by Jill Gregory
But his craving for revenge against those who had wronged him was still as vital as it had ever been. Now every ounce of that potent deadly hate was turned against the golden-haired bitch who’d sneaked out on him on their wedding day.
“Mueller, you nose around in town and see if there’s any sign of her. Put out the word that I called off the wedding yesterday, that I found out in time she was a fortune-hunting little slut. Say that she ran off this morning with the mare and five thousand dollars in cash. And send some boys over to Mottsville and Amber Falls,” he ordered, mentally reviewing all the places Juliana Montgomery might have gone. His shoulders were hunched with tension, despite the evenness of his voice. “She can’t get far, not if we’re quick and thorough about it. But if for some reason you don’t find her ...” His voice trailed off. A fearsome silence hovered in the air. Breen’s lips clamped together in an expression of grim determination. An odd little glow that Mueller recognized entered his eyes.
“Yes, sir?” Mueller shifted from one foot to the other. “If we don’t find her, what should we do next?”
“Go to Judge Mason and tell him I want a bounty put out on Miss Juliana Montgomery.” Breen was smiling now, a harsh, humorless smile that Mueller nevertheless found contagious. “Offer a two-thousand-dollar reward for her return to Denver. Make sure the posters specify that I want her alive.”
Mueller whistled. “Two thousand dollars. Bounty hunters from here to California will be murdering each other to get their hands on her.”
Breen nodded. Precisely. He turned away from Mueller, and his glance swept across the large, princely room, from the floor-to-ceiling shelves of handsome leather books, to the rich walnut paneling and imported Chinese carpet on his perfectly polished floor. Everything was in place, everything was magnificent, from the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner to the gleaming bronze chandelier overhead. Everything looked as expensive and immaculate as he’d always dreamed. He’d gone through a lot to get himself all of this. He deserved it, every damned bit of it. And no highfalutin eastern snip of a girl was going to get the better of him. No one—man or woman—was going to make him feel like a loser ever again.
He was the greatest success story this territory, hell, this country, had ever known.
“That’s what I want, Mueller,” Breen said, fingering the gold signet ring on his perfectly manicured hand. “I want them itching to get their paws on her and frankly, I don’t care what they do to her when they get her. So long as they bring her back still breathing. I want Juliana Montgomery to know and understand just what it means to cross me.”
“She will, boss, I guarantee you that.”
Mueller left. John Breen stood a moment longer, gazing around in cold satisfaction at the elegant possessions, drawing energy from their beauty.
A sense of power filled him, swelling through his arms, his chest, his bones, his very soul. No one could save Juliana Montgomery from him now. She was his, as surely as if she had spoken her marriage vows this morning. They would be bound together by something more than a mere wedding. They would be bound by revenge, by hate, by the sheer-volume of his power. Those things would bind them for as long as he wanted her around. He would teach her about all of them before he was through. He would make her sorry she had ever set foot on man’s green earth.
7
The sun blazed like a torch above the ramshackle town of Cedar Gulch, deep within the territory of Arizona. Looming mountains slumbered in the hazy June heat. No wind stirred the dust in the narrow, dung-filled street, no color brightened the flat grayness of the dozen decrepit buildings along either side of a crumbling wooden boardwalk. Even the Red Snake Saloon was quiet, the gold-vested piano player passed out over his tinny keyboard. The town was smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, huddled beneath the lip of a towering granite mountain under the Mogollon Rim. Few lived in this godforsaken region of Arizona beneath the sheer towering red cliffs and pine forests of the Mogollon except a small collection of hardy souls eking out an existence along the stagecoach line. Juliana, sitting with her fellow passengers inside the dining room of the Tin Horn Hotel, could see why. The town was a forsaken, squalid pesthole, dwarfed by the wild, awesome landscape that surrounded it. Who could survive long here, amid the filth and isolation? The only people she had seen since they’d arrived, other than the hotel proprietor—a thin, sullen fellow who had served them greasy fried prairie chicken and hardtack biscuits—were a trio of savage-looking men who had ridden in like a swarm of hornets a few moments ago and headed straight for the saloon. Watching them through the dining room window, Juliana had shuddered. The men had looked filthy—and mean. They were caked with dust, and she had a feeling they smelled as bad as they looked. She wasn’t exactly at her Sunday best either, she reflected wryly, smoothing a hand over her soiled, wrinkled muslin skirt, the delicate rose color faded from repeated washings during the journey. She knew she must look a sight. Though her face had been scrubbed clean that morning, by now it felt gritty with dust. How she longed for a basin of clean, cool water. At least her hair was neatly combed and fastened in a topknot, so as to keep her neck cool during the long and arduous journey across this treacherous land. Reaching up to secure a hairpin, she realized that several gold tendrils had escaped and were wisping about her face in a disheveled fashion. So much for looking presentable. But then, crossing the plateaus and canyons of Arizona was not exactly a civilized venture. Grueling, dangerous, and exhausting perhaps, but not very civilized.
