though, and spun around with his weapon raised, and Hannah found herself staring down the barrel of a loaded pistol.

  “She’s a child,” Hannah said calmly. “Leave her alone.” Her mouth was dry and her heart beat much faster than was healthy, as she peered over the barrel of the weapon that was aimed at her nose, but she was determined not to let the thief see her fear.

  “You hit me with that damn stick,” Junior said with righteous indignation, and then he reached out and snatched the cane out of her hand. He cocked the hammer of his pistol back with his thumb.

  Her father had always told her that one day her quick tongue would get her into trouble. On occasion she’d silently agreed with him, but she’d never expected that a few hotly spoken words would lead to her violent death. Still, she wouldn’t take back what she’d said. She wouldn’t apologize for doing what she could to protect an innocent young girl.

  She was so intently focused on the bandit and the gun she didn’t realize that Mr. Rourke had left his place in line until he stepped quickly into view and his six-shooter touched Junior’s neck.

  “Put it down,” Mr. Rourke said calmly. “I really, really don’t want to shoot anyone today.” There was a weary quality to his voice, but that voice was hard, too. Inflexible. Hannah had no doubt that Mr. Rourke would shoot the outlaw if he had to.

  Junior apparently didn’t doubt it, either. The barrel of his weapon swung unthreateningly to the side. “I wasn’t really going to shoot her.”

  One of the other thieves, who’d been intent on collecting his booty, finally realized what was happening. “What the hell?” he shouted, raising his gun as he came around the front of the stagecoach.

  “Miss Winters,” Rourke said coldly and without so much as glancing at her, “stand behind me, please.”

  She moved to do as he asked, reaching out to wrench her cane from the robber before she skirted around Rourke. Standing behind him, she gave thanks that he was such a large man. For the moment, at least, she was well shielded.

  Without being instructed, the other passengers followed suit until they all stood behind Jed Rourke.

  “Now,” he continued wearily and calmly, “this little episode has just gotten out of hand, don’t you think? Nobody’s been hurt, and nobody needs to get hurt. You take your loot and get out of here, and we continue on our way. What do you say?”

  Mr. Rourke sounded relaxed—calm and completely in control—but the situation remained perilous and strained. He held a weapon at Junior’s throat, but the three robbers he faced were all armed.

  “I want your gun,” the bandit in the black bandanna said, and as he spoke the others fanned out. “Hand it over.”

  “I can’t do that,” Rourke said with a shake of his head. “You’ve already got my best rifle.”

  Three firearms to one; it was hardly fair. Once the two outlaws who were moving to the side were in position, the passengers would be surrounded. Jed Rourke might very well kill Junior, and perhaps he’d even fire off another shot at the outlaw in the black bandanna... but by then several of the passengers would be dead or wounded.

  Hannah took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and stepped around Mr. Rourke. “I don’t think you understand fully what happened here.” She addressed the black-bandanna bandit in her most sensible voice. “Your associate made an improper suggestion to our young friend and frightened her terribly.”

  “Miss Winters...” Mr. Rourke began, his voice low and tight.

  She waved a silencing hand in his direction and continued. “Surely you don’t blame Mr. Rourke and me for trying to protect her. She’s just a child, after all.” She glanced at the bandit who’d frightened Irene, giving him her most glacial stare. “Even though it’s apparent he’s little more than a child himself, he...”

  “Rourke?” one of the men asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked the mountainous man up and down. “Did she call him Mr. Rourke?”

  All four of the bandits stared at the tall, gruff man.

  “Can’t be that Rourke,” another one said in a low voice. “Jedidiah Rourke is seven feet tall, mean as a snake, and wouldn’t be caught dead riding on a stagecoach. If that were Jedidiah Rourke we’d all be dead by now.”

  The other bandit nodded in agreement, but they continued to look at Mr. Rourke with undisguised awe.

  Hannah allowed herself to study Jed Rourke, as well. Who was he? A famous bandit himself? An outlaw? He stood there without response to their suppositions, looking nothing but weary and bored.

  An arm snaked around Hannah’s waist and jerked her back. She’d foolishly lost track of one of the bandits, the tall one with the yellow bandanna, and he’d sneaked up behind her! Coward.

  The brush of a gun barrel against her temple drove away every other thought.

  “Now,” a gritty voice whispered, so close she could feel the touch of hot breath, “I don’t care which Rourke you are, you let him go or I blow the lady’s brains out right here.”

  Irene and Bertie and Mrs. Reynolds all cried openly. The gambler stared at the ground. The driver cradled his head and mumbled something about “fool women.”

  Jed Rourke lost his calm facade. He began to mutter, letting loose a flood of the most vulgar language she’d ever heard. The six-shooter he’d been holding to Junior’s neck popped up to point harmlessly at the sky, and he gave the outlaw a gentle shove.

  “Drop the gun and kick it over here,” the voice near Hannah’s ear demanded.

  Rourke cursed again as he obeyed the outlaw’s order and kicked away his weapon.

  The young hothead argued his case with Black Bandanna. All Hannah heard was his continued insistence that he be allowed to kill them all. If she allowed herself to curse aloud, she’d borrow a few of Mr. Rourke’s choice words right now.

  Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. The leader of the gang—at least she assumed Black Bandanna was the leader since he did almost all the talking—ordered Junior to mount up and start riding, and a moment later the outlaw who held Hannah released her, shoving her toward the others. It was with the greatest luck and skill that she avoided falling headlong into Jed Rourke.

  He didn’t look at her.... In fact, all eyes were on the bandits. Mean as a snake? Seven feet tall? What Rourke were they talking about?

  The thieves had everything they needed and wanted, and everyone was safe. Hannah decided to be grateful that no one had been hurt.

  “Get the horses,” the leader said to the men who remained, and as he held a weapon on the prisoners, his companions complied, beginning the process of loosening the bonds on
the animals who pulled the stage.

  “You’re not going to strand us out here,” Rourke said softly.

  It was hard to tell, with that black scarf hiding the lower half of his face, but Hannah was almost certain the bandit smiled. “Yep.” His eyes were on Hannah as he spoke. “You turned out to be more trouble than we expected, so it is tempting. I don’t abide unnecessary killin’, but, by golly, I don’t have to make things easy for you, neither.”

  “Let me have my Peacemaker, then, or my rifle,” Rourke said sensibly. “We’ll have a long walk ahead of us, and it’ll be dark soon. You know what kind of critters live in these parts.”

  Hannah shivered. Was he speaking of critters like the ones they faced now, or other dangerous animals?

  “Can’t do that,” the man said with a sigh. “Sorry.”

  The four horses cooperated meekly as they were freed from the constraints that had bound them to the stage.

  At last the three remaining outlaws mounted their horses, which were heavily laden with stolen goods. They led the traitorously cooperative stagecoach steeds as they galloped away.

  When they’d rounded the big boulder and disappeared from sight, Hannah turned to the rest of the group to see that all eyes were on her. Mr. Rourke, in particular, stared most audaciously.

  “Are you happy now, Miss Winters?” he seethed, his voice soft.

  “Surely you’re not blaming me for this fiasco,” she asked, raising an indignant hand to her breast.

  “Oh, no,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I’m only blaming you for the fact that we have no horses and no goddamn weapon!”