by Martha Hix
He eased toward the rear of the wagon. “Mind if I get comfortable?” he drawled.
“Do as you please, as long as you’re willing to talk .”
“Wanna help me with my boots?”
“No.”
“Wanna put down that gun?” At her refusal, he said, “Wouldn’t take much for me to take it away from–”
“Ruhig!”
“I don’t suppose that means, ‘Yes, my darling, I’ll stop pointing a loaded weapon at you.’ ”
“Richtig.”
He shrugged, then kicked off his footwear. He shucked his shirt, and she tried to muster her wits against the sight of him. She wouldn’t be seduced by his appeal, not when she was totally angry with him.
It didn’t help, his sliding those britches down his long legs and stepping out of them. Slowly. Reaching to a hook, he hung his trousers up. His naked form, all those sensual movements . . . Maybe they ought to settle this argument in each other’s arms. No. Not tonight.
“I overheard you talking with my brother,” she stated.
“Figured it was something like that.”
Gil sat on the spread bedroll, easing his back against the rear of the wagon. He brought a knee up, rested his wrist on it. The view left nothing to her imagination.
Her blood warming, not with anger, she found it difficult to hang on to the pistol. “I was angry even before I heard you telling him all the things you should have been telling me.”
“Figured as much.”
“You deceived me, Gil.”
“How do you reckon?”
“By writing to my brother.”
He shrugged again. “I had every right, if not my duty, to let him know we were married.”
“You shouldn’t have done it behind my back.”
Gil grinned. “All’s well that ends well.”
“Is that how you look at this? As ending well?”
“It will if you’ll put that gun down and come here.”
“I can see you’re ready. Ready and randy–as usual.”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand across his chest. “And your armor isn’t as intact as you’d have me believe.” His lids went halfway down on his eyes. “I see your nipples puckered through your shirt. I’d like to play with them. Lick them. Suck on them. And a few other choice places as well.”
At his bald words, she refused to allow herself to be swept into his seduction, but the gun shook nonetheless. Two weeks without his lovemaking had made her very ready for it; her yearnings had nothing to do with reason.
Don’t be a Tropf, she told herself. She was not going to be easy prey, not when . . . “We need to get something straight between us.”
“We’ve got something straight going for us. Old Son.”
“Is that all I am to you? Someone to sleep with?”
“I told you in Fort Worth–I love you.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the wagon. Catching her off-guard, he asked, “Who is Otto Kapp?”
“A man in Fredericksburg.”
Gil opened one eye and scowled. “I thought you haven’t had any suitors since that Thom character jilted you.”
This wasn’t the direction she wanted the conversation to lead. “We need to discuss the now and the future. I won’t have you going behind my back, such as writing letters without my knowledge, nor will I allow you to confide in others. Just as it’s my place to be at your side for better or worse, it’s my place to hear your troubles.”
“I won’t allow you to own me, Lisette. And I won’t let you wear the pants. Not here, not later.”
“I don’t want to be the boss. All I want is to be privy to your hopes and fears.”
His mouth flattened. “I hope you’ll stay out of the long arms of the law, as well as Frank Hatch’s path. And I fear that if you don’t, on either score, you’ll put yourself and the child in peril.”
“Gil, I am healthy as a horse.”
“Even horses fall at times.”
“I won’t. And I intend to stay with you. As a partner instead of a handicap. A long time back you said when we next saw Fredericksburg, it would be together. Well, that’s the way it’s going to be with Abilene. When you next see that town, it’s going to be with me at your side. If you fight me, it couldn’t be good for our child.”
“I’ve got plenty of fight. But not tonight.” He exhaled a tired breath. “Lisette, can’t we discuss this in the morning? I’m worn out, and you must be too. Come here, honey, and let’s make like married people.”
“Oooh!” She picked up one of his discarded boots and threw it, catching Gil on the shoulder; this opened his eyes. “You exasperate me.”
“Your timing is poor, sweetheart.” The boot stayed where it had fallen: at the base of his stomach. “I’m fresh out of hearts and roses, so get in bed. Now.”