Two months had passed since her escape from Denver. During that time she had sold Columbine in Amber Falls and traveled by stagecoach through the Colorado Rockies and down into the wild hills and canyons of Arizona, passing through dozens of dirty towns like this one along the way, each one miles from any other glimpse of civilization. During all this time Juliana had kept mostly to herself, conversing little with the other passengers on the journey. At first she had been in constant fear that John Breen would come galloping up to overtake the stagecoach, that he would throw open the door and demand that she get out and go back with him to Denver. Thankfully, nothing of the sort had come to pass, and by the time she neared the Arizona border, she had begun to feel safe. John Breen may have had his men search for her for a time, but he must have given up before long, she had reasoned. By the time she reached the border, she felt convinced she was well beyond his reach. No doubt he had forgotten all about her, and as for Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward, well, they would have gone back to St. Louis empty-handed—and, she thought morosely, furious.
Well, there was no help for it now. She had severed every tie with those who had raised her and with the only home she had known. Her stomach felt queasy every time she reflected on the enormity of what she’d done, and guilt plagued her when she thought of Uncle Edward’s disappointment. But every time she thought of John Breen, his perfect smile, his grating air of patronizing warmth, and, most chillingly of all, his viciousness to Gil Keedy, she was thankful she had had the courage to act—and thankful she had escaped. Now, Juliana told herself as she took a final sip of coffee, every time her limbs ached after a torturous day in the stagecoach, every time her parched throat cried out for water when there was no water to be had, and every time she despaired of ever finding Wade and Tommy, she had to keep looking ahead. She had to think about Wade and Tommy, about settling down with them in a little house on a ranch somewhere, far away from John Breen, Uncle Edward, and everyone else. She had to think about cool starry nights on the prairie, and meadows of flowers, and a house of her own with lace curtains at the windows. And she had to think about her beloved older brothers corning home to that little house each day with fresh game for supper, complimenting her on her rhubarb pie, and playing checkers before a fire in the evening. Such dreamy thoughts had sustained her during the many long hours of grueling travel, and they would have to sustain her for as long as it took to find Wade and Tommy.
Starting out the journey by stagecoach hadn’t been as difficult as sh
e had expected—they had met no Indians, or desperadoes, or trouble of any sort during the first leg of the trip—the twisting mountain trails and long hours in the cramped and stuffy coach had provided their share of discomfort, but her sore muscles and fatigue would be worth it, she had reminded herself many times, once she was reunited with her brothers.
