Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  The indignity was unbearable. He couldn’t look at her as he took off the nightshirt. “You’ll pay for what you’re stealing from me,” he blustered.

  “Ain’t stealin’ a damn thing.” Maggie quickly secured her bundle. “I’m takin’ the money what was promised to me by Quincy to open me mines. An’ some for Pamela Burton to give her a new start. You stole from her, too.”

  She caught Thadius’s slight move away and rose to her feet. “Drag that chair from the desk over to the middle of the room.”

  Thadius no longer thought about arguing. He was mortified into silence by his naked state and the knowledge that she might still kill him. He dragged the straight-back chair from the front of the desk to a place under the crystal chandelier.

  Maggie threw the end of the rope over the fancy light fixture. She tugged gently, feeling that it wouldn’t hold the porker’s weight, but it was the best she had.

  “Get up on the chair.”

  “Wait a minute. This is too much. I’ll yell and have help—”

  “You got a choice. I’ll have that chair kicked out from under you or slit your throat before the first sound comes.”

  Thadius climbed up on the chair, but his legs were shaking so badly that he had to hold the top edge of the chair to steady himself.

  “Listen good. If you stay real still, you might make it till someone comes lookin’ for you. Move around an’ you’ll hang yourself.”

  He clawed at the noose, but she had pulled it taut, and he couldn’t even get one chubby finger between the rope and his neck. He saw her wrap the balance of the rope twice around his desk and tie it off. There was no way he could pull the rope free.

  “Have some pity. I did everything you wanted me to. You have the money you need. It pays for whatever you feel has been taken from you.”

  “It’ll never pay for Pete’s death, you bastard,” she hissed. “An’ while you’re waitin’, I’ll be takin’ these papers to the Santa Fe Gazette. Hear Hezekiah Johnson ain’t got any use for the likes of you.”

  Maggie looked around. She had done all she could. But as she went to blow out the lamp, knowing how being in the dark would add to his fear, she spotted the chunk of ore that her uncle had had with him when he was killed.

  Thadius saw her pick it up and smooth one hand over and around it. “Listen. I’ve got friends. Powerful friends. They’ve got money, too. We could work out a deal. You’d have the lion’s share of ownership in the mine, and we’d make sure you never had to work again. You could buy—”

  “Shut the hell up,” she ordered calmly. Killing him would end it all too fast. She wanted him to suffer and let the law take care of him. Pocketing the ore, she hoped that Pete could rest in peace now. She wanted to go home.

  “All your fancy talk an’ even fancier ways ain’t gonna buy your way out. You’re a dead man.” Maggie gripped the palm-size piece of ore in one hand and walked out.

  Cooney Camp was in an uproar. Every search party that McCready organized trying to find Maggie had come up empty. Slick had returned from making his rounds of the surrounding mining camps. He had left the three tarred men down in Albuquerque. His tale was worth the price of a drink to more than a few men, and he didn’t refuse their offer to head over to the White Elephant Saloon and tell his tale.

  When he mentioned Mohawk Pete, a man pushed his way to Slick’s side and introduced himself. Once Slick heard his story, he offered to take him back to Cooney Camp with him.

  And now he faced a McCready lit like a stick of dynamite ready to blow the Rawhider sky high.

  “How do you know he is who he says he is, Slick?”

  “Now, McCready, I ain’t a fool. Made him take me over to the foundry and machine shop he claimed to own. Men all called him boss. His name was on the sign out front. I took him over to Miss Mae’s for a room and said to come down here when he was ready. Figured you’d be wanting to question him yourself.”

  Dutch set an unasked for drink in front of McCready. He knew McCready was suffering the guilt of the damned since Maggie had been gone. McCready couldn’t deal cards, he wasn’t drinking, and when Dutch thought about it, McCready wasn’t even talking much to anyone. The man brooded the days away. But he wasn’t ready to hear Dutch tell him what he knew was wrong.

  “How many others did you tell the story to?” McCready finally asked when he had leashed his temper.

