"We were friends . . . or something like that, as you put it . . . at one time, but that all changed when Gillian realized that pretty girls can get anything they want just by smiling and batting their eyelashes."
The bitterness in her voice tempted Logan to point out that rich girls had a natural advantage in getting what they wanted, too, and Carleton Eastland was living proof of that. He was too polite to put that thought into words. Besides, Elizabeth's pain seemed genuine, and he could sympathize with that even though it was emotional and not physical.
Instead he said, "I've met your husband and your father. Is there anyone else here I should know?"
"Not really. They're all dull and pretentious." She smiled. "Like me."
"I don't find you the least bit dull," Logan said. "In fact, I'd like to hear all about you."
"Really?" She brightened momentarily but then shook her head. "You're just being polite."
"Not at all. Have you lived here in Hot Springs all your life?"
"Well . . . here and in various logging camps."
"That sounds exciting."
Elizabeth shook her head again and said, "It wasn't. It was just dreary and dirty. And in the summer, the heat and the mosquitoes . . ." She sighed. "I'm convinced it was all those hardships that weakened my mother until she fell ill and died."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I miss her. The past few years would have been easier if she had still been around to help me. During the war everything was so dreadful. The Yankees came in and took over, you know. They were everywhere."
"Was your father aligned with the Confederacy? Did that cause trouble for him?"
"My father has always been aligned with whoever would buy his timber from him," Elizabeth said with a wry smile, "including the Yankees. He got along fine with them, just like Marcus Baldwin did. It's easier to get along in the world when your only objective is making money."
That was probably true, Logan thought. He had lived in the same way for the past decade. A mercenary attitude simplified life, if nothing else.
As long as you could quell the occasional stirrings of dissatisfaction, the nagging sense that there ought to be something more, that life ought to amount to something other than money in the bank . . .
He pushed those thoughts out of his head as Elizabeth asked him about some of the places he had lived and visited. Since he had been almost everywhere west of the Mississippi, from the Rio Grande to the Canadian border, he was able to regale her with several tales about places far away from the wooded hills of Arkansas . . . heavily edited, of course, to take out any mention of all the sordid violence that had accompanied his travels.
She hung on his every word and seemed to be enjoying herself. She probably didn't get that much male attention, Logan thought. From what he had seen tonight, Carleton Eastland had deserted her as soon as he got the opportunity.
After a while, during a lull in the conversation, Elizabeth asked, "I don't want to intrude, but how were you injured?"
Logan shook his head and said, "It wasn't an injury. I got sick, and it affected my nerves and muscles. For a long time I wasn't able to use my left arm or my right leg. I've been trying to strengthen them again, but it hasn't been easy."
"I'm sure it hasn't. That's such a shame."
"Indeed it is. If not for my affliction, I'd have you out there on the dance floor right now, Mrs. Eastland."
She laughed, and for the first time the sound struck him as genuine. Laying a hand on his arm, she said, "Oh, no, you wouldn't want that, Mr. Handley. I'm afraid I'm not very graceful. I'd be stepping on your toes all the time. You'd really limp by the time I was through with you." Her eyes widened abruptly. "Oh, dear. That was a terribly thoughtless thing to say – "
"Not at all," he told her, smiling. "And I'm sure you're much more graceful than you're giving yourself credit for."
She shook her head, and he realized that she had moved closer. Not as close as Gillian had been to him earlier, but almost.
"Thank you for sitting with me and being so nice," she said. "I'm afraid I've lost Carleton to Gillian for the rest of the evening – "
"No," Logan said as he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. "In fact, here he comes now."
It was true. Carleton Eastland was striding across the ballroom toward them.
And unless Logan was mistaken, the man's face was flushed with rage.
15.
"What's going on here?" Eastland demanded as he came to a stop in front of the divan where Logan and Elizabeth sat. Logan glanced past the man and saw Gillian Baldwin halfway across the ballroom, watching them. The smile on Gillian's face seemed to say that she was enjoying herself.
