He thought he had it all planned. But Callie—His lips twisted in a snarl at the thought of what she’d done, and how close to success she’d come. Whoever would’ve suspected the little baggage would try to—to murder him! With a pair of scissors, no less.
She’d always been too smart for her own good. He should not have underestimated her. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
He climbed the front steps and put his key in the lock, quickly letting himself in out of the cold. The inside of the house was almost as icy as it was outside. He hadn’t had the money to pay the coal bill this month, again, and they would extend him no more credit.
He opened the door to his office, crossed the frigid room, and sat behind his desk. He took the telegram out of his pocket, re-reading it once more.
MISSION FAILED STOP WILL KEEP TRYING STOP LETTER TO YOU SOON STOP
A smile curved Treadwell’s lips. A letter, he assumed, bearing the explanation as to why the marshal and the girl still lived. He pursed his lips. Risky business, killing a Federal marshal. He was sorry he’d hired him to begin with. But, he’d panicked. He hadn’t known who to contact to bring Callista back to him. Now, he didn’t want her back. He wanted her dead. If only he’d known about the trust dear Ellie had set up for the girl sooner. The only way to get it was to see Callie in her grave alongside her dear departed mother.
He sighed. He’d already hired Marshal McCall. Jumped the gun, so to speak. He’d have to do away with him at the first opportunity. There was no doubt that Callie had convinced him of her innocence. Blocker had stated in his last communiqué that McCall and Callista were headed toward Amarillo. Either McCall was helping her escape, or he meant to bring her back—at some point—and get things straight with the man who had hired him. For McCall surely knew, by now, that he’d also hired Blocker to completely wipe out the trail of what he’d done by doing away with the evidence—Callista and the marshal.
He was beginning to think it might be easier to take care of this business himself. Yes. That might be the thing to do, to ensure success. If you wanted a thing done right, you had to do it yourself. And this had to be done right.
****
“Marshal? A word?” Captain Tolbert walked the few remaining steps to where Jax stood beside his horse, cinching the girth tightly.
Jax barely spared him a glance. The captain stood awkwardly, waiting for Jax to face him. He strapped on his saddlebags. “State your business, Captain.”
“About last night—I’m sorry it came to what it did.” Tolbert said ruefully. “We could have both avoided looking like dock street brawlers if you hadn’t come after me like you did, Marshal.”
“Four men, Captain.” Jax finally turned to look at him, and was satisfied to see that Tolbert’s face looked far worse than his own. “Is that how they do things at West Point?”
Tolbert flushed hotly. “No matter what you may think of me personally, Mr. McCall, I am a soldier, to the core. And I am an honorable man.”
“Who imposes his code of ethics on the world around him.”
Tolbert shrugged. “Say what you will, sir, I did as I saw right and proper. Now, you must do the same. When you leave here, you may annul the marriage. I only wanted to keep my neck out of the noose, and I took steps to prevent a situation that could eventually come down on all our heads.”
A rush of anger blazed through Jax. He took a step toward the captain, then checked himself.
“You pompous self-serving son of a bitch! Don’t tell me you were worried about the consequences to anyone but yourself.”
“You don’t agree that it’s better Miss Buchanan leave here as your wife rather than your—whore, Mr. McCall?”
He barely had time to finish his sentence before Jax blacked his other eye with a hard right that knocked him to the ground. Jax crouched beside him, and drew his knife, holding it at the captain’s throat until Tolbert stopped struggling.
“I was wrong, Captain. It only took thirty seconds. Not much of a fighter, are you?”
Tolbert panted hard, his eyes filled with helpless fury.
Jax continued in a low voice, his teeth clenched. “You ever call her a whore again, Captain, I’ll kill you, and it won’t even be a challenge, soldier boy.” He let go of Tolbert with a rough, parting shove, then stood up slowly, re-sheathing the wicked-looking blade. Tolbert rose stiffly from the dusty ground, then bent to retrieve his hat. Without another word, he turned and strode away.
Jax watched him go, his hand moving to his side unconsciously for a moment, then he walked back to his horse. His eyes met Sam’s who sat in his usual seat on the stage, his shotgun pointed at the captain’s back. Jax gave a reluctant smile, nodding at Sam. “Thanks for the backup.”
