Brodie held up his hands. “All right. All right. I know I should’ve ridden out to see Da and Ma, if not the rest of you miscreants. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my deputies. All the work falls on me.”
“Aye, that’s what Colin said. Have you had any luck finding replacements?” Quinn leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs.
“There doesn’t seem to be much interest in a town as small as Conviction when there are jobs in San Francisco and Sacramento. From what I’ve heard, the pay is quite a bit more in those towns.”
“So is the danger.” Blaine stood to walk around. “At least you aren’t risking your life every day in Conviction.”
The words had no more than left his mouth when the door burst open, Jack rushing inside.
“Sheriff, you gotta get over to Buckie’s Castle.” He stopped when he spotted Quinn and Blaine. “Uh…”
“Go ahead, Jack. You’ve met my cousins, Quinn and Blaine.”
“Uh, sure, sure.” His head bobbed, a habit when he was excited. “Sheriff, they got trouble at Buckie’s.”
Sighing, Brodie stood, walking to the door. “What kind of trouble?”
“Some gambler came in on today’s riverboat from Sacramento. He’s been winning big.” Jack looked around, thinking they understood his meaning.
“And?” Brodie prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean real big, Sheriff. So much so, they’re accusing him of cheating. They got him up against a wall and mean to either hang or shoot him.”
Brodie didn’t say a word before grabbing his hat and storming outside.
“We’re coming, too.” Quinn stood, tightening his gun belt, seeing Blaine do the same.
“Want me to stay here, Sheriff? Keep watch on the prisoner?”
“Aye, Jack,” Brodie called over his shoulder. “Like before, do not talk to her. If she needs anything, she’ll have to wait for me.”
“Sure. You know you can depend on me.” Jack’s grin had Brodie stopping.
“I mean it. You’re not to go back there. No matter what.”
Jack’s eyes flashed before he dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded.
Before Brodie could say anything else, gunfire drew his attention to the saloon. He ran down the street as a second shot rang out, Quinn and Blaine steps behind him. He stopped and spun to face them.
“This isn’t your job, lads. I can deal with whatever is happening.”
“It’s a gang of men, Brodie. You can’t face them alone.” Quinn’s hand rested on the butt of his gun.
“Quinn’s right, Brodie. You can’t go in there by yourself. Besides, there’s nothing you can do if we follow you inside.” Blaine’s smirk set Brodie off as much as Quinn’s fingers twitching on his gun.
Muttering a curse, he dug into his pocket, taking out two badges and tossing one to each man. After Stein Tharaldson suggested he might need to deputize men quickly, he’d carried them as a precaution for weeks. He’d thank Stein later.
“If you’re determined to help, you go as my deputies. When it’s over, I want those back. I’m going in the front. You two enter through the back. You’ll go through a storeroom before entering the bar—”
“We know the saloon, Brodie. You’re wasting time.” Quinn glared at him, ready to deal with whatever was going on inside.
Spinning on his heels, Brodie dashed up the steps and glanced over the top of the double swinging doors. A lone man stood against the wall, guns in both hands pointing toward a crowd of men, two clutching wounds.
“Now, gentlemen, I’ve already told you. I don’t cheat. Never have. There’s no need when you possess the skills I do.” He flashed a cocky grin, earning him a round of jeers. “As much as I’d like to stay, chat with you charming fellows, I’m afraid this party needs to end.” He edged along the wall toward the doors, already aware someone stood outside, guessing it to be the sheriff or one of his deputies. Focusing on movement in the crowd, he stopped, his voice hard. “No one move. There are already two men injured because of your actions. I don’t want to shoot anyone else.” Waiting until the men backed up, he continued, stopping a foot away from the doors, his gaze still focused on the men inside. “I know you’re outside, but I’m not the one you’re after. He’s standing at the back of the group of men, his back to the bar. He has a dark mustache and short beard, and is wearing a white shirt, brown hat, and coat. Check his pockets. You’ll find all you need to arrest him for swindling people out of their hard-earned money.”
