“So, Mr. Hartman, it appears this isn’t your first brush with the law.”
The prisoner said nothing.
“What were you doing on Ander Bilboa’s land?”
Hartman shrugged his shoulders beneath the blanket that covered him. “Just passing through.”
Jackson gave him a predatory smile. “With a sack of poison in tow?”
“Got rats on my place.” The prisoner turned his face toward the wall. “The sack must have broke.”
Jackson heaved a hearty sigh. “You know, Mr. Hartman, I’d like to believe you. Really I would. But you live ten miles south of here. That stretch of land you were on is out near Nevada. Got a bad sense of direction, do you?”
“It’s the truth, and you can’t prove otherwise,” Hartman snarled.
Jackson shook his head, feigning sympathy. “It’s a shame you have to take the rap for the others.”
At that moment Hartman’s hand moved beneath the blanket, and Jackson instinctively grabbed it. A shot rang out, whizzing close to Jackson’s ear.
“Son of a bitch” he whispered, his voice thick with surprise. He pulled back the blanket and wrestled the gun from Hartman’s grip.
“How in the hell did you get this?” He glared at the prisoner, who merely met his angry gaze with one of his own.
Jackson slid the pistol into his waistband, then frisked the belligerent prisoner. “Got any more surprises for me, Clebbert?”
Finding nothing, Jackson left the cell, locking it securely behind him. His heart was still drumming his rib cage, and his ears were ringing from the shot as he went to the window and stared out into the street.
Surely Vern wouldn’t have let anyone smuggle a gun in. And no one had been to see him but the doc. What were the other possibilities? They came down to one: Axel Worth.
The question was … why? Inhaling deeply, he decided to take a wild chance.
“It’s foolish to take the fall alone, Hartman. I haven’t been sitting on my hands, you know. I’ve been a busy man. I was in Eureka and made all sorts of fascinating discoveries.”
He returned to the cell, talking to Hartman through the bars. “For instance, I discovered that you’re only a fair poker player.”
Fear leaped into Hartman’s beady eyes. “So what? I ain’t the only player in that game, you know.”
Another hungry smile. “I know.”
Hartman clenched his jaw and looked away.
“Your good buddy Ethan Frost loses quite a bundle from time to time, doesn’t he?”
Hartman’s breathing accelerated, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he didn’t answer.
“Oh, by the way, are you aware that a railroad is going to be built between here and Fort Redding? Interesting, isn’t it, that Mateo and Bilboa should be the only ranchers having trouble with the gunnysackers. Oh,” he continued with a wave of his hand, “it’s probably a coincidence that they’re the only two who own land along the track site.”
Hartman almost turned toward him, but caught himself. Still, he said nothing, but he appeared to struggle for breath.
Jackson merely laughed. “Such loyalty. Do you think for one minute that Frost would protect you? He’s not the type, you know. If he were in your shoes right now, he’d be singing like a bird.”
Hartman tossed him a frantic glance, but quickly looked away.
“That’s right, Clebbert. You think about it. Think about what Ethan Frost would do in your place. Fortunately for you, we can’t accuse you of murdering Danel Mateo.”
This time Hartman did turn, but he merely stared at Jackson, a sly expression on his face. “No, you can’t pin that one on me, can you?”
The door opened and Vern limped through. “Jackson! Good to have you back.”
Jackson nodded. “I read your report on the prisoner. Anything to add?”
“Not yet,” Vern answered. “The Mateo family is having a private service and burial for Danel today. Guess the rest of us can pay our respects toward the end of the week. At the graveside.”
“Yes. Well, do you mind if I go home and grab a bite? I came directly here from the road. Oh, by the way, Vern,” he began, knowing full well the answer to his question before he asked it, “who around here rides a Tennessee high-stepper?”
“Well, Ethan Frost does.”
Jackson’s gaze was on Hartman. “Anyone else?”
“Not to my knowledge. They ain’t a good cattle mount for these parts. Why do you ask?”
