The Cowgirl Gets The Bad Guy (Cowgirl Mysteries Book 1)

by Susan Lower

  “Beautiful. Shall we go?”

  “You’ve been to the bathhouse today?” I say it to pull myself out of the fantasy that the gambler is anything but a killer and crook.

  “One’s appearance and hygiene are of utmost importance. I believe you recently visited for a bath?” His brows go up and he’s got me there. The idea of one of the Swanson sisters assisting him with a bath burns in my gut as much as it bothers me to think of Emma Swanson seeing parts of the bounty hunter I haven’t.

  Gah!! It isn’t any of my business. Except now the bounty hunter and I have a deal, so I feel like it does. And the gambler is technically my future husband. I press my lips together, not liking the situation I’ve gotten myself into. There is only one way to choose between these men.

  And that’s proving one of them is a killer. Or at the very least, a no-good cheating swindler. I told the bounty hunter I’d stay out of trouble.

  Lord help me, I just might have lied. Because trouble in Deadwood is impossible to avoid.

  “I’m looking forward to dinner. I believe we have a lot to discuss,” I say, as he opens the door and leads me outside.

  The sun is lowering, and the air is warmer than what I’m used to living in the mountains for spring.

  I see several shop owners turning their signs to lock up. Horses stand tied in front of the saloon, and people are heading to supper, whether at home or at the cafe or hotel.

  “I was hoping you’d let me apologize. I do not want our time together to be spent bickering like an old married couple. Especially, since you have been putting me off from completing the ceremony.”

  The gambler tips his hat to a passing couple. When we come to the hotel, Sherman is at the desk. He averts his gaze when he looks up and spots us. There are candles and white tablecloths on each of the tables in the dining room. The smell of beeswax invades my senses first.

  “The staff has been cleaning all day.” The gambler wrinkles his nose. “Mr. Warner wants the place spotless before the spring festival. Is that something you think you’d enjoy? I’ve never been here for it.”

  I allow him to press his hand to my back and steer me through the tables. The waiter is walking our way, when I notice Mr. Davenport stand and beckon us to a large table in the far corner.

  “Neither have I,” I admit. “We usually come for supplies and leave. Earl isn’t one for staying in town long.”

  “I see.” The gambler pulls out a chair for me as we get to the table. It’s already set for two. Across from us, Mr. Davenport, Daphne, and Mr. Conway dine. I take a quick glance around, hoping to spot Jed Warner and frown.

  “Looking for someone? The bounty hunter perhaps?”

  I shake my head, take a seat.

  “I thought it would be best for the two of us to dine together. Alone.” He takes a seat across from me. It doesn’t pass my attention that across from me, the gambler has a good view of the Davenports and anyone entering the dining room.

  We’re close to the fireplace. A small crackling fire sends enough heat, so I allow my shawl to slide down from my shoulders. It’s black lace and probably out of season, but who cares? Not I.

  “I hear the pot roast is on special tonight,” the gambler says as a waiter comes near. “Is that what you’d like me to order?”

  The waiter is a young man with his hair parted to the side and big curious brown eyes. He never gets to say a word, for the gambler orders a fancy drink while I interrupt and request water.

  I don’t wait for the man to leave before I ask, “Will this be going on my tab or yours?”

  His jaw slacks for a second, then his mask is back on. Those emerald eyes flash at me, and I place my elbows on the table and lean forward.

  “I don’t know what you may have heard, darling, but have no fear. Order whatever you like. It’s on me.” The gambler looks at the waiter. “Pot roast.”

  I tilt my head, think for a moment, then say, “Steak. Medium Rare.”

  “Good choice,” the waiter takes off and I keep my elbows on the table. The gambler has a twitch in his left eye.

  “How was your day?” he asks.

  “Funny you should ask,” I answer.

  He leans back with a serious expression on his face. “You were with the bounty hunter today, Mr. Townes. Tell me, darlin’, do you think he is going to help find your father’s killer? I understand you want justice serviced. It’s the reason you’ve been avoiding us getting married. But I must say, it doesn’t look good for a woman’s reputation to spend so much time with another man when she’s practically married.”

