“Yes.” She nodded emphatically, gracing the two miners with what she hoped was an imploring smile. “Yes, he is. I hardly know him, and he’s trying to drag me off—”
“She robbed me and I’m taking her to the sheriff’s office,” Cord cut in just then. “Do either of you have a problem with that?”
The older of the two miners scowled. “Yeah, I’ve got a problem with it, mister. Dragging her around like that is no way to treat a lady.”
Cord Wainwright gave a harsh laugh. “Well, if she were a lady, I might have to agree with you. Considering the family she comes from, though, I heartily doubt that’s a concern.” Pulling Sarah along with him, he took a step forward. “So, do yourselves a favor and get out of my way.”
“I’d do as the lad suggests,” a voice, thick with a brogue, interjected just then.
Relief flooded Sarah. “Mr. McPherson!”
The little Scotsman elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. After barely acknowledging her, he drew up beside Cord and riveted his fierce gaze on the two miners.
“Stay out of this, laddies,” he said. “Cord here is the son of the owner of Castle Mountain Ranch, the biggest spread in these parts. And he means the lass no harm. Ye two, though, if ye keep pushing on him, will rue the day ye ever tried to interfere. Not only did I teach him everything I know about boxing, but he used to fight professionally to pay for all his fancy schooling. Trust me when I tell ye he’s not one ye wish to trifle with.”
The two miners looked to each other, then back at Cord.
“Well, if he really is just going to take her to the sheriff’s office . . .” the older man began.
“Beggin’ yore pardon, mister,” the younger miner added, stepping aside.
Exasperation filled Sarah. Fine. Real fine. Isn’t anyone going to come to my aid?
Evidently not, she realized, as Cord Wainwright’s grip tightened once more around her arm. The crowd parted before them, and he again began to drag her forward. Again and again, she threw her full weight against the iron clasp of his hand, until her futile efforts finally left her weak and panting. To add to her humiliation, sporadic bursts of laughter now reached her ears.
Her face burning, knowing how ludicrous she must appear being pulled along like some recalcitrant child, it was all she could do to blink back the tears. She had to get away and warn Noah, but how?
Blessedly, her opportunity arrived when her captor paused in front of the sheriff’s office. Momentarily, his grip loosened as he shifted his hands in preparation for lifting her onto the boardwalk. In that split second, Sarah spun around and jabbed her elbow hard into his side.
Even to her surprise, he inhaled a sharp, shuddering breath, doubled over, and released her.
She didn’t look back, and sprinted through the crowded street. The dark shadows of an alleyway caught her eye. Sarah wheeled off in a new direction, running toward what she saw as her only chance of freedom.
The clapboard buildings loomed to engulf her. Anticipation of escape grew, burgeoning with each beat of her wildly pounding heart.
If only I can get out of sight, hide until he gives up searching for me . . .
The sound of heavy footsteps intruded into her frantic thoughts. Sarah quickened her pace, her legs pumping furiously. Light at the alley’s end beckoned to her like the gateway to heaven.
If only I can reach it, then dash into some door or around the corner . . .
Just ahead, she heard an upstairs window slide open. Out of nowhere a torrent of water cascaded down on her head. Startled, she stumbled, lost her footing, and fell as the ground beneath and before her turned slippery with the muck of soapsudsy water.
Wash water. The town laundry . . .
Sarah scrambled to her feet.
A hard body slammed into her, the force of the impact momentarily propelling them both forward. Then they fell, facedown in the mud, dirty, scummy water spraying around them to drench them head to toe.
A familiar, iron-thewed grip tightened around her waist. Sarah groaned. It’s no use. I can’t get away from him no matter how hard I try.
She twisted to look at Cord Wainwright, only to meet bits of black onyx glittering back at her. Muddy water dripped from his dark hair, coursing in rivulets down the taut, angry planes of his face. Struck by the realization of how ludicrous she must also look, Sarah swallowed hard against the inane giggle that rose in her throat. In any other instance, this would almost seem funny. In any instance, that was, but now.
“Are you through with your games?” Cord Wainwright ground out. “I’ve had just about all I can take from you, so I suggest you think long and hard before trying anything else.”
