Wanted!

by Pam Crooks

  Jo-Jo was right, though. Real strange Chat didn’t come out the front door, like other folks. Only reason for that—she was hiding something in her basket.

  “What do you make of it?” Jo-Jo asked.

  “I’m thinkin’.”

  His mind gathered the details, sorted them through. Did Santana know Lark Renault’s true identity? That Wild Red was living in Ida Grove, right under his nose? And what about the money she’d stolen from the Muscatine County Treasury? Did he know about that? Or had he given up on the case?

  Catfish didn’t think so. Any bounty hunter worth his salt would give both his balls to find the missing money.

  Same as Catfish would.

  Catfish figured he had a couple of options. He could bribe Wild Red into talking, threaten her with telling Santana who she was, who would throw her back in jail and ruin her new life. There was always that newspaper editor, Ollie, who would make her secret front-page news. And if Santana didn’t cooperate, well, there’d be ways of getting his attention, too.

  Like putting his pretty little sister in a compromising position.

  Nope, Wild Red wouldn’t have no choice but to tell ol’ Catfish exactly where the money was.

  Might be he had her figured wrong, that she was on the run, after all. Still, he’d cut her good on the shoulder and well, most likely she was still around these parts.

  He could feel that she was.

  Suddenly, a new thought burst through the others bouncing in his brain—maybe Wild Red didn’t know Santana was who he was.

  Maybe, since Chat was the Kelley girl’s best friend, and since Wild Red had one of her ma’s sleeping rooms, they was all in cahoots with another, helping Wild Red—Lark Renault—hide out.

  Stranger things had happened, and if there was one man who could protect her, it was Ross Santana.

  Would Wild Red risk trusting him?

  Catfish intended to find out.

  He just had to find her first.

  It’d be like finding a flea in a barn full of straw. As much as he hated to admit it, given his present physical condition, he needed a little help to get the job done and lay low at the same time.

  He dragged his gaze from the boardinghouse back to Jo-Jo. Thought again how much the kid idolized him.

  He put on his best smile. “You’ve been a real good friend to me, boy. Have from the time I first rode into town.”

  Pleasure lighted Jo-Jo’s features. “Thanks, Catfish.”

  “Been thinkin’ I could use a partner. Someone I could trust, no matter what.”

  “Yeah?” Jo-Jo grinned. “Well, you can trust me, Catfish. You know you can.”

  “Times like these, we outlaws got to stick together. Give each other a hand when it’s needed.”

  “You need somethin’ done, Catfish? Just name it.”

  He saw the kid’s eagerness, plain as red paint on his face. And nodded in satisfaction.

  “Follow the Santana girl home,” he ordered. “Mosey around her place a little. See if she’s got company.”

  “And if she does?”

  Catfish finished his smoke, flicked the stub into the dirt. “Then it’s high time they get some unexpected callers.”

  “I’m not very good at finding information,” Chat said with a small pout.

  The late-afternoon sun dipped low on the horizon and smeared bold hues of crimson, orange and gold against the sky. Warmth from the day still lingered in the air, and at Chat’s return from town, the porch seemed a good place to gather to hear what she had to say.

  Lark handed her a glass of lemonade. “Dare we hope there was no information to be found?”

  “But surely there was something I could’ve learned today,” she said. “Folks are plenty worried about you, and there’s talk about that, but of course they would be. When has a defenseless woman in Ida Grove ever been attacked in the privacy of her sleeping room, then forced to escape with her life before? Never. Absolutely never. Then to have the same defenseless woman just disappear—poof!—into thin air, well, the town is positively buzzing about it.”

  Ross settled on the porch floor, his back against the rail post, one knee drawn up. The old hens were having a heyday in their speculating, hashing and rehashing Lark’s story until it was so misconstrued no one knew what was fact and what was fiction.

  Of course, he had the advantage. He knew Lark was safe. No speculating about it.

  But only for now. Only until Catfish tracked her down again.