“Hearts and roses? I know nothing of either.”
“If you’ll give me till after this drive is finished, I’ll teach you about them.”
Without a word, she stared at him. He looked tired and weary. Who wouldn’t be that way, what with all that he had gone through? And what had she done? Chip at him, over and over again.
The floorboard creaking under her feet, she went to him and knelt down. Placing an arm across his chest, she braced on her palm. “Gil, I’d like to know all about hearts and roses.”
He lifted a brow, and she blew an arousing stream of air on his throat. “I’ve noticed a couple of things about you, Liebster.”
“And what would that be?” he asked on a crooked smile.
“You need my help. You’re short-handed again, you’re having trouble with the drive, and I can free Cencero Leal from the chuck wagon. Which might just keep your cowboys healthy enough to get our longhorns to the railhead.”
“You’d make a good cadger, Lisette. You aren’t above any means of persuasion.”
“If I was, we wouldn’t know the joys of being in love.”
He laughed. A hand snaked around her waist. “You win. We’re partners to Abilene. But under conditions. You’re going to take care of the baby. And stay out of trouble, you hear me?”
She grinned at her victory. “That’s the second-best offer I’ve had all night.”
“What’s the first?”
“Mmm, curling up with you and Old Son.”
The next day, Adolf Keller left for the return trip to Fredericksburg. He objected to his sister staying with the Four Aces outfit, but Gil gave his assurances. The longhorns didn’t move out, though. A handful of cowboys were still under the weather. It was four days later that they started up the buffalo-dotted Chisholm Trail again.
Hatch made no appearance during that time, and Gil was relieved. He had enough problems as it was. The heat, the lack of water, the menace that didn’t go away.
Someone continued to slaughter cattle.
And Gil came to the conclusion that someone couldn’t be Wink Tannington, since the one-armed cowboy had been in camp when the latest incident occurred. Hatch wasn’t around; so, who among the men was disloyal?
It ceased to be a major problem. The occurrences stopped.
Luckily, the outfit reached the Red River without more trouble than nature allotted. The longhorns basked in the glory of the river’s water, water, water. Thankfully, the herd got across without loss. Fortunately, the Territory Indians gave little trouble beyond begging for a cow or two as the herd passed over the land between the Red and the Washita.
The hell of it was, it was slow going. Too much heat, not enough water, and a major stampede caused by the boys getting into an argument and firing guns into the air. To a man, the cowpunchers were tired and weary and ready for Abilene.
Still, they didn’t see hide nor hair of Frank Hatch.
Gil began to believe they wouldn’t. A major relief to both him and Lisette.
On the flip side of the coin, Matthias was afraid Hatch wouldn’t show. He wanted to face Cactus Blossom’s killer, and he grew more impatient each day.
>
Two months had passed from when Lisette and Matthias had rejoined the outfit until now. Late July was hotter and drier than ever. On top of that, Lisette was getting bigger and bigger, way bigger than she ought to be at this stage of her pregnancy. And Gil worried about her. Her pale, drawn face caused him to miss sleep.
Each time he ordered her to rest, to take it easy, she got her back up, saying, “I will do my part for our common goal, husband.”
She was one mule-headed German girl.
Tonight, as Gil rode through the fractious, thirsty herd, he kept his bandana over his nose. Dust whirled, making visibility nearly impossible. But he heard noises, suspicious noises from an area around the horse corral. His spurs digging into Big Red, he hurried in that direction.
The dust storm abated; he got a clear look at the trouble.
A youngish Indian–gigantic, brawny, wearing a feather in his black felt hat–had a revolver at Pigweed’s head. He was a familiar redskin from the Crow tribe–the ladies’ man of a sort, Jimmy Two Toes.
And Frank Hatch had a rifle pointed at Gil. “Throw down your gun, McLoughlin.”
Tossing Thelma to the soil, Gil took a survey. A half dozen horses lay inert, their throats slashed. Deep Eddy Roland had his hands in the air. So did Attitude Powell, Toad Face Walker, and Preacher Wilson.
