The Loner: Killer Poker

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Of course you can. Would you like for me to make arrangements for the cash with the bank?”

  Conrad didn’t think about it for very long. “Yes, Ellery, I would. I’m taking cards in this game . . . and we’ll see just what sort of player Ransom McKinney really is.”

  Chapter 9

  There was a large garden behind the Hudson house, and after a while the French doors were opened so the guests could stroll outside or continue dancing on the large flagstone terrace if they wanted to. Rose came up to Conrad, took his hand, and asked, “Can we go out to the garden? It’s a lovely night.”

  Since he already knew there was a connection between Pamela and Rance McKinney, and since he had decided to take part in the poker tournament with the rancher, Conrad didn’t see anything else he could accomplish there. He might as well make the evening as enjoyable for Rose as he could.

  “Of course.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on.”

  He led her onto the terrace, which was softly lit by lamps spaced out on the stone railing around it. They could still hear the music, so he took her in his arms and swept her around the terrace several times. As they danced, she moved closer and closer to him until she was leaning against him and her blond hair rested on his shoulder. He was all too aware of the soft warmth of her body in his arms.

  The music came to a stop. Rose lifted her head a little, looked up at him, and breathed, “Conrad . . .”

  He didn’t try to stop her when she kissed him.

  He had been with one woman since Rebel’s death, the bounty hunter Lace McCall. He knew better than to believe he would spend the rest of his life like a monk. He knew, too, that he could have Rose Sullivan if he wanted her.

  He didn’t believe she was just after his money, although that was a large part of what had drawn her to him in the first place. If she had any genuine feelings for him, it wouldn’t be fair to her if he took advantage of those feelings, knowing that he didn’t return them.

  Or maybe she was just acting, playing the part of Violet Hudson’s cousin who had come with him to the dinner. He didn’t think that was the case, but it was possible, he supposed.

  Either way, nothing serious was going to happen between them tonight, he told himself, no matter how hot and sweet Rose’s lips were as she kissed him. He kissed her back. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  He forced himself to pull away and said quietly, “Rose, this isn’t necessary. It isn’t part of the role you’re playing.”

  “I know that, silly. Don’t you like it, Conrad?”

  “Of course I do,” he replied truthfully. Kissing Rose Sullivan was one of the most pleasant things he had done recently. “But it wouldn’t be right for me to force you into—”

  “Conrad, you’re not forcing me into anything,” she broke in with a note of exasperation in her voice. “I want to do anything you want to do.” She laughed softly. “But if you’d rather go slow, I understand. Why don’t we take a walk in the garden? There’s plenty of moonlight.”

  He wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but he said, “All right. I suppose we can do that.”

  She slipped her hand into his as they went down several marble steps from the raised terrace and started along a flagstone path that wound through the big garden. A few couples were dancing on the terrace, and Conrad wouldn’t have been surprised if there were lovers taking advantage of the moonlight in the garden. The shrubbery that grew thickly in places could have concealed any number of things, but he didn’t intend to stray off the path with Rose.

  It was a perfect night for romance, with a warm breeze making the limbs of the trees rustle softly. The moon Rose had mentioned floated in the heavens, a silvery ball surrounded by millions of stars against a backdrop of ebony night. The sweet fragrance of flowers filled the air.

  At one time, strolling through a beautiful garden like that with a lovely woman like Rose would have been a wonderful evening for Conrad Browning, but he had a hard time not thinking about Rance McKinney and wondering if that son of a bitch knew more than he was telling about Pamela.

  Rose came to a stop in a patch of deep shadow cast by a pine tree that grew close to the path. Conrad stopped as well and turned to face her as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

  “Conrad, you really don’t have to worry. I’m a grown woman, and I know what I’m doing. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “You’ve already helped out plenty. I think we should go back inside.” His resolve wasn’t wavering, but at the same time, he didn’t see any point in continuing to have her alluring temptation thrown in his face.

