Rachel Donnelly

by Lady Broke

  All the same, he didn’t like it.

  The truth was, Christie Wallace was the only thing he’d miss when he left Murdock.

  And the best reason to go.

  One more taste of her sweet lips and he’d be hooked — if he wasn’t already. She had a way of getting under his skin — making him forget what he was doing. And that was too damn dangerous. Right now he couldn’t afford any distractions, not when he was so close to bringing the Everetts in.

  “Well?’ he said over his shoulder into the darkness. “What did you find out?”

  “You’re getting harder to sneak up on,” Holt drawled behind him.

  “I smelled you long before I heard you.”

  “Cigar smoke?” Holt sounded more tired than insulted.

  “And that rot-gut whiskey you’ve been drinking.” How they got away with selling it was a mystery.

  Holt smiled. “I had to make it look natural.”

  “I don’t care how much you drink, as long as you can sit a saddle.” Holt wasn’t much of a drinker, so there was no danger of that, although he had fallen asleep more than once.

  Holt reached inside his union coat to produce a small, flat bottle of whiskey. He handed it to Nat. “No one’s seen or heard tell of any strangers in town. But that gal of Billy’s is acting real edgy. I didn’t see her entertaining any customers either.”

  Nat took a short swallow, sucking air through his teeth as the whiskey burned a trail down his throat. His gaze shifted to the windows above the saloon as he wiped a hand across his mouth. He handed the bottle back to Holt. “Maybe her room’s occupied.”

  “That’s my guess.” Holt replaced the bottle inside his coat. “What do you want to do?”

  “Stick to our plan and move him tonight.”

  “You think they’ll follow?”

  “They should. We’re dangling the right bait.”

  • • •

  “Do you love me?” Flossie ran the backs of her fingers down the side of Billy’s cheek while her nipples teased the hair on his chest.

  “’Course I do.” Billy grabbed her wrist. “Haven’t I spent half the night showing you that?”

  It was more like half an hour, but there was no sense quibbling. Billy wasn’t the most considerate lover she’d ever had, but he was the only one who could make her sigh when he said goodnight. He had a way of making her feel special. She didn’t feel like a whore when she was with him. It was just them — two souls struggling to get by.

  But a roll in the hay wasn’t love. She couldn’t pin her future on that. “Being hung like a horse don’t make you God’s gift to women.” She slid off the bed to snatch up her frothy blue dressing gown. “Women got more on their mind than a tumble in the sheets.” She flounced across the room to the oak dresser.

  “Like what?” he said, waving his hand in the air. “A hat or a new dress? Where you going to wear them?”

  She shrugged then picked up the silver-handled brush to begin working the tangles from her hair. “Wherever I want.”

  He swung his stocking-clad legs over the bed. “Men don’t care much what you’re wearing,” he said, yanking on his trousers. “Just how fast you’re going to take it off.” He picked up the half-smoked cigar on the bedside table then leaned down to strike a match on the heel of his boot.

  Flossie slapped the brush down on the dresser. “Well, I ain’t going to be a whore forever, even if I do stay here.”

  He leaned his elbows on the pillows puffing his cigar back to life. “Are you saying you’re changing your mind?”

  She folded her arms under her breasts with a huff. Lordy, he was thick sometimes. “I’m saying, maybe I’ve got other prospects.”

  “What prospects?” He stabbed a smoke ring with his finger.

  “Never you mind.”

  He barked out a harsh laugh. “You got nothin’ but me.” He pointed the smoking cigar at her. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here whining about no ring. What’s the matter, you think I’ll go back on my promise now that I got what I need? Well, that’s real insultin’.”

  That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Now that his plan was wrapped up tighter than a Sunday sausage, there was nothing to keep him from wriggling out of it. Pulling up stakes to travel half way across the country to meet him after he rescued Hank was a big risk to take.

  So was hiding him from the law right now.

  If Delia knew, she’d throw her out on her ear. Flossie’s mouth went dry. If his plan to stop the stage didn’t work, she’d really be in the soup. But there was no reasoning with Billy once he’d set his mind.

