Plopping down on the davenport, she stared at him. “You’re surprisingly cultured for a law officer.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She shrugged, but the tune he raised made her feet want to dance, albeit in a slow, crying sort of way, so it couldn’t be all bad. “What are the words?”
“I sat within a valley green. I sat me with my true love. My sad heart strove to choose between.” His voice rose in a surprisingly beautiful tenor. “I forget the rest. I think the woman dies.”
“Play a happy Irish song. You’re going to give Fluffy nightmares.”
“They don’t write any. They’re Irish.”
Just then, Cherry flounced into the room, lavender skirt billowing. “Was that you, Ginny, playing that beautiful—oh.” The words died in her mouth. She stared at the two of them and then quickly began to back out of the room.
Ginny beckoned her. “It’s all right. We don’t think you’re a gang member. You can overhear this.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about overhearing gang initiatives.” Cherry brought her black eyelashes down in a flitting wink as she continued out of the room. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Now just what was that supposed to mean?
~*~
Cal leaned back in his chair.
“So what do we do?” Ginny stared at the dark table in frustration. “A whole day gone and all we’ve accomplished tonight is to silence Fluffy and send Cherry skittering out of the room. No clues, no evidence, not even a culprit.”
Even the moon had sunk beyond the mountains, leaving only darkness in the little dining room. Cal ran his tongue over his lip. This was shaping up much too similar to Longhorn’s Pass. “The gang may communicate with us. Bloody Joe has a history of extorting ransom.” Just like when Isaacs had been kidnapped ten months ago.
“So we sit here and wait while those monsters are holding Uncle Zak?” Her hair fell back from her face, lines of dissatisfaction etching her revealed brow.
He wanted to believe she’d see her uncle again, but every hour that passed made that event more unlikely, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her as much.
“Do we have another choice?” They hadn’t with Isaacs. It’d been five days from when he was caught until they’d received the ransom note. The Silverman gang had already discovered Isaacs’s position in the gang division by then. Houston had come up with the money for the ransom, but that accomplished nothing. Eventually, they’d even tracked down the gang’s location.
Even if Bloody Joe hadn’t shot all his prisoners as soon as he realized the division had surrounded the camp, Isaacs had been too brutalized by then to make his survival likely. They’d rounded up a few gang members that day, but Bloody Joe and the main gang force had escaped through the Longhorn mountain pass.
“Not yet, but I’ll sleep on it.” Ginny stood.
He jerked back to the present. Her face looked so hopeful, two red spots on the curve of her cheeks, her green eyes brilliant in the lamplight.
“Tomorrow then.” But his voice was flat.
14
Before the sun had much more than dawned, a rap sounded on the front door. Hair still in braids from the night before, Ginny got there first.
In the doorway’s entrance stood an uneasy looking Widow Sullivan. She coughed and rubbed her hands on her skirt. “I have a…ransom note, um, from your uncle.” Black gloves covered her fingers, lending her a vaguely sinister look as she extended the folded paper.
The woman was working with the gang! Ginny snatched the parchment from her. “Cal, come here.” Keeping a wary eye on Widow Sullivan and a firm grip on the oversized potted plant just inside the doorway in case any guns or knives made an appearance, Ginny skimmed the letter.
“You won’t string me up, will you? Zak said you might.” Widow Sullivan looked white as death. “I begged Joe not to send me.” Zak? Since when had the woman taken to calling her uncle by his Christian name? Ginny narrowed her eyes. “You stole the plum preserves, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I was ever so hungry and Joe hadn’t given me any money yet.” Wiping at tears, Widow Sullivan trembled. “Please don’t string me up.”
The sound of boots hit the hardwood as Cal appeared. His hair was tousled, and he was still in the act of buckling on his gun belt as he covered the distance.
“Her.” Ginny singled the widow out with an accusing finger. “Arrest her. I left my gun upstairs.”
Gun out of the holster now, he looked from her to the widow. “Why?”
