“Right behind you,” replied Boxcar. “Is there a good eating place in town?”
“I found one I like.”
The little restaurant was doing a good business when the men walked inside, removing their hats as Tilly greeted them.
“Good morning, Thorn,” she said, her apple cheeks looking round and rosy beneath twinkling blue eyes. “And who is your handsome friend?”
Tilly was a middle-aged widow who had refused to leave town and opened her own business instead when her husband had been killed a few years back. Tall and slender, she was a fine looking woman with coal black hair swept up behind her head atop a long milky neck.
Thorn looked aggrieved. “Now, Tilly, I'm hurt! You never called me handsome! How come you to do that with this butt ugly cowboy?”
“Because she knows a good looking man when she sees one,” argued Boxcar amiably, his assessing gaze taking in the pretty flush on her pale cheeks, “just like I know a beautiful woman.” His eyes caught hers and she held his gaze for a few seconds and then she turned away to lead them to a table, but not before Boxcar had taken her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. “The name is Boxcar,” he said admiringly.
“You are a flatterer, aren't you?” she said teasingly, her hips swaying gently from side to side as she walked in front of them. “And what an unusual name.”
“You can't believe a word he says, Tilly,” interjected Thorn plaintively. “You'd best stick with me, I'll see you get treated like a lady.”
Tilly arched her eyebrow as she placed menus in front of the two good-looking cowboys with the teasing grins. “Who said I wanted to be treated like a lady?” She smiled into their astonished faces and asked sweetly, “What can I get you gentlemen for breakfast?”
Chuckling, they quickly placed their order. Boxcar watched her as she moved gracefully away. “That your claim, Thorn, old buddy?”
Thorn followed his friend’s gaze, both men admiring the gentle sway once again. “It might be, why?”
“Oh, just thought I'd check before I beat your time.” He grinned. “Don't want to break your heart or anything.”
“Ha!” scoffed Thorn.
While Thorn was eating, he was mentally checking out each customer in the diner. There were two unfamiliar faces he hadn't seen in here yesterday and he noted each detail of their face and clothing. Thorn was good at details; it's what made him so good at this job. He had a memory like a steel trap. Boxcar was no slouch either and together they had made an excellent team.
They had grown up together in Pennsylvania, both their families owning ranches side by side in the lush green countryside. Thorn had a restless spirit and the west had drawn him. In doing so, he left behind a woman he cared a lot about- Boxcar's sister. But the west was no place for a young lady of quality and at twenty-two years of age, Thorn hadn't been ready to settle down. Three years later, he still wasn't ready.
“So, how's Clary?” He tried to keep the longing out of his voice, but the memory of her laughing face and cornflower blue eyes punched him in the stomach, just like it always did. She was willing to share her body with him, and his life, if he would let her. But Thorn didn't want to bring her out here. This life was wild, rugged and untamed. Women aged before their years and died in childbirth for lack of proper care and medicine, not to mention the Indian raids and the outlaws.
Boxcar paused, his fork in midair. “She's getting tired of waiting, Thorn,” he finally said, finishing the bite of pancakes he had speared. “When are you coming back to marry her?”
“You know I can't do that.”
“Then let her come to you.”
“I can't do that either,” replied Thorn heavily. “This is no place for a gentle woman like your sister.”
“There are plenty of gentle women out here,” insisted Boxcar, his face serious. “She's in love with you, Thorn. You must know that.”
“I don't want her here. I don't want her to get hurt.”
“You may not have a choice.”
Thorn stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”
Boxcar took a long drink of coffee, considering best how to break the news to his old buddy. “I mean, she has plans to come to Arizona territory. If you won't come to her, then she's coming to you. Since Potluck is the largest civilized settlement around here, this is where she is planning to come.”
“I don't live in Potluck, my job takes me everywhere. In fact, I don't actually live anywhere that’s a real home. Hotels for a few days at a time are the best it gets!” He glared at Boxcar in consternation.