  “Just a few more minutes. I . . . I’m enjoying pretending that a man like you could really care for a girl like me.”

  He bit back a curse of frustration. She was playing on his sympathy and he knew it, but that didn’t mean the tactic was any less effective.

  In the darkness, he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. “Conrad . . .” she whispered.

  Leather scraped softly on the stone path behind him.

  The sound was close enough to set off alarm bells in his head. His instincts took over. Pushing Rose toward the tree, he said sharply, “Get down!” He whipped around and saw moonlight reflect off cold steel as a dark shape thrust a long-bladed knife at him.

  Conrad twisted to the side. The blade went past him, and the man wielding it was thrown off balance by the miss. He took a stumbling step closer, bringing him well within reach of the right fist Conrad sent smashing into his face.

  The blow staggered the man but didn’t stop him from trying to rip Conrad’s belly open with a backhanded slash of the knife. Conrad jerked out of the way of the blade.

  “Rose, run!” he called to her as he tried to stay between her and the attacker. “Get inside, now!”

  She didn’t respond, and he didn’t know if she was all right or not. At the moment he didn’t have time to check on her. The man with the knife caught his balance and came at Conrad again, thrusting and slashing. Conrad had to give ground, backing along the flagstone path.

  One of the stones suddenly shifted under his foot, and it was his turn to lose his balance. He went over backward, landing on the grass at the edge of the path. He felt the .32 digging into the small of his back, but he didn’t have time to reach for it. The would-be assassin leaped at him, knife upraised for a killing strike.

  Conrad’s hand fell on the loose flagstone. He grabbed it and jerked it in front of him as the knife plunged down at him. The blade hit the stone with a loud clang. The man grunted in pain at the unexpected impact. The knife was ripped from his fingers and clattered away on the path.

  With both hands on the flagstone Conrad shoved it up into the man’s chest, using it as a weapon. The man fell to the side, gasping for breath.

  Conrad could have used the flagstone to crush the man’s skull, but he wanted to ask the man some questions. Tossing the stone aside, he used his fist to smash another blow to the man’s jaw.

  The man’s knee came up and dug hard into Conrad’s belly, knocking the breath out of him, and giving the man time to throw a punch of his own. A bony fist landed on Conrad’s cheek and rocked his head back. Stars swam in front of his eyes, not just overhead in the night sky.

  The man bucked up, toppling Conrad onto his back again. Heaving himself off the ground, the assailant swung a foot in a vicious kick. Conrad got his hands up in time to grab the man’s ankle. A heave of his own sent the man crashing to the ground.

  He lunged after the attacker. Hands gripped Conrad’s coat and threw him to the side. As he rolled across the grass, the man came after him. Conrad thrust his hands up and locked them around the shadowy figure’s throat. At the same time, the man grabbed him by the neck and started to squeeze.

  It was a race to see which of them could choke the other into unconsciousness—or death—first.

  Suddenly the man lurched forward. In the bright moonlight Conrad saw his eyes widen, then bug out in shock and pain. His grip on Conrad�
�s neck loosened, the fingers falling away from bruised flesh.

  Conrad let go as well. The man made a high, keening sound and toppled to the side, landing face-first on the ground. Sticking up in the center of his back was the handle of the knife he had used to try to kill Conrad. The heavy blade was completely buried in his body.

  Rose stood there, both hands pressed to her mouth. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, my God! What have I done? What have I done?”

  Conrad climbed to his feet and took her in his arms, holding her trembling body against him. “Maybe saved my life, that’s what you’ve done.”

  “But I . . . I k-killed him!” She pressed her face against his chest and began to sob.

  Conrad patted her a little awkwardly on the back. He had never been very good with crying women. He didn’t know what to do or say to comfort them and get them to stop crying.

  A rapid patter of footsteps came from the direction of the house. Ellery Hudson called, “Conrad? Conrad, are you out here?”

  Conrad turned, keeping an arm around Rose’s shoulders, and raised his voice, saying, “Over here, Ellery!”

