Wild Western Women Boxed Set

by Kirsten Osbourne

That riled Matt. “Hell of a way to treat a fellow countryman’s kin.” He was about to turn and ride away in a huff when he spotted something shiny peeking out of the dirt. He dismounted and scooped it up before the guards reached him.

  “Dropped something out of my pocket.” He climbed back on his horse and touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “See you Monday.”

  When he was out of sight of the sentries and sure no one followed, he took out the coin. Not a coin, but a medal. He slipped it back into his shirt pocket and buttoned the flap. Riding as if he headed back to town, Matt circled back to the top of a hill where he could watch the ranch buildings.

  He tied his horse in some brush and climbed to the top of the ridge, then shinnied up a massive live oak. From there he could see most of the goings on below him. Soon, a man Matt figured was Warinsky and two of his cronies snap-stepped to a building labeled “Infirmarie.” Matt reckoned that must mean infirmary. Warinsky carried a riding crop that he tapped against his leg as he walked.

  That crop worried Matt, because he could think of only one animal or person Warinsky would use it against. Matt exhaled with relief when Warinsky and his henchmen headed back to the main lodge a few minutes later. Was Ivan sick, or was he detained against his will? Had he been beaten or drugged? Though Matt watched for another hour or more, no one entered or left the infirmary. He reclaimed his horse and headed back to town at a gallop.

  Ivan was awake when Warinsky and his aides came into the infirmary, but he feigned slumber. Something prodded him in the shoulder, and then he was shaken.

  “Do not think you can pretend sleep. Sit up, old man, and tell us if you know the man who just left.” Warinsky consulted a slip of paper. “An American named Matthias Petrov.”

  Ivan raised himself, but dared not look at the others lest he expose his jubilation. “Petrov, Petrov. I knew a man named Petrovich in Bayergrovenia. He was a kinsman of King Rudolph. Perhaps he shortened his name. If he is the same one, I believe he emigrated to America. Was he a tall man in his seventies?” Ivan felt no compulsion to admit Matthias Petrov was his cousin as well as that of King Rudolph.

  “Tall, but around thirty or so. Do you know this Matthias Petrov?”

  Ivan shrugged and almost winced at the pain. While he breathed, he would never show weakness to these assassins. “The family I remember left Bayergrovenia over forty years ago. If this man was a relative, how could I have seen him?” No need to mention they had corresponded until Matthias died two years ago or that Ivan had tracked young Matt down in Austin.

  “You had better not be lying.” Warinsky flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Are you finally ready to tell us where you’ve hidden the papers? Tell us now, and you might live to enjoy your room in that shabby inn.”

  Slowly, painfully, Ivan rose to his feet and faced his accuser. “I am Ivan François Romanovich, Ministre de Valeur to King Rudolph of Bayergrovenia. I will never betray him by giving you what you seek.”

  Warinsky slashed with his crop and Ivan fell on his cot. The blow reminded Ivan of each of his sixty years. Though not tall, the Minister was stocky, powerful, and at least fifteen years younger.

  Warinsky pointed his crop at Ivan. “Since you won’t surrender them over, we have other ways to find them. We will have those papers.”

  Ivan touched his cheek and saw blood on his fingers when he drew his hand away. “I will never give in.”

  “Perhaps that won’t matter, old man.” Warinsky nodded at his aide. “Give him his medicine.”

  Ivan took the glass handed him. More sleeping medicine. Laudanum, he thought as he swallowed. Let them think they were winning.

  Warinsky’s threat worried him, though. The man would stoop to anything—and had in the past. Ivan had the information to prove it. He hoped those in the boarding house he’d come to think of as home would be safe.

  Matt was here, and would be back, at least if Ivan had judged the younger man correctly. If not, Ivan had taken steps to prevent Warinsky from passing the papers to King Gregorov. He tried to recall all the places he’d hidden things, but the laudanum was taking effect. He’d plan more tomorrow when the drug wore off. In the meantime, perhaps sleep would strengthen him.