"Mr. Handley and I were just talking, dear – " Elizabeth began.
"It looked like more than that to me," Eastland snapped, interrupting her. "It looked like you were pawing him. A damned cripple!"
Logan leaned on his cane and pushed himself to his feet.
"I'll thank you to watch what you're saying, sir," he said. "You're not only insulting me, but you shouldn't speak to your wife in that manner."
"I'll speak to my wife in any manner that suits me," Eastland replied with a sneer. "And as for you, sir, I'll thank you to leave her alone. I can't take you outside and thrash you, not a man in your condition, but I promise you, if things were different – "
With anger burning inside him now, Logan leaned closer to Eastland and said in quiet, menacing tones, "Don't let that stop you. I can handle a man like you with one good arm and one good leg."
Contempt dripped from his words. He had killed men for being less obnoxious than Carleton Eastland was being now.
Eastland paled at the challenge. His hands clenched into fists. He took a step toward Logan.
Across the room, Gillian's smile widened in anticipation.
Marcus Baldwin suddenly appeared at Logan's side. He deftly insinuated himself between the two men.
"Here now, what's all this?" he said. "We don't need to make a scene, gentlemen. That would just ruin a perfectly good party."
Aaron Nash arrived at the confrontation, too, and clapped a hand on his son-in-law's shoulder.
"Come on, Carleton," he said in bluffy, hearty tones. "I think we could both use a drink, my boy."
Eastland said, "Tell your daughter – "
Nash's hand tightened on his shoulder and stopped him.
"You mean your wife. I gave her to you at the wedding, remember?"
Logan glanced at Elizabeth. Her face was pale and strained. Her brown eyes, her best feature, were cast toward the floor.
"How about that drink?" Nash prodded Eastland.
"I don't think I'm thirsty," Eastland said. He looked like he wanted to shake Nash's hand off his shoulder, but Logan knew Eastland was unlikely to forget, even under duress, that Nash was not only his father-in-law but also his employer. A rich, powerful employer, at that. Eastland took a deep breath, brought his anger under control with a visible effort, and went on, "I believe I'd like to leave. I've had enough of this party. Come along, Elizabeth."
She lifted her head, and with a display of defiance that surprised Logan, she asked, "What if I'm not ready to leave yet?"
Nash let go of Eastland and stepped over beside his daughter.
"I think Carleton's right," he said. "It might be best, my dear."
Elizabeth looked back and forth between her husband and her father for a moment, then sighed. She was willing to argue with one of them, thought Logan, but not both. That was beyond the limits of her stubbornness.
"All right," she murmured as she got to her feet. She started to turn toward Logan, perhaps to bid him a good night.
Carleton Eastland caught hold of her arm and stopped her. He said curtly, "Come on," and started toward the entrance. Elizabeth had no choice but to go with him, but she cast a last glance over her shoulder at Logan.
Baldwin stood there beside him, watching as Nash, Eastland, and Elizabeth made their wa
y across the ballroom. Quietly, Baldwin said, "You see the sort of man Nash attracts to his business. He's an utter scoundrel, Eastland is, which makes him a good match for Aaron Nash."
"Your daughter told me that Eastland divorced his first wife because she was unfaithful to him," Logan said. "Is there any truth to that rumor?"
Baldwin frowned and said, "It's not a rumor. The first Mrs. Eastland was involved with a man named Jonas Hulsey. Eastland caught them . . . together, you know."
Baldwin cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"Now, personally, I thought the way he handled the matter was rather cowardly," he went on. "A real man, faced with such a situation, would have taken out a pistol and shot Hulsey. Eastland would have been perfectly within his rights to do so, and no one would have objected. He probably could have shot Mrs. Eastland, too, and gotten away with it, but that would have been almost too sordid. I think a good beating would have sufficed."
The thought of Vickie being beaten by a man like Carleton Eastland made Logan's hands tighten angrily on the head of his cane.
