Gabriel's Lady (Leisure Historical Romance)
Page 18
“Be careful, little sister,” Joel warned as she turned to go. “When you get hot under the collar, you look way too pretty to be a boy.”
Easier said than done in the world of the Wild West, where performers came and went at all hours, playing cards and carousing from one wagon to the next with their whiskey bottles.
While she’d practiced riding and shooting at home all those years, dreaming of the day she could perform for a tentful of amazed spectators, Solace hadn’t considered the seamier side of this world she’d only watched from the grandstands. Theatrical makeup and costumes covered a lot…created illusions as alluring as Faustina’s Gypsy personality, for impressionable audiences that came to be astounded and entertained. She’d learned things she didn’t really want to know about some of these folks, and she had a lot of thinking to do. Any more visits from Cora and Madame Flambeau—especially if they cornered her when Joel wasn’t around—and there would be trouble. She didn’t have to be a fortune-teller to predict that.
Trouble struck the next day, without warning.
Solace had decided to ride along the Smoky Hill River before breakfast, to clear her head of Cora’s threats and enjoy some time away from prying eyes. With Rex in her lap and Lee following obediently behind, she steered Lincoln to a secluded spot upstream from the back corrals. She tethered the horses to graze on the lush shoreline grass, and then slipped out of her clothes. Quickly she ducked under the cool water and then rubbed herself with soap she’d brought along.
Rex joined her, eager to splash and play—but when he let out three sharp barks, Solace turned around before she thought about it.
Cora was laughing slyly, holding not only Sol’s pants and homespun shirt, but the long strip of fabric Solace bound her breasts with.
“I knew it! I knew, soon as I laid eyes on you, there was somethin’ not right about our spectacular new sharpshooter!” she jeered. “Wait till Pete sees this!”
“No—I—you’ve got to understand—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” the little woman snapped. “You intended to horn in on my act! Maybe steal my spot completely, and then reveal yourself to Pete to attract his attentions, too! Anybody who’d trick herself out like a boy can’t be trusted for a single minute!”
Off she stomped, triumphantly waving Sol Juddson’s clothing in front of her.
“Wait! You can’t just march off with my clothes! I—”
Rex bounded from the water, barking fiercely. He grabbed a leg of Solace’s pants to snatch them away, but Cora turned to glare at him.
“Get away from me, mutt!” she cried. Then she hollered toward the corrals and show wagons. “Boys! Pete! Help me! Mad dog! Mad dog!”
Apache Pete came running, and so did Joel and a few others, while Solace could only watch, helpless and naked, from the stream.
It was all over. Sol Juddson had just gotten off to a wonderful start as the star of this Wild West Extravaganza, and now the secret was out.
“Rex! Easy, boy!” she hollered. She’d have even more trouble if her protective dog attacked somebody.
By then Cora was surrounded by curious men, and she was in her glory. “Would you look at what I just uncovered!” she cried. “Seems our Sol Juddson is a girl, passin’ herself off as a young man! She’s gotta come outta that water sometime, and you’ll see it for yourselves!”
The men buzzed like bumblebees and hurried toward the riverbank, where Rex had positioned himself to protect Solace. Joel broke away from the group, shrugging out of his shirt.
“Better put this on and come clean,” he said as he tossed it to her. “Your riding and shooting speak for themselves in the ring, but Cora’s stirring up a whole new nest of snakes. It’ll be up to Pete now, whether you stay with the show or leave.”
Nodding sadly, Solace stepped out of the river. Joel’s old shirt covered her breasts and bare backside but not much else. It was better than returning to the wagons naked, though. “Thanks,” she gasped. “I should’ve been more careful.”
“Those two biddies’ve been waiting for just such a moment. Would’ve happened sooner or later.” He walked ahead of her, to where Apache Pete stood with Cora ranting on one side of him and Faustina Flambeau crowing on the other.
“No surprise to me that something wasn’t right about our new boy,” the raven-haired Gypsy exclaimed. “Wrong walk, wrong gestures. Way too graceful, standing on those horses to perform. I saw it right off!”