  “Nearly every man I met heard it. Kinda of hard to be riding around with three tarred and feathered men and not explain why.”

  Slick sipped his drink, exchanging a look with Dutch. He couldn’t help noticing that McCready hadn’t touched his drink. He wondered if the man was sick. A quick little shake of Dutch’s head warned him to leave the matter be. He slugged down the liquor, wiped his mouth, and headed for the door.

  “Where the hell are you going?” McCready demanded.

  “Figure I’d go find Ira and catch up on what’s been happening around here. You ain’t the most pleasant piece of business today, McCready.”

  “He ain’t been pleasant since he lost my wife,” Mike said from the doorway.

  “That’s a matter up for debate, young fella,” Slick said as Mike joined him at the bar. “You’re about to meet another contender.”

  Mike looked to McCready for an explanation, and McCready answered, “He found another one on his travels, and Slick, here, is feeling real proud of himself.”

  “Another one? Another what? You ain’t making sense, McCready.”

  The door to the Rawhider opened again. Slick stepped forward to welcome the newcomer. “C’mon in and join us, Samuel. This here young fella is Mike Grant. He ranches up Montana way. This here’s McCready, owns the Rawhider, and the big fella behind the bar is Dutch, best friend a man could have. Makes the best damn whiskey ever to slide down a man’s throat.” Slick turned to Dutch. “Pour out a drink for Samuel Taylor and make him welcome. He’s here—” Slick caught McCready’s murderous gaze upon him and backed away from the bar. “I’ll just mosey out and find Ira and leave you all to sorta get acquainted.”

  “Slick,” McCready warned, watching the man back all the way to the door. “Come back here or I’ll—”

  “Later, McCready.” Slick was out the door before anyone could stop him.

  McCready saw Mike give the newcomer a quick once-over, then dismiss him. McCready made his own assessment, not as quick or dismissing. The man had hard years behind him, but his dark eyes retained a sparkle. The man would need to find humor to help him get through this, McCready thought, taking in his slight build and slightly shorter height than his own. Judging by the fine tailoring of his suit, McCready knew that Slick had not lied about this Samuel’s foundry making him wealthy. But he knew that he was meeting a gentleman, something that McCready forgot at times he once was.

  He was so deep in his thoughts that it took him a few minutes to realize they were all waiting for him to speak.

  “Have a drink on the house,” he offered. “Slick told Dutch and me why you’re here.”

  “Wish someone would tell me,” Mike cut in.

  “I’ll leave the pleasure of that to Mr. Taylor here,” McCready snapped.

  “Well?” Mike prompted, turning to the stranger.

  “I’ve come to see Mary Margaret O’Roarke.” Samuel spoke softly, revealing his southern drawl. “I don’t quite understand why you gentlemen will find this of any interest, but I’m her husband.”

  “You don’t say?” Mike asked, carefully setting down his drink and hitching his gunbelt. “Stand in line, mister, there’s two more in front of you.”

  “Two more? But that’s impossible. She can’t have three husbands. No woman can.”

  Dutch took pity on him. “You see, it’s like this,” he began and went on to explain how Mike and Lars were both married by proxy to Maggie. When he finished, he looked at McCready with sympathy. The man was hurting, and hurting bad. “None of us can figure why Mohawk Pete did th
is,” he added.

  “Gentlemen, you realize that this is a shock to me. I had assumed when I agreed to forgo paying Pete what I owed him for setting up the foundry and machine stop that I would be offering to share my home with a respectable woman. But I certainly do not want to be involved with a woman—”

  “Shut the hell up,” McCready ordered but very softly. “Maggie had nothing to do with any of this. Pete is the one at fault. And he’s dead, so there won’t be a reason given for what he did.”

  “And just what, may I ask, is your interest in this matter? Are you the other husband?”

  “Don’t he wish,” Mike answered before McCready did.

