The Courageous Brides Collection
Page 48
A cowhand from Rockin’ R. Sam was sure of it. He chanced a peek around the corner and determined him to be too small of stature to remain on his suspect list. Another one gone.
The man’s tale was going into fiction now, the way rumors grew and speculation became fact. But there was truth way back in that first nugget: gold.
Jasper probably heard it from Lucy’s aunt…who doubtlessly heard it from Lucy herself.
Sam gritted his teeth. If Lucy already knew about the gold, why did she need an interview with him? Was she trying to wrangle a confession?
As the men’s voices faded away, Lucy whirled. “I have to go.”
“What about that interview?”
Her full lips twisted into a scowl. “We had it. I’m still stinging with the disappointment. Good night, Mr. Brazos. Best wishes with your…search.”
At that, her eyes sharpened, as if connecting dots to the rumored gold. She reached to detain him, but Sam wasn’t about to be caught in her trap.
“Good night, Miss Frederick.” Tipping his hat, he spun on his heel and stalked toward the livery stable, because he’d rather bunk with Stinkeye himself than spend another moment in the company of that conniving, beautiful, annoying, captivating, and otherwise confusing woman.
Lucy blamed her sleepless night on impatience. It had been far too late to pound on Jasper’s door last night to ask what he knew of lost treasure, so she planned a breakfast interrogation after assuring he received the largest portion of Aunt’s flapjacks.
Her first real lead in a month didn’t stand a chance of resisting her, and that was the reason her heart pounded so furiously when she’d returned to her room last night. The circles under her eyes and the fanciful dreams she’d weathered in the brief moments of respite…they were all due to postponing her questioning of Jasper Groth.
Surely that was all.
Aunt flipped the bacon a final time. “Fetch the basket, throw the biscuits inside, and we’ll be ready.”
Lucy moved to obey while sipping black coffee in hopes of jolting herself awake.
“I have half a mind to lock you in your room today,” Aunt said, peering down her long nose. “There’ve been some strange goings-on. I’ve heard rumblings.”
“Like what?” Lucy kept her tone nonchalant, but she took extra time prying biscuits loose.
“The mercantile is completely out of shovels and picks. Something about a scavenger hunt with a big prize at the end, but no one seems to know who’s putting it on. And I wasn’t invited. An oversight for sure.”
“I’m sure, Aunt.”
“No matter. I’ve no time for silly games. With your fondness for nosing things out, I’d send you in my place…but for the second fact.”
Lucy grew concerned as Aunt’s face turned stern and a touch fearful. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know the exact way of it, but I’ve heard from both Polly and Ruthie James. Cattle missing from the Rockin’ R, and no one’s ridden in from Cantwell’s place. I wouldn’t be surprised if the story’s the same there…unless the old man is up to something, because you know he’s always coveted Ernest’s watering hole.”
Lucy hadn’t known that. The one time she’d met Mr. Cantwell, he’d seemed perfectly content with beans and salt pork. Someone with those simple tastes couldn’t be overly ambitious, could they?
“Mark my words, girl, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Are you talking range war?”
“Why, no, I’m sure it won’t come to that. This is Ripple, after all. Frank—er, the sheriff would step up.” Aunt considered the matter then gave a decisive shake of her head. “No, it won’t come to that. But I declare, times are changin’.”
Did she ever hope so. “Of course, Aunt.” Lucy dried her hands on her apron. “Do you need me for anything else?”
“You run along. Eat up, and be careful, you hear me?”
“Always, Aunt.” She gave the bony woman a hug and turned toward the dining room. She had an interview to conduct.
“You just missed Miss Lucy,” Dusty said around a mouthful of apple.
Sam frowned. “Where’s she headed?”
“The Rockin’ R, I ‘spect. Talked about checkin’ on Jerusha.”
More likely, she was after word on the missing cattle everyone had been discussing at breakfast when Sam had popped in for biscuits. “She rode by herself?”
“Not entirely.” The boy crunched another bite, spitting out a seed that missed Sam’s boot by too narrow a margin.
“Then …?” Sam prompted, maneuvering so a hay bale provided some cover.
