by Pam Crooks
His arm tightened to pull her away with him. The door crashed open, and a flood of townspeople rushed in, each carrying a newspaper, each rushing toward a teller window and demanding his money.
In the crush, a chair overturned, the same one Ross had been sitting in only a short time ago. He swore at the escalating chaos. The lobby filled with a wall of frantic people, caring less about Lark than the money they’d feared she’d stolen. They pushed shoulder-to-shoulder against one another, their voices raised in panic. Mr. Templeton’s was the loudest of all, though, as he tried to calm the frenzy.
“Lark, Lark!”
Amazingly, Phillip Templeton’s call reached her through the bedlam. His mother clung to his hand, her porcelain features aghast at the turmoil. She searched for her husband, rising on tiptoe to see past the Stetsons and bowlers on the heads of his patrons, calling his name, again and again.
Someone knocked her hat askew. She no sooner righted it when another’s shoulder rammed her from the side. She lost her balance and screamed. Mr. Templeton whirled, just as she went down.
“Amelia!” he cried out and rushed toward her.
In the pandemonium, she lost her hold on Phillip’s hand. His frail size was no match for the thoughtless adults who towered over him, and Ross scooped the boy up to keep him from being trampled underfoot.
He set him on top of Lark’s desk. His perfectly-parted hair had become mussed, and Lark automatically smoothed it into place again.
“Phillip! Are you all right?” If he’d been hurt because of the trouble she caused, she’d never forgive herself, and impulsively, she gave him a quick hug.
“Yeah.” He looked only a little overwhelmed by the chaos going on around him. After adjusting his tiny goldrimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he grinned up at her. “You’re an outlaw, aren’t you, Lark?”
“No, I’m not,” she said. “But I used to be.”
Triumph shone in his expression. “I knowed you were! I knowed it! You’re Wild Red, and you knowed the Reno gang, too, huh?”
Lark hated being honest. “Yes.”
“How did you figure that out?” Ross asked.
“’Cuz I knowed all about ’em.” He held up the stereoscope Lark only now noticed, kept tight against his chest. “I have a picture of the Renos, and you’re in it, too, and I wanted to show you, ’cept I didn’t tell Mama I wanted to, ’cuz she’d get mad.”
“Good thinking,” Ross said, his troubled gaze sweeping the crowd.
Phillip blinked up at him. “Are you an outlaw, too?”
“No.” Ross’s dark glance touched on him. “But I used to be a bounty hunter.”
“A bounty hunter!” His eyes rounded behind his spectacles. “Is that how you got your black patch?”
Ross’s mouth quirked. “Something like that.”
“Phillip, baby!” Amelia Templeton, frantic, on the verge of tears, appeared out of the crowd.
“Are you hurt, son?” Mr. Templeton asked, snatching him into his arms.
“No.” He clutched the stereoscope against him again. “Me and Lark was just talking. She’s an outlaw, did you knowed that?”
Mr. Templeton’s mouth tightened. Without another word, he elbowed his way toward his office to deposit his son and wife there for safekeeping.
But Amelia held back.
She glared at Lark. “If you’ve so much as stolen a single cent from my husband, Miss Ree-no, I shall personally see to it that you are arrested and thrown into jail for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?”
Lark despaired of trying to defend herself. “Yes.”
“And stay away from my son, too. You’re a horrible influence for him.”
Lark could’ve bled from the pain slicing through her. Amelia spun and hurried after her husband.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ross muttered, pulling her from around her desk.
“Ross!” Chat shoved her way through the crowd with Mrs. Kelley and Sarah on her heels. “We heard what happened. Oh, my God. Lark, you poor thing.”
Her pity was nearly Lark’s undoing, and she choked back a sob of abject humiliation. Of everyone, having Chat see her like this, disgraced and hated, her dignity gone…how could Lark ever face her again?
“Sheriff Sternberg is coming.” Chat pushed at Ross’s arm. “Go. The back door is that way. Hurry!”
