Winning the Lady (Book 4 of the Red River Valley Brides)

by Hestand, Rita

  The sheriff was a middle-aged man, well-seasoned, and fairly alert-looking. His graying brown hair stuck out from his hat and a rather large belly hung over his middle, but his face was honest.

  "Sheriff?"

  "Yes, sir, can I help you?"

  "I hope so, yes. I'm afraid my wife is missing."

  "Missing?" The sheriff turned his head in question.

  "I can't find her anywhere. She was with me at the tables tonight, and she left to retire early. When I went upstairs, she wasn't there. I never saw her leave the hotel. No one did. I'm a little concerned. It's not like her."

  "Have you looked about? This is a pretty good size town. Maybe she went for a walk?"

  "My wife is not the kind to wander off, especially in the middle of the night in a town famous for let's say… lawlessness. But I did check with the desk clerk and in the dining hall," Gil said. "No one has seen her."

  "That's that pretty little red-haired gal I seen you with all the time?" the sheriff questioned.

  "Yes, Trish Davis."

  "How long ago did you see her?"

  "No more than an hour or two."

  "And she said she was retiring early?" the sheriff repeated.

  "That's correct."

  "You and your wife get along…"

  Gil saw the question in the sheriff's face and didn't hesitate to refute it. "We haven't been married that long. We get along fine, Sheriff. She's rarely without me."

  The sheriff eyed him. "I'd keep one that pretty close too."

  "I'm concerned about her."

  "Well, exactly what do you think happened to her?" The sheriff reared back in his chair to stare at him and put his booted heels back on the desk. Gil knew he wasn't relaxed, that he wanted answers to his questions before he made decisions about how serious this could be.

  "Sheriff, I'm a gambler. From time to time, there is trouble at the tables. I think someone might have taken her."

  "Taken her? Where?"

  "I don't know. Kidnapped her, is what I mean," Gil finally said.

  "Yes, I can see where that could happen. You are a professional gambler, aren't you?"

  "Yes, sir." Gil paced the room, trying to stay calm. It is my living," Gil answered.

  "You make a lot of enemies?"

  "Your town has a lot of cowboys just off the trail looking to win money the easy way. They usually end up losing it instead. Sometimes, people aren't good losers," Gil said, his concern multiplying as he finally sat down in front of the Sheriff.. "The party I was playing with knows I'm a professional, and I was invited to play by them."

  "So you think somebody kidnapped your wife?" the sheriff asked.

  "That's right, I do," Gil answered swiftly.

  "You think they might want to ransom her?"

  "It's possible."

  "And if they do, are you willing to pay that ransom to get her back?" the sheriff asked.

  "Yes," he answered just as swiftly.

  "You make a big haul lately?"

  "Yes, several."

  "I see. Well, you got anyone in mind who might want to see their money back?"

  Gil thought about that a minute. Only two people would go to these lengths. "Two suspects, yes. Eb Dolby and a man named Chester Smith. Chester doesn't live in Ft. Worth, but he might have traveled out here to find us."

  "Why would a man travel to find you?"

  "Money is all I know."

  The sheriff studied him a long minute. He twitched his mustache and adjusted his hat. "Okay, I'll tell you what. You go back to your hotel. You get some sleep, and if she ain't back by mornin', then you come back here and we'll set about finding out a few things. Now, where is this Chester Smith from? I can send a wire out."

  "He lives just this side of Hard Times."

  "I'll send the wires and see what we get. Now could be she'll turn up before sunup. And could be we got some troubles. But it's late, and there is no reason to jump to the wrong conclusions, son. You get some rest, and we'll talk about it again in the morning."

  Gil didn't like his answers. He wanted to find out tonight. He wanted to find Trish.

  But he really didn't know where to look.

  He went back to the hotel and went up to his room. It was dark and quiet. He missed her. A fact he couldn't deny.

  Usually well composed, he found himself falling apart. He wrestled with ideas for half the night before sleep finally came.

  The next morning, nothing had changed.

