Blake Allen

by Danni Roan

  With a heavy heart Mary stepped back into the mission her sturdy heels clicking on the hard floor as she headed for the office and the head of the mission itself, her husband. Barrister would be happy to see Blake, but would her cousin’s presence be a problem if he was looking for a criminal? Only time would tell, but Mary bit her bottom lip as she worried over the problem, and the promise she had made not to tell the rest of the family that he had been injured.

  Meg and Clayton would surely come to Cheyenne to see Blake if they knew he was here, but she had given her word, and she wouldn’t break it unless it was a matter of life and death.

  ***

  Blake ran a hand over his horse’s hind quarters checking his legs for injury and looking to see if he was well cared for. The leggy gelding had been handpicked by his father as one of the best horses on the Broken J, and Blake couldn’t fault the animal. It had seen him through some hard times and the hazy ride to Cheyenne, over rough trails and high plains, had proven the animal’s worth once more.

  “We’re looking after ‘em good,” an older man stepped up to the standing stall, a half peeled apple in one hand and a knife in the other.

  Blake’s, golden gaze flicked over the knife, watching the man’s every move. “Fine horse there ifn’ you wants to sell it, I’ll give ya a good price.”

  Blake let a crooked grin shift his lips. “Not for sale,” he said.

  “Looks like a runner,” the man persisted slicing off a bit of apple and lifting it to his lips with the knife. “Ifn’ ya need some ready cash. Feedin’ him ain’t cheap ya know, especially here in the city.”

  “He’s not for sale,” Blake repeated careful to keep his voice smooth but firm. “I’m rather partial to him. I’d also like my gear, if it’s handy.” He smiled at the edgy hostler meeting the man’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I can pay.”

  “Over here,” the man gestured with the knife, turning toward a small room along one wall. “I ain’t bothered nothin’ everything is still there.”

  Blake cocked his head looking at the man from under the brim of his hat. An hostler wouldn’t get far in a city like Cheyenne if he was dishonest, but this side of town had been slipping into disrepair for a long time. Things could have gone either way, and it was only by chance Blake had found the place.

  “Nice to know,” he drawled lifting the heavy saddle blanket that covered his saddle and unbuckling the saddle bags before hefting them onto his shoulder. “I’ll be in town a while,” he continued casually. “I’d appreciate it if you’d look after my horse.” The lean cowboy dug in his breast pocket and pulled out a gold coin tossing to the man. “That should cover his keep, and there will be more if you promise to keep him until I or a family member returns to collect.”

  The hostler stabbed the apple core with his small knife and grabbed the coin from the air. “If you’re a bettin’ man I could run that roan of yours for ya too.” The words hung in the air a moment longer than the coin had until Blake shook his head.

  “No, I might need him quick and don’t need him tired out. If something changes, I’ll let you know.” It was obvious the man was playing all angles of his trade to maximize profit in this dying business.

  “Fair ‘nough,” the man said, slipping the coin into his pocket and stepping outside.

  Blake watched as the older man finished the apple and handed the core to a horse in a long stall. Once he was sure the hostler had moved on he slipped out of the stable and along the street toward the mission and the door that led to the little house outside the adjacent church. It would be nice to be somewhere he knew he was known and safe. His head pounded as he reached the door, but he smiled happy to be with family for a spell.

  Scanning the street and seeing no one around Blake twisted the knob, pushing the door open only a fraction and slipping inside. Pausing just inside the door the young lawman let a warm sense of peacefulness engulf him. Family meant help, hope, and home.

  Chapter 3

  Blake stepped through the door calling to his cousin as he took in the neat sitting room and tiny dining area on the other side of a short hall.

  “Blake,” A burly man with dark hair and a warm smile hurried down the hall his hand extended in greeting. “Mary said you’d be along, but I didn’t hear you knock.” Barrister Abrams smiled, raking his blue gaze over his wife’s cousin. He had first met Blake as no more than a boy, but the man before him wore a hard look in his wary gaze.

  “Where’s Mary?” Blake asked. “I know she has questions, and I couldn’t discuss things in the mission.”

  Barrister chuckled. “By the way she was chattering on about your appearance, I’d say she has a lot of questions.” The older man pointed to the bandage around Blake’s head. “I’d say you have a lot of explaining to do any way you look at it. How about some coffee?”

  Blake nodded once, following the man everyone called Bar toward the small kitchen, arriving just as Mary stepped through another door.

  “The children are doing their homework,” she smiled, turning to reach for three mugs while her husband lifted the coffee pot from the small stove. “We can have a nice quiet talk and find out what’s going on.” Her serious eyes and raised brows left no room for argument

  Blake shuffled his feet knowing that Mary wanted to know about the wound he had received and why he had turned up in Cheyenne. It wasn’t going to be a happy conversation, but there was no avoiding it.

  “I’m after the Branson gang,” Blake said, as he lifted his now full mug and met Mary Bridgette’s shocked gaze. “I’m young and unknown to them, so it was decided that I would be the one to try tracking them down. It didn’t work out so well,” he finished pointing at his bandaged head.

