"Damn." Talbot stalked across the room again and slammed his empty glass down on the desk. "What the hell are they doing up there?"
Jessup shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His look indicated that the answer to that was only too obvious to him, yet he wisely kept his mouth shut about it.
"Did Holt know you were watching him?"
"No sir," Jessup answered too quickly. He straightened up and slicked his greasy hair back with one hand. "He made a big deal about buying up drinks for the house and takin' a bottle up for him and the girl."
"Sonofabitch."
Talbot's choler rose at the mere thought of the two of them together, but he had to be smart about this. He couldn't risk gunplay in the saloon. Nor could he take the chance that Holt would survive long enough to finger Talbot for his past transgressions. Holt hadn't spent the last three years chasing Talbot's shadow for nothing. He was a dangerous adversary and Talbot wasn't about to underestimate him again.
"I want him, Kyle," Talbot said finally. "He's not going to get away from me this time. Now that we've finally met face to face, there's nowhere he can go."
"It's too bad those hired guns—Sands and Wilkerson—weren't in the saloon tonight," Jessup said, leaning against the splendid mahogany desk and eyeing the crystal decanter of brandy there. "They would'a known Holt right off."
Talbot sneered. "Those two idiots wouldn't know a snake if it came up and bit them on the ass. They told me this morning that they'd lost him in St. Louis. The bastards didn't even realize that he was right under their noses here in Independence."
"Do you think he followed them here?" Kyle asked.
"I don't know. I may be wrong but I still don't think he knows who I am. But that just puts the odds a little more in my favor. Kierin overheard me talking to Sands and Wilkerson this morning. I can't take the chance now that she'll tell someone." He paused, then added, "We'll have to kill them both."
Talbot eyed Jessup, trying to gauge his reaction to the order. Jessup was not much more than a hired gun himself and had killed his share of men for Talbot and others. Still, he knew some men had qualms about killing a woman. He wondered if Jessup fit into that category.
Jessup puckered up and let fly a long stream of tobacco juice, which hit, more or less, the center of the brass spittoon beside Talbot's desk.
He rearranged the wad in his mouth and then nodded at Talbot, a slow grin spreading across his face.
The office door burst open and another of Talbot's men, Gunther Hallas, rushed into the room.
"Sorry, boss, but... we lost them."
"You what? I thought they were upstairs in the girl's room!"
Hallas swallowed hard. "So did we, Mr. Talbot, but it got mighty quiet in there, and we figured to take us a look. They uh... they went out through the window."
"The window? How long ago?"
"Couldn't be too long," he said. "I'd say they've only got ten minutes on us. I've already got the others out lookin'."
Cursing foully, Talbot strapped on his gun belt and checked the knife he kept sheathed inside his boot. There wasn't time to waste berating the morons who had let the two of them escape. If he wanted this job done right, he'd have to do it himself. Talbot turned to the first man.
"Jessup, you stay with me. Gunther, you take the others and fan out." He jammed his hat down on his head and headed for the door.
"When you find them—nobody touches the girl until I'm done with her. Is that clear?"
Hallas and Jessup nodded.
"What about Holt?" Hallas asked.
"Kill the son of a bitch."
* * *
Kierin drew a jagged breath and leaned against the splintery weather-worn wall of Connelly's Feed and Seed. She closed her eyes and swallowed down the panic rising in her throat. They had been running for nearly five minutes, but to Kierin it seemed more like hours. Her legs ached from trying to keep up with Holt's long-legged strides, for she had to take two steps for each one of his. Yet, he stood beside her now, annoyingly unaffected by the run. He had slipped deftly in between the shadows of buildings, keeping the two of them hidden all the way to the west end of town until they were fairly certain no one had followed them.
"Where are you taking me?" Kierin demanded when she caught her breath.
Holt spared her a quick glance. "To get my horse. I left him at the farrier to be shod this afternoon."
"Oh, that was good planning."
