“Ten thousand dollars. I suppose I should be proud of that,” Amanda continued, staring at the floor as Colleen rubbed her shoulders. “A good cowhand makes three or four hundred a year. How many years would that be?” She looked at Frank. “Everybody says how you’re a wizard with numbers.”
Marc could tell that Frank didn’t want to answer, but Amanda gave him a look of censure, and he finally said, “Twenty-eight and a half years. Just a little more than that, actually.”
“Then that’s something, isn’t it? I’m a virgin, and my father’s able to sell me for what it would take a good cowhand more than a quarter of a century to make.” A silver tear trickled down her cheek. “I suppose I should be proud of that.”
With a stony expression on his face, Marc said, “Frank and I are going to be leaving now. You and Colleen will be safe here. Don’t worry. You won’t have to have to marry Schaefer. You’re never going to have to bow to your father’s wishes again. And most of all, no man is ever going to raise his hand in violence to you ever again. We’ll be back as quick as we can.”
Amanda lifted her face and turned her gaze first to Marc, then to Frank. “Really?”
It was a soft, agonized plea for mercy, and it tore holes in Marc’s soul. “I promise it,” he said.
“We promise it,” Frank added.
Chapter Seventeen
“Come on, I’m your best friend in the whole world,” Amanda said, sitting behind Colleen on horseback. To get to Amanda’s quickly, they needed to travel cross country rather than following the meandering road. Colleen’s mare was frightfully old, so it was decided to leave the buckboard behind and just ride bareback. “Which one of those two gorgeous men have you got a hankering for? And don’t tell me it’s neither one because I could sense some powerful desires being reined in when I walked into that house.”
“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem,” Colleen answered, feeling her heart clench momentarily. She neither wanted to lie to Amanda, nor did she want to tell her the truth about her relationships with Marc and Frank. The two men who had become, in a very short period of time, such integral parts of her life and happiness. But telling Amanda to keep quiet was perfectly useless. She knew her friend well enough to accept the futility of such a request. “Besides, we’ve got enough troubles right now just thinking about how to keep you from having to marry Mr. Schaefer.”
“I won’t marry him.” There was sudden confidence in Amanda’s tone, and it pleased Colleen. It hadn’t been there earlier. “I won’t have to marry him.” She leaned against Colleen and put her lips close to her ear, whispering conspiratorially even though they were literally miles from anyone else. “I won’t have to get married unless I want to because Marc Andollini and Frank Bishop said so. When those two men walk, the ground pretty much shakes beneath their feet in Golden Valley.” She laughed softly. “Maybe I’m exaggerating, but not by much. And since one of them is carrying a warm glow for you, then I figure as your best friend, I’ve got an ally that my father won’t want to cross.”
Colleen turned her head away, then looked up at the clear, cloudless, star-filled sky. It would be a lovely night to be in bed, nestled between Marc and Frank, either making love or just talking softly in post-orgasmic lassitude. Instead, she was riding her tired mare bareback through a field of hay, taking the straightest route to Amanda’s home to retrieve some clothes and a few belongings. And just in case Mr. Holloway happened to have come home early from his bout of drinking in the saloons of Golden Valley, Colleen had her trusty Henry rifle cradled in the crook of her left arm. If she had to stop Mr. Holloway by putting a bullet in his leg, it certainly wouldn’t be something she’d have a guilty conscience for.
“Now, Amanda, you know perfectly well what happened to me the last time I let my head get turned by some good-looking rich man’s charming ways,” Colleen began, her tone as serious as she could make it. “You’re practically the only woman in the whole territory who even talks to me now.”
“Those other women are damned fools. And hypocrites.” Amanda tightened her arms around Colleen’s middle, giving her a brief hug. “Allen Carpenter was a fool, but he’s nowhere near as handsome as Marc and Frank. I’m a virgin, but those men are handsome enough—”
“And rich enough,” Colleen cut in quickly.
“And rich enough to tempt any woman in her right mind.”