“Ah, hell, Jax,” Sam laid the shotgun at his feet. “You didn’t need it. You beat him like a drum, that’s for sure.” He looked after the captain’s retreating figure. “Damn bastard.” He jumped lithely down from the coach and walked to where Jax stood. “He told us—me an’ Trey—’bout what happened last night. Should I offer congratulations?”
After a long moment, Jax smiled. “I guess so, Sam. That might be the only way I’d ever’ve convinced her to marry me.”
“Sure seems like she cares an awful lot for you. That’s what it’s all about, ain’t it, Marshal?”
“Why, Sam, I believe there’s a healthy dose of the philosopher in you.” Jax teased. A dull flush began to creep up Sam’s neck. Just then, MayBell came out of her bungalow. She spotted Sam, and a smile lit her features. It made her almost pretty, Jax thought. She hurried over to where they stood. After a moment, Jax made his excuses and walked away to give them some privacy before Tildy arrived.
Callie appeared momentarily, her valise clutched in her hand. She hurried to Jax when she saw the tell-tale red stain on his shirt.
Seeing her worried frown, he looked down, noticing the blood. Must’ve torn open the stitches when he’d thrown that punch. He hadn’t even felt it, he’d been so angry. He cursed softly and raised his head, meeting Callie’s eyes for a brief instant. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got to get on the road.”
Callie started to protest, but was interrupted by Tildy Rienholdt’s sharp voice as she scolded MayBell for “fraternizing with the hired help.”
“MayBell Rienholdt!” Tildy thrust her stout arm through Maybell’s and pulled at her. “You’re getting almost as shameless as—” she glanced up into Jax’s steady gaze, “—as some other people we know!” She pulled the young woman a few feet away and whispered loudly, “He’s a shotgun rider for a stage line! He’s not for you, dear.”
Sam regarded MayBell’s aunt silently for a moment. Jax could tell he wanted to throttle her, but held himself in check. He took a deep breath, then stepped over to where the two women were conversing.
“Miss Rienholdt—” he began. The two women turned toward him, Tildy unleashing her vicious tongue on a new victim, as MayBell dissolved into tears.
Jax muttered a curse under his breath and strode toward where the three stood. “Miss Rienholdt?”
Again, both Tildy and MayBell looked up, but it was evident Jaxson’s angry glare was for Tildy alone. She bristled as he stopped a few feet away from her, standing beside Sam.
“Whatever you have to say, Marshal, I’m not interested. MayBell is my responsibility.” She spoke primly, putting her nose in the air.
“As long as I’m riding with this stage, you’re all my responsibility, Miss Rienholdt. I trust you remember our conversation a few nights ago at the station?” He raised a brow.
“Yes, I do. You were so rude I doubt that I shall ever forget it.” She sniffed.
Jax hid a smile. He’d have to go about this a different way. “Miss Rienholdt, it’s plain to me that your niece is ill. Can you not see it?”
Tildy turned and peered closely at MayBell.
“Oh, yes, Auntie. I feel awful. I need fresh air, and—”
“If it’s something catching, we don’t wan
t the other passengers exposed any more than they have to be, ma’am,” Sam put in. “I’ll be glad to let her ride up top with me and Trey. We won’t let no harm come to her.”
“Well…I don’t know…” she turned her gaze suddenly back to Jax, who eyed her with indifference. “What do you think, Marshal? Will it be safe?”
Jax gave her a sardonic smile. “I’ll be riding point for you all, Miss Rienholdt. I’ll be the first one to catch an arrow if the Apaches change their minds about letting us through.”
“Is that…likely?” she asked anxiously.
“Possible. But not likely. Miss MayBell will be fine up top with Sam. She looks like she could use the fresh air.”
“Well, all right,” Tildy conceded reluctantly. “But just for a while.” She turned to walk to the stage, and Jax gave Sam a knowing look.
“Thanks for the backup, Jax,” Sam murmured with a wide smile. “I owe you.”