Two Toes and Hatch had them. And they had allies.
“All along, I’ve suspected the traitors in this outfit,” Gil said, glaring at the three. “Thank you, Tannington, Bell, Ochoa, for your loyalty.”
Hatch fired his rifle; the noise caused Big Red to rear. Gil righted the stallion, and he saw the right in getting down from the saddle. If he didn’t, his loyal men might pay.
For Charlwood.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Rubbing her back and blinking away grit from the dust storm that had just ended, Lisette stood alone in front of the campfire when the commotion began. She heard voices across the prairie and the bang of rifle fire. She grabbed her pistol. Running as fast as her burdensome stomach would allow, she wended her way through the herd, but pulled up short when her shoe sank into something soft. Manure.
“Verdammt.”
By the time she’d found a clump of grass and had wiped away all traces of cow leavings, the sounds of trouble had stopped. Nonetheless, she continued on under a canopy of stars, the area close to the remuda her goal.
Nearing the horse corral, she cursed again, this time to herself. Dead horses, men in trouble–Gil among them! Dear Lord, don’t let anything happen to him. Not to him or his men.
What could she do to help?
Making her presence known would be a hindrance. Slowly, determined not to call attention to herself, Lisette moved behind a cow, putting a barrier between herself and the scene. She saw the backs of outlaws. One of them was Frank Hatch.
And then she recognized more.
Wink Tannington, Ochoa, and Jackson Bell–traitors all–were aligned with Hatch and a young, muscle-bound Indian wearing a black hat with a feather in the band.
“Hatch, let my men go,” Gil said. “They’re not part of the trouble between you and me.”
“You pay, they pay. Too bad.”
Gil spoke quietly. “This isn’t Georgia. As I said, what happened there is between the two of us.”
“Georgia. Interesting place. I remember you–quite well. Of course, I remember the first Mrs. McLoughlin, too. Whatever happened to Elizabeth?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Do you suppose she took up with Elmo Whittle? He used to be my overseer at Charlwood, in case you’ve forgotten. He and Madame McLoughlin had a hot affair going in the stables, I remember quite well.”
Although she was some distance from her husband, Lisette could tell that a layer of ice descended on his face.
“I don’t think all of this is over my ex-wife,” Gil said.
“Seems you have a propensity for the same type of woman, McLoughlin. Why, I seem to recall a gentleman in Lampasas, Blade Sharp. Before I put him out of his misery, he said he and your new wife had almost been–shall we say–close.”
Gil’s hands balled into fists. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Hatch went on, “I’ve had an opportunity or two with the sweet Lisette myself.”
That was another lie!
And Lisette almost blurted a protest. It took slapping her palm over her mouth to stop it. Gil, meanwhile, was trying to advance on Hatch.
“Stay where you are,” the Georgian demanded.
Lisette heard a sound from behind and nearly jumped out of her skin. Thankfully, she didn’t scream. It was Matthias, Cencero Leal at his side. She exchanged looks with both, and pointed to her pistol. They showed their firearms. Matthias and Cencero also had lariats in hand.
The unspoken question was, now what were they going to do?
It was three against seven, and Hatch and his fellow rustlers had their guns trained on Gil and the rest of the Four Aces’ crew.
Hatch said, “Pick up the damnyankee’s gun, Two Toes. Get the other ones, Ochoa.”
The Indian thrust Pigweed Martin at Tannington. With his single hand, the Mississippian caught the wagon driver by an arm.
The Mexican stepped forward, grabbing weaponry from Attitude, Toad Face, and Deep Eddy. The one called Two Toes lunged at Thelma.
Just as the brave neared Gil, a long leg kicked out, catching Two Toes. The Indian teetered, his feathered hat tumbling to the ground and rolling in the dust. Gil pushed him and yelled to his men, “Hit the ground.”
They did.
Two Toes struggled for footing. Deep Eddy Roland tossed a rock, striking the Indian’s head; he fell.