"Keep your voice down," he said. "Besides, when I left him I wasn't planning on having your charming company or half the town chasing me on the way back."
Kierin sniffed unsympathetically. "You have only yourself to blame for that, Mr. Holt."
"Yeah, well, remind me of that fact the next time I'm about to do something stupid, will you?"
Kierin's gaze followed him as he edged out of the shadows to get a better view of the shops between them and the river. She didn't plan on being with him long enough to remind him about anything. But she wouldn't tell him that.
Grudgingly, she joined him at the corner of the building and tried to make out the darkened street ahead. They were near the edge of town. The moonlight danced on the newly paved cobbled road that led to the waterfront wharfs and slivered through the wavering shadows cast by the rows of poplars which lined the main street.
Holt pushed away from the wall and slipped cautiously down the row of shops, with Kierin close behind. They stopped alongside the newly constructed Beaudry's Livery. Its raw, unpainted siding was still fragrant with resinous pitch. The woodsy scent drifted to them with each breath as Holt and Kierin pressed deeper into the barn's shadows. A bone-chilling cold settled upon her as soon as she stopped moving, but Kierin stubbornly resisted the temptation to press against Holt's warm bulk. The damp river mist slithered between the thin wrap and her nearly bare shoulders and she pulled the shawl more tightly around her, pressing her fists to her face.
A screech owl's cry pierced the night's quiet. Kierin ducked her head as the huge bird swooped down close by to scoop up an unsuspecting mouse who had ventured into a moonlit patch of street. She let out a small horrified gasp as she watched the tiny mouse dangle helplessly from the talons of the night creature who disappeared beyond the trees.
She stood very still, eyes fixed on the darkness, unable to control the tremors that gripped her body. Unwelcome tears burned the backs of her eyes and she swiped at them with her shawl-entangled fist. She felt at that moment as out of control of her own destiny as that tiny mouse certainly was. The currents of the night's events had swept her into dark and unfamiliar territory with a man she did not know.
Get a hold of yourself, Kierin. It was then that she became aware that Holt was staring at her through the darkness. Her eyes were drawn to his as if by a will of their own. Though the moonlight robbed his eyes of their vivid blue color, it did nothing to lessen the unexpected intensity of his gaze. After a long moment she looked away—fearful that he might, somehow, look right into her.
"You cold, Princess?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.
There was that name again, but this time the mocking tone was gone. Kierin bit her lip and refused to look back at him. She shook her head no, but couldn't stop shivering.
He sighed and looked down the street toward the river. "Have you got anything... more appropriate for night travel in that bag of yours?" he asked, gesturing to the tapestry bag at her feet. His breath formed a little white cloud as he spoke and he fingered the thin silk fabric of her dress. "You're going to freeze your little behind off in that thing."
"This is hardly the time or place to be thinking about changing, Mr. H—" she began, but he silenced her with a hand on her arm and a warning finger to his lips.
"Shhh," he whispered, drawing her back farther into the shadow of the livery. The dark figure of a man on horseback passed them on the opposite side of the street. His horse plodded along slowly and the man twisted in his saddle, peering down a dark alleyway between two buildings.
Holt sheathed his Walker Colt and slowly, almost reluctantly, loosened his grip on her. It wasn't until that moment that he became aware of the sweet womanly scent of her, or how she had fit against him the way fine glove leather fit his hand.
He raked his fingers through his dark hair, sweeping it out of his eyes. You've been too long without a woman, Holt. Face it—any woman would feel good to you right now. But this one's on the next stage to St. Louis and the sooner the better, he reminded himself. Get your mind back on getting the hell out of here.
"Do you think he saw us?" The tremor in her voice was more pronounced, from fear or cold he couldn't be sure.
"No, but it's only a matter of time if Talbot's men are all mounted."
He pulled on the wooden-handled livery door and found it locked. The soft nickers of the horses within carried on the still night air, and Holt gave a useless tug on the door in frustration. One horse. One damned horse was all they needed and they'd be well out of this.
