Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Robin Gideon

  * * * *

  In her small barn, brushing down the mare Paul Randolph had loaned her, Pamela decided she’d need to figure out some kind of payment schedule so she could keep the horse. On two different occasions, Garrett had insisted that she not worry about paying for it, but Pamela couldn’t accept such a valuable gift. She didn’t want even the slightest suspicion that the mare was a payment for sexual favors.

  Finished brushing, feeding, and watering the horse, Pamela returned to her other chores, finally returning the pitchfork to its proper place, hanging the water bucket up on the wall peg, and then walking out into the bright morning sunlight.

  She was still squinting when she felt the muzzle of a rifle jab her in the back.

  “Just raise your hands nice and slow and don’t make a play for it ‘cause I’ll shoot a woman just as quick as I’ll shoot a man,” a man said.

  Pamela was shocked. She recognized Deputy Dylan McKenzie’s voice. This deputy, renowned for laziness and cowardice, had caught her? In the blink of an eye she saw herself first in a courtroom, standing before a judge, then pacing a tiny prison cell.

  “Just stay right where you are,” the deputy said.

  Pamela’s composure returned. She knew better than to argue with the deputy, or put up any resistance. Dylan, the coward, was the type who’d shoot a woman in the back. When he twisted her wrists behind her back one at a time to lock on the handcuffs, Pamela closed her eyes against a sinking feeling that her life was over.

  Once her hands were securely cuffed, Dylan put his hands all over her body under the pretense of searching for hidden weapons. At first Pamela twisted away from him, but then she realized how much he enjoyed overcoming her struggles. Finally, when he’d finished manhandling her, she glared at him. “First time you ever touch a woman, Deputy?”

  Dylan just grinned and took her by the arm, leading her to the porch where he forced her to sit.

  “Mind telling me what I’ve done?” Pamela asked. Could she have been recognized during her thwarted attempt to steal from Darwell Cattle #2? As she sat down, she again realized the wisdom of Garrett’s advice to plan every move out carefully in advance.

  “I’m arresting you for the back-shootin’ murder of Richard Darwell,” Dylan said over his shoulder as he walked into the cabin.

  Pamela’s head began to spin, and she was afraid that she’d fall over.

  Murder? There had to be some mistake. She was a thief. In court, she might even confess to that, and when she did, she’d tell the jury that she had stolen from Jonathon Darwell to help those poor families like the Pellmans, who had been so grievously hurt by Darwell. She was no murderess. There had to be some mistake.

  Pamela shook her head and blinked to stop the spinning, but now there was a ringing in her ears. Panicking, she tested the strength of the handcuffs, but thick bands of iron bit into the tender flesh of her wrists.

  Murder? Richard Darwell?

  “You’re out of your mind.” It took a moment for Pamela to realize she had actually spoken the defiant words not just thought them. She could hear the deputy rummaging through her possessions. “I said, you’re out of your mind!” she shouted. “When my brother finds out you’ve gone through our place and arrested me on this silly charge, he’s going to skin your hide. He’ll do it, Deputy, and don’t think he won’t.”

  The ringing in her ears had finally ended, and her confidence was returning. Despite everything, she was completely innocent of murder, and the facts would prove it.

  “Well, well, well,” Deputy McKenzie said smugly as he walked back onto the porch. There was a swagger to his step now that hadn’t been there before. In his hands were the black silk cape and mask Garrett had made for her. “You have been a busy young lady, haven’t you? I haven’t just arrested the murderer of Richard Darwell, I’ve arrested the Midnight Phantom to boot!”

  * * * *

  Rage roiled inside Garrett. For this, someone was going to pay dearly.

  Why had it taken so long—nearly four hours—for news to get to the ranch of Pamela Bragg’s arrest for the murder of Richard Darwell? And now virtually everyone in Whitetail Creek was talking about how Pamela had also been revealed as the Midnight Phantom.

  “Don’t go off half-cocked,” Paul said, standing in the doorway to Garrett’s bedroom.

