In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  She looked nervous, too. And she kept staring at the cabin.

  A slow, triumphant smile curved his lips.

  At last, his wait was over.

  Mathison was here.

  Chapter 19

  Trig pressed his back against the side of the cabin and carefully, very carefully, peered into the kitchen window.

  Seeing Pa at the table jolted him. But seeing the Celestial who had been with Liko the night Nathaniel was murdered jolted him even more.

  A rush of anger hurtled through him. He tamped down the urge to take his revenge right there and then. First, he had to get Pa out of the cabin.

  Trig soaked in the sight of him. He needed a shave, a haircut, and probably a decent night’s sleep. But he was alert.

  And he was furious.

  A good sign, that fury.

  His father’s instincts kicked in, that instant awareness of his son just beyond the window. Their gazes met. Surprise flickered in Pa’s glance before he quickly dragged it away again.

  Trig saw the lucidity, the absence of the whiskey which held him in its grip for too long. If anything good came out of Chandler’s blackmail, having his father stone sober again would be it.

  Pa rose from the table. Instantly, the Celestial swung his revolver toward him. Trig couldn’t understand their voices, but whatever Pa said convinced his captor to agree.

  The door opened. Pa came out first, his steps measured and even. The Celestial followed with his weapon aimed at his father’s back. Pa halted at the nearest tree and began to unfasten his pants, as if to relieve himself.

  Trig made his move. The Celestial never saw what hit him. He fell into a heap in the dirt.

  “Mighty glad to see you, son,” Pa said, one-handedly catching the Colt Trig tossed him.

  “I’ll say the same about you.” Trig gripped the guard under the armpits, dragged him to the chicken shed. “How many are still in the cabin?”

  “A Chinese merchant. And a policeman Chandler pays to keep watch.” Trig laid the unconscious man inside. Pa pulled the door closed, barred it shut with a length of wood. “There’s another guard, too, but he left. I expect he’ll be back any time now.”

  Trig ran an uneasy glance around him, his senses tuned for anyone’s approach.

  For the guard.

  “These men are Nathaniel’s murderers,” Pa said, his mouth twisted in contempt. “And they’ve got the nerve to do their dirty work in my home, like thieves in the temple.” His nostrils flared with the effort to keep his fury in check. “Chandler threatened to have you killed if I tried to stop them.”

  “He wants the bay and Mathison land to smuggle opium into San Francisco. He would’ve killed us both off in the end.”

  “Didn’t take me long to figure that out.” Pa narrowed an eye. “You bring his daughter back?”

  “Yeah. She’s here.” He eyed the hills, thought of Carleigh being alone in them.

  And he thought again of the missing guard.

  She’s safe, Trig told himself fiercely. As long as she followed his orders to stay put in her hiding place, she’d be safe.

  She’d promised him.

  Trig’s heart pounded. Every minute he was away from her increased the danger of her detection. He had to get back to her. Fast. But first, first, he had to destroy Chandler’s drug syndicate before it was too late.

  “You ready to go in after them?” he asked.

  “I’ve been ready a hell of a long time. They killed my son. Lead the way.”

  Trig sprinted with him toward the front of the cabin.

  “Cover me,” he said, voice low.

  Pa nodded tersely, his weapon poised and ready. Trig bolted toward the door, lifted a knee and kicked it wide open.

  Sam Kee jumped to his feet, nearly upsetting the table in front of him. The officer, garbed in the gray uniform of the San Francisco Police Force, whipped out his revolver and aimed.

  Trig fired off a quick shot. The policeman fell dead, his blood soaking into Ma’s favorite rug.

  Only then, did Trig take the time to drink in the sight of the plain wooden crates scattered around the room.

  And what sweet evidence they were.

  A gunshot.

  Carleigh’s fingers flew to her mouth in horror.

  She’d watched in alarm as Trig and the man she assumed was his father bolted to the front of the cabin. Then, Trig disappeared from her sight.

  Was he sprawled on the floor, bleeding, writhing in pain?

  Dead?

  Oh, God.

  Stay here. Don’t go anywhere until I come back.