  I rest my chin on my hands. “Practically married? Or married? Seems a lot of folks in Deadwood think we’re hitched already.”

  “As it should be.” The gambler reaches for my hands, and I jerk them back away from him. As I do, the waiter brings our drinks. His arm crosses over the gamblers and with mine pulling out of the mix, the glass of water splashes against the sisters, running down my bodice, and landing in my lap.

  I gasp. The gambler gets to his feet. The waiter fumbles to put down the other drink as the gambler grabs it. “Let’s not go adding spilling wine, shall we? Especially one of this year.”

  My jaw slackens. I feel hands against my sisters and startle as the waiter presses a cloth napkin against my chest.

  “I’ve got it!” I tell him. He’s pressing and twisting, and I can feel the lace piece coming loose.

  “I’m so sorry!” the waiter says. “Please let me help you.”

  “No. Really.” I try to take hold of the napkin, to push him away. Another hand reaches in, and the waiter pulls back. While I hold the napkin, the waiter yanks back the lace, and the gambler’s eyes widen. He turns to shield me from the waiter. In a blink of an eye, he has the lace in his hand, stuffing it in his pocket. “Go on with you, get the lady another drink. This time you’d best make it sherry.”

  “Oh dear.” Daphne Davenport stands beside me. Her hand over her mouth. “How terrible. Are you alright?”

  I grab my shawl and quickly wrap it around me. I stand and the gambler has an apologetic expression on his face.

  “At least it’s water,” I say.

  “There’s a water closet further back. I’d offer to take you to my room, but I’m afraid you’re a much larger size than I am.” She titters and flutters her lashes at the gambler.

  I spy Jed Warner coming from the back. He must have heard the commotion of the incident and came to check on his guest.

  “I suppose I should go try to freshen up a bit. Excuse me.” I head for the water closet when I notice the gambler coming behind me. “Oh no. You stay here. I’ll be but a moment.”

  He glances at the Davenports, now watching us, as is every eye in the room. My neck is growing hot and if it weren’t for the waiter giving me an opportunity to talk with Jed, I might be embarrassed.

  Halfway there, I realize the gambler still has my piece of lace. When I go to turn back, I see him speaking with Conway and Davenport. Daphne seems to hang on his every word.

  “Are you okay, Miss Dean?”

  I turn at the sound of Jed Warner’s voice. “I am. I was just heading to the water closet. Can you show me the way?”

  “Of course.” He points, and we head away from curious eyes. “I do apologize for my staff’s clumsiness. Tonight, dinner is on me.”

  “That’s kind of you, Mr. Warner.” I’m not about to turn down a free meal any more than I am to let someone take the blame where it isn’t entirely theirs. “I do appreciate it. I believe it was an accident on both or parts. Too many moving hands.”

  “All the same, I’d feel better covering your meal.” Mr. Warner stops outside of a door. He’s not wearing a jacket and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He smells like pot roast and grease. I don’t ask him who is doing the cooking. The man has enough things to deal with running a hotel, and I need him to focus during the few moments I have with him.

  ‘I’d best be leaving you to—it.” He seems to have his eye
s glued on Daphne. It’s the look of a starving wolf. Poor Daphne is his prey. I shiver and pull my shawl tighter despite the warmth in the room.

  “May I ask you something?” My question brings his attention back to me.

  “Yes?”

  “The night my father died. You were playing in the card game.”

  Warner’s jaw twitches a little. “We all gambled that night. Some of us took deeper losses than others.”

  “Do you really think the gam—Mr. Weston cheated?”

  A perplexed expression crosses his face. There are circles under his eyes, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should you be asking me this since he’s your husband?”

  “I haven’t said any vows, and you were there. My father put me in the bet. If you were me, wouldn’t you want to know?”

