Hero For Hire

by Sheridon Smythe

  Missing the twinkle in her eye, Roy tried to soothe her ruffled feathers, but only succeeded in stepping in deeper manure. “I'm a man, Mrs. Cord—no offense. Everyone knows that women can't keep a—"

  "Roy,” Mac interrupted quickly, hoping to save the boy. “I think you've said enough."

  Bewildered, Roy glanced from Mac's stern expression to Savannah's suddenly glittering eyes. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Cord. I didn't mean to—"

  "Roy,” Mac said, louder this time.

  "Okay, okay,” Roy grumbled, grabbing another piece of chicken. “So what do you two think? Would it be okay with you, Mac?"

  Mac shrugged. “If you're sure, it's fine with me.” After a deliberate pause, Mac added, “What will your folks think?"

  Roy's eyes clouded at the question, as if he were remembering something unpleasant. “I don't have any folks."

  "Everyone has a mother and a father,” Savannah said gently.

  "Well, I don't, at least not any worth mentioning."

  With his sullen gaze fixed on his plate, he resumed eating, leaving Mac and Savannah the impression that further attempts to find out about his past would prove useless.

  It was obviously a painful subject for the kid, Mac thought compassionately. Although he was extremely curious, he respected Roy's reluctance to talk about it.

  He changed the subject, eliciting a relieved sigh from Roy. “Sav, I talked to Sheriff Cannon this morning about Barlow, and went through his most recent wanted posters."

  "Did you find him?"

  Mac shook his head. “No, I didn't, unless he has an alias. Do you think you could use your impressive artistic talents and draw a likeness of him from memory?"

  She blushed at his compliment. “I can try, Mac. Truthfully, I've never attempted to draw a person's face before."

  "I have complete confidence in your ability,” Mac told her softly, eyeing her rosy blush and aching to pull her onto his lap. She lifted her gaze, catching the slumbering desire he didn't bother to hide. Her breath caught; her eyes darkened.

  Roy heaved an exasperated sigh and pushed himself away from the table. He looked from one to the other, snorting. “You two act like love-sick calves! Don't you ever get tired of each other?"

  Mac shook his head, and Savannah did the same, their gazes never wavering from each other.

  "Well, hell,” Roy exclaimed loudly. “I guess I'll take Mr. Carrington up on his offer to exercise his horses.” He took two clomping steps away from the table, then paused. “I'm going now.” It was clearly a threat.

  "Bye, Roy,” Mac said, reaching across and capturing Savannah's hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, rubbing his thumb against her palm. Unseen beneath the table, Savannah's bare foot began a slow, tantalizing journey along his calf and onto his thigh.

  "I probably won't be back until late,” Roy added ominously.

  "Okay."

  "Might even be midnight."

  "All right."

  "Or maybe I'll just get drunk and stay out all night."

  Savannah's lips twitched. With a spontaneous laugh, she broke away from Mac's heated gaze and focused on Roy, who obviously need someone's attention. Mac didn't dare follow suit; her foot had found him, hard and straining against his trousers. Slowly, she used her toes to outline his length. Up. Down.

  "Be home by dark, or I'll worry,” Savannah told Roy sternly.

  Roy grinned and saluted her. “Yes, ma'am!"

  The moment they heard the door slam, Mac rose from his chair. He tenderly gathered Savannah into his arms and headed for their bedroom.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Just after dawn four days before the wedding, Mac was roused from sleep by someone pounding fiercely on the door. Thinking it was Roy, Mac stumbled through the house pulling on his trousers, cursing and mumbling to himself. He jerked open the door to find George Carrington on his threshold.

  His future father-in-law looked pale, and Roy, standing beside him, sported an ugly, multi-colored bruise on his right cheek.

  Mac's eyes narrowed. Father-in-law or not, if George Carrington was abusing Roy there would be hell to pay. “What happened?” He moved aside to let George by, but grabbed Roy before he could dart past him. He tilted the boy's face to get a better look at the bruise. “What happened?” he repeated.

  Hot color flooded Roy's cheeks, further darkening the discolored bruise. “I—I fell off my horse,” he stammered, jerking free of Mac's hold. “Jeepers, Mac! You act like you've never seen a bruise before! I'm not a sissy girl, you know."

