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

by Susan Lower

  “Okay, then.” I step back, give the men their space, and try once more to close the door but come up short. The gambler swings his arm out. His head turns. The expression he gives is dark and ugly for a moment. He blinks, puts his friendly demeanor back. Gives me a killer smile. It probably hooks most women. If not for the bounty hunter, I might fall hook, line and sinker.

  “Let her get her boots on,” the bounty hunter says gruffly.

  “Keep your eyes off the lady’s, boots.”

  Those are fighting words if I ever heard them. I am not sure what to do.

  “You’re in no condition to walk the lady to church.”

  “And you are?”

  “I can walk myself.” Ruby won’t like it one bit if things get ugly in her hallway. I understand the gambler has a claim on me. But another part of me is fluttered over the bounty hunter sticking up for me. Fluttered. Not flattered. I press my hand to my tickling tummy.

  I know he’s protecting his investment. That’s all I am to him. And I keep reminding myself of it.

  “You trying to stake a claim in my territory?” The gambler steps closer to me.

  The bounty hunter shakes his head.

  “Then back off.” The gambler tries to shove his way into my room again, while the bounty hunter grabs him by the arm and spins him around. The motion makes the gambler dizzy, and he latches onto the bounty hunter. “Take yourrr handssss offfff me!” The gambler slurs. “If anyone is taking her to the church, it’s me. You hear. Me!” He points to his chest.

  “Then you’d best get cleaned up. You don’t want to stand before the reverend smelling like you’ve spent two days in a room full of sin.”

  The gambler lifts his jacket lapel, takes a sniff, and his eyes water. “You wait here, darlin’. I’ll be right back.”

  The gambler staggers to his room. He shouts for me to stay. I hear the door open, then a great thud. The bounty hunter doesn’t rush. I race past him, coming to an abrupt stop at the doorway. The gambler has his face planted in the fancy rug by his bed.

  “You think he passed out?”

  “Dead if he were smart.”

  Taken aback by the bounty hunter’s remark, I crouch down, find a pulse. My stomach eases from the awful cramps threatening to seize. “He’s still alive.”

  “Figured as much,” the bounty hunter says from behind me. “Get your other boot, Dimples. Ruby’s waiting downstairs. She doesn’t like to be late for church and neither do I.”

  I believe him. He’s the type who would be on time for his own funeral. Too soon. While my father’s death lingers in the back of my mind, it’s forefront on my heart. Crazy, mean old man!

  His fault we are all trapped as we are.

  The gambler’s fault for doing whatever activities he’s been engaging in for the past two nights. Ain’t nobody going to keep me from getting out of this house today. Thanks to Mr. Clark and the note he delivered to Robbie, Amaryllis is expecting me.

  “We can’t leave him here like this. What if he gets sick and chokes on his own vomit?”

  “He look like a baby to you?”

  “No, but I saw it once. Everyone needs somebody at some time to take care of them.” I bend down, reach across him, and try to flip him over. Another set of hands reaches between mine. Together, we pull the gambler over on his back. His head lulls to the side. I reach for his neck, find a pulse.

  “Happy now?”

  I glance over my shoulder. The bounty hunter is crouched, his face level with mine. Dark brows furrowed together, and his jaw flexes. I can’t help looking at those lips held in a straight line. Suddenly nervous, I say, “Yes,” a little too breathlessly. “Thank you.”

  He’s up and back in the hallway in the blink of an eye. Holding out his hand, he says, “Come on, Dimples, unless you want someone else to find you in his room. Someone might find it inappropriate.”

  I catch his drift. Mr. Clark’s room is across from him, I think. I haven’t helped Ruby change sheets since the bounty hunter gave me his room. I don’t know who is where, except for the gambler.

  Which reminds me, and as we return down the hall to fetch my boot and lock my door, I whisper, filling him in on my adventure in the gambler’s room.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

  I shrug.

  “Tsk, you two,” Ruby scolds and we both look up from having our heads close together coming down the stairs. “Conspiring, and on a Sunday.”

  I’m right. Nothing gets past this woman.

