Once a Lawman

by Raine Cantrell

  “Your men, Riverton,” Conner stated. He prodded them forward with the barrel of the rifle. “This time there’s no question. I caught them rustling Kincaid cattle.”

  “That’s a damn lie.” Ned Askins lifted his head to peer through his swollen eye at Packy Hanchett. “Tell the boss what happened.”

  “He jumped us. Didn’t have no cattle.”

  “Two against one, Sheriff. I believe my attorney-at-law will once again have this case thrown out of court when the circuit judge comes.”

  Conner longed to wipe the smug look from Riverton’s face. He spared a quick glance at Belinda. The fading sunlight highlighted the thick mass of her upswept blond hair. For a moment his gaze locked with hers. He was surprised to find she didn’t view him with disgust. He knew he looked worse than his two prisoners.

  “Why not save us both the trouble, Kincaid, and let them go. You haven’t got—”

  “Not this time, Riverton. This time I have witnesses. This time your men went too far. They put my brother’s wife and two young boys in danger.”

  “My Lord!”

  “Shock you, does it?” Conner asked Belinda. “Honey, I told you what you were dealing with.”

  “Get the hell out of my house! I won’t stand for your lies or insults, Kincaid. This time it’s you who went too far. I’ll have your badge.”

  “You’re the second one today who’s made that claim and I’m still wearing it. Get your fancy-talking lawyer. These two’ll be in jail.”

  “Charles.” Belinda placed her hand on his arm. She felt the tension that hummed through him. “Is what he says true? Shouldn’t you ask these men—”

  “Don’t interfere!” he snarled, shaking off her hand.

  “That’s a lady you’re talking to, Riverton.”

  “I don’t need the likes of you to remind me. Now get the hell out of my house, Kincaid. I’ll see you in town.”

  “In case you figure to set up an ambush, Riverton, don’t bother. I’ve already sent word that I’m bringing in two of your men. As a matter of fact, I have an escort of Rocking K riders waiting for me down by your gate right now.”

  Once again, Belinda found herself keeping a close watch on Charles. Blood suffused his face. She grew alarmed. Even Mrs. Dobbs dared not approach. Charles’s hands curled tight at his sides, then as suddenly as it had come, the rage left him. Without a word he turned and walked rapidly toward his suite of rooms. Mrs. Dobbs hurried after him.

  “You’re not running, too?”

  “No, I…” Belinda faltered as she looked at the sheriff. Dark, dangerous and disreputable looking. Why then did she feel drawn to him? She saw the bruise darkening on his cheek, and the place on his chin where blood had dried.

  “You’ve been hurt, too.”

  Conner pinned her in place with a fierce look. “Just so you know. One of the boys who was in danger from Riverton’s men might be your nephew.”

  “I realized that immediately. I—”

  “Watch yourself about Riverton, Miss Jarvis.” He herded the two men back into the hallway before she had a chance to answer.

  Belinda darted around the table and chairs. “Wait. Please, wait.”

  He stopped inside the cool, shadowy corridor.

  “The woman and boys…are they all right?”

  Conner took his time searching her eyes for guile. He found nothing but genuine concern in her wide brown eyes.

  “Yeah. They’re all right. The Lord watches over fools and children.”

  “I’m not a child or a fool, Sheriff.”

  His gaze drifted lower to the tiny pleated front of her shirtwaist. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts increased as he watched.

  “Really, I am able to take care of myself.” Her voice unconsciously softened. “I know you are a Kincaid, but you never told me your first name.” Belinda fought the urge to raise her hand to contain the quick beat of her heart. She felt breathless, as if she had run a long way. This time she could not blame the heat for his effect on her pulse. The sun had already begun its descent.

  “Conner’s the name.”

  “Conner.”

  There was something about her voice repeating his name, even though cool and guarded, that slid along his skin. It made him think of invitations, like the one to kiss her this morning. He didn’t like the instant heat she drew from him, didn’t like the awareness she created. It made him feel…needy and restless.

