by Nancy Bush
She drank her tea in utter loneliness. She’d played her part, and now it was time to think about the future. A future that did not include Tremaine Danner.
¤ ¤ ¤
Lively music spilled from the Half Moon Saloon onto the dry and dusty street. The night was so dark that the lamplight only cut rectangular squares through its inky thickness, leaving the center of Main Street a ribbon of perfect blackness.
Jace Garrett stood by his carriage, thoughtfully puffing on a cheroot. He eyed that patch of blackness unseeingly, for his vision was turned inward. One thought chased around in his mind like a dog circling after its tail: Lexington Danner was an extremely rich woman.
It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been in love with him, Jace reminded himself. Tremaine was a problem, but Victor Flynne had intimated that he might be out of favor with Lexie. God! How he would love to bring down the estimable Dr. Danner! His mouth curved cynically. What a pleasure that would be.
A rattle and bump at the western edge of town caught Jace’s attention. A carriage was approaching, lamplight sneaking through the curtains on either side of the windows. It was an excellent carriage, its lacquered finish now obscured by the prevailing dust. The team was strong, sturdy, and handsomely groomed. Whoever it was had money to spend, and plenty of it.
The carriage passed in front of Jace, along that strip of blackness. Dark as it was, Jace was certain he’d never seen the carriage before. His curiosity heightened when the vehicle churned right through Rock Springs, heading southeast. There was nothing in that direction but farms and filthy lumber towns. And his property and the Danner’s.
Jace was still staring after the coach long minutes later. His own vehicle seemed shabby by comparison and he could hear old MacDougal’s snores as the man nodded over the reins. Jace prodded him angrily. “Someday, I’m going to hire a driver worth his salt,” he muttered furiously.
MacDougal came to with a snort. “Aye, Mr. Garrett,” he said, wiping a hand across his drowsy eyelids. “It be home, you want?”
“Aye,” Jace answered cynically.
Hoofbeats sounded, and Jace saw a dark rider appear from behind the mercantile. A black cloak obscured the man’s features, but a hot breeze lifted the hood at that moment, revealing long blond hair. A woman!
“Just a minute,” said Jace, and he stepped from the plank board sidewalk into the gloomy center of the street. The horse and rider approached, the horse shying at the sight of him. As black as the night was, Jace saw the woman’s face clearly as he exclaimed, “Lexie!”
“Get out of my way, Jace,” was her taut reply.
“Where in the hell do you think you’re going at this time of night?”
He would have grabbed the reins, but she jerked Tantrum’s head back and wheeled him in a tight circle. “None of your business!”
And then Jace knew that the wheels of Victor Flynne’s plan were already in motion. Nothing else could have forced Lexie out alone. “Let me help you,” he offered.
She laughed. “I wouldn’t accept your help if you were the last man alive.”
“You’re running away from something. Lexie, I know what it is. Victor Flynne was here a few days ago.”
“I don’t know any Victor Flynne.”
“Well, he certainly knows your family.” She was sidestepping the horse around him, so Jace played his trump card. “He knows Joseph Danner isn’t your father.”
That caught her attention, but she didn’t seem unduly worried. “It’s no shattering secret,” she remarked unconcerned. “Now let me pass!”
“He also knows your mother’s a—”
The blast from a rifle perilously near their ears caused Tantrum to rear up and scream in surprise. Lexie slid to the ground and rolled, choking on dust but unhurt. She scrambled to her feet and was actually glad for Jace’s strong arms, throwing her to safety near his carriage. Old MacDougal wrestled with Jace’s own bolting team, holding them back with all his strength as they quivered and sweated and whistled in fright.
It was a gambling fight, Lexie realized, as she laid a calming hand on the nearest of Jace’s horses. Two men stood outside the front of the Half Moon Saloon. One held a rifle, aimed at the sky; the other watched warily, his hands held in front of him.
“Never a dull moment,” Jace drawled.
“Tantrum,” Lexie said, glancing back. The spirited gelding had raced out of town, heading west.
“You want to find him?”
