Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses

by Jill Gregory

  “Caitlin?”

  She blinked and realized she’d never answered his question. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time today. I must get to Hicks, you see, and . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell on Luanne Porter in front of the library, right across from the Walsh Boardinghouse. Luanne had just emerged with an armload of books and collided directly with Wade, who had inadvertently knocked all the books from her arms. As Caitlin stared, he stooped to retrieve them and so did Luanne, and they were laughing as they gathered them up together. Wade held the pile of books for her—it was obvious he was offering to carry them to Luanne’s buckboard. And a vise tightened around Caitlin’s heart.

  “Ah, the pretty schoolteacher and the rugged foreman. They make a fine-looking pair, don’t they?” There was an unmistakable note of mockery in Drew Raleigh’s light tone.

  Caitlin spoke through the heaviness in her chest. “Why, yes. They seem . . . quite well suited.”

  “You, on the other hand, Caitlin, don’t seem at all suited to anything here in this crude little town.”

  “Drew, if this is about selling Cloud Ranch . . .”

  “It’s about you, my dear. Why, you’re beautiful and cultured and sophisticated. Any fool, even these countrified dolts, can see that. You don’t belong here with these people, nor should you have to endure the dangers of such a rough, primitive land—or be forced to live someplace as isolated as Cloud Ranch. You’d like to return east, wouldn’t you?”

  Caitlin dragged her gaze from Wade and Luanne and focused on Drew, trying to ignore the dismal ache in her heart. For all his suavity and charm, Drew Raleigh didn’t fool her for a moment.

  “If you’re thinking that I still might sell you my share of Cloud Ranch, and that you might somehow then convince Wade and his brothers to sell the rest, you may as well forget about it.” Her tone was crisp. “I can’t sell my shares for a year, and Wade will never sell. He’d rather die, I believe, than turn Cloud Ranch over to an outsider. And that’s what you are, I’m afraid, Drew, and you always will be.” She spoke the words clearly, for all their softness. “An outsider.”

  “But a persistent one.” He caught her arm as she started to move past him. “I haven’t reached my present place in the world because I give up easily,” he said. His tone was still pleasant, but there was a hard edge beneath it that made her stare. “I have a gift for inventive solutions to problems, Caitlin, and I’m willing to share that gift with you. From speaking with . . . oh, various people in town, I know that you loathe Cloud Ranch and would like nothing better than to sell your shares. I, in turn, would like nothing better than to buy them. Cloud Ranch is precisely what my business associates and I have been looking for. So perhaps if you and I just sit down together we can figure out a way—”

  “There is no way. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “There’s always a way, Caitlin, my dear.”

  A chill swept through her. “Please excuse me, Drew. I must post a letter to my sister. Good day.”

  He stepped aside, tipping his hat, but not before she saw the cold glint of anger in his hazel eyes.

  She was beyond caring. Once she might have gone to any lengths to sell her share of Cloud Ranch, to seize the money and run away with it, no matter how it affected anyone else, but something had changed. Despite the pain she felt seeing Wade and Luanne chatting so easily, strolling side by side, she didn’t want to strike out at him. And she didn’t want Drew Raleigh even setting foot on the beautiful land that stretched endlessly beyond her bedroom window.

  What was happening to her? Was she actually contemplating staying here for a year—bringing Becky here?

  Wouldn’t it be cozy, should Wade and Luanne marry? she thought miserably. All of you living under the same roof.

  Her stomach turned over. No, no, that would be intolerable. She had to leave. She had to return to Becky . . .

  With swift steps she made her way to the mercantile. Somehow she smiled and chatted pleasantly with Nell Hicks, and then greeted Winnifred Dale, who was full of talk about the upcoming annual May Day dance at the Tyler ranch.

  As Caitlin placed her letter on the counter beside sacks of mail, she interrupted Winnifred suddenly. “Is there by any chance a letter from my sister? I’ve been expecting to hear from her.”

