Scandal at the Cahill Saloon

by Carol Arens

  Frightened, Cabe struggled to wriggle out of Preston’s grip.

  She couldn’t fly at her enemy like she wanted to, biting and scratching. She had another tiny life to protect as well as Cabe’s.

  “You won’t be able to prove that. He looks as much like me and Cleve as he does you.”

  “Holden?” He looked at her for the first time. “Adel? No…Arden, wasn’t it? Yes…sweet little Arden Holden. She was a treat. Whatever happened to her?”

  “You killed her.”

  “Tsk now, she was alive and well when we parted company.” Not a shadow of sorrow spoiled his angelic expression. “That does leave me free to take my son home to his proud grandpappy, doesn’t it?” Cabe began to cry.

  Leanna wanted to scream for help, but what might Preston do if she did? Silence her in a way that would hurt her unborn baby?

  “Give him to me. The last thing you want is a child.”

  “As true as that may be, my father will be—”

  Suddenly Preston went limp. He sagged to the floor, gasping. Leanna snatched Cabe before he hit the rug.

  Aggie stood over the groaning devil with a frying pan gripped in both fists.

  “Give him another wallop, then get the others out the back way,” Leanna instructed.

  She ran, hugging Cabe to her. After only a block, her lungs burned and her legs ached. Keeping hold of him was possible only because her arms were cramped in place. Even though she thought one more step might break her back, she pushed on, worrying all the while her flight might be hurting her precious unborn baby.

  Rain slammed the front porch the second she opened the door and launched herself into Cleve’s arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Come here, son.” Cleve lifted Cabe from her arms but she couldn’t straighten her elbows. “Go sit under the table, son. Help Stretch be brave while Mama catches her breath.”

  Cabe pumped his short legs toward the kitchen. He crawled under the table and sat on the dog’s back.

  “What’s wrong?” He led her to the couch and eased her down beside him, rubbing her back in slow circles. “Breathe slow…easy now.”

  “Preston knows,” she gasped.

  His hand stilled on her back. “About Cabe?”

  She nodded, nearly too breathless to speak. “His eye.”

  “It had to happen someday.” He resumed stroking her back. “I don’t want you to worry.”

  She would, there was no help for it, but with Cleve close by she did feel safer.

  He stood up from the couch and paced to the fireplace. He plucked the Winchester from the wall, checked to see that it was loaded, then placed it back on its hanger.

  “Lightning hit the saloon, we had to go,” she told him when he resumed his place beside her. “Bowie was with us then, but later, somehow Cabe got away from Aggie and there was Preston holding him and saying how pleased Willem would be when he brought the boy home.”

  “You weren’t hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Preston was. Aggie walloped him in the face with a frying pan.”

  “Killed him, I hope.”

  “I reckon she wanted to, but she couldn’t, not without ending up in jail herself.” Leanna took a shuddering breath. “I’ll never believe that man wants to be anyone’s daddy.”

  “He hopes to redeem himself in his father’s eyes through Cabe, no doubt.”

  “He’s more a fool than we thought if he believes that will happen. Willem will think even less of him for having a child the way he did.”

  “Preston’s a twisted man. Who knows what his father is?” Cleve hugged her and whispered in her ear, “He won’t get our boy and neither will Willem. I promise you that. Lay down.” He pressed her onto the cushions and lifted her legs, smoothing them to the couch. “Rest awhile. I’ll see to Boodle’s noon meal.”

  With a kiss to her forehead, he stood, then walked to the window. He tapped on the glass, peering out at the heavy rain. After a moment, he returned to the hearth and checked the rifle one more time.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to give Boodle something to eat.” He looked down at her, more grave and severe than she had ever seen him. “When Van Slyck comes, I’m going to kill him.”

  “But, Cleve, you promised—”

  “Everything has changed since then.”

  He was right. Now that Preston knew about Cabe, the rules had changed. Protecting their son trumped every other consideration.

