The Trailrider's Fortune

by Shannah Biondine

  Jace vehemently shook his head. "It was in the cemetery outside a small town. No one around there knows there's any connection between a Mr. J. LaFleur of Kansas City and a boy named Jace Flowers, believed to have died a decade ago. The money was hidden by an outlaw named McAllister. He died the night he buried it. I don't know what happened to his other partners, but since the box was still there, rusty and untouched, I assume they've either died or been sent to prison. No one will come looking for Sparkle."

  "Wilmont's dead," Rafe informed him. "He was my uncle; rode with Slade for a time. Frank Jackson's the last member of the gang unaccounted for. Authorities say he went up to Canada." At Jace's look of surprise, Rafe explained. "In my line of work and with Wilmont bein' kin, I keep up on things. Know all about Slade's men."

  "How odd," Jace said to his wife. "Tom Wilmont's nephew taking up with our Sparkle."

  "Yeah. Small world."

  Now Jace spread his hands and looked earnestly at Rafe. "I felt she was owed the bulk of the money. She worked in hellholes to support me. She was corrupted by it, perhaps not all that surprising. But it's still hard to accept that she became little more than a harlot. I'm glad you're making an honest woman of her."

  Rafe scowled. "That's another thing that needs clearin' up. Sparkle was untouched when I met her. No fella ever bought her—not even me. I'm the only one to ever lay a hand on her. And I've always been a rowdy, incorrigible. My big sister's spent years tellin' me I'm nothin' but wild, my life misspent…so it's my fault if Sparkle's virtue got a bit tarnished. Ain't no call to think badly of her."

  Majesta spoke up quietly. "I told you she loved him, Jace."

  "And it ain't right to think she's not an 'honest woman,' even though I know how you meant that. Sparkle's the first gal who ever treated me with genuine kindness." Rafe couldn't believe he was about to volunteer the next bit of information, but it was pertinent. "I've got a big, gruesome scar takin' up most of my chest. She understood I was touchy about it. A lot of women didn't take to me cause of that scar. It's pretty much impossible to overlook. Sparkle's the first who ever saw me as a man—not a scar. And not just a Colt with a holster."

  Jace and Majesta exchanged looks so open and powerful, Rafe was embarrassed to have witnessed the flow of emotion between them. "I can appreciate your feelings," Jace said quietly.

  Suddenly Rafe was awash in powerful feelings, too. "I love Sparkle. She's everything to me. You got a problem with her marryin' me, knowin' the full truth about who I am and what I done, I'll understand that. But I'll be much obliged if you'd consider her side in this. I came to make peace, hopin' you'd agree to give her away. She'd be real excited if you two came for our weddin'. Ain't set the exact date yet, cause I want to surprise her."

  He laid two train tickets on the coffee table. "And I'd like for you to meet my kin and spend a couple days at the ranch."

  There was a moment of silence. Rafe could only wait and question his own sanity in making this trip. Then Jace awkwardly got to his feet. "How could I have a problem with any man who'd do this for my sister? It took real courage to come here." This time he didn't look to Majesta before speaking for both of them. "We'd be honored, and I'll most certainly give Sparkle away during the ceremony. Good luck, Conley."

  "Rafe," he corrected. "I'll send a wire with the details. Like I said, I'm in your debt." He paused by the front door. "By the way, what was your surgeon's name again? Sparkle mentioned it. Maybe he can do somethin' about my scar."

  "Kent Barlow. He works at the hospital just a few blocks from here."

  * * *

  The man who strode into the examining room was young, immaculate from head to toe, of pallid complexion, and all business. "Good day, sir. You were referred by Jace LaFleur, it says here. How's he doing these days?"

  "Visited the house yesterday, "Rafe answered in what he hoped sounded friendly and calm. "He's gettin' around fine, even works a few hours a week at the library over yonder. Last time I was in town, he was in a wheelchair. Heard you worked wonders for him, Doc. Maybe you can help me. Got this big scar from an old injury. So plug ugly, womenfolk can't hardly abide me with my shirt off. Makes courtin' tough."

  "I see." The doctor focused on Rafe's torso where he'd unbuttoned his shirt, studying the scar tissue with both his eyes and fingertips. "That's quite a nasty keloid. Must have been a serious injury…possibly life threatening. A horrific accident of some kind?"