In a grimy border settlement ten miles east of where Colorado met the Arizona territory, during a midday break in the journey, disaster had struck. When the passengers alighted to stretch their legs and drink a cup of coffee, a pickpocket had stolen Juliana’s purse. By the time she realized what had happened, the culprit could not be found. Juliana, to her shock, was left penniless on the boardwalk, with nothing left of value except a few small pieces of jewelry, including the small locket that was the only memento of her mother, and a hair comb of ivory and pearls that she had worn to her first coming-out party. But the gold was gone, and with it her means of supporting herself until she reached Tombstone. Despair had almost overcome her. To have eluded John Breen and his search party, to have come all this way, and then to find herself stranded without money at the Arizona border, made her want to weep. But she hadn’t wept, Juliana reminded herself as she shooed a fly from her hardtack biscuit and gazed out at the desolation of Cedar Gulch. She had continued on by stagecoach to the next large town, and there had found herself a job in a flea-bitten hotel. She had swept floors, laundered bed linens, and helped in the kitchen, saving up her weekly wages with excruciating care. After just a little more than a month she had enough to continue on her journey, and the money would get her all the way to Tombstone, if she was careful.
She would be careful, she promised herself as she set down her empty iron cup. No more delays, no more letting down her guard. Not when she was getting so close to the last place Wade and Tommy had been seen.
The stagecoach driver stuck his head into the dining room just as she folded her napkin and set it down beside her plate. “Horses ready,” he bellowed. “C’mon, folks.”
A number of passengers groaned at the prospect of continuing their torturous journey, and they slowly pushed back their chairs and headed out of the hotel. Juliana, though eager to leave Cedar Gulch, hung back a moment. In every town she had passed through for the past hundred miles she had made inquiries about Wade and Tommy, so far without luck. But her hopes kept rising as she journeyed deeper into Arizona, for surely the closer she got to Tombstone, the more chance there would be that someone would have seen or heard of them. Unfortunately, the sour demeanor of this hotel’s proprietor didn’t hold out much hope of helpfulness from him, but she couldn’t afford to let an opportunity pass. She straightened her shoulders and approached him as he came shuffling through the kitchen door.
“Excuse, me, sir, may I have a moment of your time?” He froze, his brown hound dog eyes scanning her up and down with glaring hostility. Juliana flushed at his ill-mannered scrutiny but forced herself to offer a dazzling smile, hoping to soften him up a bit. “I’m looking for two men. My brothers. It’s urgent that I find them. Their name is Montgomery, Wade and Tommy Montgomery. Have you heard of them?”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Maybe recognition, maybe just greed. He scratched his ear. “Could be I have,” he said indifferently. “What’s it worth to ya?”
Juliana started. She felt a small flame of hope, but managed to keep it in check. Quickly, she opened her reticule and removed a gold piece, which she held up between her fingers. “Have they been here? In Cedar Gulch? Can you tell me when?”
He was silent a moment, studying the slender, beautiful young woman before him with suspicion. His glance darted back, and forth between her and the gold piece. “What you want them for, girl?”
“I told you—they’re my brothers,” she said impatiently. “If you know anything about them, please tell me quickly. The stagecoach will be leaving any moment.”
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the saloon. “Try Kelly in the Red Snake.” He regarded her with a leering smile. “I reckon he knows ‘em better than I do.”
Juliana dropped the coin into his palm and spun about toward the door, pausing outside only long enough to request that the driver wait a few moments for her. She hurried across the street to the saloon, trying to subdue the excitement within her. She knew her fellow passengers, watching from the stagecoach window, would be scandalized to see her enter the saloon, but there was no help for it. If only she had inquired a few moments earlier! But she had not truly expected to meet with success. Now she had to find this “Kelly”—probably the bartender, Juliana decided—and convince him quickly to tell her all he could about the Montgomerys.
She pushed through the double doors of the saloon and found herself in a dimly lit, seedy chamber containing a dozen small tables flanked by broken-down chairs. The stench of liquor and tobacco and men’s stale sweat overpowered her. Spittoons lined the walls beneath boarded-up windows. A piano stood against one wall beneath a lurid painting of a naked woman, and slumped over the grimy keys, asleep, was a thin-shouldered wisp of a man in a gaudy gold vest. Opposite the piano, along the near wall, stood a rectangular wooden bar littered with half-filled glasses and empty bottles. Behind it loomed the hugest man she had ever seen. He was a bear of a figure, well over six feet tall, and nearly as broad, with coarse red hair and bushy eyebrows and big, puffy cheeks. His bulbous nose was bright red in the dingy light, his chin full and wide. Powerful forearms encased in a sweat-soaked green flannel shirt bulged with muscles; his denim overalls were worn and stained and barely seemed to contain his enormous girth. The giant had a rusty beard that reached his shoulders, and his hands were the size of rocks.
