She quickly opened the door and scrambled down the steps, the other men following her as she turned to face the approaching rescuers. Nervously she bit her lip, unsure of Thorn's reaction to her presence. He had threatened on more than one occasion to tan her hide and he wasn't looking too happy to see her from this distance. But then, what had she expected? She had known he didn't want her in the west, which is precisely why she hadn't told him she was coming! Unconsciously she lifted her chin at his scowling face and refused to be intimidated as he dismounted, his gaze locked on hers.
Thorn could hardly believe his eyes...make that, didn't want to believe his eyes! The young woman standing there staring defiantly at him was Clary! She was supposed to be in Pennsylvania, yet here she was on a stagecoach being chased by bandits. Still, his eyes eagerly scanned her pretty face, drinking in the creamy skin and pink lips. Her dark brown hair belied the cornflower blue of those dreamy eyes and he yearned to kiss her senseless before spanking her backside six ways to Sunday!
“Boxcar told me you were coming, but I didn't believe you would be that stupid,” he growled coming to a halt in front of her. “What are you doing here?”
“It's good to see you, Clary,” interrupted Boxcar as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Clary ignored him; she was focused totally on Thorn.
“I'm pleased to see you too,” replied Clary sarcastically, although her eyes drank in the tall figure, the broad shoulders and deep golden eyes of the man she had missed so much. Eyes the color of good whiskey on a chilly day.
Thorn relented slightly. “Of course I'm happy to see you, Clary, but you aren't supposed to be here. It's too dangerous. He took her arm and led her away from the others, wanting to have a few private moments. “What if Boxcar and I hadn't happened along? What would have happened to you in that stagecoach? I won't hear of you staying and that's final, Clarisse Allison Worthington. I want you to go back to Pennsylvania on the first stage out of Potluck!” He smiled ingratiatingly at her. “Now that that's settled, how about a kiss?” He took her by the elbows and bent his dark head down to kiss the waiting petals but something smacked him across the face. He soon realized it was her cloth bag.
“How dare you?” exclaimed Clary, thoroughly angry now. “You think you can just give me orders and then kiss me? Not on your life, Mister! If and when I go back to Pennsylvania, it will be on my terms and not before then. For your information Paddington Jersey Thorn, I can take care of myself!” She picked up her skirts indignantly and turned to march back to the others, her temper seething at his high handedness.
“Hold it right there, Clary,” ordered Thorn sternly, grabbing her elbow to swing her around.
Clary swung around, her arm automatically flying out and connecting her bag with the side of Thorn's head. Then she reached out and stamped his foot with the boot heel of her new leather boots. And then she turned and stalked back towards the stage, heedless of his pain.
“Ow! Thunderation!” yelped Thorn as he hopped on one foot in circles. “You'll pay for that, Clary, I'm going to tan your hide good!” He put his injured foot down and limped after his ladylove, intent on teaching her a lesson. What in the world had gotten into his sweet tempered little Clary? She had never defied him before, much less acted like a female heathen!
“Time to go, Ma’am,” called the burly driver as Clary marched up and he opened the door for her as she climbed right in without a pause.
“You okay, Clary?” asked Boxcar. He poked his head in the window and gave his sister a grin, his brown eyes twinkling at her.
“I'm fine,” replied Clary tightly, but she relented and leaned forward to place a light kiss on her brother's cheek. “It's your friend that has a sore foot.”
Thorn reached around Boxcar and tried to open the stagecoach door. “You come out of there, Clary, I'm going to tan your backside!”
Boxcar placed his hand on Thorn's arm. “Not now, Thorn, we have business in El Paso, remember? Besides, the stage is leaving,” he pointed out. He doffed his hat to his sister. “We'll see you in Potluck, Clary.”
Thorn glowered at her. “Yes, we will! You go to Martha at the Sleepy Inn and get a room there. I'll be back in a day or so and then we'll have a talk!”
Clary refused to acknowledge Thorn's instructions and she sniffed disdainfully as the stage pulled away. She wouldn't even look at him.
Thorn and Boxcar rode side by side, Thorn not speaking until Boxcar finally broke the silence. “I take it that didn't go well?” He looked inquiringly across at Thorn.