  His words thrummed inside her brain, but she refused to obey them any longer. How could she? She had to know if he was hurt. Or if he was even still alive.

  But before she could take a single step down the hill, a twig snapped behind her.

  Close. Appallingly close.

  She whirled. That pock-marked face, the thin lips curled back in a feral leer, forced a whole new kind of terror through her, and a scream bubbled in her throat.

  “Ah, beautiful Carleigh. Scream all you want. It won’t matter.”

  She swallowed it down, her stare riveted on the gleaming blade he gripped in his fist. “Get away from me.”

  “After all I’ve done to find you? No. No, no, no.”

  “Papa will have you killed. You know that, don’t you?” She took a step back.

  Odd how she thought of her father now, hiring someone else to do his illegalities. But this time, she didn’t care.

  He’d be justified.

  “Your papa will be too late.” Liko moved closer, stalking her, step by step. “And you know what else, beautiful Carleigh?”

  She kept him in full range of her vision as she moved farther away from the cottonwood.

  And closer to Trig.

  “Answer me!”

  “What?” she blurted hastily. “What else?”

  “Your money-hungry, controlling father can go to hell.”

  She turned to escape him. She had only to run down the hill. She--.

  Somehow, he tripped her. She’d underestimated his speed, his ability to predict what she’d do, and she hit the ground hard, but rolled over quickly.

  She had to be able to see him. Watch him. She couldn’t turn her back on him anymore.

  She began moving again, backwards on her hands and feet, crab-like down the hill.

  But he moved, too. Stalking her, the knife swinging freely in his hand.

  “Get up, Carleigh.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  The deceptive softness in his voice repulsed her like a spider crawling up her spine. Suddenly, he bent and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked, a vicious movement, and she cried out from the pain. She scrambled to her feet.

  “Where’s Mathison?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re a liar, just like your father.”

  Carleigh squirmed, her head cocked at an uncomfortable angle. “What do you want me to say, Liko? That he’s looking for you? Is that what you want to hear?”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Trepidation? Clearly, he hadn’t expected her taunt. Or the truth of it.

  “Maybe he is.” His lips began a slow, menacing curve into a leer. “Maybe he is.” He drew the flat side of the blade down her cheek, over and over, chilling her with his intent. “What’ll he do when he sees me carve my mark on your beautiful face? You won’t be beautiful anymore. You think he’ll want you then?”

  Abruptly, he whirled her against his chest, the knife at her throat, one arm tight around her waist. His breath hissed in her ear, hot and harsh over her skin.

  “Start walking down the hill, beautiful Carleigh. Find Mathison. And let’s hope your bastard of a father is with him.”

  Trig raked a contemptuous glance over the money stacked in neat rows on his mother’s writing table. It’d been the one family heirloom she owned. Her grandmother’s. A Hampto
n & Sons, all the way from London.

  She’d always kept the table in her bedroom. Seeing the piece in the main room, where it’d been dragged to suit the needs of the opium smugglers, soured Trig’s stomach.

  Sam Kee stood frozen behind the table, his hands raised in surrender.

  “Don’t move until I tell you,” Trig ordered.

  “I would not be that foolish.” His glance darted uneasily to Pa and the gun he kept trained on him. “You are this man’s son.”

  “That’s right. So you’ll understand if we object to your way of doing business.” Trig’s mouth tightened. “And where.”

  He took the policeman’s revolver and stuffed it into his holster. He strode toward the wooden crates, opened one, found it filled to the brim with bars of soap.

  The labeling looked authentic enough, but then, the labeling was the easy part. He broke one in half. Inside, wrapped in a layer of real soap was a rich, dark cake of opium. He sniffed the bar; the faint fruity smell confirmed it.

  “Where’s it from?” he demanded.

  “Patna, India,” Sam said, inclining his head mockingly. “Our opium is chosen by connoisseurs in Hong Kong, Mr. Mathison. My company supplies only the best for our customers.”

  “Your addicts, you mean.”

  Had Nathaniel become addicted through the opium supplied by this man? His company?

  Chandler?

  Sam smiled, charming and smooth. “I have pipes, too, if you like to smoke. All qualities. From bamboo to the rarest of ivory.”

