by Jean Barrett
IF HE’D BEEN A VILLAIN in a melodrama, this would have been the place to say, “Curses! Foiled again!”
But he was no villain, old-fashioned or otherwise. Not by his definition. He was simply someone going after what he wanted. What he deserved to have. And Samantha Howard was in his way.
Damn that PI! Hawke was forever at her side. He made it tough to get at her when he was always there to rescue her. Like yesterday, when he’d spoiled another opportunity.
What made it so difficult was the necessity of being careful not to reveal himself. Never lowering his guard, continuing to play his role. That was essential.
So, all right, he’d need to find some way of separating Hawke from Samantha. He would have to wait for that, because the moment had to be right. He still had time, but he was growing impatient.
“THIS TIME I MEAN IT,” Samantha informed the heifer. “You get into trouble, and you’re on your own. I’m not making a fool of myself again and chasing you into another gorge. No, sir, I turn my back and I ride away.”
This drive has affected my brain. Listen to me talking to a cow.
Worse than that, she was convinced that Irma, who was trotting beside her, actually heard and understood. Insanity couldn’t be far away.
Of course, there was no reason for the heifer to believe her. They both knew Samantha wouldn’t keep her word. Nor did she when that same afternoon Irma was cornered by a rattlesnake. Backed up against a boulder, the heifer rolled her eyes with terror and bawled pitifully.
Samantha looked around. There was no help available. Roark had dashed off to the other side of the herd to deal with a pair of reluctant longhorns.
It would be a snake, she thought. Refusing to give in to her horror, she dismounted, found a rock and launched it in the direction of the threat. To her satisfaction, the rattler slithered away. Irma scooted back to the safety of the herd.
Samantha was back in the saddle when Roark arrived at her side. “Problem?”
“Nope,” she said. “Just routine stuff.”
She supposed it was a measure of her progress that she could be so matter-of-fact about a thing that once would have had her trembling in panic. Was Joe Walker getting his wish?
All right, maybe the drive was tempering her into a tougher material. Maybe she could even be proud of herself. It didn’t mean she had softened in her resolve to have no part of ranching. Roark’s presence was a constant reminder of that.
After yesterday’s menace, he seldom left her alone for more than a moment or two at a time, and then he always kept her in sight. Otherwise he rode so close beside her that his nearness inflamed her senses. She knew that he was every bit as aware of her as she was of him. But never once did he try to touch her. Nor did he refer to their blissful interlude in the canyon. And though she ached for him, she understood his restraint, knew he was right. Considering the issues that still loomed between them, it was better to let it all go now before either one or both of them was hurt beyond recovery. Or was it already too late for that?
“LET’S STOP IN HERE for a few minutes,” Roark said, halting them on the sidewalk.
Samantha looked at the shop he indicated. “A bookstore? Why? Is there something you want?”
“Maybe just to browse,” he said, offering no further explanation.
The drive was laying over for the night near another town. There would be no cabins this time, nor a party around the campfire. But several members of the outfit had strolled into town to shop for essentials.
Edgerton, once a thriving mining center and now a quiet community, was tucked between the mountains, its business district a single street that wound through the narrow valley.
Samantha followed Roark into the store. He went off toward the back, leaving her at the front to examine a window display of volumes featuring old Colorado mansions. Houses of all eras were her business, and she never failed to be fascinated by their stories.
She was returning one of the books to the pile when she caught sight of Shep through the window. He was on the other side of the street, and he wasn’t alone. He and another man had just emerged from a café. Even from this distance, she could tell they were arguing. Samantha watched them for a moment. When the trail boss started to glance around, as if suddenly worried he was being observed, she quickly pulled back from the window.
Roark found her hugging the wall at the side of the window when he joined her a few seconds later. “What are you doing?” he asked, one of his thick eyebrows lifted in bemusement.
“Hiding.”
“Why?”
“Shep is out there, and I didn’t want him to spot me.” Roark leaned over and looked out the window. “Get back before he sees you.”
“There’s no out there but an old lady on the corner.”
“Well, they were there a minute ago, he and this man he was talking to.”
“What man?”
“The one he met back in Lost Springs.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I recognized his hard face. Roark, what’s he doing here in Edgerton? And don’t tell me Shep was meeting him to secure permission for the drive to cross private lands. That might have been true in Lost Springs, but the explanation doesn’t work twice. Not with the distance we’ve covered since Lost Springs.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. On the other hand, if our trail boss has a reason to keep this guy a secret, then why did he risk being seen with him out on a public street?”
“Will you ask Shep about it?”
Roark shook his head. “Not much use in that. If he lied to me before, then he won’t hesitate to lie again.”
“So all we can do is watch and wait,” Samantha said, discouraged by their inability to find answers. She was so caught up in her frustration that she didn’t notice the plastic sack Roark had under his arm until they came away from the bookstore. She stopped him out on the street to ask him about it.
“You bought books?”
“I’m not going to just watch and wait, Samantha.”
“I don’t understand. Aside from the fact that we barely have space as it is to carry the necessities, what with the outfit’s gear squeezed into the truck and on two of Dick’s packhorses, just when do you expect to find time to read between here and Alamo Junction?”
