by Cat Cahill
When he entered the trees again on the other side of the clearing, he drew one of his revolvers. It was useless being ill-prepared in a place the other man knew better.
His horse plodded through the underbrush, making far more noise than he would have wished. Every now and then, he spotted a flash of red, until, after about fifteen minutes, he realized he hadn’t seen it in some time.
Ben reined the horse to a stop. Slowly, he spun in a circle, scanning the trees. There was a light layer of snow on the ground here, but none of it betrayed the whereabouts of the man he’d been following.
“Where are you?” he said under his breath.
A lone bird—one who didn’t mind the cold of winter—sang from somewhere in the distance. Other than that, it was quiet, all the sounds of the mountain muffled by the snow. It was too quiet.
A gun exploded from somewhere in front of Ben. He had no time to think, but his body dove from the horse. He landed flat on the ground. Face in the snow, he turned his head from left to right. The man was somewhere in front of him. And he knew Ben was tracking him.
Not having the upper hand made Ben wary. Instead of standing, he crawled to the nearest large tree. Then he rose, obscured by the trunk of the ancient pine. Revolver in hand, he leaned around the trunk, searching for red.
A moment passed. Something moved behind the pines, just to the right of where the gunshot sounded. Ben’s horse stood where he’d left him. The gunshot had spooked him, but he’d stayed put. He was a good horse, well-trained and unlikely to run off.
The movement behind the trees continued, but there was no red. He’d taken it off, Ben realized. The red coat or shirt or neckerchief—whatever it was—he’d removed it in order to blend in better with his surroundings.
Ben dropped to the ground again. All it took was one look at the marks he’d made in the snow, crawling to get behind this tree, and the man would know exactly where he was.
As the man moved closer, from tree to tree, Ben crawled away, making a circle until he arrived just feet away from where he’d first been hiding. He rose and obscured himself behind another pine.
When the man reached Ben’s first hiding place, Ben didn’t wait. He sprang out and knocked the man to the ground from behind. The gun fell from the man’s hand, but it only took him a second to start fighting.
Ben had the advantage now. He gave the man just enough purchase to roll over, then he leapt up and pointed his weapon at the outlaw. The man stilled, and, lying on his back, he lifted his hands.
“Where’s Hagan?” Ben demanded, his breath lingering in the cold air.
“He ain’t here,” the man replied. He looked to be about Ben’s age, tall with long, matted dark hair. A scar ran from his left eye to his mouth, and it looked as if he hadn’t seen a bath in a year.
“I can see that. Now answer my question.”
“Up the mountain.”
“Try again.”
The man said nothing.
Ben cocked the revolver. “I said, try again.”
The outlaw sneered at him. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, lawman.”
“You want to put money on that?”
“I know you. You’re the sheriff in Cañon City. You put me in jail last spring all on account I drank too much and was disturbing the ladies. You’re too good to shoot me on the ground like this.”
Ben didn’t remember him at all, but then again, he’d put a lot of men in jail for a night for drinking too much and causing a nuisance. The man had a point—Ben wouldn’t kill him in cold blood.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t scare the man a bit.
Ben aimed his revolver at the ground next to his captive and let a shot off.
The man screeched and rolled to his side as the bullet hit the snow well away from him.
“Still don’t think I’d shoot you?” Ben asked, his voice cold.
“I ain’t telling you where Hagan is,” the outlaw said, his voice less confident than before. “That snake would find a way to kill me in jail if I gave him away.”
Ben had no doubt he was right. “The girl, then. Is she safe?”
The outlaw looked at him incredulously. “’Course she’s safe! What do you take us for, a bunch of ruffians?”
“Yes.”
The scarred man huffed. “She ain’t hurt. And she won’t be so long as you give up Hagan’s money.”
Ben resisted the urge to remind him that the money wasn’t Hagan’s. It had belonged to the Colorado & New Mexico Railway Company. “Take me to her.”
“You crazy?”
“Take me to her now.” Ben made a show of pointing the gun directly at the man’s leg below him.
The outlaw paused, watching him. “You have to let me up to do that.”
Ben nodded. If this man could lead him to the right place, Ben could take him back down the mountain, tie him to a tree somewhere, and then return with Harry and the others to free Adelaide. He could have his sister back safe before dark.
The man started to rise, Ben’s gun still trained on him. In a flash, the outlaw jutted one leg up and around, sweeping Ben’s feet out from under him. Ben fell hard to the ground, his gun flying from his grip. His head struck something solid.
The world went black.
BEN AWOKE, FEELING as if he’d simply taken a nap. A nap that had somehow given him a growing lump on the back of his head. He lay there for a moment, letting the bare treetops and pines come into focus as they swayed above him. Then he sat up.
His hat lay nearby. He grabbed it and brushed the snow off. The shallow layer of snow hadn’t yet begun soaking into his coat, so he couldn’t have been out that long.
The man had gotten away. Ben sighed as he lifted himself to standing. He’d been so close to learning where Adelaide was. And he would’ve had a prisoner to bring back to Cañon City to show the people who’d elected him that he wasn’t just off on some wild goose chase. But it had all slipped through his fingers.