For a moment, Juliana paused in trepidation at his intimidating form, but she quickly regained her composure and hurried toward him.
“Kelly?” she inquired, putting a hand to the bar, which felt sticky to the touch. She dropped her hand back to her side.
The bartender swiped at the perspiration dripping down his forehead with a damp sleeve and peered at her from beneath his brows. “At your service, me dear. What can I do for the likes of you?” he responded genially, his friendly tone a welcome contrast to his ferocious appearance.
Juliana, grateful for this amiable greeting and the kind way he regarded her, began quickly to question him.
Eager to learn something of her brothers, and pressured for time, she was totally oblivious of the effect she was having on the other occupants of the saloon. There weren’t more than a handful, but among them, gaping in openmouthed admiration from a table several feet away, were the three disreputable-looking men she had seen ride into town.
Cash Hogan licked his lips and shivered all over as he feasted his eyes on the prime little filly who had just waltzed in the door. Seeing a woman like that in the Red Snake was a shock, for the girl looked like she belonged in some highfalutin parlour back east, eating cake and drinking tea out of a fancy china cup. She looked as delicate as a china cup, too, like she’d bust if you squeezed her too hard.
I’ll have to remember that, Cash thought, his gaze traveling over the soft curves of her figure with hungry delight. It’d be a shame to bust anything so downright purty.
His partners, Bo and Luke Curry, had their own thoughts about the woman, and were about to call out to her to get her attention when the name Montgomery reached them. All three men started, glancing at one another. Cash set down his glass. Luke, his long, stringy brown hair parted in the middle, grinned broadly at his brother. In answer, Bo put a nail-bitten finger across his lips, signaling the other two for quiet.
The bartender, Kelly, regarded Juliana in amazement. “So those trouble-hunting rascals are your brothers, eh, me girl? Well, a rowdy pair they are, and that’s for sure. They were here, with some of their boys, about a month ago and broke up me place.”
“Broke it up?” Juliana demanded, puzzled.
Kelly indicated the boarded-up windows. “Did a good bit of damage they did. Fighting, you see. Over
a woman. Never saw so many broken bones in one place, except when I was in the hospital during the war.”
“Were they hurt?” Juliana had visions of Wade and Tommy lying in pain on this very floor, soaked in their own blood. But Kelly’s next words allayed the fear that had seized her heart.
“Those two? Not more’n a scratch between ‘em. They’ve got the devil’s own luck, they do. Rode out of here right as rain and bless their scoundrel hearts, paid me right generous for the damages.”
Excitement flooded through her. She was going to find them after all. “Mr. Kelly, where were they headed when they left here? Do you think they’re coming back?”
“Oh, they’ll be back sure as certain, but who’s to say when, me dear? Those boys show up maybe twice, three times a year. They’ve found it’s not healthy to stay in one place, if you know what I mean.”
She realized what he was hinting at, no doubt trying to spare her feelings about their outlaw status. But Juliana saw no need to sidestep the truth. “You mean because they’re wanted men and must keep two steps ahead of the law, don’t you, Mr. Kelly?” she said, facing him with lifted chin. “Well, that doesn’t matter to me. I must find them. So please ...” She gazed directly and appealingly into his eyes and, reaching out impulsively, touched his sleeve. “Please try to recall where they might have gone. I’m certain they must have mentioned something about what direction they were headed ...”
The touch of this heavenly creature’s hand upon his arm was having a dizzying effect on the giant bartender. His cheeks grew even redder with pleasure, and his blue eyes danced as he grinned down at the girl. Then something popped in his brain, and he chuckled and snapped his fingers. “Cooper Creek—that’s where they were headed!” he exclaimed. “it’s not more’n sixty miles from here ...”