Ty glanced up the Gone with the Wind-type staircase just in time to see Little Fork’s mayor, Tony Fitch, starting down the steps. At the sight of Ty the mayor made a U-turn and hauled his hefty ass back up, as fast as his black stilettos could carry him.
Good Lord! Well, if nothing else, Ty’s hometown certainly wasn’t boring.
He shook his head, knowing for a fact that the next town council meeting would be interesting. “Okay, you and the staff scour the house top to bottom. I’ll have a look outside.”
“You really need to take a good look inside, Sheriff. Yer Pap sure did.”
Ty chucked her on the chin. “Which is why, Fannie darlin’, I’m avoiding it at all costs.”
Ty was about to open the Dumpster when he heard it.
“Help!”
His head jerked around at the sound of the weak female voice. He glanced around the dusty, sandy backyard of the Rooster, but no weak female in need of help jumped out at him. He shook his head, figuring it might have been a fake cry coming from one of the windows above. From what he’d heard, many a customer of the Ranch enjoyed the helpless female fantasy. He was pretty sure that was what the Little Miss Muffet room was all about.
He went back to using his Maglite, searching the grounds around the Dumpster, hoping to find any clue to help him discover what had happened to the male “friend” who’d disappeared earlier.
“Please, sakes almighty, might anyone be of some assistance?”
Same voice. And he could have sworn it dropped to almost a whisper and ended with, “You filthy cretins.”
Definitely didn’t sound like a man.
He swept the yard with his light, landing on the shed at the far left corner of the Rooster’s property. Moving slowly, trying to keep his boots from crunching up too much noise, he approached the shed.
From prior experience dealing with the Rooster, he knew the shed was where they kept many, many different outfits for the ladies. It certainly didn’t hold gardening equipment. Neither the front nor the back of the mansion had a speck of greenery, save for the huge Don’t Come Again cactus in the front yard. He was sure that wasn’t the real name of that monstrosity, but it certainly fit its job description.
Little Fork Medical Center could attest to that.
Ty swept the area one last time as he neared the old wooden shed that truly looked like it had been here since the beginning of time. Nothing moved. The evening was amazingly windless, cloudless, and cool for early May, although the moon was a tiny sliver, offering no help whatsoever.
He reached the shed and noticed the padlock on the door. It was rusted beyond rusty, as if it had been there forever. And yet, the last time he’d been here it had looked brand spanking new. Nevada weather was harsh, but that harsh?
He knocked on the door. “Hello?”
He heard scrambling and rustling and finally a woman saying, “Oh, praise be! Please, help me.”
“Who are you?” he asked, as he tried the lock. It didn’t budge. “What’s your name?”
“I . . . I . . .” the woman said, voice growing weaker. “. . . am so hungry.”
Hungry for what was the question. “Are you one of Fannie’s girls?” he asked. “Is this like a rescue game? ’Cause I’m not a client. And I’m not playin’.”
He popped a couple of Skittles in his mouth.
“Fannie? No, no my mother’s name is Elizabeth. Please, get me out of here.”
Ty pulled out his cell and punched in the number to the Rooster. He, unfortunately, knew the number by heart.
When one of her male bouncers answered, he said, “This is Ty. Who’s this?”
“Hi, Sheriff. It’s Boner.”
Of course. “Well, Boner, I’m in your backyard. I mean, the Rooster’s backyard. And I need the key to the lock on this shed back here.”
“The shed ain’t locked.”
“I’m standing in front of it. I know a padlock when I see it. Get me the key.”
“I swear, Sheriff, the shed ain’t been locked for weeks. Fannie got tired of always having to open it for people, so she took it off and threw it away.”
“Well, someone put it back on. And they stuck a girl in there before they locked it. Any of your girls missing?”
“None that was scheduled to work tonight. Can’t rightly say about those who have the night off.”
“Okay, well, thanks, Bo . . . thanks.”
“Any day now would be wonderful,” he heard from the other side of the door.
“Okay,” he said. “Hold on, darlin’. We’ll get you out of there. Other than hungry, are you hurt?”