Instinct kicked in. With everyone’s attention fixed on withdrawing their money, he took Lark’s hand, and together, they escaped the bedlam in the Ida Grove Bank.
Chapter Sixteen
It’d been ridiculously easy getting her out.
Ross thought of how the hysteria had consumed the bank’s customers. Made them forget she was there. Once outside, he’d discovered the alleys and streets all but empty. No one saw him take Lark back to her room here at the boardinghouse.
She needed her things. They both knew she couldn’t stay in Ida Grove anymore. Folks wouldn’t give her any peace if she did. So what had to come next tied his belly in knots.
She hadn’t said a word since they arrived. Just sat on her chair, staring out the window, far enough back from the parted curtains that no one would notice.
She was hurting. Made him hurt right along with her, too. It’d be easier if she yelled and screamed about how she’d been treated. But this god-awful silence…
Words to console her were lost on him. He had no encouragement to offer. Nothing positive to give.
She’d reached the end of the line.
His gaze made a slow sweep of her room. Clean. Orderly. Starkly simple. Not a single picture hung on the wall. No family keepsake on the dresser top. Nothing from her past life to keep her happy in the present one.
Except her respectability.
And now, she’d lost that.
But she had him, for what it was worth. She had to know he’d fight hard for her, too. Do all he could to keep her safe and alive.
If not for the Muscatine heist…
“Ollie’s coming.”
Lark’s subdued voice scattered Ross’s thoughts. He strode toward the window, flicked aside the curtain, and scanned the street below. The boardwalks had begun to fill again, which meant the uproar at the Ida Grove Bank had ended. And yeah, there was Ollie, heading toward Kelley’s Boardinghouse.
“What the hell does he want?” Ross muttered.
“To talk to me, I suspect.”
“I’ll send him away.” Ross let the curtain drop.
“No.”
He halted. “You want to talk to him?”
“He’s my friend, Ross.”
“Not anymore.” He hunkered down to her level and tamped down his impatience. “Friends don’t do what he did to you.”
“No.” Lark returned her haunted, pensive gaze to the window. “That’s why I want to hear what he has to say.”
She sat straight-backed and proud. Took a lot of courage to face the newspaper editor, and Ross admired her for it.
“Reckon we both do,” he said. “The man has some explaining to do.”
Some of her hair had fallen from the pins, and he fingered an auburn coil dangling against her ear. Time was ticking fast. Too fast. And there was still so much between them.
“We have to talk, Lark,” he said quietly. “After Ollie leaves, we’re going to make some decisions.”
He’d tried before, but she’d have none of it. Now, she didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t let her leave this room until she did.
“We?”
The delicate arch to her brow rankled. Why would she question it? Did she think he’d let her fight the world alone?
“Yes, we,” he growled.
“My problems are my own,” she said. “So are the decisions that must come with them. I’m not going to let you influence me, no matter how I feel about you.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
His mind worked over the words. Over the possibility she might have some covert plan he hadn’t suspected. Or did she, e
ven now, despise the justice that ran in his blood?
“Surely you know I’ve fallen in love with you,” she said, her tone almost sad. She laid her palm gently against his cheek. “Haven’t I made it so very obvious?”
The admission rocked him. Left him humbled. But before he could begin to fathom the repercussions, a knock sounded on the door.
“Ollie’s here.” She roused herself, tucked the loose curls behind her ear and gave them an absent pat. “Let him in, won’t you?”
“He can wait. We’re not through talking yet.”
How could she dismiss her admission of loving him so easily…when he was still reeling from it?
“Yes, we are.” Her chin lifted. “I think whatever he has to say is more important. I doubt he’ll take long, under the circumstances.”
Reluctantly, he rose. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. And what you’ve just told me is damned important.”
He headed toward the door and opened it with guarded caution, just in case it wasn’t Ollie standing on the other side.