  “Trust me. I’m not. I’m loaded for bear,” Garrett replied as he carefully slipped his arm into a figure eight-shaped holster strap then dropped a small revolver into the leather pouch. He seldom carried concealed weapons, but with his gray pinstriped jacket on, the revolver nestled under his left arm was all but invisible.

  “Remember, you’re a lawyer,” Paul said quietly.

  Paul had earlier assembled some men as backup should the situation take on illegal dimensions. Now these men were getting their weapons readied, their horses saddled, and they were being given assignments with military precision.

  “I won’t forget,” Garrett stated with savage sarcasm, inspecting some papers before he shoved them into his briefcase. “With an honest-to-God lawman like Deputy Dylan McKenzie arresting Pamela for murder, and such shining examples of integrity in our local government, how could I possibly forget that I’m a lawyer and must abide by the law?”

  How unjust it all seemed! Why should he, Garrett Randolph, be handcuffed by the law, by all its rules and statutes, when men like Jonathon Darwell and Deputy Dylan did whatever they desired?

  Had becoming the Midnight Phantom had any positive impact after all?

  Paul excused himself, saying he had other things to do. Garrett knew that meant looking in on the boys to see how their efforts were progressing. He himself had been on the organizing end when Garrett’s fiery temper and desire for immediate justice had had to be dealt with, so he knew that beyond the range of his vision, men were scurrying about and readying weapons, and Paul would be explaining that they must stay out of Garrett’s way while at the same time remaining close enough to help him if they were needed.

  As Garrett’s ribs began to throb, he let out a laugh. The damn pain would provide a reminder of the ruthless enemy he faced. He embraced the pain, knowing it would keep his senses deadly sharp.

  A horse was waiting for him when he got outside. As he strapped his briefcase into the saddlebags, he could see men running past the nearby bunkhouses.

  “I’ll be going to the sheriff’s office first,” Garrett said to the young ranch hand, taking the reins of his horse. He knew that whatever he said would be passed on to the appropriate men. “Once I get Pamela out of jail, I’ll figure out my next step. Tell the boys to stay out of range for a while. I don’t want the townspeople thinking they’re being bullied.”

  The boy, his eyes wide, said nothing. New to Randolph Ranch, he’d never before seen the place mobilize against an enemy, and he clearly found it exciting.

  As Garrett raced toward town, his mind worked through possible strategies. Once he arrived, his horse lathered from the breakneck pace, he saw curtains moving as people posted at their windows tried to avoid being seen. The men lounging outside stores and shops stopped talking and watched silently as he rode past. Randolph’s angry arrival had been nervously anticipated.

  Garrett hoped Sheriff Max Stryker was in town. Max was a good and decent man, hardworking and honest, reasonable. Deputy Dylan McKenzie, on the other hand, was the type to be bought, bribed, or bullied into submission.

  Garrett saw Dylan standing outside the sheriff’s office, talking to three young women, likely telling them a fantastically exaggerated account of how he had bravely and heroically captured the dangerous Midnight Phantom. Then Dylan spotted Garrett riding quickly toward him and hastily dismissed his female audience to rush into the sheriff’s office. By the time Garrett arrived, Dylan was standing in the doorway, holding a sawed-off shotgun.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Randolph,” Dylan said, his cheek bulging with fresh chewing tobacco. He spit a long brown stream into the dirt, close enough to the highly polished toe
s of Garrett’s boots to be an insult, not so close that it couldn’t be called an accident.

  Garrett tried to ignore the indirect confrontation and the swinish behavior.

  “Better start packing your bags,” Garrett said, swinging down from his mount. It took all his willpower to keep from reaching for the small revolver hidden in the holster beneath his left arm. “You’re not going to be working in Whitetail Creek much longer.”

  “Now how do you figure that?” the deputy said, a smirk on his face. With the shotgun, Dylan gave the appearance of feeling pretty confident. A small crowd had gathered.

  “I want Pamela out. Now.” Garrett’s voice was extremely calm, but a murderous rage boiled inside him. “I don’t know who put you up to this, but you’re going to pay for it, Deputy. Pay dearly.”

