She went straight to her room, which was on the second floor of the hotel in the rear, and got out her derringer and the printed leaflet that came with it. She practiced loading and unloading the small weapon and became so caught up in the process that when she saw something move outside her window, she nearly pulled the trigger.
Tob was standing on the fire stairs outside, his muzzle squished against the glass.
Caroline put the derringer on the bedside stand and went to raise the window. The moment she did, the dog plunged into the room and cowered at her feet, making a companionable yipping sound.
“I thought you’d be off to Cheyenne by now,” Caroline said, squatting down to pet the dog fondly. She hoped Adabelle would be good to Tob, though the woman was welcome to treat Guthrie any way she wanted.
Tob squirmed on the floor, enjoying the attention. A few minutes later, Caroline tried to shoo him back out the window, but he wouldn’t go. Finally, she lowered the sill again and locked it. Laramie was a strange, noisy town, and she was glad of the company.
She’d just pulled the shade and was about to undress and get into bed when there was a knock at her door. Thinking Guthrie had come to collect his dog, she folded her arms and chimed, “Who’s there?”
“Message, ma’am,” said an unfamiliar voice. A piece of paper slid under the door, and Caroline hurried to unfold it.
She knew the forceful, oversized handwriting was Guthrie’s. Nothing will ever change the fact that you’re a lady, he’d written. Good-bye, Wildcat. Warmest regards, G.H.
Caroline held the note close to her heart for a moment, then she crumpled the paper and tossed it to the floor. Guthrie was a part of the past, and she had to think about the future.
Chapter
Tob reappeared, just as he always did, when Guthrie was ready to ride out the next morning. But he kept whimpering and running back toward Laramie, before reluctantly trotting along beside Guthrie’s horse for a few minutes. Long after the town was out of sight, the dog was still repeating the process.
“Fool mutt,” Guthrie grumbled, reining in his horse. “Caroline’s gone and wrapped you right around her little finger, hasn’t she? Well, damn it, just go back to her, then. I can always get another useless, no-good dog!”
Tob yipped apologetically and stretched out on the ground, his muzzle resting on his forelegs, his hindquarters quivering.
“Go on,” Guthrie ordered, “get out of here. I don’t have any use for an old hound like you anyway.”
After one parting yowl of dismay, Tob turned and loped back toward Laramie. Guthrie waited five minutes, but the animal didn’t return.
“Damn skinny schoolteacher,” Guthrie groused, as he spurred the gelding and rode away. “I’ve heard of some low things in my life, but stealing a man’s dog—”
He opened his canteen, took a long draught of fresh water, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. To hell with Caroline and the dog. He had sweet Adabelle waiting for him in Cheyenne.
She’d press those oversized breasts of hers to his chest and he’d forget all about Caroline. Anyway, Adabelle was the kind of woman a man wanted for his wife. You wouldn’t catch her running all over the countryside in pants and trying to persuade total strangers to help her set up a jailbreak.
Not only that, but he probably would have gotten skinny, saucy, contentious children from Caroline, given the theory that such traits tend to run in families. Adabelle, on the other hand, was likely to give him a dozen sturdy babies with placid dispositions and musical voices.
Guthrie frowned. For the first time, the dream seemed a little, well, dull. Still, it sustained him, even though there was a strong pull toward Laramie, too. Laramie and Caroline. Guthrie told himself he was only feeling that because he missed his dog—and he didn’t turn his horse around.
Against both his personal will and his better judgment, he thought of Caroline lying naked and pliant beneath him, her lithe body responding gracefully to his every command. Skinny or not, he had to concede, there in the privacy of his mind at least, Caroline had a shape a man could learn to like, with some study.
A whole lot.
After making a brief stop at the bank, Caroline proceeded to the livery stable, where she bought back the little mare that Guthrie had traded for his watch, and selected a fine horse for Mr. Flynn, too. If her daring plan was going to work, she and Seaton would need fast mounts.