Apache Pete took in the way Joel stepped to the side, shirtless, as she and Rex approached. Still soaking wet, with rivulets of water streaming down from her cropped curls, Solace had never felt more at a disadvantage. But if she didn’t defend herself, who would?
“Malloy, I’ve got to ask this straight out,” the showman said. “If you’re in cahoots with Juddson, or whoever he—she—is—”
“She’s my sister.” Joel looked his boss in the eye without a flicker of apology. “And she’s the best damn performer I’ve ever seen—the best one you’ve ever seen, too, isn’t she?” he challenged. “Before you go thinking the wrong things about her, I’m the one who suggested she disguise herself. Didn’t figure she’d even get to audition if she had to compete against Cora.”
Apache Pete twirled an end of his handlebar mustache, looking from Joel to Solace. “And what do you have to say for yourself, missy?”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, clutching the shirt around her wet body. “I’ve loved to ride and shoot all my life, and I just wanted a chance to perform. If you want me to leave, I’ll—”
“Nonsense. Folks love you and Rex—and that’s the only reason I’ll tolerate your trickery, young lady. What’s your real name?”
“Solace Monroe.”
“And where do you live?”
“Just the other side of Abilene, sir. Been training horses and riding since I could walk, practically. Out on my parents’ ranch.”
Pete’s eyes softened, but he was a man in charge of a close-knit troupe and a tight schedule. “You’ll continue to appear as Sol Juddson because we’ve sent our flyers ahead to Enterprise, advertising you and your dog. So I expect—”
“But, Pete! If this upstart’s deceived us about her sex, who knows what else she’ll pull?” Faustina demanded.
“I don’t trust her any farther than I could throw her!” Cora chimed in.
Apache Pete cleared his throat, pondering his dilemma. “Get over your objections, ladies, because from here on out she’ll be bunking with you. I can’t think you’ll mind having a handsome, talented young fellow like Sol as a wagonmate.”
Pete glanced around at the crowd that had gathered to follow this little drama. “Now get your breakfast and get ready for the next show! Most of you’ve got deeper, darker secrets than Miss Monroe, so I don’t want to hear another word about this. The Wild West Extravaganza must go on! Bigger and better than ever!”
As the roustabouts turned to do Pete’s bidding, Solace gave the show’s owner a grateful grin. “Thank you, sir. I truly appreciate being able to stay in the show—”
“Don’t speak too soon, missy. Traveling with the likes of Faustina and Crack-Shot Cora might change your mind about that.”
Chapter Twenty
That evening’s performance was her best ever; Solace rode with more flair, and Rex performed a new trick, dancing with her atop Lee’s back as they cantered around the ring. She didn’t miss a single shot—and Joel spun her some wide, wild targets as a challenge. The audience cheered so loudly that Apache Pete brought them back into the ring twice, just so folks could adore her with their applause.
She went to the wagon that night with a big grin on her face. It was no secret that Apache Pete played to the crowds— and that Sol Juddson’s flamboyant riding and shooting were filling the grandstands during their extended stay in Abilene. The ringmaster had apparently warned Cora and Faustina to behave themselves, because after the show, they went off to drink and play poker with the roustabouts.
She didn’t like to perform on a full stomach, so Solace ate the bowl of beans and stew she’d set aside, sitting cross-legged under the wagon with Rex, as she always did. The company cook must’ve emptied a few odd bottles of sauce into the pot, because it had an off taste. The meals here left a lot to be desired, compared to what she was used to eating at home, but she was too excited about her performance to care. She gave Rex his own piece of leftover corn bread as a reward. “Guess we showed those ladies how it’s done,” she murmured as she stroked the dog’s silky hair.
He woofed softly and licked her hand clean. Then he curled up under the front of the wagon for the night, and Solace crawled into her pallet of blankets inside, on the floor.
She was jolted awake by loud pounding on the door. Had she just fallen asleep, or was it hours into the night? She felt too groggy to tell.
“Sol Juddson, you in there?” a gruff male voice demanded. The door flew open just as Solace grabbed her bedding up around her, and two burly fellows in broad-brimmed hats stepped inside. Apache Pete peered through the door behind them.
