by Carol Arens
“Hey, lady! I’ve got a quarter.” They’d reached the conclusion even quicker than he thought they would.
“Better run. I’ll see that you get across the street safely.”
She stepped off the crates, took four steps then spun around, her brows arched in question and the wind whipping her skirt.
“I don’t see how you can when—”
“Get!”
The men picked up their pace. He watched her run for the safety of the hotel but not quickly enough. Her pursuers were only steps behind.
Boone stooped, snatched up the pebble that she had tossed through his window. He fired it at man in front and hit him square in the back of the head.
The fool dropped cold. The other drunk tripped over him. They both rolled around in the dirt.
Hell, who would have guessed that all the practicing at skipping stones that he and Lantree had done as children would turn out to be so useful?
Melinda Winston, her skirts flapping, reached the safety of the hotel door. With her hand on the knob, she turned, flashed him a smile then, oh damn, she winked.
Heaven help Stanley Smythe was all he could think.
Chapter Two
Melinda closed the door to her hotel room and leaned against it, her breath coming fast and hard. Those men had nearly latched onto her skirt.
What a lucky thing that the fellow in front tripped and brought his friend down with him. There was more than her safety at stake.
The last thing she wanted was for Boone Walker to think, as every other man did, that simply because she was a female she was not able to look out for herself.
Still, she could only admit that even Rebecca, her comrade in adventure, would agree that this pursuit had been a close call.
She would feel guilty forever if something happened to make Stanley Smythe feel that he had failed as her guardian.
Had it not been for him finally agreeing to let her come along, she might be at the ranch right now, counting cows. As much as she loved Moreland Ranch and everyone living there, it was isolated.
How would she ever meet the one man destined to be hers? In the time she had lived there she had entertained three possible suitors. One looking for his third wife, the next a good friend and contemporary of Grandfather Moreland’s and the last...well, to be frank, he was not at all interesting.
Someday she would like to return to the mountains, live near Rebecca and Lantree. She could not imagine raising her children any place but near her cousin.
But, if there were to be children, there needed to be a husband and she was not likely to find him milling around with the cattle.
With her breathing restored, she crossed the room to peer out the window. The men who had chased her were just now getting to their feet. The swifter of the two rubbed the back of his head. His drunken companion glanced around as if confused.
Well, all was well that ended well. And a close call was only that. Close. As it turned out, she had been quicker and luckier.
And the risk had been well worth it since she had been able to make the acquaintance of her new cousin, to let him know that he was an uncle and he had his family’s support.
Standing beside the window and protected by the darkness, she unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it.
The men below shuffled back to the saloon and went inside.
Dry, gusty wind blew up clouds of dust. The streetlamp below her window illuminated the grains as they whirled and swirled.
She plucked the pins from her hair then reached for the hairbrush on the dresser beside the window. While she brushed the day’s tangles out, she thought about Boone.
How could she not? The man was a puzzle.
He was handsome, like his brother, and yet not at all like his brother. The features all added up to mirror images, but when she looked at Boone, there was a little flutter in her belly.
He made her feel edgy and uncomfortable—but at the same time fascinated.
That didn’t happen when she looked at Lantree. At least not after the first glance, because by the second glance she’d known that he was meant for Rebecca and the flutter had vanished and never returned.
Maybe the flutter would be gone for Boone, as well, once she thought things through. Once he was not so mysterious, her heart might settle back into place.
She stared at his transom window. From where she stood, it was just visible through the rising dust.
It ought to be that Boone was as different from his twin as dusk is to dawn. One a healer, one an outlaw. An angel and a devil.
Or that might not be true at all.
After the brief time she had spent with Boone, she wondered if in his heart of hearts he was more like Lantree than it first seemed. Perhaps he, too, might have been upstanding had his life not taken such an ugly turn.
Recalling their conversation, he had been concerned for her safety.
What sort of a soul lived inside Boone Walker? The hardened criminal that life had made him? Or had something of the boy survived the hard life...maybe that person would resurface once Stanley won him a new future.
She set her brush aside and plaited her hair all the while staring at the transom window down the alley.
What was he thinking about at this moment? She could not help but wonder. No doubt he wanted to know more about his family. She hadn’t had the time to tell him anything except that his brother was a father.
In the event that he wasn’t freed by tomorrow night, she’d go back and tell him the rest. About Moreland Ranch and how his brother had become a doctor, about how deliciously in love he was with his wife.
Melinda sighed. Where was the man who would be deliciously in love with her?
Oh, it was true that men were in adoration of her left and right. They put her on a pedestal, admired her but did not lift a foot to climb up after her. There must be a man somewhere who had hands big enough to yank her off, to love her even when she stood on solid ground.
Where was the man who would look past her face to really see her? The one who would love her down to her soul, who would want her with all her faults and virtues? The one who would never leave and still want her when she was old and her beauty faded?