His gaze moved down the row of closed shops to a window that spilled soft yellow light onto the street and he heard the faint clanking of a smithy's hammer. It was the farrier's shop.
Holt motioned the girl to follow him. They made their way past hogsheads and stacked crates piled on the planked walkways in front of the mercantile and cooper shops, but kept within the shadows of the shops' overhangs.
He stopped beneath the glowing window and peered cautiously inside. Through the paned glass, Holt could see the huge man he'd done business with earlier in the day. Sweat and grime clung to the dark hair that covered his chest and arms. The top half of him was naked but for the heavy leather apron that moved with him as he worked the billows above him up and down with his muscular arm. Though his main business was horses, Holt knew that Brown kept busy late into the night with the heavy demand for smithed iron rims for the emigrant trains. He and Jacob had used the smithy's services not two days ago themselves and he had done a fair job for them, too. Now, with any luck, Taeva would be shod, saddled up, and ready to go.
Kierin reached the window just seconds after Holt and looked longingly at the fire. She rubbed her arms beneath the shawl, alternately breathing into her stiff hands in the vain search for warmth. She turned away, unable to look any longer, and leaned back against the cool brick wall.
"Do you know him?" Holt whispered.
Kierin nodded. "Scudder Brown? I've known him for most of my life."
"Can he be trusted?"
Kierin looked back into the grimy smith shop. She shook her head after considering it for a moment. "No. Talbot is part owner in this shop, just as he is for many of the businesses in this part of town. Scudder would be a fool to cross him." She looked up at Holt, wondering if he knew just how foolish he had been to go up against a man like John Talbot. She doubted that the stranger had any idea how dangerous Talbot was.
"We haven't much farther to go. Can you make it without warming up?"
"You needn't worry about me, Mr. Holt. I am q-quite capable of a great many things that might surprise you."
Holt found himself amused by the girl's bravado, transparent as it was. It was refreshing after knowing so many women hardened by the life in brothels. And though at first, he had been taken aback by her obvious youth, he knew that, too, was not all that unusual for the times. Especially in a town like Independence, which sat on the edge of the frontier, peopled by thousands of would-be emigrants on their way to a new life. The trains moved out of this teeming outpost regularly, with as many stories of hardship to be told. Holt wondered briefly what hers was and how she had wound up becoming involved with a snake like Talbot.
Dismissing the thought, he quickly stripped his buckskin shirt off over his head and handed it to her. She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
"That you're capable, I have no doubts, Princess," Holt told her, removing the money pouch from around his neck and tucking it into the waistband of his smooth elkskin leggings. "But I know gooseflesh when I see it, and whatever else you're capable of, hiding your discomfort is not one of your best talents."
"But... wh—what will you wear? Won't you be cold too?"
"I'm used to the night air. Once we're moving again, I won't notice the cold at all. Put it on."
Kierin slipped the shirt over her head and felt instant relief from the warmth that still clung to it. It hung ridiculously down to her knees, and her hands were lost in the long sleeves, but it felt deliciously warm.
"Thank you."
Holt grinned that charming grin and nodded. "I think we'd better slip around back and get my horse. I'll leave some money for Brown at the back of his shop. Let's go."
Turning the corner of the smith shop, Holt caught the glint of moonlight off a steel blade, just before he felt the searing pain it wielded. He ducked instinctively, but the blade slid smoothly into the firm muscle of his shoulder, far from where its original aim intended.
The force of the blow nearly knocked him off his feet and he slammed back against the wall behind him with a groan. He sucked a deep hissing breath between clenched teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the white-hot intensity of the pain as his assailant withdrew the blade.
John Talbot smiled in victory as the pain registered across Holt's sculpted features.
"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Holt," Talbot sneered. He pressed the blade cruelly against Holt's throat and drew a fine bead of blood from beneath its razor-sharp edge. "Somehow I hoped there would be more sport in it for me. Though I must admit, your escape through the window did delay me for a bit." Talbot smiled as he slipped Clay's gun out of its holster, and cocked it menacingly close to the taller man's ear.