  “Will you let me see the boy?” Even as the last word left her lips, Belinda knew he would deny her. She thought of what she had overheard, of the map that Charles had and how she could use it. Then she thought of what he had accused the two men of doing.

  “I haven’t had a chance to send the telegrams,” Conner said, and, to his surprise, heard the regret in his voice.

  “But you won’t stop me?”

  “Stop you?”

  “If I ride over to the Kincaids’.”

  “That wouldn’t be up to me. Logan’s in charge of the ranch. Logan and my brother Ty. It would be better if you wait until I can take you there.”

  “When? Tomorrow? I know Charles will have a horse I can ride.”

  He didn’t want to be pinned down. Looking at her expectant expression, Conner found himself reluctant to deny her. And yourself her company, a small voice nagged.

  “Does he know?” Conner asked.

  “Charles? About my nephew?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told him that’s why I’ve come here.”

  Conner didn’t like the coil of tension that tightened his gut. He dismissed it, believing it came from the minutes he had battled for his life against Charles’s men. If Kenny hadn’t had the presence of mind to fire a warning shot to distract them, Conner would’ve ended up dead. He was only sorry that one of the rustlers made good his escape from the canyon.

  “Kincaid?”

  Conner swung around fast, placing himself between Belinda and the man striding down the hall toward him. Joe Dacus was Riverton’s ramrod. Conner was instantly reminded of a bull they’d had when he was a boy. Bribery and beatings couldn’t rid that animal of its inborn meanness and they’d had to shoot it. Dacus had the same kind of meanness bred into his bones. Rumor had it that he’d boasted he would be the one to bring Conner down.

  With a cocky stance, Joe tucked his thumbs into his gun belt. “Hear you’re claiming you caught my boys red-handed?”

  “It’s a lie,” Ned protested again.

  “Shut up, Askins. I ain’t askin’ you.”

  “I haven’t got time to waste jawing with you, Dacus. I’ve got prisoners to get into jail.” Conner reached out with his left hand to grab Hanchett’s shoulder. “Start walking. You too, Askins.”

  “Hold up, Kincaid. I ain’t done talkin’.”

  “Perhaps I should get Charles,” Belinda murmured from where she stood behind Conner.

  “Don’t bother. Dacus is going to move or I’ll haul him in for obstructing justice. Only got one cell, Joe. Gonna be mighty crowded with three of you in there.”

  Conner lent his threat weight with a move that brought his rifle barrel up between the two bound men. His steady gaze left no doubt that he’d use it if he had to.

  Dacus stepped aside. “This ain’t over, Kincaid.”

  “Hell, no. Just beginning.” Without turning, Conner said, “Miss Jarvis, it’s been a pleasure to see you again. You remember what I told you.”

  A nudge started Askins and Hanchett moving down the long hall. Conner walked behind them. He could almost feel Joe Dacus’s eyes boring holes in his back. He couldn’t waver. One sign of fear and Joe would be all over him. He wouldn’t take an easy breath until he was clear of Riverton’s property.

  “That son of a bitch—”

  “No, Dacus,” Charles softly said as he entered the hall behind them. “His mother, Macaria, is not the problem. Only her eldest son need concern you. I want—” Charles stopped when he saw that Belinda was still there. “My dear, I apologize for
this intrusion. You will excuse me while I discuss this unfortunate matter with my foreman.”

  “Of course, Charles.”

  Belinda was only too glad to leave him. He had been distracted from his suspicions about her, which is what she wanted, but the map and the accusations that Kincaid—no, Conner—had made left her wondering what Charles was up to.

  By the time she reached the privacy of her room, she was asking herself why she should care. The fact that Conner aroused these strange feelings of excitement should not have any influence on what she had to do.

  Lighting the lamps on the dresser, Belinda looked at herself. She was lying. Strange as it was, she did care what happened to Conner Kincaid.

  The moment Joe closed the office door behind him, Charles fired orders at him. “I don’t want Hanchett or Askins to talk. Get rid of them and do it fast. If they bargain with Kincaid—”

  “Boss, just tell me plain. You want them free, or you want them dead?”

