by Jill Gregory
“What can I do for you folks?” Lucius demanded, resting his nail-bitten hands on the arms of his chair. He was about to say, “Speak up, I don’t have all day,” but when he saw the frowning expression on the stranger’s face he thought better of it. He clamped his mouth shut instead and waited in growing uneasiness for some inkling as to what this was all about.
Rawdon noted the weasely man’s badge with a start of surprise.
“Who the hell are you?”
One look at him was enough to tell Cole that this short, spindly man with the protruding dark eyes and coffee stains on his vest was no model of honesty and virtue. The man looked like scum, smelled like scum, and had the shifting eyes and braggart posture of scum. The sheriff’s office and the cells behind it looked filthy and unkempt, not at all the way Rivers normally kept them. Cole glanced around slowly, noting the lumpy unmade beds in the prisoner cells, the rats gnawing old bread in a corner, the dirt ground into the floor. In the dim light he could see cigar butts and ashes littering the desk, as well as filthy crumpled handkerchiefs and a pile of poker chips half hidden by a sheaf of papers.
One glance at Juliana, frozen by his side, showed him that she had not failed to note the filth—or the rats. Dismay was written all across her face.
“Where’s Rivers?” Cole went on before the man in the sheriff’s badge could speak. “Answer me, damn you.”
Dane puffed out his chest. “Hank Rivers?” he drawled. “Why, he’s dead, of course.” The sheriff shoved back his chair and got to his feet, jabbing a thumb against his badge.
“I’m Lucius Dane, Plattsville’s new sheriff. Who might you be, mister?”
“Cole Rawdon.” Cole didn’t bother shaking hands, or even nodding. He saw that Dane recognized his name. The man’s face turned ashen and his hands, loose at his sides, started to tremble.
“I’ve heerd of you.” Dane tried to make his voice sound normal, but it was a shade hollower than it had been before. He swallowed convulsively as he stared into the cold blue eyes of the infamous bounty hunter.
“What happened to Rivers?” Rawdon asked curtly.
Dane dropped his gaze and shrugged his shoulders. “Shot in the back. Poor bastard. Heard tell the Montgomery gang did it. Actually, fellow name of Wade Montgomery.”
Juliana, who had been too weary from riding all this time to do more than gaze in horror around the filthy office and into the reaches of the jail cells, felt shock vibrate through her at these words. She stared into the sheriff’s face, her eyes growing wide and furious.
“No!” She jerked loose from Cole’s grasp and darted forward, suffused with an overwhelming rage. “You’re lying. Wade would never shoot anyone in the back!”
Dane let his gaze travel up and down the sensuous young beauty before him. It didn’t matter that she looked as if she’d like to eat his heart for supper; she was still the most dazzling female he’d seen since the time he’d paid a small fortune at a brothel in San Francisco for a night with the house’s prime beauty. But this girl made that exquisite whore seem ordinary in comparison. This one was a peach, ripe, luscious, perfect—the other, a plain old apple, polished and rosy maybe, but nowhere near as delectable a morsel. Everything about her was delicate and feminine.
Except the way she was glaring at him.
“You know that young killer, missy?” Dane inquired, raising one eyebrow at her. “Maybe you can tell me where to find him.”
“Wade is no more a killer than I am!”
Rawdon pushed in front of her, addressing Dane. “When did this happen?”
“Maybe two months ago. The Montgomery gang robbed a gold shipment headed from the Sanders mine to Timber Junction. Rivers took a posse out after ‘em. The posse split up. Rivers and two other men, including his deputy, got bushwhacked in their camp. Rivers took a bullet in the back—never even got the chance to draw his gun. One of the men survived, though, and told us who done it.” Dane plumped himself back down in his chair; his knees felt none too steady under the bounty hunter’s hard gaze. “So Rivers was a friend of yours?” he asked, picking up a pencil and beginning to tap it against the iron coffee mug at his elbow.
“No.”