Brodie stiffened. “I’m Sheriff MacLaren, and I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do.” He raised his gun, pointed it at the door, and waited.
“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you, Sheriff. My job has been to identify the person fleecing funds from unsuspecting gamblers. I’ve led him to you. Your job is to make an arrest and send him to trial.”
The utter confidence in the man’s voice stunned and intrigued Brodie. He’d taken control inside the saloon, extricating himself from a dangerous situation, and sounded as if he had no doubt Brodie would believe all of it.
“Who are you?” Brodie pushed one of the doors open enough to spot his prey.
Without taking his focus off the men inside, the man slammed the other door open and slipped out.
“Samuel Covington. Soon to be ex-Pinkerton agent.” Glancing over the top of the doors, he lowered his guns, settling them in holsters on each hip. “Appears your men are inside. Perhaps you’d care to join them.” Sam turned to leave before feeling Brodie’s hand on his arm and seeing the gun the sheriff still held.
“Hold on there, lad. First, you need to show me some type of identification from Pinkerton. Then you’ll come back inside with me and identify the man you’re accusing of fleecing people. Afterwards, you and I are going to have a long talk.” Brodie nodded toward the saloon. “After you.”
“And I was so hoping for a quiet lunch,” Sam grumbled as he strolled back into the saloon.
Brodie read the telegram from Allan Pinkerton, then passed it to Quinn and Blaine. All of them had been skeptical of Covington’s claim of being connected to the agency, even after arresting and searching the man he’d indicated was behind a series of cons covering the area between Newcastle, Sacramento, San Francisco, and Conviction. The discovery of a journal, indicating dates, locations, and amount earned, now rested in a locked drawer in Brodie’s desk.
“It says here, amount earned. Shouldn’t it say stolen?” Quinn smirked.
“For con artists such as David Meeks, the line between earning money and taking it is quite slim. In fact, it is non-existent.” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “They do it for the rush, the excitement, not for the end result of money in their pockets.”
“Seems odd the money wouldn’t be the main factor.” Blaine read the telegram once more before handing it back to Brodie.
“Oh, they definitely want the money, but what drives them is the challenge of outsmarting someone else. Meeks and other con men need to prove they’re smarter than those who would stop them.” Sam winced at the gnawing sensation in his stomach, followed by the unmistakable rumble of hunger. “That’s why Pinkerton sent me out here last spring. To prove Meeks wrong by catching him.” Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, then cast a look at Brodie. “If you have no further questions, I believe I’ll take my leave.”
“Hold on, Covington. You said something about becoming an ex-Pinkerton agent. What did you mean by that?” Brodie fiddled with the edge of the wanted poster of David Meeks he’d found buried in a drawer.
“I’m taking a leave from the agency. Allan has dominated my time for several years and now is my chance to explore other opportunities.”
“In law enforcement?”
Sam’s bark of laughter reverberated against the hard walls of the jail. “Not if I can help it.”
Brodie nodded. “If you change your mind, come see me. I’m looking for a couple good deputies. The pay isn’t great, but it comes with an apartment and
monthly food allowance. Might be a way to pass your time in Conviction while helping the town.”
Sam narrowed his gaze and studied Brodie, his face neutral as he considered the proposal. “I do understand your predicament, Sheriff, and will be happy to send any prospects to see you. For now, however, I’ll have to pass on your generous offer.” Settling his hat firmly on his head, he nodded at the three men. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”
Quinn waited until Sam closed the door, then turned back to Brodie. “Too bad. He would’ve made an excellent deputy.”
“I’m not giving up yet. Anything can happen before Covington leaves town.” A slow smile spread across Brodie’s face. Aye, just about anything.