  Lark handed him his glass of lemonade, and he made sure his fingers closed over hers, keeping her in front of him. He read the worry in her eyes, worry she kept from Chat. Worry that said no word about Catfish didn’t mean he wasn’t around, sniffing her out.

  Their gazes held, and he willed silent reassurance through his. She had to know he’d do all he could to keep her safe, didn’t she? That he’d find a way to keep the ruthless outlaw away from her?

  Her lashes lowered, and she pulled away. They both knew she couldn’t hide out forever. He couldn’t watch over her twenty-four hours a day, either. And when he thought of all that could go wrong when she wasn’t with him, of what Catfish was capable of, well, it pretty much turned his blood cold.

  He swung his attention back to Chat. “Tell us who you talked to. Start from the beginning.”

  Lark took the last glass of lemonade. Chat made room for her on the swing he’d built, and in the way of most women, they set it to a gentle rocking motion.

  “Well, before I ever headed to the dairy, I decided to pay Doc Seeber a visit,” Chat said. “He closes at noon on Saturday mornings, so I had to hurry before he did. He was just finishing up with Myra Perkins. Her baby is always colicky, you know. Doc thinks it might have something to do with what she’s feeding the poor thing. She weaned him much too soon.”

  Ross had to keep Chat’s gossip on track, or else she’d launch into a detailed history of all Doc Seeber’s patients’ ills.

  “What about Catfish?” he asked.

  “Well, just as Myra went out the door, Sheriff Sternberg came in.”

  Lark held her breath. “And?”

  “He wanted to know if Doc had a patient come in last night or this morning with head injuries needing medical attention. I must admit, I was glad it was the sheriff asking. Doc was prone to tell him much more than he might ever tell me, and he wouldn’t be as curious about it, so I just waited and listened. But Doc didn’t have anything to report.”

  Lark sighed. “Catfish wouldn’t be that obvious.”

  “But it was worth checking out,” Ross said.

  “Of course it was,” Chat agreed. “The sheriff said he had wired neighboring counties to be on the lookout for a man of Catfish’s description and injuries, but that’s all he could do without more evidence to go on. After Sheriff Sternberg left, so did I. I didn’t have anything to glean at that point, but just so Doc wouldn’t think it odd that I stopped by, I left him a dozen eggs for a treat.”

  “A whole dozen?” Lark said in dismay. “That’s profit you lost.”

  “That’s okay,” Chat said quickly. “I’ll just sell an extra dozen next week.”

  “What about the grocery store, Chat?” Ross urged, getting her back on topic again.

  “Nothing there, either. I dawdled for as long as I dared. Folks were talking about Lark, all right, but no one had seen or heard anything. I bought my supplies and left.”

  “And Sarah?”

  “I went to the boardinghouse last, but like everyone else—nothing.”

  “How is Mrs. Kelley?” Lark asked.

  “She wasn’t home. Sarah said she was at the church, saying a novena for you with Father Baxter.”

  Touched, Lark pressed her fingers to her lips. “A novena. For me.”

  “For your safety,” Ross grunted and hoped the age-old ritual helped. Catfish Jack was the devil himself.

  “Mr. Kelley is prepared to defend his family and each of the boarders,” Chat said. “Why, he had his rifle out
, all polished and ready if Catfish comes back.”

  “Which he won’t,” Ross said roughly. “Not without Lark there.”

  “No,” Lark concurred. “He’d have no reason.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Chat leaned over and slid her egg basket across the floor toward Lark’s side of the swing. She lifted the flour sack on top. “I brought something for you.”

  Lark gasped in surprise. “My clothes!”

  Chat smiled. “I convinced Sarah to let me see your sleeping room.”

  “How did you do that without making it seem suspicious?” Ross demanded.

  “I simply told her I wanted to see how Catfish escaped. We weren’t allowed in there then, you know. When everything happened. We had to stay in the library until Sarah’s parents felt it was safe for us to come out.” Chat cocked her head at Lark. “They have it all tidy and clean now. Mrs. Kelley insists upon keeping it available for you. I had no problem taking your belongings.”