Lexie stared into the face of the man she once had thought she loved. He was hardly her idea of a savior, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers. And old MacDougal was a friend Lexie knew she could count on.
With a curt nod, she preceded Jace into the carriage, scooting as far across the seat as she could. Jace lit the lantern above the open windows and MacDougal turned the team west. Sitting across from Lexie, Jace suddenly leaned forward. Lexie instantly drew back against the cushioned seat.
“Jace,” she said warningly.
“You have dirt on your face. I was just going to wipe it off.” His white handkerchief hovered in front of Lexie’s eyes. She snatched it out of his grasp, regarding him coolly.
“You malign me, Lexington.” He shook his head gently.
They were well out of town when MacDougal suddenly shouted. Lexie leaned out the window. Tantrum was standing by the side of the road, his sides heaving. As soon as the coach came to a stop, Lexie bolted for the door.
Tantrum was in a lather. He rolled his eyes at her, mincing away, but Lexie was able to grab hold of the bridle reins. She jumped when she heard Jace behind her.
“How far you going?” he asked conversationally.
Lexie, though she would rather cut out her tongue than reveal her plans to Jace, had decided she was going to Denver. She could catch the train at the Portland depot and be in Denver within the week. “I’m going to Portland,” she told him in a half-lie.
“Portland! My God, girl. It’ll take you all night!” He threw a disparaging glance at Tantrum. “You must be out of your head. You can’t ride that beast to Portland alone. Have you even thought what could happen to you?”
Yes, Lexie had briefly considered the danger. But she had a gun, and though she was no markswoman, like Jace’s sister, she was handy enough if need be. “I’ll be all right,” she told him flatly.
To her fury and surprise, Jace bodily lifted her up and hauled her toward the carriage. Kicking and screaming, Lexie connected with vital tissue, causing him to swear. He threw her inside and glared at her, holding the door, so she couldn’t get out.
“Now listen to me. We’ll tie Tantrum to the back of the carriage. I’ll take you to Portland myself. You may hate me, Lexington, but I’ll be damned if I’ll have your dead body on my conscience!”
“Let me out, Jace, or I’ll kill you,” she said through her teeth. “I swear I will.”
“You little she-cat,” he said in wonder. “Whatever made me think anyone could make a lady out of you!”
Realizing he would stand there all night if need be, Lexie flung herself into a seat. If the truth were known, she actually preferred riding with Jace to the thought of facing the dark night alone. But she didn’t trust him one bit.
Jace, seeing Lexie had subsided for the moment, went to gather up Tantrum. With vague thoughts of ravishing her somehow on the journey ahead, he reached for Tantrum’s reins. The gelding snorted and stampeded away, leading Jace on a merry chase. After ten minutes, he was furious and Lexie was convulsed with laughter. Finally, he managed to lash Tantrum to the back of the carriage and climb in beside Lexie once more.
“Are you going to be reasonable now?” he demanded. To his intense amazement, she pulled the pistol from somewhere in the folds of her skirt and aimed it at the space between his eyes.
“As long as you play by my rules,” she answered agreeably.
For the first time in a long, long time, Lexie was happy. Miss Everly’s School was behind her; her home and family a bitterswee
t memory; Tremaine a terrible ache she was determined to get over.
She was on her way now, making her own decisions. And she loved it.
Chapter Eighteen
The farm house was ablaze with light. When Tremaine pulled to a stop under the portico he leapt from the buggy and strode through the front door and into the foyer. Raised voices sounded in the parlor, and he unerringly headed in that direction, stopping short at the doorway.
Jesse stood to one side of the room, his face dark with rebellion. Pa was facing him with fury sparking in his eyes. The few times Tremaine had seen his father angry came back to him and the memories were unpleasant ones. Joseph Danner’s anger was slow in coming, but magnificent in its fury when it arrived. Though shorter than Jesse, Joseph gave the impression of towering rage and Jesse, no fool he, stood poised on the balls of his feet, meeting this onslaught with caution and potential flight.