Where was that man? She wanted to know.
A movement caught her eye. Boone’s face appeared between the transom bars. Moonlight reflected off his handsome features.
She thought he was gazing up at the stars but from this distance it was hard to tell.
Perhaps he was watching...her.
His hand lifted into view. He waved.
Feeling a flush from her hairline to her toes, she waved back.
A serious flutter that may or may not be gone by ten in the morning twisted her insides in a way they had never been twisted.
This was disturbing since she wanted that feeling to be for the man she married. It was unlikely that Boone, given his past, would even consider a wife and family.
And...who was he really? Maybe he was the dastardly outlaw of the broadsheets and not the hapless boy that Stanley presented him to be.
Quite honestly, she had no way of knowing for sure, even though she was very good at reading people. Was it possible that she felt a kinship to him because he looked like Lantree, whom she loved, or was she drawn to him because he was exceptionally handsome? If that were the case, she would be like her own hordes of suitors, infatuated with an image.
My word!
She backed away from the window, flung herself on the bed and waited for her nerves to settle or for morning to come.
Morning came first.
* * *
By ten o’clock the next day the wind had quieted. The courthouse door was left open to let in the sun-warmed air of an autumn morning.
The sounds of wa
gon wheels and commerce rolled past. Scents from a nearby bakery drifted in. Boot steps fell heavy on the boardwalk then faded into the distance.
Boone listened to the noise in an attempt to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and his shirt from becoming soaked with nervous sweat.
Apparently, Judge Mathers didn’t want to hear more formal testimony. First thing upon entering the courthouse he had ordered Smythe into his chambers and shut the door.
His lovely “cousin” had leaped from her chair when the slender lawyer disappeared.
Her pacing was putting him on edge. The swish of fabric feathering around her ankles made his insides itch. The sound of the guard’s boots tapping on the floor echoed from one wall to the other when he wearily shifted his weight.
Life was funny when one man in a room could be tied up in agitation waiting to see where his future would go and the other so bored he risked drifting into a doze.
Melinda Winston suddenly stopped pacing and approached Boone at a quick pace. She had her mouth open, apparently ready to say something, when all of a sudden the guard came to attention and blocked her way.
She blinked at him; she flashed dimples.
“I would take it as a kindness if you would let me speak to my cousin,” she said in a voice as sweet as any he’d ever heard.
“I’d like to oblige, ma’am, but it’s against the rules.”
“Oh, of course,” she sighed with a lift of her bosom. She shrugged then turned to walk away. Suddenly she spun around. “It’s just that I have family news. Would it be acceptable if the three of us sat on this bench with you in between me and Mr. Walker?”
“Don’t know that there’s a rule against it but—”
“I’d be ever so grateful.”
Had she practiced that batting of the eyelashes? He’d wager a hundred dollars that she had. She was skilled; he’d have to give her that. He’d wager another hundred that the deputy didn’t know he was being reeled in, a fish flopping on a hook.
“I reckon it can’t do any harm, as long as the two of you keep your distance.”
“Thank you.” She gave the deputy’s forearm a quick squeeze then sat on the bench. “You are a true gentleman.”
Bedazzled, the man could only nod.
Boone sat on the left side of the lawman. By damn, the fellow was preening.
Miss Winston, with her hands folded in her lap, leaned forward so that she could peer at him around the guard.
“What I didn’t have time to tell you last—” She stopped suddenly. Apparently she didn’t want it known that she had snuck out in the dark of night. “Last time we met, is that Lantree is more than—”
“This is a mockery of every legal standard!” Stanley Smythe’s voice penetrated the wall. He reckoned even the saloon keeper could hear the ruckus. “I will not stand for this.”
That didn’t sound promising for his future. Melinda cast him a quick frown.
Long silence stretched in which he could only guess the judge was speaking in a quieter tone. The clock in the courthouse seemed to tick louder all of a sudden...with a longer time between each swing of the pendulum.
Even the deputy turned his head in the direction of the judge’s chambers, listening.
“My client should walk free on the merit of his own innocence and you know it.”
More silence, except for the clock that grew ever louder.
Melinda stood and turned toward the door with her hand at her throat.
Oddly his mind conjured the sound of his brother’s voice saying, “Hell and damn!”
“No! This is highly irregular. I will not permit it.”
Boone stood and faced the judge’s chamber. So did the deputy.
All at once the door flew open and Judge Mathers strode out, his robe flapping like the black wings of doom.
“A situation has come up, Walker,” he announced. He didn’t sit at his podium but he did pick up his gavel and point it at him. “If you help me out I’ll set you free.”
Didn’t sound so bad to Boone, but his little lawyer bristled.
“My client refuses. I insist that you release him without putting him through this farce.”
Melinda tipped her head to the side, the fine line etching her forehead reaching her hairline.