  She ought to warn Miss Wallace.

  But that was a terrible risk.

  They’d both likely wind up dead.

  • • •

  Nat sliced a glance over his shoulder at Holt.

  Still awake.

  Good.

  It was slow going, leading Hank’s horse by a rope attached to his saddle horn — that, and Hank wanting to stop for a piss every five miles. For a man the size of an ogre, he had an uncommonly small bladder. Ironically, Hank’s ploy to give his brothers time to catch up was exactly what Nat wanted. He could piss himself silly for all he cared.

  They rode until nightfall, finally making camp against a small ridge.

  Once their bellies were full of beans and bacon, Holt climbed up on the big red boulders to take the first watch.

  Nat had hoped for a little shuteye. But the food seemed to loosen Hank’s tongue. Once his fat lips started flapping, they didn’t want to stop.

  “You got nothing to hold me on!” Hank’s lip curled into a snarl.

  Nat continued scraping the iron skillet with the back of the spoon. He’d always found it better not to get into conversations with people he wanted to kill. The trouble was those people were usually too stupid or stubborn to do the same.

  “You might just as well let me go right here.” Hank grinned, flashing his big yellow canines. “You ain’t got no witness.”

  Nat set the skillet down, then rose from his haunches by the fire.

  He gave Hank a long hard stare, allowing his lips to curve in a slow knowing smile.

  “That girl didn’t know me!” Hank shouted after him as he strode to his saddle. When he returned with his bedroll, Hank had regained some of his equilibrium and settled down. “Too bad your little wife hadn’t lived. She’d have made a fine witness. She looked me right in the eyes.” Hank licked his fat lips. “I made sure of that. I like it better when they’re lookin’ at me.”

  Nat gritted his teeth, shaking his bedroll high in the air.

  But Hank wouldn’t shut up. He smacked his lips like he was licking gravy off a plate. “She sure did scream — screamed your name over and over, so loud my ears popped.” His voice softened as though he was going over a fond memory. “I ain’t had nothin’ so fine in a while. Too bad Billy had to shoot her.”

  Nat froze.

  Heather’s terror stricken face swam before him, making it all flood back; the stage driver’s angry shouts, sudden blasts of gunfire that sent them catapulting forward, and finally the white hot light before he sank into oblivion. He awakened to the acrid smell of gunpowder and a pain in his skull so severe, when he’d stumbled from the coach he retched until his guts met his throat.

  He could feel the bile rising now, remembering Heather lying broken and bloody in the sand.

  His hand seemed to slide to his Colt of its own accord.

  A loud crack snapped him back to reality.

  He looked up to find Hank slumped over, chin resting on his barrel-sized chest. Blood dripped from a small cut on his forehead. He was out cold.

  “He never was too smart.” Holt said, holstering his pistol.

  Nat’s rage slowly receded.

  His gaze followed Holt as he headed back up the ridge.

  Nat took a deep breath, attempting to push the dull ache of grief away.

  A familiar coldness seeped back in.

  He unbuckled
his holster, then lay down on his bedroll, cursing himself for losing control.

  But when he closed his eyes, the memories seeped back. Drew came to him in his dreams, as he had a thousand times, lying on the battlefield, head cradled in Nat’s lap. Blood leaked from his grey uniform like red sap, soaking Nat’s blue wool trousers. ‘Take care of Heather for me,’ he whispered between ragged breaths. “She’s all alone. Promise me … ”

  “I promise,” Nat told him, trying to blink back the hot tears pricking his eyes. Cannons boomed overhead amongst a blur of screams and shouts while the hole in Drew’s lung sucked his life out.

  Nat awoke in a sweat — heart banging in his chest.

  The howl of a coyote echoed in the emptiness, drawing his eyes to the fire.

  Somewhere in the darkness its mate called back in answer.

  Nat drew in a long cool breath of sagebrush-soaked air, feeling the tightness leave his chest.

  Reality returned.