“No, Sam. Now, we’re even.” Jax clapped the other man on the shoulder and walked back toward the stage to where Callie stood, waiting. “Still glad to be Mrs. McCall, Callie?” He smiled and gave her a quick kiss.
She didn’t return his smile. There was worry in her expression, tension in every line of her body. “I’m hoping I remain Mrs. McCall for a long time, Jax. Do you—Do you really think there’s any danger that Blue Feather might go back on his word?”
Jax sighed and looked away. “No, Blue Feather won’t. But some of the others were none too happy at his letting us go free.” He hesitated, then, “Yesterday at the creek, I had a feeling. Gut instinct. Something was out there. If those soldiers hadn’t come when they did…”
“Be careful, Jax. Please.”
He grinned at her. No one had ever worried for him like she was at this moment. No one had ever loved him as fully and honestly as she had last night. He was beginning to trust the relationship, and enjoy it.
“I will, Callie,” he bent to kiss her. “Go on and get inside.” He nodded toward the stage where Trey waited to hand her up into the interior.
She started to say something, then seemed to change her mind before she turned away. Jax watched her go, wondering at the look she’d given him. It had carried an odd mixture of many things—puzzlement, worry…and disappointment.
A bugle call split the cool morning air. Jax followed Callie toward the stage, watching as Trey helped her inside. The driver turned to look as a cadre of soldiers quickly prepared their mounts to leave the fort. He met Jax’s eyes with a look of disdain.
“The captain has decided to gift us with an escort halfway to the next station,” he muttered. “Guess he figgers it as an apology for what he done—the weddin’ an’ all.”
Jax gave a caustic snort. “Well, we’ll take it, I guess, Trey. Apology or not, I’ve got an uneasy feel about this leg of the journey.” His eyes strayed to where the soldiers were mounting in readiness to ride.
Trey nodded. “Know what you mean, Jax. I’ve felt that way ever since we met up with Blue Feather and his bunch.” He shook his head in remembrance and passed his hand over his face. “I sure didn’t think we’d get out of that with our scalps. Wouldn’t have, either, if it hadn’t-a been for you.”
An escort of forty men. Tolbert was expecting some kind of trouble, of that there was no doubt, and he himself was leading them. That surprised Jax a great deal. With grudging respect, he realized the captain had meant what he said earlier. Tolbert was a soldier, as he’d claimed, to the core. And he was trying to do the right thing.
Jax thought of Crooked Elk’s scowling face, the disgruntled gestures he had made when Blue Feather had released them to continue, unharmed. Blue Feather was a powerful leader, but Jax knew there would be little loyalty among his men. Crooked Elk had been on the verge of challenging him even as he granted the travelers safe passage. There would be no quarter given should Crooked Elk seize leadership.
Jax brought his gaze to bear on Trey once more. “We may not be so lucky next time, Trey,” he said bluntly. “None of us may live through it if they catch up to us again.”
He swung into the saddle and rode slowly through the garrison gates, followed by forty pony soldiers and seven worried travelers.
Chapter 18
The cadre of mounted cavalrymen helped ease Jax’s worry, but only minimally. The back of his neck prickled as they rode. The Apaches were out there…somewhere. It would have been an easy thing for them to have gained the forward advantage during the night. Jax scanned the horizon constantly. The land was familiar to him. He appreciated its stark beauty as well as its unexpected dangers. He’d be a fool to dismiss the probability that his gut instincts were right about the Apache. In his mind, there was no doubt—they were out there, waiting.
By early afternoon, they stopped at the next stage station to switch their team and eat. Jim Landers, the station owner, unharnessed the team. His wife, Mary, did her best to come up with extra provisions for the grateful soldiers.
There was no chance for Jax and Callie to speak privately, but they ate together at one of the long trestle tables, surrounded by boisterous cavalrymen.
Callie didn’t have much appetite. She only picked at her food. Jax gave her a questioning look.
“I-I’m just not very hungry,” she murmured, surprised he’d noticed her lack of enthusiasm for the meal.
“It’ll be a long time until dinner, sweetheart.”
“I know,” she smiled self-consciously. “I’ll take a biscuit with me, just in case.”
“Are you sick, Cal?”
