Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  “But—”

  Laurel pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. Yes, William Taft frightens me to death.” So did getting tarred and feathered, only she didn’t add that. “But you know what? They don’t have me yet, and with any luck they never will.”

  “He and Vallens will come eventually.”

  “When they do they’ll find I’m tougher than I used to be.”

  “You won’t reconsider or come to the house for tonight?”

  A sharp knife, Ollie’s old pistol, and a good brain could outsmart a whiskey-soaked brothel owner.

  “Go, give Nora a big hug, and tell her how lucky she is.”

  He got slowly to his feet. “I’d take it real personal if anyone hurt you.”

  That made two of them.

  Later, she swore Curley’s snores vibrated the café. She allowed a smile. Intruders wouldn’t have to use stealth at this rate.

  Laurel’s frazzled nerves twisted into bow ties.

  She wished Taft would hurry so life could resume some semblance of normalcy, whatever that was. Days absent of worry or heartbreak she could number without using her toes. For the hundredth time, she touched the knife and pistol, wondering about Hannibal. Maybe the dog filled some gator’s belly.

  The door to her room squeaked and Adeline poked her head in. “Can you sleep?”

  “No need to whisper.”

  “Mind if I scoot in beside you?”

  Laurel threw back the cover, glad for the company. It made her feel braver about what she had to do at daybreak.

  * * *

  Laurel dressed early, taking extra pains with her hair. She leaned near the mirror. An amazing thing had happened since Ollie’s passing. Seeing her reflection didn’t bother her anymore.

  Adeline sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I overslept?”

  “Go back to sleep, honey.”

  “You can’t leave me. You promised.” Adeline sobbed and the bedcovers tangled in the girl’s haste to stand. “I’ll be good. Please, let me come. I beg you.”

  The brush clattered onto the dresser as Laurel hurried to embrace her. Still sobbing, Adeline snuggled into the comfort, gripping her tightly. Laurel hadn’t the courage to admit she couldn’t offer safety or security. She couldn’t guarantee they’d keep their home, or their lives, one more day. Because of her past, trouble would call. This she knew.

  She smoothed back Adeline’s hair. “I’d never sneak out and leave you behind, honey. We’re family.”

  “Then why are you dressed up?”

  Laurel’s chin rested on top of Adeline’s golden silk. “I wanted to look my best before I do battle.”

  “I wish everyone would let us live in peace. We never did anything. Mrs. Kempshaw is plain ol’ mean.”

  “People fear what they can’t understand. We threaten them. It’s not so much what we’ve done that frightens Florence, but what might occur as a result of who we’ve been.” Laurel set the girl firmly aside. “Now, young lady, I’m going to fix you and Curley some breakfast. Forget this nonsense about leaving you.”

  A hot cup of tea did wonders to help organize her speech. Their snoring protector didn’t rouse until she set a plate of flapjacks, eggs, and steaming coffee on the table.

  Curley grunted, pulling on his boots. “Wherever you think you’re going this fine morn will be on my arm.”

  She untied her apron and grabbed the shawl beside it. “My errand requires no chaperone, but thank you anyway.”

  “Use your noggin, Laurel girl. It’s foolhardy to go out.”

  “I’ll be back before anyone realizes I’m gone.”

  A few minutes later her footsteps pounded on the sidewalk. It didn’t escape her notice that several women hastily crossed to the other side. She ground her teeth and plowed on. It was fair to say her skirts snapped with electricity as she stepped smartly and with purpose.

  Florence Kempshaw’s modest residence showed neglect. The woman was much too busy destroying lives to tend to repairs, it appeared. Laurel rapped on the weathered entrance.

  “You! What gall,” Florence exclaimed when she saw Laurel on her stoop.

  Quick thinking and plenty of ire put Laurel’s foot between the door and the jamb. “I will have a moment of your time.”

  “Won’t spare a second for the likes of your kind.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s hindquarters if you despise the very ground on which I walk, you will hear me out.” She pushed past the surly woman. “Shut your mouth or you’ll attract flies.”