“Maybe she is hoping to change your mind,” replied Boxcar wryly.
Thorn exploded. “No! She's not coming out here- it's too dangerous! And if you cared about her as her brother, you wouldn't let her!”
Boxcar calmly finished the last of his bacon under the angry stare of his friend. “I think it's too late to do anything about it. If my letter was correct, she is already on her way.”
“Then she can turn right around and head back out when she gets here.” Thorn stood up and threw his napkin on his plate.
Boxcar stood up too. “I think you'll find my little sister has a mind of her own and when she makes it up, there isn't any undoing it. She's changed in the last three years, old buddy.”
Thorn jammed his Stetson down on his dark brown hair and threw some money on the table. “We'll just see about that,” he promised darkly. “In the meantime, let's go. The day is wasting away.”
They arrived in Silver Springs a few hours later and plodded through the small town to the north about two miles and arrived at the Triple M Ranch. Looking around the seemingly deserted yard, Thorn felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him. Scanning the low hills and the horizon, he didn't see anything, not even a dog. Instinct guided him as he pulled his six-gun from its holster and dismounted.
“Mrs. Clausen?” he shouted at the closed door, but no one answered.
Boxcar followed his lead and they stepped up onto the front porch. Thorn noticed the door was open an inch or so. Motioning Boxcar to the side, they fanned either side of the door. Thorn inched it open with the barrel of his gun. When nothing happened, he reached out and opened it further, then cautiously stepped inside, keeping his gun at the ready.
“Looks like no one is here,” said Boxcar. “And it looks like they left in a big hurry; there is still food on the table.” He waved his hand at the kitchen table where a small plate sat with what looked like meat and potatoes partially eaten. A half-cup of coffee accompanied it and a pot still sat on the cook stove that had a banked fire in it. Yes, the Widow Clausen had apparently left in a hurry.
They checked the barn, but there were no horses in it and no buggy either. Disgruntled, Thorn led the way back to their horses and they were both surprised to see the Indian standing on the porch, his arms folded inside his blanket as he stared at them.
With his hand on his gun, Thorn ordered softly, “You best show me your hands, mister.”
The Indian obliged by opening his blanket and showing them his empty hands. “The woman gone,” he stated simply in his broken English.
Boxcar eyed the old man with the feather in the back of his long braid and the dark eyes that watched him with intelligence shining in their depths. “Do you know where she went?”
“They take her away. Big hurry.”
“Who took her away?” asked Thorn sharply.
“They buy her land. They take her away,” he said simply. “Take her to town. She should not sold out.”
“Who are you?” Boxcar asked bluntly.
The Indian drew himself up. “My name Running Wolf and I help her before she sell land. I tell her not to sell, but she tired of fighting.”
“Was someone forcing her to sell?” asked Thorn, his eyes appraising the solemn Navajo.
The Indian nodded. “They poison waterhole, steal cattle, burn barn until she sell.”
“No Indian attacks?” Thorn looked skeptic
al.
“My people peaceful and live mostly on reservation. I stay and help Mrs. Clausen, she good to me.”
“But there have been Indian attacks on the ranchers in these parts,” insisted Thorn, watching him closely.
“Bad brothers run away from reservation, take money to attack ranchers,” he replied with a disapproving frown. “Bad business. Bad for Indian people.”
“Do you know who is paying the Indians?” interjected Boxcar.
“White man. I see him once. He pay money.”
“What did he look like?
“Big man...wear snake of rattles on black hat. Hair on lip. Very bad man,” replied Running Wolf with a worried look on his face. “He take Clausen woman to town.”
Instantly Thorn knew whom Running Wolf was talking about. He had specifically noticed the rattlesnake skin on the hat of the man who had left the diner this morning with his friend. The two strangers he hadn't seen before this morning. They had left before he and Boxcar had, probably by a good half hour.