  “Seems to me,” Dutch said in an effort to calm them down, “that it isn’t hard to figure why Pete married her off. To more than one,” he quickly amended for the glares that both Samuel and Mike gave him. “If any one of you died, Maggie would have one less husband looking to collect her.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” McCready stated, finally lifting his glass, but the sip of liquor had his stomach churning, and he set the glass down. Since Maggie had run off for a dowry, if Pamela told him the truth, he hadn’t been able to sleep or drink in peace. And now there was another man vying for her. If he wasn’t so worried about her, he would cheerfully wring her neck when she got back.

  But one thing was certain. He and Maggie had to have a talk and clear things up between them.

  No one was more startled than McCready a few minutes later when Slick stuck his head inside and yelled, “Maggie’s back! She’s over at the mercantile!”

  Slick was gone before they could question him. McCready saw Mike gulp down his drink, wipe his mouth, and head for the door. Samuel was right behind him, and Dutch followed. Only McCready remained where he was.

  What he had to say to Maggie was for her alone. He could wait. She couldn’t be surrounded by husbands forever.

  When Maggie had accomplished her goal and retrieved Satin from where she left the dog guarding her horse, she wanted the miles to fly so she could get back home. But arriving in the middle of the afternoon to a sun-baked day and having a crowd demanding to know where she had been before she had gotten off her horse wasn’t the homecoming she had hoped for.

  McCready was nowhere in sight. Maggie smiled and nodded but soon understood that he had not come to see her. Maybe he didn’t care where she had been or that she was back. The exhaustion that had ridden with her the last miles swamped her as she stepped down from her saddle into Dutch’s waiting arms.

  “Maggie, you had us worried,” he whispered, feeling the slight tremble of her body. The press of men behind him had Dutch ordering them back to give her room, and he was rewarded by Maggie’s lopsided smile. But he read the question in her eyes before she could ask. “He’s inside, and yes, he knows that you’re back.”

  “I need to talk to him, Dutch. Alone.”

  “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “Please. Help me.”

  He couldn’t ignore the plea in her voice and her eyes. Pamela wedged herself a place next to them, and Dutch gave Maggie a quick nod to show he would do what he could.

  “Pamela,” Maggie said, suffering through a quick hug, “I’ve a bundle in me saddle bag that you need to take inside. You’ll have your dowry an’ I’ll be havin’ mine.”

  “Then you found what you were looking for?”

  “That I did.” Maggie scanned the crowd, disappointed that McCready still hadn’t shown up. She noticed that Pamela was doing the same and leaned down to whisper, “Where’s Lars?”

  “He went to Clairmont when he heard there was a lawyer mining there. I guess he hopes to find a legal way to settle the matter of your husbands.”

  “I’ll be settlin’ that meself.” She squeezed Pamela’s hand to silence her. “We’ll talk later. There’s somethin’ I’ve got to do.” Maggie looked up at Dutch. “Ready?”

  “Don’t fight me,” he said, stepping behind her. “Quiet! I know you’ve all got something that begs saying to Maggie, but it’ll have to wait.” Without any warning, Dutch swung Maggie up into his arms, the move widening a small circle around them. “Be still,” he warned Maggie in a whisper. “Maggie’s exhausted and thirsty, and I’m taking her over to the Rawhider.”

  Maggie wrapped her arms around him since he gave her no choice. “Haulin’ me like a sack will have them thinkin’ I’m one of them helpless females.”

  “You are a helpless female, Maggie. You just don’t know it yet.” Dutch started walking across the street.

  “Why’s that?”

  “ ’Cause I believe McCready might feel partial to a helpless female along about now. And then, you got more trouble waiting.” Dutch saw that Mike was blocking the door and ordered him to open it.

  “No way. That’s my wife you’re handling a mite too familiar like to please me.”

  “Fella, you ain’t got the good sense the Lord gave your cows. Open the door and stand aside before I tear you apart.”

  “Excuse me, please,” Samuel said, joining them at the door. “Am I to understand that this is Mary Margaret O’Roarke?” His gaze was judgmental. Dust-covered and dressed in the same rough mining clothes most of the men around here wore, Mary Margaret O’Roarke was less than tolerable. At least her face was clean, and dressed in the right clothes, she might not be too bad. He couldn’t forget the worth of those mines Slick had told him about.