Tob came barking down the road to greet her as she led the two horses out of the stable and, for one glorious moment, Caroline thought Guthrie had returned. Then, with her heart taking a little dive, she realized the dog had come alone.
Glad to have at least one friend in this uncertain world, Caroline stopped by the butcher counter at the mercantile and bought a meaty bone for Tob before squaring her shoulders and marching on toward the jailhouse. She had the little derringer tucked into the pocket of her trousers, and it was loaded. She just hoped it wouldn’t go off accidentally and hurt somebody.
Like herself, for instance.
Reaching the jail, Caroline was pleased to find Mr. Flynn there alone, eating his breakfast. When he saw her, he rose off his cot so quickly that he nearly overturned his tray. His eyes bulged at the sight of her clothes.
“Good God, Caroline! Have you actually let people see you dressed like that?” If Seaton was at all unsettled by her previous announcement that their engagement was off, he gave no indication of it. Probably, she reflected charitably, he hadn’t yet come to grips with the disappointment and needed time to rally his wits.
For her part, Caroline was most relieved that she wouldn’t have to threaten anyone with the tiny pistol in her pocket. Later, when the danger was past, she would say farewell to Seaton, return home and begin preparations to leave again, on her quest to find Lily and Emma.
“Never mind my clothes,” she said tersely. “I’ve got horses outside, and I’ve come to set you free so you can prove you’re innocent.”
Seaton gripped the bars and pulled at them in his haste to be liberated. “You’ll have to get the keys from old Charlie—he keeps them with him all the time.”
Caroline brought out the derringer and frowned at it. “Couldn’t we shoot the lock off somehow?”
Before she’d had time to work the idea through, Seaton’s hand shot out unexpectedly and grasped her wrist. His hold was cruel, and the surprise of that widened her eyes. He wrenched her against the bars with bruising force.
“Where’s Hayes?” he rasped, prying the derringer free of her fingers with his other hand as he spoke.
Caroline blinked at him in confusion. Although she had seen hints of unseemly behavior in the lawyer before, it was only now that she consciously recognized their source. “Mr. Flynn, I must insist that you let me go—”
His grip tightened, causing Caroline to utter a little cry of pain.
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “He said you were guilty.”
“Did he, now?” Seaton breathed, still holding her against the cold bars and pressing the end of the pistol barrel to her temple as someone came clattering into the outer office. “Charlie!” he yelled, making Caroline start violently and then shut her eyes.
The realization that Guthrie had been right all along was brutally painful.
Seaton was a thief and, worse, a killer.
“Just keep your pants on,” the old man muttered, and Caroline heard the sound of keys jingling as he approached. “Damn it, this ain’t a hotel, you know, and you ain’t nobody fancy neither.”
Regaining her senses, Caroline started to shout a warning, but Seaton must have felt her tense for the effort, because he slapped the hand that had been gripping her throat over her mouth. When she tried to bite him, she thought the strength of his fingers would break her jaw.
Charlie’s small eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Caroline standing there against the cell bars, with the little derringer held to her head.
“Take it easy, now, Flynn,” the old guard muttered wearily.
“You don’t want to shoot a lady.”
“Unlock the door and she won’t get hurt,” Seaton rasped.
Caroline’s mind was spinning, and she was sick with fear and disgust. She wondered wildly how she could have been so naive as to believe in this man, to love him.
Then, despite the dizziness and distraction induced by her terror, she realized the truth. She had never loved Seaton, but only the man she’d thought he was, the potential husband and father she’d invented in her own mind.
Charlie was holding out the key ring. “See?” he said reasonably. “I got the key right here. I’m goin’ to let you out. Just don’t pull that trigger.”
The moment Charlie had opened the door, Seaton flung Caroline into the cell with such force that she struck the inside wall and fell. Then he stepped out and clubbed the old man hard in the side of the head with the pistol butt, and Charlie toppled, bleeding, to the floor. Seaton stood and pointed the barrel directly at Charlie’s head. Caroline knew by the hard set of his jaw and the gleam in his eyes that he meant to kill him.