“No...it didn't,” replied Thorn succinctly. “Your sister has become a little shrew and needs taken down a peg or two.”
“Well, it has been three years,” he reminded him mildly. “I told you she has changed some. She's not a child anymore and has a mind of her own.”
Thorn glowered at him. “Yeah, isn't it a shame that girls have to grow up into women who don't want to obey their husbands.”
“You're...uh...not married.” Boxcar grinned knowingly at him. “At least not last time I checked.”
“And I don't plan to be anytime soon, either,” snorted Thorn. “Your sister is going back to Pennsylvania, whether she wants to or not!” He raked his spurs across the horse’s ribs and sprung into a trot, effectively ending any further conversation.
Boxcar chuckled and followed him. “I guess time will tell,” he replied to his horse.
* * *
Clary fumed and fretted all the way to Potluck, the men with her in the coach wisely keeping their own counsel. A fella didn't want to chat up an angry woman, especially when she was angry with one of their gender!
As they approached town, Clary turned to the older gentleman. “Sir?”
“It's Randall Garvey,” he supplied respectfully. “What can I do for you, miss?”
“Is there another hotel in town besides the Sleepy Inn?”
Mr. Garvey's eye's narrowed. “Actually, there is, but didn't your man tell you to...”
“He's not my man,” replied Clary frostily. “Is there?”
“Oh...yes.” Mr. Garvey cleared his throat uncomfortably. “But the Sleepy Inn is by far the best for a young lady such as yourself.”
The younger man perked up his ears. “I'll take you to Madame Fanny's,” he offered eagerly.
“Heavens no! I wouldn't allow it.” Mr. Garvey harrumphed indelicately, sending the other man a slicing gaze. “It wouldn't do at all!”
“What is Madame Fanny's? Is it respectable?” asked Clary, looking from one man to the other.
The younger man looked highly amused. “Respectable? Well...part of it is.”
Clary lifted a slender eyebrow. “Part of it?”
“The hotel part is...the alley door part isn't,” he explained with a broad grin.
Mr. Garvey looked fierce. “None of it is respectable in most of the town's opinion,” he replied heatedly. “Madame Fanny's is a house of ill-repute. Not a place for the likes of a young lady like you to be seen.”
“That's funny,” drawled the younger man. “I'd say most of the men in town find it quite to their liking. Maybe even yourself?” He grinned knowingly at Mr. Garvey.
“Now see here, Mister...Mister...”
“Cavanaugh, Mike Cavanaugh,” supplied the younger man helpfully. “I'm new to the territory, only been around these parts for about six months.” His engaging grin and twinkling eyes struck a chord in Clary and she decided she liked him.
“What do you do, Mister Cavanaugh?” she asked curiously.
“I keep the books for the Bar S ranch, for Mister Ross Carpenter. And I help him buy cattle and good horseflesh. In fact, that's where I just came from, a cattle auction in El Paso.”
“The Bar S is one of the biggest spreads between Potluck and El Paso,” replied Mr. Garvey, studying the younger man intently. “Have you been plagued by Indian raids and offers to buy your land?”
“Only the north east section. Seems some fellow wants to buy a hundred acres up there, but Mr. C
arpenter hasn't decided if he wants to sell it or not. He's still thinking on it.” He gazed consideringly at Mr. Garvey. “Do you own a ranch?”
Mr. Garvey shook his head. “No, I work in a bank. I just wondered because there has been an increase in land sales in the last year and most of the ranchers that have sold out have done so because of Indian raids and other nonsense. Hard to operate at a loss for long in these parts.”
The two men continued chatting while Clary stared out the window, only half listening to their conversation. She thought about Thorn and how he would feel if she decided to go to Madame Fanny's. Her curiosity was aroused.
Coming from such a sheltered background, she had never seen anything like a house of ill repute before. Her father had barely allowed her to get on the stage and she had finally agreed to let cousin Marvin accompany her at least as far as New Orleans. She had come the rest of the way alone and so far had not encountered any problems, until the attempted robbery. She had been scared, but not so much that she hadn't felt capable of handling herself and her guns. She was almost disappointed to be saved from the encounter, but at least she knew where Thorn stood now.