Sarah’s lips tightened and she glanced away. What’s the point in arguing? she thought, fiercely tamping down a swell of despair. There’ll be other chances. No matter what he may think, he’s only won the first skirmish, not the war.
Cord took her silence as surrender. Deciding it was past time he turn Sarah Caldwell in to Gabe Cooper’s custody and some well-earned jail time, he tried to climb to his feet with her in his arms. Try, however, was as far as he got.
Encumbered with the petite form, Cord slipped and fell again. Dirty water splattered them as he once more tumbled down atop her. Beneath him Cord heard her grunt, the force of his body slamming onto hers apparently driving the air from her lungs.
He cursed and immediately rolled off. This time, dragging her up by the arm, Cord struggled to stand. Though a bit more sodden than before, Sarah looked no worse for the wear. He shot her a warning glare, tightened his hold on her arm, and with a precarious grip on his temper, turned and strode back down the alley.
From his spot on the boardwalk outside the sheriff’s office, Dougal’s eyes widened as soon as he caught sight of them. Mud-coated and dripping wet, not to mention he was dragging an equally grimy bundle of irate femininity along behind him, Cord could just imagine how ludicrous he must look. And his old friend’s strenuous attempts to keep from laughing only confirmed his suspicions.
“Will ye be needin’ some help, lad?” the old Scotsman inquired loudly when they finally came within earshot.
Cord glanced up from his struggles trying to contain his endlessly wiggling captive. “Yes. Get Gabe out here.”
Dougal grinned. “Now, sure and that’d be a mite hard, lad. The sheriff’s no’ here.”
“Then for pity’s sake, go and get him for me!”
“All the way from Denver?”
His rapidly fraying temper exploded. “Blast it all!”
Cord pulled the girl to him, his arm encircling her waist. “Now what am I supposed to do with her?”
Bright blue eyes leisurely scanned Sarah’s grimy form. “Well, myself, I’d be for givin’ the lassie a bath.”
As Sarah sputtered indignantly, Cord wearily shook his head. “As much as I usually appreciate your Scottish wit, this is neither the time nor place. I hurt. I’m soaking wet, and I need her locked up until Gabe gets back and he can question her.”
“Aye, that ye do, lad.” Dougal paused to scratch his chin. “Well, there’s always Gabe’s young deputy, Sam Hayden. He could keep an eye on her in jail. But he is still pretty wet behind the ears, and I fear Jacob Caldwell and his boys would have her out in no time.”
Cord turned to stare down at his prisoner. “So, she is Sarah Caldwell.”
“Of course I am, you big lummox!” she snapped. “And, with the sheriff gone, you’ve no right to continue to hold me, so I suggest you let me go before I press charges.”
He smirked. “Oh, really. And exactly what would those charges be, little miss know-it-all?”
Hesitation flickered in her eyes. “Well, for starters, assault and battery. And, for another,” she added, apparently gaining inspiration as she went, “kidnapping.”
“Nice try.” Cord smiled coldly. “However, in the absence of the sheriff or an experienced deputy, and with the need to detain you for probable cause that you committed a felony in hel
ping your family rob our ranch, a citizen’s arrest is more what I had in mind.”
“A what?”
“A citizen’s arrest. In case your education’s a bit lacking, it’s a practice that can be traced all the way back to English common law during the Middle Ages. It grants a private citizen the right to detain suspected criminals until proper law enforcement personnel can assume custody.” Cord looked to the old Scotsman. “Isn’t that correct, McPherson?”
As Sarah turned her imploring gaze up to the man standing before them on the boardwalk, Dougal nodded. “Aye, I’m afraid that’s true, lass. And Cord, of all people, would know, him being a lawyer and all.” He paused, his thick white brows arching in query as he stepped down to join them. “So, citizen’s arrest and all, what have ye planned for the lassie?”
Cord sighed. Why is everything getting so dad-blamed complicated?
“What choice do I have? I’ll have to take her home with me until Gabe gets back. I’m not going to let the only suspect we’ve caught so far get away.” He glanced over his shoulder at his buckskin tied across the street in front of Dougal’s store. “Bring over my horse, will you?”