  “Mr. Lawyer Man, are you threatening me? Me, a sworn officer of the law?” Dylan demanded, moving to block Garrett’s entrance into the sheriff’s office. He angled the twin barrels of the shotgun up just enough so that they were now pointed at Garrett’s knees as he approached. Only a few ounces of pressure on the triggers and Garrett would be cut down.

  “It’s not a threat, it’s a commitment,” Garrett said, walking forward slowly, his eyes on the deputy’s face, not the shotgun aimed at him.

  “You threaten me and I’ll lock you up with the lady.” The deputy chuckled then, glancing around to see who was watching his performance. “That is assumin’ she’s a lady,” he added before he laughed outright.

  Garrett walked past the deputy, not all that surprised he hadn’t been stopped. After all, he had the legal right to visit a client in jail.

  His heart seized up the second he saw Pamela through the iron bars, sitting in her cell on the cot. At least she had a cell to herself, and the other three cells were unoccupied. Garrett had too much experience with men behind bars for him to have any illusions about their character.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  On seeing him, Pamela shot off the jail cot and rushed to the iron bars. She placed her hands over his on the bars and squeezed her eyes tightly shut for an instant, visibly fighting back tears.

  For a long moment they stood in silence. A rage unlike anything Garrett had ever known before was boiling inside him. But he knew he must keep his temper in control, for angry men are stupid men, and this was not a time when he could afford to behave stupidly.

  “What happened?”

  “I was in the barn. When I walked out, the deputy put a gun to my back. I thought it was for trying to steal the Darwell Cattle payroll, but I was being arrested for the murder of Richard Darwell. Then he went through the cabin and found that cape and mask you made for me, so I’m also arrested for being the Midnight Phantom. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?” She actually managed a philosophic smile. “I just can’t believe this has happened to me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this.”

  “I didn’t kill him, Garrett. I hated Richard, but then, everyone hated him.”

  Though he’d never believed her capable of cold-blooded murder, it reassured Garrett to hear Pamela’s denial.

  “I never should have made that cape and mask,” he whispered, inwardly damning himself for his contribution to Pamela’s incarceration. “I did it as a lark. I thought you would enjoy it.”

  “Don’t start blaming yourself,” she cut in, her head snapping up. She fixed a determined green gaze on Garrett.

  “Blame won’t accomplish anything now. What’s past is past.” She reached through the bars to lightly place her hand against Garrett’s cheek. “And don’t even think of confessing to being the Midnight Phantom. Even if you did that, I’d still have the murder charge to contend with. I need you as my lawyer, Garrett, so don’t do anything heroic like giving yourself up. That won’t help me at all.”

  “Give myself up?” Garrett asked, raising his eyebrows theatrically. “I never even thought of it.” But his tone admitted this as a possibility for getting Pamela freed.

  Staying with her until confidence shone in her eyes once again, Garrett made her promise never to lose faith that all would turn out right. Only then did he leave the sheriff’s office.

  He found the deputy talking with several women just outside the jail. Dylan McKenzie was making the most of his deed. From the bits of talk Garrett overheard, capturing Pamela alive was testament to the deputy’s genius and courage, the likes of which Whitetail Creek had never seen before.

  “Deputy, can I talk to you privately?” Garrett asked evenly, recognizing that at present Dylan wielded much more power than he did. Humiliating the deputy in front of these young women wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  “Why certainly, Garrett,” the lawman replied with a smile. It was the first time he’d used Garrett’s first name, and he noticed the reaction it drew from the women. He stepped away from his admirers, giving them a parting smile.

  “If anything happens to her while she’s in jail, I’ll kill you,” Garrett promised quietly.

  The statement caught Dylan off guard. For a moment he stared at Garrett in disbelief. Then he raised his shotgun, still holding it near his hip, until the barrels were pointed straight at Garrett’s chest.

  “Are you threatening me? You dare to—”

  “Shut up, you insignificant worm,” Garrett said, the words coming out through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell you this just once. I’m holding you responsible for Pamela’s safety while she’s in jail. That means if she hangs herself, I’m holding you responsible. And if she has a visitor at night—like you, for instance—who decides he wants to rape her, I’ll take your skin off in strips then kill you. No one’s to touch her, and if someone does, I’ll kill you.”