“Come on, Boxcar, let's see if we can head our friend off at the pass,” said Thorn, swinging into the saddle. “Much obliged, Running Wolf.” He tipped his finger to his hat and turned Molasses around to head back to Silver Springs. He had a sinking feeling though, that the Widow Clausen would be on the one o'clock stage and long gone... if she had made it to town at all.
Chapter Two
Thorn and Boxcar thundered into town and drew their horses to a halt at the mercantile where passages for the stagecoach were sold. In his hurry, Thorn didn't see the young girl that came barreling out the door at the same time he wanted in and they collided. He grabbed her arms to balance her and found himself looking once again into the green eyes of Callie Perkins.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he growled, gripping her forearms tightly.
Callie lifted her chin and looked down her pretty freckled nose at him. “I'll tell you what I'm doing, Mr. Thorn, I'm hunting again. I spied the strangers in the diner and I'm betting they are wanted. I'm going after them.”
“Are you crazy?” he ground out between gritted teeth. “That's too dangerous for a woman! Those men could be killers and most likely are!”
“Nope, I'm not crazy. I'm going to be a bounty hunter,” Callie replied triumphantly.
“The hell you say!” Thorn looked ready to commit murder as Boxcar guffawed behind him. “You already got in my way once, Callie Perkins and I owe you for that. You get in my way again and there won't be any hide left on that rear end of yours when I'm through with it! Now you get on home, you hear me?”
“Mind your own business, Thorn,” replied Callie angrily, “and let go of me! You better not hit me or my ranch hands will hunt you down and kill you slow!”
She struggled furiously to pull away from him, but Thorn wasn't having it. He pulled her in close until he was looking right into her green eyes with the golden flecks in them.
“Mark my words, when the time is right, you're going over my knee for a long, hard spanking and I guarantee you won't sit good for at least three days. I better not run into you again, Callie Perkins!” He let go of her and stomped around her to go inside the mercantile.
His boots echoed on the wooden planks as he sought the heavy jowled, bespectacled man behind the counter. “Has the stage left yet?”
The man looked up at Thorn from his lesser height and spoke in a deep voice. “Yes, Sir, it left about thirty minutes ago. Won't be another one until six o'clock tonight.” He peered through his little half glasses curiously. “You want a ticket?”
“Uh...no,” replied Thorn. “I'm looking for a woman.”
The man took off his spectacles and chuckled. “Aren't we all?” He perched them back on the end of his nose. “There was a woman in here a few minutes ago,a blonde gal, looking for Mrs. Clausen. That the girl?”
“No,” growled Thorn, annoyed that Callie had gotten the jump on him. If it hadn't been for him, Callie wouldn't even have known about Mrs. Clausen. She had known he was going to visit her today. “I'm looking for Mrs. Clausen, too. Did she get on that stage?”
“Yes, she did, headed for West Virginia, according to the man that bought her a full fare all the way through.”
“What man?”
The storekeeper looked at him thoughtfully. “Well... he was a big fella...kinda ugly... had a scar on the left side of his face.”
“What did his hat look like?”
“Oh, his hat. Yes, well, that was mighty strange, if ask me.”
“Just tell me,” growled Thorn impatiently. “I'm in a hurry!”
“It had a rattlesnake skin around the brim. Nasty looking piece of work.” The storekeeper shuddered in revulsion. “Looks like a man with a nasty temper to boot. He and his friend rode out after the stage.”
Damn! That explained who Callie was following. “Where does that stage go from here?” Thorn jammed his hat back on his head and grabbed a piece of horehound candy from the jar, dropping a coin on the wooden counter.
“Next stop is El Paso,” replied the storekeeper cheerfully, opening his cash register. “Hey, you want your change?”
But Thorn was already through the door. “Keep it,” he called over his shoulder.
The storekeeper chuckled and picked up the coin to breath on it and shine it with his handkerchief. “Coin like this would buy ten pounds of horehound. Mighty generous of him.”
