Texas Cinderella

by Winnie Griggs

  As soon as Riley verified that Guy and Pru had indeed been on the train when it departed, he’d raced to the livery to saddle up River. Mr. Humphries had told him about a shortcut to the next stop on the train line, but even so it was going to be close. If Riley didn’t catch up with that train before it departed its next stop, he might never find Pru.

  Once he’d galloped off, right after answering Cassie’s “what will you do if you catch up to them” question with a grim-faced “whatever it takes,” she had headed directly to the sheriff’s office. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Riley had had a gun with him when he rode off.

  “Miss Vickers, I want to help—you can’t imagine just how much I want to help—but there’s nothing I can do. The man served his time and he is her father, so he is well within his rights to take her wherever he cares to.”

  Cassie fisted her hands in frustration. She was equally as concerned over what would happen if Riley did find them as she was over what would happen if he didn’t.

  “Unless...” the sheriff murmured.

  She glance up hopefully. “Unless what?”

  “Unless he was guilty of some kind of crime that we could arrest him for, or at least hold him on.” The lawman gave her a speculative look. “For instance, has anything gone missing at your place, anything at all that one could reasonably suspect him of having taken?”

  Cassie was sorely tempted to lie. Then she had a sudden thought. “My bracelet!”

  Sheriff Gleason straightened. “Tell me.”

  “There is this gold chain bracelet my mother gave me when I was younger. Pru was playing with it this afternoon and I assume she still had it when Guy took her. Will that work?” Cassie had left out the part about her having given the bracelet to Pru, but maybe she could be forgiven for that.

  “Absolutely. The charges may not stick, but it is definitely enough to get him hauled off that train and held in custody until you can get there and clear the matter up.” He moved to the door. “I’ll send a telegram to Sheriff Calhoun over in Needle Creek to be on the lookout for him.”

  “And Pru?”

  “Sheriff Calhoun is a good man. He’ll make sure she’s looked after until Riley gets there.”

  A great wave of relief washed over Cassie as her knees threatened to buckle. She felt for the chair behind her and plopped down.

  The sheriff moved toward her. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get you some water? Or the doctor?”

  She waved him away. “I’m fine, just a little overexcited. Go, take care of that telegram. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Cassie twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands, feeling the guilt trying to beat down her defenses. Why had she left Pru outside unattended? She should have know better, should have been more alert.

  But why hadn’t the girl struggled, made more noise? What had Guy threatened her with?

  Cassie was worried about what Pru was going through, worried about what Riley was thinking and feeling, and what he was prepared to do to get Pru back. And Cassie was scared, more scared than she’d ever been in her life, of how this all might turn out.

  She bowed her head and prayed, pouring out her fear and desires, her heart and soul into those prayers, focusing on every Bible verse she could remember that promised solace, mercy and love.

  She wasn’t certain how much time passed, but the door suddenly opened, bringing her back to the present. A curious little man, one Cassie had never seen before, walked in. He was short, not much taller than her in fact, and rather rotund, with a bespectacled face and mutton chop whiskers, and carried a derby hat and a sheaf of papers in his hands.

  He glanced around, obviously looking for the sheriff, and then his gaze rested on her. He gave a short bow. “Forgive me, miss, but might I inquire as to whether the sheriff is about?”

  Cassie was immediately taken with his formal, slightly accented speech and his gentlemanly manner. “He’s stepped away to send a telegram, but he should be back shortly.” She waved to the chair a short distance from hers. “You can wait if you like.”

  “Thank you.” He moved to the chair, but before he sat, executed another short bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexander Claypool.”

  Cassie immediately straightened. This was Riley’s Pinkerton detective? He wasn’t at all as she’d pictured him. “Mr. Claypool, I am so very glad to meet you. I’m Cassie Lynn Vickers, a friend of Riley Walker’s, and I sincerely hope you have good news for him.”

  His face split in a smile of genuine pleasure. “Ah, Miss Vickers, of course. Mr. Walker has spoken of you in the most glowing of terms.” Then he sobered. “But I’m sorry, I can only divulge the information I’ve brought to Mr. Walker himself.”

  “I understand, but that may be difficult to do right now.”

  The man must have heard the tightness in her voice because he frowned. “What is it? Has something happened to Mr. Walker?”

  “Not Mr. Walker, at least not yet. His stepbrother, Mr. Simpson, grabbed Pru this afternoon and left with her on the train before we had time to react. Riley’s ridden off after them on his horse, but he may be too late.”

  “How could this have happened?”

  “It’s my fault.” Cassie’s voice threatened to crack. “I should have been watching her more closely, should have—” She couldn’t go on.

  Mr. Claypool reached out and touched her arm briefly. “Dear lady, please do not do this to yourself. The only person at fault here is that criminal Guy Simpson.”

  “Thank you. But that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “But I don’t understand. I told Mr. Walker in my telegram that I would be here today with the proof we’ve been searching for. He only had to hold out for one more day.”

  “What telegram?”

  “Why, the telegram he should have received yesterday.”

  “I assure you he didn’t receive a telegram from you yesterday.” She was absolutely certain Riley would have told her had something this significant occurred.

