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

by Susan Lower

  “Someone shot my father.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” Miles adds a little more sugar to his coffee. It wouldn’t surprise me if the only thing they drink back east is tea.

  I can feel the pressure on my chest. It’s a hole in my heart I think will never heal. It’s a sore spot I will have for the rest of my life. First, my mother abandons me when I was young. Earl gets shot and tries to marry me off. I got no family left.

  Oh, if I don’t start welling up to cry. I sniffle, take the napkin Ruby placed beside my plate, and dab at my eyes. I will not cry over Earl. Closing my eyes, a deep breath forces it back. The man tried to sell us out and trade me off. Anger, hot and steady, replaces the sorrow in a flash.

  “I’m not.” I stuff the napkin in my mouth. Did I say that out loud? By the expression on everyone’s face, except the bounty hunter, I’d say I did.

  “You have every right to be mad,” Ruby tells me. “Jo’s father made a deal before he died and it’s caused Jo more grief than Earl’s passing,” she explains to Miles.

  He eats it up, like the egg custard. Hanging on every one of Ruby’s words, he listens intently. How can a man seem so fascinated by someone’s misfortune?

  “Any suspects to who done it?” Miles finishes his coffee. Ruby makes a mean cup of black water that can bite back. Miles added enough sugar to sweeten a water trough. Lightweight.

  “Sheriff Bentely is working on it. In a town like this, they could be long gone by now.” The bounty hunter shed his duster when he came back to Ruby’s place. He rolled up his sleeves, and the pale forearms didn’t match his tanned face.

  “You get a lot of killing here?” Miles grips his cup.

  “We get the usual.” Ruby gives a warning look to the bounty hunter. “They shoot it up at the saloon on Friday and Saturday nights, but our sheriff does his best to keep it contained.”

  “Lot more people coming with the railroad.” Miles fiddles with the cup.

  “Most won’t stick around.” The bounty hunter leans back. I’d almost think he was relaxed.

  “Some of us can’t leave.” I cross my arms.

  “Because of the killer?”

  I nod.

  “Not a soul you suspect?”

  Ruby offers Miles more coffee, and he declines, awaiting an answer.

  “Oh, I have a suspect.” Then I shut my mouth. I shouldn’t share anymore information with a stranger. Miles Clark wasn’t even in the territory when my father was found dead. It wouldn’t harm none to tell him. It’s public knowledge.

  “You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s staying here, too.”

  “The gentleman in the room on the other side of mine?” Miles asks.

  “He’s no gentleman.”

  Slowly, Ruby gets up. “While that might be true, Jo, I know I taught you better than to accuse someone without evidence.”

  Ruby, too? He got to her in the matter of the time he rented a room. I hold up my healing hand. Money seems to sway even the best of people.

  The bounty hunter remains stoic. He peers over at me, long and hard, as if he’s drawing a picture of me in his mind. Maybe it’s the curtains behind me. Ruby drew them closed as soon as the sun started setting. She’s got two oil lamps burning at the table and the soft glow against her skin highlights her age.

  The bounty hunter and Miles talk more about the town, suspects, and I notice any information not public knowledge is kept from Miles’ ears.

  When the meal is finished, Ruby gets up to clear the table. Miles offers to help her with the dishes. The bounty hunter gets up and slides on his duster.

  “I take it you’re leaving.” I feel all domesticated standing up. While the bounty hunter may not be my partner in life, he’s still my partner in tracking down my father’s killer.

  There is much we need to discuss.

  I don’t want to spook him again. I need his help to find this killer in the next three days. The pressure is on me, not him. His way of life doesn’t swing in the balance.

  I still need to know why he was with Davenport.

  “I’m going to the saloon to see what I might find out. Weston will most likely spend his evening there, or at the hotel gambling.”

  “You know he’s staying here, he’ll come back.”

  For a man who never smiles, he’s lips twitch and I swear they’re about to crack, then they go straight again. “So will I.”

