by Connie Mason
“Without a body, they can prove nothing.” He pressed the gun against her ribs beneath her cape. “Open the door and walk down the stairs quietly. Don’t try anything funny. The sheriff is already half-convinced your mind is unstable. If you force me to shoot, I’ll tell him you tried to kill me and were shot in the scuffle for the gun. Your ranch will be all mine then. So you may as well accept this without making trouble.”
He pushed her from the room, grasping her arm with one hand and holding the gun against her ribs with the other. Except for the clerk, the lobby was empty when they walked through the front door. He pushed and pulled her along the street, checking his watch as he crossed the road and headed to the stagecoach station. They arrived just as the stage was loading passengers.
“I’m Samson Willoughby. Has our luggage arrived from the hotel?” Willoughby asked the stationmaster.
“It’s being loaded now, sir. You and your wife can climb in and make yourselves comfortable. The stage will leave in about fifteen minutes.”
“I need to make a purchase from the drugstore next door. Do I have time?”
“Plenty of time, sir.”
“Come along, Zoey.” He shoved the gun against her side, forcing her to move with him. Zoey wondered what would happen if she made a break for it and ran. Surely Willoughby wouldn’t shoot her in front of all these people, would he?
“Don’t even think it,” he whispered against her ear as he pulled her toward the store. “I’ve taken all I’m going to from you.”
“Why are we going to the drugstore?” Zoey wanted to know.
“You’ll see,” he said cryptically. “I don’t intend to spend four days trying to subdue you. I’m going to make this easy on myself.”
Zoey had no idea what he was talking about … until she heard him ask the store clerk for a large bottle of laudanum.
“You wouldn’t dare!” she blurted out as he paid the curious clerk for his purchase.
“Here’s a little extra for you,” Willoughby said expansively as he pocketed the bottle of laudanum and handed the clerk a crisp five-dollar bill.
“No!” Zoey cried, truly frightened now. What would the laudanum do to her baby?
“Come along, my dear,” Willoughby said for the clerk’s benefit. “You know how excitable you are. Your imagination is working overtime. You’re going to make yourself ill. My wife suffers from spells,” he said as an aside to the clerk.
Without further ado, Willoughby hustled Zoey through the door and into the street. Before she knew what was happening, he pushed her into the alley between the drugstore and stagecoach station, pressing her against the brick wall with the weight of his body. Carefully opening the bottle of laundanum, he held her face between his hard fingers and forced her mouth open as he poured a generous amount down her throat. He held her in his viselike grip until she swallowed and her wild thrashing subsided.
Zoey fought with all her might to escape Willoughby’s hurtful grip on her face. But in the end he had his way. He held her nose until she swallowed. The bitterness made her gag and she tried to vomit but couldn’t Her eyes watered and her mouth went dry. Her head spun dizzily and then her legs turned to rubber beneath her.
Willoughby caught her limp form in his arms and left the alley, noting that the stagecoach was making ready to leave. “I’m sorry we’re late,” Willoughby told the driver, “but my wife took ill. One of her spells,” he apologized for the benefit of the other passengers. “She has them frequently. She’s a weak creature and her mind is unstable. But I can’t bear to part with her, so I keep her with me and do my best to keep her calm.”
“It’s a hard ride to Montana, sir. Will your wife be all right?”
“Oh, yes, the doctor prescribed liberal doses of laudanum when she gets like this. She’ll probably sleep during most of the trip. I’d appreciate it if you could make arrangements at the way stations for me to stay with my wife at night. She might become hysterical if she awakens and finds herself with strangers.”
“Are you sure she should be traveling?” the driver asked with concern.
“She’ll be fine, just as long as I’m here to take care of her. I’ll put her inside the coach. I see you’re ready to leave.”
Zoey’s nightmare continued. She was rarely awake long enough to realize what was happening. During the scheduled stops between cities, when passengers took to the woods to relieve themselves, Willoughby carried her to a secluded spot, let her take care of her needs, then incapacitated her again by forcing her to swallow more laudanum. Too groggy to protest and too weak to fight him, she was literally at his mercy.