  Still, Cleve couldn’t just shoot Preston. Bowie would call it murder. The law wouldn’t allow for the man deserving it.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of what could be done. Lightning flashed; she watched it brighten beyond her closed lids. Thunder vibrated the house time after time.

  Maybe Stretch had the right of it. They all ought to crawl under the table.

  She cracked her eyes open in the same instant that the front window shattered, the sound muffled by thunder.

  A slender, feminine hand dropped a dripping sheet of paper inside, then withdrew.

  She hurried to the window and snatched the note from the floor.

  Preston, it read, was holding Aggie, Lucinda and Cassie. He would hurt them unless Leanna brought Cabe to the saloon within five minutes.

  From here, it would take ten minutes. No time to send for Bowie.

  The man was a fool if he thought she was taking Cabe anywhere. She ought to show Cleve the note and let him take care of Preston. He wanted to…and badly.

  But Cleve would kill him. He would be convicted of murder. She would lose her husband again, to prison—or the hangman’s noose.

  Besides, what if Preston was trying to lure Cleve away from home? Leaving her and Cabe unprotected in the house might be his plan.

  In either case, she could not tell Cleve, and chances were, the ladies were perfectly safe. Preston only mentioned them as a lure. He might be mean but, as far as she knew, he wasn’t a killer.

  Since there was only one way to know, she stepped onto the front porch and dashed down the steps.

  Several yards down the road a dim, wet figure emerged from a flailing bush. Preston caught her around the waist and smothered her scream with his rain-slicked hand.

  “If it’s not the widow Holden? Pretty Leanna, you really are too easy.”

  A woman screamed. The sound of her fear filtered through the downpour.

  Cleve dropped a biscuit spread with raspberry preserves on the table in front of Cabe.

  He lunged for the back door. Leanna had been resting on the parlor couch only moments ago, he was certain.

  He flung the door wide to see a soaked stranger standing several yards beyond the bottom step of the porch, her red hair streaming water.

  As soon as she spotted him, she closed her mouth and ran.

  Stepping outside, he called to her. Something slammed his skull. He hit his knees.

  When the darkness receded from his mind and consciousness trickled back, he found himself in motion, crawling into the kitchen with blood dripping past his eye to pool in the corner of his mouth.

  He sat back on his haunches, then spat on the floor.

  The room spun; it tilted and rolled. Van Slyck stood beside the table appearing to tick-tock. He clutched Cabe in the crook of his elbow while the child pummeled and screeched.

  “Got something you want, Holden?” A wicked-looking grin spread across his face. “Ah, but make that two. Clumsy of you to let your wife slip away.”

  From his position on the floor he peered into the parlor. Leanna was no longer on the couch.

  Clearly gloating over his successful scheme, Van Slyck failed to notice the lumbering form silently creeping out from under the table behind him.

  “I’ve got everything you hold dear, Holden. But then, I always have.”

  Van Slyck did notice when Stretch chomped his great mouth around his elbow. The dog growled. A deep rumble echoed off the walls. Huge teeth clamped and held.

  Pinne
d in place by Stretch’s jaws, evidently stunned by his predatory stare, Van Slyck screamed. He dropped Cabe.

  Cleve lunged forward and caught him. Still unable to stand, he dragged Cabe backward and shoved him into the large pantry closet.

  Cleve whistled even though it seemed the effort would explode his head. The dog let go of his terrified victim.

  Stretch backed toward the pantry flashing his canines, drooling and growling. He plunked down on his haunches, blocking Cabe from view. Cleve slammed the door.

  He needed to stand. It would be impossible to defend his position before the pantry while on his knees. Once Van Slyck quit trembling he would regain the advantage.

  Cleve pushed up, inch by painful inch. He pressed his back against the door, willing his legs to support him. He wouldn’t lose this battle to protect his wife and his son. He wouldn’t waste this opportunity to avenge Arden.

  Muscles stiff, knees locked, nausea swallowed, he rose and stared Preston down.

  “Out of my way, Holden.”

  “Go through me.”

  “I could blow you over with a sneeze.” He arched one brow. The dark, slick hairs formed an arrogant curve. “But I’d rather do it like this.”