  Charles lifted the lid of the inlaid smoking box on his desk. He removed a thick cigar, one of the finest imported from Cuba, and clipped the end.

  Striking a match, he held it up to the tip and puffed heavily until the cigar glowed. He tilted his head back, watching the smoke curl upward.

  “Dead, Joe. I want them dead. If Kincaid went with them, I’d be the first to pay a condolence call.” He eyed Joe. “Think you can handle the job? I believe we discussed a bonus awhile back. I’ll double it.”

  “That’s two thousand dollars, boss. Not that I need more to kill that gut-twisting bastard.”

  “Nevertheless, the money is yours. I will leave the timing and method up to you.”

  “Consider it done.” Joe headed for the door. Charles called him and he stopped.

  “One thing more, Joe. Find out if one of those orphan boys living with the Kincaids is Marston Jarvis. I have need of the information.”

  “You want him dead, too?”

  “No. Just find out if he’s there. I have other plans for the boy.” And his aunt, Charles added to himself, then cursed Kincaid to hell and back for spoiling his plans for Belinda.

  He fingered the eardrop still in his pocket. The image of her guilty look when he’d discovered it sent him to his desk. The center drawer was locked. He was foolish to think she’d overheard anything. She wasn’t about to tip his hand to Kincaid.

  And if she did…well, she could be involved in an accident. It happened all the time.

  Like a snake, the thought twisted and twined itself in his mind. He knew the boy was more important to her than she’d let on. If anything happened to Belinda, her uncle would inherit. Phillip was an easy man to manipulate.

  Charles left the room at a run. He had to stop Joe. He didn’t want Conner Kincaid dead. Not yet anyway.

  Chapter Eight

  Dawn was yet an unfulfilled promise when Conner suddenly awakened. He lay still on the single bunk bed in the jail cell, tense as the newly woven rope spring beneath him. Each one of his senses alerted him to danger.

  It was no more than he had expected.

  Earlier, escorted by four Rocking K riders, he had brought his two prisoners into town after dusk. At the last moment he had veered off from the path to the jail to ride back to Gladden’s Tannery. There, in one of the empty storage sheds, his prisoners were locked up for the night. Riverton wasn’t going to let these men talk. He would either free them or kill them.

  He dozed off sometime after midnight, dreaming of a woman’s wide brown eyes. He was fully awake now.

  The bunk bed lay directly below the oilskin-covered barred window. Conner had not bothered to fasten the outside shutters. The window, placed high in the wall, allowed no one to see inside the cell, unless they stood on something.

  Or sat on a horse.

  He listened for the creak of leather, sounds made when a man shifted ever so slightly in the saddle. Over the beating of his heart, no sound reached him. But he sensed another’s presence. Sensed it so strongly that he was forced to use every bit of willpower to stop himself from rising up and demanding to know who was out there.

  A faint thunk made him think that someone had overturned one of the empty rain barrels. There was no scraping sound of the barrel being dragged closer to the wall. Whoever had the barrel was strong enough to lift and move it.

  His rifle lay across his flat belly, his finger loose on the trigger.

  He waited, pools of sweat forming in the small of his back, under his arms and behind his neck. It became difficult to keep his breathing deep and even as if he were still asleep.

  Conner wanted nothing to alarm his rescuer…or his killer.

  Inky blackness and sultry air pressed down on him. Conner kept his gaze pinned to the one lighter patch in the cell—the skin covering the window.

  No breeze inched the loose skin away from the bars.

  No whisper came to alert the supposed prisoners that rescue was at hand.

  He strained in the darkness, listening, frustrated not to be able to see, to know, what was going on.

  Was that a scraping sound? Of what? The chink of a spur hitting wood reached him, followed by a hissing.

  What the hell was the bastard up to?

  A rustling noise. A muttered curse.

  Conner inched to the edge of the bunk.

  He couldn’t take his eyes from the window.

  The tip of a knife blade lifted the skin from the center. His ears filled with the pounding of his heart, the increased surging flow of his blood. Blood that ran hot but couldn’t warm his suddenly chilled skin. The sweat turned cold. Cold as the shivers snaking up his spine.