During one of her more lucid moments, Willoughby said with obvious relish, “Everyone on the stage pities me. They think I’m a saint for putting up with a crazy woman who mutters strange things and makes wild accusations.”
Zoey knew it was true but couldn’t find a way to combat the effects of the laudanum. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that Willoughby hadn’t touched her physically. She may have slept in the same bed with him, but her clothing was never mussed and she awoke wearing the same clothes in which she had fallen asleep.
Even while under the influence of laudanum, Zoey had tried to convey her desperate situation to her fellow passengers, especially during the few times she’d been able to think and speak coherently. But Willoughby would simply give her a pitying look and shake his head, as if to say his wife wasn’t in her right mind.
And then, before she could say anything else, the bottle would be pressed to her mouth and soon afterward she’d fall into a black void.
Rolling Prairie was the last stop on the route. All the passengers except Zoey and Willoughby had gotten off at various stops along the way. Zoey awoke slowly from her stupor, confused and befuddled. She was lying across the seat, trying to focus her eyes, when she saw Willoughby dozing across from her. She pushed herself into a sitting position, trying to gather her wits, when she saw his eyes snap open.
“We’re almost home,” he said. “Once you’re at the ranch where my men can keep an eye on you, you’ll no longer be dosed with laudanum. Unless you give me trouble.”
“People will wonder what’s wrong with me,” Zoey said. Her brain was dazed, her eyes glassy.
“You’re going to be sick when I carry you off the stage. Sick enough to be confined to the house. Old Doc Tucker will corroborate my diagnosis as long as I keep him supplied with whiskey.”
He pulled the bottle of laudanum from his pocket.
“No, please! No more. You’ll harm my baby.”
Willoughby went still. “Baby? You’re expecting your lover’s child?” The harshness of his voice, the coldness in his eyes, were intense.
“I’m expecting my husband’s child,” Zoey told him, regaining some of her old spunk. Suddenly it dawned on her that she hadn’t told Pierce he was going to be a father. She’d meant to, but passion had taken hold of her, and then it had been too late.
“That changes everything. Your recovery is in grave doubt,” Willoughby said, forcing her to swallow the vile concoction despite her vigorous objection. “I haven’t decided on your fate yet, but killing you shouldn’t be any more difficult than killing your father.”
Zoey fought through the fog enveloping her brain, clinging to Willoughby’s words with frantic desperation. What had he said? He killed her father? Her silent scream of rage echoed through her mind before she sank into a quagmire of murky darkness.
Chapter 19
Pierce was released from jail on the same day Zoey and Willoughby arrived in Rolling Prairie. Sheriff Wilkins returned Pierce’s guns with a curt apology.
“Sorry about this, Delaney, but a sheriff can’t be too careful. Strangers in town usually mean trouble. The mayor of Dry Gulch confirmed your identity in answer to my telegram, and I could find no wanted posters out on you.”
“I told you, but you didn’t believe me,” Pierce charged.
“You were caught in bed with another man’s wife. I
n the future I suggest you find a single woman to lavish your attentions upon. The Willoughbys were on their honeymoon, for God’s sake.”
“Zoey is my wife, not Willoughby’s. Mark my words, Sheriff, nothing good will come of this delay. I only hope I’m not too late.”
“Too late for what?” Sheriff Wilkins called after Pierce.
Pierce didn’t bother to reply as he headed for the livery to get his horse. He figured he could reach Rolling Prairie in three days. That would be seven days from the time Willoughby and Zoey left Butte. He hoped to God he wasn’t too late.
Zoey opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. For the first time in days, her eyes focused and she could think. Not clearly, but at least she could put her thoughts in some kind of order. Her gaze flitted from object to object, settling on the dresser, which held the silver-backed brush and mirror her father had given to her on her sixteenth birthday.
Home. She was home and lying in her own bed.