  After Matt checked in with the sheriff, he went to the boarding house. The Phifer women were serving supper to their boarders, and it smelled good enough to make Matt’s stomach whimper.

  Lena Mae patted his arm. “Since poor Ivan isn’t here, why don’t you sit in his place and join us?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Matt grinned at Beth in spite of her glare and took the chair Lena Mae had indicated.

  Davey sat at his right. “Did you find Grandpa Ivan?”

  “Not yet, but I aim to.” Oh, man, his nose sent more perk up messages to his stomach. Lena Mae must serve the best food in the state.

  The other boarders, three women and two men, expressed their opinions on what had happened to Ivan. After the meal was cleared away and the boarders had gathered in the parlor or gone to their own rooms, Matt asked to speak to Lena Mae and Beth alone. Lena Mae invited him to her private sitting room at the back of the house and Beth followed. He closed the door behind them to insure no one else overheard.

  “It’s been a tiring day. Is all this necessary?” Beth rubbed at her neck.

  Matt figured running a boarding house this size about ran her ragged. He wanted to massage those tired neck and shoulder muscles for her but she’d likely chop off his hands if he tried. Instead, he pulled out the medal he’d found in the dirt. “You know if this is one of Ivan’s?”

  Both women peered at it.

  Beth used her apron and polished the dust from it. “I think so. Davey would know. Ivan told him about each one several times.” She stepped to the door and called her son, who came running.

  Matt knelt on one knee and held the medal out. “Did Ivan have one of these?”

  Davey nodded. “That’s the one he got for stopping the men who tried to shoot the king.” He fingered the medal and explained as he must have heard Ivan tell the story.

  “That’s the first time, when King Rudolph was all right. There was a big ceremony in the palace—that’s what Ivan called the castle—and the king gave that and some more stuff to Ivan. It’s supposed to have a ribbon on it at the top. Red for valor. That means bravery.”

  Matt reclaimed the medal and stood. “Thanks, Davey. I thought so, but I’d only seen it once and wasn’t sure.”

  “Does that mean you know where Grandpa Ivan is?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t get in to see him. I have an appointment on Monday with the man who runs the place.”

  Lena Mae went all fluttery again and moved her hand to her collar. “You suspect foul play, don’t you? Do you think he’s being held against his will?”

  Matt stood. “Pretty sure he is, but I can’t prove it. If I get the sheriff and take a posse roaring in there, I’m afraid they’ll kill Ivan.” If they hadn’t already.

  Lena Mae pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Ivan. Such a sweet man. I do hope he’s all right.”

  Beth put her arm around her mother. “There’s nothing we can do, Mama. Let Mr. Petrov and the sheriff handle it.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but I can’t help worrying about the dear man.” Lena Mae dabbed her eyes again.

  “Well, I thank you ladies for a fine supper.” Matt turned toward the door.

  Lena Mae put a hand on his arm. “There’s a picnic social after church tomorrow. Most of the folks in town will be there and there’ll be food aplenty. Why don’t you join us?”

  Matt almost laughed at the horror-stricken look on Beth’s face. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. In spite of his best efforts, a grin crept onto his face. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  He tipped his hat and left, chuckling as he walked toward his shabby room over the saloon.

  Beth wanted to choke both her mother and Matt. “Mama, of all the hair-brained things to do. Why
did you ask Matt Petrov to join us?”

  “And why not? He’s trying to help Ivan and has to cool his heels until Monday. It won’t hurt him to enjoy a nice picnic.”

  “Even though my husband isn’t around, I’m still a married woman. The whole town will think there’s something between that man and me. People speculate enough without a stranger escorting me to the picnic.” And she’d see him again, be expected to be friendly.

  Mama patted her hand. “You’re making too much of this. We’re simply making a poor traveler’s Sunday a bit less lonely.”

  As if life were ever that simple. “Easy enough for you to say, but I’ve overheard the talk about Lionel and Davey and me. Some think I never even married. Others wonder if Davey was Lionel’s child or belonged to someone else and that’s why Lionel never comes around.” Speculations embarrassed her; the truth too humiliating to confess.