Eliza sat on the couch, her hands twisted tautly together. Samuel, dark-eyed and watchful, sat in the corner chair. Only Lexie was missing.
“What the hell’s going on?” Tremaine asked calmly, his own fears, slipping to the background at the scene of family discord. There was no sign of Flynne, no reason to be alarmed.
Eliza, from her place on the couch, rose to her feet, her face weak with relief at the sight of Tremaine. She came toward him, touching his arm, and the gesture was so thankful and tender that Tremaine’s sense of unease returned. “It’s Lexie,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “She’s taken Tantrum and left.”
“What do you mean left?”
“Jesse was the last one to see her and it took him a while to come forward,” explained Eliza.
“I followed her.” Jesse’s voice was taut, his eyes still on his father’s white-lipped face. “But I lost her somehow, so I came back.”
“And took your own sweet time in the telling of it!” Joseph growled. “Have you lost all your senses, boy? Lexie’s out alone on a horse heading God knows where! Why didn’t you come forward sooner?”
Tremaine stepped between his father and his brother. “It sounds to me like Jesse did what he thought was best. Now, I’ll go—”
Joseph reached around Tremaine, grabbing Jesse’s collar. “I’ve had enough of you acting like a rutting bull! Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on between you and Annie. She came into the house in a dither, blushing like a schoolgirl, straw in her hair. You didn’t go after Lexie. You were with Annie using the only part of yourself that’s good for—”
“Joseph!” Eliza’s voice was strident. “If he says he followed Lexie, I believe him.”
Jesse deliberately pulled his father’s hand from his shirt, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. Tremaine was fed up with the histrionics. “Where did she go?” he asked quietly, dropping a restraining hand on his father’s shoulder.
Jesse turned to Tremaine, regret flashing across his handsome face. “I don’t know. She didn’t follow the road. I would have caught her.”
“You mean she just left?”
“About two hours ago.”
Tremaine felt a pang of real fear. Two hours! He would have met her on the road to town if she’d traveled that way. What had possessed her to take a roundabout route?
Now Tremaine understood his father’s alarm. But it wasn’t Jesse’s fault that Lexie had left. “Why did she leave?” he demanded of the room at large. With vague thoughts of Victor Flynne somehow being responsible, he practically shouted, “What the hell happened?”
“She was upset when I saw her,” Jesse offered after several tense moments. “She asked me for money. I gave her what I had and told her I was coming with her, but she took off before I could get a horse out of the stables. By the time I hit the road I couldn’t even hear her hoofbeats.”
Tremaine whirled on Eliza, who stood beside him like a pale statue. “What happened before that? Did she give any hint to where she was heading?”
“No.” Eliza shook her head slowly, her beautiful face drawn and lined. “She was distant at supper. Joseph brought up Harrison’s letter and then she left the table. That’s the last I saw of her.”
“What was in the letter?”
“It’s not that,” Pa disabused him, reining in his anger. “Harrison just can’t get home until the fall. That’s all I said.”
“Tremaine?”
He’d forgotten Samuel sitting quietly in the corner. Now Tremaine glanced inquiringly at his youngest brother. Samuel stood and said soberly, “Lexie still wants to be a horse doctor I think bringing up Harrison bothered her.”
“She’s given up that idea,” Eliza quickly argued. “She’s spent a year at Miss Everly’s School!”
Tremaine stared at Samuel. Samuel had a knack for understanding human nature that always surprised him. Eliza sensed it, too. Her face grew pale with anxiety. “You don’t think…” she began fearfully.
“She can’t get far tonight,” Tremaine said in sudden decision. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, his torturous thoughts contriving terrible scenarios where bandits, outlaws, and theieves pounced upon her in the night. There was an ugly element which terrorized the road between Rock Springs and the larger cities, springing unexpectedly, thieving and plundering and raping. But Lexie knew that. What had driven her to take off on her own?
Tremaine strode from the parlor to the foyer, pausing, assembling his scattered thoughts. He needed a fresh horse and something to eat on the way. There was no time for a bath or a change of clothes. He stepped into the moonless night and thought darkly that Lexie couldn’t have picked a better time to run off.