With Hartman’s beady eyes piercing him, Jackson lied, “No reason. I saw a high-stepper at the livery and wondered who it belonged to, that’s all.” With a smile and a wave, he left the jail and crossed to the livery to retrieve his mount.
He hadn’t told Vern about his tussle with Hartman over the gun. Wrapping up this case was something he had to do himself. And though he admired Vern a great deal, he wasn’t sure he could count on him to keep his mouth shut. Axel Worth was up to something, and Jackson didn’t want to scare him off.
Dawn’s absence had left Libby anxious for her return. Although she was expected home today, Libby tried to concentrate on the preacher at Danel Mateo’s memorial service. The family had held a private burial first. Now, a week after his murder, friends and family gathered at his graveside. Danel’s eldest son, Dominic, stood stalwart beside his newly widowed mother. Her younger children formed a protective arc around her.
Although they were about the same age, Libby hadn’t seen Dominic Mateo in years. She’d almost forgotten what a handsome man he was, with his unfashionably long black hair and his thick, dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Of all the Mateo children, Dom was the one Libby had felt wouldn’t stay on the ranch. Yet he’d helped his father over the past years, despite having graduated from a prestigious eastern college.
Now, standing at his father’s grave, Dom appeared remote and resolute.
Libby and Jackson approached him. Libby hugged him. “I’m so sorry, Dom. Your father was a good man.”
He stood within her embrace, stoic as a statue.
She pulled away, noting that his gaze was on her husband.
“Have you caught the murderer?” His voice had the hard edge of one who could barely contain his anger and his grief.
“It’s only a matter of time, Dom.”
Dom shook with unleashed fury. “Time? Sheriff, if you don’t do something damned soon, I’ll do it for you.”
Jackson put his arm around Dom’s shoulders and drew him away from the crowd.
Libby’s gaze lingered on her husband, for she knew he was trying to explain to Dom why the law appeared to work so slowly. Even now Libby found it hard to believe that Ethan was embroiled in cattle poisoning and murder. She’d had no idea he had a gambling problem. Jackson had assured her that people like Ethan would go to any lengths to cover their behinds. She knew she’d never be able to look at him the same way again.
Eager to get home before Dawn arrived from the ranch, Libby caught Jackson’s eye, motioning that she was going to walk home. Jackson blew her a quick kiss, then returned his attention to calming Dominic.
She’d just left the cemetery when she met Ethan’s rig on the road. Her stomach dropped, everything she’d recently learned about him making her suddenly fear him.
His smile was blinding.
She swallowed hard, hoping to show none of the emotions she was feeling. Although there was no tangible proof that Ethan had done anything wrong, Libby trusted Jackson. Even though she’d known Ethan for many, many years, she could no longer believe a word he said. That he could take money from an innocent child’s trust fund made her skin crawl. That he could slaughter hundreds of sheep for no reason other than his own personal gain made her sick to her stomach, and that he could kill a wonderful man like Danel Mateo made her angry and disgusted. How could he do such a thing? How could he?
“Want a lift home?”
Attempting nonchalance, she answered his smile, although her heart was pounding furiously. “Oh, no. Thank
you just the same.” She lengthened her stride. “The walk will do me good.”
He stopped the team and jumped to her side. “Libby?”
She gave him a wide, innocent look, cursing the betrayal of her rapid heartbeat. “Yes?”
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to laugh, but it sounded strained. “Why, nothing. I’d rather walk, that’s all.”
He didn’t appear convinced. He grabbed her arm. “Something’s wrong.”
Wincing as his fingers pressed into her flesh, Libby tried to pull away. “Let go of my arm, Ethan.”
He complied. “It’s that husband of yours, isn’t it? He’s turned you against me.”
She looked at him, her pulse jumping. Something in his eyes frightened her. Something she’d never seen before. Turning away quickly, she continued her long strides, her heart in her throat. “Dawn’s returning today after a lengthy visit with her grandparents. I have to get home,” she explained.
She left him staring after her as she hurried home and sprinted up the boardinghouse steps. Relieved to find Bert and Burl rocking lazily on the porch, she said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Without breaking rhythm, both old men nodded.