“My head seems to be pounding a bit.”
Ty got on his phone again and called his deputy. “Jinx, I need EMT at the Rooster. Backyard shed. And I need a bolt cutter. 911-like. For both.”
After surveying the entire perimeter of the shed, hoping to find another way in, Ty returned to the door. “Darlin’, you still hanging in?”
“Darlin’? I’m not your darlin’.”
“Okay, what should I call you instead?”
There was a long hesitation. “Who are you?” the woman asked.
“Your white knight, come to rescue you. What’s your name?”
“M. . . . Magg . . . uhmm. Margaret. Margaret Prescott.”
“Are you in there alone? M . . . mmm . . . Margaret?”
“I have no idea, Sir Lancelot. And I’d prefer not to know.” Ty squinted his eyes. The woman had an accent, but he couldn’t place it for anything. It was stilted and just plain weird. Sort of British, but not.
“Do you know how you got in there, Margaret?”
“Indeed.”
Her voice was growing fainter, and he called again to find out the status of the bus and the cutters. Five minutes out, both ways.
“How would that be?” he asked.
“What?” she whispered.
“Hang with me here, dar . . . Margaret. Who locked you in here?”
“The sheriff.”
“Excuse me?”
“The sheriff. At least, that’s what he claimed to be.”
“What did this sheriff look like? Do you remember?”
“How could I forget? Well, he was wearing all black. Which, if you ask me, was not a good look on him.”
So someone was dressed up as a sheriff. He’d have to discuss that little fantasy with Fannie. That definitely wouldn’t do.
“Okay, Ms. Fashionista. What else?” he asked.
“He . . . was quite tall. Well over six feet.”
“Fat? Thin?”
“He was . . . well muscled but most assuredly not stocky.”
“Okay, a tall dude. How about his features?”
“His features. On first inspection, he was spectacularly handsome. Stunning, actually.”
Ty groaned. Fannie’s words almost exactly. “This is a joke, right? Fannie put you up to this? Trying to lure me in?”
“Do I sound like I’m joking, White Knight? I think I’m bleeding. My head feels sticky. This bad man was not joking, either. I’m scared. And c-c-cold.”
And she sounded like she meant it. Her teeth had started chattering.
“Tell me more about him so I can find him.”
“He . . . had dark hair.”
Ty held a hand up to his head. “Long or short?”
“Short, compared to the others. Cut behind his ears. Oh, and he had a freckle on his left earlobe.”
Ty’s fingers immediately went to his left ear. The one with the freckle on it.
“Eyes?” he asked.
“The most striking feature. A very deep green.”
Check. This had to be a practical joke. Although the woman didn’t sound like she was joking.
“A-a-a-and he had a dimple in his chin. Unmistakable. Does this sound like your sheriff, sir?”
It sure as hell did. It sounded like him. But he knew for a fact he hadn’t put this woman in this shed. “Not really,” he said, because he was afraid to scare her even
more. “But we’ll find the SOB. I promise.” Because I want to find out who’s impersonating me, too. “You’re sure he said he was the Little Fork sheriff?”
“He said he was the law around these parts. And he was very arrogant about it, I might add.”
Shit. Ty had used those words before when he’d had to. And he’d been called arrogant more times than he could remember. Except for the people who knew him well, many others misconstrued his shyness as arrogance. Which he’d allowed to happen, because no one in Nevada wanted a shy sheriff.
“And he smelled like a spittoon. That man jawed on tobacco until the smell was coming out of his skin.”
Ty almost yelled “Hallelujah.” He’d smoked exactly one cigarette in his life, when his father forced it on him. He felt sick for two days running. Chewing on it? Even his father hadn’t been that bad.
“Margaret, you are a dang good witness,” he said, wishing he could hug her right now, whether she was a prostitute or not. Strange thing was, he hadn’t seen a spittoon anywhere except in those houses that re-created the old west. Even Fannie had a huge sign on her front door warning customers they weren’t allowed to bring tobacco of any kind into her establishment, or they’d get the cactus.