  She stood. “Come on, we’re going down to the telegraph office at the train depot to find out just what happened.”

  With a nod, Mr. Claypool crossed the room and opened the door, allowing her to sweep past him before joining her in her rapid march down the sidewalk.

  Cassie’s mind was churning. Had Guy somehow gotten hold of that telegram? It would explain so much—why he’d canceled the outing with Mrs. Flanagan, why he’d picked today of all days to leave town.

  About two blocks from the train station they met Sheriff Gleason heading back to his office. Cassie made quick introductions and then told the sheriff he needed to follow them to the depot. “I think I know why Pru’s dad took her and left town.” And without another word, she headed off again, leaving the two men no choice but to follow her.

  Not waiting for either man to open the door for her, Cassie pushed into the depot and made a beeline for the counter. “Zeke Tarn, I need to have a word with you.”

  The young man looked up guiltily, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively. “Miss Vickers. What can I do for you?”

  “This gentleman here is Mr. Alexander Claypool, a Pinkerton detective. He tells me he sent Mr. Walker an official telegram yesterday, a telegram I know for a fact Mr. Walker never received. Would you care to explain that?”

  Zeke glanced from one to the other of them, looking like a mouse caught in a trap. “I’m so sorry,” he finally blurted. “I thought it would be okay.”

  “Slow down, Zeke,” Sheriff Gleason said. “You thought what would be okay?”

  “Lionel’s been sick for two days now and I’ve been running this place all by myself. We were sure enough busy yesterday when the morning train came in, what with that big order for the mercantile and Mr. Johnston’s crate getting busted and all. And Mr.
Johnston was sure ’nuff angry.”

  “Yes, you were busy,” Cassie said impatiently. “Get to the part about the telegram.”

  Sheriff Gleason shot her a quelling look, then turned back to Zeke. “Then what happened?”

  “That telegram came right in the middle of all that ruckus and I had to set it aside while I tried to calm Mr. Johnston down. But then Mr. Simpson, he heard me say who it was for, and offered to deliver it for me. I thought it would be okay, him being Mr. Walker’s brother and all.”

  The sheriff stared the man down. “Zeke, I’m afraid you’ve caused quite a bit of trouble. We’re going to need to talk about the proper handling of telegrams, but not right now. You go on about your business and we’ll discuss this after Lionel gets back on his feet.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff. And I promise it won’t ever happen again.”

  The sheriff turned to Mr. Claypool. “What exactly did that telegram say?”

  “It advised Mr. Walker that I had finally found the evidence he’d been looking for in regards to the Ploverton robbery, and that I would be here today with the information in hand.”

  The sheriff nodded to the sheaf of papers in the detective’s grasp. “And is that the evidence?”

  “Yes, sir. And this is your copy.”

  Sheriff Gleason perused the papers while Cassie fidgeted impatiently. Why were they all just standing here? They should be doing something, anything, to help Pru and keep Riley from doing something he’d have to live with the rest of his life.

  Finally the sheriff looked up, his expression grim. “This changes everything.” He turned back to the depot worker. “Zeke, I need to send another telegram to Sheriff Calhoun over in Needle Creek.”

  Gleason turned to Cassie. “Rest assured, the sheriff is going to yank him off that train as soon as it arrives, and Guy Simpson is going to be put away for quite a long time.”

  That relieved Cassie a bit, but there was still a worry nagging at her, a feeling that the nightmare wasn’t completely over yet. “I’m going to Needle Creek myself,” she blurted out.

  “Now, Miss Vickers—”

  But Cassie wasn’t going to let herself be deterred. “I’m going and that’s the end of it. No matter what comes of this, I need to be there for Pru.” And for Riley.

  “The next train to Needle Creek won’t come through until tomorrow afternoon. By then, God willing, Mr. Walker and his niece will likely be headed back this way.”

  “That’s not quick enough. I’ll rent a buggy and horse from the livery.”

  “Now, you know I can’t let you go gallivanting around the countryside on your own, especially somewhere you’ve never been before.”

  She lifted her chin and headed for the door. “I don’t believe you have the right to stop me.” Then she changed her tone as she stepped outside. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, I know you mean well, but this is just something I have to do.”

  “I’ll go with her.”

  Startled by this sudden support from the Pinkerton detective, Cassie gave him an uncertain smile, but didn’t pause. Her sense of urgency was growing. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Claypool, but you don’t have to—”

  “Oh, but I think I do. Mr. Walker hired me to take care of his interests in this matter, and something tells me you have become one of his interests. In fact, I do believe he would be very angry with me if I didn’t do my utmost to assure that you reached your destination safely.”

  * * *

  Riley hated to drive River this hard, but he had to get to Needle Creek before the train pulled out. The alternative was too nightmarish to contemplate.

  How had Guy anticipated his plans this way? Or was it mere coincidence that his viper of a stepbrother had made his move on this particular day?

  Whatever the reason, it was all Riley’s fault. He’d let down his guard, relaxed his vigilance just when he should have been shoring it up. He’d been so intent on making sure they enjoyed this last day with Cassie and Mrs. Flanagan that he’d let the weasel traipse right into the henhouse.

