“Has Grace notified Buttrum?” Ryder asked.
Royce nodded. “He’s on his way.”
Ryder nodded again. “Good. He’s friends with the mayor. We’ll need him to make the case for Jo and her plan to the town council.”
“Dodie is leaving in the morning,” Royce said, his jaw tight, his arms folded over his chest. “I suppose you know she wants to leave with these carny people.”
Ryder pressed his lips together and nodded. “She talked about it.”
“I could toss her over my shoulder and pack her home.”
Ryder nodded. “I thought about that too.”
“She’d just run off, I s’pose,” Royce said.
Ryder nodded again.
Royce heaved a weighty sigh. “Cleantha is going to kill me,” he said, head down and kicking the bedpost with the toe of his boot.
“I s’pose she’ll send a few arrows into my hide too. I was supposed to be taking care of her.”
Royce’s head came up, brown eyes blazing, brows drawn together in a fierce pucker. “Yes, yes, damn it to hell, you were. I’m gonna use that as my defense. Melody promised she’d come home at Christmas for a long stay. She reminded me I wouldn’t see her until Christmas if she’d stayed at the school. You know how she is, she reasoned me out of my objections and left me no choice but let her have her head.”
Ryder snorted and again suffered a sharp stabbing pain to his neck.
Jo stirred and pulled herself up, her eyes full of sleep, her hair down over one eye, pink creases on her cheek from the chenille bedspread. “Ryder?” She reached up and laid the back of her hand to his temple and then his forehead, and sobbed.
“I think we could use some food,” Ryder said, the fingers of his left hand brushing the hair out of her watery eyes.
“No fever,” she said in a grateful whisper and moved up his body to press her cheek to his.
Ryder wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and looked to Royce through a veil of tears. Royce backed out of the room and closed the door gently behind him.
»»•««
“You aren’t eating,” Ryder said, his fork dripping with venison and gravy, mouth open to catch it all. His eyes, however, were focused on Jo and her bowl of untouched soup.
“You should be eating this soup, not me,” she said. “You’re the one who just went through a night of high fever and delirium. You’re recovering from a bullet wound. You have no business eating solid food. It should be chicken broth and calf’s foot jelly for you.”
He nodded and shoveled the savory food into his mouth. Closing his eyes, feigning rapture to put on a good show, he chewed and swallowed. “All the more reason to replenish, build up my blood with some good hearty food. Have some,” he said, pushing his plate toward her. “You’ve lost weight since you arrived at that school. They don’t feed any of you the way they should. But you’ll soon change that,” he said and forced a smile he didn’t feel.
Jo picked up her spoon, put it down, and took a dainty bite of her bread and butter. “I wish,” she said, examining the contents of her soup bowl, but didn’t finish the thought.
He shifted the pillows behind him, set his fork down on his plate, and cleared his throat. “It’s getting dark. You should go. You can’t stay here, Jo. People are going to talk. You can’t afford to set tongues wagging if you want to take over the school. We have to think of your reputation.”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes flew open. The stricken, hurt look on her face tore at his heart. “Well,” she said, chin out. “I don’t give a snap. I’m staying right here.”
He shifted. “Come on. You want to run the school, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to maintain your reputation. Staying here in this room with me, a single man and you a single woman, will ruin you. If it hasn’t already. We can say I’ve been sick, and you nursed me from the brink, but I’m gaining my strength fast, and you’re tempting me with your feminine wiles.”
“Oh, pish tosh, tempting you my…my…my…”
“See, I’m a bad influence. You wanted to say, ass, didn’t you? Come on you wanted to say ass.”
She burst out laughing. “You come on,” she said, barely able to catch her breath. “You’ve been sneaking in and out of my tent for weeks. And we’ve…we’ve…well, we’ve gotten to know each other very well.”
“That is an understatement.” She had turned a very pretty shade of pink, and couldn’t look him in the eye. “You know I’m right, Jo. This isn’t your little tent—this is a public hotel. The whole town is watching. Go down to Telt and Royce’s room, say your goodbye’s to Dodie. She’s leaving in the morning.”