“This.” With a snap of her wrist, Ginny unfolded the paper and read aloud. “I, Sheriff Thompson, am being held against my will by desperate criminals. Please sign over the silver mine to Joe Smith, or I’ll die. 2 Sam 10:4.” She peered at the verse number again. Is that the verse she thought it was?
“That’s Bloody Joe’s style all right. I’ve studied enough of his gang cases to know how he dictates a ransom note.”
“Good. Go tie her up or put her in jail or something while I figure out what to do next.” While talking, Ginny rummaged through the sideboard. Where was a Bible when you needed it?
One of Widow Sullivan’s black gloved hands inched up. “I’d like to say this really isn’t my fault.” The sunlight behind her reflected off her hair. That, along with her trembling lower lip, gave her an overly innocent look as she stared at Cal through wide blue eyes. “Don’t let her do anything to me, please Mr. Westwood.”
He turned to Ginny. “It’s scarcely advisable to harm the messenger.”
“Widow Sullivan isn’t just the messenger. She kidnapped my uncle. I know she did. They were eating together.” Finding a Bible, Ginny rustled through Joshua, Judges, and Ruth towards 2 Samuel 10:4.
“Yes, but the gang has your uncle, so retaliation is a distinct possibility. And we need this woman to carry an answer to the ransom note.”
“Exactly. You need me, see?” The widow clasped both hands over her chest and blinked pleading eyes at Ginny.
Ignoring the woman, Ginny moved her finger down the page of 2 Samuel 10:4. Just as she’d thought. Uncle Zak was clearly sending a message.
“What are you doing?” Cal directed a skeptical gaze to the pile of letters, mail order catalogs, and old books she’d thrown to the floor. He looked quite lawman-like, stance spread, gun out, broad chest filling the entranceway. If he didn’t take her advice and apply to the Texas Rangers, she’d be more than happy to take him on as her deputy.
Kicking a couple of catalogs under the sideboard, Ginny straightened. “You can scratch the figuring-out-what-to-do-with-the-widow conversation. We need to hang her.”
“Hang the Silverman gang’s representative!” His gun hand jolted as he stared at Ginny.
She searched for a heavy piece of iron to use in case Widow Sullivan tried anything in the lapsing second, but the potted plant still provided the only convenient weapon. Fortunately, the woman just stood there shivering until Cal refocused his gun on her.
“Do you want your uncle dead?” Cal’s mouth gaped.
What a morbid question. “Of course not. We’re going to save him.” She picked up three of the books she’d let fall and piled them in a neat stack.
“Gangs do not look kindly on killing their members, and the Silverman gang is more bloodthirsty than most. String her up, and your uncle will die before her neck breaks.”
Clearly, Cal was not comprehending the secret message part. She had to raise her voice to be heard above the widow’s frantic breaths. “Uncle Zak—” Ginny started.
“Just delaying her here could anger the gang. We need to talk to Mr. Clinton and see what concessions he’s willing to make.”
“Can we have this conversation while she’s locked in jail, please? I scarcely wish to reveal strategy to a gang member.”
“Ginny, we can’t lock her in jail.” Cal stood stolidly.
A quivering Widow Sullivan raised hopeful blue eyes. Ginny grabbed her by both wrists. The woman’s arms were sur
prisingly delicate. Twisting her lace-covered hands behind her back, Ginny extended her other hand towards Cal. “Your gun, please.”
“I’m not giving you my gun.” That deep voice of his sounded distinctly less pleasant when he was using it to disagree with her.
“Very well, then you come along to escort her to the jail.” A puff of wind blew at the Thompson front door, edging it toward closed. Ginny kicked it open to shove Widow Sullivan out.
Stepping forward, Cal took hold of the widow. He directed a firm stare at Ginny. “Let go, and we’ll talk about this.” His voice was low.
With a sigh, Ginny released the woman.
Gently, Cal maneuvered Widow Sullivan to a seat on the piano bench. “Unfortunately, I must delay you here for a few minutes while we consult. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Producing a pair of handcuffs from his trouser pocket, he closed one bracelet over the widow’s wrist and another around the piano leg.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. Why hadn’t she thought of carrying handcuffs?