“I don’t. Look.” He opened the sack, inviting Samantha to inspect its contents.
She glanced at the titles of the three volumes inside, was puzzled for a moment, and then she understood. “You’re going to use these to smoke out the enemy.”
“As bait, they may be a little too obvious, but it’s worth a try. Let’s get back to camp and see what happens.”
ROARK WAITED until they were all collected around the fire after supper to set his trap.
“Anyone know anything about Native American artifacts?” he asked, beaming at them around the circle.
Dick laughed. “Not me, that’s for sure.”
“Me, either,” Roark said, withdrawing his purchases from the sack at his feet and, with deliberate carelessness, displaying their titles. “That’s why I picked these up at the bookstore. Supposed to be a whole education in them on the subject. Not that I’ll get the opportunity for that until after the drive.” He tossed the books back into the sack. “They’ll end up in the bottom of one of my saddlebags until then, but at least I have them.”
“What brought all this on?” Ramona wondered.
“My interest? Oh, it’s because of the canyon. I told you there are cliff dwellings there, didn’t I? I got to thinking about that. What if there are valuable relics in those ruins? Stuff that somebody could be looting, and maybe that’s why Samantha and I were shot at. You know, to warn us off.”
“That’s not very likely,” Alex said. “I mean, if the place is being looted, you’d have seen signs of digging, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re probably right. Anyway, when I get the chance I want to learn more about the subject. There are ancient sites all over the Southwes
t, and some of them could still be rich with artifacts.” He chuckled. “Who knows, maybe there are even Native American relics buried on my own spread back in Texas. Or my neighbors’. It’s worth looking into.”
All the while that Roark so casually explained about the books, Samantha watched the faces in the firelight, looking for some indication that one of the company was worried about his fascination for ancient sites. After this afternoon, she was particularly careful to observe Shep’s reaction. He’d remained silent throughout the conversation, his expression even more glum than usual. But was it her imagination that, when Texas was mentioned, the trail boss scowled grimly in Roark’s direction?
As for the others…well, none of them revealed by word or action that Roark might be a threat to a desperate scheme. Ernie looked bored, Dick and Cappy equally disinterested, and Alex and Ramona only politely interested. No one made any mention of the caves at the Walking W.
Dick got to his feet and stretched. “Time for my shift with the herd.”
“You oughta been out there with them already,” Cappy complained.
The others indicated their readiness to turn in for the night. The subject of ancient relics was forgotten.
Samantha was disappointed. Roark’s experiment had produced no results. Nor had he made the effort she’d been anticipating. She’d looked for him to follow her example and sharply examine each face around the campfire, but he had seemed almost indifferent to their responses, barely glancing at them. Then why had he made them aware of the books he’d purchased?
Samantha had no chance to ask him about it. Nor, as it turned out, did she have to. Her question was answered early the following morning when she rolled out of her sleeping bag to the sounds of a scuffle behind the cook truck. Alerted by the commotion, Roark was already on his feet. She didn’t wait for him to order her to stay behind but hurried after him as he strode around the side of the truck to investigate.
They found Alex and Ernie engaged in a struggle for possession of a battered canvas bag.
“Take your hands off of it, college boy, before I smash your face!”
Alex, hanging on with determination, called out to them. “He’s got something he’s hiding in here! I open my eyes to find him snooping through our belongings! Then I catch him sneaking back here and stuffing whatever he took into the bag!”
The books! Samantha thought. Ernie had raided Roark’s saddlebags for the books. That’s what Roark had intended, to lure the enemy into snatching material in order to prevent Roark from being enlightened and in consequence a threat to his schemes.
Both men were red-faced and huffing when Roark separated them. Ernie had the bag back in his keeping and was clutching it tightly.
“Let’s have the bag, Ernie,” Roark commanded him, holding out his hand.
“The hell I will!” Ernie growled. “It’s my bag, and I didn’t swipe anything that’s in it. All I was looking for was to borrow a razor blade.”
“Then you won’t mind showing us what’s inside,” Alex said, reaching for the bag.
“Get away, all of you!”
Alex made a dive for the bag, seizing one end of it. In the renewed struggle for it, the bag landed on the ground, spilling its entire contents. To Samantha’s surprise, there were no books. No sign of anything but what seemed to be Ernie’s personal possessions, including a safety razor with a missing blade.
“Ernie,” Roark said, his tone apologetic, “if you needed a blade, why didn’t you just ask one of us?”
“You were all asleep,” the stocky young man muttered.
Dick and Cappy were still in their sleeping bags, and Shep was out taking his shift with the herd. She assumed Ramona was off fetching water for her breakfast preparations. But then why, if he hadn’t stolen anything, had Ernie so fiercely resisted having his bag examined? And why did he crouch down now on the ground and begin to swiftly throw his belongings back into the bag, as if fearful of a discovery?
That question, too, was answered when Roark leaned down and clamped his hand on Ernie’s wrist, preventing him from shoving into the bag a tube of tightly rolled paper secured by a rubber band.
“Let go!” Ernie tried to snatch his hand away.