Outside, Boxcar leaned against the porch post, enjoying a smoke with his pipe. His razor sharp gaze took in everything around him in spite of his deceptively relaxed appearance. He straightened when Thorn came out and went right to his horse.
“You got something?”
Thorn swung his leg over his mount and reined him in while he danced nervously about. Catching Boxcar's gaze, he asked determinedly, “How do you feel about El Paso?”
* * *
Clary Worthington sighed heavily and gazed out at the seemingly never ending panorama of red earth and sagebrush. If not for the bold colors, the magentas and oranges of the massive rocks against the clear blue skies, it would have been endlessly boring. The stagecoach rocked from side to side and she was thankful she was on the final leg of a long, tiring trip from Pennsylvania. She wondered how Thorn was doing and if he would be pleased to see her. She doubted it.
Sweat beaded delicately along her upper lip, making her fan herself with her white-gloved hands as her thoughts wandered over the past three years.
She and Thorn hadn't parted on the best of terms back then because she had been highly resentful that he wouldn't even consider taking her with him. The restless streak in the man couldn't be denied and he had left her behind, much to her chagrin.
She had been plagued with doubts about her decision to follow him, but her love for the cowboy of her youth drove her west. If she hadn't been sure that he loved her too, she would never have dared to do the impossible in a man's world. But she had.
His letters had been sparse over the last three years and showed no signs of his returning to the green lushness of Pennsylvania, although they always proclaimed his undying love for her and hope for their future someday. That left her with a difficult choice to make: join him or move on. She had decided to join him.
They had left El Paso early that morning and after a stop at noon for lunch and a horse change, they were only about four hours from Potluck, Arizona. Boxcar was supposed to be working on a case there and he would help her find Thorn. She had already sent word ahead. Her musings were interrupted by the sound of gunfire and her traveling companions reached for their guns.
“What's happening?” she asked, feeling beneath her yellow cotton skirt for the small revolver strapped to her leg. She had another one in her bag and after assuring herself the leg revolver was in place, she reached into her bag to secure it. Her heart beat fast when the coach picked up speed. She hung on as it bounced her from side to side.
“It looks like we are being chased,” replied the older, slender gentleman across fro
m her as he peered out the open window. His handlebar mustache wiggled as he spoke and his dark eyes were solicitous when he glanced at Clary.
“Keep your head in,” instructed the other, younger man. “They'll shoot anything that moves, no matter who they are.” He looked at Clary, admiring at a glance the spiral curls that fell beside her delicate ears and the yellow hat that sat on burnished chestnut hair. Her long locks were put up beneath the fetching hat with the colorful silk flowers on the brim and her beautiful eyes were wide with excitement and apprehension.
“You better sit in the middle, Ma'am,” he said. “Less chance of getting hit by a stray bullet.”
The older gentlemen ducked as a bullet struck the coach near his head. “I can see them! There are four riders, coming up behind us.”
“Trade me places,” ordered the other man, standing up in a crouch. “Quick!”
They quickly exchanged places and the younger man poked his gun out the window and fired off a couple of shots.
“Don't shoot...you'll attract fire to the coach,” yelped the older man. Then sheepishly, noting their stares, he went on. “The lady might get hit.”
“This stagecoach has metal along the back, not too likely she would get hit in the middle,” the younger man responded dryly. He fired off another shot as Clary held onto her hat, her shiny knot of hair slowly coming loose under the jerky movements.
It was only moments before they realized they were suddenly taking fire from another direction and they listened as the coach slowed down and two riders flew fast and furious past either window. Clary blinked. Was that Boxcar that had just ridden by? She eagerly moved to the window as the coach slowed, craning her neck to see behind them.
The other riders who had been chasing them had turned tail and were running in the other direction and the two men who had passed them were turning around and heading back to the stagecoach. Her stomach flipped in excitement when she realized the other rider was Thorn!
The Case of the Great Land Grab (Agent Thorn Book 1) Page 2