“I . . . I’m hungry.”
Considering the circumstances he was impressed she had an appetite at all. “Sorry, all I have on me are Skittles. But we’ll get you out and be stuffing Big Macs down you in no time, Margaret.”
“Big who’s? Macs? The rumors were true then? I didn’t believe it, but . . . oh, my Loosie! You’re . . . you’re cannibals?”
Oh, my Loosie? Ty would have laughed if he hadn’t heard a distinctive thump behind the scarred wooden door. “Margaret?”
No answer. He knelt down. “No cannibals in this town, Margaret,” he said. “I mean, we aren’t going to make you eat a Mac! How about a Whopper?”
“Oh, my Loo . . .” he heard. And then there was nothing.
Apparently not a fast-food fan. Depending on her condition, he could bring her to Fanny at the Rooster to fill her up, except it seemed that it was a good bet someone from the Rooster had dumped and locked her in this shed. But why?
This was no game. He heard the fear and desperation in her voice. But someone—who looked uncannily like Ty—was running around impersonating him. And assaulting women. That someone was in for a very big comeuppance when Ty got hold of him.
Ty knew Little Fork was fairly loose. He should. He’d lived here his entire life, except for the three-year break to jam in that degree at Oregon State in public safety and law enforcement. And then back to his hometown to do what his forefathers had been doing since Little Fork was part of the Utah Territory: enforce the law in what had mostly been a lawless town.
His father, his grandfather, and all the fathers before that had sucked at law enforcement, in his opinion. Brutal, crooked, and too full of themselves. It would break their hearts to know that their progeny was actually trying to bring real law and justice to their honky town.
Good. The bastards.
“Pizza?” he asked, just to try to get her talking again.
Nothing.
“Margaret, my name is Ty. Tell me where you’re from.”
“Philadelphia,” she whispered.
“Hey, Philly! How about those Eagles?”
“Eagles? What eagles? I’ve not seen any eagles in Philadelphia. Except in paintings, of course.”
“Not big on football, eh? How about the Phillies?”
“Phillies?”
“Not a sports fan, are you Maggie?”
“I’m . . . a teacher.”
“Oh, well, that’s great. What subject?”
“Subject? I teach them all of the subjects.”
“Oh. What year?”
“Year?” she said, so softly he almost missed it.
“What year do you teach? Kindergarten? First grade?” He figured if she was teaching all subjects, she must be teaching the little crumbcrunchers. Which for some dumb reason he found endearing. He’d always admired anyone who could stand to put up with thirty or so restless kids for an entire day. Even though he coached Little League softball, and truly enjoyed it, he was darn ready for the parents to take the kids home after practice or games.
Now that he thought of it, his very first crush was on his kindergarten teacher, Ms. Taylor. Man, she’d been so pretty and she’d smelled like heaven.
Ty shook his head. Now wasn’t exactly the time to wax nostalgic. “Look, help is coming, I promise. Just stick with me here. Tell me something about yourself. Talk about anything.”
Silence.
“Tell me about your students. Tell me a joke. Something.”
There was a pause, and then he heard her take in a deep painful-sounding breath. “Um, well, okay. Ben Franklin walks into a pub . . .”
Ty lifted his head. “You went with the joke?” he asked, chuckling.
“Ah, you’ve heard it then. I thought perhaps that one hadn’t made it out to the territories yet.”
The territories?
“But I suppose jokes travel as fast as the Express.”
The Express? As in Federal?
“Nope,” he said, “haven’t heard that one. So old Ben walks into a pub. Strange, seems to me I learned in history that he pretty much lived in pubs.”
She laughed softly, but it got cut short by a low moan. “My . . . head.”
“Posse’s on its way, Ms. Prescott.”
“Posse? But . . . but, I’m not a criminal, sir! I know the sheriff said so, but it’s not true. I just came to take possession of property that is rightfully mine.”
Ty sat back on his haunches. “Property?”