  “Well, oh, my, yes! Now that you mention it—I do believe there is a letter, dear.” Winnifred beamed at her and began sorting through mail on the shelves behind her. “It arrived in yesterday’s batch—from the Davenport Academy for Young Ladies—here it is.” Pushing her glasses farther up on her delicate nose, Winnifred handed Caitlin a richly textured cream-colored envelope.

  “Such fine stationery,” she murmured admiringly.

  For a moment, Caitlin’s heart soared, but then she saw that the prim black handwriting on the front of the envelope did not belong to her sister after all. Foreboding swept over her as with trembling fingers she tore open the seal.

  “Caitlin? Is something wrong?” Winnifred scurried around the counter at the expression on Caitlin’s face as she scanned the missive.

  “No—this can’t be!” Caitlin’s anguished whisper froze the woman in her tracks.

  “My dear, what’s happened? Your sister—she isn’t ill, is she?”

  Blindly, Caitlin shook her head. Wade. She had to find Wade. He’d know what to do—he must know what to do!

  “I’m sorry, Winnifred, I’ll explain later,” she cried as she ran to the door.

  Her feet flew down the boardwalk until she found him chatting with Luanne beside her buckboard. He’d loaded all the books into it and was about to help Luanne up onto the seat when he saw Caitlin flying toward him, pale and distraught.

  He dropped Luanne’s hand and started toward Caitlin, grabbing her shoulders as she nearly ran right into him. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  “It’s Becky! She’s disappeared.”

  “Oh, my God!” Luanne exclaimed.

  “Easy, Caitlin. Just tell me.” Wade’s calm, quick voice somehow steadied her even though her mind was frantic with worry. “She’s disappeared from her school? Did she run away?”

  “They think so. This letter just came from Miss Culp, the headmistress. She says Becky has been missing for a week. A whole week, Wade, before they even wrote to tell me! Where could she be? She’s only eleven!” Her eyes shone with anguish. “How could she manage a week on her own, with no one to look after her—no one to take care of her? She’s so timid, so . . .” Her voice broke. “We have to find her!”

  Wade’s expression was grim, but the purposefulness in his voice penetrated Caitlin’s despair. “We’ll find her. I promise you, Caitlin—Becky’s going to be all right.” Forgetting everything and everyone else, he drew her close, and stroked a hand down her hair as she trembled in his arms.

  He heard a sob break from her. Caitlin, who never cried. Something ached, broke, deep inside his chest.

  “Shhh, sweetheart, don’t worry.” His arms tightened around her. He didn’t see Luanne staring at them, her face pale, stunned—nor did he notice Jake Young, only a few feet away, watching the embrace with an expression of raw disappointment and dismay. Or Drew Raleigh, who studied the scene with interest. He only knew that Caitlin was weeping silently, clutching him, more distraught than he had ever seen her, more distraught than he could bear.

  “Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss against the softness of her temple, “I promise you, Caitlin, we’ll find your sister.”

  Chapter 17

  Night stole quietly over the town of Beaver Junction, Wyoming. In the barn behind Cleever’s Blacksmith shop, a small, slight figure wriggled out from beneath a pile of hay high up in the loft. She made no sound doing so—until a sneeze flew out of her and seemed to her cautious ears loud enough to rattle the rafters of the barn.

  But there was no one to hear except the horses.

  Becky Tamarlane brushed hay from h
er light brown hair, shook out the skirt of her wrinkled blue dress, and tugged her small, brass-handled satchel from beneath the pile of hay, then made her way to the ladder.

  She felt hot, boiling hot. Sweat glistened on her brow and her flushed cheeks, and she had to cling weakly to the rungs of the ladder as she climbed down from the loft. She’d been sleeping all day, exhausted from the job she’d found yesterday after arriving in Beaver Junction on a farm wagon. She’d become rather good, she felt, at stealing rides in wagons without anyone being the wiser. She’d traveled a good ways across Wyoming Territory in this fashion. Of course, it wasn’t as comfortable as traveling by train and stagecoach with the Kelly family, but that couldn’t be helped.

  She was rather proud of herself.

  She, Becky Tamarlane, who found it painful to look strangers in the eye and who rarely even had the courage to ask for a second helping of mashed potatoes at dinner, had managed to get within fifty miles of Cloud Ranch all by herself.