Libby stopped to catch her breath and studied them.
“Why weren’t you at the funeral?”
Burl sucked air in through his toothless mouth. “Ain’t a good idea fer us to set foot in a cemetery, Miz Liberty.”
“That’s right” Bert agreed. “The Lord might see us there and remember we’re still kickin’. Don’t do a lick of good to tempt him, ya know.”
Rolling her eyes, she rushed inside. Corey met her in the foyer. “Where’s Jackson?”
Libby allowed him to remove her cape. “He’s spending some time with Dom Mateo. Oh, Corey, the man is so angry, I’m afraid he’ll do something he might regret.”
“He can’t put his father’s murder out of his mind, Libby. No doubt he feels guilty because he couldn’t prevent it.”
“I suppose you’re right. Poor Mrs. Mateo. Now she’s without a husband, most of their sheep have been killed, and they’re on the brink of losing the ranch. I hope Jackson gets this case solved quickly.”
Corey took her arm. “Just for a moment I want you to stop worrying about everyone else. Can you do that?”
She gave him a wry smile. “Maybe for a moment. Actually, I’m anxious to see Dawn. I’ve never been away from her this long.”
“We’ve been busy preparing a surprise for her.” He put his arm around her and led her into the kitchen.
Libby gasped, surprised and pleased. Mahalia stood over an elaborately decorated cake in the shape of a floppy, moppy-looking dog.
“I’ve been cuttin’ and piecin’ for near an hour now, pastin’ this thing together with icin’.”
“And Chloe Ann and I made this,” Corey announced, holding up a string of letters that said “Welcome Home.” “I thought I’d attach them to the porch so she’ll see them right away. Not only that,” he continued, dramatically rubbing his arm, “I’ve been making ice cream and my arm is sore from cranking the ice cream handle.”
“Oh, she’ll love a party.” Libby bustled around the kitchen, getting out plates and napkins. “I only hope Jackson gets here before Dawn does.”
Burl Bellamy stepped into the kitchen, his expression puzzled.
“What’s wrong, Burl?”
“I just seen the little gal.”
Libby’s stomach fluttered with excitement. “She’s coming? Oh, Corey, get those letters up. Quickly.”
Burl coughed and cleared his throat. “She ain’t comin’ to the house, Miz Liberty.”
Libby stopped. “What do you mean?”
Burl scratched his shiny bald head. “Strangest thing. I was takin’ a walk to the road, and I saw her bein’ helped into a buggy.”
“A buggy?” Libby’s insides froze with fear. Why had Dawn not been dropped off in front of the house? “Who was driving it, Burl?”
“Well, now, I cain’t be certain, Miz Liberty. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Shortly after they rode away, some kid gave me this note. Said it was fer you.”
With shaky fingers, Libby took the note, but her eyes were blurred with unshed tears of fear and although she tried, she couldn’t read it.
“Corey?” She handed him the piece of paper, her stomach threatening nausea. “What does it say?”
He skimmed the note and met her fearful gaze. “Ethan has taken Dawn.”
Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. She swallowed convulsively. “T-taken Dawn? Taken her where?”
“He doesn’t say. He wants Jackson to meet him at a place called Pinkers Bluff.”
Libby pressed her forearms against her unsettled stomach and glanced at Corey. The fear in his eyes was mirrored in her own. “We’ve got to tell Jackson.”
“Where was he going after he left the cemetery?” Corey’s voice was strained.
“He—he was coming home. He’s as eager to see Dawn as I am.”
“I’ll see if I can find him.” Corey ran toward the front door.
“I’m coming with you,” Libby said, hurrying behind.
Corey was on the porch “Libby, you have to stay here.”
She stood in the doorway as he raced down the steps to his mount. “No! I can’t. I’m coming with you—”
“Libby, please stay here. If I miss him, you’ll have to tell him what’s happened.” He swung into the saddle and raced away, leaving Libby on the porch, staring after him. Stay here? How was she supposed to simply stay behind when Dawn had been kidnapped?
Chloe Ann stepped beside her, put her arm around Libby’s waist and gave her a loving squeeze. “Let the men take care of it, Libby.”