  “Well, I suppose saying he’s off mining for all this time does sound hard to believe.” Her mother slid an arm around her and hugged her shoulders. “Beth, dear, you’ll never shut up some of the gossips. Land sakes, don’t you think I’ve heard more than my share about myself? You can’t stop living because of it.”

  Why couldn’t Mama understand how destructive that sort of talk could be to children? Beth remembered how the whispers and taunts had hurt when her father left—and when he was home and drunk. “But, Mama, I worry so about what Davey might hear when he starts school next year. I’ve tried so hard to be above reproach since I came back.”

  Mama crossed and sat in her favorite place, a large armchair, and lifted her feet to the hassock. “I know, and I don’t want him hurt either, but we can’t protect him from every blow and that’s the truth.”

  Beth shook her head. Why couldn’t Mama understand? “I’m his mother and it’s my responsibility to protect him.”

  Her mother nodded and picked up her crocheting, no doubt making another antimacassar for the furniture in the parlor. “You’re a good mother and he’s a fine boy. He’ll be all right.”

  Next year he’d start school, and bullies would be there. She pictured boys at school taunting her son, picking fights with him over his missing father. “I’d do anything to keep Davey from hurt or harm. I try hard to teach him right from wrong and to set a good example for him, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  She went to church every time the doors opened, helped the poor and sick, never let a man other than elderly Mr. Findley accompany her, never did anything which might in any way be found at fault. “Even after six years, I still hear whispers.” Mama was right, there was just no stopping those who thrived on vicious gossip.

  Lately, Davey had asked questions about his father. How could she tell her son the truth—his father was a wife-beating swindler who’d sent her away when he’d learned she was pregnant? She put Davey off with vague answers, but soon he’d be too old to settle for them.

  A terrible thought occurred to her. Did Matt keep in touch with Lionel? Beth hadn’t heard from her husband since he’d sent her away six years ago. She didn’t know where he was, or even if he was alive. At the same time, she feared Lionel might show up some day and demand to share Davey’s life here at the boarding house, for he knew where she and her son lived.

  She’d never allow that. Before she’d let Lionel around Davey, she’d take her son and run to the ends of the earth. She sighed. Easy to say, but where would she go and how would she support her son? And what would happen to Mama? In despair, she hugged her arms.

  Dear Lord, how long do I have to pay for the mistake of marrying the wrong man?

  If she couldn’t force her mind to focus on pleasant things, she’d go mad. She tried to think of spring, new dress fabric, flowers, the quilt she’d started, the picnic tomorrow. Darn, that only brought her back to Matt Petrov and her churning emotions at seeing him again. Gnawing fear clutched at her insides. But did she fear Matt or herself and her reaction to him?

  With a weary shrug, she went to the door. “Davey, time to get ready for bed.”

  She planned to make an early night of it too. No doubt she’d need all her wits about her tomorrow.

  Matt walked along the dusty street, looking at the houses and few businesses between the boarding house and the saloon. His stomach was full of good food eaten in the company of good folks. Wouldn’t do to become complacent and think there was a chance he could have that privilege on a regular basis.

  Nope, not for the likes of Matt Petrov.

  His strong mare Jezebel was the only living thing that cared about him. He suspected that was only because he fed and brushed the horse. He moved from town to town and his address was only a place to pick up mail when he rode through. The few belongings he couldn’t strap behind his saddle were stored with a friend in Austin.

  He stopped at the closed mercantile store’s window to stare at the display. It set his mind on a different course. Now what was wrong with him? Calling himself every kind of fool, he moved on toward the saloon.

  By the time he hit the swinging doors, his mind was made up. Being Saturday night, the place was busy. In spite of that, the same frowsy blonde—wearing what appeared to be the same red dress—hurried up to him.

  Her hands slid up his chest and she leaned forward to give him a clear view of the goods. “Anything I can do for you tonight?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at her, remembering a time when women like her were the only kind who spoke to him.

  “Whatever you want, mister.” She glanced upstairs. “Want to use your room?”