Jo pulled back, opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and then said, “So you know about her dream?”
“I do, and so does Royce. He’s going to let her go. Of course, our stepmother, Cleantha, will kill us for not stopping her. But yeah, we have to let her go. She’d run if we tried to make her stay.”
Pushing the comforter aside, he thought to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d moved too fast. The walls waved like water. Swimmy, he adjusted the sling holding his arm and tucked the comforter up under his armpits. “In my coat pocket, look in my coat pocket.”
Jo found his coat, the one with the gaping, jagged hole in it, blood stains running down the length of the right arm, hanging up on a hook on the back of the door. In the inside pocket, she felt a roll of paper and brought it out. “Ryder, this…this is money.”
“Yeah, Jaynes paid me off. I almost forgot about it. Give it to Melody. Don’t tell her it was from Jaynes. No one needs to know where I got it. I was going to turn it in, but no one knows about it. Melody should have it. We gave the best damn show ever. She was spectacular. She deserves it. It’s her pay for a great show. She can put it away for an emergency if things get tough. She can get away and not have to sell anything, like her horse or her self-respect.”
“You should give her this yourself.” She stuffed the roll of bills back in his coat pocket. “Didn’t know you were a coward. No, Ryder, you need to give her the money yourself.”
He shook his head. “If I give it to her, she’ll probably take it as an insult or something. Throw it in my face. Big brothers are obtuse and a pain in the butt, I’ve been told.”
Jo laughed and laid down beside him on his good side. He put his left arm around her. “You have to go. Really, you have to,” he said. She turned her face up, placing little kisses to his chin, his jaw. Unable to resist, they joined in a long, slow kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Footsteps, a herd of footsteps on the stairs below and a pounding on the door brought Ryder to his senses. Dodie burst into the room, wide-eyed, and she plastered her back to the door. “Jo, get under the bed.”
Ryder snorted and chuckled. “What?” He pulled Jo closer, even though she struggled to sit up.
The sounds of raised voices and footsteps on the landing below grew louder. Dodie grabbed Jo by the arm. “Get under the bed, Jo. Now.”
She grabbed Jo by the arm and dragged her off the bed. Jo stumbled to right herself. Dodie shoved her to the other side of the bed and pushed her down to her hands and knees. “There’s room. They won’t see you. Hide. They’re coming, and I can’t stop them.”
Ryder sputtered ineffectually and tried in vain to right himself. Jo disappeared from view, sliding belly down to the floor beneath his bed. He raised himself up using his left arm and opened his mouth to give his sister a blistering scold. The door flew open, and a flood of reporters swept into the room. Three men toting tripods with box cameras and six reporters wedged themselves into the small space. Dodie took up her position at his left side, her hand on his bare shoulder, a benign smile pasted on her lips.
An avalanche of half-baked questions toppled over and on top of each other. “Mr. McAdam, how do you feel? Is your wound serious? Give us the details. What made you suspect? Why did you join the circus? Where is Miss Buxton
? Is she the same Miss Buxton who helped you capture the Payasos train robbers? How is the girl’s school involved in all of this? Were there more abductions? How many girls did they get? Was Circus International involved in human trafficking? How did you manage to uncover it?” Nine male voices, all at once, mingled in a mishmash of noise. Ryder slumped back on his pillow. Feeling more than a little sick, he regretted eating that big meal.
“Gentlemen, please,” Dodie said, very quietly, very politely. “My brother is recuperating from a bullet wound. One question at a time. We’ll start with the reporters in the back and on the right.”
A huge burst of light exploded, filling the room with the smell of flash-powder and a cloud of smoke. Ryder, his eyes squeezed shut, coughed. They all coughed. Another burst of light and another. Dodie, blinded, fumbled to open the little attic window behind her and fanned the smoke away. Facing them, Dodie told them, “That will be enough of that. You may have more photographs tomorrow when my brother is feeling stronger. One question each. Begin. You there in the back with the glasses, ask your question.”