Libby turned and stared at her, her heart thudding wildly.
“Let the—” She shook her head, unwilling to explain. Chloe Ann wouldn’t understand. Not until she had a child of her own.
Pulling away from Chloe Ann’s gentle embrace, Libby said, “I’m going upstairs to lie down.”
“Yes, you do that,” Chloe Ann answered. “I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”
Libby raced up the stairs to her room. A cup of tea. She almost snorted, but she knew Chloe Ann was doing what she thought was best.
Libby threw open her wardrobe and rummaged through Sean’s old clothes, things she hadn’t given away. Finding his leather breeches, she tossed them on her bed, then hunted for a shirt. She undressed, donned the clothes and crept downstairs, grabbing an old hat and a jacket off the coatrack on her way out.
Refusing to follow Corey’s orders, she set out to find her daughter. The place to start was Pinkers Bluff, but how would she get there if she didn’t ride?
For a brief, agonizing moment, she stood motionless, examining her plight. She hadn’t ridden a horse in almost twenty years; she’d managed somehow always to travel by buggy or wagon. Again, the image of Sean’s broken body rose before her eyes, and she clamped her lips together, trying to stay strong.
The swirling in the pit of her stomach reminded her of her fears, but she could do this. She’d always felt that she could ride a damned horse if she had to, and now she had to.
“I need a horse.” Lord in heaven, she never thought she’d say those words out loud. With quick steps she hurried to the livery. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Her arms and legs tied, the breed sniffled quietly beside him. “Wh-where are you taking me?” Her voice was a mere whimper.
“Someplace where your papa won’t find you unless he does what I ask.” It had been amazingly easy to take her. As she walked down the road toward the boardinghouse, she’d been alone. No one else had been around.
Had Ethan not been out of town, Axel would have found him sooner, and Ethan could have taken the little breed before she was nearly at her doorstep. Poor Axel, he mused. Sweating like a mule because he’d secretly slipped Hartman a gun, then had been sent fro
m the jail like a child. The plan had been for Cleb to pretend to overpower Axel and make his escape before Sheriff Roberts returned from lunch.
It wasn’t clear what exactly had happened. Wolfe apparently had said nothing to Sheriff Roberts about the gun, but Axel had been hiding out ever since he learned that Wolfe had wrestled the weapon from Cleb. Wolfe was no fool. He probably suspected Axel of giving it to the prisoner in the first place. Ethan didn’t dare go to the jail to confront Hartman. They weren’t even supposed to know each other. Unlike Axel, who would undoubtedly spill his guts if confronted, Cleb was a tough bastard. Maybe he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut forever, but he was stubborn enough to stay quiet long enough for Ethan to get away. After that, who cared? They were on their own.
Now Ethan needed a few hours to close the biggest deal of his life, then he’d be gone. Jackson Wolfe was no fool.
Ethan would send for the boys later. Willie was fifteen, almost a man. He’d been a father to the younger ones for years. They could survive a few weeks without him.
What rankled was that Libby had been turned against him by that brute of a husband of hers. God’ but he’d hated to see that look of fear in her eyes….
The little breed hiccupped. “Papa will do anything you ask, Mr. Frost. I know he will.”
“You just keep thinking good thoughts, little girl.” She wasn’t nearly so sassy now, was she?
She went quiet beside him, then murmured, “Willie’s gonna be just like you when he grows up.”
He laughed quietly. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Willie’s a bully.”
“You’re a mouthy one, aren’t you?”
She stared at her hands. “Willie’s a bully, just like you.”
“Watch your mouth, little breed. Willie’s strong. If he comes across as a bully, it isn’t his fault; it’s yours for being a weakling.”
“I’m not weak,” she argued. “And my mama says that we’re all what our parents make us.”
“Wise woman, your mama. Always thought she’d make a fine mother to my sons.”
The little breed slanted him a hard look. “She’d never have married you.”
He reached out to touch her chin, but she yanked herself away, trembling beside him.
Jane Bonander Page 28