“What the—what do you want?” she protested. The men were coming at her as though she’d done something horrible!
“You know anything about Cora’s whereabouts?” Pete asked. His voice sounded thin and he looked shaken. Much more humble and cautious than she’d ever seen him.
“Last thing I knew, she was playing cards with—I went to bed after the show, so I have no idea—” Solace glanced at the two bunks, which were empty. Where were Faustina and Cora? And where was Rex? He should’ve been barking and charging at these intruders.
“You’d better come along with us and straighten some things out, missy,” the taller fellow insisted. “We get enough extra trouble when you circus types come in, and I’m not puttin’ up with it. Not in my town.”
Solace’s mouth went dry and she shook herself awake. She didn’t recognize this man’s voice, and she couldn’t seem to focus her eyes. “I still have no idea—”
“Better check your pistols, Miss Monroe. There’s been an…unfortunate incident.” Pete cleared his throat nervously. He peered around, as though he might find Cora hidden in the armoire or under her bed.
“Never mind about my pistols! Where’s Rex? My dog should be—”
“Ain’t seen hide nor hair of no dog,” the shorter, stockier fellow replied. “But you’re in a heap of trouble if you don’t answer to us pretty dang quick.”
Trouble? Head spinning, Solace crawled to the corner of the wagon where Faustina and Cora had cleared a small space for her to stash her carpetbag and pistol case.
“I told you, I’ve been sleeping like the dead—or I’d know where my dog’s gone!” Tin stars glinted on their chests as the two men watched her like hungry hawks. She knew Sheriff Draper and any lawmen who came from Abilene, yet she couldn’t put names to these two shadowy faces. “I cleaned my pistols after the evening show, like always. Stored them in this case to—”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Only one pistol rested in its velvet casing.
“You sure you didn’t leave it in your buckskins?” Pete asked in an agitated voice. “If you can’t put your hand on it, the sheriff’ll have to—”
“I know what I did with my pistols, Pete. Now where’s the other one?” she demanded, willing her body not to shake. “Why don’t you fellows just tell me what’s going on here, instead of scaring the stuffing out of me?”
The taller man—the one in charge—raised a bushy eyebrow at his partner. “Better come with us, Miss Malloy. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I’ve got nothing to explain until you tell me where—”
“Don’t argue,” Pete rasped. “Cora’s been shot. They-they found her body in the trees along the river.”
The blood drained from her head. This whole scenario felt like a nightmare gone terribly wrong, and as she was escorted from the stuffy wagon into the half-light of early morning, Solace noticed the other members of the Wild West show milling about like ants in a hill that had been raked away. When they caught sight of her and pointed, the dryness in her mouth turned to a coppery tang. She stumbled. Her head felt muzzy, and she had trouble walking.
Do NOT vomit! Do NOT complicate things by puking on this lawman’s boots, she warned herself.
“There she is! There’s the low-down snake who killed Cora!”
Solace stopped to stare. Faustina Flambeau was rushing toward her like a rabid dog. This was all so bizarre. Details faded in and out, as though she were shrouded in a haze she couldn’t see through.
“Wasn’t enough that you showed her up in the ring again!” the fortune-teller cried. “You had to yell her down and get her riled up, when she nicely asked you to—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Solace mumbled. “I’ve been asleep.”
“Oh, shut up! There goes my best friend on that stretcher—and you shot her dead!” Faustina swiped at tears, pointing to the figure slung on a sheet between two of the roustabouts. “I knew you were trouble from the start. Get that lousy traitor out of here, Sheriff!”
The lawmen grabbed her arms when Solace bolted forward, toward the fake Gypsy whose accusations made absolutely no sense. “You’re lying and you know it!” she rasped. “You and Cora have had it in for me—”
“Don’t say another word.” The shorter fellow cleared his throat pointedly. From his back waistband he pulled the pearl-handled pistol that hadn’t been in its case. “We found this near the body, Miss Monroe. It’s your word against everybody else’s, but none of ’em saw or heard anything unusual—till one of the fellows tripped over Miss Cora about an hour ago.”