It was, but only a shadow of him. Ross had done work for him in the past—a fine-looking seating bench for his newspaper office—and knew his cheerful nature. Now, the man could barely look him in the eye. Guilt, Ross knew, from what he’d done.
“Hello, Ross.”
Ollie shifted uncomfortably. He looked disheveled in his dark suit and white cotton shirt. Wrung out. Easy to tell he’d been up half the night writing his news story about Lark, setting the type and running the whole thing through the presses.
“Ollie.”
“Saw you in the bank with Miss Lark today,” he said.
“Saw you, too. I’m guessing just about everyone did.”
The man grimaced. “Had a hunch you might’ve come here. To keep watch over her, I suppose.”
To protect her from the likes of you.
He glared the thought. “That’s right.”
Ollie cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to her, if you please.”
Ross leaned a shoulder against the jamb. Took his time complying. Let the man squirm.
“Hell of a thing you did, Ollie. Playing dirty with a woman. I’d bet my good eye she’s never done an unkind thing to you or anyone else in this town.”
“No, Ross. I don’t reckon she has. That’s why I’m here. To explain myself. I mean, if she’ll listen.”
“A little late for that, don’t you think?”
Ross gave serious thought to throwing the man out on his cowering ass. But the bounty hunter in him suspected Ollie’s actions had been prompted by Catfish Jack. If that was true, Lark needed to hear him out, same as Ross did.
“Let him in, Ross.”
She’d moved from the window, close enough to hear the conversation. Ross stepped aside with a glower, let him pass and locked the door.
Ollie paled a little, seeing her, then took off his bowler and clutched it with both hands against his chest. Looked to Ross like he might break into tears any minute.
“Miss Lark. I didn’t want to do it. You’ve got to believe me,” he said.
She gave him a cool smile. “Oh, but, Ollie, everyone knows how you love to put the town’s gossip in your newspaper. You thrive on it.” She cocked her head, her lack of emotion chilling. “Tell me. Have you ever had a story more newsworthy than mine?”
“Never known one to sell more copies, that’s for sure.” Ross added his sarcasm to hers. “She was good for business, wasn’t she, Ollie?”
His glance darted between them. “It wasn’t like that at all. I knew what printing the story would do to her. It’s just that—”
He halted. Ross could’ve sworn the man’s chin trembled.
“Just what?” Lark asked, her face bloodless. “Are you going to tell me folks deserved to know the truth about me? That it was your job to keep them informed? So you decided to start your own witch-hunt to get the story out?”
“No, Miss Lark!”
“The least you could’ve done is come to me first. To let me know what you were going to do.” She drew herself up taller, holding on to what little dignity she had left. “Couldn’t you have done at least that, Ollie?”
His face crumpled. “You’re a fine upstanding woman, Miss Lark. I consider you my friend. Always have, right from the day you came to Ida Grove, and it broke my heart to do it.” He sniffled. “Plumb broke it!”
“So why did you?” Ross demanded.
Ollie needed a moment to find his voice. “Because of this.”
He whipped off his string tie. Yanked open his shirt collar. Parted it wide.
A thin red line decorated his neck, the blood only recently dried.
Lark’s fingers flew to her lips. “Oh, my God.”
“He told me he’d kill me if I didn’t print the story,” Ollie said in a dull voice. “He showed me how he’d do it.”
“Who did?” Ross and Lark asked in unison.
But they already knew.
“He didn’t tell me his name. Under the circumstances, I didn’t ask.” His fingers dropped from his collar. “All I can tell you is he had the strangest eyes. Not quite matched up. Spooked me, I have to tell you.” Ollie swayed a little, the memory obviously horrifying.
Lark hastened for a chair. “Here you are. Sit. Would you like some water?”
“No, Miss Lark.” But he sat with a miserable sigh and hung his head.
“His name is Jack Friday. Goes by Catfish Jack,” Ross said, grim. “He was acquainted with Lark a while back.”