  Now if only she didn’t starve to death before getting there, she’d be fine. Fine enough to surprise Caitlin. And fine enough to warn her about that horrible man.

  Her stomach growled. She felt weak, and she knew she was dirty, but she tried not to think about it. Not having eaten a bite of food since last night, she ought to have been hungry, but her stomach was roiling something awful and she couldn’t imagine eating even a crumb. Last night, after arriving in town tired and alone, she’d gazed longingly at the stewed chicken, dumplings, steak, and oyster stew being served in the Beaver Junction Hotel dining room. But she’d had to wait until after her job washing dishes was finished before tasting any of the food that had flowed so plentifully from the tiny kitchen. It’d been worth it though— she’d been paid a whole dollar plus fifty cents and a free plate of chicken and dumplings.

  If she washed dishes again tonight, she might get another dollar and fifty cents. Maybe that would be enough to buy a stagecoach ticket for the last leg of the journey to Hope.

  Of course, she’d have to make up a story when someone on the coach asked her, as they no doubt would, why a little girl like her was traveling all alone. But that wouldn’t be a problem—she’d become rather good at making up stories.

  She edged toward the barn door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of horses and manure. Then Miss Becky Tamarlane of the Davenport Academy for Young Ladies slipped outside into the cool sheltering darkness of night.

  Her legs felt all funny and wobbly. Maybe, Becky thought, she ought to eat some soup for nourishment before trying to work. Her maid at home in Philadelphia—when she and Caitlin had still had a home—had often told her that without nourishment the body and the spirit shriveled up like an old pea fallen under the stove and forgotten. But a cup of soup at the diner would cost her a whole precious dime of the money she’d earned last night—and she wondered if she should spare it.

  She tried to think clearly through the thrumming in her head. She needed to be strong, to be able to work again tonight, standing at the sink, washing all those plates and bowls. But most of all, she needed to be clearheaded, able to stay alert and careful. There were bad people in the world—and good, she thought, recalling the kind family who had invited her to travel with them when she left Philadelphia. She couldn’t afford to run into any trouble—she must reach Cloud Ranch before that terrible man did and tried to hurt Caitlin again.

  Because Caitlin didn’t even know he was coming after her.

  Becky had always relied on Caitlin—she was so smart, so pretty, and so grown-up. And she had promised Becky, her eyes filled with purpose, that things would work out all right.

  But they wouldn’t be all right if that bad man reached Caitlin and hurt her—or worse, had her arrested and put in jail all because she’d hit him over the head in order to get away.

  The very thought of it made tears sting her eyes. The night should have been cool, but it felt hot, hotter than an August afternoon. She walked faster toward the diner, but her legs felt so heavy. She would skip the soup, Becky thought, and save her dime, and offer to wash dishes again, sweep the floor, whatever was needed. She had to get to Cloud Ranch. She had to warn Caitlin . . .

  She had reached the middle of the narrow street lit only by a hazy half-moon when her legs crumpled beneath her. Becky gave a small wavering cry, but there was no one about to hear. Her cheek struck the scratchy dust as she went down, down, down with a thud—and then the lights of the saloon and the diner and the Beaver Junction Hotel flickered and went out.

  Forty miles south in the notorious outlaw town of Dead Man’s Bluff, a man in a black duster, black Stetson, and gleaming boots pushed open the door of Whip Muldoon’s way station and strode inside.

  Through the smoke that clung to the fetid air, he surveyed the dark saloon abuzz with flies and mosquitoes. A few men at the bar or poker table glanced over at him, but no one spoke or paid much attention. In Muldoon’s place, everyone minded his own business or risked rubbing the wrong man the wrong way.

  So Dominic Trent claimed a seat in the corner and eyed the burly, black-bearded giant puffing on a huge cigar at the next table.

  He called for whiskey, and it wasn’t until the bartender had brought him a bottle and a glass that the black-bearded giant hefted his huge frame out of the chair and came to stand beside Trent’s table.

  “Smoke Jackson?”

  The giant blew a smoke ring into the air and nodded.