  Maggie glared at the man. How dare he call her Mary Margaret? No one used that name but McCready. But there was something unsettling about the man’s eyes. Maggie was tired, but she began to understand what his calling her Mary Margaret might mean. “Dutch! Dutch, it can’t be true. This ain’t the trouble I’ve got waitin’?”

  “Afraid so. Meet Samuel Taylor from Albuquerque. And yes, before you ask, he’s another one of Pete’s proxy marriage males.”

  Maggie buried her head against Dutch’s shoulder, glad that he was holding her. She couldn’t take any more. “Go away,” she pleaded. “All of you. Can’t you be seein’ I’m a helpless female in need of a glass of good whiskey?”

  “She drinks?” Samuel exploded.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Mike answered, then opened the door. “We could all use a drink.”

  The mutters behind him forced Dutch to realize he wasn’t getting away with taking Maggie inside alone. “Where did you leave Satin? We could use her help now.”

  “Up at the cabin. I didn’t want to bring her here with me. She might remember what she did to McCready the last time. I really need to talk to him, Dutch, not kill him.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Well, get goin’. You’re already doin’ enough holdin’.”

  Dutch walked inside just as McCready came down the stairs. The sight of Maggie held in Dutch’s arms held him immobile. Fearing that she had been hurt forced him to move, but there was a churning that fired his gut when he saw Samuel and Mike following closely along with men who appeared anxious to see what more could happen. His gaze sharpened on Maggie, but she was hiding her face against Dutch’s shoulder. He couldn’t see blood, and Dutch didn’t seem overly concerned, so he slowly started down the steps, but Dutch warned him back.

  “Don’t bother. We’re coming up. Maggie needs quiet, and you’re taking her up to your room.”

  “I am? Since when are you giving me orders, Dutch?”

  There was both threat and warning that Dutch heeded when he looked at McCready. Uncaring of who heard him, he said, “You can’t turn her over to them. She only needs you.”

  “The lost maid and her entourage of knights?”

  “I wouldn’t be knowing about that, McCready,” Dutch answered, almost daring him. “About her being a maid, that is.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Mike demanded, trying to push past Dutch so he could face him.

  “He’s telling you that Maggie and I were lovers.”

  Maggie wante
d to crawl inside Dutch to hide. She flinched hearing McCready’s biting voice, even if she didn’t understand what he meant about knights. Was he blaming her for having too many husbands? Even he wasn’t that much of a fool. After all, she didn’t go out and marry the passel of them. She closed her mind off from hearing Mike’s demand that McCready explain. She didn’t care that he told them they were lovers, but she was hurt that he sounded more bitter than proud.

  She clung tight to Dutch, wishing she had never asked for his help, and never wanted to see McCready alone. But Dutch had his own plan, and without a word he handed her over to McCready.

  “She’s all yours for now, boss.”

  Maggie was afraid for a minute that McCready was going to drop her. He staggered a bit under her weight, then quickly recovered his balance.

  Dutch turned and faced the men. “You’re all welcome to the bar and the tables. But no one goes up the stairs.”

  McCready’s continued hesitation cost Maggie her courage. She couldn’t look up at him. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he wouldn’t agree to what she wanted to do? Heat stole into her face that he wasn’t moving. And then she wondered why being held in his arms felt like coming home.

  “Guess you’ve left me no choice, Dutch,” McCready said, his hard look at Mike and the others an added warning to the way Dutch’s body blocked the stairway. Angling his head down, he whispered to Maggie, “So you’re all mine and you need only me. Well, Maggie mine, I’ve a few needs of my own.” He turned and started up the steps.

  “McCready?”

  “Quiet, Mary Margaret. You’ve come willing into the devil’s den, and it’s too late to change your mind.”

  Maggie was quiet. The wee ones were awake.