“Not until we’ve had a look at what’s inside that roll. Samantha?”
While Roark continued to hang on to Ernie, she reached down and took possession of the roll. She slid the rubber band from the tube, which opened to reveal itself as two photographs. The same photographs Wendell had sent to his boss back in Lost Springs.
“Ah,” Roark said, releasing Ernie to look over her shoulder at the likenesses of the abbot of St. James Monastery and the director of the Western Museum, “that’s what happened to them. It was you who was listening outside the cabin window that evening, huh, Ernie? And the minute you got the chance, you helped yourself to the photos.”
“So what?” he snarled, coming defiantly to his feet.
“Not what, Ernie, why. What is there about these two photos that could possibly interest you?”
“He only cares about one of them,” said a calm voice from behind them. They swung around to find Ramona standing there bearing a bucket of water in each hand. Setting the buckets on the ground, she came forward and placed a finger on the likeness of the Western Museum’s director. “This one.”
“Ma, don’t. It ain’t none of their business.”
“It’s become their business, Ernie,” she said, looking at Roark and not her son. “And if we don’t explain it, they’re going to think you’re guilty of something criminal. Which you aren’t, unless you count taking a photograph of your father as a crime.”
Samantha’s startled gaze went from the photo to Ernie’s face. No wonder she and Roark had thought there was something vaguely familiar about the man in the photograph. She could see it now. Ernie bore a faint resemblance to the museum director.
Ramona nodded. “That’s right. Frank Costello is Ernie’s father. He was also very married when I had an affair with him.”
Samantha’s gaze went sympathetically to Ernie, but he met her look with a hard glare that told her he didn’t want her sympathy. “Did he know about…”
“Ernie?” Ramona said. “Oh, yes, Frank knew all right. These days, of course, young women handle such situations differently. Things like paternity suits, I suppose. But back then all you thought about was avoiding a scandal. I didn’t want to ruin Frank or hurt his family, so I did what he wanted. I accepted the money he gave me and went away to have my baby.”
“And afterward?” Samantha pressed her.
“I let it go. I forgot about Frank Costello and concentrated on raising my son.”
“But Ernie didn’t let it go,” Roark said perceptively.
“No, he didn’t. I made the mistake of telling him who his father is, thinking that would satisfy him. It didn’t. Ernie wants to be recognized by his father, but…” Ramona shrugged. “Even though Frank’s wife died years ago, it doesn’t seem to make any difference. He doesn’t want to acknowledge his son.”
“That’s between me and him, Ma,” Ernie said bitterly. “The whole world don’t have to know about it. Damn it, why do you think I took the photograph in the first place?
It was to keep these two from poring over it and maybe finally seeing I have his nose and his eyes. I even grabbed the other picture so’s to throw them off the scent, and now you go and spill your guts about stuff that’s private and ought to have stayed that way.”
“Then why did you keep the photos, Ernie?” Roark asked him. “Why didn’t you just destroy them?”
Ernie was silent, his face stubborn and proud.
“I guess I can understand that.” Alex spoke up softly. “If it was my father, maybe I’d want to keep his picture, too. Just to look at, you know.”
But Ernie didn’t want Alex’s understanding any more than he wanted Samantha’s sympathy. Muttering an obscenity, he turned and stormed away.
Ramona gazed after him sorrowfully. “I�
�m sorry,” she murmured. And Samantha didn’t know whether she was apologizing to them or her son. Her heart went out to both Ramona and Ernie, but she said nothing. The woman wore an expression that plainly said she wanted to be alone. They left her behind the cook truck and moved silently away.
Alex went off to find the others. Roark, with Samantha trailing him, made straight for his saddlebags. “The books are still here,” he reported after checking the contents. “Undisturbed.”
He had a speculative look in his potent blue eyes when he got to his feet. “What are you thinking?” she questioned him.
“That maybe Ernie Chacon’s motive is less innocent than it seems.”
“What does that mean?”
“Frank Costello is the director of the Western Museum, and if his son is willing to go to any lengths to win his approval…”
Samantha understood him. “The museum gets the Walking W if I fail to qualify for my grandfather’s estate. If I’m deliberately made to fail.”
“It would be quite a gift to present a director. Say, an ambitious director who’d be very grateful for it.”
It was an unpleasant thought, but a possibility that Samantha couldn’t ignore.
“No proof for any of this,” Roark said grimly, “but now more than ever, Ernie bears careful watching.”
THE SUN WAS STILL a good hour away from setting when the drive stopped for the night. Samantha suspected that the other members of the outfit were as grateful as she was for Shep’s decision to call an early halt. The trail boss had pushed them hard that day, insisting they had to make up for lost time.
“Don’t know why he’s so worried,” Cappy had grumbled, his jaws working on his familiar tobacco chaw. “Alamo Junction can’t be more’n a couple of days away now. Plenty of time to make those stock cars.”
If only we could count on that, Samantha thought, sharing the trail boss’s tension. After all, she had a lot to lose if they failed to meet the deadline. And with all that had been happening, it was certainly possible. Shep’s concern, of course, could be explained by his responsibility for the progress of the drive. That and whatever private devil was riding him.