Her small chin lifted rebelliously. If Thorn thought she was going home, he was sadly mistaken! No, she was here to stay...and her place to stay was going to be Madame Fanny's. She had made up her mind and there was no changing it!
* * *
Thorn and Boxcar were at the shaded watering hole along the river when they heard the woman's shriek and a gunshot ring out. It was close, too! Slipping from their horses, they ducked from bush to tree in the sparse covering, following the sounds of indignant screeching. It wasn't long before the low tones of male laughter floated along the breeze and they pulled their guns and quietly approached the area. Thorn's eyebrows knit together when he realized the woman was Callie Perkins and the man who was holding her off was the man with the rattlesnake skin around the brim of his hat! Another man sat a horse, his rifle across the saddle, chuckling and laughing at the antics of the two on the ground.
“So you're a big bad bounty hunter, eh?” asked the big man with his hand against Callie's chest, easily avoiding her wild swings and shrieks of temper while he gripped the clothing in his meaty fist. “They sure make 'em small these days, don't they, Hank?” He looked up in amusement at the cowboy on the horse. “What are we going to do with this one?”
The other cowboy pushed his hat back. “Well, Slim, she looks almost too small to eat. Maybe we ought to throw her back in the pond until she grows up some.”
“Let me go you...you...” spluttered Callie indignantly, her face red with anger. “I'll shoot you, mister, you can't escape the law!”
The big man shook his head at the spitting girl. “I ain't done nothing wrong, little girl, so there ain't no bounty on my head. Which leaves me with the question...why the hell are you chasing me?”
“Let her go.” Thorn's grip tightened on his gun as the big man's eyes locked with his and he realized Thorn had the drop on him. He saw Boxcar covering the man called Hank and he allowed himself to concentrate on Slim. Idly he thought that was an incongruous name, considering the big man probably topped 300 pounds. But he shrugged and let go of his grip on Callie, who promptly picked up her gun and trained it on him again.
“This one is mine, Thorn, I'm taking him back to Potluck!”
Slim eyed Thorn warily. “Don't tell me you're a bounty hunter too?”
“No, I'm not a bounty hunter,” replied Thorn, “and neither is she!” He looked at Callie. “Put the gun away, girl.”
Quick as a wink Slim reached out and plucked the gun out of Callie's hand and tossed it to Thorn. “She may be little, but a bullet still carries a damned dangerous bite and she looks like she could shoot just for the hell of it.”
“Hey!” yelped Callie indignantly. “Give me that back, Thorn!” She marched over to Thorn where he immediately wrapped his long left arm around her and held her tightly to his body, still retaining his drop on Slim.
“Shut up, Callie,” he gritted as she struggled against him. “I have a few questions for you,” he said to the man who was staring at him in amusement. If he wasn't mistaken, this was probably the one who had planted the shotgun in his hotel room.
“What kind of questions?” Slim's eyes narrowed.
“Who are you? Why did you buy the Widow Clausen's land?”
Slim took the tobacco chew out of his pocket and broke off a piece. “Folks call me Slim and this here is Hank.” He waved at the man on the horse who was looking guarded, but relaxed. “I bought the land on behalf of my employer. It was a legal deal, you can check with the bank in Silver Springs. I ain't wanted by the law, Mister. Me and Hank are just hired hands.”
Boxcar thought his striving to appear nonchalant a bit forced, but he asked, “Who is your employer?”
“I don't know. All I know is I get paid to see seal the deal on land sales. I go where the bank tells me to go and then I get paid. Sorta like a land agent, I guess you could call it.”
“And you don't happen to know anything about the people being driven to sell, I suppose,” drawled Thorn, watching him carefully. He noted the slight flush that crossed Slim's features. Running Wolf had said this man had paid the Indians.
“Like I said, I just seal the deals, I don't have nothing to do with anything else.” Slim's joviality had an edge to it.
“Who's your contact at Silver Springs?” Boxcar still idly held his gun on Hank, although Hank stayed carefully relaxed in the saddle. Looked like the two had their cover down pretty good.