He found his horse standing nearby, as placid as ever. He curled and uncurled his hands a few times, forcing the blood back through his frozen fingertips. The devil had said Adelaide was unharmed. He’d better hope that was true. If any of those men had so much as looked at her the wrong way, he’d make them wish they’d been hit by a speeding locomotive.
Ben mounted his horse, his head pounding with the very effort. The decoy had been a failure. He was no closer to finding Adelaide than he’d been a day ago, the outlaws now knew he was nearby, and he’d put Penny in danger for nothing.
Ben nudged his horse back down toward the creek. He’d have to think of something else. But what? He was running out of ideas, and as each day passed, it slipped closer to Hagan’s deadline.
He couldn’t give up yet. Something would come to him. He had to trust in that.
Chapter Eighteen
Penny pressed a hand to her back and stretched. Although her last shift of the day had finished with the noon train, she and Dora had offered to create new centerpieces for the tables. Dora had just left to rest a while before the supper shift while Penny finished with the last few centerpieces in the kitchen. A handful of kitchen boys washed leftover lunch dishes, while the cooks began preparations for the evening meal. She glanced down at the centerpieces as she yawned. She’d never been one to create pretty, dainty things—her needlework was laughable, and she couldn’t sketch even a hatbox—but these simple vases arranged with sprigs of blue-shaded berries Dora had found along the creek had turned out quite lovely.
She began the tedious task of placing them into crates to carry back to the dining room. She was so focused on arranging the vases to pack as many as possible into each crate that she didn’t even notice Ben standing on the other side of the kitchen table from her. She hadn’t seen him since they’d returned from their unsuccessful journey south yesterday.
“Those are awfully pretty.”
She jumped at his voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“I never took
you for someone so domestic.” He nodded at the vases.
“Pardon? I’ve become quite adept at keeping house.” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. That was just the sort of thing people assumed about her back home. Being a bit brash at times didn’t necessarily mean she was hopeless at domestic life. After all, she’d managed to become a Gilbert Girl, even if it did entail a few spilled drinks, a singed tablecloth, and several broken dishes. Even if it didn’t come naturally to her, Penny was nothing if not determined.
Ben raised his hands. “I apologize. I meant nothing like that. You’re . . . well . . .”
“Well?” Penny placed her hands on her hips and fixed him with her best annoyed look.
“Brave.”
“Brave,” she repeated. “Thank you, I suppose? Although I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
Ben looked appropriately chastised, and it broke right through Penny’s irritation with him.
“All right, I forgive you,” she said. “If you help me load and carry these crates.”
“Gladly.”
She tried not to laugh as he fumbled with the miniature vases, loading them and then carrying each crate to the dining room where the girls on the dinner shift would set the vases out as soon as they came downstairs. “May I ask why you were in the kitchens? Unless you’ve taken up a position with the Gilbert Company?” She watched him through the corner of her eye as he placed the last crate on the floor of the empty dining room.
“I . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d hoped to find more of that turkey from lunch?”
Penny couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She dropped her gaze toward the crate of centerpieces in front of her, hoping he didn’t see how happy his flimsy excuse made her.
“Are you working this evening?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I’m not.” Penny busied herself with rubbing a smudge off one of the vases. Wasn’t a girl supposed to make up some pretend engagement instead of admitting she had no plans for the evening? Those sorts of rules had always flitted right past Penny. She really was too forthright for her own good. Perhaps that was why no man had ever taken her seriously at home. If she’d played the coquette, then maybe her reputation would still be intact.
She glanced sideways at Ben, wishing he’d say something already. He had to know she wasn’t allowed to court. Mr. McFarland was awfully good at informing every man who spent any length of time at the hotel of this fact.
Still . . . it would be nice if he asked, even if she did have to turn him down.
He had his hands in his pockets, and he seemed to look everywhere but at her. His hair, darker inside than it was out in the sunlight, curled slightly at the ends, and his strong jaw worked as he seemed to think of what to say next.
Penny sighed. This was useless. She was half-tempted to ask him if he had plans for the evening, which was foolish and forward and absolutely pointless since she couldn’t spend time alone with him anyway. The fact that no one else was in the dining room with them right now was bordering on improper. The words were on the tip of her tongue, and it was like wrestling kittens trying to keep them inside her mouth.
“Were you serious about wanting to learn to shoot?” he suddenly asked, his eyes back on her.
She immediately looked away. “Yes. If you’re willing to teach me.”
“Then let’s go.” He started for the door back to the kitchen, and she had to run to catch up to him.
“I can’t,” she said, just as they reached the door.
He stopped, and she nearly ran into him. “What do you mean?”
Penny gestured helplessly at the dining room. “I’m not allowed.”
“To shoot? I suppose I can see that. It’s not very ladylike, after all.”
Was he going to make her say the words? Penny rarely had trouble speaking whatever was on her mind, but this? This was embarrassing. “Didn’t Mr. McFarland speak with you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “About?”