  “Thank you,” Lark said. “But surely Sarah didn’t know you did?”

  “No, and I don’t feel guilty for it, either. Not a bit. They’re yours, after all, and the Kelleys will never know they’re missing,” she said, emphatic. “I left by way of the back stairwell, came around front and hid the basket in the wagon. Sarah never had an inkling.”

  “I hope not.” Lark gave Ross a worried look.

  “You’re sure no one saw you?” he asked Chat.

  “Positive.”

  “And no one followed you home?”

  “I would’ve known if they did.”

  He nodded. And wondered if she would.

  “So, if not for this—” Chat nudged the basket with the toe of her shoe “—the afternoon was a waste. I accomplished nothing.”

  “Wrong,” Ross said. “Because you learned there’s no information in town, we have to assume Catfish is wounded too bad to get around. Which means he can’t ride yet. Which means he’s still around these parts. And we have to be ready for that.”

  “You don’t suppose he crawled into a hole somewhere and died, do you? After Lark hit him on the head?”

  Lark made a sound of alarm. “Chat!”

  “We couldn’t be so lucky,” Ross said drily.

  “Listen to me, both of you,” Lark said, gesturing at them fiercely with her lemonade glass. “For all the grief Catfish Jack has caused, I do not want him dead because of me.”

  Chat blinked. “Why not? He tried to kill you.”

  “He attacked her to scare her, Chat,” Ross said. “He doesn’t want her dead. Yet. But he will, in the end.”

  “Yes. But not if I can help it.” Lark stood, and the swing jerked from the abrupt movement. “This conversation has taken a depressing turn. I’m hungry. How about you two?”

  Chat exchanged a glance with Ross. Clearly, she wanted to keep talking, but a single shake of his head ordered her silence.

  She gave Lark a bright smile and stood, too. “I’m starved. And I’m hoping you’ll cook because I can’t wait to see what kind of magic you can stir up. I’ll help, of course.”

  Ross hoped to catch Lark’s attention before she went inside, but she seemed determined to keep from looking at him. He wanted to do something to comfort her and cursed his inability to do so.

  She left him alone on the porch. Alone with his thoughts, too. Thoughts about how companionable their day had been. Once the awkwardness of being together was gone, their conversation turned relaxed, easy, as if they were just two ordinary people, alone in his workshop for the afternoon.

  They weren’t, of course. Ordinary. Their differences would destroy the fragile relationship that had budded between them. No longer man and woman, but enemies, each on the opposite side of the law.

  How much time did they have? Days? Hours?

  The uncertainty churned in his stomach. Suddenly restless, Ross set aside his lemonade, left the porch and strode across the yard. Chores were far from his mind, but Chat’s horse needed unhitching from the buckboard. The rig still sat in the drive, and he led her piebald toward the corral, where he kept his own mount, a fine-blooded sorrel he’d ridden since his bounty hunter days, and an aging stallion that once belonged to his father.

  Freed from the harness, the piebald trotted through the gate, and Ross locked it. He hooked a boot heel on the bottom rail of the fence and considered the three horses inside.

  He could take Lark somewhere, he mused. Ride some place where Catfish would never find her. Ross could help her start over in a different state, clear across the country, where she’d be safe. Free from worry.

  She’d done it once before. And while Catfish had found her in Ida Grove, it didn’t mean he’d be able to find her again.

  But then again, it could.

  An agitated whinny erupted from the sorrel’s throat and captured Ross’s attention. The horse tended to be skittish on the best of days, but Ross had learned to his advantage the sorrel’s instincts could be trusted. A ruckus rose up among Chat’s chickens, too, and his senses leapt into place.

  Something made them nervous, something beyond Ross’s range of vision. Uneasy, he straightened from the corral fence, ran a slow, discerning glance around him. Might be a skunk in the brush. A fox, maybe.

  Or someone hiding in the shadows.