After a moment of silence, Colleen said, “I let the whole world know that Allen Carpenter was sharing my bed, and he said there was nothing wrong with the whole world knowing because soon enough I’d be his wife and then everything would be just as right as rain.” Colleen wished she didn’t have to lie to her friend about her feelings for Marc and Frank. “When Allen left me, I was branded a fallen woman by all the fine ladies of Golden Valley. I was a trollop, a painted lady.”
“Now why on earth, with that as my personal history, would I be foolish enough to let some man sweet-talk me into his bed?”
“You’d have to be a real foolish woman to let something like that happen,” Amanda agreed. “But what if it were two men? Then maybe their combined charms would be too much for even a woman as determined to keep her knees together as you.”
“The two of them? Oh, Amanda, for a virgin, you have a powerfully wicked imagination.”
Amanda laughed softly. “I’m just teasing, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with thinking things, even wicked things. I’m just having a little fun.”
“Fun, my expense,” Colleen said softly.
“Still, when I got to your house you did seem pretty flushed, and it didn’t seem to me that everybody’s clothes were quite the way they should be.”
Sensing this conversation was quickly getting into territory she wanted to avoid, Colleen replied a bit sharply, “Amanda, I’m done talking to you about Marc and Frank. If you want to think about something, think about how you’re going to get free of your father and Mr. Schaefer.”
“I’d rather talk about your love life.”
“I’d rather talk about anything else. And since you’re riding on my horse, I get to decide the topic of conversation.”
“Oh?”
Colleen nodded her head vigorously. “It’s an old Irish custom. Whoever owns the horse owns the topic of conversation.”
* * * *
“It’s seems damned dark in there,” Ralph said, looking around the corner of Colleen’s chicken coop at the house.
“Keep your voice down,” Zachery replied, though he knew full well that Ralph hadn’t spoken above a whisper. “My guess is that Marc’s keeping it dark inside because Frank’s so close to death. That’s what I’m thinking.”
In an even softer tone, yet loud enough so that Zachery could hear, Ralph said, “That’s not what I’m thinking.”
Squeezing the Winchester rifle tightly in his hands, Zachery turned away from the edge of the coop, leaning forward so that his nose was a mere inch from Ralph’s. “Don’t think,” he snapped, spittle flying from his lips. “I’ve told you a thousand times to let me do the thinking, so, goddamn it, let me do the thinking!”
Zachery was stunned when Ralph didn’t immediately back down. Instead, he took just a single step backward and replied, “It’s starting to seem to me that maybe you’re not as all-fired smart as you’ve always said you were. Lately, things haven’t worked out so good for us. The last time you had a plan, it ended up with Marc Andollini putting out a reward for us.”
“Now the territory’s crawling with gunmen and dunderheads and all of ’em trying to figure out who we are,” Ralph said, giving his head a slow shake. Zachery eyed his friend warily. “Now you’re saying we should burn the O’Malley woman’s house to the ground and shoot everybody that runs out. I don’t know if that’s such a smart idea considering all that’s happened lately. Seems to me that Sheriff Dixon’s going to be more determined than ever to find who’s been doing what if he ends up with more dead bodies in his territory.”
Zachery squared his shou
lders, then rolled his head slowly on his shoulders, uttering a long, slow, hissing sigh as he forced himself to relax. “If you’re afraid to be the one to run up there to set the place ablaze, then I’ll do it.” He tilted his Stetson far back on his head, showing the prominent widow’s peak. “Just keep that rifle of yours handy because when I get that old house burning, they’re going to come running out pretty fast. I suppose Marc will be carrying Frank, but with Frank being as big as he is, you can count on Marc running pretty slow.”
Ralph shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What about the O’Malley girl, Zach? Do we have to kill her right away?”
Zachery smiled and sensed that he was again in complete control. “She’s got to be dead when it’s all over. What happens to her from now until then is up to you. But first things first, we’ve got to kill Marc and Frank.”
A slow smiled spread across Ralph’s face, his teeth showing yellow in the moonlight. “I’m with you all the way.”