  Very gently, he moved her away from him. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tissue paper or newsprint, would you? And maybe an apple crate?”

  As much as Beth had dreaded the picnic, she had to admit she’d enjoyed the day. She sat on the quilt she and her mother had spread in the shade of a large live oak tree. Relaxing was a freedom she seldom allowed herself, but the afternoon had been pleasant.

  Davey ran up and threw himself on the quilt beside her. “Mama, did you see my kite? It went way up in the sky, higher than anyone’s.”

  She hugged him, careful not to crush the kite. “Yes, I did. You did a fine job.”

  “Matt helped me.” He carefully laid the kite on a corner of the quilt and set the ball of string beside it.

  She raised her face and watched Matt stroll leisurely toward them. The light breeze ruffled his dark hair. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Call him Mr. Petrov, dear.”

  Matt plopped onto the edge of the blanket. “I told him to call me Matt. Easier than Petrov.”

  His smile set butterflies to flight in her stomach and she fought to remember she was a respectable married woman. “Thank you for the kite. Where did you find one?”

  “Made it last night. Found some things in the back room of the saloon.” He shrugged as if it were nothing. “I thought a kid his age would enjoy it.”

  A neighbor’s child called and Davey tugged at her sleeve. “Mama, can I go play with Jimmy?”

  “Stay where I can see you.” She watched him run to meet his friend. He was such a good boy. Thank goodness he looked like her and not Lionel. She wouldn’t want that reminder every time she saw her son.

  Matt gestured to Davey. “Nice kid.”

  She nodded, surprised they agreed on something. “Yes, he’s a well-behaved child.”

  Matt looked at her but she couldn’t read his expression. “You’re good with him. Hard raising a kid alone.”

  She stiffened. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I prefer being alone to being with Lionel. Believe me, my few months of married life were more than enough.” Oh, dear, she hadn’t meant to add that last bit.

  He shook his head as if bewildered. “Seeing who you married, I can believe that. I wondered why you stayed with him as long as you did.”

  “I took my marriage vows seriously and I meant to honor them. H—He sent me away, if you must know.” How it hurt to admit that and doing so now astonished her. What a
bout this man scaled her defenses?

  He studied her. “No, I didn’t. Jeffers said he had to scrape together funds so you could go home to your mother. One day you were there, the next you were gone. I figured you were sick of the way he treated you.”

  “When I told him a baby was on the way, he said there was no place in his life for a squalling brat. At the time it humiliated me, but it was the best thing for Davey and for me.” She met his gaze and gathered her courage. “I always wanted to ask you something.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What?”

  She braced herself in case she pried too much and angered him. “Why were you friends with a man like him?”

  The mask dropped away and she saw his surprise in his gray eyes. “Friends? He and I were never friends.” He shook his head as if bewildered at her question. “We gambled and drank at the same places, but that’s it. He hated me as much or more than I hated him. Most of all, I hated myself.”

  “Because you, um, drank too much?” She had to ask, had to push for that information.

  His bitterness shocked her. “No, I drank to forget why I hated myself.”

  She wanted to ask more, but he leaned toward her.

  “Now I get to ask you something.”

  She inhaled his scent. Soap, spicy shaving lotion or maybe hair oil, smoke from the saloon. “Maybe I won’t answer.” Wishing she could steer the conversation to the weather, she looked at her hands.

  He tipped her chin up with his finger. “Ah, not fair. You have to since I answered your questions.” His gaze met hers and she hoped he didn’t see the confusion his nearness created. “Why did you ever marry him?”

  “Oh, what a question.” She thought of all the excuses she’d used, but then what did it matter? She’d lost any pride long ago, so she answered honestly.

  “I was twenty-two. People in town treated me as if I were an old maid. The only men who paid me any attention were Mama’s age—or older. Then Lionel came along and made me feel…special. I thought he loved me.”

  She winced, deciding to be honest and held up a hand. “No, that’s not true. I knew he didn’t love me, but I thought he at least liked me and love might grow between us. After we married, I quickly learned he only amused himself with me because he thought I had a nest egg.”