Callie shook her head. “No. Really, I’m fine, Jax.” But she could see that didn’t believe it.
“You want to ride along with me a while?”
She couldn’t hide her delight. “Really? Do you mean it?”
He laughed at her reaction. “Sure, sweetheart. I mean it.”
When they left, Mary Landers brought out a worn blanket and gave it to Callie. “Here, hon. You can throw this around you until this rascal buys you a proper coat. It’s too cold to be riding in this weather with no wrap. It ain’t fancy or pretty, but it’ll keep you warm.” The woman’s blue eyes were kind.
A sudden lump formed in Callie’s throat at the gesture. “Thank you, Mrs. Landers.”
“Call me Mary,” she said, patting Callie’s shoulder. “Jax and Bren are like family to us. Now, you are too.” She turned to Jax. “Speaking of Brendan, where is that brother of yours? We haven’t seen him since late spring.”
Jax shrugged. “It’s been five or six months since we’ve crossed paths, Mary. You know Brendan. Always volunteers for the toughest assignments, keeps to himself. I don’t worry about him anymore. It was making me old before my time.” He grinned. “If you see him, tell him to wire me in Amarillo. We’ll be there a few days.”
“All right, Jax, I will. You take care of yourself—and Mrs. McCall,” she added, nodding toward Callie.
“You ready, Marshal?” Trey asked.
Jax turned. “Don’t let us hold you up. Callie’s riding with me for a while. We’ll catch up.” Jax swung up into the saddle, pulling Callie up behind him. With one last wave, they galloped out behind the cavalry escort and the stage, soon overcoming them and riding to the forefront.
Callie’s arms tightened around Jax’s waist and she felt him tense. Thoughtless, she chided herself. Immediately, she released the pressure across the place where Blue Feather had cut him, and he relaxed.
“Jax, do you ever complain?”
He glanced around at her. “What do you mean?”
“Do you ever say, ‘That hurts’ or—”
“Only when I want you to move lower, put your mouth—”
“Jax!”
He grinned, then became serious once more. “As a young boy, I was taught to ignore pain. I’ve had…lots of practice over the years.”
The avoidance in what he was not saying was obvious.
“Your father? Was that where you learned to ignore it?” It was a shot in the dark, but f
rom the way Jax stiffened under her fingers and next to her thighs, Callie knew she had guessed right.
“He was…brutal,” Jax responded finally. “But, no. Even before Bren and I went to live with our father, we had plenty of training.” He gave a sardonic grin. “Being half-white in a Cherokee camp was not ideal. We had to grow up pretty rough.” He paused before he said, “There was no room for a childhood, like you had.”
“Why do you suppose your father was like that?”
Jax drew the horse to a halt and half-turned to look at Callie. “Don’t worry, Callie. I’m not the man my father is. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way he treated Brendan and me. Even his other children by his wife didn’t fare well. He was a son-of-a-bitch to everyone.” He looked away.
“Especially you, being the oldest.”
“Well, I wasn’t really the oldest. It seems my old man couldn’t keep his pants buttoned. I’m not even the oldest bastard. He has another son, two years older than I. But,” he shrugged, “he finally relented and married Jeremy’s mother. Sort of an effort to keep his white family together, I guess. They had four more children along the way.” He scanned the horizon as they waited for the stage and their military escort to catch up. Callie could see the old flare of pain in his expression briefly.
“Jax, what happened to you and Brendan?” Callie blurted.
He turned in the saddle at the hitch in her voice, giving her a wry smile. “We got out of that hellhole. Just not soon enough.” The bitterness in his expression let her know he’d never forget it, whatever it had been.
“What did he do to you?”
“After we’d been there about six months, we realized he was never going to change. No matter how we hoped for it.” Jax looked away from her.
“We tried to run. Brendan hurt his ankle, so we were traveling slow. The old man caught up with us. He’d always been heavy handed, but…that day was the worst.” Jax shook his head.
“I was fourteen, Bren was twelve. We thought we could take him on, I guess. Maybe it was just desperation, I don’t know. He beat both of us senseless, then he tied us behind his horse and made us run—or be dragged—back to the ranch.”
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