  The way he says it, the ideas it strikes in my mind will land me in jail. I’m almost certain they’re against the law, but it’s too late. My blood is heating.

  He heads around the table. I take a moment to shove those thoughts into a jail cell of my mind and lock them away. For later.

  A girl is allowed to dream.

  I cut him off at the doorway.

  “We need to talk.”

  Yep, I sound like a nagging old wife. Earl used to tell me all the time how my mother nagged him about everything. The shack, the lack of gold, the cold, and sadly, me.

  “Listen, about the cafe.” He pauses a moment. “It’s not wise to ask a man like me a lot of questions.”

  I asked one. Apparently, that was too many. “Why is that?”

  “Because one day it could get you killed.”

  Killed. Is that what happened to his wife? Suddenly, my lips go dry.

  “I don’t mean any harm.” I want to be his friend. If I’m honest, I want more than friendship, but I’m willing to ride this out and see where it goes.

  “Neither do I.” I believe him. I shouldn’t. Men like the bounty hunter are dangerous. They’re killers for hire. This one preferring to stay on the good side of the law. I can feel it in my gut. The bounty hunter might not want anyone to know it, but he’s good down to the core.

  I’ve seen him at church and a man who goes to church is one redemptive of his deeds.

  Then he adds, “Don’t think for a moment you’ll get anything past me.”

  “Past you?”

  “I know your secret, Dimples. I rode into that mountain. You said there were families in need of those supplies.” He puts his hands on his gun belt. “Or should I say, rogue warriors? Families don’t normally request tobacco and whiskey.”

  How did he find out?

  “Medicinal purposes?”

  Ruby doesn’t allow guns in the house, which is why I keep Shorty hidden in the bed. The bounty hunter is different. Maybe because he was once a ranger. Maybe because he’s here so much that Ruby trusts him. Or maybe because Ruby is afraid of asking him to lock it away in her safe, she allows him to keep it on him.

  Either way, he’s got me. A quiver starts in my chest and vibrates down my arms. I fist my hand and wince, holding it up.

  The bounty hunter pulls his duster to smooth it over those broad shoulders.

  “One warrior shadowed me up the mountain.”

  Chitto!

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I decide to go the lying route. My stomach tightens and I tremble more. The egg custard might not taste as good coming up as it did down.

  “Your secret is safe with me.” He holds out his hand. “As long as you don’t ask about my past.”

  By far, this is not a fair deal, but I take his hand and shake it, mindful to use my good one. “Deal.” Those delightful zings race between my fingers. I almost don’t want to let go. I don’t think he does either. I can’t risk anything happening to this hand until my other one heals. I pull it out of his grasp, and we stand there. For how long I don’t know.

  “The man who followed you. Is he okay?” An image of Chitto jumping the bounty hunter in the woods, or worse, the bounty hunter shooting him to cash in on his body to the government for him escaping, makes me get a little lightheaded. My chest tightens.

  “He took the pony and the supplies.”

  He’s alive. Chitto is the last person up on that mountain I have left that I care about.

  The bounty hunter clears his throat. “Stay in your room, Dimples. Unlock the window,
but keep the door locked.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You’re asking questions.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he says, “This way I can make sure nothing happens to you.”

  I scoff. It’s not me he worries about. The man is trying to protect his investment. All I am is a share in a claim the railroad wants. For all the years I’ve been up there, I know there is no great value or hope of finding a ton of gold or silver. We have been living off the land most of the time.

  After he’s gone, I help Ruby and Miles in the kitchen. Ruby tries to shoo us out of her way. Miles is insistent. I find it amusing the way he grabs a dish before she can wash it and I’ve got the drying cloth. Ruby huffs, “Tenants do not wash dishes.”

  “Consider tonight your night off,” I tell her.

  “Enjoy some time to relax,” Miles offers. “I promise I won’t help you tomorrow.” He winks at me.

  “I’m not about to let the two of you alone in the kitchen,” Ruby declares.

