“You next.”
The curt voice coming from a foot away made her jump. Cal stood on the ground at her left side.
She looked down from the horse. His hand was on her stirrup. One had to admire, however grudgingly, how he’d taken charge. “You know I can shoot, and I can ensure you that my pistols are in excellent shooting condition.”
“Show me.” He extended his hand palm up for her pistols.
She drew her eyebrows into a hard line. “I don’t—”
“I shouldn’t be letting you in my posse in the first place. Your uncle would certainly not thank me.”
“Then, why are you?” she said, handing him the pistols instead of retorting. This was not his posse, but Uncle Zak needed to be saved.
He turned the guns in his hands examining barrel, trigger, hammer. Finally, he looked up at her. “You’re a good shot. Unfortunately, probably the best we have in this posse after me.”
Sitting a little straighter in her saddle, she thought about bestowing a smile on the man. He had a good head on his shoulders. And quite a handsome one at that, mounted on rugged shoulders. Maybe she’d suggest he try out for the Texas Rangers when he returned to his state. With a lot of practice and a decent bit of luck, he just might make it into that famed force.
“But more importantly, you would have tagged along behind anyway, and then I’d be responsible when the gang picked off the stragglers.” Cal turned his mouth up on one side.
If his face hadn’t been at knee height, she would have slapped him. She felt like kicking him, but she had manifested quite enough unladylike behavior last night to last her for the year. “Ready to stop wasting time and get this posse moving?”
He nodded.
Men mounted their horses and formed a straggling line as the posse rode up and ever up. The cold morning sun changed to something more intense, but the chill wind from the mountains also increased. Uncle Zak’s slicker flapped about her waist. She tightened the belt and scooted further into the leathery folds. A dampness crawled in with the breeze. Even the sun’s rays were muted as a thin fog crept down the mountains.
Peter Foote spurred his horse up to Cal, who rode several yards to the front, gaze scanning the land above. “What are we looking for exactly, Cal?”
She inched her mount in from the left side to hear what Cal had to say.
It took a moment for him to stop scanning the trees in front and answer. “Signs of unusual activity. Ideally, a gang hideout. Though I doubt we have a strong enough force to take on the Silverman gang unless we take them by complete surprise.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “There’s a gang here in Gilman? How many men do they have?”
“A dozen or two at least at this location, I’d imagine. More in Houston.”
And that easily, Cal told a civilian general store owner the secret that he’d been trying to hide from her for months. Ginny pressed her lips together.
Peter tightened the reins on his horse. “We have almost two dozen, counting the cowhands.”
“The larger issue is that these men are trained gunmen.” Cal’s face stiffened, his eyes narrow. “I’m not convinced half of this posse could hit a human-sized target, even if they’re not on horseback.”
“What’s the trick for shooting from horseback?” Peter asked.
“The first thing is to get your seat steady. Try this.” Cal did something she couldn’t see and motioned Peter to do the same. Peter shot and landed one bullet quite respectably in a fir branch.
That technique of Cal’s must be good, because she’d never see Peter shoot from horseback before. Mounted marksmanship had always been her weakness.
Spurring her horse, she came even with Cal’s horse. “What did you just show him?”
Cal turned to her. “Like this. Steady your arm so.” Closing his sorrel in to match her mare’s pace, he touched her arm and maneuvered it into position. “Then post while—”
She tilted her head as she studied how he did it. Impressive. And if her hand sweated a little at his touch, that was only because she worried what Peter would think. “Where did you learn that?”
“Training.”
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Peter smiled at her.
Even Peter was on Cal’s side now? She focused on the pine she’d selected as a target as she held her pistol out steady. “Yeah, sure.”
Cal turned his blue-eyed gaze to her, a hint of amusement flickering in them. “What did you just say?”
Lowering her pistol, she straightened up very tall in her saddle, which would have worked better if her mare was a couple hands taller than Cal’s sorrel. It wasn’t. “You’re good. See? I said it.”