  He dressed and returned to the sheriff's office.

  "She didn't turn up?" the sheriff asked as his deputy stood nearby.

  Gil shook his head.

  The sheriff handed some coffee to his deputy and then offered Gil a cup. Gil took it, as he hadn't had anything to eat or drink this morning.

  "Sit down, son. I think we got some troubles." The sheriff motioned for him to have a chair in front of his desk.

  "What do you mean?" Gil eyed both men as he sat down.

  "My deputy says he saw a man putting a woman in a carriage late evening yesterday. He was in back of the hotel and thought it strange."

  "Did he recognize the man?"

  "No, sir, I didn't. It was dark, but I did recognize it was a woman he carried. She had long red hair," the deputy said.

  "My God, she has been kidnapped?" Gil was out of control. He jumped to his feet.

  "Now settle down, son," the sheriff said. "We got to use our heads. You sit there and drink your coffee. I've already wired about this Mr. Chester Smith. I should hear something soon."

  "Good." Gil felt a little relief. But something didn't fit right. Chester had no real reason to follow them to Ft. Worth.

  "Now, do you know the fella you spoke of last night as Eb?"

  "No, not really. He was in a game earlier in the week. He'd just gotten in from a drive. He was hot, tired and dirty, but he wanted to play. The gentlemen we played with informed me later that he had a bad temper and he didn't take to losing easily. They didn't want him in the game, but the man was so insistent they didn't refuse."

  The sheriff nodded. "He sounds more like our man, doesn't he?"

  "I'd say so," Gil muttered.

  "Now, first off, is there any reason he might do this, other than money itself?"

  Gil thought about that. He had mentioned recognizing Trish, but Gil refused to put her reputation in the middle of this. "I don't think so, no."

  "He didn't know your wife?"

  "No… of course not. He'd seen her at the tables with me, but he didn't know her."

  Gil felt the guilt of that lie, but he also felt protective of Trish too. There was no reason to infer some scandal.

  "I mean when a man is cheated at cards, he usually calls the man out."

  "I do not cheat, Sheriff. I don't have to."

  "You're that good, are you?"

  "I am."

  The sheriff sipped his coffee. Then he glanced at his deputy. "Which way did they head last night, Ron?"

  The deputy thought about it a minute. "Looked like they were headed south."

  "Was anyone else with them?" Gil asked.

  "No, just him. And she looked either sick or passed out. That's what caused me to notice them so much," the deputy said. "But to tell the truth, because she wasn't movin', I thought she might have had too much to drink or something. I didn't stop him and ask."

  "She doesn't drink," Gil accused.

  "No one said she did. This is cow town, and when the cattle come to town, lots goes on here. Even women are known to drink too much. It's nothing to see a sight like that except…. she was so pretty. I mean her hair…" The deputy looked at him and swallowed hard. "Sorry, but she was a beauty."

  Gil nodded. "That's a fact."

  "Okay, do you want to go with us?" the sheriff asked.

  "Yes, if you don't mind. I mean, if it's money, I'm ready and able to hand it over. I want my wife back," Gil insisted.

  "I sure don't blame you for that" The deputy cleared his throat.

&n
bsp; "Get your horses, and meet me in front in about half an hour. This ain't gonna be no joy ride, so bring whatever you think you'll need. You slow us down, though, and we'll leave you," the sheriff promised.

  "I won't." Gil nodded.

  "Good."

  Thoughts of Eb and Trish ran through his head wildly. What did the man want? If he hurt her, he'd search him out and kill him himself. The more he thought, the more Eb came to mind. But why? If it was money, he'd gladly give it to him. If he hurt her, God help him!

  Chapter Twelve

  After deputizing two more men, the sheriff instructed them to watch over the town while they were gone. These men were seasoned lawmen, and they knew their jobs. It was easy to see why the sheriff left them in charge. Both men were fairly young and dedicated to the law, Gil decided by the way they talked and acted.

  "We'll be gone for a spell, so keep a tight lid on things here. Have too much trouble, wire Thompson over in Dallas to send you some help."