  The snort of Hank’s intermittent snores shook the remnants of macabre from Nat’s brain.

  Time to relieve Holt.

  Nat stood to buckle his holster.

  As he made his way up the side of the ridge, Heather’s face flashed in his mind once again. He’d tried to love her the way he was supposed to — God help him, he had. But growing up as neighbors, she’d always been more like a sister to him.

  He’d hoped bringing her to California to start fresh would change his feelings for her somehow. But in the end, all he’d done was put her in danger. All the worry, all the arguing with his father had been for nothing. In the end, he’d failed to protect her. He’d let Drew down.

  He pushed the old memories away as he climbed the ridge.

  He found Holt lounging against a pine with his rifle across his lap.

  “Go ahead, get some sleep,” Nat said. “I’ll take over from here.”

  “We might as well both get some sleep.” Holt rose to his feet. “Looks like they’re not coming. If I had a brother like Hank, I’d just as soon let him hang.”

  “He may be dumb as a stump, but he’s still their brother.”

  “It’s hard to believe the Everetts could have tender feelings for anyone.”

  “Even a pack of wolves protect their own.”

  “I thought you were an only child.”

  “I am.” An image of Drew clutching his hand, hanging on to life until he gave his promise, appeared as vividly as it had in his dream. “But blood is thicker than water,” he said repeating the old saying with a wry smile. There had been no blood ties between him and Drew, just a childhood friendship. But Nat had loved him like a brother. Even after five years, he felt his loss like a dull blade. “Don’t worry, they’ll come.”

  “As stupid as Hank is, he’s right about one thing. We don’t have a witness this time. Not unless we get our hands on Cecil and you let the Wallace girl testify.”

  “There were plenty of witnesses when Hank killed Fred Hornsby in Sacramento.”

  “Yeah, and Maggie’s itching to testify against Billy for killing one of her whores.” Holt gave a low chuckle. “But Sacramento’s a long ride off. Too bad that barber in Virginia City didn’t have any friends. Everyone we questioned at the saloon closed up tighter than a clam.”

  “Might have had something to do with him pulling teeth on the side.”

  Holt chuckled.

  But they both knew the real reason. Everyone in Virginia City had heard about the last witness gunned down in Carson. They were scared. The only one brave enough to stand up to the Everetts was Christie Wallace — a wisp of a gal and an Easterner to boot — too green and foolish to know any better.

  • • •

  Christie pursed her lips in annoyance when the bell on the door jingled. It wasn’t right to begrudge business when you were minding a store, but she was tired of running up and down that ladder. One more shelf and the storeroom would be completely organized.

  She heaved a sigh.

  Oh well, what did efficiency matter, if you didn’t have the money to keep the doors open.

  She grabbed a handful of blue poplin skirt to step daintily down the ladder. When her feet hit the floor, she lifted a hand to her kerchief to check for cobwebs. Gad! She must be a sight. She wiped her hands on her apron as she came through the door. “Flossie!” Christie halted in the doorway.

  There were dark smudges under Flossie’s eyes. Her red satin gown looked creased and wrinkled, as though she’d scrambled into it in hurry. “I came to see Leigh,” she blurted breathlessly. “Is he here?”

  “No, I’m afraid he isn’t. He and Uncle Will have gone with Mr. Pike to collect a load of lumber. I don’t expect them back until late.”

  “Oh dear!” Flossie’s face crumpled. Her shoulders slumped to such an extent, Christie feared she might sink to the floor.

  Christie had no choice but to ignore Leigh’s warning and help the poor creature. After all, if he wanted her to stay out of his business he should have minded it better himself. “Come with me into the kitchen. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  Flossie appeared much calmer after she’d settled in the spindled chair by the woodstove.

  Christie pressed a tin mug of tea into her hands. “You could tell me what’s troubling you. Perhaps I can help.”

  “That’s awful kind of you, but it’s Leigh I need to talk to.” Flossie shook her head. “There’s something I need to explain, something I did last night.”