Cole spoke the truth. He considered no man his friend, hadn’t since the time when Jess Burrows had betrayed him. Yet he was sorry about Rivers, who had been honest and decent and had the courage to put on a badge and fight the vermin inhabiting much of the West. He was of a very different breed than Lucius Dane.
Dane cleared his throat. “Not that I mind having company, but you folks come by for any particular reason? Or did you just want to say howdy to Hank Rivers?”
Cole glanced at the girl beside him, who hadn’t taken her gaze off Sheriff Dane. “This woman is wanted in Denver,” he said slowly.
Something inside Juliana withered at his words.
“The reward is two thousand dollars. How long will it take to get my money?”
Juliana closed her eyes against the pain that burned her eyelids.
Dane whistled through his teeth. “Two thousand? Who is she?”
She forced herself to stand up very straight as Cole pointed to the board next to the window where the Wanted notices were posted. A poorly etched drawing of Juliana was displayed along with a bold-faced description of her and her alleged crimes. Though she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, and her shoulders stiff, she couldn’t stop the humiliating flush that crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Juliana Montgomery?” Dane’s ears pricked up. His feral eyes swiveled toward the girl once again, this time with a sharper kind of interest. “Missy, air you kin to that terrible Montgomery gang?” he inquired.
Juliana lifted her chin, proud as a statue. At least she was trying to look proud—proud and tough and contemptuous, but inside she was fighting against a choking panic. She couldn’t believe Cole Rawdon was going to leave her here in this awful place with this beastly little man. She was icy with fear, her hands as cold and heavy as marble. What had Wade and Tommy gotten involved in now? Murder? It was impossible, she told herself, thinking of the handsome, fun-loving brothers she had adored. Her heart was sick with worry for them. She didn’t know which was worse, the trouble the boys were in, or her own plight, locked up here in this foul little town in the custody of Lucius Dane.
At least she’d be rid of Cole Rawdon. But suddenly, the thought of him walking out that door and leaving her here with this sheriff caused suffocating fear to rush through her.
“Air you goin’ to answer me, missy, or not?” Dane demanded, and reaching out, grabbed her by the arm.
“I’m not answering any questions until my trial,” Juliana shot back, wrenching her arm away.
Cole Rawdon watched in silence.
“Mouthy little troublemakers get no favors here.” Dane scowled at her from beneath his brows. “I’ll wire Denver in the morning and find out how Judge Mason wants to handle this. Meanwhiles, come along. I’ve got work to do and can’t stand here jawin’ all day.”
She flinched away from him as he came around the desk. Her skin was as white as a seashell bleached by the waves.
“You’re going to lock me up now?”
“Naw, I’m going to throw a shindig in your honor.” Dane sent Rawdon an amused smirk, but the other man returned his look in stony silence. With awkward haste, the sheriff turned back to the girl.
“Course I’m going to lock you up, missy. Now don’t make things difficult on yourself.”
Once again he grabbed her arm. His fingers pinched her flesh like crab claws.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted weakly through the office window as Dane dragged Juliana toward the first of the dank tiny cells at the rear of the building. The light made thin amber bars on the floor as she stumbled along beside the sheriff. Feeling empty and sick inside, she fought back paralyzing despair and willed herself not to cry.
Dane’s hand on her wrist was warm and sticky. His fetid breath hung in a cloud about him, assaulting her nost
rils. She could feel Cole Rawdon’s piercing gaze upon her back, and as she reached the door of the cell, she spun about to gaze at him.
Mute appeal flickered in her eyes. She didn’t know why she should expect him to help her—he was the one who had captured her and brought her here. He had never said or done a single kind thing for her—except that he hadn’t shot that stupid bear. All he cared about, she reminded herself bitterly, was his precious reward money. No doubt he was as glad to be rid of her as she was of him. She felt hot tears gathering on her lower lashes. Once he walked out that door, she’d never have to see that cool, nonchalant face again, never have to deal with him or his maddening self-assurance, or worry about her heart turning to jelly when he came near her or ... kissed her. Now she’d only have Lucius Dane, John Breen, and a host of other narrow-minded, blind, deaf, and dumb men to deal with.