Half a smile jerked up the corners of his mouth, but then he shifted his gaze back to scanning the area. “What’s the name of the man over there?” He pointed to a young man with black sideburns who wandered far to the right of the posse. “I’ve been telling him all morning to stay close, and he keeps doing that.”
She glanced in the direction Cal pointed. “Oh, that’s Charles.”
“Can you go persuade him to stay safely with the others, because every time I talk to him he nods and then mutters something about ‘Miss Thompson’ and shifts further right.”
As if her talking to him would work? “It’s Charles,” she said, using the finality that statement deserved.
“Yeah, you know him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“The incident, remember?” Ginny shook her head at Cal’s obvious amnesia. “I can’t ride over there. He’ll just move further away.”
Cal swung up his hands from the saddle horn. “It was third grade.”
She adjusted her seat in the saddle and tried that mounted shooting trick Cal had shown her one more time before taking the necessary action. “I’ll ride back to the left. That should make him come in further.”
Cal sighed. “All right.”
~*~
Nothing, nothing, and again nothing. What was visible of the sun, which wasn’t much, had started the downward arc of the afternoon and yet the same peaks, valleys, and evergreen trees spread out before them without a hint of murderous gangs or kidnapped prisoners. A few boulders made menacing shadows on a cliff face above, but there wasn’t even a hint of campfire smoke.
Kicking her horse, Ginny strayed a little further left of the posse. Uncle Zak had to be here somewhere. But where? She looked up, but the vastness of ever-rising mountains defied her ability to even see, let alone traverse, them all.
To the left, the evergreen fence broke for a few feet. Her mare whinnied and started trotting that way.
“No! Bad horse. No!” She tugged at the reins, but the mare was dead set on entering the ring of trees. It could be interesting to see what lay beyond…
The mare pushed through a narrow opening and Ginny ducked to avoid a tree branch. Then, as she lifted her head, she gasped.
A mountain lake spread out before her. Cold water lapped the rock-bound edges of this forest mystery. Tall pines encased it, closing out the rest of the world. One lone bird flapped its wings over the icy stillness. A breath of wind skimmed over the water and blew up to brush her face like the cold hands of a mermaid.
The mare pushed forward to the water’s edge and dunked her broad muzzle in the water. Sliding off the horse, Ginny knelt by the water. The moss on the rocky edge of the lake felt cold even through her dress. She huddled in Uncle Zak’s slicker and watched the wind ripple the cold water.
Tears welled up behind her eyelids. Where was Uncle Zak now? They’d need a thousand men and just as many days to cover all this distance. What if he died first? What would she do without Uncle Zak?
Fallen leaves crunched behind her, and she jumped for her pistols. But she’d left them in her saddle bags.
“People who wander off get lost. I can’t afford to be hunting two missing persons.” A dismounted Cal pushed his way through the brush and his horse followed behind. Dropping the sorrel’s reins, he strode up next to her, a littl
e too close for comfort. His tan duster hung down from broad shoulders, as his hands parted the coat to rest on his gun belt.
She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeves. He was the last person she needed seeing her cry. “I guess not, seeing as you can’t even find one missing person.”
He stepped back, boot digging a valley through a quite beautiful piece of moss. “You’re blaming your uncle’s absence on me?”
“If you hadn’t been so busy pestering me at the picnic, maybe you would have noticed when the gang arrived and kidnapped him.” Still bent over, she splashed icy lake water on her face and hoped it hid the red in her eyes and washed away the tears.
“That’s ridiculous.” He plucked up a stone and hurled it out across the water. It skimmed across the surface, breaking the placid ripples. “And I never said anything about kidnappers.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Cal Westwood.” She turned stony eyes to him. “I know you’ve wanted me out of this gang business from the start. But it’s here now. It’s part of my life. My Uncle Zak’s gone and—” She choked on a sob and quickly turned toward the water to hide the tears that followed.