  “The gambler passed out in his room. We were concerned.” I think as I choose my words carefully.

  Ruby pulls her shawl around her. “Serves a man right, being out for two nights and a day playing cards no doubt and gambling away his last dime.”

  Except for the money he has hidden away. That, too, could be gone. “Poor man will have a headache when he wakes up again.”

  “Since when do you feel for him?” The bounty hunter holds the door open for us ladies.

  “It’s called being human,” I say.

  Ruby and I both take an offered arm and stroll down the street toward the church.

  Deadwood is quiet. Eerily so.

  I suppose it’s what happens on a Sunday. The rest of the cowboys and the travelers are sleeping in from their two days of blowing off the dust from the trail. There are more people than last spring and the spring before.

  It’ll get even bigger with the train. With or without my land, the railroad will make it happen. Nothing stands in the way of progress. Chitto and his people are the first to attest to the cost of bringing the east to the west.

  Throughout Reverend Clark’s sermon, I sit along with Ruby and the bounty hunter. He takes a seat beside us in one of the middle pews. I’m surprised and tickled he would sit this close to me. Don’t think for a moment I can’t feel the furious stares of Lottie, Hannah, or Grace from two pews behind us.

  Sorry. Not sorry ladies.

  Reverend Carter gives an enlightening sermon on fornication. By the eye rolls across the aisle, I’d say he’s given this one more than once.

  He’s particularly wordy this morning. More than one of the town folks are squirming in their seats. Is it getting hot in here?

  When Pearl rises with a book in hand, everyone else jumps to their feet. Reverend Carter no more than takes a deep breath when Pearl shouts out a page number. She belts out the first chord of a hymn with everyone joining in. Reverend Carter raises his hand. He’s about to shout another Amen, when he slowly lowers his arms, takes one look at his wife, and joins in with song.

  Beside me, the most startling voice sends shivers down my spine.

  “You can sing?”

  A deep rumble comes from the bounty hunter’s chest. He winks, and a chittering of giggles breaks out behind us. From this angle, it appears the bounty hunter may have winked at Lottie, Hannah, or Grace. A sting of jealousy ignites.

  I press my lips together. As the song ends, folks make a dash to get out of the church. Lottie, Hannah, and Grace block the way. The bounty hunter does not know what he’s got himself into, but I do. Standing on tiptoes, I can’t see Ella Mae anywhere. All her sisters are up front and center with their mother.

  “I’m going to say hello to Ella Mae.” I scoot off before the bounty hunter can protest.

  I search the front of the church. Pearl and the girls head out the side door, so I follow. Reverend Carter makes a mad dash to get to the front door to thank everyone for sitting through his lengthy sermon.

  Still no Ella Mae.

  Pearl appears annoyed, a slim line deepens between her brows. I don’t have time to ask about Ella Mae.

  “Jo. Wait.” Robbie comes walking fast with a paper in his hand. He’s got a tear in his shirt pocket, and it’s pulled halfway out of his pants. A chunk of his hair is sticking at the side of his head and the dirt on his cheek.

  Grinning, he holds out the paper. “I’m supposed to give this to you.”

  Before I can ask if h
e’s alright, he takes off as a couple of boys go racing behind the church.

  The bounty hunter hasn’t left the building. Neither has Lottie, Hannah, or Grace.

  I open the note.

  Meet at the saloon. G.A.

  I suppose Amaryllis could have another name. G.A. Could also be Grace Adler. She wouldn’t send me a note to meet her at the saloon. She would ask me herself. Nope. It’s got to be Amaryllis. I best get going while I can.

  Glancing over my shoulder at the church, my gut twists. Torn between going back in there and heading to see Amaryllis, the latter wins out. The bounty hunter is a big boy, he can make up his own mind. I’m sure the women have a lot to say to him about this morning’s sermon.

  I’ll have to catch up with Ella Mae later, too. It’s not like her to miss church.

  The bounty hunter said I was to avoid the gambler. Since the gambler lies passed out in his room at Ruby’s place, there shouldn’t be any problem with me going to see Amaryllis.

  Last time I spotted Ruby, she had taken up a conversation with a few older women.