Brodie paced back and forth in front of his desk, aware of the dire situation. He had four cells. Three of them were filled, although Bob’s wife would be coming to fetch him in the morning. He expected the U.S. Marshal within a few days to transport David Meeks to San Francisco. From there, Brodie didn’t care what happened to the man, as long as he never returned to Conviction.
He ran a hand through his hair, then massaged his temples. The slow rise of a headache had started minutes after Quinn and Brodie had left for the Circle M Ranch, promising to ride back on Saturday. He didn’t know if he was the reason for them returning so soon or because of the excitement of what had happened today. It didn’t matter. Any visit by his family was cause to be thankful.
The dilemma he faced, the reason for his extreme concern, sat alone in cell one. Maggie said little, asking for nothing except an occasional trip out back, but her piercing blue eyes shot daggers through his heart each time their gazes met. He had to find a way to get back to the cabin. Her guilt or innocence, the difference between years of languishing in a filthy prison or a lifetime of freedom, might hinge on what he found.
Resting fisted hands on his hips, Brodie looked up at the ceiling, then let out a slow breath before walking back to the cell.
“Miss King?”
Maggie glanced up, her gaze fixed on some point behind Brodie, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.
“I, uh…came to see if you needed anything. Food, water, a trip out back?”
Resting her hands on either side of her, she pushed up from the bed, walking the short distance to face him.
“A trip out back would be good, Sheriff. Thank you.”
He didn’t handcuff her or draw his gun. Nothing she’d done indicated a desire to run, escape her confinement in the small cell. Still, he walked by her side, ready to reach out and grab her if she made any move to get away.
Taking care of her business, she stepped out of the privy, looking up at the late afternoon sky. It would be a few hours before complete darkness fell, revealing a thick blanket of twinkling stars. This had always been her favorite time of day, when daylight began to fade. Now it did nothing for her except signify all she’d lost and how her life had changed. Shaking off the morbid thoughts, she glanced at Brodie.
“How long have you lived in Conviction, Sheriff?” She walked along the back wall of the jail, breathing in the fresh air, once more noting anything that might help or hinder her when she did make her escape.
“My family’s had a ranch northwest of here for over five years.”
She leaned against the wall of the jail, letting her palms brace herself against the rough wood.
“I know about your cousin, Colin, and his wife. There are more of you?”
Brodie chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest, letting his gaze rake over her. Her cheeks reddened at his unconcealed appraisal, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his assessment with one of her own, her mouth turning up at the corners as her gaze wandered over his slim hips, broad chest and shoulders, settling on his full mouth. Heat flashed through him at the look of approval on her face.
As if they both realized what was happening at the same moment, Brodie stepped a few feet away, Maggie pushing herself from the wall.
Clearing his throat, Brodie fought to remember her question. “Aye, lass. There are quite a number of MacLarens. Two more cousins visited today. Quinn and Blaine. Along with Colin, the four of us used to be closer than…” Pausing, he rephrased what he’d planned to say. “We’ve been almost inseparable our entire lives.”
They both seemed to relax, continuing their brief stroll behind the buildings.
“What changed?”
“Colin married Sarah. I took the job as sheriff.” He shrugged, accepting the sad truth. “We aren’t laddies any longer, dependent on each other as we once were.”
Clasping her hands behind her back, she nodded. “I suppose so. I often wonder what my brothers are doing, wonder if they’ve changed much. It’s been less than two years, but still…”
“How old were you when you met Stoddard?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, didn’t need to know more about her than he already did. Maggie’s age didn’t matter. It only mattered that he held her as a suspect in a murder.
“Eighteen. I’m twenty now.” She spoke with a staid calmness, as if detached, speaking of someone else. “I wish I could tell you the time flew by, but that would be a lie.” This time, her voice held the bitterness he expected. Closing her eyes to still the moisture beginning to pool, she sucked in a deep breath.
He didn’t know what triggered his quick response—her shaky voice, the tremble of her body, or the tears she couldn’t hide—but he reached out, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. Splaying his hands across her back, he rested his chin on top of her head as she settled her cheek against his chest.