Hand already half-extended in a throw, Cal dropped the second rock. It hit the moss with a thud. “Are you crying?”
“No! But you need to start sharing information with me. I know this town. I know my uncle. And I know law enforcement.” Standing up, she stuck her hands into the massive pockets of the slicker and planted her feet further apart. Most of the stance was obscured by leather and petticoats, and perhaps that was why Cal didn’t react, but it still felt defiant.
His face softened as he stepped closer. “We’ll find him. I promise.”
She stiffened. “There is absolutely no way you can know that.”
“True, no man knows the future, but Texas trains their lawmen to come right close.” He smiled at her. “Trust me, Gina. I’m going to try everything.”
A small frog, who had somehow managed to survive mountain temperatures, gurgled from behind a bit of lake greenery. Cal seemed so strong, so confident. Her lower lip trembled as she wiped away more unwanted tears and bit back a sob. Part of her wanted to rush forward and cling to him, let the fear and worry fall away for a few moments by drawing from his strength.
Reaching forward, he took her hand that was as white as she imagined her face was. His fingers squeezed hers.
The heat of his hand warmed hers. For the first time since that ill-fated day he arrived on the train, she was glad she wasn’t the only one working in the Gilman sheriff’s office. But this was not a time for idle sentiment. With a shake of her head, she recaptured her hand and turned her mind to the problem. “Are you going to share case information with me?”
Another rock, which had somehow made it into Cal’s grasp, bounced back and forth as he tossed the stone from hand to hand. “You really think it could make a difference in finding your uncle?”
“Of course. I’m brilliant.” Her voice contained a distinct sniffle from the tears, but she tried to hide it.
“All right, but when I say share that means you share with me, too. Got it?”
A fair exchange but not necessarily the one she would have outlined. She sighed. “All right.”
Turning away from him, she picked her way over clumps of moss to her mare, who was still greedily sucking in water. She patted the poor beast’s swollen stomach and then swung up. “We better get the posse back before dark.”
As she pulled the mare around to the clearing in the trees, she looked back at him. “And thank you.”
His blue eyes matched the mountain lake as he nodded back.
13
By the time the posse arrived back in Gilman, the sun had almost set. After lighting the lamp and piling the supper dishes in a large stack, Ginny spread blank sheets of paper accompanied by two fountain pens on the dining room table. “Your posse was a colossal failure. We’ll cross that method off our list.”
Cal clamped his elbows down on the table as he took the seat next to her. “There are hundreds of mountains and valleys here. You think you could have done better?”
She chewed her lip. “No, probably not. So our next plan is?”
“Well.” He took a deep breath.
She took advantage of the pause to sweep some neglected crumbs off the table into a neat pile for Fluffy. For some strange reason, Fluffy only ate crumbs when they were in a neat pile.
Soon though, Cal’s pause grew wastefully long. She straightened the pens. “I think we should focus on Widow Sullivan.”
“Widow Sullivan? What has she ever done? Except spend much too much time with Mrs. Clinton. The widow probably deserves our pity more than anything.”
All pens now impeccably straight, Ginny stood and twisted up the lamp’s wick. They hadn’t gotten back from the mountains until almost sunset and now it was pitch black. “I’ve been telling you, she’s the one who stole the plum preserves.”
“Why do I care who pinched the preserves?”
“Of course you wouldn’t condemn food stealing since you stole my entire basket at the picnic.” Taking up her pen, she twirled it between her thumb and forefinger and wondered what exactly to write on the paper. A twelve-step process for creating a successful rescue plan would be extremely useful right about now, but nothing came to mind.
“I am sorry for stealing your basket. Can we focus on rescuing your uncle now?”
A small blob of ink dripped as she placed the pen back on the table. “Certainly.”
Drawing a map out of his pocket, he unfolded it on top of the other pages.