  This is my chance to slip away. Those women are going to hold the bounty hunter’s attention as long as they can. Who am I to deny them his company?

  I head off to find Amaryllis before I change my mind. No time to rescue the bounty hunter. I’ve got a killer to find.

  20

  The saloon is empty when I arrive. It’s a little unnerving. I can almost hear the piano playing in my mind, hear the cowboys shouting and the women laughing.

  There is a separate set of double doors on the other side of the swinging ones. They’re unlocked and I go inside. The sun shines brightly outside. The air is warm and ripe with spring.

  Here, however, the room is filled with gloom. Dark shadows and a haze left from all the smoking in this place linger. Closed, the place smells ten times worse than I remember. Chairs lie knocked over and one table is on its side.

  Almost past the bar, I hear the clattering of glasses. “If it isn’t Jo Dean,” I hear my name and turn.

  Glen hefts a crate of glasses on top of the bar. He leans forward and grins. Those beady eyes of his cause my flesh to prickle.

  “Amaryllis is expecting me.”

  “Is she now?” Glen raps his knuckles on the bar. “Too bad she lit out of here yesterday.”

  Not believing a word, I place my hand on my hip. “When is she coming back?”

  Robbie wouldn’t have given me the note, and he wouldn’t be here if she left, would he?

  A fleeting thought sends my heart a pumping. She’s on to me.

  Glen keeps those beady eyes fixed on me. “You okay? Let me get you a drink.”

  He grabs a bottle of whisky, pours a shot, and slides it my way. “On the house.”

  I put my hands up. “No, thank you.”

  “Go on,” he insists. “It’ll put color back in your cheeks.”

  I shake my head. “That stuff there is wicked evil.”

  He laughs, picks up the glass and downs it. His cheeks flare a little red, and he puts the empty down on the bar again. “Never took you for one of them tea sipping gals.” He reaches under the bar, pulls out another bottle and holds it up. The amber liquid is darker than the last one. “Keep this one for the women.” He licks his lips as he pours a fresh glass. “Looks like whiskey, tastes like iced tea.”

  “Any idea where Amaryllis went?”

  “Drink. We’ll talk.”

  Tastes like tea, uh? I need information. How much longer before the bounty hunter comes looking for me? Or will he?

  I take the drink, knock it back. It’s, as he says, iced tea, but more bitter than any I’ve ever had before. I wince and put it down. “Where did she go?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “Did she pack up her things? Say anything? What about Robbie?”

  Glen pours another round of drink for both of us. One for me out of the darker bottle and one for him out of the lighter one.

  “Said she was about to come into some money. Too good to work in the likes of this place anymore.” He lifts his glass, pauses, and looks down at mine.

  Sighing, I pick it up. He waits until I swallow the over steeped liquid to drink his own.

  “She say where this money was coming from?” With the judge coming in another day, counting on the stage coming on time, she must have believed her promissory note would land her part of my father’s claim.

  “Imagine she thinks she can claim a bit of the pot from old Earl. He made a lot of promises.” Glen puts the bottles away. “That should do it.”

  His remark is odd. I tilt my head and the world tilts with it. I hold on to the bar and Glen comes around.

  “I don’t think that was all tea.” My mouth feels dry, and I reach up to touch my lips.

  Glen leans an elbow on the bar as he watches me. “I don’t serve liquor to the ladies.”

  I blink. My mind is buzzing. He reaches for my arm. “I told old Earl not to make promises he couldn’t keep.”

  “And what promises did he make you?” The heavier my body is feeling, the more it’s coming into place. “Amaryllis didn’t send me the note.”

  “Nah. That was all me, darlin’.”

  Only the gambler calls me by that, but I ignore him and ask, “You and Amaryllis?” I whisper. “You’re in this together.”

  Glen snorts. “Earl said you were smart. Wild thing, he said. Likes to run around in those mountains.” He’s got his fat fingers around my arm. “He promised I could tame you once our deal was finished. All that firewater doesn’t come cheap. Kind of suspicious, don’t you think, needing that much liquor to hole up there in the mountains. Heard he took to stocking up on tobacco, too.”