  He wanted to howl in anger at the thought of what Pru must be going through right now. Would she ever forgive him, ever trust him again?

  Riley leaned forward and rubbed River’s neck, trying to coax a little more speed out of the already overexerted horse. No time to think about forgiveness right now. He had to focus all his efforts on getting her back.

  He would deal with the aftermath later.

  Ten minutes had passed when the first outbuildings of what had to be Needle Creek came into view. He was close now, just a little bit farther.

  In the distance, he heard the sound of a train whistle.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Cassie and Mr. Claypool accomplished most of the one-hour trip from Turnabout to Needle Creek in silence, for which Cassie was grateful. Her tangled thoughts weren’t conducive to conversation and small talk.

  When they’d left the train depot, Mr. Claypool had gone to the livery to make arrangements for the buggy, while Cassie returned to Mrs. Flanagan’s to update her on the situation. Noah was understandably upset and Cassie wished she could stay longer to help soothe his fears, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that every minute counted and that she needed to get on the road. She quickly made arrangements for Mrs. Pratt to spend the night at Mrs. Flanagan’s home, to tend to those things a wheelchair-bound woman could not. Dr. Pratt insisted on accompanying his wife, so Cassie felt relieved to know she was leaving the widow and Noah in such good hands.

  When the first homes on the outskirts of Needle Creek came into sight, Cassie leaned forward, as if she could see through them into town and search out Riley and Pru.

  “I know it’s futile to tell you to relax, Miss Vickers, so instead I will say take heart. We will soon be able to appraise the situation for ourselves.”

  She cast a glance at the detective, whose kind eyes mirrored some of her own worry. She liked this man, and understood now why Riley had put such trust in him. It wasn’t just the prestige and reputation of the agency he worked for, it was the man himself.

  Five minutes later, they had made it into the town proper. Mr. Claypool stopped the first person he saw and asked for directions to the sheriff’s office.

  “You turn left there on Pine Street and go three blocks and you’ll see it on the right.” The helpful stranger frowned. “But you won’t find Sheriff Calhoun there right now, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

  “Why not?” Mr. Claypool asked.

  “’Cause he’s got a big ole ruckus to take care of. Some stranger got off the train dragging a little girl with him and tried to steal a horse. He’s holed up in the livery stable right now, threatening to shoot anyone who steps inside.”

  Pru! She must be frightened beyond bearing. And where was Riley?

  Cassie looked down from her seat on the wagon. “There was a man headed this way who was trying to get back the little girl. He was riding a silver-gray horse. Have you seen him?”

  The helpful stranger nodded. “He’s down at the livery, too, and the sheriff is having a hard time keeping him out of things.” Their informant narrowed his eyes. “You folks mixed up in this, too?”

  Mr. Claypool stepped in again, ignoring the man’s question to ask one of his own. “Where is this livery?”

  “One block over on Second Street, down toward the train tracks. You’ll see the crowd of gawkers before you get there. Fools all of ’em. Likely to get themselves hit by a stray bullet.”

  Cassie’s heart lurched. “There’s been shooting?”

  “Not yet. But it’s coming, you just wait and see. I don’t plan to be there when it does.”

  Cassie turned to her companion. “Let’s go.”

  To her surprise, he didn’t argue, merely flicked the reins to set the horse in motion ag
ain.

  When they were within a block of the livery, Mr. Claypool pulled the buggy to a halt, unable to continue due to the crowd.

  Not waiting for him to so much as set the brake, Cassie jumped down and began searching the crowd for Riley. She spotted him almost immediately, arguing with someone, who from the looks of the badge on his shirt, was the sheriff.

  Hands tried to hold her back, but she kept elbowing her way through, until she was close enough for him to hear her call.

  * * *

  Riley halted midargument and turned. He had to be hearing things. He’d know that voice anywhere, but Cassie couldn’t be...

  Then he saw her, struggling with a deputy who was trying to hold her back. Riley abandoned his argument with the sheriff without a backward glance and crossed the distance to her in quick, ground-eating strides. Without a word he pulled her into his arms, buried his head in her hair and hugged her for all he was worth. She felt so good, so right. He could draw strength from her, wanted to hold on to her as if she were a lifeline.

  Then sanity returned and he pulled back. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “I came to help.” She said the words matter-of-factly, as if they provided the most reasonable answer in the world.

  “Help? The best thing you can do right now is get yourself out of harm’s way.”

  “I intend to stand with you.”

  He had no answer for that, so tried a different approach. “How did you get here?”

  “Mr. Claypool and I came by buggy.”

  “Clayp—” He looked around and spotted the detective standing a few feet away, his signature sardonic smile on his lips.

  “Hello, Riley,” the detective said in greeting. “I assure you I had no choice in the matter. If I hadn’t come with her, I have no doubt Miss Vickers would have attempted to make the journey on her own.”

  Riley had no doubt of that, either. “So you’ve noticed how stubborn she is, have you?”

  Cassie gave an inelegant sniff. “I believe the word you’re looking for is determined.” Then she waved her hand. “But we can discuss all of this later. Tell us what’s happening.”