Zachery looked around the corner of the chicken coop at the house and cursed his lousy luck that Ralph had chosen tonight to grow a spine and defy him. As had already been proven too many times, killing Marc and Frank was a lot easier to talk about than actually accomplish. His first impulse was to run toward the house, but he tamped this notion down, instead walking slowly, cautiously, an unlit torch in his left hand, a Colt revolver in his right.
He went to the southwest corner of the house and stood for a moment, hardly breathing, his back to the wall. Listening, he sought some sign of movement, of life, within the house. He heard nothing. Nothing at all. Part of him felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the prospect of the house being empty. His personal history of combat against Marc Andollini and Frank Bishop suggested that avoidance was the best policy.
Just not tonight.
Tonight it was time to settle old grudges on a series of conflicts that had on only the rarest of occasions ended in Zachery’s favor.
He smiled, holstered his revolver, and withdrew a sulphur-tipped match from his shirt pocket. He scratched the match against the sole of his boot. The match flared to life. He brought the flame to the kerosene-soaked remnants of a bed sheet that was wrapped around the end of a yard-long fence plank. With a small whoosh! the kerosene flamed to life.
Zachery dropped the match and drew his revolver, then went to the nearest window. Slowly, cautiously, he peered into the house, looking between the edge of the window frame and the curtain. The interior was too dark to see anything.
It made perfect sense to him. With Frank dancing on the precipice of death for many days, no doubt Marc was exhausted. Zachery smiled. Soon enough, both Marc and Frank would have eternity to rest.
He took a couple deep breaths to calm himself, then rammed the torch through the window. He was surprised at how little noise the glass made as it broke. The cotton curtain seemed to draw the flame to it. It took only seconds for both curtains to start burning. Then Zachery was moving on to the next window.
He expected to hear shouting by the time he jammed the torch through the second window, but there was only silence inside. When the curtain was in flames, he ran around the corner of the house to the next window. He got the curtain burning, tossed the torch inside, then ran toward the front door of the small house. Soon there would be shouts of alarm from inside the house as Marc and the others awoke to discover the house in flames.
The crackle of old wood coming alive in flames grew quickly. Within seconds, Zachery could feel the heat of the fire. He squeezed the grip of his rifle so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart was pounding. He was ready to cold-bloodedly gun down anyone running out the front door of Colleen’s house.
Only there wasn’t anybody running out.
The house was empty.
Those bastards Marco Andollini and Frank Bishop had once again escaped the trap he’d set for them.
But how? Not even he knew he was going to ambush them until right before he’d ridden out to Colleen’s shitty little chicken ranch.
He waited another ten seconds, then jogged back to where Ralph stood with a rifle in his hands and a nasty sneer on his lips.
“They ain’t here,” Ralph said with undisguised disrespect. “You’re always so goddamned smart, and they ain’t even here. And now you’ve made me more than just a murderer, you’ve made me a house burner.” He spoke the words with slow but increasing volume.
The crackle of the house burning grew louder. The entire interior was now in flames, and fire was licking out through the shattered windows, crawling up the outside of the building.
“Do you know what I am, Zachery? I’m a goddamned idiot for listening to you for so long. Well, here’s some news for you. I’m done listening to you.” He started walking toward where his horse was tethered, stepping through Colleen’s small, tidy barn. “It’s time I do my own thinking, that’s what time it is.”
Zachery looked at Ralph walking away. The thought to shoot him in the back had no more than entered his head than he felt the Winchester’s recoil against his shoulder. He watched his best friend take a single staggering step forward, then turn slowly to face him.
“Zach...” There was more confusion than pain or rage in his expression. The rifle and unlit torch fell from his fingers.
Zachery stood quietly in the doorway to the barn, saying nothing. He hadn’t really planned on killing Ralph. It was just something that...happened. Being criticized, particularly having his intelligence demeaned, was something that had always caused the most feral reactions from Zachery.
Ralph dropped to his knees but remained upright. The confusion in his eyes was slowly transforming into futile anger.