  "Yep. I accidentally walked into a knife about yea long." Rafe held his palms in mid-air, almost a foot apart.

  Dr. Barlow frowned and probed the raised weal again. "Does it give you pain? Any tenderness or itch?"

  "Sometimes I can't feel a thing. Other times it's real sensitive. Like now." Rafe winced at the continued prodding. "Been like this nigh on six years." Ignoring a transitory pang of guilt for his deception, Rafe let the words flow off his tongue. "I never thought anythin' could be done about it, but Sparkle reckoned maybe you could help, since you're such a skilled cutter."

  Rafe took perverse delight in the instantaneous reaction and hooded misery in the doctor's eyes. There weren't many women named Sparkle—certainly no bumper crop all living in Kansas. He and Dr. Barlow were in love with the same gal. Rafe recognized the anguished look of a man trying to forget her; his own face had worn it for months.

  "I'm afraid she's overconfident in my ability," Dr. Barlow concluded. "There's no reason to tamper with this. A surgical repair would be costly, require you to recuperate all over again, and may not result in any measurable improvement. Your skin tends to build thick, almost excessive scar tissue."

  Now the doctor tugged Rafe's shirt completely off and examine his newer scars. "Some people have this problem. I realize they're unattractive, but I'm afraid I can't help. Another cut, another scar results from it. These look to be from firearms." He cocked his brow at Rafe. "Perhaps a different avocation might be the best way to avoid more scars in your future?"

  Rafe sighed. "Well, reckon you know best. Appreciate your time, Doc." He paid the physician, who turned back at the doorway.

  "Did you happen to also see Sparkle when you visited the house?"

  "Nope," Rafe replied casually. "She doesn't live here now. She's set to marry a fella out in Colorado. Lucky man, ain't he? She's one pretty little gal."

  "Indeed she was."

  Rafe's heart soared. Was! The doctor's reaction proved everything. Sparkle had jilted this city dandy—not a bad lookin' fella at that—in favor of Rafe Conley, who now dressed and returned to his hotel room. Later that night, as he lay in the hotel bed trying to relax enough to sleep, he thought about the full ramifications of what she'd done.

  She'd chosen him, even after he'd abandoned her, cursed at her, nearly shot her. A girl who could have her pick of suitors…she'd finally left the rowdy trailheads behind and had a decent life in the city. He thought of how he'd defended her to Jace, and mentally acknowledged every word of that had been the truth. Sparkle had always been a good friend to him, even when Rafe didn't deserve it. She'd come after him, fought for him, all the while he'd been shunning her. She hung in there until Rafe relented and they'd talked things out.

  Yes, they were together now, with a bright future in front of them. But that was mainly Sparkle's doing. What had Rafe ever done to warrant her devotion?

  Sheltering Sparkle from the first, getting her job back, trying to soften the world around her with the protection of a bogus ring. Keeping his word not to lay a hand on her until she'd wanted it. Going easy on her that first time, making sure she had protection. Making peace with Jace. Being a gentleman on those few occasions wasn't enough to tip the scales. There were so many things on the other side…

  So many unkind, cold things: Sam's death, Sparkle losing her job through her association with Rafe. Slocumb and Nestor and others going to early graves—and some who went to them without Rafe even knowing their names. He'd sent men to rot in prison, used women like Big Al, helped to put that half-dead look in their eyes. H
elped make the Benton Frazers of the world the well-heeled assholes they were.

  What stood up to all of that? Something more had to.

  * * *

  Rafe greeted the same stable boy from the incident with Bowlegs Barker and the Poe twins. The kid told Rafe he was more wary of strangers now, and boasted he'd been saving up to buy his own peacemaker. Rafe winced at the words and handed over a twenty-dollar gold piece. "Forget the gun, Bub. Get a better job."

  Nothing in Wichita had improved during Rafe's absence. Sadie's, Bodacious Jones' and the Lightning Strike were still dumps. Number Eight and the Rusty Nail had men lined up along their battered oak bars clear out the front doors. Fallen angels lounged around half naked in broad daylight.

  Rafe shouldered his way through the batwing doors into the Scarlet Lady. Twenty minutes later, he crossed the street and entered the sheriff's office. The grizzled officer was at his desk; his deputy was tacking up fresh Wanted posters. Rafe slapped Art Thompson on one broad shoulder.