Cal motioned to the kitchen and she followed. He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. “I know the Silverman gang. You can’t put their ransom messenger in jail. Mistreat her, and I promise you this will be the last sun your uncle sees in this life.”
Ginny dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “It’s what Uncle Zak wanted. The Bible reference was a code. I’ll explain later.”
“To get killed?” His one eyebrow moved up, but it looked more cynical than questioning.
“You have to trust me.” Tentatively, she reached out and touched her fingers to the hardness of Cal’s arm. “He’s my uncle. I know what he wants.”
A moment of hesitation followed as Cal’s blue-eyed gaze bore into her. “I suppose it’s your right to risk your uncle’s life.”
Quite a few eyes turned as they escorted Widow Sullivan through the town streets to the jail. The woman sniffled each time her dainty black boots hit the dusty streets and took her a step closer to jail, but it didn’t help divert attention from the grim procession.
Ginny directed a stare to the woman’s boots. “How did you ride a horse in those things?”
Instead of answering, Widow Sullivan merely continued whimpering. “Zak was right. Joe doesn’t love me or he never would have sent me to my death like this. Never, never I say.”
“Ginny.” Cal passed her and blocked the sheriff’s office door in front. “You sure about this? You still have time to change your mind.”
“Sure as shootin’. By the way, can you stable Widow Sullivan’s horse outside the jail?” Crossing around behind him, she pushed the widow in through the office door and then stuffed her into Silas’s cell and clanked the lock together.
“Here.” Ginny shoved a glass through the bars. “Have some sweet tea while you think about your sorry life and how you’ll lose it tomorrow.”
“Done here?” Cal took her firmly by the arm and escorted her out the door. Five feet out of the office, he slammed back against a tree. “I need a little more explanation for this crazy plan.”
“All right, all right.” She brushed out the wrinkles he’d made in her sleeve. “The Bible verse on that ransom note.”
“Yes.” The curt clip of his answer left no room for patience. He tapped the toe of his boot against the hard earth.
Well, that was understandable. He didn’t yet know the magnificent plan Uncle Zak had communicated. She took a deeper sniff of the thistle flower aroma that rose from the flowers beneath the tree. The cottonwood tree foliage above was truly lovely, too. “The verse was a message from Uncle Zak telling us to hang her.”
“What verse was it? Judas Iscariot’s suicide?”
“It’s the part where King David sends the messengers who get half their beards and clothes cut off by the enemy. Then David gets mad. Only Uncle Zak meant that we should pretend to be mean to Widow Sullivan and then when she rushes away she won’t know we’re following her.”
“You couldn’t possibly get all that from a Bible verse.”
A forceful sigh escaped her lips. How few crime novels this Texas lawman had read. “Just look it up. Do you have a Bible with you?”
Reaching into his front pocket, he fished out a thin pocket Bible.
She flipped through the pages. “Here, see, 2 Samuel 10:4. David, messengers, missing half of robes and clothes.”
He gazed down at the page and read where she pointed. “You know, typical people, when facing death, write their relatives Bible verses like ‘peace I leave with you’ or ‘I call on the Lord in my distress.’”
There was an advantage to being typical? She settled back against the fresh smelling bark of the cottonwood he’d abandoned. “Uncle Zak and I were talking about it a couple of weeks ago. We just lock her up and then follow her when she escapes.”
“How do you know she’s going to escape?”
Handing the Bible back to him, she rested her hands behind her head on the cottonwood bark. “She’s a gang member.”
He shoved the Bible back into his pocket with a vigor that could have explained the creases on the cover. That, or it was well-worn with reading. “Yes, and she’s in a jail.”
“All right, so I don’t know exactly how. We’ll work that out later. But are you convinced now?”
“Um. Why not just release her and follow her tracks back?”