Baldwin might have noticed that reaction, because he went on, "In principle, of course. Personally, from what little I know of the woman, Victoria Eastland was always a good wife to him until that one indiscretion. Better than what an arrogant, self-important jackass like Carleton Eastland deserves, certainly."
Logan certainly couldn't argue with that.
"Anyway," Baldwin continued, "you should be very careful on your way to Little Rock with my daughter and that payroll. Not all the men Aaron Nash hires are as incompetent as Carleton Eastland."
"Surely he wouldn't do anything to harm Miss Baldwin," Logan said.
"To tell you the truth, Logan . . . I wouldn't put anything past that man."
* * *
The lamp in the study was turned low, but it was still bright enough to cast its glow over the papers spread out on the desk in front of Aaron Nash. The short, burly, bearded man had taken off his coat and cravat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt over muscular, hairy forearms, but other than that he was dressed the same as he had been at the party earlier in the evening.
The hour was late, and most men would have turned in by now. Carleton Eastland, who lived here in Nash's mansion along with his wife, certainly had. Eastland had gone straight to his room once the three of them were in the house. He no longer shared a room with Elizabeth and hadn't for months. Nash didn't think about such things. Being the father of an unattractive daughter, he had never held out much hope for grandchildren in the first place, so it didn't really matter that Eastland and Elizabeth slept apart.
Anyway, grandchildren might have been nice . . . someone to leave his company to someday . . . but destroying Marcus Baldwin would be better. And that was something Nash fully intended to do.
His pen scratched as he made notes on the reports from his subordinates he was reading. First thing in the morning, he would turn the papers over to Eastland, whose job it would be to see that Nash's orders in these matters were carried out. Eastland might be the vice-president of the Nash Timber Company now, but he was still just a glorified clerk and that was all he would ever be.
The atmosphere in the carriage during the ride back from Baldwin's mansion had been very tense. Eastland was still furious with jealousy, which was ludicrous and unfair since he'd been fawning all over the Baldwin girl. Nash supposed it was good to see evidence of some feeling for his daughter on Eastland's part. Even a bought-and-paid-for husband ought to try to have a little affection for his wife. Nash didn't interject himself into the dispute, though. He just sat and smoked a cigar in silence. When they'd reached the house, he had poured himself a brandy, gone to his room briefly to get rid of his coat and tie, and then stomped into the study to get a little work done.
No point in the whole evening going to waste.
He scribbled another order on one of the reports and was pushing it aside when he heard the French door that opened out onto a balcony swing back into the room. He looked up as a dark figure slouched in from the balcony and then stopped to remain in the shadows beyond the reach of the lamp's pale glow.
Nash was pretty sure he knew his visitor's identity, but his hand strayed toward an open desk drawer beside him where a Smith & Wesson .32 caliber revolver lay within easy reach.
Before he could grasp the gun, the man in the shadows drawled, "Was it Handley?"
Nash relaxed. He had been right about the man's identity.
"Yes," he said. "Logan Handley, the former gunman. The once and future gunman, I should say, since the rumor is that Baldwin has hired him to protect that payroll on its way to Little Rock tomorrow." A harsh laugh came from Nash's mouth. "Further proof, as if we needed it, that Marcus Baldwin is a fool. Just like you heard, Handley has been crippled by some sort of disease. He can get around with the help of a cane, but his left arm appears to be all but useless."
"His gun arm," the visitor mused.
"He certainly doesn't seem to have lost any of his fiery temper, though," Nash went on. "He was quick enough to challenge that oaf of a son-in-law of mine when Carleton confronted him."
The man in the shadows asked, "What led Eastland to have a run-in with Handley?"
Nash explained about Eastland's jealous reaction to the sight of Handley sitting and talking with Elizabeth. The whole thing sounded even more ridiculous to his ears when he put it into words.
"Handley was ready to fight when Carleton called him a cripple," Nash concluded. "He would have done it, too. I could tell by the look in his eyes."