“I’ll come with you,” Jesse said from behind him, the front door closing after him.
“No, stay here. There’s trouble coming and I want Pa to have some help.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Tremaine would have dearly loved to explain because Jesse, for all his faults, deep down possessed the same family loyalty and honor that he did. Pa had been wrong to chastise him; Jesse had done what he could. But Lexie — the wretch! — was too independent to control.
“I don’t have time to explain,” he said tersely. “Ask Pa about a man named Victor Flynne who sent him a wire last Christmas. Tell him Flynne’s been in Rock Springs asking questions and bartering information. Jace Garrett knows Pa isn’t Lexie’s father. And he knows about Eliza — tell Pa that.”
Jesse grabbed his brother’s rockhard arm as Tremaine sought to strike toward the stables and collect a fresh mount. “What’s Flynne got to do with it?”
“Nothing good,” said Tremaine soberly.
He was halfway to the stables when he heard the rhythm of hoofbeats and the heavier crunch of carriage wheels approaching from the lane. Intent on his task, Tremaine only threw a glance over his shoulder at the grand coach that swung around the last corner and pulled to a smooth stop beneath the portico’s glowing yellow lanterns.
Jesse was there to greet the lacquered carriage, and Tremaine, his senses on sudden, anxious alert, stopped in his tracks. He swore beneath his breath. Was this Flynne’s doing? Who else would arrive so late in such an ostentatious vehicle?
He thought of Lexie, alone, galloping on some wide stretch of uninhabited road, and ran the last few yards to the stables. The only horse worth its salt for speed and stamina was an eight-year-old gelding named Napoleon. Tremaine drew on the bridle and saddle and led the eager horse through the door and into the sultry June night.
He saw Eliza standing on the widow’s walk, her hands wrapped around the rail. She was staring down at the coach. Three men had alighted, their features indistinguishable in the gloom. Abruptly, Eliza walked back inside and through the window Tremaine could see her descending the scarlet-carpeted stairs.
Tremaine led Napoleon to the small gathering beneath the widow’s walk. An elderly gentleman, whose left-hand leaned heavily on an ebony cane with a mother-of-pearl handle, was remarking on the elegant portico.
“Beautiful,” he said in a resonant voice with a deep
southern drawl. “Reminds me of a Kentucky plantation home I once lived in.”
Jesse stood in front of the door, looking for all the world as if he were about to deny the man entry. Seeing Tremaine, he reminded the man gently, evenly, “You didn’t give me your name.”
Tremaine glanced at the two other men. Each was sturdy as a tree trunk and had a face that could have been carved in stone. Their eyes were hooded and cold. One man wore a belt with a gleaming silver buckle. Gunmen, Tremaine thought, feeling suddenly naked without the Colt .45 he carried around like a second skin when he was a kid. He’d never liked guns as an adult and consequently rarely carried one. Now he knew a moment of icy premonition: these men were killers.
“If you tell your mother ah’m here,” the older gentleman advised in a friendly voice edged with steel, “she’ll introduce me.”
Tremaine couldn’t leave. As urgent as it was to find Lexie, he smelled trouble — an odor his brother sensed in equal measure, if Jesse’s deep hesitation was any indication. “Go get Eliza,” Tremaine suggested quietly. And a gun, he added silently, hoping Jesse was as astute as he suspected.
Jesse’s narrowed gaze shifted from one man to another. He backed up, but didn’t have time to open the door before Eliza came gracefully through it, her lavender skirts flowing gently around her ankles.
“What is it?” she asked in her quietly rippling voice, squinting at the three men who stood just outside the rings of lamplight.
The elderly gentleman stepped forward. There was a smile on his face, but it was little more than a grotesque grimace. The left side of his mouth didn’t lift; the muscles were slack. It gave him the appearance of a leering ogre.
Eliza took one look at him and went white. Her eyes filled with horror, then rolled to the back of her head. A whimper slipped past her lips. She fell so quickly that Tremaine just caught her before her head crashed against the cement steps.