  A weasel skittered from the direction of the henhouse and disappeared into the thicket beyond the corral. It wasn’t long after that the sorrel quieted. Even Chat’s annoying fowl fell silent, and Ross’s unease gradually lifted.

  A final searching glance yielded no other movement, and he headed toward the house. On the porch, he scooped up the wicker basket holding Lark’s belongings and went inside for dinner.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, by the time the morning tumbled into afternoon, Lark had done every household chore she could think of.

  She folded the damp dish towel into a neat rectangle and hung it over the stove handle to dry. Two golden loaves of bread and a pan of hot cinnamon rolls cooled on the table. Now that she’d washed all the dishes and put them away, she had nothing else to do the rest of the day.

  Earlier, Chat had ridden into town for Sunday services. She’d been reluctant to go, preferring to stay home and keep Lark company instead, but Ross insisted, because going to church was what she always did. Folks would wonder where she was if she didn’t. Besides, plans were in full swing for the Ida County Fair and its annual melodrama. Chat had one of the lead parts. She had a rehearsal to attend. She couldn’t miss it.

  A melodrama.

  Lark envied Chat her busy social life. She envied the happiness Chat lived with every day, too, that of being part of a close-knit community who accepted her as one of their own. But most of all, Lark envied the snug, secure world Chat took for granted. The world Ross had created for her. The one he kept safe.

  And when had she begun thinking of him like that?

  Ross, not Santana.

  A glum mood descended over her. Maybe she was getting too comfortable here, in his house, with his sister. With him. Like they were a family.

  Which they weren’t. Not at all.

  Her time here made it too easy to forget “why” and made her think “what if.”

  Lark sighed and meandered onto the front porch. The morning’s baking left the kitchen hot and stuffy, and she lifted her face to catch the light summer breeze against her flushed cheeks. If only the wind could chase away her melancholy thoughts, too.

  She sat down on the top step, propped her chin in her hands. She couldn’t stay with Ross and Chat forever. Tomorrow, Monday, the Ida Grove bank would open bright and early, ready to begin a new week. Mr. Templeton might be traveling back from Omaha at this very moment. He would expect her to be at her desk, punctual as always. So would Mrs. Pankonin and all the bank’s customers.

  Ross wouldn’t. He’d say she couldn’t go back, that it wasn’t safe, and Catfish Jack would only find her and kill her.

  Ross was right, and oh, God, what was she to do about
it?

  Her gaze slid in the direction of his workshop. He was inside, she knew. Working. Had been ever since Chat rode into town for church. He left Lark to her baking, had trusted her not to escape. And she hadn’t.

  But she must tell him she intended to leave. Tonight. She was going back to her sleeping room and her job and her life. She had consequences to deal with. Terrifying consequences. She had no recourse but to meet them head-on.

  She had to survive. Without him.

  The workshop door opened, and he stepped out, his arms full of scrap lumber. Without a break in his stride, his gaze swung toward her. As if he’d been thinking of her then, at that moment. He carried the load with little effort, and though the pile must be heavy, his gaze lingered.

  He made no acknowledgement of her presence there on the porch. He strode to the side of the workshop and added the wood to a pile of the same, scraps he’d cut into kindling later. Instead of returning inside, however, he headed toward the house.

  Toward her.

  Her stomach did a funny curl. He strolled toward her with the easy confidence of a man who knew what he was capable of and accepted it, who took what he wanted, when he wanted it, who possessed his own brand of honor, all in the name of justice.

  And, oh, what would it be like to be loved by him?

  He halted in front of her, sending her heart into a sloppy rhythm. He wore his gray cotton shirt open at the throat, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A fine layer of sawdust covered the dark hairs on his forearms, and her hands clenched so she wouldn’t reach out and brush it away.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” he said in a low voice.

  Her breath caught; her brain scrambled to figure his motive. Chat had taken the buckboard into town. And ride where, for heaven’s sake?

  She tried to feel suspicious, but failed. Two days ago, she would have succeeded. Yesterday, too. But she had learned Ross would never suggest the outing if he didn’t feel it was safe for her to go.