  "I told him not to ride Aspen,” George said impatiently. He'd found the whisky decanter and was now pouring himself a generous shot into a glass.

  Watching George drain the liquid caused Mac's gut clenched in protest. It was hardly six o'clock in the morning; clearly something was upsetting the banker.

  George waved the empty glass through the air, his wild gaze clashing with Mac's questioning one. “We didn't come to show you Roy's bruise—the bank's been robbed! Someone cleared the vault out last night."

  Mac swallowed a startled gasp. “How did they get in? Someone would have heard the blast—"

  "The vault wasn't blasted,” George snarled. “And it appears they came in through an open window."

  Savannah joined them, tying the belt of her robe as she entered the room. “I heard shouting ... my Lord, Roy! What happened to your face?"

  "He fell off his horse,” Mac explained, looking at Roy once again. “But that's not the reason they're here. Someone robbed the bank."

  "Someone who knew the combination!” George bellowed, drowning out the sound of Savannah's dismayed cry. Frustration was evident in his jerky movements as he began to pace. “And the only people that knows are myself, Tilly, and Roy here, and I trust them explicitly."

  An unpleasant spiraling sensation traveled along Mac's spine as he stared hard at Roy. Roy stared innocently back at him. Although the boy had wormed his way into their hearts, Mac had to remind himself they knew almost nothing about him. What they did know was that Roy knew the combination to the vault, and this morning, he sported an ugly bruise. Coincidence? Mac intended to find out.

  The spiraling sensation hit his stomach, making him feel almost physically ill. He began to fasten his shirt, his voice gruff. “We'll rouse the sheriff on the way."

  "I'll stay—” Roy began.

  Mac cut him off with a quick, hard glance. “You're coming with us.” He forced himself to add in a neutral voice, “We'll need all the eyes we can get to look for clues."

  "I'll make coffee and start breakfast,” Savannah stated. She seemed to glide across the room as she went to her father and hugged him. “Don't worry. Mac'll catch them and get your money back."

  George blinked back unmanly tears as he enfolded Savannah in his bear-like embrace. His voice wobbled. “It's not my money, Sav, it's the town's money. Even Mac's savings, the money he's been hoarding so that he can give you everything—"

  "Let's get going,” Mac interrupted hastily. He placed a brief, hard kiss on Savannah's mouth before heading for the door.

  Outside, the town was slowly coming to life. Mac's house was situated on Winchester Street—a few blocks from Main street—so it didn't take them long to walk the short distance to the sheriff's office. Mac knew that Sheriff Cannon often slept in one of the jail cells instead of going home at night, and that's exactly where he found him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mac, the sleepy-eyed sheriff, George and Roy entered the quiet bank building. No sign of forced entry, Mac noted quickly, and none of the employees he knew would be careless enough to leave one of the high windows open, so that meant someone had deliberately left it open so the outlaws could get inside.

  Once again his suspicious gaze returned to Roy, who was now looking as outraged as George sounded.

  "I can't believe this,” George said, cursing loudly and explicitly as he led the way across the gleaming mahogany floor into his office
where the vault was located. The heavy iron door of the vault stood wide-open, revealing the empty shelves within. “Them son-of-a-bitches didn't even have to work for it! Just walked right in and took it!"

  "It was a clean sweep, all right,” Sheriff Cannon confirmed, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in a perplexed frown. “They knew the combination to the vault."

  George snorted. “Herb, any fool can see that!"

  "No need to bite my head off, George,” Sheriff Cannon rebuked mildly. “I ain't the one that took your money. Let's take a look outside, see how many there were."

  They all followed Sheriff Cannon outside and around to the side of the bank building. The lawman hunkered down beneath the open window, studying the footprints while Mac combed the area where their horses had trampled the dirt.

  "Look's like there might have been two or more,” Sheriff Cannon said.

  Mac grunted. “I agree. Three horses and a mule. They're probably using the mule to pack the money."

  "How can you tell?” George asked, peering over Mac's shoulder.