She either didn’t hear him or was on a tear and decided to ignore him. “I thought I was inheriting a ranch. I mean a real ranch. Cows and chickens and land. Imagine my horror. A bawdy house! Of course, knowing my father, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, I was looking forward to that ranch . . .” she trailed off. Ty’s head was spinning. This woman was either batty as hell or had sustained one helluva whack to the noggin.
Senior Deputy Jinx Davis, Ty’s best friend since they shared space in the Med Center’s nursery thirty-two years ago, came racing from around the mansion, bolt-cutter cradled in his arm like a long football. Which of course made sense. Jinx should have been a pro football player. He was even drafted in the first round out of college. Only a body dropped from a hotel room seven floors above and landing right on top of him changed his plans drastically.
“What the hell?” Jinx asked, as he stopped short in front of Ty. “And get that damn light out of my face.”
“Someone locked a lady up,” Ty said, nabbing the cutters from Jinx. He knocked on the door again. “You still with me, Mags?”
“If you’re speaking to me,” a scarily weak voice answered, “I’m not you’re darling and I’m not Mags. Well, Maggie, if you must. Miss Prescott would be preferable.”
Jinx turned to Ty and raised his eyebrows. “Well, lafreaking-da!”
“Definitely a little uptight,” Ty said in a loud voice as he worked the lock. “Aren’t you, Miss Prescott?”
The only sound greeting him was a ladylike sniff.
It took longer than he liked, and she’d gone totally silent by the time the lock snapped. He shucked it and pulled open the door, shining his light on the lump on the gritty ground.
They both stared at the woman passed out dead and then back at each other.
“She’s wearing petticoats,” Jinx said.
“I see that. And how the hell would you know what a petticoat is?”
“I pride myself in knowing all about female fashion.”
“Since when did petticoats come back into fashion?”
“They didn’t,” Jinx said as they both stared down at the unconscious woman.
“Holy shit,” they whispered in perfect unison.
“Okay, Fannie, tell me right now what’s going on around here.”
�
��You tell me, cowboy,” Fannie Mae said. “You just cost me a night’s worth of business. What with all those sirens blaring up to my place. You’d think the Rooster was on fire or something.”
“Who beat the hell out of your new girl and then locked her in the shed out back?”
“New girl? What new girl?”
“Little school marm? Calls herself Margaret Prescott? Pretty? Blonde? Except for the red covering her head from all the blood.”
Fannie stared up at Ty in shock, which was a brand-new look for Fannie. He’d never seen anything faze her. She was four feet nothing and skinny as a stick, but he’d lay odds on her anytime against anyone. Including himself.
Her real name was Stella Pruce, but she’d recently taken on the moniker of Fannie Mae because she figured she took clients’ money, made sure they were screwed, then kicked them out.
“Ty, I’m sure I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I haven’t taken on a new girl in months. And the school marm thing just doesn’t attract that many of . . . my friends.”
“She looks like she walked straight out of Little House on the Prairie.”
Fannie shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know who she is, and I’m sure I don’t know who locked her in my shed. I take it there were no signs of Lester?”
“Lester? Lester Pipps? That’s who your missing ‘friend’ is?”
“That’s privileged information, sonny, so keep your trap shut.”
Oh, he’d keep his trap shut all right. Especially for Lester, who up until right now had been his dentist. “No sign of Lester. Maybe he got lost in one of your secret passageways.”
“You know, that’s a possibil—hold it, how did you know about the secret passageways? You haven’t come farther into this house than the foyer in your entire life.”
“Rumors,” he said, not wanting to tell her the truth. That his father had told him all about the place when he tried to bring Ty here for his sixteenth birthday.
She looked him up and down. “You’re looking a little disheveled, sweetmeat.”
He knew that. Once over the shock of the sight of the woman all dressed up in old west attire, he’d fallen to his knees, making sure Margaret still had a pulse. And then checked her for injuries. Other than dust smudges all over her forehead and cheeks, he’d only found one problem. A bad and bleeding abrasion to the back of her head. Someone had whacked Miss Margaret but good.
Ladies Prefer Rogues: Four Novellas of Time-Travel Passion Page 24