  “That’s why you had so much?”

  “I knew Earl always asked for it when he came into town, twice a year. Knew Jensen stocked it for him, so I bought him out as much as I could. Your father had no choice than to barter with me.”

  “What did he barter?” I could hardly speak in more than a whisper.

  Glen reaches with his other hand, slipping it around my waist. My hand lands on his wrist. I couldn’t make it budge. He pulls me back against him. “You.”

  My throat burns, and my stomach cramps. I try to breathe through my nose and stay conscious.

  “It was a good deal. I get you, and he got the tobacco and the liquor he was peddling up in the mountains. He owed me and promised me I’d get half the mine claim he had as your husband. We’d be partners. He got all the liquor he wanted, and we’d split the profits between the shipments up the mountain.”

  Taking deep breaths, I hate to break it to Glen. “No. Profit.” The insides of my stomach boiling and gurgling. “No. Money. In. The. Trade.”

  Glen laughs. “You think I’m stupid? I knew the railroad was coming through here. We all knew from last summer it would reach us within a year or two. The land is where the money is, honey.”

  “My father didn’t. Write. That note. Did he?”

  “Your father tried to double cross me. Slapping down his share of the claim, I still would have had half. Then when he threw you in the pot, he went too far. He owed me!”

  Flinching, I seal my mouth shut. I moan a little as the boiling goes up my chest and having Glen squeeze my stomach makes matters worse.

  “You killed him,” I say.

  “He didn’t give me a choice, but you have options.”

  “Options?” I croak.

  “You can stand before me down at the church and say ‘I do’ before that gambler catches up to us, or I can shoot you dead and leave you up in Amaryllis’s room. It’ll look like she did it and ran.”

  Bile rises. My head lulls to the side.

  “Speak now, before the laudanum kicks in. When you wake, you’ll be Mrs. Glen Adams.”

  My stomach seizes and cramps again. I struggle to get out of his arms. “No!”

  The doors open. Robbie’s eyes widen as big as an owl. He stops in his tracks.

  �
�Don’t stand there, boy! Run and fetch the preacher!”

  “No! No!” I kick and scream, trying to wrestle my way out of his arms. It’s no use. The drug makes its way down into my limbs. Glen yanks me back against him hard. Something metal jabs into my side.

  “That’s right, honey.” He grunts, dragging me back toward the stairs. “You keep screaming for good ole Glen.”

  I clamp my mouth shut, the bile burning in my throat. Up the stairs we go. What have I gotten myself into?

  I had to wear the blue dress to church. Tripping over the skirts, Glen tugs at them. I’d rather tumble down the stairs than let him drag me to a room upstairs.

  I try to dig my heels in, but I can’t get a grip. One of my boots catches on the rail and I try to get anchorage. Glen yanks me away. My ankle catches. He grunts and gives me a twist and yank. My boot stays behind in the rail.

  At the top of the stairs, I moan. My stomach isn’t having any more of this rough handling. I give up on struggling, trying to hold my insides together. I hear the door open, my head lulls back. I’m going to lose it. I’m going to lose it….

  Suddenly, my back hits the mattress, and the jolt brings everything up. I turn to my side, the contents of my stomach hit the floor.

  Glen swears, jumping back. Horrified, he walks around the bed, tosses the gun down.

  My relief is short-lived.

  Before I can roll away, Glen yanks me by the bodice, tearing the beautiful stitch work Ruby and I spent half a day fixing the neckline of the dress.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not until you’re my wife.” Glen rolls on top of me.

  “Most men propose!”

  “Stop your squirming, the preacher is on his way.”

  “I’m not marrying you! You’re a killer. You killed my father and I’m going to tell the sheriff.”

  Glen sits on top of me, holds down my arms. His face too close for comfort. “You got proof?”

  “You confessed.” I croak, and he winces.

  “No one will believe you. Wives can’t testify against their husbands.” Glen reaches back to grab my skirt when the sound of a gun hammer pulling back freezes him.

  “Good thing there isn’t going to be a wedding today.”