The little Scotsman quickly complied. Once his mount was standing beside them, Cord gave Sarah to Dougal. Then he loosened one of the long rawhide thongs that usually secured his bedroll to the saddle and pulled it free. As the old man held her hands behind her back, Cord deftly tied them.
When the unpleasant task was finally completed, Dougal turned to Sarah. “I’m verra sorry, lassie,” he said. “It near to breaks my heart to see it come to this.”
Green eyes, bright with unshed tears, stared back at him. “I-I thought you were my friend,” she whispered. “How can you let him do this to me? You know Danny needs me. What will he do if you let this man take me away?”
“Then tell me where the money is!” Cord angrily interrupted before his friend could reply. “Tell me the names of the other thieves and where to find them. It’s not too much to ask, if you really care about this Danny like you say you do.”
She rounded on him, a defiant light in her eyes. “On the contrary. It is too much to ask. You Wainwrights deserve what you got!” Sarah gave a disparaging sniff. “Deserve that and more!”
For a fleeting moment, Cord studied her impassively, then expelled an exasperated breath. I’m going to regret this. I just know it.
“Here, hold Miss Caldwell while I mount up,” he growled, turning back to Dougal. “Obviously, it’s going to take more than a reasonable request to get the information I need out of her. And I don’t intend to begin in the middle of Main Street.”
Taking care not to injure his side any further, Cord swung up onto his horse. “Hand her to me,” he then said, bending toward Sarah.
“No!” She turned beseeching eyes to Dougal. “If you’re really the friend you always said you were, don’t let him take me. Please, Mr. McPherson. Please!”
The old man hesitated, and Cord knew he was torn between Sarah’s evident fear and the loyalty he felt toward him. Finally, sadly, he shook his head.
“’Tis the best choice, lassie. But dinna fear. Ye’re in no danger from the lad. Besides,” he added, smiling lamely, “surely ’tis only for a week or so, until the sheriff returns.”
“A week?” The horror in her voice was unmistakable. “A lot can happen in a week. Why, I could be dead!”
“Yes, you could,” Cord interjected dryly. “At the rate things are going, though, my death seems a far greater probability than yours.” He motioned to his friend. “Hand me up the girl.”
She must have been too stunned to respond, because Dougal was able to lift her up to sit in front of Cord without any struggle. Then, catching her eye, the little Scotsman gave her a reassuring wink before turning and heading back to his store.
Sarah gazed forlornly after him until he disappeared inside, then glanced back to rivet her white-hot glare onto Cord. “You’ll regret this to your dying day, Cord Wainwright,” she cried. “Just you wait and see!”
He reined in his horse and nudged it in the direction that led out of town. “Believe me, I already do,” he said with a rueful sigh. “Just remember one thing, you little wildcat. Whatever path my suffering leads me down, I fully intend to take you along for the ride.”
“Mama! Emma!” Pedro shouted. “Come quick! Come quick!” The lanky Mexican boy dashed through the front door of the main house, nearly skidding into Emma as she hurried from the library, feather duster in hand.
“Sakes alive, young man,” the older woman exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Madre de Dios!” Manuela, flour smeared on her face and hands, ran from the kitchen. “Is it Indians? Hurry, Pedro! Las pistolas!”
Her son ran over and engulfed her in a big hug. “Calm yourself, Mama. It is no Indians. It is Mister Cord. He is back, and he brings someone with him.” His youthful face broke into a wide grin. “And they are both very dirty.”
The two women exchanged a puzzled glance. Then, with a shrug, they hurriedly removed their work aprons and bustled out to the front porch. Even then, Cord was pulling up to the house.
“Let me go! You’ve got no right. No right at all!” his sodden, mud-covered passenger was saying, all the while squirming wildly before him.
With his free arm about her waist, Cord jerked her back. “And I said, sit still,” he growled, “before you end up in even worse trouble than you’re already in.”
The trio of servants stood there, momentarily stunned. Then lips began to twitch as they all fought to keep a straight face.
The barely suppressed amusement wasn’t lost on Cord. He glanced down at the girl he held before him. At the sight of her ramrod straight form and recalcitrant tilt of her mud-caked, blonde head now resolutely turned away, fresh irritation surged through him.