  “I’ll yell if you hit me.”

  “Much as I’d delight, I’ll refrain…unless you provoke me.”

  A good deal later, Laurel emerged from the long chat wearing a satisfied smile. That fire blazed in her chest put it mildly.

  It had simply taken a poke with a sharp stick to get her back bowed. The good folks of Redemption, lumping in Taft and Vallens with that mess, didn’t know who they dealt with.

  The time had come to stand up and be counted.

  * * *

  Throughout the day a steady stream of customers kept Ollie’s Café open. It heartened her that a few of Redemption’s regulars drifted into the eatery besides the passengers on the steamboats and barges.

  Moonbeams now trailed through the back window. Laurel adjusted the wick of the oil lamp and counted her blessings. Not a soul had come yet with tar and feathers, thank the Lord.

  Perhaps “letting the hide go with the tallow,” as Ollie would put it, had accomplished something.

  Florence had actually listened. And even though the gossiping woman hadn’t met Laurel’s stare, Florence showed slight thawing. The tale of Laurel’s abduction had even sparked a hint of human decency as evidenced by the flicker of sympathy.

  The clock neared ten when fists pounded on the door. Laurel gripped the knife in her pocket.

  Curley lumbered over with his rifle ready. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Arlo.” The shout belonged to a worker from the Dry Gulch.

  He slid back the new, heavier bolt that he’d installed at Laurel’s request. “I told you not to disturb me without good cause.”

  “You hafta come quick! Some fellers got liquored up bad. They’re breaking glass, furniture…and bones.”

  Deep regret colored Curley’s tone when he turned to Laurel and Adeline. “Ladies, I have no choice but to leave you alone. Lock up and don’t answer to anyone. I mean it.”

  An eerie quiet descended after Curley left. Laurel and Adeline finished straightening up the kitchen for the next day’s business. All the while, she listened for Hannibal’s scratch. The animal’s long absence puzzled her. He’d be hungry.

  Adeline yawned. “I’m beat down to the soles of my feet.”

  “No use in us both waiting up. You go on up, honey.”

  The clock’s loud ticking along with the creak of boards above where Adeline moved about filled the kitchen. Then the noise overhead ceased, telling her Adeline had crawled into bed. Laurel rested her head in her hands. Brodie filled every crevice, every corner of her mind. Thoughts of his welfare formed images of the twisting, agonizing kind.

  Had she misplaced her trust in the Citizens for Peace?

  Were they unable to save the man she loved?

  An hour stretched into two and yet Curley didn’t return. Perhaps he figured they’d gone upstairs and didn’t wish to awaken them. Or…the thought of rabble-rousers killing their friend turned her to ice. Losing another would further test her ability to survive.

  She pondered venturing out to the saloon, swiftly rejecting it as unwise. For now she’d stay put. That was the best thing.

  Checking on Adeline, Laurel lay down fully clothed on Ollie’s bed. In case trouble called she’d be ready.

  It seemed she’d just dozed off when low whispers jarred her awake.

&
nbsp; Wooden planks complained beneath someone’s weight.

  Intruders lurked in the hallway.

  Even if Curley had found a way past the bolts, he’d not come upstairs. And nothing would drive Adeline from bed unless she was ill, and the girl hadn’t stirred or made a peep.

  The knife slid into place, the pistol into her palm before her feet hit the floor.

  A muffled scream froze her midway across the room.

  Walking on tiptoes, she slowly opened the bedroom door and peered around the door frame. Shadows moved along the hall in the murky light.

  They had Adeline.

  Laurel ran after two male figures who hauled Adeline’s kicking form, catching them at the head of the stairs.

  “Put her down this instant!”

  Will Taft whirled. “Who’s gonna make me?”

  Laurel shivered. The face that spawned nightmares and dominated daylight hours stood before her. Well, her wish came true, only now she’d give anything to put the genie back into the lamp. Chewing nails hadn’t been all that bad, she told herself.

  She raised her chin a notch and swallowed the fear that strangled her. “I am. I’m going to stop you.”