  “Do they know who you are?” Barrister asked. “Will they be looking for you here?”

  “I don’t think so.” Blake flicked his eyes between his cousin and the man she had married. Bar, had fought in the Great War and had met Mary when she had sailed to France as a Salvationist. Now they ran the old mission church and charity flop house in Cheyenne together.

  “Blake, this sounds dangerous.” Mary reached across the table touching his arm with gentle concern.

  “It could be.” Blake met her bright eyes. “I’ve been trained for this though, and I think I have a plan. Mary, you can’t tell anyone who I am. Don’t even tell the children that I’m here. As far as you two are concerned, I’m just another drifter down on his luck.”

  “What will you do now?” Bar glanced at his wife then back at Blake.

  “I’m going to stay in the shelter and see if anyone there knows where the gang is holed up. That bunch has their finger in half a dozen pies, and I’m sure that two bank heists here in Wyoming have been organized by them. I’m hoping that I’ll find someone who will think I can use work and that I’m not too picky about what kind it is.”

  “Blake!” Mary covered her face with her hands in shock.

  “It’s called going undercover, Mary.” Bar took his wife’s hand in his. “We had plenty of men ‘over there’ who infiltrated the enemy’s lines to get information and help the allies bring the war to an end. Think of the lives that would have been lost if they hadn’t been willing to try.”

  “That’s just it,” Blake agreed. “There is so little information coming to us about this bunch. Most officers can track the small fry, but no one seems to be able to tell who actually backs this gang. I know that at least three people have already died because of their activity, and I have to do what I can to make sure no one else suffers.”

  “It’s a lawless time.” Mary’s voice was soft and her eyes sad as she spoke the words.

  “That’s why I’m doing this, Mary.” Blake took her other hand. “What if men like these showed up at the Broken J? What if you had them right here and didn’t even know it?”

  “We all thought that once liquor was outlawed things would get better. There would be less violence, more men staying home and caring for their families, but it has only grown w
orse.”

  “You can’t legislate or dictate morality, Mary.” Blake turned his amber eyes to hers and squeezed her hand. “The only way men will change is if they let God into their heart. Yes, the idea behind prohibition made sense. Women needed to stand up for their rights, but the more you try to keep people from something the more they’ll want it. It never works. What works is what you two are doing, reaching one man, one heart, at a time.”

  Mary’s smile was weak but heartened Blake. He knew she understood and that his secret was safe with her. He also knew that Bar would keep his ears open and pass on any tips that might help him in the long run. He had tried taking the gang from the outside, now it was time to bring it down from the inside out.

  Chapter 4

  “You look fresh off the turnip truck,” a soft female voice tickled Blake’s ear, and he turned his head trying to see behind him. Even as he swiveled his head, the woman trailed her finger across his shoulders moving to his other side and forcing him to follow her progress until he caught a glimpse of her profile.

  The woman’s dark brown hair was cut short curling under her ears in a sweep of satiny waves, held in place with a wide head band bejeweled with silk flowers.

  “Excuse me?” Blake studied the woman’s pale face and dark eyes as he waited for an explanation. She was thin, and the white flapper dress she wore hung on her, the shimmering fringe, dropping to just above her knees. Blake still wasn’t used to the new styles in the city, and the sheer amount of leg that women like this one exposed, was a bit shocking.

  “I said you look like you’re fresh off the turnip truck.” She giggled her slim, slightly upturned nose wrinkling as she sloshed a clear drink in her hand. “Where are you from?” The brown-haired woman sipped her drink making the chips of ice in her glass jingle with the action as she turned her wide doe eyes on him.

  “Here,” Blake said, shifting on the hard bar stool he slipped onto nearly an hour earlier. “I was born and raised in Wyoming.”

  “Out there in the dust no doubt,” the woman’s voice was a mere huff.

  “If you mean on the prairie,” Blake said, “there’s a goodly bit of it to call home.”

  The smile she offered was so bright it made the heavy gas lighting seem to dim as her tinkling laugh washed over him.

  “I like you,” she said waving her glass in the direction of the bartender who quickly poured another round. “Why are you here?” She placed her empty glass on the polished wood then lifted the fresh drink from the bar and took a long sip.

  “Same as you,” Blake lifted the glass before him sipping the tiniest bit of his drink. He was careful what he imbibed, not only because he needed to keep his head about him, but also because some of the gin brewed behind closed doors could be deadly.

  “You workin’ in the city?” The woman asked. Her voice was growing slurred the longer they spoke.

  “Not steady like.”

  The dark-haired woman raised one perfectly penciled brow and waved her empty glass toward the bar keep once more. “Maybe I can ‘elp.” She hiccupped lightly then grinned.

  “How?” Blake lifted his glass again touching his lips to the rim. “Do you own this place?”

  The laughter that bubbled out of her this time was jubilant as she tipped her head back exposing the smooth expanse of her neck. “Not quite,” she hiccupped again. “But I know who does.”