  Trig wasn’t amused. “How much of the profits does Kwong Fong Tai funnel to Reginald Chandler?”

  Sam went deathly still. “Who are you?”

  “A special agent for the United States Customs Service, that’s who I am,” he snapped. “And I’ve got enough evidence against you to lock you away for a long time.” He tossed the broken bar of opium aside in disgust.

  The color drained from Sam’s cheeks. He appeared about to say something when outside, something moved. Right by the window.

  Trig’s senses hurtled to life, splintered his thoughts of opium and Sam’s arrest. He spun at the sound of footsteps on the porch. Liko appeared in the doorway, holding Carleigh against him like a shield, a knife at her throat.

  Trig's heart stopped.

  "Lay the guns on the table, Mathison." Liko gestured sharply to Pa. "Both of you. Then stand against the wall with your hands in plain sight."

  "Let her go," Trig snarled.

  "I don't think so."

  "What do you want?"

  "Beautiful Carleigh, of course." He smiled a crooked smile. "And you, Mathison. There's something I want you to see."

  But his glance slid to the stacks of money.

  Pa bettered his grip on the Colt; his expression read we can take him.

  No.

  Trig didn't dare. Not when the blade already rested on Carleigh's skin.

  Both Colts and the policeman's revolver clattered to the table top. Trig raised his hands in the air, began moving toward the wall, and Pa did the same.

  Carleigh breathed Trig’s name in protest, her disagreement that he left himself defenseless.

  "Good, very good," Liko said. His glance swung to Sam, still standing where Trig had left him, his hands high. "Give me one of the guns."

  "So you can shoot me, too?” The Celestial's lip curled.

  "Give one to me!"

  “Mathison knows everything.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “Forget this business with Chandler and his daughter,” Sam hissed. “He will have you killed. Let her go, while you still can."

  Liko's breathing quickened into harsh gusts. "No."

  "We can escape to Hong Kong. My new father-in-law will help--."

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  Suddenly, in a rage, Sam swept an arm across the table top, and all three guns plunged to the floor, out of reach. "Do not be a fool!”

  Liko’s gaze dragged from the weapons. He quivered with fury. Trig feared the blade would slip across Carleigh’s throat from the ferocity of it.

  "Take me and let Carleigh go," he grated. "She's done nothing to you."

  "I want you both." Liko held her stiff against him. He shoved her forward one step, two, closer to Ma's writing table. "Take the money, beautiful Carleigh," he said, his voice a bizarre sing-song in her ear. "Take it all, y'hear me?"

  She reached out an arm but fell short, his grip on her too unyielding, her back arched to protect her throat from the blade. He pushed her downward, forced her into a squat, squatting with her. Her fingers waggled as she strained to reach the money. She was almost there, her fingertips a hair’s-breadth away--.

  "The money is mine!" Sam bellowed and hurled the table aside. Carleigh cried out at the crashing sound, her eyes wide in dismay at the bills flying to the floor. “We can escape!”

  "Don't believe him, Liko. He doesn't trust you now,” Trig grated. “He knows you'll double-cross him for his money.”

  "Shut up, Mathison,” Liko yelled.

  “There’s a warship in the bay.” Trig was relentless. “You’re not going anywhere.” His harsh gaze included Sam. “Either of you.”

  Sam paled. “You are lying.”

  “I saw it.” Liko backed up toward the doorway, his arm tight around Carleigh's torso, the blade still against her throat. “It’s there, Sam. Like he says.”

  Trig's pulse pounded with alarm. With raw fear.

  "I'm going with you, Liko," he said, trying hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. He strode slowly, carefully, forward. "You wanted us both, remember?"

  "Not anymore." On the porch, he abruptly shifted his arm, and the tip of the blade angled against her cheekbone.

  One misstep, one vicious swipe, and she'd be scarred forever.

  "Leave us alone. Y'hear me?" Liko turned slightly. Trig realized he headed for the barn, for the horses that'd be tethered there.

  "Trig." Pa followed, his low voice reaching him from behind. "We can't just let him go."