  He saw a light bobbing. Someone was bringing a lantern. Hudson and half a dozen other men hurried up to them. Rance McKinney was one of the men, Conrad noted.

  The light from the lantern fell on the man sprawled facedown with the knife in his back. The sight made several men gasp in horror and surprise.

  Hudson said, “Good Lord! What happened?”

  Conrad prodded the corpse’s shoulder with a foot. “This man tried to kill me. It’s thanks to Rose that he didn’t.”

  She sniffled. “Oh, no, I . . . I didn’t really . . . I just saw him ch-choking you, Conrad, and his knife was lying there, and I picked it up and . . . and . . .”

  A fresh round of sobbing shook her.

  Conrad held her while McKinney strode forward and knelt beside the body. “We’d better make sure he’s really dead,” the rancher said harshly. He took hold of the man’s shoulders and rolled him onto his back. Conrad made sure that Rose couldn’t see the twisted, lifeless face staring up into the lanternlight.

  “Does anybody know him?” Hudson asked.

  Murmurs came from the assembled men, indicating that they didn’t. As Conrad held Rose, he studied the man’s face. The would-be assassin’s features were coarse and beard-stubbled, and his clothes were threadbare.

  “A damn thief, from the looks of him,” McKinney said. “He probably saw the way the house was lit up and figured there was a party going on. Snuck into the garden and thought he could rob one of the guests.”

  “I think you’re probably right, Ransom,” Hudson said. “I’ve already called for the police. They’ll be here soon. They may recognize him.”

  Conrad said, “Maybe some of you men could stay with the body. I think I should get Miss Sullivan back inside, away from . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, but a slight motion of his head toward the dead man made his meaning clear.

  “Of course, of course,” Hudson said quickly. “Ransom, if you can keep an eye on—”

  “Sure, go on,” McKinney said. A couple of the other men volunteered to stay with the corpse as well.

  Conrad and Hudson took Rose into the house, keeping her between them. She was pretty unsteady on her feet. She’d had a big evening, all right, Conrad thought, maybe the biggest of her life . . . including killing a man.

  Violet Hudson and the rest of the dinner guests were waiting anxiously inside the French doors. When Violet saw how pale and shaken Rose was, she hurried to take charge of the young woman. “This poor dear needs to go upstairs and lie down with a cool cloth on her head.” She put an arm around Rose and led her to the wide, curving staircase.

  Rose glanced back at Conrad as she started up the stairs with Violet. She tried to summon up a tear-streaked smile, but it was a pretty feeble effort. Conrad returned the smile and gave her a firm nod.

  One of the other guests asked “Ellery, do we need to stay?”

  “What? Oh, no, no,” Hudson said. “The police are coming, and I’m sure they’ll want to talk to Mr. Browning and Miss Sullivan, but they shouldn’t need anyone else.”

  With that, the guests began taking their coats and wraps and filing out, eager to be away from the scene of violence and possible scandal. In a matter of moments, Conrad and Hudson found themselves alone.

  The lawyer sighed. “I promise you, Conrad, my dinner parties aren’t usually occasions for such excitement. As a rule, they’re pretty quiet affairs.” He looked closely at Conrad. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

  Conrad shook his head. “A few bumps and bruises, maybe, but I managed to avoid the knife while that hombre was trying to cut me open.”

  “Hombre?” Hudson repeated with a slight frown. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve spent a lot of time in the Southwest recently, haven’t you?”

  Conrad nodded slowly. Hudson could believe that if he wanted to, but Conrad knew the truth. When danger reared its head, Kid Morgan was never far away.

  Chapter 10

  Rose was much more composed by the time the police were ready to talk to her. “Yes, Mr. Morgan and I were walking in the garden when that man came out of the shadows and attacked us from behind,” she told a detective in a brown tweed suit and a bowler hat.

  That wasn’t exactly how it had happened, Conrad thought, but close enough for the purposes of the investigation.