The little vixen. She has the most infuriating talent for making me appear the fool.
He looked up at the assemblage on the porch, visually challenging any to speak. The servants wisely withheld comment. He motioned to them.
“Manuela, come hold my horse. Pedro, get over here and help steady her when I lower her down.” His request was clipped and cold, brooking no discussion. The two hurried to do his bidding.
Though she was handed down and accepted with the greatest of care, Sarah’s legs crumpled beneath her when she touched ground. Luckily, the boy quickly grabbed her. She shot him a grateful smile.
“Thank you . . . Pedro, isn’t it?”
Atop his horse, Cord watched the boy flush, then nod in agreement. Great. Just great, he thought. She hasn’t been here five minutes, and already she’s plying her feminine wiles on a hapless, twelve-year-old boy.
As his gaze roamed over her, amusement slowly replaced his irritation. In her bedraggled state, Sarah’s attempts at charming anyone were more comical than provoking. Indeed, it was all Cord could do not to laugh, noting her piquant, dirt-smudged face and mud-coated hanks of hair, not to mention how ludicrously dressed she was in clothes many sizes too large for the slender form he knew lay beneath them.
But then, I can hardly talk, he reminded himself as he glanced down at his own clothing. A humorless smile touched his lips. We’re both in dire need of a bath. With a wince, Cord swung off his horse.
Taking Sarah from Pedro’s hands, he nodded his dismissal. “Put up Scout,” he said to the boy before turning to Manuela. “I’d like a bath. Could you get some water boiling for one?”
Manuela arched a dark eyebrow, her glance speculatively moving from Cord to Sarah, then back again to Cord. Then, drawing an inscrutable mask across her features, she nodded. “Sí, Señor Wainwright.”
He watched as the Mexican woman gathered her skirts and hurried off. Manuela wasn’t much on words, but sooner or later he knew he’d hear more than he might care to from her. Fortunately, it wouldn’t be in the next few minutes, which suited him just fine.
The housekeeper, however, was another matter. He turned to where she stood, hand
s resting on her matronly hips, upon the porch.
“Okay, Emma,” he said with a weary sigh. “Why don’t you just speak your mind and get it over with? Then I can get on with what I’m going to do anyway.”
Emma’s lips pursed, and she shook her gray-streaked auburn head in exasperation. “Land sakes, Cord Wainwright. Aren’t you suddenly an ill-tempered young bull? What am I supposed to think when you ride up covered in mud, with a young lady equally as muddy in tow? Did you expect me to hide in the house and peek through the curtains?”
Cord shifted uncomfortably. Here it comes now.
“I’m not in the mood for long explanations,” he said, “but this is the girl involved in the robbery, Sarah Caldwell to be exact. And, thanks to her, I’ve been through an aggravating past few hours. So all I want is to deposit her in the cellar and get cleaned up. Which is, starting now, exactly what I plan to do.”
As he began to pull Sarah along with him toward the front door, Emma swiftly moved to bar his way. “You’re going to put that child in that cold, damp cellar? For shame, Cord Wainwright! That’s no way to treat—”
“She’s no lady, and she’s surely no guest,” he quickly cut her off. “She’s a prisoner.”
At Emma’s look of skepticism, Cord held up his free hand to silence further protest. “No more, Emma. We’ll talk about this later.”
She eyed him for a moment longer, then gave him a curt nod. “Yes, we most certainly will talk about this later. You can bet your bottom dollar on that.”
By the time Cord Wainwright grabbed Sarah, tossed her over his shoulder, and proceeded up the steps and through the huge double doors of the gingerbread-trimmed, white frame dwelling, she was almost beyond caring. The wild swing of emotions combined with her fruitless, frustrating attempts to escape had drained her of strength. Besides, what was the point of further struggle? She was flat-out caught, and she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
As Cord’s long legs swiftly propelled them into the house, Sarah lifted her head and scanned the spacious entrance hall dominated by a commanding white oak staircase and three brightly colored stained glass windows. And, before he whisked her across to a short hall and down a flight of stairs, she caught a glimpse of a room off the main hall that was graced with a woman’s portrait over a massive stone fireplace, and another room across from it that appeared to be the dining room.
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 3