“Right. She took Rufus along.”
“Rufus?” Stomach churning, Sam tried to place the name, mentally ticking off those who he’d cleared of committing the crimes in Fort Worth. Was Lucy in danger?
“Sheriff’s coon dog. Packed ’im right in her saddlebag.” Another crunch. “Why? You seein’ green, mister?”
“Absolutely not.” Those bats fluttering around his innards were from concerns for her safety, not jealousy. With practiced movements, he hefted his saddle onto his horse.
“There’s a shortcut to the Rockin’ R.”
Sam glared over Stinkeye’s back. “Who said that’s where I’m headed?”
Dusty shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
Sam gave in. “Where?”
Wearing a broken-toothed smile, the boy gave him directions. Sam cinched the saddle and mounted up. To save a damsel-in-distress or spy on her, he wasn’t certain. Whatever the case, he found himself urging Stinkeye to go a mite faster.
He’d crossed the river and reached the end of Dusty’s shortcut when he heard barking. Skirting the edge of the path, Sam searched the terrain for danger. Off the main trail, Lucy held her seat like a queen, back straight, prim in the sidesaddle, her green riding habit draping the wide hindquarters of the dark bay mare. The dog’s front paws were planted on the saddle horn as it faced off with another rider.
Sam couldn’t see the man’s face, but the horse had a princely head and a coat of gleaming black. There could be only one stallion like that in all of Ripple, and it belonged to Jasper Groth.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. Though he’d never cared for Groth, Sam hadn’t considered the man a danger. But what if the bumbling persona was all an act? The man had told of once having a name on the stage. Spreading gossip about hidden gold—that could be in preparation to ward off suspicions and enable Groth to start spending his own stolen goods.
If that theory proved true, why was he meeting Miss Lucy secret-like? More importantly…why was Lucy meeting him?
The bats came alive inside again, and Sam grimaced as he nudged Stinkeye into a walk.
Rufus turned, redirecting his baying as Sam approached.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Brazos,” Lucy called, a fixed smile on her face as she pushed Rufus from her ear. “I was afraid you wouldn’t catch up!”
Anger began a slow simmer as he guessed at the reason for her playacting. “My apologies. Next time we’ll be more prompt-like.”
“Is Stinkeye’s hoof all right?”
“Perfectly. Thank you. Howdy, Jasper.”
The stocky man tipped his hat. “Brazos. Good day to you, Miss Lucy.” He spurred the black into a trot as Sam reached Lucy.
Concerned, he gave her a quick appraisal. Her color was high, but she appeared untouched. “What was that about?”
“The insufferable man. This morning after you left the breakfast table, I asked him about the rumored treasure. He refused any information unless I met him in private. Not trusting his intentions, I rebuffed him. Somehow we crossed paths, and he believes I came searching for him. Playing ‘hard to get,’ he accused.” She practically spit out the words. “If it hadn’t been for Rufus and your timely approach, I’m quite certain he would have forced a kiss.”
“Is that such an easy task with you?” The question was unfair, but he couldn’t stop it. Was Lucy the kind of girl who chased bad men for the thrill of dang
er? Did she ever stoop to using her womanly wiles to win a story?
Lucy’s eyes flashed. “How dare you!”
Why else would she have looked at him the way she had last night—through those thick lashes, her lips full and parted, her cheeks flushed as if she fancied him? Had she looked at Jasper that way during their conversation at breakfast?
“I reckon that’s not an answer,” he said.
“I had thought you a knight of the range, riding to my rescue. And here you are as black-hearted as they come.”
He bit back the apology on the tip of his tongue. “My, my, Miss Lucy. Do you reckon you’re being a bit too…poetic?”
Her delicate chin rose. “Words are my calling. It cannot be helped.”
“And you’ll do anything for a story. Why is that?” He studied her, calming his anger and, yes, a smidge of jealousy as he took in the depths of her green eyes, trying to find the motivation behind her searching. “Why are you here, Miss Frederick? You asked me. Now I reckon I get to ask you.”
“You failed to give a real answer.”