Her gaze locked with Cole’s as she stood with a hand on the cell door. For a moment he stared back, his lean, bronzed face unreadable. He looked remote, as unreachable and uncaring as a granite peak jutting high above the desert.
Juliana wanted to say something. Her lips parted but the desperate words would not come out. Something was closing tight and hard around her heart.
Then it was too late—he turned on his heel and left the office, slamming the door shut behind him with a thump that sounded all too final.
Not even a good-bye. Emptiness rocked her. But what had she expected?
Anger at herself for the pain in her heart made her bite her lip until it bled.
“Here you go, missy. Not too fancy, but it’ll hold you till I get instructions from Denver.”
Lucius Dane chuckled at the dazed expression the girl’s face wore when he turned the key in the lock. She sank down upon the narrow cot with its stained, smelly mattress and tattered blanket as though she were in some kind of dream. Or more likely a nightmare.
“I’ll send for your supper soon. If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you eat some of it.” He ran an eye over the curves apparent beneath the crumpled dress. “Then, later on, you and me kin get acquainted. And you can tell me about the Montgomery gang. It’d be a real feather in my cap if I could find ‘em. And if you help me out, maybe I can do something for you along the way—put in a good word for you with Judge Mason, maybe get him to drop the charges.”
Juliana didn’t waste her energy answering him. She wouldn’t help him regardless, but the man was lying. Lucius Dane wouldn’t help his mother out of a ditch unless there was something he could gain from it. But, she reflected, trying hard to concentrate through the fog of exhaustion and despair that shrouded her brain, if she could convince him that he had something to gain from helping her, he might prove useful after all.
Wearily, she closed her eyes. She would have to try.
* * *
Even as he returned to his desk, Lucius Dane was planning the note he’d send to McCray. Mr. M would be mighty interested in what this little filly had to say. She wouldn’t be going anywhere until they’d gotten every last bit of information from her.
Getting her to talk wouldn’t prove too difficult from the looks of her. She looked like she’d break if you pinched her. Jackson would do more than that to find out where the Montgomery gang was hiding out. Oh, yes, McCray would be mighty relieved to have them rounded up at last.
It was turning out to be a fine day after all—thanks to Mr. Cole Rawdon.
Dane chuckled to himself as he folded and sealed his letter. He could hardly wait to start the fun.
14
A tiny wren of a woman brought Juliana’s supper. Since the sheriff hadn’t returned from his own meal in the hotel yet, she left it on the desk and started to hasten out, but Juliana, pressed against the bars, begged her to bring over the food.
“I can’t. Oh, I just can’t.” Chalk-faced, the woman tiptoed toward her with the slow reluctance of someone treading on quicksand. “Sheriff Dane wouldn’t like it one bit.”
“Please, ma’am, I’m awfully hungry. Won’t you bring me the tray?”
“I can’t give it to you. Not without the sheriff here. For one thing, I don’t have the keys.”
“But you know where they are.”
Juliana saw that the woman was homely and leather-skinned, with a lined, apprehensive face beneath stick-straight brown hair. Beneath the fear that stamped her plain features and pointed chin, Juliana saw kindness, a timid, wary kindness that she knew she had to try to draw out. She wasn’t hungry in the least, even though it had been hours since she and Cole Rawdon had eaten. In these dismal surroundings, with rats scurrying in the corners, she doubted she could eat a morsel, but if the woman bringing her food could also bring her a chance to escape, she’d behave as if she were on the brink of death by starvation.
“Sheriff Dane left me strict orders. Yes, indeed. Leave the food on my desk, that’s what he said.” She peered pityingly at the slender girl behind the bars who stared at her with such an imploring expression. “What did you do, anyhow, girl? He said you were very dangerous and I was to stay far away from you.”
Dangerous? Juliana gave a bitter little smile. Maybe the truth would serve her well in this instance. She sensed an inherent decency in the woman on the other side of the bars. “I stole a horse so that I could get away from a man I didn’t want to marry,” she replied quietly. Shocked eyes met her own. “If the sheriff sends me back to Colorado, I’ll have to marry this man and ... and I’m afraid of what he will do to me for having left him like that. Do you understand?”