  A bulky shape was being forced through the bars.

  Instinct forced him to roll off the bunk. Conner obeyed. He hit the floor in a crouch and flung himself into the far corner.

  Dark, writhing shapes fell from the window.

  He heard the rattles. He barely registered a man’s soft, coarse laugh.

  Time ceased. He was locked in a nightmare. A boy again. Refusing to listen to Santo’s warning. Sticking his hand down into the rock crevice. The stinging bite. The searing pain, followed by a burning sensation that rose from the fleshy pad below his thumb up his wrist, into his arm.

  He remembered the slicing pain of Santo’s knife. The bite of his teeth as he sucked, then spat out poison. Fast as Santo had been, the fever had still sent him to bed for days.

  He hated snakes, hated and feared them.

  It was a long time ago. You’re not a boy. You’re a grown man.

  You’ve got a rifle. Shoot them. Shoot before…

  Conner remained in the corner, pressing against the wall, too frozen to move. The dry, hollow-sounding rattles increased in volume until it was all he heard. He wanted to cover his ears, wanted to stop the sound, and he couldn’t move.

  Is this how it ends? Riverton wins.

  No!

  Then move.

  He couldn’t see where the snakes were. Fear clung like a second skin to his body. A small, sane corner of his mind kept urging him to move away from danger.

  He imagined he saw the snakes. Slithering and sliding one over the other. Coiling themselves tight, shaking the death rattle in warning before a strike. Forked tongues darting out, testing the air, sensing human body warmth, seeking their prey. Thick, muscular length of diamond-patterned skin in sinuous motion.

  Finding prey. Finding him.

  How many?

  Dear Lord! How many were there in the cell?

  Sweat drenched him. His body was a quivering mass of bone and muscle refusing to heed his need to move, refusing to obey the scream in his mind.

  His finger caressed the trigger of the rifle. The solid protection his weapon offered slowly penetrated the fear holding him captive. He managed to lift the rifle. He forced his left hand up against the wall. Fingers splayed open, palm pressing against the wood, this was his guide toward the cell door.

  Toward safety. Toward freedom.

  He had to rememb
er that the rifle was loaded. Shells in the chamber, ready to fire.

  He wasn’t helpless. Not as helpless as Hanchett and Askins would have been.

  Anger began to curl within him. An anger strong enough to trip through the fear.

  If panic took hold, he’d lose his life.

  Riverton was an animal. Only an animal would have ordered two men’s deaths this way.

  If one of them had been lying on the bunk when the snakes were pushed through the bars, the reptiles’ repeated strikes would insure death before any cries for help were heard.

  Conner couldn’t let Riverton win.

  Take a step.

  The first step to freedom would be the hardest.

  Take it!

  His boot heel scraped against the rough plank flooring.

  Conner couldn’t think.

  He wanted light. He needed to see. He had to have air.

  There was a match case in his pocket. Long, wooden matches that would produce flare after flare of small bursts of light. He didn’t dare reach for it. Delay would mean his death.

  The wall of the cell seemed to lengthen as he inched his way out of the corner. He’d never reach the wooden door before he was bitten.

  Fear had sucked every bit of moisture from his mouth. He couldn’t call out. He couldn’t swallow.

  Sweat stung his eyes. He wouldn’t move his hand from the wall to wipe it away.

  “Where are they?”

  The question exploded from his lips.

  He froze. The rattles seemed louder. Nearer to him. So close, the sound filled his ears, his mind.

  Conner worked the lever of the repeating rifle, firing blindly. The sudden volley of shots deafened him as he bolted from the cell.

  He had to find the lamp. Light to see. He needed that desperately. The rifle barrel slammed against wood. With a crash the chair fell to the floor.

  His harsh, gulping breaths filled lungs starved for air.

  With one hand stretched out in front of him, Conner stumbled his way to the side wall. His hip butted against the chest. The good Lord had guided his footsteps, for he had lost all bearings.