“Fellow by the name of Garvey,” replied Slim, looking mighty impatient. “Look, I'm done with answering questions. I ain't done nothing wrong and you got no right to detain me unless you're a lawman. Are you?”
“No.” Thorn shook his head. “Just wondering why Mrs. Clausen sold out.”
“I can't answer that,” replied Slim picking up the reins to his mount. “All I know is I was told to make sure she got to El Paso and that's what I was doing until I got stopped by this little girl.” He swung up onto his horse. “You best grow up some before you start taking on a man's job, honey,” he said with a forced chuckle.
As he and Hank rode away, Thorn holstered his gun and turned Callie to face him. “Now then, I believe I made a promise not too long ago.”
Callie eyed him angrily, her booted foot drawing back, but Thorn was too quick for her and he dodged before it connected. “Let me go!”
“Not this time, little girl. You got a spanking coming and I intend to deliver it!”
“Don't you touch me! I'm a grown woman, not a child,” protested Callie vigorously, trying to pull away from him. She dug her heels in as he pulled her towards the dead tree trunk that lay there in a garish imitation of its former glory.
Chapter Three
“What you need is a keeper,” growled Thorn as he sank down on the log and unceremoniously hauled her across his lap kicking and struggling. “You're not only a danger to yourself, but to everyone around you!” He punctuated his lecture with a hefty spank to her wiggling, upturned backside, first one cheek and then the other.
“Let me go!”
“I'll let you go when I'm finished with you,” Thorn replied, continuing the painful smacks with his hard right hand, dodging her kicking feet at the same time. In spite of her struggles, he managed to land rapid fire blows to her tender cheeks in a cadence of volleys that seemed never ending to Callie.
“I should never have told you about Widow Clausen selling out. Why did you follow those men to Silver Springs? You wouldn't have known where I was if I hadn't told you I was visiting her today. Do you have a death wish or something? Taking on two men on your own like that is pure insanity! And where in the hell did you get the idea to be a bounty hunter?”
During this entire tirade he continued to set fire to her ass as Callie screamed in anger and pain. “Are you listening to me, little girl?” he asked finally as he paused to shake his hand out. Making sure he
got through the denim of her riding skirt was making his own hand sting and throb. He only hoped her butt felt as hot and aching as his hand.
“Yes! Yes!” Callie screeched the words, the tears streaming down her face. She sobbed in relief when he stopped spanking and slumped down across his thighs, bawling like a newborn calf.
“You going to listen to me now, or do I have to take your britches down and continue this lesson with a switch on your bare ass?”
“It's so unfair,” sobbed Calllie. “So unfair!”
“What's unfair?” Thorn took pity on her and lifted her up to look into her small, defiant face.
“If I were a man, no one would care what I did! I could be a bounty hunter if I wanted to!”
Thorn relented slightly. “You can't be as pretty as you are and be a man.” He patted her on her back. “You need to forget all about this bounty hunter business and go home and get married. Let me figure out what happened to your father, okay?”
“But being a bounty hunter would earn me some money for the Double J,” she protested. “I don't want to lose my ranch, Thorn!”
“You're not in any immediate danger of losing the ranch, you said so yourself.”
She lifted her chin mulishly. “Well, I will be if I don't do something. I can't run it like Pa did, I can't do the work he did. That means I have to hire someone to run it for me and that costs money.”
Thorn pretended to be taken aback. “What? You mean to tell me a tough bounty hunter like yourself can't run a measly little old ranch? I never would have thought it!”
Callie looked doubtfully up at him, her blue eyes still wet with tears. “You really think I could run it myself?”
“Why not? It's been done before by determined young women when they had to. I don't see why you should be any different. Besides, I'm sure there is no end of eligible men around willing to help you. You just have to give it a chance.”
Hope lit up her face and set her blue eyes twinkling like twin sapphires. “You're right, Thorn, why didn't I think of that? I bet I could do it! I've just been too worried about Pa to think straight.” She jumped eagerly off his lap. “In fact, I think I'll head home right now and get started. Thank you, Thorn, I owe you one!”
The Case of the Great Land Grab (Agent Thorn Book 1) Page 3