  The men nodded.

  The blush of sunrise met them as they headed toward the hotel. The sheriff led the way, and they found the buggy tracks with no problem. There was no sign of a struggle, and only a booted track. "Looks like this might be where to start." The sheriff nodded as he bent over to look on the ground. "See, only one set of boots. He carried her to the carriage."

  Gil wanted to move on, he had seen enough.

  The three of them headed out of town, following the tracks. They rode for miles. After leaving Ft. Worth, Gil wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with his bandana. The sun beat down on them. The sheriff stopped a time or two to check the direction of the tracks and see if they varied any.

  The tracks left the road, though, and it was harder to see now.

  "Where do you think they are headed?"

  The sheriff shook his head. "Away from any town is all I know. They are takin' back roads now and I don't know where this is gonna lead us. I've been out this way before, but it's been a while."

  "Maybe he has a place around here," the deputy suggested.

  "Maybe…" The sheriff squinted in the noon sun. "The tracks are harder to see since the roads aren't really roads here, but just cow trails. It's gonna take some good tracking from here on out."

  They moved slower now, and frustration began to build.

  It was noon and the Sheriff slowed down and stopped under a pecan tree. Gil wanted to push on. But the Sheriff was determined to stop and eat.

  Gil had brought a few extra biscuits from the dining room, some fresh fried bacon, a couple of canteens, and a bedroll. But he had no interest in eating. They were losing time and he felt a need to push on.

  Each moment could make all the difference. He wondered if Trish was frightened. She was a pretty tough lady, but this kind of thing was not the normal and he wasn't sure how she would hold up to it. All he knew for sure was that he had to get her back.

  Gil was aware that the sheriff knew his job and obviously knew how to track too.

  "Ain't sure where this leads," the sheriff muttered. "Back here, this is nothing but woods as far as I know."

  A storm was coming up from the north, and Gil was sure the tracks would be washed away before they found them. His frustration combined with a certain amount of impatience began to mount.

  The sheriff stopped once again, and got down from his horse to check the tracks. "Wherever he is headed, he didn't stop very often. He must have some destination in mind." He shot Gil a quick glance. "Look, I'm gonna send my deputy on up the trial to try to find them. It's the only way. If that storm hits, we'll lose the tracks for sure. We might never find them then. I don't like splitting up, but if he don't go ahead, we'll lose their trail in this rain. He's a good tracker and he's got the best chance of finding them right now."

  "Sounds like a good idea to me," Gil agreed.

  The sheriff talked to the deputy, "Don't take any chances. Keep your gun pulled if you catch up to them. We'll follow as well as we can at least until the storm starts. Don't risk the lady's life for anything. If you have to come back and get us, do so. Understood?"

  The deputy nodded and took off in the direction of the tracks.

  They watched him ride off slowly, his eyes trained on the ground.

  "What's your name, Sheriff? I hate just calling you sheriff? Sounds a little too formal for me," Gil said as they finished eating. Gil shared his bacon and biscuits.

  "Name's Booker, Booker T. Billings. I've been sheriff for about nine months now." He rested under a shade tree and made a small fire. "The one before me was gunned down right there in the streets of Ft. Worth by an angry cattleman. They held a quick election, and I won."

  "Weren't you skeptical about the job when the other one was killed?"

  "Yep, but I was the oldest deputy with the most experience, so I got elected real fast. I caught his killer, and they hung him."

  Gil shook his head.

  "Sorry. I got to have my coffee to keep going. I was up pretty late last night." Booker grabbed the coffee pot and went to the small stream they passed along the way.

  When he returned, Gil looked at the sheriff curiously. "Problems?"

  "Just the usual this time of year, cowboys lettin' off steam. Arrested three of them last night for shootin' up the saloon. Let them go early this mornin' to get rid of them. They knew better, but once they get liquored up, nothing can stop them. Trouble is, too long on those trails. Men get itchy."

  Gil thought about that. The sheriff was most likely used to using his gun and not shy about pulling it. He also seemed to have a profound respect for the law.