Walking over, Zachery picked up the torch and put a lit match to it. He waited until the torch was burning thoroughly before tossing it into a mound of hay beside the pen where Colleen’s milking cow was showing increasing agitation.
“I may not be as smart as I say,” Zachery said, looking at the kneeling man whose life was slipping rapidly away, “but I’m smart enough to cover my tracks.” He looked at the swelling fire inside the barn. “If you’re so smart, maybe you can answer this. What’ll kill you? The bullet I put in you, or the fire?”
* * * *
The fire had taken the house, barn, and chicken coop to the ground. Though the wood was still smoldering, there was little left to indicate what the structures had been. Various objects remained, charred from the heat and flames as gruesome reminders of what the tidy little ranch had been just the previous morning.
The buckboard had burned completely, but the iron wheels and axels remained upright. The arsonists spared nothing, not even the innocent. There was a single mound in the barn, smelling awful, to indicate where Colleen’s old but gentle milking cow had fallen.
The only building that hadn’t been reduced to ashes was the outhouse. Its pristine condition now seemed almost comical in light of all the carnage.
“We’ve got to get Colleen away from here,” Marc said, standing beside Frank. “Whoever did this was after us.”
“Damned lucky we weren’t here.” Frank tilted his hat back on his head, glancing in the direction of Amanda and Colleen. “What about packing up Amanda and Colleen and sending them to Virginia City. We’ll assign a couple good men to them to make sure they stay safe.”
Marc nodded. “How about Helena? We can put them up in the Montana Rose Hotel. The owner there owes me a favor.”
Frank’s brows furrowed. “Mrs. Grogan owns the Montana Rose. I didn’t know she owed you a favor.”
Under his breath, low enough so that the women couldn’t hear, Marc replied, “Mrs. Grogan had an itch, and I scratched it for her.”
“Understood.” Frank looked at Colleen, who was walking slowly through what were now the ruins of everything she owned. “As much as I’d like to have Colleen alone, I suppose it’s good to have Amanda with her. She’s a good friend, and she’ll keep Colleen company while we figure out who the hell’s trying to kill us.�
�
“Pick a good man to go with them. We’ll use two bodyguards, one of your men and one of mine. Let’s get the girls the hell out of here as quickly as possible.” Marc reached into his breast pocket for his tobacco pouch and papers. “You don’t suppose we’ve got an angry father somewhere in our past, do you?”
Frank shook his head. “No, my bones are telling me this is about something a lot more significant than sex. This is real hatred, Marc. Somebody wants us dead, and they don’t mind if other people die, just so long as we’re among the corpses. That’s what my gut is telling me.”
Nodding, Marc replied, “Your instincts have been right enough times for me to trust them now. Let’s get back to town. I’d like Colleen to be on her way to Helena before noon.”
* * * *
“You’ve got to admit that when we want to get things done in a hurry,” Marc said as he prepared to swing up into the saddle of his fresh gelding, “we sure as hell get it done.”
They had wanted to get Colleen aboard Marc’s private rail car on the Griggs-Loomis Railway and headed for Helena before noon. They got word that the train had left the station while the Lutheran church’s big clock was chiming eleven. Since the normal train on the north–south route wasn’t scheduled to leave the station until three, Frank and Marc had paid the money to rent an engine. The trip to Montana’s wealthiest city was going to cost a small fortune for the two men, but they didn’t hesitate to spend it on Colleen.
“Hey, isn’t that Amanda’s dad over there?” Frank said, his tone suddenly tense. He flexed his bandaged, injured right hand.
Marc looked in the direction Frank had nodded. The man was walking away, his head and shoulders slouched. But there was no doubt that it was Mr. Holloway.
“Leave this to me,” Marc said, though he doubted his request would be heeded. “You’ll only reinjure that wrist of yours, and then where will you be?”
“I can still break his nose with my left fist.”
Maxwell, Brandi - Colleen's Desire [The Lost Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting) Page 16