  As we clean up, Ruby tells us where everything goes. We retire to the parlor. The two oil lanterns from the dining room follow us inside the room.

  Miles and Ruby play a game of cards, and I politely excuse myself. Taking one of the oil lamps, I retreat to my room. Upstairs, I pause halfway down the hall. I glance over my shoulder behind me. I shouldn’t, but I do. I go straight for the gambler’s room.

  I listen, straining to hear anything. I don’t. Slowly, I open the door, surprised it’s unlocked. Each room has its own key, and Ruby carries the master. I listen again, hurry inside and shut the door. My heart hammering against my chest, I glance around the room. The drapes are pulled shut. The bed is neat, freshly made.

  On the dresser, on the far wall, is a travel bag.

  I bite my lip, freezing as the floorboard squeaks under my foot. I suck in a deep breath. Wait. I wonder if Ruby heard it downstairs.

  All the boards creek in some place or another. Could she tell the difference if it reached her ears? I set the lamp on the dresser, not wasting any more time before I lose my nerve. I sort through the bag.

  He’s got a change of clothes. It’s another suit, another vest, and between the vest and the shirt, I feel something soft and leather. I pull it out to find a small book. A journal of some type. I move to the light, flip it open. Names and dollar amounts glow in the lamplight. A few of the names have been scratched out and unreadable.

  What kind of list is this?

  Below I hear the door, and swiftly put the journal back. Running my hands over the inside of the travel bag. I feel a lump, its paper money folded into a pocket hidden by the lining seam. I don’t count. I’m not a thief, so I return it to where I found it.

  I hear a voice with an accent. Recognizing it with a jolt, Miles will be heading to his room. I grab the lamp, head out the door, and race down the hall. When I reach the stairs about to go to my side of the hallway, I hear.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Dean?”

  I glance back, smile, my stomach threatening to roll. “I was thinking.”

  “In the hall?”

  “Don’t you ever think of something that stops you in your tracks and you ponder it for a moment?”

  “Aye. I suppose I do. Well, g’night.”

  I force my legs to slow down, walk normally. As soon as I reach the room the bounty hunter shared with me, I close the door and lock it. Taking a deep gulp of air, I head to the window and unlock it.

  Pushing it open, I allow the night air to send a cold shock to my lungs. I gaze out the window pressing my healing hand between the sisters.

  Ruby’s boarding house is one of the last houses on the edge of town. It’s got a side yard and a backyard. And that’s not all it’s got. A large tree stands on this side of the house, close to the window.

  I grin, lowering the window back down.

  The bounty hunter is hiding more than he wants anyone to know. I ready for bed, pulling on a nightgown, one of Ruby’s extras. I sit on the edge of the bed, watching the window. Shorty is where I left the old sawed-off shotgun under the mattress on my pillow end.

  This bed is bigger than the one in the other room. I could get lost in it alone. I try to stay awake as long as I can, curiosity getting the better of the fear trying to rear its ugly head.

  I brush my hair twice. I braid it seven ways to Sunday. This far down, the wind carries a faint hint of the noise from the establishments open after dark.

  I’ve never stayed up and waited for a man to come crawling through my window. It almost makes me want to giggle. Butterflies hatch in my belly, tickling, and feeding on this feeling. Not even Chitto has climbed a tree for me.

  So, I blow out the lamp and wait. And wait. And the darkness mocks me. It mocks me until a chill sends me under the blankets. It mocks me until I can no longer keep my eyelids from dropping. It mocks me, for here I am, with my head getting caught in a dream cloud and my heart tied up in a deadly duel between feelings and facts.

  I should have known the bounty hunter would learn the truth. It was worth the risk to get Tail Feathers his supplies to pay my father’s debts.

  Thinking of debts, I believe I owe Amaryllis a visit. I don’t think she’ll be able to talk her way out of this one.

  19

  It feels like forever for Sunday to come.