  Warner nods, thinking over my question. He gazes out again to the dining room, then back to me. “We all tried to tell Earl not to give out his livelihood over a full house. I wouldn’t put it past a man like Weston to know how to play his cards right. What happened to Earl wasn’t right, but what I do know is later, he came here. I think he was confused, thinking it was the boarding house. Sherman sent him out, and I heard he went to the saloon again.”

  “My father always did stupid things when he drank firewater.”

  “He was going on and on about all the money he had and how he would live high on the mountain like a king soon. No wonder with the railroad guy here. Only thing holding them up is a few claims of land they need and they’re willing to do almost anything to get it.”

  I shake my head, cover my mouth to keep from screaming.

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. I can see throwing in the claim, but Weston goaded him, asking him if that was all he got. Buck mentioned you, and before we knew it, he tossed you in the pot.”

  “Figures,” I mutter.

  Warner glances behind him. “I best get going to check on the staff. You can tell Weston he can stay in room three tonight.”

  “Wait.” I catch him as he goes. “He’s not staying here?”

  “A man can’t run a business by giving out lodging on credit.” Warner heads in the back and I tend to myself in the water closet. There’s a damp dark mark down my bodice that will have to dry in time. It’ll leave a watermark on the satin. However, I doubt it’s the first time a drink has been spilled on it.

  Back in the dining room, our meal awaits. The gambler holds my chair out and when I’m seated; he startles me by pulling off my shawl. I go to reach for it, and he holds it behind his back. “It’s far too hot by the fire, darling, for you to need this. Now what kind of husband would I be to allow you to become flushed and faint while trying to enjoy your company?”

  I narrow my gaze, wondering what he’s got up his sleeve this time. He sits across from me, the shawl on his lap. Picking up a fork, he cuts into his meat. His eyes sparkling, he takes a bite of his roast.

  I run my tongue across my teeth, knowing full well he’s enjoying the view.

  “I hope you still have your appetite. It would be a shame to waste such a fine meal,” he says after he swallows.

  “Yes. It would.” Not even the times I’d come into town with Pa did I ever get to dine as fine as this. To think I’ve been in the hotel dining room more in the past few days than I have in a lifetime.

  I pick up my fork, placing my free hand across my bosom, and trying to ignore the fact my eyes are several inches above where his gaze is, and tell him.

  The gambler gets up, coming over to my side. He takes my fork and picks up my knife, standing over me and cutting my food like I’m a small child. When he’s done, he hands me back the fork, but then pushes my hair from my ear. “I adore your modesty, darlin’. As your future husband, I assure you, it is quite alright for you to use both hands. Unless, of course, you enjoy my assistance in feeding you.”

  My hand slides down a bit, my eyes going wide as I stare at him. The gambler once more sits on the other side of me.

  “I’m not your wife.”

  “Yet,” he says.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He grins. “Because, darlin’, if you don’t meet me at the church by Tuesday, I’ll see you in front of the Judge.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  His green eyes brighten. “Then I’ll have no choice but to carry you through the streets of Deadwood kicking and screaming. The sheriff, the minister, and no law-abiding citizen will stop me as it’s within my right.” He pats his left side of his jacket.

  My fist curls around the fork in my hand. He’s wrong. There are at least one, if not two, people who’d stop him. Or would they?

  A thought strikes me. I’m still one step ahead of the gambler. I relax my hold on my fork and twirl the prongs on the plate.

  “Did you enjoy your chat with Mr. Warner?” The gambler sounds a little nervous, so I don’t keep him in suspense.

  “He said room three is open for you tonight, if you have the funds to pay. Oh, and my meal is free.”

  The gambler blanches, and I grin, taking a bite of my steak. I hope the bounty hunter is making out okay. Because right now, I think I got the better end of our deal.

  14

  The gambler’s threat still lingers in the back of my mind. I’m running out of time. Tuesday will come before I know it, and I’m no closer to finding my father’s killer and returning to the mountain than I was yesterday.

  Warner’s information might have given me a leg up on the gambler. He’s a smooth one, my gambling man, but he’s not as smart as he thinks.