  Blake felt his heart rate pick up and he placed his glass back on the bar as his hands began to sweat. He had been in Cheyenne for nearly two weeks now picking up odd jobs and sleeping in the mission house as he looked for clues to his quarry. His patience had paid off a day earlier when he had caught the name of this speakeasy in conjunction with the gang’s name.

  “Sure,” the woman grinned swaying slightly and bumping her shoulder into Blake’s. “He’s right over there.” She waved her hand sloshing some of her drink on the floor. “Mr. High and Mighty himself. Do you want a job?” She leaned forward bracing one elbow on the dark bar and meeting Blake’s gaze. “We could use a fella like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yeah, young, unknown, eager.” She stared at him a moment one side of her mouth kicking upward. “You have funny eyes.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Blake grinned at her grabbing her elbow as she swayed on her feet and helping her drop onto the stool next to him.

  A strong hand fell on Blake’s other arm as the hair on the back of his neck rose, sending a shiver down his spine.

  “Get your hands off of her,” a craggy voice growled.

  Blake released the woman’s arm lifting his hands as something hard and cold bit into his back. “I was just helping the lady take a seat,” he spoke softly.

  “Stoff being a prig,” the woman said, her words more slurred than ever. “I’m just having a friendly conversation wif this rube.”

  “Darcy, you know the boss don’t like it when you take an interest in the fella’s here.”

  “I ain’t interested.” A hiccup made her cover her mouth as her dark eyes widened. “The rube needs a job and Pierce said he was lookin’ for someone new.”

  “You lookin’ for a job?” the lumpy looking man asked, stepping around behind the young woman. He had a heavy face with sallow cheeks and a receding hair line, but his eyes glinted like garnet.

  “Yeah,” Blake said, extending his hand toward the other man. “Names Blake, Blake Ares and I could use work.”

  “See Jim, I told you so.”

  “Darcy, why don’t you go to your room and let us men take care of this,” the man called Jim said. “You’ve had too much to drink already, and you don’t want Pierce seeing you sloppy again. He don’t like it.” The lumpy man shot his eyes at a dark corner then back at the young woman.

  Blake watched as the woman sat up straighter placing her unfinished drink back on the table as a flicker of fear flashed in her dark eyes. “I’m not drunk.” She turned looking toward the table where a broad blonde man sat playing cards. “I’m not drunk,” she repeated.

  “Suit yourself,” the muscle said. “Just lay off the hooch, and I’ll see if Blake makes the cut. You ain’t overly picky ‘bout what you do are ya?” Again, the man’s eyes roved over Darcy’s face, a hint of soft light glowing in there depths.

  Blake shook his head and grinned as he lifted his drink and took a sip. “I’m not particular as long as the whisky’s flowin’ and the money’s good.”

  A bark of laughter shook the burly man and he slipped something back into his jacket. “Looks like you got something right tonight, Darcy,” he chuckled again turning and walking away.

  “Huh,” Darcy huffed, her eyes glinting with malice as Blake rose to his feet. “You men, you’re all the same. As long as the good times keep rolling you’ll do just about anything. You’re all worthless.” Her eyes hardened as she met Blake’s golden gaze and hesitated a moment before standing and staggering toward a door at the back of the room.

  Chapter 5

  “Well look-it,” Darcy walked into the bar room the heavy fringe covering her red dress swaying with each step. She was rake thin but held a long black cigarette clip negligently in her hand. “If it isn’t my favorite turnip,” her dark, luminous eyes shone with a fevered light as she leaned against the bar. “Gin,” she growled.

  Blake nodded to the bartender and pulled the lapels of his new suite jacket straight. The dark charcoal pin stripe was a sober contrast to the woman’s flamboyant flame red dress. “Miss Darcy,” Blake’s amber eye roamed the woman’s form with a glint of compassion. She had lived up to her word and had gotten him a job working for the man who owned the establishment. After two weeks of hefting hidden barrels, and dodging nosey cops, he had been promoted to bouncer, not for his brawn, but for his ability to see trouble coming before it arrived.

  He had first caught the boss’s eye when a drunken man began making demands of the bar tender. The patron had been growing steadily more belligerent as the night wore on but hadn’t actually tried anythin
g. He had just staggered to his feet and raised a fist at the bartender when Blake stepped from the back room with a crate of bottles.

  In a flash the young lawman had assessed the situation and acted on pure instinct, jumping over the bar and grabbing the drunken man’s arm before anything more could come of it. “I think you’d better go home and sleep it off,” Blake said jovially, as he grasped the man’s neck in a steely grip. “We’ll all be here tomorrow, and you can have some of the good stuff that comes in tomorrow.”

  Before the man had time to think, he had been hustled out of the speakeasy and into the street, his return barred by the heavy door at the entrance. From that night on, Blake had truly been a part of things happening in this place.

  Again, last night Blake had escorted three loud mouth men from the speakeasy, not only to protect the other patrons from their rising tempers, but also to protect the men themselves from the owner’s wrath.