  "See those tracks there, leading away from the building? They're deeper. That means the mule was carrying a heavier load when they left.” Mac frowned, hunkering down to get a closer look at the tracks. Slowly, he said, “They've either got a spare horse, or a light rider.” He motioned the sheriff over, pointing at the faint imprint of the fourth horse. “What do you think?"

  Sheriff Cannon nodded. “You're right, Mac. Look's like they've got an extra mount."

  "We should get back to the house,” Roy announced suddenly. “Savannah's cooking breakfast. She'll—she'll be mad if we let it get cold."

  Three pairs of eyes looked at Roy as if he'd lost his mind. Mac rose, that ugly feeling in his gut returning like a tooth ache. How could the boy think of his stomach at a time like this? Normally, an event of this magnitude would excite the boy; why wasn't he excited now?

  Softly, Mac asked, “Is there any particular reason—other than food—that we should hurry back to the house, Roy?"

  Roy swallowed so hard the sound was audible. His voice was nothing but a hoarse, agonized croak. “Please, Mac. Let's just go!"

  Before Mac could think, he grabbed the boy's shoulders and jerked him close. He glared into Roy's round-eyed gaze. “So help me God!"

  Cowering before Mac's obvious fury, Roy nevertheless managed to stammer, “M-mac, we need to hurry."

  Mac needed no further urging. His heart began to pound with fear as he loped in the direction of Winchester. Vaguely, he was aware of Roy close behind him, and George and Sheriff Cannon panting to keep up.

  When he reached the house where he and Savannah had spent two glorious weeks loving each other, he burst through the front door, shouting, “Savannah? Savannah, answer me!"

  But of course she didn't, because she wasn't there.

  George and Sheriff Cannon raced into the parlor just as Mac emerged from the empty kitchen. Roy had checked the bedrooms and was coming down the narrow stairs from the attic room. The bruise on his cheek stood out in vivid detail against the paleness of his face. Guilt and terror mingled in his eyes.

  The banker's face was beet red from his excursions, and he was breathing hard. Bracing his hands on his knees, he gasped out, “What the hell is this all about?"

  Mac's burning gaze locked on Roy's frightened face. With deceptive calm, he said, “I think Roy can answer that, can't you Roy?"

  * * * *

  They gathered at the table where Savannah had began laying out the materials for making biscuits; a mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, flour, lard, and an empty can for cutting the biscuits.

  Dead center of the table lay her gold locket.

  Mac fixed his gaze on it, his fists clenched, his jaw equally clenched as he tried to control his wild rage at Barlow's latest taunt. The bastard would pay with his life, he vowed.

  His clenched fist hit the table with a thundering whack, startling the others—particularly Roy—who jumped as if Mac had struck him. “Start talking,” he ordered.

  Roy swallowed several times, his huge eyes focused on the locket. “He—he promised to leave Mrs. Cord alone if I told him the combination. He promised,” he added in an anguished whisper.

  "And the window?” Mac hardened his heart against the anguish twisting the boy's face.

  Instead of answering, Roy simply nodded and hung his head.

  But Mac wasn't satisfied by any means. “Why did he hit you?"

  Startled, Roy's gaze flew to Mac's. “I—I told you, I fell—"

  "You didn't fall.” Mac was certain of this, but why would Roy lie? What reason could he possibly have for lying about something that would help them to understand why he'd betrayed them?

  "Look,” George said, “If he said he fell, then maybe he did, Mac. As far as giving him the combination, the boy obviously had no choice in the matter. He knows how much my daughter means to me."

  Mac ignored George, shooting questions at Roy and demanding answers. “Why did he hit you?"

  Apparently Roy realized Mac wasn't going to give up. “He—he hit me because at first I refused to give him the combination to the vault."

  "How did he know who you were?” Mac knew Roy had seen the likeness of Barlow that Savannah had sketched, which would explain how Roy knew him. But it didn't explain how Barlow recognized Roy.

  "I don't know. I was out riding Aspen and they jumped me."

  "How many?"

  "Just—just Barlow and that woman, Raquel."

  "You're lying."

  "For God's sake, Mac—” George began.

  Mac held up his hand to silence the banker without taking his eyes from Roy. The sheriff remained silent and watchful. “He's not lying about how many, he's lying about Barlow not knowing him,” he explained. “Am I right, Roy?"