  "Been a sheriff anywhere else?" Gil asked as he watched the expressions on his face.

  "Not a sheriff, but a deputy in Pecos a few years, a deputy in Dallas for three years. That was good experience for me. Dallas isn't as mean as Ft. Worth, but it does have its problem people."

  "You seem pretty square shootin' to me. Anyone who can keep the peace in Ft. Worth gets my vote." Gil smiled.

  "I've had my share of the law, I'd say. It was a lynchin' that caused me to want to work for the law, you see. I was a witness, and I couldn't stop it. Lychin's are a sorry thing to witness." After he made the coffee, he reared back under the tree. "I want you to understand that this could get messy the closer we get. Do you know how to use that gun on your hip?"

  "Yes, I do," Gil assured him.

  "Are you really that good at poker?"

  "I make my living at it. I suppose I'm pretty good," Gil answered, trying not to sound too proud.

  "And are you good with the gun?"

  "I'm pretty good at that too." Gil eyed him.

  Booker nodded. "How long you been married?"

  "Three months." Gil didn't like lying to the man, but there was no need to go into details. This was a case of kidnapping, and once they caught up to them, it should be resolved quickly and he'd probably never see the sheriff again.

  "I can understand your urgency then, and my deputy tells me she is always at your side."

  "Yes, she is." Gil shot the sheriff a curious look. "That's another concern I have. Pretty women are more apt to get mistreated, if you know what I mean."

  "You are right about that too. I can see you're in love with her, and I understand your frettin' over her. I would too," the sheriff added, pouring the grounds in his cup out.

  "You married?"

  "Nope, was once, a long time ago. She got the consumption and passed away a year or so after we married. Never had no kids neither. Sure did want some, but I guess with my line of work now, it's best I don't have any."

  "I guess that's why I value Trish so much. Until she came along, I never even thought about having kids."

  "Tell me, is she easily scared?"

  Gil thought about that for a minute. "No, I'll give her that. She isn't."

  "That's good, because this might get ugly before it gets better."

  Gil glanced at the sheriff. "You keep saying that…"

  "Just wanted you to know. D
idn't want no surprises."

  He used the word love to describe what I feel for Trish!

  That never dawned on Gil. He hadn't considered his true feelings for Trish. They were more partners than anything, but he had to admit, he was feeling something. He didn't recognize the word love as he had never really had anyone to love in his life. His folks were cold and unfeeling with him as a boy, and so he didn't become attached to them. He'd been unattached all his life. But he realized his partnership with Trish had been the closest thing to a real relationship as he'd ever had. Perhaps that created the need in him to take care of her.

  At first, it had been easy not to care about her, touch her, or hold her, but he had to admit he had the urge to kiss her a few times. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to love her. He wondered if it was love.

  But he remembered what she said about kissing too, so she might not appreciate it.

  He mentally shook himself. He was concerned, and he'd leave it at that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When it began to rain, Booker stopped. "No use going any farther. We can't see no tracks now. All we can do is hope Ron caught up to them."

  Gil didn't want to stop, but Booker was right. The downpour looked like it could last all night and there would be nothing of the tracks left in the morning.

  Tethering the horses, the sheriff took his bedroll and spread it out then put his slicker over it.

  Gil gathered some firewood that hadn't been soaked by the rain and brought it to the camp. They camped under a big tree. The rain sounded lonely to Gil. He didn't remember being lonely for a long time, but the rain's music emptied his heart.

  "If he hurts her, I'll kill him," Gil muttered as they built a small fire and huddled about it.

  The sheriff spread his hands out to warm by the fire. He cast Gil a sideways glance. "Now, son, that's no way to talk. I'd be duty bound to bring you back and put you in jail, so what would that accomplish?" Booker squatted down and poured himself some coffee. Gil joined him. "I know you want your woman back, and I don't blame you. We are gonna do everything we can to see she gets back in one piece, so stop frettin' and thinkin' like that. It'll do no good for her or yourself."