“Because she would be watching for us, of course. You really don’t read crime dime novels, do you?” The rapidly rising sun made a lovely pattern in the grass as it trickled down through the cottonwood leaves.
“No, I live crime cases.”
She sighed. “How much you miss.”
~*~
Ginny took a bite of biscuit.
“How long are we waiting for this woman to escape?” Cal turned the dining room chair backward and rested one boot on it.
Good question. Ginny tucked her knees up to her chest. “I told Widow Sullivan I’d hang her at daybreak tomorrow. If she hasn’t found the spare key by midnight, we should do something to help matters along.”
“Spare key!” He nearly jumped out of his seat.
“Yes, there’s one under the floorboards in the cell. Uncle Zak probably told her about it to earn her trust.” She tried resting her head against the upper edge of the chair back, but that cut into her neck. If only the sun would set more quickly. Through the window, she could see two horseflies buzzing among the dandelions.
“You have a spare key, inside the jail, where prisoners can use it? What kind of town is this?” The outrage written across his face made even his ears red.
“It makes cleaning the cell much easier. The wind blows that door shut all the time, and one feels quite silly standing behind bars for an hour yelling ‘Help, please, somebody, help me’ until Mrs. Clinton or Miss Lilac or someone walks by and hears you.” A cool wind puffed in through the cotton window coverings as a cloud passed over the falling sun. Now one of the horseflies veered perilously close to a spider’s web.
Twisting the chair back around, Cal sat down on it properly. “What are your thoughts on conferring with Mr. Clinton about opening mine negotiations?” His star shone against his leather vest. Personally, she couldn’t think of anything more attractive against a man’s chest than a sheriff star.
Except a work apron like Peter wore at the store, of course! Because she was marrying Peter. She liked Peter. She shook her head, making her hair bob. Idle thoughts. Back to the task at hand. Poor Uncle Zak was probably hungry and cold by now. They needed to save him.
“Now I’m not suggesting giving the mine to the Silverman gang, but we could use negotiations to delay them long enough to call in reinforcements from Denver.”
She pursed her lips. He raised an excellent point. And he had fought against gangs before. “Do we have that much time?”
Shadows from the window played across the angles of Cal’s face as he sighed. “Probably not. The Silverman gang isn’t known for leniency, and they’ve got a whole town to hold hos
tage. It’s not as if they’ve much to lose by killing your uncle.”
Uncle Zak dead? No! She shivered and tried to convince herself it was just from the outside breeze, which was growing danker by the minute.
Now the bulk of the sun had set beyond the mountains, and even the skyline, which should have been painted brilliant oranges and yellows, was an eerie mix of overcast greens and blues. The wind shifted and she could almost taste the approaching rain as storm clouds swept in.
“What should we be doing?” A rising wind howled through the window, tearing at her words.
Ignoring the wind, which flapped at the window coverings like it would twist them off the curtain rod, he clamped both elbows on the table. “Waiting.”
“Oh.” She sank back into the dining room chair. The hard chair had begun to create sore spots up and down her spine. The clock ticked forward one more moment. “The dime novels never talk about this part.”
“That’s because it’s boring.” He traced his gaze across the knot patterns of the table leaves. Blue eyes were so much more piercing than velvety-brown.
“Oh.” She tapped the table. After a half hour of doing that, her finger pads started to ache. She shifted on her seat again and stared out the window. Now darkness covered everything and spurts of rain obscured even moon and starlight. “The posse’s ready?”
“I visited every house this afternoon, and they’re ready to meet outside the general store when I signal them.”
Shifting in her seat, she watched as Fluffy stalked around the corner of the dining room door. “Think we should check on Widow Sullivan again?”
“And hinder her escape plans?” Through the shadows, he moved his chin in the negative. It was a firm chin, square, with just the hint of stubble.
“True.” Fluffy crept under the table and rubbed up against Ginny’s legs, but the cat didn’t even have the decency to scream and lend some excitement to the evening.
Cal tipped back his seat. Bad for the chair legs, but she’d let him off this evening. She was almost desperate enough to try it herself.
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