  Roy's shoulders slumped. His gaze fell from Mac's as he whispered miserably, “Yeah, he knows me."

  "Was the third horse for you, Roy?"

  The silence seemed to stretch as Roy took his time answering. Finally, he mumbled, “Yeah, it was for me, but I didn't want to go with them.” His lifted his pleading gaze to George. “I wanted to stay with you, learn how to be a banker."

  "And you never wanted to become a bounty hunter?” Mac guessed shrewdly.

  "No. I heard you two talking outside the hotel that first night in Jamestown. That was the only excuse I could think of, so's you'd let me go with you and Mrs. Cord. I—I was supposed to stick with her like a bur on a dog."

  Not Roy's own words, Mac sensed as the disturbing pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Just as Savannah had been taken in by Barlow, they had all been fooled by Roy. It stung his pride to realize he'd been so gullible, but the pain of betrayal hurt far worse than his pride. Now he knew how Savannah felt!

  "You've got to believe me Mac!” Roy suddenly cried, jumping to his feet. He was visibly trembling, his eyes pleading with Mac to understand. “At first I went along with his plans, but then I—I started to like you and Mrs. Cord. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. You all treat me like a real person."

  Mac pointed at the chair and Roy sat abruptly. “How long have you known Barlow was going to rob the bank?"

  "I didn't know!"

  "But you knew that he planned to carry out his original plan to kidnap Savannah."

  Roy's mouth worked uselessly. Finally he strangled out in a shameful voice, “Yeah, I knew. But I thought I could change his mind. I—I thought if I told him the combination to the vault, that he would take the money and leave us alone."

  "Why didn't you just come to me? Or tell George?"

  "Because I was ashamed...” Roy's skinny chest hitched as he fought an unmanly sob. “I didn't want you all to know the real me."

  George cursed softly. “What do they expect me to use for ransom? My money was in that vault, too."

  They all looked to Roy for an answer; he clearly didn't like this type of attention, and didn't know what to say.

  It was
Mac who finally shocked them all by saying, “I don't think Barlow kidnaped Savannah for money."

  "I think you might be right,” Sheriff Cannon said, speaking for the first time since the entire conversation began. “This sounds more like an act of revenge. Mac, are you certain you didn't recognize Barlow from Savannah's sketch?"

  Mac shook his head. “I'm certain."

  "He didn't kidnap her out of revenge or for money,” Roy blurted out. When everyone looked at him again, his face reddened. “He's just mad because she got away from him the first time.” His hand touched his bruised cheek; he winced. “He doesn't like to be crossed."

  "How long have you known him?” Mac asked, wishing he had his hands around Barlow's throat. Despite the fact that Roy had started out deceiving them, Mac didn't find it difficult to believe he'd had a change of heart. Otherwise Roy would have left with Barlow, he reasoned. Or perhaps this was just what he wanted to believe.

  "I've known him a long time,” Roy admitted reluctantly, as if he were ashamed of the fact.

  Sheriff Cannon leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. His piercing blue eyes bore into Roy's. “He any kin of yours?"

  Roy took forever to answer, and when he did George, Mac, and Sheriff Cannon had to strain to hear his whispered words.

  "Yeah. He's my Pa."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty

  Mac fancied he could smell the lingering scent of Jasmine in the air.

  A kettle of water boiled on the stove. He knew he should tend to it, at least remove it from the heat, but somehow the sight of the steaming kettle was soothing, reminding him that not so long ago, Savannah was in this room, preparing breakfast. A knife-like pain hit his chest at the thought of Savannah in the cruel hands of Ned Barlow.

  He and Roy were alone in the small kitchen. Sheriff Cannon had left to find Mac a fast horse, and George had gone to the bank to inform his employees of the robbery.

  Silence stretched between them; the air was heavy with conflicting emotions—disappointment, shame, and a black fury such as Mac had never known before.

  Roy's betrayal stunned him, but Savannah's absence left a gaping hole in his heart. Fear twisted his gut into a painful knot. What if Barlow planned to kill Savannah? Why else would he take her, if not for money?