The woman swallowed hard. Indecision flitted over her face. She smoothed her calico skirt with work-roughened hands that shook a little. “You don’t look like a bad sort. Pretty thing like you—I’ll bet all manner of men would want to marry you.”
“This one was no prize,” Juliana muttered. Every second that passed increased the chances that Lucius Dane would return. She decided to lay all her cards on the table at once. “Please, if I could only get out of this cell. Won’t you help me? Is there an extra set of keys in the desk drawer? Or ...” She hesitated only briefly. “A gun?”
The little wren’s mouth dropped open. “Do you want to get me killed, girl? Listen, Lucius Dane would skin me alive if—”
“If what, Henny?”
Both women froze at the harsh grate of the sheriff’s voice. So intent had Juliana been on persuading the woman to aid her that she hadn’t even heard him come in.
“N-nothing, Sheriff,” Henny stammered. “I was just leaving supper for your prisoner. Reckon I’ll be on my way.”
Dane walked toward her, slow and easy. There was a queer light in his eye. A light rain had begun to fall outside, and his clothes were damp with it. “You feeling sorry for this gal, Henny? Thinking that mebbe she don’t belong behind bars? Wal, that’s just the kind of poor thinkin’ that got your boy Bob shot and killed. Remember? He thought Mr. M didn’t have no call taking over the hotel after Isaac got killed. But Mr. McCray knew all along it’d be too much for you alone, what with two young sons to raise. And he was right, wasn’t he? Wal now, Bob got himself killed, but you’ve still got that other one. What’s his name, again, Henny?”
“W-Will,” she whispered in a low voice choked with fear.
“That’s right. Will. Now he’s a fine boy. All of nine, ain’t he?” Sheriff Dane grinned at Juliana, listening in horror. “We sure wouldn’t want no harm to come to him. So now you just go on back to the hotel, go on about your cooking, and leave the complicated thinking to me. Sound about right, Henny?”
The woman nodded wordlessly, her face pinched and white. She was shaking from her narrow shoulders down to her tiny feet. She threw one terrified glance at Juliana, trapped like a pale, lovely bird in a cage, and then scurried toward the door without a sound. As she passed him Dane jerked his foot sideways and tripped her. Henny hit the floor with a cry of pain.
“Why, Henny, don’t be so clumsy.” Chuckling, Dane pulled her to her feet, none too gently. “Can’t abide a clumsy woman
,” he said as she backed away from him. “Women should be pretty and graceful, like that one there.” He waved a hand toward Juliana. “Yessirree, women should be light on their feet and flat on their backs. That’s how I like ‘em.”
He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.
When the door thudded shut behind Henny, Dane turned to Juliana with a broad smile. “Hungry, missy? Henny’s a good cook. You’ll enjoy your dinner.”
I’d enjoy seeing you locked up in the cell next door, or better yet, a dungeon, where no one would find you for a thousand years, she thought, eyeing him in disgust. Not only was he cruel, he was abhorrently filthy as well. He had gravy down the front of his shirt, and dark crumbs still clung to his scruffy mustache. His bandanna had a greasy smear blurring the dark red color.
Juliana swallowed back her revulsion and tried to speak in a level tone. “Did you really kill that woman’s son?” she asked. He merely grinned at her. “And just who is this McCray?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. First, why don’t you tell me about the Montgomery gang. Those boys are damned hard to find.”
“I know that, Sheriff. I’ve been trying to locate them myself—or I was—until Mr. Rawdon showed up.”
“Just where was you headin’? You got a notion where they air?”
My, he was eager. The lust for information shone all over his face.
Juliana pretended to waver. “Nevada,” she said at last, in a quiet, resigned tone. “That’s what a bartender in Cedar Gulch told me.”
He eyed her suspiciously. With small steps he approached the bars. “Nevada’s a mighty big place, missy. Whereabouts, exactly?”