  The gun that Van Slyck withdrew from the waistband of his pants was a wicked thing that looked as though it had been polished in honor of this occasion.

  Van Slyck drove his balled-up fist and the butt of the pistol into Cleve’s belly. Pain shot bone-deep, then rippled to his throat. It buckled his knees.

  He fought the downward slide. It was no use. His legs might have been mud instead of flesh and bone for all the good they did him. Splinters from the wood door gouged his shirt and his back as he pressed against the inevitable.

  He watched the barrel of the weapon follow him down.

  “Not so high-and-mighty now, Holden. How does it feel to be the one on the floor this time?”

  “Better than it feels to be you,” Cleve gasped. He thought he would vomit. He focused on the pain ripping his belly to hold him in front of the door. “That skillet gash made a mess of your pretty face. Won’t be so easy to charm the ladies now.”

  “I charmed the bloomers off your sister…I’ll do the same to your wife. She’ll resist at first, that’s her better-than-everyone-else way. Just so you know, I’ve got her tucked away sweet and tight. Sure, she’ll fight me like a cornered cat, but in the end she’ll come around. There’s the boy—she’ll want to protect him.”

  “I’m going to kill you, Van Slyck.”

  The gun drew closer to his face. Only inches separated him from a hole in the brain.

  “It’ll have to be from the great beyond, then. In another minute you’ll be a ghost.”

  “Boo!” Cleve had the satisfaction of seeing the coward twitch.

  He lifted to a crouch, with the door supporting him from behind. On the other side of the wood, Stretch began to howl in a low, eerie lament that was much more spooklike than “Boo.”

  “Better be a quick shot. The dog’s after blood.” Another twitch. Cleve grinned when the gun wavered from the center of his forehead. “You won’t be his first.”

  “Shut up, Holden.” He readjusted his aim and sopped a bead of sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You’ll die in another minute but I’ve got something to tell you…a little something for you to take to your grave.”

  The grin that had broken so many hearts became an ugly sneer. For once, the man’s rotten soul shone through.

  “Has to do with the better-than-anyone Cahills. I know you and the slut were looking for something that night at the bank.” He giggled. If Cleve hadn’t already been holding down his bile he would have had to do it now, the high-pitched sound was that repulsive.

  “Father Dear is bringing the Cahills to ruin, little by little. Has been for a while, too. Old man’s too dense to think I’m on to him, though.” Again, the giggle. “That damn family won’t have a penny left what with daddy keeping two sets of books and filching the Cahill rents.”

  He pressed the barrel of the gun to Cleve’s forehead.

  “That’s not all by half. Take this with you. My father knows about the day—”

  A shadow dashed across the hallway.

  Leanna, a sodden dripping mess, stood with the rifle from the fireplace braced against her shoulder.

  “Drop the gun, Preston.” Her order was delivered as calmly as a daily greeting.

  Van Slyck lifted the weapon from Cleve’s forehead. He spun toward Leanna.

  Cleve hurled his weight against Van Slyck’s knees in the same instant that the Winchester’s blast shook the walls.

  Van Slyck slumped facedown on the floor. Blood pooled from under his vest. One blank eye stared in perpetual shock at the ceiling.

  Leanna launched herself into Cleve’s arms. Kneeling, she buried her face into his chest and wept. He rocked her and soothed her, whispering in her ear that she was the bravest woman ever born.

  An instant later Lucinda and Aggie rushed through the parlor. They stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, dripping twin puddles on the floor.

  “He had that coming,” Lucinda stated, brushing lank hair from her face.

  “It’s hard to find a speck of grief.” Aggie stepped forward and bent at the waist to peer closer. She shrugged, then stepped back. “Cassie went for your brother.”

  Bowie paced the parlor. Lucinda, Cassie and Aggie sat on the couch turning their heads while they followed his progress.

  “Tell me, little sister, why there’s a dead body on your kitchen floor.”

  Lucinda answered for her. “Because Cleve would be dead and that dear little boy would be kidnapped if he weren’t.”