“Seaton, no!” she shrieked, bile rushing into her throat after the words, flinging herself across the tiny cell and covering the wounded jailer as best she could. “I beg of you—don’t kill him!”
Seaton glared at her for a long moment, during which Caroline devoutly prayed for the marshal’s return. He was a much younger man than Charlie, competent and strong, and if he came in time, he could prevent an escape and perhaps a murder.
Caroline thought quickly. “If you fire a shot,” she burst out, “people will hear. They’ll know something’s wrong and come running!”
Only then did Seaton lower the gun to his side. There was sweat on his forehead now and along his upper lip. “You said there were horses outside?”
Caroline swallowed, absently patting old Charlie’s big shoulder. “Two.” She sighed, with resignation. It didn’t look like the marshal was going to return soon enough to stop Seaton, and Caroline was annoyed. Little wonder there was so much crime in the modern world, with lawmen taking their jobs so lightly.
Seaton was poised to flee, but suddenly he came toward Caroline, where she lay on the filthy floor of the cell, still trying to shelter Charlie. Seaton gripped her chin hard and bit out, “Hayes has had you, I know he has. I swear to God, Caroline, both of you will pay for that.”
Caroline just stared at him, stunned.
He deepened her shock by bending his head and kissing her tenderly, then nipping at her lower lip with his teeth and drawing back. “My time will come, Caroline. And when it does, I’ll teach you what it means to give yourself to a man.” He rose gracefully to his feet, still brandishing the derringer. “Have you got more bullets for this?”
Dazed by the events of the minutes just past, Caroline never thought to lie. She nodded numbly and reached into her pocket for the handful of ammunition she’d bought; all she wanted now was for Seaton Flynn to go, to leave her and Charlie in peace. The old man was gasping for breath and holding one hand to his chest as it was.
“Soon,” Seaton said, touching his fingertips to his mouth and smiling. “Scream, sweet thing,” he warned, in parting, “and I’ll not only shoot this old coot, I’ll take you with me as a hostage.”
Caroline swallowed, horrified by the prospect of either event. “I won’t scream,” she promised.
And she didn’t.
The moment she heard the outer door close behind Seaton, she ran for the marshal’s gun rack and helped herself to a rifle. She just hoped it was loaded, that’s all.
Running outside onto the sidewalk, she saw Seaton riding away on the back of one of the horses she’d bought with her hard-earned money. She trained the rifle sights on his left arm and pulled the trigger, and the gun went off with such thunderous force that it sent her sprawling backwards onto the wooden sidewalk.
The marshal chose that moment to appear. “What the hell?” he demanded, jerking the rifle out of Caroline’s hands and dragging her to her feet in the same motion.
“He’s getting away!” Caroline cried, bruised and filled with frustration. Seaton was just a speck in the distance now.
Charlie came stumbling out of the jailhouse at that moment, holding one hand to his bloody head. “Flynn broke out,” he said. His eyes touched Caroline with kindly recalcitrance. “Looked to me like the little lady here brought him a gun, and she probably provided the horse for his git-away, too.”
“Lock her up,” the marshal said, thrusting Caroline toward Charlie and turning to mount his horse. A half dozen other men joined the impromptu posse and rode off with him.
“You’re not really going to put me in jail?” Caroline asked in horror, as Charlie gently took her arm and squired her back inside. “I saved your life!”
“It was ’cause of you that my life was in danger in the first place,” Charlie reasoned. He escorted Caroline into the very cell Seaton had occupied, closed the door with a clang, and locked it soundly.
Caroline rushed forward to grip the bars. “You don’t understand!” she wailed. “I thought Mr. Flynn was innocent!”
“Don’t make no never mind what you thought, Miss. Fact is, the man was convicted of robbery and murder, and you let him go. You’ll have to stand trial for that.”
She felt herself blanch. And outside her cell window, she heard a commiserating yowl that could only have come from Tob, her faithful friend.