Penny twisted her apron in her hands. “I’m, well . . we, really, all of us girls . . . we can’t be courted.”
His mouth slid up into a teasing smile and he leaned a hand against the doorframe. “Is that what this is, then? Courting?”
What have I said? Penny’s entire body felt like hot molasses, and she stared at the rug on the wooden floor. “I . . . It’s in our contract.”
Ben placed a finger under her chin and lifted it so her eyes met his. Penny thought she’d melt under his gaze. “I promise I won’t court you. Now may I teach you to shoot?”
She swallowed hard and tried not to think about how warm his fingertip was on her skin. “All right,” she said, for lack of any other words.
He dropped his hand. “Good. I think the best place is across the tracks, near the smithy shop. It’s level, good light, away from people, and there are a few trees we can use as targets.” He led the way through the kitchen and scooped his hat off the table where he’d left it.
“Ben?” Penny asked, thankful for the clatter and clangs of pots and pans and the shouts of the cooks and kitchen boys that covered their conversation. “People might assume . . . so . . .” When had she started having so much trouble finding the right words? She could barely piece two thoughts together in his presence now, while she’d had no trouble at all telling him exactly what she’d thought when they’d first met.
“Right,” he said, that smile lifting his lips again. “How about I go first, and then you follow after a few minutes?”
She nodded. With one last wink at her, he was out the door.
Penny sunk onto the bench at the table. What was she getting herself into? Spending time alone with a man who looked at her so? She knew exactly what sort of trouble that had led to in the past.
But . . . this was Ben. And the way he looked at her was different. She recognized the desire—she’d seen that before—but that wasn’t all with him. There was humor, and affection, and the feeling that he was protecting her. It was as if a comfortable bubble surrounded them when they were together. It never felt like he wanted to simply possess her, but that he also enjoyed spending time in her company and cared for her comfort. No man had ever acted toward her in that way before.
She waited another few minutes, until her heart stopped racing and she could bear sitting alone no longer. Then with a glance about the room to ensure no one was watching, she pulled a spare coat and hood from the hook near the door and slipped out to meet Ben.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time Ben spotted Penny crossing the railroad tracks, he’d set up the perfect place for target practice. It was situated well enough away from the blacksmith’s shop that they couldn’t be seen from there. And being hard at work, the smithy shouldn’t hear them either. The general store was another matter, but the place looked closed up when Ben had walked by, as if no one was home. They’d likely gone up to the hotel for supper. It was a clear, cold evening, and while there was some snow on the ground, no new flurries fell.
As he waited for her to approach, he was glad he’d checked in with his men earlier. Well, at least with Harry and Eli. Tiller was nowhere to be found. Harry suggested the man was blowing off steam in the mining camp a few miles to the east of Crest Stone. That was all well and good with Ben, so long as Tiller was ready to work again in the morning.
Penny cast a worried glance back toward the hotel when she arrived.
“No one can see you from here,” Ben said. “It’s too far, and besides, the smithy shop blocks most of the view.”
She nodded, apparently appeased. Then she looked up, the hood of her coat thrown back and her beautiful green eyes focused on nothing but him.
The sheer trust in her face rendered him speechless for a moment. “I wish I’d taught Adelaide,” he finally said. Those words were perhaps more honest than he’d intended, but at the same time, saying them out loud lifted something inside him.
“You still can,” Penny said.
&n
bsp; How he hoped she was right.
“Has your sister always lived with you in town?” she asked.
“No. My parents sent her over the summer, hoping she’d act more the lady in a new place. She settled in well, but Adelaide isn’t one to be tamed.” He paused a moment, watching the breeze lift strands of Penny’s golden-brown hair that had fallen around her face. “She’s a lot like you.”
“Sir, are you calling me wild?” A corner of her mouth lifted.
“As a newborn colt, Dragon.”
“I should slap you, but I really want to learn how to use those things.” She pointed at the guns on his hips. “Teach me to shoot something.”
Ben laughed. “Are you right-handed?”
“I am.” She shrugged off her coat and hood despite the cold, then untied her apron and tossed all of it on the ground. Something about that careless action made him smile. She wasn’t a woman who bothered much with frills or perfection. When he’d said she was brave, he’d meant to say about nine hundred other things, and the last thing he’d meant to do was insult her. But he couldn’t quite seem to find the right way to tell her that he found it incredible she could both be domestic and have a love for adventure. That she could create beautiful things but not care a whit about dirt on her apron.
Penny May was a curious blend of a woman, and all it did was make Ben want to know every single little thing about her.
“Are you going to show me or stare at me all night?” she said with her arms crossed and a know-it-all grin on her face.
Ben cleared his throat. Had he been staring at her? He supposed he had. But it was certainly hard not to, with those bright eyes, that defiant upturned nose, and hair that glinted in the sunlight and refused to be contained by pins. He pulled off his own coat and laid it carefully next to hers in the snow. The chill air bit through his shirtsleeves, but after a moment he hardly felt it because it was impossible to place his attention on anything except the woman standing near him. “First,” he said. “You stand with your feet a little ways apart.”