Cencero and Matthias urged a couple of cows forward. Jackson Bell tried to get around the cattle, to no avail. Gil grabbed Thelma, then turned her on Ochoa. The Mexican dropped his rifle.
Matthias rushed forward, swung his lariat, divested Wink Tannington of his hold on Pigweed, then lifted his own pistol. Jackson Bell dropped his revolver, begging, “Don’t shoot,” but a steer rushed him; he fell under the onslaught; hooves came down.
Sick at her stomach, Lisette saw Bell’s head being crushed under the steer’s weight.
But Hatch was moving in on her husband.
Sucking in her breath, Lisette lifted her arm, aimed at Hatch. And fired.
Frank Hatch pitched forward.
All of it happened in a blink of an eye.
But, thank God, the scuffle was over.
Jackson Bell was dead. Gil and his men tied up the outlaws. Hatch was not dead, his injury nothing but a flesh wound in the arm.
“Hang ‘em. Hang ’em all!” chorused the loyal men of the Four Aces.
“No.” Gil pleaded for reason. “We’ll let the law take care of these brigands.”
“What law would that be?” asked Oscar Yates.
“The one you and Matt are going to take them to, up in Kansas.”
It went without saying there was no law between here and there. Lisette knew his meaning: with Matthias in charge of Cactus Blossom’s murderer, Frank Hatch wouldn’t make it alive to the authorities.
So be it.
Foiled, I’ve been foiled.
This thought ate at Hatch as the damnyankee’s men tied him in the hoodlum wagon’s hold, along with the others. Amidst a night grown black as a dungeon–at least in his estimation–the wheels rolled over. Hatch would have kicked himself had his legs been free, had his upper arm not throbbed from Lisette’s grazing. Foiled by a woman’s lucky shot. What was his world coming to?
Hell, that was what.
For two months Hatch had toed Delmar Hitt’s line, had kept a distance from the outfit, but had been thirsty for a corner of vengeance, had thought killing a few of the horses plus Tecumseh Billy would bring satisfaction.
Slaughtering animals had seemed simple at the onset; his allies had agreed and had even taken care of most of the gruesome deed. The collie dog, though, had been his own work.
It had felt good. And earlier tonight–mmm!–hearing those horses scream and seeing them fall had felt even better.
Oh, revenge had been sweet.
Had been? It wasn’t over.
“You’ve not seen the last of me,” Hatch yelled to the damnyankee. “I will return!”
Gruene leveled a six-shooter on Hatch. “Be quiet.”
“Shoot me. If you have the testicles to do it.”
Gruene didn’t.
Ochoa said, “You should have leestened to Señor Hitt.”
“Shut up, greaser.”
“Ain’t you the one, giving orders like you knew what you was doing!” Tannington taunted. “You messed us up, Hatch.”
“You didn’t have to go along with it.”
Jimmy Two Toes didn’t speak, simply bestowed one of those ugly Indian looks.
May the devil take him. Hatch sneered. May the devil take all of them. But he needed the Crow Indian, plus the two Southerners.
He eyed his fellow captives. “I feel good about tonight, all things considered. We didn’t get that lead steer, but we made a dent in the horse herd.”
“And got ourselves caught,” grumbled Tannington.
“Chief kill you for stupid,” Two Toes said to Hatch.
“I’ve gotten out of worse trouble than this. I’ve escaped a Yankee prisoner-of-war camp, I’ve slipped through enemy lines, and I got free of a Georgia jail.” All right, it took killing Mother and Mary Joan, but so what? “Delmar Hitt doesn’t scare me a bit.” He smiled. “This is no hill for a stepper.”
Gil watched the hoodlum wagon disappear over a rise, then turned to his wife. Big, big eyes waited for his reaction. He took her hand, led her to an area beyond the cowpath.
Shoving his thumbs behind Thelma’s belt, he stared at the uneven ground. “Do you think–?”
“Gil, was I wrong to shoot Hatch?”
“No.” His only regret? That the bullet hadn’t caught Hatch between the eyes. “Was I wrong in not hanging him?”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
Looking up at his wife, he smiled. “I am.”