"Bring the girl, Kyle," he ordered, motioning toward the smith shop.
Holt clutched his throbbing shoulder and, for the first time, noticed that Kyle Jessup held Kierin with one hand over her mouth and the other pinning her arms behind her back.
Damn. How could he have been so careless? He'd walked right into it. Holt felt the cold steel barrel of his own gun pressed against his back as Talbot urged him forward.
The sticky warmth spreading beneath Holt's fingers felt strangely incongruous to the numbing chill that now seeped into his body. He stumbled forward on legs which were oddly slow to respond to his command, toward the doorway of the smith shop. It wouldn't do, he thought grimly, to have one of the town's upstanding citizens caught in the act of murdering someone in the street.
With renewed certainty, he knew that Talbot meant to kill them both. He could feel the strength draining from him as the crimson stain of his blood spread down his chest. Steeling his mind against the pain, Clay struggled to keep a clear head.
The pungent smell of heated iron assaulted him as they moved into the warmth of the dimly lit shop. Scudder Brown's mouth gaped open in surprise as Holt was shoved inside, stumbling to the hard-packed dirt floor at the burly man's feet.
"Mr. Talbot! What the hell—w-what's going on?" Brown looked anxiously at the bloody man lying on the ground.
"Nothing that concerns you, Brown," Talbot said, tucking Holt's gun into the back waistband of his pants. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll forget this ever happened." Talbot glared menacingly at Brown who, despite his size, seemed to shrink under Talbot's scowling countenance.
Brown backed up a step as he looked again at Holt, who was slowly getting to his feet. The frightened blacksmith shifted from one foot to the other and glanced uncertainly at Kierin.
"Mr. Talbot, this ain't right," the huge man began bravely. "Whatever's goin' on here, I'm sure Sheriff Barker could straighten it all out. Why don't you let the girl go with me and we'll get the sheriff and bring him back
here directly. He'll see that this fella's taken care of legal-like."
John Talbot's face clouded dangerously and he took a step toward the blacksmith with fists clenched.
"Have you forgotten, Brown," Talbot snarled, "that I own this shop? That without me, you and your family would have been out on the street." Talbot moved one step at a time closer to Brown's flushed face as he spoke, until Talbot's face was only inches from the other man's.
"Don't you know I own you?" he ranted, grabbing a fistful of Brown's leather apron. Talbot's voice held the brittle edge of a man on the brink of losing control. Suddenly, he released Brown and took a step back. The saloon owner shrugged his fine wool coat back into place and yanked irritably at his cuffs.
"Now," he continued more calmly, "I suggest you mosey on down to the bar... have yourself a drink or two—oh, that's right. You've given all that up, haven't you? Well, why don't you just go on home to your family. And while you're there, consider what kind of a life they would have if you weren't here to provide for them. I don't need to tell you that you won't get another warning from me."
Talbot stepped aside with a sweep of his arm toward the door. Brown hesitated for only a moment, glanced apologetically at Kierin, then turned and left the shop.
Kierin watched the scene with the creeping conviction that Talbot meant to kill both her and Holt. Her arms still pinioned in Jessup's grasp, Kierin's heart thudded furiously against her breast as she searched for a way to help Holt. He stood swaying unsteadily against the far wall. Yet as weak as she knew he must be, she saw a strength in his eyes which she doubted Talbot would perceive. It sent an unexpected shiver of hope down her spine. She hadn't expected that kind of a show of character from a gambler like Holt, but there it was. His fierce look told her that they were not going to give up without a fight.
Beads of moisture clung to Holt's brow, and his lips were etched in a grim slash across his pale face. His gaze captured her own for a moment, then he looked deliberately at the hard-packed earthen floor and back up to her again.
Kierin wasn't sure she understood what he was trying to tell her, but guessed he meant to make a move and wanted her out of the way. She nodded to him very slightly and readied herself for what was to come.
Holt's Gamble Page 3