  “You stuck that knife in him after he dropped it, miss?” the detective asked.

  Rose winced at the blunt question, but she nodded. “That’s right. The man had Mr. Morgan pinned on the ground and was choking him. I . . . I didn’t really think about what I was doing. I just saw the knife lying there on the walk and picked it up and—”

  “I think that’s enough,” Hudson said. “It’s obvious what happened here, Detective.”

  The man nodded and closed the notebook in which he had been scrawling words as Rose answered his questions. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Hudson. The man was a thief, but he picked the wrong fella to rob.”

  “Do you know who he is?” Conrad asked.

  “Not really,” the detective replied with a shrug. “I hate to say it, but there are plenty of varmints like him in Denver. The town’s not near as wild as it used to be, but we still get our share of outlaws drifting in. The undertaker’s wagon should have carried this one off already. I’ll go and check.”

  Rose shuddered a little at the mention of the undertaker, Conrad noted. She was still pale, and he knew that despite the circumstances, the fact that she had taken a human life probably would continue to weigh heavily on her for a while.

  The detective told them he’d be in touch if he needed any more information and said good night. He went out the French doors into the garden, where a couple uniformed officers stood holding lanterns at the scene of the attack.

  Conrad put a hand on Rose’s arm. “I can take you home now.”

  Violet Hudson was sitting nearby. She stood up and said, “Nonsense. Rose doesn’t need to be alone tonight. We have plenty of room here. She’ll spend the night in one of our guest rooms.” Violet frowned at her husband. “And she won’t be at work tomorrow unless she feels like it, either.”

  Hudson held up his hands in surrender. “Of course, dear. Whatever you say.”

  Violet put an arm around Rose and led her upstairs again.

  Hudson took a cigar out of his vest pocket, offered it to Conrad, then lit it himself when Conrad shook his head. “Quite an evening.” Hudson blew out a cloud of smoke.

  Conrad nodded. “That’s right. But at least we learned a little.”

  The lawyer frowned in confusion. “What’s that?”

  “We learned that McKinney was around Pamela quite a bit while she was here and may know more than he’s letting on.” Conrad smiled. “We also learned it’s not wise to turn your back on Rose Sullivan when there’s a knife close at hand.”

  Hudson grunted and shook his head. “I never would have e
xpected such a thing of her.” He paused to take another puff on the cigar. “Did she really save your life, Conrad? Or did you have things in hand?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Conrad admitted. “I think I would have been able to overpower the man if Rose hadn’t done what she did . . . but I don’t know that for certain.”

  “Well, then, we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and consider her a heroine. Maybe that will make it easier for her to get over what happened tonight.”

  “Maybe,” Conrad said.

  He told Hudson good night and went out to the buggy where the driver waited. “I heard about all the excitement, Mr. Browning. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Conrad told him. Instead of sitting in the back, he climbed onto the buggy’s front seat next to the driver and nodded for him to get the vehicle moving. The driver slapped the reins against the backs of the two horses hitched to the buggy.

  “What really happened back there in the garden, if you don’t my askin’? One of the other drivers said somebody tried to kill you.”

  “The man wanted to rob me,” Conrad said.

  Or had he? That question suddenly crossed Conrad’s mind. He thought back over exactly what had happened. He had been holding Rose Sullivan and she had been about to kiss him. Then he had heard the faint scrape of the man’s boot leather on the flagstone walk.

  If not for that tiny warning, that little sound some people wouldn’t have even heard, a second later the man would have driven the knife deep in his back. Conrad supposed it was easier to go through a man’s pockets and rob him after he was dead, but if the thief had succeeded in killing him, then he would have been forced to kill Rose as well, to keep her from crying out and screaming for help.

  Would a robber have been willing to murder two people just to steal a few dollars?

  Of course things like that happened, Conrad reminded himself. People had been murdered for pennies, for their clothes or their shoes or for no good reason at all. But that usually happened when they were fighting back against being robbed.