  “What’s a scrawny-ass harlot gonna do?”

  “Lessons you taught in survival might not work in your favor now, Taft.” She leveled the pistol at his gut. “I said get your hands off the girl.”

  In the dim light she saw his eyes widen. “You’re full of surprises, Lil.”

  Adeline jerked free and scooted behind Laurel.

  Laurel ordered, “Vallens, lead the way downstairs. Remember, this six shooter will put a big hole in your boss should you make one bobble. I swear to God I’d dearly love to.”

  Things turned into chaos at the bottom when Vallens suddenly darted from sight. The man hid, ready to pounce. Added to that, Taft lowered his hands. His body shielded them. What seemed a good plan at the onset shifted in hindsight.

  She shoved the cold metal into his spine. “I will kill you.”

  “You sure you know what you’re doing, Lil? Don’t reckon you ever shot a man before.”

  “With you it’ll be awful easy to remedy that.”

  Taft cleared the steps, leaving Laurel on the last one.

  “Zeke, why don’t you show Lil our trump card?”

  The death angel raised the wick on the oil lamp and held it toward a bound, gagged female.

  A cry sprang from her lips. “Hannah!”

  Taft’s hoarse laugh pierced the air. “Give me that pea shooter or your sister’s brains will spatter the walls.”

  Laurel’s arm sagged. She’d pretty much lived her life, but Hannah and Adeline were young. Banking that Taft had too much at stake to damage his goods didn’t reassure her enough to take that gamble.

  Taft’s fist caught her mouth the moment he took her pistol. She slammed to the floor. The metallic taste of blood wasn’t something a person forgot the taste of. Hate crawled from the dark corners of her soul.

  “You rotten piece of cow manure!”

  “What a pity. I went to enormous trouble arranging this little tea party and you haven’t the slightest gratitude.”

  The sinister mouth with its taunting sneer leaned too near Laurel.

  She aimed the wad of spit just right. It hit him squarely and ran down the bridge of his nose. Her bold impulse earned her a kick that brought stars. But seeing the smug veneer slip made it worth the glimpse of a dented, bent halo Laurel would surely wear up there when she joined Ollie.

  Her breath came in short gasps. “I have friends.”

  “Zeke, explain why poor Curley Madison can’t come to her aid.”

  Vallens shifted his hold on Hannah. “Madison feels a mite poorly at the moment. Taft arranged the fight at the saloon and made sure the saloon-keep was out of the way.”

  Perhaps that didn’t translate to dead. She prayed it didn’t. Outsmarting them was up to her. One thing about it, they’d have hell getting Hannah, Adeline, and her to St. Louis. Taft had better rethink his plan. No swamp scum would soil Hannah and Adeline. She’d stop him somehow.

  Blocking pain that hurt to blink, she struggled to her feet. “No one will pay a red cent to lie with a corpse.”

  “Silly twit, I have fresh merchandise. You’re expendable. In fact, you’ll make a prime example for those who think to escape my clutches,” Taft sneered.

  “Except it’s a long way to Missouri,” she needled.

  “We ain’t going anywhere with you.” Adeline launched herself onto Taft’s back, raking her nails across his face.

  Laurel fingered the knife in her pocket, eyeing the two men. She had just one chance.

  But once she buried the knife in Vallens, could she get to the pistol fast enough?

  Thirty-two

  Brodie Yates broke formation, spurring the loaned horse into a hard gallop. If this nag possessed Smokey’s long gait, he’d not have doubts circling his head like vultures. Cold sweat dotted his brow. The half-dozen men who ate his dust could sway the odds.

  They had to beat Taft and Vallens.

  Thanks to Citizens for Peace, General Buell deemed him a free man. Brodie wanted no part of staying in the stockade until morning, and the general had no desire to test President Grant’s patience.

  Sheer terror they’d be too late booted off the devil’s scorn that usually shared his saddle.

  This night it would have to find its own way. If it dared.

  Which brought his intelligence into question. If he had some, he’d be riding in the opposite direction instead of riding hell-bent for Redemption. Buell would be after his head when he discovered the document was a forgery.