“So he said.” Ollie accepted the glass she handed him, and despite his earlier refusal, downed the water in a few long gulps.
“What else did he say?” Ross demanded. “Start from the beginning. We have to know everything.”
“All right.” The man seemed to feel better for his drink. Took a breath, then let it out again. “Catfish Jack paid me a call in the middle of the night. Woke me from a dead sleep with his knife against my throat.”
Lark made a small sound of dismay.
“Almost sent the missus into palpitations, I tell you.” He shuddered. “He tied her up to keep her quiet. Then he dragged me down to my newspaper office. Told me all about you once being an outlaw with the Reno gang. That’s when he said if I didn’t print the story he’d kill me and the missus both.” Ollie met her gaze. “I believed him, Miss Lark. I believed him.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and shivered. “It’s good that you did.”
“Anything else?” Ross asked.
Ollie rubbed a hand over his forehead, as if to erase the memory of his ordeal. “He said Miss Lark was staying with you and that the truth would draw her out because she had one robbery left to answer for.” He appealed to Lark. “I don’t care one whit about what you did or didn’t do. I swear I don’t. All I care about is keeping me and my wife alive.” He stood, as if by doing so, he could make Lark understand. “I had to print your story. He would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Yes.”
“You could’ve gone to the sheriff first,” Ross said. “Catfish Jack has a long string of crimes. He’s been running from the law for years. Sternberg’s posse is itching to get their hands on him.”
“I had to keep quiet. Don’t you see? He would’ve killed me!”
“Where’s Catfish now?” he asked.
“You think I’d know? I don’t. But he’s out there. I can feel him. Like he’s breathing down my neck.” He faced Lark again. “I’m sorry, Miss Lark. I feel real terrible about what I did to you. You don’t know how terrible.”
“Yes, I do.” She stepped forward and embraced him. “Catfish Jack won’t bother you again. I promise.”
Ollie eyed her dubiously. “Quite a vendetta he has against you. What’re you going to do now?”
“I’ll do what I must, that’s all.”
Another time, for sure, Ollie’s curiosity would have pressed her to expound on the vow, but at the moment, he was too despondent to c
are. He pushed his bowler back onto his head.
“Good luck to you, Miss Lark.” He headed toward the door, as if he couldn’t leave fast enough. “I have a feeling you’re going to need all you can get from here on out.”
He was gone before Lark could respond.
She stood unmoving. Just stared at the closed door, like she’d been shut off from the rest of the world.
Which she had, Ross knew with a twisting in his gut.
Shut off from her life in Ida Grove.
Abruptly, she strode to her bed, got down on her knees and pulled out a small valise stored beneath it. She laid the case on the mattress, went to her bureau and scooped up the contents in the drawers—stockings, nightclothes, day clothes—and dropped them into the case.
“Lark.”
She gathered her toiletries on the washstand. Dumped them in, too.
“Lark,” Ross said again.
“I’m leaving.” She added a pair of shoes, pushed them deep into the disorderly pile.
“I see that,” he said carefully. “Where to?”
“I’m not sure yet. North, maybe. Canada. It’s safer there.”
Safe, yes. But so damn far.
“We’ll leave right away,” he said.
She tossed him a cold look. “I’m going alone. You have Chat to care for. Your business. They need you more than I do.”
“We’ll only be gone until the sheriff and his posse find Catfish. Not long.” His brain clicked through details. “Chat can stay here with the Kelleys. My furniture can wait.”
And she needed him more than she wanted to admit.
But he refrained from telling her so. He had to get her out of town before Sternberg put Wild Red and the Muscatine heist together—and came up with jail time. And did she really think she could defend herself against Catfish Jack?
The brass catches on her valise snapped into place. Her fingers quickly slipped the leather straps into the buckles and secured them tight. Finally, she stood the case on end and faced him.
“You may as well head on home. I’ll be fine from here on out.”
He regarded her. “You have no weapon to protect yourself. And your money is sitting in its account at the bank.”