“You and your little brother are Indians, how is it you’re not on the reservation? Does Pinkerton know you’re an Indian?”
Unprepared for a frontal attack, Ryder felt bereft of speech. Dodie took command. “For your information, and I want the rest of you to get this correct in your columns, I am not his little brother, I am a female. My name is Melody, M-e-l-o-d-y, Rain McAdam. I do trick riding in a circus. I wear trousers. Yes, we are half-breeds, our mother was a full-blooded Cayuse, the daughter of a chief and our Scottish father trained and bred horses. My brothers and I were adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Royce O’Bannon of Laura Creek.”
Ryder put his left hand on her arm. “My name is Wind Ryder, R-y-d-e-r McAdam. I went to work for the OR&N, that’s the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, at age fourteen, guarding and overseeing payroll shipments. At eighteen, I aided in the capture of an OR&N company embezzler. Mr. Pinkerton sent me to a special school for investigators in Chicago.” He closed his eyes and eased up to a stronger sitting position. “To save time, perhaps it would be best if I gave you a statement.”
The reporters nodded eagerly.
“Authorities have been chasing the Payasos gang from Arizona to Idaho for over a year. They moved into Oregon in late summer.”
“My sister is a student at the Ascension school.” Ryder stopped to gather his strength and straightened. “Are you with me so far?” he asked, more as a way to give himself time to correlate the sequence of events in the most efficient manner he could muster. The reporters lifted their heads from their notepads and nodded. “My sister reported three failed attempted abductions at her school over the past year. The abductions were reported by the girls to the superintendent and the principal of the school, Ira Jones and Ester Jones respectively. The Joneses dismissed their claims. That raised the alarm in my mind.”
“What about Miss Buxton? How does she fit in? She was on the train. She shot one of the Payasos gang members. Did she kill him?” asked one of the reporters from the back of the room.
“While in Baker City I learned Miss Buxton had taken a teaching position at the school. We traveled on the same train. I informed her of the attempted abductions. And yes, she was very courageous. She did indeed shoot one of the gang members, a lady, a relative of Mrs. Jones, in the foot to stop her from making an escape. As you already know, Sheriff Longtree, Mr. Buttrum, my father and myself captured all of the train robbers.
“I’ll supply you with a list of names. My father will give them to you later. In every town the circus performed, a report of a missing girl came to light within days of the circus leaving town. In the Port of Portland, on board the Oracle, the ship owned by Omar Jaynes, port authorities discovered several children, a few men, and seven young women being held prisoner. I’m pleased to report they have all been returned to their families. And no, I don’t know their names. I don’t believe they will be released to the public. I’m getting very tired.” He closed his eyes for a moment, deliberating with himself how much he should say about Jo.
“Through investigation, we discovered an abduction of Miss Buxton was planned. The circus arrived. My sister and I infiltrated to gather information and to gain the confidence of our suspects. With the aid of my father, Royce O’Bannon, and Sheriff Telt Longtree of Laura Creek, we thwarted Miss Buxton’s abduction and captured the Jayneses, alias the Joneses, in the act.
“Abel Jaynes enlisted my assistance to take out the deputies guarding his relatives who were being held in the Cherry Grove jail. Again Royce O’Bannon and Sheriff Telt Longtree foiled his plan. We faked the slaying of the deputies. When I opened the cell door, Mr. Jaynes and his cohort stepped in. I locked the door. Mr. Abel Jaynes drew a small derringer and shot at me. I sustained a minor injury.”
“We want to hear Miss Buxton’s side of the story,” said an obnoxious, pinched-faced reporter by the door.
“Miss Buxton is resting,” said Dodie, giving Ryder’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “If you would all go down to the front parlor, I’ll see if she is feeling up to meeting you there. Please give us a few moments. It has been a very long couple of days.”
Grumbling, the horde retreated out the door and down the stairs. Ryder slumped down into his pillow and closed his eyes. “My God. Where the hell did they come from?”