“Shhh, lass. He can no longer hurt you.” Brodie’s heart pounded, his chest tightening at the same time he tried to provide her comfort. He couldn’t imagine the horrors she’d been through. If Arnie weren’t already dead, it would’ve taken all the strength Brodie possessed to not kill the man himself. Feeling the tears soak through his shirt, he drew back, lifting her chin with a finger.
“You must try to believe it will be all right, Maggie.”
Her glassy blue eyes stared up at him as the faintest sliver of hope crossed her face. A hope he could encourage or dash with a rash word or careless gesture.
“Do you truly think it will work out for me?”
Brodie didn’t know what more to say. Instead, he did the most foolish thing imaginable. Lowering his head, he brushed a gentle kiss across her lips, feeling her tense, then relax against him. He kissed her again, losing himself in the taste and feel of her.
Awareness of the colossal mistake he was making sliced through Brodie an instant before he tightened his hold, fitting Maggie snuggly to his body, his lips pressed against hers, claiming her mouth with fierce desire.
Her heart thundered and stomach churned as Brodie continued his gentle assault. The warmth of his body, the hardness of his chest and muscled arms sheltered her at the same time heat ripped through her, as if she were engulfed in a circle of flames.
Brodie couldn’t get her close enough. He wanted to lift her into his arms, carry her to his bed, and lay her down. Kiss every inch of her body, caress…
He pulled back, his abrupt departure causing her to whimper as she buried her face against his throat. They had to stop. He had to stop. The madness, which gripped him moments before, gave way to guilt and self-loathing. How could he have surrendered so completely to the charms of one woman? A woman who’d done nothing except look to him for help?
Setting her aside, he straightened, steeling his features. “We need to go back.” He could see the slight shiver of her body as she swayed toward him. “Now, Miss King. You need to get back in your cell, and I need to get back to my work.”
The hurt in her eyes did nothing to dispel the remorse he felt. He’d crossed a line, and he could blame it on no one except himself.
Chapter Six
Brodie tried to concentrate on the telegram left on his desk while he’d been outside, moments away from ravaging Maggie. It had
been almost two hours since he’d locked her back in her cell. Two hours of self-recrimination and doubt. Glancing up as the door opened with a rusty creak, Brodie wasn’t surprised to see Jack walk inside, a hesitant smile plastered on his face.
“Got done with my work a little early, Sheriff. You need me to watch the back while you grab supper?”
“Do you know how to use a gun?” Brodie walked around the desk, pulling out the extra Colt pistol. “A gun like this one?”
The question caught Jack by surprise. He quickly recovered, the tentative grin bursting into a full-fledged smile.
“I sure do, Sheriff. My pa taught me how to use a gun, rifle, and shotgun. Been shooting since I was, well…maybe this high.” He raised his hand to about three feet above the floor.
“Do you have one of your own?”
Jack’s smile faded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “No. Can’t say that I do.”
Brodie checked his pocket watch, then walked to the front window and glanced outside. “We have a little bit of daylight left. Come on out back. I want you to show me what you can do with this gun.”
Fifteen minutes later, the two walked back inside, Brodie still stunned from what he’d seen and Jack with his chest swelling. The noise had been enough to gather a curious crowd of onlookers, who watched Jack pick off one target after another. Their jaws slack, murmuring amongst themselves, Brodie knew the young man had won some much needed respect from the locals.
“Told you I could shoot, Sheriff.”
“Aye, you did, lad.” Brodie set the gun back in the drawer and slowly closed it, his mind already made up. “You’re right. I need to get some supper. When I come back, we’ll talk about your new job as deputy.”
Brodie pulled his hat lower on his forehead. He’d already buttoned up his jacket as tight as he could, but still felt the brisk breeze whip around him. The early morning mist turned to a light drizzle as he rode out of Conviction and toward the trail leading to the Stoddard cabin.
Brodie's Gamble Page 6