  “Have a seat.”

  The big man folded himself into a chair and stuck the cigar between stained teeth as he scrutinized Trent through shiny black eyes that were too small and clever for his large, fleshy face.

  “Well, you look fearsome enough,” Trent remarked coolly, “but the question remains, bounty hunter or no, are you as fast with a gun as they say?”

  Jackson spat into the spittoon beside the table, then reached for the whiskey bottle. He tipped it to his lips and drank.

  “I’m better than they say.”

  “Well. Let’s hope so. I’m going to pay you a great deal of money if you’re successful at the tasks I assign you.”

  “I’m always successful.”

  If a bear could talk, he would sound exactly like Smoke Jackson, Trent thought approvingly. He was pleased with the bounty hunter’s fierce appearance. It would frighten his prey. He wanted her frightened. The more frightened, the better.

  Trent’s head ached, a reminder of what he owed Miss Caitlin Summers.

  “Do you happen to know any lawmen?” he inquired, pursing his lips thoughtfully, even as he signaled the bartender to bring another bottle of whiskey.

  “Tend to steer clear of ’em,” Smoke snorted. “Except for the crooked ones.”

  “That’s the kind I have in mind.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Jackson drew another long drag on the cigar and blew smoke toward the low, fly-infested ceiling. “Sounds like a complicated job. But for the right price, I can find you a lawman who’ll do whatever I tell him to.”

  “Excellent.” Trent couldn’t contain a smile of satisfaction. The moment he’d been waiting for, dreaming of, was getting closer. So close he could almost taste the fear on Caitlin’s lips, could almost feel the terror freezing every beautiful bone in her body.

  Poor Caitlin. But she deserved what was coming to her. He had offered her respite when she was in dire circumstances, he had offered her luxury, wealth, and a life of ease where her only obligation was to please him—and she had rewarded him by nearly scratching out his eyes, and by striking him a veritable death blow with that candlestick. He still grew dizzy sometimes, still had to deal with the throbbing pain in his skull. It might never go away, the doctors said.

  Never.

  Well, once he had her, a captive at his mercy, once she saw that there was no escape, that her only hope and salvation was at his side, in his bed, doing his bidding, she would learn how long never could be.

  “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars,” he said softly,
watching the bounty hunter’s face. The man’s eyes flitted over him, hungrily, eagerly. “And another five hundred to the lawman who joins our cause.”

  “And what cause might that be, Mr. Trent?”

  Trent shifted in his chair and felt the emerald ring slide across his deep duster pocket, secure in its pouch. “You— and your lawman friend—must help me apprehend a most dangerous criminal. A would-be murderess—and a thief.”

  “What’d she steal?”

  “An emerald. A family heirloom. Most valuable.”

  The bounty hunter grunted.

  “I want her caught, dragged to justice, locked in jail.” Trent’s eyes glittered in the gloom of the way station. “When I say so, and not before, she will be released to my custody, to stand trial back east.”

  “Well, we can hang her right out here if you want,” Smoke Jackson growled. “Why bother taking her all the way back?”

  “No questions,” Trent murmured pleasantly. His mood was lightening as for the first time he voiced aloud his splendid plan. “I want her frightened, helpless, trapped like a rabbit in a cage. But I don’t want her broken. You and your friend will leave that part of it,” he finished with a small, cruel smile, “to me.”

  Chapter 18

  “How much farther?”

  Caitlin tried to ignore the ache in her thighs and backside as she waited for Wade’s reply.

  They’d been riding for two days now—two endless, nerve-wracking days—passing through as many neighboring towns as possible. And they’d keep riding until they received more information from the Pinkerton detective Wade had hired, or until they found Becky themselves.

  “I’d say Beaver Junction is no more than ten miles ahead.” Wade pushed up his hat and studied her with concern. “Want to rest a bit?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

  The first wave of panic that had swept over her when she learned Becky was missing had gone—leaving behind a cold, hard knot of fear. Her sister—small for her age, shy, and so terribly vulnerable—was out in the world all alone, with no one to protect her, look after her, or care about her.