  “I can’t be that bad.” Christie reached over to press one of her hands. “I’m sure if you apologize, all will be well.”

  “I don’t know.” Flossie’s lips quivered as she pushed a stray chocolate curl back under her bonnet. “When I refused to let him come upstairs last night, he was powerful angry. I think he knew.”

  Christie dreaded to hear more details than necessary, but in light of the precipitous silence that followed and Flossie’s hopeless expression, the words fell from her lips with a reluctant thud, “Knew what?”

  “That I had someone in my room.”

  “Oh.” Christie’s cheeks flamed at the implication. “I think Leigh understands your occupation — that you need to make a living.”

  “Oh, he understands that alright, but he might not understand me entertaining an old beau.” Flossie’s tone turned confidential. “You see, customers are different. You take them upstairs, do what has to be done, and then they pay.”

  Christie blinked hard, trying to maintain an expression of mild concern. She couldn’t believe she was sitting in her uncle’s kitchen discussing customers with a whore. “But this wasn’t a customer?”

  “No.” She heaved a sigh. “He was the fella you saw in the alley that day.”

  “Oh!” Christie didn’t attempt to disguise her amazement. And to think she’d almost gone to the sheriff on Flossie’s behalf. “I thought you’d washed your hands of him?”

  Flossie squirmed a little in her seat. “I tried. Really I did! But he has a way about him that makes it real hard to say no.”

  “You should have gone to the sheriff. He would have helped you.”

  “I didn’t want to get him into trouble!”

  Christie shook her head, completely baffled. “I don’t understand. If this man was threatening you, why didn’t you tell someone?”

  “It’s not like that. He cares for me, you see.” Flossie’s tone saddened. “And I guess I care for him too. It just never worked out. It’s hard to explain, but there are some people that you’re just drawn to whether they’re good for you or not.” Flossie looked away, shamefaced. “You probably think I’m fickle or daft in the head.”

  “No, no I don’t.” Christie smiled ruefully. It was the precise way she felt about Nat Randall. He’d left an indelible mark on her from the first time his cool blue eyes raked over her, and though she fought against it, her pulse never failed to quicken at the sight of him. The touch of his lips could make her go wild — turn her into a wanton.

  Just thinking about
him now made her lips tingle. Thank goodness he was gone. If he hadn’t left when he did, there was no telling what she might have done.

  “Anyway, he’s gone now.” Flossie took another gulp of tea. “It’s not likely I’ll see him again.”

  “If that’s true, I see no reason for you to tell Leigh.”

  “Oh … ” Flossie brightened. “Do you think so?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re right. I mean, why should I hurt him if I don’t have to.” Flossie sprang to her feet. “You know, I feel so much better now.” She held out the tin mug with a sunny smile. “Thank you for the tea. I’m much obliged. My word! This was better than going to confession. Shorter, I’m thinkin’. I haven’t been there in a spell.”

  Christie couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re welcome.”

  She was still struggling to digest the fact that they shared the same religion when the bell on the front door gave a riotous jingle.

  “Yoo hoo!” A high melodic voice hailed.

  Oh no!

  Mrs. Poole.

  What on earth was she doing here, this time of day?

  Her tongue would surely wag when she clamped eyes on Flossie. It might be acceptable to procure employment under the guise of charity for someone like Flossie, but it was quite another matter to have her to tea. Christie’s chagrin must have shown on her face.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out the back.” Flossie gave a wink and a wave, then disappeared down the stairs like a bright cardinal, used to hiding its plumage from bigger birds that might gobble it up.

  Christie raised her eyes heavenward in thanks, then flushed at the weakness of her own pride.

  Thankfully Mrs. Poole had only come to purchase a half pound of peppermints.

  “It wouldn’t do to let the jar go empty,” she declared, shuffling for the door. “They come in for a peppermint, but they always leave with a hat.”

  “Perhaps we should try that.” Christie followed behind her to see her out.

  Mrs. Poole turned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You’re the peppermint here. I dare say Will’s patronage has doubled since you came to town.”