“Pinkerton,” said Royce from the doorway. “He’s spreading the word far and wide. Promoting the genius of his agency.”
Using her elbows and palms, Jo inched her way out from under the bed, huffing and grunting. “Genius?” she said, making it up to her hands and knees. One hand going to the side of the bed to aid her, she attained a standing position. “Some genius. You’re a rash, is what you are, Ryder McAdam,” she said, wiping the dust bunnies from her skirt and blouse. “You couldn’t keep your affliction to yourself. Oh no, you like to spread the rash around to your loved ones so we could all suffer fear and anxiety together.”
“What am I going to do,” she said, half crying, half laughing. “Look at me. I’m a mess, covered in dust—my hair—my hair, what am I going to do with my hair? And…and there’s a dead, dried up mouse under there.” She shuddered and gagged, pointing to the head of the bed, right about where her head would’ve been.
“Here,” Dodie said, coming up to her and plucking a goose feather from her hip. “Sit down. I’ll help you with your hair. We’ll get you cleaned up a bit. Daddy Royce will take you down the back stairs.”
Chapter Thirty
Jo left the room without closing the door. Royce tried to take her elbow, but she jerked away from it and gathered up her skirt to march ahead of him down the back staircase.
“She’s mad,” Ryder said, folding his left arm over his eyes.
“Yeah,” Dodie said. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else for her to hide, you don’t have a wardrobe in here. “She’ll cool down.”
“No, it’s not having to hide under the bed, it’s my way of life. It’s no good, Melody. It’s no good. I can’t ask her to be my wife. I can’t give her a home. I don’t have anything of value to give her, no property, nothing. My life is unpredictable and dangerous. What kind of husband could I be to her? I’d be gone all the time.”
“Oh, pooh. You’ll never know unless you ask. I think she’s scared, scared of herself, scared to live the unknown. We all are.”
Ryder lowered his arm and studied his little sister. In the last two months, she’d changed, matured right before his eyes. “There’s something for you in the inside pocket of my coat, take it. Keep it as insurance against the day you’re given the choice of having to sell your horse or your saddle to survive.”
“Riddles?” She scowled at him, hands on her hips, and shook her head at him but did as instructed.
The roll of bills fit neatly in the palm of her hand. The expression of pure astonishment, black eyes big as saucers and mouth agape, made him grin. “My ill-gotten gains for a job well done,” he said.
She ruffled the edge of the fold, hands visibly shaking. “How much is this? Where did you get all of this?”
“Jaynes. He admired my accuracy with a blade. And my pragmatic way of doing business.”
Dodie, a silly lopsided smirk on her pixy face, tossed the roll of bills up and down, catching it like a ball in the palm of her hand a few times.
Ryder had a question to ask, but did he dare? She might kill him for it, but he had to know before she left the protection of her family. “Melody,” he said, “do the Millers know you’re a girl? You told the world today. Those reporters are going to put it in their papers.”
She shrugged her shoulders but didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Mrs. Miller wears trousers under her skirts. When they aren’t performing, she doesn’t bother with the skirts. She caught on to me right off. I didn’t fool her for a moment. She didn’t say anything until I asked them if I could join them. The boys were disgusted ’cause they thought I was one of them. Even better, a true wonder. Her husband slapped me on the back, congratulated me on pulling off a good joke.”
The back of his throat tightened, the words stuck in his throat. “You’re really leaving? You’re going tomorrow.”
She nodded, her eyes cast down to her boots. “I have to,” she said and came to give him a hug. “I have to go. Twyla-Rose and Grace are meeting us in the dining room for supper. I promised Daddy Royce I’d be his little girl tonight.”
»»•««
Holding her hands tightly in front of her waist, Jo faced the press. The cape draped around her shoulders hid most of the dirt and grime on her white blouse and skirt. Dodie had performed a miracle with her hair, arranging it in a beautiful twist at the base of her neck in the back. The cameras flashed, and the men’s ogling faces disappeared in a bright smoky yellow glow.
Jo and the Pinkerton Man Page 19