She rose to her elbows, trembling from the effort and cursing the effects the laudanum had on her system. She was wearing her shift, and the thought that Willoughby, her father’s killer, had removed her dress made her shudder with revulsion. She forced herself to sit at the edge of the bed, painfully aware of the pressing need to relieve herself.
Suddenly the door opened. Willoughby stepped into the room and smiled at her. “So you’re finally awake. It’s about time.”
“Where did you sleep?” Zoey asked, eyeing him narrowly. She didn’t want him anywhere near her.
“Not with you,” he sneered. “Not while you’re carrying another man’s child. I moved my clothing into the room next to yours.”
Zoey’s relief was instant and profound. “How did I get home? Who put me to bed?”
“I fear I gave you too large a dose just before we reached town. You’ve been sleeping for the better part of two days. I put you to bed and assigned my man Tubbs to keep watch should you awaken and try to escape. I’m off to the bank now. I’ve passed the word in town that you’re seriously ill and may or may not recover. Doc Tucker is telling everyone that you picked up some fatal disease on our honeymoon.”
“You killed my father!” Zoey accused, suddenly recalling his hasty confession in the stagecoach.
“So you did hear me,” Willoughby said. “I wondered about that.” He shrugged explansively. “No one will believe you.”
“Am I to be confined to this one room?” She had to find a way to escape before Willoughby did away with her, she’d be of no use to Pierce dead. She suspected Willoughby had already dispatched men to intercept and kill Pierce, so she had to act fast.
“You’re probably hungry. You may have access to the kitchen until I decide what to do with you. Tubbs will make sure you don’t get any ideas about leaving. You’ll find little in the way of fresh food in the kitchen. Ask Tubbs to bring you something from the cookhouse pantry. It’s been fully provisioned. I don’t intend to return tonight. I have a dinner meeting with a business associate from Lewistown. I’m thinking of opening another bank in that city. I’ll stay in town tonight and bring out the rest of my belongings tomorrow.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Zoey said tartly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he returned shortly. His words held a wealth of meaning, none of it good for Zoey.
“Pierce won’t let you get away with this.”
“Your lover will be of no use to you once he meets up with my men. He won’t reach town alive. I’m leaving now. Behave yourself.”
Zoey wanted to hurl the water pitcher at Willoughby’s skull, but resisted the urge. She had to keep a level head if she wanted to save Pierce.
She rose slowly, fighting wave after wave of dizziness and nausea. She took care of her more pressing needs, then struggled into her clothing. She chose a pair of denims from her closet, hoping the tight pants would still fit. They did, except for the waist, which came within an inch of closing. To hide the gap, she donned a flannel shirt with long tails. Then she opened the bedroom door and peered into the hall.
A man stood at the top of the stairs, lounging against the wall. He was big, had a smashed-in nose, and looked mean.
“Where do ya think yer goin’, Miz Willoughby? I’m Tubbs. The boss told me to keep an eye on ya.”
“I’m quite aware of Willoughby’s orders,” Zoey said, unwilling to show any weakness. “I’m going to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.”
“I reckon I’ll just tag along to make sure ya go where yer supposed to,” Tubbs said. He fell in behind her, and whistled his appreciation of her form.
Zoey found the kitchen cupboards bereft of everything except coffee, lard, sugar, flour, salt, various spices, a tin of corned beef, and a tin of peaches. She made coffee, opened both tins, and ate hungrily. While under the influence of laudanum, she’d eaten far too little to sustain both herself and her child. Tubbs never took his eyes off her while she ate.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Tubbs?” Zoey asked, pretending friendliness.
“Don’t mind if I do. Baldy is a lousy cook. Can’t even boil water without burning it. I sure hope the boss hires a decent cook soon.”
Zoey’s attention sharpened as an idea took root in the deep recesses of her mind. The plan she hatched was risky and could work only if all the elements were available.
“I’m a tolerable cook, Mr. Tubbs. I’m accustomed to cooking for hungry ranch hands. Bring me some fresh meat from the cookhouse and I’ll fix you and the men a meal tonight you won’t forget.”