  Trig's hand shot out, an impatient gesture to silence him. He kept his attention fastened on Liko, on Carleigh, on the knife, all his instincts primed and ready, every muscle taut to anticipate Liko's next move.

  Carleigh's gaze moved into his, and he hurt for what she endured, for the terror she'd be feeling.

  But he saw the strength in her. The tenacity. The guts that got her through the California wilderness without him.

  He willed her comfort through his own gaze. Encouragement to hold on just a little while longer.

  Unexpectedly, her glance broke away, snagged by something behind him. Shock paled her cheeks.

  "Papa!" she gasped.

  Trig spun.

  Judge Chandler held the barrel of a Slocum pocket pistol to Pa’s temple. A short distance away, Police Chief Frank Kenner stood with his Sharp revolver trained on Liko.

  On Carleigh.

  "What the hell are you doing, Chandler?" Trig snarled.

  "I've got a clear shot at him, Reginald!" Kenner yelled.

  "No, Frank!” Chandler snapped back. “He could slit Carleigh's throat before he ever hit the ground." Chest heaving, Chandler leveled Liko with a contemptuous gaze. "You couldn't do it, could you, Liko? All your high-faluting promises of getting to Mathison before my daughter found her mother and you still couldn't outwit him, could you?"

  Liko flexed his fingers over the hilt of the knife, his dark eyes darting. Calculating his chances.

  What little he had.

  "Shut up, Chandler," he said. "You forget who has your precious daughter. Not Mathison. Me, damn you."

  "I was a fool to trust you." The judge's hand shook on the Slocum, a hint of all he stood to lose. If Trig didn't hate him so much, he might've felt sorry for him. "Carleigh, honey. You okay?"

  "Papa--."

  "We'll talk later."

  "It's true, isn't it? Everything they say about you."

  "Later!"

&nbs
p; “You lied to me. Not just about Mother. Everything. Your whole life has been a lie to me.”

  “No. Not everything.” Chandler bared his teeth. His wild gaze rammed into Trig’s. “It’s up to you whether your father lives or dies, Mathison.”

  Trig’s blood stopped in his veins. “We had a deal, Chandler. I brought Carleigh back to you. You agreed to give my father back when I did.”

  “Safe, Mathison. You agreed to bring her back to me safe.” He gestured to Liko venomously. “She’s not safe right now.”

  Trig stilled. A sickening feeling churned in the pit of his belly. A burgeoning, horrified understanding of all Chandler demanded.

  Chandler ran his tongue around his lower lip. “Free my daughter from this son of a bitch, and your father lives. Fail, and I pull the trigger. I swear it.”

  Panic raced through Trig. Losing Carleigh would mean losing Pa, too. The two people in the world he loved more than anything.

  Anything.

  The potential for failure staggered him. How could he win?

  “I don’t care how you do it,” Chandler hissed, impatient. “Kill him, if you have to. Just get her away from him!”

  Chandler was desperate. Out of control. And he burdened Trig with the responsibility of protecting his daughter when he was incapable of doing it himself.

  A part of Trig died with every thundering beat of his heart. Nothing he’d ever done in his life prepared him for this.

  Pa moved slightly, a flexing, a test of Chandler’s grip. His eyes locked with Trig’s, a message of absolute rage that refused to stand still for the judge’s control over him any longer.

  To fight back.

  “Papa, you can’t do this to him,” Carleigh pleaded. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  Chandler’s gaze swung to her, his concentration momentarily broken. With a speed that would make a man half his age proud, Pa jerked violently from Chandler’s grasp. His arm shot up, knocked the Slocum out of the judge’s hand. The pistol skidded into the dirt.

  Toward Liko.

  Chandler gaped at it.

  Frank Kenner swung his weapon toward Pa. Trig drew his arm back, slung his fist against the police chief’s jaw. The hit caught Kenner off guard, and he sprawled backwards, out cold.

  Liko shoved Carleigh away from him and lunged for Chandler’s gun, dropping the knife on the way down. Lightening quick, he grabbed the Slocum. And fired. Blood spurted across the judge’s chest, blossomed into his wool overcoat. His eyes widened in surprise, in pain, and he crumpled to the ground.