  But Laurel was in danger. His gut never lied.

  He had to keep her safe or die trying.

  The memory bag Brodie snatched off Buell’s desk molded to the warmth of his skin. It still held each treasured item.

  Something Murphy said bumped across the ridges of his conscience. Never let a woman who lights up the dark, lonely places of your soul go.

  His lady did a damn sight better than merely light up dark corners of a moth-eaten soul. She built a bonfire.

  The right choice meant he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

  Or filled with haunting coldness a flame couldn’t touch.

  He was anxious to give marriage a whirl. Had to get the begettin’ started soon. Eight little ones posed quite a chore.

  First he’d have to talk Laurel into having him. A fellow with nothing but a reputation and a six-gun to back it up would have a devil of a time.

  Running from every name-seeking fast gun between here and San Francisco wasn’t much to ask a woman to share.

  Unless… Thoughts of losing Laurel froze his blood.

  He bent over the flying mane, leaving the road to cut through the pines.

  * * *

  Though Taft had confiscated Ollie’s pistol, Laurel took comfort in her weighted pocket. She focused on the two men. Taft stood nearest, therefore was the logical target. She shortened the space until Vallens’s black gaze met hers in silent warning.

  At least she hadn’t revealed the knife.

  Taft grabbed a handful of Adeline’s hair and yanked, pulling her off his back. He held her tightly in a vise. Laurel winced at the girl’s cry.

  “Leave her alone. She’s merely a child.”

  “You were too once. Or has it been so long you forgot? This sassy one’s gold hair an’ face of an angel will make me the envy of everyone.” Lust glittered in Taft’s gaze. “And I can’t tell what treats are in store for your sweet sister. She’ll take to whoring. Just like you.” He spoke to Vallens. “Load Sis in the wagon and I’ll be along directly.”

  Something human crossed the angel of death’s features. “I agreed to locate the two thieves who parted you from your money. The o
ne in the grave ain’t no fault of mine. I’m done.”

  Vallens with a sliver of conscience?

  How absurd to think he’d become an ally. Balking could buy him an extra favor or two from the good Lord, however.

  “I have a .45 that says different,” Taft snapped.

  The two swapped glares. Taft shifted his weight back and forth. The clock ticked loudly. Vallens didn’t back down.

  “Threatening women is easier than threatening a grown man. I’m walking out of here, so I reckon you gotta do what you hafta.”

  Hope plummeted when Vallens moved to leave.

  She met the horror in Adeline’s blues and nodded slightly, flicking her head toward the dining room. If the girl understood, she’d run the second Laurel made her move.

  “I’ll pay a bonus, you low-down swindler.”

  “It takes one to know one. You don’t have the kind of money to buy me.” The man in funeral attire opened the door. Wolf-dog bounded in. “Dog, I told you to guard outside.”

  To see Hannibal in good health brought a moment’s joy from the dread that was pulling her into a deep, dark sinkhole. Brief compassion might not overcome the animal’s wild instincts that Vallens encouraged.

  Silver flecks in Hannibal’s stare bore no sign of recognition when the dog looked at her. One didn’t have to possess keen insight to know that bared fangs and the bristled neck weren’t shows of affection. Sorrow rippled inside her.

  Wolf-dog kept his stance, ignoring the order to retreat.

  Vallens continued toward the pitch-black night.

  She must make her move. With a deep breath to calm her, she gripped the wooden handle and jerked the knife high.

  Hurtling it in Taft’s direction, she aimed for any part of the hated enemy. A person would think defending those they loved made it easier to bury the tip into a body. And yet, nothing prepared her for the sight of a six-inch blade plunged to the hilt in Taft’s arm.

  Or the smell of blood swimming up her nostrils.

  “You stinking harlot!”

  A flash of fleeing nightgown reassured her of Adeline’s safety for the moment. It was the last she saw before Will Taft flung her to the floor and straddled her stomach. She knew the sickening crack of bone. Murder filled Taft’s eyes.