“May I speak, Your Honor?” Boone asked. “I reckon I ought to know what kind of help you need and why it’s got Mr. Smythe in a tizzy.”
“Not a tizzy, but a bout of righteous indignation!” Smythe marched across the room and stood in front Boone with his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a bristled bantam rooster protecting his oversize chick.
It was damn hard not to admire the man.
“You may speak, sir.”
“Sir” coming from a judge...it made his neck tingle.
“What kind of farce are we considering?” Not that it mattered much if it earned him his freedom.
“I’m in a bind.”
The judge set down his hammer and stepped down from his polished podium. Crossing the room, he gripped Boone’s shoulder and looked up, holding his gaze along with his future.
Whatever the judge wanted, Boone couldn’t imagine refusing, short of murder, that is. He was well and done with that in this lifetime.
“I want you to capture an outlaw gang. If you do, you are a free man.”
“Mr. Walker.” Smythe, who had been pushed aside by the judge, elbowed his way back in. “I advise you to refuse. You ought to be a free man, by your own merits. The judge has no right to include you in his dangerous schemes.”
“It is within my power to set you free or to send you back to the penitentiary.”
It didn’t matter what Smythe felt about the right and wrong of the situation. Boone knew that in reality, Mathers did have the authority to decide his future.
“How many outlaws in this gang?” he asked. Not that it mattered. He was not going to turn down his single chance to be a free man.
“Last we knew, six. Shouldn’t be a problem for a man of your...talents, shall we say?”
Rumor had cast him as a cold-blooded killer and the judge must believe it, otherwise he would not have offered him this opportunity. No one knew that the one killing he had committed had not been in cold blood. Liquor and ignorance had been running hot in his veins that night.
But he did know outlaws. Had run with them most of his life.
“I’ll take the job, Your Honor, in exchange for my freedom.”
He only hoped that it would not be in exchange for his soul. It was hard to imagine how he was going to round up six outlaws, possibly hardened killers that folks believed he was, without bloodshed.
Smythe let out a resigned sigh. “I’ll have this written up, everything neat and legal.”
The judge nodded, his expression satisfied, then turned toward the podium and started up the steps. He pivoted suddenly.
“Oh, and you’ll need a wife.”
* * *
Surely the judge was making an absurd joke.
Melinda cocked her head at him, searching for any sign of mirth.
Unfortunately all she could detect was satisfaction dashed with a pinch of smugness.
“A wife?” Boone gasped.
Poor man, trading one shackle for another.
From outside on the boardwalk a woman’s singsong voice drifted inside. She was reciting a child’s ditty and doing an off-key job of it.
“How the hell am I supposed to capture outlaws and protect a woman while I’m doing it?”
The judge shrugged away Boone’s concern. “I had a deputy and his missus set for the job, paid them a pretty penny of taxpayer money, too, by way of a bonus. Yesterday I was informed that the wife is in a family way and now they’ve backed out of the dea
l.”
“I’ll get things done quicker on my own,” Boone declared, his complexion looking blanched. “Where in blazes would I get a wife anyway?”
How odd that Boone cast her a brief sidelong glance. No, perhaps not. No doubt he had only been breaking his stare-down with Mathers.
“A wife is a must, my boy. Everything has been arranged for you and the missus to pose as homesteaders—it’s the only way to draw the criminals out. This particular gang goes after settlers.”
“I’ll settle as a single man.”
Mathers shook his head. “No, that won’t do at all. A wife gives the impression of vulnerability.”
“That may be, but where the blazes do you think I’ll conjure up one?”
The singsong voice stopped suddenly, to be replaced by footsteps pattering into the courthouse.
Suddenly a smile shot across the judge’s face. “Ah, here she is now!”
“Back out while you can, Boone,” Smythe urged. “We’ll take your case to a higher court.”
Melinda sat hard on the bench. Even the guard groaned under his breath.
Boone’s bride-to-be had hair the color of cinnamon, lips the hue of ripe radishes and a crimson gown that barely covered anything.
“Miss Scarlet Cherry—” the judge inclined his head toward Boone “—meet Boone Walker, your intended.”
“Oh, my, my,” Miss Cherry purred, but even that was off-key. “It’s the outlaw in the—” Scarlet Cherry stroked nicotine-stained fingertips over Boone’s wrist “—flesh.”
This would not do. No, not in a thousand years. This woman was to be Rebecca’s sister-in-law? Baby Caroline’s auntie?
If only Lantree were here. He would intervene with a lecture about the risk of venereal disease.
In spite of the fact that Scarlet Cherry’s name had everything to do with red, her face was pale, lined and sickly looking. No doubt she had a dreaded illness.
Wish as she might, Lantree was not present. No one from the family was here to take Boone’s side...no one but her.
What was she to do? She might argue against this marriage all day and night but, with his freedom at stake, Boone would go along with this scheme in the end.