“We’re arresting you for her murder,” the other one chimed in. “Every person we asked had an alibi—and mentioned you as the one most likely to pick a bone with her. Let’s go.”
Her head was spinning as the lawman’s words swam in her ears. Murder? When someone had obviously swiped her gun? And her dog? And what about Lincoln and Lee? If the horses were gone, too…
Her vision grew patchy and Solace felt the last of her resolve give way as she wilted to the ground in a heap.
A few miles from the fairgrounds, Joel Malloy stopped on the bank of the Smoky Hill River to rinse the blood from his tooth-marked arm. He let out a short laugh when Rex crouched into pouncing position, on the back of one of the bays he’d led behind his own horse.
“I’m taking you home,” he assured the feisty white Border collie. “Solace needs more help than we can give her back there. And she needs you alive, you feisty mutt.”
The dog followed his every word with those bright, beadlike eyes and the rise of those dark ears. Joel stuck his arm into the cool water and rubbed it where the bites still bled a little; it hadn’t been easy, snatching Solace’s protective dog out of harm’s way, and Rex still wasn’t his willing hostage. But he’d smelled trouble brewing after the show, when Faustina hadn’t spared him a glance. She went whispering to Apache Pete instead, and then she’d hung thick with Cora and a couple bottles of cheap whiskey.
“Should’ve known something would happen after Cora told Solace to miss some shots, but I never figured on this,” he explained to the bright-eyed dog. “Never should’ve talked her into trying out for the show—even though there was no keeping her away from it. Come on, Rex. We’re almost at the ranch.”
Joel followed the river for another twenty minutes. He felt shady approaching the Triple M from behind the barns rather than through its white arched entryway, but he’d taken cover under the cottonwoods in case Pete sent somebody after him. He’d done the right thing by his sister. Yet his gut tightened with something he couldn’t name.
Mercy and Malloy would blame him for what had happened to Solace, and he didn’t intend to hang around for their tongue-lashing. Just wanted to deliver her horses and dog, and the message that she was in trouble for a crime she didn’t commit. Then he’d head west again; it was a sure bet Apache Pete wanted nothing m
ore to do with him.
He nudged his horse forward with his heels. The two-story house shone like a white diamond in the morning sun. Except for the green patch of yard inside the picket fence, the Triple M farmstead rolled off into corn and wheat fields as far as he could see in any direction. It was the most prosperous spread in the county, and he could claim his birthright any time he chose. As Malloy’s only son, he’d be welcomed and celebrated just like that prodigal runaway in the Bible story.
But this wasn’t the life for him. It reeked of rules and do-gooding.
He smelled bacon and biscuits; warned himself not to sit down to the breakfast they’d be serving up with a heavy dose of Biblical wisdom, even though a home-cooked meal would soothe his soul. Maybe he’d just slip the bays into the corral and keep riding…let Rex kick up a fuss, until everybody realized Solace was in trouble because she wasn’t with her trusty dog.
As though the mutt had read his thoughts, Rex hopped nimbly off his horse and ran for the house, barking like the barn was on fire.
Joel led the horses to the paddock, watching for whomever answered the dog’s summons. He wasn’t surprised when Temple Gates came out the kitchen door, even though the children she’d tutored were grown up and gone. The coffee-skinned caretaker glanced around the yard, and when she spotted him…gave him a long look…Joel waved at her.
“Rex, you hush now!” Temple cried as the dog circled her frantically. “Mister Joel, is that really you? Miss Mercy— Mister Michael! You’d better come see who’s here!”
He hooked the corral gate, and as he strode toward the house, Mercy and his father stepped outside. Their usual joy at seeing him would be tempered by disappointment once the initial surprise of his visit wore off. Usually took about two minutes.
“Joel! Solace said you were traveling with the Wild West show—”
“And we were so hoping to see you!” Mercy finished his father’s welcome.
“Wish I had better news for you, but Solace found herself some trouble with the law.” Never one for small talk, Joel endured Mercy’s embrace and shook his pa’s outstretched hand. “She’ll no doubt be charged with killing Cora Walsh, even though she didn’t do it.”