He knew part of the story. Something along the lines of an irresistible tip, a clandestine carriage ride to an exhibition hall, a fire, and a misunderstanding. Carefully framed questions put to Margret Frederick had awarded him that much. In an ironic and possibly naive twist, Lucy had been shipped out West for her own safety.
Sam softened. “It’s true I’m in search of something. I didn’t lie to you.”
“The gold?”
“No.” Not directly. “I can’t tell you more.”
“Cannot or will not?”
The urge to confess once again took him by surprise.
Lucy drew herself up straight. “What if I start the conversation? Would that make it easier? I’m here because my father no longer wanted responsibility for me…and I would very much like to prove he can be proud of me after all.” She focused on the dog, stroking his silky ears. “Your turn.”
He shoved his hat tighter on his head. “My trouble is my own. I’m sorry.” Truly.
She seemed undaunted. “Then you at least admit you are in trouble.”
He growled. Rufus growled back.
Lucy surprised him with a laugh, light and contagious. “You’ll tell me. I know it. Now…were you headed to check on Jerusha?”
“Among others.”
She fluttered thick lashes at him. “You’re spying on me. Admit it.”
Those blasted bats danced again. “I’m looking out for you,” he corrected.
“Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for your appearance.” Wearing a bright smile, she held out a hand.
He bent low over it, keeping a wary eye on the coon dog. A rumbling in Rufus’s throat backed Sam and Stinkeye up too soon, and Sam lost his grip on Lucy’s ink-stained fingers. He cleared his throat and nodded to the trail. “Shall we?”
With practiced ease, she turned Dellarosa and fell in beside him. “Now, where were we? I believe you were fixing to tell me about where you lived last, what your family’s like, and what you do on these mysterious rides of yours.”
Sam shook his head and laughed.
Chapter Four
Lucy watched Sam over the rim of her chipped Staffordshire teacup. He exuded masculinity, with his muscular arms, broad chest, and worn but tidy clothing hinting at adventures lived. Still, he didn’t appear out of place as he balanced Jerusha on one knee and the little girl’s doll on the other.
Lucy pushed aside a sudden longing and focused on the matter at hand. The one always at hand—finding a newsworthy story.
“Yes, she seems to be fine as a fiddle,” Lillie Jo answered Sam. “The bite scared her more than it hurt, I believe, but my girl is Texan through and through. She’s made of sterner stuff than the girls you may have been acquainted with back East.”
“I can see that,” Sam said.
Biting back a terse response to the veiled insult, Lucy instead tucked away the fact that Sam had, at some point, been back East.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Lillie Jo said. “Tell them, Ernest.”
The gruff rancher stopped drumming his fingers against the table and drew in a grumbly breath. Lucy studied him carefully. He appeared anxious to get back in the heat, not thrilled about Lillie Jo coercing him to attend unexpected guests after his lunch.
Because he had fences to mend, missing cattle to round up? Or did he fear a slip of the tongue that would alert Lucy to a darker plot afoot?
Frankly, it was easier for her to believe ill of Ernest than Old Man Cantwell. The young rancher’s eyes were shifty, his lips pressed in a firm line beneath his uneven beard. Perspiration dotted his brow, soaked his shirt in a V across his chest and circling under his arms. From hard work? Or nerves?
The more he talked, telling the story of Jerusha falling into the river…or off a donkey—Lucy wasn’t sure which with the way Ernest mumbled—the more she became convinced he was hiding something.
“That happened when?” Sam asked. The jut of his jaw indicated Lucy wasn’t the only one on a mission here.
“Last May,” Ernest said. “Had to ride clear to Possum Hollow to find a doc to look ’er over, since Doc Dillehay was missin’, and not for the first time.”
“Doc Smith wasn’t around these parts last spring?”
“Naw. He didn’t show till mid-June. Since Dillehay up and disappeared a week or two earlier—probably got hisself lost in his cups again and fell into trouble—we needed Smith, sure as shootin’.”
The rancher grew agitated again. If Lucy allowed Sam to direct any more of the conversation, she wouldn’t get the scoop on the cattle.