  Every time I try to leave the house it is like Ruby can sense my intentions. It wouldn’t surprise me if the bounty hunter put her up to it. I always wait for Ruby to knock and give me the okay to leave my room after the gambler vacates the house each day.

  I half expect, half pray for Ella Mae to show up and give me an opening to escape. She never comes.

  I leave the window unlocked. The bounty hunter is a tease. What’s the sense of locking the door and leaving the window open if he isn’t coming through it?

  Ruby and I agree on one thing. There isn’t any reason for us not to attend church this morning.

  I’m in the middle of pulling on my boots when I hear a knock at the door. Thinking it’s Ruby, I don’t ask and open it. The gambler waves his hand and slumps against the doorjamb. “G’d morn, darlin’.”

  His eyes are glazed, his jacket a little rumpled, and his hair mussed. If I had to guess, I’d say he spent a night at the hotel playing cards, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Not so much because it’s Sunday and Reverend Carter would say gambling is a sin, but more so because the gambler reeks of tobacco and something that makes my nose sting.

  “I think you came knocking on the wrong door. Your room is down yonder.”

  “Oh, I know where I am,” he says. Those emerald eyes of his filled with intent.

  “Be gone with you.” I attempt to close the door.

  “Am I interrupting something?” His head tilts forward, his gaze falling to the one boot on my foot, then tilts his head back to look over my face.

  “Putting my boots on to go to church.” My shoulders pull back. I don’t have to explain nothing to him. He’s not my husband.

  There’s a gleam in those emerald eyes which makes my knees feel a little weak.

  “Looks like I came in time. Let me help you.” The gambler grins, pushing against the door to open it wider.

  “How about I meet you down at breakfast?” When my stomach unknots, and Ruby is present to keep him from trying anything ‘fresh’ with me again.

  I try to close the door, but the gambler is one step ahead of me, or should I say, boot. He sticks his foot in the jamb and doesn’t budge. “How about I come inside, and we get that boot on… or take the other one off.”

  I knew it. Sucking in a breath, I tuck my thumb under the way the bounty hunter told me. My fist curls behind the door. My thumb has been feeling better, but what else am I to do? Shorty is too far from reaching behind me, tucked in the bounty hunter’s bed.

  My lungs burn as I hold my breath and count. Slowly. One. Two.

  Before I can get to three, I hear a booming voice call out, “That’s not your room.”
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  Relief floods me. I take a breath, too deep, and gag a little over the ripe smell emanating from the gambler.

  “It’s not yours,” the gambler wavers, holding onto the doorjamb as he turns to the bounty hunter. I never even heard him come up the stairs. My stomach knots up tighter.

  “Actually,” I hold up a finger, but the bounty hunter levels his gaze on me, and my finger goes down.

  The gambler looks so smug, I almost feel bad for him.

  “Don’t you have another outlaw to hunt?”

  The bounty hunter pulls back his leather duster, reveals his gun, and the gambler snorts. “You may not have that here.”

  “Says who?” The bounty hunter looks past the gambler to me. “Finish getting ready there, Dimples. I’ll walk you to church.”

  “Now hold on there a second,” the gambler huffs. “If anyone is taking Jolene to church, it’s me.”

  “I am not going to church with you.” There is no way I’m going to play the part of the gambler’s wife and lead everyone astray. Plus, he might try to waltz me up that aisle to stand before the good reverend.

  An image of Daphne Davenport standing in my way almost feels like a challenge.

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman about this, but you’re making it hard.”

  “The lady lost her father. You should give her time to mourn.” Sound advice coming from the bounty hunter.

  “Even more reason for you to butt out.”

  Side by side, the bounty hunter has an inch, maybe two, on the gambler. They are about as different as night is to day. Both make my heart race in different ways. Both have features to make a girl swoon. Neither one is about to blink first as they stare each other down.

  It’s flattering. The gambler squints his eyes while the bounty hunter doesn’t flinch.