  "Howdy, Art. Frazer's on his way over to swear out a complaint."

  "What now?"

  "He doesn't like the beautifying I done to his nose," Rafe answered easily.

  Thompson fought to disguise a smirk, but kept his voice officious when Benton Frazer stormed in seconds later. "Got to learn to be more careful around those swinging doors, Benton. Hear they pack a wallop."

  "He bwoke my fwiggin nose!" Frazer jabbed an accusing finger toward Rafe. "Goddamned hired pishtol! Told you he'd come after me."

  The marshal frowned. "Conley, Mr. Frazer is one of our most respected local citizens. Did you break his nose?"

  Rafe drawled, "He owes my woman three hundred dollars. Been out to cheat Sparkle since the first time I met her, which you might recall, Art." The deputy nodded. "He let her be abducted. He was supposed to watch over her for me. Instead, he cleaned out her room, sold off her belongin's, and pocketed her back pay. Want the money for her personal effects, plus the hundred she had comin'. Cheatin' Sparkle is the same as cheatin' me."

  "Don't owe no fwee hundwed!" Frazer protested. It was tough to understand him with a bloodied handkerchief pressed to his face. "Two, maybe."

  Rafe shrugged. "Fine. I'll take that, and you can keep the rest of your face the way it is. But if I find out you're lyin', I'll be back to do some more rearrangin'."

  Frazer went back across the street, returning moments later to count out two hundred before glowering at the two lawmen. "You imbeciles! Sitting on your butts while he exshorts money from me. You can be repwaced. If you're not going to do anything about this."

  "Frazer," the marshal intoned, "your saloon can be replaced too. Those temperance wives would love to see it converted to a prayer meeting hall. Best have the doc look at your nose."

  Frazer was still spouting foul words as the other man escorted him out. Rafe flopped into an empty wooden chair and tipped his hat back. "Need a favor, Art."

  "Didn't you just use up a few?"

  Rafe peeled off a twenty-dollar bill from the stack Frazer had just given him. He laid it on Art's desk. "You know, deputy, the local citizens don't appreciate your long hours and dedication. Looks to me like you could use a shave and haircut, maybe a nice hot bath and a hot meal. On the town."

  There was a moment of silence before Art picked up the money. "Now, for that favor," Rafe went on, as if the last words had never been said. "Want you to wire Sparkle, care of the Conley ranch outside Pueblo. I'll go to the bank and have this money sent to her. Send a message sayin' I collected it from Benton Frazer and I'll be back in a couple weeks."

  Art grunted in assent. Rafe squinted up at the Wanted bulletins lining the wall. "Heard from Driscoll or Bregon lately?"

  "Nope. Been pretty quiet. I was hoping you'd be sticking around, but not if you've got a ranch in Colorado. Settled in Pueblo, huh?"

  "My brother's spread. Sparkle's stayin' there temporarily. Been thinkin' about Denver. Little gal wants me to hang up my Colt."

  Art nodded firmly. "I'd listen to her. That fortune teller always was a sharp young thing. She read my cards, and we had us a couple nice evenings." Rafe's eyebrows quirked, which made Art grin. "You're a damned lucky fella. Saw it coming that day out in the street. She looked at you like your boots were made of pure gold."

  Rafe wondered how he'd missed it…if there'd been a clue pointing to some liaison between Art Thompson and Sparkle. Then he recalled how Art had enjoyed an eyeful of her naked breasts in the monkey hall. Why was it everywhere Rafe went, he ran into another man with a yen for his woman?

  Maybe the fact his woman was beautiful and had that twitch in her bustle…

  Rafe got to his feet. "You run across Driscoll or any freelancers, have them wire me care of Zach Donaldson at the First Bank of Omaha. I'm in touch with him pretty regular. Think I'll send a wire to Bregon's pa back East. Got a business proposition for a couple of guns interested in steady work."

  "Turning over your hunting grounds? Shit. You'll be missed. Much as I hate paying you two compliments in one day, damned few men have your talent with a peacemaker. Good luck," Art said with a lecherous wink. "And say hello to Sparkle for me."

  "Like hell I will."