  It’s cold in the morning. By the heaviness in the air, it’s going to rain again soon. The May celebration is coming up and here I thought we were still in April.

  I spend the morning with Ruby, changing sheets and blistering my hands in scalding hot water to get them washed and ready to use again. We hang them on the back porch. My shoulders ache, but I’m grateful I have a place to sleep at night that I can afford. First Grace at the dress shop, Jensen at the Mercantile, and Warner at the hotel. How many others in town does the gambler owe?

  He’s not much different from old Earl. By what Warner said, my father had to know about the railroad. How? We’ve been up in the mountains since the first snowfall.

  They would have sent scouts ahead. Probably buying up or making offers as soon as they had their plans made to put down track.

  It still made little sense, though. My father wouldn’t have gambled it away, not that much of a sure thing. It made a girl think what was to become of her. If Earl would have sold the land to the railroad, Tail Feathers and his people would have been in danger. And what about me? Would he have still tried to marry me off?

  I’d like to think not, but in my heart, I know he would. Especially if he had other plans that didn’t involve me. Plans with Amaryllis.

  The rain comes. Fat. Heavy. Ugly. Ruby expected the stagecoach to come in by mid-afternoon. She suspects it holed up somewhere to wait out the storm.

  The bounty hunter should have reached the claim by now, and I pray it all went smoothly. The last thing I need is for the bounty hunter to run into one of the warriors hunting or Chitto.

  Something tells me the bounty hunter can hold his own.

  It didn’t stop me from worrying any less.

  I change back into my pants, deciding I am better off without trying to wear a dress. There is no reason for me to go back to the hotel. I doubt Warner would tell me more.

  Ella Mae mentioned Lincoln was out rounding up cattle and Buck would be with him. He’d be back in less than a week. Around the same time, the judge is due to come to Deadwood.

  Had I met the gambler before my father bet me away, I might have seen the man differently. Maybe I would have dragged him to the church. I can’t deny he’s attractive. But then again, would he be interested in me without my part of the claim?

  On the other hand, the bounty hunter did funny things to the inside of me. Maybe because he has no interest in marrying m
e. Why is it a girl could become attracted to two men at once? I’m sure if I talked to Ella Mae’s mother Pearl, she would tell me it was a sin, being the wife of a reverend. I think sometimes she sees me as one of hers and it flatters me.

  I used to dream my mother would come back for me. She never did.

  I sigh, rain or no rain, I put on my hat. First, I stop by the stables. One of my ponies is missing. Hank confirms the bounty hunter took it along with him.

  I’m glad someone asked.

  Also, I discover Hank rented my wagon out. I’ve been in town for almost a week. Since he didn’t sell it, I’m good with him renting it out. It helps pay for the board of my ponies. I visit with Lulu. She’s a pretty mare, mostly white with a splattering of black over her body. She has the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a horse. Her knicker eases some of the strain in me from the last few days. I wrap my arms around her, inhaling the scents of horse, grain, and hay.

  Hank tells me if I’m going to hang out for a while to make myself useful and clean my horse’s stall. There’s hay in the loft above, and I go up to get some for Lulu.

  Up there, I can hear the steady pounding of the rain. It’s cool and a few places on the roof leaks. Below, the barn doors slam shut, startling me.

  I’m about to climb the ladder when I hear voices. I peer down, my heart speeding in the anticipation the bounty hunter has returned, but neither of the voices is his.

  I hang back for a moment, squinting, then I rub my eyes and look again. Putting down the hay, I move out of sight. What is the gambler doing here at the stables?

  I suppose it would make sense he would have ridden a horse into town. I always kind of figured him for a stage riding kind of guy.

  I hear “I’d like to sell them. How much you think you can give me for the pair?”

  I tilt my head.

  “Not much.”

  “Then you can throw in the wagon, too. That will make them worth something, right?”

  Hank’s voice drifts away. It’s too faint. I lean a little and hear the gambler exclaim. “What do you mean, the one is gone? Who took it?”