That drew a chuckle from the other man, who said, "Logan never did take to insults. He was really too thin-skinned for our line of work." He changed the subject abruptly by asking, "You still want me to hit that train and try to get Baldwin's payroll?"
Nash considered the question for a long moment before he shook his head.
"No, let's let things calm down for a while. That'll get Baldwin off his guard. I want to see if he keeps Handley on anyway."
"I hope he does." A match scraped and flared to life. The man in the shadows lifted the flame to light the cigarette he had rolled and put between his lips. The glare revealed a lean, wolfish face that would have been handsome if not for the ugly scar that stretched across the right cheek all the way back to the ear, part of which was missing, shot off by the same bullet that had plowed the groove in the side of the man's face. The scar made the skin pull at a grotesque angle as Jim Meadows smiled and added, "Logan Handley and I have a few scores to settle."
16.
Rusty went with Logan to the train station the next morning, carrying the carpetbag and the wooden case they had picked up at Buck Finnerty's shop containing the sawed-off shotgun. Logan's coat covered the butt of the short-barreled Colt he carried in a cross-draw rig on his left hip where he could reach it easily with his right hand.
The holster Finnerty had fashioned for the shotgun was packed away in the carpetbag for the moment. Even though the sawed-off with its pistol grip was short, it couldn't be carried holstered without being out in the open where it was visible. Logan thought it might be better if it wasn't so obvious that he was armed.
"You won't get in trouble for not being at work at the freight company this morning, will you?" Logan asked his friend as they neared the depot.
"Hey, I'm helpin' you, and you work for Mr. Baldwin now, too, so I figure I am at work, in a manner of speakin'."
Logan laughed and said, "I hope Mr. Baldwin follows that same line of reasoning."
A carriage stopped in front of the station just as Logan and Rusty got there. Logan recognized it as the same one that had picked him up at the boarding house the previous night. The taciturn driver was the same, too. So he wasn't surprised when the man opened the door and Marcus Baldwin climbed out of the vehicle, followed by Gillian, who was resplendent in a bottle green traveling outfit and hat.
She smiled and said, "Logan, there you are. Perfect timing, as always."
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Baldwin nodded a greeting to Logan, then said to Gillian, "I'll see you on board the train, my dear, and then I need to have a talk with Mr. Handley before the two of you leave."
"Of course, Father."
Baldwin glanced at Logan. "Wait for me in the depot."
Logan nodded. Baldwin seemed brusque and distracted this morning, but he was probably a little worried. He had valuable freight headed for Little Rock on this train: his daughter and his money.
Logan and Rusty went into the station. Logan sat down on one of the benches in the waiting room. Rusty placed the two bags beside him.
"Are you sure you can manage from here?" the older man asked.
"Yes, if I need help, there are porters around."
"Well, then, all right." Rusty shook hands with him and added, "Good luck on your trip. You be careful."
"With Mr. Baldwin's payroll, you mean."
"And with that gal," Rusty said.
"I don't intend to let anything happen to her."
Rusty squinted and said, "That ain't exactly what I was talkin' about. Miss Gillian, she's as pretty as any gal in the state and she can be mighty nice when she wants to, but she can be a mite headstrong, too. From what I've heard, her pa's had his hands full ridin' herd on her sometimes."
"I'll keep that in mind," Logan said with a nod. He wasn't surprised to hear that Gillian had caused trouble for her father. He had already figured out that she was self-centered, willful, and accustomed to getting her own way, as almost any young woman that beautiful would be.
Rusty left the depot, and a few minutes later Marcus Baldwin returned.
"I've got Gillian settled in my private car," he told Logan. "You'll be traveling there, too, of course. That's where the payroll is. The safe in there is stronger than the one in the express car."
"Am I supposed to deliver it to someone in Little Rock?" Logan asked.
Baldwin shook his head. "No, one of my employees, accompanied by a group of armed guards, will meet the train and collect the payroll. He knows the safe's combination. They'll take the money to the mill. Once they've picked it up, that part of the job is over for you. The easy part, I should say. You'll still have to keep up with Gillian."
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