  CHAPTER 27

  Sparkle had spent a good part of the late afternoon arguing with Travis about a barn dance at one of the neighboring ranches that night. She didn't want to go. She'd been feeling an indistinct worry, a vague sense of something hovering just on the far horizon. It wasn't like her to be moody, but she just didn't feel up to socializing.

  "I could take a long hot bath without needing anyone to stand guard, since you and the men will all be gone," she tried reasoning.

  Travis ran a hand over his slicked-down hair, then set his cowboy hat at a jaunty angle. "Listen, I need you to come along for another reason. Miss Sweeney'll be there and I want you to read her cards, put in a good word. You know, tell her fortune and say somethin' like her destiny's tall, dark and handsome."

  "I don't know, Travis. It—"

  "Doesn't seem so much to ask. You been livin' here for weeks now. Just one favor."

  Sparkle saw it was a losing battle. "I'll get my cards and my shawl."

  She spent hours smiling at townspeople she didn't know, telling fortunes at the Anderson's big barn dance that had followed an outdoor cookout. She'd helped Mrs. Abbott prepare several double batches of johnnycakes for the occasion. They and her card readings seemed quite popular. Though she hit a minor glitch when Travis came up and introduced her to a young girl named Pearl Sweeney.

  She was indeed attractive, every inch much like the gem she was named for—pale skin, light eyes, and lustrous white-blonde hair. But all wrong for Travis. Sparkle had read his fortune, too, and had seen a dark, unusual woman in Travis' future. Not this ethereal, pampered blonde. But she knew better than to tell him that. Clearly he was taken with Miss Sweeney.

  Sparkle had just laid out her cards for the girl and was about to come up with several standard phrases she knew young girls liked to hear when a murmuring broke out and the music stopped. People began to part like two forks in a stream, and there came the rock dividing them. Rafe.

  "Howdy, darlin'. Miz Abbott knew where I'd find you."

  "Rafe, you're back!" She practically threw herself into his arms. He kissed her, the fiddles started up again to the laughter and hoots of the rest of the gathering. Pearl Sweeney and Travis were momentarily forgotten, but after a briefly passionate reunion, Rafe growled in her ear, "Get your things. We're leavin'."

  "But I—"

  "We're goin' back to my cabin. Get your things."

  She certainly wasn't about to debate. She muttered an apology, knowing her face must be bright red—could it be any more obvious that she and Rafe couldn't wait to tear each other's clothes off?—and tucked her cards away before knotting her shawl.

  Rafe led her outside and hoisted her up onto his lap after he'd mounted the sorrel. "I've missed you, and Snatch too," she said with a smile, patting the horse. R
afe didn't say a word, just set his spurs to the stallion's flanks and they trotted back to Crockhead Rest. He let her down outside the cabin and led Snatch back toward the barn.

  It was here, Sparkle realized with a numb sense of shock. That vague unease hadn't faded away with Rafe's arrival. It was worse, almost palpable. Something was wrong and it terrified her. She took off her shawl, stirred the embers in the rock fireplace, and added a new log. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night…and not in the purely sensual way she'd at first hoped.

  He stepped inside the door and she got a good look at his face. "You've changed your mind," she stately plainly, feeling the dread certainty in the pit of her stomach. He looked like a condemned man.

  "About what's best for you. Ain't marryin' me. I think you should take that offer out in Californ."

  "Rafe, what's happened? Clearly something dreadful must have, or—"

  "A puling boy, Sparkle. That's what happened. How the hell…? Didn't he have anybody with a lick of sense around him to tell him it could be suicide? Gave him every chance to just walk away, but he wouldn't, and I—"

  She cut in before he could say it. "You killed a young boy?"

  "I shot him in the leg. Enough to make him drop the damned rifle, but the point is that's exactly the kind of situation that could happen again. And what if you were with me, what if he actually got off a shot and it hit you, instead? I couldn't take that, Sparkle. I just can't…"

  Then his words were gone and he dropped straight to the floor, moaning and sobbing.

  Sparkle stared in horror and disbelief. Rafe was never unsettled by gunplay. He never seemed to have any remorse or qualms about doing what he had to do to survive, or to complete a contract. His lecture about being like a wolf or other predator, cleaning up the world for everyone else to live in a safer place. It was…

  This is how much he loves you. He needs you. You're the only one who can turn this around and lead him out of this vicious cycle.