  Garrett turned and walked away from the deputy. To stay any longer would tax his patience further than he could stand. Striding down the boardwalk, his eyes not really focusing on where he was walking, he paid just enough attention to his surroundings to keep from knocking anyone down.

  “Garrett, can I speak with you? It’s important.”

  The civil voice came to him from behind. It took several seconds and several more strides before Garrett realized someone was talking to him and speaking politely. Garrett stopped, not wanting to talk to anyone, but sensing that he had to.

  “I’ve heard what happened,” Gerald Washburn, a local businessman, said in an oh-so-serious tone.

  Garrett said nothing, sizing up the man. Washburn, unfortunately, was one of his most vocal supporters for mayor of Whitetail Creek. Everyone knew the man lived and breathed business and would never let anything get in the way of making a profit.

  “There’s something you’re not saying, Gerald. What is it?” Garrett asked flatly, in no mood for Gerald’s political double-talk.

  Gerald looked away a moment, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. He pursed his lips, as if the next words were difficult for him.

  “I’m awfully busy, Gerald,” Garrett pressed. “If you have something to say to me, do it.”

  Gerald reacted by stepping back from Garrett. He was openly shocked to be spoken to with such disrespect.

  “I’ll be plain with you, Garrett. Me and the boys have been talking. We’ve all heard about Pamela, and we know she killed Richard Darwell. We—”

  “That’s an allegation, nothing more,” Garrett cut in, annoyed by this ludicrous conversation.

  “It’s a fact as far as me and the boys are concerned,” Gerald Washburn said sternly. “And if you’re as smart as we’ve always thought you were, you’ll sail clear of that young gal who’s in jail right now. Me and the boys heard all about what you and her did at that dance a while back. We didn’t say a word about that because we know a young man’s blood flows mighty hot. But you defend that gal in court, you fight for her, and there’s just no way we can support you for mayor.”

  Garrett wondered how much longer he could hold his temper. His desire to strike out physically, violently, was becoming so strong. How unimpor
tant it seemed now to worry over his political career and the impact Pamela might have on it! Prior to her arrest, Garrett had spent some time considering what various factions of the citizenry would think of seeing Pamela beside him on the political platform when he ran for mayor of Whitetail Creek, but now politics seemed so inconsequential.

  “You can’t be serious,” he replied, the heat of his anger escalating.

  “You’re damned right I’m serious. We can’t afford a mayor who makes a goddamned fool of himself over a woman. That’s what I’m saying. Hell, Garrett, we don’t begrudge you having your fun. All of us know what that little gal looks like, and there isn’t a one of us who wouldn’t hop in the haystack with her if we got the offer. But you’ve got to know that whoever we back for mayor and territorial governor—and by back I mean not just with money, but with considerable votes—that man’s locked in.”

  Gerald Washburn was warming to the subject, Garrett decided, because it illustrated just exactly how much real power he held.

  “Now if you’re as smart as me and the boys have always thought you were,” he continued, “you’d just go on a little vacation. Go to New York City and have yourself a good time while the trial takes place. There’s nothing you can do to save her. She’s guilty as hell, and you don’t want to be anywhere around when she starts pointing the finger of blame at others or when her pretty neck swings in a rope.”

  Calmly, Garrett reached out and grabbed Gerald Washburn’s necktie. Then, choking the man, he pulled Washburn toward him until their noses were nearly touching.

  “Her pretty little neck,” Garrett repeated, as he tightened the necktie, which had become a noose, “will never be touched. Even if I have to burn all of Whitetail Creek to the ground, I’ll see to it that Pamela goes free.”

  When Garrett finally released his hold on Washburn’s necktie, the plum-faced businessman stumbled backward several steps.

  Clearly shaken by Garrett’s implied and explicit violence, he croaked, “I’m shocked, Garrett. I expected better of you.” He swallowed and coughed. “But if you insist on behaving this way, then the boys and I will simply have to find another man to support. You aren’t the only man in Whitetail Creek with a future.”