Tubbs was instantly wary. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m not accustomed to sitting around and doing nothing. I can bake biscuits that will melt in your mouth. And pies. I have dried apples, flour, and sugar on hand. I can make stew with the meat you provide,” she said with sudden inspiration. “There are potatoes, turnips, carrots, and onions in the root cellar. I put them down there myself before I left. How does that sound?”
Tubbs’s mouth began to water. A meal like the one Zoey just described sounded too good to be true, but he wasn’t sure the boss would approve. “I don’t know. The boss said—”
“Did he say I was to be confined to my room?”
Tubbs scratched his head. “I reckon not.”
“Then what can it hurt? You and the hands can enjoy a decent meal for a change. Just bring me the meat and I’ll do the rest.”
“There’s a fresh haunch of venison in the cookhouse,” he said after some thought. “One of the boys brought in a buck yesterday. I’d hate to see Baldy ruin it like he does everything else.”
“Then it’s settled,” Zoey said. “Go get the meat and I’ll do the rest. How many men will I be cooking for?”
“Seven counting myself. Don’t try anything funny while I’m gone,” Tubbs warned. “The boss said you might make trouble.”
“Do I look capable of making trouble?” Zoey said, batting her long lashes at him.
“I’ll be back directly,” Tubbs said, eyeing her with distrust He hesitated for a minute, and then headed toward the door.
The moment he stepped out, Zoey rushed upstairs. She had to work fast, before Tubbs returned and became suspicious. How this day ended depended on her ability to find the one vital ingredient that would make her stew an unforgettable meal.
Zoey went directly to the room Willoughby was using. The bed was unmade and his wrinkled suit lay in a heap on the floor. Quickly she searched through the pockets, disappointed when she failed to find what she was looking for. She went to the dresser and saw that Willoughby had already made himself at home, filling the drawers with his clothing and personal belongings. He must have brought them out yesterday while she was sleeping off the effects of laudanum. She rummaged through each drawer carefully and found nothing.
Where is it? Zoey wondered, growing desperate. Surely he wouldn’t have taken the bottle of laudanum with him, would he? If he had taken it, her plan was doomed to failure. Moving to the closet, Zoey opened the d
oor and saw a neat row of suits, with shoes and boots lined up beneath them.
Every one of Willoughby’s pockets was empty, and Zoey knew true despair. Could he have hidden the laudanum downstairs in one of the cupboards? Not likely, she decided. His mind was too devious. He’d never place it where she could easily find it. Then her gaze fell on the shoes and boots. One by one she picked up each shoe and turned it upside down. Nothing. The first boot she picked up yielded the prize Zoey had sought. She nearly whooped with joy. The bottle of laudanum was nestled in the toe. She held it to the light and was thrilled to find it half-full. More than enough to put seven men to sleep and keep them snoozing all night.
Pierce must be close to Rolling Prairie, she thought as she tucked the bottle into her pocket, riding into an ambush staged by Willoughby’s men. Zoey knew she wasn’t capable of stopping the men without help, though she was certainly willing to try, but she had to be practical. There was a child growing inside her to protect.
Not long ago, on a trip into town, she recalled hearing that Governor Edgerton had assigned a federal marshal to the town of Roundup, which lay a scant twenty miles east of Rolling Prairie. He’d been placed there to control the Vigilantes of Montana, who were raising havoc in the territory. Zoey figured she could easily make Roundup in three hours. Then all she had to do was convince the marshal to go to Pierce’s aid.
Zoey returned to the kitchen scant minutes before Tubbs returned. He placed the haunch of venison he was carrying on the table and sat down to watch her.
“I’ll need some wood for the cookstove,” Zoey said as she retrieved a huge pot from a storage cabinet. “I’ll cut up the meat while you fetch the wood and start a fire in the cookstove.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Tubbs said slyly. “I’ll cut the meat while you fetch the firewood and start the fire. I don’t trust you with a knife.”
“Very well,” Zoey said agreeably as she went to the woodbox and removed several sticks of wood. Tubbs wielded the knife with dexterity while Zoey built a fire in the stove.