Despondently, she turned away from the cell door and crossed to the window. Then, standing on the edge of the flimsy cot where she might be sleeping for a very long time, she peered out through the bars.
Sure enough, Tob was sitting out there among empty barrels and other refuse, staring up at her with soulful eyes. Caroline took the food that remained on Seaton’s breakfast tray and tossed it out to the dog, then climbed down from the cot.
“Oh, Mr. Charlie!” she called pleasantly.
“What?” came the terse reply. The outer office was evidently full of curious townspeople who wanted to hear Charlie’s account of the morning’s incident.
“May I speak with you privately?”
Grumbling, Charlie appeared. His demeanor plainly showed that, in view of the fact that he’d nearly been killed, he felt entitled to a little peace and even a measure of glory. There was a huge bandage on his head, putting Caroline in mind of a painting she’d once seen of several soldiers in the Revolutionary War. “What do you want?” he snapped.
Caroline dropped her voice to a confidential level. “I need to use the facilities,” she said, pained at having to speak to a man of so personal a subject.
Charlie pointed a beefy finger toward the cot. “The chamber pot’s under there,” he answered, and then he turned and walked out.
“Mr. Charlie!” Caroline immediately called. Somehow, she had to make the jailer listen. Using a chamber pot right there in her cell simply wouldn’t afford her the required privacy.
“I said use the thunder mug under the bed!” Charlie bellowed from outside, and Caroline was so mortified that she put both hands over her face and turned away with a moan.
She waited as long as she could, but presently she was forced to take care of her business. She had barely finished when the office door swung open and a young man holding a pencil and a pad of paper appeared.
He regarded her solemnly from under the green brim of his visor. “Your name, madam?” he asked politely.
She gripped the bars, staring at him. “Why do you want to know?” she countered.
He smiled, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. “I’ll be writing about you in the newspaper.”
Caroline sighed and let her forehead rest against the bars. She could just imagine Hypatia Furvis reading the account of her descent into shame, and Miss Ethel and Miss Phoebe would be positively beside themselves at the scandal. “Is that necessary?”
“You’ll be famous,” the eager reporter promised. “Sort of a lady outlaw.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Carol
ine responded dismally.
“Your name?”
She sighed. “Caroline—Hayes.”
The reporter wrote busily. “Miss or Mrs.?”
“Mrs.,” Caroline lied, figuring it served Guthrie right that a criminal, however inadvertently she’d run afoul of the law, was claiming to be his wife. After all, none of this would be happening if he hadn’t abandoned her. “My husband is Mr. Guthrie Hayes.” She was warming up to the idea. “And that’s my dog right outside the window.”
“Your husband lets you break other men out of jail?” the young man asked, in scandalized wonder.
Caroline sighed. “My husband left me,” she said tragically. “And I only released Mr. Flynn because I sincerely believed he had been wrongly accused. Now, of course, I find myself in difficult straits.”
Before the newspaper fellow could ask another question, the marshal returned.
“Get out of here, Vince,” he said. He was a big, imposing man with graying hair and a dark handlebar mustache, and Caroline instinctively took a step back from the bars. His arms were akimbo as he regarded his prisoner. “You’ll be happy to hear that we lost him.”
Caroline’s cheeks throbbed with chagrined color. “I’m not happy at all,” she huffed, folding her arms. “The man is a murderer and a thief!”
“Too bad you didn’t consider that before you helped him escape,” the marshal replied, his voice a low, throaty rumble.
Tears rose in Caroline’s eyes, but she kept them at bay. This was all a misunderstanding, and if she could just make the marshal see her side, he would surely release her. One thing was for certain: she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart. “As I have explained to your assistant, Charlie—whose life I saved, by the way—I would never have brought the derringer here if I’d known what Mr. Flynn was going to do.”
“You thought he’d take you with him, I reckon,” the marshal said disparagingly.
Caroline drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way she did when she was dealing with a difficult student. Then, slowly and carefully, she explained what had happened, though she left Guthrie out of the matter of course.
CAROLINE AND THE RAIDER Page 16