  Leanna glanced toward the top of the stairs. She listened. Thank goodness Boodle lay sound asleep in his room without ever knowing what had happened beyond the pantry door.

  After shooting Preston it had taken a moment to feel life pulsing in her blood again. Once she’d been able to breathe again, she’d slipped into the pantry, covered Cabe’s eyes and gathered him up. She’d carried him upstairs, sung him a quavering lullaby, then left him dozing with Stretch’s long body dangling over the foot of the bed.

  “He wasn’t much of a man to begin with,” Aggie noted.

  “The world is certainly a better place for his loss.” Cassie gave one curt nod. She crossed her arms over her bosom.

  “Be that as it may, I need to determine if there was a crime committed,” Bowie stated.

  “Of course there was a crime.” Lucinda stood and pointed her finger toward the kitchen. “Committed by him.”

  “So according to what Cassie told me on the way here, Van Slyck kidnapped Leanna and tied her to a tree.”

  Three heads nodded firmly in unison.

  “After I whacked him with the frying pan, two times as Miss Leanna told me to,” Aggie explained, “he lit out, cursing our boss in ways even I’ve never heard.”

  “We figured it best to follow him,” Cassie added.

  “And a good thing, too. He’d hog-tied her to that tree so tight she couldn’t even scream.” Lucinda glared at the kitchen even though the body wasn’t visible from the parlor.

  “Why would he do that?” Bowie rubbed his neck and glanced out the window. The storm had moved on, leaving a gusty wind behind. “I’ll need a story to tell his father.”

  Leanna stood from where she sat on the arm of the couch, then walked over to Cleve, who leaned against the fireplace with one shoulder propped against it.

  She checked the knot on her husband’s skull before turning to Bowie. “It can’t be the truth.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with the truth?” Bowie bellowed.

  “Let me just say,” Lucinda stood before Bowie with her hands on her hips, “Miss Leanna is the finest person walking the earth. If I were Arden I’d have done the same thing.”

  “Who in the blazes is Arden?” He settled his gaze hard on Leanna. “Annie, do I need to sit down?”

  The ladies moved ove
r to make room.

  “That might be best.”

  Cleve touched her shoulder. He squeezed it, then he nodded.

  “First of all,” she began. “Preston found out who Cleve really was and came to kill him.”

  “Who is he…really? A couple of days ago it seems like you might have offered your husband to Van Slyck and saved yourself a divorce.”

  “I love Cleve with all my heart.” She reached up to pat his hand. “Why would I divorce him?”

  “Because you and every gossip in town said you were going to do just that.”

  She waved her hand in front of her face as though that incident had been no more than a pesky fly. “I changed my mind.”

  “Tell me, then, who is my restored brother-in-law really, and why would Van Slyck want to kill him?”

  “Cabe’s mother was my sister, Arden Holden,” Cleve said, his voice sounding more than a bit husky.

  “A dear friend to us all.” Cassie sighed.

  That confession made Bowie pop off the couch as though he had a spring in his pants.

  “Annie? Is this true? You aren’t the boy’s mother?”

  “Of course I’m his mother! I might not have given birth to him but I’ll fight anyone who says he isn’t mine.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place? You’ve put yourself through a hell of a lot of reproach for no reason. We’ll have to begin a search for the boy’s father,” Bowie said, exactly the way she knew he would because of his obligations as marshal.

  “As far as anyone outside of this room will ever know, Cabe is Leanna’s own flesh and blood. So am I.” With a knot the size of a plum on his skull and his posture hunched by the late Preston Van Slyck’s attack, Cleve had never looked more of a hero.

  “Cabe’s father is dead on the kitchen floor.” Leanna stepped away from Cleve and went to her brother. She covered his balled-up fists with her fingers, trying to soothe the tension from them. “Preston only made the discovery this morning. He came here meaning to take Cabe home to Willem. As soon as the girls untied me from the tree, we rushed here and I found him with a gun pressed to Cleve’s head.”