A crisp breeze blew through the window, puckering the map’s edges and shifting the papers. Hanging onto one piece of paper, she took the pen back and drew a neat number one. “The widow’s also been missing ever since she had dinner with Uncle Zak at the Fourth of July picnic, if that interests you.” Also, Cherry said Uncle Zak was sweet on Widow Sullivan.
The map went skidding off the table as Cal jerked his head up. “Missing! Why didn’t you tell me this at first?”
She made a small dot after the “one.” “Because you were incredibly ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful? One doesn’t let personal feelings interfere with law enforcement work.”
“You do.” Now she just needed a first point to write after the one.
Slapping his hands on the map, he leaned forward. “How?”
“You got me taken off the gang case because I intoxicated you.” Moving over the point one, she made a small number two, and then another dot.
“Perhaps I find women who put alcohol in law officers’ food somewhat unreliable.”
She pursed her lips. He might have a small point, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“So, question one—if Widow Sullivan is gone, do we assume she is a gang member or that she too was kidnapped?” His voice was deeper than Uncle Zak’s. Even though Cherry and Miss Lilac resided upstairs, it was strange sitting alone with a man as the clock ticked toward ten at night.
But he raised a good question. Ginny took time for a quick diagram outlining the options before setting her pen down. “She’s new to town and she’s a woman, both reasons that would make her an unlikely gang target.”
“You’re saying the Silverman gang is more likely to use a female spy than kidnap a woman?” His sandy-brown eyebrows came down as he cocked his head just a fraction of an inch. He had a cowlick on his forehead that sent his hair swooping up to the right.
“Yes. They would have no reason to capture an innocent woman. Unlike my uncle, she wouldn’t be a threat.”
“Why would they use a woman? You’ve seen Widow Sullivan. She’s physically unimpressive and her seat on a horse is terrible.” He leaned back, tilting the hardwood chair.
Ginny placed both hands on the table. “Because women are invaluable to criminal activity. Haven’t you ever read a crime novel? Seducing lawmen is something male criminals are incredibly poor at doing.” Had Widow Sullivan done that
to Uncle Zak? Ginny’s throat constricted. Or what if Widow Sullivan did have feelings for Uncle Zak? She might be his best chance for escape.
The darkness, lit only by one lamp, hung over Cal’s face like a mask. “I never heard that the Silverman gang had any females.”
“Maybe they hired someone new.”
“Maybe.” He sighed and tilted his chair farther back. “But until we find their hideout, we won’t know.”
What to do, what to do? She tapped her fingers against the hardwood and the lamp flickered. She needed to add oil soon.
Fluffy chose that moment to stride into the room with the air of a mountain lion. Rearing up on her back paws, she surveyed the room.
Cal brought his chair crashing down to upright. “I’m trying to save a man’s life and capture a gang. I can’t handle that cat.”
“Oh, she’ll be good. See? She’s in a happy mood right now.” Crumb in hand, Ginny reached down.
Just then, Fluffy threw up a furball and screamed.
Leaning over, Ginny patted the cat with one hand. “No, no. Be good, Fluffy. We’re trying to save Uncle Zak. You like Uncle Zak.”
Fluffy screamed again.
“Oh, all right.” Sighing, between cat screams that completely drowned out the sighs, Ginny stood and walked to the piano.
“No,” Cal yelled over the high-pitched noise. “I can’t listen to your piano playing right now either.”
“I’ve improved tremendously, actually.” She tilted the mahogany piano lid up.
“Allow me. Please.” His voice had a desperate edge to it. His arm brushed against her as he pushed past her onto the piano bench. As he spread his fingers across the keys, a rousing melody came forth.
Fluffy squished down onto the dusty hardwood.
He shifted his fingers up, switching to a calmer piece, each note stretched out with soothing tenderness.
The soft melody made Ginny want to cry even as it urged for action, rising in a wailing sort of sound that she’d never heard before. “What song is that?”
“An Irish ballad. My roommate at law school taught it to me.” His long fingers spanned the keys just as easily as a pistol grip, and his solid boots pressed the pedals as readily as he spurred his horse.
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