Sending her cowboy a sharp look, Lucy spoke up. “Well, it’s a good thing he stuck around. You have no time to do any nursing these days, I’m sure, what with all your cattle trouble.”
Ernest went still. “What d’ya mean, cattle trouble?”
Lucy cleared her throat. “I heard a rumor that some cows went missing.”
The rancher met his wife’s questioning gaze and gave his shaggy head a quick shake. “Someone’s got you barkin’ at a knot, Miss Lucy. Ever’thin’s fine at the Rockin’ R.”
Giving a tight smile and noncommittal nod, Lucy allowed the conversation to veer off the course she’d set it on. But one thing she knew—everything was not fine at the Rocking R Ranch.
Sam kept a wary eye on Rufus all the way back to Ripple, and the dog returned the favor. Lucy was quiet most of the way, probably mulling over what she’d learned, same as Sam.
Which wasn’t much.
They passed the doctor’s home, and before Main Street, the coon dog jumped free, paws skittering over a pile of hulls.
Lucy spoke in a grumpy voice. “Besides making sure the sweet girl was recovering from her trauma…well, that was a waste of a beautiful morning.”
“It wasn’t wasted,” Sam said.
The sun danced off fiery strands of Lucy’s hair as she glanced over at him. “No cattle rustling after all, unless he’s hiding it for some reason. The ranch isn’t doing well, I hear, and with his carpentry skills—”
Suppressing a smile, Sam shook his head while Lucy ran through her theories. She’d probably gotten that particular bee in her bonnet from spying sawdust on the rancher’s boots and a train schedule, or some such. She really was a marvel.
“I imagine he’s selling out and didn’t want Lillie Jo to know yet,” Lucy continued as the horses entered the livery stable. “Which isn’t newsworthy, and it’s none of my business.”
Most of what she wrote probably wasn’t any of her business, but Sam didn’t feel up to reminding her of that fact.
“But it seems you whittled out some information you needed, for whatever reason.”
“I reckon I did.” Sam swung down from the saddle and moved to assist her. “Thank you for giving me the excuse for a visit.” His hands found her waist, let go sooner than he would have liked.
Lucy smoothed her skirts. “I’m glad someone got someth
ing out of it.”
“Again, it wasn’t time wasted.”
“For you.”
“For you, as well. Think, Lucy. Did anything strike you as interesting?”
“I already said—he’s hiding something.”
“Besides that?”
“Jerusha has more lives than the stable boy’s cat?”
Sam laughed then sobered, and Lucy tilted her head. “What is it?”
“Maybe I imagined it, but there’s something about Doc Dillehay’s story that stuck in my craw.”
Whatever the case, now Sam knew Ernest was still a suspect, as he’d been missing for enough time in May to travel to Fort Worth. Whether he’d been gone long enough to do what Sam had been framed for…well, he’d have to check on his story. Also, he could add both doctors to the list, as neither were yet accounted for during the pertinent dates.
Would the search never end? He’d felt close enough to smell the murderer’s foul breath, but then he took three steps backward. One thing was sure as shootin’—he was ready to hang up the fiddle on watching over his shoulder and weighing each word he allowed to escape his lips.
“Doc Dillehay?” Lucy repeated. “Why?”
“I can’t rightly say.”
This was the West. People disappeared for countless reasons. Dillehay could have made a run for the border. His horse could have run away, leaving him injured. Outlaws could have cornered him. He could have gotten a hankering to return east—
Lucy interrupted his thoughts, raising one thin eyebrow. “I have a feeling you’re not who you say you are, Sam Brazos.”
His heart stopped then stuttered on. “Who do you think I am?”
“I’m not sure, but I do believe there’s a good chance a newspaperman lives under that cowboy disguise of yours.”
Sam forced his breathing to return to normal. “Is that a compliment, Miss Frederick?”
“I’m afraid so.” A smile lit her face, crinkling her nose.
He’d dodged a bullet, but Lucy was mighty smart. She already suspected him of hiding something. She’d realize the truth about him soon enough.
Then what? Wouldn’t it be better to tell her, to convince her he stood in the right? To ask for her assistance, even?